Marla my 600 lb life dead

My 600-lb Life

2015.07.04 09:07 kryptoday My 600-lb Life

A place to discuss TLC's My 600-lb Life. My 600-lb Life is the only show that explores what it means to really, truly lose the weight. Don't be a dick.

2016.07.12 13:47 Neverwish My 600-lb Life

Discussions about TLC's My 600-lb Life

2021.09.07 20:57 hawaiigirl12 My600lbLifeFans

This is a Discussion Group about the Television Series of “My 600-lb Life.

2023.05.30 06:22 backupburner-one Just so alone lately (long post)

Hi, so...
I'm gonna talk a lot. It took me an hour to type this on my phone, apparently... 😅 But, if you just want the meat of my rant, skip to the very bottom, the "where life has me now" part. Or, better yet:
TL;DR - I have no friends anymore, my ex was my best friend and now I have no one. I've had a rough few weeks what with everything that's gone wrong (one after the other, thanks 2023), and I just don't have anyone to process it with. I miss my best friend...
Backstory, I guess
I was in a poly relationship for 7 years with this girl. Primary partner. She sometimes had other boyfriends but none ever stuck. I saw a few other people too but never even got to the point of calling it another date. It worked out more like we were open/ENM rather than poly, but anyway, just setting up some color to the backstory. We were all but married, owned a house together, raising her step-kids together, got pets together... all that. "Married" but not married.
We were both friendly with this guy we knew from community theater. She got close to him almost a year ago, they started seeing each other. Grew feels. We were poly so I was excited for her. Yay!
The decline...
After a few months, she reveals that he is monogamous. Ugh, not the first time she's dated a mono guy, but he wanted to chat with me and I did too, so I was hopeful we could understand each other better.
She started pulling away from my touch, trying to avoid contact with me so as not to upset her new boyfriend. Uhh... anyway, he was constantly busy and never had time to chat with me, and then she at one point asked if I would even care if she broke up with me. Obviously, lol, why wouldn't I be?
We kept fighting over little things more and more for the next month, until I snapped and suggested we break up since she seems so sure I'm awful now.
When we talked about it a few days later, she said she's ready to be done with me, doesn't think she'll ever feel romantic for me again, didn't want to even try couple's therapy (unless it was necessary to salvage our friendship), and that she had these issues with me for years. My takeaway from this is that she was convincing herself that I was worse than she remembered in order to feel less shitty about breaking up with me for her new boy.
She had said when/before we broke up that she would take a break from her new boy too. Naturally once we broke up, she changed it to "just a break" with me, but no break with him, because "that wouldn't be fair to him" and "the heart wants what it wants".
Whatever... I still held out hope.
The break
So, for the next four months, we still lived together. At first we were okay with sharing the bed and just made it a point to not touch.
She continued to see him, sometimes 2 days out of the week, sometimes 6 days of the week. I kept making dinner and hung out with her two kids (13 and 15). Oh, I forgot to mention that I work full time and am also in college classes nearly full-time, so I'm always busy with homework too. No matter. The point here is that she's not around much, which is fine but feels like a lot at times.
I did reach out to her a few times after two months, asking to get some time with her, check in, hang out, whatever. She kept having plans already, so I'd shoot for a week or two out. She'd halfway make plans, then the conversation would die. When it would come around, she would blow me off, "oh they needed me for a few extra hours at church, sorry!". (I believe her, but it's clear I ranked lower in priority than anything). Other times she "could be home after lunch, which happens at 11"... but then "after" was apparently 5pm. After a few tries like this, I gave up.
I finally asked her if we were done. I wanted to have the conversation in a park or restaurant or something... she refused and instead we had it with her sitting in bed with her PJs on, practically hiding under the covers. I told her I had about 40% desire left to see us fix things, that it has been dwindling since she keeps acting like I'm a stranger, but there's still hope. She just repeated that she doesn't see us ever being romantic again, so when I asked her to put it to a number, she said 0%.
So, that's it. Done.
Moving forward...
That was about two months ago. We still live together while we work out the house. I want to move, and I'd rather sell altogether. She can't refinance to buy me out, but she wants to stay. Ugh... so we might work something out to where we split equity on sale later down the road.... that's a whole 'nother headache that I won't even get into just yet, because I've got other problems right now.
We split the room up a little... I now have a cot in here, so we sleep separately. For the most part we do okay as roommates I suppose, but it's still awkward as fuck living with my ex. I still consider the kids mine too, but it feels weird when they're all hanging out together. I guess it should, though. Hrm.

