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inhonoredglory · 9 months

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I think it makes sense to say that angels as ethereal beings in heaven are sexless but if one or two spend 6000 years on earth BEING male-sexed human bodies it no longer makes sense. As people keep recognising, eating food, drinking and driving fast among other things are all deeply embodied experiences and these have fundamentally changed them as people. The whole Jesus story is the same deal, being embodied human is transformative. We live in a time when the concept of embodiment is deeply unfashionable and Cartesian dualism is entrenched, where endless body mods and casual drugs and careless manipulation of core human physiology is enacted with barely an afterthought for deep-reaching and irreversible consequences, but it's a deeply sick framework for seeing the world

(In response to this meta about ineffables and romance/asexuality)

First of all, they don’t have “male-sexed human bodies.” They are literally "sexless unless they really want to make an effort” (Good Omens, 1990).

Like all of Neil Gaiman’s angels and demons (see The Sandman), Aziraphale and Crowley have no set genitalia, don’t (by default) engage in sexual activity, and they don’t always present or dress as male through history (although they often do).

critical-gemini-hero (excerpt): "Good Omens is the first big show I’ve seen to basically avoid transphobia all together when the opportunity presented itself, and even say fuck you to the gender binary as a bonus." Neil Gaiman (excerpt): "Thank you! That was definitely what we were going for." (source)

So no, they quite literally do not have “male-sexed human bodies” and they do not ascribe to human gender norms.

In addition, what you are suggesting is that “being in a male human body” equates to “feeling male” and “feeling sexual” because “the body dictates internal experience.”

There are literally millions of people, actual human beings living in physical bodies, who (despite living in culture) still DO NOT feel that the gender assigned to their bodies is reflective of their lived, internal experience. Merely having physical attributes does not mean you have a corresponding internal experience. You can be forced by your parents, teachers, elders, peers and everyone else to FEEL a certain way because of your “sexed human body” but it won’t make it true inside you.

If one's internal experience were so unimportant, then we wouldn't have 82% of transgender individuals consider suicide (source) because of the stigma of trying to get out of the norms assigned to them because of their "sexed human bodies."

Aziraphale and Crowley have lived in history long enough to know how varied and complicated the concepts of gender AND sex have been historically. As spiritual beings, I think seeing how much humanity has varied in its ideas on sex and gender only confirms to them how unlike humans they are (with humanity’s obsession with genitalia, sex, reproduction… food, shelter, warmth, breathing––all things that angels and demons do not need to survive).

They love humanity, they love its pleasures and inventions, but they are still very much detached from it. Looking like humans definitely doesn't help them feel like humans at all. (Look at how they talk about us!)

What are we, sniffer dogs??? They don't know what we feel like on the inside or how our biology works (we sure ain't sniffer dogs) because despite some surface appearances, they don't have the same internal experiences as us. Despite being here since the dawn of time. Despite looking like us in many ways.

They can magic up clothing and sideburns and eldritch heads to scare trigger-happy corporate men, and yet somehow gender and sex (as specifically Western-binary concepts) are something they'd totally get down with?

Also, your line of reasoning imagines people having no internal motivation or desire and suddenly get a tattoo and start to become a “bad person” or something. Yes, of course changing our bodies can affect our psychology, but our internal identity much more often influences our bodily choices than the other way around. I'm taking the drugs because I'm already depressed. I'm getting the tat because I want something cool on my body. I'm taking testosterone because I want my inner identity reflected in some ways on my physical body.

#this got long #good omens #good omens 2 #THEY ARE NOT MALE HUMANS #genderfluid #queer #transgender #trans #lgbt #lgbtqia #asexual #nonbinary #neil gaiman #tagging the tags cuz I think this is important #go meta #good omens meta #ask #anon

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jeanjauthor · 2 years

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“ We [modern humans] are like dwarves perched on the shoulders of gians [ancient peoples], and thus we are able to see more and farther than the latter. And this is not at all because of the acuteness of our sight or the statue of our body, but because we are carried aloft and elevated by the magnitude of the giants. “ ~ Bernard of Chartre, 1159

...It’s a good quote, and “we stand on the shoulders of giants” has been talked about for nearly a thousand years, but if you’re wondering why he refers to elevation, it’s because the higher up in the air you are compared to the majority of the landscape around you, literally the farther you can see.

Not just because you’re above the buildings and the trees and the hills) though that is part of it), but because your viewing angle allows you to see farther across the curve of the world. (*All of this is, of course, presuming a clear day with no haze or dust in the air.)

Or in other words:

“ At sea level the curvature of the earth limits the range of vision to 2.9 miles. The formula for determining how many miles an individual can see at higher levels is the square root of his altitude times 1.225.

Thus on a clear day at 1,000 feet a person with normal vision can see 39 miles; at 10,000 feet, 123 miles; at 25,000 feet, 194 miles.

With good visibility a pilot at 25,000 feet can see Germany from the English Channel; at the same altitude over Tunisia he can see the middle of Sicily. “ (Science: How Far Can You See article, https://content.time.com/time/subscriber/article/0,33009,766761,00.html)

Our ancestors a thousand-ish years ago instinctively understood that if you went up a really tall hill or even a mountain, and it was a good clear day, you really could see far more than those who came before you....and they understood that it is their own ancestors who built those mountains to climb up onto.

We are the beneficiaries of literal thousands of years of thinking and theorizing, inventing and innovating. No one man is an island, no one person can do anything entirely on their own. And we can acknowledge the contributions of others even as we feel pride in our own.

In fact, we need to acknowledge the efforts of others, current and past.

(You do not get to stand on the shoulders of others and take an egotistical dump on those shoulders without suffering some social consequences, buddy.)

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larathia · 13 days

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Parallel World Pharmacy: Jesus was an Isekai

This is a cute little one-season "let's highlight the importance of a particular job/field" anime. And yes, it's technically a reincarnation isekai as well. The protagonist was, on Earth, a genius chemist/pharmacist/biochemist/surgeon - let's just say Doogie Howser and House have nothin' on this guy. He's world famous for figuring out how to treat previously untreatable conditions.

Unfortunately for the protagonist, he's SO smart and SO driven he works himself into a heart attack in his mid 30s, and dies. He wakes up in the body of a ten year old boy, in another world.

So far, standard isekai really. Except not quite. I don't know why they went all out on this aspect of the story, since it has nothing to do with why they created the anime (join the school of pharmacology! It's totally cool! We promise!) but this is where things went a little weird.

Firstly, he didn't just wake up in the body of a ten year old. This isn't the standard reincarnation isekai. He doesn't get overlapping memories of his childhood in this new world. No, our hero woke up in the BODY of the ten year old. Who hadn't been breathing FOR A SOLID HOUR. And the boy hadn't just bumped his head. He'd been HIT BY LIGHTNING.

He has glowing fern patterns on both his arms. Of course, protagonist is like "yeah, you get those when you get electrocuted" but no. Those fern patterns are the holy symbol of the Medicine God.

What follows, as a kind of consistent B-plot, is the people of this new world deciding very quickly that Our Hero is in fact the incarnation of the Medicine God, here in their world to save lives and upend medical science as they know it (which, since their medical science is roughly 14th century Europe, is good for everyone) and Our Hero trying and usually utterly failing to pretend that he's just a ten year old human boy.

This is, by far, the most hilariously fun part of this otherwise pretty quiet and serious anime. Because these people don't know what bacteria are, or germs, or viruses. Our Hero promptly invents the microscope to show them, but I have to admit I find it really funny that he's consistently saying things like "yes, this illness is caused by tiny invisible creatures" and everyone else is going "EVIL SPIRITS???"

Because y'know. "tiny invisible malevolent creture" and "evil spirit" do kinda sound like you're talking about the same thing. He's chased by the Inquisition for the standard isekai business of having basically infinite ultra magic and casting no shadow, but when he tries to heal the inquisitor that tried to kill him, they flip right around into OMG WE JUST TRIED TO EXORCISE A GOD.

(This one especially amused me, because the inquisitor he heals then goes on to get himself assigned to Our Hero's town...and present Our Hero with this really really cool staff. He doesn't tell OH until after he picks the staff up that oh, by the way, ONLY A GOD CAN TOUCH THAT STAFF - so, you know, you're a god, we proved it. OH then tries to sell the idea that okay maybe he's a god but an UNDERCOVER one, okay? Please?)

This little B-plot keeps up all through the story; the viewer knows the science (which is, btw, apparently really accurate; the series was written by doctors and chemists) but frankly, the common people of the isekai world's explanations with spirits and gods and demons actually work just as well to explain what's going on most of the time.

Oh and the Black Plague has an actual literal body. Walking around. So we're not just talking 'ignorant peasants' here. Sometimes they're right.

#parallel world pharmacy #larathia reviews

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verus-veritas · 3 years

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Legacy

Revenge, Technology, Mind Transference, with a dash of unrequited love. What’s not to love? /Verus

"Dude! P-please! I'm sorry! Whatever you think I've done, it must all be a mistake!" Andew yelled, thrashing against his confinements and eyeing the only point of exit in the room. His firm muscles were wet and taut against his clothes, and his handsome face flush red with terror and worry.

"Are you really sorry though? It didn't seem like it from the way you acted during Gavin's funeral. The sneers and laughter you made as his parents said their final words to him..." I said, hiding in the shadows. Only my feet and the contours of my body was visible for him to see.

"N-no offense. I just found it funny when the parents said they wish he'd atleast gotten a girlfriend before he passed away-" The same devious sneer returned on his perfectly handsome face, as he most likely remembered the scene in his head.

"Of course you found it funny. Because you knew he was completely gay. Gay, and had a massive crush on you for ages. He literally worshipped the ground you walked on, and spent most of his waking hours wishing he could be with you." I explained, slowly walking around him as I pulled out a flimsy latex cap with electronical nodes attached to it.

"And I let him. I did no wrong." Andrew talked back. His eyes following my figure until I stood directly behind him.

"No! You lead him on, made him believe you were actually interested in him. And then you destroyed him. You are the reason he ran out of the house crying, and you are the reason he didn't see the truck speeding towards him!" My voice was shaking as I quickly slapped the cap onto his head, accidentally pulling out a few strands of his hair.

"Ouuch! Get this thing off me!" He shook his head and began thrashing about again.

"You know. He really loved you... He said he was going to make you the happiest man on earth. Showering you with gifts and undying love, and be by your side forever and ever. That's why he trusted you so wholeheartedly and let you do whatever you wanted."

"Naive..." He quietly muttered under his breath.

"He was even fine with you staring and drooling over other girls. As long as he could stay by your side."

"What a fag..." I could hear him gritting his teeth.

"But that evening when you invited him over, only to have him find you in the bedroom hooking up with a random girl... that completely ruined him. You shattered his dream, his self-confidence, and his sensitive soul! He didn't know what to do and where to go, which is why he ran straight out into the traffic..." My voice was uncontrollably going up and down now, as I was unable to hide my emotions.

"Dude only had himself to blame. He should've known I only had him around for the free stuff he bought for me." Andrew snickered, as he looked down at the expensive shorts Gavin had bought for him a few weeks prior.

"How dare you!" I tried to punch his shoulder, but knew I was too weak to do any real damage against his hard muscles.

"Y'know... it almost sounds like you had feelings for him- Wait a minute! You're that pastry white kid that always walked around with him aren't you?! Hah! 'Ghost boy' we called you!" The tone in his voice shifted - with more confidence and arrogance. Back to the way he normally talked - a manipulative bastard at heart. "I see. So you best friend Gavin never had feelings for you, and now that he's gone you blame yourself for not having stopped him."

"......" I clenched my hands till my knuckles turned white.

"Hah! Maybe you really were a horrible friend. Have you thought about that you might be the reason he's dead?" He laughed, obviously enjoying the way he was toying with my feelings.

"...you have no idea..." I mumbled, as tears began to flow down my cheeks.

"Maybe you should be the one sitting in this chair - tied up and wearing this stupid cap on your head. Hehe."

I took a deep breath and calmed myself, before walking around him once again and turning so he could see me. See the real me... one last time. "I will. Soon."

"W-what do you mean with that? And why are you also wearing that ridiculous cap?" He asked. His tone in voice once again becoming panicked and anxious.

"You see. The reason why I'm so pale is because I spend so much time at home playing with my inventions and devices. Coding is one of my favorite things to do. And for the last few months I've relentlessly been working on creating this device we're both wearing right now. It was originally only meant to be used on you, recoding the patterns in your brain into loving Gavin as much as he loved you. While also erasing all of your bad traits and turning you into his ideal boyfriend... but there's no reason for that anymore, is there? So, I upgraded it into 2.0, which can now be used with two people."

"P-pff... yeah right... and what does this new version do then?"

"It can transfer the consciousness between two human brains. Even recoding the brain into believing the new consciousness have always been in control of its own body. All the memories, habits, and even muscle memory will be easily accessible to the new permanent owner." I explained, as I began fiddling with a machine by our side. The nodes on our caps lit up.

"Permanent?! Wait a minute. Let's say all of this freaky sci-fi stuff is actually real, what's going to happen to my consciousness?" Andrew asked, as he began to get more anxious by the beeping sound of the nodes on his head.

"All gone. Overwritten by mine. Erased out of existence with no way of restoring it." I answered nonchalantly. Flicking the last switched around, the device was now ready to be activated.

"What the fuck! Then you're basically killing me?! Get me out of here, you sick freak!" He began violently thrashing against the back of the chair, and flung his head around to get the latex cap off... but to no avail.

"Am I really though? Your memories, your body, and your relationships will all still be here, under my complete control. I'm just... discarding a small part of you that's no longer necessary."

"No...no... Help! HELP! SOMEONE!! THIS CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER IS GOING TO KILL ME!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, but the soundproofed walls would do him no good.

I flicked the final switch and walked over to him as the machine began buzzing. Standing in front of him, I suddenly sat down on his lap and grabbed hold of his face. I stared into his fearful yet piercing blue eyes and slid my hands across the cheeks and contours of his face.

"This beautiful face of yours that Gavin loved, I promise I'll take good care of it and cherish it until the day I die. It's the least I can do to honor my friend Gavin." I leaned forward and gently laid a kiss on his sweaty forehead, while holding him in place as he screamed for all he was worth.

"No! Noo! NOoO-Uoogguuughhhh" His scream turned into a gurgle as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. At the same time, my eyes went white and hazy as my pastry body slumped over and fell on the cement floor. Most likely cracked open its head or something from the sound of it.

"NgOOuoouughhgguuuhh!!!" Andrew's head flung back and forth as if to fight whatever was invading his head, but it barely took a minute before the thrashing suddenly stopped and his head slumped down.

His eyes were closed, his face flushed red from exertion, and the sweat and drool pooled down onto his expensive shorts. A further five minutes of stillness and blinking nodes passed before any activity was seen.

