#game: voiceless saint | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haikyuulovercompany · 5 years

Text

The Beauty & The Monster Pt. 1 Tendou x OC.

I’m so happy to know you were interested in read this old piece about Tendou and one of my OC’s !!!

So, here it goes!!!! I hope you like it <3 <3

---

If she had to describe their relationship with one word, it would probably be ‘empathy’: The capacity to identify with one another’s emotions, and mental state.

She was sure neither one of them was crazy. They seemedcrazy, but they weren’t. People would look at them and wonder. Oh, how much they wondered. They inquired all the time about what was going on under the surface. Some bet they were having it behind everyone’s back. Others clarified they were just good friends. The answer laid somewhere in between. They weren’t sleeping together, but man, it would be cynical to say there wasn’t any tension between the two.

They touched all the time. When they walked together he would sometimes drape his arms around her shoulders, or they would constantly bump against each other. The hall was large enough for them not to, yet they were always invading each other’s personal space. They sat so close together their legs would be pressed together. If they were talking, she wouldn’t be able to help herself from holding his forearm. She was aware of it all. All her friends assure her he was aware as well.

That’s why she had made a stupid bet. It was so obvious that they liked each other; no one understood why they weren’t a couple yet.

Everyone was expecting Shiratorizawa to win and go one more to nationals. And she truly meant everyone. In three whole years the volleyball team hadn’t lost one match—not even one match. It was insane. They were beyond good. They were extraordinary.

When she became part of the cheerleading team on her first year in high school, she could only imagine in dreams to cheer as much as she had to for those three years. There had been times she was left voiceless for how much she had shouted the chants game after game. Now they had to experience something new: the bitter taste of defeat. It was their last year in high school. The team wouldn’t be playing another game, nor she was going to cheer again.

It had been simple. Shiratorizawa never lost, it was a safe bet. She would confess to Tendou once they qualified once again for nationals, being too confident of the outcome of the match. They would go as the typical, cheesy, sporty couple. A star player and a cheerleader. What a cliché. She was up for it. She was so fucking ready.

Then, they lost. At the last minute, at the last set, they lost. Her heart sank. Satori might have been the light of her eyes, but she was close to the whole team to hurt for the others too. Watching Taichi and Lion cry was too much. She ended up shedding tears, too. Her dear Shiratorizawa, how could that be?

On their way back, they had to take separated busses. The whole mood they had brought at the start of the event dead and gone.

After a match the coach would let the cheerleaders ride the same bus as the volleyball team. They had always won, so it was some kind of price from his part. Satori and she had already arranged they would sit together like every single year. In her mind she would have already confessed by then, so they would be together, hand in hand filled with the ecstasy of qualifying for nationals once again.

She stared at the cold night through the window. The whole bus was dead silent. She zipped up her jacket to the top. She was still in her cheerleading uniform and the night had gotten noticeably colder.

“Are you okay?” her best friend asked.

She shook her head while she sighed. “Is any of us okay?” she quizzed, looking at Akane.

“Yours is a special case.”

Michiko gazed at the nothingness. Akane was one of the two persons who knew what she was going to do that day. “I had spent the last month imagining how this day would play off,” she inclined to the front, and rested her forehead on the front seat. “Believe me when I tell you it was the opposite of what is happening now.” She felt her back being stroked gently.

“I know, babe, I know.” Akane‘s voice was as low as hers.

Michiko turned her head to face her. “Is this a sign of destiny? Was this the way life told me to not do it?” She was feeling beyond hopeless and it showed. Her heart had been broken in more than one way that night.

Akane stopped stroking her back. “Bullshit. I think it still is the best you can do today.”

Michiko sat straight, her eyes full of skepticism. “Really?” she said sarcastically. “They lost. The only thing Satori surely wants right now is to go home and watch fucking anime. Not to be part of a romantic tragedy.”

Akane sighed tiredly. “Or it can be the best thing to make up for this whole situation. Maybe he lost the final, but he got the girl.” Michiko looked away from her, and to the ceiling. “You’d be a total liar if you say you’re not dying to be in his arms.” Michiko notably blushed, and covered her face with both hands making Akane giggle. “You know how people affirm Tendou and you are obviously sleeping together? If only they knew what an innocent and pure snowflake you are, they would stop. I believe Tendou might be a pervert, but you, you are a saint.”

“Stop it, Akane.” She quarreled her, and gave her a slap on the arm.

“Then do it, Michiko. Or at least give him a clue.” Akane grey-blue eyes went wide open, and she jolted on her place. She twisted her whole body towards her friend.

“Oh no,” Michiko gasped. “Now what do you want me to do?” she asked defeated. The person who had come up with the idea that the qualifiers final was the perfect occasion for her to confess was Akane. She was constantly plotting every one of her moves. It was her thing.

“I swear this is genius. You can totally pull it off,” she said excited.

“Spit it out.”

Akane squealed taking the attention of a couple people. Their team lost. What was she so animated about? “Say something obvious to him, and then, walk away. It’s okay if you don’t want to straightforward confess to him given the situation, but c’mon. It’s been two years. You need to let him know.”

Michiko gave it a short thinking. It didn’t sound all that crazy. “But what can I say?”

“I don’t know. You have your inside jokes or codes. How do I know what goes on with you pair of weirdos?”

“Our secret jokes are that, Akane. Jokes. There’s nothing romantic, or erotic, or whatever.”

“Okay, let’s think. We’ve still got time before we arrive to school.”

They both went to complete silence. Michiko couldn’t think of anything. She was nervous and depressed at the same time. She could have a panic attack at any given moment, and she would let herself suffocate to death due to the lack of energy in her.

“I know.” Akane said.

“That was fast.”

“Oh, Michiko, I’ve been rooting for you two to be together since last year. I’ll do anything for you to just get over it with.”

“Since last year?” Michiko asked amused.

“The year before that doesn’t count because you kept denying you were head over hills for him.”

“Well, what’s your new brilliant idea?”

“A kiss.” Akane declared provoking Michiko to choke on her own saliva.

“I’m not going to kiss him, what the fuck. That’s a blunter move than say I like him.”

“No, a kiss on the cheek. You two roam around each other like starving wolves, but I’m sure you have never gave him any kind of kiss.”

“Well, no. I haven’t.”

“Say something sweet like only you know how to, and give him a kiss on the cheek and walk away. If he doesn’t get the memo, maybe it will encourage him to go for you for once and for all.”

“If that works, you’re officially a medium.”

“I have seen the way you two look at each other like helpless lambs all through high school. I don’t need to be a medium to know it will work.”

“Let’s hope I can do it.”

“When you are near him you become a flirting machine. Both of you have a chemical reaction to the other. Without noticing you’ll say the perfect thing, and the current of the moment will lead you. And what’s the worst that can happen, anyway? Shiratorizawa just lost to a bunch of nobodies from an unknown school. That’s the ultimate all time low.”

And so there she was. She had unzipped her jacket since the school was a lot hotter than outside. Akane gave her blessing to her and went home. Michiko promised to call her right after to let her know every single detail.

Michiko had stayed for Satori. Not only for the whole confession thing, she also wanted to hug him and see how he was. Satori had only told her he would drop volleyball after high school, and she was sure Satori thought he had had more time. He was the god of reading people but he was completely unreadable.

After long twenty minutes of waiting, the doors of the gym opened and the volleyball team went out. Stoic faces adorned with sad eyes, and dried streams of tears were everywhere. None of them were surprise to see her. One by one hugged her. She gently clutch Semi’s forearms before hugging him and squeezed Goshiki in her arms a little bit tighter than the others.

“Next year is yours,” she told him. Goshiki nodded with a broken smile.

