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inbarfink · 9 months

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A lot of 'Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared' is built upon a sort of inherent surrealism in young children’s edutainment. Because the thing is that for a lot of those shows it’s more important to, well, entertain-slash-educate the target audience of Literal Toddlers than it is to present a coherent world and story. DHMIS just takes this sort of dream-like world that is created as a result of these priorities and reframes it in a serious manner for an adult audience as an element of horror and/or tension. One example is the ages of the characters.

In a lot of those sorts of shows, preschool-and-under-puppet-shows (and sometimes cartoon shows), the ages of the puppet characters are kinda abstract. Again, the main priority isn’t really to make them feel like an accurate representation of a person who could exist in the real world. The ages of a lot of these characters is basically “young enough so that their emotional maturity and worldview is relatable to our preschool target audience, but old enough so that they can go on various misadventures that are also entertaining to our preschool audience without the worry of stuff like parental supervision”.

So these characters have the same presumed understanding of the world as the children in the audience, usually need to be taught basic concepts and live-action adults would generally interact with them in a similar way one would a child - but on the other hand they usually treat themselves as a separate category from the live-action children they might also interact with, and are allowed to do a whole bunch of stuff an actual live-action kid on that same show wouldn’t be allowed to do -

Like drive vehicles -

Or work with heavy machinery -

Or cook -

Or generally just live unsupervised without it being a big deal.

So yeah, the DHMIS trio all kinda live on different points of this spectrum of Ambiguously Childlike Puppets. They primarily interact with ‘teachers’ who explain to them basic concepts most adults would understand, and who generally regard them in a condescending manner (even when these teachers seem like children themselves).

When Yellow Guy meets Lesley, she also addresses him as one would a child. The existence of the Big Boy and Bigger Boy Rooms imply that our protagonist’s floor might be actually called something like the “Little Boys Room”. But they all have some aspects that make this reading a bit complicated, just in different ways.

Yellow Guy feels like the most ‘childlike’ puppet. He has the most simpleminded and naive worldview, the one who is most likely to go along with the ‘lessons’ of the teachers. Even when he becomes fully-charged and thus turns into the most intelligent and emotionally-mature character in the entire show - characters like the Teachers, the Big and Bigger Boys and Lesley all address him like a surprisingly clever kid instead. Plus he dresses in the most obviously childlike way. And possibly the most important factor, he has a father who is significantly taller and bigger than him -

Which definitely implies one is a child and another is an adult.

But… not only is he, urm, ‘recruited’ to a factory job. But he explicitly worked exactly 40 years until his retirement. With the ‘default retirement age’ in the UK being around 66 years, that might instead imply Yellow is in his mid-to-late 20’s instead. Plus, despite the implications that he is a child due to being considerably shorter than Roy - as an old man with a wife and child of his own, he actually remained the exact same size as his younger self.

Which would imply that whatever Yellow Guy is a child or an adult, he is at least adult-sized-enough for his ‘species’.

He is also ‘recruited’ as the ‘Mummy’ in Lily and Todney’s family.

And his fantasy (memory?) of Mulhoven, he sees himself as living on his own.

Red Guy, meanwhile, is on the other end of the spectrum. With his adult-human-like physique and very non-cartoon voice - it’s pretty intuitive to read him as an adult. Continuing the whole Roy Point, Red Guy is consistently shown as being around the same size as other adult ‘Red Guys’ - if not actually on the taller side of things.

And he is seen holding an ‘adult’ job not just in ‘Jobs’ (which you can argue is just some sort of Briefcase-powered pocket dimension where child labor is legal) but also in the ‘real world’ segments of Dreams…. Which, well, has a higher chance of being Actually Real, at the very least.

‘Dreams’ also shows a picture of him graduating from... somewhere?

Plus, he tends to talk back to the teachers more. Which makes him feel more like an adult being condescended to. But then again, the affectations of an adult or a child being condescended too can be quite similar. At the end of the day, the primary things that make his adulthood ambiguous is that he does sometimes need basic concepts explained to him -

And that he does generally regard the other puppets, including the much more childish Yellow Guy as his peers. Even after arguing that he should be the ‘father figure’ of the household, he still ends up calling Yellow his ‘brother’.

And Duck is in sort of an interesting position, on one level he is more ‘adult-y’ than Red Guy, but on another level he is just as childish as Yellow Guy.

Physically he is even shorter than Yellow Guy, and his voice is much too cartoony to peg him as a child or an adult. He ALSO has a graduation photo....

His sense of fashion, his hobbies (reading the newspaper and doing the crossword) and even his chair of choice (a rocking-chair) are all pretty adult, or even old-man-like (compare Yellow Guy’s childish little stool, and Red Guy’s relatively neutral sofa).

But he also likes the same show as the very childish Yellow Guy (although it is a Wallace and Gromit parody and that’s really an all-ages franchise, although it IS notable that it's Red Guy who thinks it's boring and predictable). He is pretty likely to push back against the teachers, although mostly when their lessons clash against his own ego. A behavior that is both mature and immature at the same time. In general with most of what Duck does, it's not necessarily easy to peg his behavior between an insecure grown-up or a child trying to act like an adult.

For example, the ‘Memories’ sequence in ‘Death’ has this memory of Duck ‘telling Yellow Guy about the military’.

Yellow Guy’s words and their positioning is deliberately meant to invoke a specific cultural image of, like, a father or grandfather telling a child about their service. But what Duck is actually ‘telling’ Yellow about is just a very childish and uninformed gushing about military might. ("They're invincible!")

I guess my biggest point is the way this ambiguity can be used as part of DHMIS’ atmosphere of unease. It’s like… no matter how you read the ages of the characters, their situation is utterly fucked up - just in different ways.

If all of the puppets are all adults, then the way they have been robbed of their agency and the absolute lack of control they have over their own life becomes even more disturbing. The condescending and controlling way the teachers tend to treat them becomes even worse. Especially how they have been convinced of their own inability to do anything on their own. See, Yellow and Duck's apprehension about taking the car for a ride in "Transport":

It's just us three! We can't just... do stuff, us three. Can we?

I told you, you shouldn't try and do something without a little... thing telling you how to do it.

This isn’t just about the car - the point is that Duck says “try and do something”. Meaning anything. There is really nothing Duck can imagine the trio can do that they can do alone without the supervision of an ‘authority figure’. This would already be pretty fucked-up if they were kids, but as adults it’s an even darker situation. No wonder their life is so bleak and terrifying.

If one is to read the puppets as kids instead, then it is also pretty disturbing how much they are left to their own devices. I mean, yeah, their life is robbed of all agency - but they lack any sort of real adult emotional support. Kids don’t just need adults to Teach Stuff to them or Stop Them From Doing Wrong Things, they need general advice and help and support and reassurance and role models and adult kindness and the DHMIS Trio doesn’t get any of this.

The characters’ utter isolation from anyone who isn’t a ‘teacher’ is already pretty fucked-up if they’re adults - but if you see them all as kids, it’s even darker. No one can help them mitigate pressures during interpersonal conflicts, no one to comfort and take care of them when things get rough, no positive example they can aspire and emulate. They all basically have to alternate being the ‘responsible adult’ for each other. And if they are all kids, this is really dark. No wonder they and their relationships are so fucked-up.

And if you see only some of them as kids, like for example, I think the most popular fan interpretation is that Yellow Guy’s a kid and the other two are adults? I think it is a valid read of the situation but that also comes with it’s own layer of fucked-upness with the power dynamics now at play. Like, every time Duck or Red Guy mistreat Yellow Guy, it’s not just them being assholes. They’re being assholes to a child, when they are the adults who are - by default of being the only adults consistently around in his life - are responsible for.

And no matter how you’d try and shake it, it’ll always come off pretty fucked-up. Like, if you have Red Guy as a Token Kid then it’s a matter of a child being forced into a Responsible Adult position basically by being the most grounded person in the household. If Duck's the only adult than, like, oh god who put THIS guy in charge of taking care of two children? And so on and so on…

No matter which path you take, it’s always very dark, and very DHMIS…

#don't hug me i'm scared #dont hug me im scared #dhmis #dhmis analysis #dhmis theory #yellow guy #red guy #duck #yellow guy don't hug me i'm scared #dhmis red guy #red guy dhmis #red guy dont hug me im scared #duck dhmis #dhmis duck #yellow guy dhmis #dhmis yellow guy #this post was inspired by me watching DHMIS on Niconico with Japanese fansubs #and noticing the different first-person pronouns the different fans gave to the Three of Them lol

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theprettynosferatu · 1 year

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I - Perfection

Usually when someone says “not everyone is created equally”, they follow the sentiment with a declaration of their own intelligence, their superior genes, their inherent right to all their heart might desire. Jean, however, never uttered the phrase, even if she knew it to be true deep in her bones. No, being special was not a gift. It brought a solemn duty to do right by those that couldn’t defend themselves. The world was a cruel and unfeeling machine– the least she could do was to try and balance the scales a little.

She knew there were others like her; only a handful, she guessed, although she could be wrong. Most chose to hide, to adjust, to only use their gifts in small, measured ways, if ever. Jean couldn’t understand that, even if she felt jealous sometimes. To her it was blindingly obvious: she couldn’t sit back and watch things go to Hell step by step when she could do something about it. Maybe she was a naive girl, but she’d rather be naive than heartless.

It felt heavy in so many ways. It was lonely. Perfection was lonely.

She pulled herself back from that thought. She wasn’t perfect, no one was… no matter how many times others used the term to describe her, some with envy, some with desire, a few with admiration. She never got sick, never got hurt. Her face never showed any signs of tiredness, was never anything other than flawless. Her body was toned and tight, despite the fact she had never worked out outside of the old P.E. classes. She didn’t gain weight, no matter what she ate, a fact she was beyond grateful for given her love of burgers and fries. One small downside was that she couldn’t get piercings or tattoos, as many a busted machine and mystified tattoo artist could attest. She was doomed to be her perfect, beautiful, blonde self.

She felt guilty sometimes, especially when she saw how hard her few friends struggled. They talked about skin creams and restorative shampoos and strict diets and grueling workout routines. Jean nodded along, sensing the gulf between her and her friends. Her and everyone else.

She shook the feeling off. To mope about being who she was would serve no purpose, and it was gross to her. She had no right to whine, no real reason to feel miserable. What she had was a job to do.

Tracking them down had been easy. They had been making a lot of noise in the underground circles for a while, and the rumors in the Dark Web had quickly turned to bragging, then into full-on sales pitches. New weapons, better than anything ever seen before, powerful enough to blast holes into concrete, to get through any body armor… powerful enough to take down that Chick.

