#high-level thematic event

[tourismday]

(Part 2) High-Level Thematic Event on Tourism - General Assembly, Sustainability Week, 78th session.

Thematic debate 1 –Launch of the Statistical Framework for Measuring the Sustainability of Tourism  

Thematic debate 2 – Fostering Resilient Tourism to facilitate and ensure global sustainability

Closing segment

As one of the largest sectors in the world, tourism is a major driver of economic growth, and social and cultural development, as well as an important contributor of decent job creation and entrepreneurship for all. While tourism is explicitly included in targets under SDGs 8, 12, and 14, as one of the world's largest economic sectors, it can significantly contribute to fulfilling all 17 Goals. The meeting will be open to the United Nations system, ECOSOC-accredited non-governmental organizations and other relevant stakeholders. 

The high-level thematic event on tourism aims to advance a concerted approach on strengthening tourism resilience at the highest level and maximizing its contribution to the sustainability agenda. The event offers Member States, Observers, civil society, UN System and other stakeholders a platform to discuss strategies, share best practices and experiences to promote sustainable and resilient tourism and its contribution to achieving SDGs.    

Watch (Part 2) High-Level Thematic Event on Tourism - General Assembly, Sustainability Week, 78th session!

#high-level thematic event #tourism #choosesustainability #resilient tourism #sustainable tourism #stakeholders #ungasystainabilityweek #United Nations General Assembly Hall #united nations headquarters #best practices and experiences #Member States #united nations Observers #civil society organizations #UN System

[dailyadventureprompts]

Homebrew Mechanic: Battles of Attrition

I think we can all agree that there’s something a little wonky with how d&d’s combat system changes between the early and mid/late game. Heroes go from being rightfully cautious about danger to being outright banal about it, confident that their accumulated power will be enough to dispatch all but the most outstanding foes.  The traditional solution is to put them up against stronger enemies but in my experience these mismatched encounters are a failing proposition: combat just gets more swingy and there’s only so many high level threats I can throw at them in a short period of time before it begins to strain credulity.   

While a lot of folks (Especially the OSR crowd) have taken the stance that 5e is broken because of how much it empowers players, I think the real fault lays with the lack of systems that exist to provide challenge outside of anything related to the damage based tug-of-war that is combat.  I think a lot of those systems were part of the non existent “exploration” pillar of the game before Hasbro realized they could make easy money selling the game in its unfinished state and gutted it along with the development team. 

Thankfully, I and other homebrewers are around to do what the megacorporations cant, namely have some original thoughts and try and figure out a way to add challenge back to the game without resenting those playing it for having fun. 

TLDR:  Trying to make our games challenging by upping damage numbers in combat is a losing proposition, in no small part because that part of the game is DESIGNED around the heroes winning. Instead, we up the overall difficulty by making them temporarily weaker with systems like sickness, stress, exhaustion, & item degradation. All of which I have details and guidelines on below the cut. 

First and foremost let me state some of my goals for these “attrition systems”, so we can all be on the same page. Whenever I make homebrew rules I try for something that’s going to require little to no paperwork on behalf of the players and can be seamlessly implemented into my DMing style. It’s not about realism, it’s not about punishing players, this is a way for me to add mechanical depth without bogging down the machine entirely. 

Attrition should be largely non-permanent.  The 5e audience invests a lot in their characters both emotionally and mechanically, so it won’t do to pile on debilitating debuff after debuff to the point of making a character useless. 

There should be an inverse relationship between the severity of the affliction and how long it lasts. Think in term of encounters, days, or weeks, (with the understanding that an attrition that goes on for long enough becomes a questhook in itself) 

The exception to this rule is if someone hits 0 hitpoints. I’m outspoken in my stance that characters should only die when it’s alternatively appropriate, but the dm is at liberty to inflict thematically devastating setbacks in the unlikely event that the party DOES suffer losses in the damage tug of war. 

We want to be sparing with how much attrition we throw at the party at once, so as to not create a “death spiral” where failures compound upon one another and make getting through the adventure impossible. 

In most cases suffering Attrition should be something the party is able to avoid by being fast/lucky/cautious/clever or whatever else the encounter requires. It’s there to add weight and consequence to their actions, and as a factor for DMs to build scenarios around. 

Exhaustion:  Unlike a lot of the other changes made in Oned&d, I actually quite like the overhaul of “each point of exhaustion is a cumulative -1 to all d20 rolls and spell dc, beyond 10 is death” as it allows us to play with exhaustion far more readily as an attrition. 

Every night you don’t rest in a haven (a safe comfortable place)  you need to make a con save or take a point of exhaustion, with the ruggedness of the environment determining the DC. Characters with the survival skill or natural explorer feat don’t have to make this roll. Only rest in a haven removes exhaustion at the rate of one point per night (though spaces like a luxury inn or a peaceful glade watched over by friendly fey may restore more)  

Hitting 0 hp and then being healed gives you a point of exhaustion. Nothing’s going to tire you out like getting magically defibulated so now everyone can stop complaining about healing word spam. 

Poison:  For our purposes, the “poisoned” condition as written  is too severe. Disadvantage on all attacks and ability checks is downright punishing for anything other than a single battle. Instead we’re going to make it work like charmed, where there’s a baseline effect for the purposes of resistance, but the status of each poison is dependant on the source.  

Poison falls in the “ short term big effect” side of attrition, specifically undermining a player’s ability to do most things since most effects end on a successful save or at the end of an encounter. Long lasting poisons should have more minor effects than the default poisoned condition, only applying to a few types of rolls or having a bane-like effect that makes judging the odds just a little bit more difficult.  

This makes poison great to use for dungeons and short-ranging exploration where the party is likely to face multiple encounters in one day. 

Diseases:  4e aced the design of these maladies by treating them as a contained skill challenge with their own CR  with various stages: stage 0: you were cured, stage 1: you suffered the initial effect, stage 2 or 3: you suffered a severe effect, with the final stage (3-4) being some effect that made the disease permanent.  When you got a disease it was usually stage 1, and you (usually) saved for it at the start of each day. Beating the DC by 5 or more meant you went down a stage (closer to 0), where as simply succeeding meant it stayed as bad as it was. Failing meant you got sicker, meaning a character could bounce up and down in wellness as an adventure went on. 

Diseases are best for longterm adventures, and often undermine one particular aspect of a character ( healing, actions assosiated with a particular stat).  Counterpoint to poisons, diseases should start out fairly gentle and then get worse the longer they’re left alone, leading to eventually devastating effects.  

Curses:  While borrowing the mechanics of diseases, I’d have curses be specifically weirder in their effects. The sort of thing that can make up the central hook or b-plot of a whole adventure.  This should also mean that curses are the hardest for the party to stumble into, but also the hardest to shake. 

Item Degradation: Detailed in a previous post HERE, the long and short of it is that item degradation is a form of player driven attrition that gently curbs their overall power level. If they go too hard, use their best items recklessly, get involved in needless fights, then they’re going to be in worse shape by the time they reach the final challenge. This was supposed be the idea behind HP/limited class abilities per day, but attrition systems cover that better IMO. 

Stress:  The psychological counterpoint to exhaustion,  I’ve already talked about Stress HERE. I tend to only use stress in horror themed adventures and campaigns, as it builds upon 5e’s optional “madness” system which fits the theme when gothic terrors and eldritch abominations but less so with the game’s usual heroic fare. 

Hunger & Supply:  I made a super lightweight system based off this idea of “depletion die” for potions and other consumables, check it out, it’s lightweight and fantastic.  Using this kind of system gives us another avenue to challenge our party, lengthening or shortening their lifeline as they lose supplies and seek out new caches. 

Thinking environmentally:  Part of the fantasy of being an adventurer is travelling to dangerous places and living to tell the tale.  We’re denying our party that fantasy if we don’t follow through on the threat the idea of these places imply.  You should risk sickness if you go into a swamp, sewer, or jungle, thirst should be a factor in desert exploration, just like freezing is for mountain and winter expeditions.  That’s to say nothing of magical hazards; cursed landscapes that drain your will to live dead marshes style, alchemical smog in a steampunk industrial zone, fading into nothingness as you approach the edge of existence.  

Figure out the natural hazards, make your party aware of the danger, and then build your adventure around the fact that they’ll need to save against the hazard each time they take a long rest.. Do they take a detour if it means having a safe place to camp? Is there a resource they need to manage along the way? Could encounters expose them to further dangers or make their current exposure worse? Keeping these ideas in mind especially when you’re planning a wilderness exploration adventure should give you lots of ideas to fill up those encounter tables. 

Adding insult to injury:  Giving enemies the ability to inflict attrition in various forms makes otherwise trivial  enemies a credible threat even to a seasoned adventuring party. As an example,  A party might breeze through a fight with some monstrous spiders ( or even ONE regular sized spider, if you can imagine) , but that spider encounter doesn’t need to be the most dangerous thing ever if their next encounter is a navigation challenge fording a river and a few of the heroes are still groggy thanks to the slow acting poison in their systems.  

In this way you can use attrition based battles to soften your party up for greater challenges, long after their HP totals and healing ability have outpaced the damage a single trap/encounter can do. 

Artist

#homebrew mechanic #d&d mechanics #attrition #combat

[incomingalbatross]

Things that make Weirdmageddon a top-tier finale:

Every victory and ally the characters gain is essential to pursuing the next victory.

Dipper needed Wendy to reach the bubble, needed to talk down Gideon to reach Mabel, and needed to reconcile with Mabel to do anything. Then they needed to reach the Shack to get Shacktron, needed Shacktron to reach Ford, needed Ford and all their previous character development to build the Zodiac—oops! not enough character development! REVERSAL! But they still pulled out a win from having all four Pineses in the Fearamid, which wouldn't have been possible except as salvage from their previous victories.

It all builds really nicely—it's easy to get your characters running in circles to fit in enough action and/or screentime (see certain Classic Who serials), but that doesn't happen here.

Personal issues and plot problems were interwoven in a way that genuinely made resolving the former a basic step in resolving the latter.

The big problems at the start of the finale were the rift between Dipper and Mabel, the older, deeper rift between Stan and Ford, and... well, the Rift. And Bill. The finale is able to resolve all of these things together because it is, in fact, crucial that the Pineses all be able to work together; they need each other to defeat Bill. This means that, for instance, Mabel and Dipper's reconciliation is the urgent first step on every level, personal and situational (neither of them will accomplish anything until Mabel's free), and that Stan and Ford's reconciliation is a necessary condition for the last step of beating Bill. It's seamless—no one has to take time out of the plot to talk about their feelings, because the plot can only move if their feelings are being addressed.