“Of course, Amai-senpai. I’ll do my best to make you proud,” he said, and went on his way with the rest of the team.

“Take care of things here,” Lion whispered to her after they hugged. With his head he signal to the back, where she was sure Satori was waiting for her.

The last one was Ushijima. They gave each other a simple hug, and without words he softly smiled at her and kept walking. He was the second person of the only two who knew what she was truly doing there.

Tendou was already siting on the floor with his back against the wall and his long legs stretched. She went up to him with a slow pace.

“Look who’s here,” he started saying without looking at her, “if not Shiratorizawa’s sweetheart, Amai Michiko.” He turned to see her then. His face had an unaffected expression, his usual half a smile and sleepy eyes were unchanged. She moved in front of him with his eyes following her, and knelt before him.

“I’m sorry you won’t get to do your pretty dances at nationals this year,” he said.

She gave a subtle, small laugh. “Like it matters.”

“It matters to me,” he said. “I like to see you dance.”

“You’re a cheeky bastard.” She felt shy, and crossed her arms over her stomach.

“Not only me. I promise you tons of people were waiting to see our cheerleading squad at nationals.”

“They’ll be left hanging, then,” she said in almost a whisper.

They stared at each other. It was a bittersweet moment. They had a bad taste from losing, but being close to one another always felt great. Satori knew her face by memory. She had waist-long hair in an intense chocolate brown shade and special hazel eyes—they were the type of hazel eyes, which were a lighter tone than the usual. “You could have been the cheerleading captain if you wanted, ya’ know?” he declared after observing her.

She scuffed. “Akane is gorgeous, and she is the most charismatic of us all. She was born a leader.”

“Mmm. I’d like to defer.” He trapped one of her locks in his hand, and gently played with it. “You are the sweetheart of this school for a reason, not her.”

She had to do it now. She could even just kiss him on the lips. Akane was right. They had a chemical reaction that pulled them together—like opposite magnets.

She just had to do it.

She looked down hiding her intentions and searching for the right words. “I’m especially happy to know you of all people think that of me.” She raised her gaze again and pressed a soft kiss on Tendou’s cheek. “Thank you, Satori. Good night.”

She quickly stood up and began to walk. She hadn’t seen his expression and hadn’t wait for him to say goodbye back to her. She had missed his stunned expression. She only knew he hadn’t gotten up and went after her. She was too focused on getting away from the school. She considered maybe she had been too vague, or maybe he wasn’t really that into her.

She had done what she could, and had been scolded by Akane when she called her on her way home to tell her. Maybe she could have been a tad clearer but what was done was done.

#tendo satori #shiratorizawa #The Beauty & The Monster #tendou x michiko #tendou x oc #michiko amai

57 notes · View notes

creativegago · 3 years

Text

Beauty and Disgrace (Poetry Collection)

Deleted wattpad post under the pseudonym: goldiiblox

🦋 angela's note: To the friends that I wrote these poems to in the past, thank you for the memories. I wish you well, even if we all fell apart. And on second thought, I really think these poems are so strange. What was on my mind while I was writing these and making rose lollipops out of paper? There are also two poems I did not include here because.. I just don’t want to remember them anymore. I don’t like the ideas.

Synopsis:

A 'collection' of poetry that I wrote for two weeks sometime in January to give to my friends whom are special to me on Valentine's Day.

"For writers always have their heads up somewhere. When we think of somewhere, we look up at the sky. Maybe we're thinking where, or asking it for an answer."

Kamusta? (A written introduction for the website)

Ang Simula

Ang mga tulang inyong mababasa ay isinulat ng isang dalagang maraming tanong sa mundo. Ito ay mga tulang isinulat ko para sabihin ang mga nararamdaman ko. Nagkakaroon tayo ng mga kaibigan, kahit pilit natin itong iwasan ay darating sila sa mundo natin upang patunayang hindi tayo nag-iisa. Hindi ibig sabihing mahina ka kapag may katulong ka, ipinapahiwatig lang nito na malulungkot ka lamang kung mananatili kang naglalakbay na mag-isa sa mundo.

May nakapagsabi sa akin, na pakaunti nang pakaunti ang oras na nabubuhay ang isang tao. Palala ng palala ang mundo, tila may isang malubhang karamdamang walang lunas. Masakit man at hindi katanggap-tanggap, ngunit tayo ang dahilan ng paghihirap na kanyang dinaranas.

Naisip ko na, bakit nga ba minahal natin ang isa't-isa? Kung ikaw lang naman sa atin ang nasasaktan ng malubha? Isang tanong na binulong ko sa langit, na parehong nilulunod ang paningin ng mga bituing na kailanma'y hindi ko masusungkit.

Patawad, mundo. Mahal na mahal kita. Patawad dahil hindi ko alam kung mahal ka pa rin ba ng iba.

Ang mga tulang ito ay hindi man ang pinakamahusay sa lahat, ngunit kailangan pa bang alamin kung ito ay binuhos ko mula sa aking pusong maraming linalaman?

Magkikita tayong muli pagkatapos ng labing-isang tula.

(Paalala para sa mga banyaga: Labing-isa, maghintay ka bago mo maintindihan ang iyong binabasa.)

Pag-uulit

Siya ang gabi, at ikaw ang buwan.

Dumating ang araw

Iyak

Sa isang lugar na kung saan

Mga tanong na hindi nasagot

Hardin

Isang inang nagaabang nag pag-asa

Ang anak, naghahanap ng pagmamahal

Namatay na ang hardin

Pag-aalangan

May mga bagay akong kinatatakutan

Ang mga bisyong hindi ko matakasan

Hiling ko sana'y hindi na ako matakot.

Nakakalito

Pag-ibig sadyang nakakalito

Sapagkat napakatulin ng iyong pagtakbo.

Pag-asa Para sa Mga Bulaklak

Pakiusap, sana diligan mo naman sila.

Hinawakan ng iyong daliri

Sumpa

Hangin, tubig, lupa at apoy

Biniyayaan sila ng misteryo

Ang lupa at apoy

Panaghoy

Nakatutulog ako tuwing may bagyo.

Nagagalit ako tuwing nakakaramdam

Diyamante

Madalas hinahanap ng mga babae

Naadik sa kanya ang isang perlas,

Buti pa ang mga bato

Tamlumpu’t Isang Pahina

Sinabi nilang mahusay ako.

Ano nga bang meron sa hinaharap?

Ako ay dapat nakasulat sa ika-tatlumpu't isang pahina.

Paalam! (A written post to section the Filipino poems and the English poems)

Sa nakaraang pahina ay nagtapos ang parada ng mga tula. Masaya na ang aking kalooban dahil nailagay ko na rin sila sa lugar na kanilang dapat paglagyan. Sa ngayon ako muna'y mamamaalam, dahil ako naman ay magsusulat sa ibang wika ng isang liham na mayaman din sa tula.

Hindi naman ako kagalingan, ngunit wala na akong ibang pinaghuhugutan. Ang pag-ibig ay hindi ko man nailarawan sa mga tula, naipahiwatig ko naman ang aking naintindihan dito. At dahil sa pakikinig ko sa kwento ng iba't ibang tao, marami na din akong natutunang aral galing sa kanila.

Huwag tayong mawawalan ng pag-asa. Hindi natin kailangang pilitin masagot ang lahat ng ating itinanong, dahil may mga katotohanang magdadala pa sa iyo sa mga mas mapanlinlang pang kasinungalingan.

Hearts (An Overheard Conversation)

"Can I touch your heart?"

"Well, no, you cannot."

"Why so?"

"You have to open me up first, an you will never know how painful it is."

"Oh. I apologize for being rude."

"You know, people like you are rare. People with genuine care are rare."

