#obviously he kind of is in comparison to william and seems to have good intentions

[darthpastry]

Insanity ending of Pizzeria Sim is actually pretty tragic when you think about it. I mean, the real ending as well, but that'll be a separate post because I just watched the insanity ending and want to talk about it. Endless tragedy of Michael Afton is on my brain as of late. Huzzah.

Chances are you know how the insanity ending plays out. Michael finds a hidden tape in Egg Baby, because apparently Henry has a secret audio diary he hides in weird places? I digress. The tape reveals Henry's plan, Michael gets told he messed up the plan, so what does Henry do? Surely if he just HAD to make a tape that could ruin the entire plan, he would've had a backup plan in case the tape was discovered, right? Right? NOPE! Dude just decides "oh wow, my irresponsible choices and Michael's curiosity led to my grand plan being ruined. Who could've anticipated this? Welp. I'll just ruin Michael's life forever. Lol."

Instead of making sure to have a backup plan for his painfully flimsy plan, he just makes sure EVERYONE thinks Michael is insane and the dude gets locked up in a mental hospital. Quite frankly, I think that if Michael hadn't already gone insane by that point, being told by probably the last person he trusts "you ruined everything on accident, so I'm convincing the whole world you're insane and replacing you." That's pretty brutal.

It's Henry's fault for MAKING that stupid tape, like what was even the logic for keeping that around. Yet Michael is the one having to pay the price? Also states that Michael didn't even know what was happening and just wanted to open a pizzeria and play arcade games and can you imagine how he felt when he started finding the crew outside the pizzeria?

Why exactly do people think Henry's so great when he has no issue treating Michael like this and is shown to be awful in TSE trilogy iirc?

I do want to go over the other endings and how Henry screws Michael over no matter what at some point, probably one dedicated to the true ending and then one for all the others, but that all seems too long for one post.

#yeah this is a henry hate post #someone has to despise the guy #henry emily is the current fnaf character i hate #especially since he gets portrayed as the nicest guy ever #obviously he kind of is in comparison to william and seems to have good intentions #but really? #michael is hoarding all the Ls #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #michael afton #henry emily #egg baby #fnaf 6 pizza simulator #fnaf 6 #fnaf pizzeria simulator #ffps #pizzeria simulator #insanity ending #henry emily hatepost

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Highs and Lows

Tw: mentions of deaths, drug usage/drug abuse, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, and yandere themes

It had been a while since you felt that sense of belonging, that familial security. After what had happened to your family the Zarick’s had been kind enough to open themselves and their home up to you. They made you feel like family and not some charity case. They were all so loving and inviting, you couldn’t believe just how lucky you’d gotten.

That was until tragedy struck once again. Joey had died in a freak accident on the way home from school.

You weren’t the same after what happened to Joey and no one should have expected you to be, especially since you had witnessed the accident first hand. You were traumatized and scarred. All you saw when you closed your eyes was the same horrific scene repeating and it wouldn’t stop.

When you thought things couldn’t get worse Wiliam died shortly after finding out about Joey. You could still remember his reaction, how he ran out of the house with some kind of intention in mind, leaving you and Denise in pieces. You never would be able to know what he had planned when he abruptly left that night.

If only you knew it would be the last time you saw him, maybe you could have tried harder to stop him.

After that Blue Valley didn’t seem like home anymore. Denise just wanted to get away from anything and everything that reminded her of what she and you both lost. You were more than willing to leave when she brought up moving. You wanted to get away just as much as her. Everywhere you looked you were haunted by the memories of two loving people who were taken away far too early. It was just you and Denise now and you both wanted nothing more than to leave your ghosts behind.

Everything was set and ready to go. Denise even seemed more rushed than before to leave Blue Valley behind. The two of you were in the car and everything seemed normal. The radio was playing but it was only to fill the silence. Neither of you knew what to say, a part of you felt guilty for leaving yours and the Zarick’s home. It felt like you were abandoning Joey and William but that warmth from before just wasn’t there anymore.

Everything seemed so cold and dark, like all the light had been sucked out. This place was only a reminder of sadness and hurt. Even the good times couldn’t outweigh the burden in your hearts.

It was quiet for a while longer before Denise spoke up, “This is for the best, (Y/n). There was nothing left in Blue Valley. Not anymore. It’s just us now.” She was trying to keep her voice from breaking and you were trying to keep your tears at bay, but you knew she was right.

You were all she had now and she was all you had.

And that was the last thing on your mind before a crashing noise hit your ears. Both you and Denise were sent rolling.

When you open your eyes again, you were waking up in the hospital back in Blue Valley. You were obviously hurt, body aching from the ordeal it had been through. It’s only when you try to sit up that you realize you aren’t alone.

A firm, yet gentle, hand pushes you to lay back down. Looking up, you’re greeted by a man you’ve never met before. You’re too caught up in your staring and confusion to realize he’s speaking, “You shouldn’t try and strain yourself. Not after the ordeal you’ve been put through.”

Once you’re laying back comfortably again, the man fixes his suit and heads back to a chair off in the corner, you assume he had been occupying it before you awoke.

It’s unsettling to say the least and all the more ominous, the way he stares at you that is. His gaze is intense and it scares you. It’s like he’s trying to see everything that you are and everything you’ve ever been. The coldness of the room doesn’t help ease your anxiety. If anything it adds to it, making you feel all the more vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t properly introduced myself. I am Jordan Mahkent, I am- well, I was a friend of William’s.” Oh, so he was familiar with your past adoptive father? That made you feel a little more at ease.

“Oh, um...okay. By chance do you know where Denise is? I would really like to see her.” For some reason it feels like the room’s gotten colder. It doesn’t help that you can’t quite read the expression on Jordan’s face. That is until it turns into one of sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Y/n, but Denise didn’t make it.” You could feel all the air leave your sore lungs. What the hell was he talking about? Denise didn’t make it? But she had been right next to you the last you remember.

Throat dry you try to speak again, “What so you mean? She was there, I was with her and she was fine!” You’re choked up, tears streaming down your face. You don’t even notice that Jordan is now sitting next to you, wiping your tears away with a hand considerably colder than normal. He’s trying to be comforting but all you can focus on are his words echoing in your head.

“I’ve got you, Y/n. I’m here for you now.”

////

There wasn’t a single day that passed without Jordan visiting you. You had to stay awhile longer in the hospital to recover, especially given you had woken up from a coma due to the crash. You didn’t mind though, you didn’t feel right being back in Blue Valley and you were still processing how you lost everything in a matter of a few days.

But Jordan was nice. He was patient but most importantly he was there for you. He seemed kind enough. He would even tell you stories about when he and William were close. It was comforting hearing about William, especially in his youth but it still hurt to hear his name knowing full well he wouldn’t be coming back.

The day of you getting discharged, Jordan had offered that you stay with him and his family. Thai scenario felt oddly familiar. Similar to how you’d been brought into the Zarick family. You couldn’t deny that it was a kind gesture and it’s not like you had anywhere else to go.

His family was just as welcoming as the Zarick’s had been. You kept trying to remind yourself that these people weren’t your past family but the memories and comparisons just wouldn’t leave you alone. You couldn’t quite put your finger on whether it was healthy for you to think this way or not.

It hurt, that much was for certain. It didn’t help that you felt like you were not only replacing your old family but that you were also using these nice, generous people to fill a void in you from everything that you’d lost. It didn’t feel right at all to you and the Mahkent’s definitely didn’t deserve it either. They were just trying to do a good thing after all.

You tried giving what you could to this new family but it was hard. You were obviously depressed and still dealing with what happened to the Zarick’s. You just wanted your family back. You just wanted your Joey, your William and your Denise again. You just wanted to be home with them, where you were happy and content. The only thing that seemed to make you feel better were the pain killers the doctor had prescribed and they didn’t make you feel anything. You’d guess that the numbness was better than the hurt in the long run. Not to mention it helped keep away the horrible images in your head of Joey’s death, even if only for awhile.

And sometimes, if you were lucky, you could see William, Denise, and Joey. It was as if they were right there with you, like the four of you were together again. It was nice to say the least. It gave what you needed, even if it was just a little taste of it.

Fortunately for you, your injuries and trauma were severe enough that you were given a prescription of painkillers to refill as long as you needed them. You could feel numb and be with your family again whenever you needed to, as long as you had that prescription.

As hard as you tried to keep this away from anyone else, especially the Mahkents, you weren’t very successful. Jordan knew something wasn’t quite right. He was understanding that you would need time to adapt and get comfortable with them but he thought you would surely grow to love and be part of his family by now. Don’t get him wrong, Jordan was seeing you trying to be involved but it wasn’t enough. You were still holding back.

It wasn’t until Cameron came to him, worried about you that he started to see a different change in you. You seemed spacey and not really in the moment but that was understandable given your medication. It was some pretty strong stuff after all. But Jordan took note to ask about it at your next checkup. Thankfully you had to have mandatory checkups and your most recent one was coming up.

But Jordan was going to have a talk with Henry, not only for some information on this specific medication but also to have Henry tell him just what was going on in that head of yours.

Your check up went well. You still need your medication but the dosage as been dropped. Once your assigned doctor heard that you were acting just a little too out of it they thought it was about time to decrease your medicine, even though the before amount shouldn’t have affected you like that. After that was said and done, Jordan left you at the vending machine and headed off to Henry.

