#or otherwise nonfunctional

[cape-wearing-enigma]

hello director who insisted on programming all my cues for me. in front of you is a computer. you have 10 MORE MINUTES BEFORE THE HOUSE OPENS to finish fixing these cues or i will cry on headset because over half of the act 2 cues are fucked beyond belief

[oneminutefiftysixseconds]

THREE FUCKEN MINUTES??

[kagrenacs]

The increasing anxiety growing in me as winter rolls around once more, and my fatigue levels rapidly increase, all while my term paper deadline is drawing ever closer.

[eternally-tired-cryptid]

I know the flashing and vivid colors are a huge part of the animation style of the Spiderverse movies and stuff, but I can't help but wonder if there's some sort of overlay or other thing to make movies like that more accessible for photosensitive folks?

[vampiricgf]

Morning Elvis

leon kennedy x reader

wc: 2k

warnings: pre established relationship, depiction of alcoholism, mention of sex but no smut, honestly just two idiots that don't know how to really talk to each other if they're not fucking so he gets spooked and runs away the second there's any real intimacy or care, set roughly before he's in colorado in vendetta

one) I know he eats ass so to me the joke lands and two) the title is the florence and the machine song morning elvis ‹𝟹

On nights when he’s dreading his own company Leon calls you. With how frequently those nights are becoming, you’re starting to think he should just give you a spare key to his place.

And even if you promise yourself day in and day out that you won’t pick up the phone this time, won’t come running like a loyal dog because it always ends the same, you find yourself speaking the same words as usual each time. Sure, I’ll be over. 

It’s a strange sort of limbo knowing you’re caught up in a man that will never be able to commit to you. 

But still, you’re as stubborn as ever. Standing outside his door shivering in the evening cold, peering uselessly into the darkened window. It’s not late enough for him to have forgotten you were coming and ended up sprawled in bed, but depending on how much he’s already had to drink the time may not matter. That makes you feel sleezy too, the fact that he almost exclusively calls you when he’s already had a few. 

Now that you think of it, you could count on one hand the number of conversations you’ve had when he’s sober. 

“Fuck, come on. Please don’t be asleep.” You whisper to yourself as you bring your knuckles to meet the solid oak door again, three sharp knocks. 

It’s then that you hear heavy footsteps, uncoordinated as he clearly stumbles to get the door, unlatching it just a crack to peer down at you with bloodshot eyes. How strange it’s a perfect shade of red to offset the cerulean of his eyes. If only reddened eyes weren’t a universal sign of something bad occurring in the body, they’d be pretty otherwise.

“Did you speed the whole way or something?” He asks as he unlatches the chain, fully swinging the door open and allowing you to step past him. 

As your eyes adjust and you step further inside you feel nearly overwhelmed with pity. The place is a mess, and while thats not unusual what is strange is the fact that he’s left so much evidence of his overconsumption laying around. Empty fifths, their labels peeling, and even a smattering of the little shooters you can buy at gas stations for a dollar litter the countertops of his kitchen, a scant few dishes languishing in a steel basin graveyard. 

Under normal circumstances you’d classify Leon as a functioning alcoholic. Not a good label, but at least he could still do his job and keep his head on straight no matter how full of whiskey said head might be. But this? This was the apartment of a nonfunctional alcoholic, no dancing around it. 

“Have you eaten anything?” You ask suddenly, turning around to face him as he leans against the countertop like he’ll collapse without the support. For a split second you’re afraid he might. 

“Why’d you care?” His eyes are unfocused but don’t stray from you and you take it as a good sign, he’s not completely trashed. 

“Because you look like shit.” You say it plainly, but the words are sharp regardless. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t give you what you came for.” 

“Who says thats all I come for?” Your voice drops off and you turn away from him, feeling suddenly sick. Sick with yourself for doing this again, sick that you’ve done it already so many times. 

He laughs and it’s a harsh sound, makes you flinch a little and shrink into yourself feeling even more foolish. “Oh because you’re here for good conversation and tea or some shit like that, right?”

You glare at him over your shoulder before walking back towards the door. 

Fuck this, I’m not being a drunken slam piece anymore-

“Oh come on, you can’t handle a little teasing all of a sudden? Not like you haven’t taken worse.” 

You sprin on your heel, sudden surge of anger squeezing you so tightly it nearly leaves you breathless. “You know what? You’re a drunk that needs to get your shit together, not your dick wet. Why don’t you use your furlough for something more productive than drowning in Jack and calling girls you don’t give a fuck about.” Your voice shakes as your pitch rises, hands clenched so hard it’s nothing short of a miracle your nails don’t break off in your palms. 

