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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 2 years

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happy holiday times, friends. it's been a while since i had a fic update to post about, but myself and Bee have been hard at work crafting a fun low stakes dumb au for ourselves and we have, very generously, decided to share it with you all, too. Surprise, it's an Office style au! It's got romance, Christmas parties, and the crushing weight of loneliness. have fun!

DECEMBER 7TH

One of the things he likes the most about living on earth is the changing of the seasons. Not that the temperature affects him, not in any way that matters. It’s mostly just nice to sit back and watch them change. The colors and the sounds and smells of the world shift in a way that he’s been called stupid before for enjoying. But who could really blame him? (Besides ma, but he doesn't like to think of her. No, she doesn’t count.) After all, there was never any sense of time in the netherworld. Nothing ever changed, obviously. It was just an endless afterlife where the changing of the seasons in the world above had about as much effect on the dead as new traffic laws. There was no reason to care, and no reason to try and keep track. But up here, there’s those lovely seasons. The heat of summer and low cut tops and high cut short shorts, and the growth and new green of spring, and of course the vibrant changing colors and smells of fall. But winter.. Winter might secretly be his favorite. Sure, everyone’s bundled up tight, but Beetlejuice figures that’s just good for the imagination. Can’t be seeing everything you want to see all the time, or it’ll get boring, after all. But his favorite is the snow. He turns from his desk to watch it falling silently out the window. It’s making big, beautiful, glistening white piles on the cars outside, and the bushes and the trees are painted with it. He’s subtly obsessed. It’s a lazy Tuesday. From his right, he can hear Barbara, at reception, yawn. She stifles it with her hand, and he leans on his desk and watches her, with the same interest as he watched the falling snow. She catches him staring, and makes a face at him. Delighted, he returns it. Then there’s the sounds of paper being shuffled, and then dropped, and then, through a very intentionally placed cardboard partition, he hears a soft, “oh, dang it,” and the sound of Adam bending down to retrieve what he’s dropped. Beetlejuice smiles to himself.

Being summoned, after all those terrible years waiting, had been so easy, it was laughable, in a way that also made him nearly cry. He’d pulled a con on an elderly ghost, trying desperately to communicate with his still living wife. She said the magic words, per her ghostly husband’s guided hand on the planchette, and wham, bam, thank you very much, ma’am, and he was visible. He’d fucked around, for the first few months, wandering around and doing whatever he wanted, but had found, somehow, that just being seen didn’t make the loneliness go away. It actually felt like it grew. So he was visible, so what? No one knew who he was, or had any reason to care. People don’t befriend drifters. So he’d drifted and drifted until he was sick of the current, and he forced himself to stop. There needed to be a change, something else, something to ground him someplace. People he could see every day. People who would know him, and start to care. And then he’d seen the ad in the paper. Help wanted, strong sales background recommended, inquire at such and such address. And what was a salesman if not a conman?

So he’s been at this job for five months, already. His boss, Charles Deetz, is a tall imposing man with thick black hair and beard, both tinged with the slightest beginning of gray. Very daddy vibes, very hot. There’s Barbara in reception, Adam his deskmate, and Beth and Delia back in human resources, and Jacques and Ginger in accounting, and many more people who he finds himself spending his time with. And every day, like clockwork, they all gather here, and do their meaningless tasks, and at the end of the day, they all walk out together, and say goodbye. It’s boring. It’s predictable. It’s perfect. Really, the only problem with working here is- “You’re looking awfully distracted,” Otho says, hand on the back of his chair, and Beetlejuice grimaces, to Barbara. From across the office, she returns it, sympathetic, and then refocuses on her computer screen. He forces a neutral expression, and then turns to look at the other.. Man isn’t the right word. Thing? Being? “I’m not allowed to take a second to rest my eyes? S’bad to stare at a computer all day. Don’t you remember that office health and safety day we had last spring?” He smiles up at Otho. The smile is not returned. Tight ass. “We had it because someone kept lobbing staplers at my head.” “I know man, I know. I’m still on the lookout for the culprit.” “I’m sure you are,” Otho’s expression is sour. “Maybe instead of staring at the receptionist all day, you could consider actually doing the job you’ve chosen, for some reason.” The one you forced me into, are the unspoken words. BJ grins. “Sure, Otho,” and he scoots his chair closer to his desk, out of Otho’s grip, but he can’t help but turn to look at him as he walks away. “You know, five minutes in a snowball fight and we could knock that stick right outta your ass.” He hears Adam’s surprised cough, and the stifled titter of Barbara at reception, and the only response he gets from Otho is a hard glare, over the shoulder.

That afternoon, just before lunch, a mopey blob of black hops up on his desk, and kicks at his chair with thick heeled boots. He’s on a call that kind of matters, right then, and he waves his hand at the teen, trying to signal she’s chosen a bad time. Lydia Deetz is undeterred. She reels back, goes to deliver a kick to the back of his head, and without looking he catches her ankle and twists. She moves with the motion of her leg, and goes toppling off his desk, with a clatter loud enough that Adam peers around the partition. “Lydia? Are you okay, honey?” he asks, all sweet dad voice and concern, and Lydia smiles up at him. “I’m okay, Adam. I slipped,” she lies, and then, while she’s down there, she flicks the switch on the power strip under BJ’s desk. His phone cuts out mid conversation, and he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath through his nose, and places the phone back in the cradle, before turning to look at his boss’s daughter. “Okay, well played. What’s up, kid?” “I’m bored.” She stands, and looks at him, hopeful. “Bored, huh. Well, we can’t be havin’ that, can we?” “Nope. So what do you suggest?” He opens his mouth, but Adam is peering at him around that cardboard partition, suspicious. It’s well known around the office by now that the two of them are trouble apart and worse together. Lydia comes in some days to help with various filing and to get work experience for some class at school. Honestly, the details are blurry and unimportant to Beej. All he knows is that on Tuesdays his little buddy arrives at the office, does about thirty minutes of work, and they get to spend the rest of the day finding trouble to get into. She’s one of his favorite people. Her seeking him out constantly is a pretty good indicator that she feels the same. Adam squints at the two of them. “No pranks, you two. It’s the end of the year.. People are busy.” “No pranks,” Beej agrees, holding up a hand, “Ghoul scouts honor.” “What the hell’s a ghoul scout?” Lydia snorts, amused. Adam looks less so. “Just.. try not to set anything on fire, please?” he all but begs. Beej and Lydia tut at the same time. “You have no proof that was us,” the demon crosses his arms, a move Lydia copies. “We were talking to Barbara at reception when that fire started in the breakroom, remember?” “So you both said, over and over,” Adam fixes them with an unamused stare. BJ stands, and stretches slightly. “Untwist your panties, Adam. I’m actually busy today. I don’t have time to plot my next grand evil scheme at the moment.” He looks over to the teen. “Come on. Vending machine.”

The machine is in the aforementioned breakroom, away from prying eyes and prying ears. It gives off a constant low humming noise. It sort of reminds him of the underlying noise of the Netherworld, the strange hum of those lights in the sky, in otherwise pitch black. This is his second favorite place in the office. He hands the kid a roll of quarters, which she breaks open. “So what do you want?” “One of everything.” “We’re gonna need more quarters, Beej.” He waves his hand, produces several more rolls, wedged between his fingers, a little bit of genuine magic, just for her. The kid grins. “Oh, hell yeah. We’re gonna feast.” And she begins loading the machine with coins. “So,” she starts, glancing at him in the reflection of the glass of the machine. “The Christmas party is coming up. You gonna be okay?” “Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks, distracted, trying to find something funny for them to watch on his phone as they eat. “Because it’s Christmas, man. And you’re all…” She turns, gestures to him. “Like that.” “Say it, Lydia. Outloud.” “Shuttup, I knew showing you Twilight was a mistake. You’re the worst.” He cackles, and comes to the machine, impatient, and punches in the numbers for his favorite candy bar, three times. His true nature is a closely guarded secret. What people see when they look at him is a scruffy thirty something year old in a striped suit. A little weird looking, but not enough for anyone to try and look closer, dig deeper, figure out what about him was so naturally intriguing and also repelling. Lydia has described him before as an angler fish. Despite the magic keeping him looking human, when he’d first met the girl, months ago, she’d caught on to his peculiarities exceedingly quickly, especially the weird things that would happen to others when he was around. The strange way he talked, and carried himself. Disliked coworkers tripping on nothing every time they made some snide comment about him, even if it was from across the office. The way Maxie Dean, older than her father, made a subtle pass at her, and suddenly a rat had fallen on his head. Her first conclusion had been vampire, and she’d come into work on her usual Tuesday with a silver (plated) cross, and garlic bread, which he’d eaten, delighted. So that theory had gone out the window. She might not have caught him out at all, except he’d been stuck in a conference call that afternoon, and bored, he’d taken a pen and a pad of paper and let his hand and mind wander, and he’d come away with a sheet of paper full of summoning circles. His circle, to be exact. She’d snatched it from his desk, wide eyed, and in that moment of understanding, his magic disguise stopped working on her. She’d seen the deathly pallor of him, the tired bruised under eyes, the much more manic amber color of his irises, the moss and crap still growing at his temple and in his beard, and that was it. They were best friends forever. “It’s a religious holiday,” she continues, finding the machine’s limit on loaded change, and begins punching in numbers, starting with one of everything from the top row. “It’s not gonna like, burn you alive to participate, or something?” “How weak do you think I am? Alternatively, how strong do you think Santa is?” He teases her, scooping up his selected candies from the slot, and then tossing her selections onto the table as the machine drops them. “It’s not Santa’s holiday,” She snorts. “I dunno, man. I just assume you’re kind of a shitty demon. I mean, you work at a paper supply company, for god knows what reason.” “I like my job.” “So you say,” but she doesn’t look convinced. “I kinda think it’s more the people than the work. I’ve seen the looks you shoot Adam, and Barbara. She’s engaged, you know.” “So?” Beej asks. “I’d have to be an especially shitty demon to give a fuck about that.” One of every snack procured, they settle at the breakroom table, and break into their bounty. It’s mostly candy and bags of chips, with a few vending machine sandwiches. She starts to unwrap one, and he stops her. “Ah ah, hold on. I’ve got a better use for

those.” The grin he gives her is wicked. The one she returns is just as bad.

Otho, per his fervent insistence, has his own office. It’s a small, ill used back room, with one sad window in the corner, mostly for health compliance reasons. It counts more as a closet than an office, but he has it specifically because BJ doesn’t have one, and he’s an ass like that. There is, taped to the door, a paper sign that declares the room’s title. “Otho’s Office.” Beej peels at the tape with his thumb, pulls the sign down, and replaces it. “Otho’s Orifice,” Lydia reads, appreciatively, and then cracks open the door. The pompous ass is out to lunch, and the room is hidden enough from the main office that no one has need to come back here if Otho isn’t in. In Lydia’s hands are slices of lunch meat from the vending machine sandwiches. She glances at him. “You can’t put these around yourself?” she asks, and he scowls. “He’d smell it was me right away. Besides, I don’t wanna touch vending machine bologna with my own hands. S’gross, I like, can’t even believe you’re holding it!” he pitches his voice up, an imitation of a teen in a 90’s movie, and she rolls her eyes. “Whatever. How do you want me to get up to the ceiling panels?” “Just get in there,” he says, lacing his fingers together, and stretching his arms in front of him, and then shaking off. “And hurry it up.” Lydia slips into the office, and he focuses, and hears her delighted gasp as her boots lift off the gray office carpet. He floats her through the air, high enough she can lift up ceiling panels all over the room and deposit the lunch meat directly into the ceiling above Otho’s desk, laughing like mad the entire time. He lets her drop when the task is done- her boots hit the floor again with a slight thump, and she rushes out, and closes the door. “That was so cool,” she looks up at him, all smiles. She didn’t use to smile so much, and it’s with a stupid amount of pride he realizes that’s changed because they’re friends. “Let’s hoof it, before he gets back. Come on.”