Even more, the action works in such a way that Stan and Ford have to show character growth to defeat Bill and the way they defeat Bill then results in healing for both of them (Stan gets to be a hero while Ford gets to let go of his hero complex).

Gave time to addressing the big themes and made them structurally important, too.

This ties in to the point above, but... the fact that Dipper and Mabel's conflict (the manifestation of a much longer-running tension of "is it possible to grow up and still be happy? is it possible to be sure we'll stay in a close and healthy relationship, and not lose each other?") is given its full weight. Dipper and Mabel have the conversation they need to convince themselves, each other, and the audience that this ghost has been expelled from their futures. That's big.

And the themes continue consistently throughout the finale! They answer the questions raised by Stan and Ford's estrangement—first through Dipper and Mabel and then repeatedly through the rest of the cast—with consistent reassurance and hope for the future. It's thematically sound. That's not easy to balance with plot progression in a way that makes sense, but like. The plot can only progress to a happy ending if these themes are tested and found to be true.

Plot development and emotional impacts hinged on information the audience already had.

When the finale revealed new information (the zodiac's function, for instance), it was almost always answering specific questions the show had previously raised for fans (what's that zodiac about??). Not always true—the barrier around the town was not foreshadowed—but a very high percentage of the time.

More, the moments with a big emotional punch hinge on us realizing something at the same time as the characters and sharing their reactions to that thing, rather than reacting to their reactions. That sounds clumsy, but you know what I mean—"Grammar, Stanley." Ford pulling out the memory gun. "Get off me, Waddles!" Ford holding out the picture of the Stan O' War. The finale builds on what we already know so strongly that we can react to good or bad events alongside the characters.

(Well, except for the exact moment revealing the twin switch, I guess. We are not having the same emotional reaction as Bill Cipher there. ;P)

A fully satisfying send-off.

After the plot is resolved, and even after the eucatastrophe moment of Stan getting his memory back, we get to stick around and see for sure that everything's okay. The twins turn thirteen. Stan and Ford plan to go sailing. Soos gets the Mystery Shack. Everyone in Gravity Falls is fine. Everyone gets to say goodbye. We end on repeated reassurances that the thing the story most highlighted as crucial but uncertain will, in fact, happen—that they'll stay a family and they'll all be happy.

I'm not saying every story needs to end with a wrap party, but it was the right move for Gravity Falls, and they nailed it.

#i did not have the energy for a short post so i wrote a long one sorry

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Prima Nocta (or the right of the first night) Part 1

Warnings: so so so so many for thematic material. This is dark. Quite dark. This is freshly divorced and verrrrrry bitter and disillusioned Elvis helping himself to the bride of the newest Memphis Mafia initiate. Hugely unreliable narrator, belittling and objectifying of women, dub con because of that, sanctimonious chauvinism, reference to his marriage going very south. no actual sex yet but definitely 18+.

Notes: this got so long from just lead up that I figured it was worth publishing on its own and seeing if there’s interest for a part 2. Sorry for going bonkers on this one, sometimes you just gotta tap into the villain side of yourself. Also, this was inspired by many talks with my previous mutuals about THAT picture of Elvis holding a gun to George Klein’s head at his own wedding…I’m using it for solely for vibes, sorry George

Series: Sky High Lovin -reading Honeymoon might make this even better but not necessary

Dedicated to: Sweet Christi with the wayward mind and all my thanks to Ally and Jane and Elise for spitballing this into existence.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Elvis enjoyed life affirming events like weddings, believe it or not. He enjoyed facilitating days to celebrate love and loyalty and vows before God, promising everlasting devotion. That is, until he learned that “till death do us part” meant about as much to most as a “bless you” did when someone sneezed.

It makes surveying the pink and white festooned hotel ballroom something of an eyesore for him as he lounges back, dressed in black velvet, a sore thumb of ominous derision amidst the pastels, viewing the merry reception through moody, tinted lenses. The familiarly charming table accents of champagne and flowers and paper mache hearts twist his own into something a little furious and decidedly bitter.

A man’s wife betraying him and leaving him and stripping him of his pride and his joy and all his best intentions for her and your child will do that to a man.

Couldn’t even make it a whole decade before she found fault and spread her legs for another and turned his child against the father that loved her.

Sorry for being away so much baby, I was just singin’ myself hoarse to buy you that fuckin ring and car and hair and face and keep you in the style you’d married me for.

Cause it was obvious as all hell that honoring and obeying hadn’t been first and foremost in her mind when she promised forever. Forever to riches and fame, maybe, but not forever to him. She has those now, and he hasn’t got the family he’d prayed an Old Testament God for.

Rather like the pretty lady currently allowing her rodent of a groom to feed her their wedding cake, fake giggles and batting lashes adding to the nauseating act of pretending she can stand being in his company for longer than a couple hours.

Forever, my ass.

Elvis watches her through his shades and with each passing minute the anger burns brighter and his justification steadily builds for the liberty he’s about to commit.

The groom is here for Elvis’ paycheck, the lovely bride is planning to suck that idiot's cock till death doth them part (or a good four years) for the status of being a Memphis Mafia wife, and even the guests now stuffing their faces with pasta and alcohol are here for what Elvis’ money buys.

Loyalty is dead and what’s left is the goddamn food chain, like they’re the animals school tells them they’ve evolved past. In the recent months since his divorce, Elvis has felt a near Devine calling to bring this wicked devolution of morals and motivations to light, to humiliate these homosapiens until some level of shame is regained by mankind. If this is a pack of animals that surrounds him, he is King of the Jungle, and it is a careless and heartless king who lets his subjects run amuck.

He has no appetite for pasta, the hours of frivolity pass him by and he remains aloof, crouching in wait in his chair, running off righteous indignation and primal sufferance. Good things come to those who wait.

That’s what the bride is thinking, Elvis suspects, as the reception winds down and her luxurious honeymoon full of sunbathing and spas, good food and rich wine and the obligatory playing hooky to get out of sex draws nearer. Just a little more time letting fuckin’ Ronnie feed her cake and paw at her, then she’ll be on her way, securely locked into her future of privilege. He’s got nothing against Connie, uh, Sandra, -oh hell what was her name? he consults the gold embossed invitation at his elbow,- He’s got nothing against the newly minted Mrs. Kemp, nothing in particular, except that she’s a woman. And Elvis has a bone to pick and a point to prove with the whole, whorish lot of them.

Elvis opens the limo door for the bride himself, gallantly ushering in the happy couple before joining them as arranged, the whole merry band of his boys piling in after.

The new Mrs. Kemp, unlike some of his boys wives, had had the good grace not to whine about the lack of privacy and alone time to be found in and around Graceland’s inner circle. As a result Elvis allowed her to choose the more expensive flowers and gold embossed invites and french vintages, even if he knew why knew she’d been disgustingly eager for any chance of her intended husband being distracted from her. Elvis is certain, thanks to first hand accounts from fuckin’ Ronnie himslef, that the groom has sampled the bride already. It’s the way of things in this decadent decade, and she’s no fresh outta the nest baby chick. The fact Ronnie could give no further details about his encounters with his betrothed beyond the mechanics of thrusting above her till he blew his load, made Elvis despair of humanity and suspect Mrs. Kemp had a serpentine pragmatism about this entire arrangement.

Oh my buddy my pal, he thinks to himself as the limo flies through the never dark streets of Las Vegas towards the airstrip, I gave my wife everything and that wasn’t enough, how can you compete? God gave Eve the whole of Eden ‘cept for one measly apple tree -and what did the mother of all mankind do? She took, she ate, she damned them all with her disloyalty.

Ronnie is a damn fool, and while Elvis’ warnings were not needed during the engagement and this marriage has progressed to a limo ride and honeymoon, Elvis is not to be thwarted in his determination to save Ronnie the slow disillusionment, the slow death of any pretense of love in his wife’s eyes, the crumbling of all faith in anything such as Elvis has endured. Better to rip the bandage off now, five years is a long crucifixion.

As the limo parks on the tarmac and the gleaming hulk of the private jet looms over them in the night sky, no doubt Ronnie harbors some pathetic hope Elvis has forgotten his promise.

Elvis proceeds his guests up the jet bridge, cane thumping and carefully harnessed excitement radiating through him as he enters the opulent space, watching with benign magnanimity as the newlyweds board his jet, the boys providing a rollicking group to ferry the new couple to their honeymoon destination.

This was Elvis’ treat, he had insisted the jet drop them off before he heads back to wherever it is he’s supposed to be tomorrow. He’s not lost his appetite for spoiling folks. Only this time, he is gonna get repaid in currency a little more tangible than ephemeral, transient, fleeting loyalty. And Ronnie, kiss-ass, weak-spined fuckin’ Ronnie wasn’t man enough to hold out more than a few minutes when Elvis told him his new bride was the price for being inducted into the inner circle, the intitiation to prove his loyalty to The King.

Predictably, after some pathetic and scandalized objections, some monetary threats by Elvis and some judgmental snickers by the guys, fuckin’ Ronnie had caved and betrayed his loyalty to his own wife before he’d even walked down the aisle to marry her.

“B-b-but d-did the rest of t-the g-guys h-h-have to do this?” Ronnie had protested while they were shootin some pool, leaving the gals the other rooms to wedding plan, “Is it a-a-always this w-way?”

It hasn’t always been, no. Because Elvis hadn’t always been so astute. He had allowed his taste for pleasure and innocence and childish notions of fidelity to cloud his perception of women and the men they married. Elvis once was blind, now he saw, and now there was a currency of wedding nights established in the jungle.

“No one’s forcin’ ya to stay in this group.” Elvis had pointed out while lining up his pool cue with the ball, “you’re mighty welcome to go right on out that door, never receive another check from me or a glimpse of Vegas again, you’ll lose that girl, too, cause she sure as hell won’t be stickin around when all your bells and whistles fall off and it’s just you she’s left with. She don’t want ya Ronnie, she wants what I give ya, which makes me her provider, don’t it?” he reasoned before making his shot, the clatter of the balls deafening against the green felt as the older members of the mafia held their breaths in sick fascination with this new form of hazing. “And now, if I’m her provider,” Elvis had straightened up his posture to watch Sonny mark the score on the board, “that makes me a husband of sorts, an authority, a protector. A sugar daddy. Don’t it? You gonna tell me I should throw you guys a damn weddin’ and honeymoon, buy ya the house you live in and the cars you drive, the clothes she wears and the food you eat cause you hang around me an’ promise to protect me if the time comes? Bodyguard my ass, I could turn anyone to chopsticks before you even woke up long enough to realize a threat. Face it Ronnie, there’s a totem pole in this here life, and no one blames ya for bein’ a few notches down than most in the scale of things, but it don’t give ya much leverage bein’ down there. I give you that leverage. And I’d like to compensate myself for my generosity with a lil marital privilege. Jus’ once, just first night rights.” he took a swing of his coke and watched Ronnie closely, licking the sugar off his lips with deliberate swipes of his tongue, “Or would ya prefer I just wait and fuck her in six monthes when she comes knockin’ on my door sayin’ she just got lost in this big ole place?”