"How could you say that?"

"People who came were crows who opened me up and touched my heart. Some even have nails too sharp that it left a scar."

"What's worse is that they spoke no words while tearing me open. I reckon the times I feel nothing, my cries for mercy withered away, and I heard my own silence."

"I feel really sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's my mistake. I sincerely apologize."

"It's natural for you to feel sorry, but don't be. After all, you won't like the hideous sight I've been keeping inside me."

"I should stay away from my ignorance. A treasure chest doesn't always contain luxury."

The Chase

"Perhaps hopeless isn't a place."

Embroidery

They were series of dreams

Define

The fish swam in the sea

Fear crept in its veins

Flight

Sometimes, it's good to be free.

Oh no, there is an approaching storm

Promise

I sat at the back, feeling discouraged.

L O V E

I haven't found it yet but still searching.

Is it really love?

Is it love when we only think of bliss?

I see the paper.

Questions From a Mutual

Is the flower pretty?

I love you dearly

Hesitant

Silence is asking for a dance.

Aurora spoke in eloquence.

"I miss silence"

The existence of silence, my heart beating

Tsunami

If pain is never permanent

Asking

Troubled lots of times

The clouds are speaking the truth.

Strangers

Timid was my perfect profile.

We are two celestial bodies embracing.

Gradient

Why are we distant?

Cashmere skies, reflected your dreamy eyes.

Abundance

I woke up from my bed of roses.

On The Shelf

"Hey moon, please forget to fall down."

Tearing worlds apart, crossing the black hole

Just In Case

This world, a chaotic place.

Now just in case,

Alive?

Sometimes, it's good to be alive.

I wrote during the midnight,

The Good Side

Wasteland became a home.

Dreams have fallen

How Could I?

Should Valentine's last long?

The chase is pointed at me

But they didn't.

Pieces of You

No, I can't fly without wings.

You thought you fell on clouds,

Question: Are you the lost fallen angel?

Delete

Delete the sea in your mind

You sat, barely listening

Tired?

A house built from cards.

There are at least three questions

Saints

Here they are, dancing.

Their lips spoke a prayer.

Evocative

Honestly, I feel tired

Who knows when I'm writing this?

Haven

When I was a star, I loved being warm.

100 Letters

The crack of dusk

Feels like slowly spreading ink.

The rising sun

Is she blinding someone?

I wanted everything to be perfect.

There's a list of wishes

But they feel like I'm becoming more

Hopeless.

Voiceless at 9 o’ clock

Moments, rooms, voices

The house is filled with voices.

It has such clear windows.

But once destroyed by hopeless

All these shows

Are gone by morning.

Perhaps even late in the evening,

Where wild hearts are sleeping.

Voiceless, hopeless is screaming.

Swimming Pools

Things hit rock bottom.

It feels heaven to be in love

Why does it feel hell to break in half?

The swimming pools are calming underneath.

Morning

Parties are fun, do you want to lose your mind?

I tainted my mind with lust.

The throne is made of gold,

Torn in Two

I believed that in this world,

My hopes are as high as a tower.

The cards have cut a slit in my chest.

Misinterpretation

Even if I don't want you to expect much,

Hello, this is me.

I'm a stranger.

Play

She loved the mystery of love.

Why is love serious with their games?

Nemesis granted me a pill.

I wished to be in love.

And now I'm aware that I'm included in this mystery.

Solitude

Pardon, I know you're getting tired.

Sunny, happy, and care-free

We both need rest.

February

Could be as sweet as honey

February, could be a common name

Be safe in playing with the cards.

They are dangerous, all the time.

Wishing Wells

Wishing wells are one of our old spells.

Possibly, we fail.

It's for you to be happy.

H a l f w a y

A variety of poems.

Bubbles float in the virtual world.

I couldn't care less.

My mind, a deep chasm.

Our hearts, disconnecting

But our dreams, slowly forming.

II.

Crimson filled the cloudy afternoon.

The sun cries with vivid tears.

They chose to escape this disaster,

The stars became blind.

Now I see, that the night is gone.

III.

Obsessed with perfection

Obsessed with the passion

Is this the place where they belong?

Or is this another illusion?

IV.

Wistful, I pride for my ocean.

Why do I feel like I'm inside a whirlpool?

I wonder what is going on.

Instead, why am I receiving worlds?

VI.

We are finally on the first lap.

How can I say things

You're halfway.

Can you offer time to stay?

His Story

I | Sculpture

It is a sculpture of a heart

II | Squares

It is a Polaroid

III | Barrier

It is a wall

IV | Puzzle

False discoveries.

V | Things That Grow

Thus, he expanded mulch.

VI | Location

He planted the roots of a musical note.

He called it his true sanity.

VII | Evening

It was dark.

VIII | Oblivion

It was cold.

IX | Creature

His creature, now a monster.

X | Unsolved

A domino of film is played.

Warmth.

XI | Idle

His eyes closed contently.

XII | His Epilogue

Without anyone knowing

Blue

You are deep.

You may not be the heart's color,

But you are here, a peaceful harbor.

Red

I spotted you walking with an old friend named Rose.

Why do I see nothing but violence

I heard you sing with passion.

Even more alive.

Yellow

I see you in between.

You shine so bright.

Avalon

Now, this is a childhood tale.

It might be a sequence.

Avalon, better left as an enigma.

Exit - I end here. Goodbye, friend old.

#BeautyAndDisgrace #wattpad #deleted

1 note · View note

theonyxpath · 6 years

Link

Hi, folks. Rose here. Hope you had a haunting Halloween! Today, I’d like to present Travis Stout’s first preview of Geist: The Sin-Eaters, Second Edition.

Through the Cemetery Gates

The dead are all around us. They walk beside us on the streets, reach out to us with invisible hands, shout their needs with voices we don’t hear. We turn away from the very thought of them, mumbling platitudes like “he’s in a better place” or “she’s at peace now.”

He’s not. She isn’t. They’re both here, among us, trying desperately to make themselves heard. He needs to know his children are looked after. She needs the man who stole her life’s research to be exposed for a fraud. And so, when a grinning stranger with pale eyes and a broken-winged angel on his shoulder blows into town, they turn to him for help.

The dead are speaking. It’s time to listen.

The Chronicle of the Dead

Geist has always had style to spare, but the breadth of its scope, encompassing ghosts, weird immortal beings, and stranger things still, often left players unsure what to do with all those cool parts. With the second edition of the game, we’re taking the opportunity to really drill down and give the game a strong focus and a clear identity, which we’re calling the Chronicle of the Dead. So what’s it all about?

Geist: The Sin-Eaters is a game about people. Some of them are alive, some of them are dead, and some of them stand between the two, but they’re all people. It’s a game about giving a voice to the voiceless, about standing up for the rights and needs of those ignored by living society, about looking oblivion in the eye and spitting in it. It is, to misquote Craig Ferguson, all about the triumph of empathy and romance over brute force and cynicism. It’s a game about death, but it’s also a game about hope.

Going Forth by Day

So what’s changed in Geist Second Edition? Quite a lot, actually. We’ll cover all of these topics in more detail in the coming weeks, but here’s a high-level overview of some of the biggest changes:

Burden

In Geist Second Edition, how you died matters less than why you came back. To that end, the five Thresholds have been replaced with Burdens as the splat representing why a character accepted the Bargain with a geist.

The Abiding died forgotten or insignificant. They claw their way back to the world to leave a mark upon it, a legacy larger than any tombstone.

The Bereaved seek someone they lost (perhaps in the same tragedy that killed them, perhaps long before), and will tear apart the Underworld to be reunited with them.

The Hungry heard the old cliché “you can’t take it with you” and decided to come back for it instead. Something in the mortal world anchors them, and they will not let it go.