---

*Gasp*

I awoke to the cap on my head giving me a quick electric shock. In front of me laid my old withered body, lifeless and without a doubt stone dead. My throat felt dry and tired, and the ties on my arms hurt like hell. In fact, everything felt, looked, and smelt different. The smell oozing from my sweaty clothes that once smelt great now stunk in my nose. I could recall from Andrew's memories that he showered atleast twice a day. I showered atleast twice a day.

After some fiddling with the special knots in my back, I easily slipped the rope off. Massaging the sore parts on my wrist, I soon relished in how big and strong my new hands looked now. Hands who should've been holding Gavin's...

I explored further up till I reached my new bulging biceps. Squeezing them I felt how firm and taut they were. I never in a million years would have managed to get myself this big, but here I was, standing in the body of a perfect specimen. The body of the man who my friend loved, but who didn't truly love him back. If only I could've done this before Gavin died... Would he have loved me instead, or would he have hated me for what I had done? Well, atleast he would've been alive.

My focus went to my Andrew face, as I caressed the blemish-free skin and the small stubble forming on it. The face of the man I had hated for a while, the face of the man whose identity I would have to take over, and the face I would see in the mirror for as long as I breathed. It was one of the most handsome faces I've ever laid my eyes on no doubt, so I'm perfectly fine with that decision.

My hands continued to explore what was now mine; running fingers through my lush but wet hair, following the outline of my cobblestone abs, and shaking my strong and muscular legs awake from sitting too long.

Not long after I finally slipped the drool and sweat-soaked shorts off myself and watched as the tool between my legs arose to its new owner. It might not have been as long as my former one, but the very girth of it made up for it. As I enveloped it between my palms, I realized that no one had ever been as intimate with Andrew's tool as I was now, and no one would ever be. Not even Gavin would if he was somehow resurrected. Only I, Andrew would ever know how this throbbing member would feel in my own hands, the endorphins and pleasure its touch would send throughout my amazing body, and the ultimate earth-shattering orgasms I would experience as I edge myself to climax every day from now on.

The very thought of it immediately brought me to the brink of orgasm, so I quickly spread my legs apart and thrust the member fully through my grasp. It was all that was needed as I suddenly began shaking with pleasure and exploded shot after shot of Andrew seed all over the floor, myself and my former lifeless body."Ugh! Uuuugh! UUUuOOGggHH!!"

“.... Holy shit.....” I moaned, slightly shocked by the unfamiliarity of the new voice coming from my throat.

Reeling from my first ever orgasm in my new body and life, I sat back down on the chair and took a breather. I was sweaty, my crotch sticky, and my armpits stunk. Yet, I know I still looked glorious. How couldn't I? After all, I am Andrew. The man who Gavin loved, and who loved him back just as much, if not even more...

I will dedicate this new life of mine to worship and care for this body just as much as Gavin would have. His legacy, Andrew's body and life, and my consciousness have finally become one... and I promise I will carry them with pride and confidence to the grave... even if it is the only thing I will accomplish in this short insignificant life of mine.

#possession #revenge #selflove #love #dark #permanent #identity theft #mine

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delimeful · 3 years

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hold my body down (2)

chapter 2 of this fic!

warnings: arguing, mild violence, cult mentions, mild gore mentions

Virgil stared at the man, his mind blank. What?

“That’s-- great?” Roman tried, his voice cracking in the middle with bewilderment. The human beamed, beckoning with his hand. Roman reached out and Virgil slapped his hand back, glowering at him.

“What have I said about accepting help from random friendly men?” he hissed, eyeing the stranger warily. Roman flushed, shoving him slightly, but notably didn’t try to move forward again.

The man-- Patton’s smile didn’t falter, but his hand dropped slightly. Virgil refused to feel bad. For once, he was completely sure that his level of paranoia was necessary for the situation.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Patton said, folding onto his knees to sit on the edge of the bag’s opening. “I can just explain from over here. I would come to sit in the bag with you, but last time I did that I got held hostage and Logan put a ban on interacting with terrified strangers without his direct supervision.”

“That, uh, seems rather fair,” Roman offered, still wildly out of his depth. Virgil rolled his eyes, a hand on the hilt of one of his daggers in case the stranger made any sudden moves.

“Who’s Logan?” He asked, eyes flickering up to what little he could see through the opening.

“Oh, he’s the one who rescued you!” Patton said cheerily. Virgil broke out into a cold sweat immediately.

“Rescued?” Roman echoed in disbelief. “Are you talking about the giant? Because I’m pretty sure he just abducted us against our will.”

“No, no, it’s not like that!” Patton insisted, only confirming Virgil’s theory that he was probably brainwashed and/or had Stockholm syndrome. Or both. Or a variety of other, worse options, such as yet another cult member or another giant in disguise.

“Easy, Virgil.” Roman laid a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Uh-- Patton, was it? If we’re not being… y’know… kidnapped and imprisoned, do you think you could back up so we can get out of the bag?”

“Of course!” Patton answered, popping back to his feet. “I’ll be right out here, take your time! I’m sure the last couple of hours have been rough.”

Virgil tried not to snort. Rough was one word for it. His amusement died a quick death when Roman began moving towards the opening. He latched onto the other man’s arm like a steel trap. “I don’t trust this.”

“You don’t trust anything,” Roman retorted automatically before softening. “It’s okay, I’m just checking to see what’s out there. Won’t even get out of the bag, on my honor.”

Virgil reluctantly followed him, grabbing onto him tightly as though he could keep anything out there from hurting him by yanking him back into the bag.

Roman ducked his head back under the cloth a moment later. “Okay. Bad news, there is absolutely a giant still out there. Good news, he’s all the way over across the room, reading a book. He is steadfastly ignoring both us and Patton, who waved at me.”

“What.” Virgil clutched at his hair. “What is going on?”

“I suspect we’ll have to ask Patton that. If we want answers, we’ll have to go get them,” He said, patting Virgil on the back encouragingly. “Don’t worry, my Dark and Stormy Knight, I’ll keep you safe.”

“My job,” Virgil grumbled, not releasing his grip on Roman’s wrist as he led the way out of the bag.

Everything was huge. He should have expected it, seeing as this was a giant’s home, but it still threw him off. They were on a huge table, in a huge living room, and the giant was indeed across the room with a huge book, pretending like they didn’t exist. From this distance, Virgil could actually take in all of him without feeling like he was going to pass out.

Patton was sitting a few feet away, and beamed at their approach. Virgil barely tore his eyes away from the giant long enough to nod distractedly at him. “Hi again! Are you guys okay?”

“We’re… fine,” Roman said, uncertain. “I think we’d just like to know what’s going on?”

“That’s totally understandable!” Patton replied, sympathetic. “I was pretty jittery after Logan first brought me here, too!”

“Oh, great,” Virgil muttered to Roman. “Serial kidnapper.”

Roman shot him a look before turning back to Patton. “He brought you here? Could I ask… why?”

“The same reason he brought you two here! I was in danger.” Patton glanced over to the giant with a fond smile before leaning in secretively. “To be honest, I think he was even more worried than I was! I was sort of stabbed at the time, though, so I guess that makes sense.”

“How were you ‘sort of stabbed’? You’re either stabbed or you’re not!” griped Virgil, who was possibly feeling more snappish than normal after one of the most stressful experiences of his life.

“My goodness, you were stabbed?” asked Roman, who had always been a sucker for a dramatic tale.

Patton tugged up the edge of his shirt, displaying a nasty-looking scar that curved around his side and stomach. In Virgil’s professional opinion, there was nothing ‘sort-of’ about a wound like that; it had been meant to kill. “Yeah, the people you met in town, they’re a cult! And they wanted to do a blood sacrifice for the monsters in the woods, and I wasn’t exactly well-liked, so…,”

“They stabbed you and left you for dead?” Virgil finished, a bit of anger leaking into his voice despite his determination not to sympathize with this guy.

“But I didn’t die!” Patton waved his hands a bit as though in celebration. “All the monsters in the woods had already been scared off when Logan moved here, and so he was the one who found me and helped me recover!”

Roman glanced over at the giant again, a speculative look in his eye that Virgil absolutely did not approve of. He scowled, his grip on Roman’s wrist tightening slightly.

“Right, and he just did this out of the goodness of his heart?” Virgil snorted dubiously. “I wouldn’t believe that from another human, let alone someone with a literally huge advantage over us. If your story is true, why didn’t the cult try to gut us? For that matter, if he’s not into human sacrifices, why wouldn’t your buddy over there just tell them to stop? Or, y’know, not kidnap us in the first place?”

“Well, hold on--,” Patton tried, but Virgil was on a roll.

“How do we know that this isn’t some elaborate setup? If he has the magical capabilities to heal a mortal wound, then wouldn’t it be easy for him to enchant a captive into believing that he’s just doing what’s best for him? Before, you said there were other people brought here-- what happened to them? Do you even know?”

Across the room, there was a sharp clap as the giant firmly snapped his book shut.

“They left,” Logan said firmly, the first words that they’d heard from him. “And if you continue to harangue my housemate, I will ask you to do the same.”

“Logan,” Patton said, a little exasperated.

Virgil felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of those huge, dark eyes locked onto him, but he plastered his best snarl on even as he dragged a protesting Roman partially behind him. “We’d be glad to leave, but someone put us on a table ten times our height!”

“Virgil,” Roman tried, but Virgil didn’t have the luxury of not paying attention to the pissed off giant in front of them.

“There’s a staircase down to your left,” the giant informed him coldly, “so if you are intent on watching your companion die from organ combustion, you have my utmost permission to leave.”

Logan!” Patton chided, a lot exasperated. He turned back to them. “He doesn’t mean it like that, I promise.”

“Really?” Virgil snapped, crowding Roman back further. “Because it sure sounds like he just outright threatened to kill us if we leave.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose before rising easily from his chair and reminding them all just how big he truly was. “This is why I let Patton handle the talking. I don’t know why humans always insist on making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

Virgil’s heart jumped into his throat as the giant approached, a thousand potential ways they were going to die flashing before his eyes. Behind his back, he flashed Roman a hand sign that meant ‘run for it’, and then released his friend’s wrist to draw one of his knives threateningly.

It was a pointless effort, but he’d known since setting out with his prince that one day he’d die for him.

Sure enough, the giant moved with that same uncanny speed he’d shown in the clearing, and simply grabbed Virgil’s forearm between his fingers as easily as one might scruff a cat, preventing any stabbing.

When Virgil immediately went to grab for another knife with his free hand, he found himself abruptly lifted and maneuvered, and couldn’t help letting out a startled yelp. The giant had essentially flipped him onto his front and settled one hand on his back as a weight, leaving him pinned and the giant firmly out of stabbing range.

More concerning was the fact that he could now see Roman, who hadn’t moved more than a few steps, and not just because he was a stupidly loyal, headstrong idiot. The prince seemed almost dazed, his skin shiny with sweat as he glanced between Virgil and Logan. Something was wrong. “Roman--!”

“You’re beginning to feel it, aren’t you?” Logan said, his cold tone thawing slightly as he looked down at Roman. “The cult of that town has only grown more... inventive with every cruel sacrifice they attempt. Rather than physical injuries, they’ve turned to blood curses, which has made my life exceedingly difficult.”

“Blood-- Blood curses?” Roman managed, looking more pallid by the moment.

The giant set a free hand down, palm up in offering. “I can reduce the effects. If you give me sufficient time, I can unravel the curse entirely, though brewing a countercurse will likely necessitate a drop of your blood.”

“Why go to the trouble?” Roman asked haltingly, meeting Virgil’s frantic gaze for only a moment. “What do you want in return?”

Logan sighed. “If you insist on applying such intentions to my actions, you can call it compensation. It is because of my presence that the cult continues to leave ‘offerings’, and thus your current state is my fault.”

“Then why not just do it?” Roman asked, staring at the offered hand with clear suspicion. Virgil was almost proud.

“Patton has gone to great lengths to teach me manners for interacting with smallfolk,” Logan replied dryly. “The first of which being ‘don’t grab.’”

There was a brief moment of silence as they all looked to Virgil, who was still pinned and sorely wishing he was in biting range of Logan’s hand.

“Manners don’t apply if someone is trying to stab me,” Logan added, a beat late.

Patton waved from where he was half-hidden behind Logan’s arm. “It’s true, my lessons did make an exception for stabbing!”

“Let him up,” Roman requested, his voice lacking its usual bravado. He still appeared concerningly ill. “He won’t stab you, right Virgil?”

Virgil grumbled something uncomplimentary under his breath, before sighing and going limp. “All I want is to protect my prince. If you actually mean to help him, I won’t stab you.”

“Now that stabbing is off the table, I’ve gotta say, it’s knife to meet you,” Patton chimed in, his grin audible in his voice.

“Patton, please,” Logan groaned, lifting his hand off Virgil to instead massage his temples in exasperation. “You’re going to disturb our guests.”

“Aw, are you sure? I think my jokes are stabsolutely hilarious!”

Virgil ignored the ridiculous byplay between the two of them to scramble to his feet and hurry to Roman’s side, ignoring the way Logan moved his arm slightly to be between him and Patton. “Roman, are you okay?”

“Are you? You’re the one who just got gently tenderized by Bignoramus over there for the second time today,” Roman countered, matching Virgil’s whisper.

“Fine, stupid question, clearly neither of us are okay. Are we really doing this, though? We could still run.”

“I’m… not sure we can, actually.” Roman’s hand hovered over his chest, face drawn tight with pain. “They definitely did something to me, and I doubt either of us will figure out how to fix it or get aid in time. … Look. This may be my only option, but you don’t have to--”

“Can it, Princey,” Virgil cut in, dragging a hand through Roman’s hair roughly and ignoring his resulting squawk. “Where you go, I go.”

“Even there?” Roman asked, tilting his head toward Logan’s palm somberly.

Virgil looked over to Logan, watching the attentive way he was listening to Patton speak and contributing words of his own. The giant could have done away with any of them at any point, and he hadn’t. That wasn’t enough to really trust him, it could still all be part of some scheme, but... it had to count for something.

If it was the only thing that could help Roman, Virgil could push aside his fear and his anger.

“Even there,” he answered, and led the way onwards.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides g/t #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #hmbd #hold my body down #g/t #my writing #writing #man its been ages since i posted the first chapter of this huh #surprise!

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the-fae-folk · 2 years

Note

Hello again! I was wondering what some people meant by not projecting human traits onto the fae because they are otherworldly beings. In stories I've read fae can be jealous, hold grudges, are sometimes benevolent, and other times deceptive. These things can count as human traits. So what do some mean by not attributing certain traits to the fae because they are ones mostly associated and felt by humans? Sorry if this is confusing, I don't know how else to word it.