Fuckin’ Ronnie was a coward and a cad and he essentially agreed that he’d rather Elvis fuck his wife on the wedding night and be done with it than always be watching his back, suspecting her of carrying on an affair. Ronnie was a little bitch, Elvis surmised. Gone was any protest that he couldn’t do that to her, that she was a good gal, that Elvis wouldn’t do that to a friend.

Kings had no friends. And tonight Ronnie was oh so close to being officially inducted into the Memphis Mafia, he’d do nothing to jeopardize that . Elvis figured he’d wait until the plane took off to sample the goods, make her husband squirm guiltily over it while his new bride puzzled over why he was so tense.

Out of consideration for her downer of a groom, Elvis handed her a drink, playing the gracious host and taking her mind off her husband's stiff bearing and sweaty pallor.

“Don’t mind him, honey,” Elvis whispered hot and wet in her ear as he handed the drink off, “Ronnie boy here’s just scared of flyin’. You’re not scared are ya, honey?”

Honey….he couldn’t recall her name, Mrs. Kemp’s name, his fatigue and apathy too strong. He stood straight and dug in his pocket for a pick-me-up as he watched her smile and blush under his attentions,

“No sir, Mr. Presley, I’m not scared.” she smiled, “One could think we’re sat in a living room, it's so spacious here.” she added a compliment.

“I’d like to show ya the rest.” he says sitting down next to her, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and his gaze intent on her, knowing the effect this has on an ignored woman.

He recalls using that same line on his young bride during their honeymoon, eager to show his own new wife everything he had to offer. Beauty and luxury and care and a damn good fuck in front of the mirror back there. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough.

He can feel Ronnie tense further against the back of his hand where he clasps the bride’s shoulder, knowing that the “rest” of the plane beyond this lounge is a conference table, a toilet and a bedroom. Ronnie has had the privileges of being part of the TCB and now he’s about to pay his admission fee, and Elvis smirks at the thought that the man will never ride aboard this jet again without thinking of getting cuckolded by his boss.

The Bride is trying to make sense of Elvis' sudden shift of mood along with her husband’s. Both of them seeming to have swapped bearings, changing from the reception as if the jet’s air pressure had doused Ronnie’s merriment and finally revitalized Mr. Presley from the rather sullen attendee he had been. Elvis can feel her hesitancy to agree in her body language and the way she keeps looking over to Ronnie, as if to figure out his nervous ignoring of her and the way Elvis makes up for it in touches and attention. Beneath them the jet rumbles and takes flight, her little gasp at the heart swooping feeling of take-off a taste of what’s to come, of what he’ll pull from her body, willing or not . He’d rather lure her, try that first, the other can always be resorted to.

There’s an unspoken agreement to wait on this lil tour till the jet reaches cruising altitude, and Elvis spends the wait rubbing her arm and watching her try to make conversation with her groom who finds discussing the latest baseball stats with Red far more interesting than recalling the beauteous memories of the last few hours with his now introspective and mildly panicked bride. It’s funny to hold a woman whose mind is racing, Elvis can almost feel the frantic thoughts and conflicting emotions battering her frame from the inside out like a caged bird against its bars.

Elvis allows the minutes to trickle by and work for him, the soothing sweep of his hand slowly melting her rigidity, the continued abandonment of her husband's attention going from hurtful to frustrating, the innocuous chatter of the fellas talking and laughing around them, the cool air of the jet’s cooling system kicking on, and his warm and broad chest already pressed against her, now beckoning like a little haven for her to cower inside until the confusion passes. He clocks all these developments as the minutes go by, fully aware the boys are making small talk with their minds as preoccupied as Ronnie’s about when Elvis will make his move, their anticipation mounting while her guard drops, finally accepting his closeness without question. The jet rumbles and her drink kicks in and with the wedding fever abated it leaves her drowsy, unmoored.

Elvis waits for the perfect moment to pounce and is rewarded for his patience. The cool blast of the AC has made her begin to curl towards him and he’s met her halfway and it’s not till her head almost nods weakly to lay on his shoulder that her sensibilities prick her and she jerks it back up, another little gasp. It makes his repeated,

“Lemme show ya round, honey, got all sorts of remarkable stuff up here”

sound like a gallant cover for her lapse of decorum. Predictably, she shakes herself upright and gives him a polite nod of thanks, their first mutual, unspoken communication acknowledging something the rest of the room isn’t privy to. Her loyalty is slipping and all it took was a few minutes of heating her up with his embrace, a few whispered teases and buying her a whole damn lifestyle. To her credit she looks to Ronnie as she rises, asking him to come along in a coaxing voice Elvis knows is her trying to get her new husband to even look at her.

Elvis watches her try and fail at this from the curtained doorway leading to the back of the jet, thinking it makes a striking picture. A bride still dressed in white, bending over to try to catch her husband's eyes as he watches TV in his rumpled tux, the entire plane’s worth of masculine attention directed on her, except for the man who swore to worship her. Perhaps the disillusion will go both ways tonight, maybe women aren’t all merley bitches in heat, maybe some start out intending to be faithful and good and content.

Elvis has yet to meet a woman faithful and good and content once he puts his mark on them, they spend the rest of their lives day dreaming and closing their eyes when their husbands are in them and clogging his phone lines, kidding themselves that they’re special. He’s saving her the sin of coming to his room in a couple of months or years and saying she got lost while dropping her silk nightwear down her frame, an old and familiar expression of invitation on her face. She might not know that’s in her future otherwise, but he does. And he’s gonna save her the wait. When she wants something she’ll come to him now, not her husband, and he will have the discipline to make the right choices for her.

Elvis holds the curtain aside and beckons her with his fingers, and she would be angrier that he has the nerve to summon her away from her husband if she weren’t so humiliated at being ignored by the man. Frustration at their man makes women very susceptible to comfort, Elvis knows this intimately, and in their strong desire to be understood and soothed, they’ll spread their legs for the first person who tells them they deserve that attention.

She ducks under his arm, into the shade of the conference room with an attitude written on her face. Elvis drops the curtain behind them, the prey corralled. Nothin so easy as a woman scorned, nothin’ quite so hungry and quite so fierce. He hopes she’ll take out some of that miffed little ‘tude out on his back with those fancy nails his money bought her. It makes him smirk in anticipation and he can tell she finds that unsettling, her huffy bearing faltering once she notices him just watching her move round the glossy table top, suddenly aware of their seclusion and the fact she left her groom behind for a tour of the jet. She’s beginning to doubt her choice, doubt her loyalties.

Honeymoon off to a damn good start, she thinks sourly.

It’s innocuous, standing at opposite ends of a conference table with a man who is your husband's closest friend and at whose house you’ve eaten multiple dinners. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she feels her skin prickle none the less like she’s in danger, like those eyes observing her through shaded lenses are not fully human, not fully beneficent. She curses Ronnie for humiliating her, for his weird mood these past weeks making her feel isolated, for her past making her paranoid of this assessing male gaze.

She’d met a panther in the woods on an Appalachian bike ride once. They’d stared each other down as he had crouched and observed, his eyes fathomless and intent, the muscles of its body undulating in readiness beneath sleek black fur. Her mouth had dried out exactly the same as it does now when her shy smiles aren’t met with anything besides those assessing eyes and that crooked smirk that holds no fondness for her, no pride in his jet, no amusement at her awe of his wealth. A smirk of pure and smug knowingness.

Then he calls to her and the warmth of his voice melts her fear. “Check out this icebox, honey”

Her face lights up like a kids in the yellow glow of the refrigerator light as she bends over to look inside, white stain skirt hugging her perfectly and he gathers that all that athleticism has done her good, she could probably ride a man for hours without tiring, judging by the firm curve of that ass.

“See anyhtin ya’d like?” he asks her casually, laying a light hand between her shoulder blades as she reads rows and rows of labeled refreshments.

“Oh, uh, no, no, the drink was enough for now. Thank you Mr. Presley.”

He used to correct folks when they called him that, and used to punt the honorary title to his father. But nowadays he finds “Mr. Presley” might be closer to “your majesty” than mere “Elvis” -in which case he’s stopped putting little floozies at ease by asking them to call him by the name his mama gave him. That’s a name used by a wife back when he was happy and respected and alive.

“C’mere, I wanna show ya this television back here.” he beckons again, removing the heat of his hand from her back and she breathes easier with him taking the lead, she’s able to watch his imposing figure unobserved as he leads her past the conference table and into a small hallway with a large, showbiz style mirror.

Elvis swaggers right on by the marvelous monstrosity with its low counter and doused bare bulbs, but she can’t help herself. A flicker of childish glee taking over as she flips the switch on the wall and makes the bulbs buzz to life, brilliant as a spotlight in the inky gloom, illuminating them from the knees to the ceiling in a gaudy reflection. The sudden blast of light makes him pause on his trek to the bedroom and he joins her in looking at their reflection.

“Hell, honey,” he drawls amused as he takes in her fresh little wedding set and his decadent black suit, “we look like cake toppers.”

She laughs at that, a sweet unaffected thing that is music to his ears, and no doubt a screech to Ronnie’s. Elvis finds his grin growing at that thought and she mistakes it for joy. She laughs again, aborted little chuckles tapering out.

“There’s a tv back here, too?” she asks, embarrassingly at ease with entering a bedroom in the company of Elvis Presley.

Interestingly she doesn’t even glance at the bed when he ushers her in, she’s peering at the walls and the built in furniture for a peek of a screen.

“Mhmm, keep lookin, it’s hidden.” Elvis follows her and shuts the door behind him, a quiet click she doesn’t hear as she’s got her back to him, busily creaking open dresser doors and clapping in commendation upon finding the tastefully camouflaged TV set.

“How wonderful!” She praises and his heart does something funny and nostalgic over unpretentious enjoyment of what he has to give her.

