#its been a while bucko

[ask-bucko]

the gang showing off their costumes! bonus page with cj and flick antics

[snakesinsocks2005]

Very normal and calm about how others perceive my favourite character

Hmmkay so:

Devineaux is Not dumb. Well, he's not *dumb* dumb.

Hes loud, dense, arrogant, stubborn, impulsive, egotistical and obnoxious, yes. But he's not dumb.

He believes things based in hard fact, physical and literal evidence and stone cold logic (atleast in his perspective). A huge factor why it took him so long to understand how carmen wasn't the evil doer she was assumed to be, is because of his very thick brick wall sort of thought process:

'This elusive smug woman is stealing. Stealing is bad. I must stop her from stealing. At the end of the day, any sort of motive or excuse you could make up for her Does Not matter because. She's Stealing. And as previously stated- Stealing=Bad.'

Whereas Julia is alot more curious and spares more thought in the 'why' aspect of things, and following reasonable yet sorta hard to straight up prove theories- Why is Carmen Sandiego stealing precious artifacts, only to then soon after, slip them back to the authorities? Might she be stealing from other thieves? The only logical motive for that would be to protect the said precious artifacts from the other thieves. And on and on.

Devineaux, truth be told, doesn't care. He's very much stuck on the "stealing things only to return them makes Absolutely no sense" (given the default assumption she's taking them for monetary value, why would she willingly give them back?? Boom, theory busted, cry about it.)

Other than the observation that two people can veiw one thing very differently (with both looking and focusing on different parts, individual interactions with carmen, with devineaux it's her strictly making smug small talk, and evading him- but with Julia she's *Alot* more friendly, passive and semi-includes her in the caper)

There are more factors to keep in mind.

General knowledge:

A note that we tend to forget quite frequently is that- Carmen sandiego I an internationally known figure. Dare i say a myth- cryptid even! All the common knowledge about her is her signature colour, hat and coat. So like, imagine your tasked yourself as the one to catch the woman the myth the legend, while your partner keeps trying to suggest there's more to the very simple picture. "Maybe she's doing it for a good cause"! Uh. Not sure about that bucko.

Incredibly unlikely, from all her rare moments of talkativeness, she seems to fit rather nicely in the 'stereotypical criminal who thinks their better than the law' type behaviour.

It's alot like trying to psychoanalyise DB Cooper. Who cares??? I'm just trying to find and capture her first! We can deal with the explanation and 'why' part after.

And another point:

Its a clearly made point, that Devineaux is a flawed individual. Very heavily implied and shown, with the little of the pov we see of him.

But! Thats just it! The entire show, as is its namesake, is 90% Carmen Sandiegos own personal view. We, the audience, see things from her perspective, as we have been spoon fed the basic information about the basic premise of the plot that surrounds and personally entails her. And with this pov, we see others the way she does. Julia is the unlikely ally, vile the biggest threat, acme the main antagonists and- well, devineaux isnt really all that relevent, compared to everything and everyone else carmen and team red have to face off against.

Because of this, he's painted as an inconvenient, and brutish obstacle. Purely in the way for reasons we and carmen know to be false- so it's very easy to just think thats How he is in his entirety! But he's not. Let's not forget:

Not Only is this guy a full blown Inspector, But, it's explicitly shown that he has the deductive reasoning, and skill with the process of elimination to (ONLY USING INTERPOL RESOURCES. NO ACME NEEDED!) Find viles home based!! Sure, by then it's Formerly home base as they blew up a whole 60% of it quite recently, but!!! Dude!!! Chief, the literal head and founder of acme, who's been looking for any trace of vile for twenty years couldn't even dream of managing such a feat!

Tldr: devineaux isn't stupid, he's just plauged by ego brain fog, extremely unlucky timing and lack of impulse control.

[bornetoblood]

Okay fuck it, Gehrman, Maria and the Doll Post.

Buckle in bucko cus I have lots of thoughts. This isn’t really evidenced or a lore post, it’s just a compelation of assorted Rat (tm) opinions on these three’s relationship and how it intersects with some of those delicious themes in my brain.

Gehrman, Maria and the Doll are, basically, about legacy to me- particularly Gehrman’s failure to secure the continuation of his hunters through Maria.

We know Maria as Gehrman’s apprentice, possibly one of a few but that is left vague, that he had a “curious mania” in regards to her that she was unaware of. This “mania” to me is Gehrman’s desire to keep his legacy going, his methods of hunting and the workshop (kinda like a parental figure trying to make their child a little them). This is reflected in Maria’s desire to gain strength through practice and her dexterity, not innate abilities.

They have a pretty wholesome dynamic of ‘mentor you trust enough to kinda consider your dad’ thing going if you ignore all the murder. Maria being separated from her Cainhurst family as she deliberately distances herself from them and Gehrman (who is very very family oriented to me) likes looking after people.

Maria’s acceptance of the First Hunter 2.0 role, however, runs up to the Fishing Hamlet Massacre, and then crashes.

The Hamlet and the events there forced Maria to realise the violence such a role entails. Additionally, I can see her putting two and two together about what exactly the beasts are here also. Unlike Gehrman, she doesn’t see the murder of these people as an act of mercy, and forgos her status as a hunter, throwing away the Rakuyo. This creates a divide between them and they aren’t as close ever again.

When the Healing Church gets going, they both participate. Gehrman does his whole ‘hunting from the shadows’ deal while Maria works in the research hall. They get into arguments sometimes about their different views of the hunt and its validity, and Maria’s depression progressively worsens as the Research Hall gets more violent and her crush gets slugs put in her brain. She is complicit in the Research Hall out of a desire to ease the pain of the patients and this compounds the guilt she’s still feeling from the Hamlet. This guilt, eventually, leads to her death.

Gehrman doesn’t take this very well. As a result, he gives up hunting and isolates himself; having failed in his mission to create a lineage of hunters, help Maria with what she was going through, and simply be an alright dad to her. He misconstrues Maria’s more masc presentation, her headstrong and dynamic personality, as an extension of the hunt and thus strips those qualities of her in his attempt to memorialise her.

Gehrman, foolishly, thinks that he alone is to blame for Maria’s disillusionment. He thinks that Maria would’ve been the most comfortable as a traditional feminine figure (he.... doesn’t know many women, only what he’s read in books). So this is what the Doll is- Gehrman’s attempt to atone for making Maria’s life miserable.

This is complicated when Flora brings the Doll to life to accompany Gehrman in the Dream; the Doll is nothing like Maria because they have been stripped of everything that made Maria who she was. Gehrman just avoids them as a result, effectively abandoning his wooden child without them having a clue why.

The Doll is not Maria. Although it’s implied they share some memories (or the feelings those memories evoke) and the Doll is put at ease when Maria is put to rest in the Nightmare, I see this more as Great One shenanigans than them being the same person. Flora animating the Doll with Gehrman’s memory of Maria is the most interesting take to me- he’s forgotten a lot about her and what’s left is someone unrecognisable with the same voice. 

And that’s where it stays. The Doll is an animated product of grief who unintentionally freaks Gehrman out and makes him feel sick and they have 0 idea what they’re doing wrong.

[evilsoup]

lmao

One of the most common ways in which this occurs is through aesthetic choices such as non-Black people wearing “dreadlocks” and people non-Indigenous to Turtle Island wearing “Mohawk” hairstyles. While these are by no means the only ways in which cultural appropriation rears its head, we give these examples as they are things that have specifically and repeatedly been brought to the Bookfair collective’s attention over the years.

We’re not interested in policing people’s bodies, nor is it logistically feasible—or desirable—for us to monitor every person who attends the bookfair. As the collective is responsible for choosing the bookfair’s content, however, this year we’re trying to be more thoughtful in terms of who presents and tables. To the best of our capacity, we will not be accepting applications from people wanting to present or table if we know them to be making culturally appropriative choices in how they dress or behave.

Official policy of Montreal anarchist bookfair is to cut your hair and tidy your room bucko!!

[abbcube]

seeing the words Not In The Groove in your comment made me gasp irl i love that game its such a damn banger

have this gif its funny i think

Always happy to see another NotITG fan! It's truly criminal how few people know about this game. And I've been meaning to learn the chart in that gif for a while. Maybe soon 🤔

Also, this means I now have an excuse to yell about this game to the sorry fools who made the mistake of following me. So...

(Moderate photosensitivity warning btw, this stuff can get spicy for the eyes)

HYPERFIXATION BE UPON YE

I now get the chance to talk about a game I feel exceedingly n̸͓̒̍o̶̹̿͠r̷͚͇͗m̴͈͒̐a̸̝͉̒ĺ̶̹̹̆about.

