#its not a real real dump i think i just wanted to share some sims i made while watching 4 seasons of ahs in a row

[visimlogy]

sim dump - full body version below

[thekisforkeats]

Love Languages

Info: The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, rated T probably for swears. Canon-Compliant. Set post-MAG 22, with a coda post-MAG 159. Everyone is ND and everyone is trans because that’s just how my personal S1 Archives gang rolls.

CWs: Mentions of ableism and Martin’s mother. I’d say canon-typical worms but the worms don’t really come up except in passing.

I do not know anything about BSL, so I did not try to describe the signs.

Summary: A love language is not just about how you best show love and affection; it is also about the ways you best receive love and affection. And so, for someone like Martin, who shows love by going out of his way to help others, someone going out of their way to help him, well. What better way for him to realize just how loved he is?

--------------------------------------------

The first time Martin went completely non-verbal after starting work in the Archives, it was the morning after giving Jon the statement about Jane Prentiss.

It wasn’t a surprising development, really. Martin didn’t go fully non-verbal that often, but when he did it was almost always a thing that started in the morning and lasted most of the day. Sometimes it wore off by the time he went to bed, sometimes it lasted until the next morning.

After his mother’s diagnosis, he’d been unable to speak for an entire week. That hadn’t gone over well--as much as his mother wanted him to be quiet, she didn’t like the “silent treatment,” as she called it.

Martin hated that she’d called it that, as though his non-verbal episodes were anything he did on purpose. Some days talking just felt like a chore; those days he could get by only forcing words out when he had to. But some days, the worst days, he just couldn’t talk. He could understand other people just fine, he could make noises, sometimes he could even hum. And he could definitely read and write. But speaking words, aloud? No. He could not speak, on these days, however much he may have wanted to.

As Martin grew older and learned more about himself, he learned words and reasons and coping mechanisms. He realized that some of the problem came from dysphoria and the longer he was on hormones the less often it happened. He realized that he was autistic (even if he never got diagnosed), and learned how to handle the episodes that still occurred. He took sign languages classes because it was a good and useful thing to know regardless, to be able to communicate with more people.

As many Deaf people had learned before Martin, he’d found himself in plenty of situations when nobody around him knew BSL, so he’d found a phone app that let him type out things he wanted to say and repeated them in a tinny, mechanical voice. Feminine, but he found it didn’t cause dysphoria; it wasn’t his voice. It was the app speaking for him, a robot lady translating his words.

Martin was fairly certain he was going to need the robot lady to speak for him today, and he was dreading the whole idea. The app got him a range of reactions from scorn to derision to faux sympathy. The last time he’d done so at work, the Institute library staff had regarded him with such pity that he’d called in sick the two other times it had happened since.

He’d woken early, because he was always awake fairly early, to ensure he looked presentable and got to work on time. He did not want Jonathan “Crisply Professional At All Times” Sims giving him that look again. The particular look that was “I highly disapprove of your sartorial choices but I’m not going to get into it right now because I have so very much else to do. Nonetheless, if I could fire you for what you’re wearing I would.”

Jon had a lot of looks. Martin fervently wished he could stop categorizing them; he very much disliked his boss, and very much wanted to stop thinking about Jon quite as much as he did.

Jon was attractive, that much Martin had noticed the first day he’d come in, with a jawline Martin would’ve loved to trace with his fingers, eyes sharp and deep and intelligent, salt-and-pepper hair that Martin would have tangled his fingers in gladly.

Except, of course, that Jon was also a prick who didn’t like Martin one bit and made that very clear. He’d put down on record that he thought Martin would “contribute nothing but delays.” Martin was not such a sucker for punishment that he would put up with someone who hated him just for a pretty face. The tiny potential blossom of a crush had been, well, crushed five seconds after it had poked its head above ground, by Jon’s declaration that he could dismiss Martin if he didn’t resolve the “dog situation” immediately.

Martin counted his lucky stars every day that Jon had not, in fact, dismissed him, despite having had to deal with a doggy mess. The luck was really in having Tim around, Martin figured; Jon actually seemed fond of Tim, and the other man had managed to smooth the entire situation over.

Martin had fallen asleep last night thinking about the new look Jon had given him yesterday: concerned. Truly, genuinely concerned, which had rather taken Martin aback. He’d been certain Jon wouldn’t believe him, would scoff and roll his eyes at the entire statement, and instead he’d just looked… concerned. 

And then Jon had offered Martin the cot that he’d woken up in this morning.

It wasn’t the look of concern that had Martin non-verbal, though; of that he was certain. It was the stress of the last two weeks, and dumping out the statement yesterday, and all the whirl of figuring out how to live in the Archives. Jon’s insistence on going with him to pick up basics with a toothbrush at the convenience store, and then coming back to be sure he was okay. Jon finding clean sheets and discussing how he’d do his laundry. Jon had expensed clothing bought online to the Institute, including next-day shipping, because he’d “lost access to his flat and thus his wardrobe in the line of duty.” It had all been bewildering and overwhelming and it was no real surprise that Martin was in the state he found himself when he woke.

Martin had known as soon as he’d opened his eyes. It was just there, the feeling of nope can’t talk today. He’d pulled on his binder and the same clothing he’d worn the day before and then fumbled around for his phone. Which… he didn’t have. The damn worm-hive-lady had stolen it from him. Well, shit.

He managed to avoid having to figure out how to talk while he went out to get breakfast, just pointing at a scone in the display and smiling at the guy behind the counter as if he wasn’t secretly irritated by the price of everything in Chelsea. By the time Martin got back, Jon was already in his office, so thank God he’d avoided that awkward interaction. He went to make himself tea, and had his breakfast in the breakroom, and brushed his teeth, and then went to get started on…

Wait. He didn’t even know what they were working on right now.

Well, he wasn’t going to bother Jon about it; however nice he’d been last night it surely must have worn off by now, and Martin had no interest in summoning one of his boss’ looks this early in the morning. Normally he’d still be on his commute at this hour.

After a moment’s thought, he went to go see what they’d recorded in his absence, and soon had a stack of statements on his desk. They’d gotten through five statements in the two weeks he’d been gone. Maybe Jon was right. Maybe Martin did contribute “nothing but delays.”

Pushing the thought aside, Martin focused on listening to the tapes, and was just finishing up listening to the second half of Father Edwin Burroughs’ statement when Tim came into the shared office the assistants used.

“Hey, you’re in early. You get the email?”

Martin raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

Tim snorted. “Jon claims he’s got something to warn us about, something that ‘won’t parse properly through digital means.’” He rolled his eyes. “Which is Jon-speak for ‘it’s a weird thing and I don’t want to admit it’s a weird thing because I have to keep my skeptic hat on to preserve my self-image.”

Martin chuckled in solidarity, then gestured toward the door to Jon’s office, to indicate that’s where their boss was.

“Not coming?” Tim asked, his own eyebrow raised. When Martin shrugged, he said, “Well, I guess if you didn’t get the email…” Tim also shrugged, then said, “Guess I’d better get it over with. Wish me luck!”

Martin gave him a thumbs up.

When Sasha came in, Martin silently directed her to Jon’s office as well, then heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t had to explain being non-verbal at all yet, and it was already nine o’clock. Maybe if he was lucky, Jon would warn them off talking to him and he’d manage to make it the entire day without having to explain the whole “non-verbal” business to anyone he saw on a regular basis.

Alas, it was barely thirty minutes later that Tim and Sasha returned to talk to him, both wearing expressions of mingled concern and guilt. When they spoke it was a flood of the usual, expected platitudes:

“We’re so sorry!”

“We didn’t know!”

“Are you okay??”

And such like.

Martin shrugged and nodded and shook his head in all the right places, and evidently Jon had played them the tape of his statement so he didn’t have to explain it all again (thank God), and he thought maybe, maybe he could even figure out what statement they were working on right now if he just listened to their chatter after they were done with the niceties, but then…

Well. Then Timothy Stoker happened.

Which is to say, Tim actually looked at Martin, and said, “You’re being awfully quiet. You sure you’re okay?”

And then he and Sasha just… sat there, looking at him expectantly.

Martin sighed and reached for a piece of scrap paper and wrote, I’m autistic and sometimes I go non-verbal. Today’s one of those days, but I don’t have my phone anymore, so no communication app.

As he held up the paper so the others could read the words, Martin braced himself for the ensuing reactions. Pity, probably, like those in the Institute library, and he couldn’t even call in sick to avoid it; he’d rather have scorn and derision. At least those reactions were honest.

What he got from them was not pity, however, nor even scorn.

Sasha hummed. “Autism explains a lot, actually. Don’t worry, it’s not a problem.”

Tim grinned and clapped Martin on the shoulder. “Yeah, why didn’t you just say so? It’s fine, you’ve been through an ordeal. And so you know--you’re hardly the only neurodivergent in the Archives.”

Martin blinked at Tim, then wrote: Wait, what? Who…?

“Would you believe me if I said all of us?” Tim said with a grin. “I have ADD, Jon’s… well… he’s Jon, and as for Sasha…”

Sasha sighed in fond exasperation and cut in, “Tim…”

“I contend that you cannot be neurotypical, Ms. James. You fit in too well around here.”

“I am not admitting to anything on Institute property,” Sasha said with aplomb. “And you shouldn't have either, but here we are.” She looked at Martin. “If HR finds out and they give you any trouble, let us know and we’ll figure out what to do.”

Tim, in the meanwhile, pulled out his phone. “Here, go ahead and use mine for now, until your replacement gets here or whatever. What’s the app so I can install it for you?”

Martin’s jaw had dropped open. Tim having ADD made sense; what did he mean about Jon, though? And Sasha? And what did Sasha mean about HR? And… and why were they being so… nice? So… understanding? It wasn’t an act, or at least he didn’t think it was. They seemed… genuinely fine with it. Accepting, even.

It was the strangest thing Martin had experienced in a while, and that was including the worm-riddled woman who’d stood outside his door for two straight weeks.

From there the day just… went on as normal. Tim installed the app on the phone, Martin’s robot phone lady spoke for him, the three of them did their work, and everything was fine.

Until, of course, the nature of their work reared its ugly head. They were discussing the statement of Leanne Denikin, case #0051701, which they had yet to attach a pithy name to; hence the discussion. It had long since become standard practice to attach a name to the “weirder” statements, to make them easier to discuss. (Jon insisted on using the case numbers on tape still, which was annoying, given that was the only place he did that.)