One day it’ll be old hat to her and she’ll be like all the other wives, naggin’ and bitchin’ over keeping up with each other, forgetting about what it was they ever wanted, consumed with one upping each other and dominating the pecking order, spending Elvis’ money not for pleasure but for bragging rights. For now he watches this young woman bounce in her heels over a hidden TV set and makes a pact with himself to be nice, to gentle her into this ruination.

Then he recalls she married Fuckin Ronnie, and that twists his gut in reminder she’s a practical gold digger like all the rest. And he doesn’t mind that about her, he just hates the dishonesty of pretending she’s in it for more, and her ignoring him for a tv irks him as disingenuine.

“Wanna kick back and watch somethin, doll?” he asks her and sees the exact minute his words make her back and shoulders stiffen beneath white silk.

“Uh, on this one?” she’s scared to ask, scared to sound like she’s accusing him of suggesting it, scared to suggest it and give him ideas.

“They got the damn game on the other.” he answers her smoothly, coming up behind her and reaching round her to power it up.

“Elvis.” she dares to sound reprimanding when all he’s done is stand behind her and punch a button, she’s the one who walked into a bedroom with a man who isn’t her husband.

“Gonna be a long flight, three more hours I reckon.” he is patient with her.

“Y-yes.” she hesitantly agrees, watching the screen flicker to life, “And I wanna spend it with Ronnie, exc-“

Liar! He doesn’t let her turn around, he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her facing the TV, keeps her away from the closed door she’s not yet noticed, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck telling himself, gently, gently, tempt her, tempt her. “Doesn’t seem like Ronnie is eager to spend it with ya.” he mourns low and sympathetic in her ear and she gasps at his brutal honesty, at the fact he’d have no tact to pretend he didn’t notice.

“Elvis, t-this isn’t right.” she parrots her mother or her favorite tv show or some rote set of rules she doesn’t really embrace.

“What ain’t right, honey?” he rumbles, keeping his hands on her, moving them from her shoulders down her arms, then swooping them up again and fingering at the sides of her neck, delighting in the shiver her body yields up to him.

If he hadn’t been so aloof before, she figures she might not feel so electrified by his sudden, all consuming touch. But it’s not just that, he’s kept his distance from her since she started dating Ronnie and in her star struck insecurity she’d made no move to become friendly with him.

Now this, this intentional hovering and the petting that tastes like something she’s only ever heard about. It’s Elvis, Elvis petting her in her wedding dress on the way to her honeymoon destination and that’s simultaneously about as predictable and uncredible as can be. Elvis, who’s been the ephemeral host for countless of lovely parties, Elvis who’s been the presiding specter over all their schedules since she became part of the group, Elvis who has been the magical name on the credit card used for everything she ever wanted. Elvis Presley, the man who achieved all there was in life by 21, and has been bored by it ever since. What did she expect him to be, a fatherly figure?

“Did you like your weddin’ honey?” he asks her after her raging thoughts consume the time she should have spent answering and protesting him.

The hands descending to her hips and squeezing there hint a warning prompt even as his gentle tone reminds her of all he has done for her, his inexhaustible benevolence -which it seems something has finally exhausted. She begins to panic, no need to see those panther eyes when the heat is radiating off of him, sexual intent potent from his aura alone, no need to feel a crude gesture or have it spoken out in clunky declarations of desire. Ingrained self doubt takes hold of her for one brief moment before the scratch of his sideburn rubs against her cheeks and the hot press of his lips against her neck tells her it is not vanity making her project on him, Elvis Presley really is trying to seduce her mere hours after her vows, a few yards away from her new husband and his friends.

“Mr. Presley!” she resolutely stiffens in his embrace and tries to turn and leave his hold of her and he lets her so far as she’s spun round and facing him, her stern tone wobbling out when she’s met with the hypnosis of his expectant stare, “Y-yes it was lovely, thank you.” she stammers out, fear and primal instinct kicking in and guiding her to cower and simper her way out of this, her boldness having bounced off him like shotgun shells off cement. Nothing but damaging to her. “T-thank you for all you did.” she tries again, her tone unsure as his face remains unreadable, his eyes burning and unblinking behind his shades, lit with white hot something in the glow of the tv screen. “You’re very generous.” she admits, tacking on every obeisance she can think of while resolutely ignoring the feel of being held to his chest, near eye level with the gap of his shirt and the chains glittering on his skin. “I need to rejoin my husband, sir.” she begs, begs that she doesn’t want this, denies she’s ever hoped for this.

Idly he wonders if she’s being honest, then he watches her swallow thickly as she catches a whiff of his scent.

Suddenly he crushes her to him, her mouth smashed to the metallic, skin warmed nest of his chains, pinning her there with a hand to the back of her head as his other reaches for the hem of her skirt and drags it up and over her ass, palming it even as she shrieks in shock, “Tell me, Mrs. Kemp,” he growls in her ear, “did you go after Ronnie cause he was near me, or did ya come for the money and stay in the hopes I’d pay attention to your little self? Was you countin’ on me gettin lonely some night an’ sendin’ your husband on an errand so I could get my fill of his wife? Is that what keeps ya from gaggin when he’s on top of ya? Is that the hope?”

Elvis’ fingers find the band of her lacy panties -honeymoon lingerie his money bought her- and he snakes his hand in, down the warm curve of her ass and along her crack, dipping between clenched thighs to rake through predictably sopping wet folds. She gave the whole resistance act a good try, but her womanly body responds to dominance, and Elvis is dominance incarnate. It’s in her weak nature to drip for him, plain and simple, and so he swipes and dips and drags his fingers through her as she fights against his chest, pounding her fists impotently against the velvet of his coat.

“Shhh, shhh honey, I know, it ain’t your fault.” he is magnanimous, gracious as King Solomon. “This, honey, this is what hope tastes like.” he brings his glistening fingers to her snarling mouth and shoves them in against her tongue, savoring the way her choke distracts her from the obvious defense of biting him, “Taste that? That’s how hope tastes, and there ain’t anyhtin’ more harmful than hope. Makes a purgatory of your life. Doesn’t let ya be satisfied with what ya got, won’t let ya get dissatisfied enough to wanna change anythin. You just hope and hope and your life goes by, while you’re hopin.”

She whimpers around his fingers, wilted white silk in his arms, dress bunched up obscenely in the screen-lit room. He strokes her cheek with his spit wet hand, the ring faces of rubies and diamonds and priceless gems caressing her tears away, lulling the creature back to her basic instincts, hypocrisy and futility purged away beneath Elvis’ healing hands. “I ain’t gonna let you go on hopin for years and years,” he enchants her with whispers, rocking her now as she whimpers in catatonic fascination, “I’m gonna gift ya with knowledge.”

Everything she’s given up while fighting to get herself on a jet like this, married to a man of means, with a house and a steady future and a predictable timeline stretching out before her -security at last! -all of it crowds her mind, the devil and the angel on her shoulders whisper in a traitorous debate. Of course life isn’t how she wanted at eighteen when she expected to marry for love, yet of course her mature self is pleased with this match. Those can both exist, and she planned for them to exist in a tidy world where Elvis Presley wasn’t an option, because he’s not. He’s not offering himself, doesn't even have enough dreams of his own to bother with lying about it to buy them both a minute of reprieve from the disillusioned hellscape that is life in one’s thirties when you comforted your starry eyed twenties by telling yourself it gets better. Then to no one’s surprise -it didn’t. The one last insupportable piece of this maturing puzzle that would cement her growing up forever is tasting this then going back to Ronnie. It’s out of the question and she doesn’t give a shit what he’s going through right now, or what Ronnie thinks about her angering his boss, what she needs is the peace of mind that comes with not knowing.

“You can take your knowledge and shove it.” she snaps out of the pliant heatstroke his embrace caused her and shoves him away, only succeeding at making room between them because he’s so surprised by her sudden surfacing out of the trance.

One final thrash of the prey and he watches with amusement as she stumbles in haste across the flickering room, yanking open the closed door and steadfastly booking it to the front of the jet. Headed to the shelter of a man who promised to protect and defend her and cherish her and swore it all while counting his bonus for selling her out.

Elvis watches her till she and her crumpled white dress fly past the brightly mirrored hallway and disappear from his vantage point through the doorway. He picks at his nose and thinks about what he might like to take on this little experiment, and having procured a few items of use saunters after her at a leisurely pace. He sets them on the conference room and table and watches as she pulls back the curtain and steps into the lounge, her whole being vibrating in a way that is not subtle or discreet about what just occurred between them.

It’s warmer in the lounge, just pulling the curtain back wafts warmth into the ice box chilled areas of the plane that Elvis frequents, it makes her tremble with relief. She’s back in public, back where he won’t try anything. Ronnie, to her angry bewilderment, is still glued to watching the TV like he didn’t even register her absence. But his mere existence will still work for what she needs. She needs to belong to someone and sit beside that person for three hours while his boss cools off.

She is not prepared for the way everyone in the lounge spins round to look at her once registering her presence, looking with absolute surprise as if her reemergence was the surprise, not the lengthy plane tour to the back bedroom. It makes her seethe inside, they thought she’d go through with it, damn animals that they are, all “what happens on the road stays on the road” and carefree chauvinism inherited from their boss. She has to remind herself why she wanted this life in the first place, has to recall the perks and the wages and lavish reception.

Red and Joe now flank Ronnie and her seat beside him is taken up by those two manspreading oaf’s. Desperate, she decides to play at being cute and makes to sit on her husband’s lap, spinning round to find Elvis watching hehe from the curtained doorway as she tries to lower herself down to perch.

“Babe, I can’t see the damn screen with you like that.” Ronnie has the churlishness to complain and she wants to scream at his denseness, the way pushes at her lower back to tip her out of his lap.

To save herself the humiliation of face planting on the plane floor she chooses to stand of her own accord and catch herself from the shove. She sees Elvis’ lush mouth frown behind the cigar he’s lighting up.

“Don’t be an ass to her Ronnie, she’s your wife.” he reprimands and she gets a funny feeling of appreciation for being defended in all this. Her loyalty teeters towards the man she has to remind herself she needs to escape from. “Or have ya forgotten, ya unchivalrous bastard?”

That’s a little harsh but the memory of Ronnie not giving a damn about the fact she was almost assaulted -that’s harsh word for that too, her traitorous mind supplies- reminds her that she isn’t happy with him at all. But in fact, come to think of it, she isn’t pleased with any one them, and there’s no where to go on this damned plane. It starts to make her skin crawl, the realization that she’s surrounded by men who would either not believe or else not care if Elvis went through with the forceful attentions he was showing her back there. Who would believe her if she said he forced her?

