#The fear of being perceived while also wanting to be famous/known is wild

[cupcakedoesthings]

The tgcf brain worms won

I am now in the works of making my first tgcf fic

[mask131]

Cold winter: Troll

TROLL

Category: Scandinavian folklore

The troll is without a doubt the most famous Scandinavian creature to have ever existed – and yet… it is actually extremely hard to describe what a troll exactly is. Not just because people outside of Scandinavia have reused the word “troll” to designate all sorts of things very different from the original Norse troll – but also because Scandinavia itself had very different types of trolls. After all Scandinavia is a lot of different countries and cultures, so of course each one would perceive the troll differently… So let’s try to just do a simple and easy summary.

Trolls usually live in wild and isolated areas of nature, far away from human beings: mountains, forests, caves, the sea… They are rarely helpful or friendly towards humans, in fact most of the time they are quite dangerous to encounter (as many tales report the trolls eat human beings) – and a troll usually does not live alone. A typical troll lives either alone or in a small family unit, which is usually a mother/daughter or father/son duo. Trolls are very strong, much stronger than humans, and they live very long life, longer than those of any mortal beings – but they are also renowned for being quite slow to act and also quite dim-witted. Another recurring trait of trolls is that they usually only appear/are active at night, because they avoid the sunlight which will turn them to stone (quite a number of Scandinavian landmarks are said to have been created by the body of trolls exposed to sunlight). Sometimes they are hideous and grotesque, other times they can hardly be distinguished from humans, some are giant-like beings, other small like folkloric dwarfs, but a recurring theme with trolls is that they are not Christians. Given Scandinavia was very heavily Christianized and big on religion questions, this is important. Trolls fear church-bells, which is why areas with churches are said to not have any trolls living nearby – but while some trolls flee upon hearing the bells, others will try to fight back by destroying the church with throws of boulders and stones. Trolls are also known to be terrified of thunder and lightning. Beyond sunlight and lightning, there is also a third deadly weakness and great fear of the trolls: fire.

Apparently in modern days there are two main “traditions” when it comes to troll. One is the Norwegian tradition: the troll will be a very tall and large being, quite ugly and living a solitary life. The Norwegian troll acts as traditional giants, ogres and demons do in folktales. The other would be the Swedish and Danish traditions, where the trolls are much more humanoid in appearances and more strongly connected to nature: they are not openly evil or hostile, living at peace with humans, but they are still dangerous tricksters. This second tradition notably insists on a specific type of folktales which makes the trolls closer to the fair folk of the British Isles: kidnapping tales. The Swedish/Danish troll will frequently kidnap human women or human children for various kinds of reasons, sometimes replacing the latter with changeling children.

Now… This was all just generalization and sum-up. If you want some more specific details, here is an additional list of info I could find (I still keep general and surface-level, because again my Seasonal Theme series are supposed to act as introductions and presentations, not in-depths analysis).

# Norwegian trolls are renowned for being hairy giants with large noses, large ears and a tail. They live in forests and mountains, they regularly eat human beings – except for human maidens, who they sometimes keep as slaves. Sometimes they have additional bizarre physical traits, such as having multiple heads or a moss-covered skin, and their size ranges from “tall human” size to “twice as tall as the tallest tree”. Given their size and strength makes them very hard to kill, heroes usually have to trick them into their own doom – because thankfully Norwegian trolls are stupid and gullible beings. Some legends claim the trolls do not care about the sunlight, others claim that trolls turn to stone under sunlight, and others yet claim that the trolls EXPLODE when hit by sun rays.

# Icelandic trolls are quite similar to the Norwegian trolls, being ogre-like beings ranging from twice as tall as a human to as big as a mountain, with the main differences being that they live exclusively in mountains and turn to stone when hit by sunlight. Some legends also claim that they turn to stone upon hearing church bells – and their favorite food is human children.

# Sometimes Norwegian legends and tales will establish a clear division of trolls into subcategories. The “Rise” or regular “troll”, the traditional, basic troll, is a large and evil human-like being living in the mountains. Often suffering from various deformities (such as the “multiple head” cases signaled above), trolls also have parts of the landscape growing on them – I talked about the moss before, but sometimes trolls will have entire trees growing on them. They are also the most vulnerable to sunlight. The skogstroll, or “forest troll” however is a forest-dweller who is smaller that the regular troll but still larger than a human – they typically act as ogres in fairytales. And then comes the “havtroll”, the “sea troll”, which lives in a sea, and thus has a body covered in seaweed instead of moss, and whose face is usually similar to the one of a fish.

# Trolls were said to be very rich, owning a lot of mineral wealth such as gems and rare metals, to the point that “as rich as a troll” is a common expression.

# And of course we have to mention the very famous story of the “Three Billy Goat Gruffs”, which HEAVILY popularized the concept that trolls live under bridges.

- - - - - - -

There is another reason why the troll is prone to such variations and evolutions – beyond the simple cultural differences of Scandinavian countries. You see… it relies in the origins of the troll. Back in Old Norse folklore, back in Norse mythology… “troll” basically meant everything and anything.

“Troll” was one of the four different names given to the jötnar, and so a troll was originally a jötunn… But not just that. “Troll” was also a term used for many other things. Some ghosts were called “trolls”. Werewolves and wolf shape-shifters were called “trolls”. Christian demons were called “trolls”. Evil spirits were called “trolls”… Basically any kind of hostile or malevolent supernatural entity could be a “troll”. So “troll” was kind of an Old Norse word for “monster”. BUT IT WASN’T JUST THAT! Witches and sorcerers living in the wild were called “troll-women” and “troll-men”. When something was enchanted or magical, it was said to be “troll”, as “to enchant” something or someone could be said as “to turn X into a troll”. And magical animals were also called “troll”. So… “troll” didn’t just mean hostile monsters ; it also denoted any kind of thing or being that was magical. As a result many have compared the word “troll” to the English words “fairy” or “fey”, which were used as adjectives and qualificatives to designate many supernatural entities, magical animals and enchanted objects. BUT THERE’S MORE! Terrifying, brutal, destructive warriors were called “trolls”. When a man was noted to be very large, or to be very ugly, or to be very strong, he was called “troll”. And when the Scandinavians discovered black people… they called them “trolls” too. Basically whenever a human was seen as “out of the ordinary”, but usually in a not very good way, he was also seen as a troll, which was basically a form of negative exaggeration of things – and this paints to us the picture of the large, ugly brute we will see later appear in folklore.

But while I described above the various incarnations of the “trolls” in the Scandinavian folklore(s), there are many other folkloric species and beings that I did not describe – but that are considered to be related to the trolls, sometimes even said to be sub-species of trolls, or just trolls by other names (further establishing a parallel between the Scandinavian “troll” and the British “fairy/fair folk” as umbrella terms for supernatural folkloric beings). I could have talk of the hulder, huldra or hulderfolk, of the nisse and the tomte, of the skogsra or the nokk, or even of the trow…

[evolutionsvoid]

When it comes to different classes of magic, their image and reputation is almost more widely known then their actual abilities. The common layperson may not know the true extent of a pyromancer's skills, but they will confidently say that they are hotheaded individuals with a passion for arson. It often does not matter what these magic users can bring to the table, as the public image of their group easily glosses over these benefits. A necromancer may be able to summon the spirits of murdered victims to help track down a vicious killer, but such details will not save them from being run out of every town they visit. These views are not exclusive to human magic, as other races deal with the same exact phenomenon. In dryad society, the art of Lichenmorphy took a huge hit after the reign of the Yellow Queen. The cruelties and deaths that came from her magic caused many dryads to fear this art and wonder if another would take her place. In time, however, these views came to pass, but not all magic classes are so lucky. While the Lichenmorphists regrew in popularity, the Gall Hags have yet to see such a bounce back, and many believe they never will. While the title of "Gall Hag" is widely used amongst all species, it is not the true name of this magic class. The actual name of these magic users is "Entomatr," a more fitting and dignifying title than the one the public has given them. Though Entomatres fight to have this name used more commonly, the masses have, unfortunately, made up their minds. The powers of the Gall Hags come mainly from insects, though their art can delve into other small organisms. They utilize something they call "Swarm Magic" to communicate and control a multitude of bugs. This is achieved through magically altered chemicals and pheromones that their bodies create and release, using them to guide these insects with surprising precision. Despite their ease in summoning swarms on command, these acts are not created on the spot. Gall Hags can only control insects or other organisms that they have studied and attuned themselves to. They must encounter these creatures and become knowledgeable in every aspect of them. To do this, it requires a long time of observing, which can include touching, smelling and occasionally tasting. It is not uncommon to see a Gall Hag toss a new bug species into their mouth for a quick taste, releasing it unharmed after they have gotten "all the flavors figured out." This intensive study is necessary, as it is how they adapt their magic to best communicate with the particular species. How long these study sessions last and how efficient they are depends upon the expertise of the Gall Hag. Beginners to the craft will spend days learning the ins and outs of one specific species, while an expert can inspect one specimen for a few minutes and then fluently communicate with that species and others that are closely related to it. Though their ability to summon and control swarms of insects is impressive, it is not the only thing Gall Hags are famous for. The way they incorporate their art into their bodies is astonishing to some and utterly repulsive to quite a few more. Since their magic relies on knowledge of specific insects and a healthy population to control, these magic users have decided that the most efficient way to keep these things handy is to carry them on their own person. They willingly allow their bodies to become hives and nests for a multitude of species, as it keeps their attunement strong and their companions close at hand. Through both the efforts of their guests and their magic, they shape their bodies to best host these colonies. Flesh is expanded and hardened, cysts are formed and many other bodily functions are altered to insure that the newcomers have the best setup while minimizing the harm that comes to the willing host. As their career in this art continues and their powers grow, it soon gets hard to tell the dryad from the hive, as they have allowed their bodies to be fully consumed by the multitude of minions. Newcomers to the art will often carry their own insects in bottles, pouches or travel-sized hives, but "true" practitioners of this magic scoff at this half-hearted devotion and claim that infestation is the only way to truly understand. Though the sight of a full-fledged Gall Hag may be unsettling to quite a few dryads, it is a process that is painless and also beneficial in some regards. With a living hive built into their flesh, Gall Hags can summon helpers in an instant and will rarely be caught unarmed. With them becoming one with these colonies, these bugs can now serve as their eyes and ears, giving them the ability to perceive everything around them and making ambush nearly impossible. With the more bugs that live in their body, the less the dryad has to rely on orally consuming nutrients, as their body can nourish itself on food the hives gather themselves, the carcasses of fallen brethren and the waste their insects may defecate. These colonies can also serve as personal defense against both outside attackers and internal health issues. Diseases, parasites and unwanted infections can be warded off by the help of these insects, and they can alert their host if something is amiss. Though gnarled and feeble looking, Gall Hags can live longer than their fellow sisters, though some may wonder if it is worth it for such a cost.  