A fantastic question! Absolutely brilliant! And something I myself have been pondering for some time now. The answer gets a little complicated if we're taking into account that some believe Faeries to be real literal beings who exist and have cultures and lives of their own, while others only believe they are literary and folkloric inventions and largely fictitious. But the idea is that if Faeries are truly some other kind of being, something not a deceased human spirit or otherwise directly related to humans, then we can probably guess that their psychology and biology (if they have a physical form) is different from ours. Perhaps they might appear human, but take a closer look and they could actually be a lot closer to a tree or a really really resilient form of coral or a fungi. Maybe instead of carbon they are made from some other type of matter. Or maybe they exist largely in different dimensions of space or time and thus have a very different range of understanding about things. Sure, if they are anything at all like the beings we’ve described in countless folkloric tales and songs, then there is certainly some overlap. But the question is... where? And if something appears to be the same, can we be certain that it’s not just outwardly similar? Let’s talk about emotions for a minute. Emotions seem to be triggers, set off when our body and brain responds to our environment. Some of them seem to be learned responses, such as a moment of anxiety upon seeing a scarf of a particular color that might have matched the scarf of a person you fear. Others, such as an emotion of foulness when you haven’t eaten, or a momentary surge of anger when someone takes something of yours away from you. These sorts of emotions are harder to pin down, because we want to say they’re instinctual, natural. Whether they are much different than learned emotions is a subject of debate, as is the whole topic of emotions in general. But are emotions the things we are subjected to all the time? What makes us depressed, or anxious, or irritable? No. Not at all. Emotions are triggers, quick responses of neurons and releases of chemicals. They last a few moments before being replaced by something else. No, what you are thinking of are Feelings. Feelings are not the same thing as an emotion. But they do encompass emotions within them. Often lots of them, cascading through you. Had a spark of irritation? Or are you irritable? One is an emotion of a brief moment, the other a feeling that lingers for a time. Feelings don’t have to have emotions to work. You could have a feeling of knowing, the sensation that you know precisely what is happening in a situation despite it not being explicitly stated or otherwise made known. You could also feel tired, a feeling that causes emotions due to physical stressors, but is not caused by emotions. We like to use the words feelings and emotions interchangeably, and its a source of much confusion. You see, Love is a feeling. But it is not an emotion. Sometimes it has some emotions as part of it. Passion or excitement about something or someone, lust towards a person, the emotion of care (the desire to provide for, protect, and generally give to someone or thing that which we believe is best for it. The emotion of Care is NOT Love). But love also encompasses an understanding of someone, getting to know them really well and falling into a pattern of behavior based on your familiarity of that person or thing. Understanding isn’t an emotion, though understanding someone can bring about warm fuzzy emotions in us. Understanding is a feeling. Love also can contain other aspects such as true sight, the ability to see the other person as a multi-faceted living being who has victories and downfalls, who has both virtues as well as many flaws. It is seeing that instead of putting someone on a pedestal (either seeing them as flawless and wonderful or the epitome of everything that is wrong with the world) you see that the other person is complex and cannot easily be placed in any category. True Sight isn’t an emotion or a feeling. It’s a skill that must be taught and then honed with practice. If you were to ask me, I would say that Love is Choice. Choosing to take the time necessary to understand, choosing to look truly at someone while questioning all of your assumptions and biases, it is choosing to care for someone and to ignite the feeling of care for someone when you consider how to provide for and protect them. It is choosing to put ourselves at a place of emotional vulnerability that we might feel such things as passion or sexual desire for another person, that we might also find deep intimacy, and be able to forge a relationship of some kind. Love is choosing, but it is also granting choice. The freedom to choose. To stay or to go, to listen or to ignore. If a parent loves a child, they will protect them from things that they cannot see, cannot understand. But in the end, they need to let go. You cannot make every choice for your child. Not only is that literally impossible as the sheer multitude of choices going on at every moment of life takes that out of your hands immediately, but your child must also learn how make the large choices on their own, to grow or fail by their own word and deed. To seek out what you might know is very worst for them. You might beg and plead, advise, rail against, or worry over their choices. But Love... love is letting them make their choice if they will not listen. Loving a romantic partner, loving a friend, loving a child or a parent, loving a brother or sister, loving a pet, loving a culture or group of people. All of these are different kinds of love. Each has different components, and if you don’t know what to look for, you might confuse it with other feelings that drift close to love but do not quite match up. Obsession can be that kind of feeling. When it drifts into the area of relationships with other people, obsession can mimic many aspects of love. But it cannot gain a deep understanding, it cannot see true, it cannot give choice. It can only play the part, follow the dance, memorize the facts by rote and miss the point of them entirely. Filled with the fire of passion or of lust or a feeling of power and control, it will eventually fade and the embers will flicker out. You wanted to know about human traits. Why they cannot be attributed to Faeries. If we agree that these faeries might be fundamentally different from us in some way, as they must be, they will likely feel things differently too. Different emotions, different feelings. And yes, things will come close, perhaps unknowingly overlapping with, emotions and feelings we experience. Perhaps they do feel jealousy, perhaps they do feel a surge of rage. But how close are they to the emotions we give those names to in ourselves? Are they the same? Are they deeper somehow? Perhaps the differences between us are merely cultural, or perhaps we’re projecting emotions we understand upon their behavior without really understanding what it is we’re seeing. If I came to you today and said that all Faeries, but especially the ones who dream for hundreds of years at a time, felt an emotion called Durchmenalia whenever they woke from a particularly long sleep. That when they felt the emotion it was always accompanied by a very very brief sensation of pressure under their skin that was not pleasant but not quite unpleasant either, similar to the sensation of holding your breath under water for a good long time and then popping up to the surface and gasping in a breath of fresh air. What if I were to describe all the associations they make to the feeling? That it’s slightly to the left and down of unsettling, yet perpendicular and bisecting to the feeling you get when you see a friend or an enemy that you knew for a very long time and understood, yet haven’t been around for a very long time, and just ran into them on your way to pick up a bun at the corner shop. If a pixie told you that the feeling of Durchmenalia was connected to the colors burgundy, yellow ochre, and periwinkle. And a goblin described how it makes them want to go searching for something green and leafy to be near. If a dragon explained all the ways in which it would be felt if any of the circumstances of the sleep were even the tiniest bit different.... Would you be able to comprehend that emotion? No. You couldn’t. You cannot even wrap your mind around the emotion of Durchmenalia because you cannot feel it (also because it doesn’t exist). Some might point out that if language were not as limited as it is, perhaps you could describe it so carefully and closely that you were able to feel that emotion just by hearing it described, or know precisely what a specific color appears like despite being blind, or upon reading a description know the exact sound a person is describing despite having never heard a sound in your life. Perhaps, if language were more than it is, you could do that, but language, sadly, is too limited for that to work. So we may never know if such a thing is possible. But River, you ask, what if they aren’t real? What then? If they’re just fictitious beings that arose from stories and tales over time? Well then, you’re free to attribute whatever you like to them. After all, stories about Faeries are for human benefit, not the Faeries themselves. Describing fanciful wonders, far of places, and strange happenings. Certainly you can have some aspects of the alien about your characters, something inhuman and different.

But if your purpose is to tell a story, then you must have SOMETHING your readers can comprehend. Otherwise you might as well tell a story in the language of the trees about the exact way this particular oak in this part of the country got its hundred and twenty seventh ring. I’m certain that even if they could they actually read it, your audience would be more than a little lost. That is why all the old stories offer these beings, whatever they are, all kinds of emotions and feelings and behaviors that they might not have had. Because those stories were told by humans for humans. Warnings, interpretations, messages, and lessons. Carried by stories that could entertain or excite. And giving them emotions and traits that we can understand and relate to is the easiest way to make a character seem full and fleshed out, more interesting to your reader in a way that wants them to keep going to find out what happens to that character. There are other methods of writing characters than finding ways of making them relatable, of course. But giving human emotions and character traits are certainly one of the easiest ways of doing it. Are Faeries deceptive? Yes. They may speak the exact truth, but in the tales we see them doing so in just the right way to fool and beguile others. Regardless of what they feel, that is still deception, even if they never speak a direct lie. So they are deceptive. Are they benevolent? Maybe. Benevolence is a disposition, a moral value that leads to one being inclined to act to the well-being and benefit of others. Since we cannot possibly know what they are feeling or what they value unless they tell us, then we might better attribute to them Beneficence, which refers to actions or rules aimed at benefiting others. It can still encompass benevolent feelings, but many instances in history highlight instances of Beneficence which are merely obligatory duties of an official or other authority.

#fae #faerie #emotions #feelings #philosophy #my philosophical rantings about love #otherfolk #folklore #writing characters #attributes #goodness this one got out of hand really fast #hope this was what you wanted #i am not a neurologist nor a neuropsychologist #i am a literary scholar and a philosopher #do not quote me on your biology paper #do your research and check your sources properly #if you do it anyway and fail i will just laugh at you

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Pennywort and Swallowtails

For @phantomphangphucker :)

Prompt: Flynn, due to being Phantom’s aka the Ghost King’s family and part of the Zone’s society, receives a Prince title and is now getting crowned.

Flynn couldn’t put his finger on exactly why, but the Ghost Zone seemed different lately. There was something in the atmosphere, almost. It felt… lighter, maybe?

He didn’t like it.

After all these years in the Ghost Zone, he’d come to regard any change from the norm with suspicion. The tendency had saved his life multiple times. Usually, such changes were caused by a nearby and powerful ghost. Or, on rare and terrifying occasions, a not so nearby and obscenely powerful ghost.

For example, that Pariah Dark guy he’d heard about from some of the ghosts he traded with. Flynn sure was glad someone else had taken care of him. Not that Flynn was much good in a fight against any ghost more powerful than that annoying one in overalls that showed up whenever Flynn so much as thought of making anything even vaguely box-shaped.

Which wasn’t that often. Flynn had never really nailed the whole carpentry thing. Ha. He’d never been super great at the whole square thing either. Because he wasn’t one. Skipped school and everything. The whole high school experience. Ha.

Sometimes he really cracked himself up, but only in the most depressing of ways.

He sighed, heavily. Maybe he should think about spending more time in his hideaway cave, under his cottage (aka his shack, it was a shack, who was he kidding). Stock up on supplies. Get ready to weather a storm. Literal or metaphorical.

But hiding out in the cave was so boring. There wasn’t anything to do down there. Except try to design better grass shoes and to patch his increasingly ragged clothing with limited amounts of thread. He preferred being outside greatly. Even if it was just on his little floating island, messing around in his little garden, growing potatoes and blood blossoms, digging for those crystals ghosts seemed to fear and desire in equal measure.

Flynn was peripherally aware that he was supplying the ghosts he traded with the equivalent of ghost uranium (one of the few human-world things he’d picked up was a middle school science textbook), but…

Yeah. Guy had to eat, and the Ghost Zone didn’t exactly have cops running all over the place, or the United Nations, or… yeah. Honestly, the Ghost Zone didn’t have much of anything, at least not in these parts. It was pretty empty around here.

Just like Flynn’s heart.

Ha.

Yeah. That was a good one.

Eh. Life wasn’t so bad. He was sort-of-kind-of friends with half a dozen undead monsters of questionable morality, had his own house, most of his teeth, and copious free time. Plus, it had been a while since the ‘rocks from nowhere’ decided to trash his roof. Which was bad for the sport he had invented (Chucking Rocks into the Misty Void), but good for roof integrity. And not having a concussion. Or losing any more teeth.

But, back to his original topic.

Flynn glared absently at the Zone at large. Okay, yeah, something was going on. Was it Flynn’s problem? Maybe. Was it directly Flynn’s problem? No. The day was otherwise clear and ‘normal’ (the term being used loosely in the Ghost Zone), so he might as well go about his day—

The sky tore open in front of him.

Flynn recognized that. Before he knew what he was doing, he threw himself away from the portal. The last time he’d stepped through one of those—

The thought crossed his mind that this portal might lead back to Earth, back home, back to Mom. But he knew from his ghostly friends how unlikely it was that the portal would put him anywhere near his home physically, not to mention temporally. It might not even lead back to Earth for that matter.

He took cover behind a boulder, cursing his blasé dismissal of potential danger. Who knew what could come out of a portal? At least according to the ghosts he talked to. Hopefully, nothing came out that he couldn’t beat into submission with his ectoranium staff.

This was going to suck so much.

The portal disgorged three floating eyeball ghosts in voluminous robes.

(One of the other books Flynn had gotten his hands on was a dictionary. Which he had read. Twice. Living on a tiny floating island was boring when it wasn’t terrifying.)

Ah, heck. He could take one ghost. Three? Yeah. Not a chance.

Maybe they’d leave? They couldn’t know for sure he was here. With how unpredictable portals were, and all.

“Flynn Walker,” intoned the central eyeball ghost with a great deal of gravitas.

Flynn’s body did something between a cringe and a blanch.

He was never trusting Globithar the Lapidarist’s tall tales ever again. He wasn’t going to give him any more discounts for them, either. No way to control a portal his scarred left butt cheek.

“Flynn Walker,” repeated the eyeball ghost, now with a touch of annoyance.

“In accordance with the laws of the Infinite Realms,” said the leftmost ghost, in a higher-pitched voice, “we call you to take up your position in the Court of the King of All Ghosts as a member of his family.”

Ah, that ectocontamination Aunt Maddie had sometimes talked about had finally caught up with him, and he was hallucinating something fierce. Either that, or these ghosts thought unbelievable jokes were good bait. They weren’t. Flynn would know. He’d made many unbelievable jokes. They’d never attracted anything but groans.

Ha.

“This is ridiculous,” hissed the third ghost. “He isn’t even a real ghost.”

“He’s more ghostly than Phantom’s sister,” said the second.

“We don’t have any choice about her, though. Can’t we simply… not tell Phantom about this Flynn? Especially if this cousin of his is so craven as to hide at a moment like this.”

Rude, but accurate.

“He’ll find out,” said the first eyeball, tiredly. “He always finds out. Damn Clockwork.”

This was officially too weird for Flynn. Why were they cursing out clocks?

“Because they’re petty and don’t have anything better to do.”

Flynn may or may not have shrieked like a little girl at the voice behind him. The uncertainty was mostly because Flynn hadn’t seen or heard a little girl since he was in the vicinity of his cousin, Jazz, which was years ago. At least a decade.

But he did scream. Loudly. Which he really should know better than to do, living in the Ghost Zone and all. He brought his staff up defensively, too, though, so his self-preservation skills hadn’t completely shorted out.

“Clockwork!” chorused the eyeball ghosts.

“Yes, yes,” said the ghost who’d snuck up on Flynn, flicking imaginary dust off his robe as he smoothly, and dizzyingly, shifted between ages. “I’m sure you’re all very shocked that I’m here, after you just finished complaining about how much I know.” He examined his fingernails. “Now, Mr. Walker—”

“Walker?” shrieked one of the eyeballs.

“Yes, he is related to our illustrious sheriff. As I was saying, I am here to bring you to your cousins, who have risen quite a bit in this world.”

“What.”

“It is, indeed, rather surprising,” said Clockwork. “To those who cannot see the twists and turns of fate. Or those who are willfully blind to those twists and turns.” He eyed the eyeballs.

“What,” repeated Flynn, more forcefully.

“Clockwork,” growled the lead eyeball.