“Ronnie I’m tired and my seat’s been taken!” she argues with him, “I just wanna sit down. Lay down, even!” she begs, thinking of how best to clear the couch of anyone but him so that no one takes liberties and sits down beside her.

“Then go lay down in back where there’s a fuckin’ bed? Why’d you come out?” he snaps.

“Cause-“ because Elvis Presley tried to take liberties, that’s why, but she feels strangled watching how all the men await her answer with a little too much investment, the way Elvis is still watching her behind tinted shades and a haze of cigar smoke.

“You get all bitchy when you’re tired, go lay down and take a nap, honey. I’m watching the game.” Ronnie suggests her worst fear and it infuriates her how he’s changed just since he slipped a ring on her finger.

“Ronnie please-“ She whimpers and would give anything to know why Joe is leering up at her with a sly grin. There’s no time to think on it as Elvis’ ringed fingers close around her elbow and tug her back towards the curtain.

“C’mon honey, ya heard your husband, let’s get ya situated.” he coos and her fingers turn to ice from the shock of it all.

“I don’t wanna!” she protests, “Ronnie!” she tries one more time while being backed away from her husband by his boss.

“Oh for fucks sake just do what he wants!” Ronnie begs with something akin to frustration but the red hot blush sweating up his neck suggests he’s humiliated to be caught saying it.

“Beg your pardon?” she hisses in disbelief, feeling Elvis’ hand clamp on her arm just a little more, maybe to keep her from marching up to Ronnie and smacking him.

“Just, just give him what he wants. Just tonight.” Ronnie spills the beans far sooner than needed and Elvis wants to roll his eyes at how fast they went from taking her for a nap to admitting to something far more sinister.

The bride’s head swivels from viewing her husband to Elvis and back to her husband and the room full of men who’s thrumming interest in her makes her wanna bolt straight out of the plane now she knows why. It’s sickening yet so strongly in character for them she doesn’t waste many moments in disbelief, it all makes sense in a horribly predictable way. Every one of these fella’s grinning at her discomfort are pathetic in her eyes, as pathetic as men who’d prefer to watch naughty movies than better themselves as lovers. Somehow in the mess of it all, Elvis alone stands out as something a little less deplorable. Even if it’s just his brash and demented honesty she admires.

“Y’all planned this?” she asks dully, scanning each lip licking face, ending with her husband’s sullen one, “This was all planned out? You offered me up? You goddamn, two faced bastard-“

Elvis loops his arm around her waist to prevent her from launching at Ronnie and clawing him to shreds. His chest is searing her through the silk on her back and his hands grab at her more than they need to in order to restrain her. It makes her pulse pound and fury swirls inside her, battling with the cold dread of weakness and helplessness.

“Ronnie made a little deal with me.” Elvis is drawling in her ear in so soothing a way it almost counteracts the nauseating confirmation, “And now, we can watch you runnin’ round this plane for hours to get away from me like a Junebug in a bottle but that ain’t gonna change how this night ends. How bout ya just be sensible, hmm? Just cause he’s a lyin’, no good sunnuvabitch don’t mean you gotta turn bad yourself, ya know? He gave ya instructions, ya can still be a good lil wifey and honor and obey him, can’t ya?”

“Why?” she persists, but feebly this time, not knowing if she’s asking her husband who keeps his face averted towards the screen or the man whose hands are mapping out her body in full view of his friends. “Why y’all gotta do this?”

“I told ya honey,” Elvis murmurs, rucking the hem of her skirt up passed her knees, “hope’s a dangerous thing. I don’t allow it in my house. An’ you’re part of my house now, ain’t ya?” he pets at the damp plushness of her inner thighs as the men stare and she struggles to find a way to empower herself while caught in such a feeble position. Hurting Ronnie, twisting the knife a little more like he’s done her is all she can think of at the time. “Don’t you belong to me, sweetie?” Elvis is prodding once more and his cheek is clammy and hot against hers, the cigar smoke pungent around them.

“Yes sir.” she agrees while sneering at Ronnie’s reddened face.

“That’s more like it.” Elvis’ voice gentles to something a little less frightening than before but all the more terrifying for how sure and smug it sounds. His hands grab at her breasts and she can’t help the whimper she lets out from the presumption, no doubt it’ll only get worse. “Since you’re so eager to stick close to ole Ronnie and include e’rbody in our private business, I reckon it’s only fair we conduct this lil interview on the conference table, hmm?”

When she cranes her neck to look behind him and past the curtain, she can see the shiny table top littered with items it didn’t hold when she made her hasty exit passed it; scarves and a strange sort of plastic wand, that stupid police flashlight and a box of cigars are clumped at its foot in an ominous hodgepodge.

Admitting to being frightened by it would strip away her last bit of autonomy in this and so in a bid to act unbothered she slips out of Elvis’ hold and walks on her own two feet into the room, turning her back to Ronnie before shifting herself to sit on the cold, hard surface of the table.

“Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Presley?” she asks him meekly and makes sure to let her legs fall apart just so. She thinks she’s going to have some control in all this, the silly little thing, thinking he’s a man with regular tastes and base preoccupations, easily distracted from the purpose of this like any other. And the purpose is not pleasure -though he intends to draw it from her till she is broken from it- but purity of intention and nature. A lie dressed in white no more, but a wanton woman giving in to her true nature. Only he has the power to bring this out in every one he meets, and to purge it all the same.

Elvis Presley eyes her, as do all the men in the lounge just past him, until with an approving little hum and smile that is almost pleased, he steps towards her, yanking the curtain closed behind him and leaving them (somewhat) alone together in the dimly lit room, full of anticipation.

And maybe dread.

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #sky high lovin #Prima Nocta #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis au #70s elvis #elvis the king #elvis film #elvis aaron presley #austin elvis #elvis x you #Elvis #elvis movie #elvis photos

[percheduphere]

LOKI SEASON 2 - END GAME THEORIES PART 1

This is going to be a super long post that will need to be divided into 2 parts due to the 10 image posting limit. Here's what I'll cover:

Part 1:

1.) The Original Timekeepers

2.) Trust as a Theme

3.) Social Intelligence is a Leadership Skill

4.) Mobius's Presence Through Food - Food is Socializing ... and Friendship

Part 2: (read: here)

5.) Mobius's Plotline

6.) Sylvie's Role

7.) John = Mobius?

8.) The Original Timekeepers & Time Paradoxes

THE ORIGINAL TIMEKEEPERS

I am 99.99% certain that the original 3 timekeepers are Loki, Mobius, and Sylvie, and that we are in a time paradox by which the future influenced the past. The lore and set design have repeatedly highlighted that there have always been THREE timekeepers.

More than once, the camera has held on the TVA seal for an extended period. The seal above is from the past, when HWR was in power.

This seal is from the future:

In both cases, the image of the seal remains the same. The dagger represents Loki, the hourglass (drawn like a mobius strip) represents Mobius, and the mask (that looks like shield but isn't) represents Sylvie, who can enchant. The papers covering the text appears intentional as well, a nod to the comics, "Loki: God of Stories".

And the writers, cunning folk that they are, are counting on the most avid fans to be too busy looking for scenes supporting their ships to realize that the end game is for Loki, Mobius, and Sylvie to trust and care about one another enough to protect all time(lines), always. Please note that I'm not an anti. I love shipping! It's fun. But an awareness of shipping is also a useful tool to keep the audience distracted from the narrative and cinematic hints that are right in front of our faces. These three need to become a team. The shots below (adored by Lokius fans, including me) foreshadow this in 2 ways:

First, that Loki's character has progressed to the point that he trusts and supports Mobius. Second, that both shots are imbalanced. There needs to be a third person on Loki's other side to balance both shots' composition. The Heart of the TVA is missing its 3rd timekeeper: Sylvie.

This shot is significant for several reasons, all of which are thematically connected. Despite there being two people on either side of Loki, the shot is still imbalanced. Loki is slightly closer to Mobius. In this scene. Sylvie is positioned at a distance, demonstrating lack of trust in both of them.

TRUST AS A THEME

Stepping back for a moment, S1 predominantly focused on Loki and Mobius developing trust in one another:

By Season 2, that trust is well-established. Sylvie hasn't had enough time to build trust with either them. She continues to operate in a survivalist mindset. Her history justifies this: she's relied on herself since childhood. But not having anyone to trust is not the path to happiness, nor is it to the path to success when in the face of an annihilation event. Sylvie is still emotionally and psychologically where Loki was at the beginning of S1.

SOCIAL INTELLIGENCE IS A LEADERSHIP SKILL

I'm an older fan. If you've ever worked for a medium to large employer, the different types of managers that exist become apparent.

1. The micromanagers, managers who do not trust their staff and consequently create a tense environment that can become toxic where no one trusts one another.

2. The absent managers, managers who delegate and disappear, leaving their team feel uncared for.

3. The blurred-line manager, who's friendly and approachable but doesn't hold others accountable and doesn't know how to create and implement plans at a high level (out of fear of upsetting anyone), making their team feel frustrated with in-fighting and lost in terms of what the main goal is.

4. The authoritarian, a manager who follows the book to a T, is rigid, punitive, and has no compassion for individual circumstances.

5. The leader, a manager who takes the time to know team members individually, change their management style based on individual needs, keeps an eye on the big picture and ensure actions are taken toward it, holds people accountable but also makes time to make sure people are getting along.

Renslayer, Brad, and Sylvie tearing Mobius down are foreshadowing, plot set-up, and red herrings. Mobius is not a perfect leader, but he is a strong one by virtue of having exceptional social skills, which Sylvie doesn't have because she's never had real friends before. It's not her fault. However, it is imperative that she move beyond this.

And Loki, who has developed compassion, self-awareness, and personal accountability through Mobius's friendship and love, extends those things to Sylvie. He is gentle when he confronts her. He shares his experience with Thor because he knows where Sylvie is at mentally. But he also doesn't force her to come with him. He leaves her with the free will to choose.

MOBIUS'S PRESENCE THROUGH FOOD - FOOD IS SOCIALIZING ... AND FRIENDSHIP

In S2E4, Mobius's presence and influence are heavy in scenes in which he is not there. The pie scene is one of them, with the flickering lights and sweets sitting forlornly behind glass symbolizing that Mobius's sense of self (very much grounded in trust and hope in others, even if they are broken) is wavering. And as @charcubed noted in their INCREDIBLE meta here, everything goes wrong from this point. Why?