With swarms at their side and in their bodies, the abilities of the Gall Hags are quite interesting. The most obvious use of this power is to summon legions of biting and stinging insects to scare off foes, but its uses do not stop there. Attuned to their fellow brethren, they can send individuals out to scout the area or spy on foes, giving them crucial information with hardly any worry of detection. Others rarely think twice about the annoying fly or the cluster of pestering gnats, unaware that these could be listening in to their conversations and plans. Even non-violent insects can be of use, as a swarm of locusts against a field of crops can diminish the resources of a settlement, causing long-lasting damage throughout a siege or invasion. While Gall Hags have their powers focused on insects and other creepy crawlies, they are able to use them to take advantage of other vectors. Such creatures are capable of carrying diseases and fungus, and the Gall Hags take full advantage of such a thing. Spreading plague through a populace or wilt through a farm field is possible, all they need are the right bugs and the right materials. This is also why Gall Hags tend to have fungal infections on their bodies, as this is another welcome invader that they have wrangled with the help of their insect roommates. By carrying a multitude of species in their bodies, the possibilities can be endless. The discovery of a new species is monumental to a Gall Hag, and they will be quick to incorporate it into their bodies once they find a use for them.     Though the list of powers mentioned above focus upon war and sabotage, the role of the Gall Hags are often not meant for violence. It is believed that these magic users first came to be for helping purposes, only incorporated into combat once their potential was realized. In a dryad settlement, a Gall Hag can bring many benefits. Their knowledge can be used to combat disease and parasites that may plague their sisters, and carrying the right predator species can help devour pests that attack homes and crops. At times these magic users were called "Blight Eaters" as they often found that the best way to rid another dryad of fungus or parasite is presenting themselves as a better option. One could watch as the infection or infestation literally crawled out of their bodies and attached itself to the Gall Hag instead. Though they now carried this sickness, their bodies were quite capable of containing it or taming it when needed. Studies and experiments with specific insects also allows Gall Hags to breed and design their own species, creating a whole variety of new helpers. They can make new pollinators for a failing crop, harmless burrowers to check on the health of trees and dryads alike, fast fliers for speedy messages and observation, rapid growing grubs for a new, quick food source and much more. For anyone in need, the local Gall Hag can provide, and many towns can benefit from their abilities. Despite this, one will rarely find one of these magic users in the settlement. Instead you will have to seek them out in the wilds, where they live as hermits. Turns out that while folk love the bounty Gall Hags can create, very rarely does anyone actually want to see them. 

Non-dryads tend to describe the Gall Hags as "dryad witches," or "the witchcraft of dryad magic." These comparisons, however, are quite faulty, as the magic class of witchcraft is not contained to only humans. Due to witches drawing their powers and spells from potions and brews instead of internal energy, any individual of any race is capable of becoming a witch. Even then, the Venoness are a more fitting comparison, as they use concoctions and toxic brews to fuel their own magic, much like a witch. Though technically a false statement, there is a reason behind the comparison. The similarities are not between their magic abilities, but instead are between the reputations and stigmas both classes are given. Though Gall Hags can use their powers to heal and help, many dryads are terrified and disgusted by these magic users. The sight of them alone is repulsive to many, and the idea of having insects burrow through one's flesh is horrifying. Since they tend to carry a multitude of pests, parasites and diseases in their bodies, many settlements view them as walking plagues. If a Gall Hag is nearby and a business is suddenly besieged by flies and roaches, the blame is quick to fall on the traveling hive. Any sudden bouts of sickness and infestation will result in the local Gall Hag being immediately accused, and healing this will rarely mitigate the damage. Due to their infested bodies, Gall Hags are often banned from the sacred burial groves. They cannot visit these places or be buried there, in fear of their nasty collection getting out and infesting the area. Some places may allow one to be buried there if they agree for their bodies to be dipped in a powerful poison to kill off these internal insects prior to burial, but most Gall Hags view this concept as the ultimate betrayal. They would rather let their carcass fall on the barren rock than murder their friends in such a heartless fashion. Due to this treatment, many Gall hags are recluses who prefer to be alone with their insect friends. A nice little home out in the middle of nowhere is just fine for them, as long as there are plenty of bugs around. Some may be nomadic, traveling from place to place in order to find work and new species to study. The deeper they delve into this art, the more they fall away from socializing with others. Be it dryads or non-dryads, they don't find much interest in them, as they are noisy, whiny and quite judgmental. Talk with a Gall Hag and you will find them to be quite distracted during the conversation, often talking aloud to somebody else or busy checking on the status of their numerous colonies. Those who disrespects their hives or kills insects in their company will quickly earn their ire, resulting in you getting thrown out or attacked by a furious swarm. Most of the time it is best to leave a note at the door if you desire their help, as the Gall Hag will probably appreciate not being bothered. They will help if you can pay or provide suitable compensation, just keep the useless conversation to a minimum and don't stress out their hives. Though a good chunk of Gall Hags can be shy and reclusive, there are those out there who have used their art for darker purposes. Though few in number, their atrocities are one of the stronger reasons why dryads fear the Gall Hags. It is the same story for the witches, as their healing and aid is overshadowed by those who have grown vengeful and cruel. The same abilities that can pull disease from one's body and provide food for many can also be used for horrific things. Tales of voracious black rot, limb-eating termites, mind-controlling wasps, lobotomizing weevils and disfiguring beetles can be found in tomes of the past, stories of fiction and minds of the paranoid. Which of these tales are fact or fiction is unknown, but very few wish to find out. Rumors and scary stories of twisted Gall Hags can be found in many villages, often whispered in the dark. Some claim that there are wealthy Floral Dryad families who have Gall Hags in their employ. They use these infested creatures to spy on other families, sabotage competitors, keep themselves youthful and occasionally carve out the pesky thinky parts of their servants and prisoners to make them more obedient. Gall Hags often show up in spooky tales for saplings, used like an evil witch to prey upon the naughty and misbehaving. Those that turn vicious may target dryad, human or anyone that angers them. Why this happens is always up to debate, and many never know even after the wretched creature is burned to ash. Some claim it is the bugs devouring their brain and driving them mad, while others suggest that they grow so fond of their colonies that they cease to view dryads and others as equals. Perhaps the hate and fear they face everyday may have caused them to snap, but such an idea is often hushed. No one ever wants to take credit for making the monsters that haunt their nightmares. ----------------------------------------------------------- Man, I am posting a lot of green stuff as of recently. I got to add some new colors to some of these things! Also, here is another dryad magic class! This is probably an icky one for a lot of folk, but it was an idea I couldn't pass up!

[smashskate]

Jackie Jett - For @thesimsters-stories​‘s Love Island

“Well damn! I’m Jackie, and I can control the weather!”

Name: Jackie Jett

Age: 26

Location: Del Sol Valley

Occupation: Weather Reporter

Traits: Non-Committal, Ambitious, Outgoing

Aspiration: World-Famous Celebrity

Skills:

Charisma: 8

Wisdom: 6

Dancing: 4

Acting: 4

Bio: 

Introducing Jacqueline “Jackie” Jett, the semi-famous Weather Reporter on the Del Sol Valley Network, Channel 7. With hair about as big as her ego, Jackie is known for being loud, proud, and... another word that ends in -oud. Give us a bit to think of one, and we’ll get back to you. 