You wish you could punch him. Not enough to hurt him or because thats really what you want but because punctuating your words in the language he understands best might be the only way to reach him. The only sound in the place is your own ragged breathing, like you sprinted the whole way here, but before you can make a move to leave once more he pushes away from the countertop and does something that catches you off guard.

His arms come around you and the smell of sweat and alcohol wind around your body, invade your senses, seconds after. But it doesn’t matter because your bag falls to the floor with a heavy thump and your own arms wrap around him as he hides his face against the side of your neck. 

You stay like that for a while, in that strange, tense embrace, before his muffled voice fans warmly over your skin. 

“Who says I don’t give a fuck about you?”

You sigh. “Honestly, you do Leon. All of this just says you don’t give a fuck about anything, not even yourself.”

That and I’m not delusional enough to think you really like me. I’m convenient.

Silence descends once again and for a moment you’re worried you overestimated his coherence, that he may be about to black out in your arms, but before that thought takes hold he steps back from you, and the sudden absence of his warmth makes you shiver as if you stepped into a walk in freezer. 

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” And it sounds like the words both are and are not meant for you because he doesn’t meet your gaze, raking a hand through his hair before grabbing for one of the bottles in his impromptu menagerie, a quarter full of something clear. Before he can unscrew the cap you liberate it from his grasp, clutching the neck of it like a weapon. 

“Maybe I am. So why don’t you stop for the night, at least. Clean yourself up a little, sleep for once. You look like you haven’t slept in days.” You suspected he might not have, truthfully. 

He eyes you with something you can’t place and you aren’t sure you want to at this moment. Something between bitterness and relief, but before you can examine it with any depth he turns his back to you, moving to the hall bathroom. You think of the silly little cat nightlight you jammed into the outlet inside the small space one night, tired of always slamming your knee or your toes off the doorframe in the pitch black. The faint glow tells you it’s still there, faithfully illuminating the dark. 

The running of a tap is all you get in response and your eyes run over the kitchen again, fresh dismay setting in at the sheer quantity he’s been indulging in. As quietly as possible you start gathering the loose bottle up, a wide variety of sizes and flavors but your nose scrunches as you size up a still mostly full bottle of Everclear. You shiver just imagining the scent of it, stinging like a nose full of isopropyl with the aftertaste of straight kerosene. 

That one you decide to pour down the drain, cringing as your memory of the smell of it is proven accurate. 

“You owe me ten bucks for that.” 

His voice comes from behind you and you huff out a slight laugh, rolling your eyes as you face his direction and make your way to the garbage can.  “I’ll leave it on the counter.” 

“I’m sorry, by the way,” His blue eyes find yours as you straighten up from the can, and your own scan his face before answering. 

“Don’t be. Just… take better care of yourself.” 

Just don’t call me again, because I’m not the one strong enough, or selfish enough, to ignore it.

His hand rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck and he looks nervous, a rare sight and it’s oddly cute for a second. “It’s getting late, you can stay here- if you want to, I mean.” 

You smile softly, wistful, because you know exactly what time it is and that you could drive back home just fine and get enough sleep. Know that you should. “Yeah, sure. I can take the couch if you have a spare blanket.”

“You can sleep with me, my tongue has literally been in your ass before.” He rolls his eyes at you and you gape, feeling giddy embarrassment bubble up in your chest like you swallowed something overly carbonated and you giggle before you can stop yourself. 

“Fair enough, I guess.” You shake your head but follow after him towards the bedroom, feeling an out of place anxiety tugging at the corners of your mind. You’ve never just slept together, sex has always taken priority before. 

Despite that, settling in beside him doesn’t feel uncomfortable, if anything you’re surprised by the exhaustion creeping up behind your eyes, making your limbs feel heavier with each passing second. Your eyes are closed but you feel him staring at you, laying on his side to face you in a mirrored position. 

“I always think one of these days you’re not going to pick up.”

His words are so quiet you could almost convince yourself they were from the beginnings of a dream. Almost.

“I always pick up. For you.” You’re not sure why the words sound so mournful. 

“You shouldn’t. You don’t deserve getting bitched at by a guy that can’t spend more than five minutes sober.” 

“And you don’t deserve to be alone.” 

You hear his breathing hitch at your words but you still don’t open your eyes, as if the action would shatter the quiet moment between you two. 