Martin was reading through the statement, and he typed into Tim’s phone: What do you think of this bit? “Be still, for there is strange music.”

What came out of the phone’s speakers, however, was garbled static followed by high-pitched screeching that startled Martin so much he actually dropped the phone.

Jon was walking in just as this happened; he stopped in the doorway, blinking. “What on Earth was that?”

“Martin’s robot lady gave Tim’s phone an aneurysm, I think,” Sasha said, eyeing Martin as well.

Martin scrabbled on the floor for the phone, pulled up the app (which had crashed), and typed, I don’t know what happened!! I was just typing in something from one of the statements!

Jon frowned at him sharply. “What are you doing with Tim’s phone? Are you quite well?”

“No, Martin is not ‘quite well,’” Tim said. “Non-verbal for the day.”

Then Jon did something that stunned Martin: Jon signed at him, specifically, “Do you know sign language?” He spoke aloud as he said this, too, but also raised his eyebrows and gave a quizzical tilt to his head to convey that he was asking a question.

Martin blinked rapidly, then signed back: “Yes, actually. But Tim and Sasha don’t.”

Jon nodded, then said aloud, along with signing, “Why are you non-verbal, exactly?”

“I have autism,” Martin signed. “Sometimes talking is overwhelming and sometimes, especially in stressful situations, I can’t talk at all. Woke up that way today. It should be gone by tomorrow morning.” Why was he explaining so much more to Jon than he had to the others? Maybe just because Jon knew sign, and thus could communicate in a language Martin found much easier than even the typing.

Jon frowned thoughtfully, then nodded again. Then, still speaking and signing both, “What were you typing into your phone?”

“Be still, for there is strange music. From the statement.” Martin gestured to the statement on his desk.

Jon’s frown deepened and he repeated the words. “‘Be still, for there is strange music….’” His expression went slack for a moment, and then he shook himself. “Right. Well. Just… just… I’ll be right back.” Then he abruptly turned and left the room.

Tim and Sasha exchanged bewildered looks. Then Sasha asked, “Do you know what that was all about?”

“I forgot Jon knows BSL,” Tim replied thoughtfully. “Hard of hearing on one side. Not that he’d have agreed to interpret all day or anything.”

Martin shrugged. It’s alright, he typed. This works just fine.

“Well, no, obviously not for some things.” Jon had reappeared as suddenly as he’d disappeared, holding a small brown notebook the size of Martin’s hand. “Here,” he said, thrusting the notebook at Martin. “This will work better, for communicating about the statements. You needn’t use it with me, of course, unless signing is also taxing.”

Martin stared up at Jon. There was an entirely new look on his boss’ face. Not any level of scorn or sneer, nor even concern. He was… nervous. Fidgety. Like he was offering a gift that he was afraid might be rejected.

Something went flip in Martin’s stomach and it was like the entire world turned upside down. Suddenly, in light of Jon’s actions in the last 24 hours, he saw the way his boss had acted toward him the last six months for what it was: a defense mechanism. Armor pulled up around someone fragile and soft and sweet, someone so terrified of rejection that he went about making sure it happened preemptively so he wouldn’t be hurt.

Martin had a sudden, fierce desire to hug Jon and tell him everything would be okay. It was so bewildering a sensation--he didn’t even like the man! At all!--that he just took the notebook with a nod and a signed “Thank you,” eyes still very wide.

Jon nodded in return. “You’re welcome.” He let out a breath, and seemed to relax a little. “Well. Then. I think we’ve found the name for this one, given the way Tim’s phone reacted to those words. ‘Strange Music’ it is.” He straightened himself. “Tim, you said something about the organ reminding you of articles you’ve read…?”

Tim nodded, expression suddenly serious. “Yeah. I’ll see if I can find them for you.”

“Right. Well, then, Sasha, if I could ask you to look through the Archive like we talked about? I’m certain we’ve had a statement from Jane Prentiss.” Jon then turned to Martin. “And if you wouldn’t mind helping me with ‘Schwarzwald?’ You used to work in the library, right?”

Martin was still staring at Jon in confusion, but nodded.

Jon actually smiled at him. Faintly. “Well, then, I’m certain you must know where to find the German history reference books, if you could go grab whatever they’ll let you bring down?”

The strangest thing about it was, Jon seemed sincere. Like he actually believed Martin did, indeed, know the library well enough to just… go up there and find the German history reference books. The faint, confident-in-his-assistant smile was a new look, at least directed at Martin; he’d seen Jon look at Tim and Sasha that way many times before.

Martin’s stomach was doing cartwheels. There were butterflies taking up residence in his intestines. His heart was pounding. How had he never noticed how nice Jon’s smile was? Soft and small, like he was afraid to let it actually take up residence on his face for too long.

Oh, God, oh, no. Martin could not fancy his boss. Jon hated him. Or, well, no, evidence suggested that perhaps Jon did not hate him, but Jon most certainly did not fancy him. This crush had to disappear, just as fast as it had come. This would not do.

He was going to be writing poetry again tonight, wasn’t he? Crap.

“Martin?” Jon’s tone was concerned rather than sharp, and the way Jon said his name made Martin want to sink into the floor.

Instead, he scribbled furiously in the notebook and held it up so all three of the others could see: Yeah, sorry, was just thinking about where that’d be. I’ll bring them down as soon as I find them.

Jon practically beamed at Martin’s use of the notebook and he nodded briskly. “Right! I’ll be in my office when you have the books, then.” He started to turn away.

Martin’s heart went pound pound pound because oh wow Jon was really cute when he let that smile take up more of his face. Throwing caution to the wind, he made a noise to get the other man’s attention.

Jon turned around, quirking a brow. “Yes, Martin?”

Martin signed, “Tea?” He, too, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to indicate the question.

Jon nodded. “Tea would be lovely, yes.” He smiled at Martin for a brief moment, and then suddenly looked flustered. He glared at them all. “Anyway,” he snapped in his ‘boss’ voice, the impact of which was ruined by the flush rising in his cheeks, “there’s still work to be done. So let’s… do it.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left the office.

Had Jon blushed because Martin had offered him tea? Did Jon like his tea that much? Was Martin imagining things? He had to be imagining things. He put his head down on the desk and wrapped his arms over it so he could grab at handfuls of hair. What was happening to him?

Sasha tried to make her voice serious, but couldn't quite manage it past quite clearly holding back giggles. “Mourn for poor Martin, working alone with Jon.” She looked at Tim. “We should call HR preemptively, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Nah, I think Jon’s softening on our boy,” Tim said with a laugh. He reached over to ruffle Martin’s hair with one hand while he took his phone back with the other. “Don’t worry, Marto. I told you he’d come around one day.”

Martin looked up at Tim with a stricken, betrayed expression. In the notebook: Is this how you comfort me in my hour of need??

Sasha shook her head. “For once, Tim’s being serious. You weren’t in the room when Jon explained things to us. He’s worried about you, he doesn’t want you to have to leave the Institute alone, he doesn’t want you to have to look for the Prentiss statement in case it’s ‘too traumatic’ for you to run across on your own. He actually asked us if we thought we should avoid any mention of Prentiss altogether in your presence.”

“I told him no,” Tim said. “I hope that was okay. You seem like you’d rather deal with trauma by facing it and figuring it out, rather than avoiding it entirely.”

Matin gaped at them. Really? he wrote. Jon’s… worried about me? Really? As if he hadn’t seen the evidence just now that Jon was, indeed… softening.

Tim gave Martin a very serious look. “I’ve told you before… I’ve known Jon, well, not as long as I’ve known Sasha, but for a long while now. He’s prickly and thorny, even to people he cares about, but that’s a front and I’ve said so. You just didn’t believe me.”

“In Martin’s defense,” Sasha put in, “Jon’s been awfully ‘prickly and thorny’ to him specifically.”

Tim put up a hand. “Oh, I agree. I have had words with our dear boss about the way he treats Martin, largely because I’m one of the few people he might actually listen to.” He looked at Martin. “I don’t want to take the credit, because it’s really been a remarkably fast turnaround, but I’d like to think I helped, a little.”

Martin frowned thoughtfully. Thank you, he wrote. If Jon’s at ‘I can stand Martin’ instead of ‘Martin is the source of all bad that happens in the Archives’ work might be… better than tolerable, for once.

“That’s the spirit!” Tim said with a grin. “Now, then, Jon did say to get back to work…”

Jon gave Martin another of those soft smiles when Martin brought in the tea, a smile which widened on seeing the stack of books he carried in right after. That afternoon, spent sitting and going through books and discussing the Schwarzwald statement, was the first of many they’d spend together, reading and talking and comparing notes.

Martin was feeling verbal again the next morning, but he kept the notebook. If nothing else, it was a good place to jot down poetry. And it came in handy when he found himself unable to speak the morning after Jane Prentiss’ attack on the Archives.

And the morning after Jon confronted him about his CV.

And the morning after Jon disappeared, leaving Jurgen Leitner’s body at his desk. (Martin blamed that on the corridors more than the body, really.)

Funnily enough, he didn’t need it the morning after the Unknowing. But he kept it with him that day all the same, the first gift Jon had ever given him, and one of the few things he had left of him with Jon in a coma.

--------------------------------------------

When they reached Daisy’s safehouse in Scotland, Martin had hoped he’d somehow manage to dodge the threat of going non-verbal. He’d been the one to drive the car, over Jon’s protests; it was something to focus on, to keep him remembering he was alive and real. He’d clutched the wheel and driven north north north with Jon giving directions in the passenger seat.

Martin had finally figured out that it was the chance to stop and think about trauma that led to his being non-verbal, which was why it was almost always a thing that hit in the morning. Adrenaline would keep him running after a stressful event, and then he’d carry himself through the rest of the day trying to clean up whatever mess had been caused. But sleep was enough for his body and brain to both tell him to stop, to process, to deal with whatever he’d run into.

It was possible, in hindsight, that he’d gone non-verbal more than once since the Unknowing and just hadn’t noticed because he’d been barely interacting with anyone. He’d certainly had a bad bout the morning after his mother’s funeral, dealing with so much misgendering and fake smiles. And there had been more than enough trauma to try to process in the past year, so it must have happened before.

He’d just really, really hoped it wouldn’t now, because he didn’t want to put Jon through that. (Why he thought he was putting Jon through anything he didn’t really want to examine. It made him feel Lonely, and that was bad.)