Jackie grew up in the suburbs of Del Sol Valley, with her parents and two older brothers. She excelled in school, graduating Valedictorian of her class and getting accepted into Foxbury Institute’s Specialized Biology program. It’s safe to say that years of success definitely boosted her opinion of herself, which was struck down a few notches when the job market tightened up as soon as she graduated. Jobs in her field were hard to come by, and Jackie was feeling down on her luck. One day while shopping with her bffs, she was approached by a man who she assumed to be a model scout. It turned out to be Victor Price, one of the producers at DSVN, who offered her a spot as their new weather reporter. With the show’s viewer count draining as online news becomes the new craze, Jackie’s appearance is possibly the only thing holding the studio together at this point, and she knows it.

While Jackie does have some brains on her, her most admirable trait are her wits. She’s real cunning, and knows how to play the game to come out on top. Unlike some of the other applicants, long-term romance isn’t really Jackie’s thing. She’s much more inclined to one night stands and hookups, and anyone who lasts longer gets their number deleted from her phone. Jackie claims to love this lifestyle, much to her cuffed friend’s dismay. While they think she’s crazy for not wanting to get boo’d up, she thinks the idea of being tied down is absolutely sickening. So why would she apply for a show like Love Island, where the only goal is to find true (or true in terms of reality television) love? (Reason number 1 will shock you!)

Questions:

Briefly describe yourself and your life.

“If you insist, LOL! Alright, my name’s Jackie Jett and I’m 26 years old. If I look familiar, it’s probably because you’ve seen me on DSVN, during the 8am time slot, 9 on weekends. Shameless plug, I’m the hottest weather girl in the hottest city in the west! Sure, the job’s a bore at times and I really only got hired for my looks and not my now-useless biology degree, but it pays well and I get a lot of time off to do the things I actually enjoy! I’m not actually as dumb as I come off to our viewers. I’m college educated! Although, it doesn’t really matter much at the moment, so I figured why not have fun where I am now? Also yes, I’m a natural redhead. Anyone that tells you different is a disgusting liar.”

Any Hobbies?

“My hobbies pretty much only consist of me going out and getting drunk. But it’s not that bad! I’ve always been a party girl, since high school even. There’s nothing more fun than going to a nightclub and letting your inhibitions run wild for a few hours! And if I can witness some celeb drama happen live before I hear about it at the studio the next morning, that's always a plus.”

How long have you been single?

“Well, that depends on what you define a relationship as, doesn't it? If you’re talking about any kind of romance, than I’m technically never single. I’m just never with the same person! If you define it as a romantic, long term relationship, then not since freshman year of college. And I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much. I love to have my options open.”

Why did your last relationship end?

“Again, if we’re talking longer term, he wanted to get more serious and I realized that it just wasn’t what I was looking for. I was 19 and I still wanted to experience so much before getting cuffed. He really didn't take it well, so kinda safe to say I dodged a bullet on that one.”

What are you looking for in a relationship?

“If I had to be in one? I would want the other person to know and respect that I’m not going to be tied down for the rest of time. The whole “open relationship” thing is a standard I like to set with my long term hookups, and I would like that to apply here as well. Also, they should be hot. I’ve been with every type of guy you can think of, but I’ve got standards. I like em sexy, who can blame me? I promise, if I get on the show I’ll try to restrain myself. Keyword try. Also generally don't be a dick. Just because I’ve been with a lot of men doesn't mean I’m less deserving of respect. Any guy that thinks differently goes out the door, sorry not sorry. Oh, did you know that I have Demi Lovato’s phone number? We’re, like, basically besties.”

What are you not looking for in a relationship?

“By this point in the interview I think it’s pretty obvious the one thing I’m super not looking for, LOL! But other than that, I’m open to a lot! Just depends on who’s asking.” *winks* “I’m really not territorial, but if any of the women try to shame me for my lifestyle, I’m not afraid to get my claws out. Women are supposed to support women, I’m not tolerating any bullshit.”

Something else we should know about you?

“Okay, I guess this is where I come clean. Well, to the producers at least. So, basically, for the last few months, our shows ratings and viewership have been dropping. Our analytics team looked into it, and we’re pretty sure it’s because of that Simstagram News update. Instead of watching the actual news, people are going there because it’s quicker and easier to get info. So one day, Victor comes up to me and is all like “I’ve got an idea and I need your help”, which is already fishy because that’s basically code for “I need to use your looks to get the show traction”. So I go into his office and he brings up the Love Island Application. And, like, at first I’m hesitant because I work in showbiz, right? I know how reality tv stars get perceived by the public. But then I realized that if the studio tanks, I’ll no longer have a job, which like, major bummer. So I say yes!

In the end, I’m here to stir up drama and look cute on camera, all as bait for people to come and watch live news. Of course, I get the added benefit of a longer segment on the show, and a boost in Simstagram followers! So it’s really a win-win! Honestly, I probably would have applied anyway, if I had seen the casting call before Victor showed it to me. A bunch of hot guys, hookups, and more drama than a Kardashian-Jenner Simstagram comment section? That’s basically my dream life! And hey, who knows? Maybe I’ll finally get a tan!”

Some fun facts:

Please, make more That 70′s Show references when you meet her. She’s never heard them before. You’re so original, oh my gosh.

She’s allergic to shrimp. Makes for a downer at fancy parties.

She doesn’t tan, just burns. Curse her Irish heritage.

She played volleyball in college. She was pretty good at it, but almost broke her nose, which cause her to quit out of fear of getting a nose job.

She’s definitely a B list celebrity. No, don’t look it up. The internet is full of misinformation. You can’t trust anything.

She watched Mr.Robot and now has tape over her webcam. Sincerest apologies to her FBI agent. He/She’s missing a lot.

She’s a secret drama nerd. She can’t sing for the life of her, but she did the occasional play when she was younger.

Although her brothers know she can make her own decisions, they’re still super protective. They’re like 6ft+ guard dogs that Jackie sicks on any man that harms her.

She's got a tattoo of a ladybug. She won't tell you where, you’ll just have to find out for yourself ;)

Despite her complaining, her and Victor are pretty close. They have that sibling type bond. Only if one sibling was able to fire the other.

[politicalmamaduck]

as certain dark things are to be loved

Lady Rey, Master of the Knights of Ren, makes a choice. She chooses Ben Solo. Part 4 of my On the Hunt series and a 2020 @reylofanfictionanthology For One Is Both and Both Are One In Love gift for tropixo (ursaminors); read it on AO3 here.

...

She chased him, hunted him, across the galaxy, only to end up in bed with him on Naboo. 

Lady Rey, Master of the Knights of Ren, had trained without ceasing since Snoke found her on Jakku. She honed her skills, feasting on anger and others’ fear as if they were the finest Coruscant delicacies.

She prepared for this assignment diligently. She learned all about Ben Solo, Jedi turned smuggler. His family legacy followed him, haunted him almost as desperately as she had. She wanted to please her Master by bringing him Ben Solo--either in chains or his head.

But the tables had turned as if in a cantina brawl, for which he was famous. The artificial gravity gave out, just like the Millennium Falcon’s hyperdrive. 

He had bested her in combat twice before they met again in Theed. This time, instead of fleeing from her, he invited her to join him for what she thought would be a temporary truce. A negotiation, perhaps. She let her guard down and joined him.

He made her dinner, told her about Naboo’s history and his own family’s connection to the villa in which he was staying. He invited her to stay. 

She stayed.

Instead of wanting to kill him, she was now desperate for his touch, his kiss. She straddled him as easily as she had fought him just a few days prior. Their movements were just as fluid in bed as they were in battle. An arm here, a leg there. It was not so different, truly, complete with racing hearts and heavy breathing. 

The tone of voice, the way they touched, the moaning with pleasure instead of hissing in pain--that was all different, however. 

Her own vulnerability frightened Rey the most. Snoke never allowed her to be vulnerable. It was a weakness she could not afford. She had missions, assignments, which she executed flawlessly on behalf of the First Order. There had never been any room for error. She made her Master proud. 

Now, she spilled her secrets into a set of delightful ears which she learned to nibble. Her heart opened for the first time, and to someone she had always considered her enemy. 

Someone her Master wanted her to turn to the Dark Side. Or kill. 

She had known they would cross paths again. The Force sang when they fought each other, a wild and frantic accompaniment to their deadly dances. And she would not give up on her mission.

She had dreamed of him more than once since the first time they met; she dreamed about him more times than she wanted to count. In her dreams, their kisses were always tinged with blood. She was never as vulnerable with him in her dreamscapes as she was in reality now. In her dreams, she was always in control, getting what she wanted from him without giving away her heart and soul. 

Perhaps she didn’t always want to have to be perfectly controlled, the perfect apprentice to her Master. Ben had told her she had more choices than she wanted to admit. He had told her she’d have to follow him across the stars, to keep chasing him to the ends of the galaxy. 

He was right, in more ways than one. She finally forced herself to admit it. 

She stood on the balcony and looked out at the stars, the shining moon, and wondered when their idyll would have to come to an end. 

She also finally admitted to herself that she didn’t want it to. 

Ben came to join her on the balcony, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He kissed and nuzzled her neck. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he mumbled into her skin. “Don’t leave me. Not yet. We can always fly off to another star, together.” 

She sighed. Breaking free of his embrace, she turned to him and placed her hands on his shoulders.

“It’s not that simple, Ben.”