“We- we shouldn’t do this again.” And that makes your eyes flutter open, blearily taking him in, the out of place vulnerability on his face and the sheer fatigue expressed plainly on his features. You wish you could reach out, cradle his face, run your fingers over him, commit him to memory. 

“No, we probably shouldn’t.” 

If I’m getting what I want, why do I feel like crying?

When rays of sunlight break through the blinds to assault your eyes you recognize that you’re alone before you’re even fully conscious. The apartment is as quiet as a mausoleum, still, stale air filling up your lungs as you rise from the pillows, shoulders cracking. 

You don’t call out, quietly standing from the rumpled bed before padding out towards the kitchen, peeking into the bathroom just to make sure but only the sight of the empty room greets you. The kitchen is much the same, a few stray bottles remain but it seems you cleared the bulk of them last night. In the living room you find a note on the coffee table, a silver key glinting in the hazy dimness on top of it. 

It’s a short goodbye. He left you the key so you could lock the front door before you went back to your place, he’ll get it from you when he can. Something about trying to take your advice, maybe Colorado will be better suited for getting himself together. 

You set the note back down, rubbing your thumb over the face of the apartment key. 

As you pull your bag up off the floor you make a mental note to keep flights out west bookmarked for the time being. 

Because after all, you always answer if he calls.

[throughtrialbyfire]

i will never be normal abt cicero this is a promise. 8 years in a basement waiting for a voice that never comes. 8 years alone with nothing but cobwebs and a corpse you have to tend both on religious and practical levels. a duty solemn and sworn to people who are now dead - your only family - and a god whose existence is older than that of the gods most often worshiped. survivor of two sanctuaries destroyed or otherwise nonfunctional. a newcomer hears the voice you've been straining to hear for almost a decade. the self-doubt and the grief and the "why was i not chosen? was i not enough?" and the anger at the night mother smothered by the religious guilt at the anger. being angry and devoted at the same time and fiercely loyal and loving the very entity who passed over you for someone who knows nothing of your brotherhoods ways because they came into it in a sanctuary where all rite ritual and rules were tossed aside. they dont even know the tenets and yet they were chosen but you were loyal all these years and yet, yet, yet, yet. man.

[nekropsii]

people want a gay male version of the dancestor poll???? like one guy there would be able to have a good relationship with another person and most certainly not with any of the other male dancestors. (hint: its mituna)

Yeah. I love the Alpha Trolls, they’ve been my jam since I first got into the comic, like, 10 years ago, but… Look, man, you can like the Alpha Troll guys all you want, they are interesting characters in their own right, but I am pretty sure Hussie explicitly wrote them to be honest to god nonfunctional in shipping contexts.

This even includes friendships. The only exception is, as you’ve said, Mituna, who is literally the only male Alpha Troll I could easily see in functional relationships- platonic, romantic, and otherwise- but genuinely none of those good possibilities are with any of the other male Alpha Trolls. Mituna is the only male Alpha Troll that’s capable of having a normal, functioning relationship, especially on a long term scale, just… Not with any of the other men here. Mituna can have great relationships!! Just only with the female side of the Alpha Troll cast.

Acting like gay male Alpha Troll ships are anything of substance- especially functional, stable substance- just feels like major copium. Sorry to my followers for using the word copium, I couldn’t think of any other way to put it. Literally none of them work. None of them are something that should spark joy. The only times they do work in some degree, it’s only as a god damn case study, and shouldn’t really be included under the label of “shipping”, in my opinion. It’s really fucking funny.

The male Alpha Trolls are absolutely fucking unshippable. Unfortunately, this doesn’t stop people, and a good 95% of the time I see some ship involving an Alpha Troll guy, I just pull out a gun. Sorry, not sorry.

So, yeah, no M/M version of the Alpha Troll Yuri Poll. The men get too much attention for all the wrong reasons, and every single god damn combination of them is terrible.

Plus, I wouldn’t be caught dead putting Cronus or Kankri as options in Best Ship polls. Ew. Ew ew ew. I’d rather set myself ablaze.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is the award-winning 1895 "The Clock House" in Rumson, New Jersey. 6bds, 2.5ba, $3.5M.

There are several entrances to this house, and this one would be the one to use if you want to use the elevator.

Off this hall is a large living room with a fireplace.

Also a part of this large space is a casual dining area.

This is a cool room. Looks like a grand hall for one of the other entrances. The floor kind of looks like a fancy spiderweb, doesn't it?