Lunch has, unfortunately, ended. Normally he’d have sat with Adam and Barbara, and listened to their small talk, and told jokes that made Barbara giggle and Adam snort, but he’d obviously been a bit distracted, what with the kid and their mischief. Still, he stops by Barbara’s desk, and leaves one of the three candy bars he’d bought laying across her keyboard. It’s his favorite candy, because it’s their favorite candy. The other is placed similarly on Adam’s keyboard, and he’s finishing his own when the two settle themselves into their seats. Barbara gives a soft, “Oh,” and looks around, and he feels more than hears the smile creep onto Adam’s face. “Thanks, Beej,” he leans over, wiggling the sweet. BJ glances at him, very cool, gives a shrug, and has to struggle to keep a straight face as he picks up Barbara’s mumbled little comment, meant just for herself. “So nice.”

And then Otho comes in, face red, yelling about his orifice. finish reading on my AO3, here!

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice au #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice musical #otho beetlejuice #goldenbeetle #my writing

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dungeons-and-divination · 4 years

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Battle Smith ARTIFICER - Forest GNOME - Inheritor

I think I failed to mention till now that I pick class, race and background with a random generator. I usually read a little bit about them all just so they’re fresh in my mind and I can properly focus on them while I’m getting my deck ready. Then I pick one card at a time and I take very slim notes with impulsive feedback that I get from the energy of the deck. Once I have all six, I sit down to do a complete analysis and, if the need arise, draw more tarots to clear things out a bit. For the backstory, I have good old Xanathar to help with the randomness of a dice roll on things I can’t actually gather from the read, but mostly after one or two rolls, things build naturally on their own and I have enough elements for it. And after that very long intro nobdy asked for, I’ll leave you to this cutey pie.

Name: Hadwin Ahlers (35yo)

TAROTS

Mind: Strength (reversed) Such a good card for the mind of a character that I already knew was gonna end up having a high intelligence. It really is a dead give away of Hadwin big brain; he already has the knowledge to conquer whatever he puts his mind into, he’s just crippled by the lack of confidence in his own abilities. In a sense, his mind is both is best assent and is worst enemy. Because every time he feels inadequate or reconsider his decisions, he’s just ignoring that part of his brain that’s telling him that he know the solution to the problem and that he’s not being cocky, he’s just that smart!

Body: The Chariot (upright) Despite his doubts, Hadwin is still the kind of ambitious person that never shies away from hard work. He’s very much convinced that the key to achieve perfection is to try again and again till you succeed. Even when he feels like a failure, you can bet everything you own that he will not give up on what he’s trying to achive till he actually does that thing. That the Chariot was in “body” had to immediately give this strong feeling of him travelling somewhere and somehow, so I stayed on the lookout for signs that hinted at that in other aspects of the read as well.

Spirit: Page of pentacles (reversed) While this tarot might seem as contrasting with the Chariot, it’s actually very telling that it’s what I drew for “spirit”.To me it just proves that Hadwin is willing to put a lot of work into whatever he’s doing, but on a deeper level he’s actually lost. Sure, his mind is always busy on little project, like he’s a busy bee. But he never really stopped to figure out what he wants to achieve with all of that hard work. It also brings me back to that sense of inadequacy, that makes him sometimes question himself to the point of making rush or foolish decisions. At the core of it all, I see him as someone that believes his worth is just in how smart others perceive him as, and that’s why Hadwin works so hard despite having no clue what he himself actually is supposed to do with that gifted mind. He just knows that people always had expectation because of it and he somehow have to be worth it of their praises.

Past: Six of wands (upright) Well, I was just done talking about expectations, and praises, so of course, here it is, a past filled with them in his childhood and teenage years. I can absolutely picture him being one of those brilliant kids with lots of potential that all the adults around him encouraged to try and cultivate. And nobody really knows the weight those words have on Hadwin, while he slowly is weighted more and more down by them. Really, with such an important card of success, it’s really not a surprise that Hadwin really struggles with his self-esteem. For sure, that “spirit” card now seems VERY appropriate.

Present: Six of swords (upright) I’m happy to see that I had the right feeling with the Chariot about travelling somewhere, cause, here it again! This one is actually more of an escape card actually, but I think that travelling is the very best way to run from whatever is the problem that’s afflicting you. So, it’s pretty much obvious to me that Hadwin is trying to leave his troubling times behind. This tarot also has this undertone of healing and moving forward, it speaks of an inner growth, which is perfectly in tune with that. He probably wanted to leave his past behind, forget the expectation and start to use his abilities more for himself than for anyone else. This usually requires some spiritual guidance of some kind, but in this case I’m almost tempted to think that it’s losing his usual guide that brings calm and a new perceptive to him. Maybe it’s that hint of healing? It might be that at this point I was influenced by my preconception on this, cause I already felt by now that he was gonna lose his mentor...

Future: Ten of pentacles (reversed) Well, this is very much on the nose. Of course there was gonna be a tarot related to the inheritance. Still, I feel a dispute of some kind because of it, I feel it with the lost family of the mentor, but it’s not a given since this is really up to what a DM might work up with this backstory. Not much else I could add to that, really then. What I could give is my usual suggestion on how to play the character on the future card, even if I think the “spirit” explanation was enough so… I do suggest though to think of little special moments related to the inheritance and the mentor that gave it to Hadwin, and every now and then to sprinkle them in the interaction with other people. Just to really make it something special, so that if it really ends up being used as a hook, it hits hard as a moment in game when the “conflict” comes up.

FULL BACKSTORY

Hadwin is the older son of a couple of drifters that used to live of trade and seasonal work. Despite the very dreary life-style of the very early years of Hadwin’s life, his father, Nester, decided that the family needed to become more stable and they moved into a large city after the third pregnancy of his mother, Quandha. It was obviously a good choice, because the life on the move was way too dangerous for both Hadwin, his two brothers, Xodash and Thamil, and his two sisters, Dapha and Ampash. His mother was mostly busy with being a housewife, but in her free time she kept weaving fabric to sell to the local market like she used to do when they traveled; his father mostly worked at the docks, where his silver tongue sometimes put Nester into trouble and other times was useful for getting work of dubious morals. Even in his early childhood years, Hadwin was always very bright;for one, he liked to build stuff with scraps he found around, but Quandha noticed his fascination with people that had magical abilities too. For this reason Nester decided to pay for the most expensive tuition he could afford for his son at the time (much to his brothers and sisters jealousy), in the hopes that he would get noticed by someone that could maybe one day take him as their apprentice. Despite it all, at the end of the day it was Nester’s silver tongue that allowed Hadwin to become the apprentice of Master Zyphon Volso. Zyphon (a human on the older side), had been travelling mostly alone for years, but as old as he was getting, he was in need of somewhat of a page to take care of the menial things during his travels. In exchange for Hadwin's services, Zyphon promised Nester that he would teach his son what he knew. Hadwin left his family and started following Master Volso in his travels. He mostly took care of menial things, but since he was the son of drifters, he had kind of a knack for tracking and hunting food for them both when they were in the middle of nowhere. There were times when Master Volso would also leave him alone, dismissing Hadwin with rushed excuses; most of those times he would be gone for two or three days, before coming back and pretending like nothing happened. One of those times, after a sudden grumble of “there’s something of the utmost importance I need to deal with”, he left and never came back. The only thing left behind of Master Volso was his precious book with all of the notes of his research, something Hadwin knew Master Volso had never left behind before. Curiosity got the best of him and Hadwin checked the book that had always been inaccessible to him: inside of it there was a note to him. “Hadwin, if I don’t come back in four days, I’m dead. I leave you this as my legacy. I know you can figure out a solution. Make me proud. Zyphon.”. The only problem is that Hadwin really has no fucking clue of what 90% of what is written and drawn inside the book is supposed to mean. But his Master wants him to “make him proud” and that’s exactly what he wants to do!

SUGGESTION CORNER

Suggested features Ability scores: High Dexterity and Intelligence, Low Strength or Wisdom. Skill proficiencies: Arcana, History, Investigation. Musical instrument proficiencies: any kind of percussion to your choice or some kind of flute. Artisan’s tool proficiencies: cook’s utensils. Others: as mentioned before, I suggest the Inheritance from his background to be a “book of projects” his teacher was working on. He doesn’t understand much of it at first, but with time things can change.

Suggested Characteristics Trait: I always want to know how things work and what makes people tick. Ideal: I think often no plan survives contact with reality. Easier to dive in and deal with the consequences. Bond: I owe my teacher everything for forging me into the person I am today. Flaw: I am easily distracted by the promise of a good time.

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doublerumnukacola · 5 years

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Addictionary

Present, Week 11 in the Wasteland

The Old State House was quiet, as usual. Only the occasional chat between Neighborhood watchmen was heard. It was one of the few things Goodneighbor and Diamond city had in common; their guards spent more time trading gossip than doing their jobs, left a lot of slack for Fahrenheit to pick up.

The air in Hancock’s office was musty and damp, the few sunbeams that filtered through the thick moth-eaten curtains were cluttered with dust motes and drifting smoke. Fahrenheit sat at the desk, holding her cigarette in one hand, and writing notes with the other. Hancock woke up on his couch, listening to the scratching of pen on paper, the long sighs of smoke, and the occasional murmur of something chess related.

He stretched out his sore limbs, hearing the familiar pops and creaks of his joints. He sat up slowly, propping his feet on the ground. His head was already starting to ache, he needed a hit of something. Jet was the obvious solution.

He rummaged around in the couch cushions, there was always a spare canister wedged in there. He struck gold as his finger wrapped around a dusty jet canister. He gave it an experimental puff to clear out anything stuck in the mouthpiece, last thing he needed was to choke on a piece of lint while inhaling brahmin dung fumes. He took a long hit, the chems burning into his lungs, spreading a shock of energy throughout his body.

“Why don't you just drink coffee like the rest of us?” Fahrenheit asked in her usual monotone.

“You kidding? You know how bad caffeine is for you?” He joked, “My Uncle drank coffee everyday since he was ten, dropped dead of a heart attack at twenty.”

“And coffee was what killed him?” She asked, a skeptical smile on her face.

“No, he was sleeping with some married dame in the stands, had a heart attack when her husband came home early. But the coffee didn't help.” She exhaled sharply, which was as close to rip-roaring laughter as he was going to get. She looked down at her notes for a moment.

“A few things happened while you were out, but nothing too noteworthy.” Fahrenheit mused. Hancock leant back and groaned. He hated these long reports he took another hit of jet, which wasn’t smart, it’d only make the lecture seem longer. “A caravan came in for Daisy, a few packages came for Doctor Amari, and piles of super mutant corpses are dotted around Goodneighbor.” Hancock coughed mid-hit as she finished her notes.

“What?!” He spluttered through coughing fits. She looked down at her papers again.