The Kindly died before they could put right some great wrong, and have returned to make amends.

The Vengeful blame someone else for their wrongful death and have returned for payback.

(For those of you fretting over the loss of your Torn or Prey Threshold, don’t worry — the old Thresholds are well represented by Keys, so you can still give mechanical weight to having been torn apart by wild dogs or dying of bloody murder.)

Krewe Archetypes

Much like packs in Werewolf: The Forsaken Second Edition, krewes have expanded beyond just being the players’ characters. As part of building your krewe, you’ll not only create a supporting cast of living and dead celebrants, you’ll choose an archetype for your krewe, representing the broad strokes of its ethos and how it goes about its mission of helping the dead find peace:

Furies know that the best form of closure is justice. Anyone can take revenge for a death, but that’s not justice, it’s a cycle of violence. Furies want to break that cycle and address the root causes of injustice that create ghosts in the first place — and there are few cosmic injustices bigger than the very existence of the Underworld.

Mourners know that the dead cannot rest easy unless they are remembered. They seek the stories of forgotten shades, bring truth to the living, and delve deep into the Underworld to understand what came before and build a better future.

Necropolitans know that death is just another form of existence — one that shouldn’t be a bleak void of nothingness. They help ghosts resolve their anchors, of course, but they also help the dead build lives for themselves on the other side of the grave. They keep the Essence flowing, build networks for mutual defense and as a bulwark against isolation, and stage daring raids into the Underworld to free as many ghosts as they can from its clutches.

Pilgrims know that the Underworld is built from pain and suffering — the pain and suffering of attachment to the earthly that binds the dead to their Anchors and denies their ability to pass on. The only way to fix it is to confront the Underworld, not as a nightmare of fear and torment, but as a source of learning. They guide the dead through its tunnels as a teaching tool before, Virgil-like, returning them to the surface world with newfound wisdom.

Undertakers also know that the Underworld is built from pain and suffering — the pain and suffering that comes with the fear of death. They focus their efforts on changing the whole paradigm: by reshaping how the living think about death, they can reshape the afterlife. They delve the Underworld like archaeologists, sifting through Dominions and stranger places to understand how they came to be, and thus how to make them better.

The Geist

Your character’s geist now has a much stronger mechanical presence: they don’t quite have the Traits as a free-roaming ephemeral entity, but their Bans, Banes, and Attributes now play a larger role in the game. In addition, under certain circumstances (*sometimes under your control, sometimes not), your geist can be unleashed, taking physical form to wreak havoc.

Haunts & Keys

Haunts are the new name for what Geist First Edition called Manifestations. The first dot of a Haunt allows the Sin-Eater to create the basic effect, while higher-level powers allow extra Enhancements for additional Plasm.

In addition to the Haunts presented in Geist First Edition, Sin-Eaters can learn three new Haunts: the Dirge, the Memoria, and the Tomb.

The Underworld

The structure of the Underworld has been cleaned up, with an eye for providing reasons to go there and explore at a variety of depths. From the Upper Reaches to the River Cities, from the Kerberos-dominated Deep Dominions to the Ocean of Fragments, Sin-Eaters have plenty of places to go in the Great Below, and reasons to go there.

Antagonists

From the Reapers who claim to serve the Chthonic Gods of the Underworld to eaters of the dead and living necromancers, Sin-Eaters face a host of threats — and that’s not even counting those Bound who reject the Sin-Eater label and use their power and privilege to enrich themselves at the expense of the dead, or the biggest antagonist of all: the faceless, all-devouring Underworld.

Endgames

While you can of course run Geist Second Edition indefinitely, we’ve included some options for long-term chronicle goals.

In the Catharsis endgame, Sin-Eaters resolve their own Burden and help their geist reconnect with its lost humanity, allowing both to pass on to whatever awaits beyond this world.

Or maybe you’d prefer to explore Catabasis, in which your krewe builds its mythos and its understanding of the Underworld’s metaphysics to the point that you can challenge the Chthonic Gods themselves. Succeed, and you can tear down the Underworld and remake it in your own image. Fail, and… well, all those Dominions had to come from somewhere.

Closing Thoughts

This introduction only really scratches the surface of what’s new and exciting with Geist Second Edition. I am immensely proud of the work and passion the team has put into this project so far, from long-time Chronicles of Darkness veterans to newer faces and first-timers. I can’t wait to share their work with you all.

I’d also like to take this opportunity to give a special thanks to Whitney “Strix” Beltrán for her help with recruiting writers. Her outreach to authors who might not otherwise have submitted for a Chronicles of Darkness game has been invaluable. Geist is a far more diverse, and consequently better, game thanks in large part to her assistance. Thank you, Strix.

And finally, in the vein of blog previews past, I leave you with a choice of what to cover next. Do you want to hear more about Sin-Eaters themselves, the burdens they bear and the faiths they found, or do you want to know more about the dead and their long, slow descent into the Underworld?

#Onyx Path Publishing #White Wolf Entertainment #Geist: The Sin-Eaters #Geist The Sin-Eaters #Chronicles of Darkness

23 notes · View notes

archermegan279 · 5 years

Text

Affective Publics

It only takes one injustice to start a revolution. The mistreatment of one man in a public square to eradicate a regime. In the book Affective Publics, Papacharissi examines the role of Twitter and affect during political movements. I have always thought of social media as a tool to connect people; a place where people can network and share ideas, but it has the potential to be something much greater as demonstrated in this book.

One aspect of the book that really caught my attention was the role Twitter plays in the online and offline community. In the case of the 2011 Egyptian political uprising, Twitter not only united a country oppressed by a dictatorship, but it gave citizens a free platform for personal storytelling, self-reflection, and community. I believe Twitter grew in popularity because users can sign up for free and are able to express their beliefs without fear of retribution. America is a rare nation where people are free to assemble in public squares and still receive government protection. Online, it is easy for people to show support by retweeting or using a hashtag, but showing that same support offline proves to be much harder. Think about how difficult the Civil Rights March to Washington must have been in pre-Internet days. Instead of Twitter and Facebook, bold men like Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcom X assembled people near and far to demand equal rights for all people. And to think, the spark that started this fire was a small-statured, fierce woman named Rosa Parks.

Sometimes it is hard to predict if the offline community will mirror the online community, but when affect is at play, latent publics are awakened and people are motivated to action. I experienced this firsthand yesterday for Boycott Bowl in New Orleans. I will be honest, I did not expect a huge turnout. However, 11,000 people checked-in for the actual concert and thousands assembled around New Orleans for second line parades. Did affect play a major role? You bet it did! Saints fans near and far were still upset at the “no call” during the NFC Championship game and quickly mobilized to channel their frustration. Although NFL remained silent on the issue for 10 days, people, like myself, immediately turned to Twitter and Facebook to start conversations. We no longer have to rely on the media to be our voice. We hold the power to be our own voice and tell our own story in our own way.

I think in order for online and offline communities to mirror one another, the movement has to have a goal. Affect and feelings of belonging are not enough to sustain a movement. For example, the Occupy Wall Street movement quickly grew in numbers and demonstrations popped up all over the country, but soon fizzled out. I remember hearing about Occupy Wall Street several years ago, but did not take interest in the movement. On the other hand, movements such as Me Too and Black Lives Matter have grown in support year after year. And while these movements seem to be quiet at the moment, they can quickly mobilize in less than 24 hours. It only takes a spark—one more sexual abuse case uncovered, another case of police brutality on an innocent black man—to rekindle the fire.