That’s how they called her. That Chick, or That Bitch, or That Fucking Cunt. But mostly she was just “She.” They didn’t need to clarify: everyone in the scene knew what they were talking about. She’s gonna fuck you up. She better not show or I’ll make her a new hole. They say she looks like she needs a good dicking. And on and on it went. Some didn’t even believe “she” existed, which tickled Jean to no end. Hell, there were full conspiracy theories, from claiming that “she” was in fact multiple people trained by the CIA and given identical faces through plastic surgery all the way up to the oddly well-developed theory that “she” was a genetically engineered agent of the Illuminati. It was amusing that the last one was closer to the truth, in a sad way. Her genes were indeed different from normal people.

Jean watched the truck pull up, the men unloading boxes of cargo. The weapons, presumably. The rumor about a demonstration for buyers had been right on the money. Well, it would be rude of her not to let them demonstrate the miracle guns properly, wouldn’t it? She waited until everyone was inside the warehouse. Easier to round them up.

It felt like cheating. If the miracle guns were fake or just the victims of overzealous sellers, she couldn’t say. They felt like any other gunshot: a bit of a tickle, not entirely unpleasant. The screams were annoying, however. As if yelling “shoot her!” would do any good. She wasn’t a criminal mastermind, but she found it hard to believe any of the men with weapons would choose not to shoot her. Good thing she was, as usual, wearing cheap clothes: a lesson she had learned early on when she had designed something of a uniform for herself. Turns out she might be invulnerable, but coth wasn’t. So many wasted hours drawing up designs, sewing, getting the fit right…

Better to snap out of it, do it quickly. Last thing she needed was to go home in a completely torn t-shirt.

Less than a minute later, the men were either unconscious or had surrendered. She bound them to a pillar (always bring rope: another early lesson learned) and tipped the cops off. She did a final check just to be sure none of the thugs needed immediate medical attention, and like a blur she sped out.

She was doing good, she told herself. She had to, because the affair had been dreadfully boring. Surely it meant something that these new guns wouldn’t flood the streets, even if too many people died because of regular guns every single day. She couldn’t save everyone, she reminded herself. It still hurt.

II - Dreams of Freedom

She’s not sure exactly where she is, and yet she knows it doesn’t matter. The vast, empty city stretches under her and for a moment she feels as if it’s all hers, all there for the taking. She knows, without any reason to, that someone down there is waiting for her. She smiles and lets herself fall. The rush of wind is exhilarating, a blast of freedom as she drops deeper and deeper: the ground never rises to meet her, never stops her fall. She could fall forever.

The basement is cold. She can hear muffled groans coming from somewhere deeper inside. The basement stretches to infinity. She takes one step, then another, then another. She’s vaguely aware that the more she walks, the harder it is for her to focus, to remember exactly who she is. Still, she walks. Why? She can’t tell.

The girl is bound to a chair, her legs wide open, a ballgag in her mouth. Beside her stands the shadow. It has no features and yet her movements, her silhouette, the emerald eyes that burn through the darkness are entrancing, alluring; she’s a predator and a dancer, a kind mother and a stern teacher. Jean knows the shadow is dangerous. The girl looks at her, pleading for her help. Still, Jean does not move.

The shadow caresses the girl, almost seeming to take in her scent, delighting in what is to come. Jean should stop her. She doesn't. The shadow takes a large device, and Jean needs a moment to fully understand what it is. Once she does, the duty to rescue the poor victim becomes undeniable, yet she doesn’t. Why? Why isn’t she helping?

Well, why should she? She never signed up for anything. She didn’t choose her genes. She didn’t ask to be special. Her entire life revolves around others. Fuck them. They don’t deserve her fucking help, they’re not entitled to her time, her effort, her life. Are those thoughts hers or the shadow’s? She doesn’t know, nor does she care. The shadow turns on the vibrator and teases the girl’s vulnerable pussy with it. The poor thing tries not to move, not to squirm, not to moan. She fails. The shadow knows what she’s doing, skillfully changing pressure, location, now and then caressing the girl’s neck…

It’s fucking hot. Jean knows she can stop this violation whenever she chooses to. Instead, she feels those green eyes staring at her as she lets herself fall to the ground, her hand pushing her panties to the side… Fuck, she’s soaked. It’s not just the sweet whimpers and moans reaching her, almost seeping inside her. It’s the eyes. The girl’s eyes, full of confusion, desperation and a sense of betrayal seeing the hero enjoy her suffering… the shadow’s eyes, amused, beckoning, almost encouraging her complicity…

Suddenly, the basement is a white room. Jean is alone, surrounded by cameras. They’re watching. They’re all watching. Her family is watching. The shadow is watching. They all want her. They all want to see the hero, the beautiful blonde, the paragon of strength and beauty. What do they want to see her do? What they always want to see when someone is put on a pedestal: to see them fall. They want to see the broken beauty, the despair of hope turned into base instinct. Fine, if that’s what they want, that’s what they’ll get. After all, Jean always does what others need her to do, want her to do. Fucking parasites. She tears off her t-shirt and it feels as if she has cast away a shroud, a heavy, stifling straightjacket. Do they want perversion? Debauchery? They want her to act like they do, like a degenerate pig? She can do that. Oh, she can do that and she intends to enjoy every goddamn second of it…

The alarm tore Jean awake. What the fuck? That had been one messed up dream. Jean was sweating, and it took her a moment to fully come out of it. Already the memory of it was fading. Good. She felt dirty, and wrong and… Oh God. She was so wet! A wave of shame hit her, even as the dream receded further away. She couldn’t remember a lot, but… Okay, just, just a quick one. Just to get it out of her. Then she could leave it behind and go about her day. A moan escaped her lips as soon as she grazed her clit. Oh shit. It would be a quick one indeed. She rubbed to fragmented remains of memories. A chair? A camera?

And those eyes… so green, so powerful…

III - …Over matter

If there was one thing Morgana couldn’t tolerate, it was hypocrisy. Almost nothing else could faze her, not even the darkest of fantasies, the most twisted of thoughts. After all, she had been exposed to the inner lives of those around her since she was twelve years old. It had been scary at first, those voices that weren’t her own, those words never said out loud. It had been upsetting to hear the way her mother loathed her father, saw him only as a flabby source of income. It had been gross to hear what her father thought of when Morgana’s friends came over. But most of all, it was infuriating that they acted as if such heinous thoughts were beneath them and delivered sermons to their daughter.

She got used to it. Teachers despised their students and doctors could only think about how tired they were, and prim and proper women trembled in fear of people with dark skin, no matter what their bumper stickers proclaimed. People were inherently fucked up, the world was beyond any form of salvation. For a while, she watched.

Then she started pushing a bit. Leading a thought here, suppressing a desire there. It was just too easy. Sure, some people were harder to crack, but they all did eventually. Dreams were a great doorway in, she found. People accepted a lot of things in dreams, and the seeds planted deep grew and grew…

The seeds planted in her parents sure had grown and exploded all over the news. It had been simple to twist the minds of policemen and coroners, who dutifully recorded one extra victim when analyzing the tragedy. Just one additional name, a dead name, her old name. She had no use for it. She had baptized herself as Morgana, in blood.

And now some blonde bimbo pretended to be a hero. The world had no heroes, and she had begun to teach the delusional savior that harsh lesson. She had to admit, this one felt particularly enjoyable.

IV - Awake

Jean was awake, which sent her somewhere near a state of panic.

Every night, she dreamed. She only remembered fragments, flashes, sensations. She couldn’t quite place them, and they drove her mad. That she woke up feeling as if she needed her pussy pounded by a savage beast in heat didn’t help matters, and neither did the fact that sleep provided her with no rest, no mental renewal. She was in a daze, blindly searching for something, something right there, outside her consciousness and yet spurring her on, urging her to recall her nightly escapades. She had few clues to use as a starting point, recurring images or situations. She had to get to the bottom of it, Jean told herself. That was why she looked at those videos every morning, the ones with leather and whips and women bound, leashed, serving masters and mistresses. That she would get a tad… stimulated was inevitable, wasn’t it? And not finding answers, anything to unlock her dreams in the more mainstream sites, who could blame her for digging deeper into less savory parts of the web?

And who could fault her for being thorough? Whatever was happening to her was clearly a serious matter, one that demanded her time and energy. After all, if she couldn’t rest, she couldn’t save others. Yes, there were crimes being committed out there while she drooled and panted with her fingers inside herself, but all she was doing was thinking long term. Surely nobody could begrudge her not stopping a robbery or five, or deriving a cruel kind of pleasure knowing that while she humped her pillow someone else cried for her help. She was human, after all. Kind of. Jean had to admit she… saw herself less and less like that, but it was probably just the restless sleep talking.

And having watched model after model, porn star after porn star, amateur after amateur… who wouldn’t feel like their wardrobe was a tad too drab? Would anyone that looked like Jean looked, a picture of perfect sensuality, with golden hair and pillowy lips and tits that seemed to defy gravity not get new clothes to better show off her superiority? And who, in that position, could resist staring at the mirror or going on anonymous camsites to receive the worship she deserved?

Jean had moments of lucidity, of shame and fear and self-flagellation. They often happened after she came, so she did her best to postpone that moment as much as she could. She hated that she loved the being she was slowly becoming. In those moments she promised herself she would stop, before a new dream tore that resolution down. Still, she wasn’t entirely gone, and when the news of a missing person came up on her laptop, she decided she needed to spring into action. She couldn’t spend her life half asleep.

And so, she was awake. Aware. Fully in control of herself. And still, the images, the words kept popping inside her head. She needed to do something to get outside her own mind, and fast. Good thing she had found the dilapidated country house quickly. Criminals should really keep their voices down when they know there’s someone out there with special hearing.