What's NotITG??

Not In The Groove, or NotITG/nITG for short, is a rhythm game with some of the craziest & most creative visuals you'll ever see. It's an extravaganza of colors, music, and lots and lots of arrows. Words don't do it justice though, so here's an example:

(HiTECH NINJA - Technician's High)

(Chart by Exschwasion + Tetaes)

Whoa, what the fuck was that? Is that even readable?

Yes it is, I promise! It just takes some practice. These are made to be not only doable, but completely feasible to read & learn. They wouldn't be fun otherwise. It's also not nearly as bad as it looks at first glance, especially if you know what sort of stuff you should be looking out for.

In fact, here are some things that can make it a little easier to parse:

The colors of the arrows are indicative of the timing (reds are on quarter notes, blues are eighth notes, greens are sixteenth notes, etc). This means it's possible to identify the rhythm of a song even if you've never heard it before.

If visual effects are getting particularly crazy, it can be helpful to read ahead and quickly memorize a "chunk" of notes to play while your vision is impaired, picking back up when the screen is clearer.

Charts (the arrows for a given song) are made to be played on a dance pad, with your feet. Furthermore, any half-decent chart commits to having good flow (or posture) meaning that the patterns you see are made to be "stepped" through with alternating* feet. This vastly limits the number of possible patterns that can be thrown at you. So if you happen to lose your place while reading the chart, it's very feasible to infer what the next few steps will be, giving you a chance to recover.

(*depending on the song, a chart may have you hit the same step multiple times with the same foot. There are other exceptions too but that could warrant its own section entirely)

If you want a way better explanation of this stuff, some prominent devs in the community did a great job covering all of it during the game's exhibition during AGDQ2022!

This looks completely and utterly insane, there's no way I'd ever be able to play this!

That's where you're wrong, bucko! They aren't all made to be difficult! There are plenty of easier charts out there to learn the basics on & get your bearings. Some of my favorites include:

(Chroma - Phantom Train Journey)

(Chart by Kaypooma)

(Sakuzyo - Altale)

(Chart by PlasticRainbow + mrcool909090)

How do these even get made?

Good old programming! Also math. Lots and lots of math. You wanna make the arrow follow a funny path? Time to learn what a spline is. Want to make a circle? Hope you were paying attention in trig class, because it's time to break out the radians.

In all seriousness, I have nothing but the highest respect for the people that make charts for NotITG. Every single one of them is a culmination of music, art, programming, math, animation, visual design, game design, psychology, kinesiology and so, so much more. It's genuinely dizzying how multitalented these people are.

I'm interested in these man-made horrors beyond my comprehension! Where can I play this game?

You can download it from the game's website: noti.tg. It's free! Completely! There is no way to spend money on it. You'll just have to live with the fact that you can't give these talented creators your money.

I'd also recommend joining the game's discord (noti.tg/discord). They're incredibly helpful & friendly, just don't be a jerk :p. It should have some good information & resources for when you're starting out.

I feel like I've barely even scratched the surface of what makes this game special. I could probably make a whole other post rambling about the lore of UKSRT and the effect that's had on me, but this post is long enough as is.

If there's even one person who read this far, thank you for listening to the ramblings of a madman obsessed with a funny little arrow game! ❤️

[thehill-rpg]

Episode 2: Whispers on The Hill Part: 1/??

The quiet shuffle of bare feet on the gravel courtyard fills the air, accompanied by the faint squeak of a rusty pool gate reluctantly opening. With a pair of composed steps, a slender figure, tall yet delicate, makes her way towards an ageing pool chair. As she reclines on its worn surface, the chair emits a soft groan of protest, bearing witness to both its own well-worn years and the age of its current resting place: Palm’s Motor Hotel. Donning a pair of Ray Bans, she settles in, clad in a casual ensemble of a Washington Nationals' tank top and a worn pair of denim short shorts. In her hand, she opens a well-read copy of Cosmo, its pages gently fluttering in the breeze. Tucked between them is a torn clipping from yesterday’s issue of The Hill, resting over an article titled ‘The Secret to Finding Your Soulmate: Date Your Alter Ego.’ A good article, offering the kind of advice you could only get out of a drunk best friend, yet not the one currently capturing her attention.

Chelsea Dalton reclines beside a pool that seems questionably operational (was that the smell of an impending bacteria infection?), her gaze fixed on the familiar words. She reads it again, for what feels like the hundredth time, each word etched into her memory. She knows every line by heart. It’s beautiful.

It’s also months of dedication, collaboration, and hopefully, justice. Sure, it’s a departure from her usual flair, and while, yes, she’d normally sell her soul for this kind of traffic on her blog, she knew there was no way her posting this story would get it the attention it deserved. Hence, her email to Violet Shard, almost three months ago. She’d been hesitant at first. Sure, she was a fan, but this was something that needed to be handled with care. She was too close to her own source. She couldn’t risk being named. However, Violet had assured her of anonymity and a series of follow-ups that wouldn’t brush any pertinent details under the proverbial rug of Washington D.C. political justice. That's why she had agreed, and why she now found herself just outside the District, technically in Maryland, waiting for said blonde journalist. 

Where was she?

As she waited for Violet’s late arrival (had her trusty Saab finally coughed its last puff of exhaust?), she let her thoughts drift over to Gray, and the party she would have been at if the news she’d just leaked to The Hill, hadn’t implicated his father. She’d probably have been in some uncomfortable sundress right now, watching as Gray loosened a tie, only for his mother to promptly tighten it again, while she discreetly passed another crab puff to Mac. Of course, she hated every second of it, but even without her mom’s urging, she hadn’t missed one since she’d moved in next door to his family at six. What could she say? She had a thing for fish paste covered Hors d'Oeuvres. And tortured artists… She’d let the last one remain unsaid, stubbornly resisting even her subconscious attempts to divert her down that worn-out, oh so familiar road. Not today, Bucko! 

Just as she was attempting to shift her focus, fate intervened with the unceremonious thud of a bottle of sunscreen hitting her thigh, yanking her back to the realm of the living—or, more accurately, a realm that didn't revolve around pining over her best-friend of twenty-seven years. “Slip, slop, slap…” She glared over her glasses at a man holding a faded beach towel and a copy of The Hill. 

While quick judgments were usually her forte, she decided to withhold hers until he extended his hands to offer assistance. She leaned towards labelling him as the "concerned dad" type rather than a creepy motel lifer. "Uh, thanks, but— Is that the latest copy of The Hill?" She hadn’t been able to pick up a copy before she’d left her house in order to get here in time and she was keen to see how Violet had followed up. “Sure, kiddo. It’s yours.” She dropped her guard, leaning over to take the paper from his outstretched hand, “Are you moving in?” She’d have answered if the headline story hadn’t caught her attention. Violet Shard, facing charges of defamation and harassment, for her latest story on Congressman Whitman and Harris. “Uh, sorry, do you mind if I–” She was already up, picking up her copy of cosmo and hurrying out of the pool area and back towards her day room and her burner. FUCK. Voicemail. “Violet, call me. I— What can I do?” 

Well, she knew one thing she could do…  

She hastily opened her laptop, disregarding the unread emails clamouring for her attention with their requests for her usual freelance work. Instead, she navigated to her blog and swiftly crafted a new post.

Ms. Whisper here, emerging from the shadows with a scoop hotter than the Capitol's political inferno. It appears our esteemed journalist, Violet Shard, finds herself in the clutches of controversy. But this isn't your run-of-the-mill scandal, my darlings—oh no, it's a tale of truth-telling and the ruthless consequences that follow. Violet dared to shine a light on the dark dealings of Congressman Whitlock and Harris, revealing their insidious involvement in the war-torn realm of Matamba. Yet, instead of accolades, she's met with handcuffs and accusations of defamation and harassment. But fear not, dear readers, for Ms. Whisper is always on the case, ready to peel back the layers of deception and hold the powerful to account. In this cutthroat world of political intrigue, even the bravest truth-seekers like Violet Shard aren't safe from the claws of injustice. So, keep your ears to the ground and your eyes peeled, because when it comes to unravelling the truth, there's no hiding from the relentless pursuit of Ms. Whisper. #StandWithViolet

Her phone buzzed—an SOS. She shot a text back that she’d be there soon. Though even with her foot planted to the floor of her beemer she knew she’d never break an hour. Hastily rummaging through her overnight bag, she retrieved a somewhat acceptable dress (she didn’t own many); though the party might've been cancelled, she was certain Gray's mom wouldn't want the reminder. Hastily, she made her way over to the shower, and tried her best to find the password to get the hot water working longer than two seconds.