This book sheds light on many aspects of Twitter that I had not previously understood. Affect coupled with a technological tool such as Twitter have the ability to politically revolutionize the world. Twitter circulates news faster and cheaper than traditional media and can bypass gatekeepers in nations where free speech is restricted. It also allows users considered non-elite to share opinions and views of events that may otherwise be mischaracterized by the media. While Twitter can be a voice for the voiceless—especially in the political realm, one must possess the necessary skills required to use that voice; otherwise, Twitter is rendered ineffective.

Megan Archer (Blog # 4)

0 notes

twistedsinews · 7 years

Text

@chyrstis: Faith - U. Coming home

Saints Row; Faith/Johnny; PG-13

The motorcycle engine was a dead giveaway.

Not that he’d be able to tell one from another. But combination lower pitched rumble of the make and a rider who would be brave – or stupid – enough to be in this neighborhood....

As it was, the sound of someone slipping in through the broken window and the soft footfalls that followed across the concrete floor didn’t come as any big surprise.

Gat breathed in through his nose. Lined up his shot. Breathed out.

Her arrival didn’t go unnoticed, simply unacknowledged.

In small part because he knew how much it’d piss her off.

He took his shot. It sunk its target, and lined up the next. He was already moving to her side of the table as the cue rolled to a rest. He took the opportunity to steal a glance, since it was right there.

Her hair was a windswept mess, with a minimal effort having been made in sweeping it out of her eyes. Her riding jacket was unzipped. The shirt underneath was undone in such a way that the vibrancy of her tattoos were visible, despite the dusky light of the dilapidated bar.

The latter for his benefit, although he could only surmise.

He lined up his next shot. Sunk the ball. Made a point not to touch her. Not even brush against her. Moved on.

She’d only just come off the highway. Whatever was bothering her was still bothering her. That much was obvious.

He sank three more balls, two in one shot, before she put herself in his way, casually resting back against the table in front of him. His cue thwapped against her arm, and he upped the pressure until she staggered back out of his way.

She rubbed the spot. That jacket was made to withstand pavement. Gat couldn’t imagine the tap even hurt; wouldn’t have felt bad if it did. She was straight up sulking, now.

Her thumb brushed his hand where it rested as he studied the table. He shook her off, ignoring the ghost of a sensation that crept across his knuckles.

Leaning over the table, he lined up his shot. Blinked. Peered at her sidelong for half a breath. Blinked. Focused on his game. Ignored her as she moved out of his periphery vision.

Breathed out.

His scratch scuffed the table.

He didn’t have to see her to imagine the expression he knew would be on her face. A voiceless growl in his throat, Gat straightened. Grit his teeth. Reached down to politely dislodge the hand grasping him ever so impolitely.

He gave the remnants of his game one last lingering glance as he turned. Looked down. She retreated a step, staring up at him. Flinched. Looked up at him again.

“Find what you were looking for?” he asked, weighing the pool cue between his hands. “Or did you forget your phone?”

It hurt her. He knew it would, that was the entire point of saying it.

It took all of a beat for a change of heart.

Not when the facade crumbled. But when she turned to run. He lunged, catching the back of her jacket before she could reach the window and disappear.

If she were thinking straight, she would have gotten away. Easily.

She wasn’t.

Neither was he, really.

Her back hit the table. Gat chanced letting go, to make a grab for the front of her jacket. She coiled, and her knees came up between them, placing her flat on her shoulders. It wasn’t a great position for either of them to be in. As the stillness dragged on, her scowl darkened, and her eyes narrowed in a silent dare for him to push it further.

He let go.

She didn’t run.

She slid off the table, onto her feet. Didn’t put much distance between them, but made a big production of it.

“The fuck is wrong with you, Gat, that fucking hurt.”

“Bullshit.”

She glared at him. But she was deflecting. She never complained when it hurt worth a damn.

He found that one out the hard way.

Something gave way. She bit her lip and turned her back to him, hugging her arms. Rocking gently.

That was real. And a part of him reacted to it – the part that hurt whenever she hurt.

“Someone’s put in a bid for the church land. They want to plough it under and put up a strip mall or... whatever.”

It took him a minute.

It took him a long minute.

Then the realization set in, that he was thinking of the wrong Church.

The cue clattered amidst the broken furniture that had piled up along the far wall. Anger and understanding warred within him. He leaned into the pool table, and fell to subtly shifting his weight between the heels of his palms and the balls of his feet. Seething.

She was merely staring into space. Wasn’t crying.

Gat couldn’t tell whether that was good or bad.

Wasn’t sure it mattered.

“You shouldn’t have gone back there alone.”

She scoffed. “It’s not like there’s anything left-...”

“Doesn’t matter. You know I’m right.”

He pushed off the table. Cast about the abandoned bar for anything worth keeping his attention. Studied his hands instead.

“The fuck are you afraid could’ve happened? Oh, I forgot, you aren’t afraid of any-...”

“Didn’t think you were coming back this time.”

Silence.

A ragged breath.

Her hands around one of his, guiding his knuckles to her lips. She sighed into his palm, and he brushed his thumb along the line of her cheek.

“You get all wrapped up in your head, you get stupid.”

He pulled away from her, giving her fingers a tug before letting go. This wasn’t a good place to be talking about old ghosts.

“C’mon.”

At the window, he gave her a boost she didn’t need. She, in turn, offered him a hand up.

Once on the street, she set to brushing herself off. Johnny reached out to touch her back, briefly. Because she was there and he could. She glanced up. Smiled.

Slid into his arms.

#chyrstis #saints row #saints are go #johnny gat #boss: sandra st.claire #fanfiction #i'm gonna write a thing!#i said #seemed an appropriate place to start #sorry i'm rusty as hell

13 notes · View notes

notesfromthepen · 4 years

Text

Million P1us

A Million P1us

They ignore us because they can.

I've been in prison going on seven years now. I started getting serious about writing when I came down. At first it was just about expression; an attempt to hold onto a little bit of freedom in a place otherwise designed to kill such things. A few years in I started writing about the shit that was happening in here. Figured, somebody should do it.

I wrote about corrupt officers, nonsensical policies, the cruelty of solitary confinement, the censorship, corruption, and the dangerous parole process. I wrote about the slave wages and the financial fleecing of inmates and their families. I wrote about the benefits of good time and Michigan's failure to offer positive reinforcement to inmates. I wrote about everything I saw, the ridiculous, hilarious, and serious alike. I wanted to give a full voice to this experience. Something deeper than stereotypes.

And then I realized that none of it mattered if no one was reading it. So I started a Facebook page, well Mama C started a Facebook page. I connected with amazing people, but it was clear Facebook wasn't the best platform. So we took what little money we had and started a website. Mama C, the saint she is, learned how to put it all together. And finally, a few moths ago, we entered the Twitersphere (they should bring back the electric chair, just so they can strap me in for writing Twitersphere). This is where the magic happened (can you be electrocuted twice?). In a few short months I linked up with so many like minded people, interested and passionate about what was going on in here, which inspired me to push even harder. After every new piece, I felt the sense of relief that comes from getting something off your chest. But whenever I'd see something written, or said about prison reform or mass incarceration, this responsibility, almost a guilt, would settle on me. I was getting good at pointing fingers, but I wasn't offering any solutions. I figured I'd try to put everything I knew together in a single, comprehensive, piece about the American prison system— to see if that would get rid of the feeling for good.

I spent months writing this pain-in-the-ass tome and, when it was finally done, I felt genuine relief. Everything I knew about the fiasco of incarceration was distilled down to single, coherent, piece of work. Dare I say, I was even proud? I was proud…but I was even more relieved.

Now it was time to get it in the hands of people who could actually make some change. Prison reform, after all, is the ONE bipartisan issue in the county.