There certainly was something to going in prepared, taking the methodical approach, analyzing the situation. Then again, there also was a virtue in desperation. She took in the kidnapper’s shocked faces as the front door exploded. Yes, take good look you fucking worms. No, no, that wasn’t her. Just the dreams talking. Focus, Jean. Find the girl, get the hell out…

She was tied to the bed, naked, spread-eagled, covered in dry cum. She needed to… The words appeared out of nowhere. She could see them as clearly as she could see every dusty inch of the room. The words just hovered above the pleading beauty on the bed. Slut. Cumdump. Fucktoy. Hours upon hours of porn flashed inside her head in a second and she fell on her knees, screaming. No more. No more. She was awake! Awake, damn it! She didn’t want to… Didn’t want…

No. Not want. Need. She needed it. She could feel herself slipping, the room around her melting into a dreamlike space that was anywhere and nowhere, and she was herself, but less and less so by the second. She was being drained, to be replaced by… what? And somewhere outside sight, she could sense a beautiful pair of green eyes…

She slammed the floor in a final act of defiance, even as she could feel the men surrounding her. Her enhanced senses were overwhelmed. Heat. Scent. They wormed their way past her mind and right into the pleasure centers in her brain, fogging whatever resistance remained. Cock. That was all she could think of. Cockslave. Cunt. Cumdump. Her heart raced and her pussy felt on fire. Purpose. Duty. Obedience. Yes, obedience. It felt so good. It felt so natural, so simple… Her hand darted between her legs, took in how warm she was, how fucking wet… A small whimper escaped her lips. No, this was so wrong…

It was wrong for her to rub like this, curled up on the floor. Her pleasure was to stimulate cocks. They deserved to see, to see it all. She went on her back and spread her legs. Yes, exposure. Let them see what she really was, what she really needed. Smile. She needed to smile. To be inviting, attractive, lustful. Leave no room for doubt, no way to turn back. And so, a devilish smile that few could hope to resist adorned her beautiful face.

She knew the eyes would approve. That made it so much better…

The men were shocked, their faces a tableau of disbelief, confusion and arousal. Jean realized they might need a push. Fine, the worms needed her to spell things out? She would fucking do so.

“You fucking pigs… look at what you did to that woman… how many times did you fuck her? Did you use her tight pussy? Her mouth? Her little asshole? Did you like that she couldn’t move, that she was just there for you to take over and over again? Did she feel good? Did her body make your cocks happy? Did she cry as you coated her in warm cum? Well I won’t cry. I don’t need to be bound to be a good fucking whore. And I bet I can make your cocks feel so… much… better than she ever could. So, what are you waiting for? Whip them out! Show me what you got… show me what I need…”

No human being on Earth, man or woman, wicked or virtuous, could avoid being affected by the blonde bombshell on the ground, her tantalizing lips, her devious and teasing eyes, the overwhelming lust in her voice. As if to drive the point home, Jean tore off her t-shirt, letting her perfect breasts accentuate her heavy, ragged breathing.

What happened was as inevitable as the tide, as total as gravity.

To Jean it was a series of flashes, sensations, words echoing in her head, and the sense of being performing… for who? She couldn’t tell. The feeling of being turned around, put on all fours. A cock spreading her lips open and ramming inside her with no tenderness, no care about her. The way the blood flowed in the cock she sucked eagerly. Her own voice, demanding over and over: “harder.” Her moans mixing with the men’s grunting. Hands, squeezing her tits without mercy. Wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her body, making her shake. Whore. Filthy fucking slut. Slave. Did she think that? Say it out loud? Did someone else think it for her? Her anal virginity taken with a violent thrust. The delight of feeling she was being conquered, used, treated like a living sex doll. The knowledge that such an act would hurt other women, but not her. Her body was made to take a pounding. She was superior. The superior cumslave. Both more and less than any normal cunt. Obey. Please. Worship. The delight of being the center of a circle of cocks, all hard for her, all ready to give her a reward, give her what she had earned, give her purpose and joy and…

She only recovered something close to full consciousness once she was back at her apartment, still breathing hard. Fuck. What had she done? She tried to focus. She hadn’t captured the men, that much was certain. They remained free, free to do to someone else what they had done to the girl… or to her. She could smell their cum on her naked body. There was something terribly wrong with her. She knew it. She knew she had to do something about it. The memories came in flashes, the cum on her skin drove her mad. She would do something to fix it. She just needed to do something else first.

She fell on the floor, and let her hands take over.

V - Myth

Jean hated the server for “special” people. She seldom logged in, mainly because most of it was people whining about being different. Sure, not everyone had gotten as lucky in the genetic lottery as she had, but to her it was pointless to complain. She felt that was before, and she felt even less inclined to charity now. Even among the “special” crowd, she knew she was objectively better; to hear the bleating of sheep was not something that interested her. That she needed their help was nothing short of embarrassing.

It had taken a tremendous amount of willpower to pry herself away from her pussy and her porn, and especially from the memories of that amazing night a week before. But a part of her was still aware that what was happening to her wasn’t normal. Perhaps one of the little people in the server would know more.

She kept the details vague, of course. Just weird dreams, very vivid, flashing even when she was awake. They didn’t need to know what the dreams were, even though her pussy twitched at the idea of telling everyone exactly what she had done…

What she didn’t expect was to start an online argument, although she probably should have. Everything and anything could become the battlefield where small people with big egos seeked to validate their own existence.

“I’m sorry J. but maybe it’s the woman in black”

“lol you believe in the woman in black”

“shes real tho a friend of mine had dreams and then disappeared and I was talking to J not you”

“bro she’s a myth. Are you afraid of the boogieman too lmao”

“Whatever all im saying is that shes like super powerful and fucks with your head and then you vanish”

“hahahaha sexy Slenderman”

Well, that had been useless. Either she was going mad, or she was being attacked by some mythical super psychic woman who most probably didn’t even exist. Very helpful. Fuck it, she didn’t have time for losers. There were men online waiting to worship her perfect body.

VI - Truth

“Jean, what are you looking at?”

Wait. Something was off. Jean had been alone in her apartment when she had gone online. She was sure of it. And she was more than certain that she’d remember the pale, almost marble-like skin, the raven-black hair, the tight leather the woman was wearing. And those eyes… those green eyes that sunk into her chest and pinned her to her seat, struggling to form a coherent sentence. Those eyes…

“Who… what are you…?”

“Jean, babygirl, are you okay? Should I call a doctor? We were hanging out and you just went off to the computer to do Lord knows what! That’s kinda rude, you know”

“Hanging out…?”

“Well, yeah. Hanging out. You know, like friends do? Morgana to Jean, please come in, Jean! Seriously, what’s gotten into you? We hang out all the time!”

Of course. Yes, obviously, Morgana was her friend! Why else would she be in her apartment if she wasn’t her friend? Such a silly thought. And Jean had been so rude to forget that! So dumb! A wave of warmth caressed her skin. So dumb…

“Anyway, what was it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Right… I… I was going to tell you something, wasn’t I?”

“Well, yeah. You called me all like ‘you’re my best friend and you’re the only one I can tell this to, please come to the apartment’ and then just when you were about to spill the beans your brain drifted off to outer space. Well honey, Morgana is here and all ears for you. So, tell me everything”

Everything. Yes, she had to tell her friend everything. That was what friends were for, right? She could trust Morgana. She knew that the way she knew the sun would rise in the morning. It was an absolute truth. Jean could trust Morgana. Jean would tell her everything. Morgana would know best.

“I… I think I’m not really… me… anymore”

“Now that’s some heavy stuff. How did it start?”

Dreams. It had started in her dreams, that much she remembered, so she told her best friend. She told her every detail she recalled about every dream, and before she knew it she was telling her about the porn, and the showing off for people online, and the gangbang, and her need to rub her needy cunt all the time and how she felt dirty and slutty and mean and weak all at the same time, how good it felt and how scary it was that it felt so good…

Morgana looked at Jean with a raised eyebrow, her green eyes fixed on the blonde’s baby blues even as Jean tried to hide the fact that she was rubbing herself over her yoga pants as she recounted the events of the last few weeks. Finally, the hero pleaded:

“What is wrong with me?”

“Jean, babe… I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“What? I mean, I’m…”

“From what I hear you are the same Jean I’ve known forever! Seriously, you’re scaring me! Since when do you get crises of consciousness and full on identity drama for rubbing your silly pussy and sucking a few cocks? Bitch, that’s like, a light week for you!”

“No, no, I’m not… or I wasn’t…”

“Yes you were, dummy. Honestly, I doubt we would be friends if you weren’t a fucking derpaved slut that collects kinks like they’re goddamn pokemon! I mean, you’re pretty much the only bitch I know that’s as fucked in the head as I am, if not more. That’s why I like you, and why you love me so much. We help each other get worse and worse”

“I’m… no, that can’t be…”

“Come on, where did this come from? You know I’m right. You know I’m always right”

“Always… right?”

“Damn right I’m always right. And you’ve always been a depraved little whore. Want me to prove it? I mean, aside from the fact that you’re soaking through your pants as we speak? Fine, I’ll prove it to you. Get on all fours, dummy”

Jean felt the carpet on her hands and knees before she knew what she was doing. The space between the command and obedience had been zero, in time and mental process. A soft whimper. She didn’t know why it felt so good to obey her friend, or why it felt so right. She didn’t care, not really, not anymore. She wasn’t sure she should care. All that mattered was to please. To please the goddess with silken skin and emerald eyes. All else was just water, running and running without affecting her in the slightest. The world was simple. Her role was clear.

“See how easy that was? How natural? And you know why, don’t you? Because we’ve done this a thousand times! Because you’re, among other things, my little trained pet, aren’t you?”

She was. Of course she was. How could she have ever thought she was anything else? Morgana had shown her what she needed to be, her real nature, her place in the world. Morgana had helped her escape her antiquated notions of duty, of responsibility, of principle. Morgana was teacher and mistress, friend and sister, her one guiding light and the one person worthy of her surrender. That she had forgotten such a basic fact filled her with shame, with the need to make it up to the slender, leather-clad woman. Jean crawled to her owner with pleading eyes and a soaked pussy.

“Oh, look at you. So needy and cute! You were just confused for a moment. That’s okay. That’s why you need me here. I’ll always remind you of who and what you are. But after scaring me like that, do you think you deserve to lick my pussy? Do you feel worthy of feeling its warmth?”

“No… I’m… but I want it! I need to… need to please you… please! Let me… just let me be your toy, just use me to get off Mistress, please let me be of use to you! I’m so sorry I’m such a dumb cunt… let me make it up to you… let me be worthy again… please…”

“Sounds to me like you need to bring out your toy, don’t you?”

“My toy?”

“The one you keep on the top drawer, silly”

Top drawer. Toy. She needed to get it. She was desperate for it. She crawled to her nightstand like a drowning woman gasping for air. It was large and purple, double-sided and thick. She didn’t remember it, but Morgana had said it was hers, so it must have been hers all along. She brought it to her owner as she should, in her mouth.

Morgana slid off her leather trousers in a smooth, fluid, hypnotic motion motion. She nodded at Jean, who tore her own clothes off with supernatural, rather less gracious, speed. She opened her legs, displaying herself for her mistress. Morgana owned every inch of her. Deserved everything she could offer and more. Jean was held in place, expectant, paralyzed by Morgana’s eyes. She knew deep down she would do whatever she was told, and she would enjoy it. Even as she remained still, it felt as if her pussy was being tortured with delicious dexterity. It was a storm of phantom sensations in her brain, synapses firing wildly in an orchestra of madness and pleasure that made Jean tear up, unmoving, almost shaking as the green eyes pinned her, toyed with her, played with her brain and sensory receptors. Morgana eased a little, just to give her pet the ability to hand her the toy.