She did her best to keep her hair from getting wet, as she washed her nervous sweat from under her armpits. Chelsea hadn't seen this coming without a fight, but nabbing a journalist? This wasn't just a hiccup; it was the kind of move that had First Amendment lawyers rubbing their hands with glee.

She gave up trying to tune the shower into submission and let the cold water run down her back, as she wracked her brain for a way to assist Violet beyond mere page views. Nothing. Nothing.

When it came down to taking action, what good was being Ms. Whisper if all she had in her arsenal were a sharp tongue and a quick wit? That certainly didn't grant innocent journalists a Get Out of Jail Free card, did it?

After a quick drying session (as evidenced by her dress clinging to her back and making it a challenge to slide down over her thighs), Chelsea grappled with her wayward curls, victims of the fierce heat akin to the Battle of Waterloo. With her belongings in tow, she checked out of the motel, conceding that, for the time being, there was little she could do for Violet. As for Gray, a sense of obligation stirred within her to mitigate the unintended turmoil she had caused him. Nonetheless, she refrained from assuming full culpability, acknowledging that the root of this mess lay primarily with his father. All she’d done was overhear a phone call, sneak into his office at night, and make a few dozen or so copies of a report that she only wished now had more than just Congressman Harris’ name to it.

Pulling up to Gray’s house, adjacent to her own, Chelsea switched off the ignition and discreetly covered her overnight bag with one of Mac’s car seat covers in the backseat before stepping out and making her way inside. The atmosphere was sullen, with white chairs being shuffled in and out from the patio to a van parked out front. From a distance, Chelsea observed Nora overseeing the operation with an overflowing wine glass in hand. She couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility for the sombre mood, knowing she had played a part in it, at least partially.

Following the faint strumming of a bass, Chelsea ascended the stairs, purposefully bypassing Mr. Whitlock’s study. She had been instructed to call him Brody, but it just didn't sit right with her. Instead, she made her way down to Gray’s room at the end of the second floor. Her fingers brushed against the wooden door as she announced herself before slipping inside.

"So, on a scale from six-pack therapy to a spa retreat in the German highlands, how concerned should I be about you?" She offered a tentative smile. However, the instant she caught the strains of "Darn The Dream" by Ron Carter, being plucked, she realised she was entering yodelling territory.

[penguin--person]

Top Ten Reasons Why DIMANYA Is AROACE as FUCK

Hi. My name is Penguin and I have prepared an explanation (there’s no top ten reasons actually, I lied) as to why Dmitry and Anya are both aroace.

anyway, fuck proper punctuation.

i'm gonna split this into part one, Anya - part two, Dmitry - part three, allo/heteronormativity - part four, ace stuff- part five, both of them combined and their superswag aroace power.

Anya - anya, our dear friend Anya… i think she has the mindset of “all this lovey dovey stuff is just one big joke. everyones playing a trick on me. theyre lying to me again, those losers!!” until she meets dima. then, it's “omggg i feel so strongly towards him, i feel so happy with him, this must be the love everyone is talking about!! this must be a crush” while little does she know, yes, she loves him, but not romantically. before she meets him, she’s “not like other girls”, she’s DIFFERENT, she’s BETTER than to get a stupid crush. when she gets in trouble with those guys in Punch it, Punk! she thinks “I could really use a prince charming now”, at first thinking that this is her romantic break. but then she thinks “you know what fuck it ill take anyone”, showing she doesnt care much for the romantic norms of having a prince charming. Anya can take care of herself but would like it if someone took care of her for once. when she gets in trouble with those guys in PIP and dima rushes in and saves her, its like! he cares for her! he helped her despite not even knowing her! this Must mean that he loves her a ton

Dima - dima doesn't know what a boyfriend is. he doesn't strike me as the type to read/watch the limited access to the romance genre he gets at the facility, and temnova doesn't strike me as the type to teach him about all that. so, when he saves anya and she gets so. so happy. so lovey dovey. patches him up (though olga probably did that, anya probably convinced her) even though she doesn't even Know him, and she gets him a place to stay at olga’s without him even asking, and when she asks “anyway, do you wanna go out with me?” do you think he fucking knew . what that meant. “do you want to be my boyfriend” now that he'd understand. but i think he just said ok as in “do you wanna hang out with me”. anyway, i think when he found out that they Were dating. he didn't mind.

Dmitry just. just. unconditional love. that Must be romantic. it Has to be, yes? and what he feels towards anya should be that also, then, because he also thinks she's cool and swag and all. even if it wasn't, i don't think he'd care. he cares for her and that's enough, mhm?

Allo/heteronormativity - this will mostly be centered around Anya because she has more experience with it. this is also going to be based a lot around my experiences, as i am so swag to have been blessed to be aroace, so. it's gonna be a lot of projection. anya never really thought about how she's never had a crush, but when she does (and its only because someone asks her “have you even ever had a crush?” and she thinks “oh. oh its supposed to be real”), it’s just “im so fucking cool for not having gotten a crush yet. i'm so awesome. psh. no insecurity here bucko. nah. i'm not like other girls (isn't a girl(but we’ll get into that later)).” she does have slight insecurity about it, but she always pushes it down. when she sees dima and gets such a strong attachment to him, it MUST be love at first sight. she’s still not like other girls (not a girl), but it's nice to be able to brag about your cool boyfriend. like, she just takes it that she’s too cool for all this romance stuff. but then dima comes. and what a boyfriend he is! so kind and cool, what more could anyone want? what more could she want? she's never felt so happy with someone like this, so it MUST be romantic love, it MUST be what she's been missing.

Ace stuff - anya thinks sex is gross and disgusting and can’t imagine how it could ever be enjoyable. she's the kind of kid to go “GROSS!!! BLEGH!!!” at even just seeing a kiss (unless she's giving dima a peck on the cheek ofc). she hates thinking about it, yuck, gross. even simple tongue kisses are disgusting - why are you putting someones tongue in your mouth, ew, yuck, Gross, thats Yucky. dima doesn't know what sex is, as the facility did not provide him with much information (“you're not going to be having sex anyway. we don't need to waste resources on teaching you”) and hed Never ask temnova about this kinda stuff. he thinks kissing someone tongue style is sex. he thinks ‘unprotected’ sex is like, doing it outside of the safety of your home. boy does not know a thing about it

Together - i’m going to now analyze the last scene of PIP through an aroace lens. dima gets confronted by olga. he panics, visibly. anya sees this. she returns him the unconditional love he first showed her when they met, when she was confronted by those guys, when he saved her. she sees him in trouble and becomes his prince charming, breaking the norm once again. anyway, i think even if anya and dima somehow realized they were aroace and somehow accepted it. they'd still wanna stay (at least anya would and dima wouldn't mind) dating. anya definitely loves to say “my boyfriend this, my boyfriend that”, and dima wants her to be happy. like even if they somehow learned what a qpr is they'd stay dating. for the swag

In conclusion, they’re Swag. theyre so aroace, three of my friends and i thought "mmm dimanya aroace swag" at different times before we even met one another

if you have any thoughts on this, i encourage you to expand on this in the replies/reblogs or even just tags!!! id love to hear what u lads think

[starchivist]

Baby Kenobi

i don’t know how to write serious summaries/synopses, so you get this: obi-wan gets ambushed with the daughter he didn’t know he fathered while she’s roaming the galaxy looking for mama in a sort of reverse finding nemo. shenanigans and accidental fix-its ensue.

warning for below the cut: none that i can think of, aside from an extremely confused narrator

Stitchup hates everything about this.

“Look, sir, we’re just travelers,” he insists to the trio of bounty hunters, simultaneously glad for and resenting that this mission required he be in civilian clothes and not his plastoid shell. Behind him, General Kenobi is calm and still, letting Stitchup be the focus of the standoff. After all, Stitchup might have a face that’s repeated by a few billion others, but that can be fixed with a bit of contouring — and the hunters are from a race of sentients that are wired more for overarching shapes than small details, meaning his voice is the thing most likely to give him away as a clone in this situation. Jedi High General Obi-Wan Kenobi, on the other hand — his face is far more singular, and his accent is very distinct, which means he has a much higher chance of being recognized if he speaks up.

The hunters buzz, clearly unconvinced. “Sure,” the lead hunter says, the translator at their throat crackling faintly. “Listen, bucko, you can’t seriously think we’re that stupid. General Kenobi’s ship crashed here, and I can’t think of any other reason for a clone trooper to be here. Can you?”