It didn’t take him long to find Henry nor did it take Henry long to read your thoughts. But once Jordan heard what was going through your head, he couldn’t quite pinpoint how or what he was feeling exactly. One thing was for certain though, he was going to be monitoring your medicine intake from now on.

You knew you had a problem. You were conscious of that and you had tried to stop but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You wanted the hurt to stop, you just wanted to stop feeling altogether. And that’s just what you got when you took a few extra pills then prescribed. You guess you should have been more mindful. That’s why when Jordan started handing out your medication a part of you was relieved. Maybe things could get better. Maybe you could get better. But then that all too familiar itch was back and you were in need.

But Jordan was determined to not to let you destroy yourself. He didn’t care what you lost at this point. You had something new and alive right in front of you. You had a family right in front of you. But you weren’t seeing them. You weren’t seeing him. You weren’t seeing anything anymore.

It’s all getting to be too much. Everything is getting to be too much.

You’re starting to feel too much. You’re starting to feel everything.

Everything is so overwhelming and erratic.

Your emotions are so overwhelming and erratic. What do you do? What is there to do?

Before you know it, your standing at the very bridge where Joey’s accident happened. You’re only standing, staring off, not a single thought passing through. Then you’re somehow over the railing, standing on the edge of one of the steel beams holding the bride up. It’s only now that a thought comes to mind, one single word: Jump.

But you don’t really want to, do you?

You would get to be with your family again.

But then you would be leaving behind another family.

You would finally not have to feel anything anymore.

But you would be hurting others in the process.

You could be happy again.

But would you really?

Jump.

Jump.

JUMP!!!

You’re crying now. You can feel the tears, you can taste them from the corner of your mouth. You can hear something. You can hear someone calling out to you. Turning your head, you see Jordan running over towards you. He’s panicked but his voice is calm.

“Y/n? What are you doing over there??? Come here. Come on, I got you.” He’s holding his arms out for you. He’s here for you. That’s when it hits you, the realization of what you were just about to do. And you’re scared, reaching out to him. Jordan gets close enough to grab hold of you, pulling you over the railing like nothing.

He’s clutching you close, so close it hurts. But it’s a good hurt. It means you’re there with him, that he has you safe in his arms. It doesn’t even matter how cold he is anymore.

You’re sobbing now, clutching at him just as feverishly. “I’m sorry!! I’m so sorry!! I didn’t mean it! I don’t want to die!!!”

He tries to console you, still holding you so tightly. His voice is calm, soothing as he says, “You’re okay, you’re safe now. Everything’s going to be okay, Y/n. I promise.”

No, you don’t want to die. Of course you want to see William, Denise and Joey again. You want nothing more than to finally be reunited with them once more but you just can’t.

Not yet. Not now.

And they can wait. The’ll wait for as long as they have to. They’ll always be waiting for you.

#yandere jordan mahkent #yandere mahkent family #yandere william zarick #yandere zarick family #yandere stargirl #yandere stargirl imagine #yandere #yandere writings #yandere imagines #yandere dc #yandere x reader #yandere dc imagine #platonic yandere #yandere platonic #dc comics imagine #dc imagine #stargirl imagine #jordan mahkent imagine #william zarick imagine #mahkent family imagine #zarick family imagine #yancore #yandere core #yandere icicle #x reader #tw suicide mention #tw drugs abuse #tw depression

[twh-news]

Despite nearly 600 voice roles in her prolific voiceover career, Loki star Tara Strong still had to audition for her fan-favorite character Miss Minutes. Strong was initially tasked with bringing the Time Variance Authority’s animated mascot to life in its Jurassic Park-inspired orientation video, which brought Loki up to speed on his current predicament. But in episode two, Miss Minutes even took the form of a hologram that briefly interacted with Loki. So despite her vast resume, Strong was more than happy to audition for such an enigmatic character.

“It’s actually quite surprising for many people to learn that most voice actors — even ones who’ve been in the business for 30 or 40 years — often audition for parts they’ve already had,” Strong tells The Hollywood Reporter. “You have to constantly keep proving yourself in auditioning for new studio people and new showrunners even though they may have hours and hours of tape on you for a character you’ve already done. So I’m happy to audition, and thankfully, it worked out.”

While she can’t say much about Miss Minutes’ future, Strong can confirm that we haven’t seen the last of her.

“I can cryptically tease that you’ll see her again,” Strong shares. “There’s much more to be revealed, and it’s fun to watch that unfold. The beautiful thing about this character is you don’t really know who she is, where she’s from, what her origin story is, how sentient she is, if she has a horse in this race at all, and what her intentions are, if any. Like any good, exciting adventure, TV or film, you are left wondering that all the time. So she’s an intriguing character, and that will continue.”

When Loki director Kate Herron revealed to THR that Miss Minutes’ introduction video was inspired by Jurassic Park‘s Mr. DNA cartoon, most viewers assumed that Strong’s Southern accent was paying homage to the Southern accent of Mr. DNA, but that wasn’t the case.

“I didn’t even know that until I saw Kate Herron talking about it in an interview,” Strong reveals. “I didn’t even make that connection initially when I first started seeing some of the footage. But it is a fun comparison because they both have this juxtaposition of very high-end, modern technology with very basic, classic ’60 and ’70s animation.”

In a recent conversation with THR, Strong dives even deeper into the audition process for voice roles, and then she explains why she wants more synergy between live-action and animated comic book properties.

Since you have a few voice roles [nearly 600] under your belt…

(Laughs.) Just a couple.

I have to imagine that you just got a phone call for Loki‘s Miss Minutes.

I had to audition! It’s actually quite surprising for many people to learn that most voice actors — even ones who’ve been in the business for 30 or 40 years — often audition for parts they’ve already had. You have to constantly keep proving yourself in auditioning for new studio people and new showrunners even though they may have hours and hours of tape on you for a character you’ve already done. But this character, since it was new, needed an entire audition process because I think they were in search of what felt best for this character. So I’m happy to audition, and thankfully, it worked out. (Laughs.)

How much did they tell you?

Normally, for an audition, they’ll give you a drawing of the character, a character description, sides and some backstory into their world, but we really got very little information. I called my agent after I received the packet, and I was like, “Um, can you tell me anything else about this character? Is she sentient? Is she A.I.?” And my agent was like, “I don’t really know.” So nobody knew what it was because it was so top secret. In fact, I didn’t know what it was until I booked it, which, of course, was very exciting. So based on the information that I had, I laid down three different versions in my home studio. I always do the preliminary audition in my home studio. Sometimes, it’ll take me 5 minutes, and sometimes, it’ll take me 3 hours to get it exactly right, knowing that there’s hundreds or thousands of people vying for one role. So I’ll think about what’s going to separate me from the other people and how I’m going to give them something special that they’ll glom onto. For this one, there were three different versions: one of them included an accent, one was a little bit more A.I and one had a little more emotion attached to it. Obviously, once I saw what it was, it made sense that they were keeping it on the DL.

Did they inform you at some point that they wanted an homage to Mr. DNA from Jurassic Park?

No, they didn’t! In fact, I didn’t even know that until I saw Kate Herron talking about it in an interview. I didn’t even make that connection initially when I first started seeing some of the footage. But it is a fun comparison because they both have this juxtaposition of very high-end, modern technology with very basic, classic ’60 and ’70s animation. So it’s this beautiful mix of things that just somehow seem to go together to create this visually stunning and exciting world, as well as the voiceover behind it. It just all seems to go together to create this enigma. Who is she? Where is she from? What’s her origin story? Why does she look like she’s from the ’70s but she knows everything from the future. It’s really cool.

When it came time to record in earnest, you must’ve been baffled by what you were reading, but then again, you’re probably used to it.

Yeah, and I’ve done several voices with similar descriptions and similar varying levels of A.I. I was the voice of the singing refrigerator [Bridget] on an episode of Modern Family, and initially, they wanted it very Siri-like. And then we added a little more attitude to it. So I’ve done that sort of thing several times, and I know how to manipulate my voice enough to sound like A.I. It’s that sound where you question whether there’s actual emotion behind it. Miss Minutes is such an interesting character because initially you think she’s just someone who’s giving exposition on what happens to you when you get to the TVA. But by episode two, you realize she’s got a little attitude. So she’s a lot of fun to play with.

Before live-action comic book stories became a global juggernaut, animated comic book movies and shows were a primary frame of reference for a lot of these characters. So I’ve always felt that there could be more synergy or crossover between live action and the animation/voice acting community. Are you hopeful that your role as Miss Minutes can help bridge that gap?