“The Vault dweller, aka the general of the minute men, aka the Silver Shroud, killed no less than eighty-two Super Mutants, judging by the amount of semi-intact corpses.” Hancock rubbed his skull, he could feel the headache starting to come back.

“Any reason why?” He asked, it felt as though there was something he was forgetting but it wasn't quite coming back to him….

“Because you asked.” A voice answered behind him.

“Pawn takes king…” Fahrenheit muttered to herself in amusement. Hancock stood up slowly, doing his best to grin at Sole who was standing in the doorway, looking particularly chipper.

“Right on cue, Sister.” He greeted, but the gaps in his memory were still bugging him. “But catch me up on when exactly I set you up on this little job.” Sole frowned.

“The other night, at the Third Rail when you… Never mind.” She started, but thought better of finishing the story. “Consider it my way of being a good Neighbor.” She winked, before turning to leave.

“Hey, where’re you going, killer?” Hancock called after her.

“Got business with Kleo. Bullets don’t buy themselves.” She called back. He had to smile at that. He heard the State House door shut behind her and turned to face Fahrenheit.

“How long was I out?” He asked seriously.

“Since I found you passed out on this sofa, it's been about a day and a half. Not the longest you've ever been out, but it's up there.” She replied, glancing at her notes again. “Last reports show you leaving the Third Rail, the Vault dweller hanging on you, heading towards the Rexford Hotel, entering the hotel, and you leaving a while after that, alone.” Hancock fought through the fog, trying to remember. He vaguely remembered speaking to Charlie….

“Take a mentat, usually jogs your memory.” Fahrenheit advised. It irked him, but she was right. He popped open the tin, only a few left. He dumped the contents into his mouth, crunching the mints into a peppermint paste. He could feel the fog instantly clear. It came back to him in a flash.

“Oh shit I did ask her to do that.” He grumbled, “Why did I think that was a good idea?” She checked her notes again.

“We discussed the growing Super Mutant problem three days ago.” Fahrenheit explained. “I suggested a perimeter of plasma mines to deter them, but you made the point that it would also deter caravans and drifters coming in. Your solution was to send someone to take out the closer nests, without getting attention from the larger ones. In addition, we both noted that some were necessary to keep the raider population distracted.”

“I don't remember that last part…” Hancock cut in. Fahrenheit looked up from her papers.

“As we were discussing this, I noted that you’d had two tins of mentats. You were ‘delightfully rational’. That’s a quote.” Hancock shuddered. Two tins was a lot, even for him. He'd have to take it easy.

“Fine, and I guess we decided to send in our personal atom-bomb as a solution?” He hazarded a guess. She shook her head.

“You just said you would take care of it. Next thing I hear is that everything within a miles radius of Goodneighbor has been shot, blown to pieces, or in one instance permanently spasming in in a pile of garbage.” Hancock gave her a confused look. She looked down at her notes.

“Yeah, says right here: ‘permanently spasming in a pile of garbage’. She shrugged her shoulders. Hancock adjusted his hat, pulling it further up his brow.

“Well, gives the Raiders something to… She killed them too. Didn't she?” Hancock asked tiredly. She nodded.

“There's good news, though.” She added. “The lack of threats was what brought in the ‘packages’ to Doctor Amari. Got a lot of positive attention from our friends on the freedom trail. The bald one in sunglasses has been snooping around more than usual. I suppose he likes to think that drifter outfit is fooling someone.” She smirked.

Hancock groaned, that guy really got under what was left of his skin. Something about all the cloak and dagger routine really clashed with his way of doing shit. He needed another tin of mentats, he could already feel the haze returning. He reached into the cushions again hoping he’d be lucky a second time.

Fahrenheit frowned, it seemed too soon for his high to be wavering. He successfully fished out a bent tin of Mentats, popping it open and topping up his high. She knew if she attacked directly he’d shut her out.

“Hancock...” She started, but he knew that voice. He shot her a look. She cleared her throat, trying to adjust her tone. “Have you ever considered a fresh start?”

“Pardon?” Hancock asked in surprise, expecting one of her lengthy lectures.

“A clean slate. Starting over.” Fahrenheit reiterated. “Have you given it some thought?” Hancock crossed his arms, studying her expression. Nothing was straight forward with Fahrenheit, and there was a point to this. But he took the bait anyway. “Sure, the idea’s appealing. Get out on the open road again, bring the fight to someone else for a change, rather than wait for it to bang on my front door.” He answered with a shrug. “But a town needs its Mayor, otherwise the shit show falls in on itself.” Fahrenheit gave a soft snort.

“I’ve grown up here, Hancock.” She countered. “Until Vic came in and took over, the place did fine running itself. A figurehead Mayor would run it just as well as a real one.” Hancock looked away.

Nobody understood Goodneighbor like Fahrenheit. She’d never travelled far from it, knew every inch of it, every soul that passed through its gates. He’d watched her grow up on his visits from Diamond City, back when he still had a nose. So if she said it could live without him, he believed her.

“What brought this on?” He asked. “Getting a bit too cosy behind that desk?”

“You’ve been distracted from the second you met the Vault dweller.” Fahrenheit replied bluntly.

“Pfft, ‘the second’ I saw her?” He questioned skeptically. “How do you figure?” She flipped back through a stack of notes and pulled out a sheet of paper.

“You stabbed Finn.”

“He had it coming.”

“Then you introduced her to Goodneighbor.”

“Obviously, introductions always come off friendlier after cold-blooded murder.”

“After she walked away, you stepped into a lamp post.”

“Bullshit.”

“Says right here in my notes, ‘stepped into a lamp post’ followed by ‘Threats to all witnesses.”

“Tell me Sunglasses wasn’t there…”

“I could tell you that, but I would be lying.”

Hancock sighed. It was true, if it weren’t for Fahrenheit and Sole, he’d be out on his ass right now, probably with a few more bullet holes than he was comfortable with.

“Say I went along with this.” He started. “Where would I go?”

“Where ever the Vault-dweller takes you, i’d imagine.” She guessed, rearranging her notes. “Now that she’s back to business as usual, she won’t be staying much longer.” Hancock thought for a moment.

“You seem to have this all planned out…” He observed.

“It’s my job.” She replied, grinding out her cigarette. She looked away for a moment. “There is one condition, though.” He knew it was coming and it still pissed him off.

“Cut the bullshit and tell me.” He snapped, rubbing his forehead in annoyance. He popped a few more mentats, it cleared up the pain a little.

“See Amari about what we discussed…” She started hesitantly. “About the fixer-”

“Really, all that for another lecture on chems?” He asked, anger starting to boil off of him.

“You need it this time.” She insisted. “You can’t go five minutes without taking something. How do you plan on surviving in the wastes if you keep looking for a fix?” He was silent. He had a problem. The words were on her lips, but she knew better than to say it. The cliché was too much.

“You don’t have to go clean completely. You just need to get to a point where you can use chems again, rather than them using you.” He groaned, she was right. How was she this good without a pick-me-up?

“You got me.” He conceded. “But you sure you guys will be fine without me? I don’t want to come back to a smoking crater.”

“Unlikely,” She mused. “The Vault dweller hauled in enough guns and armour this morning to weaponize every drifter and Watchmen for a year. Kleo is still leaking lubricant over the hoard.” Something clicked. Sole and Kleo…? He fought through the haze.

“Hold it…” Hancock cut in. “If she's already shown Kleo a good time today, why did she say she was going there just now?” Fahrenheit shrugged.

“I suppose she lied.” Fahrenheit hazarded a guess. Hancock’s head was working overtime. Why would she lie…? Shit, Daisy….

“Where did that caravan blow in from?” Hancock asked frantically. Fahrenheit looked down at her notes, then frowned.

“Some place called…” She squinted at the writing. “The Republic of… Dave? It's somewhere in the-”

“Capital Wasteland.” Hancock finished for her, already flying down the stairs.

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

“-Sorry, sugar, I haven't seen head or tails of him since he left weeks back.” Daisy apologised.

“Are you sure he hasn't… hasn't even sent a letter?” Sole pressed, her voice lowered to just a hoarse whisper. Daisy shook her head, a sad look in her eyes… A sad and guilty look.

Hancock watched from the doorway, caught between wanting to give Sole space, and wanting to investigate what Daisy was hiding for himself. He compromised, knocking on the doorway to announce his presence. The two women looked up, Sole pausing to clear her throat and wipe the corners of her eyes. Funny, this was the same woman who left at least eighty-two Super Mutants dismembered at his doorstep.

“Hate to Interrupt, but word on the street is there there’s going to be a pretty groovy shindig at the Third Rail tonight, thought I’d extend an invitation to a few lovely ladies.” Hancock grinned, strolling into Daisy’s store.

“What are you doing here then? Kleo’s next door.” Sole joked, clearing her throat to mend the cracks in her voice.

“Kleo’s no good at parties that don’t involve target practice.” Hancock started to explain.

“So what’s the occasion?” Sole asked, a little curious. “Isn't everyday with you a party?”

“Flattering, but this one’s special. It's a farewell party.” He explained. Sole opened her mouth to ask more, but Hancock gave a wave of his hand. “Working out party details with Fahrenheit, but I’ll be back to see you later, Daisy. To sort out some, ‘party supplies’.” He finished, eyeing Daisy, who refused to meet his gaze. With that he turned and strode off, head already starting to fog up. He was going to need to be at the top of his game tonight.

#fahrenheit #hancock #fallout 4 #fallout fanfic

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lordshaxxion · 5 years

Note

All for Edix!!

omg i swear u guys hate me holy shit. all under a cut again

Where were you rezzed?

“In a grave outside of a long-abandoned village. Lots of burnt-out buildings, lots of Fallen arc spears around. It looked like there had been a battle there forever ago.”

How long ago was it?

“Well, I was a child when I was rezzed, and I’m in what would be a mortal late-twenties now. So a long time ago.”

Did you have anything in your pockets?

“No, but I was buried with a stuffed bunny toy.”

What was your first week alive like?

“Stressful. I was just a child and I couldn’t defend myself, so my Ghost had to ping the Vanguard on the emergency frequency for a rescue. We hid under a rusted-out piece of metal for a day before Zavala, my dad, arrived.”

How did you react to your new role as a Guardian?

“When I was old enough to understand and start training to be a Guardian, I thought it was great. To be able to stand up for what was right and to defend the last of humanity, it felt right. Now though? I just want to be left alone to study my plants and raise Kilgharrah, my Ahamkara.”

Do you have any regrets?

“That I wasn’t able to save Cayde in the Prison of Elders.”

How did you get your name?

“My dad named me in my first life. When I was brought back to the Tower after being resurrected, he recognised me immediately and reinstated my name and got to raise me again.”

Does your ghost have a name?

“Spiro. We found audio logs about an old game with the same name when we were exploring, and he liked the name so we used it. Turns out we spelled it wrong until we found a copy of the game, but I don’t care. It’s cute.”

What is your ghost like?

“Spiro is a worrier. But at the same time, he’s got more common sense than I do and he’s really good at talking me out of bad moods. I don’t know what I’d do without him, irrespective of being a Guardian.”

How do you feel about the last city and the vanguard?

“The Last City is my home and the Vanguard are my family, but they need work on how they operate since Cayde died. Dad’s become more distant and Ikora is more unpredictable and I worry for the both of them.”

What’s your favourite place to go?