Motherfucker. He’s been suppressing his accent, dammit! “I’m not a trooper,” he tries, knowing his General is about to do something idiotic if he can’t de-escalate and get them out of here. “I’m just a traveling doctor,” he says levelly. “That’s all.”

The lead hunter buzzes again, derision dripping from their stance. They take a step closer—

“Papa,” a young voice says, and only sheer professionalism save Stitchup from jumping about a mile in the air. He turns to see a small humanoid girl trotting up to General Kenobi with Great Purpose, going right up to him and tugging on his sleeve. “Papa,” she says again, a soft, chirping rumble beneath her voice. “I can’t find the right tools — they’re all for droids ‘n engines.”

To Stitchup’s utter shock, General Kenobi doesn’t miss a single beat before playing along, bending down to meet the girl and chirping back.

“That’s alright, Anate,” he says gently, his Coruscanti accent somehow completely gone and replaced with something else. “We’ll just keep looking, yes?” Then he makes this — crooning, trilling sound, and the girl responds in kind with a warbling purr.

“Okay,” the girl says, reaching out her arms when General Kenobi stands in the universal request to be picked up. Again, General Kenobi plays along as flawlessly as if the two of them had rehearsed this beforehand, scooping her into his arms and settling her against his chest with a quiet “Hup!” She makes another purring noise, shuffling as best as she can to get more comfortable, then finally turns her attention to Stitchup and the bounty hunters. “Hi,” she says, peering at the hunters past thick, feathery white hair that covers half her face. “Are you policemen?”

The droning buzz of the hunters is, this time, very clearly uncomfortable. “Policemen,” the hunter on the left echoes carefully, stepping forward and crouching, their blaster holstered in the same movement. “Sorry, kid, my translator doesn’t recognize that. Wanna tell me what that means?”

[raxistaicho]

Are we not engaged?

What, did you think I wouldn’t buy Engage just ‘cause I had ill hopes for it? You’d be wrong, bucko. Raxis from the past took notes while he was playing :)

Spoilers under the tags, I guess.

-Raxis from the past here

-Fuckin’ Timerra gets no real estate space on the cover because Marth has to have cover to leer at us.

-The game opens with a still image of the cover art why?

-Title screen is pretty at least.

-Skip power rangers intro.

-“Select a form” instead of “gender” again, that’ll piss off the shitbags on twitter who complain about this.

-Casual’s the default setting now, is that how it’s been for a while? Not sure. Still neat.

-Invisible Ties-like intro, I see.

-Timerra’s voice is young.

-Marth says the thing.

-Wait this flash-forward has no bad end? Boring. It’s like “hey here’s Marth” and a basic gameplay intro. Was I supposed to be tricked that this is a flashback instead of forward? But that wouldn’t work because Alfred, Ivy, Timerra, and Diamant are here, unless they inexplicably had duplicates in the past. Did we time travel or something?

-Why the fuck were the kids standing over Alear.

-”No way,” “no way.” Riveting dialogue.

-Game indofumps on me about how cool Alear is right away.

-The game wastes no time kissing Alear’s ass.

-Alfred and Celine coming to worship Alear while she was asleep is super creepy.

-ENEMY JUMP SCARE WTF LOL. Just BAM! Suddenly an enemy in front of you!

-”Let run!” okay Alear’s actually fine lol.

-So Vander is supposed to be a veteran knight but he’s all “your courage is legendary, Divine One, let us fite!” Dude, your charge just woke up and has no memory and you have no idea how good she is at fighting, are you TRYING to risk her life?

-And then Clanne and Framme decide to give tanking a try, who the fuck trained these clowns? They’ve got no discipline between the three of them and they’re making a mockery of the supposed sanctity of their position and the Divine Dragon by extension.

-”Remember Fire Emblem?” asked Marth.

Chapter one was just another basic tutorial, I don’t see anyone struggling, even though it’s made to look tense at first with Clanne and Framme appearing to be in danger.

-Lumera is introduced tits first okay.

-Lumera’s infodumping us again.

-Does this war have a name?

-Nobody knows where Sombrom came from. What, was my guess about time travel right?

-What does Lumera DO? Does anyone live in this holy land?

-Lumera was gonna gather the rings herself but she didn’t get around to it. Fucking incompetent protector.

-The game’s rushing into fights.

-Lumera’s defeat quote doesn’t sound appropriate for a training battle, so whatever happens to her after this I’ll see her again after this chapter.

-I didn’t get a chance to fight the two sword cavs because Lumera rushed wtf ahead to lay the smackdown on Vander lol.

Chapter two you just gotta mind archer range and Lumera’s mobility with Sigurd.

-Lumera’s spike clips through her shawl thingy. I can’t unsee it.

-This game’s pacing is unreal, it’s just blitzing through everything to get to the next fight.

-Red Alear dream. Marth’s cadgy about Alear’s past.

-Alfred’s a fucking goofball. Can’t take flower country seriously after seeing its prince and his retainers.

-At least Etie’s abs aren’t spray-painted like Rinkah’s, what with her rocking 10 base strength.

-First human boss is a generic woman, that’s actually pretty cool.

-Why didn’t Lumera pick Alear up and fly her away instead of just tank the dark magic.

-”Divine Dragon” keeps being used like a noun. My “Divine Dragon” energy. Really clunky.

-I don’t think Lumera is Alear’s real mom, she said she was happy to “become” Alear’s mother.

-Lumera dies way too early for me to care. It lacks both the time spent getting to know her that Greil and Jeralt had and also it drags out way too long to have the cruel suddenness Mikoto had.

-Alear’s voice actress is doing her damndest to save the scene though.

-Lol pinky promise.

-Lumera says she’ll talk with Alear again? So I doubt she’s dead for good.

-Lumera has enough life in her for an extended infodump while DYING. Is she operating under Practical Guide to Evil rules?

Chapter Three is getting better, you have to carefully be aggressive so you don’t have to fight too many of them at once. This game’s pretty well playtested mostly, Etie exactly one-shots these pegasi. That said, Framme does dick-all for damage so it’s healbotting for her.

-So Corrupted have been attacking Freline long enough for Alfred to sail to the holy land seeking help. Alear just woke up this same day so what the fuck has Lumera been DOING? Isn’t she supposed to be protecting the land?

-The Somniel can only be reached by Divine Dragons, so WHY NOT KEEP THE RINGS THERE? Why doesn’t Lumera just live there, she didn’t appear to be doing any actual protecting from the holy land!

-Vander Alear C: Vander is devoted, Alear is awkward about it. Nothing new learned.

-Framme Alear C: “Four three two one, who’s our favorite dragon?” Fucking kill me. Framme’s a fangirl but that was obvious during her literal first moment.

-Framme Clanne C: Framme and Clanne are the same fucking character, jesus christ.

-Framme Vander C: Vander is devoted, Framme is kinda lazy. Scene feels like it ends before it’s supposed to, like one of those Three Houses cutscenes with multiple scenes but it stops at the first.

-Bam! Jump cut to Firene!

-Alfred infodumps us on the land. Apparently Firene is a land of plenty, next to a shitty canyon and a shitty desert, and yet nobody attacks them because Solm is chill and Brodia is busy attacking Elucia.

-Brodia is trying to expand their territory yet they’re on the good guy side. Imperialism okay then?

-Celine’s retainers aren’t as annoying as Alfred’s. Also Celine herself seems to be more mature than Alfred, which is... not remotely what I expected, to be honest.

-I feel like the game’s trying to trick me into warping Celine into danger to save Chloe and Louis.

-”Village pillage” fml.

That’s all for now.

[pennzance]

Ghostbusters: Port Huron (Episode 19)

Episode 19: Captain Hatchet

October 4th, 1998

Incident report by Bryan

On a Sunday. Man, screw this guy.

We’ve been on high alert for the last few days because of Dan’s cryptic warning schtick. I was really hoping it wasn’t going to be on Sunday, but of course it was. When the traffic is always at its worst.

At about 4pm (again, on a SUNDAY), we got a call from the Coast Guard. A vessel has been spotted on Lake Huron flying very old flags and, when approached, firing actual cannons at people. A Coast Guard vessel had gone out and been sunk, and the waterlogged men who had been pulled from the water by a daring speedboat driver doing his own thing had stated that the vessel was captained by a transparent pirate.

Cue us. While Jeremy, Amber, Eric and Kelly took the Ecto-908 to the Coast Guard station, Jason and I went a little further down the St. Lawrence River to the Lightship Museum. I can’t say I was surprised that the engine of the ancient boat was running, but I appreciated Dan being ready.

