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malleleothreesome · 6 months

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Under the Mistletoe with Malleus

❤️ summary: Malleus' latest hyperfixation is mistletoe ༶༶༶ 💚 warnings: gender neutral reader, SFW, fluff, romance, Christmas centric but not religious ༶༶༶ ❤️ word count: 4k ༶༶༶ 💚 inspired by: this ask thank you! ♡✧*:･ﾟ

Malleus listens intently to all the tales you have to tell, all the little pieces of your world, of yourself—all the little snippets that come rushing out from the recesses of your memories, painting a picture of your humanity and the universe you'd once inhabited. All the intricacies and details of how your family would spend Christmas, the foods, the gifts, the songs—he loves hearing all about your unique traditions and experiences. Malleus is endlessly grateful for each of these recollections that you decide to entrust him with—small moments of personal history that hold so much weight in shaping who you are. Your mind runs wild as your thoughts run rampant, a blur of vivid recollections that overwhelm you. Then, he sees the tears brimming on your lash line and the tremble of your lower lip, his heart sinking instantly when the painful weight of homesickness visibly crashes down upon you. His own emotions, his yearning, his gratitude are all clogged up in his throat. When the tears finally drip past your lashes and down your cheeks, you're swaddled in strong, firm arms that cradle you. Malleus doesn't bother with words as he shushes your sobs, only offering his comfort with the secure tuck of your frame against his larger form, and the gentle tracing of his elegant, gloved fingertips along the curve of your back in soothing circles. His soft humming is melodious against the crook of your shoulder, warm and welcoming as he surrounds you completely.

Wanting to make the Christmas season extra special for you, his dearest friend, Malleus spends copious hours poring over the plethora of holiday books he could acquire from the school library—reading and studying each festive tale, tradition, and legend until the pages are wrinkled with the oils from his fingertips. Each chapter carefully absorbed and ingrained into his psyche, his eyes sparkling alight with delight and fascination, relishing in the lightness and warmth of the holidays as he familiarized himself with this magical and jovial festivity. When Christmas rolls around the corner, Malleus ensures the front entrance to Ramshackle dorm is lit up and decked to the nines in brightly glowing lights strung all over the framework—an aura of luminescence and color enveloping the dilapidated architecture with festive spirit. The rest of the exterior of the Dorm was covered with glittering golden tinsel, wreaths, garlands and pinecones—whatever he had deemed as festive in his extensive research.

Malleus was determined to honor this strange holiday—a special and important part of your childhood—but unfortunately, none of the decorations, lights, or Christmas cheer were quite as meaningful and special as what he wanted it all to symbolize. When he heard about the tradition involving a parasitic plant, he was naturally intrigued by the idea that a plant would wilt away and die if not united with a particular organism—it could only flourish and thrive when entwined with its complementary other half. In return, the mistletoe would provide both beautiful flowers and ripe fruit, enhancing the lives of the forest around them and fostering harmony within the ecosystem. However, it was the usage of that plant during a kiss that truly made him delighted by its macabre nature and its value to this sacred human festivity. It seemed befitting somehow that the now dead mistletoe, the melancholy parasite that thrives in connection with others, could bring a measure of life and happiness to all who cross its path through a kiss under its eternal, desiccated embrace. Perhaps, this tradition could serve as his best effort to explain that this gesture was intended as a token of appreciation for the kindness you have extended to him—the pleasure and privilege of having you, such a splendid and bright star, in his dark and dreary world—his reward to you for making him feel alive with such an overwhelming sense of happiness that he didn't even know the sensation could exist until you entered into his life. For Malleus, you were the one to awaken him, to pull him from a long slumber and into your embrace, allowing him the privilege of knowing warmth, love, and joy once more. A ghost of a smile appears on his lips, unbidden, as he imagines the roots of the mistletoe spreading through both your lungs, finding nourishment in each other's energy, a complete symbiosis.

Malleus desired so much that your connection would be reciprocal, as intimate and profound as the magic of this holiday would allow. Though your relationship up until this point has remained platonic, he hopes the magic of this custom might give him permission to love and cherish you as so much more. From the moment he first laid his eyes on you, his heart had already made his decision. That fiery intensity of emotion for you has only been compounded with each meeting the two of you have shared—the yearning that only grows stronger with each moment he spends at your side. His feelings for you have reached a saturation point; the deep well of passion and affection that burns ever stronger within the confines of his chest will not be extinguished unless the source of all his turmoil is revealed and answered in due kind. At long last, he wastes no time in preparing the customary kiss. His heart yearns so dearly for it that even the constant tug of his usual shyness and trepidation could never possibly bring him to halt in his advances. Malleus promised himself that the delicate, thriving thing you and he were developing would not fall prey to the same pitiful demise as the mistletoe if left untouched and unwatered. If you did indeed feel similarly about him, he could only imagine the beauty and majesty that would blossom between your intertwined souls, a union of great and unstoppable potency, a lifetime of adoration and devotion.

Therefore, he procured a large branch of mistletoe, so ripe and abundant with sprigs that its small, white berries shimmered and shone. The hanging plant seemed to call out, in a sing-song tinkle of fairy bell laughs, for his beloved to walk underneath, so he could ensnare you in its clutches and give you an obligatory kiss you couldn’t refuse—or so he hoped. Malleus wrapped the strand with some festive red ribbon, decorated with twirling glittery snowflakes, making it shimmer under the twinkling rays of Christmas light. Then, he carefully balanced the mistletoe at the highest point above the doorsill and stepped back, admiring the way the golden glow of the lights would reflect off the glossy white berries, casting them in an ethereal iridescent glow that made them pop, dancing across its branches as though possessed by some Christmas spirit. They sang for you, just waiting for you to take Malleus up on their unspoken promise of his unrequited, hidden desires for your lips.

With that, Malleus knocked on your door. Though, despite his determination and his willpower—so vast and endless that his ambition was virtually limitless—Malleus couldn't help but be flustered, his hands trembling and sweat forming along his brow, heart rate beginning to rise like a swelling wave until he could hear it beating in his pointed ears. The silence that engulfed him was deafening as his mind replayed the myriad ways you might respond to his advances—sharing his sentiments, returning his affections, giving him the opportunity to finally love and kiss you the way he so desperately, hopelessly yearned. Or—perhaps, his advances could have an unwanted negative reaction, creating friction or even destroying your friendship—if not the very love he sought—completely. Undeterred by the looming anxiety that threatens to drown him like a tempest-wrought sea, his heart manages to remain valiant and brave, the steady rhythm keeping him tethered, ensuring him the courage to risk the possibility of breaking apart and dissipating with the winter wind that sieves through his lithe fingers.

As he hears the creaking footsteps along the old staircase inside, the adrenaline kicks in, giving him the fight or flight impulse he has been lacking, his legs stiffening, threatening to buckle from his immense nerves, knees trembling so harshly that he almost loses his balance. He shuts his eyes, trying to brace himself for whatever comes next, not allowing himself to breathe again until the knob finally gives way and the door is thrown open. At last, Malleus gazes upon your dazzling appearance, flooding his vision with an image he's dreamed about for weeks: you stand before him, bathed in the bright, effervescent light, glittering hues of gold and green like a present wrapped up just for him. Before he even allows you a moment to compose yourself and register his presence, Malleus can't help himself, the need to let his words rush out overwhelming him until his syllables practically stumble over each other.

"I wish to partake in the traditional parasite with you," he tells you quickly, trying to sound confident despite the urgent desperation to speak leaking through in his strained vocal chords, struggling to hide the shakiness that attempts to invade and taint the voice he wanted to convey his longing for you with. His words are filled with hope and trepidation, his emerald eyes wide with vulnerability as the mistletoe glistens under the shimmer of lights he personally strung up, bathing the two of you and your surroundings in a magnificent luminance that casts a perfect spellbinding glow upon the scene. Your mouth falls slightly ajar as your eyelids flutter in confusion before registering his intention, noticing the way his expectant eyes dart between your lips and the hanging plant above your door frame, his intense gaze giving you the most telling implication. The sudden realization of his motive renders your whole being paralyzed. Your face heats up from the sheer impossibility of the moment and your brain fizzles into a complete and utter daze, unsure how to comprehend the enormity of the offer he's extending.

An eternity seemed to pass as the seconds ticked on, his dark brows knitting together as the mist and tension seemed to wrap around the both of you. The sting of the cold wind whistled past the space that seemed to shrink between the two of you in unbearable torment. A curtain of lacy snow was falling around, shrouding everything in a dull glow. The night itself seemed to be in a strange sort of serenity and apprehension—watching his eyes lock onto you so intently and feeling his breath, hot and heavy, mingling in the frost between the two of you. The foggy mist of the cool evening air floats through your hair, tiny particles of frozen water suspended around you and shimmering brilliantly as the beams of multicolored lights shine past and illuminate each crystalline droplet in a celestial aura.

Despite it all, your focus was on him alone.

Finally, he was able to collect the breath stolen from his lungs and continue his confession, taking your floundering silence as an invitation for his explanation. "I had wished to spend some time with you under a mistletoe, even though this is something that humans usually do with their partners or loved ones..." he admits sheepishly. You couldn't stop the gasp that escaped your lips when you saw how glassy and emotive his eyes were, the sparkling lights catching the yellow flecks in his viridescent stare.

A shadowy flush washes over his pale complexion as he allows the words he had tried so long to repress to come flowing freely from his lips. "I've noticed how sad you seemed since you were removed from your world, and I wanted to bring you a little of the Christmas cheer you're accustomed to. I wanted to ensure we'd have a pleasant Christmas, especially with how often you've shown me such loving kindness," a sigh escaped his throat, "you've gone to such great lengths, I wanted you to know just how much you mean to me..." His fingers thread together anxiously as he continues his ramblings. "I was so excited to learn the Christmas tales, legends, and histories behind all the traditions... There is so much joy and good-will involved. It seemed a befitting way to honor our time together. As my beloved friend—," his tone holds a subtle note of reluctance to his last statement as he lingers on the term a bit too long. "I wanted to ensure your time in Twisted Wonderland wasn't depressing, and that you experienced Christmas as best you could under your circumstances." The more his sentences seem to elongate, the further he's pulled into himself and begins to overthink every minuscule aspect of his interaction.