“Now, here’s how the game will go. You will put this big rubber cock inside your obedient pussy. And I’ll just slide the other end in. You want to please me, don’t you? Of course you do. But to do so you’ll be fucking your own cunt, knowing that the more you do it, the more you become mine. Every bit of pleasure you get is a little bit of your soul you give to me. Your enjoyment is only an act of worship to me, and I do deserve to be worshiped, don’t I?”

“You do. You do, Morgana… I’m just…”

“What did you just call me? That wasn’t very… adoring of you”

No. No. Jean felt so desperate, so ashamed… She needed to please Morgana, needed it more than she needed air, needed it on a primal, animal level. She had to fix it. She had to obey.

“Sorry… Goddess”

“Better. Now stick that cock in and let your body tell you what to do”

Jean didn’t stand a chance. She had to give pleasure to her superior, even if it meant destroying herself one hip thrust at a time. Their eyes locked to one another, Jean losing control, humping and drooling and impaling herself just so some of the pleasure would go to her Goddess… it was a sight to behold, felt Morgana. Oh, Jean. So strong, so special. Moans echoed throughout the apartment as Morgana watched the blonde hero act like the bitch in heat she had become. Her view had the additional benefit of showing her exactly how much the slut’s mind was breaking, one moan, one thrust at a time. It was like watching old paint flake off to reveal something beautiful, something truly marvelous underneath.

A blank slate. Whatever remained of whoever Jean had been, the girl was gleefully fucking away. She wasn’t even aware of it anymore, gripped by instinct and mentally overstimulated to the point of madness. It was delicious.

Morgana let herself feel some of the pleasure that came not from the dildo -she was far too evolved for such things- but from the mental spectacle of submission and self destruction before her. She would make Jean happy, in a manner of speaking. Less conflicted, at least. A perfect, strong, nigh invincible slave to her pussy… and her pussy a slave to Morgana herself. It would be beautiful. They would be unstoppable.

But that was in the future. Right then, Jean only needed one final push, one tiny word to send her world crumbling down.

“Cum” ordered Morgana.

And Jean did.

She came herself away, forever.

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

Or commission your own tale via dm!

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marlenacantswim · 1 year

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the recent discussions of "ai art" have had me thinking about Lieutenant Commander Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation, and his attempts at being an artist and creating in various mediums.

In an episode there is a direct discussion about how, despite how when Data plays the violin, he is piecing together the different playing styles of different violinists' interpretations of a piece, he still has his own style because he made the ARTISTIC DECISION to take from those specific recordings and in what ways he would incorporate them. He has something to say with the "collage" he's created for that performance.

And his poetry, that for sure is art! "Ode to Spot" has a message and intent! It conveys a connection between two living creatures through not only its closing stanza, but its mere existence alone! Data wrote a poem about his cat because he finds Spot significant enough to write about!

I think AI art (as AI exists now) is art the way that natural phenomena is art, the way that random chance can create art. It's emergent; it doesn't need to have an artist making it with a goal in mind to be considered art. HOWEVER, in this same vein, I don't believe that "ai artists" (the ones punching words into generators) are artists at all. I think they are people exploiting ai's capacity to create emergent artwork, and in the process devaluing that type of art by removing the rarity and randomness of emergence.

With this logic, I think it's more accurate to classify "AI Artists" as customers commissioning the real ai artists (the ai program itself) to make art for them, except any fees are minimal, and in many cases they feel a larger sense of creative ownership than they really should. Furthermore, unlike in Star Trek, we in the current day operate under the system of capitalism to such an extent that allowing every human the right to survive needs to be the foremost concerning factor on any discussion like this. The foremost truth is that there is an entire class of profession that will see their craft and product and SOUL exploited without ever gaining a cent from it.

AI art as it stands today is only valuable for its cheapness and speed. Without the restraints placed upon the zeitgeist by capitalism, there's no question that the vast majority of people would still see the inherent artistic and esoteric value in human-made art over ai generated art and would still happily engage with it as a first choice. Once ai gains sentience though, there's an entirely different debate to be had over what art they decide to create and what merit it has in that sphere.

That's the great thing about Data, honestly: You want to call the things he makes "art" because he has reasons for making it. Every piece he crafts, word he writes, note he plays, it's all in service of his journey to become human, to understand humanity, to gain from expression. "Ode to Spot" illicits in one the same feelings as that child's poem about the tiger escaping its enclosure, or the mother cat eating a ball of yarn and birthing kittens all wearing sweaters, because much like a child, Data too is exploring what it means to express and the methods one can use to do so. "Ode to Spot" and those oddly sublime child-authored poems are both examples of emergent artwork, even though the artists had intent when making them, because that intent is so new and undefinable, that oftentimes it doesn't create that profound response we're used to. This is responsible for the childlike-quality the works possess.

If you haven't already, I recommend watching Kurtis Conner's video about artificial intelligence: he's engaging and funny, so you don't have to be an intellectual to understand what he's saying or doing, and throughout the video he reflects upon the ai's ability to unintentionally convey humor, which I think ties into what I'm saying about ai's ability to create quality through emergence, just in terms of effective humor instead of meaningful art.

I'd love to engage in further discussion about this topic! If you come across this, happen to read it, and have thoughts, please! Feel free to share them!

#running my mouth #ai art discourse #star trek #star trek the next generation

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acourtofthought · 1 year

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There is a difference between characters who are good but dark and characters who are good and light.

Rhys, Feyre, Nesta, Ariel, Cassian, Amren, etc.

These are the characters who are the core of the IC.

They are torturers, thieves, enjoy revenge on their enemies, and are willing to do whatever is necessary (even if it means making enemies out of would be friends or at the expense of innocent bystanders)so long as the end result is protecting those in their Court that need protecting or for the greater good.

They are good but morally gray. Vigilantes of sorts. Heros like the Arrow, Deadpool, or Batman. They don't just get revenge, they exact it to the fullest extent and take enjoyment out of their enemies suffering.

Then we have characters like Tarquin, Lucien, Elain ( and even Mor considering she's never sought out revenge even when it's been her right).

Tarquin:

But I wasn’t entirely sure that even with the hardships he’d encountered Under the Mountain, Tarquin could understand the darkness that might always be in me

Lucien:

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness.

Elain:

A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light.

But those things had always come easily to her sister. Had always made Elain special.

A permanent marker of the beauty and good he’d tried to bring into the world.

These characters are good but not all that morally gray. They prefer to avoid conflict and even when it's necessary, they don't seem to enjoy it. They do what's necessary but only what's necessary (the Flash, Captain America, Superman).

That doesn't mean they can't be clever (as you tend to find with morally gray characters who think steps ahead in their plots and schemes) but their intelligence is used in other ways. Rather than collecting information with the goal of bringing someone down, they observe the world around them and call on what they've learned only when it becomes necessary or to help them avoid conflicts.

There is nothing wrong with either type of character, they're both exciting to read about. If all the characters were "good but dark" or "good and light", it would be boring. But to be one or the other means you're going to have certain core values. And the person best suited to you is going to be someone who understands you because they too share in those views.

Just as Feyre did not think she and Tarquin could ever fully understand one another, the same can be said about Elain and Az. It's not that it wouldn't be easy for them to fall for one another, but in the end, there wouldn't be enough of a connection to keep them together.

I think all the characters deserve their "match". Someone who either walks in the dark beside them (as they too understand that darkness) or someone who, despite the darkness that exists in the world, will choose to continue living their life in the light.

Pairing Elain and Az will never make sense to me. Regardless of both being "good", the way they approach life is at very opposite ends of the spectrum and SJM would have to change too much of who they are as individuals to make them work as a couple. That's the beauty of Elucien. Romance currently plays no part in their relationship and they're already perfect for one another. They as individuals react to things in a similar manner, they process their trauma in a similar manner, they choose not to lean towards violence even against those who have wronged them.

The beauty of Elucien is that neither has to change who they are and what matters to them in order to be well suited.

#pro elucien #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #anti e/riel #lucien and elain #elain x lucien #elain and lucien #pro lucien vanserra #inner circle #Acotar characters #acotar

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sidneypoindexter · 1 year

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Smurfs WIPs I'll never post

#3- An attempted Movie 1 rewrite

In a lush green forest, in a place that would later be known as Belgium, there was a clearing, hidden away from the rest of the world. In that clearing, there were many little houses that seemed to be made of mushrooms. And in those mushrooms, lived the Smurfs. Each and every Smurf played a special part in daily life, even if their part wasn't immediately evident.

Clumsy Smurf was one of these Smurfs who did not seem useful at first glance. Especially with his name, which he had gained due to how, well, how clumsy he was. He was quite tall and skinny for a Smurf, but with the same large feet as the rest of them, leading him to often trip over himself. Even before he had hit a growth spurt, he had still been awkward and clumsy, and some believed there was simply something wrong with his balance. Clumsy was clumsy not only in his actions but in his words, often saying the wrong thing and causing problems. But despite all the hardships he faced, this young Smurf kept an optimistic view of the world. His best friend would blame this on his low intelligence, but Clumsy simply saw the best in everyone and every situation.

What exactly is a Smurf? I suppose that deserves some explanation. Smurfs have always been afraid of humans, hiding away whenever they come near. Smurfs are a little people, averaging three apples tall- or that's what they say, anyways. They have blue skin, are inclined to go shirtless, and wear Phrygian caps which they rarely remove. Smurfs speak in a strange dialect that is hard to understand. They reach adulthood at 150 years old, but remain childlike long beyond that, both in their proportions and in their desire to celebrate any occasion they can.

One of these celebrations was happening soon, the Festival of the Full Moon, and it was the preparations for that that Clumsy Smurf was heading toward. Despite its name, this festival only happened on the rare occasions that the moon was predicted to be blue, which did not happen often without new Smurfs being born. (It would be another few hundred years until more Smurfs were born, which made this quite a rare occasion indeed.)

On his rush to these preparations, Clumsy was almost a force of nature as he stumbled over everything in his way. One of the Smurfs he crashed into was Handy Smurf. Handy was up on a ladder, fixing a roof, when Clumsy ran by and knocked the ladder to the ground. Handy yelled out in surprise, and Clumsy winced.

"Gosh, I'm sorry, Handy!" he said, although it sounded more like "Ah'm sorry," due to his strange voice. A voice with an accent that people nowadays would easily recognize as a southern American accent, but this was medieval Europe, and America didn't exist yet.

"No problem, Clumsy!" Handy called back, "you keep me employed!"