“Ready ta cast off, me bucko!” Dan crowed from the upper level of the ship, obviously having the time of his afterlife.

“You can’t just steal a museum and sail it into a naval engagement!” I shouted up at him.

Dan didn’t care. “All aboard who’s comin’ aboard! Bring them fancy lightnin’ guns o’ yers, we’re gonna need ‘em!”

I dragged Jason aboard and almost immediately the Lightship drifted away from the dock, much to the surprise and shouted questions of the manager standing impotently on the shore. The entire ship had a shimmer to it, almost like it was covered in a thin layer of oil, but it wasn’t slick to the touch. “Dan, what the hell?” Jason managed to shout. He was acclimating quickly.

“Gotta move quick,” I heard Dan say, although his voice wasn’t coming from any particular direction. “If Hatchet gets to the bridges, he’ll be in the wind and we’ll never catch ‘im.”

I could see the Bluewater Bridges from our vantage point on the river, and a bit ahead of us the Coast Guard were casting off their second, smaller boat with the rest of the team on board. There was some other traffic on the water in the river, but the sight of the old Lightship unmoored and moving was making the ones who weren’t stopping to stare vacate the area with all haste.

There was an absolutely unnatural fog rolling in from the lake. The Bluewater Bridges that connected Port Huron and the United States to Sarnia and Canada stood at the mouth of the river, where the St. Lawrence met Lake Huron and served as a channel all the way down to Lake Eerie. We were making good speed upstream, moving slightly faster than the Coast Guard and slowly overtaking them as we approached the bridges.

The fog was even thicker here, but the Lightship’s light shone like the sun and cut through a lot of the gloom. Jason and I stood on the bow of the ship, and the others lined the sides of the Coast Guard boat, all of us peering into the fog for some sign of Captain Hatchet’s vessel.

“Dan,” I asked in the sudden and crushing stillness, “what should we expect?”

“Trouble,” Dan replied, his voice sounding strained.

“Why can’t we let him past the bridge?” Jason wondered aloud.

“Gateway between two worlds,” Dan responded. “I been keepin’ this sonuvabitch kickin’ around the lake fer th’ better part of a century. Whenever he gets his gumption up, he makes a run fer the bridges and I have ta find a way ta stop ‘im. I usually commandeer one o’ them bigass cargo haulers and just run his sorry hide over, them big ships barely feel the bump. But now we’ve got a unique opportunity to put ‘im in a prison he can’t get out of.”

“What happens if he crosses the threshold?” I asked.

“Nothin’ good,” Dan’s voice came back. “Maybe he lives again, maybe he rips open the world. No idea, don’t wanna find out.”

“Agreed.”

There was a tense silence, unbroken as the bow of a schooner came into view. I was expecting an old, two masted pirate ship straight out of the movies. What I got was a hodgepodge of naval engineering from the last hundred years or so. Some wood, some aluminum hull, a single mast, no sail. Standing proudly on the bow, like he owned the entire lake, was the ghost of Captain Archibald Fitzsimmons, the infamous Captain Hatchet.

This was a man who, when the natives scalped settlers in the region, took it upon himself to scalp them right back, and then go further. A man who murdered so many women and children and braves that were he to have stood trial for the crimes his consecutive life sentences would have interred him for a thousand years longer than his lifespan would have allowed. If those crimes had been considered crimes when he sailed the lakes, that is. In many ways, Hatchet was the tool of the colonizers who were all too eager to drive the indigenous people of America not just off their lands, but off their mortal coils entirely. The blood may have been on his hands directly, but figuratively that blood stretched all the way to New York and Massachusetts and Delaware to families that profited from the wholesale slaughter of nations they didn’t care to recognize as nations, let alone humans.

We wasted no time in lighting his ass up.

Dancing beams of fire and fury cut into Hatchet’s ships from either side, but if the captain was worried or shocked, he didn’t show it. On the contrary, he bellowed a challenge and I heard a thunderclap. The Lightship pitched to the side and I had to grab the rail to keep from falling over. Cannon fire? I looked around and sure enough, the railing and the door beyond it leading into the Lightship was a smoking hole.

“DAN!” I shouted involuntarily as the ship pitched back the other way on the waves.

“I’m on it!” the voice was like a thunderclap itself and the Lightship began to turn toward Hatchet’s Frankenstein-like vessel. I tried to steady myself but had to duck something flying through the air. Living up to his name, the bastard was actually throwing hatchets at us.

“Reload!” I heard him bellow over the adrenaline in my ears.

“Roast his ass!” Jason shouted, bracing a foot on the railing and firing again. I followed his lead, and I don’t know who it was that hit him, but someone did. Hatchet shot backwards and onto the deck of his own ship. Shots from the Coast Guard boat knocked him over again as he tried to stand back up.

And that’s when we rammed him.

The Lightship may have been old, but it was a single ship and solidly built. Hatchet’s boat was such a mashed-together hodgepodge that it came apart at the seams on impact, breaking into disparate parts that began to sink at different speeds. The Bane of the Huron didn’t let that slow him down, leaping up and onto the deck of the Lightship and brandishing a very real and very sharp looking cutlass.

Jason and I wheeled around to blast him, but Hatchet was too fast. He ducked my beam and sidestepped Jason’s, lunging forward with that terrifying sword.

Suddenly Dan was just THERE, cavalry saber in hand and deftly parrying the wild lunge. The blades clashed at speeds I was having trouble following, but while Dan was the better swordsman Hatchet was more ferocious. It wasn’t like they could kill each other, but it was a hell of a fight to watch.

The Coast Guard pulled up alongside us and I caught Dan giving me a look in between blade strokes. I nodded and, heedless of who I hit, fired. Dan was ready to give himself up without a fight if it meant Hatchet was caught as well.

“Catch ‘em both!” I shouted, and Jason caught on. Jeremy and Amber joined in right after, and Eric and Kelly followed up. Hatchet realized what was happening and tried to get away, tried anything really, but the combination of Dan and our firepower was forcing him to panic.

We both kicked our traps across the deck, but a deep booming sound shook both ships again. Hatchet’s amalgamated mess must have still been able to fire whatever spectral artillery it had even though it was sinking. Water spouted up between the Lightship and the Coast Guard and the ships pitched away from each other on the swell. I panicked and stomped down on my trap, but everything slid on the deck and the piercing light cut ineffectually into the fog.

Over the noise, I didn’t hear it coming until it hit us from behind. Jason and I went head over heels across the deck and I heard Dan swear loudly. By the time I could stand up, Hatchet was gone, flying through the air on the back of a horse with bat wings.

Confusion and shouting took over as we all tried to understand what had just happened, but I couldn’t stop myself from following the dwindling shape of Captain Archibald Fitzsimmons and his demonic-looking steed as they swooped down and beneath the Bluewater Bridges, vanishing into thin air.

And the air below the bridges rippled like the surface of the water.

We’d lost. I turned to Dan but he was gone. His presence was gone. The Lightship was a drifting, lifeless hulk now. Everyone was shouting questions, asking if the others were okay, coordinating how to drag the Lightship back to shore, and I just stood there, hands frozen to the rail.

We’d lost.

Now what?

End of report.

[stasisarbiter]

LONG CUTSCENE PART 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

TATARU! I hope F’lhammin is okay. YUGIRI! And the first showing of an Au’Ra I think. You bet your ass she’s pretty Tataru. Oh yeah Urianger is free too.

It’s not all your fault Alphinaud but yeah you did kind of go eyes closed head first. Believing you can fix everything is a dream for the young and you’re not wrong to have it. Well the first step to improving is acknowledging your shortcomings. Is this the first time I’m hearing Tataru’s voice? I think it is. I like you Haurchefant, always have, you’re a real bro We go to Ishgard of course! YEAH you got it Tataru we’re gonna see that light. Glad you’re starting to pick yourself up Alphinaud. ROLL CREDITS, with that great song that I don’t know the name of.

I feel like I should stick with english voices but I really like that Miyuki Sawashiro (my fav seiyuu) voices Minfilia, although there’s probably not much if any of her in HSW. And besides I think I remember hearing the voice actors change after ARR anyway so english it is.