The wind picks up slightly, blowing his silky, ebony locks away from his forehead, revealing the shiny scales that cascade up the top half of his head as his horns poke out through the billowing strands. His long, heavy cloak trails behind him, sweeping up the fresh piles of glittery snowfall, shimmering under the auras of the decorative lights he painstakingly strung for you. Malleus was so imposing in the darkness of the night—there's an ineffable beauty to it as his skin seems to emit its own soft glow. Yet, despite his frightening appearance, he appears so docile and timid standing before you with his head bowed, one foot dragging the toe of his boot along the white slush and ice, kicking clumps of snowy wisps, attempting to abate his mounting anxiety.

"...Are you aware, child of man, of the nature and symbolism of the mistletoe?" He pauses and peers into your eyes, emerald pools pleading for mercy as a crack opens within him, revealing his fluttering soul for your scrutiny, allowing you to glimpse his emotional state in a rare display. "Mistletoe requires the partnership and nourishment of another to keep it flourishing—without its partner, it will wither and die a gruesome death, gasping, desperate, starving..." The strain on his tone is audible, words full of unspeakable yearning as he pines so desperately, the loneliness of centuries seeming to distill within a single, all-encompassing desire for your acceptance and love. His Adam's apple bobs with a hard gulp of apprehension as he seeks the approval he longs for deep within your gaze, hoping he has finally found the love of which he has searched for since the first heartbeat he has taken.

"No matter where it falls, or how strong its stem or seed, it will perish without another plant to sustain and nurture it," his explanation was grave and yet somehow poetic, holding you entranced with rapt attention. Each sentence was meant to mimic his struggle—the endless waiting, and the desperate need for companionship that has weighed so heavy on his aching heart for so long. The solemn confession of a hopeless romantic, yearning desperately for the chance to take root, plant his soul and spread until all the ache was gone, replaced by the warmth and fulfillment of life only a partner could give him.

"And yet, if the two plants come into symbiosis with each other, the result is breathtaking—one would not expect something so simple would possess such transcendent beauty and vibrance," his melodic tenor takes on an ethereal quality, as the wondrous facts he learned are once again brought to the surface, replacing the melancholy in the air. "Mistletoe is capable of blossoming to life; producing flowers and bearing fruits when combined with its host, providing an environment for both plants to flourish and thrive," his heart picks up its pace at the subtle meaning and implication behind his words. "Once a healthy mistletoe becomes entangled with its beloved, the pair remain connected and thrive, ultimately strengthened by the bonds forged in interdependency, blooming brightly against the frigid temperatures of winter." Malleus' soul is brimming and bubbling over with the hope and anticipation of a relationship with you and, in an instant, Malleus understands what it truly means to be alive.

"Since you first crossed my path, the mistletoe within my chest grew with such ravenous appetite, longing to reach out to your heart and find harmony, sharing in warmth and nurturing life. You, my lovely starlight, are a plant of the utmost virtue," he gently caresses your cheek as you fall deeper under his enchantment. His words have rendered you completely immobilized, the smooth silk of his voice ensnaring you, unable to escape its sweet whispers and dulcet tone. "For the first time in all of my years, the bud inside me began to bear fruit and opened my eyes to a paradise I never thought possible. Through a simple act of your kindness, you have breathed life into my tired and aching heart and granted me new purpose." Malleus cups your face so delicately, long, tapered fingers stroking the curve of your cheekbones in loving affection. He gazes at you with glowing, adoring eyes, staring deep into the infinite possibilities of your future together. The soft plumes of the falling snowflakes softly embrace you as his feather-light touch communicates all his longing and unspoken passions. You allow yourself to bask in the tender and raw vulnerability of his heart as the glimmering lights and stars in the sky shine with the promise of a brighter tomorrow for you both.

"I had spent many years in unending isolation. Each passing second in your presence was the happiest, most indescribable euphoria. It took a considerable amount of time to discover these feelings and become aware that they are associated with the yearning for intimacy, something which I was denied for a great amount of my lifespan. I've long desired the things I've learned your Christmas legends signify," the words leave him on a wistful sigh, an endless source of elation. "Of family, comfort, love... All that I desire for Christmas is you," he concludes softly. "It was thanks to my research into the mistletoe that I realized how much I needed your lips as though without them I would never draw another breath, so I ask... Do you wish to be mine? Could I have the gift of your lips, of a kiss?" he requests breathlessly as the tip of his tapered thumb ghosts across the flesh of your plush lower lip, sending shivers throughout your whole being.

At last, the confessions of his affections toward you reach their inevitable resolution, allowing the culmination and coalescence of every feeling and emotion within his soul to burst forth like fireworks, shooting off into the midnight air in an explosion of beauty and intensity that would cause any witness to pause and stare in awe of the magic of the night. Like the soft, romantic tones of Christmas music and the enchanted glimmers of holiday lights, Malleus' spell woven in the lyrics of his confession engulfs you in an aurora borealis of ardent devotion. The feeling of his hands against your cheeks radiates warmth and comfort as he cradles your visage close, tender and secure against the soft flurries that flow all around you, surrounding you with an intimate aura of holiday mirth. You find yourself leaning into his touch as your heart and soul yearn to return the depths of his affection, so openly displayed across his handsome, captivating features. With a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, your knees threatening to buckle from his searing yet unyielding stare, you gather the strength to utter the most wonderful syllables you have ever experienced the pleasure of pronouncing—the sum of every single one of his blessings wrapped up neatly into one succinct phrase.

"I love you, too."

Your voice was shaky, unsteady, cracking under the emotion, but the message was unmistakable. The intensity of the moment rendered Malleus stunned and speechless, tears of delight stinging his emerald eyes, brimming at the waterline with the intensity of his joy. Every single day was spent thinking of the next instance where the two of you might cross paths and now, you'd just given him the most spectacular present in the world. Malleus doesn't think about anything else, he just leans in, lips parted ever so slightly, barely containing the gasping breath that escapes his throat as his nose nudges yours and his entire world collapses upon itself before igniting with an incandescence of pure elation. With all the delicate adoration of his whole, enchanted being, he offers you a sweet brush of his soft, inviting lips against yours. A whimper emanates from his mouth as a trembling sob of disbelief is unleashed, reverberating between the two of you and sending every last vestige of his restrained sentiment into you, engulfing your heart in a fervid embrace that crushes you with all the weight of his desperation—his centuries' worth of desire and craving for an end to his misery.

Despite having never been kissed, his lips moved confident and gentle, as though it were as natural as his very breath, or the thrum of his heart. The sensations were unparalleled—better than his wildest expectations as your flesh entwined with his, mingling the pliant texture and pillowy warmth. A satisfied sigh rolls past his tongue, which teases the seam of your mouth, offering gentle, fleeting sensations as he licks and teases your bottom lip. A series of jolts rock your frame when his fangs accidentally nip at the skin. The sound that leaks from his throat as he swipes his tongue over the wound and laps up the warm, metallic liquid of your blood is guttural and broken with the raw emotion of being deprived of such ecstasy for so long. It was heavenly—to finally be united and experience the taste of love, passion, and the transcendent rapture of the one and only person to ever make him feel such happiness.

He swallows every whimper and moan of your kiss, reveling in the sounds that permeate through your entangled forms and dance on the frosted wind. Your fingers come to thread through his silk-like locks, nails grazing his scalp until a shudder rattles his chest and his tongue can't help but invade the hot, wet cavern of your mouth. There's a subtle pressure placed on the base of your skull, adding a deeper angle, so that he may completely envelope and taste the sweetness of your saliva as you revel in each other. When the chill of the winter winds brings forth the full impact of the cold, and the mistletoe spins aimlessly under its icy breath, swaying above, you are undeterred in the bliss of your newfound love. Your noses smudge as you press yourself further, gaining deeper contact and savoring each brush of his deft, explorative tongue and the tickle of his heated breath fanning against the sensitive surface of your palette. The kiss sparks flames within you that make you forget the bitter chill, warming the deepest crevices of your core, staving off the frigidness of the night and replacing it with the cozy, fluffy heat of your love. You clutch desperately, latching onto the black tailcoat and pressing the muscles and softness of your bodies even closer, desperate for each touch, wanting him as close to your form as you can manage. The fullness of your feelings for each other, and the completeness of his confession, finally come together in a bittersweet, perfect dance of two souls. Forever bound, hearts thudding in unison as you two continue to exchange kisses underneath the mistletoe, filling this merry season with newfound glee and a holiday tradition all your own.

When you two finally make it inside, you sit comfortably with his arms wrapped around you atop a pile of plush blankets, surrounded by mounds of pillows under the twinkling lights of the massive tree he had erected and draped in garland. Next to him, there was nowhere better you'd rather be, snuggling deeper into his warmth, burying yourself in his embrace and cuddled tight under his heavy, weighted cloak as the roaring fire before you burned in a warmth that reflected that of the deep, profound affection the two of you shared for each other. As he held you in his lap, surrounded by the soft music playing in the background and the decorations he'd strung, he looks at you with excitement alight on his beautiful visage, eager to share more fun facts about his latest hyperfixation. With the shimmering lights refracting across the deep emerald pools of his gaze, he starts to ramble, "Did you know, mistletoe is also a sacred symbol of fertility—"

Woah, woah, woah, woah... I just spent all day working on this, its like, 10:30pm and now I'm just now eating mac and cheese for dinner. I really love what I created, I hope you all do too. This was fulfilling a request for my 12 Days of TWSTmas event, so uh, anon, I'm not sure if this is what you expected of me... I think I projected my own newfound mistletoe hyperfixation onto Malleus a bit too hard, but I hope this meets your expectations. I'm desperate to hear all your thoughts on this one, I really want you guys to love this as much as I do! I wish I had more to say here, but my brain is melting. My exhausted brain longs to sign this off like a corporate email. Best, Erica Malleleothreesome

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst malleus draconia #twst malleus #twisted wonderland malleus x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus x reader #malleyuu #twst imagines #malleus draconia fluff #my writing

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queer-ragnelle · 3 months

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hello!! i am pretty new to tumblr so still finding my way around, and part of my current project was going to be looking into fandom space to see how some of the word of mouth and online space mimics oral storytelling. i am especially looking at villains in arthuriana and fan interpretations and headcanons for this, so any advice of where to look hereabouts would be really lovely!! ty for your time and hope you have a great day!!

Hi anon! Welcome!