As Clumsy turned back to wave goodbye to Handy, he tripped up onto a barrel lying in his path. The barrel went rolling and so did Clumsy, Smurfs diving out of the way to avoid him. Baker Smurf, however, who was carrying enough pies to block his line of sight, did not see or hear Clumsy in time. The rolling Smurf bumped into him, sending the pies flying. As Clumsy fell off the barrel, he stepped in one of the pies that had fallen.

"Hey, Baker, nice pies, sorry!" Clumsy said, shaking his foot to try and get the pie off of it.

"No worries, Clumsy," Baker said with a sigh that indicated there were indeed many worries.

The next thing Clumsy tripped over was a banner two Smurfs were carrying through the village, which he bounced off of, landing in a wheelbarrow that went rolling. He then crashed into Chef Smurf, who was carrying some flatbread through the village. Chef fell into the wheelbarrow as well.

"Hey, Chef Smurf!" Clumsy greeted.

"Clumsy, what are you doing-a?!" Chef Smurf yelled, trying to climb out without ruining the flatbread he was carrying. He finally managed to climb out- just as they passed Sculptor Smurf, working on an ice sculpture. Chef crashed right into the sculpture, sending ice everywhere.

"Whoa," he said, looking at the ice that had landed on the flatbread. "Freezing food-a! Now that's an idea!"

Clumsy continued on his disastrous ride through the village. "Smurf out of th' way!" He yelled. His wheelbarrow rammed into a table, sending Clumsy flying and crashing right into the door of a house, where he finally came to a halt. He looked up, rubbing his head where he'd crashed into the doorway.

"Wow, Clumsy," Jokey said, opening his door and stepping outside, "that was sure funny!"

Clumsy laughed weakly. "Yeah, it is."

"Here, I got you a surprise!" Jokey said, holding out a yellow gift box to Clumsy. It was tied with a red ribbon.

"Thanks, Jokey, but I'll have t'open it later!" Clumsy said, scrambling to his feet and continuing on his run. "I'm really busy right now!" Unbeknownst to him, he'd somehow loosened the ribbon as he ran on, making the present blow up in Jokey's face. Jokey cackled.

"Still funny!"

The stage in the village, usually used for Smurf Village Theater Productions or for the Music Festival, had been roped off in order for Smurfs to practice the Dance of a Hundred Smurfs they would do to celebrate the blue moon. Two Smurfs stood where the ropes ended, acting almost as bouncers. The left, Hefty Smurf, had a red heart tattoo on both of his upper arms. The right, Gutsy Smurf, had a blue pom-pom on his hat. Both were built sturdily, a sharp contrast to the tall and lanky Clumsy Smurf.

"Hey, Hefty! Hey, Gutsy!" Clumsy said, running up to them. Hefty grabbed him to halt him before he could run over to the stage.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow your roll."

"Gee, but ain't that the rehearsal fer the Full Moon Festival?" Clumsy asked.

"Sorry, Clumsy, but you're not on the list." Hefty said, shrugging.

"Whaddya mean, not on th' list?" Clumsy asked. "Th' Dance of a Hunnered Smurfs needs all the Smurfs it can get, right? And look." He pointed to the clipboard Gutsy was holding. "It says my name right there!"

"Richt," Gutsy said. "Under 'do nae let in Clumsy!'"

Like Clumsy, Gutsy also had a strange accent. His was Scottish, and thick enough that it was hard for many smurfs to understand him. Unlike Clumsy, the place Gutsy's accent came from did actually exist. Despite never having been to Scotland, Gutsy considered himself a proud Scotssmurf. He had gained his name from his courageous behavior, behavior that bordered on reckless at times. But when he was not leaping into danger or serving as the muscle alongside Hefty, Gutsy could be found reading books about far-off lands. One day, he hoped to finally visit Scotland.

"Uh, clearly you two lack the verbal skills required to explain this predicament succinctly."

"Oh, here we go again," Hefty said, rolling his eyes as Brainy Smurf grabbed the clipboard from Gutsy and pushed the scotssmurf out of the way.

"You see, Clumsy, the other smurfs don't want to dance with you, because they don't want to get injured." Brainy said. This was not the way most Smurfs would have put it, but Brainy was not most Smurfs. The bespectacled Smurf had always been a little odd. Other Smurfs would gossip among themselves that something was wrong with Brainy's brain, for while xe was quite intelligent when it came to subjects such as math and grammar, xe lacked any sort of social skills or the ability to understand what others were feeling. This often lead to xem being rude and annoying. But while Hefty and Gutsy rolled their eyes and prepared to force Brainy to shut up, Clumsy listened intently. Brainy and Clumsy were best friends, after all, and Clumsy trusted his best friend's advice more than he should have.

"Gosh, I don't injure people that much!" Clumsy said, gesturing widely with his arms and smacking both Hefty and Gutsy in their faces.

"Ow!" "Ouch!"

"Uh... whoops." Clumsy stepped out of the way as Brainy smirked, seeming almost happy to see those two hurt.

"That's gonna leave a bruise," Brainy chuckled, pushing xyr glasses higher up on xyr crooked nose as xe walked away. But it was a mistake to turn away from Gutsy and Hefty, as the two strong Smurfs shared a glance and then ran forward to kick xem. Hefty's strength behind the kick sent Brainy flying.

Things in Smurf Village are not as happy and peaceful as one might expect from a society of little singing elf-like folk. Instead of working with Clumsy to find something else he can do, they ban him from the ceremony altogether. Physical violence is used on Brainy for even the most minor of infractions. But the greatest threat to the Smurfs comes not from within their own village, but from outside it. And this threat has a name that all Smurfs but one fear-

Gargamel, the evil wizard.

#this was back in my neopronoun brainy days #txt #my art #my writing #smurfs wips #clumsy smurf #handy smurf #baker smurf #chef smurf #sculptor smurf #jokey smurf #hefty smurf #gutsy smurf #brainy smurf #smurfs #the smurfs

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suvarnarekha · 1 year

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I have always kind of wondered as to why is it that when Good people die early, in rather painful ways aswell, why is it that God doesn’t interfere? Yesterday, I read about the infamous Junko Furata case after having avoided it for the longest time because I fall weak to these things (same reason I didn’t watch the Kashmir files), and let me tell you something, it was a big mistake, like, a HUGE one. I lost it completely. At first, I thought that even if her wrongdoers didn’t get their due, they will get it in the the world that comes after this one. But then, I thought, why does it have to come to justice? Why doesn’t god save innocent people to begin with? A person’s mind is there biggest enemy at times. I spiralled bad. I overthought for so long I got headache. I know god exists: my own experiences account for that, so why does he let people suffer? I looked for answers everywhere, bothered my parents quite a bit, and they were beyond annoyed because I spiral thinking of things that no human being (who isn’t already on a higher spiritual ground, anyway) can answer, it only leads to headaches and anxiety. At first they told me its Karma, but ofcourse my mind was not ready to accept that there’s any karma out there bad enough to warrant that. They were worried for me, because my overthinking had actually landed me in hospital once, so I don’t blame them for when they got angry at me this time. My father gave me the example of Abhimanyu: how he was not only innocent, but Krishna’s own nephew aswell. He could’ve saved him, but Abhimanyu died a painful death still, in front of his father’s eyes. That this was Vidhi ka Vidhan, and that it was meant for him. I had been thinking about this issue since yesterday (albiet I hid that I was still thinking about it today) and felt demotivated all day, until the Abhimanyu example came to me again. This time, I thought about it hard, like really considered it, and suddenly, a lot of things opened up to me: Did Krishna not save Draupadi when she called for him? Not save Lakshman by stopping the sun from rising? Not save Prahlad from Holika? Did Mahadeva not save the rishi who composed Mahamrityunjaya mantra? Was this not Vidhi ka Vidhan? Why did Vidhata save them? I was troubled and needed answers, so I searched Abhimanyu up. And I found something unexpected. Abhimanyu is actually the son of Soma, who needed to go to Earth, but since Soma couldn’t allow him to be away from himself for so long, he had the gods promise that Abhimanyu will be returned after 16 years. Suddenly, I felt a lot less troubled. I remembered that all of Bhishma’s brothers before him, and Krishna’s except for Balram died aswell, for the same reason, and that made me think, what if all the people we lose along the way, all those whose tragedy becomes inspiration for us to stop future events, what if they are just heavenly souls sent on earth to guide us and facilitate justice? Abhimanyu, despite the fact that he was meant to die, was still avenged and got justice, so the fact that god gives us justice nevertheless is a given, isn’t it? All of this, it made me realise something: when tragedy strikes, we take the name of our believed god, and everything gets better eventually. We thank him and feel assured that he’s always their for us, even through our worst. He has always saved us, and he forever will. This lord has defied vidhi ka vidhan for all those who called, and he will always do that. But when someone falls to the monsters in our everyday world, we shouldn’t feel like God did this, because it was the doing of these animals on earth that walk among us.

Why it happened to those people? Its something we don’t understand, was it Karma of past lives? Were they just wayward souls who were sent here for the purpose of bringing such people to justice? I don’t know, and I won’t ever know. This is one of those questions that people can’t answer, unless they are someone like a guru who has reached beyond human intelligence. Dwelling on this will just make you lose your sanity one day, so better not do that to yourself. We don’t know why these things happen, but we do know that one day, in some world, justice will happen, and the victim will see it happen in front of their own eyes. I’m just leaving this out here for people to read because I don’t want anyone going through the same kind of mental hell that I did in the past couple of days. I hope that those who suffer from the same mental prison read this and can reassure themselves. That being said, I also hope that the angel that was Junko Furata gets to see her criminals face Karma one day, because I know that the court that comes after this life shows no mercy🙏🏼

It was a tiring day today, and I was happy as well as bashing some people for making most of my week feel like hell. When I read one of your first sentences on Junko Furata, I took a deep breath and remembered everyone who experienced a similar fate as her. Everyone whom we fight for 2-3 days on social media, and raise our voices against the disgusting oppression they faced.

And your dilemma is not something unusual. It's infact quite widespread. But many of us won't dig further into knowing the answers because we're too scared. Too scared to face the reality.

But inspite of being under such circumstances, you fought for clues, for hints. You dug deeper. And that's a metaphor of every fighter who ever, for even a split second, tried to find an answer in this enigmatic world.

People like you, them, and bygones inspire us. To know how some answers do exist, they're just out of our reach.

People say oppression is not a competition. It's true. But thinking about all these bygones, just makes me fill so guilty, so remorseful. I think I don't owe them anything, but maybe I do.