“Allow me to explain,” said Clockwork. “Do you recall your youngest cousin, Daniel?”

“Uh,” said Flynn. He adjusted his grip on his staff. “Vaguely?”

“He was crowned King of All Ghosts a few weeks ago. As a member of his family and an active participant in ghost society, you are automatically a member of the court. Assuming you wish to be, of course.”

“You- You’re saying I have family here.”

“Indeed.”

“Like, Aunt Maddie?”

Something odd passed over Clockwork’s face. “No. Your cousins. Daniel, specifically.”

“Wait, wait, he was a baby. Wouldn’t he only be, like, ten or something?”

“Fifteen,” corrected Clockwork.

“How did he die?”

“You will have to ask him that,” said Clockwork. He raised an eyebrow. “If you would like, you can sleep on this and I will return tomorrow.”

Flynn bit his lip. Hard. Okay. He wasn’t dreaming. And- And this ghost didn’t seem to be lying. What would the point of that even be, anyway? Flynn was nothing. He didn’t have anything they could possibly gain by lying like this.

“I’ll go with you,” said Flynn.

“Excellent,” said Clockwork, clapping his hands. “Then let us away to the castle.”

Well. That was certainly a castle. Or a palace? Flynn wasn’t sure of the difference. The ghosts hadn’t lied about that, at least.

It was a big step up from Flynn’s house. Which, honestly, more deserved the title of hovel. Or perhaps shack.

Or even hole, when compared to all this. Dear god, this place was fancy.

Flynn hunched his shoulders, feeling out of place even as Clockwork led him deeper into the massive edifice.

Come on, Flynn, he thought furiously at himself. Some of these people aren’t even wearing skin. You are not underdressed.

Clockwork brought him to a normally sized (which was, incidentally, not a given in this place, which contained both huge and tiny doors) door with understated but elegant carvings. “Here are your rooms,” said the ghost. “You will find a selection of clothing in your size in the wardrobe, and the bathroom is fully stocked and human safe.”

“Human safe?”

“Human safe.”

That was ominous.

“There is a bell in the room that will summon a servant should you need one. I will collect you for dinner in three hours. Long enough for you to relax, I should hope.”

Or long enough for him to worry himself into pieces and chew on their curtains.

… There would be curtains, right? This place had to be fancy enough to rate curtains.

He opened the door.

Lots of curtains. Lovely.

No, really. It had been so, so long since he’d seen curtains. He might be crying.

Oh, gosh, that bed looked so nice and soft. He wanted to—

Wait, no, he was filthy. Filthy. Covered in years’ worth of grime. He hadn’t had a proper bath since he’d still been living with his mom.

Pathetic, right?

There was a human-safe bathroom in here somewhere. Beyond the snark, he was looking forward to having a human-safe bath. He was craving a human-safe bath. With clean water and soap.

Could the bathroom also have toothbrushes? Toothpaste? Unrestrained luxury.

The bathroom door was in the same style as the outer door, but the handle was different, lighter. The inside was tiled and surprisingly modern.

There was a sink.

He played with the sink faucet for several long minutes before remembering that he’d come in to take a bath.

He spent several minutes playing with the bathtub faucet.

Then he got into the bathtub and experienced a half hour of combined panic (he didn’t really know how baths worked anymore, and the sensations were weird) and nirvana (the sensations were also good).

He had to keep cycling the water. Because he made it so, so dirty. He sank into the water, up to his chin.

When he got out of the water, he decided his hair was a lost cause. Because it was always a lost cause. Only, it was even more of a lost cause now, because it was also wet and had been stripped of its usual protective layer of oils.

There was a variety of toothbrushes and toothpastes available. He tested them out and discovered that he would probably need the services of a dentist. A good one. Were there ghost dentists? There had to be ghost dentists. They had a lot of teeth. A lot of teeth. Sharp, scary, teeth.

Ugh. His baby cousin was a ghost. He’d probably have teeth like a shark. When he’d last seen him, he’d hardly even had any teeth at all. Because. Baby. Little, tiny, baby.

Who Flynn barely knew.

Why did he even want Flynn? Or was it just some weird ghost tradition thing?

Ghosts were weird. Anything could be possible.

He flopped face-first onto the bed. His bed? His temporary and maybe permanent bed. If he was allowed to stay here.

Oh, gosh. Clockwork and the eyeballs seemed to know how to make portals. Could they make a portal back to the human world? To Earth?

To Flynn’s proper time?

To Mom?

He missed Mom so much, even after all this time.

(Dad? Not so much. He hardly remembered the man.)

He wouldn’t know until he asked, he supposed. But asking maybe-royalty would be scary. Talking to all these powerful ghosts was scary enough by itself.

Ehhhh, he thought he’d gotten rid of his more cowardly side by now. He was living in the scariest place out of the world.

Ha.

Yeah.

He crawled out of the bed, dragging his nice, clean self to the wardrobe. Oh, boy. Many clothes. He hadn’t even seen so many clothes since the last time he’d been in department store. Incredible.

They were so fancy, too. He didn’t know how to choose.

He didn’t even know how to wear half of these things. At least half of them.

He began to tease lengths of fabric from the wardrobe and lay them on his bed. Some of them looked cool. And also the kind of thing that he’d destroy just by touching it.

Except he had already touched them, and they hadn’t been destroyed yet. Yet.

Oh, cool, there was underwear. Wow. It had been a while.

Okay. The bed was incredibly nice, but somehow too nice. Like, no nap nice.

He wanted to take a nap.

But no nap was occurring.

The bed was too soft. Ugh. This was like the thing in that one war novel he’d read when he was probably way too young to read it.

He groaned. He hadn’t thought that was real. He’d thought it was an exaggeration, or just drama. Or something.

He crawled off onto the floor and the wonderfully plush carpet.

Maybe he could sleep here.

He woke up to a faint knocking sound and rolled sideways under cover. What cover? Oh. Bed. That was the bed. He was in the room. In the castle. The ghost king’s castle.

His baby cousin’s castle.

He was going to cry. This was so weird.

Embarrassed, he rolled back out from under the bed and threw on the first clothes that came to hand. Which. Might not have been the best of ideas. But, hey, he was dressed now.

He stumbled over to the door and spent several long, embarrassing seconds sleepily remembering how to open doors with this type of handle. Eventually, though, he managed it.

Clockwork was standing there. One of his eyebrows went up. “Interesting choice.”

Flynn looked down. Orange and green went fine together. What was he talking about?

Forget it, he wasn’t about to develop a sense of social shame after living in a hut for a decade or so.

“Come, now. Your cousins are expecting you.”

Flynn briefly considered ducking out, phasing through the floor and out of the castle using a tangibility trick he’d picked up a couple of years back. At least, that would spare him from this ‘diner’ he was rapidly approaching.

He decided not to do that. Running away wasn’t his style.

(Who was he kidding? That was definitely his style. He would have run away so, so much if he had anywhere to run to.)

(It wasn’t like he could exactly fight ghosts on even footing. Each and every one of them had Martian Manhunter’s powerset.)

“Don’t be afraid, Flynn,” said Clockwork, looking back over his shoulder.

“Do you, like, read minds?”

Clockwork chuckled. “Only the future.” He swung the large, gilded door open.

Inside, there was a long table, set with silvery plates. There were a small group of children beyond it. One of them waved at him. Was that Danny?

Flynn took a deep breath and walked forward, back to his family.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2021 #flynn walker #clockwork

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words-writ-in-starlight · 4 years

Note

where's the essay op

Okay so bayonets. I don't know why I ever pretend that I want to talk about anything but military history and battlefield medicine. I checked all my sources in the waiting room of a doctor's office so you're just going to have to trust me because they are Gone. I’m pretty sure this can all be found on a few Wiki dives, though.

First of all, to recap, let me clarify a common misconception. The triangular bayonet was NOT outlawed in the 1949 Geneva Convention, nor any future revisions—as it was originally a musket weapon, it was fading out of use by World War II and the subsequent Convention. However, you'll notice that I opted to use to word "violates" rather than "were banned by," which is a fine semantical hair to split and, I suppose, debatable. Most bayonets were not explicitly banned in the GC, in that there is not an article in the GC saying you can't use them. However there IS an article in the GC, adopted from the earlier 1899 Hague Regulations, stating that it is prohibited to "employ weapons...of a nature to cause superfluous injury or unnecessary suffering" (originally part of Article 23 of the HR, now Article 35 of the GC, expanded in 1977). Personally, as someone who knows a lot about how a lot of weapons impact the human body, I think that is a more expansive statement than most people would expect, and should be treated accordingly. Regrettably I do not work for the UN.

Point is, triangular blades specifically are known to cause wounds that are difficult to heal, highly prone to infection, and extremely likely to never fully recover, while also having a relatively low mortality rate. This is because the axes of a triangular wound, which is shaped sort of like a Y, make it very hard to stitch closed, and very easy for any "twisting" of the blade to create a large hole with ragged edges that's functionally impossible to stitch closed. As an added bonus, because of the way scar tissue forms, it's possible for one "line" of a triangular wound to pull open other parts of the puncture while the scar tissue forms and pulls on the skin. Even by standards in the 1700s, triangular bayonet wounds were phenomenally likely to infect and consistently difficult to repair, and modern medicine has made only limited improvements on that situation. As such, cases have been made that certain types of bayonet/triangular blades in general are therefore in violation of this article, despite not being explicitly banned.

(Side note: yes, the American military violates the GC on the regular. The American police violate the GC. I am excruciatingly aware. The GC is interesting reading generally, but especially if you're an American and you ever feel like being appalled for a few hours.)

Anyway, with that covered again, let's actually talk about the development of triangular bayonets, which might've been out of use by the time of the GC but DEFINITELY violated that article in a big way for a good two centuries prior and are also a fascinating insight into the fact that humanity, as a whole, is really determined to do things in the dumbest way possible.

The first thing you have to understand about bayonets is that they were originally invented as a way to integrate pikes with guns, not knives or even swords. When arquebuses and muskets were first invented, you were lucky to get a rate of fire around one round per minute, and you still had to protect your army while they were reloading their clunky black powder guns. Therefore, most infantries between like...the invention of the gun and the late 1600s were comprised of soldiers equipped with muskets, and also soldiers equipped with pikes (a type of spear). The idea of a bayonet was "what if we put a pike and a musket TOGETHER and then we could give everyone THAT and have way more guns in our army because we don't need pikemen anymore." Which makes sense when you think about it.

What makes less sense is that the initial effort at bayonets was something called a plug bayonet. You'll never fucking guess what these geniuses (first record is Chinese infantry around-abouts 1600, popular use of plug bayonets recorded in Europe around the 1630s) figured out for their first try at a bayonet. Here's a hint! There's not a lot of places on a gun where you can "plug in" a sword.

Obviously plug bayonets did not exactly catch on as a fantastic solution, because these guns were either a gun OR a short spear and neither was especially good at their jobs. A bunch of battles hinged on this problem. Which brings us to the end of the 1600s, when English forces in Scotland got absolutely obliterated by a bunch of Highlanders in 1689 because the English were so busy trying to fix their bayonets that the Highlanders literally just charged them, fired one volley, and cut them down with swords and axes. The English took that one very personally (which, you know what, fair, it was a humiliating defeat, especially since the Highlanders had been using that tactic very successfully for a while) and started developing better bayonets.

This is where we get to socket bayonets, AKA what you would probably recognize as a bayonet from a period TV series or a museum. Socket bayonets have a metal sleeve that gets attached around the barrel of a gun (in this case a musket), so that you can still theoretically use the damn gun while it's attached. There were problems with the development of socket bayonets (notably, it took a while to figure out how to keep them from falling off the gun during battle), but overall they worked much better and armies started getting rid of pikemen. This was also when bayonets were shortened to a little over a foot, which isn't really important but made them much easier to maneuver. Socket bayonets were the European order of the day by the early 1700s, and mostly came in three flavors: single edge (like a knife), double edge (like a sword), and spike (like a...spike). There were pros and cons to all of these (single edge wasn't great for stabbing, spike was ONLY good for stabbing, and double edge was kind of okay at stabbing and kind of okay at slashing), but most importantly, both single and double edged bayonets were fragile. The heads of polearms were shaped on patterns other than "sword on a stick" for a reason, and it's because "sword on a stick" is not very sturdy.

Triangular bayonets were the solution to this problem. Triangular bayonets are basically a single piece of metal creased long-ways, with both edges sharpened and the top fluted to form a third edge at the crease. This makes a much more resilient weapon than a flat blade, because a twisting motion doesn’t risk snapping the blade in the middle. It also means that now you have three edges, and human nature is to figure “more knife better.”

And don’t get me wrong, as a weapon of war, the triangular bayonet was a great one. It was introduced in the 1710s and then got used regularly to maim and terrify through the start of the 1900s. In fact, the triangular bayonet worked so well that it only began to get phased out of use when the style of war itself started to change dramatically during the World Wars. When warfare was focused on pitched battle (your old school “two armies enter, one army leaves” kind of warfare), the emphasis of a bayonet was on extending the reach of a gun. A bayonet lets a soldier have a weapon for closer range combat, where a gun—especially a long gun like a musket—is not as effective. So when you had two armies on the field and a bayonet was first and foremost a way to keep the enemy at least gun-length away, longer bayonets were better.

But World War I was the advent of trench warfare, which was a terrible idea and also meant that a long weapon, like a gun with an extra foot and a half of sword on top, was much, MUCH harder to work with. Either fighting took place in no man’s land, where you probably weren’t going to get close enough to use a bayonet anyway, or in a trench, where a weapon as long as you were tall was just impossible to work with.

(If you know anything about WWI, you’re probably asking me about bayonet charges right now, specifically the concept of “going over the top.” Contrary to every media representation of WWI ever, “going over the top” of a trench faded out of use pretty quickly. It was a type of bayonet charge where the soldiers in ONE trench fixed their bayonets and tried to charge no man’s land in an effort to reach the OTHER trench, but it was basically never effective because no man’s land was often heavily trapped and strafed with gunfire and mortar shells. Also, it was the kind of battle tactic that military history books talk about with phrases like “total annihilation of whole attacking battalions,” so that’s the kind of mortality rate we’re talking about here. The Battle of the Somme featured a good number of bayonet charges by the British, for context, so people learned and started using other tactics.)

So, since bayonets were only useful in trenches, suddenly everyone was scrambling to shorten bayonets and guns so that their soldiers could get ANYTHING DONE. And THEN soldiers started admitting that they were literally taking their bayonets off their guns and using them as knives instead, because for trench fighting that was way more useful, and so everyone just decided fuck it, let’s just make bayonet-knives, which is why WWI weapons with bayonets usually look, very literally, like someone duct taped a short knife to the front of a gun. This was the start of the decline of the triangular bayonet, a full two hundred years after it hit the battlefield, which is a frankly spectacular run for any weapon since the invention of the gun. Triangular bayonets held on, here and there, through part of WWII, but they were almost entirely gone by the time of the Geneva Convention being ratified in 1949. However, spike or knife bayonets are still issued to many armies as a weapon of last resort to this day, although they aren’t often used in actual attacks. Now we have bigger, worse weapons for actual attacks.