“It could be. If you wanted it enough. The Dark Side wants you to believe that you have to go back to Snoke. But you don’t. You’re intelligent, and capable, and the strongest Force user I’ve ever met. You could be anything you wanted to be, Rey. But you have to want something else. You are more than what Snoke made you. What he wants you to believe.” 

“The Supreme Leader is wise, Ben. He’s taught me everything I know.”

“That’s not true. You raised yourself on Jakku without his help. Taught yourself how to fly, how to speak multiple languages. You wanted something more than being under a master’s thrall. Remember that, Rey. Remember who you are beneath all the anger and hate and lies. Think about this time you’ve spent with me. You don’t hate me, not anymore. I don’t know that you ever really did. I love you, Rey. I want to show you what that means.”

Ben was breathless by the time he finished. He looked down at his feet, sighed, and ran his hands through his hair. 

Rey didn’t know what to say, or how to react; her heart was racing, as she was sure Ben’s was too. He was right that she wanted something more when she was growing up all alone on Jakku. She didn’t want another master, certainly not one like Unkar Plutt. Or the Supreme Leader, for that matter. She had never imagined a significant other or life partner, however, and had no examples of healthy relationships to follow. She had never seen a happy couple. Or a couple at all, honestly. She had no relationships of which to speak. She never imagined another being could take her breath away the way Ben Solo had, that anyone would love her and want to run away with her. 

All she could think about was how much she wanted to make love to him again. 

So she took a step forward, opening herself to him in the Force as she moved to him. Their bond had been a complication, previously. She didn’t want him in her head; she hadn’t wanted him to know her intimately or to use their connection to know her movements.

But now, it was an asset, enhancing their pleasure while they entwined and whiled away the hours exploring one another’s bodies. 

They had not yet fully explored each other’s minds. Or hearts. Or souls. 

But she wanted to. She truly wanted to. 

So Rey, Master of the Knights of Ren, apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke, made her choice. She chose Ben Solo, and a lifetime of opportunity, without a master to castigate her for her perceived weaknesses. She chose to be weak and vulnerable in the way it mattered most, in the way she assumed others had struggled since time immemorial. Love had changed her, caused her to make choices she had never considered possible before.

She reached for Ben’s face, and stroked his cheek. Though she could not see it, her eyes were shining in the darkness and starlight. 

She pulled him down for a kiss. 

Neither of them could have stated how long they kissed before she took his hand and pulled him towards their bed in the massive Naboo estate. 

Varykino was paradise, but they hadn’t seen much of it in favor of seeing each other naked as much as possible. 

Their clothing was quickly abandoned, the bedsheets were quickly rumpled, and they quickly forgot their troubles while they drowned in each other.

[wknc881]

CLASSIC REVIEW: THE GERMS- GI

BEST TRACKS: Communist Eyes, We Must Bleed, Manimal, Lexicon Devil, Richie Dagger’s Crime

  By the time the Ramones had condensed rock and roll into its brattiest possible unit, punk’s death was already long set in motion. Though “punk rock’ was not a magical intervention by a sympathetic God tired of listening to Fleetwood Mac, the ultimate cultural amalgam that became the genre’s first (and arguably “purest”) wave burned incredibly hot and equally fast.  And all by design, of course. So if one were to grab their leather studded microscope to set distinct barriers within punk’s seemingly never-ending canon, the Ramones’ first “1,2,3,4!”s at CBGB are finalized through the Darby Crash’s 1980 suicide. Through his band, the Germs, Crash brought punk’s ethos to the end of its first crescendo by making it harder, faster, and, most importantly, without any apparent control. Though the rise of hardcore punk following the Germ’s demise was faster and harder by technical standards, this was a controlled catharsis.  In fact, the highly disciplined blasts of noise made famous through bands like Minor Threat, 7 Seconds, and Rollins-fronted Black Flag, were at least partially in response to punk’s initial reputation of being so decadently caked in debauchery. But whatever catharsis is found within the Germs is chaotic, almost accidental. As the logical conclusion to a genre founded on white-hot excess, they were possibly the most extreme practitioners of debauchery. Their sole studio album, “GI”, is an absolute mess of feedback-riddled guitars, frantic drumming, and incoherent snarls of anti-authority.  It is every promise of punk rock fulfilled, and because of that “GI” is a horrifying record. By the time it’s thirty minutes are up, you realize that this is it. As Darby Crash burned out in a wild thrash against every perceived establishment, so did the first wave of punk rock.

  Jan Paul Beahm was born in Venice, California in September 1958.  Moving to West LA by the late 60s, Beahm’s troubled childhood was patterned with episodes like his brother’s drug overdose/murder, his mother’s frequent bouts with psychosis, and the abrupt death of his stepfather.  An avid reader, Beahm was enrolled in Innovative Program School, an LA alternative high school which combined Erhard Seminars Training and Scientology. It was here that Beahm met Georg Ruthenburg, and the two frequently took LSD on campus.  Fearing that the boy’s increasing novelty as spaced out cult-esque figures within the school was brainwashing other students, Beahm and Ruthenburg were kicked out of IPS before graduation. They decided to form an incredibly raw, amateur band in the vein of proto-punk acts like the Stooges or MC5 and began purposefully recruiting unskilled musicians for their chaotic project. Eventually settling on the name “Germs” (after others proved too long and therefore expensive to print on T-Shirts), Beahm and Ruthernburg became Bobby Pyn and Pat Smear, respectively.  After being joined by bassist Lorna Doom and drummer Donna Rhia, the Germs recorded their first single, “Forming”, a minute and a half pounding, meandering expulsion in 1977. Soon after, Bobby Pyn was rechristened Darby Crash, and the Germs began their infamous circuit within LA’s burgeoning punk scene.

  Crash, the clear frontman of the group, would spend shows loaded on booze, painkillers, and heroin while babbling his song’s lyrics seemingly everywhere but the microphone (which apparently had to be taped to his hand at one point).  But it was punk; the Germs embodied a pure disorder that LA’s underground was craving by the late 70s. Live performances were often violent, with Crash frequently confronting members of the audience while stumbling about, rarely confident in his ability to stand.  Eventually, the band’s notoriety blacklisted them from every club in the city, forcing them to perform under the moniker GI (Germs Incognito). And perhaps not coincidentally, this also was the name of their first/last studio album; a record which has now been bestowed a legendary status for fans of punk akin to “Never Mind the Bollocks” or “Damaged”.  For an LA who had only witnessed the germs through their increasingly messy live performances, 1979’s GI was a moment of clarity that forced every listener to sit back for a second and think “holy shit these guys are actually talented musicians”. Smear was finally given a stasis upon which he could clearly show off his incredibly tight and fluid guitar playing, while Crash’s songs could actually be consumed as, well, songs.  But what was most surprising were Crash’s lyrics which, up until the recording of GI, were largely impossible to comprehend through hectic live shows. Under his dyed hair, broken teeth, and skin often sliced by glass on stage, he was a poet obsessed with his own inevitable destruction. At once, it became clear that Darby Crash knew he was the final fetid breath escaping his movement; he knew his anarchy was destined to end soon.  And it did. After GI’s recording, the Germs found it even harder to perform live within the city, as the LAPD would often come to violently disband crowds which they saw on the edge of a riot. Crash appeared to know the Germs were not sustainable, becoming increasingly removed from the band before purposefully administering himself a fatal dose of heroin December 7, 1980. LA’s most notorious punk band was over. Don Bolles, the band’s final drummer, went on to join a handful of other LA punk bands while Pat Smear eventually joined Nirvana, as a touring guitarist, and the Foo Fighters, as a full-time member.  

  Musically, it can be hard to differentiate between every track on GI.  Within each two-minute snot-fest one will find a crispy guitar, loose and pounding drums, and a Darby crash snarl (of course!). But the third, fourth, or maybe fifth time scratching your head while attempting to consume this spoiled rotten album will elucidate a surprising amount of depth. For instance, “Manimal” opens with a simple yet devastating Smear riff which sounds akin to early Black Sabbath, demanding attention while Doom’s fat, rounded bass acts as an anchor before dissolving into Crash’s fiery yelps.  “Manimal” also contains Crash’s most explicit recognition of his otherness and ultimate destiny outside of civilization with “I came into this world/Like a puzzled panther, waiting to be caged/but something stood in the way, I was never quite tamed”. “Lexicon Devil”, the groups most well-known song, is revamped with a new penchant for barreling speed, with a four-chord, percussive guitar lead doubling Crash’s cultish growls which entice the listener to surrender to the Germs and all of their promised damage in lines like I’m a lexicon devil with a battered brain And I’m lookin’ for a future, the world’s my aim

So gimme, gimme your hands, gimme, gimme your minds”.  “Richie Dagger’s Crime”, probably more playful than any other track, is shockingly optimistic.  Smear’s crunchy, aggressively uncompressed blues leads weave between Crash’s sputtered autobiography of a boy who exists purely to rebel against every person he meets. “We Must Bleed” is the Germs’ most concentrated display of their inherent bend towards deconstruction, is a simple four-chord descent into nothingness which holds both the beginning and end of the Germs within it.  The song goes longer than its peers, though Bolles drums become quickly resigned to a tribal thump which Crash spouts “We Must Bleed” over and over again. As it thuds on, the song destroys everything around it, and when even the air begins to fall around Darby Crash he begins to bellow “I want out now!” as his band becomes looser and rattles into oblivion.  Crash runs out of things to destroy, and in the terror that follows he realizes that the only thing left to fall is his own body.