“Io, to see Asher, or to just hole up in my garden or greenhouse and continue my studies.”

Do you participate in strikes or the crucible?

“Strikes. I rarely go into the Crucible. While I respect Lord Shaxx, it’s distracting hearing him shout at me all the time in Crucible matches and I get stressed out faster when he does. I know it’s meant to be motivational, but I don’t like it a whole lot.”

How do you celebrate the holidays?

“I spend it with dad, or with Artie when she returns to the Tower from her ventures. I’ve tried repeatedly to persuade Asher to come to the Tower for Dawning at least, but he isn’t interested. So I split my time between home and Io for him so he isn’t lonely out there.”

Who is your favourite NPC and who is your least favourite?

“…. I’m fond of Asher. Everyone calls him an asshole and an angry prick, but he has his reasons for being like that and I believe that underneath it all he’s a charming man. That said, I don’t like Petra. She puts too much stock in her Queen, if she can even be called that anymore, to the point it blinds her to Mara’s failings. I could stand there until I’m bluer in the face telling her this, and she’d still find reason to call me a liar.”

Where do you sleep/call home?

“I have my own apartment in the Tower, but sometimes I do just go back to dad’s apartment if trying to cope by myself gets to be too much. I’m lucky that he always welcomes me there, and it’s good for him too for me to be there. Dad doesn’t exactly have a concept of sleep, so if I’m there it means he can try and rest.”

Do you have any pets or companions?

“I may or may not have an Ahamkara called Kilgharrah, three cockatiels called Bert, Den and Dor and two cats, Nebula and Merlin.”

(side note, the cockatiels are named after my nan’s cockatiel - Bert - and my late grampy and nan - Dennis and Doreen

Does anyone live with you?

“Aside from the actual horde of pets, not really no. Artie sometimes stays over if she’s gotten in trouble, or for other reasons. Other than that, no. It’s just me.”

How do you unwind or comfort yourself?

“I hole up in my garden and greenhouse for days at a time if things have been bad. It’s not a great attempt at comfort, but it does help a little. Normally though I just sit down in the evenings with my crochet and make a bunch of stuff.”

What would truly break you?

“… losing those important to me, or getting left behind by them for something or someone better. It’s… it’s a scary thought and I try not to think about it.”

Most embarrassing moment?

“Having to explain to Asher why I wasn’t available on Io for a couple of days after my top surgery. He took it really well, and was fully supportive in his own way, but it was still embarrassing to have to explain.”

Any cherished memories?

“Meeting Kilgharrah and his mother for the first time beneath Io. While his mother died shortly after, she was the most breathtaking sight I’ve ever seen. A real Ahamkara, in all her glory, just sat there. Her wings and feathers and scales were just incredible and were largely immaculate, despite being hidden where she was for so long. Another cherished memory is meeting Artemis for the first time. She’s been a dear friend, even if she has her own dangerous endeavours. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

artie is @slumberblues‘s

What was your highest and/or lowest point?

“After the incident regarding Crota and how I got my scars, I was at my lowest point. I wouldn’t eat, hardly spoke. I got caught apparently performing Hive rituals in my bedroom on three different occasions before the Vanguard realised there were shards of Crota’s soul crystal lodged in my eye.

My highest point? That would have to be when my transitioning was finally finished with and I could be me.”

Views on the enemy races?

“I don’t believe the Fallen to be our enemy, despite the fighting I think they could be our biggest ally.. The Vex and Hive, and by proxy the Taken, are perhaps our biggest threats and need to be dealt with first. The Cabal are just pathetic and the Scorn are abominations.”

Which enemy race is your most/least favourite?

“The Fallen are most interesting to me. I’ve tried to communicate with Captains on various occasions, before some Guardians came blundering in and slaughtered them for no damn reason. I hate the Hive and the Vex.”

What’s your role in a fireteam? (Tank, support, buff/healer, comic relief? Or are you the dead weight?)

“Dead weight.”

“Healer, Edix.”

“Thanks, Spiro.”

Do you have any mentors/mentees?

“The commander is my mentor and my father. I hope I don’t end up with any mentees, I’d be useless to them.”

What is your favourite weapon type/favourite weapon?

“Better Devils is a good handcannon and I will hold onto it forever. After that, I really like Thunderlord. Handcannons, auto rifles, shotguns and machine guns are the ones I prefer to use when I have to. Although, Eternity’s Edge is a good sword on the rare occasion I use it.”

Do you play Gambit?

“No.”

How do you feel about the Drifter?

“I don’t trust him. I’d like to, I hear about his intentions a lot and how he means well for the most part, but it’s just the interactions with the primevals and Taken that concern me.”

If you could be any class/subclass (not just your own), what would you be and why?

“I’d like to be better at using Ward of Dawn. I didn’t realise until lately that I actually had that ability, but it isn’t as strong as dad’s.”

What are your thoughts on the Nine?

“I don’t like them, since their whole business is shady in and of itself, but their aesthetic is cool.”

Any secret crushes or relationships we need to know about?

“…. noooooo…..”

“He likes Asher.”

“Spiro!”

Does your Ghost approve, or haven’t you told them?

“Of course I know, Edix spends a lot of time in his head and I can always hear his thoughts unless he really doesn’t want me to, which is rare. He’s just embarrassed to admit to it and thinks it couldn’t possibly come to anything, given Asher’s nature.”

You’re about to go off-planet on assignment, and will only be able to eat protein rations and food gel for a month. What’s your last meal?

“Anything my dad cooks. Despite all the jokes everyone makes about the commander, he does make really good meals.”

If you could take over any NPC’s job, who would it be and why?

“I don’t know. I think it’s expected that I take up overseeing the strikes and nightfalls from my dad, but I don’t think he’ll relinquish his duty that easily. Asher’s job is interesting, but I fear the day he… y’know. I don’t like to think about that.”

What is the most beautiful sight you’ve seen?

“I’m not sure. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things, varying from places to things. Although, I think when I caught the rare blooming of a flower on Venus is pretty good.”

Do you have a favourite colour?

“Blues are nice colours.”

Show us your favourite outfit!

“I don’t have one”

What’s your favourite shader?

“The Io shaders are nice, even though people say they’re not. Some of the ones Calus offers are pretty good too, though I don’t really like things that are overly ostentatious.”

If you could make a wish to an Ahamkara for anything - no strings attached - what would you wish for?

“I’d never ask Kilgharrah for anything when he’s old enough to actually grant wishes, but I suppose I’d just ask to be able to help people more than I already can.”

#long post #destiny #destiny 2 #edix mohl #kilgharrah #commander zavala #guardian asks #seigephoenix

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recentanimenews · 5 years

Text

Isekai, Ranked

If Anime is escapism, there is no better way to escape than plunging Into Another World, where our niche skills and routine possessions may shake the fabric of reality! From MMO-inspired, to hard fantasy, there are many types of shows on this list but no movies nor series we haven’t seen recently. Bring all disagreements to the comments below!

1. Re:Zero − Starting Life in Another World Re:Zero takes Isekai’s love for fish-out-of-water stories on step further: through brutal, expectation breaking blind sides, it makes the viewer a fish out of water too! Dripping with fantastic animation, Re:Zero true strength is the balance of its highly detailed world without over explaining its magic system, time loop mechanic and political systems. It also earns bonus points for limiting the application of its protagonist’s powerful magic and technological advantages.

2. Sword Art Online (1st season) In the narrowest of second places, SAO pairs top shelf animation with an approachable cast and easy to appreciate central conflict. Its lovingly constructed MMO setting aside, Kirito’s mistakes and occasional darkness elevate him above his potentially generic good-at-everything character type and Asuka plays the strongest heroine/love interest on the list.

3. Now and Then, Here and There Imagine if Digimon told a bleak about story sex trafficking child soldiers trapped on a waterless world with a maniac king? NTHT’s intense swerve from adorable into darkness is on par with Re:Zero and, much like Natsuki Subaru, HTHT’s Shu must rely on ‘durability’ and ‘heart’ to make it through. While some of it’s later tragic moments are predictable, this f’ed-up little anime scores major points for telling a complete story and having that story grow Shu from simpleton into a conflicted young adult.

4. Gargantia on the Verdurous Planet While Red’s post-earth scifi origin may stretch the common definition of Isekai, being trapped in a primitive culture that treats him (and his AI-driven mech Chamber) like a hero of old does not. Beautifully, Gargantia flips the script and makes Red’s overwhelming power, and killing in general, at odds with the local people.

5. Yōjo Senki / The Saga of Tanya the Evil Give us World War I with magic, a gender swapped villain as our protagonist, and God as our antagonist, and you’ve given us something pretty damn original. Like Gargantia, this reborn in another world captures thinking differently about the world can be as powerful and terrifying as unworldly strength. Without question, Yojo Senki’s cast is the most uniquely imagined on this list.

6. No Game No Life Like Tanya, the Blank twins piss off god and are sent to another world as punishment. However, their punishment is much more stylish and… harem. Underneath NGNL’s acid-soaked panties, over the top protagonists and the psychedelic color pallet, lives a show featuring thoughtful puzzles and imaginative spins on classic gamble to win story telling. Sadly, its story ends unfinished…

7. KonoSuba One part jab at Isekai and one part love letter to the starting town of every fantasy MMO, KonoSuba is all parts ruthlessly funny! While this reborn in another world (with a goddess!) show is not be as smartly written as NGNL, and it becomes repetitive after a time, the constant frenetic action more than makes up for it.

8. Grimgar of Fantasy and Ash Quiet, thoughtful, and full of sadness, this hard fantasy Isekai doesn’t care if its heroes are reborn in another world or trapped in a dungeon crawl afterlife. Building family bonds and connecting with people who would not normally be friends is all that matters… and it’s lovingly animated to boot!

9. ReCreators As a reverse Isekai, ReCreators distinguishes itself by bringing the other world to us. The experience is fantastically animated and packed with clever dialog that somehow breaths sincerity into a profoundly silly plot. The cast is quite diverse, both in design and personality, which keeps the action fresh, yet somehow cohesive throughout. It’s only major flaw is, the final act, which is way to drawn out.

10. The Devil is a Part Timer No I’m not kidding! This reverse Isekai’s premise that the Devil is trapped in our world and must work at McDonnald’s to get by is charming. While DiaPT’s humor isn’t particularly specific to the devil, the jokes are punchy, and the overall plot develops at a respectable pace. As an added treat, the opening gothic fantasy fight scenes are surprisingly well animated.

11. Log Horizon (1st season) Most exposition heavy, trapped in an MMO themed Isekai featuring ‘top ranked’ players crumble after a few episodes. More often than not, these shows try too hard to sell the coolness of their game worlds, user interfaces, and central characters. Miraculously, Log Horizon gets better mid season with a simple question: if former NPCs have personalities, can grow and learn, and even die, are they more human than the former players that dismiss them as background texture? Still, it takes Log Horizon six episodes to get going and good lord is it gray looking…

12. Overlord (3 Seasons) This transported into an MMO Isekai mirrors its main character: it is competent but not sure what it should be doing at any given moment. Sometimes the protagonists are villains and sometimes they are heroes. More often than not, characters are given lavish screen time to develop, only to be slaughtered whimsically. The resulting narrative is full of call backs and revealed foreshadowing… yet hasn’t gone very far in 3 seasons and hasn’t asked any interesting questions along the way.