Honestly I'm at a bit of a loss where to even begin. The scope of Arthuriana and what constitutes a "villain" is so vast. There are the obvious Black Knights and usurping nephews, but even those characters have more than their fair share of morally gray/nuanced portrayals depending on where you look. Medieval literature in and of itself was varied even before we get into modern interpretations and the far reaching corners of fandom. I think in regards to this, it might help to narrow your scope to specific "villainous" characters—Morgan le Fay, Sir Mordred, False Guinevere, Sir Meleagant, and the mysterious Knights of Green and Red and Black.

There's also the matter of where you intend to make the cut off. What constitutes "canon" character interpretation? Where does "canon" end and fan extrapolation begin? To my mind, personally, anything after the Middle Ages falls into the "modern" category, which would include Alfred Lord Tennyson's The Idylls of The King on our end of the divide. Speaking for myself, I don't devalue any interpretation based solely on the era of it's inception. If Sir Thomas Malory wrote in Le Morte d'Arthur that Sir Gareth married Lyonesse, then it is so. But when Tennyson claims that, no, Sir Gareth married the Savage Damosel Linet, then he is also correct. Each iteration is it's own self-contained world and anything is possible within that framework. So it is for "villains," as well.

But that said, the beauty of Arthuriana is that each new addition to the literary tradition (and I include films, TV shows, video games, comics, and every other conceivable medium) builds on what came before. I don't necessarily enjoy or recommend them all, but there's definitely a connection from one retelling to the next. In John Boorman's Excalibur (1981), Percival is first revealed as a strange boy wandering the forest who happens upon Lancelot sleeping. Percival is captivated by him. He endears himself to the knight by waking him with the smell of meat he hunted and roasted especially for him. From there, he's brought back to Camelot to begin working under Kay in the kitchens and eventually rises to knighthood. When I first saw this, I was elated. "It's just like in The Adventures of Sir Lancelot!" Go back thirty more years. In The Adventures of Sir Lancelot (1956-1957), there's a character named Brian, a kitchen boy. After Lancelot helps end the siege that was threatening the castle Brian worked at, he begins following Lancelot around, and one morning, cooks breakfast for the knight. By the end of the episode, Lancelot has all but adopted him, and enrolls him in lessons to begin his squiredom, and eventually, achieve knighthood. Sound familiar?

Could it be that John Boorman, as a child, watched The Adventures of Sir Lancelot, saw what they did with their Brian/Gareth hybrid, and said, "I like that idea, I think I'll use it for Percival." To me, Boorman drawing on that 50s show for his own work is no different than Tennyson building on what Malory had done, who in his own turn wrote from the Post Vulgate.

Now we come to the present day. Bloggers share these stories. We quote the texts. I stream movies and TV shows every weekend in the Arthurian Theater Server. We make connections from one creation to the next. You can see the web of inspirations all interconnecting. Then we branch off into our own new interpretations based on the foundations of these creations that came before. I don't know how popular an opinion this is, but I think that goes beyond "head canon," because there is no canon. Arthuriana is a continuously flowing font made up of tiny beads of details. The stories can only function with the existence of the others. It's not derivative in the same sense as one drawing a little too heavily from their favorite childhood fantasy novel. This tradition dates back hundreds of years. We're just continuing it with the technology of our time.

You want to focus on "villains." But I wonder—Is Morgan le Fay's character beholden to a specific source? How do we determine what that is? If one chooses to write Morgan le Fay sympathetically, or even outright benevolent, is she still a "villain?" Is she still Morgan le Fay? Personally, I think we should respect what came before us, and consider how that impacts the new addition we intend to create. Change Morgan too much and she ceases to be recognizable as Morgan, and I'm here to read about Morgan! I think it's important to maintain the same resonance which has kept us interested for so many centuries. And yet the basis for sweeping changes is all around us. Just as Morgan plotted to kill Arthur and seize his throne, she also rode by his side in the boat to Avalon, where he sleeps still. The range of possibilities is vast beyond imagination. So go wild and get creative, I'm not your mom.

I don't know if that answers your questions or not lol. You're welcome to send me another ask or a private message if you want to talk more.

I also open up this question to my followers for a larger sample size—What do you guys think?

Thanks for the ask and have a great day!

#arthurian legend #arthurian legends #arthuriana #arthurian mythology #arthurian literature #gareth #sir gareth #percival #sir percival #perceval #sir perceval #excalibur #excalibur 1981 #the adventures of sir lancelot #anonymous #ask #my post

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utilitycaster · 11 months

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So one thing that's come up a lot lately in discussions of the morality of the gods and of characters is alignment. I happen to take a position on this that can best be described as "strong ambivalence" with regards to its value; but it keeps coming up in my notes and tags as almost an argument-ender, and in most cases, it shouldn't be treated as such.

I think this gets complicated when it comes to the gods, and that's probably a whole other post, but for PCs? It's not helpful. Setting aside that the fandom has long disputed characters' canonical, verified alignments, whether those disagreements have had validity (Vex) or not (Fjord), unless the argument is specifically about alignment, arguing about alignment or citing a character's alignment is utterly useless.

Alignment is not fate or destiny. For D&D PCs its only real uses are to handle some niche mechanical situations I personally hope the system begins to move away from (eg: who can damage a Rakshasa; attuning to some items) and, much more importantly, in providing the player with a general understanding of their characters' mindset from which they can build the nooks and crannies and exceptions. If you're actually discussing whether a character is in the right, "they're neutral good" means nothing, and your opponent can just say "well, their alignment should change." What's useful is to actually ask whether they are acting in a way that benefits people or alleviates harm on a scale beyond themselves; and whether their intentions are actually realized in their actions.

Two examples here are Orym and Ira. It does not actually matter if Orym's motivation for hating the Vanguard is the very personal "they killed my husband and father-in-law" or much more abstract, ideological "the greater good", in the same way that it wouldn't matter whether Imogen's motivation, were she to join the Vanguard, would be "because of her mother" or "a desire to kill the gods as part of the elite chosen." The outcome is the same. It doesn't matter that Ira sabotaged the key not out of some greater sense of duty but because he really fucking hates Ludinus for personal reasons; it matters that he sabotaged the key.

Now, obviously, intention gets important in the long-term and in whether you can trust people, since it's pretty clear that (for example) Ira is not going to sacrifice himself for the cause and if he finds a way to fuck over Ludinus more thoroughly that doesn't involve coincidentally thwarting his plans re: Predathos, he may very well pursue that. But for the goal of breaking the key? Yeah, whether or not he's chaotic neutral or not has absolutely no bearing.

A really good real-world equivalent I see for Orym, actually, is people who leave fundamentalist religious groups. It's a remarkably similar position. I think, on the whole, very few people who leave far-right religious ideologies do so because of some grand theological/philosophical awakening. Many eventually develop their own new spirituality or deliberate lack thereof, but the impetus is usually not "I have seen the true answer to the existence of god"; it's a deeply personal reason. It's "the leopards are going to eat (or have eaten) my face; I should get away from the leopards." Sometimes it's because they're queer, and realize that their queerness is inherent and not a deliberate slide into sin, and it forces them to rethink the framework. Sometimes it's because they're women in an exceptionally (ie, beyond the baseline norm) sexist society. Sometimes it's the realization of past abuse and the opportunity to break that cycle with their own children (I've had this post brewing, in some ways, since I read this article a couple months ago). And this is all, to be clear, incredibly valid, and the problems begin when one starts to deny this was the impetus.

The personal experience nearly always comes before the larger philosophy (in fact, I think when it doesn't, the larger philosophy tends to have massive gaping holes), and I think it's a denial of one's own humanity to refuse to admit that. I suspect some people wish to see themselves as an objective perfect arbiter of good and evil - that alignment is, in fact, real and true, and there is a class of good people whose behavior is rooted in ideologically pure theory, and the unwashed bumbling masses beneath. But it doesn't work like that, and even if it did, the bumbling masses could get quite a lot done before the ideologically pure finalized their first decision. There's a lot of value in admitting that it was personal and even at times selfish reasons that brought you to the more general ideologies you've adopted. In fact, I think denying that the personal is involved and that theory mostly exists to try to justify and extrapolate is what leads people to that at times heartless inaction in the name of ideological purity.

Getting back to the point: if someone dislikes a characters' actions, it's not useful to say "well they're neutral good (or whatever)" because the issue is the action; you need to talk about the action and where it fits in context. But if someone dislikes a characters' motivations, and especially if it's on the basis of those motivations being personal, I don't think they're worth the energy of an argument. They've decided they hate the character and have no interest in outcome or empathizing, only in people matching their own ideology, which they deny is just as based in the personal. That's someone who thinks alignment exists, definitively, in real life, and that they're the true judge.

#cr tag #long post #meta #tangential to this post but whichever succession writer had shiv say I don't want to when mencken told her to read plato?#the studios should give them a million dollars every year forever they are a hero to me

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izicodes · 1 year

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Hello, I'm only wondering how you would go about building a track to get a job in these lines of works, if you have advice. Thank you :)

Hiya! 💗

I have some advice yeah! Do bear in mind, the way I got into Software Development, now focusing on Web Development, was:

A couple of months of self-studying HTML, CSS, JavaScript and Python

Applied for a Software Development Technician apprenticeship - working in a company whilst studying at a college (had to do it online because of COVID restrictions)

Completed the apprenticeship + 2 exam certificates in Programming and Software Development

The company I did my apprenticeship hired me straight after I passed.

Other people had similar routes e.g. via higher education at a university or college, or did the complete self-study route and got a job at a company or just freelancing. Everyone's journey is different!

Building a successful track to get a job in Software Development requires a combination of a lot of things and not just learning how to program. I will assume you want to get into Web Dev, but this can be applied to other areas e.g. Game Dev or Moblie Dev. Here are some steps you could take:

Education and Skill Development

The most obvious: you need the skills...

Could find schools, online schools, colleges or universities to learn the subject: This is if you can. Some people learn better with a teacher there to help them so maybe attending a school setting is better for you!

Online courses and tutorials: Enroll in online platforms like Coursera, Udemy, or Codecademy to learn specific programming languages (such as HTML, CSS, JavaScript), frameworks, and development tools commonly used in web development.

Build a portfolio: Create a collection of projects that showcase your skills. Develop websites, and web applications, or contribute to open-source projects to demonstrate your abilities to potential employers. Use places like GitHub or GitLab!

Practical Experience

If you don't have the opportunity to be already working in a company in their IT department for experience, try these two types of experience you could try for experience:

Internships and part-time jobs: Seek internships or part-time positions in software development companies. This provides hands-on experience, exposes you to real-world projects, and helps you understand industry practices.