  The Germs existed for only five years.  But in their attempts to become the most vicious and unhinged bands in Los Angeles they cemented a legacy as the final, and brightest, flame of 1970s rock music. After a culmination of disenfranchisement, drugs, and snottiness birthed punk in New York, a trajectory was set that could have only ended with the Germs.  And through GI, the germs have left a permanent record upon a movement which was dangerously close to only witnessing them in their brief shenanigans while still on this Earth. In my opinion, Darby Crash is the unheralded king of the punks, and GI is the contract which bestowed his domain.

-Cliff Jenkins

[xinternationalculture]

Contemporary Architectonics; or, Bespoke Frankenstein

1.

Three stories—two literary, one folkloric.

First story: A novelist, known only as The Writer, leaves behind his life’s work, “The Book of the Grotesque,” which is unpublished, but read and admired by at least one person.

Second story: A teenager, named Quentin Compson, is admitted to Harvard. The summer before he moves east, his father takes him to visit Miss Rosa Coldfield, an antebellum luminary who insists on telling Quentin about their town’s history.

Third story: A freed slave, working one of the few jobs available to him, becomes famous for the speed in which he hammers holes into rock. Upon noticing a steam-powered drill at the railroad company he’s employed by, he challenges the man tasked with selling them to a contest, and wins.

Example one is the framing device of Winesburg, Ohio. Early modernism, proto-metafiction—whatever one wants to call it, the beauty of the narrative lies in proxy. The Writer is unable to leave his small town, so he creates a character, George Willard, to project his anxieties and ambitions onto. The tenacity of Willard’s inquiries into the lives of his friends and neighbors, and his success in leaving Winesburg, serve to illuminate The Writer’s passivity, and his failure to do so in life. Imaginary achievement distracts from tangible failure.

Example two is the beginning of Absalom, Absalom! Miss Coldfield claims their exchange is for Quentin’s benefit; the southern way of life has been wiped out, thanks to northerners who nonetheless fetishize its history. Maybe he could write a story or an article about it for the magazines and make some money. But Quentin isn’t stupid. Jefferson is still there; it’s Miss Coldfield who fears erasure as a southern Lady. It falls on Quentin’s generation to carry her burden. Yet he’s also carrying his family’s; they’ve sold a large portion of their plantation to pay for his tuition. And his sister’s; she tried to hide an unplanned pregnancy by marrying the town banker—veering so far away from southern ladyhood that she’s run out of Jefferson entirely. A year after he arrives in Massachusetts, Quentin drowns himself in the Charles River.

Example three is the John Henry myth. Like most things concerning the black experience, romanticism belies reality. The holes Henry and his coworkers drilled were for explosives—to blow holes into mountains for railroads. Conditions for steel-driving men were horrible; workers hammered away in decreasing visibility as developing tunnels filled with dust and noxious fumes. Those who didn’t make it were piled into makeshift graves: where John Henry would’ve ended up after dying from exhaustion, in spite of his dignity and strength. Charming, in its luddism.

One person burdened with regret, another with history, another with their place in a society frequently finding ways to render their existence obsolete.

But the point is, none of them are living.

2.

“The novel’s not dead. It’s not even seriously injured.” So said Don DeLillo, roughly ten years before James Wood took to the pages of the New Republic to use Zadie Smith’s White Teeth as a springboard to pillory narrative principles that DeLillo helped canonize. Every generation of writers has to contend with the musings of that era’s critics, and it appears that the mechanisms of modern writing are still trying to address the overabundance of vitality Wood pointed out in “Human, All Too Inhuman.”

Writing stems from the oral telling, but, paradoxically, there are several mediums that perform the function of storytelling more efficiently than speech. One side of contemporary fiction has concrete knowledge usurping emotional intelligence, the result being an overabundance of facts that propel action as if it were a push alert. The backlashes towards this—the formalist revival in poetry, Wood’s “autonomous novel”—seem equally narrow, for changes in consciousness should inherently affect the types of work writers produce.

Recently, an article in the TLS questioned Wood’s range in an era where politics has become more aggressive on street level. All the midcentury geniuses—Trilling, Sontag, Baldwin, McCarthy—were never afraid of parsing out the politics of a novel—or taking a stab at politics outright. Wood couldn’t even implicate himself as a white New Yorker critic, as a Harvard professor on holiday in Italy, in the plot of a Jenny Erpenbeck novel on refugees. What is his utility?

From a practitioner’s standpoint, it’s a fair question, but unduly harsh. James Wood has written cogently on the 2008 financial crisis in relation to the work of Adam Haslett and Jonathan Dee, as well as the effect colonialism has had on ascendent people of color in the context of V. S. Naipaul. And wasn’t it Trilling who compared James to Dreiser, finding the latter utterly inferior—only admired by liberal critics because his subject matter was more useful from a socialist perspective? Utility is not the same as value.

Wood isn’t wrong, just right in the wrong way. His largest sin isn’t gentility; it’s his refusal to let the dead be dead. In harping on realism as our center of gravity, he presupposes that the forms inhabiting realism’s counter-traditions draw strength from it—that our current reality is vital enough for literature to serve as its distillation.

To DeLillo, only the novel is alive, not the society it represents. But of course this is abstract. The novel is an inanimate object; it has no life to speak of. What he meant was that novels should be spacious enough to encompass whatever changes happen within culture, but as a vessel rather than a purifier.

This gets closer to writing’s conservatism, its tutelage by models. All of the novels DeLillo cites as exemplary have been connected to the works of others. JR, by William Gaddis, was rightly linked by the editors of n+1 to Henry Green, while Harold Bloom saw shades of Faulkner in Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian. And it was none other than James Wood who looked at Gravity’s Rainbow, and Pynchon’s work in general, only to throw up his hands, nonetheless acknowledging he was America’s most symbolic writer since Melville.

Writers, subsisting off other writers. Writing, as vessels for other writing. This is the stuff of time capsules. Or coffins.

3.

This past January was the 200th anniversary of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Though gesturing towards Prometheus in its full title, and rhetorically to Paradise Lost, no one would call it a parody. On the contrary, whatever references it draws are cloaked in its story.

Victor Frankenstein begins work on his Creature because of grief; his mother has died of scarlet fever. Eventually, he gets the idea to reanimate dead tissue, and plunders morgues and graveyards for human remains. Miraculously, he succeeds, only to discover what he created isn’t the idyllic image in his head, but a hideous monster. Horrified, Victor leaves, meets up with a friend, goes back to his apartment, only to discover that the Creature has escaped.

It proceeds to wreak havoc on Victor’s life; towards the end of the novel, dying from hypothermia in the North Pole for some reason, he tells the expeditioner who finds him to “seek happiness in tranquility and avoid ambition.” One can’t help but think that ambition is the least of Victor’s problems. For starters, he only feels responsible for his Creature when it insists that he create a companion—someone to spend his life with who understands his personal experience. The fear of a race of hodge-podge bodies overthrowing humanity causes Victor to renege on his promise to do so. Then his solution to the problem is to kill the Creature, which never would’ve been alive in the first place if it weren’t for him.

Victor Frankenstein’s failure is one of stewardship. He failed to give his Creature a fighting chance.

One of the defter choices Shelley makes is Victor refusing to reveal his technique in bringing the dead to life. From a practical standpoint, one cannot elaborate on something that’s impossible; but it also serves as a commentary on Victor’s ego. He makes his creature, then abandons it. His caution is an imposition—of his morality onto our own. The assumption is that every other person who encounters such an ugliness would repeat the same action, but who is he to decide? No matter. We’ll work with what we have.

Victor describes his Creature as having “yellow skin scarcely cover[ing] the work of muscles and arteries beneath…[with] shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.” In other words, its seams are showing.

Victor Frankenstein was of means. Suppose he’d gotten his wits, and cut the creature’s “lustrous black, and flowing” hair to something more respectable—business length. What if afterwards, he decided to take the Creature to a bespoke tailor in Bavaria? The head cutter would’ve fainted, but composed himself after Victor made him an offer, and a good one—large enough to match the eight-foot-tall figure he’d have to contend with. Then, after all of that, suppose Victor releases his creature into the wild. Still ignorant of how it’d be perceived, it’d nonetheless have a normal-enough appearance to blend in, at least until people got up close. Unassuming and subversive, the horror of experiencing the derivative is replaced by the allure of a familiar quality found in a stranger that you can’t quite place, only to have one’s breath taken away at the shock of a revelation.

4.

“In January 1878, a professor of botany named S.A. Rachinsky wrote to [Leo] Tolstoy about what he felt to be ‘a basic deficiency in the construction’ of Anna Karenina, namely that ‘the book lacks architectonics.’” Tolstoy disagreed. “On the contrary,” he replied, “I take pride in the architectonics. The vaults are thrown up in such a way that one cannot notice where the link is.”

A responsible creator, Tolstoy is instructive in his insistence on hiding his structures. But he’s a supreme inventor. The rest of us—working with both the relative pedagogies of MFA writing programs and an increased relativity in what constitutes literature—can learn a lot from Victor Frankenstein’s failures—and Mary Shelley’s identification of them through the camouflaging of her influences.