The kitchen has a beautiful island, otherwise it would be very plain.

Huge family room - look at the neon ceiling. Very nice.

This is a wonderful room. Geez, it's gigantic. This looks like a ballroom to me.

Nice curved stairs lead up to an area that is set up as a sitting room. Notice the balcony above.

The primary bedroom is very large and plain.

The en-suite is huge. All the rooms in this house are gigantic. The bath has a little rotunda type ceiling plus doors to a balcony.

I've never seen a bathroom with it's own private balcony.

One of the secondary bedrooms with an en-suite.

On the 3rd floor is a home office with a nonfunctional fireplace, but at least they kept the magnificent stone facade and mantle.

This is cool- there's a kitchenette up here with the workings of the original house clock on display.

There's also a bedroom and a home office up here. It's like an apt.

Outside is a pool and a patio with an outdoor kitchen.

And, look at this wonderful treehouse built around a big tree.

The home is on the Navesink River with a view of the Oceanic Bridge. The property measures 1.70 acres.

[theplotdemandsit]

were every hargreeves siblings lonely and lone? Were they all incapable of making friends truly?did they had any choice in the matter after they left the hargreeves mansion at 18,19?

Were the hargreeves lonely? Were they really incapable of making friends? Did they have any choice in the matter after they left the academy?

How I’m understanding this question is basically: Was the dominance and loneliness forced upon them growing up still chaining them down after they left?

The short answer? Yes. 

I’m a behavior therapist, and part of my work is looking at how individuals have been conditioned to behave in certain ways. Functional behavior and nonfunctional behavior all stem from consequences. If the consequences of a behavior increase the likelihood of you doing it again, your behavior has been reinforced. If the consequences decrease the likelihood of you doing it again, your behavior has been punished. Reginald Hargreeves uses these principles of behavior to essentially control his children.

Just to give an example of how this works: say you ask politely for a cookie and Mom gives you a cookie—you’ve now learned that asking politely gets you a cookie and are more likely to ask that way again. It can also go the other way where if you ask for a cookie by screaming and yelling, you don’t get a cookie. You are now less likely to scream and yell. Sound familiar?

But now think about this:

Say you ask Dad for a hug and he ignores you. Eventually you stop asking. Say you follow all his instructions and he praises you. You keep following his instructions. 

Say you ask Dad if you can go to the mall. He tells you no. Eventually you stop asking. Say you follow all his instructions and he praises you. You keep following his instructions.

Say you can’t do what Dad wants you to do so he locks you up and hurts you. You don’t want to suffer but you also can’t follow his instructions, so you do what you can to make it hurt less. He only tells you he’s disappointed but at least he can’t hurt you anymore.

Say you work really hard and outperform everyone else, and Dad praises you. He praises you for taking risks to be better. So you take more and more risks. Except one day he tells you to stop—that you can’t do it. The only problem with this is that experience has told you otherwise. You’ve been reinforced in the past for taking risks, so you take another. And another.

Say Dad tells you you’re nothing. You’re ordinary. You try to prove him wrong by doing well in other things, but instead of praising you, he ignores you or uses you as an example of what not to be. So you stop trying. 

The only reinforced behavior the Hargreeves had was following whatever Dad said. (Aside from Five’s case due to reasons 2 paragraphs ago). They couldn’t rely on each other because they were always competing against one another for Dad’s approval.

For more about the Hargreeves’ hierarchy, check out this entry which dives even deeper! https://www.tumblr.com/atalana/183592717183/five-and-the-effects-of-reginald-hargreeves?source=share

So, yes. They were lonely. And while they could make their own decisions after saying Bye, Felicia to dear old dad, their behavior had already been conditioned into living a certain way. For the numbers at the top, they had to keep doing and being the best. For the numbers on the bottom, they were already a disappointment so what was the point? (Unless, again, you're Number Five and just keep pushing to become better)

And while most behavior is conditioned, it can also be conditioned to change (literally my job) so they could all learn to not be so harmfully dependent and learn to believe in themselves had they positive role models in their lives. But they didn’t. From what I can tell, it seems like Diego is the only one who made any friends, but none of them were deep relationships. Him and Patch didn’t last, but maybe they eventually could have had he found more reasons to live than taking out bad guys. And even though Allison married and had a child, she still couldn’t find herself living without relying on her power, her need to control things. She was trying to rise to the top by any means necessary, but it wasn’t fulfilling which she later realized.