So while credits are rolling I’ll wait to see if there’s more after. So the Scions are as far as we’re aware gone, possibly dead. We’re branded traitors by Ul’dah and the Crystal Braves are searching for us throughout Eorzea. Ishgard is our only hope which I’m not too jazzed about going to Super Catholic France, though Ser Aymeric is cool and Lucia is cooler. Unsure what Gridania and Limsa think of us, but they can’t shield us from the Crystal Braves probably. Teledji Adeledji is dead, but Lolorito is still alive I think (idk what that Lady in Waiting cutscene was about) So the monetarists (or maybe just Lolorito himself) are going to have control over the Omega weapon? I think that’s what its called, the thing in Cartenau

Aha post credits! Okay so Lolorito was behind it but I already kind of assumed that. Raubahn’s fuckin’ pissed. Hell yeah Nabriales is dead bucko. Seems Lahabrea might have dreams of becoming better than their god (Zodiark I think?) Urianger are you a traitor too? Or have you been Thancred’d

Oh it’s been awhile Midgardsmol. Jokes on you, I’m the protagonist

And that marks the end of ARR I think, since now I have a metric shit load of job quests unlocked.

[absolutelydw]

“ I’d rather just fuck on my ex again” - Sza, Open Arms

For most of us, hearing the Queen herself say such a blasphemous thing was appalling and we were looking around thinking BE FOR REAL. Myself included.

I’ve even had this conversation with some of my friends and the opinion of the people is mixed.

My take on it is this - ABSOLUTELY.

Hear me out -

In the year 2023, three whole months in.. we know dating is trash. No one wants the commitment, they all want the milk without nurturing the cow. I get it. It’s a fast paced world and if I can get it now, why wait until later. The majority of the singles in 2023 are trash. The straights, the gays, the bilaterals, xyz’s and the 123s… all trash.

just typing that I can hear the few people whom I know, saying - not mine! My person is a star.. better than most, speak for yourself, you just haven’t found the right one or ma’am you’re wrong - my man, my man, my man… she/he/it’s totally different.

But let’s be fuckin forreal. You’re either a. in denial - like the river in egypt, b. still in the honeymoon phase. incapable of seeing the bright red flags c. in the phase where you’ve been together for years and would sit in the bathroom while your person takes their morning/evening poop if you wanted to OR d. you simply agree.

Choose your fighter.

if I had to choose between fuckin on my ex again OR go into the world for ONE NIGHT ONLY, you bet your bottom dollar bucko - I’d fuck on my ex again.. and I’d welcome him with open arms.

It’s controversial, I know. But for ME, dw I need to know more about you other than you were cute when I swiped or you have a tattoo of my favorite NSYNC song title. I’d like to know your hygiene habits, do you have one of those LOVE LIVE LAUGH signs in your home and whether or not you pronounce the L in salmon before I let you touch my body…. Even if it’s for one night only. if I was able to share my sexcapades on beyonces internet, I would…. Probably wouldn’t but if we need to have a few horror stories let me know and I’ll share. Knowledge is power and if I can help the people avoid their energy being shared with some of the fecal matters finest. I will.

ANYWAY. Having this conversation with the people has been a mixture of the absolutely not's and no, you’re right’s. While I understand wEr’E nOt gOiNg bAcKwArDs and time moves forward, I would rather get my back scratched by a good back scratcher I’ve used before… before using plastic, if you catch my drift… and before swiping on fuckboy central I’d pull out the plastic. However - Me being a Scorpio Sun, Pisces Moon, Scorpio Rising I’m indecisive and the way my pride, overthinking, and future trippin is set up… I’ll be in my fuckin bed with my snacks, good time tv, heater on and window cracked. All the while, scrolling on the tikkytok, Instagram and reading a book.. all at the same damn time.

but that’s just me, do you.

I have to also add, this was written at 5a on the elliptical, from my cellular phone. I feel like Rev Run in the tub writing words of wisdom... but its just meeeee, good ol' dw with her words of fuckery to keep the people goin. its provocative. we love it.

[doingthedirtydishes]

WARNING: A Drive-Through-Guru is coming to a Facebook post near you.

Have you seen their work firsthand, perhaps you know one, or have even spent time in the presence of such a peculiar angelic being?  Like as not, I have met my fair share of Drive-Through-Guru douches and the nouveau-riche halfwits who keep them employed. There are an endless amount of various type coaches or guides online who, as the twisted sadistic irony plays itself out, themselves are in drastic need of coaching; let alone being in a place in life that has deemed their experience reverent and advice worthy.  Facebook, the wet-dream of self-medicating narcissists and Instagram, where anyone can be a model, are filled to the brim with untold numbers of these lost souls. It is case in point: the blind leading the blind – in between their never-ending self-fulfilling prophecies, that is when they are not leading their heard to eternal happiness, love and financial successes.  This person will sell you whatever is the hottest trendiest social ‘busy you’ cash cow they can wrap their little greedy and undeserving sausage fingers around. 

First, a person who calls themselves a guru cannot be one, strictly by its definition alone. That should be the first red flag you are dealing with the crème-de-la-crème of Internet graduated ass-waffle. The titles never-ending, creative too: Life Sensei, Wellness Warrior, Spiritual Guide. There is a title for everything. To the person who wants to be my life coach – what have you done so great in yours to prove to me I should accept your wise and sage guidance?  What “hats” in life have you worn and mastered? What is your level of understanding of human psychology? How well versed are you on matters of metaphysical nature? How high an education on quantum physics do you possess? You can make my business more successful too? Really? Aside from being total baseless claims of complete bullshit, I welcome these same ‘successful folk’ to be open and willing in sharing their W2 or tax returns for the past three years. Prove your worth, Bucko.  Otherwise please take your overly inflated ego and dreams of castles in the desert sky and go pound sand. 

Furthermore, beware the one who can easily and happily sell you whatever you are looking for that day; as he was probably an expert on another big niche self-help craze that sold well in the past – such as how to have happy and loving relationships, all the while his short lived ‘oh so loving’ perfect relationship was a disaster that recently flamed out after one too-hot-to-handle year of magical union. As with love, he also views happiness as an object, a commodity if you will, able to be bought and sold. What he fails to realize is that love and happiness are not objects, they are each a process. Each requires you match your words with your actions; neither can be purchased.  He was probably a ‘best-selling’ author in the past too, for all of two long weeks until his efforts fizzled out and his attention moved onto the next in vogue social change-yourself ‘this week’ trend – also guaranteed short lived.  Whatever is the most popular societal self-help issue du jour, they are on it, like white on rice. People, do your homework, there is no easy way to happiness, love or financial success. And it certainly cannot be marketed and sold to you: save your money, look within, it is free.

The answers are free to you. They lie deep within your inner being.  Most people are not interested in ‘Doing the Dirty Dishes’ of life, they would rather opt for a silver-bullet solution, later becoming even less satisfied. The journey is not easy, it requires going to the deep and terrifying annals of your soul.  If you have never been lost and confused in this strange world, plumbed the blood-curdling depths of your inner most existence, explored the frightening and spine-chilling parts within your being, faced your hair-raising fears head-on, done your ‘work’ in life, slain your dragon(s), as a result, no amount of Law of Attraction is going to assist you. It is similar to what I wrote in my book, Unbreakable Mind, in a chapter on diet and nutrition: If your cells are not healthy to begin with, no amount of vitamins or supplements will substitute a healthy diet; the unhealthy cells are not in a position to receive healthy supplements and so, as a direct result, one ends up with very expensive pee instead.  If you are not spiritually prepared and ready to receive the lessons of the universe, they will not come. Other lessons will arrive however, soon enough; and usually the hard way – exit stage left.

Life is lived and experienced by knowing and being aware of all its boundless possibilities, even within one’s own made-up reality. One cannot know light until one has experienced darkness; equally one cannot know happiness unless one has experienced sadness.  Otherwise we would have nothing to compare and contrast; one does not come first without the other; they inextricably exist and are married in eternal duality – what we refer to as ying-yang, life. The same lesson goes that in order to know happiness in your life one must also know sadness and suffering.  So, if you are only being sold one half the equation to the solution, you are being robbed blind.  In my book I state that in life we all have our own agenda, but do not forget life also has its own agenda. Want to take any bets on whose wins? Life’s does, always; it never fails.  It is only our perspective and reaction that determine the outcome – that hold considerable sway and help determine our level of happiness in this world as well.  These are deep and spiritual matters of the soul, not superficial and shallow echoes of the social media guru of the week.  A wolf in sheep’s clothing? Better he is left to his ways au natural.