Having pie together was an opportunity to build trust and friendship with Sylvie.

None of them have the technical know-how to help OB, Victor, and Casey. The best thing they could have done is get out of their hair because too much overseeing leads to anxiety and anxiety leads to mistakes. Mobius knows this. What can they do in the meantime? Stress eat and integrate Sylvie as a member of the team.

Note that every moment Mobius makes to eat or drink is not only a moment to de-stress, it is also a moment he uses to bond with others and get to know them better. Renslayer (and later Loki, because he's become close enough to Mobius to know what comforts him) uses this method, too.

S1 - Whisky scene with Renslayer

S1 - Cafeteria scene with Loki

S1- Salad scene with Loki

S2 - Cracker Jack scene with Loki

S2 - McDonalds scene with Brad

S2 - Pie scene with Loki

S2 - Hot cocoa scene with Victor

Knowing what people want and care about is critical to motivating individuals, and yes, this talent can be used as manipulation when the situation calls for it.

Socializing over food is also a means of feeling less alone. We tend to eat with people we trust and care about (a tradition meant for family, found or otherwise), or at the very least want to get along with.

The second scene where Mobius's presence is felt despite not being there?

What does Victor dobwith the hot cocoa?

He gives it to D-90.

Victor gives it to D-90 out of a sense of comradery, a basic human desire to share something nice with someone and maybe make friends.

But this moment leads to tragedy. As @charcubed explained, Mobius separating from Loki led him to comfort eat via hot cocoa. The hot cocoa caught Victor's interest. D-90 goes with Victor to check out the machine. D-90 is pruned, and Victor is separated from the team. This causes a delay in getting Victor prepped and out onto the Loom gangway, which causes the temporal radiation to build up so high, it's impossible for Victor survive. The Loom consequently explodes.

PART 2 HERE!

Thank you to @bebx and @mobius-m-mobius for responding to my asks which consisted of end game theories for Loki Season 2 (here, here, here, and here), and for @wowwwmobius for supporting my thoughts. Your replies got me to feel brave enough to post everything I've been thinking in full!

#loki #mobius #sylvie #lokius #sylki #loki season 2 #loki series #loki s2 #mobius m mobius #loki spoilers #my meta #my theories

[corvidgames]

#8 SIGNALIS

Signalis was as heartbreaking as it was horrifying.

A retrotech cyber horror with emphasis on what it means to be human in a world where humanity is a burden in the face of rising technological power, Signalis' world and environmental storytelling was incredible. Even with a low-poly style and oftentimes pixelated visuals, the use of thematic music and sound effects made it feel just as chilling as any high-end AAA horror game.

With it's story being highly cryptic and the game rarely opting to hold your hand with its puzzles and mystery, it feels incredibly satisfying to piece together the scraps the game provides you with in between it's major plot reveals.

I'm trying not to talk too blatantly of the plot and its events because this game is really best if you go into it blind. It's one of the few games I've played where it's important to the immersion to be confused and disoriented.

Because of the lack of explicitly revealed details about it's story, you spend a lot of your time reading through items that you find scattered around the world. Oftentimes in RPGs and similar games, it can become tedious to read through files and reports, but Signalis' constant withholding of information from the player lead to me getting excited every time I found a scrap of hastily scrawled handwriting around the facility.

Getting to know the characters of this world, even without much dialogue nor direct interaction through the majority of the game, was emotionally harrowing and gripping. I found myself often on the brink of tears over relationships between characters I hadn't even met in the storyline yet, reading through their journal pages and picking up what they had left behind throughout the story.

Its combat system, whilst simple, feels just the right balance between clunky and smooth to sell the immersion of playing as a machine. With an emphasis on ammo and inventory conservation, encounters are often harsh and lead to making the choice between safety and progress, rewarding a variety of strategies at differing points in the story. A few times I found myself entirely defenseless, having wasted ammo in early encounters and had to shove and run past enemies on increasingly lower health, a feeling that had me on the edge of my seat during almost all of my play sessions.

This is a game that I can definitely see myself being obsessed with for a long time to come. It was really an honour to get to experience it in its entirety.

Date of completion: 31/03/2024

Genre: Survival Horror

Time to beat: 17hrs 13m

Level of completion: Main story + All extras

Trophies/Gamerscore: Platinum 12/12

1-100 rating: 100

Platform: PlayStation 5

#video games #video games journal #gbgl24 #signalis #indie horror #survival horror #indie games #lstr 512

[gay-artificer]

I do wish that some people would engage more with some of the sadder thematic elements of Artificer's campaign, but maybe that's mostly cause I don't see her really getting a happy end ever for herself. Its a very human story to tell with otherwise very animal-y animals.

It's one part grief and one part blind revenge, but i think the fact that the event that set her on that course is strong enough that they're implied to be getting repeated nightmares about it very interesting... They're /locked/ at the karma representing wrath, and even the best intentional act of mercy you can execute in game (Not killing the scavenger king) isn't enough to escape. She literally /can't/ meaningfully escape from her own anger. In game you can never naturally raise it high enough to ascend. Her ending in the void sea where she just dissolves... I assume on some level that's just a reset for her. Gonna wake back up again.

#animals do have grief and trauma i should note #revenge is a little outside of their general behaviors but trauma and grief are fully there #but its still something conceptually thought of as a little more human #behaviors that are actually what we would call 'revenge' is mostly seen in monkeys #Ive done some jokingly 'i hope she gets worse' art and honestly i think thats how it would be. Just fully consumed by her own anger and lac #satisfaction on any source of closure she seeks out. Just going all in on the scavengers in the hope eventually it does something for her #sorry you cant fix her shes fucked s/

[archivistofnerddom]

Bad Batch Headcanons — Soft Romance and Some Dating Stuff

I can’t get these thoughts out of my head. SFW and safe for all ages. Anyway, here you go:

Hunter

This man is the master of braiding hair. (Have you seen his hair? Of course he is.) Hunter is tactile person, a byproduct of his heightened senses. Braiding your hair (for events, before bed, or whenever) is a quiet thing between you and a little ritual.

Cuddles on a porch swing together in summer time (listening to the cicadas in the trees and watching the sun set) as you unwind from the day.

Enjoying a thunderstorm rolling through while counting the seconds between lightening flash and thunder clap to guess the distance. It’s always a game to see if you can guess the closer distance by counting the seconds versus Hunter using his advanced senses.

Dates at ice cream parlors and cafes are always entertaining. Hunter has opinions on the flavor combinations. (It’s adorable.)

Crosshair

Quietly sitting together in front of the fire in the evening. Maybe you talk, maybe you don’t. Just being together without any pressures is nice. If you wind up slowly snuggling together under a big soft blanket, he doesn’t mind. Crosshair likes having someone around who doesn’t have insane expectations of him.

Charcuterie boards and bottles of wine while you read together or listen to music. Snarking about and commentating on the other’s genre choices inevitably happens. (His humor is dry and very specific.)

Paintball target practice (some punk kids at the local range as “voluntary” targets are optional). You don’t need to be as good as he is with the paintball gun. Just record him gleefully (and mostly playfully) merc-ing his targets and laughing at the reactions.

Concerts and movies in the park are go-to date options. He likes not worrying about high pressure situations. Plus, you both get to people-watch while you’re at it.

Tech

Documentary marathons, book festivals, and museum tours are regular date events. Tech has a pathological need to learn things. He also takes into consideration things you might enjoy as well when planning these outings. (It’s sweet of him, really.)

Hanging out in the driveway while he works on your cars. Making sure your car is running at optimal levels is one of his love languages. You’re there to remind him to eat and/or take a water break on occasion, provide shade, and pass him tools as needed. He likes it when you put together an interesting music or podcast playlist for background noise.

Swing dance classes — a surprise, I know. He knows that dancing is a traditional romantic thing, so he leans into taking classes as a way to romance you. Somehow, swing and its numerous stylistic sub-groupings are right up both your alley. Turns out Tech has a decent sense of rhythm and enjoys using dance and movement as a way of silent communication with you.

Crafting is a team project now. Tech is good at planning the layouts for quilts apparently. He also agrees with you that knitting and crocheting is very meditative and relaxing.

Wrecker

When you bring up cooking and baking together, he is on board. Food and sharing it is one of his big love languages. Wrecker loves being in the kitchen with you, either as your sous chef, cookie decorator, or test taster. Eventually, he starts finding more recipes that you can try together. Building out a binder of recipes you like is a testament of your relationship.

Perfect date night — big picnic spread in an open field at dusk followed by sparklers and fireworks. He loves food and things that go boom. Combining them together makes Wrecker so happy. (That fact that you put them together in one date — that’s the best and biggest declaration of love anyone has anyone has ever given him.)

Hanging on the couch in comfy clothes while playing video games together. Wrecker is the reason the household has a wide selection of thematic oversized adult onesies. Those always get broken out during Mario Kart tournaments or when playing Pokémon or Legend of Zelda together.

Wrecker is a Dungeons and Dragons nerd and a surprisingly good DM. Acting out a story is right up his alley. He gets so happy when you want to learn about the game and join his group.

Echo

Projecting movies into a sheet in the backyard while chilling on cushions and blankets and eating popcorn — simple and low pressure. Sometimes, Echo needs that when his prosthetics are acting up. (He also likes that you always wind up curled up next to him on these nights. It feels nice, no matter whether or not he has his prosthetic limbs on.)

He’s a great pub crawl buddy. Seriously, Echo somehow knows people who work in every bar you walk into, and that is an impressive thing. You get free drinks and fun cocktails wherever you go.

Sunday mornings are for farmers markets. Walking through the stalls, buying fresh bread and produce, and buying assorted other wares is fun. Echo finds your enthusiasm endearing and engaging. (Guess who invested in one of those two-wheeled carts for your haul? This guy.)

Road trips to thermal hot spring baths and a nice little B&B are the go-to romantic weekend trips. Soaking in a hot spring bath does wonders for Echo, especially when he gets to have a hearty dinner with you afterwards.