That would be pretty wonderful. It is true that voice actors and legacy voice actors — who’ve been at it for so long and are so brilliant at bringing characters to life just with their voice — get passed over for on-camera celebrities that maybe the casting director wants to meet or because someone thinks they’ll bring big box office. If you were to record two very big animated features, one starring on-camera people and one starring people who’ve been doing voiceover for a while, you would definitely hear the difference in the little idiosyncrasies and other things that we know how to do in order to bring this action to life. Overall, there certainly is plenty of crossover when you look at someone like Robin Williams, Tom Hanks, or my favorite, Mark Hamill, who’s brilliant at doing both on-camera and voiceover. But then you do have the A-list celebrities who will come in for an animated session and freak out when they see what everyone else does. Of course, it’s still acting, but it’s a different form of acting. It’s like asking a tap dancer if they do ballet. It is wonderful that the Internet has given voiceover actors a lot of love that maybe their predecessors never knew existed. Now, people can look up who their favorite voiceover actor is, and when I go to a comic con, I’m treated like a superstar who people know. It’s wonderful to be able to give back to those fans, and give hugs, and hear stories about how shows shaped their childhood or brought their family together or got them through a depressing time. So that kind of stuff has been really nice. I certainly didn’t anticipate Loki being so huge, and the reception to Miss Minutes being so wonderful and so loving right out of the gate. So maybe this will give networks [and studios] pause, so they think, “Hey, let’s give one of the voiceover actors a shot at this role. Maybe it’ll be more fun than so and so from The Office. Just for this time, let’s see how this goes.” (Laughs.) If somebody suits the role and does a great job, they should be granted that role regardless of how many Twitter followers they have or how many episodes of an episodic they’ve done.

Loki director Kate Herron said that Miss Minutes is about to go on an “interesting” journey. So what can you cryptically tease about Miss Minutes moving forward?

Well, I can cryptically tease that you’ll see her again. (Laughs.) There’s much more to be revealed, and it’s fun to watch that unfold. When you see the first episode, you think perhaps that she’s just a recording on a screen, but in episode two, we see that she can become a holographic form and interact with Loki. He even responded to her and asked, “Are you a recording, or are you alive?” And we still don’t know. The beautiful thing about this character is you don’t really know who she is, where she’s from, what her origin story is, how sentient she is, if she has a horse in this race at all, and what her intentions are, if any. Like any good, exciting adventure, TV or film, you are left wondering that all the time. So she’s an intriguing character, and that will continue.

She got her own character poster, so that’s usually a sign of importance.

She did! And she has her own Twitter! She also has the cutest emoji hashtag I’ve ever seen in my life. (Laughs.)

When Morgan Freeman gets hired for voiceover work, he’s hired to do Morgan Freeman. So what percentage of your jobs ask you to invent a voice, versus using something that’s trademark Tara Strong?

That’s a very good question. Like I said before, they’ll give you a drawing of the character and some backstory into who they are. And then you, as the voice actor, have to try and imagine what production had in mind for this character. With that said, you have to be free to let something organic come to you and take chances. Sometimes, things don’t happen until the very last minute. My favorite example of that would be Teen Titans. When I first read for that, I was already doing five tragic teenage girls: Batgirl for the same network, Ingrid from Fillmore!, Kylie from Extreme Ghostbusters and Shareena Wickett from Detention. I was like, “Gosh, I have to make each character different, but I’m not sure how to make Raven stand apart from the other similar descriptive personalities.” So when I read for Raven, I just put myself in the acting mindset of where she was, and I read the part. And when I walked out of the studio, I passed the booth where the engineer, director and writer were sitting. So I turned to [casting director] Andrea Romano, who I’d been working on Batgirl, and said, “I just had this other idea. Can I try something else?” And she said, “Sure.” So I went back in and that’s when I had this idea that Raven had this weird little roll every time she spoke. So that was not something I planned when I first walked into the studio. You have to be unafraid to try something new and different, and to also be malleable to what production wants. Sometimes, they’ll really love what you did, but then they’ll want her to be older, or missing teeth, or have headgear, or Southern. (Laughs.) So you have to be ready to jump right in and try all kinds of different things until it lands right into the pocket of what works for that voice.

Would you perform your voice roles the same way in live action? Or would you use less inflection?

More than likely, it would be less broad because the cameras are there. On an animated show, if the line is “Whoa!” and your character sees a hot guy or is falling off a cliff, you have to know how to bring that action forth with your voice. When you’re watching something on-camera unfold in front of you, you don’t have to tell the audience so much with your voice. If you’re doing a sitcom, it’s going to be bigger than if you’re doing a single-camera drama. I just worked on a series for 6 months in Toronto, and my character was basically an on-camera Harley but as a drug-dealer mom. It’s a show called Pretty Hard Cases. And it wouldn’t have worked if I played her as broad as animation. With that said, if I got to play actual Harley Quinn as a mom, it would be bigger than that, but probably not as big as an animated thing. It would be somewhere in the middle. Even within animation, you tweak your level of performance based on the world. For instance, I’ve done many iterations of Harley where she’s the high school girl, or in some cases, she’s even darker than Joker. So you have to know the world around you. Some of the best actors that sustain long careers are very highly aware of what environment they’re in at each moment. So the show or the movie really dictates the level of performance.

#loki #loki series #tara strong #interview #miss minutes

[redantsunderneath]

VAL and BILLIE EILISH: THE WORLD'S A LITTLE BLURRY

I shouldn’t be allowed to watch documentaries. All that any documentary seems to be about (at this point, to me) is the relationship between itself and the truth. I don’t know if it’s 2000's reality TV or that one time I watched Capturing the Friedman’s and Waco: The Rules of Engagement back to back that broke me, but what interests me isn’t the subject matter but standpoint epistemology of the thing. These two docs are very different, diametrically opposed in almost every way, but both are defined by the ways in which the text struggles against reality. Val is about an old man who used cameras (himself) to capture his entire life as he pretended to be someone else on film. He is infirm, occluding his laryngotomy tube to talk, and his handlers try to manage his naps around meet and greets where he sells the shell of the person he once was for the fans who still care. It’s forbears are archeological dead celebrity docs that try to find the elusive star at the center (Robin Williams, Heath Ledger, Amy Winehouse) and those about reclaiming memory (Alzheimer Project, Waltz with Bashir) but it’s just… he’s the cameraman and he’s still shuffling around. Closest comparison (minus the age part) is probably Kid 90, which was being cut at the same time. This doesn’t get at how weird this is, though. He used to make movies with his brother, who drowned during a seizure and haunts the movie (he would put up his brother’s drawings in shots on film sets, the talks about or around the event constantly). He often hands off the camera to people so he can be seen in his world with complex instructions (when I walk off, focus in on that speaker so when I go onstage you will hear my first line) and when the camera hits a mirror he lingers (as in the video of his newborn baby). He seems to always be performing, an aspect of life we are all familiar with by now but less common when this footage was taken. His wife is uncomfortable on camera, usually mugging or hiding, and you get the feeling the distancing from his life is intentional as he focuses on internal transformation away from ego resolution, but he still needs to be seen, his sense of self tied up in an object permanence issue. The movie is structured as someone trying to sort through memories of their life and come to terms with them, although the memories in this case is a small warehouse full of video tapes and film canisters. In his current life he can only communicate with difficulty and tries to convey reaction with meaningful-but-of-what glances and gestures. Effacement by time and looming death drench the whole enterprise - when his brother dies he says his father “lost his charisma” (just contemplate that). His current simulacra of celebrity makes him feel like a ghost, signing “you can be my wingman anytime” multiple times for people who this means something to. So he brings up the footage and tries to reconstruct his life (his credit as cinematographer is both funny, touching, and chilling). This thing is full of interesting moments. He is doing a line reading of Hamlet at Juilliard and Peter Kass stops him to ask where the performance is coming from. He responds that he has never considered killing himself which causes Kass to explode, insisting that no-one in the history of the world has not had that thought. This seems to rob us and him of a potentially revelatory moment as Kilmer seems different, spiritual in an unusual way… maybe the reason why he never thought of that was more interesting than that point. His entreaty to Marlon Brando to tell him what his earliest childhood memory is is responded to by Brando asking for him to rock his hammock with repetition of the question only yielding feedback on the rocking until neonatal-fat Brando’s satisfaction at being rocked seems like an answer. The argument with John Frankenheimer who does not want to be filmed is something else. The major things going on are here are being haunted vs feeling like a ghost and an arrested Lacanian mirror phase that complicates his intersubjective context, with the karmic