13. El Hazard – The Magnificent World (OAV/TV) Predestined paradox, trans-dimensional time jumping high school students (and their drunk gym teacher) are trapped in an Arabian Nights’like land besieged by sentient bugs, a secret tribe of assassins from another dimension, and a death star like eye of god orbiting nearby. If you watched anime in the 1990s it will all be familiar but it still manages to feel original yet cohesive production. The character abilities are wonderful, the tragedy is nice, and plenty is left up to your own imagination to fill in the blanks. A bland, fault free, protagonist and a boy-crazy harem vibe are the only reasons it isn’t higher on the list.

14. Gate: Jieitai Kano Chi nite, Kaku Tatakaeri This invading the other world Isekai flips the script to deliver political intrigue, clash of culture, and commentary on Japanese society. It loses points for being a overly harem, relying on super dumb/super evil antagonists, and a dull protagonist but it’s fun enough to watch.

15. Drifters Stylishly violent, strikingly ugly, historical character filled and utterly bonkers, this reborn in another world Isekai’s uniqueness will hold your attention. Even if you do not want it to.

16. Rise of the Shield Hero (2 Seasons) On paper, this transported to an MMO world Isekai’s “treat the hero like crap,” “watch him accept the role of a slave-buying villain” and ultimately “rise to become the true hero” concept is great. Revealing that the world he’s saving may be less redeemable than the world the invaders are trying to save is also great. Too bad its padded and many of the arbitrary delays and narrative dead ends feel like cop outs.

17. That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime While it lacks the initial hardcore’ness of Shield Hero, this reborn in another world Isekai is pleasantly animated and full of heart. The idea that naming monsters grants them power is a pretty neat mechanic too. It just sort bounces from idea to idea without a sense of purpose of resolution. One minute it’s a story of unlikely friendship, then magic destiny, then town builder, then harem, and onto magic school and isn’t about anything in particular until a hastily thrown together plot ties it up at the end. It scores points for making its hero a slime… although the reborn aspect never feels played with or justified.

18. Angel Beats! If the gun fetish, kids fighting a loli-angel instead of attending school in the afterlife plot weren’t so dumb and drawn out, this rebirth story’s touching moments would push it much higher. There’s a really good tale of life cut short, reunion after death, and again after rebirth here and it gets major bonus points for finishing the story it had to tell. Totally squandered.

19. Death March / Kara Hajimaru Isekai Kyousoukyoku Like Shield Hero, this reborn in an MMO Isekai is actually quite good looking. However, its Gary-Stue protagonist, harem and absurd narrative padding make it far less interesting. OMG how many episodes are about making lunch?! That’s too bad because the concept of code-like “copy and paste” magic system is pretty neat.

20. Wiseman’s Grandson / Kenja no Mago Despite opening with a modern day man being killed, this reborn into a fantasy world Isekai is more Magic School than Isekai. The only thread that connects the protagonist’s lives is that he can look at magic with an eye for process instead of outcome. The result is harmless easy watching but harem elements, a slow pace and lack of getting anywhere narratively hold it back.

21. How Not to Summon a Demon Lord This summoned into an MMO Isekai starts off as charming, but ecchi-heavy, before abruptly turning dark at the end of the season. We’re talking ‘make a child watch as her best friend is slowly tortured to death’ and creepo ‘finger-bang a loli cat girl in order to give birth to the demon inside her’ level dark. While those elements elevate HNtSaDL above niche appeal of its harm and MMO content, they aren’t so interesting to earn my recommendation.

22. Problem Children are coming from Another World, Aren’t They? The non-ecchi poor man’s No Game no Life features a talking cat that only some characters can understand and dreadful music. TFW smooth jazz? There’s some cuteness to be had, and the solutions to gambling games can be clever, but the overall vibe is low energy. It loses drama points because its protagonist is as smart as a god and physically stronger.

23. Do You Love Your Mom and Her Two-Hit Multi-Target Attacks? This poor man’s Konosuba is occasionally funny, satire of RPG conventions and family relationships. Mama’s skill that interrupts whatever her son is doing, no matter what it is or where he is in the game world, is particularly charming. Unfortunately, there’s no avoiding the creepo factor of sexualizing that family relationship.

24. Restaurant from Another World My mom is secretly from another world and my restaurant’s front door connects back to that world each day is certainly unique, but it’s structured more like a food-porn show than Isekai. While the linkages of each patron become clear over time, few characters are not aware of those connections themselves. The result never feels like it gets anywhere.

25. In Another World With My Smartphone Stories without risk are still watchable when they immerse us an interesting world, or delve into niche details like food or how magic works, or sleeze us with harems and sex appeal. Smartphone fails all of these things. Worse, it does nothing with it’s one idea: protagonist Touya is reborn in a fantasy world with smartphone. Except, GOD GIVES HIM GOD TIER MAGIC FROM THE GET-GO! Ironically, Re:Zero and No Game No Life both use of a cell phones in more interesting ways, and Tanya’s God isn’t even comparable. Unoriginal, unfunny, not dramatic, not sexy, not worth watching.

26. Maou-sama, Retry! This transported to an MMO Isekai’s trash production values, and bizarre characters are hard to take seriously. The results are sometimes so terrible they are funny, such as incompetent background music transitions and detailed horses hiding at the edges of the frame. Sadly, a bland harem and complete lack of narrative objective kill the mood.

27. Isekai Izakaya Imagine a low energy, public access style show, with a tourism theme, that featuring a modern Japanese restaurant that serves fantasy world patrons…

28. Isekai Cheat Magician A loveless summoned to a fantasy world Isekai who’s protagonists are the most powerful and purely good characters could deserve a niche rating. Not this one. The narrative sort of ‘skips the boring stuff’ and, in doing so, skips character development. Hilariously, what the narrative does show is poorly animated, always underwhelming magic battle scenes or people standing around talking.

29. Endride Without dialog, this stumbled into a magic world Isekai’s vibrant color and crisp art would be watchable. The fact that the world is somehow inside of Earth’s core and the sparse use of mythology are unique, but its dumb-as-bricks whiny teen protagonists have the maturity of a small children. There are many unintentionally funny moments like scientists using gigantic laptops or the king’s magic weapon looking like a safety pin. Ultimately, the cast is so unlikeable that the show itself is unwatchable.

By: oigakkosan

#Anime #News #RABUJOI – An Anime Blog

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 6 years

Text

Life Story Part 74

I found it harder and harder to focus on reading like I had in the past after my attacks. I would just stare at the page, or sometimes have trouble identifying with the dialogue in the story. I don't know if I picked up some overrated literature or if something in me was just different. I felt quite dead inside. I closed in on myself even harder. I rarely left my cold, dimly lit bedroom. There were certain thoughts I monitored myself not to have. I didn't go outside at all anymore unless it was very dark out. Allison and David would hang out with me, we would walk down to the pop machines and buy cans of soda if we could afford it. I spent more time hashing out my manga story. I still tried to make art when I could. I wrote Sarah often. But a good deal of my life at this was hiding. I felt broken, and I didn't even want to identify with anything that would wind up hurting me more.

I remember it being a fairly cold winter that year. I attempted to sleep as much as I possibly could. Nothing seemed worth being awake for anymore. I felt like a total loser – now back in Kendrick as though I had never even left. A part of me was starting to resign myself to the reality that I was never leaving. It was a bitter pill. Sometimes life seemed gray and blurry. I suppose I could have stayed living with Maria, or I could have chosen to stay with my grandma. But I hadn't. I had put on a lot of weight. I've heard people who have always been thin their entire lives, how people let themselves get overweight. Let me say – it's amazingly easy given you have the right DNA and life circumstances. Unless you are naturally hyper and love eating raw cucumbers all day, it can happen to anyone. And when you don't feel like there is anything in life that is meaningful or good and you have lost all hope, but you don't have drugs or money or transportation and suicide is too frightening to actually go through with, food is an outlet. Not that I ate that much – at least not by comparison to how I ate as a teenager. I really didn't need to eat that much anymore to gain weight. My metabolism was shot. I didn't feel good. The skin all over my body became covered in these bumps. I don't know why, though my guess is it had something to do with my endocrine system falling apart. Maybe it was because I was developing lactose intolerance.

Sarah went and saw Tom Waits live. It would be his last tour – for Orphans. She described it as this amazing experience – one of the best things she had ever seen in her entire life. His stage set was like this moving dilapidated carousel. When he stomped his feet billows of dust rose from the ground into the air. I now and forever will be jealous of her for having this opportunity. Tom Waits is my favorite. I didn't love him as much then as I do now, but I can listen to Tom Waits for days on end and it never gets old.

I often times would write to this website that may or may not exist still, called Elderlywisdomcircle. Basically, it's a bunch of volunteer elderly who try to give you advice about life problems for free. You just write a letter to them, and someone will get back to you within a few weeks. I would often write to them about how my father was preventing me from leaving by not helping me get a Social security card, about Roxanne and her drug use and her marriage to Jeremy, how depressed and isolated I was, how I was afraid to feel things because if I let myself feel things I would go insane and lose what little grounds I had in the world, about my brother. I don't know what I expected to find. I guess it was my grounded version of prayer. It was something to look forward to I guess, as I thought that maybe someone might have the answers to the issues I was facing. Out of all the letters I received back from my issues however, I essentially got little conclusive response, and only one of them seemed really legitimate. They always told me that I wrote well. They would basically tell me to seek help – though they also had to contest that I didn't live in a state or an area that was really generous about giving out help. A few of them were very religious and they told me that I needed to pray more. One cantankerous responder told me that I was essentially to blame about every bad thing that had ever happened to me, and I needed to take control over my life. The nuance in their professional opinion was that I was a bit on the pathetic side. They would always link me up with a suicide hotline.

David was in Hastings one day in the book section. David was beginning to read a lot independently, and I had shown him the places in Hastings that sold the classics and how to search the novels. As he was examining the selection, a stranger walked up to him, a man with a familiar voice. He had a gruff New York accent. He congratulated David for being a reader, that there weren't too many kids in these modern times who read anymore and it was very refreshing to see a young man such as himself choosing to do so. David nodded politely. Later on, David put a face and name to the guy. He was Michael Savage, the conservative nationalist political commentator that my father sometimes listened to. For whatever reason he had been in Moscow Idaho. Which is funny because David probably adamantly disagrees with just about everything Michael Savage stands for. I certainly think he's repulsive, and even my father doesn't really care for him anymore, mostly being a listener because he enjoyed the aggression and was amused by the extremism. It would have been so much cooler had the person in question been something more than some regressive asshole.

That New Year's eve, my father went out to drink. I knew he planned on getting totally wasted because he spent a lot of time trying to justify going out that year, when I honestly didn't object in the least, as that seemed like a totally natural thing to do. I didn't really look forward to him drinking however. It made me very nervous. Up that point, he mostly seemed to hold back on his drinking around us – though I knew he was still getting drunk other places. I was just starting to comprehend that part of the reason he was starting to say things that made no sense, or get irrationally emotional, or starting to make good food and then mess the food up by means of some obscure decision that made no logical sense was because he was starting to drink every night.