Discussions these days center around the canon being compromised, and the increasing need to decolonialize it. If we’ve indeed reached the end of the line, and a reshuffling is in order, very well. Let’s take a moment to mourn the dead. But avoiding scavenging their various corpses and attempting to reanimate them seems too much to leave on the table. If one keeps their formulas to themselves, all the better. There are plenty of labs to work in, plenty of codes to crack.

A contemporary architectonics must deal with a history we find abhorrent—a graveyard riddled with dead things—and face our disgust as we rummage for parts suitable enough to suture into large creations. But the next step—Tolstoy and Shelley’s point, and our responsibility as writers and makers—is not to let our Creatures run around naked. Artifice asks not that one aim towards aristocracy; only that your influences be clothed.

Heroism in the novel seemed toxic and unsightly, until Helen Dewitt breathed life into the character of an 11-year-old genius. And the slave narrative, sallow with cliche and stereotype, until Paul Beatty introduced us to a middle-class black man scheming to bring attention to his decertified town by resegregating it. And allegory, dusty and emaciated, until Carmen Maria Machado reappropriated it to apply to the spectral, slow-burn subjugation of women and girls. These are just three examples; doubtlessly, one could think of more. But the point is less about abundance than the activity—about reconciliation as an aesthetic project.

Despite the amount of opinions present, none of this is meant to be prescriptive. Merely, to explore more autonomous forms of creation—less-fraught inquiries of “What have I done?”

___________________

J. Howard Rosier lives in Chicago, where he edits the journal Critics’ Union. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The New Criterion, Kenyon Review, Bookforum, The Believer, and elsewhere. Rosier is the recipient of the James Nelson Raymond Fellowship from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and an Alan Cheuse Emerging Critics Fellowship from the National Book Critics Circle.

[loadkits484]

Telling Lies For Mac

It follows the same structure as developer Sam Barlow’s previous game, Her Story, with a database of video clips that you watch out of sequence—but Telling Lies is bigger and better in every way. Telling Lies will be released Aug. Fishing planet: lucky start pack download for mac. 23 for iOS, Mac, and Windows PC. The game was reviewed on Windows using a final “retail” Steam download code provided by Annapurna Interactive.

Win a Switch and Mario Kart

'Little Lies' is a song by British-American rock band Fleetwood Mac from their fourteenth studio album Tango in the Night (1987). Stormworks: build and rescue for mac. Written by band member Christine McVie and her then-husband, Eddy Quintela, the lead vocals were performed primarily by McVie, although the chorus of the song featured brief solo passages by Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks. Telling lies online, p.10. Telling Lies Online, page 10. Now, let go of Auntie Jamie’s legs and wash your hands while I make my famous mac-n-cheese.” At her.

Win a Nintendo Switch and Mario Kart Home Circuit by voting for our Game of the Year 2020. Just create an account or sign-in and click the hearts on game pages to vote for your game of the year. Read full details.

Posted: A year ago, last updated 7 months ago.

Author:Andy Robertson.

Overview

Telling Lies is from the same developer as Her Story. It's named as an investigative thriller game with non-linear storytelling by the developer. You investigate a murder through a desktop computer interface that lets you access live filmed interviews. This lets you access numerous video clips covering a two-year period for four key characters. But the clips have had a technical issue which has fragmented and muddled them. You must piece together what happened by watching, taking notes and searching for other clips. All the time the clock is ticking as you have a limited time in which to solve the mystery. The novelty is both in the web of lies and deceit you have to uncover but also because this is acted like a Netflix series or TV drama rather than a traditional video game.

Game Details

Rating: PEGI 16+, ESRB MATURE 17+

Release Date: 31/07/2019

Platforms: Mac, Nintendo Switch, PC, PlayStation 4 and Xbox One

Genres:Narrative and Puzzle

Tips

View our choice of games like Telling Lies. This game is good if you want to:

Commitment

Duration: This game will take between 4 hours and 6 hours to complete. Players: This is a single player game. There are three different endings that make it a game worth replaying.

Costs

Does not offer in-game purchases, 'loot boxes' or 'battle/season passes'.

Age Ratings

This game has been rated ESRB MATURE 17+.

This game has received a PEGI 16 because it features strong violence and use of strong language. Not suitable for persons under 16 of years age. The examiners report expands this rating with the following: Violent scenes are rare and include a live action scene where a woman shoots a man in the leg. He falls to the floor, clutching his injured limb and cursing her with obscenities. Blood and the wound itself are not shown. Offensive language and expletives are used often throughout the game and include the words: “*!@?*”, “*!@?*”, “*!@?*”, “*!@?*”, “*!@?*”, “*!@?*”, “*!@?*”, “*!@?*”, “Dick”, and “*!@?*”.

Accessibility

Telling Lies For Mac Shortcut

Accessibility for this game is as follows:

System Settings

Nintendo Switch has some built-in features, including a lockable zoom, that can be used on all games. Windows has extensive accessibility features. Some, like colour correction, work with games. Lots of accessibility software can be used with PC games, from voice recognition to input device emulators. PlayStation 4 has a range of accessibility settings. Some are system only, some work in games (invert colours and button mapping). Xbox One has a system features, the excellent co-pilot share controls mode and adaptive controller support for all games.. read more about system accessibility settings.

Games Like Telling Lies

The following games are like Telling Lies. They address a similar topic or offer a similar way to play. They are good options to play next and also good alternatives to Telling Lies for younger age ratings.

A Mortician's Tale

Elsinore

Lake

Love - A Puzzle Box Filled with Stories

Bury Me My Love

Telling Lies For Mac Osx

Outer Wilds

198x

Aviary Attorney

Editor's Choice

Penrose

Another Lost Phone

Firewatch

Five Dates

Her Story

Return of the Obra Dinn

Photographs - Puzzle Stories

Rainswept

Twelve Minutes

Thank you for using our resource, supported by AskAboutGames, ParentZone and PlayAbility Initiative. We are editorially independent, written by parents for parents, but welcome sponsorship, partnership and suggestions. Email our editor for details on these opportunities. The information on this database is designed to support and complement the in-depth discussion and advice about video game 'addiction', violence, spending and online safety in the Taming Gaming book. If you have any concerns or questions in these areas, email our editor who is quick to respond or can arrange for a one-to-one conversation.

YouTube | Facebook | Twitter | Discord | Contact | About

Examples Of Lying In Lying

1915 Words | 8 Pages

beings have been lying and according to a study by Bella M. de Paulo et al. on the average every person lies once to twice a day. There are of course all kind of motivations behind a lie, for example people lie to give themselves an advantage or to avoid getting in trouble, when they did wrong. No matter what the intention of lying is, we can all admit that we do it, some more frequently than others, some do it habitually and some of us only as a last resort. The practice of lying can be approached

Effects Of Lying On Lying

867 Words | 4 Pages

Lying is to speak falsely with intent to deceive. Many individuals get caught out lying, whether the lie may be big or small. Everyone lies, no matter how honest they may seem. It is unavoidable in human nature. Journalists are commonly known for lying or bending the truth to get more viewers and to engage the audience. This essay will discuss how journalists have lied about their experiences and how they reacted when they were caught out. Lying about an experience that occurred is bad enough,

Lying Is A Bad Side Of Lying

980 Words | 4 Pages

Most of the people always think that lying is bad. For centuries, philosophers and theologians have characterized lying as unethical (Levine & Schweitzer, 2014). Similarly, ethics scholars have argued that the honesty is a critical component of moral character and it is also a fundamental aspect of the ethical behavior. Some lies are perceived to be more ethical than an honest statement. Prosocial lies are intended to benefit the target and have small or substantial consequences (Levine & Schweitzer

Lying About Lying

804 Words | 4 Pages

I Believe That It's Okay to Not Be Okay Has anyone ever asked you if you were okay? The answer to that is probably yes, but the real question is have you ever lied about it? Have you ever been scared if people knowing you aren’t okay, knowing you're hurting on the inside? I have.It’s the fear of someone finding your weaknesses and poking at it until it’s the only thing on your mind. For some people they get their strength from other people's weakness. I shut people out. I push them away. There

The Morality Of Lying

798 Words | 4 Pages

there are a number of reasons and circumstances that seems that telling lies is good thing. In this essay I will firstly explain what morality is. Define moral relativism and moral egoism. Finally I will use both theories to discuss the morality of lying.What is Morality? Morality defined in Baker Encyclopedia of Christian Apologetics from Dr. Norman Geisler, 'First, a morale duty is a good in itself (an end), not merely good as a means. Further, it is something that we ought to pursue, a duty. Morality

Is Lying Wrong?