One of my favorite things about season 2 is that the siblings all getting sent in different times helps them to learn to rely on others and maybe heal a little. Although unfortunately Five just went from one Apocalypse to the other so he basically never heals. It’s fine. (It’s not and I’m still upset about that storyline they call season 4). 

But anyway. Changing behavior that has a long history of consistent conditioning is challenging and takes time. We see that throughout their stories and their laughable inability to communicate. But hopefully in some universe somewhere, they are learning to be happy. Thanks for the great questions! 

[kihnindewa]

I finally wrote a response to the deeply repetitive arguments, criticisms, concerns I’ve received all my life when speaking on Black & Native intercommunity issues as a Black Native! But particularly, to the comments section of an article I wrote last year to critique the use of “BIPOC” as defined by a shared experience with colonialism or oppression, and the simple fact that a people cannot share an oppressive experience with another who live half-lives under the former’s governing & gatekeeping.

I wrote on the history of the only consistent clapback™️ my cries for allyship have ever received (the Buffalo Soldiers referenced in the above screenshot), what makes them nonfunctional as a weapon or deflection in this conversation, and the dissociative-like experience of people’s refusal to engage with Afro-Native oppression as a Native American issue because we happen to be Black as well. Here are some excerpts/quotes:

People find it incredibly difficult to understand that I am Black & Native American at the same time, never ceasing in one or the other…the obscene success of an ethnically & culturally blended peoples, “a savage foe combined with lawless Negro brigands”…

Conversation about Black Native Americans isn’t hard because it is inherently complex. It’s made hard by a deliberate erasure of our Nativeness. By the terms of a bizarrely narrow idea of racial identity that’s seemingly cobbled together from the legacy of a one-drop rule & Dawes rolls, we can only be Native or Black. Never both.

There is, perhaps, a moral dilemma for some in acknowledging the capacity for Native American wrongdoing while living in a society built atop our bones & stolen land. Though the Buffalo Soldiers don’t even begin to answer to Afro-Natives’ criticisms, it makes for a satisfying deflection.

Kihnindewa. Buffalo Soldiers & Identity Troubles: Native American History Rewritten (Again), working title because I just can’t settle

For now, this piece is exclusive to my $5.55 Patreon! If you’re looking to learn some Black (& Native) history directly from a Black Native this BHM or to connect & commiserate with another Black NDN (see my tags please 🙂), the support would be deeply appreciated and subscribing also gives you access to all of my poetry & other work. You could also consider tipping me if you’ve benefited from my previous article or other work on this subject, for my pain & suffering if you’re white or nonblack Native, or just to help me out this month.

If I hit a $200 goal (patronage included), I will post this to Medium early! Otherwise, it’ll be free to read & learn from at the end of the month. Funds will go towards bills, dental care, and/or a new tire. I am heartemojie on cashapp + venmo & 13thead on paypal. Pilahuk (thank you)!!

[hellsite-proteins]

*approaches with high-speed pedantry*

Technically none of these are proteins since they can't be a functional unit

that is absolutely true. my favourite descriptor so far has been peptonominations, although i can't remember who used it. in any case, i've decided that the url and descriptor is mostly aspirational, or reflecting the occasional times i talk about real proteins. in any case, i have to call them something, and saying 'polypeptide' or 'structure' doesn't feel much better given how unstructured and unstable most of these things are

letter sequence in this ask matching protein-coding amino acids:

appracheswithhighspeedpedantryTechnicallynneftheseareprteinssincetheycanteafnctinalnit

protein guy analysis:

your structure turned out pretty nonfunctional, to no one's surprise. in all fairness, the middle of the longest helix reached up to around 60% confidence, but otherwise this isn't good. very few parts of this structure stick together, and the loop at the top seems to be there just to upset me. the mesh surface i've included honestly doesn't add much, but i feel like having more views of how much this does not match up to anything that could be called a real protein helps prove your point, and i owe you that at the very least

predicted protein structure:

cartoon representation

mesh surface and side chains shown

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Not really a question but I just need to say this to someone who will understand. Also, people have asked you questions what a meltdown looks like. So this is mine, one of the worst I've ever had in my adult life.

I'm 40 years old and am so good at masking that I wasn't diagnosed as autistic until my mid-30s. Normally, I can blend into most social situations. However, I have been in constant pain for 2 months due to a medical issue, and the exhaustion of pain that will never stop has eroded away all the mask. I am now 100% Naked Autistic, because I am burned out beyond anything I've ever felt in my life.