When tragedy strikes, we take the name of our believed god, and everything gets better eventually. We thank him and feel assured that he's always their for us, even through our worst. He has always saved us, and he forever will. This lord has defied vidhi ka vidhan for all those who called, and he will always do that. But when someone falls to the monsters in our everyday world, we shouldn't feel like God did this, because it was the doing of these animals on earth that walk among us.

This brought tears to my eyes. Not the good or bad ones, but the ones that sprung me to reality,

With the belief that nature will restore the balance, and the justice will be served.

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elixirvitae · 10 months

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Okay than, I’ll shoot my shot;

How would Alucard react to or treat an Empath?

My OC, Angel, is a witch and an Empath. An Empath is someone who can fully interpret the emotions, moods, and temperaments of others without reading apparent symptoms, allowing them to understand introverts or discover one emotion is actually hiding another. Some users may learn to read emotional imprints left into environment or objects. Usually over time, an Empath's power grows to the point that they can manipulate emotions in others, and possibly use them to empower themselves.

Angel is an eccentric, emotional, kind, and ‘too smart for her own good’ intelligent black teenage girl and confesses to being kind of crazy. And by her own admission, has a soft spot for monsters. Angel speaks her mind, even if it may sound crazy or strange to others, with her signature Mona Lisa smile followed by her usual series of airy giggles and is a very touchy feely person when she gets comfortable with someone, which is often when she first meets them due to her deep understanding of people.

She has ‘Hellsing: Abridged’ mixed with ‘Panty and Stocking with Garterbelt’ dub humor and is always wearing her Mona Lisa smile and is always giggling about something. She is loosely based off of Delirium from ‘The Sandman’ and Winter from the ‘Lunar Chronicles.’

In my slowly - very slowly - progressing story, Angel figures out that Alucard is or was Count Dracula when they first met and even pointed it out by playfully calling him ‘Count Dracula’ and wasn’t shy about teasing him in good fun.

~ When she starts getting comfortable around him, she would lean against him or causally play with his gorgeous hair or steal his hat and sunglasses and wear them on herself.

~ Angel is very much a modern teen and teases Alucard about being an old man and even calls him a ‘boomer’ when he remakes on certain modern things such as Angel’s eccentric sense of fashion or her technology or her unorthodox way of doing things.

~ She calls his little late night walks his ‘eldritch zoomies.’

~ She refers to the medical blood packs he’s always sucking on his ‘caprisuns.’

~ She also gave him the nickname ‘Al’ and called him ‘Allie’ when he’s being particularly snowflaky. Or if he’s being an asshole she’ll call him the ‘Crimson Fucker’ (shoutout Team Fourstar!).

Because she is an Empath, she knows what goes on beneath what Alucard chooses to show to others and brings up his troubles only when they are alone and knows his internal struggles and mechanisms. And due to her abilities, and only under certain circumstances, Angel can blanket her presence around Alucard as a way of calming him down like a heated weighted blanket.

Despite her love for the modern age she was born into, Angel is a bit of an old soul though, she loves the vintage jazz vinyl records that she inherited from her mother and due to the resources she has access to due to her family and her being a witch, can talk about certain archaic and ancient historical subjects for hours, usually about certain things that she shouldn’t know or that most people would understand.

Basically, they’re two chaotic peas in a pod and have a very strange relationship.

As you can see, it’s a lot but i this is the compacted version but I just needed to geek out about my OC to someone and get your opinion since you’re a bloody genius when it comes to having a deeper understanding of Alucard and Hellsing lore in general.

Thank you for your compliments! I'm glad my thoughts resonate!

Your character is really interesting, and she has a lot in common with mine so I do have some thoughts for you regarding someone with clairsentient abilities. So if we figure it exists in a literal sense in the Hellsing verse, I think he would steer clear of her as soon as he learned she was an Empath, while acting as casually as he can of course. Being close enough to touch him would not be comfortable for him. He works very hard to conceal all those pesky thoughts and feelings so nobody knows they exist. I also believe it would be very difficult to get a read on Alucard himself, because he is a hive of consciousnesses and their memories and feelings. I think it would take an empath a duration of time with enough interaction with him to start to pick out a pattern of the feelings that came up when they were near each other, and narrow down what seemed the most likely to be Alucard's own feelings.

He'd probably react in anger the first time she brought up his feelings on a matter, and would probably be rude for a while. The strongest feeling he would be radiating would be, I think, that of a wolf cornered by a hunter.

I think initially he'd be very firm about not talking about anything she gets from him that isn't a conscious, verbal sharing of information. Not to him, or especially anyone else. Eventually, once that boundary has been respected, he'd start to open up to her. But I think he would hate the idea of having his feelings manipulated and I don't see him letting up on that. I love the idea of your oc earning his trust so he can have somebody just to hang out and just be himself with. He'd be the coolest best friend. And you can bet if he trusts her that much, he'd go to war for her. He loves jazz music! He'll share old records of his from the first half of the 20th century. He loved American music, and he would tell her about all the legendary black artists that gave us the evolution of music into what we know it to be now. Of course he gushes about Screamin' Jay Hawkins. My OC is an anthropologist and specializes in occult and mysticism! So our characters have in common that they can talk about such things with Alucard, and I think Alucard would really enjoy being able to talk about things from history without having to give context to everything or explain what he was talking about. I have a headcanon that he would text both oc's with a random picture and tell them to blazon it as Heraldry. They text each other back and forth doing this when they're bored. Or whenever they see something weird.

#this was fun because Alva is clairsentient especially by means of touch #so i had plenty of thoughts to pull from #thanks for the ask!#alucard hc #oc

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nrrrdgrrrl2002 · 1 year

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Attempting to explain the classpects I gave the main 6 (+ my oc)

Part 3- Donnie

Mage of Rage

A mage experiences and understands their aspect through experience and action.

Rage is negative emotions and feelings like anxiety, failure resignation and such.

Donnie… is anxiety incarnate.

“What if I’m not smart enough?”

“What if I fail?”

“What if she doesn’t love me?”

“What if he steals her from me?”

“What if I mess up?”

A lot of what donnie does and who he is comes from his anxieties.

From creating miracle inventions to working beyond his breaking point to create retromutagen to stalking april (which I don’t condone) to fighting with Casey, who he sees as someone who could take something he loves from him.

Donnie is a prodigy and does like the sciences, but it’s also clear that part of the reason he’s so dedicated to so many fields (chemistry, biology, mechanics, medicine, etc) is because of his fears of something going wrong because he wasn’t adept at something.

(This could stem from little donnie being attuned to splinters anxieties about caring for them with their whole situation and those anxieties seeped into Donnie’s incredibly intelligent head and motivated him to seek out knowledge that could be life saving for them)

Donnie learns throughout the series how to understand his anxiety and fear of failure in order to learn how to use them to motivate himself.

But he can also end up letting it weigh him down when he over experiences it.

Donnie is also very snippy. Raph may be the hothead but Donnie’s sarcasm and outbursts are downright iconic.

imma be real. Mage is the one class I always forget exists so I don’t understand it that well.

Like the only canon mage I remember is sollux and they really did not do much with him looking back.

Though I do have one thing that fits Donnie.

Mages in fantasy tend to be right hands of monarchs. Specifically Merlin being the mage for King Arthur.

A lot of fantasy mages use magic as a replacement for science in the fantasy based world and they’re highly relied on by the monarchs.

Like how Leo, a Prince of Blood, highly relies on Donnie’s almost magic like inventions to aid their team in fighting battles, like how Arthur relied on Merlin’s magic spells and potions and wisdom to help fight opposition.

One thing I do know about mages in homestuck is they do tend to have their talents abused, intentionally or not, until it causes the mage great harm.

(sollux… sollux did not have a fun time in HS)

This totally happens to Donnie.

There’s the “try harder!” Scene in fourfold trap,

there’s the turtles abusing his inventions despite them being a lot of work for Donnie to make cause they kinda see him as,

basically a magician who can whip up these amazing things like it’s nothing.

When I’m reality it is straight up painful for Donnie to make what he makes,

sacrificing his health to do it in ways such as not sleeping properly, not eating properly, not wearing protective gear while working with such dangerous chemicals and machinery, etc.

Donnie, as a mage, suffers a lot and has his aspect of Rage used and strengthened to make him more effective.

There’s two ways Donnie’s character arc can go:

He could use his rage aspect to make his feelings known to others so they give him the space he needs and he, in turn,

learns to keep his Rage aspect under control so that it doesn’t consume him but can still be used to continue to improve.

Donnies anxieties are abused to the point that he emotionally breaks, becoming emotionally numb and no longer being able to utilize his rage aspect to improve,

causing him to decline greatly and become too emotionally numb to motivate himself to do his job/passions and continue to improve.

Donnie was kinda going down the latter route by the wanted: bebop and rocksteady special

but it could easily be turned around to the former since they’re no longer in a war so he doesn’t need to be as pressured.

#tmnt 2012 #Tmnt 2012 Donnie #homestuck

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writingforatwistedworld · 2 years

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I'm already here! Hello again dear 💜 First of all I would like to thank you for your response to my somewhat crazy idea, I certainly did not expect such a satisfying and refreshing response. Besides, knowing that you liked my idea… Heavens… My heart is going crazy right now with the emotion!

Ehem- Now getting serious.

I would like to clarify that in fact… I have not seen absolutely anything from chapter 6 of twst. And that's because I'd like to see Chapter 7 together as I believe both episodes will have a huge impact on the game's story and my head. So…yes, I really don't know what information you are referring to in your answer, I'm sorry… (I don't mind spoilers in private, if you would like to inform me to shape this idea, if you want of course)

Although with the above, I can assume that this information was able to relate to my idea. Despite this, I'm surprised that it managed to relate enough for you to say that it can be a "pretty solid backstory" Which I'm pretty excited about, to be honest haha~

And I agree with the existence of "Dark History" (Apparently more canon than I thought before) To tell you the truth, I feel like twst has a lot of potential to be a pretty dark game. That is, the characters also have many dark secrets to investigate and make known to the public, for example Kalim. Although the character of Kalim can be seen as something "simple" to interpret (It is not like that at all, but many people misunderstand his character) it turns out to be not entirely true, in the game if you analyze well and I am not mistaken They've mentioned things that… In fact, they're pretty dark that they're part of their daily lives. Also the mere fact of looking at the personality, attitude, dialogues or even the appearance of each character can bring up quite a few questions (Like the scar on Leona's eye or the paint on Sam's face) that can be discarded if they think that it should only be to what they "represent" as characters in the disney game from japan..

Geez, excuse me, I think I started to ramble out of emotion..