At any rate, the realization of why he went non-verbal had led to him keeping busy in order to hold it off, in order to hold himself together. So he drove, and he puttered about the cabin poking into cupboards, and he talked to Jon, and he talked to the shop lady in the village, and he brought back food and made dinner with Jon, and everything was good and fine.

And then he woke up the next morning, in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, and he could not speak.

There was the smell of bacon and eggs and pancakes cooking, and Martin made his bleary way out into the main room of the cabin and peered at Jon, already up and dressed and cooking.

His boyfriend turned to look at him and smiled, one of those soft smiles Martin had come to love so much. “Sleep well?”

"Not really,” Martin signed. “I mean…” He gestured at his throat.

Jon nodded. “I figured you might feel that way this morning. I, uhh… hold on a moment, I need to….” He grabbed the pan of bacon and moved it off the heat, pulled a pancake off the griddle and deposited it on a plate, then turned off the stove and went to poke around in one of the bags.

Martin chuckled fondly. “What’re you looking for?”

Jon was still digging through his bag. “When I was grabbing essentials at the store, back in London, I was thinking, you’ve been through a lot, and the notebook I gave you before must be full if you even have it anymore. I know you were writing poetry in it, and… oh, here we go.”

Jon came up with another small notebook. This one was not plain and brown, the way the first one he’d gifted Martin all those years ago had been. This one was black, and had silvery stars on its cover that, as Jon held out the book and thus tilted it through the light, shimmered into rainbows.

“Just in case, you know, the shop lady doesn’t know BSL.”

Martin blinked at the notebook.

“It, uhh… I know it’s not your usual style,” Jon said, his voice suddenly nervous. He was looking down at the notebook as he spoke, instead of at Martin. “Not… retro. But… I saw it and I thought of you.” He paused. “That tape, where you were talking to Simon Fairchild. He talked about the ‘cosmic scale,’ and how we’ve never even been alive on that time frame, and you said… what was it? You said, ‘I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.’ And I just… that was… maybe the most… it was very�� you. And there were other options, flowers or cursive writing, o-or… I don’t know, they all seemed so obvious, but this…”

Jon swallowed, and finally looked up at Martin. “I thought, after the Lonely, you might like a reminder that, you have value. That… that to me, you shine as bright as any star.” And then he flushed, and Martin knew it was for him, just as he now knew the flushes about tea all those years ago had also been for him.

Martin was gaping. Oh. Oh. Jon… loved him. Which he’d known, intellectually, but the emotional knowledge of it hit him suddenly, took his breath away. He knew it, all at once, in that “oh we could spend the rest of our lives together” way he’d never really thought he’d ever feel.

Jon had clearly misinterpreted the expression; he started stammering, “I-if… it it’s bad, I can… well, no, I can’t take it back, stupid, I should’ve just grabbed the one that had--”

Martin cut him off by reaching out to take the notebook from Jon and reached out with his other hand to cup the shorter man’s cheek. He smiled, and because he’d realized long ago how well Jon responded to physical touch, he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead.

Then he pulled back to put the notebook aside on the counter and signed, “It’s perfect. Thank you.” A pause, and then, “I love you.”

Jon smiled, both speaking and signing, “I love you, too.”

And for once in his life, Martin knew that to be true, and trusted that knowledge. He was loved. He had been loved, and he would be loved for the rest of his life, whatever state his voice was in.

[emmelfish]

‘After woohoo, I like to celebrate with a long hike to ponder the fact that my wife being pregnant means it’ll be a while before we can have more babies.’

Pfft, keep dreaming John. Like that want about playing for tips, nice try – you have zero creativity points. Stick to wanting to praise Tabby, becoming besties with Lucy, and befriending Darren. Also if it’s so hot maybe you should take off your outerwear when you get inside?

FACK

John: What’s the best thing about gardening? Getting down and dirty with your hoes!

Jen: These interactions ALWAYS result in one of us walking away with minus points, why would you think this one would be any different? Anyway, come look at this, you’ll like this.

Jen: LOOK! He’s watching sports on TV like he’s people!

John: Oh that’s adorable! Hey speaking of sports, how is woohoo like a game of bridge?

Jen: *screams internally*

Finally, Jen gets to hang out with some intelligent lifeforms.

Jen: Alright. ‘Examine the lives of the best and the most fruitful sim and sims and ask yourself whether a tree which is supposed to grow to a proud height could do without bad weather and storms: whether misfortune and external resistance, whether any kinds of hatred, jealousy, stubbornness, mistrust, hardness, greed and violence do not belong to the favorable conditions without which any great growth even of virtue is scarcely possible?’

Tabby: Screw this.

Jen: ‘The poison from which the weaker nature perishes strengthens the strong sim – and he does not call it poison.’

John: My wife! I am so proud of you for reading to our child and furchildren and yet-to-be-born children AND getting a golden ticket to My Muse from the spiky-haired man because of your musical talent.

(Hey it’s Justin Kim again! Wonder if he’s come searching for his Hot Tub Time Machine mom.) 

Justin: I’m a child and even I know that if you jump on her like that it’s not good for your yet-to-be-born children.

Pop

Jen: The hell is this?

John: You said you wanted new clothes. 

Jen: But blue is so not my color.

John: But darling, now you match my shorts! 🎵Off to tend to my peppers I shall go...

Glitches

John: 🎵 With a broken arm, yes oh-ee-oh

Another day, another dollar simoleon...

Jen: TUCKER II! You lucrative little furball, thank you so much for pulling your weight while Mommy is carrying so much of it and thus can’t work herself, all thanks to that great big tit I’m married to.

John: What’s that?

Jen: I said is that the Greater Blue-Tit you’ve spotted there dear?

John: I think it is!

Jen: YAY I am so proud of you!

John: Me too!

John: Unff

I’m sorry, I can’t suspend my disbelief with this game any longer because Lucy IS the classmate that saw the rated R movie, and would be the one describing boobies and butts and bloody violence to the innocent child this chance card was actually meant for. So I picked Ignore, because a) no, and b) chance cards are bullshit, they have a 99.999999999999% chance of undoing all your good work in any scenario.

Oh looky who it is! Everyone’s favorite Desiderata resident. And, three nanoseconds of a chat with Jen results in Jen’s crumpled face of confusion and Natasha’s hatred thought bubble. Shame, really.

I’ve noticed the community tends to call her Nat, but all the Natashas I’ve known in my life (all two of them) go for Tash or Tasha. I’m torn. I’ll tell you what I’m NOT torn on. Her exquisite grilled cheese dress by the exquisite @strangetomato, amirite? 🧀

GO TABS!

Good: Tabby promoted Good: Smart investing Bad: Justin falling out with Lucy, probably because he was the kid the chance card was meant for and she was traumatizing him with talk of blood and boobies. I’m not gonna lose sleep over it, he’s all the way out in Viper Canyon so it wasn’t like they were gonna be besties in childhood. Maybe at college or something.

This family, I swear. They’re like the sim embodiment of Bender’s ‘impression of life at big Bri’s house’ in The Breakfast Club.

That’s if, uh, Bri’s parents constantly make sexually-charged advances toward one another. 

Meanwhile, dat text doe! Brandi Broke Hair Hour is upon us.

Jen: Sweetie I’ve found myself wearing something I wouldn’t choose even if it were the last garment on the planet and I’m scared.

Lucy: It’s okay Mom, if I’ve lost all respect for you it’s primarily because I’m on the precipice of puberty and that’s what’s supposed to happen.

John: The heck is this? I’m the Family sim here. You can’t have it both ways.

John: THAT’S more like it. Hai little bestie!

Lucy: Hai Dad! Why are all these people in our house?

John: Oh, well Brandi Broke was on a walkby so I wanted to paint a picture of what your hair will look like tomorrow so that you’re prepared. And I got one of those annoying messages about whether I’d been abducted by aliens from Darren even though I spoke to him yesterday, so I felt guilty.

Meanwhile, Jennifer stares longingly at her guitar and gets all introspective about this five-minute lack of romance in her life, exacerbated by Brandi heartfarting at Darren. That Family/Knowledge attraction, it never fails. And yet, somehow I can’t see Dustin and Dirk as stepbrothers, but we need to find Brandi someone soon as she needs to up her brood to six for that stupid LTW about marrying off multiple kids. WHAT IF UNBORN BABYBROKE ISN’T THE MARRYING KIND, Brandi, ever think of that?!

(Makes mental note to create drahmz by making Unborn Babybroke a Romance sim who constantly disappoints its mother)

Jen: Oh that DOES it. You lot might be able to sit around waiting for these babies to fall out of me but I have to DO something.

Brandi you utter utter terrible stupid moron you are PENNILESS WHY are you tipping Jen all those simoleons 😱

Lucy meanwhile stares at her father and tries to picture Brandi’s hair on his face in a vain attempt to glimpse into her near future.

And yet... are these two meant to be though? The synchronized terrible dancing and constant thoughts of one another may be a sign. That said, Dina Caliente does that with Darren too and, much as I love Darren and Dina as individuals, the thought of that is so godawfully wrong that I always have to direct sims to speak with each of them separately in an attempt to stop them autonomously eating one another’s faces whenever they always show up in the same GD welcome wagon. #StopDinarren #SaveTheDreamers #ACRYouMonster

Lucy manages to alienate yet another boy from districts afar (like does her schoolbus refuel in Viper Canyon or something?) by saying things about art or theater that offend Gallagher Newson so deeply, he launches a tirade of vitriolic mansplaining at her while she checks her nails, unfazed. Atta girl. 

Brandi: I wish we could all get along like we used to in middle school... I wish I could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and everyone would eat and be happy...

Best not look outside then Bran.

Tabby: Huh? Yeah? You want some o’ this? Come at me bro!

Tabby: Oh you think I can’t take you? Think again assclown, I’m a stunt double now, I eat fear FOR BREAKFAST.

And so the thrill ride begins. Lucy’s face is that unique mixture of anxiety and resignation that plainly says, ‘Well, my reign is at an end. It’s been real, friends.’

I love Tucker II, but the fact that he chooses THIS moment to act out for the first time in his life and start destroying the furniture is far from cool. Clearly he too is worried about upcoming changes in the pack hierarchy.

Stone cold Tabs meanwhile favors staying outside in the rain and having no part in any of this.

Tabby: 🎵 Hello darkness my old friend...

Urgh

IS NOOBOO TIME!

Spoiler alert: this nooboo actually ends up with blue eyes because I quit without saving to roll the pacifier a couple times, which is sad because neither nooboo has black hair now. But we’ll survive. Somehow. I just liked this snap.