With magnum opus in hand, Mama C tracked down all 110 Michigan State Representatives. She sent them each their own personal copy, along with a plea for the reinstatement of good time, and an open letter offering assistance. Twitter friends & the Facebook family sent links and messages to the Governor's office all the way up to federal lawmakers. There was even this amazing degenerate, who also claimed to be a famous comedian, who took notice. And he helped spread the word.

Not a single politician responded.

If this ex-telemarketer and procrastinating, but excellent author, who claims to know Joe Rogan, can't get any of the powers that be to listen, then what chance do the rest of us have?

ZERO. The answer, as it stands now, is zero.

And then I got to thinking.

I've always had love for the underdog, the oppressed, the voiceless. And now I was one. I wasn't surprised at the inaction I seemed to inspire in the political landscape. More often than not, these "leaders of men" do the RIGHT thing, only as often as it is incidentally attached to what they're FORCED to do.

They IGNORE us because they CAN.

Which got me to thinking more; what if I was IMPOSSIBLE to IGNORE?

At first it was just this funny little day-dreamt hypothetical; what if a currently incarcerated inmate had a MILLION PLUS followers on social media? What would that look like? The possibilities cascaded. It felt like a paradox, an impossibility, a glitch in the matrix—for an inmate to have that power.

The first thing I thought was, the system couldn't allow it. Then I wondered if could they stop it? Sure they'd try, but what could they actually do? Any attempt would likely back fire. It's a 1st amendment issue. The biggest strength we have at the bottom, is how little we have to lose.

The fact, that this impossibility wasn't actually impossible, was hypnotic. I couldn't stop thinking about it—about what it meant.

Corruption rarely survives the light of day.

An inmate with a Million P1us followers on Twitter, for instance, would be like one of those nanny cams for the prison system. Knowing you're being watched will significantly curb a babysitter's urge to beat a kid into submission. Trust me, the first severe beating of my life was at the hands of a "baby sitter." I was so young I don't remember but Mama C says my whole face was swollen, that I could barely open my eyes. Then again I am half Asian, with baby eyes like slits, you ever think of that mom? Maybe this case of child abuse was just a simple case of racism. In any case, if ol' Rocky Marciano (he was Italian) had known there was a camera, he might've just let me cry myself to sleep without out the vigorous use of the five-fingered sleep aids.

Over share?

The point is, that without the ability to covertly fuck us over, they'd be forced to stop fucking us over, or at least cut back significantly. Politicians could no longer simply throw us away and ignore our pleas without repercussion. They could no longer anonymously give contracts to these abusive corporations who price gouge the hell out of us, while filling their campaign coffers—at least not without a Million P1us witnesses. From the lawmakers down to individual employees, they'd finally be forced to practice what they've been hypocritically preaching for decades: Personal Accountability.

It was fun to think about, but I wasn't actually going to do it. It was just something to think about during the commercial breaks of Rick & Morty. Just another game of "What If?"

Right?

My mischievous side disagreed; it absolutely loved the idea—wouldn’t let it go.

I'd be trying to watch TV and it'd chime in with shit like, "Why not? What are you scared of?" And the little bastard wouldn't shut up about Kim Kardashian. Kim this, and Kim that. "Kim snaps her fingers and people walk out of prison."

I did my best to remind my mischievous side that I'm not Kim Kardashian.

It reminded me I'm more of a Courtney anyway. And that Snooki, Guy Ferari, and half the cast of The Real Housewives all have a million plus followers.

I wondered how my mischievous side knew this but I didn't.

It said, "The whole point of prison is to silence us. Why not grab a megaphone and be louder than we've ever been? Ariana Grande:67 mil, Justin Beiber: 107 million followers on Twitter."

It was a good point.

"Ralphie May, Channel West Coast, Grumpy Cat..."

I don't know how accurate the research was.

All I'm trying to do is take a shit when I hear the subtlest voice say, "We've been waiting for this our entire lives. We are literally MADE for this. The ultimate thorn in the side of authority—of oppressive, corrupt, authority! An epic middle finger to the entire system."

The constant interruptions are starting to get to me but at this point I'm still unsure.

And then my mischievous side, that rebellious little bastard, says something undeniable, something it knows will kill every excuse I could ever muster. Slowly, fully aware of what it's doing, it says, "J-E-R-E-M-Y R-E-N-N-E-R has FIVE MILLION followers!"

And just like that, I'm in. My mischievous side wins for the first time in a long time.

I tell myself, if all these people have figured out how to get a million plus people to follow them, just so they can sell spanks, talk about their next hair color, or just BE a displeased cat, then what kind of coward would I be not to take a shot. Even if it's an air ball, or whatever clunky sports metaphor you'd prefer, if it means the chance to expose corruption & abuse, the government waste, inhumane practices, family separations, and the mass incarceration of those with mental illness, addicts, black, brown, and poor white people, not to mention the chance to knock Jeremy Renner off his high horse, and make the occasional poop joke...then I have to try.

I mean why can't it be done?

If we can rally enough rebels & misfits, the bleeding heart liberals and the stone cold conservatives alike, these conscientious men and women, Millennials, Baby Boomers & Gen-X'ers, to take a few seconds to tune in, then we'll have done something that has never been done before.

We'll have created a blueprint for other inmates and underdogs to fight for change, to show that redemption is real and that you can affect the world around you, even if you're actively being stepped on, if you work hard enough, think outside the box, and reach out to a few friends, who reach out to a few friends, and so on and so on until you become impossible to ignore.

Plus it would be hilarious, for politicians to have to take into consideration the opinion of a convict they'd all but thrown away...And most important of all: to stop Jeremy Renner from using Jeep commercials to force us to listen to his shitty band.

The goal is to get to a #Million P1us followers before I'm released. Which, if nothing changes, gives us 'til 2025.

We can do it.

In a world of click bait and countless distractions, this FOLLOW and SHARE can be your little contribution to prison reform and ending mass incarceration, a small, but not meaningless, drop in the bucket that gives you something to pat yourself on the back about. I'll take it. Or maybe you're just a rebel who's looking for another middle finger to stick in the air. Maybe you're a troll that thinks it'd be hilarious. Or maybe you're just tired of the same old meaningless bullshit on the news, Twitter, and social media in general. Whatever your reason, you'll be a part of giving a MDOC inmate a REAL chance at grabbing the world by the ear, and letting it know what's actually going on in here.

You already know I can't do this alone. If successful, this will be OUR achievement. Anyone who throws in will be a part of this absurd and exciting movement, and together we'll loom larger than we do alone.

I hope you're in.

We can't live in a world where Grumpy Cat has 1.6 million TWITTER followers, and Jeremy Renner is strutting around like he's the cock of the roost —but a convict on the forefront of the ONLY bipartisan issue of prison reform, with a saint for a mother, an amazing group of friends, and a real penchant for subversive, often ridiculous, writing— can't muster up Million P1us people to pay attention. Whatever God you believe in will not likely spare such a world for too long.

Ok, so: inspiration, outright begging, guilt tripping and fear mongering; ticked all the boxes.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention; most important of all; it's actually a really GOOD Twitter account, on its own, regardless of it being about some convict writer.

So there's that as well.

Please link, share, mention, follow, or whatever you think would help. You already know groups and people that I'd never think of who'd be worth reaching out to. Oh, and CONTACT me...I want to know who you are, and what you think. I'm serious about this being OUR project.

Your friendly neighborhood convict, Bobby C.

'til next time, appreciate the small things...even the annoying ones.