Freelance work: Take up freelance web development projects to gain practical experience and expand your portfolio. Platforms like Upwork and Freelancer can help you find clients and build a reputation.

Networking and Professional Development

Join online communities: Engage with online forums, developer communities (such as Stack Overflow), and social media groups to connect with like-minded individuals, seek advice, and stay updated on industry news.

Create a presence and show off your coding journey: I am a huge advocate for this. I had friends that I've mentioned on my blog that got their first developer job solely because they were posting their projects and learning journey on their Twitter accounts. For example, my friend Hikari (her Twitter) got her job because the employer saw her tweets of her progress then he noticed her portfolio page and asked for an interview with her - then she got the job. Try your chances with this method!

Contribute to open-source projects: Collaborate on open-source projects on platforms like GitHub. This not only helps you enhance your coding skills but also showcases your ability to work in a team and contribute to larger projects! Working in a team is a key skill!

Hope this helps! Thanks for the ask! 🙌🏾💗

#my asks #codeblr #coding #progblr #programming #studying #studyblr #tech #comp sci #software developer #career advice #job advice

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jennycalendar · 9 months

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i'm not going to be posting this to ao3 until i know what i'm going to do with it, so for now, have it as a special tumblr preview: xander and sonia's first meeting in the 'verse of what you make!

(for those who would like to read this without the larger context, all you need to know is that this takes place post s7, and xander is working for a new iteration of the watchers' council in a slayer-locating capacity.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The girls he met reminded Xander of Buffy in a way that made his chest hurt a little. Though their responses to their calling varied widely, they were always remarkably unremarkable—always concerned with how this would impact their homework, their time with their friends, their bid for Prom Queen—and it always made him think about how Buffy had looked, holding those pom-poms with her chin jutting out. She had been so determined to still be normal, not yet knowing how hard the world would make it to just be.

They were trying to make it better for the girls. They were. But the New Council was still in its baby stages, and the loose framework they’d set up wasn’t always enough to convince the girls that they wanted to join up. Most of their fledgling resources were being devoted to making sure that the little Slayers weren’t going to be walking demon magnets, whether or not they were actually planning to take a stand against said demons. And the worst part was that Xander couldn’t even blame the girls for not wanting this kind of a life. Who would?

Well. Him. But he’d chosen, and they hadn’t. Buffy had wanted to give the girls a choice, and that was what was happening. Two girls of the seven he’d met had chosen, and done so with youthful exuberance that had torn a little at Xander’s heart. More often than not, excited optimism about a calling like this one was a recipe for disaster.

“Are you here for anything?” said the secretary archly.

Xander blinked, shaking his head a little to clear it, before giving the secretary his best winning smile. “Can you, uh, call Sasha Rivera up to the office?” he asked.

The secretary gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look. “No, I cannot, uh, call Sasha Rivera up to the office,” she said. “For one thing, it’s the middle of the day. She’ll be in class. For another—”

“Yeah, see, I’m here on business,” said Xander, flashing his official Council ID in the secretary’s direction. “Our organization wants to recruit Sasha for—”

“What organization?”

“We’re a lot like a Gifted and Talented program.”

“Are you a lot like a Gifted and Talented program, or are you a Gifted and Talented program?”

“Look, I talked to the principal on the phone,” said a bemused Xander. “He said he’d be fine with me sitting down and talking to Sasha about some of the opportunities our organization offers. Is there some kind of a problem?”

Before the secretary could answer, a well-dressed older guy rounded the corner, bustling with cheerful importance. “You must be Alexander Harris!” he said, clapping Xander particularly hard on the back and smiling with unctuous importance. “Welcome, welcome! And thank you ever so much for your charitable donation towards the restoration of our gymnasium! Not that money is tight here, of course it isn’t, but we can always improve upon the existing infrastructure, can’t we?”

“Uh,” said Xander. The secretary was still staring daggers at him for some reason. “Yeah?”

“Splendid,” said the guy, who Xander was now starting to recognize from the briefing packet that Willow had sent them. Principal Tom Sanders. Kind of an asshole, interested primarily in the care and keeping of money, possibly embezzling but nobody had been able to make charges stick just yet. The important thing was getting him to let Xander have a conversation with Sasha, which had been pretty concerningly easy the minute that Xander had made a “charitable donation” to the school. This really wasn’t helping Xander’s feelings about principals in general. “Sophie, why don’t you call Sasha up to the office?”

The secretary’s lips pursed. She stabbed a few buttons on her phone with particular violence, then spoke into the receiver. “Would Sasha Rivera come up to the front office, please?”

“Try to smile a little while you do it, why don’t you?”

“Oh, hey, that’s really not necessary,” said Xander uneasily.

The secretary looked up at Xander and smiled—all teeth, and particularly unpleasant. Xander’s heart flipped over. “Thank you for your charitable donation to Silverfish Middle School!” she said, making charitable donation sound like extremely contagious butt rash. “Sasha will be with you posthaste. Will anyone be looking into making sure she has access to the lesson plan for the time she misses in class?” she added towards the principal.

“Why don’t you ask me that when you’re not on the clock?” said the principal pointedly. “There’s gotta be a separation, Sophie. As my secretary, your job is to make sure Mr. Harris here is able to meet with Sasha Rivera, and frankly, it’s hard for me to see why you wouldn’t be over the moon about her having an opportunity like this.”

“An opportunity a lot like a Gifted and Talented program?” said the secretary.

“Sophie,” said the principal.

Clearly there was something going on here that Xander was missing. He was just about to ask some kind of clarifying question when a girl stepped into the office—tall, gangly, dark hair in two big poofs. “Is everything okay?” asked Sasha Rivera, holding herself in a way that was somewhere between anxiety and defensiveness.

“Sasha, you’ve got a visitor!” said the principal brightly. “This is Mr. Harris of—what was it?”

“The New Council,” said Xander.

“The New Council!” said the principal, clapping Xander on the back again. Xander lurched forward and almost rammed into the wall. “He’s here to talk to you about an amazing academic opportunity that he believes you’re perfect for.”

For some reason, Sasha’s eyes flitted to the secretary. “An academic opportunity,” she said, drawing out the words. “That I’m perfect for. Me.”

The secretary pinched the bridge of her nose.

“…Do you mind if we use your office?” Xander asked the principal.

“Oh, no, go ahead!” said the principal jovially. “Anything at all for such a generous—”

“Great!” said Xander. “Thanks. Sasha, could you come with me for a second?”

“Okay, you know what, I am at my limit,” said the secretary, standing up at her desk with fire in her eyes. “Tom, my name is Sonia, not Sophie, and this is not the way you run a school. Do any of us have any idea who this man is or what his program is espousing? Just because he hands you a big, fat check, you’re willing to let him come in off the street and spend some time behind a locked door with my sister? How is that remotely safe in any way?”

The principal’s smile went all plastic. “Sophie,” he said, “I think you and I can have this discussion later, and not now, especially not in front of—”

“Oh,” said Xander, who had somehow, finally, put two and two together. “No, uh, Sonia, if you want to sit in on this, you definitely can. I didn’t know you guys were sisters!” That did not sound like a thing a Professional Scholarship-Giving Man would say. He tried again. “I mean, look, I can’t really get into the academic stuff until this guy isn’t here—”

“This guy?” said the principal, a little testily.

“Whose office, time, and patience I am very grateful for,” Xander added hastily. “Obviously. I just mean that this is something I want to run by Sasha first, and if Sonia is concerned, as a family member, I can completely accommodate—”

“Now, hold on,” said the principal. “Sophie’s on the clock. I’m perfectly fine if you’d like a meeting with just Sasha, but someone needs to man the phones—”

“Well, if someone needs to man the phones, couldn’t you do it?” said Xander before his brain caught up to his mouth.

Sasha snorted. Sonia pressed her lips together, but her eyes were sparkling with mirth. “Mr. Harris,” said the principal. “I think you should remember that I am allowing you a meeting with one of my students when she should be in class, not suggestions as to how I should run my office.”

“Got it,” said Xander, holding his hands up. “Sonia—”

“Sophie is not a part of this conversation.”

“No, she’s not,” said Xander, not missing a beat. “I was talking to Sonia.”

“You’re a regular little wise-cracker, aren’t you?” said the principal, still with that plastic smile. “Listen, Mr. Harris, that donation of yours doesn’t go far enough to cover my secretary’s salary. If you want to talk to Soph—Sonia outside of school hours, you can, but—”

Ignoring the principal, Xander leaned over the desk, warmed by the fact that Sonia was no longer looking at him with outright antipathy. “I’m obviously not gonna get into the details in front of Principal Moneybags here,” he informed her, his heart doing a funny little twirl when her mouth twitched, “but I would like to talk to you. Both of you. I don’t want to exclude you; you’re involved in this as much as Sasha is. Most of the time, we come to the school, we talk to the girls before we talk to the family, because the girls are the ones who need this information the most. But if you’re receptive to listening, this is definitely a conversation that it would be okay for you to be there for.”

“Mr. Harris,” said the principal testily, no longer sounding quite so friendly.

Sonia looked up at him—gorgeous eyes, Xander thought, as dark as the night sky—and said, simply, “Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They met at a café a few blocks away from the school, Sasha cheerfully guzzling down a hot chocolate while Sonia delicately sipped black coffee. “I hope I didn’t jeopardize your job there,” Xander started uncertainly, eyes on Sonia even though they probably should have been on Sasha.

“No, it’s fine,” said Sonia tiredly. “I’ve been thinking about quitting for a while now. He keeps calling me Sophie and asking me to handle all the Black History Month stuff because I’d know more about it than him.”

“Which is racist,” Sasha chimed in. “He’s a stupid old racist.”

“Definitely do not say anything uncomplimentary about your teachers within their earshot,” said Sonia, fixing Sasha with the same terrifying Older Sister Look that Buffy had perfected. She looked back towards Xander with a lopsided smile, took another sip of her coffee, and added, “But yes. He is a stupid old racist.”

“…Uh,” said Xander. Usually, the talks with the girls were pretty straightforward. He did tend to fuck something up in the process, because he wasn’t always good at tapping into his inner Confident Xander, but this was the first time that talking to one of the baby Slayers also involved talking to someone this intimidating. And pretty. Intimidatingly pretty. That described this situation very well. “So. Look. I have something I need to talk to Sasha about.”