self-assessment of who he is trying to chill in the middle. The filmmaking knows this and orients itself as a process of evaluating memory where what is true seems elusive, heavily edited, and hall-of-mirrors-like. The question of what is performance is a subconscious struggle. Conspicuous in their absence are his own feelings on his decline beyond the fact that he “doesn’t believe in death,” real insight into his marriage (and breakup, other than an allusion to his method acting Jim Morrison being a problem) and relationship with his kids (who are around all the time, but seem like Sixth Sense characters), and the fact that he’s a legendary asshole on set. This last is, like, the one thing everyone knows about him. But you can sort of sense this stuff secondarily, right off the edge of the screen and in him relentlessly projecting onto his parents. The real crux is the study of a man who never feels seen, but tries to become so by disappearing into someone else, who needs recording devices so that he can capture himself properly, all controlled performance; someone unaware of his own loneliness brought about by not being very good at making himself available because his “self” is externally resolved and constant inner transformation masks the unformed nature of his ego at rest. The film accomplishes this by allowing him to reveal what is absent by his preoccupations and bearing witness to his deflection mechanisms, so that he is no closer to knowing himself but, by being manipulated in a way we can see the frame of, we kind of get a glimpse. Good experience, wish there was more Christian Scientist material (that seems like an angle of understanding the film wasn’t interested in). Billie Eilish: The World’s a Little Blurry is about a young girl who is followed by cameras capturing her entire life as she pretends to be herself on stage. She has a Simone Biles flavored psycho-physical compromise that everyone tries to “handle” while she sells herself as the person she isn’t to fans who care, at least right now. This is in the tradition of Truth or Dare mimics that seem de rigueur for female pop stars. Closest comparison is Miss Americana. This movie feels made by spreadsheet to contain scenes to develop the official narrative of an in-her-brother’s-room, in her suburban parent’s house, sui generis composite genius who is on the edge of mental unfitness trying to be as normal as she can in this crazy merry go round called fame. The obviousness of the put on is diffused by the relative lameness of the pieces. In some respects this is the typical documentary “look for the cracks for insight” play, but it is consciously using that as a tool too and doing it badly - the manufactured insight escape moments largely ring false. This comes off as a Zoom background era counterfeit, a series of YouTube clips where Markeplier or whoever lets the mask slip a little in the most forced bit of unbiddenness possible. There is a boyfriend who feels like a story mandated version of “from Canada.” But the interesting thing is the way it recapitulates the way modern pop is put together, not by writing, not by spontaneous “feel your way,” but by putting bits of ideas together and trying to emulate form. There are a lot of moments in the film that feel like they could have been real, but the non-actors were asked to do another take and can’t quite nail it. It actually has such a boner for produced casual that it is pretty much allergic to authenticity, which is quite a thing for a documentary. The major things going on are here are grappling with whether she brings anything musically to the table (the brother seems like the musical force, she’s afraid her voice is bad, they make a point to show her idea notebooks as work product), her wish to only perform if she can give the fans her best show (possibly her version of just wanting to call in sick, understandable) is at odds with her being the center of a machine that has to move, her as a product of a not entirely with it older parents who gave their kids an open creative runway

and now are instrumental in managing her as a resource that is tricky to work with, the work being her and her brother dicking around and making magic happen, and an attempt to paint her as a Beleiber who now is on the the other side of the fan dichotomy. Development of her style, arguably her #1 thing, is sort of left as her telling a video director “I drew this bleeding eye woman, can we do something like this?” and sort of suggesting through letting her point around that she is a de facto co director. At times, it feels like a try at icon forging that someone wanted to fail, but it is probably just the high school conception-to-production level tat ultimately comes off as a larger indictment of making a movie like you make modern pop music - overdetermined manipulation of flimsy elements without a satisfying ethos, that looks too be an insubstantial assemblage of spliced pieces that live of die by their stickiness. But it begins to feel, more and more, that it’s about how non-exciting pop stars can be as people and that a narrative that people respond to can kind of die if you show that’s it’s just work and somewhat normal people trying to be a piece of an illusion. It’s this partitioning away of the hyperreality and an attempt to show the official story acted by the sausage makers trying to pretend the banality is just crazy man. Where Val is a simulation of an habitual performer considering who they actually are selectively sorting their life and failing to confront the loneliness of age and death (more elusive to them than us), this is obvious hoax unintentionally (?) revealing the fabricated nature of the image-music industry by way of demonstrating the strangely normie creatives, green-yellow ombre or no, can’t be arsed to summon a proper freakout (the whining seems authentic, though). Music videos may lie to you, but the official story is strangely correct - kids living in mom’s house cobble together catchy stuff and pull off pop stardom due to social media age production savvy and a little zeitgeisty imagery, it’s just everyone is well adjusted if stressed and someone’s only donning the costume of the online archetype of a specific kind of girl. Val uses the constructed nature of these narratives as a tool wielded in the open to suggest the inner working of a mind failing to be honest with itself while the other is interesting in its transparency and failure to convince us of the loosely conceived fiction, leaving reality apparent as bong resin. Baudrillard would have liked this one more, probably.

[softgrungeprophet]

i love... how flash loves.......... (homoerotic) poetry (He’s Gay)

obviously we know about the strongest canon example of this specific thing which is “The Archaic Torso of Apollo” by Rainer Maria Rilke, which Flash quotes the final line of

We cannot know his legendary head with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso is still suffused with brilliance from inside, like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could a smile run through the placid hips and thighs to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself, burst like a star: for here there is no place that does not see you. You must change your life.

(and presumably other similarly gay-ass--i mean....devout--poems by Rilke) 

There’s also a quote from a letter by Ralph Waldo Emerson to his daughter, in the final issue of Remender’s Agent Venom run--Emerson’s poetry has a kind of... stilted style which I PERSONALLY am not a fan of and it is very different from Rilke, but hey, a gay football player can have varied tastes. But also, he didn’t exactly quote an Emerson poem...

I don’t care about Emerson anyway I’m here to talk about my poetry headcanons for Flash mostly in the context of fanfiction I GUESS.

Not just homoerotic. I know that’s how I started this post but my intent was just poetry in general.

Copy-pasting from my notes for a particular timeline:

An analysis based on literally like one poem:

Flash seems to have a preference for poetry that is mildly abstract and descriptive, somewhere between literal and figurative. The style itself seems variable though. Emerson cuts his lines fairly tightly and with a specific structure and rhyme (not always—"Teach me I am forgotten by the dead" has a looser style without rhyme) while Rilke's "Archaic Torso..." specifically flows through lines and is cut partway through sentences without any rhyming scheme. [note I didn’t go looking thru rilke’s other work for this] Emerson is still willing to break grammar in things like using "builded" instead of "built," even if his punctuation and clauses are usually much more contained than Rilke's stream-of-words broken clauses.

Though that could be era specific. I only skimmed.

But from there, a while ago, I ended up going through some poets both contemporary to Rilke (or thereabouts)

But like.

No question, Dylan Thomas.

And NOT just because of the poem to his dying father. Everyone knows that one. Do not go gently in that good night blah blah

He just has those vibes, that flow, you know????

This one in particular caught my eye the strongest.

“My hero bares his nerves” is I THINK about Jesus and also pretty homoerotic imo

My hero bares his nerves along my wrist That rules from wrist to shoulder, Unpacks the head that, like a sleepy ghost, Leans on my mortal ruler,

The proud spine spurning turn and twist. And these poor nerves so wired to the skull Ache on the lovelorn paper I hug to love with my unruly scrawl That utters all love hunger And tells the page the empty ill.

My hero bares my side and sees his heart Tread, like a naked Venus, The beach of flesh, and wind her bloodred plait; Stripping my loin of promise, He promises a secret heat.

He holds the wire from the box of nerves Praising the mortal error Of birth and death, the two sad knaves of thieves, And the hunger's emperor; He pulls the chain, the cistern moves.

anyway, spider-man

But also here are some selected small snips from other Dylan Thomas poems: (with links so you can go read the whole ones if you like)

"Our eunuch dreams"

This is the world; the lying likeness of Our strips of stuff that tatter as we move Loving and being loth; The dream that kicks the buried from their sack And lets their trash be honoured as the quick. This is the world. Have faith.

"I see the boys of summer"

I am the man your father was. We are the sons of flint and pitch. O see the poles are kissing as they cross.

like i said, he’s got vibes, and judging by the One (1) poem Flash has ever quoted, it’s vibes that work for him.

anyway onward

Kinda in line with how clipped Emerson's poetry is (even though flash only quoted a letter and not a poem), I wouldn't be surprised if Flash liked Emily Dickinson—and she's skilled; her poems are easy to read and flow well. Emerson in comparison is sometimes hard to read.

At least for me.

Maybe I just like Emily Dickinson.

But listen.

Easy to read and depressed (and sometimes kinda gay but shhh) is a good choice for Flash.

I don’t really have a good specific example--she wrote a pretty sizeable chunk of work after all--but I think I like this one--

“I measure every grief I meet (561)”

(this is only a section of it)

The Grieved – are many – I am told –   There is the various Cause –   Death – is but one – and comes but once –   And only nails the eyes –  

There's Grief of Want – and grief of Cold –   A sort they call "Despair" –   There's Banishment from native Eyes – In sight of Native Air –  

And though I may not guess the kind –   Correctly – yet to me A piercing Comfort it affords In passing Calvary –  

To note the fashions – of the Cross –   And how they're mostly worn –   Still fascinated to presume That Some – are like my own –

The last part in particular.... I think fits.

Some slightly more modern poets (ranging from mid century to like, actually contemporary) that would work well are I think

William Meredith

“Starlight”

Going abruptly into a starry night It is ignorance we blink from, dark, unhoused; There is a gaze of animal delight Before the human vision. Then, aroused To nebulous danger, we may look for easy stars, Orion and the Dipper; but they are not ours,

These learned fields. Dark and ignorant, Unable to see here what our forebears saw, We keep some fear of random firmament Vestigial in us. And we think, Ah, If I had lived then, when these stories were made up, I Could have found more likely pictures in haphazard sky.

But this is not so. Indeed, we have proved fools When it comes to myths and images. A few Old bestiaries, pantheons and tools Translated to the heavens years ago— Scales and hunter, goat and horologe—are all That save us when, time and again, our systems fall.

And what would we do, given a fresh sky And our dearth of image? Our fears, our few beliefs Do not have shapes. They are like that astral way We have called milky, vague stars and star-reefs That were shapeless even to the fecund eye of myth— Surely these are no forms to start a zodiac with.