TL;DR, the development of bayonets went like this:

“What if we put a pike ON a gun? …oh wait, you still want to use the gun? Sucks to be you, I guess.”

“What if we put a sword on the gun instead? Then we could put it somewhere where we can still use the gun! Good luck keeping it on there, though.”

“What if we actually made something designed to get put on a gun and stab people effectively? Like, what if we designed something with that purpose in mind? Perhaps?” SMASH CUT TWO CENTURIES

“Well if you’re just gonna take your bayonet off and stab someone with it anyway, can we just go back to giving you knives, then?”

And now you’re caught up on all the dubiously successful ways we’ve tried to mutilate people with a knife-gun.

#military history #medical history #sort of...?#bayonets #honestly i have no idea what this would be classified as. i just had a really good time reading about bayonets in a waiting room.#Y'ALL WANTED TO KNOW SO HERE IS MY ESSAY #IT IS VERY LONG YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELVES I'M NOT SORRY #incidentally i HATE the fact that plug bayonets were a thing. what a terrible solution to a problem. what the hell.#'we went to all this trouble to make a gun that won't blow us up (much) so now we're gonna put a knife in the end'#i would love to talk to the guy who came up with that and ask politely what the hell decided them on this #as opposed to SAY FOR EXAMPLE A SOCKET BAYONET #WHICH IS NOT THAT MUCH MORE ADVANCED A CONCEPT #it does bear mentioning that bayonets weren't often major killers in war!#...because you were much more likely to be maimed and/or die later of infection than die outright on the field from a bayonet wound #so take from that what you will #a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge #anonymous #asked and answered

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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Perception is Key

Part Two to Hell on Earth

avengers x reader

series masterlist

masterlist

Summary; dread is all you feel as you take up temporary residence in New Asgard. Something big is coming, and you are not the only one that can feel it, but despite that, Thor tries to make you feel safe in his rebuilt kingdom, though all you see is it falling before your knees

Warnings; mentions of death, angst, secrecy

divider by @firefly-graphics

Death, it was a certain doom for all living mechanisms, even Asgard had been demolished by its inevitable demise. Yet here you were, nursing an off handed bottle of ale that came from the gods, whilst you breathed in the salt scent that regarded from the ocean that crashed by. New Asgard, the home of Thor and his brothers in arms, whilst his real sibling was killed by Thanos. It was a shame to see the brave deity in mourning, however, there was nothing that you could do about it. Nothing.

The concept of the end came to all, it was a daunting curse that teased its victims, and pried them into sculpting their own fears of it. But for all the people in the galaxy knew, death could be peaceful; you liked to think that you were the same. A wound cog that did not work for their purpose, a villain that could do some good. And whilst you had never threatened the end of the world, your hereditary abilities sure as hell did. It was another danger to humans and more, thus making you one in regard.

Killing was a route that you didn’t want to take, it was dark, and there was no way back for redemption. Murderers and the bad guys, if they wanted penance, would spend their whole lives trying to make amends for what they did, in exchange for a forgiveness that they would never be granted. And if you did such a thing, as regretting causing exhibitions of death, your father would send for you from the underworld, and have you dragged back down to his bleak halls.

Those heroes would rise, as the ones that you came to know and befriend were brought to bottomless pits of service for Hades, suffering for all eternity as they knelt before the god whom ruled hell. Mother could only prey that he would give up his display of the deceased, he used them like puppets, and it was not a friendly scenic for the next batch of Demi gods that they were planning. You were brilliantly strong, but they would be stronger, as not only would they have the army of warriors behind them, they would be invincible.

Their carriageway into ironic new life, was affecting to you, you could feel it as their existence seared through your veins. There was a war coming, and it was going to be a blood bath, there would be bodies littered on all the planets as they respected their appetites, and they would come for you. It wasn’t silly for you to fear them, they had been around before, it was a rebirth for the ages, a damning revolution that would drain all the breathing from the lungs of species, flushing their external beings into whisperings of blistered remains.

Zagreus and Macaria were coming, pursuing the punishment that was deemed worthy for your scoundrel self, you were nothing more than another revamped version of yourself, raised from the ashes, and taking your overdue time to age. You were supposed to be the cause for the world’s destruction, but they, they would tear every atom down piece by piece, because you were unable to complete your mission of birthright.

Humans, nor other vessels of aspiring and mundane inventions, had the impact of defence to protect themselves from more dominant species. They were simply specks with heart beats in the universe, thumping in their chests as they strived to usher their own planet under the hypocrisy of a dying climate.

“Heimdall once said that Hades had a vision, and he, a seer of all people, couldn’t see how far his faction of thought went. There was no end with his quarrel with the nattering of life, instead, it was competently endless, going on for light years upon light years, straggling the gods into the grand demise. To put it into other words, you are his vision.”

“Well I’m not sure that our Vision back at the compound would be too pleased if I coined his name.” But all joking aside, the air shifted every time that you brought lightness to your words. Continuing, you spoke to Thor, whom had brought you to his evolved demeanour of his homeland, and stole you from the consequences of the violent struggle that you had instinctively conquests upon James Buchanan Barnes. “However, on a more serious note, you are aware of my origin, and the truths that Hades is my father. You know of why he crafted me, but there will be a greater shadow than my foresworn self, and the others need to know of this oncoming riot.”

“We shall tell them, but first; eat.” The god of thunder intended for you to follow through with his kind hearted order, though a heated rumble shook the core of the earth, the energy trembling up your legs. They had been born, sooner than anticipated, and much closer to your break from the ruckus than you had wanted.

“I am not sure we have the time, you felt that cause of apocalyptic foreshadowing, I can tell by the fearful promise on your face. My father will not rest until he has me, a weapon in his hold returned, and to do so, he will tear apart this family, in literal terms, so that I can return to my biological home.”

“Eat.” Thor spoke once more, gulping down the terror that graced his long spanned veins. “If there is to be a fight on earth for the ages, destruction raining down on midguard, then you will need your strength. There is no need to deprive yourself of basic necessities, young warrior.”

Accepting the small loaf from his hand, you watched as the crumbs fled a trail through your palm. Even you appetite was frolicking trauma upon bacteria that swayed in the depths of the bread; the gathered yeast feared you, much like you feared yourself. “I’m going to have to return to the compound, as much as I hate to do so after what I had done, they have to know. And throughout our excursion of informative speech, then they shall have to know of my dreaded secret.”

But what if they already knew?

“A weapon like that...” Steve shook his head as he threw the classified papers onto the desk space he had reserved for his affiliated research. “We have to protect the earth, and if we have to do so from her, then we will have to stretch to any means necessary.” The captain gulped, not pleased as he divulged deeper into this situation with his friend.

Bucky remained shocked from the fleeting threats that had deranged from your form; it was like a curse adorned you, but it turned out, it was just you. Nothing had made you this way, instead, you were born a vigil monster, a daughter of a fraternising god.

“The daughter of Hades... I miss the old days where we believed in one god, and went to church every Sunday morning.” He wasn’t have supposed to have heard Barnes talking, but the figure did as he pressed himself against the wall, his hearing inclined to listen to more.

Peter’s eyes bulged as he was silently affirmed with the truth. He had a web stringing each digression together as he thought of your independence that you had been determined to keep. They were going to tell everyone, swaying their opinions from what they knew, rather than what they did not.

But that made you a legend, a mortal infliction of ancient religion; there must have been more to know. He had to be silent to ensure he didn’t trigger an alert to the super soldier’s enhanced hearing, as the boy that was pursed with a spider bite slipped away, portraying his fawning portrayal of being a vigilante.

His assumed destination that his quiet feet were carrying him too was the library. There’d surely be something useful in the walls of filled shelves, and if there wasn’t, then the internet was a useful friend. As he entered the subjective room for required reading, he saw the Falcon himself, Sam Wilson, seated at a small and solitary table.

Perhaps... no, it’d be wrong to turn him against his close friends... but possibly what was necessary. Peter allowed his doe eyes to scan the various sections. Mythology. Though, all avengers knew that there was some truth to every realistic evolution of belief, though it was usually only a little. But maybe, in your case, there would be more.

Tony had told him there had been an incident, and Peter had believed that Mr Stark was concealing a devise of perception from the rest of the aligned team. It was certainly wrong for him to delve against the ruin of the circumstances, but he was eager to do anyways. Whatever happened must’ve been lined coursing seriousness, and he was afflicted with firm interest to find out what.

Ah, he found something. Adjoined with the abilities he knew that you were capable of, he knew it must have been in regards to you, it just made sense. The spine spoke with integrity, daring anyone to read the biblical novel of fumed remark that raised hell on Earth.

The goddess of invoked, bringer of nightmares and madness, Melinoë.

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dannyphantom-justiceleauge · 3 years

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I'm glad you agree with Dani having wind powers. I have been thinking about the other halfa's and their powers and why they have them. Vlad is fire, which is volatile and hurts others but it can also keep people warm (perhaps there is hope for him in another universe) and is something often used in human invention and Vlad is very smart. Danny is his opposite, Ice. Unlike fire, ice could be used to subdue his enemies without hurting them (1/2)

(2/2) However Ice is also be sharp and dangerous (he can be mean sometimes) and it is cold, which could maybe represent how alone he feels. It could also be tied into his love for space as space is cold. If Jazz was a ghost, I think she would have water powers, since it's like a melted version of her brothers ice (lol). She is cool and collected and prefers to talk things out and understand rather than fight. She can also be rather overbearing sometimes, like an ocean. Sorry if this is long.

~ ~ ~

it’s interesting to think what the various halfa’s elements would be. makes me think of the into the spiderverse au. i like the idea that jazz would be water. it suits her. cool and collected, even sometimes associated with healing. but equally capable of devastation if used for violence. since psychology is her thing, i’d also draw a comparison to that. it’s used to help and heal, but when used by people like spectra it can be the most damaging attack possible. it can destroy people on a level deeper than physical. i’d likewise suggest that jazz would be the one to figure out bloodbending as a concept for this world, but would proceed to avoid using it. if she ever has a dark dan version of herself, i could see Black Jasmine being far more terrifying than him. when jazz goes bad, she’d go really bad

though in terms of what would push her to that point, it think it’d probably be more difficult and less difficult than what happened to danny. she is all about control and discipline. she’d use denial and psychology to manage for as long as possible. that is if it’s something that no one could have predicted or stopped. an accident. but if say it was a failure on the school or societies part... if say a case of bullying landed danny trapped in a locker during a ghost attack, unable to escape, and he died because of an attack that she was involved in. if he died with her not even aware that he was feet from her and in danger...

well i could see her losing herself in her guilt and anger at the world. he could have been saved. if he wasn’t being bullied, if the teachers had done something, if the ghost hadn’t attacked, if she had known he was there. like i said dark jazz is scary.

that aside, i also want all potential halfas to have elements associated with them now. we’re all pretty much agreed that tucker is electric type, due to his love of technology, but also his impulsiveness. electricity can do a lot of damage when not controlled properly and we’ve seen tucker on more than one occasion struggle with control. he’s overconfident and surprisingly reckless at times. when he’s in his element he’s fantastic but he’s been known to abuse power when he has it. i think that would be his main conflict as tucker ghouly, controlling his powers and using them responsibly.

sam would be representative of the element wood. which is associated with flexibility, durability, and strong emotions. because she’s our resident plant girl. she is willful and passionate but also stubborn and demanding. she demands the most of herself but also others, she wants everyone to thrive but sometimes forgets what’s best for her isn’t what’s best for other. her conflict might end up being empathy, because while she has it in spades, she doesn’t always know how to use it, if that makes sense. she tends to take things as a personal attack on her and her veiws when people disagree with her, which can be pretty dangerous, especially when people absolutely have reasons for their own opinions. she needs to learn to listen to others, if she’s going to be a proper hero

that would leave the final element, metal to val. metal is the most stubborn and inflexible of the elements. she’s strong and disciplined, unyielding in her attacks and views. but as we know that’s for better or worse. she really difficult to convince she’s wrong. she’d probably end up being one of the strongest out of them, she’d figure out the most ways to use her powers and how to shape metal to her advantage. i’m actually struck by the fun idea of val using her metal powers to make jewelry and running a small business selling it. this val would still manage to create a body armor and probably be better at maintaining anonymity with her ghost activity. though i also see her as overworking herself. she tries to do everything and ends up failing classes, alienating her friends, and too exhausted to think straight..she became a ghost before she was friends with danny, so i like the idea of them ending up friends, probably during the flour baby episode, and danny being the one to finally convince her to chill out and manage her health better. full human danny, is still all about helping people and is probably more stable and viably smart when he has time to do his homework. he’d probably offer to help her study and manage her business when too busy, and just having someone to lean on means everything to val.

until of course, plasimius kills jack fenton, and danny goes down the path of seeking vengeance and fighting ghosts. i actually don’t thing they’d know each others hunter identities at first, so they’d initially be fighting for real. danny is almost as stubborn as val. (ice is also inflexable until given the time to melt. and cold and harsh and deadly when angry). i see the green hunter being the most dangerous thing val has faced so far because danny is unrelenting. once she figures out who she’s fighting (i see her giving fenton a necklace of a star when he’s human and hunter losing the necklace during a fight and val discovering it and initially thinking it was stolen but figuring out the truth throughout the episode) fighting someone innocent, who’s justified, but still wrong, she’d be forced to learn to be more flexible and understanding, just to convince danny to stop. because let’s be real, she agrees with danny. plasmius killed his father, if she were in his shoes, he’d do the same thing, but she needs him to understand that she’s not the bad guy. not all ghosts are bad.

she’d also need to learn to be more flexible just to fight vlad/plasmius. because he is manipulative and her straight foward way of thinking and fighting would get her in trouble with him. i could see him framing her for a lot. he’d also be hanging around danny as vlad and manipulating danny that way. she’d essentially be fighting 2 different people who turn out to be the same person. vlad, the billionaire friend of the fentons who’s inserting himself into the grieving family’s lives and encouraging danny to fight vigilante justice. and plasmiaus the op ghost who literally murders people who get in his way. vlad would absolutely do everything he can to keep up the facade of innocent human. leaving all the damage to his ghost half. and val would struggle to prove that he’s evil.

that was a bit of a tangent, anyway. all of the halfa’s having elements associated with them and eventually having an ultimate team up in a universe that brings them together to fight something or another. a team up of the elements. vlad being there and joining the team up as still a villain who the team is suspicious of, but who they need to win. perhaps pariah dark escapes again but this time the mech isn’t available. and danny isn’t strong enough to face him alone. so parallel dimension team up. actually maybe not main danny’s universe. maybe it’s one of the other universes that can’t manage pariah dark on their own. possibly val’s again? if jack’s dead they don’t have a mech. might even be able to incorporate maddie inventing parallel-dimensional summoning in her attempts to bring jack back. bonus points if it’s vlad who’s funding this, knowing full well anyone summon would be unstable and turn to goo soon after arriving.

can you tell i love the into the dannyverse au? this was fun - Hestia

@nastyburger @guardianrex @five-rivers @ibelieveinahappilyeverafter @enigmaris

#Danny Phantom #dpjl #hestiawrites

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successfullyadhd · 4 years

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Your Memory Isn't Terrible, I Promise

Okay, please hear me out. This is NOT a post shaming you for not being able to remember anything. It is, in fact, the opposite. There will be no “Just try harder and you’ll do better! :) :)” type of nonsense advice.