Where life has me right now

I haven't been great about keeping in contact with friends. I was friends with her friends, though, but while we rarely see them anymore anyway, I feel like they're even more unavailable now. (She actually told them not to hate me on her behalf, that she still wants some friendliness between all of us... but, whatever. It's dead.) So, I'm alone.
The kids are teenagers. I still feel familial with them, but there's always been a little bit of step distance between us. One of them just came out as trans.
My bathroom skylight has a hole in it. First people I brought out tried hard-selling me a whole new roof. Yeah, that shit was a horrible experience. Anyway, next guy who came out just quoted me for a skylight. Pfft. It's always something though right?
My old car has been leaking everywhere for the last few months, and finally stopped starting (intermittently). I suspect it's a head gasket, but I'm not a mechanic so idk. I've been considering car shopping anyway, so maybe now is the time, especially since the mechanics looking at my car have pointed out two sensors to start troubleshooting with for $580, and aren't sure if that's the fix. That's a little expensive for troubleshooting what could be a head gasket... so, cue car shopping under duress.
We talked with a lawyer this week about the house and splitting the equity on sale when she moves out, because again, she doesn't want to move (because of the kids), and I do. That turned into an argument where she thinks I'm the bad guy trying to evict her kids because I won't accept so little, and me standing my ground saying I deserve more than just what the current equity is right now because at minimum I should get interest on it since I'm unable to touch this money for 4 years (per the current plan), much like a loan.
Anyway, we talk and eventually she cools down. She lets me borrow the car for the weekend at least while she's camping with her boyfriend. Cool.
I realize I picked too high of a monthly commitment for the car I want, so I spent the long weekend re-budgeting to see what I can afford, and where I need to cut back on my spending.
I've been looking at cars and shooting a few to a coworker friend and an old friend who is also going through a divorce that I chat with sometimes. Both respond here and there but aren't engaged with helping me. I don't blame them, they have lives too, but it leaves me feeling like I'm on my own here. Fine, I can't expect people to help me make financial decisions anyway.
Go to the dealership by myself this evening... The dude I work with... It feels like he's misread me, like he thinks I want some hot new car, rather than something functional and cheap. He seems to be annoyed that I'm taking my time to look at things, and didn't fall for his lease pitch. We bargain, I get some good numbers, so it was all around fine... but it's clear we both want to be done with each other for the day. He mentions they're closing up shop, I take my leave to think about it for a day.
Anyway. Now I'm home again. On my cot.
I just want to decompress and process my day with someone, but I just don't have anyone to talk to. I mean, there's people I can talk to but goddamn I don't feel like I have anyone I can just level with, at least not when I need them.
Goddamn I feel so alone.
I lost my best friend, and the shell of her is sleeping one bed away from mine.
I... and, maybe I should get out more, but first I need a car, and my house fixed, and free time separate from school, and not worry about coming to an agreement with the house, and maybe it would be nice to have moved out so I can finally mentally move on.... Maybe then I'll have free time for making new friends. Idfk. Is this just another excuse? Am I just not a social person, and now I'm suffering for it during my most challenging period of life?
I hate this.
submitted by backupburner-one to Divorce [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 06:13 whoatetheherdez 2pac - Until The End Of Time 2001 Death Row/Interscope/Amaru

2pac - Until The End Of Time 2001 Death Row/Interscope/Amaru submitted by whoatetheherdez to HipHopCDs [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 06:10 TheGoodDoctor17 Goku vs Aizen