The Guru is most apt spending more time in front of the mirror primping and preening, wrapped up in himself, Inc., the perfect social media photograph forever eluding him, than attempting a teacher.  Most of what he tells you can be gleamed from a few hours in the self-help section of your local corner bookstore. He knows not of the masters or their teachings. He is lucky to have read the only a small number of scratch-the-surface books, rarely delving into any original thought or text, and certainly not language. He does not tell you the whole story, both sides of the equation; he cannot, he is incapable. He does not know that of which he tells you, nor has he lived any of it. To him it is all wrapped in theory only; he is a master of talking the talk. Otherwise if practical, he would understand he has no answers. He most likely does not even know where to find the answers he himself is searching for out of life; he is too busy falsely proselytizing them to you. The critical important part they do not inform you on, since they are unaware through all their craft-brew filled sophomoric philosophizing, is that one can only find light the result of traveling through utter darkness. True intellect and intelligence must be bestowed upon us from a higher power. No amount of Guru-Juice or learned theoretical book knowledge will get you there quicker – it is a dark and lonely road that must be traveled alone, only by you.

Some of these ass-clowns are the same ones who will preach to you the value of the Law of Attraction. Yet they do not understand it. They make it sound like some fast food order drive-through of the universe. Yes, hello, I would like an order of a mass produced cookie-cutter McMansion in a suburb, throw in a high paying job, a beautiful bride, a perfect boy and girl and a side of happiness, while you’re in a giving mood. These same fools think that prayer or meditation works the same way.  They think that prayer is a wish list of things you desire in life. As if God already doesn’t know what you want in life. It is only when we have gratitude and thanks for what we currently have in our lives that we are prepared to receive more from the universe.  The Law of Attraction has two parts, but these “spiritual masters” only tell you one side of the story: they sell you on the light, never filling you in or instructing you into and through the dark inner work required to come to true happiness.  Your greatest prayer each day is why you are thankful.  These absolute asses are too busy teaching you their ‘successful’ ways that mean nothing and will get you nowhere – when all you need to do is take the time to look inside.  All answers lie within. 

The Guru who always wants you to Private Message (PM) him or her is also thought to be suspect.  These same type 15 minute rodeo yahoos would also always rather send you a voice recorded message or reply – it keeps them from having to give ‘actual’ or ‘real’ answers that could really guide or aid you, never being tied to the written word.  They are modern day social media snake oil salesmen.  Life coaches with certifications are not as bad on whole, though most are akin to those who enter into the field of study of Psychology – they are trying to solve their own deep inner personal concerns and questions – and definitely are not in any place to be giving out advice or guiding others in life. One can always attend a pay-to-play graduate school like University of Pennsylvania, continually pumping out unqualified consultants, many misguided and unfulfilled, resorting to ABC (insert fancy title) Coach. In fact, many are probably in need of seeing their own therapist or guide in life. Rest assured, either way, come hell or high water, when the next hot ‘sliced-bread’ item comes down the infinite toll road of people’s insatiable appetite for innermost self-betterment, through any means possible one can be hoodwinked, he will be ecstatic to control the click-whirl intimate toll booth reward circuit, smiling all the way to the bank.  You have been forewarned.  Buyer beware! 

You might as well go flush money down the toilet because otherwise these modern day online Bonnie and Clyde fraudsters will continue to take your hard earned money with a perfectly orchestrated and polished smile, while they play off of your insecurities to their ultimate financial benefit. Some of them even have weekend retreats or even go so far as to schedule foreign trips. I would be willing to bet most participants initially walk away happy. But ask those same people in six months what has changed in their lives and be prepared for many blank stares. It is back to business as usual.  There was no real or actualized change that occurred outside the warm-and-fuzzy feelings they all had when manipulated for a weekend away at a tranquil spiritual destination, ignorantly anonymous and blind, drinking the cool-aid with contented delight.  They paid for that part but did not receive instruction how to continue the lessons in actual everyday life because the teacher was either unaware the importance of this, the process of how change actually occurs in a person through daily habit, or was not qualified and/or competent to train you on such.  Refund! 

The newly discovered ‘spiritual rich’ who buy themselves up the Buddha Ladder are guilty just the same.  Somehow they think that because they now have financial success that affords them the time and right to seek out the best spiritual guides that money can buy. Although this same person also thinks he with the most toys accumulated wins the race, it is no surprise spirituality is the greatest atrocious omission from his list of life’s personal goals. This person is the same void of a being as before, now with money – money that has only bought him further disquiet.  Spirituality should be atop his or her wish list, yet it is relegated to another trophy for the oak mantle. What new part of life can we objectify and control this week?! The head monks at the monasteries understand the unspoken relationship; they also understand their monks have to eat. The ignorance of one brings light to many – a fair deal according to the monks. So the pay-to-pray patronage relationship that has greatly benefited them in the past, often financial, continues to assist struggling monasteries and their causes unabated today.  In the end, these wealthy ass-hats only find themselves higher up the proverbial spiritual mountain, with lighter pockets. Confucius say: Never get too high up mountain, no one hear you scream.

The Dali Lama has been quoted as saying: There are eight billion people in this world; there are eight billions realities in this world. Recently on Facebook I saw a post on why this one particular Guru was unlike all others.  Most witty people would have stopped at the first line but rest assured, many not only read on further but also believed this hot-air-filled idiot. He went on to pontificate his experience with ancient cultures and shamans. He had spent 1000s of hours with shamans though I am unsure he could define one or its role in society. He had also notched in his fine Italian leather belt 10,000 hours of laser focused meditation.  And? That means exactly what to me? It tells me you are wrapped up within your own narcissistic mind, concerned with meaningless numbers and your boundless self-inflating ego; that you have no real understanding of love, any matters of the heart or even a shred of comprehension on human consciousness or psychology. It only reinforces and makes clear to all reading this blog, the only thing any amount of personal hours has ever done to benefit you was to make your last Facebook profile selfie look like it belongs on the cover of GQ.  Perhaps your greatest egoic attributes and abilities could best be utilized, no doubt improving humanity in untold ways, by retiring as a douche Guru extraordinaire and morphing into an international social media model-phenom. I hear Instagram is hiring.   

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[feral-radfem]

Tell me if this idea sounds weird, but I've always thought of that sci-fi trope of a robot uprising, but instead of all humans, it's just men that get got. The robots would be able to see the violence, they'd probably have access to the internet, be able to see the sheer depravity that men do to women on the daily and just decide that men are the problem and just straight up kill them, no questions asked.

Obviously, those who show no violence are spared, but are on thin ice, like the moment they show an unnecessary amount of violence/intimidation, you're gone bucko, you had your chance you knew what was coming. Cue a montage of women living their best lives after violent men are put down and can actually go out at night, leave their doors unlocked, and just be able to live without fear bc their robot guardians have their backs

I feel like the idea is a bit out there but it's been on my mind for a while now

I don't necessarily think the idea is out there in Realms of extremely off chance apocalyptic scenarios go. It would be an entertaining movie to watch if nothing else.

However, knowing how computers actually learn, the rampant misogyny, racism, classism, and ableism on the internet where it would be getting most of its info from would teach it those behaviors.

We've actually seen this problem on police AI where the AI they're using misidentifies people of color as perps because it was trained with a racist input from the cops reports. Since they were over prosecuting minority communities the computers took those reports and the AI over prosecute minority communities too.

So realistically, if there was ever a robotic Uprising that wasn't imposed by an actual person like hacking them all and imposing their own moral code on them they would most likely be like Mega Nazi robots. Because AI typically learns through the input it's given and the internet is not a kind place to minorities and the AI doesnt have a seperate moral code programed into them most likely, right?

Idk, fun though exercise, regardless.

[sylvanfreckles]

The Walrider: Pt 4 of 5

(For Day 05: Every Whumpee's Needs)

Fandom: Supernatural x Outlast Rating: M Chapter warnings: violence, dismemberment/amputation, gore, body horror Story warnings: intense violence and gore, eventual body horror, references to torture

Summary: Run, hide, or die.

An investigation brings the Winchesters to Mount Massive Asylum, a supposed research hospital deep in the Colorado mountains. But what they thought was a run-of-the-mill exorcism turns into a terrifying tour of hell on earth as they come face-to-face with the inmates of a place built to feed off of their worst nightmares.

And deep at the heart of it lies something ancient and dark, waiting for its chance to walk the earth again. (read on AO3)

...

“You sure are lucky I could fit you into my busy schedule.”

Sam’s head lolled as he tried to focus on the words, even as his body was manhandled into a wheelchair. Straps were fastened around his wrists and ankles while he was still too dazed to struggle, and they held fast when he gathered enough of himself to try to jerk free.

“But, thanks to that wacko priest, I happen to have an opening for a consultation right now. You’re not one of his, are you? Hey!”

A sharp slap to Sam’s cheek brought the world back into focus, and he stared up into the ghoulish face of the man who’d punched him in the elevator. Dirty skin, as dry and cracked as old leather, drawn tight on a skeletal face.

“With me, buddy?”

Sam wet his lips. “Who are you?”