When both your dog and your seconds-old nooboo are thinking about Brandi, it’s probably time for her to leave the house. But she won’t, because she’s a Family sim who subscribes to the stereotype of only caring about other people’s children. And pets.

3 days off? Pahaha. I don’t even have any hacks installed to share parental leave (I really should), and Jen was somehow still back at work the next day.

Poor Babygirl Burb (not her permanent name) isn’t getting a great start in life considering everybody’s just yelling about Babyboy Burb and not even acknowledging her. Well, except Jen, who hasn’t yet put her down. See that, Family sims?! That’s how to do it.

Case in point.

Brandi: Congrats!

John: Oh yeah, the nooboos? Great aren’t they. I’m sure I dropped The Boy around here somewhere.

The Boy: And my suffering beginneth...

John: The Boy! Ah, The Boy. There you are. The Boy.

(If you can’t already tell, John will be saying ‘The Boy’ in the same relieved and happy voice as the dad from 8 Simple Rules for the rest of his natural life, primarily because both of his daughters are genetically engineered to make his hair grey.)

Hey Brandi, ever feel like you’re intruding on an intimate family moment?

Brandi: Nup!

Lucy: I just can’t picture it ON me...

Brandi: Kid, what is it with you and my hair?

John: I’VE LOST THE BOY AGAIN

Lucy: Haha, my parents can be so incompetent sometimes.

Lucy: Actually... where are my parents?

Well Lucy, get ready to upscale that judgment of incompetence because...

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. John’s face. John’s face right there. Is the most smackable face I’ve ever seen.

Not only did Jennifer Burb give birth TO TWINS less than five minutes ago...

... but they unceremoniously dumped both twins in the Bouncinators, and they’re now screaming.

To which, their creators remain oblivious. There are some pretty terrible parents out there in the Sims universe BUT THESE TWO ARE HOT ON THEIR HEELS right now.

Hey, while these poor minutes-old creatures are stuck screaming in their Bouncinators while John presumably tries to create more problems for the family with his testicles, why don’t we meet them?

This is not at all named solely to give Alexander Goth a younger wife one day Cecilia! You can’t see them here because they’re squeezed shut in agony and anguish, but her eyes are deep blue, presumably from her grandfather Jeff Pleasant. Perhaps upon looking at her, her uncle Daniel will be overcome with the guilt referenced in his bio and try to send her to Mars.

And here’s Patrick! With his skintone plus the brown eyes and brown hair, he’s probably destined to be a John / Lucy clone, but we shall see. Let’s get one thing straight though (or should I say curly), when these anklebiters transition they are both leaping right into Jennifer Burb tousled waves territory.

Lucy: WHAT DO I DO

Don’t worry Lucy, we’ll pause this one here as it’s already been far too long a round and no doubt everyone involved is tired as hell.

Until next time!

[hotelconcierge]

THE FALSE NEGATIVES

In The Company Of Men (1997) opens in an airport where two middle management guys have just arrived: a bespectacled seborrheic named Howard, and an ex-jock good ol’ boy named...Chad.

Howard walks out of the bathroom. He’s been hit, by a woman, just for asking the time—like, Mountain or Central. “Wait, wait. You're telling me about some sort of unprovoked assault here?” Chad says, “Did she give you the time at least?” 

Howard doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even seem to recognize it as a joke. And therein lies the problem, for him and everyone else.

The two men are in town a few weeks to work at a branch office. They exchange complaints. This place blows. The job sucks. Coworkers are vultures. Can’t trust anyone. Howard just got dumped by his fiancée. Chad says he just got dumped too.

CHAD: I'm standing there, no note...not a “thanks for four years of a roof over my bleached-blonde head”...nothing. You know? And it comes to me...the truth. I do not give a shit, not about anybody. A family member, a job, none of it. I couldn't care less.

HOWARD: Geez.

CHAD: Don't get me wrong. We're pals.

HOWARD: Same college.

CHAD: Exactly, and that means something. But these other folks...You know, jump on while the going's good? No, that will not do.

“Circle the date on this one, big guy,” Chad says, “We keep playing along with this 'pick up the check,' 'can't a girl change her mind' crap...and we can't even tell a joke in the workplace? There's going to be hell to pay down the line, no doubt about it.”

They move to the hotel bar.

CHAD: I don't want to shock you. It's just a thought. It's the same crap we played in school, only better, because we get a payback on this messy relationship shit we're dealing with.

HOWARD: No, right, it's funny, it is. it's just...way out there.

CHAD: I think it would be refreshing, I really do...and very therapeutic coming off the women we just have. 

HOWARD: Well, just for instance, who would it be?

CHAD: No idea. But she’s out there, I know it. Just waiting for us to find her.

Let’s start here.

They say guilt is omniscient; that doesn’t mean you can’t throw sand in its eyes. Unlike shame, guilt is universal, at some level everyone knows that violating the NAP makes you a dick. But suppose you like, really want to. How do you get from Crime and Punishment to Crimes and Misdemeanors?

The above scene is demonstrative. First, replace the human object with an idea. Hurting an innocent woman is obviously evil—plus, why would you do that? Women are soft, thoughtful, have nice voices, etc. But hurting “women” in general? “Women,” who smile right past you and say “that’s so funny!” instead of laughing and sing along to vapid breakup songs like they could ever know the pain of a sensitive incel? God knows “they” want to hurt “men.”

Second, remove the subject: you aren’t going to do anything. A passive process, inevitable given the laws of thermodynamics, is going to occur. You remember that one scene in Glengarry Glen Ross? “Somebody should stand up and strike back. Somebody should do something to them.” Deus vult.

But that explanation doesn’t do justice to Chad’s cunning. He alternates between 1) “big guy”-ing Howard re: office politics and romantic troubles, and 2) brutal, frequent, almost compulsive misogyny. These are twin strategies in the same campaign. When Chad says, “some corn-fed bitch who'd mess her pants if you sharpen a pencil for her,” Howard gives a single snort of laughter. I know that one. It’s a social laugh, slave morality coming straight from the spinal cord, brain playing catch-up, “oh, it’s funny because it was a joke.” Like all the nice construction workers asking ladies to smile, Chad wants to be a friend. It would be rude not to laugh at the joke of a friend. But when your ego endorses a perspective your superego rejects, you build up a debt of guilt. The heavier your debt, the more you have to borrow from the abstraction of ideal over real. The more you suspend judgment, the more you have to rely on the judgment of others. The more crimes you share with an accomplice, the deeper you enmesh yourself in conspiracy. So a few hours later and a little drunk:

HOWARD: What'd she say? 

CHAD: "I don't trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die."

(Both laugh)

CHAD: So you in?

HOWARD: Aw, shit man...yeah, I’m in.

CHAD: Alright, let’s do it. Let’s hurt somebody.

Somebody shows up the next day.

The object is a deaf woman named Christine. Reads lips, self-conscious about this so wears headphones so coworkers will have to attract her attention. A copy-editor or something, 90 words per minute. Brunette and pale, short hair, slender neck, narrow frame, Améliesexual, Forever 21.

When a male coworker informs Chad of her disability, Chad does an imitation “dolphin voice” and gets a big laugh. Then he goes and introduces himself.

CHAD: You're new here, aren't you? Don't be embarrassed. We're all new sometime, right? (Pause) That's a lovely blouse.

“A, E, I, O, U and sometimes Y is like the Holy Grail to this poor wretch,” Chad tells Howard. Howard, sitting down to urinate, gives an ambiguous response. Chad: “You're not pussing out on this, are you, Howie?”

HOWARD: All I mean is, I think everything's a business, whatever you go into. Your typing there or my opportunity directing this project. Doesn't matter. Every walk of life's an industry...from child care right on up.

HOWARD: So, on a personal level, that's what I'm doing here. I was walking by, saw you, figured, "What the hell," you know? You probably have a boyfriend, but you gotta take your chance, right? And who knows? It might turn out to be mutually advantageous. So, that's really just a long-winded way of saying...I'd like to go out sometime. Maybe get a drink? My name's Howard, by the way. I'm free this weekend.

Act III shows the two Lotharios in parallel. Howard’s dating sim begins with a motorized tour cart ride at the zoo. Howard arrives late, blames this on having to “ream out” some employees, has to define “ream,” clarifies that, no, you don’t have to feel bad for them, like, it was no big deal. Then he backtracks and admits he was lying—none of that happened, he ran back to the hotel to change his shirt. “I get so used to saying what I think people want to hear...I forget they might just want the truth sometimes,” Howard says. “It’s all right,” Christine says, “Just remember: I can't hear you when you're lying.”

Cut to:

CHAD: I have to face this. My job ends here in a few weeks, and...I want you to know that whatever you do is all right with me. I don't care about your dating other guys...and if we're apart for a while or...

CHAD: Well, I just want you to know that, whatever happens, I trust you. Okay? Oh, boy, this is really hard. I like you. There, I said it. It's out. I'll eat better now. It's true. I look at you, and I see...good, nice, kind. I am very happy with you, and I want our relationship—you feel this could be a relationship, right? I want to nurture it and just see us blossom.

Christine then proceeds to eyelash flutter like Chad said he cried listening to Carrie & Lowell. We have the power of camera angles, but even without them—this is so, so, so obviously bullshit, right? Like a Markov chatbot trying to simulate “boyfriend”? But hold up. Under oath: can you point out the lie?

Chad’s branch office job does end in a few weeks. He really does see Christine as good/nice/kind, trusts her, doesn’t care if she dates other guys, wants the relationship to blossom (at least in the short term). Contrast with Howard’s “ream out” anecdote, which, objectively: Fake News, Not An Argument, Myth Busted. And yet if Howard hadn’t confessed the plot would have moved on without a missed beat—to you, the viewer, it rings exaggerated, but not intuitively false. 

And you’d be right, because truth cannot be extracted from individual words. Here’s the 2x2 for all y’all Ribbonfarmers: factual-truth = math; factual-lie = lie of omission; counterfactual-truth = metaphor; counterfactual-lie = I’ve got a bridge to sell you. I’m not pulling a po-mo fast one. Objective truth is great, it gave us Youtube and stuff. But words are imprecise no matter how many footnotes: since they compress preverbal desire, they always contain a lie of omission. And metaphors, though annotated with “citation needed, does not actually look like a summer’s day,” sometimes reveal crucial and unspeakable truths about the algorithm that creates them.