Who do you guys think would win?
I personally think, it’s Aizen. For one he has the Hogyoku which makes him immortal. He has literally come back from existence erasing moves. And in a world where there are erasure moves like Hado 54, Ichigo Mugetsu, Gin move, and there was Yammamato move. All these options in the bleach universe yet the only thing they could do was try to seal him as he is immortal. Lastly the Hogyoku also gives him the ability to adapt to any move.
That is why in a scenario where Goku does blitz him or does a huge aoe attack which Goku never does to begin with, and I don’t see any scenario where he isn’t already under Aizen perfect hypnosis right away, but even if that does happen, I think Aizen will survive.
But then comes another issue, one can say well Aizen really doesn’t have any moves that can take Goku down, and at the end he could just exhaust Aizen. As there is no doubt Goku has showen durability feats that may EASILY facetank Aizen most STRONGEST moves. So at best it would be a stalemate.
I also agree for me the winner will be based on durability. But instead of looking at the most powerful hits Goku was able to tank, I’ll show you the weakest moves he wasn’t able to tank and that will be his undoing.
As you see even in Goku “god” mode forms, it has showen if he isn’t facetanking something with his full power, instead if he has his gaurd down, even in his GOD mode super Syian blue mode, a simple henchmen of Freeza with a basic ass beam attack from a ring completely KO Goku.
This happened again when he was battling Frost. In the middle of battle Frost was able to puncture Goku body with basically a needle and Goku didn’t even notice and poison him.
The reason this is relevant is because Aizen has the perfect move to get someone’s guard down. His perfect hypnosis. Once they lock eyes it’s over.
Now you might be saying well no maybe Goku with his fighting sense will be able to tell what directions attacks are coming, or be able to get ahold of him somehow etc.
But Aizen has showen his not dumb enough to attack someone directly if it won’t work and has the patience to plan in advance.
So the most likely scenario, is Goku sees Aizen and says “hmm I’ve heard your powerful so I won’t take you lightly!” “Aizen goes bring it on.” Goku goes full power and hits Aizen with a Kamehameha.
Aizen dies instantly. Goku is like damn maybe I shouldn’t have put some much power into it. I overestimated and now it’s already over. Oh well.
He goes back home depowers and has a lunch with his wife Chi Chi, she made him his favorite meal. Later on in bed, Chi Chi gives him the best head of his life. In the morning his hungry for some cereal and asks Chi Chi for some milk. Chi Chi comes and gives him a kiss and stabs a huge knife through Goku heart. The last thing Goku wonders… was it cause I was a dead beat dad?
Back in the real world Goku friend watch in horror and confusion as they see Goku power up and shoot a Kamehameha in the wrong direction, then power down and let Aizen simply walk up behind him and stab him in the back.
Lol anyway that’s my scenario, would love to hear you guys opinion and what you guys think. Who would win in this death battle?
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2023.05.30 06:09 sithlord1970 EGO death

I've dabbled with mushrooms a number of times and always have had a great trip. I love to get visuals and see animated faces on any surface with patterns. When I don't get visuals I'm always disappointed.
Saturday night I decided to take a larger dose than I've taken before. Things were going great at first... lots of visuals and laughing fits. We tried watching "The Invention of Lying". All the faces looked like they were going to slide off the persons head, and everyone looked like cartoon animals. Didn't even get thru the credits and I started thinking maybe I should meditate or draw or really experience the trip.
So I got up and started watching the kitchen counter top dance and swirl and then I lost all sense of myself, I wasn't sure what was a hallucination, and at one point I thought I was the hallucination.
My stepson tried putting a youtube clip of the doors on and I got so confused with timelines and past, present, future. I was confused as to whether or not this was the first time I'd ever watched the doors, and then I thought we were in the movie.
Then I had the realization that I might be dead, or dying, then it got really really bad. I didn't know what the hell was going on. My Mom died before the pandemic and I thought I was convinced I'd see her again. I thought if there was a huge emergency or a huge party she would show up. I kept thinking that the trip was my entire existence and I was seeing my life flash before my eyes.
I was so freaked out the only way past it was to just call everyone up and have a massive party like in Project-X. I called my wife and my brother in-law and they talked me down. My wife came home as quickly as she could. It was probably only 5 minutes but it felt like hours.
I kept thinking people were going to show up at the house cause I wasn't sure who I had called. I'd hear sirens outside and that would reinforce the paranoia that I was dying, I was sure the ambulance was coming to the house.
At one point I thought I was Jim Morrison, then I thought maybe I was the Queen, then I thought I was my Mom, basically anything that went thru my mind I was that person or object.
I remember at one point I was saying I think this is what ego death is.
I've been confused about gender off and on and that topic came up, up until now the only person that knew was my wife. No one is judging me, everyone loves me and all is great. I'll be reflecting over this trip for months. Will I ever do mushrooms again? Probably. Heroic dose can be crossed off my bucket list.
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2023.05.30 06:09 Draco_Dragalge I can't believe I'm sayin' this...