#these boys and soft romance #just imagining what their romantic gesture would be #star wars #the bad batch #hunter the bad batch #tbb hunter #hunter tbb #crosshair the bad batch #tbb crosshair #crosshair tbb #tech the bad batch #tbb tech #tech tbb #wrecker the bad batch #wrecker tbb #tbb wrecker #echo the bad batch #tbb echo #echo tbb #arc trooper echo #tcw echo #bad batch headcanons

[zukkacore]

My perhaps overwrought LeoSaya as different reflections of the same One thesis: a.k.a. Chapter One Is Good and Thematically Rich, Actually

Punisher, Phoebe Bridgers // The Beginners Guide, Davey Wreden // Stage Fright, Jenny Slate // 10 Years with Hayao Miyazaki // DanganRonpa S: Summer Camp // Post by Picasshole, art by Klimt, quote by John Berger // The Crane Wife by cj hauser // Danganronpa: The Manga; Act 2: the Case of the Super High School Level Baseball Star, Leon Kuwata, story by Spike // excerpt from 'Etcetera' by E.E. Cummings // Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc; Chapter 1, Free Time Event, and Prologue

#leosaya #leon kuwata #sayaka maizono #danganronpa #web weaving #jan.mine #my followers endure so much but like. i will not grow i will not change that is a promise #danganronpa: trigger happy havoc #dr1 #drthh #dr thh

[red-dipped-feathers]

Moon of the Crusted Snow

(picture taken by me)

I am starting off the year with this amazing book written by an indigenous author. Not gonna lie, what attracted me to this book was the beautiful book cover and title with its wintery desolated landscape and mysterious name. Usually, the apocalypse or post-apocalypse genre isn’t something I would read but I was very interested in seeing this genre being explored from an indigenous perspective and boy was I not disappointed! This book was captivating from start to end and it’s definitely going in my recommendations. So here is my review of it. Hope you like it and that I convince you to give this book a shot 😊

Title: Moon of The Crusted Snow

Author: Waubgeshig Rice

Genre: Novel, Apocalypse, post-apocalypse

Publication Date: 2 Octobre 2018

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Introduction:

In Waubgeshig Rice's "Moon of the Crusted Snow," the tranquil existence of a remote Anishinaabe community in Northern Ontario is shattered by an unexplained societal collapse. As winter blankets the land, the novel explores the community's struggle for survival amid diminishing resources and isolation. Rice skillfully blends traditional Anishinaabe storytelling with a stark portrayal of the post-apocalyptic landscape, offering a poignant reflection on culture, community, and the resilience of the human spirit against an unforgiving backdrop of crusted snow and encroaching darkness.

Plot:

The overarching plot of the narrative proves to be a compelling and intriguing aspect of "Moon of the Crusted Snow." Waubgeshig Rice skillfully introduces a palpable sense of anxiety that permeates the characters' experiences as they grapple with the impending end of the world, all while remaining oblivious to its occurrence. Although the story begins at a deliberate pace, it progressively gains momentum, ensuring a smooth and well-paced development without feeling rushed.

What sets Rice's storytelling apart is his ability to sustain a high level of suspense throughout, even when readers are privy to the impending apocalypse. The narrative skillfully keeps readers on the edge of their seats, evoking a genuine sense of unease for the characters and their uncertain fate. Remarkably, despite the limited action, the storyline remains engaging, avoiding any dull or stagnant moments. The brevity of the chapters contributes to the overall dynamism, allowing the narrative to maintain its momentum and ensuring that the reader remains captivated by the unfolding events.

Plot rating : 4/5

Characters:

The narrative predominantly unfolds through the lens of the central character, Evan, serving as the focal point through which the actions of the other characters come into view. While it's worth noting that the book doesn't delve into extensive character development, I find it to be fitting for the genre. In the context of this apocalyptic tale, the emphasis on character evolution might be secondary.

Evan, as the protagonist, provides readers with a vivid portrayal of life in a secluded community during the apocalypse. The narrative encapsulates the prevalent mistrust and paranoia that takes root within the community, creating a palpable atmosphere of impending doom. This thematic focus, coupled with Evan's perspective, adds a layer of intensity to the storyline, making it a captivating read.

Notably, the narrative occasionally shifts its lens to Nicole, Evan's wife, offering a valuable alternative perspective. This additional point of view provides a nuanced exploration of the unfolding events, enriching the reader's understanding of the characters and the dire situation they find themselves in.

Character rating : 3.25/5

Themes and Messages:

"Moon of the Crusted Snow" by Waubgeshig Rice delves into the themes of survival, resilience, and cultural identity within an Anishinaabe community facing an apocalyptic scenario. The narrative underscores the importance of preserving traditional knowledge, emphasizes community bonds, and explores the fear of the unknown. The novel subtly addresses the impact of modernity on indigenous communities and reflects on power dynamics within the community during times of crisis. Against a backdrop of a harsh winter landscape, the story intertwines environmental resonance with human experiences, prompting reflection on the interconnectedness between nature and humanity. Overall, Rice weaves a compelling narrative that goes beyond the typical post-apocalyptic tale, inviting readers to ponder cultural preservation, collective strength, and the profound effects of societal collapse on a community deeply rooted in its traditions.

Theme rating : 5/5

Strengths:

Brings a different perspective to the end of the world

Well written story line

High level of suspense, you can feel your anxiety building with each chapter

Weaknesses:

Does start off at a slow pace

Not a lot of action (personally, I don’t feel it was needed for this story but I know some of you might find the story a bit lacking or even boring)

So here you go, the first review of the year and the first review on this blog! let me know if you liked it and if it made you want to read the book.

Also, if you already read this book let me know if you enjoyed it and if you agree or disagree with my review 😊

See you next time !

Red dipped feathers

P.S. I’m def going to read the second book to this story called “Moon of the Turning Leaves”, so make sure to stick around for that review!

#book review #indigenous #indigenous authors #apocalypse #post apocalypse #novel #book #reading #bookish #bookworm #bookblr #reading community #cozy reads

[loving-n0t-heyting]

(deep breath) L WAS AN IDIOT SAVANT WITHOUT THE MORAL COMPLEXITY TO CONSIDER WHETHER THE ESTABLISHMENT DESERVED HIS EFFORTS TO DEFEND IT. LIKE SO MANY KNEE JERK WHITE KNIGHTS WHO DELUDE THEMSELVES INTO BELIEVING THAT DOING GOOD SIMPLY MEANS IMPLEMENTING THE MORES OF WHICHEVER SOCIAL AUTHORITY THEY ENCOUNTERED FIRST IN THEIR LIVES, HE PRACTICED THEIR AGENDA WITH ALL OF THE COW EYED, PASSIVE ACQUIESCENCE OF A CHILD EATING A BAG OF FROSTED ANIMAL CRACKERS WHILE STARING AT THE TELEVISION. IT'S EASY TO CATCH THE BAD GUYS. IT'S MUCH HARDER TO KNOW WHO THEY REALLY ARE.

I think this is a pretty cookie cutter "insufficiently revolutionary!" criticism that falls flat on both doylist and watsonian grounds

On the doylist side: political structure and authority are just not really an overt thematic focus. It deals with them a little, kind of perfunctorily, but those arent the questions that really animate the narrative. If L has opinions on them the story would not bring them up, just bc its interested in other things. Which is fine! Not every story needs to be about tearing down the System and questioning authority. That would get boring fast

Watsonian voice: is the idea supposed to be that... there should be no detectives in high level law enforcement? That any budding detective should instead become a revolutionary? That would be a pretty fucked up world, i think! If there were a vigilante mass murderer remotely conducting dozens or hundreds of slayings every day and no govt of any country affected devoted serious resources into investigating them... that would be a pretty scary, lawless setting!

L does some pretty fucked up stuff, too! The surveillance and the interrogation under torture and so forth. But that doesnt really seem to be yr objection, yr objection seems to be that he is doing state detective work at all. Which, again, seems perfectly reasonable

And also

Obviously its not very easy to catch the bad guys. He fucking doesnt succeed at it. He gets murdered and dies before hes able to catch kira. This is a pretty memorable event in the story. Ik that last line is supposed to be a snappy summary instead of bearing the actual weight of the argument but it bothers me quite a bit how it is trivially false??

#ask #anon #this take bugs me perhaps more than is reasonable #this just feels a bit like trying to get deep insight on the cheap

[tourismday]

(Part 1) High-Level Thematic Event on Tourism - General Assembly, Sustainability Week, 78th session.

The high-level thematic event on tourism aims to advance a concerted approach on strengthening tourism resilience at the highest level and maximizing its contribution to the sustainability agenda. The event offers Member States, Observers, civil society, UN System and other stakeholders a platform to discuss strategies, share best practices and experiences to promote sustainable and resilient tourism and its contribution to achieving SDGs.    

Watch (Part 1) High-Level Thematic Event on Tourism - General Assembly, Sustainability Week, 78th session!

#high-level thematic event #tourism #choosesustainability #resilient tourism #sustainable tourism #stakeholders #ungasystainabilityweek #United Nations General Assembly Hall #united nations headquarters #best practices and experiences #Member States #united nations Observers #civil society organizations #UN System

[kaylor]

Is campaign 3 worth watching 😭 im somewhere near ep 45 and there have just been so many arcs that do nothing for me. The stakes feel absurdly high for uhh level .. 6? and i thought it would get good at some point but if they still cant make a plan by ep 80 i dont think i care to waste my time 😭😭

yuhhhh i don't know man. the malleus key and the fallout of it is pretty dope, and idk how many spoilers you've seen so i'll leave it there. but after that it gets very boring again i can't lie.

you're so right about the high stakes!! these characters haven't had any space to breathe or grow since like episode 20 or whenever it was they found out about predathos and the world ending. they've been chasing a plot they're not ready for without doing any of the character work that makes you care about their goal. it's difficult to see why the party is together in the first place because they don't talk to each other or have any reason care about each other (except fearne/orym and imogen/laudna but the latter is so bland it's actually painful).

the party doesn't gel, there's no motivations from anyone beyond orym having a personal stake in it. imogen is so wishywashy about everything. none of them care about the gods except FCG, and no one in the party cares about FCG. except ashton, who is played so passively and unpleasantly that it doesn't even matter. there's no caleb/vax doing his biweekly checkins with each party member to unlock new dialogue. there's no fjord/grog to make a buckwild (yet thematically relevant) decision to direct the party in any direction. there's no driving force behind any of these characters like sorry liam and travis, turns out if you take a backseat to let your friends have the spotlight, they will do sweet fuck all!!

another problem i think is how they're given so many pieces of the puzzle at once, whilst the big bad is already in play. i don't know if that was matt's intention, but it's led to them barely following up on any character driven plot points because, well, the world might end. so any extracurricular character development is nixed in favor of chasing a maxxed out uberbaddy who is almost definitely going to kill them. any cool character moments kind of happen in spite of rather than thanks to the events, and honestly feel a bit forced sometimes because the characters have all been so stagnant for so long, and honestly the most interesting things about the characters are their backstories, which have already happened. their current motivations are a mystery and none of them seem interested in learning more about each other. it just feels very awkward and stale.