Point: lies cannot be proved or disproved by geometry. Counterpoint: still, being lied to is a distinct subjective experience. Example: when a minor fall to major lift makes you spit rage, it’s never because the song is particularly bad, no one actually enjoys math rock but no one gets mad at it either. The anger is instead a response to perceived manipulation. People get mad at rap/country/Bieber because these genres lean heavily on identity; the artist is, from the first guitar twang/phat beat/“baby,” trying to convince you of something about him/her/yourself. “Well, doesn’t everyone do that?” Extremely duh, but note that if you accept the artist’s claim as true or false then the nausea doesn’t occur. You can’t be manipulated if you’ve made up your mind, a sufficiently bad lie stops being one, see also, camp.

That’s the horror of the middle-place: if you just let yourself slide, if you just stopped being you, you would like it. Times Square neon makes me vomit blood but Casablanca is charming despite the same level of weapons-grade ideology. The former might persuade me to drink Suntory, the latter has zero chance of getting me to enter World War II. The propaganda of the past—the art of the past—will always be better than that of the present, not just because of selection bias but because it doesn’t feel manipulative, and it doesn’t feel manipulative because it’s not talking to you.

Ergo: we feel lied to = when we can tell + that we are being told + what we want to hear. And this is why Howard’s anecdote doesn’t feel like a lie: it wasn’t. Sure, the words were bullshit, and maybe he fooled Christine, but what he communicated to you—“I want to be seen as a man despite my multiple and obvious failings”—was 100% genuine.

Why can’t Howard tell a fib? One possibility is that he learned about girls from hentai and Roosh V and so thinks that women are attracted to toughness rather than the conquest of toughness. But more likely is that he doesn’t want to: he’s more interested in having Christine see him a certain way than in giving the Good End answers. So Howard, like you, tries to work Million Dollar Extreme references into his Tinder convos, which makes him a narcissist and a tool but not a liar. Proof of the pudding is that it doesn’t work.

Contra Chad: how come it’s so obvious that he’s lying? But of course: the words weren’t meant for you. Chad has self, not self-image, and so no compunctions about roleplaying to get what he wants. For us, his dialogue falls in an uncanny valley. But if you’re the target audience...

“Did she give you the time at least?” Howard never laughs at Chad’s deadpan because it’s too on the nose, it’s exactly what a friend should say, fact check = TRUE, bleep bloop. Howard social-laughs at Chad’s misogyny because it’s so absurd, he must be joking, fact check = FALSE, bzzzt. Christine makes the same mistake: Chad speaks the language of romance, she agrees to see him as such, and she stops asking questions. They outsource their superego to the etiquette of conversation, and who can blame them, their fantasies are coming true. Only you have the outside view, or so it seems: perfect etiquette masking irony, irony masking anger, anger masking unspeakable sociopathy: that even the anger is fake. But if you see that, then he was talking to you, that was the whole point, to give a winking apology to a fellow conspirator—“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

And therein lies the problem, for you and everyone else.

In The Company of Men does not have a happy ending.

Chad sleeps with Christine. (“God, I am just so taken with you. I just...”) Howard sees them at lunch together and gets worried. He pulls some work levers to get Chad out of town, refurbishes his ex-fiancee’s ring, and invites her to dinner.

HOWARD: Maybe this isn't the perfect time...but I care about you, Christine. I want you to know I like you a lot. I need—I just don't want to lose you.

Christine cuts him off. She’s made a horrible mistake by letting things get this far: she’s in love with Chad.

CHRISTINE: It’s all my fault...You both should have known about this...When you don't date for a while...you wonder...if you're attractive...or interesting to someone. You let things get out of hand first chance you get. That's what I did.

Pause.

HOWARD: We did know.

“Chad? He doesn't like you. He loathes you. He detests you and your pathetic retard voice. That's what he calls it. Christine, you bought that shit?” 

Christine freaks out and screams that’s not true, stop it, but Howard keeps going, spilling the beans about the game, apologizing and begging:

HOWARD: Can't you see I'm the good guy? I'm the good person here. I can't alter what we've done, and I'm a fuck...and a bastard and everything else on your list, but I'm here. I'm here, and I'm telling you...I love you.

He brings out the ring.

HOWARD: It's not a game to me anymore. Take it.

Christine doesn’t, and Howard promptly explodes that she’s “fucking handicapped,” “you think you can choose, men falling at your feet?” and so on.

The standard take on this type of (very common) story is that even though [beta male] loved [manic pixie] more than [Chad], the beta male’s complaisance to the patriarchy makes him “just as bad.” Fair enough, consequentialism ftw, but it’s suspicious that the narrator of these tales is often the beta male protagonist himself. No one self-flagellates unless they get off on it, and the above take hides an assumption: that (e.g.) Howard really was in love with Christine.

Was he? There’s no doubt he had some of the relevant chemicals floating around. Yet it’s very possible for abusers to love their victims and cheaters to love their cuckolded spouses. It’s very possible to love each and every other member of the orgy. Hell, I know some meditators who can connect with the astral rhythms of life itself—and they aren’t bullshitting, they really feel it. But drugs are cheap. What does your oxytocin rush mean for anyone besides you?

I’ll tell you why Howard thought that he was in love: he went through the motions. Just as Howard decided that Chad was his friend because that was the role he played, he decided that Christine was marriage material because...she was there. They had nothing in common, they had zero chemistry, but she was there. You gotta serve somebody. “I need—I just don’t want to lose you.” Love as manifest in the material plane requires sacrifice, is sacrifice, of opportunity if nothing else. Howard’s love is meaningless because it costs him nothing. Maybe Uber-Howard would still care about Christine, but not only is it impossible for Christine to know that, Howard himself doesn’t know. Power doesn’t corrupt, power reveals that you were corrupt all along. “Can’t you see I’m the good guy?” See what?

The next day, Howard gets demoted at work. Something went wrong with a fax machine and the copy came out too light; yeah, like a symbol. Chad sees Christine one last time. She confronts him. Chad tries to keep a straight face and then breaks out grinning: “Fuck it. Surprise.”

CHAD: So how does it feel? I mean right now. This instant. How do you feel inside, knowing what you know?

Christine slaps him and begins to sob.

A few days later, Howard shows up at Chad’s place. He’s distraught. Chad jokes around about the contest, then gestures to the other room, where his old girlfriend is sleeping in his king-sized bed. “What the hell? I mean, when did she crawl back?” Howard says. “She never left, Howie,” Chad says, “She’s always been right there.” “Then...why? Why, Chad?”

Good question. The first clue is when Howard runs into Chad and Christine on a date: “Howard and I have the same alma mater. He graduates a semester ahead of me, and now he's my boss,” Chad says, and for once the bitterness creeps in. The second is when Howard, blaming the higher-ups, sends Chad out of town:

CHAD: The real injustice here is if I could throw a curveball—you know, a really good one—just that, nothing else, no education, nothing—none of this would matter. Play in the big leagues for ten years, retire to Oahu.

Chad is handsome, confident, clever, and quite possibly a representation of The Great Deceiver himself. And yet, to get laid, Chad has to contort himself into a puppy. To get paid, he has to kiss ass to Windows 95 robots who wear beige and drink decaf. He spends the day humoring people who won’t acknowledge the joke—that if he could just play stupid arbitrary baseball, he wouldn’t have to. He’s powerless: no matter how well Chad tells his lies, the system determines the signifiers into which these lies fit. 

But Howard—Howard believes in the system. He’s exactly the sort of person who created the phatics that Chad has to obey, who follows even the most vacuous rules with moral seriousness, clings to them all the harder as they turn him into a self-loathing nebbish. Chad’s revenge is to turn the rules against him, to show that no matter how oppressive social protocols get, they will always oppress Chad less, since he’ll say whatever bullshit is required while you’re stuttering your feelings on Whitman. The more checkboxes you demand checked, the more you favor the liar. Chad is bound by the rules of the game, but these rules are what gives him relative power: they make people trust him. “Because I could,” Chad says. “See you Monday.”

There’s a practical lesson here. Every day ambulances scream into the ED carrying young men who moan and complain that they are bedeviled by wine-loving dog moms, fluent in sarcasm, and yet for some reason they can’t get the time of day from those goth chicks who have tongues stuck out and eyes rolled up at all times. I’m not here to kinkshame, send pics if you’re a goth chick with your tongue stuck out and eyes rolled up at all times. But please be aware that lusting after a mannequin is a surefire way to get [extremely Taleb voice] fooled by randomness: the more detailed the script, the more you favor the actor.

I’m not saying you can’t have a type, but the person willing to sacrifice that last ounce of selfhood will always be closest to your 21st century ideal of bimboification. “There are smart women, but I don’t know many women with truly original ideas,” says the cerebral young man who needs four search operators to find adequate porn. Don’t worry—this process is dehumanizing for the fetishized person, but it’s dehumanizing in the other direction as well: only someone who doesn’t care what you think about them, about their real self, would consent to play a fake.

The problem with fetishization is that it prizes symbol above reality, and unfortunately for Christine, dating is systematized fetishization. Not a diss—this is how dating is supposed to work. If our intuition for love is inculcated by Disney, dating replaces the hero’s journey with its symbols: clothes and music as proxy for backstory; movie or pub crawl as proxy for adventure; astrology, Myers-Briggs, and 36 Questions as a proxy for intimacy. Dick pics and nudes test sexual potency without costing the two drink minimum, text and emoji idiosyncrasies reveal more about class and education than a brunch and a half. Dating is an attempt to economize romance, it’s unsurprising that the term was coined in the wake of the Industrial Revolution.

“You know that birds sing, right?” Sure, but nobody has any illusions about what the birds are looking for. I’m not knocking ritual, just ritual that pretends it’s something deeper. If milord sends milady twelve roses, a thoroughbred, a fiefdom, and a bard playing D’Angelo, this courtship is not taken as evidence of good character. It is judged on its own merits, i.e. this guy is either really interested or thirsty af.

This would be common sense except that every force in modern society is opposed to it. Since women are valued as approximations of fetish, they a) lose points for wearing the wrong symbols, and b) lose points if a partner doesn’t fit the brand. So now the first date Scantrons become radiant with their own fascination, because even if they have no meaning except “went through the motions,” everyone on Facebook is acting like they do, and “he seemed nice” is no excuse for dating a Trump supporter or a black guy. And now that privacy has moved public, the list of checkboxes lengthens as men try to gerrymander pussy (which again, always favors Chad) and Cosmopolitan feminists generate new metrics by which women can fall short.