Allison, David and I stayed up of course, probably snacking and watching Fight Club or the Shawshank Redemption for the millionth time. After midnight came and went, David went upstairs to check in for the night. Allison and I were still up when one am rolled around. I was getting a little nervous that maybe my father had been in some kind of accident, as he said he was going to be home before midnight. So Allison and I stayed up watching an anime show that I wasn't really getting into Wolf's Reign or something like that, I believe it was called. It was around one or so that my father suddenly burst through the door belligerent. And he had this very weird guy with him who had this beautiful Husky with him. They were both so drunk they could barely walk and everything they said was a scream, particularly my father who was ranting in a way that made my stomach hurt with anxiety. My father was professing his undying friendship to this guy in his inebriated state, and this other guy who's voice was nothing but an inaudible display of indecipherable gurgles and croaks would say something back and I couldn't understand. They were both raving about something that had happened at the bar. I had never seen my father this drunk in my life, and I was kind of nervous. For one, he was saying some horrible base stuff about women. And though my father I would say was sexist, he had never really went off about women being easy sluts or being defined primarily by their bodies and if/how those bodies benefited the male gaze.

So I was horrified to be listening to him say probably some of the worst stuff I had ever heard him say. He was ranting on how him and this strange drifter that he met at the bar (Jordan was his name) were going to go out and get themselves laid that night in gross vivid detail. Even if one night stands were a person's thing, what he was saying and how he approached it was very lewd and offensive. He even joked about them finding hookers. Jordan more or less just went along with whatever my dad was saying, who kept patting his back. The fact that Allison and I were still awake and very aware of how he was behaving didn't really seem to do much to phase him. If anything, he seemed annoyed that the two of us were awake. Then again, he got mad when he heard that David was asleep.

Eventually, the two of them went down to the bar in Kendrick. It worried me that he had been driving. Honestly, as drunk as my father was, he had a DUI coming. I am really opposed to drunk driving. When I hear someone I know has done it I get almost personally offended. How could you put other people's lives in danger like that? You could literally destroy other people's realities simply because you couldn't make plans ahead of time. It's profoundly selfish to me. I wanted to go to sleep, but my heart was racing out of my chest. Jordan left his lovely Husky at the house. The dog was nice overall, kind of serious and distant. I felt like something bad would happen if we didn't stay up. I was in shock, because just when I thought I couldn't lose any more respect, here I was losing even more. Granted, alcohol brings out the worst and pushes that worst a little farther than you would have ever taken it, but I didn't think my father was this pathetic. And it really struck home with me that I didn't like alcohol. I saw it as being extremely destructive.

Eventually they came back, and they were ranting about how the two of them both deserved to fuck some fat ugly bitches. Allison and I looked at each other, grossed out. My father kept saying 'FAT BITCHES' FAT BITCHES' over and over again. Even though I know his mind was completely disconnecting this statement from his own daughter which was me, I felt personally offended and disgusted by this statement. I was fat, and I guess to some people I knew, I was probably considered a bitch as well. I felt there was something really double-horrible about that statement. The nuance being, fat women are disgusting and easy and something that you fetishize and want to both use for sex and violently humiliate. It was around this time when I just figured that if Jordan stabbed him in the night or either one of them choked on their own vomit then so be it. I tried to distance myself from it all, partially to process what I was hearing. He then decided to take his Nickelback collection out of retirement and start blasting it throughout the house – making it impossible for anyone to sleep. I decided that it was probably for the best if Allison and I went to bed. I was extremely tense about the surreal ugliness and the entirely negative vibes that had spoiled an otherwise mundane night.

The next day, Allison and I just stayed in the bedroom until we both just absolutely had to pee come hell or high water. Nobody was up, and the whole feeling of the house was really dead and gray. It kind of scared me a little bit. Outside was frosty and cold and the typical temperature of ten degrees. We walked around the house timidly and distantly. We found David still in his room, more or less confused. David got up in the night at some point and was completely baffled by a random Husky being in the house. David had been phobic of dogs as a little boy until he was eight or so, and seeing the dog in our house messed with him, causing him to question his own sanity a little bit. It would have been slightly funny had the whole thing not already been so appalling.

I could tell by my father's body language when he did come up that he felt ashamed of himself and was sort of afraid to see us. He tried to play it off like the entire thing hadn't happened. Being coy and distant to anything we had to say pertaining to the night before. Jordan was asleep on our couch till the afternoon and he smelled awful. The Husky had literally chewed a good portion of one of the couches to bits. It was totally destroyed. I hadn't even realized that furniture chewing could get that way. There were pieces of our couch scattered all over the house. I had to laugh a bit. I thought it added a nice touch to the absolute chaotic reality of that night. My father ended up driving Jordan back into Lewiston. He didn't seem very warmed up to Jordan like he had in his drunken moments that night. And we never heard from or saw Jordan or his dog again.

My father seemed to deal with his shame by doubling down on us about how the house was messy. It was just his way of feeling some semblance of control when it was becoming clearer and clearer to us all that he had none. Perhaps he suspected mutiny. I suspect he was onto something, because I was tempted not to at all in protest for having to put up being totally disgusted. But Allison and David felt the need to and sitting out would just be putting that much more work on them so I joined in ultimately. It really smelled in the corner of the couch, and we came to discover just what it was. Jordan had vomited out a ton of McDonald's food on the couch, and rather than clean it up, he had flipped over the couch cushion. It was deep in the void of the couch, but it was also sort of poured out over onto the floor, which he had of course taken one of our pairs of shoes to cover up, getting it on the sneakers. Allison was about to clean it up herself. But I said no. Instead, I told my father about the vomit. He just went 'oh' and walked away. I told him we weren't cleaning it up, which was both directly pertaining to the vomit, but just the situation in general. It was tiring and cowardly that he wanted us to be the ones that did the hard work of making our slowly disintegrating family ties work, and all he had to do was pretend consistently that he had done nothing wrong.

He ended up not cleaning the vomit up that night, or the next or the next. So we just stopped sitting on that couch, and we held our breath whenever we walked past that area. We were all painfully aware it was there, but it felt like nobody was allowed to talk about it. When he thought I wasn't around – six days later, he instructed Allison to clean it up for him. I found out about it, and I coached Allison not to. I could see this sort of frustration with it all, and I think she felt like, if she just cleaned it up then the whole negative experience would go away and she could move on. But for me, her cleaning that up was taking it in a way I didn't feel she deserved to have to do. If she gave into what he wanted, then he would feel better about himself, like he was still in control. I noticed too that he didn't want David to clean it up. He wanted it to be either me or Allison, and there was something very telling about that. I felt so belittling to make her have to do something like that. I felt like the mere act of having to do something like that was the kind of thing that ruins a young girl's self worth. Allison felt like I was holding onto the past, and the best thing to do is mindlessly scrape up the mess of yesterday, be it hers or someone else's and start out anew. It spelled a difference in how we coped with life I guess. I believe in quiet protest and have issues with authority that does not respect me, and Allison takes on responsibility that isn't something she should have to, and in doing I think she finds herself in a position where she feels she has more control over any given situation whereas I am more likely to bury my own grave due to my defiant attitude – but ultimately feel like I was more true to myself as I walk away.

Ultimately, in this situation, Allison didn't clean up the puke however, since for one, she really didn't want to. She was afraid at this point that cleaning it up would just ultimately cause her to puke, and secondly, I promised her that if she didn't clean the puke up and our dad had problems with that, I would personally jump in and my father could scream and freak out at me rather than her. I really didn't want Allison to have to clean it up, and just the thought of it made my blood boil. So she cleaned around it. My father was on the phone at that point with one of his online girlfriends and he was bragging about himself in this way that he always did. Allison asked if things were clean enough and he pointed to the corner of the couch. I looked him straight in the face and told him with factuality but not without some bit of attitude that that was Jordan's vomit and he needed to clean it rather than her. He was on the phone and I think my statement embarrassed him, so he said 'FINE RENEE' and then explained to his phone girlfriend that his eldest daughter was basically having hormonal issues and freaking out at him for something for no reason. The crazy in me thought of ripping the phone out of his hand and explaining to Jane Doe that he was trying to make his thirteen year old clean up this homeless guy's vomit on the couch from a week previous, but I thought better of it. He ended up cleaning it up a day or two later with some strong chemical soap, and a shampooer.

I guess things were building for me with my dad. The hurt I had felt was starting to turn into disgust. I don't remember at all how this fight went. I probably told him he cared about his online women more than he did his own family. He resented me because everyone in the household respected me more, including himself. Over the years I had been there for Allison and David and he hadn't. I had gained respect, and he had lost respect. He was threatened by me – not that I wanted his position in the house. I wanted out but couldn't get away on account of him. And I saw through him, and knew his vulnerabilities. Both of my parents, despite everything, considered me to be their best friend in their own individually weird way. I guess it's because I was curious about who they were. The older I have become, the less I tried to see them as the power structure I was meant to rely upon and I became curious about how they functioned. So when they did something really messed up, they would get insecure about me judging them – because I had seen what it was like for them behind the veil. And this sometimes threw my father in a rage, particularly when he personally felt like a failure.

I don't think he dealt with anything that had happened to him properly. He was messed up by the death of Patty, the death of his mother, the police investigation and being eventually long-distance-dumped over and over again. The more I lived around him, the more I realized that almost none of this was about me at all. He just hates himself that much and isn't emotionally stable enough to recognize or acknowledge his own failure without flying off the handle so his everyday life is this repetitive factory floor induced circular attempt to draw people and activities into his life that will distract him from himself, and when that fails he loses his fucking mind. And at times, I wondered why he hated himself to begin with. He was granted, not the best person in the world, but most of his flaws were in direct relation to how he responded to his own self loathing, which kept the cycle ongoing and out of control, and it ruined every relationship he ever had with anyone in his life – and this was why he had doubled down on preventing me from leaving. He felt like if he lost me he lost the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally. I don't see my father as a sociopath. The few people I have met who also know him see him as a part time total fuckface, but also someone who has legitimately the best of intentions with most of what he starts off doing. Just a very flawed person, and an emotional coward who used anger, and dominance to subjugate anything in his outer world that might challenge him or made him feel disappointed in himself. And as it happened, I have a challenging personality. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down. Of course, eventually, we are all nails sticking up in my father's world. He can't keep anyone around.

During this fight, I felt this flash of certainty. For years, I felt like he just pretended that nothing bad. I always felt this weird urge to walk up to him and punch him in the face and walk away for no reason. I didn't understand how he could go along as if nothing had happened, that he hadn't beaten me as a teen, forced me to babysit and essentially do half of a parent's work, or neglected my needs, or kicked me out for allegedly being gay. Since the fight was on anyway and something I wouldn't be able to walk out of unscathed, since I was afraid I might have a panic attack if I didn't keep myself focused and angry during this altercation, and since I had always wanted to call out the elephant in the room, I just decided to tell him for the first time what he had done to me as a teenager, specifically the day he had taken me home and beat me. So as he was screaming at me – telling me I was a spoiled brat – me in all my one of two oversized t-shirts and pajama bottoms who was lucky to afford seventy-five cents twice a week to go down to the pop machine and get a pop, burst out and asked him why he had given me a fat lip and bruises on my arm in high school. He looked honestly mystified for a moment and really put off – and started saying WHATTTT?. I reminded him of the circumstances, and I saw something weird snap in his face with guilt and then contort into this look of denial like some grand moment in a theater performance. He was still yelling, and then kind of stammering, and then I asked him again. He suddenly began wailing and screaming. It was kind of an attack at me and it was a bit scrambled to me. He then started screaming LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!! I HATE MYSELF!!!!! I WANT TO DIE!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!! I HATE MYSELF!!! I HATE MYSELF!!!! I HATE MYSELF!!! over and over again. He sounded entirely deranged and broken. His eyes had sort of blanked out, and I don't even feel like he was seeing anything around him anymore I just stood there dumbfounded. I had never really gotten to this point in an argument before. He continued to yell this even as I got my coat on and my shoes and decided to leave the house for awhile and I could hear him as I walked up the street.