To keep the sky free of luxurious shapes Is an occupation for most of us, the mind Free of luxurious thoughts. If we choose to escape, What venial constellations will unwind Around a point of light, and then cannot be found Another night or by another man or from other ground.

As for me, I would find faces there, Or perhaps one face I have long taken for guide; Far-fetched, maybe, like Cygnus, but as fair, And a constellation anyone could read Once it was pointed out; an enlightenment of night, The way the pronoun you will turn dark verses bright.

And I think...

Marilyn Hacker is like a LOT more modern (still alive!) but I can also see some version of Flash (in college) curious and wondering about things finding a poet like her and being drawn to her flow and the casual feeling. I believe.... she is a lesbian and was married to a gay guy.

“On Marriage”

Epithalamion? Not too long back I was being ironic about “wives.” It’s very well to say, creation thrives on contradiction, but that’s a fast track shifted precipitately into. Tacky, some might say, and look mildly appalled. On the whole, it’s one I’m likely to be called on. Explain yourself or face the music, Hack. No law books frame terms of this covenant. It’s choice that’s asymptotic to a goal, which means that we must choose, and choose, and choose momently, daily. This moment my whole trajectory’s toward you, and it’s not losing momentum. Call it anything we want.

I like this one

Aside from those I think you could probably get into things like Elizabeth Bishop or Jack Spicer...

Dylan Thomas is my strongest choice though, out of all of the above.

#i have a complex relationship with poetry and it's that i both love and hate it #lmfao #nadia reads comics

[onlyonecanbeking]

What You’re Missing

An excerpt from a roleplay discord server. Experience life with yourself and your figment muse in an apartment complex. This conversation is between Dark and his partner in crime (not romantically) in an offhand coax to get Dark to attend a fantastic penthouse party.

Warning: very brief mention of suicide

The morning sun glittered in waves through the large black ranch doorframes of the apartment, creating a haze of light that spread throughout the open space. Two of the doors were pushed open to the balcony, allowing for the fresh cool air to filter in. The distant trill of birds gently filled the silence of dawn, creating a peaceful and serene environment in the small french oasis.

Seated alone on the bulky grey cotton couch in the living room was Dark. He faced himself away from the staircase and instead towards the balcony outside, directly beneath one of the two giant gold wired chandeliers. One glossy black shoe was planted firmly to the custom woven rug, the other hooked against his knee that he bounced to a slow and calming melody in his head. Leaning back against the pillows, he basked in the sunlight in a William Westmancott Ultimate Bespoke, a three-piece hand-stitched creation taking around 200 hours of fine stitching and expertise of the most experienced tailors. The very makings of the outfit carried it to a total of $75,000. The fine deep navy blue fabric was coupled with a spotted navy and white tie, unbuttoned in front to allow for his seating to be far more casual. With newspaper draped in one hand and resting on his lifted leg, his relaxed, stoic, and regal appearance was something one might find on a magazine.

A quiet clunking of footsteps came then from the kitchen, a figure appearing from the shade beneath the stairwell. A blue satin robe was tied tight to her waist, flickering against the dark wooden floor with each poised step. The light brown locks of her hair were still slightly disheveled, and the skin under her eyes still sagged from typical morning drowsiness. Bare feet carried her into the living space, past the fireplace and towards the couch that Dark rested on. In both of her pale hands were black ceramic mugs, steam rising from the brim as they both had been filled with hot brazillian coffee. One with cream and sugar, one without. She wound herself around the couch, careful not to block Dark’s view of the outside before coming to a stop beside him, sliding two circular mats closer on the coffee table to set down each mug on top of them. Dark had yet to look up from the pages of the newspaper.

She carefully nestled herself down onto the couch, being sure not to grunt or sigh too loudly to interrupt the silence and sounds of birds. Sliding back into the comfort of the cushions, she reached for her own mug, easily deciphered by the light brown coloration of the coffee in comparison to rich ebony. Cupping it there in her hands, she merely resided in Dark’s presence, bringing the cup up to her lips to take a sip.

“Two Grey figments fade after being deemed indecisive by twenty-eight of the fifty Council members.”

Dark’s voice suddenly rose, the smooth depth of his tone evoking Riley to bring her eyes towards him. His own gaze was still to the newspaper, expression unchanging and unreadable. Still, he continued.

“After the rapid deterioration of human host Kerr Dann,noticed by others of the Void community, figments Akasha and Fyll were brought before the Council as the suspected cause of host Dann’s problems. After an elongated debate and discussion, both Akasha and Fyll confessed that their position as Grey figments had made them become rebellious and unhappy. They had begun to purposefully skip duties and paperwork. Because of this, the Council took a vote to decide the two’s fate. Majority decided that their duties as figments would be revoked because of their indecisiveness and detrimental costs to their host. Unfortunately, both figments fell into a state of depression, and faded into non-existence two days later.”

The woman let out a soft sound, lowering down an already half empty cup into her lap in order to respond.

“That’s a shame.”

A short and curt nod from Dark was his only physical response, causing black strands of his perfectly kept hair to slightly wiggle. “I knew Fyll. Some years ago, of course. He was a good man. A very hard worker. He used to be a Dark figment… before he lost his host to suicide.”

He murmured softly, as if to not disturb the peaceful setting the sunrise provided. Finally, his eyes moved, bringing them up in order to level them with her own. The very nature of that contact caused for her to bring her gaze down to her lap, tapping a thumb against the handle of her mug.

“Poor Fyll.”

“It was his own doing.”

Dark interrupted her pity dismissively, snapping his newspaper shut with a clap and bringing the pages down onto the coffee table. He exchanged it instead for his own coffee cup that he held gingerly in ice grey hands.

“He did his job well. Too well. He would not stop finding the smallest reason for his host to feel something negative. He kept bombarding them with sadness and anger and hopelessness because he desperately wanted something to do.”

The young lady of course could put the pieces together from there, and the rush of understanding met her, causing her to gently sigh. “They made him a grey figment as punishment.”

Dark drew his stare out towards the sharp blue sky, tilting his head back slightly to drain the cup of its coffee. The muscles of his neck and jawline bulged and relaxed as he swallowed, but the woman kept her attention strictly to the conversation. Or at least, she tried to. When he set the mug back down against the table, he spoke again.

“There is nothing more cruel than making a figment with distinct purpose have almost no purpose at all. But I understand why the Council did it. He took his duties much too far and much too seriously.”

“And you don’t?”

Her response came with much more strength than she had intended it to, prompting for Dark to jerk his head in her direction. His eyes had obviously swelled with surprise, burning with molten crimson. But beneath that look was a defined challenge. She had already begun, however, and she shrugged her shoulders towards his silent and burning return.

“I will admit you have done a very good job taking care of Mark. You balance his anxiety so that he is urged and compelled to complete his work but not overwhelmed by it. You work with his other figments to let him cry for joy when he needs to, and step back when he does not. You do your job as it is expected of you, despite everything you’ve gone through.”

She took a breath, observing how his expression did not soften. He knew criticism was coming just as much as she did. She continued with confidence she did not feel.

“But Dark. People hate you. As in ‘I don’t care if he never comes back, in fact let me shoot him myself’ kind of hate. And I know, you’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t care what relationships you’ve made and who does or doesn’t like you but consider. One of these days that hate is going to come and bite you in the ass. Hell, it already has plenty. But eventually, it is going to come in such intense waves that you’re going to get distracted from your work trying to defend yourself. You’ll half-ass your paperwork or forget to do it completely, and then what? We’ve already seen that the Council doesn’t much like seeing an unhealthy host.”

Dark was still silent. She wasn’t done talking.

“Your attempts at being respected and intimidating in order to match your expected quota are being taken way too far. Wayyyy too far, and you’re going to get ruined for it. You need to start to at least try being remotely pleasant to people. Build an acquaintanceship with the others in the apartment.”

Dark had uncrossed his legs at this point, elbows resting against his knees. Half of his face was shadowed by the descending angles of the sunshine still pushing through the doors and windows, but she managed to still see both of his red eyes intently staring her down. It took all of her strength to maintain that stare. If there was one thing she had ever learned from Dark, it was to never back down from what you believe in.

“And how do you anticipate I do that?”

His voice had become sultry, but she could see directly into it. He used it to try and break her resolve. To weaken her statements, builds seeds of doubt that blossomed into questioning her own intelligence. Perhaps it would have worked on her months ago, but not now. She fought back with a smile, voice becoming lighter to combat the deepening of his own.

“The penthouse party is being held today. I’m sure plenty people would be grateful for your company. For more than ten minutes.”

His forehead creased in deep rivets as his brows lifted, having yet to even blink his eyes much less move them away from hers. However, after a moment they become glassy and distant, seeming to give the sign that he was lost to reality and deep in thought. She could only assume he was considering what she had said, threats about the Council’s wrath more than her request to attend the party. Finally, air pushed from his nostrils in defeated exasperation, and he leaned back again, letting Riley realize just how tensed up she had become. “I will attend this party.”

“Ye-”

“But.”

Her celebration was abruptly ended mid-clap, leaving her arms dangling there in the air as she froze to listen. Of course he would never do anything for free. She watched his eyes quickly scroll down her form, appearing to be looking upon the robe she wore instead of the actual shape and state of her body.