Here’s the true root of the problem - it’s not that you have a bad memory. If you have ADHD, it’s most likely that you didn’t truly absorb the information that you were supposed to remember in the first place. Or it’s that you have so much external stimuli bombarding your brain, you can’t pull out the piece of information hidden in your mind when you need it because it’s buried under a ton of other things coming at you in the moment. And now you’re probably thinking “Uhh, okay cool but that’s still not helpful!!!???”

I used to constantly forget things. IMPORTANT things. A weekly meeting, doctors appointments, assignments - you name it and I’ve lost it in this grey matter behind my eyes. And then someone would mention it out of frustration or concern (usually both) and I would gasp, hate myself or just be completely shocked. The worst feeling is when you realized you knew something but your brain didn’t supply it until far after it was needed. I can’t number the amount of times someone has said “Em, did you know about this?” and a hot feeling of shame would pour over me because I did, in fact, know but had just completely forgotten. And it’s hard using the phrase “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot!” over and over again without skepticism from neurotypical people. “How is that possible?” they would wonder aloud as a I scrambled to make amends. Does this sound like a familiar scene?

So this is what I did about it - it might work for you, or maybe it will spark an idea of some things that are helpful.

First - names. I used to be the WORST with names. I’ve literally forgotten my cousin’s name while introducing him to a friend. I once read that if you said a person’s name three times during a conversation, you would remember it later. I couldn’t usually make it that far because the name would drop out of my head as soon as I would hear it, so I came up with another method. When someone tells me their name, I look them in the eyes and repeat it in my head three or four times. It took some time to train my brain to consciously grasp the information as it was being given to me instead of a panic of 1,000 other distracting thoughts, but I got into the habit. If I’m meeting a group of people, like clients or a team on the first day of work, I try a different tactic. When the name is mentioned, I repeat their name mentally with an unchanging feature. It will be something like this “Cindy - blonde, Cindy - blonde, Cindy - blonde”. If it’s a natural opening, I’ll make a point to speak their name out loud. “Cindy, it’s so lovely to meet you.” This helps cement it in my mind and makes sure that I’m consciously absorbing the information.

Next - write everything possible down. Smartphone notes are the greatest modern invention. If someone is telling me an important detail, I write it down immediately. Telling yourself you will remember it later is our favorite lie - don’t fall for it! Don’t be afraid of taking an extra moment or of people thinking you’re distracted - they actually love it. I will always say “Give me a moment, I’m just making a note of that in my phone.” and they are delighted that you’re showing that you heard them and the information is important enough to record. Again, it has the added benefit of forcing my brain to record the information instead of being distracted by external forces. It’s also a proven fact that if you write something down, even if you don’t read it again later, it reinforces that moment in your memory. And if you realize that your mind wandered while they were talking and you didn’t catch what you needed, writing something down is a great excuse to get them to repeat themselves without feeling as if you’re annoying them.

Now, you’ve put the facts into your brain - but how do you pull them out again? This one is a bit more tricky, and it has more to do with how your ADHD brain processes information. See, our brains are more controlled by external stimuli than neurotypical people. One theory is that ADHD was developed evolutionarily because the humans who could take in the most stimuli around them were more likely to notice and react to threats than neurotypical people, and therefore live longer. This was great while hunting on the savanna and far less helpful in a class lecture or corporate meeting. ADHD brains are great at reacting to what is right in front of us, but any stress - like being put on the spot to answer a question or being surprised by seeing an acquaintance out shopping - makes extra information harder to retrieve. When your body feels stress, it starts wanting to deal with it’s immediate needs and shoves everything else away.

To counteract this, I’ve found consistent practice of mediation very helpful. When I get the feeling I’m forgetting something important, I take a moment to calm my body and sort through my thoughts until the essential information begins to surface. The best way to explain it is that it feels like unravelling a crocheted scarf - if I can find the right thread to pull, everything else follows. “Okay, but I don’t have time to meditate in the middle of the grocery store when I can’t remember why I’m here!” you may be thinking now. I get it, and you’re right. The process I’m talking about should take just a moment. Consistent meditation practice will help you learn not to clear your mind, but instead evaluate and focus on specific thoughts. You know there is something important, and you start pulling threads until you find the right one. “Okay, I’m in the grocery store, and I know I’m forgetting something but what? What actions have I done today that could spark a memory? I was with my daughter earlier, and she has school tomorrow, is it something with that? Yes, she needs a packed lunch for her field trip! And if she has a field trip, she needs some sunscreen too and I need to remember to make sure her form is in her backpack. Lunch, sunscreen, form.”

The combination of meditation practice and writing everything down has changed the way I remember things and made me feel so much better about myself. Let me know if there are any other helpful memory tricks you use!

#actuallyadhd #actually add #adhd hacks #memory hacks #neurodivergent #executive dysfunction #successfully adhd

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moonlightreal · 3 years

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This is the “author’s note” I found on the amazon pages for the pretty hardcover Night World books. My memory is that it was just there, the book-blurb at the top by the cover picture, was this.

Like a bonehead I just copied the text without grabbing a screencap or noting the date. The amazon page now has the publication date is December 2016 so this bit of optimism was just before Ms. Smith vanished. Of course we don’t know when it was written or whose idea it was. Was Strange Fate really finished or was someone just feeling hopeful?

NIGHT WORLD Dear Readers, It’s hard to tell you how much the re-release of the Night World books means to me. It has allowed me to come full circle, to complete a cycle that began with Secret Vampire. It has allowed me to finish Strange Fate, which grew into an epic that included roles for almost every Night World character. And Strange Fate allowed me to show the origins of the Night World, the apocalypse that threatens to destroy it, and even a possible future in which the evil side of the Night World prevails. I am often asked how I conceived the idea for the Night World series. It began when I wanted to write stand-alone novels that would combine horror and romance. But I wanted more: I wanted to do a series in which this Night World—a vast, secret world that exists within the everyday world—would slowly reveal itself to readers. That’s why the first book is called Secret Vampire: the inhabitants of the Night World, composed of vampires, shapeshifters, witches, and other supernatural creatures I wanted to invent, are hidden from humans. A vampire is necessarily a secret vampire … because of the laws. I also wanted to write about a new kind of forbidden love. That’s not easy—most good forbidden love topics were old by Shakespeare’s time. But with this series, I could create the possibility of forbidden love simply by saying that the laws of the Night World prohibit a Night Person from falling in love with a human. But I still needed one more ingredient. I needed the rise of the soulmate principle to actively force Night People to fall in love with humans, no matter how hard they fought against it. Voilà! Then it was just a matter of making up interesting characters and setting them loose in my head to see what they would do. I often begin like that: sitting in a quiet room and searching for a sparkle in my mind that could become my new heroine. Sometimes it’s easy and a whole character shimmers before me. Sometimes I only get the faintest firefly glimmer of a new girl, and I have to hold my breath and see if that glimmer will materialize into a three-dimensional person. Heroes and anti-heroes are easier. It’s just a matter of picking one that will be a true soulmate for my heroine. I have a whole collection of these characters in my mind, all trying to crash the party. And they’re usually bad boys. The settings and in-depth plot development are another layer of work. But often the characters just run off and do what they want, and I have trouble keeping up with their antics on my keyboard. One thing I always do is look carefully at my characters and plot from all angles to make sure I’m not plagiarizing a book or series that I may have read before. That’s just normal procedure for ethical authors: we make sure our stories aren’t too much like another story we might have read. Of course, there are many ideas that have been around since the Babylonian myths, and many characters that are archetypal. But, really, it’s almost impossible to take many things from the body of another author’s work—say, someone else’s character(s) or plot or story device—without actually intending to do so. I can’t imagine wanting to do that. I wish I could say every author felt the same. Poppy North is a character I examined very carefully. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t too much like Bonnie McCullough, another petite character of mine from The Vampire Diaries. I didn’t even want to plagiarize myself ! But Poppy convinced me that she was a tough little squirt who by high school had already planned out her future, which is very unlike Bonnie. Poppy was going to marry her mysterious friend James—she just hadn’t informed him yet. Also, unlike Bonnie, she had a fatal flaw in her small body. In Secret Vampire, I knew I was dealing with a serious issue: terminal cancer in a high school girl. So I did a lot of research before deciding on a type of cancer that would be truly inoperable and give Poppy only a month or two to live. I went to several hospitals to talk to nurses in oncology wards. I always brought toys for the hospitalized children, but the whole subject was so heartbreaking I was almost afraid to tackle it. Once I did, though, I found that Poppy was even stronger than I had imagined. In the book, she makes the only choice she can to go on living, and she never looks back. Poppy is one of my favorite girls, and she ushers in Ash Redfern, who quickly became one of my favorite bad boys. Ash has a murky past of womanizing and … well, more womanizing. Ash returns in Daughters of Darkness because he has been ordered by the leader of all vampires, Hunter Redfern, to bring his three runaway sisters back to their cloistered vampire island. But when Ash locates his sisters, he runs straight into the human stargazer Mary-Lynnette, and the sparks begin flying—literally. Mary-Lynnette is a character I made up when I was a kid, and I’m always surprised by how many people like her and Ash together. Mary-Lynnette spends most of the time expressing her feelings for Ash by kicking him in the shins, but their dialogues are some of my favorite passages in the whole series. Ash, in turn, escorts Quinn into the series. And Quinn (who does have a first name, though he rarely uses it) is one really scary guy. A vampire since 1639 A.D., Quinn is sharp, cold, humorless, and heartless. Unlike Ash, who is mainly guilty of an incredibly long series of one-night stands, Quinn enters the series as a human slave trader. That is, he provides vampires with young girls, and he doesn’t ask questions about what happens to the girls afterward. This led to a problem: How on earth was I going to redeem this villain enough to make him someone’s soulmate in The Chosen? I really sweated over that. My first task was to make Quinn more sympathetic. The best way to do it seemed to be by telling a bit of Quinn’s own tragic story: how he falls in love with sweet Dove Redfern, and how her vampire father decides to make Quinn his heir. Dove’s father is Hunter Redfern, one of the most important vampire leaders in Night World history. This is the same Hunter Redfern who, nearly half a millennium later, sends Ash to drag his sisters back home. The same Hunter Redfern who sends his daughter, Lily, after Jez in Huntress. The same Hunter Redfern who tries to turn Delos into a merciless killer in Black Dawn. But, as a boy, Quinn doesn’t know anything about the Night World, and he is deeply in love with gentle Dove. When Hunter makes him a vampire by force and then when Quinn can’t save Dove from being killed, Quinn’s heart freezes over. For four hundred years it accumulates ice—until he meets Rashel. That’s another favorite scene of mine: when Rashel, a dedicated vampire hunter since (guess who?) Hunter Redfern killed her mother, encounters Quinn. A group of Rashel’s fellow vampire slayers have captured Quinn and plan to torture him, and Rashel is left alone to guard him. Quinn, feeling old and tired despite his youthful appearance and great power, gives himself up for dead—and is a little glad to do so. Rashel, however, can’t stomach the idea of torture. When Rashel talks to this most-hated vampire and hears his story, she deliberately sets him free. And that astonishes him. But it’s the soulmate principle working its magic. I loved making two such strong-willed enemies succumb to the silver cord that connects them. I especially loved hearing Quinn warning Rashel not to let him go—and then protecting her when her comrades arrive back in time to see that she’s let him loose. I really loved writing about Quinn and Rashel’s soulmate sequences. As Rashel enters Quinn’s mind, she sees “thorny scary parts” but also “rainbow places that were aching to grow” and “other parts that seemed to quiver with light, desperate to be awakened.” She begins to think that people ask so little of themselves. If the mind of a slave trader can look like this, an ordinary person must have the power to become a saint. It is with this revelation (and much penance on Quinn’s part) that Quinn is redeemed. That’s the thread that binds all the novels together: redemption. The possibility of a second chance. Everyone has choices to make, but even the most evil of vampires can choose to atone and be redeemed. It may not necessarily stave off punishment in this world or the next, but redemption is possible. I’ve been asked who my favorite characters are, and the answer always changes because it depends on the book I’m writing. Right now my favorites are three characters from Strange Fate. As for my favorite couples in the published books? Morgead and Jez—I suppose. Who would find themselves at greater odds than a vampire gang leader and his onetime superior, a vampire who finds out she is half human? I learned some cool martial arts moves as a bonus for writing about them. Then there is Keller, one of my all-time favorite heroines, and Iliana, the beautiful Witch Child, and Galen, ruler of the shapeshifters: the love triangle in Witchlight. Keller starts out seeming brusque and businesslike, but the love of Galen and of the unselfish Iliana help to heal her inner wounds. And I can’t forget Thierry and Hannah, and Circle Daybreak. I created Circle Daybreak because the Night World witches had only two clans: Circle Twilight and Circle Midnight. Those, like Thea in Spellbinder, who belong to Circle Twilight are not-so-wicked witches (that is, they don’t want to exterminate all humans like the darkest witches, those who belong to Circle Midnight), but they are still wicked enough. So what was to be done with all these new soulmates, when Night World law said that they must be put to death? Someone had to make a place for them where they would be safe, and I decided it was Thierry, one of the oldest vampires, and Hannah, his Old Soul soulmate, who has lived hundreds of lifetimes without ever reaching the age of seventeen. They are the ones who revive Circle Daybreak, where humans and Night People can forget about past tragedies and concentrate on a brighter future together. Although Thierry is an old vampire, he isn’t the oldest vampire. There is one older, the one who Changed him. She provides another thread that binds the series: the pitiless Maya. Maya is the first vampire, the witch who finds the secret of eternal life—and chooses to use it for evil. But there will be plenty more about her, including a look at the young Maya, her sister Hellewise, and their mother, Hecate Witch-Queen, in the upcoming Strange Fate. And so now I’ve come full circle, back to Strange Fate. But I can’t finish until I add the other joy that the re-release of Night World has brought me. It’s brought me into contact with you by e-mail. Night World fans write so many intelligent, articulate, courteous, exciting e-mails! I love to get messages from “old” fans, who say my works “got them through high school.” Thank you for them! And messages from new fans, who say they have just read all my reissued books—and are impatient for more. Thank you! And the messages that simply demand: “When is Strange Fate coming out?” Thank you, too! With a full heart, all I can say is thank you, thank you, and thank you again! I never thought I would have a chance to write an open letter to all Night World fans, and I can only wish that you knew how grateful I am … for this second chance. Sincerely, (LJ Smith signature image) P.S. I love to get e-mail, letters, and messages. Visit me at ljanesmith.net!