“So glad you asked!” the man walked behind Sam and seized the handles of the wheelchair to push him down the hall. “See, most of my patients don’t really care to get to know me, but I could tell you were special. Right, bucko? You’re a special one.” A long-fingered hand tangled in Sam’s hair and ruffled it painfully.

“But there’ll be time for that later,” he continued as he pushed the wheelchair along. “Okay, here we go. Arms and legs inside the car at all times. Try not to make eye contact with the other patients, they can be a bit excitable.”

Sam pulled against the restraints as they made their way through a set of double doors into an open hospital ward. Beds lined either side of the room, separated by hanging sheets for privacy. Most of the sheets were bloodstained—or worse. He had to turn away from the first bed they passed. Whatever was on it wasn’t a patient anymore…it was little more than meat. He was too familiar with torture methods not to recognize a sloppy attempt at skin flaying.

“Not my best work,” the man tutted. “But you learn every day. Turns out skin’s necessary after all. Still have my doubts about the kidneys.”

“You’re insane.”

“Now, that’s not a nice thing to say. Haven’t you ever been sunburned? Wouldn’t it be nice to go to the beach without having to put sunscreen on all that pesky skin?”

In another bed, a man who was heavily restrained started thrashing and yelling incoherently when they approached. Sam’s captor kicked the bed and made a shushing noise. “You weren’t using that tongue anyway. It was all ‘no, Doctor Trager’ and ‘don’t cut that off, Doctor Trager’.”

Trager leaned closer after they passed, his fetid breath hot in Sam’s ear. “Truth be told I was just tired of licking my own stamps. And look, here we are!”

They went through another set of double doors, then through an open doorway that led into a room that might have been a bathroom, in a better time. There was still a row of sinks against one wall, but the stalls had been knocked down and the toilets pulled out. The room smelled foul, worse than the hospital ward they’d just passed.

“See, Father Martin just doesn’t get it,” Trager explained. He parked the wheelchair in the center of the room and walked over to a pair of dilapidated urinals next to a rickety table that had been stuffed full of random objects. “All his holier-than-thou preaching about the Walrider. No offense to the man, but sometimes I think he might be a little…how did you put it?” He pulled a long-handled saw out of one of the urinals and held it up to inspect its rusty edge. “Right, right. Insane.”

“Walrider?” Sam twisted at the straps on the wheelchair again. He almost had his right hand free, though he had to stop when Trager looked at him.

“He’s always looking for a witness. Says the Walrider will save us all. Don’t get me wrong, it’s understandable. People get scared, they’re as likely to turn to God as anything else, but God died with the gold standard.” Trager shoved the saw back into the urinal and pulled something else out. A pair of heavy, curved shears. “We’re on to more concrete faith now.”

“Don’t do this,” Sam pleaded. Trager stalked back over to him and seized his left wrist. “No, wait.”

“You’ll understand. You have to rob Paul to pay Peter, there is no other way. Murder in its simplest form, but what happens when the money is gone?”

Sam curled his hand into a fist, but Trager squeezed at the pressure point in his wrist until his grip went lax. “Money becomes a matter of faith then, and that’s why I’m here. To help you believe.”

“No! Don’t!” Sam tried to pull away, but Trager held him in place, fit the shears to his right index finger, and with a rush of screaming, burning pain, the thick blade crushed through skin and bone and Sam threw his head back to scream as the pain washed over him.

“Don’t pass out on me!” Trager backhanded him, splitting his lip. “There’s a lot more for you to absorb here, buddy.” The shears were on Sam’s middle finger now, and he didn’t even have the breath to scream as Trager squeezed and twisted and the iron-warm scent of fresh blood filled the room.

“This is the kinda thing that sells itself!” Trager announced. He scooped Sam’s fingers off the floor and deposited them and the shears on the table. “Gotta make my rounds, but we’ll talk again soon.” He clumsily patted Sam’s shoulder, leaving a streak of blood, and strode out of the room.

Sam panted for breath for a moment, staring down at his ruined hand. He could hear Trager’s footsteps receding in the distance, and the tongueless patient screaming as his tormentor came back into view. His mind was a whirl of panic and pain. He had to tear his eyes away from his hand and focus on one thing…he could not be here when Trager returned.

He jerked at the strap on his right arm. The leather creaked a little under the onslaught, giving a little more. Sam rocked to the right, then sharply back to the left, letting the moment put extra pressure on the strap. With one final pull, hard enough that he toppled over to his left, his right hand finally came free. Sam lay there on the filthy tile, panting for breath, aching to his bones, his left hand a burning point of agony.

No time. He yanked the other straps free and stumbled to his feet. Hand cradled to his chest; he pitched forward to vomit into the sink. Shock was blurring his vision and shaking his limbs, but he had no time for that.

He had to look at his hand, at the bloody stumps of his fingers. His other hand still shaking, he pulled the roll of gauze out of his jacket pocket (Dean wasn’t allowed to tease him for carrying it around anymore) and wrapped his hand up, if only to try to staunch the bleeding.

And…oh god. His bile rose again but he forced it back down. Tore a strip off his T-shirt. Wrapped the…the…his fingers in the cloth. Stuffed it deep into his pocket and tried not to think about it.

Still no sign of Trager. Sam didn’t venture back into the ward but crept down the corridor that ran between the two rooms instead. It was well-lit up here, with signs clearly marking the way to offices and patient rooms. At least he was on the third floor now, where the signal jammer was.

The office from the second floor seemed like a lifetime ago, though it couldn’t have even been an hour. He’d lost track of the time running through the maze-like corridors below, though it had to be after midnight now. They’d left Cas a few hours away, checking on another case. Sam wished they’d brought him along.

There had been a communications room near the elevators, he’d seen it in passing. Sam made his way back carefully, listening for Trager at every corner, heart pounding at every shadow. He could hear the man somewhere, talking or whistling to his other ‘patients’. He just needed to stay busy long enough for Sam to get communications going again and take the elevator down to the first floor. He’d even take the second floor at this point; at least death was the worst thing that could happen there.

He slipped into the room, shutting it behind him with a sigh of relief. It was more like a security office than anything else, with a big plate glass window overlooking the hall and a few patient files scattered around the machinery against the wall.

There were controls for the internal phone system and intercom, a short-wave radio, and a laptop connected to a box with a half-dozen antennae sticking out of the side.

The cell phone jammer. Sam let out a relieved sigh and sat down in front of the laptop, tapping the keys to wake it up so he could check the device. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and threw himself to the side just in time to miss the machete aimed at his head.

“Nobody likes a quitter, you slippery little fucker!” Trager roared. He yanked the machete free and took another swing, while Sam scrambled back on his hands to avoid the blow. He rolled to his feet and stumbled toward the door, but Trager lunged forward and caught him by the belt. “Guess we do this the hard way.”

Sam twisted free and kicked wildly at Trager, who reared back to avoid the blows. Good enough.

Bullets hadn’t seemed to work on the big guy downstairs, but Sam was always willing to experiment. He tugged his gun free and fired. The shots were deafening in the enclosed space, the flare from the muzzle a burning star in the darkened hell of the asylum. He caught Trager in the torso with three shots, flinging him back onto the bank of computers.

“The hard way,” Sam panted in agreement. His ears were ringing, hands shaking, but Trager wasn’t moving anymore. Sam pushed himself up to his feet and stared at the ‘doctor’ for a long moment, then strode over to knock the cell phone jammer onto the floor and smash it under his boots. It broke with a satisfying crunch and Sam let out a long sigh of relief. The nightmare wasn’t over yet, but maybe there was light at the end of the tunnel.

One of the files on the desk caught his eye. There was a picture attached to the folder of a familiar, hulking figure—the one who’d been chasing Sam around on the second floor. He flipped the file open, reading the name and information on the next page.

Chris Walker. Former employee of the Murkoff corporation. Date of birth, military service…and date of death?

His phone buzzed at that moment, and Sam yanked it out of his pocket. With shaking fingers, he accepted the call and pressed the phone to his ear. “Cas?”

“Sam! Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!”

Sam felt his knees to weak and he sat on the floor, pulling Walker’s file down with him. “Mount Massive…Cas, we need you.”

“I’m an hour away, Sam, I left as soon as I lost contact with you.”

“That’s great,” Sam gave and exhausted laugh and let his head rest against the desk behind him. “Hey, Cas? Can, uh…can you reattach fingers?”

There was a long pause, then his friend’s voice came over the phone in a low, protective growl. “I’m on my way, Sam. Hold on.”

[ask-jyushi-and-kara]

(lmao this was stupid)