But u/magicbouncehatt saved my life. An' I have to keep up my end of the deal. Y'know how I showed up all how n' bothered a few days ago? The witch looked out for me, when no one else would. An' I didn't expect any real help in the first place. Thought it was hopeless, an' I would die, so I was just blowin' off ma steam. Sorry bout' that. Lived at the bottom of the ocean for 217 years. I get a bit cranky.
An' im rambling again. Anyways, she gon went to her shop and made this doohickey. Sea incense, some glowin' weeds, n' a sample of my dead kelp. I could digest it, just like real kelp. She saved me, an' why? "To make a friend."
So why am I telling you all this. Truth is, I made a promise to the witch. "Act friendly, give em' a chance. Care about others." So, here I am. Sorry 'bout the other day. This'll be a more official hello from me. If any of'ya need help, holler for me real loud. And don't mess with the damn witch. Still gotta pay her back.
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2023.05.30 06:00 EnvironmentalAlgae26 I don’t think I believe in Christianity but I’m a youth leader and have made many commitments knowing I lack faith

Yea that’s me, quite literally a fraud. I was back and fourth with faith and finally realizing after years of denial I don’t believe. I knowingly just keep attending church and lying about how amazing it all is. My family thinks I’m very devoted so does my partner. I got super committed to the act about six months ago when I became a youth leader. It was something to do and I thought maybe I could make myself believe if I taught about it. Turns out it actually made me fall harder into not believing. I got baptized about a month ago, felt nothing. I essentially just lied said I was happy about it all but really I don’t care. Before officially “joining” and having my leader position I was made to sign a contract. I can’t post any revealing photos on social media and no porn that type of thing. But I think I’m to deep to leave. I’ve dedicated a lot to this even though I don’t believe in anything I’m doing I enjoy having the friends. I spoke about stepping down from my role for a bit and was told they would support me no matter the choice. The truth is they will support until I drop the church or stop my act then I’m dead to them. They have become a mega church I think or at least on their way. Recently they had to make three services because it was so packed people were in the lobby watching the sermon. I have been going to this church my entire life. They had a super small congregation when my mom first joined. Now every Sunday around 1000 show up to hear the sermon. I still go because I don’t want to ruin my “image”. I hate it I hate them I want to stop but I can’t. I just keep going I want to start over but I’m genuinely afraid. The “friends” I have say they will stick with me if I step down from my position. But I also know that doesn’t mean they will stick with me when I leave the church.
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2023.05.30 06:00 Amaryllis118 Speaker claimed that it's always God's will to heal.

I have been attending a non-denominational church for nearly a year because it has more people my age (young adults). I had been going to church with my family all my life up until that point, so this changing of churches was also supposed to help me find my independence.
And so far, I've absolutely loved this church because it's similar enough to my parent's church in style and beliefs, and the pastors were phenominal. Unfortunately, due to personal reasons, the lead pastor had to resign a few months ago, which left the second pastor pretty much on his own. So to give him breaks, there has been more speaking from this one other pastor or elder or I honestly don't know what he is. He has been speaking at this church for years, but it has never been very frequent.
Anyway, this particular speakepastor has always given me bad vibes. Everyone else in the church is fine and the messages from everyone else clearly allign with the Bible, but this particular speaker reminds me a bit of a cült leader. His messages are usually the same, with him listing story upon story about how he has sensed demons and sent them away, how he has watched demons get released from people, etc. He is constantly bringing up his dead wife that died 8 years ago and saying how strong he is because he overcame it. And while up front, he will sometimes randomly tells people things that God said will happen in their future.
Do not misunderstand: I definitely believe that God can do these amazing acts and that he can place messages in people's hearts to spread. I do not doubt that. However, it is the way this speaker goes about it that gives me a bad vibe.
That being said, these things weren't enough to convince me of him being "off." It was actually what happened this past Sunday that really has me wondering if I need to leave this Church.
Basically, this past Sunday my entire family decided to come visit my Church for the first time and unfortunately this speaker happened to be preaching that day. The speaker went on a long tangent about how it is always God's will to heal people and that it is a "Church philosophy" to pray while thinking that God might not heal that person. He claimed that the "Christian philosophy" is to pray KNOWING that God will heal that person and that the only reason people wouldn't get healed is because of a lack of faith. He actually claimed that all of this was Biblical (though he did not cite it). My mom also commented that the speaker spoke as though he thought he knew better than anyone else, that he was the only one that knew the truth.
The whole sermon was a complete mess, and my mom knew that there was no way this was a normal day or else I wouldn't still be going there (she is very right). My mom actually helped me text the regular pastor about this afterward, and we found out that the regular pastor also disagreed with what the speaker had said. He had no prior knowledge what the speaker would discuss and claimed that the Church definitely does not believe that God will heal everyone.
While this makes me feel better and I am planning to discuss this further with the regular pastor, I am extremely concerned. I have a hard time believing that this speaker has been with this church for so long yet these un-Biblical beliefs have never appeared before. It is making me seriously question if there are any other skewed beliefs of this Church that I have ignored thus far. Although I really think it's only been that guy so far.
Should I be running from this church? Should that speaker be removed? Could a faithful Christian just have a misguided belief such as this and otherwise be fine and trustworthy??
TL;DR I've been going to a new church for a year, and an infrequent speaker claimed that we can all heal through the power of prayer, because it is always God's will to heal.
submitted by Amaryllis118 to Christians [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 05:53 AltruisticAutism AltruisticAutism’s Unconventional Poker Tips - Sober Edition