“You entire wardrobe needs to be exchanged. I will not have you representing my residence walking around in the outfits like you wore yesterday.

“The fuck was wrong with my dress?”

She returned spitefully. Dark cast an unimpressed scoff that was returned with a mocking frown. When he spoke, his condescending nature shone like a flashlight.

“The material looked to be 70% polyester and 30% god-knows-what.”

“Yea okay and? I don’t exactly have the money to spend on seventy grand dresses and suits.”

“That is not to my standards.”

The woman fought very very hard to not roll the ice of her eyes up into the ceiling. Based on the facial expression of the man angled across from her, that is exactly what he expected, and he didn’t hide the small shit-eating grin on his lips. Fangs poked out in curved displays of teeth, but she ignored such a motion. Instead, she again inhaled deeply.

“Fine. Okay, fashion police. You pay for my clothes and redo my closet only if you attend the party for at least one hour.”

Another crisp nod bent his head for a moment, somehow managing to make that singular act graceful and poetic.

“Very well.”

Relieved and victorious, the woman finally provided a more genuine smile, casting a giggle of excitement between ruby lips. In a swing or two of effort, she propelled herself off the couch and back onto her feet in a stand, robe cascading back down to her ankles as she pulled her arms out for a stretch.

“Thank goodness. That conversation made me sweaty. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Need someone to join you?”

“Not in your goddamn life.”

#darkiplier #fanfiction #darkiplier x reader #discord

[brakken]

Finished Before the Storm Episode 2, thoughts below.

Hmmm.

Hmmmmmm.

I have to applaud Deck Nine for their commitment. Their effort to make this game a valuable addition to LiS is noticed and appreciated. This could easily have turned out as shallow fan-pandering, but they’re clearly wanting the game to be something the fans of the original can connect with beyond that.

I’m just... hmm. I’m just not sure it’s quite hitting the mark yet.

When it was announced to be split into three episodes, and that Chloe would be 16 years old, I speculated that each episode would be set a year apart - leaving us with a 19-year-old Chloe, soon to be reunited with Max.

I don’t know if this would have been my preference, as I’m not too keen on when prequels lead right into the original - but I am feeling that making the episodes daily like the first game is causing some clunky, rushed stuff in the narrative. Rachel and Chloe met only a day ago and they’re already preparing to run away together. On its own this wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but when we know they’ll be stuck in Arcadia Bay for another three years - it seems oddly early to be writing in this plot point. We’ll see. The final episode could stick the landing. This is my main hangup at the moment, though.

I hope they chill with their callforwards. I’d been predicting there would be nods to ‘hella’ and Frank’s beans since they’re sort of the big memes in the fandom. The reveal of her car was a nice surprise, but the one that took it too far for me was her hat. I get they are just cute little easter eggs (the hat discovery seems to be optional) - but they get a bit on my nerves when they’re too blatant or excessive. It’s an epidemic in prequels to turn inconsequential details into these crucial tentpoles of the character’s past, erasing years of implied history in the process. The junkyard was originally just Chloe and Rachel’s hideaway (w/ added importance in the later episodes). It is now additionally where Chloe got her car, where she got her hat, where she came up with her nickname for David, and where her dad’s car-wreck was taken, making Arcadia Bay feel suddenly much smaller and emptier. I’m expecting we’ll see her get at least a strip of blue in her hair by game’s end - and I’m totally there for that. But I think I’ll be a little disheartened if they force in any more 'this is how she got this’ stuff.

-spoilers ahead-

The scene with Drew, Mikey and Damon left me a bit torn on whether I liked or disliked its similarities to LiS ep. 4, wherein we sneak into a dorm room, get caught, and witness someone get beaten up on the floor. I think I liked this scene better (those closeups on the tabletop figures were v good), but it’s sort of weird to set those events up in a similar fashion when there aren’t really any meaningful parallels between the characters involved.

One of the things that bugged me about the original game was the text messages being used too obviously as ‘consequence reminders’. I’m appreciating that while that is still present in BtS, it’s coming across more naturally. The texts from Steph and Drew after Mikey's injury felt like the characters had genuine reasons for writing what they did.

On the flipside - recall how I said that I liked that the Backtalk feature was optional? Well, yeah... we were forced to do one in this episode. That wasn’t... fun. 

Also I flubbed it, haha.

I really enjoyed the Tempest segment even though I felt the game railroaded me into it somewhat. They seem a little confused whether they want to focus on the fire or the storm as their primary metaphor. Very crafty of them to pick a scene that mentions both and also has underlying symbolism for our main characters. And heck was I surprised to see Sean Prescott - makes me appreciate that Deck Nine isn’t trying to tiptoe around continuity.

I think I’m happy with how they’re portraying Rachel so far. The original game was always emphasising how much she meant to Chloe, but kept fairly vague on how much Rachel reciprocated. And so far she feels appropriately intoxicating but potentially damaging, without villainising her beyond repair. It helps a lot that her story thread is kept in constant attention. I found this was fumbled a little with Chloe in the first game - in LiS ep.2 her abrasiveness took too much of a spotlight away from her vulnerability and it was harder to sympathise with her. This happens occasionally with Rachel, but not to the same degree thusfar. And the implications in the latest dream of William make it seem to be intentional to some extent. 

But, that doesn’t make it any easier to make decisions... 

... I’m doing my best to get into this younger Chloe’s head, and it hurts to go down roads that I know are damaging to her later on. In the previous episode, I was worried my choices might have locked out of a romance with Rachel. By the time I got to the opportunity in this one, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted it! Yet I still chose the kiss, because it felt in line with where poor-young-awkward Chloe is at. 

I think I miss Max.

Also, we got snow. Snow...! (I mean, I suspect it could have been ash from the fire but nonetheless I appreciate its vague nature and what it’s alluding to.) I don’t know how far they’re planning to elaborate on this but by gum am I happy for it. It’s really cathartic to have these lore hints after the weight put on Max and her powers in the first game. It hasn’t confirmed or debunked anything, but just connecting Rachel more to the storm is what I need.

I think I’ve been subconsciously avoiding speculation since it got me in hot water in the original game, but it’s been kind of nice not guessing the plot direction. The mom reveal took me by surprise. Kind of a tropey moment, but interested to see how it plays out anyway.

The previous episode to a degree managed to capture both the grander narrative aspects and the calmer, quiet moments of the original game. This episode hasn’t fully delivered on that and feels a bit lacking by comparison, while not out-and-out bad in its own right. Also, kinda waiting for them to do something with Eliot - so far he’s pretty much been a BtS-equivalent of Warren, which is equal parts odd and amusing to me.

Fave moments from this episode:

-Graffiti in the bathroom. Fun opening.

-Trying to climb onto the boat in the junkyard. For some reason this made me really laugh.

-Listening to the argument outside Drew’s room. Good tension.

-BS-ing through the Tempest performance. Fun to play, interesting to witness. Dorky Chloe is best Chloe.

-The kiss. I felt guilty about choosing it, but it was a pretty good kiss.

It was oddly tricky to get my thoughts down for this one. Probably from having only played through it once - the details are a bit harder to grasp. We’ll see how it goes with episode 3 once it’s out. Golly, this is the first time I’ve ever had to wait for the release of an episode, haha. 

If you read this far, thanks as always! Here is a Chloe.

#max talks about life is strange

[beerandpresentdanger]

Anthem for Doomed Youth

Note to readers: Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita is presented as the memoir-cum-confessions of a maniac hiding behind the ominous pseudonym of Humbert Humbert. The other players and settings in the story have, we are told in a foreword by the briskly useful John Jay Jr, been masked with false names and re-ordered places, to protect those innocent parties “that taste would conceal and compassion spare”. The only true name in the book is its titular figure, Dolores, Dolly, Lo, Lolita; “her first name is too closely interwound with the inmost fibre of the book to allow one to alter it”.

As it is with poor unfortunate Dolores Haze, so it is with the pub that forms the topic of this piece. While I too would like to protect those who need it, the name of the pub is too central to what it is to keep it out, and in any case, as William Burroughs put it - perhaps there are no innocent bystanders. What I do need to say, though, is that this all happened more than a decade ago, in a small town far away, and if anything was ever less than legal, it was my fault and mine alone, and no single venue, landlord, management company or anyone else should be held responsible. What’s more, I’m sure that nowadays, this pub is an upstanding institution of great moral character, that has long ago shed any of the seedy connotations it carried back in the heady days of the post-Millennium. I wouldn’t know. I’m not going back.

***

Because I was a particularly nerdy 16-year-old, I asked my father’s permission to go out drinking for the first time. And, because I was a particularly nerdy 16-year-old, and there was in his view very little trouble that I could wind up getting into, he said yes. So, one Friday night, dressed in my finest shirt and shiniest shoes, we headed down town to a pub where my mate Will guaranteed we could get served.