“Really,” said Sonia.

“Soso, don’t be mean,” said Sasha reprovingly, setting her own hot chocolate down. “Mr. Harris—”

“Xander,” Xander corrected.

“Really?” said Sonia.

“Again,” said Sasha. “Don’t be mean.” She turned expectantly to Xander. “Xander. What kind of academic thing am I up for?”

Now came the hard part. “Not an academic thing at all, actually,” said Xander carefully. “More like…” He hesitated. “Sasha, have you been experiencing anything unusual in your day-to-day life as of late?”

Sonia stiffened. Sasha’s gaze went down to the table. “So, what is this, some kind of X-Files investigation?” said Sonia, defenses up all over again. “You’re zeroing in on my sister with your perfect suit and your effortless charm and you’re going to cart her off to a government institution to do experiments on her?”

“Okay, first of all, if you want to cover up the weird happenings, you might not want to accuse me of being an undercover government operative,” said Xander, not sure whether he should be amused or concerned. “Second of all, if I was a government operative, I’d be the worst government operative ever, because I did just invite you guys out for coffee. And third—” Something caught his attention. “Effortless charm?”

Sotto voce, Sasha said, “My sister likes dorks.”

“Stop that,” said Sonia to Sasha.

“Do you not like dorks?” Sasha gestured to Xander. “Is he not totally your type?”

Xander decided to change the subject. Effortlessly. “HA HA HA ANYWAY,” he said, hoping to God that he wasn’t blushing. “UNUSUAL OCCURRENCES?”

“Why do you wanna know?” asked Sasha. It wasn’t as defensive as Sonia, but there was something of a warning to the question.

Relieved by a topic of conversation that wasn’t whatever the hell had just happened, Xander transitioned back into the usual Slayer spiel. “There’s a lot of stuff I’m gonna tell you right now,” he said. “Pretty much all of it is going to be hard to believe. When I’m done, I am going to show you categorical proof that my word is good. If you don’t want proof, or if you think I’m a total nut-job, that’s fine, but you need to understand that burying your head in the sand is going to put you in more danger than you’re already in right now.”

“Danger?” Sasha repeated skeptically.

“Danger,” Xander confirmed. “So listen up.”

#fic #never mind the years of wasted time #xander x sonia #why not????#anyway xander as a grown-up is more adorably james bond than he realizes #he has not yet clocked that he's actually a pretty cool dude at this point #sonia has tho.#SOMEDAY this will be a full length fic. but it isn't rn. so.

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zdbztumble · 5 months

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Yet Another Kingdom Hearts Revisit, Part VII

I can't speak to what the Japanese version of Kingdom Hearts is like, but the English version has always done a brilliant job capturing Jack Skellington's voice. His dialogue reflects every facet of his character: elegant, theatrical, polite, delusional, and just a little pompous. Ooogie Boogie's always been on point too, speaking like the bullying but jazzy slob that he is. And this spot-on character writing is used in an original story! As far as adapting the flavor of a particular Disney movie in the writing - this Disney movie, at a time when the company still treated it like the ugly stepchild - Halloweentown is one of the best.

Visually, it's much less successful. I've never liked the look of Halloweentown in KH I, with its harsh reds and purples and copious amounts of ugly brown. On playing the game again, it might be my least favorite world aesthetically in the game, and the only reason it's not dead last for the entire series is because Port Royal in KH II looked even worse. Port Royal also doesn't have the saving grace that is Oogie's house, which I do think is well-designed. I wish it stuck around even after you defeat him, but I appreciate how that works out story-wise, and it's a fun area to climb and explore while it lasts. The gambling den is the highlight of the house, and the more fun and engaging stage of the fight with Oogie.

And you better believe that I fight him with Jack in my party. His movement and combat suit him just as well as his dialogue, and like Aladdin in KH I's Agrabah, Jack makes the Top 3 for my favorite party members in the series (Ariel's the other, for all the reasons I gave for appreciating Atlantica last time). Having Oogie fight you through gambling first, then a runaway possession by the powers of darkness, is a nice break from the more direct villains that precede him (Hades excepted).

Storywise, Halloweentown is the closest a non-Pooh world comes to being "filler." It's not - it's a world on the brink of destruction that needs saving just like the rest, and Oogie's in the League of Disney Villains - but none of the cutscenes build on the larger story or the lore the way every previous world does. It's the most self-contained adventure within the larger framework of "we must rescue Disney from darkness." I don't raise that as a complaint, though. It's rather nice to have a lighter world at this point in the game.

Neverland is much more embedded into the larger story, and it's an extremely well-written one. And yet I don't have too much to say about it; its virtues so far as driving Riku along the path to darkness, taking another step toward explaining what's up with Kairi, and giving Sora another step up in his hero's journey, are self-evident. And it's another world where the voice of a particular Disney character (Captain Hook in this case) is captured flawlessly. I don't think I fully appreciated how well he's handled before, but as far as lines and facial animation go, he may now be my favorite of the Disney villains used in this game.

Gameplay-wise, my biggest frustration with Neverland is that there's really one one combat area where you can really take off with flight. I'm sure the claustrophobia of the ship was by design, and I don't mind so much of the action taking place within the Jolly Roger, but it would be great to have a second open space where you can fly around unencumbered for regular combat.

Of course, you can fight Phantom in an open space, and I really love this boss. It was a nightmare fighting him the fist time I ever picked up this game, but as soon as you figure out his orb, it's easy (in principle, at least) to know what to do. It's not even that hard to beat him with a full party as long as you're willing to be generous with Stop magic. But he is still a challenge, and like with Kurt Zisa, I like that he demands a good mix of magic and physical attacks. I get why later games opted for more elaborate fights with main villains in lieu of these kinds of one-off Heartless fights, but I do miss them.

#kingdom hearts #z's crits #commentary #the nightmare before christmas #peter pan #disney

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dreamingdarklyblog · 9 months

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the good kind of 'triggered' :-)

How long do triggers usually last (when they're new)? Are you aware of any you're allowed to use on your own, either for fun, or to remain focused and productive?

Last like, how long till the effects fade after given? Or how long will the trigger "work" for before it's just another word/action?

I'll try to answer the first one first.

It really varies with the trigger. To cite specific examples, we've been playing with a few things, most of which are momentary or short lived. A few are meant to endure longer.

When I try to put it into some kind of consistent framework, I think of it like a mental load. Or to be more metaphorical, like adding weight to a backpack. I can carry a light pack for a pretty long time. Heavier loads get tiring quickly. So it really varies? Things don't exist in a vacuum, and there's a lot of moving parts (At least I think there are. In my experience. Others might have a very different experience)

Some things are pretty light. Some things weigh a lot more. The more complicated they are, the more senses are involved, the more work it takes for my mind to maintain them, ignore contradictions, supply stimulus, the heavier they are, the more tiring they are.

To give a practical, recent example...

Okay so something really weird just happened. And I was going to omit it, or write around it, but I figure no, I should leave it in because it might be the sort of thing people find interesting. So I started to write "To give a practical, recent example, my writing partner has mentioned how he's been growing my tits" and then I sort of froze... Why did I write that? No he hasn't... Wait has he? And I went back and looked and I couldn't find anything. So then why did I write that? I was clearly sure about it. But I can't think of any reason WHY I'm sure about it. So I figure one of two things has happened. One is I'm just making shit up now and not even realizing I'm doing it. And the other is that he DID say something about it, somewhere, and I just can't find it. >_<. Grrr. Anyway. I'm going to just move past it.

*ahem* recent example, my writing partner has been playing around with making me experience having larger breasts. Which, as you might imagine, I'm a big fan of. We've had trouble getting them to "Stick" as it were though.

Basically as long as I stay focused on what we're doing (Or you know, what I'm doing. With them.) they seem to stick around. But as soon as I get too distracted, they are just gone. I don't notice them "leaving" it's more like, "Oooo jiggle jiggle, oh hey I'll do a bit of writing, take out the trash, oh damn, when did I go back to being flat?" and notice that at some point in the last ten minutes, my mind stopped maintaining that illusion.

I figure this is actually a pretty hard one for me to maintain. There's sensations involved, weight shifting, balance, the actual visual of course... Then there's contradictions to ignore, like how I shouldn't be able to sit with a laptop like I am, or sit at the table like I am, or various things. It's a Lot.

Other things seems to last much longer. Simpler things like ideas. A memory, or ignoring a visual queue. Those sorts of things are more momentary. I figure my mind only needs to maintain them for moments here and there, and I'm reminded to do so when they come up.

Other things like say, a trigger to be more aroused *coughs* , is also rather momentary. Sure it persists, but it's sort of self maintaining at a certain point. So there's barely any "work" being done. The processor isn't working very hard, to put it in computing terms.

That said we haven't played with many suggestions that are meant to last, other than the boobs. ... That I can remember =/. From past experiences though, this holds relatively true. Simple things last longer, more complex things break down faster. Like a house of cards. A huge complex castle is very delicate. While a little hut is a bit sturdier.

If you mean how long does a trigger last in the way that the trigger has an impact, but at some point it goes back to just being a word? That is also highly variable. But in this case it's more with reinforcement and repetition.

Though the way I think of it, this is also something like the idea of a mental load. Like each thing I need to remember, even if I'm not really Aware that i need to remember it, is tiring. The more things I need to remember, the more tired I get. It's really exhausting to try to stack on a bunch of things at once. We actually had one of our attempts go fairly poorly because of just that. I ended up having to stop and take a nap because I just, couldn't really process anything anymore.

Buuut, much like once you memorize a phone number or bit of trivia it become automatic, I find that once a trigger, or suggestion has been used repeatedly, and reinforced repeatedly, that it gets... Lighter. At some point maintaining it seems to become automatic. (In fact I have some... Older things that are a struggle to get to Go away! Rather than maintaining them being heavy, they're embedded so deeply that Removing them, or more accurately, suppressing them, becomes work. At this point it becomes more like what I'd think of as conditioning rather than a suggestion.)

So, at the shorter end? Minutes, hours, maybe a day or two. At the longer end... Weeks, Months.. Or if I were to try to pick out a date, I think one is still going and it's been about... Oh five years?

Am I aware of any I'm "Allowed" to use myself...

That question annoys me. But I will ignore that.