I had always thought that making my parents realize what they had done to me would bring some closure for me, or some satisfaction. I felt pushed down and weak, and they always came out the strong winners. Perhaps if the roles were reversed? As a little girl, I used to believe that before God let you into heaven, he made you watch a movie of your life and wired you up to the movie so you felt every emotion you made someone else feel. Whenever I got upset, if Roxanne pulled my hair or I was sent to my room or whatever, I would cry and then sit in bed and imagine this scenario until I felt like the world made sense again. I imagined God grabbing my parents or sister with his big hands (I imagined he was King Triton from Little Mermaid). He would force them to make eye contact when they looked away in shame, and the eye contact would be fierce and they would learn their lesson. It was of course a testament to my sensitivity as a child, as well as my early onset of a God complex of sorts and egotism, but also my need for a sense of understanding and equilibrium to exist. I had gone for years thinking that karmic justice would make me feel better. When I had seen my father confronted with his own deeds, it broke him. And I didn't really feel the way I thought I would. He seemed mentally unwell, disconnected, and ultimately weak. He seemed small to me, and scared – a creature too dumb to comprehend it's own actions. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. If God held him down and forced him to watch his life-movie, he probably would have blown his brains out. He was an irresponsible coward, and there was nothing I could do or say to change that. I felt disconnected from him, and a little sad for him. How empty it would be to live your life afraid of honest introspection? It would feel so much better just to be honest with yourself. He couldn't humble himself to the slightest insult, and this ultimately limited growth for him. And as he failed to grow as a person, he ultimately decayed.

The realization of this didn't make me feel good at all. I didn't like the power I yielded for those moments of realization. It made me a little bit sad. Not just for him, but for everyone. I guess it was hitting me then that not everyone is emotionally capable of change. Maybe understanding isn't for everyone. You can put stepping stones down for people to follow, and no matter how clearly they are put down, no matter how tiny the step, some people will fall in and drown anyway. I think in this moment my father's position in my life began to alter a little bit. If things were never going to get better, then I didn't want to hate him anymore. I realized that I had reached a point where I held some virtues and character that he lacked, rendering him the child and me the adult. If he was capable of suicide, then I didn't want to push him over that edge either. He wasn't going to help me forgive him. I was just going to have to forgive him myself – and in so doing I took the personal responsibility out of his hands and some of his credit as a father figure. He was too weak to know better, and if he couldn't be held responsible for his actions, than I guess I was going to have to eat that karmic debt. I believe there was a point at the end of one of Robert Pirsig's books where he talked about just that. And I really understood it at that moment.

Allison and I were sitting on the rocks by the Kendrick bike path at sunset one day. We had taken a walk. Allison was talking absently about school, and I was more or less listening distantly, as it was the kind of stuff that seems important to you as a preteen but actually isn't, like who is dating who or what one girl said about another. It's important to listen to thirteen year olds who talk about this stuff though, because it ultimately is very real to them and a huge growing point in their life. It's also an age that isolates you from both children and adults, and even older teens, and I feel like it's important to understand the spirit of these mundane high school dramas even if the events themselves are mind numbing. I get tempted to blurt out the obvious thing that isn't obvious to a younger generation of girls, 'She should dump him, she's too young for a relationship and even if they do try to have sex it's going to be a disappointing experience', 'that girl is just jealous of the other girl. 'She's probably going to party a whole bunch and then make some serious mistakes. She seems cool now, but her life will be a mess in four years if she doesn't stop' 'That over-the-top cordial Christian boy is going to probably get married when he is twenty and stay married for twenty more years because fundamentalist Christian people are weiiiird..' Just random opinions that I would generally have about whoever she was talking about. It felt strange to be judging all these kids and their little lives back in the school I used to suffer in.

We were sitting there that day though, talking besides the bike path. I was looking out absently at the path, and I started seeing this odd glimmerly form. It looked sort of like a person, but his body movements were completely erratic, like he was wounded and falling. His walking seemed shock induced and senseless, like someone who has just crawled out of bombed building. He looked like he was in agony, and like his leg was messed up. I got up to move, and then suddenly he was gone. I thought perhaps my eyes were playing tricks on me, so I sat back down, and there he was again. I moved again, and he wasn't there, but then I moved to another area and I could see him even more visibly, details in his clothing and facial expression. He seemed to be laboring towards us, but at the same time he wasn't coming any closer. For some reason I wasn't even scared when perhaps I should have been. What I was seeing was something that shouldn't exist. But it didn't seem like it was there on my account in the same way that the voice from my house had screamed my name at me. It was almost like a movie playing in the distance, though obviously more surreal.

I had to interrupt Allison and point the guy out to her. At first she couldn't see him from her position, but then I had her move to where I was, and she could see him too. We both watched him, and just to be clear, we made out his details and clarified it back and forth to one another. He was not aware of where he was. His leg seemed injured. He was extremely dirty, almost like he had been covered in dried mud. He had blonde hair that was also incredibly dirty. He was wearing boots and overalls. His blonde hair was a little longer and spilled out in his face. He looked like someone from another time era. We both just sat there and watched it, and neither one of us was actually scared. We just couldn't believe it. It seemed real and unreal at the same time. I felt badly watching him suffer, but at the same time he almost just seemed like data or something. We watched him for about ten minutes. He started fading and getting harder to see, and eventually he just became this space where he looked more like a mirage than a person and then he was gone. Allison and I walked home. We tried to tell David, but he seemed more confused. David for whatever reason has never had a very ghostly experience in his life. For this reason, when either Allison or I told him stories of things we had both seen (Allison and her best friend Jessica had once watched a hand come out of a door inviting them to come inside with it's finger during a stay-over), and it wasn't that he didn't believe us, but his reality was not the same as ours. He just didn't get it. I think at times he was prone to believe us, and at times he didn't really, but it was hard for him to have the depth of belief necessary to fully take in our experiences since nothing of the sort had ever been present in his own perception.

This incident was something Allison and I occasionally talk about when there are people around. Everyone has opinions of the supernatural and it's entertaining to see the reactions of those who believe us and don't. It really kind of got me though. It would have been one thing if I had been the only one who was seeing it. If that had been the case, I would have doubted my own judgment, though maintained that it seemed real to me at the moment. One person cannot verify anything, even if that one person was myself. But for one, the situation happened for one, at a time when neither Allison or I were scared or stressed. It was still daylight, and we were in a peaceful area talking about far removed subjects. We weren't freaking each other out with ghost stories, or even upset. We were both relatively feeling okay. Secondly, we both had quite a few minutes to study the situation. The mind can play tricks for a few seconds, but it's much harder to really have those kinds of moments when you have time to reflect on it, particularly if you aren't scared. And we were verifying things with one another like a few curious scientists when it happened. And third, we both saw it. We both saw it for several minutes.

So, from this experience, I have to gauge that life and reality is not what we think it is. I don't want to sound like the monologue in the beginning of Tales From the Darkside or the Twilight Zone' but really what we saw should have been impossible. There was nobody there. And yet there was. The way I see it, we were either getting a glimpse into the past, or some alternate reality. That felt the most true for what we were looking at. He had no idea we were there, and there were only certain angles where we could see him at all. And why were we seeing him? Why weren't we seeing a past that was nothing but the trees? Because we were almost exclusively seeing this guy. Well, maybe our thoughts and feelings leak into the world around us. Maybe those feelings stain reality. I have no idea of knowing if that is true or not, but it might make sense for those who get strange feelings at places like Gettysburg. We were seeing something that was either happening in some other dimension, or seeing something that had already happened. Why Allison and I were tuned into it is very strange – seeing as we aren't seeing past car crashes being relived on the sides of roads. This isn't some daily Sixth Sense thing for either one of us. Why did this present itself to us exactly? I can only think it's because we were in the right time and place, and we were in some collectively correct state of mind where we were open to it. And I think the fact that this person – whoever, or wherever he was, was suffering a great deal.

This notion is something I have really taken to. It makes me see the world in a different and much more poetic way. Places come to life with the feelings we have on them. The events of our existences create a show on all that is around us, and essences of our existence can be felt beyond time and space. Some part of me will always be laying in the grass by the creek with Zack back in 04', I will always be holding my grandmother's hand watching television in some dimensional reality. Every thought I think, everything I do or say, every connection I make with the world around me is being printed into the world around me, the beautiful and the ugly. And together, all of us are creating this complex mosaic and added meaning to every inch of our reality. In essence our thoughts are painting and sculpting what is real – and not vice versa. We are creating art through the act of living and experiencing. And that is a very beautiful thought. I can't say I believe in it to the same extent I believe in the computer screen in front of me, and I think that blind faith isn't the charming characteristic it is made out to be. I couldn't sit at a dinner table with Richard Dawkins and expect to be taken seriously. But I know there was something to this, and this is my number one suspicion about life. I think people have vibrations that transcend everything we understand. Is there a reason behind this or any concrete way to prove my theory? No. But I see a place on the sidewalk, and I don't just see that place. I see it as a place where people went back and forth to work on, children played and drew chalk on, drunks vomited on, people held hands on. It's not just a chunk of concrete shaped along the earth. It has taken on and transcended it's utilitarian purposes. I don't just see that as symbolic. I see it as very real. I realize that there are flaws in this thinking, and I also realize it's painfully human and self important in a universe that pretty much demonstrates human beings as temporary, obsolete, and destructive in a very petty way. And yet, I can't unsee it.

I guess it's remotely just as possible that what we saw was a ghost, or a demon or that reality is just something I make up in my own head. Perhaps the government or aliens implanted the memory into Allison and my collective skulls. Maybe I invented it all in my mind, maybe it's all a matter of accepting solipsism. I don't really think so. I am open minded to anything, but it didn't feel like any of those things. I don't buy the religious implications of an all out demon – and in any way, it wasn't being very good at being a scary demon as neither Allison nor I were overly frightened, it didn't seem like a ghost but maybe. I highly doubt the government would waste it's time and precious technology on me or my sister – that's more absurd to me than a wiggly reality, and an alien race wasting it's tech on me or Allison for something so meaningless and also seemed equally if not more ludicrous. Though the world could be something I invented in my own thoughts, I really doubt I am capable of that. I just don't think I could create quantum physics and write millions or songs or secretly understand how the universe operates but just fool myself that I am not capable so there is still an element of surprise to living. It just feels like I would do something a little more interesting that waste my youth like this. It's quite possible we are living in a simulation of some kind – which is one of the more probable suggestions I have heard of, but if that is the case, it doesn't really stamp on my previous ideas about reality. And it was still equally just as much of an anomaly.

PART 73 - https://tinyurl.com/y6vy2jeu

PART 72 - https://tinyurl.com/yaegqs9x

PART 71 - https://tinyurl.com/y6v3ln9a

My Life Story in Chapters, PARTS 1-70 (this link below will lead you to a list of all the chapters i have written thus far).