#MillionP1us

0 notes

flauntpage · 6 years

Text

Navy Vet Refuses Award from Saints Because of Anthem Protests

A Navy veteran made a big stink about turning down a ceremony before a Saints game, making several media appearances to say that he could not "in good conscious" accept the award due to the ongoing protests against RACIAL INEQUALITY AND POLICE BRUTALITY. I apologize for yelling just then, but read the quote from John Wells, a disabled Navy veteran and hopefully you'll forgive me:

"Although I am touched and honored to be selected for such an award, the ongoing controversy with NFL players' disrespect for the national flag forces me to decline to participate in the presentation," wrote Wells, according to the release. "I am unable, in good conscience, to enter an NFL stadium while this discourtesy prevails. Since this award is tainted with the dishonorable actions of the NFL and its players, I cannot accept it."

I am so fed up with this bullshit.

The protests are not, and have never been, about the flag, or the military and its service men and women. It has always been about police murdering innocent black United States citizens free of consequence. To suggest that they are anything else is either willfully ignorant or completely disingenuous. There is no other way of reading it.

But because discourse in this age is just ill-informed people sharing memes and talking points they heard from craven cable media personalities on either side of the aisle, we have somehow gotten to the point where NFL players are protesting are against the military, and therefore against the country as a whole. Despite the fact that the man who started the whole thing explicitly stated that he was protesting racial injustice. He literally said it!

"I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color," Kaepernick told NFL Media in an exclusive interview after the game. "To me, this is bigger than football and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way. There are bodies in the street and people getting paid leave and getting away with murder."

This quote was from, like, week three of his protesting—last year.

Somehow (white) people are offended by this. Somehow (white) people think protesting inequality in a country that loves to talk about how all men are created equal and endowed with certain unalienable rights is objectionable. Somehow (black) people pointing this out is unpatriotic. Somehow the voiceless, even when they have the largest platform, go unheard.

This shouldn't even be a discussion. Dishonorable? What's dishonorable is willful ignorance. What's dishonorable is the vilification of peaceful protests. What's dishonorable are the circumstances—the unabated murder of citizens by police without consequence—that led to these protests in the first place. It is a national embarrassment.

Navy Vet Refuses Award from Saints Because of Anthem Protests published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

0 notes

amtushinfosolutionspage · 6 years

Text

Navy Vet Refuses Award from Saints Because of Anthem Protests

A Navy veteran made a big stink about turning down a ceremony before a Saints game, making several media appearances to say that he could not “in good conscious” accept the award due to the ongoing protests against RACIAL INEQUALITY AND POLICE BRUTALITY. I apologize for yelling just then, but read the quote from John Wells, a disabled Navy veteran and hopefully you’ll forgive me:

“Although I am touched and honored to be selected for such an award, the ongoing controversy with NFL players’ disrespect for the national flag forces me to decline to participate in the presentation,” wrote Wells, according to the release. “I am unable, in good conscience, to enter an NFL stadium while this discourtesy prevails. Since this award is tainted with the dishonorable actions of the NFL and its players, I cannot accept it.”

I am so fed up with this bullshit.

“I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color,” Kaepernick told NFL Media in an exclusive interview after the game. “To me, this is bigger than football and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way. There are bodies in the street and people getting paid leave and getting away with murder.”

This quote was from, like, week three of his protesting—last year.

This shouldn’t even be a discussion. Dishonorable? What’s dishonorable is willful ignorance. What’s dishonorable is the vilification of peaceful protests. What’s dishonorable are the circumstances—the unabated murder of citizens by police without consequence—that led to these protests in the first place. It is a national embarrassment.

Navy Vet Refuses Award from Saints Because of Anthem Protests syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

0 notes

30-days-of-exciting-stuff-blog · 7 years

Text

Day 4 - Litbaits

Since I started out last autumn, I sometimes freak out when I think about the number of working hours I have lost to silly, mostly avoidable things such as freaking interesting Youtube channels, less interesting Youtube material, intense texting, late electricians who have been 20 minutes away from my flat for 2 hours, feelings, hangovers, disturbing hair, ankle sprains (unless there are world-saving issues involved, don’t run with high heels), uncooked lunches (I’m definitely not paying four euros for disgusting sandwiches), buying toothpaste, French politics (presidential campaigns, especially presidential campaigns gone wild, are a bad time to start a PhD), late-night internet digging, and the list goes on and on. Nevertheless, it’s the first time I lose three fucking working hours in a row to a social media campaign.

If a few months for now these few hours turn out to be just the extra time I needed to submit a paper (or, Flying Spaghetti Monster forbids, it, my PhD) on time, blame it on a Dallas bookstore called The Wild Detectives and their genius campaign idea. On National Read a Book day (September 6th, for the record), the library used clickbaits to trick people into reading classic novels. With the slogan “you fell for the bait, now fall for the book”.

I usually hate clickbait. I entirely loathe it. In case you are not familiar with the term, it refers to sensationalist headlines that withhold just enough information for you to desperately want to click on the link; at the expense of the accuracy of the information, or the quality or the content. Clickbait doesn’t care about deceiving you, as long as a page view was generated (yay money). Clickbait doesn’t care about reducing journalism to noisily demanding attention. Clickbait kills kitten. Clickbait definitely isn’t something I expected to make my day at some point in my life.

Clickbait, in a nutshell. Except clickbait doesn’t even want you to keep paying attention. A fraction of a second is enough, as long as you click.

But in The Wild Detectives’ campaign, called Litbait, you don’t get “8 reasons why your relationship may be doomed, the 6th will surprise you” or “This 10-year-old boy made a discovery that will change his life”. You get “Teenage girl tricked boyfriend into killing himself” (Romeo and Juliet), “You’ll never guess what happened to this Kansas teen after this tornado destroys her home” (The Wizard of Oz), “This Italian politician makes Trump look like a saint” (The Prince), “Romanian discovers shocking fact about garlic” (Dracula), and my personal favourite “British guy dies after selfie gone wrong” (The Picture of Dorian Gray). And when you click, you are redirected to the whole. Freaking. Book.

Too bad he died, his mastery of Instagram filters looked impressive as well.

Of course when the campaigned gained slight media attention again, a few days ago, someone posted about it on a beloved forum thread and it rapidly turned into the most amazing game between fellow bookworms: Turn favourite reads into litbaits, and guess the book behind other people’s creations. And just like that, my afternoon was gone. Here are a few of them:

“What this ex-jailbird does when he meets a little girl will make you cry” “She enters a forbidden room. What she finds inside is terrifying” “This man travels to deliver a message of peace, things don’t go as expected” “You’ll never open your cupboard the same way again” “He buys a tablet of chocolate and his life changes forever, find out how !” “This librarian only eats bananas, find out why !” (I love this one) “Her method to get great legs will leave you voiceless”

Legs that make you feel like you’re constantly walking on knives, but still.

Did you get them ? Les Misérables, Bluebeard, the Bible, The Chronicles of Narnia, Charlie and the chocolate factory, Discworld, The Little Mermaid (the pun was totally intended for this one).

If my fellow people from the thread read this: I am amazed at your spirited litbaits and you give me hope for the future of humankind. As long as there will be books and fun people around, life will never get boring. Long live litbaits.

And also: No music (re)discovered today, so I’m kind of cheating here as I’ve been listening to this song quite often for a few months already. But I feel that my upcoming trip to Dublin is having a significant influence on me, because I find myself fangirling over Flogging Molly even more than usual. (Drunken Lullabies isn’t their only song) (Even though it’s eargasm material as well)

youtube

#30daysofexcitingthings #30 day challenge #litbait #books #bookworm #classic novels #clickbait #the wild detectives #flogging molly #romeo and juliet #dorian gray #discworld #the wizard of oz #the prince

0 notes

theheavymetalmama · 7 years

Note

Wait, Commander Shepard doesn't count because you can create her, even tho she is very clearly her own character and not just an avatar? She has a personality. And an amazing voice actress. Plus she has a canon look, too. Why do you keep moving the goalposts when people show you amazing female characters? It's almost as if you're erasing them. How sexist of you.