Afternoon Degens and Degenettes,
For those unaware, my existence in this sub has been purely of cryptic memes glorifying absurd drug use and balls to the wall gambling. As much as I do thoroughly enjoy unleashing that side of myself, when all is said n done - it’s never enough and a futile attempt at happiness. Having been clean for two months now, taking poker exponentially more seriously, and currently in a dam good mood - I thought I’d provide the Yang to my typical Ying in this sub.
The greatest threat to Americans is not the Federal Reserve, corrupt Congressmen, private prisons, nor China - it’s the mothafuckin FDA. 90% of one’s serotonin is in the small intestine and our government’s failure to prevent multinational conglomerates from shoveling refined sugar, glyophosphate, seed oils, bleached wheat, etc. down naive throats has spawned a mental health crisis unlike any to ever exist in our species… The overwhelming amount of anxiety, depression, personality/mood disorders and pussification plaguing modern man essentially all stems from guts being ravaged by inflammation, a neural network with more connections than the spinal chord. It’s extremely ignorant to look at impatient n weak poker players and assume it is a reflection of their god given intelligence or willpower - no, they have been poisoned from birth and are stuck in a viscous loop. If you want to unlock your potential in poker, eradicating the toxins is imperative. The sole reason I was able to still crush and retain a relatively stable mindset while ravaging my cognition with amphetamines, cocaine, and alcohol is because I haven’t touched sugar, grains or seed oils in 5 years. Hypocritical, yes, railing lines in the parking lot to 2pac and ranting to the table about electrolyte dynamics in the amygdala during ketosis - but alas, is what it is… Now, what is the perfect diet?
IMO: It consists of ruminant (cattle, goat, sheep, etc.) meat and organs, organic fruit, and high pressure cooked white rice (is not a grain and has low lectin count). Then supplementation in correspondence to a blood test, plenty of electrolytes (specifically Magnesium in the glycinate form because overused farmland has torched most of its naturally occurring availability), and occasional dried mushrooms pills (reishi, turkey tail, cordyceps, etc. all have compelling research).
There is no outwitting or outstudying the ramifications of poisoning yourself; we are machines with specific parameters and poker is an uphill battle when one’s perception is compromised on a fundamental level. Pardon the rant, but I can not stress the cognitive and spiritual importance enough for not drinking the kool aid.
Deep breaths is surprisingly the last thing one should do when trying to face fear and confusion, especially during a crucial poker decision. The overwhelming majority of folks hyperventilate and the excess oxygen to C02 ratio only perpetuates more adrenaline n epinephrine throughout their system. This is precisely why cigarettes works, the decrease of oxygen does wonders to anxiety. Dr. Buteyko made one of the most pivotal and unacknowledged discoveries of the 20th Century, perseverance to his breathing method should crush any of the fight or flight mistakes we naturally make when overwhelmed in specific poker spots. Essentially; one needs to exhale completely, hold the diaphragm (extremely difficult at first), and inhale through the nose from the lower abdomen as slowly as possible. Controlling the inherent reflex for shallow breaths helps expose the fallacies of desperation thinking that dooms any poker player to short sighted impulsivity.
Personally, Taoism is the religion that provides the most rational approach to one’s self and the natural world. Relinquishment to the mystery and not attempting to conjure frivolous labels does wonders for my ego. But I’m not here for that mumbo jumbo, let’s talk semen hahaha. Retaining one’s chi is a core tenant to Taoism and pivotal in becoming a man of honor and self control. Porn addiction fucked me up as lonely teenager, created impossible expectations for women, and suppressed my inherent drive/empathy. I firmly believe it triggered the domino effect that got me expelled from UC Berkeley for selling drugs and in prison for fraud at 22. While locked up for 8 months, I didn’t stroke it once and came out completely jacked n dead focused. I’ve had my fluctuations since; but having been clean from that shit for almost a year, it perpetuates an absolutely savage for better n worse. Losses n bluffing are no sweat. IMO, channeling that discomfort makes ya an animal with zero fear at the tables (n getting laid) and stroking it to pixels turns ya into an insecure, complacent fucker.
In the realm of pixels, reliance on your phone’s instant gratification catalyzes mad weakness at the table. No social media outside of communication, zero use after the sun sets, and converting your phone to black n white will avert your psyche away from short sighted comprehension. These convincing cunts in our hands are designed to suck you into their matrix and will directly correspond to your behavior at the table. Reality is comprised of slow n arduous struggles, not a couple clicks - do not let your brain believe otherwise.
When deviating from your discipline in poker, I firmly believe one needs a musical influence to realign their priorities. Words pale in comparison to harmony and positive affirmations are always grounded in self interest unfortunately. If you are slipping in decision making, go for walk and listen to that song/artist that takes you beyond the realms of your immediate desires. Personally, it’s Bach - I’ve been playing his Cello Suites for a decade now and am still perplexed. Regardless of the narcissistic and selfish behavior of my past, listening/playing Bach exposed the lies and pushed me to address the fear derived compensation. Poker is not about winning, it’s about winning and using that money for purpose. Music has the uncanny ability to conjure purpose and detach us from short sighted conceptualizations of why it is that we are the table.
Last but not least is not having pokegambling be the apex of your adrenaline rushes. When poker is highest high of your life, then the results begin to define you.. There’s no way around it. I firmly advocate facing death and fear to a higher degree to put the frivolousness of this silly game into perspective. Whatever the rush is (surfing, rock climbing, skydiving, snowboarding, etc.); we need a physical outlet that dwarfs poker in order to not be results oriented. Regardless of the loss, I need to know deep down that I can go surfing and obliterate any of the discontent festering within. Therefore, I am free from the self manifested suffering.. Same for any addiction - we need that natural high to replace it and define our will to live.
If you made it this far, thank you for listening and I apologize for any perceived pretentiousness. These are merely opinions and I genuinely hope they helped in some way or another.
Time to crush, AltruisticAutism
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2023.05.30 05:50 MasterBaitingBoy I have nothing left