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/168782771574/life-story-sections-1-70

#text #life story

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symbianosgames · 7 years

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Without the Affordable Care Act, developer Alex Preston would never have made Hyper Light Drifter. Not because he would have been financially crippled from the cost of paying for health care out-of-pocket while making the game—though that certainly would have been the case. But because, in his words, he “would probably be dead.”

For some developers, getting coverage under the ACA gave them the confidence and security to leave their corporate jobs (and, with it, traditional benefits packages) behind to start or join small independently-owned studios. For others, it supported life-saving care that they otherwise could not have afforded.

Now that the Trump administration prepares to deliver on promises to “repeal and replace” the current system, the many indie devs among the 20 million individuals who gained healthcare coverage under the ACA are scrambling to figure out their options. Complicating this is the uncertainty of what such a replacement might look like—if there is one at all.

Last week, the International Game Developers Association issued a release urging those who rely on the ACA to call their local representatives and voice their concerns. Their involvement in the national conversation makes sense: A 2015 IGDA survey of nearly 3,000 freelance developers found that 32% relied on government plans.

"Do I go bankrupt and go into the hospital or do I sit here and hope I stay alive?"

“We believe that affordable healthcare is not only about ensuring the personal well-being of individual developers, but also that is a matter of the creative health of our industry," says Kate Edwards, executive director of IGDA.

“If affordable healthcare options are unavailable," she adds. "we may likely see a significant drop in developers pursuing independent game development, which equates to a net loss of innovation and creative content for our industry.”

Before implementation of the ACA, Preston couldn’t get coverage of any kind. His health began seriously declining in his 20s. Though he briefly worked for a company that offered benefits, he couldn’t hold down full-time employment because of his health issues.. He was covered under COBRA for 18 months but, because of his congenital heart disorder and other pre-existing conditions, insurance companies turned him down when he tried to buy his own policy. As a result, he paid out of pocket for years.

“It often becomes a question of: Do I go bankrupt and go into the hospital or do I sit here and hope I stay alive?” he said. “Hope isn’t going to do it for millions of people with critical conditions that can’t live without their medication and can’t live without an emergency room to go to.”

Without coverage, Preston’s medical bills were massive. At one point, Preston had to organize a GoFundMe fundraiser for a $25,000 hospital stay.

"Did you smoke in your twenties? Doctor spotted a cancerous mole? Pregnant? Companies had myriad reasons for denying coverage."

His experience was common. Bekah Saltsman, who runs Finji (Night in the Woods, Overland, Feist) with her husband, Adam Saltsman, said that friends “would straight up send money” to fellow devs in need. Like Preston, most of the devs they knew when they were living in Austin, Texas couldn’t get covered.

“They didn’t have health insurance,” Bekah Saltsman says. “None. Not because they didn’t want it, but because they couldn’t buy a plan on the individual market because a doctor had coded something wrong or because of pre-existing conditions.” Did you smoke in your twenties? Doctor spotted a cancerous mole? Pregnant? Companies had myriad reasons for denying coverage and, thus, mitigating their potential losses.

“This was pre-Kickstarter and pre-Twitter, and we’d send a message around that someone is really sick and can everyone please send a check,” Bekah Saltsman says. “If you were well connected enough, you might know people who could send $500 or $1,000 to make sure you don’t die from whatever you had and that, if you don’t die, you could make it through possible bankruptcy.”

She opted to stick with a formal job for the health benefits until 2008. After that, when both of the Saltsmans had gone independent, they had to be strategic: Insurance companies tried to deny coverage because Adam has a lethal peanut allergy and carries an inhaler due to childhood asthma. Even so, they were able to get coverage as a group of two, leapfrogging to different plans once they had children.

Still, within a five-year span, Bekah Saltsman’s rates tripled from $560 a month to $1,500. “When I saw the ACA plans I was like, hallelujah.” Even though the Saltsmans didn’t qualify for subsidies, they were back to paying $585 to $600 per month during that first year.

When Steve Gaynor left 2K Marin to co-found Fullbright (Gone Home and, upcoming, Tacoma), he didn’t have any health insurance. He was pinching pennies and, as he says, “It was on that list of things that we felt we could live without.” It wasn’t until Gone Home was released in August 2013—just before the first open enrollment period under the ACA—that he got coverage.

"The ACA gave us the confidence to quit our jobs. The reason I stayed in a job I didn’t love for so long was because we needed health insurance."

Today, Fullbright provides stipends for team members to cover their insurance through the ACA Marketplace. “And we have confidence that insurance for the people we employ will be accessible,” Gaynor added. “When you’re running a studio like ours where everyone’s productivity and level of engagement is crucial, we want don’t want employees worrying about where their healthcare is coming from or how they’re going to pay for bills and appointments.”

Since then, Fullbright's coverage has come in handy: Gaynor and his wife were involved in a serious car accident and his co-founder Karla Zimonja had unexpected surgery.

Gaynor says Fullbright plans to continue to offer their employees stipends, no matter what happens with the ACA. But, as those expenses become unreliable, it will be harder for them to budget the cost—a big unknown for a small business. “That security was really valuable,” he says. “We know ACA has reliable options, and that makes us more able to employ people and make our studio run smoothly.”

Since getting covered under the ACA, Alex Preston has had several life-saving procedures, including having a valve replaced in his heart in 2015. In 2013, he started Heart Machine, a studio named, in part, to honor of the open-heart surgery he underwent as a child and the later installation of his pacemaker. Now, due in part to the success of Hyper Light Drifter, Preston can afford insurance outside of the ACA Marketplace for his employees.

“I count myself lucky,” he says. But he worries about what might happen if he and his business are in a position where they can’t take on that cost anymore—and what might happen to his own health coverage if his business were to fail. “I worry about that future now, and I didn’t just a year before.”

If the ACA is repealed and not replaced with something tenable, Preston says some devs he knows plan to go back to work for larger studios and AAA companies. One dev even half-joked about moving to a different country to secure coverage..

"After all the talk about small business and creating jobs, anything that makes it scarier to strike out on your own and start a new business that didn’t exist before is a loss to our entire economy."

“The ACA gave us the confidence to quit our jobs,” Bekah Saltsman says. “The reason I stayed in a job I didn’t love for so long was because we needed health insurance.” Bekah and Adam Saltsman aren’t sure precisely what they’re going to do—so much is uncertain. But they have multiple plans and back-up plans, from going through Michigan to buy their insurance to hiring another person so they can get a company plan (which would mean changing the entire structure of Finji) to Bekah returning to a corporate day job and working on Finji projects at night.

Bekah Saltsman says some indie devs are thinking about getting a non-game related day job with benefits, even if it means working the minimum number of hours required at a place like Starbucks—provided that it even still offers insurance under the new healthcare systems.

Another option is going through IGDA, which currently partners with HUB International insurance to provide some health, plus business and liability, insurance for its members. Right now, IGDA offerings are limited by the ACA, meaning that their options are no different from what is nationally available. “However, should the ACA be repealed and no alternative is readily available, we will quickly pursue the generation of a coverage option for our membership,” Edwards wrote. “In consultation with our insurance partner, it’s clear that it’s too early to tell how this will play out.” She recommends that people considering their options tune into HUB International’s webinar on February 7 called “Repeal, Replace or Remodel? What Lies Ahead for ACA and Your Health Plan.”

Though the president has suggested he will keep guaranteed coverage for pre-existing conditions and allow children to stay on parental plans until they’re 26, it’s unclear what will actually happen. Devs looking to protect themselves should consider finding a mentor in the industry with advice about how to navigate the healthcare system, come up with back-up plans, learn as much as possible about how freelancers got coverage before and after the implementation of the ACA, and stay apprised of how the Administration moves forward with a repeal.

But, no matter where things land with the reformation, it’s likely that the indie game scene will see a big shake-up in the coming months.

“Anything that gives people more reasons to not try to do something in an independent setting is a real loss for our industry and the economy,” Gaynor says. “After all the talk about small business and creating jobs, anything that makes it scarier and less accessible to strike out on your own and start a new business that didn’t exist before is a loss to our entire economy.”

#IFTTT #Blogger

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doublerumnukacola · 6 years

Text

Part 2

“Why don't you just drink coffee like the rest of us?” Fahrenheit asked in her usual monotone.

“You kidding? You know how bad caffeine is for you?” He joked, “My Uncle drank coffee everyday since he was ten, dropped dead of a heart attack at twenty.”

“And coffee was what killed him?” She asked, a skeptical smile on her face.

“What?!” He spluttered through coughing fits. She looked down at her papers again.

“Any reason why?” He asked, it felt as though there was something he was forgetting but it wasn't quite coming back to him….

“Because you asked.” A voice answered behind him.

“Pawn takes king…” Fahrenheit muttered to herself in amusement. Hancock stood up slowly, doing his best to grin at Sole who was standing in the doorway, looking particularly chipper.

“Right on cue, Sister.” He greeted, but the gaps in his memory were still bugging him. “But catch me up on when exactly I set you up on this little job.” Sole frowned.

“Hey, where’re you going, killer?” Hancock called after her.

“Got business with Kleo. Bullets don’t buy themselves.” She called back. He had to smile at that. He heard the State House door shut behind her and turned to face Fahrenheit.

“How long was I out?” He asked seriously.

“Oh shit I did ask her to do that.” He grumbled, “Why did I think that was a good idea?” She checked her notes again.

“I don't remember that last part…” Hancock cut in. Fahrenheit looked up from her papers.

“Fine, and I guess we decided to send in our personal atom-bomb as a solution?” He hazarded a guess. She shook her head.

“Yeah, says right here: ‘permanently spasming in a pile of garbage’. She shrugged her shoulders. Hancock adjusted his hat, pulling it further up his brow.

“Well, gives the Raiders something to… She killed them too. Didn't she?” Hancock asked tiredly. She nodded.

“Hancock...” She started, but he knew that voice. He shot her a look. She cleared her throat, trying to adjust her tone. “Have you ever considered a fresh start?”

“Pardon?” Hancock asked in surprise, expecting one of her lengthy lectures.

“Sure, the idea’s appealing. Get out on the open road again, bring the fight to someone else for a change, rather than wait for it to bang on my front door.” He answered with a shrug. “But a town needs its Mayor, otherwise the shit show falls in on itself.” Fahrenheit gave a soft snort.

“What brought this on?” He asked. “Getting a bit too cosy behind that desk?”

“You’ve been distracted from the second you met the Vault dweller.” Fahrenheit replied.

“Pfft, ‘the second’ I saw her?” He questioned skeptically. “How do you figure?” She flipped back through a stack of notes and pulled out a sheet of paper.

“You stabbed Finn.”

“He had it coming.”

“Then you introduced her to Goodneighbor.”

“Obviously, introductions always come off friendlier after cold-blooded murder.”

“After she walked away, you stepped into a lamp post.”

“Bullshit.”

“Says right here in my notes, ‘stepped into a lamp post’ followed by ‘Threats to all witnesses.”

“Tell me Sunglasses wasn’t there…”

“I could tell you that, but I would be lying.”

Hancock sighed. It was true, if it weren’t for Fahrenheit and Sole, he’d be out on his ass right now, probably with a few more bullet holes than he was comfortable with.

“Say I went along with this.” He started. “Where would I go?”

“Where ever the Vault-dweller takes you, i’d imagine.” She guessed, rearranging her notes. “I imagine now that she’s back to business as usual, she won’t be staying much longer.” Hancock thought for a moment.