1373 Words | 6 Pages

Lying is an open ended idea as to what is and what it is not. Lying is one of the most common acts that we carry out, it’s an unavoidable part of human nature. Mr. Wells asked on the very first day of class the big question, “Is lying wrong?” Some students in the class say yes, others say no. He continually asked the question from time to time throughout the semester and some student’s answers probably changed from the first time he asked. Whether lying is wrong or not is an ongoing ethical argument

The Dangers Of Lying

798 Words | 4 Pages

point for whatever reason it may have been. Lying while an easy way to get out of trouble or save someone’s feelings should only be used in certain situations. Lying causes loss of trust, double standards, and should only be used by the military. Lying seems to be something done by most of the population without even thinking twice about it but the fact is it causes confusion as who can be trusted. In “It’s the truth: Americans conflicted about lying”, a mother said,” it’s the easy trap of a

Argument On Lying

802 Words | 4 Pages

Lying seems so universal, but no one can really agree if it’s warranted or not.After reviewing a few opinionated and factual articles on lying, the opinionated conclusion is lying is almost always never justified unless it is to protect someone from getting hurt. In “A Philosopher On Lying”, by Mary Alder, a philosopher named, Immanuel Kant, has his perspective on lying as, “Don’t tell someone a lie, Kant said, because then you are not treating that person with respect, as an individual.”.This statement

Kant On Lying

722 Words | 3 Pages

Immanuel Kant, a philosopher who has strong opinions against lying has puzzled many critical thinkers in philosophy. Kant creates a troubling situation on where a murderer is at the door asking whether or not the victim, he or she is looking for is hiding and whether are not one should lie or tell the truth about the victim’s current hiding spot. An individual has a sense of inclination to do what is right, however Kant is acknowledging that if one does testify where the victim is then one is surely

Pathological Lying

1024 Words | 5 Pages

Pathological lying is a behavior of habitual or compulsive lying. Induvial are aware they are lying but begging to believe they are telling the truth over time. We see this specifically with the main character Lonnie. Lies are obstacles that harm one’s internal states of life which makes one unable to communicate with others. Was lying going to sharpen his and his wife’s relationship, make his addiction go away of even make his past come back? Lies are used to avoid hurting others and the relationships

Page123456789…50

[queerstorypodcast]

Transcript of Episode 1

Episode 1: Queering the Word

Welcome to QueerStory Podcast, where we will explore LGBTQ history and the reclamation generation of Queers. I am oso, and I have trimmed a lot of weed while listening to a lot of podcasts to get to this point.

 As we know history is written by the hetero-cis society, white dominated society, the Eurocentric, the state, the police, the priests. That melange of half-truths, lies, and manipulations is not what you will find here.

 Queerstory is the history they try to erase, the history they keep off the census, the history they alter and colonize. We are the living queer stories who will not be erased. Welcome to this podcast!

 Today I want to explore the reclamation of the word Queer and the movements towards and away from it. The history of the words we reclaim.

 Let’s talk about these words. If some of them are triggering for folks: here’s your trigger warning!

 Take care of yourself, we care about you. If you are an elder who lived through this: THANK YOU. Thank you for paving the way, for moving the movements, for taking the hits and continuing on. If you want to interview or share your personal stories please email: ____ I would love to honor your experiences.

 According to the online etymology dictionary the word Queer can be found as far back as 1500. An adjective from Scottish, and perhaps originally low German, to describe something as “strange, peculiar, eccentric, oblique”. There are origins that link it’s decription from “Old High German” the word twerh meaning “oblique; from the root terkw, meaning “to turn, twist, or wind”. This origin connects the modern english word “queer” with the origin of the modern word “thwart”. Excellent.

 queer (adj.)

c. 1500, "strange, peculiar, eccentric," from Scottish, perhaps from Low German (Brunswick dialect) queer "oblique, off-center," related to German quer "oblique, perverse, odd," from Old High German twerh "oblique," from PIE root *terkw- "to turn, twist, wind" (see thwart (adv.)).

Sense of "homosexual" first recorded 1922; the noun in this sense is 1935, from the adjective. Related: Queerly. Queer studies as an academic discipline attested from 1994.

queer (v.)

"to spoil, ruin," 1812, from queer (adj.). Related: Queered; queering. Earlier it meant "to puzzle, ridicule, cheat" (1790). To queer the pitch (1846) is in reference to the patter of an itinerant tradesman or showman (see pitch (n.1)).

These wanderers, and those who are still seen occasionally in the back streets of the metropolis, are said to 'go a-pitching ;' the spot they select for their performance is their 'pitch,' and any interruption of their feats, such as an accident, or the interference of a policeman, is said to 'queer the pitch,'--in other words, to spoil it. [Thomas Frost, "Circus Life and Circus Celebrities," London, 1875]

In 1812, we find queer being used as a verb, meaning “to puzzle, ridicule, cheat”. This was found within the markets of wandering tradesman who would “queer their sales pitches” to deter policemen or other issues from knowing they were trading on the streets.

Exciting to know that “queering” has roots in confounding the police!!

This innocuous word, that simply meant “strange”, eventually became a slur against homosexuals, all thanks to one over-bearing father.

So, you may have heard of Oscar Wilde, the famous Irish poet, playwright, dandy, and all-around sassy bitch. His influence was further reaching than the gay 1890’s stage and prose sets. The meat of this queerstory is within the gossip. As many listeners may already know, Oscar Wilde had a young lover, Lord Alfred Douglas, or “Bosie” as he was known to friends and family- and dear dandy daddy Oscar.

Their relationship existed within a time when being homosexual was a crime punishable by imprisonment and “hard labour”. Yet, Oscar was a flamboyant creative, able to use his eccentricities to divert attention away from the root cause bing his beautiful gayness, but to his creative spirit. Bosie, on the other hand, was reportedly reckless in his slutty endeavors and flamboyant escapades. Their relationship was tempestuous, Bosie was spoiled by Daddy Oscar, and they even visited gay brothels together, at the request of you Bosie. The villain in this queerstory is Bosie’s father The Marquess of Queensberry (what a name right? I mean… come on) famous for refining the rules of boxing and being the one to fuck Oscar WIlde’s life up forever.

When Papa Douglas found out about his son and Oscar, he confronted the pair a number of times. The most notable being In June 1894, he called on Wilde at 16 Tite Street, without an appointment, and made clear his feelings for the dandy: "I do not say that you are it, but you look it, and pose at it, which is just as bad. And if I catch you and my son again in any public restaurant I will thrash you" to which Wilde responded: "I don't know what the Queensberry rules are, but the Oscar Wilde rule is to shoot on sight" This dude went so far as to publicly post a note about how Oscar was a “sodomite” to which Oscar sued him for libel…. Welll… here’s the thing: you might not want to sue someone for libel when your are very much sodomizing and being super gay with their son. As queerstory shows: this did not turn out well for dear Oscar, Bosie’s father was so unhinged by the thought of a gay sex scandal on the family name as well as wanting to avoid a conviction of libel, he went after Oscar. After a long very public and press-covered trial, Oscar was found guilty of sodomy and gross indecency and sentenced to hard labor and imprisonment.

I say all of this to share that: In 1894 the Marquess of Queensberry was the first person to use the term “QUEER” derogatorily on paper. He referred to Oscar and gay men in general as “queer snobs” in a letter. This of course was devoured by the press and immediately exported to American newspapers and used derogotorally. The American press used it to highlight that homosexuality is “abnormal”. It was specifically used against effeminate gay men.

To Describe the homosexual it was first recorded in 1922, queering it from an adjective to a noun by 1935.

Though gay people of all delineations were forced into closets by the Western puritanical residue of European conquest, there were many words used by gay people themselves to understand their own identities. Radclyffe Hall, the famous lesbian author (The Well of Loneliness) actively identified as an invert, which was an early demonstration of reclamation.

When we use the word Queer now, we are reclaiming it. This began in The U.S. in the 1980s by LGBT folks who likely were sick of words having power over them and who were reeling from the AIDS Plague. During protests at this time people would chant “We’re Here, We’re queer, We won’t live in fear!” In 1990 Queer Nation was formed. A flier was passed around at New York Gay Pride called “Queers Read This” saying:

“Ah, do we really have to use that word? It's trouble. Every gay person has his or her own take on it. For some it means strange and eccentric and kind of mysterious [...] And for others "queer" conjures up those awful memories of adolescent suffering [...] Well, yes, "gay" is great. It has its place. But when a lot of lesbians and gay men wake up in the morning we feel angry and disgusted, not gay. So we've chosen to call ourselves queer. Using "queer" is a way of reminding us how we are perceived by the rest of the world.”

 Around the same time queer film maker Bruce La Bruce was developing New Queer Cinema. The queercore movement, a very gay outcry to punk, was born in the 1980s and exploded in the 90’s with notable bands:___This can be seen as the avant-garde and unapologetic gay answer to the punk movement, queercore expressed the very same discontent with society as the punks were stating.

The word queer was adopted as a personal identifier particularly by queer people of color and eventually began to take on a more politicised meaning. It became a movement. The queer movement rejected causes viewed as assimilationist: marriage and adoption.

Being Queer was a rejection of what we were supposed to be banned from in the first place. Now here’s some music by Lorena and the Bobbitts

Song: We’re Queer - Lorena and the Bobbits

Bump: You’re listening to Queerstory

 Part 2: 

 We are the stories that make up the histories hidden from us, so here’s my relationship to the word queer:

When I was 7 years old I learned a new word. During that time in my life I was learning a lot of new words, the Christian school I attended was pumping many new and appropriate words into our supple young minds weekly. However, this particular word jumped into my body with real movement and instant familiarity.