Yes and No. I'm not aware of any that I can "Trigger". But there's one or two I could make use of if I wanted to. Buuuut I don't really want to. One of them being the one I mentioned not being able to get rid of.

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nanshe-of-nina · 2 years

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Favorite History Books || The Last Plantagenet Consorts: Gender, Genre, and Historiography, 1440–1627 by Kavita Mudan Finn ★★★★☆

Most modern accounts of fifteenth-century queens focus on separating what really happened from what was fabricated— an important distinction, particularly in such a volatile time period. What has not been considered in any detail is the fabrications themselves as narratives, and as reflections, not of fifteenth-century reality, but of the questions and anxieties that haunted their writers. Well into the Jacobean period, the civil wars of the fifteenth century—known to us now as the Wars of the Roses, through William Shakespeare’s own fabricated Temple Garden scene in the first part of Henry VI —were repeatedly invoked as the dire consequences of weak monarchy. Directly linked to these invocations, I argue, is the representation of queens, who, by virtue of their proximity to the reigning monarch and larger cultural discourses trying to make sense of that role, are inextricably associated with questions of political instability.

It can be, and frequently is, written off as a commonplace that anxiety about queens exercising political power manifests itself in historical writing—a fact pinpointed decades ago by feminist critics and therefore in no further need of exploration. My interest, however, lies in the embedded literary narratives used to illustrate that anxiety—themselves culled from multiple generic frameworks including, but not limited to, romance (in the sense of the medieval roman), hagiography, and, most prominently, de casibus tragedy—and how they echo across texts, time, and even geographical boundaries. Why do certain narratives persist and others die out? How is the choice of embedded narrative an inscription of the political and cultural climate in which the writer was working? How, especially later in the sixteenth century with the growing popularity of historical drama, does the staging of queenship deconstruct those politically and culturally motivated narratives, and, by extension, ideas of historiography and sovereignty?

There has been a recent surge of critical interest in the traumatic effects of the fifteenth-century civil wars on the English cultural psyche under the Tudor monarchs and their manifestation in texts such as A Mirror for Magistrates —to say nothing of the history plays of Shakespeare, Heywood, and that most prolific of authors, Anonymous—and it is within this dialogue of literary patterning and historiographical engagement that I wish to position this study. Most recently, in his monograph on concepts of nationhood in the two editions of Holinshed’s Chronicles, Igor Djordjevic has called for “a new critical vocabulary to refer to Shakespeare’s source-narratives,” pointing out the innate instability of the fifteenth-century historical narrative that he calls “a palimpsestic form characterized by multiple revisions, corrections, and annotations.” While I cannot claim to have produced this new critical vocabulary, an exploration of the palimpsest Djordjevic describes through the lens of how each of those layered narratives deals with questions of gender and power dynamics will hopefully open up further discussion of other ways early modern writers and readers approached and produced histories.

I focus on five royal consorts from the late fifteenth century— Margaret of Anjou (1430–1482), Cecily Neville (1415–1495), Elizabeth Woodville (c. 1437–1492), Anne Neville (1456–1485), and Elizabeth of York (1466–1503)—whose personae have been repeatedly appropriated by both historical and literary writers. By charting their changing representations in the context of larger shifts in discourses of femininity and historiography from approximately 1450 to the beginning of the Jacobean period, I propose to challenge the imposition of modern models of female agency upon this body of texts, particularly in representations of queenship, by drawing attention to generic shifts and emplotted narratives. This involves interrogating the complex relationship between literature, politics, and historiography.

My analysis of Shakespeare’s first history tetralogy, as a result, interprets these four plays in light of a century and a half of literary, political, and historiographical negotiations. Further complicating these issues is the question of the female voice: when women do display agency in these texts, it is often compromised, both in terms of generic emplotment and in terms of a more pervasive conception of womanhood that informs that emplotment. This complex relationship is highlighted in Shakespeare’s three parts of Henry VI and Richard III, all of which feature women in prominent political and rhetorical positions, but runs as an undercurrent through texts as early as the chronicles and diplomatic accounts from the mid-fifteenth century. With the advent of two queens regnant in the later sixteenth century comes a more urgent questioning of how to represent powerful women, further informed by changing historiographical trends and shifts in concepts of textual authority. The writing and rewriting of the fifteenth century led to an interrogation of historiography itself, and queens can often be found near those points of interrogation.

#litedit #historyedit #house of plantagenet #wars of the roses #english history #medieval #european history #women's history #history #history books #nanshe's graphics

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dilf-din · 9 months

Text

Yeehawgust Day 30: Do-si-do

Joel Miller x reader (pre-outbreak)

WC: 1530

Rating: T

Warnings: alcohol mention

A/N: this is the last one I have planned for Yeehawgust! I’m proud of myself for getting as many of these out as I did. Thank you to the ones who have been following along. This is the one where Joel takes you line dancing 🫶🏼

The doorbell to your apartment rang sending you running across the floor in just socks while trying to clip an earring in.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m almost ready! I couldn’t figure out what to wear,” you explained as Joel stepped in and let the door close gently behind him.

“‘S’alright, I showed up early,” he smiled, leaning against the arm the chair you somehow ended up with when you and your college roommate parted ways. You noticed the way the seams had seen better days and made a mental note to buy some more adult furniture soon.

“I’ve just got to get my shoes and purse,” you said hurriedly, rushing back into your room. You double checked that your flat iron was turned off and unplugged before switching off the bathroom lights. You stumbled back out into the living room after pulling a pair of brown cowboy boots on.

“Slow down,” he laughed, approaching you with a steadying hand, “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

A thankful smile crossed your face as you stepped back to do a small spin.

“Is this okay?” You had settled on a black denim skirt, a plain white tank top, and a light brown suede vest with cream colored beads on the fringe.

“You look beautiful,” he smiled, holding out a hand for you to steady yourself on while you twirled.

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” you smiled.

His arms were tanned and taut from all the framework he’d done this summer. His shoulders were broad under the faded black tee shirt he had tucked into his belt buckle, one Tommy had gotten him years ago.

“I haven’t been to a dance since high school,” you warned, pulling your purse off of the kitchen counter and slipping the strap over your shoulder.

He chuckled and led the way to the door, “It’s been a few years for me too. We’ll be alright though. They call out the moves so you won’t get lost.”

The drive to the bar was filled with lighthearted conversation. Dusk was setting in, painting the sky a mottled mix of light purple bleeding into navy blue. A few streaks of pink still scattered in the clouds before they were swallowed by the darker hues. Joel backed into a parking spot with ease then looked you straight on.

“You ready?”

You nodded.

“Oh! I got ya something,” he leaned into the backseat and pulled a brown hat out from under his jacket, dusting off the edges before handing it to you. It matched his in color and design.

“Joel! This is so nice. Thank you,” you kissed his cheek before placing it on your head. “Do I look like a real cowgirl?”

“You’ll have ‘em all fooled, honey,” he cooed.

There was enough time before it officially started to grab some food and drinks, which was good news for you, because the nerves were setting in. You figured a burger and a few shots of tequila would help take the edge off. The two of you sat at the bar and scarfed your food, turning to the side to see dozens of people already dancing.

“Where’s your brother? This seems like his kind of thing.”

Joel downed the rest of his beer and set the empty bottle down on a paper coaster with the bar’s name printed on it, “I asked him to come, but he said he needed more notice to find a date.”

You scoffed, “Call him and tell him there’s a group of blondes that just showed up and the guys are outnumbered now.”

Joel laughed and squeezed your knee as the caller tapped the microphone to test the volume. She was a slender woman with hair like Farrah Fawcett under a bright pink cowboy hat with matching lipstick.

“Good evening cowgirls and boys, we’ve got ten minutes before show time, so take your potty breaks now!” she smiled and headed back to the bar that sat in the larger room where people were now scattering for last drinks and makeup touch ups before everything started.

“You want anything else before we go?” Joel asked you attentively, soft voice cutting through the noise.

“Just the rest of your fries,” you smiled, plucking one off of his plate.

“They’re yours,” he nudged the plate towards you, “I’m gonna hit the restroom ‘fore we head over there.”

He disappeared in a crowd of cowboy hats and neon signs. You tried to channel the nerves into excitement, but the thought of embarrassing yourself in front of that many people was terrifying.

You flagged the bar tender down, and he was in front of you in seconds with a towel draped over his shoulder.

“One more shot of José,” you said, wrinkling your nose.

“You got it,” he smiled, reaching for a fresh shot glass from their seemingly never ending supply under the counter.

You downed the clear liquid and took one last suck of lime to mellow out the taste. You were just crossing the border into the kind of tipsy that made you confident and carefree. Perfect.

You saw Joel weaving his way back through the crowd of strangers and met his eyes with a nod of your head. You fished a ten dollar bill out of your pocket and stuffed it in the tip jar before hopping down from the stool and making your way to his side. He offered his arm for you to hold, and you gladly took it. To the left of the wide entrance into the larger room, a group of girls were dropping purses and cellphones onto a cluster of tables. You followed suit, hanging the strap of yours over the back of a chair next to two others.

The caller took her place at the front of a room holding a mic with a long line connecting it to a speaker almost as tall as her.

“Alright, alright, the time has come. Guys on that side, girls over here with me,” she gestured with her an arm sweep.

“What if I fall?” you asked in a loud whisper, parting from Joel and standing directly across from him.

“I’ll catch you,” he winked.

You looked at the girl next to you, and you both shared a nervous giggle. She had pin straight brunette hair down to her waist and a powder blue flannel tucked into a skirt.

“Have you ever done one of these?”

“Yeah, it’s super easy to follow. Just watch my feet,” she said with a warm smile.

Your head buzzed under the bare bulbs hanging down from the beams and the music blaring and the sound of boots scuffing against wood. But as soon as the actual dance started, and you felt Joel’s careful hands on you, all the harshness of the evening faded away. The lights seemed softer, every song was suddenly about him. His hand on your waist, the other holding yours as you spun and clapped and stomped in time with a whole room full of people. Before you knew, you were having fun, genuine fun. The two of you kept eyes locked as you moved back and forth across the small space separating you. Sweat beaded both of your foreheads but you didn’t seem to mind. All too soon, the last song ended and the caller, who you had nicknamed cowgirl Barbie, announced a thirty minute break before the next set.

Before you rejoined Joel, you grabbed the hand of the girl next to you and gave it a squeeze.

“Thanks for letting me follow you,” you smiled.

“You did great!” she smiled back.