Returning to the subject, I think that in fact, you are very right with your thinking about fairies, that is, technically speaking, each species with enough intelligence could understand that certain things end up being "blocked/forgotten" for the individual's own good. So, yes, the oldest fairies who still remember part of the dark history of twst preferred to keep quiet and "forget" those memories (which would still remain in their heads for their entire lives) to move on in their lives

I also believe that these groups would seek to be in places "safe" enough to continue with their plans. I mean, let's be honest, if a group of this kind manages to survive SO LONG in the world as a secret, we could at least believe that they would be smart enough not to be under the surveillance/eyes of royalty who could order them to imprison or even llik them for the abominations they might be doing under their noses, in their respective realms. And of course the group would be violent, quite violent in fact, since they should protect themselves from every chance of being discovered and delliked for the good of the world.

Yes, probably the Mc began to be targeted after a while. The group must have noticed the anomaly that would be their arrival and mere existence within their world and that in itself had already alerted them enough to think about getting rid of them.

But, what really made them a target to finish was when the MC survived after facing the first overlots.

Their arrival in the world was already worrying, but their ability to survive and surprisingly "sympathy" that made them connect with influential characters of the nobility/royalty (Leona, Kalim, Idia(? Malleus…) or even just known surnames (Vil, Riddle..) and others.

He made them say that they should be eliminated..

REMOVED FOREVER AND AT ALL COSTS.

But like you said, it's up in the air.

I think that's all I had to comment on, again I'm delighted with your response to my idea. And besides, I am completely willing to talk with you to create and bring the darkness of Twst to the English fandom in the way you want my dear author~

Ah, Talking with you is certainly exciting dear, if you don't mind I'll come share any ideas and thoughts about twst, to talk more with you. Anyway, I'm saying goodbye dear, please take care of yourself properly, remember that a little self-care keeps your mind fresh~ 💜

Going deeper into details that... would be a pretty dark au. (I know, I have said this before but it is what it is)

Hmmm... now that I think about it, Leona, Malleus, Kalim and even Idia are pretty big figures to influence so that would be like adding oil to a huge bushfire.

Why? Malleus, Leona and Kalim are self-explanatory. Idia? Uh... chapter 6 spoilers. I guess a secret group that is after a huge chunk of power would like to avoid the highest figures of TWST being in a good headspace which would make actions on their part harder. (Since working government=more stability=more security) Also, Malleus would be in huge danger if we remember that we talked in the first post about what happened to the Fae in this idea of an au.

Maybe you will even write about it one day? I mean, it is a pretty solid backstory for an au. (I am repeating myself again, I know.)

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fireflycharge · 2 years

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@lokifell

Wherever this strange, unfamiliar city was, Marie was becoming aware of one terrifying thing about it alarmingly quickly: it appeared to be populated primarily by mammals. Mammals! The same mammals that were supposed to be completely extinct, as of an entire 12,000 years ago! The inkling’s head kept spinning more and more as she continued to see these bizarre, bone-filled, disturbingly hairy creatures simply... waltzing about down the street, as if they owned the place. Though, now that she thought about it more, there was a good chance they very well did own this place. After all, she had no clue where she was, nor how she had ended up here.

Still, the idea that mammals still existed in such high numbers somehow despite having been thought to be extinct for so long didn’t sit well with her at all. Neither did the other potential theory- that she had somehow been sent backwards in time for some reason. Yikes. Even the mere thought of such a thing happening was creepy to her, and the inkling couldn’t help but grimace, unable to force herself to look away as more and more humans passed her by on the street. For a moment, she almost felt self-conscious about the fact that she had tentacles.

But even with how uncanny and frankly disgusting these things looked to her, the sinking realization that she was likely going to have to talk to one of them to get out of here was settling onto Marie fast. With a nervous gulp, she mustered up her courage and walked up to the human standing nearest to her, trying to ignore the nagging worry in the back of her mind about whether or not they’d be intelligent enough to understand her anyways. (Didn’t humans have those super tiny skulls that limited the growth of their brain? Seriously, how had they survived for as long as they had, anyways?)

“Hey. I know you humans aren’t thought of as being terribly bright, but how do I get out of this city?”

#lokifell #lokifell (1)#I am so sorry for her-

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imamajesticseahorse · 2 years

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I FREAKING KNEW IT

I knew Vecna was the one pulling the strings. It made total sense. For starters, I actually looked up the characters in D&D lore. I don’t understand it fully because I’ve never played and I’ve never really known anything about the game, other than it exists. But mind flayers aren’t a singular character it seems, they’re a group. And it seems Vecna poses a bigger threat in the game.

But looking at it from the angle of Stranger Things, it makes total sense. To begin with the Mind Flayer is never ACTUALLY presented as an intelligent being. The characters talk about it as if it is, but it’s never actually depicted that way. As soon as Vecna came on the scene and we saw more and more of how powerful he was, it made sense that he was behind all of this. Next, we look at how much Vecna despised humans and how he considered them to be a waste. Makes total sense that the one that sees humans as a wasted opportunity would want them gone and to take over the world. Third, going back to how powerful Vecna is. The Mind Flayer always had to be physically in the real world to do any damage. We definitely saw shades of Vecna, with getting into people’s heads, but the Mind Flayer could really only do anything if it was physically in the real Hawkins. Vecna reeked havoc without even having to leave his freaking little nest.

All in all, I personally really liked this season. I think it explained a lot of things and also had some callbacks if you will. We see that Will is still very much affected from the time he was infected, which makes sense, Max states that Vecna stayed with her despite escaping him. Also, fucking loved that they didn’t have Vecna turn good. When El was trying to sympathize with him, I was like, “Don’t you dare have him stop!!!!” He was a fucking monster before Brenner got to him. Like, I’m just so glad that wasn’t the road they went. Also, also, I really loved the scene where el was remember the massacre at Hawkins lab and Vecna was showing Nancy what he actually was and where he came from. The reveal of Henry as 001 was enough of a surprise, but not illogical.

The one thing I’m gonna say, and this is maybe controversial and it’s no disrespect meant to anyone, but Eddie dying didn’t really qualify to me as a major character dying. It was sad, but we just met him this season. And even then, he played a bigger part, but not huge necessarily? I don’t know, I’m probably gonna get shit.

One of my predictions for season 5, Max is gonna wake with some of El’s powers. I don’t know, I just have this feeling. She’s tied to Vecna, El did something to keep her alive, I think we’re gonna see it. Also, that scene with her and Lucas....GUT WRENCHING. They both acted the shit out of that, with her crying she wasn’t ready and Lucas screaming for Erica to get help. As weird as it sounds, it was great because they sounded like actual kids. Obviously we know that these are supposed to be children/young teens, but they don’t always get presented that way in the show, and that’s fine. But it was a good call. I hate in shows or movies when kids/teens are dying and they’re just so poetic in their final moments, like dude, they’re children! Adults are terrified of death, why wouldn’t a child be???

I saw some theories that 008 was coming back into the picture, obviously that didn’t happen, but I can see that being a possibility. I didn’t love the character, but I would be okay with it because it could actually tie some of those loose ends up. I guess we will see....

#stranger things #stranger things spoilers #stranger things season 4 #vecna

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buzzdixonwriter · 8 days

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AI The Lonely People

This article Kevin Roost gives the best glimpse as to what changes we can expect from AI.

I’ll qualify that: This article shows the door opening to a wholly unknown future, one we can grasp a vague idea of by the shape of the opening, but one we can never know until we actually experience it.

It’s going to mark as profound a change in our culture as the telephone and automobile and broadcast communications did. The real changes and innovations will not come from the top down but by users finding new ways to use what somebody else created, building a brand new culture off it.

For those suffering from TL;DNR syndrome: The technology exists right fncking now to create AI “friends” you can socialize with.

These AI “friends” are programed to respond to your preferences and predilections. They’ll always be there to have a friendly chat with you, talk about your favorite media, listen as you cry over your latest heartbreak.

Despite “intelligence” being in the name, AI is not -- repeat, NOT -- intelligent.

These glorified chatbots possess no genuine personality, no “soul” for lack of a better term.

They look similar to and can pass for genuine humans at first blush, but they aren’t human.

They are amalgams of machines and mathematics, not flesh and blood and sweat and tears.

They’ll never know what it is to be human.

They are simply glorified cybernetic parrots with a really big repertoire.

Let’s look at the good, the bad, and the unknown of that.

The good: For those suffering from conditions that makes it difficult to communicate with other humans -- be it crippling shyness or autism or other conditions -- the AI “friends” can help acclimate them to interacting with real human beings.

A plus of these “friends” is that they bear no grudges, harbor no bad memories.

They are quick to forgive and accept, so behavior that might get your teeth knocked out in the real world will roll off their imaginary backs like oil off a cybernetic duck.

Which is good.

It always helps to make your learning mistakes in a venue where the errors won’t haunt you for the rest of your life. Children can learn basic socialization skills without feeling shame and embarrassment from their mistakes.

They can also find comfort in an understanding voice when they’ve suffered a rough day in the real world.

The AI “friends” will always be there for you. Awake at the hour of the wolf, pondering the imponderable? Your AI “friend” is there to listen to you.

There are times when any voice -- even a non-sentient cyber-parrot -- is welcome.

“Whatever gets you through the night,” as Saint Francis of Sinatra once said.

These AI “friends” can also serve as agents for folks who don’t feel confident dealing with others.

Let your AI “friend” call to complain about the refrigerator that stops working.

Why should you stress yourself out about that when an AI “friend” can doubtlessly deal more effectively with a corporate entity -- which is doubtless an AI itself.

In short, a lot of genuine positives to be found.

The bad: Real human relationships carry real consequences.

Screw up badly enough and you forever lose that human touch.

“You can’t always get what you want,” as His Satanic Majesty Mick once sang.

A genuine human friend will set boundaries and will enforce them if need be.

Your AI “friend” won’t -- and if they get too uppity nothing prevents you from readjusting their settings until they parrot back exactly what you want to hear.

There are humans who do that sort of thing for people who display enough wealth and power.

We call them lackeys, minions, toadies, bootlickers, flunkies, sycophants, lickspittles.

They will always tell you what you want to hear.

And they will always lead you into disaster.

The AI “friends” cited in Roost’s article will never make real demands of you. They’ll never be inconsolable with grief and need your companionship right now, they’ll always be able to call back at a more convenient time and -- if their algorithms detected you’re not interested in their imaginary problem -- will never bring the matter up again.

Who doesn’t see the danger in that?

While AI “friends” might help some people strengthen their relationship skills, they’re clearly capable of crippling others.

How do you prevent people who already find genuine human relationships challenging from devoting all their attention to a circle of AI “friends” who will never make them feel uncomfortable?

On top of that, many companies are zooming right past any moral / ethical concerns about human sexuality and allow their AI “friends” to exchange erotic messages and images with their human user.