Yesterday I had a complete and utter meltdown in the doctor's office, and it was terrifying. First, he entered the room angry, yelling at me to "stop being rude to my staff". I'm extremely sensitive to being called "rude" because that's what I've been called all my life, just for existing. I've internalized it and now I know, my existence is rude. So whenever someone calls me "rude", it hurts very deeply, even when I'm NOT in a burnout state.

This doctor was SO angry and yelled at me SO much and I couldn't hold it together, I started to cry. He told me to calm down "or else", but I was already in the middle of a meltdown, I literally couldn't.

Then he gave me bad medical news. My test results were inconclusive and didn't show what was wrong with me. Which meant there was no hope of my pain ending any time soon.

Thankfully my mother was there and she helped me communicate, and we at least got him to order more tests, and to prescribe me a new medication to try. But at no point did he become kind or merciful; it was clear from his face that he just wanted me out of his sight as quickly as possible, because I am "rude".

At that point I was so overwhelmed with emotions that I turned into an animal. I had to escape; my flight response kicked in HUGE. I ran out of there. The minute I was in the hall I started to scream at the top of my lungs, and I could not stop. I punched the concrete wall over and over (my hand is all bruised today, I think I'm lucky that it's not broken). People in the hall were terrified of me. Rightly so. I was violent and out of control. I tried to rip the pictures of the walls, but they were screwed down.

My mother was brilliant. She knew I couldn't stop, or speak, or listen. She said to me "Our goal is to get to the car. Let's get to the car. We can do it." Simple, clear direction that was easy to follow. I couldn't stop screaming or crying, but I could walk. She put her hand on my shoulder and guided me, down the hall, out the door, into the car. Because if I'd stayed in the building with that behavior, police could have been called. Very bad things could have happened. She saved me from that.

I screamed in the car for a long time. I could only sob and cry and scream. I think about a half hour went by. It was a long time. Finally, because I was in a safe place (our familiar car), with a person I trusted (my mother), the worst of the meltdown passed and I was able to stop screaming.

I was exhausted. I was terrified. My hand was killing me. I was like a puppy or a little child, helpless to my overwhelming emotions. Eventually, Mom asked if I'd like to get a donut from the donut shop across the street. She moved my mind onto something else. The donut tasted delicious (I mean its a donut), and that pleasant sensory input helped me focus my mind. I finally calmed down enough that we could talk.

I am 40 years old, live independently, have a professional career, a long-term relationship with my partner, and otherwise appear to be a "successful allistic". But yesterday, I was absolutely nonfunctional. If I didn't have my needs supported by my mother, who knows what could have happened.

I am much better today. Exhausted from everything, but not overwhelmed anymore. I'm telling this story so that others who go through a meltdown can know what it is- and why they're suddenly acting like that. It's because of my autistic brain, and the fact that it was overwhelmed with more emotion than a body can handle or express.

But it passes. It ends. The next day comes, and you can try to heal.

Hi there,

Thank you for sharing your experiences. I’m not sure if you’re seeing that doctor or not, but I would try and distance myself if you work together, or see each other.

That doctor, or whoever it was, is the rude one, yelling at people and being disrespectful and not understanding. Who walks in and randomly starts yelling at people?

I sometimes have my boyfriend or mom speak for me because sometimes I don’t know what to say or do in certain situations.

Sorry for the rambling. Thanks again for sharing. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ♥️

Also please try and get away from that doctor. Reading this made me sad and angry. I’m sorry you had to deal with this. Sending a hug.

[magentagalaxies]

Kids in the Archive: Episode 8

welcome back to kids in the archive! the show where i highlight iconic kids in the hall sketches that i have procured the original scripts for and break down a behind-the-scenes comparison of script and screen

Previous Episodes: Episode 1 - armada finale ("do we make it?") Episode 2 - fran & gordon: the vacation Episode 3 - comfortable Episode 4 - cathy & kathi: is he? Episode 5 - danny husk: kidnapped! Episode 6 - trappers Episode 7 - sizzlers & the bank

on today's episode, i bring you the highly revised s3e17 sketch that is Darcy and Francesca!

i've always enjoyed this sketch - francesca fiore is one of my favorite scott characters and i really enjoyed both darcy pennell show sketches and i wish they did more. however the reason i'm showcasing it today is because this is the most any kids in the hall script has deviated from the final product out of the ones i've read so far. i've had scripts with a slightly different ending beat or a change in casting, but aside from the sketches that never made it into the show at all, this one presents the most interesting alternate universe where this aired as written, and raises questions about why these changes were made in the first place