“Looks like you made a friend,” Joel teased, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“That’s Julie, we’re practically BFF’s,” you shrugged, playing nonchalant.

“Hey, lookee here,” Joel said gesturing to Tommy who was leaning in the doorway, decked out in one of his old rodeo outfits.

“Glad you could make it,” you smiled.

“I wasn’t about to let any lady miss out on a dance.”

“So heroic,” Joel said in mock relief, a hand clutching his heart.

“Man, shut up. You’re the one who called me,” Tommy grinned.

“Hey, you wanna go again or are you done for the night? Because we can just hang back and watch the second round if—“

“Joel, I loved it. Let’s do the second round. I think I really nailed the clapping bit at the end.”

“I’m really glad you came tonight,” he said softly, his voice heavy in a way that made you think he wanted to say something else. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you, long and sweet.

The people moving around you blurred into nothing as you focused on the feeling of being with him. When he pulled away, you locked your arms around his waist and buried your head in his chest. He drew his arms up to trace light lines on your back.

“You were clapping off beat,” he murmured into your hair.

You gasped and smacked his chest in mock outrage.

“Well sorry, I’m not from ‘round these parts,” you said, mocking his thick Texas accent.

He just laughed and led you back to the bar.

#yeehawgust #yeehawgust 2023 #do-si-do #joel miller x reader #Joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader

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thatstormygeek · 2 months

Text

When we discuss state power and these things, we need to hold onto multiple ideas at once. Yes, we are discussing actions like Israel’s aggression in Gaza. Yes, we will discuss the United States, the global American Empire, and its allies and conspirators. It’s impossible to chart the history of these concepts and their consequences without relying on these specifics. But as we do so, we must also grasp that nation states are also representations of a larger process at play. The United States, for instance, has been the main front for global capitalism since it took over the responsibility from Great Britain following World War II. That union of capitalism and the nation state means that notions of “conventional politics,” or the belief that we are simply watching two parties “hash out their differences,” obfuscates what is often happening below the surface. Developments often feel bewildering because we’re part of a process that is intentionally mystified, leaving us wondering why principles and promises are so often jettisoned. Here this: the intertwining of capitalism and nation states means that our politics, our culture, and our institutions have been co-opted to carry out actions that are counter to the national interest, or at least the interest of us, the citizens, in favor of achieving goals that are beneficial to the interests of capital. An example: our military and intelligence agencies tirelessly cooperate with capitalist interests in arranging outcomes on the latter’s behalf, oftentimes hurting the nation state and its citizens while setting the table for the wealthy and powerful to become more wealthy and more powerful. In this way, a momentum has built that ensures, regardless of what happens politically, the process will continue. That process is aided by politics, aided by culture, and certainly aided by technology, including computing and now A.I.

Barack Obama, who promised Change in his transformative campaign, found himself, when in power, subject to forces he felt beyond his control. In that presidency, which was won in part with a promise to wind down George W. Bush’s war, Obama oversaw a wild expansion, including the usage of drone strikes that grew by nearly ten times under his watch. The usage of drones, and the growing list of targets Obama habitually signed off on, represented that momentum we have been discussing. Drones replaced troops, creating an operation we could actively ignore as Americans as long as our sons and daughters were kept out of harm’s way, laying a framework for a hegemonic oppression we would experience, if we experienced it at all, from a grand distance. The list and resulting killings was eventually reduced to bloody maintenance. Bruce Riedel, an analyst for the CIA and a counter-terrorism adviser to Obama, likened the operations to lawn maintenance, telling The Washington Post, “You’ve got to mow the lawn all the time. The minute you stop mowing, the grass is going to grow back.” Our War On Terror coincided with the final collapse of our social safety net. Hurricane Katrina and the Financial Collapse made it obvious that our government had no interest in meeting the needs of the people and had been reprogrammed to solely serve the needs of the wealthy. In the past this co-option had been hidden, marginally at least, behind economic growth and supposed progress, but the truth of neoliberalism was coming to bear. That which had been done to nations around the world in the name of American control had been done on behalf of neoliberal capitalism masquerading as the U.S. We had been promised never-ending progress, luxuries, and dominance. But, as it always does, the oppression boomeranged around and met its originator. It became obvious that American Empire had always been a front for something else.

Turning this ship around and getting past this crisis depends on a massive sea-change of philosophy, governance, and culture. Reining in Tech, taxing its benefactors, and reasserting government oversight of industry and decision-making processes is absolutely vital. The momentum has kept that from happening and brought us here. A.I. is simply a vehicle is accelerating to the next stage in this ugly evolution. As configured, there is no way that the state or any states will choose not to harness these technologies to these ends. It is too tempting. Too built into the system as it presently works. The nation state, even as it recognizes the co-option by neoliberal capitalism, has no choice but to trudge forward. It’s like an insect or an animal consumed by a parasitic disease. Still walking. Still trampling. Still serving. And the time is now also because, as previously mentioned, these things will be leveraged against us and against dissent. When that happens, the words “terrorist” and “insurgent” will be more than enough cover for whatever an algorithm needs to protect itself and the process it serves. Because opposing the momentum of the zombie state pits you directly on the other side of the gun. Of the drone. Of the robot dog.

#us politics #jared yates sexton #dispatches from a collapsing state

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skippyv20 · 11 months

Text

SNP admits to felling 16 million trees to develop wind farms

Scottish Tory MSP Liam Kerr said figure would astonish the public and communities all over the country had cited concerns about the projects.

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/politics/2023/07/19/snp-chopped-down-16m-trees-develop-wind-farms-scotland/

“Almost 16 million trees have been chopped down on publicly owned land in Scotland to make way for wind farms, an SNP minister had admitted amid a major drive to erect more turbines.

Mairi Gougeon, the Rural Affairs Secretary, estimated that 15.7 million trees had been felled since 2000 in land that is currently managed by agency Forestry and Land Scotland (FLS) - the equivalent of more than 1,700 per day.

She insisted there was a planning presumption in favour of protecting woodland and wind farm developers would be expected to undertake “compensatory planting elsewhere”.

But Liam Kerr, a Scottish Tory MSP, said the public would be “astonished” at the total and cited concerns about the developments that had been raised with him “by communities all over the country.”

Scotland already has turbines theoretically capable of generating 8.4GW of power, well over half the UK’s total, but SNP ministers want to add a further 8-12GW.

Protections for unspoiled wild land watered down

Their latest planning framework relaxes controls on building more turbines, with protections for unspoiled wild land watered down.

The John Muir Trust, a conservation charity, has warned the new threshold for allowing wind farm companies to build turbines on wild land is so low that it appears impossible for them not to meet it.

The SNP wind power target also includes replacing existing turbines that may be coming to the end of their working life with even taller and larger versions, a process called “repowering”.

It emerged earlier this year that some developers want to erect turbines up to 850 feet tall, the equivalent of more than 60 double decker buses.

In a letter to Mr Kerr, dated July 13, Ms Gougeon said the equivalent of around 7,858 hectares of trees had been chopped down to make way for wind farms since 2000.

With an average of 2,000 trees per hectare, she said: “This gives an estimated total of 15.7 million trees which have been felled in order to facilitate windfarm development.”

The minister added: “Removal should only be permitted where it would achieve significant and clearly defined additional public benefits.

‘Developers must provide compensatory planting’

“Where woodland is removed in association with development, developers will generally be expected to provide compensatory planting in order to avoid a net loss of woodland.”

She said many of the felled trees will have been “replanted on site” or replaced elsewhere, and the vast majority were part of a commercial crop that would have been chopped down anyway “at the end of their rotation”.

But Mr Kerr, a North East MSP, said: “Most people will be astonished to see the number of trees cut down to make way for wind farms.

“I’ve been contacted many times by rural communities all over the country questioning the location of these developments, sharing legitimate concerns not just about the visual impact but also damage to wildlife and business. Now we learn there’s significant damage when it comes to trees.”

He said ministers “must be alive” to the “significant costs” that could be incurred with the siting of wind farms.

FLS said it had planted more than 500 million trees since 2000 and the quantity felled for wind farms equated roughly to its annual harvesting programme.

A spokesman said: “Renewable energy generated from wind farms is a key element in Scotland’s response to the climate emergency and the shift towards net zero and the infrastructure on land that we manage generates enough power for 600,000 homes.”

Morag Watson, director of policy at trade body Scottish Renewables said: “The volatile price of imported gas has left energy consumers suffering some of the highest prices in living memory, alongside a climate emergency which means cutting the amount of carbon we emit as quickly as possible.

“Building new wind farms - the cheapest form of power generation - tackles both problems at once.”

david morgan1 HR AGO I wonder what the ’ carbon footprint ’ is for destroying 16 million trees ? The whole green scam is coming apart at the seams. REPLY 6 0 REPORT

Comment by Andrew Wilson. AW Andrew Wilson2 HRS AGO Lots of tree-felling, not news fir anyone regularly driving up and down the A74(M) and A9 where hitherto, scenic hillsides are now bare industrial landscapes saturated with ugly wind mills. Tourists during north from Carlisle for the first time to see Scotland’s vaunted magnificent scenery must wonder what the hell they’ve let themselves in for and consider turning round. REPLY 6 0 REPORT

Comment by Jurgen Daly. JD Jurgen Daly4 HRS AGO Dear DT, what are the up to date membership figures for the SNP? Surely the 72k figure is down to 50k by now. And they claim they are popular!! REPLY 6 0 REPORT

Comment by Carole Waters. CW Carole Waters4 HRS AGO Think about how the loss of those 16m trees have affected the eco system, think about how many animal and insect habitats have been destroyed, think about the rank hypocrisy of Net Zero, think hard about how depressing our country will look in 30 years time when these monstrous bird, bat and insect mincing windfarms and pylons litter our landscape from the tip of England in the South to the most northerly tip of Scotland. I think it might be time to seek a life away from this tiny over populated island that is now being destroyed by the supposedly green agenda that our intellectually challenged politicians are imposing upon us all! REPLY2 REPLIES 15 0 REPORT

Reply by JNL Redleaf. JR JNL Redleaf3 HRS AGO Reply to Carole Waters Nut Zero, Carole. The natural environment has no interest or appeal to those high on the confected melodrama of ‘saving the planet’. REPLY 6 0 REPORT

Reply by Believeyou Me. BM Believeyou Me35 MIN AGO Reply to Carole Waters Great post Carole. REPLY 1 0 REPORT