We couldn’t. As it turned out, they’d been raided the week before by the police, who’d checked the IDs of all the furtive drinkers huddled in the back room, and given the owners a very stern talking to. As soon as we’d opened the door, a very large man with a very bald head asked to see our papers, and even though we insisted that we were just there to meet a friend, who was already sat inside, conspicuously avoiding our nods and waves, the door was closed to us, the merry lights glowing behind the bullseye panes of glass like the light Gatsby yearns for at the end of Daisy’s dock. It was slightly humiliating, but also, in some ways, a relief - what exactly were we going to do once we got inside? What were we meant to order? A whole pint of it? But something about the experience was scarring enough that we never tried to go back there again. I don’t even remember the pub’s name now, but it wasn’t long until it turned into restaurant serving British classics. It has mediocre reviews.

After this early setback, our drinking plans were scaled down. We knew we could have pints of gassy Cobra in the local balti house, but after one awkward evening where it was made clear we had to order main courses, not just keema naans, before we could have the beer, it was an expensive proposition for a boy on a dishwasher’s salary. If we wanted to drink in a pub, there was only one other option - the Doom.

The Horse & Groom, known locally as the Doom & Gloom, or just the Doom for those in the know, was that pub - the one in town with a reputation for serving any school kids who had the foresight to take off their tie and blazer. It should have been our first port of call, but something about its reputation - a slight edge, an air of danger - meant we wanted to build up some experience in advance of wading in.

After nearly bankrupting ourselves on lamb saags, a decision was made: we would invest in fake IDs, purchased from a website of questionable repute, and present ourselves down at the Doom in the time-honoured fashion - sneaking into the “beer garden” (a concrete yard with two picnic tables overlooking the bus station), making our way into the pool room, then finally, nervously, desperately, heading up to the bar.

The plan had teething problems. In the first instance, my fake ID arrived with the wrong date on it - it actually made me seem younger than I actually was, which was very much against the point. Surprisingly for a website which peddled questionably legal products, the customer service was outstanding, and a couple of emails later saw a replacement winging its way to me in no time at all. I remember it was pink, vaguely like a driving license, but with some dodgy holograms that said something like “European Identity”, which didn’t quite have the racist connotations it does now. No bouncer with more than a primary-level education would have been fooled by it for a second, but it was the thought that counted - if only we looked like we were meant to be there, we thought, we’d be accepted.

And so, one fateful night, we headed down town again. We might have bought chips first, or maybe hit up the Chinese (noodles were a whole meal in themselves - far more reasonable that the balti house). But at some point, under cover of darkness, with the smell of cigarette smoke wafting across the car park, we approached the Doom.

Furtively, we opened the gate and slipped into the yard. A crowd of students from the year above - some of whom may have even been of legal drinking age - were knocking back pints and smoking with a vigour only teenagers possess. They didn’t seem to notice us. We had passed the first test.

Next, into the pool room. We opened the door and stepped into the pub’s back room, where a dented and defeated pool table, slightly too large for the space that held it, was the focal point for another group of people familiar from school. We made out like we belonged. Lots of nods. Lots of “alright?”s. Chuckling nervously as we ducked under pool cues as they banged off the wall as every shot was lined up. Into the corridor between the pool room and the bar. A tactical decision - into the gents.

“How are they doing?” Shit. I hadn’t expected an interrogation at this early stage. In fact, I didn’t even know what I was being interrogated about. “Huh?” I said, uselessly. The man at the stainless steel trough nodded at my shirt. “Liverpool? How they doing?”

I wasn’t wearing a Liverpool shirt. Was this a test? What the fuck was he talking about? I tried to recover. He seemed slightly drunk, but not paralytic, friendly rather than aggressive. My top was a plain, red polo shirt, nothing to do with Liverpool, but I guess it was an easy mistake to make, if you ignored the fact lots of teams plays in red, we were nowhere near Liverpool, and I obviously wasn’t wearing a football shirt. “Not bad!” I said, despite not knowing a single thing about the recent performance of Liverpool FC. He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and refocussed on his urinating. I tried to do the same, which wasn’t easy, as I braced for further football chat. Thankfully, the man finished and shambled out. The next trial was over.

But the biggest challenge was still to come. The dreaded bar. The front room was a large space, with two raised areas either side of the front door, which made the bar seem sunken and low in comparison, a kind of illuminated trench, mobbed with people. It ran across a whole wall, with repetitive fonts offering the same few beers in the same pattern, and a similarly small selection of spirits on the wall behind. A concerningly large amount of real estate had been given over to some sort of Jagermeister machine, which I never saw in operation. For all I know it had never been used at all, perhaps had never been purchased with the intention of use - it had merely manifested itself one Friday evening, a malignant entity that grew out of a collection of congealed shot glasses and was now too cumbersome to remove.

I made my way up, fake ID clutched nervously in my sweaty palm. The crowd in front of me seemed to part in a way which would have been miraculous nowadays, but then felt like a kind of omen - all of a sudden, I was face on with a barman, not much older than I was, who was staring me down with a practiced eye that practically screamed “Nope” at me. I approached the bar. Nodded. He nodded back.

“Can I ge-”

“ID, please.”

Shit. That wasn’t good. Hadn’t even let me order my Fosters (it was that, I think, Guinness, or Worthington Creamflow - not an inspiring selection, but more than enough for me, even if I’m still not entirely sure what Creamflow is).

I handed it over, still clammy from my paw. He raised it to the light, turned it over, turned it back again. His lips moved slightly, as if he was sounding something out to himself. After a moment, he laid it on the sticky bar.

“That’s fake.” The words hung there for a second. The pub was loud, but in that moment, all I could feel was the deafening silence as I fell into the hollow of a skipped heart beat. He said something else, something I couldn’t hear over the deafening void.

“What did you want?”

“Fosters, please,” I croaked, and he began pouring. Shit. I’d done it. I’d been found out, and he didn’t even care. I had conquered the Doom, and I’d only had to shred my nerves and embarrass myself to do it. I had made it. I had achieved the sweetest victory of all. I was drinking underage.

That night was my initiation. I was part of the Doom now, and the Doom, for all its faults, was part of me. I learned to play pool on its table, where every shot had to be taken at an odd angle so you didn’t hit the wall. I developed a lifelong fondness for bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale, once I realised every tap in there poured something that tasted either like vinegar or batteries. I saw my first stripper, entertaining the world’s saddest stag party, who did something unmentionable with a bottle of Budweiser and made me very upset for some time to come. I watched my friend get in a fight with a man with a neck tattoo over a question of darts etiquette, that didn’t involve any thrown punches, but did feature lots of aggressive chest barging, like two novelty wind-up toys lined up against each other. I sat in there all day on my friend Rob’s birthday, while he drank endless pints of Guinness, and we couldn’t believe how much he was putting away, until he stood up to go to the loo, fell over, and didn’t get up again until the next morning. Then there was Nick’s birthday, where we all chipped in for a dirty pint, and the barman returned a glass of brown evil, that put Nick on the floor like a sack of wet cement. I worked my way through all of the bar’s dubious shots, with names like Slippery Nipple and Flatliner, which featured a layer of Tabasco between two things even worse. I was there on A-level results night, when Jonesy stood on a table and hit his head on the TV bracket above, knocking it clean off the wall, and it wasn’t clear how someone hadn’t been killed by the massive appliance collapsing on top of them. I was there through it all, good times and bad.

I don’t think I ever went back once I turned 18. When I was free to go to any pub, the one pub that had welcomed me before seemed less enticing, less sexy, less cool. Maybe also because it was a really shit pub. But for a time, it was my pub.

My refuge.

My Doom.

#beer #beerylongreads2018 #craft beer #pubs #reviews #writing #blog #beer blogger #ale #hops

[icechuksblog]