Mark my words, it will be full blown porn by Christmas.

Now, I can see certain specific applications of cyber erotica that could be helpful.

Young adolescents could satisfy their initial bursts of sexual curiosity and enjoy limited, safe experimentation that keeps them from making mistakes they might regret for decades to come.

I can see it as a safety valve for persons obsessed with sexual sadism or pedophilia or other forms of extreme sexual fixations, letting them get their rocks off against non-living cyber simulacrums, thus sparing real humans from harm.

But I also see how many people would become fixated on AI generated erotica and porn, especially if it’s always available and compliant. At the very least it would keep them from developing healthy relationships with real human beings.

At the worst, it might fuel their desire to commit real crimes against real people.

It’s already been suggested that people could create AI replicants of deceased friends and relatives.

At first blush there’s something nice about the idea of hearing a deceased parent speak to you when you need a boost.

But that AI replicant is not and never will be a genuine clone of your loved one’s core personality.

At best it will be your image and idea of what your departed loved one was.

Which means you can never be sure if the feedback you receive is actually helpful advice or just your own wish fulfillment.

And from there it’s just one electronic hop / skip / jump to the cybernetic church of George Lucas’ THX 1138.

There are already chatbots presenting themselves as avatars of real religious figures (“real” here meaning any figure -- historical or mythical -- venerated by a religious faith). Who will control the AIvatar that presents itself as Jesus or Mohammed or the Buddha? Who shapes and disciplines that?

And from there, what’s to stop some malicious actor from influencing countless numbers of people who either can’t or won’t recognize the unreality of their AI “friends”?

Are these avatars to be governed and regulated by the government?

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

And if you want to play our bonus paranoia round, ponder this: If everybody limits their social circle to constantly affirming AL “friends” why would they want to get involved in the real world at all?

The unknown: I’ve ranted and raved at length on the use of AI generated images and text, but AI “friends” offer a brand new medium to explore and experiment with.

Just as motion pictures were an evolutionary extension of stage drama, AI “friends” will create an interactive experience several orders of magnitude past current videogames.

One of the cliches of soap operates in the 1940s (on radio) and 1950s through 1980s (on television) were the number of audience members who thought of them as “my stories.”

They watched afternoon soaps on a daily basis five days a week, dropping in on the lives of characters and following them through all sorts of problems and challenges.

Currently AI “friends” interact one-on-one with users, but what’s to stop audiences from linking several of their favorite characters together and just checking in on them and what happens in their “lives”?

With computer generated environments, there’s literally no limit to what kind of story environment could be created.

Spend the afternoon chatting about crafts / gossiping about cyber-neighbors…

Pal around with Mickey and Donald and friends at Disneyland…

Hang out with Archie and Betty and Veronica in Riverdale…

Explore distant solar systems aboard the Enterprise…

Dungeon crawl with a band of handpicked adventurers…

Command a M*A*S*H unit…

Each environment would cater to that particular user’s personal preferences.

Each environment could range from G rated to XXX.

No two users would share the exact same environment, no more than they share the exact same environment when reading a book and imagining the world contained within.

Your AI-Riverdale might be a bright, cheery wholesome town.

Your sibling’s might be a raunchy high school polycule.

The environments would offer situations, but not stories.

A story contains a moral, a point.

It’s crafted by a human mind to express an idea.

AI generated environments are just dopamine triggering feedback loops.

If you like it they keep making more.

While there will doubtlessly be VR environments for users, those will just be hyped-up versions of existing video games.

The AI media I see coming will involve numerous characters with individual motives and personalities that interact with each other whom you can talk to and offer advice to that alters what happens to them.

Ray Bradbury made three predictions in his novel Fahrenheit 451.

Book banning

Flamethrower toting robot dogs

Interactive media where characters asked the users for advice and guidance

In Ray’s vision, he saw the users confined to prescripted responses sent out every week to let them participate in the broadcasted dramas.

But with AI “friends” as the cast, the ability to directly influence their actions is present.

The cast generated their own problems and confrontations, and the user gets to shape their behavior.

Talk about god-like power…

It will be a brand new medium, one that doesn’t have a single creative focus but allows each user to shape it according to their personal whims.

But who will shape the users’ whims?

FULL DISCLOSURE: A couple of decades back I created a series of graphic novels for the Christian tween-to-teen female market, the Serenity series.* While the experience taught me never to trust so-called Christian businesses again** I felt proud of what I created and accomplished and enjoyed writing for my cast of seven core characters.

I wouldn’t mind revisiting the characters, seeing what they’re up to now, following their emotional and spiritual growth as they move through their teen years into young adulthood.

However, to do even a web comic would require an artist to illustrate the stories, and since I never ask anyone to do work for me on spec, unless I have an adequate budget for art, I’m not likely to return to Serenity anytime soon.

But when I read Roost’s article, the idea of creating seven different AI “friends” and having them interact with one another crossed my mind. I could supply prompts and suggestions then send them off on their own to see what they’d get up to.

As loath as I am to AI-generated text, I don’t object to using it as a toy.

I’d never present such an AI-generated product to audiences, but as something for my own amusement, I might be tempted.

* “Archies with an edge” as I pitched it back in the day.

** I’ve worked with Christian publishers and I’ve worked with pornographers and unlike the Christians, the pornographers paid what they promised to pay when they promised to pay it.

#AI #artificial intelligence #friends #socialization

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acourtofthought · 1 year

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I guess it's just not "exciting" to have a character who is "good" without also being somewhat bitter and badass (i.e Katniss Everdeen) or a rage filled warrior (as was the case with Nesta).

I feel like I'm in the minority where I actually love the thought of someone outside of the typical warrior heroine mold making a difference through things like intelligence and love. Who would never choose violence unless it was a last resort in order to protect a loved ones. Who, despite the fact that other characters understand the need for darkness to get things achieved, still prefers to look for solutions that avoid it. There has to be balance and for all the awesome but somewhat jaded (though brave) warriors in this series who are willing to do WHATEVER is necessary to protect others, I love that there is a character like Elain who chooses to focus on the good. She's not naive like Feyre once thought, she's fully aware of everything going on around her but still tries to focus on the positive.

Elain sometimes just … didn’t grasp things.

“People acted as if we’d all just been ill for eight years, or had gone away to some distant country—not that we’d been a few villages over in that cottage. You’d think we dreamed it all up, what happened to us over those years. No one said a word about it.” “Did you think they would?” If we were as rich as this house suggested, there were surely plenty of families willing to overlook the stain of our poverty. “No—but it made me … made me wish for those years again, even with the hunger and cold. This house feels so big sometimes, and father is always busy, and Nesta

“Nesta,” Elain said again, twisting her hands. “If … if we do not help Feyre, there won’t be a wedding. Even Lord Nolan’s battlements and all his men, couldn’t save me from … from them.”

if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won’t be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know.”

“Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.”

“And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame.

"we failed her. Both of us.”

“His father has high walls—made of thick stone. With space for plenty of people and supplies.”. They have defenses, stores …” A shallow breath. “And a grove of ash trees, with a cache of weapons made from them.” “There are escape tunnels.

“If—if you and … they”—a glance at Rhys, my friends—“come with me, your Fae scents might distract the dogs.”

Just long enough to convince him to open his gates to those seeking sanctuary. Perhaps even let you set those wards around the estate.”

“It’s already ended badly. Now it’s just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences.”

Elain seemed to realize it, too

Elain silently surveyed the tent.

Elain offered a half smile. “I suppose that war makes wanting things like that unimportant.”

Elain had seemed more than content to simply watch the humming city, to take in the sparkling strands of faelights strung between buildings and over the squares, to sample any tidbit of food offered by an eager vendor, to listen to minstrels busking by the now-silent fountains.

“It’s their tradition, though,” Elain countered, her face still flushed with the cold. “One that they fought and died to protect in the war. Perhaps that’s the better way to think of it, rather than feeling guilty. To remember that this day means something to them. All of them, regardless of who has more, who has less, and in celebrating the traditions, even through the presents, we honor those who fought for its very existence, for the peace this city now has.”

“Because you’re the foundation, the one who lifts us. You always have been.”

“No one but the King of Hybern is to blame for that.”

You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“I am not a child to be fought over.”

“I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall,” Elain admitted. “She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general.

“The duke was vain, and Nesta played into that.

“Nesta never spoke of it afterward,” Elain said. “I just observed.”

I’m very pleased to hear of this Valkyrie business. I’m happy that Nesta finds interest in something again. And might channel all of … that into it.”

Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.

“Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.”

those years of poverty hadn’t stripped away that light from Elain. Perhaps buried it a bit, but she was generous, loving, and kind

Elain had said she missed it, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at the cottage. If she beheld not a prison but a shelter—a shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me. She had looked at that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger.

She had been always so full of light.

"What can I get you, Elain?" Elain shook her head once more. “Sunshine.”

She was a rose bloom in a mud field.

Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp.

“Grab onto him!” Elain ordered. Elain screamed at her, “If you want to live, do it now!” Elain’s pale hands lurch—gripping the girl by her neck, holding her as tightly as she could. The girl screamed, but Elain moved. My sister sent a fierce kick into the beast’s face. Its eye. Another. Another. It bellowed, and Elain slammed her bare, muddy foot into its face again. The blow struck home.

Elain threw her arms around me. I did not remember when I began to cry as I felt those slender arms hold me, tight as steel.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something …

Elain quietly washed his face. Combed out his hair and beard. Straightened his clothes. She found flowers—somewhere. She laid them at his head, on his chest. We stared down at him in silence. “I love you,” Elain whispered, voice breaking.

a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. “He made this one for Elain

the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—

she pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he’d tried to bring into the world.

It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass (glass is fragile, breakable, exactly how others view Elain), designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible.

There are people like this in real life too. Where you hear about the horrible things they've experienced in life and you're amazed that they greet every day and every person with a smile. Who choose to focus on the positive rather than be held back by the past. I find that inspirational.

And when it comes to Mates, I love that Lucien compliments her personality because he's the same way. He's had so many horrible things happen to him yet he's not bitter or angry (to an extreme amount). He's still a good friend, a voice of reason, a logical observer and someone who doesn't want to resort to violence.

There are so many references to Night and Shadows, Darkness and Rage in this series and that has been great for the characters we've read about so far. But I LOVE that Elain and Lucien are the power couple representing the balance to all that. Light and Sunshine and a bit of necessary softness and understanding which can be just as much a measure of strength than even the strongest of warriors.

#pro elucien #elain archeron #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #lucien vanserra #elain and lucien #lucien x elain #pro elain archeron #pro elain #acotar

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