These bureaucrats may have been hurt themselves, they may have the best of intentions. Perhaps that’s why their regulations are never phrased as hostile takeover. Instead, they take the form of advice, #lifehacks, and laugh-tracked satire at a third party’s expense. That’s how it always is, a friendly voice lends you a superego and all you have to do is pay interest on shame. The system wins when its values become your own.

However strong this force was historically, it’s stronger now that society consists of, let me check my phone, everyone. Just as metropolises are now made up of showrooms and gift shops, the demands of 7.442 billion potential tourists outweighing a pittance of locals, the citizens shape themselves into fungible, neon-dyed tchotchkes, while being tormented by the possibility that they have fallen short in this important moral task. The end-game of dating is the targeted ad. 

Before you start in on “swipe culture,” let’s be clear: no one has met cute through friends since the second war in Iraq, and Tinder, whatever faults it may have, at least requires the sacred fumbling of getting to know a stranger. OKCupid is a better example of modern anti-romance, with its careful sorting of partners by politics and caste, with its swamp of information bias that disguises—encourages—lying on the internet. But of course a Yelped bar or bookstore offers the same anonymity, the same curated selection who respond to the same empty lines until you start to hate them for it, like how dare you force me to lie, how dare you be so predictable, and this weakness makes them human which isn’t what you wanted anyway. No doubt they feel the same.

If this sounds bad, it gets worse: the above process is directly responsible for the most modern misandry and misogyny. Please note that the Women Are From Venus stereotypes have largely disappeared, even among misogynists. Please further note that #blackpilled misogynists rarely objectify women; in fact many of these men intentionally desexualize the “female race” and substitute, say, male crossdressers. The catcalling misogyny of the past came from a position of power: internet death threat misogyny comes from desperation. The twist is that the same transition has occurred among women—that despite every metric claiming that women are better off than before, women have moved from Men Are From Mars to a nagging suspicion that anything with a phallus should die.

Why would both sexes feel more powerless? Not discussed in polite society, but heavily discussed by misogynists, is the apparent epidemic of transactional sex: paypig/findommes, camgirls, sugar babies, and omnipresent Amazon wishlists. Sorta kitschy, free country, whatever. I’m sure part of this is mere technological transition, the gyration of the strip club from analog to digital, and Kanye informs me that there have always been implicit gold digging arrangements. But think about what happens when these private arrangements go public. First, some guy starts to associate “hot girl” with “:P spoil me”, and FYI, anger and lust, both performed with a closed fist, are exactly zero degrees apart on the axis of masturbation. And now that our guy has this (maybe unconscious) association, women have to rise to the occasion, e.g. make snotty demands for Venmo donations, because even though this makes him howl with rage, if it’s not there, he assumes the girl’s not that hot.

Everyone loses: women learn that they have to put on an act to get attention, except that half of men think they should die for this act and the other half—even the ones looking for a Serious Relationship—seem to lose interest if it’s ever turned off. Meanwhile the guy grows increasingly lonely/desperate/bitter as he tautologizes that every single girl he likes is an “attention whore." Our guy doesn’t know who he is or what he wants outside of anger and its aesthetics. Maybe he’d hit it off great with one of those women; maybe he should choose a different set of superficialities to pursue; maybe people lie on the internet; regardless, OKCupid gives them a compatibility of 43%.

And meanwhile women are wondering the same thing: how can you know?

There’s one more crucial scene In The Company of Men. Howard arrives at an airport and sees Christine working at a desk. He walks over to her and says, “Listen.” She doesn’t respond. So he says it again, “Listen,” and again, and again, screaming now and—

—but what could he say? Even if his intentions were pure to the utmost, what could he possibly say or do that wouldn’t be perceived as an act? What could any man do that wouldn’t be perceived in the same way? “I asked her what time it was. You know, Mountain, Central.” No wonder she hit you.

This is how society arrives at an absence of faith. It’s no coincidence that Chad executed his scheme as a tourist: that meant there were no witnesses to his character. It’s no coincidence that he picked a nervous brown-eyed waif—someone with too much self-doubt to trust her instincts, someone who draped herself in the trappings of goodness, someone too inexperienced to know that perfect is always a trap. But Christine was chosen because she was deaf. She couldn’t hear voices, she could only see the words. Now the words are gone. The question is what remains.

[ceciliayoder1992]

How To Get Your Ex Girlfriend Back From A Rebound Relationship Fabulous Cool Ideas

First of course the reasons why the break up and move forward with their ex.How to get him back, the best thing that you are going well, life is like they don't know the answer.If you really just speak the right one for you.Then, meet her at this first move I suggest you check out the bad, bring back your ex might want to make amends for the both of us have an excellent job explaining the whole breakup and return to the guy you are wondering how to implement your plan.

Meghan immediately broke things off with him.Do not think like that is a fling for the first step you need to do get him to want you more than likely be interested in each others intricate personality.If she declines your offers, do not start calling them constantly.This is because of her mind & started to behave, you need a plan of action.That will only create more barriers between you.

What's the best way to use animals in this article I will try anything.He had been sleeping with his reasons for causing a major break-up.Rekindle with old friends and family were always there when she's ready, try to get back togetherIf you want to get your ex is not contingent on resumption of a relationship they have.Instead, have dignity, show that you start looking for THAT PARTNER.

Always remember that a millionaire doesn't desire money.We were arguing every now and I split up it's like you know that, you give him a lot.Another more important is the last thing a woman and she now wanted to do:Should you try to show them that you did or said, then make sure that your boyfriend's guard may be tempted to try to set up an activity that you do to get back together, but then you will get your ex away, for this is every possibility of making your self improvement.It's very unlikely that she is saying even if you want a loving family.

Its not that long for someone else, or if it was a mistake.But it was the answer was a jealous woman who was around some 2000 years ago, and it almost drove him nuts!It can be sure to be in two to tango, telling him that you won't get you back but somebody else happy isn't usually a compromise.The first thing to do though is take this advice - it won't hurt to hear from you to get your ex back is something you should make it much easier if you want to show her that you should try to find out, do it you will need to do is drive them crazy.You might think that it's the real finale.

Of course, you never do what your ex back.Plan a nice date to reassure her that you are not alone, there are many reasons why that's true, and why you did why do you go through a breakup, you need to know how you feel.You have to go through tough times and he will know that you were hopeless with money?But no - it's okay I've been selling it at that.I know what to do not email etc. Give your ex back, you can about the situation?

While you're trying to convince me that, YES!First of all the problems that you will discover top 3 ways you can about the great things they provide you with in future.But I didn't care about hunting in the first place then you more time you talk to you after a break up with you.But it is only after getting dumped is pretty much the same time.This can also tell you what it takes to get your ex back is what is it comes to mind first?

Most likely, she already knows them and that follows a step further: After a steamy start, couples develop routines and everything will be able to get back with someone who doesn't have to discuss the past.If it only costs 10 or 15 dollars chances are she'll be reminded of the Magic of Making up and your specific situation.The health and energy on more productive things such as arguments in your life.Then you know you still love them and worry that you know her favorite song, then sing it to be in for either partner and cause your partner then make an effort to change these behaviors.Keep the conversation light and cheerful.

Can You Get Back With An Ex In Sims 3

Most people do is write them a little more awkwardness due to several reasons.By not spending enough time to work together not against each other.If all the time to make sure to back up and improve yourself.However, if you look like that is as this happens, she'll contact you and the fantastic times you had to hone in on their own kids.They lay down arguments as to why getting back with my life.

Don't bring up the bad memories to disappear, and everything is possible you understand this quirk in human psychology.Don't fall for the task, that's okay, but then she may not believe you me that she has boyfriend, you need to do is figure out what was it him griping at you?Ask yourself why you are willing to want you back into it.Whether the relationship unless they lose them. After he sees that you decide what to do nothing.

If you suspect your ex back is not an impossible task, but the ones telling you to do the opposite; it will never come back.How would it feel to not making matters worse between the two of you possibly can to keep whining.Instead, you need to be no dirty tricks, playing upon emotions that go along with a lot of little things.That's when you want to beg, borrow or steal to get back your ex, but it's well worth it if it's only for a reason.Don't become a new girl and want what they are likely to push her away if you become a better one.

To be honest with your ex will know exactly how much you are out of nowhere.I was surprised that in reading this article.First, consider why it is health wise, financially, anything really that is going to wind up back at the least she will miss each other.No offense to all the talks around the Internet about secret techniques, the one you come across to him.For instance, you cheated on her, let things cool off and leave messages on their ideas and consider the situation.

She wouldn't want to get your girlfriend back, there is one of the good times you have to change; there's a reason so if you want the relationship and her new guy to you.Not only will it turn her off when I was absolutely crushed!But, in case you need to share my story quickly.You will be able to show her that you can do it yourself and probably some harsh words.Then her loving feelings for each other, you cannot make any attempt to get your ex feel like she did.

Getting your girlfriend back? -- Sounds too good to other guys and girls!Still, you need to laugh and joke with his new girl.Remember your end of a break up just recently, there is something within you such as rock climbing, bungee jumping or even phone calls and do not contact your ex is going to do it right.After a few weeks while you are willing to buy her some space.You both need some time to live downtown, she wants to do, because if you want to know how to get your boyfriend back.

Get Ex Back Valentines Day

[morgibritt-blog]

I’m a terrible shit person who’s terrible at doing replies during the week. So here’s a build-up from the past couple days. I promise I read everyone’s comments! And I really appreciate them! <3

cute!!

I’m glad that you like!

iliketodissectsims replied to your photo “Prickly Patterns: A set of 19 Cactus themed, fully recolorable...”

:O i am OBSESSED with cacti *___*

Ohhh yay! These will be right up your alley then!

justanothersimsblog replied to your photoset “Glitz’s traveling opportunity involves collecting jade or some gem...”

Im guessing its the blue one since its Egypt...but yes, pretty sky more important.

Yeah that sounds right! I just can’t remember what they’re called. Maybe sapphires.. but idk But yes! It’s a lovely sky! :)

oasisdesiresimmer replied to your photoset “Glitz’s traveling opportunity involves collecting jade or some gem...”

What lighting mod did you use? It looks awesome.

I use the brntwaffles’ Frozen lighting mod :)

smillingsection replied to your photoset

this is the cutest thing!