Culled from Vogue.com. Read below. It’s 3:00 p.m. the day before their wedding, and Serena Williams and Alexis Ohanian are practicing their first dance one last time with a choreographer in the depths of their venue, the Contemporary Arts Center in New Orleans. Outside, paparazzi are ensconced across the street hoping to catch a glimpse of the tennis superstar, and vendors are quickly working to build the French ball–themed, Beauty and the Beast–style decor, complete with a gold arch of flowers at the end of the aisle, long tables covered in lamé fabric, and lots of surprises. Inside, Serena is a calm, cool, and confident bride, dressed in leggings and a black baseball cap, just trying to nail her steps for when she and her husband take their first spin on the dance floor to “Tale as Old as Time” tomorrow. Some might say that just like the protagonists in Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve’s fairy tale, Serena and Alexis are an unlikely match from two very different worlds. She’s the greatest female athlete ever, arguably the greatest athlete of all time. (No man has ever taken home a title pregnant! Enough said.) Meanwhile, he’s the founder of Reddit (the birthplace of many a meme), a guy who grew up playing Game Boy, and has been referred to as the “mayor of the Internet.” When they met, she’d never heard of Reddit, and he had never watched a single one of her matches. But, as we all know, opposites attract. It all started in Rome with a meet-cute worthy of a romantic comedy. Despite being notoriously disciplined, Serena is not a morning person. But she’d heard good things about the epic breakfast at the Cavalieri Hotel, where she was staying for the Italian Open, so she got out of bed early and went with a few members from her team to check it out. They arrived at the buffet only to find that it had closed just five minutes earlier, so instead, they grabbed a table by the pool and ordered à la carte. Alexis was speaking at a conference and staying at the same hotel. That morning, he had also made his way down early to indulge in the buffet he’d heard so much about. When he, too, discovered that it was no longer open, he took a seat at a table next to Serena’s with the intention of ordering food and doing work on his laptop. Frustrated that an interloper was encroaching upon their space, Serena’s friend Zane started teasing Alexis, saying there was a rat at his table and that he should move. “I was so annoyed that he’d sat down next to me,” remembers Serena. “There were so many empty tables!” Undeterred by the frosty reception he seemed to be receiving, Alexis jokingly responded saying that he was from Brooklyn—he’d seen lots of rats, and they didn’t bother him. Serena started cracking up and asked him to join her group. He obliged but was still a little unsure whether the person with whom he suddenly found himself having breakfast was actually the Serena Williams. You see, Alexis didn’t follow tennis at all. The first time he went to watch Serena play he infamously Instagrammed a photo of her foot faulting. But no matter. The two hit it off. That first time she asked him to come see her in the Paris Open, he knew it was a bit far-flung but he thought, What’s the worst that could happen? I know people in Paris, so if it doesn’t work out, I’ll have a great story to tell my friends about that time I almost hung out with Serena Williams. Serena appreciated his happy-go-lucky approach to life, and their first date involved simply meandering around the City of Light with no destination to speak of, something the always-scheduled, always-surrounded athlete almost never gets to do. Fast-forward 18 months later and the Internet entrepreneur was proposing to the superstar. “I came home one day to find my bags already packed for me, and I had absolutely no idea where I was going until I got on the flight,” Serena admits. “Alexis flew me out to Rome, back to the exact table where we’d met. We were both really nervous but also excited to take this huge step. It was such a beautiful moment.” Ever the jokester, in addition to having the hotel cleared and flowers everywhere, Alexis had placed a small plastic rat on the table. Serena announced her happy news by posting a sweet poem on Reddit. In September, Serena gave birth to the couple’s first child, Alexis “Olympia” Ohanian, Jr., and the two parents are absolutely besotted with their now 2-month-old daughter. The baby, who already has more than 105,000 Instagram followers, was present for the ceremony last night and looked on as her mom and dad tied the knot among 200 family and friends in the Big Easy. “Alexis really wanted to do New Orleans,” explains Serena. “It’s his favorite city besides Brooklyn. It’s got a heavy European influence; it’s fun and has amazing food. He just loves the vibe. The venue—the Contemporary Arts Center of New Orleans—was a decision we both made. Painting and art is something I’m really passionate about, so it just felt natural and different to do it at a contemporary art museum.” The two chose November 16 as their wedding date in memory of Alexis’s mother, who passed away nine years ago. “It is her birthday, and we wanted her to be represented at the wedding,” says Serena. “Obviously, we wish that she could be here for this, but choosing her birthday as our wedding date was a nice way of making sure she’s still involved and made us feel more connected to her on our day.” Once they’d settled on a date and a place, they hired their wedding planner. “I knew early on that I wanted to work with someone on the East Coast, and Jennifer [Zabinski] felt fresh and new, but also has a lot of experience in planning and is organized and thorough,” explains Serena. When Jennifer first met with the bride, the tennis champ wasn’t quite ready to get into specifics, so the two discussed their mutual love of dogs instead. “I think she had to feel comfortable with getting to know me and me getting to know her,” Jennifer says. “There’s so much there in terms of her vision. She’s actually an amazing planner herself, and the running joke now is that she’s going to be my intern.” “The whole process was so smooth!” Serena adds. “Communication is really important to me, and Jennifer and her team were always great at giving updates and keeping things moving consistently.” Similarly, Serena’s dress search was the stuff wedding dreams are made of—she worked with Sarah Burton for Alexander McQueen. “I flew to London to meet with Sarah and ended up falling in love with the ball gown silhouette, which is completely the opposite of what I ever thought I would choose for myself,” Serena says. “I loved the idea of doing a really spectacular ball gown, and it has turned out to be such an incredibly special piece.” At 5:15 p.m., guests including Beyoncé and her mother, Tina Knowles; Kelly Rowland; Kim Kardashian West; Anna Wintour; Ciara; and La La Anthony arrived for cocktails before taking their seats in the ceremony space. There, everyone watched a short video that told the story of Serena and Alexis’s relationship on TVs encased in gold frames above the aisle. The seating had a fashion-show feel: “I wanted the whole thing to be as nontraditional as possible,” explains Serena. “We did sofas instead of chairs, with everything facing the aisle instead of the altar.” Bridesmaids made their entrances to rounds of applause wearing custom Galia Lahav dresses. Before the ceremony, Serena’s best friend, Val Vogt, told Vogue: “She talked to all of us and just kind of let us have creative control as to what dress fit our personality. And then she approved it, of course!” Val carried the bride’s beloved Yorkshire terrier, Chip, down the aisle in his very own tiny tuxedo. Then, with all eyes on her, Serena emerged in a dramatic strapless, belted Sarah Burton for Alexander McQueen princess gown with a cape, carrying a bouquet of white roses and sparkling with jewelry by XIV Karats, worth $3.5 million in total. Alexis, in an Armani suit, was smiling from ear to ear as Serena slowly walked up the aisle to join him. The couple wrote their own vows. Alexis’s called Serena his queen and said that they already have their princess. With a bold, confident voice, he talked about how she takes such good care of everyone in her life, and now he wants to spend the rest of his life taking care of her. His words led to laughter at the start—“I will always have bad jokes that make your eyes roll, make you give me the side eye”—but by the end, everyone was crying happy tears: “You are the greatest of all time, not just in sport,” he told Serena. “I’m talking about as a mother and as a wife. I am so excited to write so many more chapters of our fairy tale together. And my whole life I didn’t even realize it, but I was waiting for this moment. And everything that I have done, everything that I am so proud of in my career, and in my life, for the last 34 years, pales in comparison to what we’re doing today. And I am so grateful, and I am so in love.” After the couple was pronounced husband and wife, cheers erupted and guests made their way out onto the street for cocktails while the bride and groom took their formal family portraits in the Arts Center’s Black Box Theatre. During cocktails, Kardashian West told Vogue, “I’ve known Serena for so long and am so happy she’s found her prince. From the moment she told me she met Alexis in Rome, it was like . . . she’s been so happy and has this light about her that is so special to see. You just know it is so real. He makes her so happy and that just makes her friends happy.” A second line parade then led everyone back inside where the band was playing “Be Our Guest” and an around-the-world-themed dinner by Creative Edge Parties was served. As guests found their seats at four long tables named after Serena’s Grand Slam wins, the newlyweds were introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Alexis Ohanian, and Serena debuted her second dress of the evening, a dramatic beaded, feathered Versace moment that made her look like a fashion-forward superwoman. It took a team of five embroiderers to create the dress, Donatella Versace told Vogue. They “worked nonstop to make sure the tiniest details were perfectly taken care of, for a total of 1,500 hours.” The newlyweds sat in gold throne-like chairs that looked like they were made for a king and queen. “The whole fairy-tale idea came to us early on,” says Jennifer. “Serena’s very girly. She was like, ‘I love Disney, how can we incorporate it in?’ Then Serena and Alexis said, ‘What do you think about a royal ball?’ Serena was like, ‘I just want it to be opulent. I want it to be like a fairy tale.’ ” Southern, Armenian (a nod to Alexis’s heritage), and Italian food, as well as a “steak house” station and a salad wall, were all available on offer. “Serena wanted a ball, but she wanted a modern ball, not anything that was too stuffy,” says Preston Bailey, the man behind all of the decor. “For the flowers and overall aesthetic, she wanted something that was very different and unique.” Chandeliers encased in gold birdcages, trophy-style place cards, and the “black lamé” table linens achieved this goal. Following dinner, Alexis took the stage and asked the guests, who had been dancing to the Élan Artists’s band, to clear the floor. “This is the only time I’ll ask you to do this all night, but I need for you to get off the dance floor,” he said, laughing. “This is the first time I get to introduce Serena Williams as my wife. Come out, wifey!” Serena appeared in her third dress of the evening: a stunning fitted Versace look with a short skirt. She joined Alexis on the dance floor and the band started playing “Tale as Old as Time,” which then segued into “If I Can’t Have You.” There were spins, twists, and lifts, to lots of cheers—the two totally nailed every step. Guests then joined the couple for more dancing before moving into the next room for a surprise performance by New Edition. The band called the couple up onstage, where Serena and Alexis nailed yet another dance routine with the guys as Beyoncé, Kelly, and Ciara cheered them on. Curtains then opened, and everyone relocated back to where the ceremony had taken place—Preston’s team had completely transformed the space into a chic lounge for the after-party. DJ Mike Wise was on the turntables playing lots of old-school ’90s rap. At about 1:30 a.m., Alexis grabbed the mic to reveal the final surprise of the evening for his new bride. People told him it couldn’t be done, he said. But, when people say no to Alexis in his business or personal life, he always accepts the challenge. Just then, a curtain dropped, revealing an illuminated, all-white carousel. Serena screamed with excitement, and guests jumped up on horses while Ginuwine’s “Pony” played in the background. The newlyweds cuddled on a bench while everyone partied on the carousel as it spun—a picture-perfect scene to end a fantastical night.

http://icechuks2.blogspot.com/2017/11/all-details-of-what-went-down-before.html

#http://icechuks2.blogspot.com/2017/11/all-details-of-what-went-down-before.html All the details of w