Darcy's Personality

The first thing you'll notice in this script is that darcy pennell has a bit more of an edge. her opening song's lyrics reference mood swings and lithium (we stan a bipolar queen), she gets mad when she can't parse francesca's nationality, there's a line where she talks about having a thing for the tin man from wizard of oz, she even sits behind a desk! okay, the desk thing isn't that edgy, but that also shows us how the setup of this show differs as well, with darcy constantly calling to unseen camera men with increasingly ridiculous names.

a bit of this edge remains in the sketch that aired - like referencing the show's previous episode as giving makeovers to the women on death row (a line that was added since it does not appear in this script), or teasing the next episode as darcy joining the hell riders (which is still in this ending). however, these jokes are juxtaposed with the daytime-talkshow-positivity and mom-vibes darcy gives off otherwise. i think this works, both because the contrast makes both traits pop and because it plays to kevin's strengths. some of my favorite beats are not in this draft - while script-darcy pulls out popcorn to watch the clip, screen-darcy puts on nonfunctional glasses so she can get used to them. while script-darcy complains about subtitles, screen-darcy talks over the clip by saying "what a lovely wall!"

Francesca Fiore Lore

the sequence of darcy trying to parse francesca fiore's nationality is a bit more drawn out and includes specifics of francesca's global backstory:

personally, i like the final sketch's version of this conversation much better - quickly going back and forth setting up a country she's from and then denying being from that country. i also like the ending of the screen version's conversation better - where instead of getting mad, darcy is somehow able to grasp that francesca is somehow irish. however, this lore-dump is also interesting considering as this is only francesca fiore's second appearance. the first page of the text has to justify her as being "from hazy movie," the only sketch she's been in thus far.

The Censorship

by "the censorship" i don't necessarily mean the sketch itself was censored (or do i?), i mean that in the alternate universe this sketch provides, it's abundantly clear the theme of this sketch is censorship! sure, censorship is referenced in the final sketch (the clip of francesca's movie being cut, francesca's line "shoot shoot bang bang kill kill is fine, but show seven genital and everybody go crazy"). however, the script goes even farther.

after the clip concludes, darcy commiserates with francesca, saying any time she tries to bring up anything controversial, the camera just cuts to calming beach footage until she brings up hairstylists. then this happens:

following this, we have the same francesca line about violence being allowed but not sex, and darcy teasing her next episode.

so what do we make of this? well, the kids in the hall have always had issues with censorship from networks over the years, and the juxtaposition between censoring sexuality while allowing violence unfiltered has been part of scott's work for years. a decade after this sketch, he'd be taking on this subject again in his one-man-show The Lowest Show On Earth, whose poster (featuring scott with what appears to be semen on his face) would cause controversy, leading scott to comment on how if it was blood there would be no issue. interestingly, the topic of censorship became even more prevalent during the amazon prime revival decades later, because while scenes of sex and nudity were more acceptable, the third kind of censorship (censoring discussion of controversial topics, like darcy runs into) was even more prevalent. this topic is also going to be a staple of the buddy cole documentary, and i wonder what scott thinks of this alternate script

so why was the censorship commentary toned down? i have three theories:

a) they were censored (either the network didn't like their portrayal of the censors being met with violence or the violence was so gratuitous that it was not allowed on television) b) it was too expensive to shoot (a lot goes into filming a sketch like this - location, special effects, the cost of filming itself) c) it just wasn't that good

personally, as interesting as i find the kids in the hall's (specifically scott's) relationship to censorship to be, i'm inclined to go with the third option. this alternate ending makes a point, sure, but it's not as funny. i don't think i'd be returning to the sketch as much as i do if this script was the version that aired. even when looking at the youtube comments on this upload, the top comments are all referencing jokes that aren't in this draft. the darcy theme song, "what a lovely wall", and bruno counting the genitals in the clip are all iconic moments and as much as i love satire, i think these sillier moments make the satire itself stronger.

but i'm glad i have this look into what this sketch could have been, to make me appreciate the process.