#nightworld #ljsmith strangefate #strange fate #LJ Smith

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 120

Time for some of the more technical stuff! These chapters take the longest to write, without fail, largely because I made the dumb (in retrospect) decision early on to choose and actual known-exoplanet (Kepler 442b) to base Von on *facepalm*. Which means an inordinate amount of fact checking and maths when I get to the chapters like this one.

Thanks for this chapter to go @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog for beta-reading, and @nasa for the phenomenal amount of information that is publicly available for me to use when writing chapters like this.

Xiomara leaned back in her seat and propped her feet on the table in my office, ignoring the scowl Alistair shot in her direction. With a sigh, she folded her hands behind her head. “The next gravity adjustment is soon, now that Miys has medically cleared everyone from the last one.”

I nodded. “Grey and Antoine’s recommendation of increasing cardio seems to have made a huge difference in the adjustment period for most people. I definitely recovered faster.”

“And after this one, the lighting changes will start phasing in?”

“Once we can come to an agreement on how far we plan to institute the adjustments,” I pointed out. “I don’t understand any need to replicate outdoor light cycles when humanity literally experienced a cultural revolution after we developed a safe method of artificial indoor lighting.”

“That same cultural revolution also led the way for the events that brought us here,” she rebutted without looking away from the ceiling. Raising one hand and twirling it lazily, she repeated the arguments we had listened to for nearly a year. “Adhering more closely to Von’s natural light cycles will minimize ecological impacts.”

“Except that we are using sustainable light sources.” I flicked my finger at one of the wall emitters nearby. “Grey’s team made some pretty strong improvements on the microalgae lamps that were used Before.” While we still used more conventional forms of light for things like our databands and the desk emitters, ambient light in the Terran areas of the Ark was largely provided by what were - essentially - terrariums of algae, fungi, and dinoflagellates. Thanks to Miys’ assistance and a lengthy explanation of why our sight developed to work better in certain wavelengths, the light was closer to a yellow than a blue or green that was more common to Terran bioluminescence. “We literally grow our light now, don’t we?”

Xiomara tilted her head and cracked one eye at me. “They have a point, you know.”

“Make it make sense to me,” I invited her.

“Bear in mind, I don’t remember all the fancy science terms -” I snorted, but allowed it. She continued. “But in basic terms, night on Von lasts pretty close to two Terran months. Yes, we would have roughly the same amount of time to charge solar batteries, but it would require a lot of them to make it two months, especially with how cold the nights are. By extending the interior light cycle as far as we can, we use less of the power we’ve saved up.”

“And just making more batteries has environmental impacts,” I ventured slowly.

“The planet isn’t terribly metal rich,” she pointed out. “Any resources we have for making batteries should be reserved for replacing or repairing, not allocated to making as many as possible. We’re getting a boost from the planet already, since we’ll have ready access to geothermal heat.”

Frowning, I flicked my wrist and brought up my datapad. “Von is tectonically stable, isn’t it?”

She flashed a quick thumbs-up. “No shifting plates, but there is still a molten core and geothermal activity. In this case, most of the bodies of water are hot springs, and there are no oceans.”

“That’s going to be weird,” I mused. “Rivers, lakes, and a sea or two, but no oceans…”

“I take it you haven’t had time to check out the topography scans,” she laughed. “There aren’t really any mountains, either. Not the kind we’re used to - no tectonic shifting, no huge mountains. Any geological features are from erosion instead.”

I tried to imagine it before shaking my head to bring myself back to the original topic. “Day cycles. We were talking about adjustments to the lighting cycles.”

“Yep,” she agreed. “We’ve already extended them out to thirty hours so far.”

“But Grey wants to go as far as mimicking the sixty Terran day cycles that Von naturally has,” I sighed. “There has to be a compromise. Your explanation makes sense, but it still doesn’t quite justify pushing it out that far.”

“Compromise is your thing. Arguing is mine.”

I scowled at her again. “That’s unfair.”

“And yet you aren’t saying I’m wrong.” I could hear her smile even without seeing her face. “If you figure out the compromise, I’ll argue it for you.”

“Seriously?”

She waved her hand at me lazily. “Hey, just because I see the logic behind Grey’s idea, it doesn’t mean I agree with setting the day/night cycle for the whole Ark to match the one for the planet. Your argument about the Industrial Revolution has merit, too. Just… leave out the Industrial Revolution part.”

Fair point. Xio had eviscerated that argument right off the bat, so surely Grey would see the same point. “Then I need a new angle.” I tapped my chin thoughtfully. Thinking out loud, I started rambling. “Invention of the light bulb led to the Industrial Revolution because employees could work later into the night with safer light to see by inside factories. Inside…” Something about that was nagging me.

Leaning forward, I smacked my hands flat on the table, startling Xiomara into flailing to keep her balance. “Inside. You mentioned you don’t agree with the day/night cycle for the whole Ark. I’ve been looking at this all wrong.” I shook my head. “We don’t have to worry about all of the Ark. I keep thinking about the Ark as all one building, but it isn’t. It’s like its own city… Which means we have an ‘indoors’ and an ‘outdoors’!”

Xiomara kicked her legs off the table and sat up. “What are you talking about? Technically, the whole ship is ‘indoors’, isn’t it?”

I made a vague gesture at her with my left hand. “Only in super literal terms. But if you look at it from this perspective…” I pulled up a ship schematic and flicked it to the emitter. Tapping BioLab 2, the corridors, and a few other areas of the ship, I highlighted them bright yellow. “These public areas could be considered ‘outdoors’. Streets and sidewalks, a park, et cetera, you see?”

Tilting her head thoughtfully, she started drumming her fingers. Tapping eating areas, the Council offices, and a few quarters, she made them light up pink. “And these would be ‘indoors’, right? Offices, restaurants, apartments, those kinds of things?”

“Exactly,” I confirmed. “We can start by agreeing to start extending the day/night cycles in areas considered ‘outdoors’ to match Von’s cycle. Nothing to really argue with there - we will have to adjust to it eventually, and doing it in increments over the next eight years will be easier on us than doing it suddenly when we get to the planet. Just like what we’re doing with the gravity.”

“That leaves us with deciding a cycle for the indoor areas.”

“And we can work on figuring that out. We’ll have more weight in negotiating there, since we’re absolutely conceding with the outdoor areas,” I pointed out.

She nodded thoughtfully. “We almost have a blank check there, I would think. As long as you could defend the energy needed, they really wouldn’t be able to argue.”

“I may have to take that up with Grey, directly. I don’t think it would be a good idea to go beyond thirty-six hours, and that would be with two rest periods, not just one like Before.”

Xiomara shook her head, locs flying. “Most cultures didn’t do that, you know that, right? Mid-day naps were the norm all over the world, even when we were toe-to-toe with FTL emigration.”

“Even better,” I smiled. “I mean, who is going to argue with a mid-day nap? Not this girl.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #original science fiction #aliens #science fiction #exoplanet #nasa is amazing #humans are amazing #humans in space #hfy #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae

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mclegibilist · 3 years

Text

Typification Enforces Anti-Inductivity in the Game of Authenticity

Epistemic Status: Broad strokes of common gameplay.

Why is being authentic "hard"? Why is it something you have to try at?

Personally, I believe that being "authentic" is fundamentally a matter of being understood. I've seen people twist themselves into knots about how if you were a true Scotsman then you would just be able to be yourself, but I can't really see how we'd have much acquaintance with such people: eventually their notions of authenticity would butt-up against some societal norm and they would be pushed out. Most of the arguments I've heard against this seem to implicitly rely on an unawakened power of unparalleled proportions that being authentic gives you. I think this confuses authenticity and self-knowledge, and most people who we encounter with good self-knowledge are pragmatic enough to (a) know how to talk to other people in their native emotional language (b) never, ever say that they're always manipulating and restructuring their messages in order to get the most significant bits across and risk seeming inauthentic.

A lot of people who struggle with finding their authentic self tend to reach for intrinsic explanations for why authenticity is a hard problem, usually along the lines of "You've become estranged from yourself while trying to please other people, so you need to rediscover who you really are." As @in-stenography has pointed out before, we should be a bit skeptical about what it is we're discovering, and if we have any method of distinguishing between discovering and inventing.

So, take on my premise for a moment or stop reading here: authenticity is mostly invented personae, meant to incept elements of one's own self-image in the minds of others.

Why is that a hard problem?

Don't worry, I won't go full Robin Hanson on you, it's obvious why this is hard! There's no easy way to enforce honest signaling for lots of attributes people want to lay claim to like "honest" or "sexually experienced", "punctual" is a bit easier and consequently feels trivial.

Yet, we do traverse social landscapes and I would argue, on average, we do so very effectively. The average person in my broad social circles can almost immediately get across a persona, that may later come into question, but which is usually supported by initial markers or surrogates for the kinds of things we actually care about.

Sometimes, though, someone manages to feel "fresh" without (looking like they're) trying too hard. They, through pure interaction, describe a character they are that doesn't make you bucket them immediately. You get to know them, and you're amazed to find that they are, at least partially, who they say they are and begin the true exploration of friendship and actually getting to know each other.

Why can't everyone do this?

The answer is in "typification", terminology that @spilledreality introduced me to, which originates from Alfred Schütz, the philosopher and social phenomenologist. I will not use this term exactly as he did; I believe it is a basic pillar of knowledge logistics that we must make our references nods, but rely only on our presented definitions. Call this "portable foundations"—I don't want to rely on experts' interpretations of other people's definitions, I want to rely on what I can explain to you in our shared context.

Typification, as I define it, is an inherent property of cognition and expressible knowledge, basically that definitions are inherently categories. The best way to understand is to take literally any statement and see why it relies on typification, so I just took a random sentence from a random CNN article:

A North Port Police spokesperson declined to comment on the report.

What is "North Port Police"? It's a kind of bureaucratic body, we assume has certain properties because of the other similar bodies we are familiar with. We can go look it up, and we'll understand it as an entity of certain overlapping types: an employer, an arm of the executive branch, etc.

What does it mean to "comment on"—we can understand that there is some kind of message indicated by this action, but it goes much deeper. When people "comment" on things they generally have something to say about its fitness, or about some salient property that's meaningful to a the present crowd. And because the subject is a government body, that crowd is assumed to be the public.

All of this information is transferred by our understanding of "types of things"—types of entities, types of actions, types of properties. Maybe this seems obvious, but consider the opposite: what if we had some basic properties and we could mix them in any proportion like a color palette? Certainly we think some parts of the universe are like this, e.g. physical color. Yet we tend to refer to colors by types, e.g., red, yellow, mauve, maroon, etc. We tend to understand things through types, and language's focus on reusable categories is both a cause and a byproduct of this fact.

When person A discovers a way to present themselves authentically, every person who sees a little bit of themselves in the expression A managed to thread through the gravitational fields of the present-at-hand types will immediately engage in the most natural human process: memetic analysis for mimetic execution. By picking apart A's presentation of themselves, different people will carve out different collections of behavior and aspects of A's self-presentation and retool them to explain themselves. This is the origin of memes.

When B, C, D, and all the way to Z do this, a wave will ripple through the local social ecosystem that causes new types to arrive, likely centering around the most easy-to-understand elements of A's new style which many of the new behavioral memes will have in common. When that happens, A's presentation will either seem less fresh, if these spin-offs capture much of A's implicit message...or will seem fresh in a ghostly and subtle way because they failed to capture it.

Eitherway, the interplay, driven by human mimesis and memetic networks, will eventually cause A's original expression lines to go stale. It doesn't go stale because it's wrong, it might be that no one ever successfully replicates A's style. But it will still go stale because the message gets distorted by the change in the communication protocol that the gravitational pull of new types causes. The expressive range may remain unchanged, but saying the same thing will require different words. And just as often, old messages become impossible to express, often due to unshakeable connotations parasitic on some original meme.

This is nothing more than anti-inductivity: authenticity is a game where (i) you reveal your strategy by playing and (ii) others can use this information for themselves, in a way that actively competes with your goals. Just because your goal was "to express yourself" doesn't mean you weren't competing with other people. Quite the opposite: your unique idea has to fight to convince people it's meaningfully unique, and the kicker is it often isn't unique as much as you want it to be, but you've still got to express positivity towards your product along the axes people understand.

Every time a new type of guy drops, someone loses their current medium for expressing themself authentically.

#anti-inductivity #authenticity #type of guy

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princessmadafu · 3 years

Text

37 bleedin’ pages!

I have condensed them for you and left out most of the bits that the nasty evil British Press have already covered. Feel free to skip any boring bits.

Dax Shepard: Welcome, welcome, welcome to Armchair Expert's Experts on Expert. I'm Dan Shepard. I'm joined by Monica Mouse.

Monica Padman: Hi.

[...]

There follows some heavy marketing of towels and stuff...

DS: Now please enjoy Prince Harry. We are supported by Brookelinen. My favourite hotel quality sheets to get into and writhe around in the nude. [...] They're impeccable. They're decadent, they're soft, they're absorbent. Brookelinen was started to create beautiful high quality home essentials that don't cost an arm and a leg. They're so confident in their product, they come with a 365 day warranty. So give yourself that comfort refresh you deserve and get it for less. Go to Brookelinen.com and use promo code 'expert' to get $20 off with a minimum purchase of $100. That's Brookelinen.com and enter promo code 'expert' for $20 off with a minimum purchase of $100. That's Brookelinen.com, promo code 'expert'.

Pretty ironic really, as Harry wades into fake news and how advertising algorithms are ruining us...

DS:...It's like the algorithms on the internet. You can't compete with that, a human.

PH: You can't if you have the awareness of what it's doing to you. And the fact that it's learning, which is scary. And advertising has been going on for hundreds of years, but done really responsibly. The difference here is targeted ads. If ads have always worked for companies, you can put on the TV, you can walk away, you can come back, your involvement is switching on switching off or changing the channel. Whereas now with algorithms is there, it's just feeding your habits. And it's also reading through your emails and everything else. So it's getting to know you, like, it gets to know the decisions you're gonna make before you make them, then it creates this echo chamber of no pushback, of no context of nothing. It's just perpetuating and feeding the bias and the habits that you already have inside of you, which is terrible.[...]

Harry needs to learn about AdBlock and Ghostery and VPNs and Tor and DuckDuckGo and Smartpage and all the other clever little ways the computer-literate have of ridding their lives of unwanted advertising. I haven't seen an ad in years. The only person feeding my habits is me. It’s called personal responsibility. Maybe Harry still needs a Nanny but most grown-ups don’t. Oh wait, I forgot, the “Meghan&Harry Show” fans are all kids.

PH: [...] It's a computer. It's like, who wrote the algorithms? You guys did? Probably all male and all white.