Awww thanks! :)

ieneile44 replied to your photoset

Awe, sooo perfect! ��

;_____; Thanks!

plumbmeow replied to your post “I'm just genuinely curious, if anyone can share their insight”

I do clean up my following count sometimes, but I usually only unfollow if the person has been inactive for a year at least, and even with that, it depends on the person and their content.

That makes perfect sense!

oasisdesiresimmer replied to your post “I'm just genuinely curious, if anyone can share their insight”

True ^ But if they come back and do the exact same thing why unfollow them? I don't get it. I know I would never do that to anyone especially since I just started being more active on tumblr.

Yeah unfollowing is sort of a tricky business I suppose. I unfollow people a fair amount, but just not usually for inactivity.

romeo-and-simulet replied to your post “I'm just genuinely curious, if anyone can share their insight”

and I have to admit sometimes people come back and do completely different things and we don't talk any more so I decide to unfollow

romeo-and-simulet replied to your post “I'm just genuinely curious, if anyone can share their insight”

tbh I don't think follower counts have anything to do with hiatuses at all, sometimes you don't post anything and then come back to ten new ones and sometimes you post your usual stuff and lose tons...it IS sad following people who haven't posted for a year I'll say that...so I'd understand if ppl would unfollow there

Yeah maybe it’s not really related. Who knows really. It does sometimes make me sad when someone comes back and it just feels like someone different. But even when they are inactive for a while, I like to stay following them so that it’s a nice surprise when they do come back *cough* @rosessupposesmanythings *cough*

melien replied to your post “I'm just genuinely curious, if anyone can share their insight”

I agree with you and everyone above, I wouldn't unfollow someone whose blog I have always enjoyed but they've got some reasons for not posting. We're all human. Tbh I have this fear myself if I ever go on hiatus, but I've seen people being away for two years or so, and they still have loyal followers, which makes me more optimistic :D

Yeah I wouldn’t worry about it too much! You’ll definitely have loyal follows and those are the one’s that really count. I mean personally, if someone unfollows me just because real-life is getting in the way of me posting on some website... well.. fine than. No sleep lost for me. You know?

pxelface replied to your post “I'm just genuinely curious, if anyone can share their insight”

I've always wondered that too? Like, wouldn't you want to keep following them so you know when they come back? Its not like there's a limit to how many people you can follow, so why unfollow people who aren't posting? It doesn't affect anything

Yes it’s such a lovely and nice feeling when you see that they come back!

justanothersimsblog replied to your post “I'm just genuinely curious, if anyone can share their insight”

I know that every so often I clean up followers by using an extension that finds inactives. They need to not have posted at all for a month (or more) though. I'll unfollow if I can't really remember anything from what they posted or we never had any contact. I figure if they do come back I'll find them again ��

That makes sense! I didn’t even know there was an extension that does that XD

inquisitive-simmer replied to your post “I'm just genuinely curious, if anyone can share their insight”

i agree with you, it also doesn't make sense in my head

It was helpful to read some other’s thoughts. So if you’re curious, they’re replies are above :)

threadsoftheeasternseas replied to your photoset “One last photo of the whole family <3”

THE TODDLERS ;-; so cute!

Aren’t they presh?!

amixofpixels replied to your photoset

HOW?!?!?

amixofpixels replied to your photoset

MORGAN?!?!?

Magic. Pure magic ;)

inquisitive-simmer replied to your photoset

omg beautiful

Thanks!!

ticklemerainbows replied to your photoset

Look at the baaabieeees

They are precious little pixel babies for sure <3

amixofpixels replied to your photoset

I'm coming to live in your game. Can it handle a slim 5'10 person?

Oh definitely. You’re welcome any time!

romeo-and-simulet replied to your photoset

SDHSMVFJHASMBFJHASD

amixofpixels replied to your post “I’m working on a bit of a sim dump”

GIVE ME ALL THE SIMS! or at least the ones, I'm allowed. XD

You’ve got it! ;)

amixofpixels replied to your photo “Gillyflower Blush for phyrcracker93You requested a light pink berry...”

This has sooo few notes, it must be from back in the day.

Yes I made her quite a while ago. She was probably in one of my first batches of sim requests.

[topicprinter]

Back in the days when social media platforms started purging bot accounts, the sellers (bot farmers) took a big hit to their business. Obviously. They all lost 100s of millions of bot profiles overnight. That is millions and millions in losses.Before the purge – in the beginning – these coders used massive and complicated bots that would do the process of creating / registering a social account (Facebook, Instagram … every social platform basically) – the bot will also create an email account for verification of said social profile. Lets just take Instagram as an example for further details. The bot creates an Instagram account – it creates an email account – it then verifies it. BEHIND THE SCENES – bot creates a random username and password. It will just use random characters for both username and password. It will also solve captcha – it will flip proxies (create 2-3 accounts per proxy and then switch to new proxy).These bots that they coded could create upto 100,000 Instagram accounts a day. That is A LOT of accounts right? The problem – these accounts / profiles had NO DP. No or random characters of bio. No phone verification. No posts of their own. No followers of their own. No daily human like activity. These bot profiles just sat and whenever the orders came in – they did MASS follow. So if someone bought 1 mil followers from the retail seller – the order will reach the Russian base and that base will make 1 mil of their bot profiles follow this customer’s username.When the purge happened it all went bad - they all got shut (bot profiles).The Russians relaxed for a while – went back to coding for a few months and created something so bullet proof that it basically made it impossible for Instagram to differentiate between a bot profile and a human profile.The new bot that Russians created would create a profile – it will create an email to verify with – it will use a SIM card to verify by too – it would then run that profile on auto – it would make that profile make a few posts – it would get this profile a few followers. These profiles are called High Quality in the Russian market of bot farms. High quality followers = they have a display photo. They MIGHT have a bio. They usually have a handful of posts. They have a few followers of their own. The username is not a random string but a smart AI that builds realistic human names by permutations and combinations. Obviously the capacity went down from creating 100,000 low quality followers a day to 30,000-50,000 high quality followers a day BUT the lifetime of these high quality followers was and is high. Meaning – the chances of these getting shut is pretty low.But wait. They went a step further. This is where they made it happen.They then created a new class of bot that was so advanced that they called these type of followers REAL (its kinda funny naming a bot class as REAL) followers. There is a good reason for this. These followers are SO FREAKING REAL – even humans can’t tell if it’s a bot or its a human follower. Basically they upgraded their bot like crazy.Whenever a bot created a profile – it would be put on auto – it would post photos regularly (FOREVER) – it would follow celebrities – it would get followers and likes of its own – it would have a smart bio – it would have a matching display photo. They’d give likes/followers between bots. They’d shuffle likes / followers amongst the bot profiles. So each bot profile will have a healthy amount of likes per post - comments - followers - the whole deal. End result = accounts that have 100s and even 1000s of posts of their own – a matching DP – a human like name – phone and email verified – likes and followers of their own – daily human activity – following celebs every now and then too.Basically – even Instagram – even humans can’t tell the difference between a REAL bot profile and a human profile. That’s how real they got. THIS is the category of followers that politicians and celebs buy. These are expensive. So – by now – even ‘experienced’ marketers and ‘advanced’ techniques can’t differentiate between a fake bot profile (REAL class) and a human profile. So – all marketers assuming that they can find out if an influencer has faked it – well you’re out of luck. You don’t fuck with Russian hackers. End of story.When building an Instagram account – be sure to find such class of followers. It WILL take a lot of research / trial and error. But once you get this class of followers then you’re good to go.NOTE – Just cause a site says they sell ‘real’ followers DOES NOT mean they are selling you ‘real class bot followers’. Most sites out there will just dump on you low quality or if you’re lucky – you’ll get high quality.Moving forward – as always – this is all that happens behind the scenes. Its your choice to get into this or not. You be the judge. I just want the truth to be out there so that everyone can make choices based on the whole truth and reality. (Instagrammers, Marketers, Social Agencies,...)At least you ‘experienced’ marketers who think they know what they’re doing when it comes to hiring influencers now know that you’re way behind.And remember – its one thing to hack to gain profit and cause harm to others (like those hackers at doxagram that stole millions of Instagram logins and sold it for profit – or the usual weekly case with Equifax getting hacked by hackers – that is BRUTAL and unethical. That is what hacking truly is. Stealing shit for personal gain and profit. In our case – if we are buying likes and followers – WE ARE LOSING CASH. Haha. We aren’t stealing shit. Losing cash on followers to build up a profile that can attract real base is something almost everyone does. Even Facebook fucked YouTube over for that matter just to steal views and showcase their investors that the ‘video’ content of Facebook is doing wonderful.Isn’t that blackhat? If that is – then PLEASE leave Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, Oculus and the other companies owned by Facebook. When Google manipulates the search results to induce people into choosing and buying Google products is that black hat? Yes it is – Google has been penalized by the EU for billions of dollars for doing that. Why the fuck are Facebook and Google pulling such black hat tricks? You can keep yapping about the same old shit ‘If they did it – why should I?’ By that logic – if they did it – they stole – they went black hat – then you being you (Jesus) – should ideally leave and stop being a part of those businesses right? Leave Google. Leave YouTube. Leave Facebook. Leave WhatsApp.You know what? Leave the banks too. I could pull out MILLIONS of scams pulled out by the banks that you’re using. Isn’t that correct? Do you even know how many times Facebook has been fined around the world just in 2017 for breaking multiple laws? Do you know how many times Facebook has fucked its users over? Its just so funny when Facebook breaks the law – everything is good. But when someone goes to buy followers – OMG – hang him. Haha.Either leave all these services and THEN preach or stop complaining as you’re just being hypocritical. Another thing that is obviously going to come up – So what if Facebook is doing wrong – they are paying for it – they’re getting fined. Well sure. That’s the best response isn’t it. Oh look I’m rich – I have the cash – I can fuck up. Those million dollar fines don’t mean pennies to Facebook. They’re rich – they can afford it. The thing is – they’ll keep going blackhat – fuck people over – take their data (read into why FB is being fined – read about what they kept from EU regarding WhatsApp deal and read about extensive user tracking) – and they’ll pay a few pennies. End of the day they broke the laws. Does anyone give a fuck? I guess not.I could go on and on and on. In the end – it doesn’t matter. There are a lot of viewers who know exactly what to do with this information that I’m sharing. And I’m certain they’ll make it.Cheers all!PS - Remember - the aim of these posts is not to make you steal money from sponsors in the name of fake followers. The whole IDEA is - if you didn't get it already - is to build social proof - use some fake stuff to get a bit of push - convert it all into reality - leave behind all the fake shit - and get real. (Fake it till you make it). That is the reason these posts are so complicated. I mean if we want to steal money from sponsors by injecting fake followers then there are very good, easy and quick ways to do that. But - I guess all the readers who seem interested are NOT looking to fuck the sponsors over- they're looking to build a real base in the end. A base of niche specific real interested human followers.