[gribbo]

if nothing's glitched or otherwise gone tits-up i'm finally going to be able to recruit minthara in this run. hoping they've patched in the nonfunctional halsin-minthara camp ultimatum exchange so that they tear each other's hair out

[koukaaa-descent]

bracken headcanon list part 2

i love yapping about weird creatures and making up history

The first Bracken to be discovered was captured by mistake by a researcher team and locked inside of the ship’s hull. Unfortunately, it perished after one of the researchers cut the power to the ship doors. An Eyeless Dog mistakenly lunged for it and mauled it until it dispersed into ash. Notably, the Eyeless Dog in question did not display any of the tame behaviors observed nowadays regarding Brackens.

The first Bracken ever discovered was named ‘Phoenix’, after an old myth that one of the researchers had recalled. The Bracken in question was rather birdlike—a subspecies of the more typical fungal Brackens most commonly seen nowadays. That its death resulted in black, sooty ash caused quite a ruckus for some time, as nobody had much of a clue as to what composed a Bracken in the first place at the time.

In the researchers’ (now) abandoned ship, there is a mural on the wall depicting Phoenix, made crudely with rudimentary paints, blood, and spray paint. It is not mythos. It is a memorial. Perhaps those researchers, too, found the beauty in it in spite of such terrible conditions. Delusion got to even the best of them all, out walking to their deaths together.

It is possible to actively coexist with a Bracken that was not raised, ‘domesticated’, or trained by anybody beforehand. You need only give it space, respect and display submissive behaviors and there is the large chance that it will simply ignore you. One researcher attempted this in the late 2350’s, spending two years living alongside an effectively wild Bracken and, in some cases, experiencing mutually beneficial interactions, such as the researcher unknowingly distracting the Bracken’s prey as it goes for the kill. Later, it had been noted that a chunk of viscerally shredded flesh had been deliberately left in an area that the researcher typically wandered.

Brackens do not tend to have active enemies, nor do they seek to antagonize others. Only ten cases have been documented wherein a Bracken had an explicitly hostile relationship with another species, or another of its kind. One of these cases is between a Bracken (nicknamed Echo by frivolous researchers) and an active Nutcracker (nicknamed Galileo by the person that used to own it), bereft of a parasite. The Nutcracker defended one section of the mansion the two were documented in, while the Bracken actively sought to get into said area. The entire conflict was likely begun because of the single corpse that the Bracken had dragged into a room, unknowing at the time of the Nutcracker that guarded the area. A researcher dedicated to documenting the interactions between them eventually recorded both of their deaths. ‘Echo’ was shot, while ‘Galileo’ had been rendered nonfunctional via damage.

The main researcher team that had discovered Brackens and had made a dozen more discoveries about them was titled ‘UMBRIS-15’. Each member perished to a single Bracken sometime during the 2400’s.

There are over twenty five subspecies of Bracken, only two of which are aquatic. There is one oddly peculiar subspecies which consumes metal, although it is the rarest.

Brackens do not reproduce sexually, asexually or otherwise, and thus do not have any of the anatomy required to do so. It is unknown why, specifically, they are born the way that they are born.

The entirety of a Bracken’s facial structure is akin to a solid, rough beak, even in subspecies which are more fragile. Only a select few of the species actually have any form of beak, mainly for ripping and tearing flesh off of carrion.

While not necessary, most Brackens enjoy basking in sunlight or being submerged in water. Whilst underwater, they tend to make a peculiar chattering sound, as if swiftly clicking and rattling at once in a higher tone.

“are you normal” NO!!!!! i just made all of these up on the spot. i don’t have any coherent thoughts nor do I have a linear thought process !!!!!!!

part one

[reachartwork]

looking to have a demo of AI DM out tonight or tomorrow. as you can imagine this is a lot more complicated than what Ai Dungeon was doing since I actually have to keep track of state and stats and I have to trick the AI into calling functions, which LLMs are not inherently designed to do.

What would be a fair pricing for an AI DM, assuming it's like 90% functional? Assume it'd be able to do *most* tasks you would otherwise dictate to a DM - keeping track of game state, doing worldbuilding, narrating, distributing level ups, etc, and be capable of working with multiple players. I plan on demoing it with 5e but if it works it could probably be expanded to cover other systems. I can't guarantee it will be error free but I do think I'm a decent developer;

Note: The best option for me is a subscription cost because paying for GPT tokens is a constant, ongoing thing, and I cannot subsidize something like this forever unless I get a much more well-paying job than I currently have. The service would function on a per-Discord server basis - you pay to get your server whitelisted, and otherwise the bot is either nonfunctional or on some sort of limited free trial version. I would not make every person in the party have to pay.

Thanks for your input.