Oooh, let's be sexist and racist, Harry! Did you ever hear of these women or are they too scary?

https://biztechmagazine.com/article/2012/05/mothers-technology-10-women-who-invented-and-innovated-tech

Then they discuss Naked Vegas (this guy Dax has a thing about nudity) and Harry in Afghanistan. And discuss a calendar of naked men that DS and MP put together - their favourite male bodies. What a good job it's only gloating over naked male bodies and not naked female bodies. It's apparently acceptable, for some reason. Harry doesn't know who the guys are.

DS: Monica makes this for me every year and it's a calendar of all my favourite bodies of friends.

MP: And they're all men.

DS: They're all men.

MP: And they're all gorgeous bodies.

[...]

And is Harry nervous talking about mental health? He shouldn't be, he's been banging on about it for years.

PH: Yeah. Was I nervous? No. Not so much nervous. But I guess on this particular subject around mental health. Yeah. For me, it's always a, unfortunately, today's world is quite a sensitive subject, not just for the people who are sharing. But ultimately, the subject matter itself has to be handled with care. [...] It ends up getting weaponized by certain people.

Weaponised by certain people? Like him and Markle, for instance. Neither of 'em has any talent so they weaponise their mental health. Big big mental health bombs loaded with word salad to lob at their own families and cause huge distress. Not nice, Harry.

PH: That's how I've always felt when it comes to projection. I mean, hatred is a form of projection, right? [...] We're not born to hate people. So it manifests itself over a period of time. And of course, it can come from unresolved pain, or being hurt continually, as a young kid or through adult life. But ultimately, there's a source to it. There's a reason why you want to hate somebody else.

Like his dad, his brother...

PH: And actually have some compassion for them. Which is really hard when you're on the receiving end of this, like, just vile, toxic abuse. But the reality is, is you say, flip it. [...] Every single one of us wherever we are, wherever we come from, there will always try and find some way to be able to mask the actual feeling and be able to try and make us feel different to how we are actually feeling, perhaps having a feeling. Right, because so many people are just numb to it. That was a huge part of the beginning of my life, which was like, I rejected. I said, there's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine.

And now he's moved on to promoting his new mental health stuff with Oprah, The Me You Can't See...

PH: So if you are making that conscious decision to say: You know what, it's not self serving, but I want to share my story. I'm being asked to share my story to hopefully help someone or loads of other people. I'm probably going to get trolled. I'm probably going to get attacked by the same people that were doing anyway. If I'm willing to make that decision, surely that comes from a place of courage rather than weakness?

Or possibly naivety. Harry is only wanted for his money-making title and royal status; he has no mental health qualifications, he's not a mental health professional, he's not an expert, all he brings to the table is the glamour of being a prince of the BRF. Which he quite clearly hates. Markle is lining her pockets from their self-indulgent mental health whinge fest and he's too dim to see it. There follows the bit about the spectrum of upbringing that the press is covering nicely so I can skip the next few pages - the bits where Harry says he doesn't see that talking about his own issues is complaining, and “it's the job, right”, how he never wanted the job of being royal, and his therapy and how “massively self-critical” he is (yet still can't see that he's not being honest with himself), ooh and sharing his hatred of the British press - that's a good bit, let's skip to page 18:

PH I think the biggest issue for me was that being born into it, you inherit the risk, you inherit the risk that comes with it, you inherit every element of it without choice. And because of the way that the UK media are, they feel an ownership over you. Literally like a full on ownership. And then they give the impression to some of their, well, most of the readers, that that is the case. But I think it's a really dangerous place to be if you don't have a choice, but then, of course, then people quite rightly will turn around and go. So what if you didn't have a choice? It was privilege? [...] Page Six of the New York Post, they took pictures of my son being picked up from school on his first day [...] But I guess my point is the way that I look at it, especially now living here one hour outside LA. Like it's a feeding frenzy here. We spent the first three and a half months living at Tyler Perry's house. You let us stay. And the helicopter helicopters, the drones the paparazzi cutting the fence like it was madness. And people out there -Their response was, Well, what do you expect if you live in LA? It's like, Okay, well, first of all, we didn't mean to live in LA. This is like a staging area before we try and find a house. And secondly, how sad that if you live in LA and you're well known figure, you just have to accept it. The first security we had, I said, Well, where's the safest place? Inside. Just because I'm a well known person, you can't go outside anymore. [...] it's really, really sad. And of course, their argument is - the paparazzi and everybody else - is like all if you're in the public space, then it's absolutely fine for us to do it. So what is our human right as an individual and as a family, you're saying that if the moment we step foot out of our house, that it's open season and free game? What? Because of public interest?. There's no public interest in you taking your kids for a walk down the beach. Nothing...

And on and on it goes... He should've stayed in the UK then. The Cambridges are managing very nicely, thank you. They take their kids for walks on the beach, and we'd never seen them until they released their anniversary video the other week. Harry's clearly envious of William; Harry's mad wife is vitriolically envious of Catherine. Oh and I’m pretty sure it’s the mad wife who keeps phoning her go-to paps when she needs to be in the news again.

PH: [...] I believe we live in an age now where you've got certain elements of the media redefining to us what privacy means. There's a massive conflict of interest. And then you've got social media platforms, trying to redefine what free speech means. Why - I wonder why you're doing that. And again - so this has been happening for 15 years now. And we're living in this world where we've almost like all the laws have been completely flipped by the very people that need them flipped so they can make more money and they can capitalise off our pain, grief, and this sort of general self destructive mode that's happening at the moment [...]

He doesn't get how hypocritical this is, does he? The Markles are the ones capitalising on their grief, pain and the rest of it. And no-one would be interested in them without the royal bits because they have nothing else to offer. Failed actress and used-to-be-a-soldier wrapped up in festering bitterness.

Blah, blah... went shopping in a supermarket... saw lots of chewing gum... blah, blah... Archie on the back of his bicycle... girls want to be princesses... You don't need to be a princess, you can create the life that will be better than any princess or it's something along those lines... she said she expected [the press] to be fair... Pages and pages of how he hates the British press...

PH: [...] And especially when you can't defend yourself so yes, I think when you marry into it, especially when it's one Princess Diana's sons there is a certain amount of 'okay what I'm actually letting myself in for?' But very few people actually know - apart from the Brits - how toxic that element of the of the UK press is.[...]

We're up to page 24 now, if you're still with me. Oh here it is, Harry's unconscious bias... What’s the betting the mad wife has scripted this bit for him?

PH: [...] So going back to the whole sort of travelling around the Commonwealth, I thought I knew, right, having been able to travel that much and meet so many and such a diverse group of people. I thought I understood life. Especially bearing in mind most of the countries I was going to were, most of the communities are going to were people of colour. But then I was really shocked once I started doing therapy. And that bubble was burst. And I started doing my own work, really - a lot of work - and started to uncover and understand more about unconscious bias. And I was like, wow, I thought since I screwed up when I was younger, and then did the work. I thought I then knew. But I didn't. And I still don't fully know. It's like a constant working progress. And every single one of us has it. [...] Everyone has biases, of all sorts. But I think it's a really important point, especially now, after everything's happened in the last year and a half, like the world is changing, the younger generation are driving it. And you've got to like a multi-racial, cultural sort of movement happening, which has never happened before. But unconscious bias is the way that I understand it, is, again, it's not something that's wrong with you. Right? And you don't have to be defensive about it. That's the thing. No one's blaming you. But the moment that you acknowledge that you do have unconscious bias, what are you going to do about it? Because if you choose to do nothing you're continuing to fuel the problem, which means that you're then heading towards racism. Whereas unconscious bias is actually something that is inherent, unfortunately, in every single one of us. But that it is possible to educate yourself to be more aware of the problems and therefore be part of the solution rather than part of the problem.

Markle's got him well-trained on this one, hasn't she. I wonder if he's read anything critical of the unconscious bias movement, or just repeating what he's been told to. Oh and then he goes off about being in the army...

PH: I loved it. I love wearing the same uniform as everybody else. I love being treated the same. I love the expectation of if you want to get that job, or you want that promotion, or you want to finish this race, it's all on you. There's no special treatment, you're not going to get any help. If anything, you're probably going to get treated the opposite because everyone thinks that you've had an easy life. And everyone's always helped you get to where you are.

But...but...but, Harry wasn't treated the same, there was special treatment, he was helped to get to where he was. He scraped a couple of poor quality A Levels and got admitted to Sandhurst because he's a prince. Good old Wikipedia says:

In June 2003, Harry completed his education at Eton with two A-Levels,[22] achieving a grade B in art and D in geography, having decided to drop history of art after AS level.[23] He has been described as "a top tier athlete", having played competitive polo and rugby union.[24] One of Harry's former teachers, Sarah Forsyth, has asserted that Harry was a "weak student" and that staff at Eton conspired to help him cheat on examinations.[25][26] Both Eton and Harry denied the claims.[25][27] While a tribunal made no ruling on the cheating claim, it "accepted the prince had received help in preparing his A-level 'expressive' project, which he needed to pass to secure his place at Sandhurst."[25][28]

PH: And then suddenly, like - while I was at school, I hated exams. And I promised myself I'd never do exams again. Then I joined the army of which is full of exams. I still promised myself I'm never gonna do it and then I end up flying Apache [...]

Gods, it's getting boring. Even the interviewers are zoning out. Still ten pages to go. Wish I hadn't started this, I could be out weeding. Weather's nice, not too windy... Do I deserve a quick G&T yet?

PH: Or worse, was they turn around and say, right, because last week, you're out the front. This week, you got to carry his bergan, I'm like - what, 30 extra pounds? Nooo. But it was, it was the most normalising experience or job that I could have ever hoped for. And then going to Afghanistan twice [...] And someone said to me very recently, from the moment that you're born into today's world, life is trauma, so the sooner that we actually acknowledge that but but [...]

A-a-a-a-and he's back on the mental health thing, PTSD or PTSI,

PH: Post Traumatic Stress Injury is like: Well, that makes sense, because I just saw my mate get blown out. But the other piece of this is, what we need to remember is, the lot of the recruiting that we do in the UK, comes from certain cities and certain homes, where there's childhood trauma. So what we collectively have already got inside of us, the trigger of seeing something happen in Iraq, Afghanistan can be the trigger. So everyone goes: Oh, it's because they were on operations, and because they saw their makeup blown up. It's like, no. [...] So that's what I've been working on for years, for the last five years, which is like, and it started in therapy of like, I don't want to lose this thing, because I think it's, I feel so connected to my mum. [...]

They move on to parenting, which the press is rubbing its hands over... Harry blaming everyone but himself and his saintly mother - Charles, HMTQ, PP... "They f*ck you up, your mum and dad". But not the mum bit. He can't push his mum off her pedestal.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48419/this-be-the-verse if you don't know Larkin's poetry. How much more? Nearly there. Monica loves The Crown and doesn't realise it's fictitious.

DS: [...]Well, Harry, I've really really liked talking to you. You're very charming. You're very intelligent. You're handsome, and I can't wait to see your torso.

MP: Thank you so much for coming.

DS: So I just want to remind everyone that May 21 on Apple Plus, you should check out Oprah and Prince Harry's 'The Me You Can't See'. I have to imagine it's similar to her book, which I just read, which is absolutely incredible 'What happened to you?' So everyone should check out 'The me you can't see' on Apple plus May 21.

And still Harry won't shut up... Shut up, shut up. Cut his mic. You don't have to read this last bit, they've already wound up the interview...He still won’t shut up.

PH: Yeah, we're moving from the physical to the emotional, right, physically. At the beginning of this pandemic, people were panicking. And there was that fight or flight like, ahh what do we do like lockdown, survival? Yeah. And now that the vaccines have been sort of, we're getting to the point where more and more people are being vaccinated, we're now in the emotional phase of what I read in the New York Times article was called languishing, which is really interesting. It's like the is the middle child between flourishing and depression. You just feel flat, and it's not depressed. It's definitely not flourishing. You lack the energy and the will, the motivation, all that kind of stuff. Because you're kind of sitting there going - Well, what happens next? And I think it's really important that we talk about languishing. And it was coined by someone I can't remember who but I think it was the journalist who wrote the story was Adam Grant. No, he didn't come up with it. Someone else came up with him, he wrote this, the most amazing article about languishing and the fact that how important it is to be able to talk about it because - look when it comes to mental health, we need to realise and accept that every single one of us have mental health. There's varying degrees, as we said, you've got the mental illness, and then you've got the sort of the awareness and the work that you can put in, like, Where do you want to be that we shouldn't just sit there and go: Oh, mental illness is once we are literally on the floor crawling around in the foetal position needing help. But for me, I don't think I need therapy anymore. But I wanted. And when I say therapy, I mean, actual therapy, sitting down having a discussion with someone. But I also mean like, nature, like going for walks, like throwing the ball for my dog down the beach and stuff like that. There are certain things around the world that are free, some you have to pay for, but ultimately go searching for the things that make you feel good about yourself. Like that's the key to life, get rid of the bad stuff, get rid of the hate, and just focus on the good. And your whole life turns around from that. I hate this idea. And I was one of them. I fell for it. Right? I didn't acknowledge that clearly what happened to me when I was 12 years old, losing my mom and all the other pieces that happened, the traumatic experiences that happened to me since then, I didn't acknowledge them, when perhaps - maybe I need to deal with this because if I don't, how the hell am I going to be a decent father to my son and my daughter? Like that awareness, I didn't have then. But again, we've got what - 40 experts as part of this series, and the Surgeon General, Dr. Nadine Burke Harris, she's absolutely fantastic. And she was talking about this concept of mental health being sort of public health, right. Because the services are so limited. There's not enough money. The problem is actually immense. How can we all help each other rather than this: 'Oh, once I'm broken, or once I'm suffering, I have to go here.' And there's not enough rooms or spaces for the amount of people or the for the need, when actually you can get ahead of it, and work on the prevention by sharing and being more vulnerable with each other, and being able to process this grief or this loss, or this trauma that every single one of us have experienced and will experience. So anyone who's sitting there going: 'I don't have a problem, and I never will have a problem.' Well, you probably are already contributing to the problem, because you probably got your blinkers on, you probably created your own echo chambers. So I think it's a that, that's certainly what I've experienced for my own process, my own journey, my family and my friends and everybody else is. Anyone who thinks, oh, we're fine. You're the one who's like, willing to talk about it. It's like, yeah, I'm willing to talk about it and talking about it. And the financial element as well. We're pouring money into on the downsteam, when it's like, Can we just focus upstream? Yeah, we focus on one thing, like to me listen to Oprah was what was one of the reasons that this whole thing started was two of the biggest issues that we're facing in today's world, I think, is the climate crisis, and mental health. And they're both intrinsically linked. Basically if we neglect our collective wellbeing, then we're screwed. Basically, because we can't look after ourselves. We can't look after each other. We can't look after each other, we can't look after this home that we all inhabit. So it's all part of the same thing.

DS: Prince Harry, I don't say this lightly. I love you. Thanks for coming. This was great.

M: Thank you so much.

PH: Thank you very much.

Wish I'd done my weeding.

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