Comment by Dekka Dent. DD Dekka Dent4 HRS AGO It turns out that the ‘zero’ in ‘net zero’ refers to trees. Who knew! REPLY 7 0 REPORT

Comment by JNL Redleaf. JR JNL Redleaf4 HRS AGO It’s been suggested by experts that within a generation we may see today’s wind farms made obsolete by amazingly compact and less intrusive, more powerful and efficient turbines, which will render these monstrosities ugly industrial waste. Unrecycleable endless miles of junk, graveyards for Nut Zero. Marking death to the natural environment. A lament that will be felt for decades: where did all the trees go? REPLY 5 0 REPORT

Comment by Steve Smith. SS Steve Smith4 HRS AGO Another triumph for the SNP! At least they are consistent. Strange how a lot of the SNP supporters have now gone very quiet, or maybe they just don’t exist in any numbers now. REPLY 9 0 REPORT

Comment by Alistair Scott. AS Alistair Scott5 HRS AGO One less thing they can blame the English for (common criticism in Scotland that trees were cut down for the shipping). REPLY 9 0 REPORT

Comment by A R Chapman. AR A R Chapman5 HRS AGO It’s hard to think of one policy put into place by the nasty SNP party that works at all, think ferry’s or education as examples. Corrupt to the core and the sooner that party is no where near the levers of power the better! REPLY 11 1 REPORT

Comment by Chris Riding. CR Chris Riding5 HRS AGO The land that many solar farms sit on is also ecologically dead having been killed off. Well they wouldn’t want trees and shrubs to obscure solar panels. REPLY

Thank you❤️

#submission

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ask-the-virtual-council · 1 year

Note

Henry was the better dad and better business partner: discuss

And discuss we shall!

I constantly have these people in my head, so I know how to open this case ;3

But also, I'd like to note that I do not fault Henry for the less serious parts of this, but i must add them for the sake of consistency and context.

Now to begin:

As a father?

I'd say yes, but that's on a slim margin.

Not only did he neglect his living son to build a robotic version of his dead daughter, but he also forgot that children need more than a glorified nanny camera to stay safe, leaving his daughter alone with children who were entirely unconcerned when they refused to open the door for another child.

He literally took the same route as William rather than hiring a sitter for the night. Maybe entrusting her to someone else?

I don't even think William would have been a bad choice for a babysitter, considering that he'd be expected to keep her safe or he'd be outright arrested for being the only one responsible for her at the moment, therefore keeping him from killing her.

Even if William hadn't killed her that night, Charlie would have likely died anyway due to the pouring rain and cold. Which Henry could have predicted and prevented better than how he actually handled it.

And if we're going to take Robo-Charlie into the conversation, is it any indication that he wasn't the best when he actually hit the replica of his daughter that he knows is sentient and who believes that she is the real Charlie?

I'm not going to assume that he's outright beating anyone, especially when I don't assume it for William despite his more dubious actions, but I will say that he does not have his emotions under countrol.

He's unstable, a burnout who cannot pry himself from his work even when trying to parent, and pushes past all the tragedies for at least another few years as he remains business partners with the post-arrest William.

And it takes him how long to go out and get revenge again? While he actually knows where his undead partner's corpse is?!

First he sends Mike, whom he likely knows has already been through the Scooping Room, but then further neglects to finish the job himself until he's had this elaborate sideshow and dramatic speech.

And then when he captures his daughter in a larger suit to later free her soul, he makes the suit shock her?!

I'm no animatronic expert here, but I highly doubt that this was fully necessary and was at best a risky and possibly even useless way of keeping her in there.

And he acts like he's some kind of hero after all that?!

He is on thin ice for me, and he is wearing stone boots.

But as a business partner?

Even less so.

It's outright stated that Henry was the reclusive and tortured artist of the partnership and that William was the one who made it a business.

Is that really being a good partner?

Maybe, since he's also providing the framework for many of the animatronics, but that's only one side of the business, and even if they have a system where they can specialise in their own thing, both must interact with all aspects of the business at least a little bit.

We know that William was already an avid animatronic designer and likely just as or even more talented than Henry, but there's little indication that Henry ever tried to be part of the other side of the business on a regular basis.

This man may be better than a manipulative and cold-hearted murderer, but is that really a hard line to cross?

#fnaf #william afton #henry emily #five nights at freddy's #henry emily fnaf #william afton fnaf #afton blogging #fnaf theories #this may not be a theory but it's the closest thing i can think of #springtrap #cassette man

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 2 years

Text

CBS News' John Dickerson asked New York Times reporter Maggie Haberman, who has become the chronicler-in-chief of the Donald Trump era, "How long has Donald Trump been in your head, or you in his?"

"At least 11 years for this level of intensity," she replied.

"And what's it like to have Donald Trump in your head, or be a part of his thinking, for 11 years?"

"I had one of his old friends say to me, 'He doesn't wear well over time.' And I think that the collective we have experienced that at various points."

Haberman has been covering Trump since the late 1990s, as a metro reporter for the New York tabloids. In 2016 alone she had 599 bylines or co-bylines in The Times – more than one a day – and that pace has slowed only slightly in the years since.

Now, she's written a book about him: "Confidence Man: The Making of Donald Trump and the Breaking of America" (published Tuesday by Penguin Press).

Dickerson asked, "I want to read from something you wrote: 'To fully reckon with Donald Trump, the presidency and his political future, people need to know where he comes from.' What do you mean, where he comes from?"

"New York in the 1960s, '70s, '80s, was a very, very unique setting," Haberman said, "because of this combination of dysfunctional and sometimes corrupt forces that touched on media, that touched on City Hall, that touched on the political party system in the various boroughs, that touched on how real estate projects got done, and which touched on racial tribalism, John, and that is a big piece of what he took from his life in New York."

The current incarnation of that racial tribalism shows up in some of Haberman's scoops about Trump's presidential years. Like other books of the Trump era, "Confidence Man" has gotten attention for new revelations: Trump considered firing his son-in-law, and engaged in casual transphobia. But Haberman's larger goal is to put the scoops in the book, and her Times coverage, in an archeological framework, to chart a 50-year, steady, unchangeable DNA.

She said, "Donald Trump is generally the same, depending on the context. And he tended to treat the White House as if he was still in a real estate office dealing with local county leaders, as if it was still 1980."

"What are the elements in the Donald Trump playbook that he's had his whole life?" asked Dickerson.

"He has a handful of moves that he has used forever. And people tend to impute a ton of strategy to what he's doing. But really, there are these moves. And it's the quick lie, it's the backbiting with one aide versus another, it is the assigning blame to someone else. All of this, again, is about creating a sense of drama, a sense of chaos, and often, John, about keeping the responsibility off him."

Haberman's reporting has irritated and embarrassed Trump. Yet, he agreed to sit down with her three times this past summer.

Dickerson asked, "Were you surprised he talked to you for your book?"

"No; he talked to everybody for their books," she replied. "It's an almost reflexive need to sell himself."

"He said at one point to somebody else, but with you in his presence, [that] you were like his psychiatrist?"

"He treats everyone like they're his psychiatrist. This is not a specific-to-me thing. This is what he does. He works everything out in real time with everyone."

Haberman offers new detail about Trump's refusal to accept defeat in 2020, quoting sources who heard Trump say, "We're never leaving."

Dickerson asked, "Donald Trump's reluctance to leave office, was that part of that playbook that developed so many years ago, or is that something new?"

"It was both," she said. "It was part of the theme of him believing that everything was always going to work out with him, because it always had. Whether it was his father helping navigate systems for him or helping him financially, or elected officials lining up for him, he always believed things would work out. And after November 3, 2020, it became clearer with each passing day that that was not going to happen, and he did not know how to handle it."

When he did leave the White House, he wasn't empty-handed, as FBI agents found in that search of his Florida home.

"When Donald Trump referred to things in the White House as his possessions, there was a long history of him doing that," Dickerson said. "Do you then think that that's why he took those classified documents?"

"I do, actually. I think it's also possible he took them for another reason, and we don't know what that is. He sees everything in terms of leverage, whether he can have an edge over someone else. He definitely likes trophies."

Trump is facing legal peril in multiple jurisdictions: A fraud suit in New York; election interference charges in Georgia; the January 6th riot investigation; and then those documents from Mar-a-Lago, where he's mostly holed up these days.

Dickerson asked, "You write that when you saw him after he left the White House, that he seemed shrunken?"

"In one of the interviews, he had very visibly lost weight, and so that was certainly physically shrunken, but he just seemed diminished," said Haberman. "And one of the things that I discovered as I was talking to people through the course of the last year is that he became this almost Charles Foster Kane-like figure who was sort of roaming around his club and existing in his own world and having to be reminded of when holidays were, someone totally out of the rhythms of normal daily life."

"What's your view of whether he'll run again?"

"With the caveat that I don't know and that I could be proven wrong, I think he's backed himself into a corner where he has to run," said Haberman. "I think that he needs the protections that running for President (he thinks) would afford him in combating investigations that he calls a 'witch hunt.' And it is the way that he fundraises and makes money. So much of his identity now is about being a politician. So, I expect that he will run. That doesn't mean that even if he declares a candidacy, that he will stay in the whole time."

Whether he runs or not, Trump has left his mark on the GOP, whose national party labeled the January 6th riots "legitimate discourse," and where a third of the Republican candidates running for election in 2022 have adopted his lie that the 2020 election was stolen.

"Has he essentially transferred the skills of the New York real estate world, as strange as that is, into a political party?" asked Dickerson.

"He has transferred how he views the New York real estate industry into the Republican Party," Haberman replied, "and not just the New York real estate industry, but the New York political system. We've seen it in ways that are overt with the Republican Party in terms of comments that get made at rallies, and we have seen it in subtler ways in terms of how candidates deal with journalists or how they engage with basic facts sets."

"Not everyone has reacted in some form of emulation to Donald Trump, but most of them have."

Haberman writes that Trump told her how much easier his life would have been if he'd never run for President. And he looked back not on what he'd accomplished, but on what the presidency had meant for Donald Trump.

Dickerson said, "When Donald Trump asked himself in your presence 'If I had to do it all over again,' what did he say?"

"What he said was the answer is yes," Haberman replied, "because the way he looks at it is, he has so many rich friends and nobody knows who they are. And it was very evident that he saw the presidency as the ultimate vehicle to fame."

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