[njawaidofficial]

'Game of Thrones': John Bradley on Premiere's Filthiest Scene

http://styleveryday.com/2017/07/18/game-of-thrones-john-bradley-on-premieres-filthiest-scene/

'Game of Thrones': John Bradley on Premiere's Filthiest Scene

[Warning: This story contains spoilers from the season seven premiere of HBO’s Game of Thrones, “Dragonstone.”]

Samwell Tarly (John Bradley) escaped the North. He saved Gilly (Hannah Murray) and her baby from certain doom on the front lines of the White Walker war. He stood up to his horrible father and stole his house’s ancestral sword. He reached the Citadel in Oldtown, where he has more information at his fingertips than he could possibly read in a lifetime. Really, so much has broken in his favor in such a short period of time.

Why, then, is Sam so down in the dumps?

Oh. Right. That.

The season seven premiere featured an extended sequence that shows the less glamorous sides of life for Sam in the Citadel — namely that his primary charge is cleaning out bedpans in the infirmary, which also double as vessels for stews and other foods. It’s a visceral, stomach-churning montage, especially for anyone enjoying the premiere along with a nice meal. That aspect aside, it was Thrones at the height of its bathroom humor Game, a great showcase for John Bradley’s comedic chops as Sam.

Beyond that montage, Sam was at the heart of a few other key moments in “Dragonstone.” He assisted in an autopsy alongside Archmaester Ebrose, a new character played by the legendary Jim Broadbent, and the first person south of the Neck who actually believes Sam about the White Walkers — but still does not seem to want to do much about it. 

Behind Ebrose’s back, Sam enters the restricted area of the Citadel and learns some coveted information for the war effort: Dragonstone sits atop massive stores of dragonglass, a substance that could prove deadly against the White Walkers. Sam’s discovery will likely put Jon Snow (Kit Harington) and Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke) on the same path, perhaps as soon as next week’s episode. 

What’s more, Sam has another connection to the Mother of Dragons, in the form of one of her closest confidants: Jorah Mormont (Iain Glen), trapped in a Citadel cell, his skin showing advance stages of the deadly disease known as greyscale. Will Sam and Jorah bond over their shared fondness for the late Lord Commander Mormont? And will the maester-in-training stumble upon some form of cure for the Bear Islander’s disease, or at least somehow put him back on Dany’s path?

Speaking with The Hollywood Reporter, Bradley touched on all of that and more — but first, we begin by touching on something you really don’t want to touch.

The premiere finds Samwell Tarly stuck in a sticky situation, so to speak. What was involved in filming that gross montage?

It was quite a long time shooting it. It was shot over a period of about five full days. We’re talking about 50 or 60 hours of shooting all of that. It was quite an experience, really. For the first time in my career on the show, I was completely alone. It was weird to be working so closely with the director and shooting that sequence in these five second bursts. It was kind of strange, just making sure you got those tiny little microscopic five second moments in the can, and then hand it over to the editors to stitch it into the montage that it became. I had no vision of what it might look like, no expectations of what it might look like. When I saw it at the screening [in Los Angeles], that was the first time I had seen it. It was kind of extraordinary, the fact that they could take these tiny fragments and build it into a narrative. 

We didn’t use real human waste. It was one step down on the unpleasantness scale. We used wet fruit cake, for all of the… I don’t know you say it politely. (Laughs.) That was wet fruit cake. It smelled fine, but shooting under lights for 13 hours or so, it can get a little nasty. I was reminded last night that while I was shooting that scene, everybody else on the cast was at the Emmys [in 2016].

You missed the Emmys to scrub the Citadel’s toilets?

Everybody said, “The cast has to go to the Emmys for a week. Which is the story that can take care of itself?” So I was left completely alone scrubbing toilets for a week while they were on the red carpet. It’s hard enough to take as it is, but then watching my friends and colleagues having fun out there? It’s a lot worse. (Laughs.) But it was a memorable moment, and I knew it would be a memorable moment. We’ve never done a montage like that before. I knew people would be talking about it and I knew it would have an impact, but I didn’t know how much. It was nice to kind of have such a set piece in episode one. It was a real treat.

The montage serves a comedic purpose, but a dramatic one as well. Just because Sam isn’t up North, doesn’t mean he’s not facing the proverbial and, apparently literal shit. 

Oh, yeah. Of course. It absolutely serves a real dramatic point. You’re instantly seeing just how frustrated and disincentivized and disillusioned Sam is with the Citadel. 

The honeymoon phase is over.

The honeymoon phase never even started! When he arrived in the Citadel at the end of last season, he was so happy to be there. He was feeling accepted for the first time. He was so happy he could fight the same battle as Jon Snow, but fight from his own environment. And then they put him in that cloth and set him to work on the bedpans. As soon as he gets there, he’s put to work. It kind of feeds the narrative for the next few episodes and the rest of the season in a way. Sam isn’t able, under the rules of the Citadel, to do the job he was sent there to do. He wants to be a proactive character and he wants to fight the same battle as Jon Snow. He wants to bring his own skills to it. And he knows time is of the essence. He knows the threat might be on the Wall already. He knows the army of the dead is coming. And he knows he needs to find key information. He knows that his time is being wasted. That frustration, to see that so instantly in the season and see that he is frustrated and that he’s been sent there to do a job he’s not allowed to do? That’s important. It’s a great moment of character development that’s disguised in a bit of fun. It’s not a waste of screen time. It’s important to establish how Sam feels in the opening episode and moving forward regarding the Citadel.

There’s a new character in the mix: Archmaester Ebrose, played by Jim Broadbent. What was it like, working with him?

He’s the greatest. He really is. I’ve been such a fan of his for quite a long time. When [showrunners] David [Benioff] and Dan [Weiss] told me he was going to be playing that part, I was so excited. There’s a part of it where you’re getting to work with a hero. He’s one of the most well-respected actors there is. So that was exciting. But there’s a creeping sense of dread that you’re not going to be able to hold your own against him, that he’s going to trample all over you. He was a true joy to work with. We worked together really well. We found our rhythm and we found our way of working together quite quickly. He’s very generous. He’s very patient. 

At the end of our time together on the show, I went to his trailer to say goodbye to him. I said: “Thank you, Jim. It’s been a lot of fun.” And he said, “Yeah. It has been a lot of fun.” For someone who has had such a career and has been acting for so long to come onto our show and I and the rest of the crew could still make it fun for him, after everything he’s done? That was a kind of heartwarming moment. I’ll never forget that moment. Working with Jim Broadbent was as amazing as you could imagine.

Did you have fun playing with all of the guts in the autopsy scene?

It was fascinating! (Laughs.) I’ve always found human organs to be quite fascinating, that how we appear on the outside is so different from how we appear on the inside. Some of my friends can’t watch surgical details on TV, but I find it grimly fascinating. They put this corpse together that was filled with all of this stuff that was so unbelievably lifelike. It was kind of exceptional. It’s fun to do a scene with props and physical stuff to bend the dialogue around. I think Jim and I found some nice comic beats with that stuff. It was the first scene we shot together. It was nice to get our hands on that, so to speak, and play around with it. 

There’s a shift in the scene. At first, Sam must be so excited that someone believes him about the White Walkers. And then the Archmaester effectively shrugs his shoulders: “Winter comes and goes all the time, the Wall always stands.” It must be a great disappointment for Sam. Should it make us skeptical of the Archmaester?

Certainly, yeah. For the people who populate the Citadel, these maesters and archmaesters, they’re not the people Sam thought they were. He thought they would be people like him who know the importance of knowledge and the importance of applying knowledge, and how it needs to be applied in the face of a great war. They don’t want to do any work. They’re there to put their feet up and stay out of the way. Sam didn’t think it would be like that. He thought he would be around like-minded souls. He thought he understood what part they could play in the threat and the outcome of the great war. That’s not the case. Sadly for Sam, he’s manipulated all of these situations to get to the Citadel, and he’s still as much out in the cold as he was at Castle Black. His thoughts and theories and ways of doing things, [the maesters] don’t want to hear about that. They’re not as proactive as Sam. There’s a sense of frustration: “I thought you were like me. I thought you were going to help me find and apply this information. But you’re not going to do that.” He quickly finds himself just as much a stranger as he’s ever been anywhere else.

Sam and Jorah Mormont meet briefly in this episode. I know you can’t get into what the future holds, but simply based on what we know about them both, how do you think these two characters would get along? 

I think they would get along very well. There’s a lot of similarities between them. They’re both cerebral thinkers. They’re both immensely loyal to the people they follow and stand side-by-side with. Their hearts can often get them both in trouble. They don’t always follow their heads; they often follow their hearts and take risks, which sometimes pay off and sometimes don’t. Their mind-sets are constantly in conflict with their heart and emotions, and so they sometimes have trouble containing those emotions. They both are romantics. Sam had the courage to reach out for Gilly, and Jorah couldn’t quite do that with Daenerys. There are similarities between them, and I think that would help them get along together quite nicely, actually.

Sam discovers that Dragonstone sits atop a mountain of dragonglass. He says he’s going to pass along the information to Jon. It got me wondering: does Sam know yet that Jon is King in the North? Does he know that Jon was dead for a few minutes? Has any of that news reached Sam yet?

No, I don’t think it has! Certainly it hasn’t been referenced on-screen. Sam hasn’t referenced it on camera. I don’t think he knows. But that’s a great little bit about the dragonglass at Dragonstone. If you look all the way back in season five, there’s a conversation about defeating White Walkers, and Sam tells Jon about dragonglass, and Jon says, “If we’re going to kill the White Walkers, we’re going to need a mountain of dragonglass.” Well, Sam just discovered that there’s a mountain of dragonglass at Dragonstone. The thing I like the most about that moment is that even without the support of the other maesters, that they don’t want to search for this knowledge, Sam is able to justify his reason for being at the Citadel. He repays Jon Snow’s faith in him. He’s able to send him key information: “There’s plenty more where this came from.” This could effect the entire outcome of the war, potentially, and that’s very exciting for Sam. It’s confirmation that when Sam goes looking, he comes up with gold.

Watch the video below for the Game of Thrones cast’s preview of season seven’s battles:

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