As a kid I highly identified with being “weird”. Modeling myself after Gonzo from The Muppets.  I am adopted and his story of mysterious beginnings, while looking different from everyone he knows, mirrored mine. Despite being haunted by the space it put between my family and myself, I enjoyed the weird world that swirled inside me. Shit, I enjoyed the space it put between myself and the boring world of Christianity. It made me feel special, though I didn’t know why I should be special. Sure, some moms tell us we’re “special” or “bright” or whatever else to help with our budding self-esteem. But, something about my weirdness gave me the gift of being set apart from everyone else.

I loved being weird. It meant that the world playing inside my head would only enhance the world I was discovering around me. It meant that my thoughts, being weird, were valid and real. It also meant that my shenanigans had legitimate justification.

“Why is that kid peeling a grape, pouring kool-aid all over it, and pretending their eye has popped out?”

“EWWW, and why are they eating it?”

Mom: “Why do you have to shred the skirt of your uniform? You know you have to share it with your sister.”

Why am I always drawing pictures of Catherine and can’t seem to keep my mind off her symmetrical freckles?

Why am I sure I am a boy when everyone insists I’m a girl?

You’re just weird, kid.

Then I learned a new, wonderful, powerful word. This word tasted good in my mouth. Upon learning it, my young mind had no conception of the connotations it carried. I just plain ol’ liked it.

Queer.

The day I learned it was like any other day at school. I recall being in class, doing one of many boredom-busting-class-acceptable activities: scanning the vocabulary pages in the back of my books for words of interest. Usually words like ‘rectum’ and ‘areola’.  I found studying the “holy” bible was only interesting when seeking the scandalous stories about tits and ass.

The day I found the word Queer I remember feeling joy. I needed a word for my weirdness. This word was perfect. Later,  after-school, I was eager to announce my new joy. Clutching my Dixie cup of goldfish crackers I sang out: “I’M QUEER!” to which the older kids laughed and muttered the long list of derogatory associations to this word and this young gay claiming it. A lovely thing then happened, a girl named Jessica Prescott (you don’t forget a kid like this one) put her arm around me and defiantly stated to the jeering masses “You can be Queer if you want to!”.

I had no idea the act of solidarity this other kid offered me. I just thanked her, smugly stuck my tongue out at the haters, and went about my Queer kid business.

I think about this experience and feel comforting warmth inside. Being Queer when I was a kid had a different shape than being Queer any other time in my life. It was not defined by sexuality, but it lent itself to confusing feelings towards my friends at sleepovers and the rage I carried about being disallowed to be a boy. The shape shifted when I was 15 when football players were beating me up by the lockers for “munching carpet”. Later that year, being Queer was a painful shape when my mother outed me by presenting me with the rolled-up-printed-out AOL history revealing my web browsing of gay.com and planetout.com. It morphed again at 19 when I was locked into an abusive lesbian relationship with a woman who hated trans-people and beat me up in my mother’s house for organizing and performing in drag shows. Then at 22 it was an awkward shape as I feared for my safety in Texas, while simultaneously being used by straight women to figure out if they were lesbians.

Being Queer is a shape I can’t hide. It orbits me and is born of me. It is often lonely and isolating. It is glittery, juicy, and clever. It is all I know. It defines my perspective when I open my eyes and take in the world around me. It leads me to the gayborhoods wherever I go, instead of anywhere else.

As a Queer I find joy in the fabulosity I contain, I also carry scars of abuse and abandonment. I don’t think one has to experience traumatic events to be Queer, but I do think that if you have felt the struggle and fear that accompanies it, you value it as a core component to your identity. I never “tried” being Queer. I just am.

Back in the day being called Queer was only derogatory. There was no reclamation of such a term. Some older gay folks still don’t appreciate that we are claiming it, because it hurt them so. To reclaim Queer you must understand that it isn’t flippant. It’s militant. It’s pain being slapped back at the dominant paradigm. It’s claimed with a feeling of reverence and respect for Silvia, Marsha, Divine, and all those who had to be Queer during times of turbulent change to make it so that we can do what we do. We are Queer because we are. We cannot change it, we cannot hide it, and even in the darkest hour we don’t want to hide it because it is beautiful. I ask those who appropriate, to please leave our culture to us. We’re professional ass-eating, cunt-bumping, sounding, dick sucking, fisting, flamboyant, butch, femme, sassy, beautiful people. Admire us, enjoy our art, be our friends.

I was proud to figure out the word Queer was meant for me that day in 2nd grade. I had no idea it was wielded to hurt at times, to isolate, to make fun, to incite violence. I had no idea it meant I’d have delicious desire for others of my gender and of any/all/no gender. I had no idea it meant that it validated my knowledge of being a boy. All I knew is that it meant weird, no one else claimed it, and that it was all mine.

Happy Pride month, be well. 

Tune in Next week for episode 2 : The Godfather of the gays: Magnus Hirschfeld.

Thanks for reading Queer Story! Stay gay, you hotties!

[psychotherapyconsultants]

Uncovering Your Hidden Genius Through Curiosity

Inside every human being is a burning desire to learn and understand the world. And in today’s age of seemingly unlimited information, this thirst for knowledge has never been more important or relevant.

Yet, after trying to fit our fingers in electrical outlets, experimenting with one too many drugs, sending a few more drunk texts than we might like, or barely escaping the danger of our libidos, most of us think we are better off putting a lid on our curiosities. We believe grownups should tighten the reins on their desires, because if they don’t put a lid on them, society slaps one on. Called “The Pandora Effect” or “lust of the eye,” curiosity is often perceived as a threatening and perilous pursuit. In fact, up until the 17th century, it was considered an out-and-out vice. Things changed once English philosopher and scientist Sir Francis Bacon presented and lived out the argument that nothing could truly be known unless it was investigated.

So, what motivates curiosity?

Curiosity is a motivated emotional state and a basic biological drive. By “motivated emotional state,” I mean that you do not have to have a reason to be curious. The need to know and discover is a need in and of itself. As Albert Einstein said, “curiosity has its own reasons for existing.” A hungry mind is the cornerstone of all learning, innovation, and discovery. Steve Jobs did not have a “reason” to study calligraphy at school, but his innate curiosity during his college years paid off down the road once it came time to develop the fonts for Apple computers. Further, Walt Disney attributed his success to a continuous curiosity that drove his company forward. Recent studies show that part of the reason we are curious is that novel things are stimulating and make us want to know more. But curiosity and asking questions can also be part of an organized strategy to learn and grow more in the name of progress. The more curious you are, the more you learn. And the more you learn, the more it stimulates your curiosity. Our brains intrinsically register this progress.

Your brain on curiosity

When we are curious, we stimulate brain regions sensitive to conflict and arousal. And when we satisfy our curiosities, the brain’s reward center activates. That’s why curiosity can make us feel more “alive” — quite literally. People who are more curious live longer.

If you’re looking to reconnect with life and to feel more energized, stop following the instructions of everyone else for a while, and start being more genuine about what you truly want to know. When you give in to your curiosity, you will likely activate memory pathways in your brain that enhance learning — and this is the kind of learning that sticks.

Traditionally, in everyday life, we may indulge our curiosity by trying exotic foods, reading WikiLeaks, or watching reality television to get the scoop on the lifestyles of the rich and famous. However, this form of curiosity does not involve engagement driven by intrinsic curiosity.

Activating your intrinsic curiosity — your ability to chart your own journey and discover things — is what will uncover your hidden genius. This is easier said than done, though. In order to transition from being a passive onlooker, you must have the mentality of a tinkerer. Here are three ways to stimulate your intrinsic curiosity:

1. Quell the Fear that Accompanies Uncertainty.

The first step to activating your curiosity is learning how to manage the fear that comes along with it. As the poet e.e. cummings said, “Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit.” “Believing” in ourselves does not mean that we have to be cheerleaders of our own causes. Rather, there is a biology and psychology of belief — a kind of rule we can adopt with self-talk that shows us something greater and more interesting is possible. To jump-start your curiosity, begin with “possibility thinking” as your guiding principle in life. This is how every scientific hypothesis is generated — so, be the scientist in your own life experiment! Then, explore to accumulate evidence.

2. Wander Through Your Own Brain.

Curiosity is not just about looking outside yourself. You can also wander through your own brain. In fact, when you schedule mind-wandering time into your day, you can improve your creativity and attention. Further, such wandering can also help you understand and push the boundaries of knowledge. To hack this process, if deliberate daydreaming seems too difficult, spend some time in the wild — in a natural setting. One recent study showed that this can turn on the mind-wandering network, allowing your curiosity to be directed inwardly.

3. Make Time for Beautiful Things.

Beautiful things can give us the chills, activating the very connections we need for curiosity. They give us a sense of meaning — and when we feel this sense of meaning, the constraints that thwart curiosity melt away. A piece of art is like a detective story, and when you work out its meaning, you’ve completed one journey of curiosity. So, make a point of having a new, beautiful object or painting near you every week. Change it up.

When all is said and done, curiosity needs to be awakened if you want to put your genius to work. The above three strategies should provide the wake-up call you and your brain have been waiting for.

from World of Psychology https://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2017/04/05/uncovering-your-hidden-genius-through-curiosity/