PLUS, the stakes are absurdly high but also there are no consequences for anything!! laudna dying didn't feel important because it wasn't permanent! because they can apparently just ask a member of vox machina for a resurrection!!! absolutely bizarre choice from matt to allow that, if i'm being completely honest. like sorry i know that's your wife but marisha should be 40 episodes deep into her backup character by now because there's absolutely no way anyone in VM would agree to resurrecting a delilah briarwood puppet let's be so serious. the party (especially imogen) dealing with a PC death would have made for some really interesting development, and would have created an opportunity for imogen to either take a leadership role to get revenge on otohan, OR break bad and turn on the rest of the party. some delicious pvp. but unfortunately laura doesn't seem to know what to do with her character and therefore does nothing, so it felt extremely flat and meaningless, which kind of sums up c3 tbh. some of the highest stakes but barely a PC who gives a shit.

the past say 10 episodes have been a slog for only a handful of cool moments, so i really hope post episode 82 it picks up a bit. plot is fun and situations are fun but i'm struggling to care about any of these characters because it doesn't seem like any of the cast care about them either. which is a shame because some of them have huge potential, FCG is literally an aeormaton!!!! my god you have GOT to get into it. why is no one getting into it!!!! will someone PLEASE pick up what sam is putting down!!! the payoff is always so good!!!

#also if i were matt i would ban the use of the guidance spell #some of them just seem to only care about rolling high and winning d&d #critical role

[aggressiveguitarnoises]

i have media studies exam (although mock so its fine) that i didnt study for so im gonna force myself to practice by applying barthes narrative theory to season 1 hannibal (vaguely tbh cuz its the whole seasom but ok)

hermeneutic codes(how do u even pronounce this omfg) :

enigma codes, they are def crucial to this show as each episode raises more and more unanswered questions as the audience continues watching the show, questions like who is commiting the crimes, is will ok, does he know how fucked up his clocks are, is crawford fucking stupid, is abigail ok, what the hell is hannibal doing, why are they using cat guts for strings, are the dogs gonna live oh my god please can the dogs be okay for once

usually done by leaving cliffhangers for each episode

it drives the audience forward and interests them so they continue watching the show to find out the answers to their questions

its also a convention to use hermeneutic codes for horror crime shows like hannibal

Proairetic codes:

action codes, the actions done to drive the narrative forward, previous events drive other events into action. ngl this one is fucking stupid to apply i dont get if i ever apply it correctly

in hannibal, proairetic codes tie a lot with hermeneutic codes as the actions of the characters raise questions for the audience questioning their choices and makes the audience wonder what will happen next. the action creates tension and makes the audience wonder how the created problem(if there is one) will be resolved. for example when hannibal lecter called abigails father to inform him that "they know" and that fbi is on the way. this drives the narrative forward as then the audience wonders how the characters will react and wonder how the actions will affect the story. this action ended up with abigail becoming an orphan and their suspect dead, creating a few side plots and introducing new characters. this constant tension created by each action drives the narrative forward and engages the audience to continue watching the show

semantic codes:

connotations, things associated with something, the deeper level meaning of a symbol. this one is hard yet so easy cuz theres literally SO many of them

they basically give insight into the plot and characters, building personalities and maybe even starting the deep questions the audience will have

for example, for hannibal, hes quite sophisticated, the semantic codes for that would be how he wears suits all the time, his overall style and his acquired taste. those things connote sophistication, wealth and even control and power (especially the suit and his high respected position as a psychiatrist)

but another thing that can be derived from things like how hes always careful, always has a cloth that doesn't leave any fabric fibres, how he doesn't use anything digital, only physical things like journals to leave no traces, the fact that hes literally eating his evidence lmao, his knowledge and experience of human anatomy and mind connote that hes a careful, experienced, ambitious man and prob(definitely) is a serial killer

symbolic codes:

it has such an easy concept that its literally confusing to understand. its basically symbols, binaries, a thematic/structural device, but it's basically about themes and contrary signs specifically, which is ig why its kind of difficult to understand since its specifically binary symbols

some symbolic codes in hannibal would be life vs death, clearly a reoccurring theme with all of the crimes happening, good vs bad, murderers and their victims, health? both physical and mental? stability? work vs personal life? idk its so hard to pin point it even tho its so easy and common idk

a better example woukd be the bad vs good binary used in star wars with ghe colours of light sabers

Cultural codes:

literally cultural and social conventions, knowledge that comes from the outside world of the text, specific connotations used

example, FBI for crimes and america, religion and faith, the whole fbi units especially medical, even Christmas is a cultural code as its a celebrated event of certain social and cultural and religious conventions

bruv i cant think of any more examples even tho i know theres so many

hope yall enjoyed my silly analysis of hannibal as my media studies application practice if u read it all xx

#idk why i did this on tumblr instead of just writing all of this in my notes or smth #media studies #gcse #a levels #fucking british education system #media studies a level #nbc hannibal #hannibal #roland barthes #barthes theory #narrative theory #hannibal nbc

[kuraikyu]

anonymous: hello :3 i love reading your canons and wonder are those plugs on geto real? and would he wear other types? if yes then what kind?

HI, Nony! Ah, suppose this is one of many things Gege just won't gift us but regarding my own headcanons -- to clarify whether Suguru is wearing real gauges the answer is yes; they are real. His starting point? Homely environment. He pierced them himself with hot needle and was not thrilled by the experience. As during any proper incipient road with earrings, he used to wear fake plugs from stainless steel before attending Jujutsu high, and after officially becoming a Sorcerer he made up his mind to proceed with gradual stretching as a part of his 'spiritual' awakening - reaching roughly 13 mm ( and that is maintained until Hyakki Yakō -December 24, 2017 and so on with Kenjaku lol ).

Number 13 has a special sacred meaning in numerology linked to transformation, death to the matter or to oneself, and the birth to the spirit; the passage on a higher level of existence, hence why 13 mm was a goal to reach and maintain. He is lucky enough to be non-allergic thus he is not bound to wear any special hypoallergenic jewelry for sensitive skin. But of course, there's a certain possibility for people to encounter him wearing something absolutely different than what his political image consists of habitually. The switch in fashion happens during special events or festivities. While not seemingly apparent his idiosyncratic mind would give free reign to shapes decidedly eccentric ... His taste is sophisticated but that clearly doesn't mean he wouldn't dive in adventurous selection; he wouldn't shy away from unique patterns and even transparency or glitter ( ahhhh, I'm so intrigued by the idea of Geto and transparent gauges idk why :o) ). For example - he would take on something essentially thematic like these during Hanami; Blossom Festival in Japan. Aside from that, Geto has a small but rather quirky collection of various gauges and tunnels. Among his favorites can be obviously and not so surprisingly found elegant tones of black and gold in shapes of dragons, and mandalas, but also fun-time acrylic set from Hasaba twins. And haha, yes, he really wears them, especially in their presence!

But just like girls only a small circle of people remain in primary cognizance of such fact.

For keen observer, it could be an easy tell and survey ( if in pursuit ) obtaining a priori about his slight sense for decorative overview. But be that as it may, that sort of informational access ALSO requires a degree of connection with his persona.

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Size : ㅤㅤㅤ13 mm ( only lobe hole without decor, with gauge inserted, it can cast faux image of 15 mm )

Allergies : ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ noneㅤ

Shape : ㅤㅤ✓ㅤround - only! ㅤㅤ✗ㅤtear - never!

Material : ㅤㅤ✗ㅤmetal - is not his forte, favors wood and natural gemstones ㅤㅤ✓ㅤstones - golden obsidian, garnet, moonstone, onyx, labradorite ㅤㅤ✓ㅤclassic acrylic - for mundane daytime, silicone for swimming ㅤㅤ✓ㅤblack wood ( ebony ) - for nighttime, slumber and relaxation

Bonus : During sessions of meditation he is prone to wear tunnels from pure amethyst, for better Third Eye Chakra stimulation; it is also the only time he is seen wearing them other time than during festivities.

about wearing Moonstones.

favorite types.

#headcanons ; #answered ; #anonymous ; #{ Ah! Finally getting to babble Geto's fashion hope this satisfied your curiosity! <3 } #muse ; geto / headcanons. #under the veilㅤ: metas & headcanons.

[hiisheart]

@findablog said: hc + 👪 for a family-themed headcanon hc + 🧡 for a friendship-themed headcanon hc + 💌 for a romance-themed headcanon

👪 A FAMILY-THEMED HEADCANON. every summer since holly was born, mike and his family would take a week-long trip up to stay on the coast of lake michigan. it became a family tradition that his father coined as one that celebrated 'the completion of the family' and hoped to do for as many summers as possible, at least until nancy went away to college. however, since the main events of the series began in hawkins, the family has missed out on their opportunities to go on their trip for a couple summers in a row.

🧡 A FRIENDSHIP-THEMED HEADCANON. when mike and his friends started middle school, mike's house became the go-to place not only for d&d and hangouts but also for holiday parties, such as those celebrating christmas, new years, and the 4th of july. by the time mike entered high school, his new years parties in particular with his friends became dubbed 'the underdog party' in comparison to the parties that the more popular kids would hold at their houses. many of these new years parties also morphed into sleepovers, but mike's parents would never let max or el stay over with the boys. so the two would operate under the guise of el staying over at max's house, but they would sneak around to mike's garage where the boys would let them back in to sleep over and promptly let them out the next morning before his parents could come downstairs and bust them.

💌 A ROMANCE-THEMED HEADCANON. as it's hinted in the series, mike has tragically failed on the court of romance for many years in succession, despite it being hinted that he is beginning to become interested in girls (and guys, at least in the way i write him). genuine crushes tend to happen later, after he gets to know someone at least on a platonic level. it's rare for him to develop deep romantic feelings or desires towards someone without getting to know them personally. it's much easier for him to 'catch' these feelings for someone if he's had a chance to bond with them non-romantically.

THEMATIC HEADCANONS .

#findablog #⠀ ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀ ⠀ 𝒊𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒊'𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒚 ⠀ ⠀ ╱ ⠀ ⠀ headcanons. #⠀ ⠀ ♥︎ ⠀ ⠀ 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒊𝒕 ⠀ ⠀ ╱ ⠀ ⠀ queue.