I agree. In contrast, maleShep looks like every other interchangeable white dude that are a dime a dozen these days and his voice actor reads his lines as though reading passing road signs during a long, tedious car ride.

And yet he’s the one on the box art and 90% of all the advertising.

That’s part of my point. Even when a game does feature a gender option, you’d never know until you actually played the game because they never advertise it, because despite plenty of evidence to the contrary publishers still cling to the old world idea that female-leads don’t sell. That’s to say nothing of when developers have to fight their publishers tooth and nail just to have a female protagonist.

Even so, games like Mass Effect are the exception, not the rule. It’s great that games like Mass Effect, Saints Row, and most recently Fallout 4 go the extra mile and give scripted voices to the characters, but again, they’re the exception. The vast majority of creatable characters are voiceless blank slates with no agency or personality traits other than what the player projects onto them. And that’s fine. There’s a place for such a “character.” But citing them in the face of criticism for lack of good female leads is the same kind of logic as “I’m not _____ because I have _____ friends!”

0 notes

nofomoartworld · 7 years

Text

Hyperallergic: Fights to Withhold Paintings from Capitol Hill Show Their Political Power

George Caleb Bingham’s “The Verdict of the People” (1854–55) at Donald Trump’s inaugural luncheon (screenshot via YouTube)

WASHINGTON, DC — Over the last few weeks, two paintings with roots in St. Louis, Missouri, have come under attack for their display in federal government buildings here. Eighteen-year-old David Pulphus’s award-winning student painting depicting a protest in Ferguson, Missouri, remains a pawn in a tug-of-war between Democrats and Republicans, removed and reinstalled at least three times on Capitol Hill. In St. Louis and beyond, concerned citizens implored the Saint Louis Art Museum (SLAM) to refrain from loaning a painting to Donald Trump’s inaugural luncheon. One piece hung on the wall connecting House Office Buildings to the US Capitol Building; the other served as the backdrop for a celebration of Trump’s ascendance to power. The display and removal of these two works have sent powerful messages to the people of the United States about who has power, and art’s role as a mechanism of that power.

Annually, the artwork from selected high-school artists nationwide is hung on the walls of a long tunnel connecting the House Office Buildings to the US Capitol, yet Pulphus’s painting has become the object of a very pointed attack, leading ultimately to its removal by order of the Architect of the Capitol. The attacks come at a time of transition of power from the hands of the Democratic majority to Republican leadership, and this piece serves as more than a symbol of that transition of power. Rather, the content of the artwork itself — and, arguably, the identity of the artist, a young, black man — is an assertion of a narrative that the new lawmakers appear to want quieted. The painting itself is a conduit, a material assertion of the perspective of community members that has confronted members of Congress, staffers, and lobbyists daily.

George Caleb Bingham, “The Verdict of the People” (1854–55), oil on canvas, 46 x 55 in, Saint Louis Museum of Art (via Wikimedia Commons)

A few miles from Pulphus’s high school, at the SLAM, another painting became the subject of a power play when the institution agreed to lend George Caleb Bingham’s “Verdict of the People” (1855) to be featured at Trump’s inaugural luncheon in the National Statuary Hall of the US Capitol. Artist Ilene Berman and art historian Dr. Ivy Cooper created a petition to stop the institution from lending the painting, voicing concerns about its implications for the community, the responsibilities of the institution to its audience, and the “normalization of this president,” as Berman told Hyperallergic.

“We feel that this particular painting, as a representation of our community, is problematic in the context of the Trump election,” Dr. Cooper told Hyperallergic. The pomp and circumstance of positioning a painting depicting the “Verdict of the People” as the backdrop for the inauguration of a candidate who lost the popular vote by millions is bitterly ironic, as the petition’s creators point out. SLAM’s refusal to withhold the work gives a sense of the power of the art institution in the new Trump era. As Berman put it, “institutions are supposed to be about genuine engagement with their mission and not about placating the powerful.” In its ultimate decision to lend the painting, is the institution subservient, or empowered?

For Representative William Lacy Clay, the Democrat from Missouri whose office awarded Pulphus’s painting first place in his district, removing the work from display on Capitol Hill disempowers the artist and the community his work represents. He told NPR, “the African-American community has had a painful, tortured history with law enforcement in this country. So let’s not ignore the fact, that that’s not contemporary. That’s historic.” That Pulphus’s work gets to tell this story within a federal building is an exercise of that community’s power. And its removal is tantamount to the removal of that power, a public parade of dominance by members of the Republican party and a refusal to address the identity politics that come along with the work.

GOP congressman removes Capitol art by Artist David Pulphus #DavidPulphus #DavePulphus in act of #Censorship! https://t.co/zjTYQWx91C http://pic.twitter.com/VmnBQoxNXZ

— MCTV (@MCTV419) January 7, 2017

While the display of a painting on Capitol Hill can assert the power of an individual, institution, or community, there is a searing power in the absence of an artwork. “Absence is a poetic display of a refusal to be a part,” Berman said. This philosophy fueled the #J20 Art Strike, an act of “non-compliance” on Inauguration Day. Imagine if the backdrop to the Inaugural Luncheon, which has been an American painting at each of these events since 1985, had been a vacant white wall. What does it mean for an artwork by an 18-year-old black man depicting Ferguson to be removed from a government building? The absence of art, just as often, is a critical display of the remover’s power.

The entanglement of art and the power of political parties is nothing new. In July 1937, four years after Adolf Hitler came into power, his regime organized the infamous Degenerate Art Exhibition in Munich. The show gathered modern, abstract, and non-representational art, hung purposefully askew, and presented so that it would be interpreted as a “malicious plot against the German people.” Forty years later, the work of the communist mural collective Brigada Ramona Parra was continually painted over by the regime of Augusto Pinochet.

But why art? Why are these paintings the charged objects of the transition of power? History has demonstrated that artworks hold power — they are consolidated vessels of perspective, they give voice to the voiceless, they can be a cry in a room of silent compliance. The disputes over Pulphus’s painting and the loan of Bingham’s demonstrate that powerful artworks can also be leveraged to disempower. As scholar Krzysztof Ziarek wrote in his 2002 essay “Art, Power, and Politics: Heidegger on Machenschaft and Poiêsis,” “we have to keep questioning art in relation to power, to ask how art is productive of power in the subjective and objective sense of this genitive, that is, produced both through and as power.”

Art has always carried political power, and if the past week is any indication, the flexing of power will be a popular strategy over the next four years. As such, artists and art institutions must become increasingly perspicacious about how their works might play into political power games. These paintings hold their own power of authorship, content, and even as physical objects occupying politically charged spaces. Many paintings articulate opinions, and those physical manifestations of an individual’s or a community’s perspectives can be used as mechanisms of power — to reinforce it, or to deny it.

The post Fights to Withhold Paintings from Capitol Hill Show Their Political Power appeared first on Hyperallergic.

from Hyperallergic http://ift.tt/2jmqiis via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Hyperallergic

0 notes

flauntpage · 6 years

Text

Navy Vet Refuses Award from Saints Because of Anthem Protests

I am so fed up with this bullshit.

This quote was from, like, week three of his protesting—last year.

Navy Vet Refuses Award from Saints Because of Anthem Protests published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

0 notes

flauntpage · 6 years

Text

Navy Vet Refuses Award from Saints Because of Anthem Protests

I am so fed up with this bullshit.

This quote was from, like, week three of his protesting—last year.

Navy Vet Refuses Award from Saints Because of Anthem Protests published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

0 notes