After years of failure I’ve reached the point where I don’t think I have anything left. Getting my heart broken by a girl really felt traumatic. I’ve felt this huge void inside me. I’m almost done with college with a major I don’t even know I chose. I disappointed all of my expectations and standards. I fight everyday to feel alive, to push myself to do the right thing and make good decisions but I barely feel any strength. I feel like women reject me. I feel unattractive. I feel shame for having cared so much about my looks to begin with. I really wish I just could be my old self again. I feel like none of my efforts at the gym were any good. Been at it for years and my results suck. I wish I could improve my nutrition but I don’t have money. I stopped going to therapy because of money. I can’t even afford going to a graduation party. I feel so doomed and unlucky. Like I was destined for mediocrity, failure and poverty. I really fucking regret having obsessed with discipline and habits just for it all to end in mental illness, dissociation and failure. I stopped having faith in life. Really don’t know why I am alive. I just am, I guess. I feel so traumatized by unreciprocated attachments and heartbreak. I’ve been so stoic with all these things and yet so broken on the inside. I’ve learned to contain all of my emotions. I barely am aware of them now. Constantly feel like crying but I can’t. I really feel like I have nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. When I was a kid, at least when bad things happened I felt this huge urge to correct things and change for the better, but now I don’t even feel that. I feel dead on the inside. The worst part probably is that when I was a kid I felt like there was something out there taking care of me, giving me hope to cling onto. But there no longer is. It’s like I stopped living in the version of life I was supposed to be in and I ended up in the worst version of reality I could be in.
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2023.05.30 05:48 The_Alloquist [A Lord of Death] - Chapter 48

[←Chapter 47] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 49→]
The blade forging left Sorore exhausted, the failure left her frustrated, and the cold gave way to fear as the night drew closer. As day faded into dusk, she reflected on a morning that had been as full of ups and downs as the mountain paths they’d travelled. The very fact that she had been able to use magic, that it had crashed from the realm of fairy tales and church warnings into the very real everyday occurrence was already an earth shattering experience.
Then she’d moved water with a thought, seen monsters fall from the sky, and watched the paladins cleaving them in two. Her head spun with the strangeness of it all, the sheer onset of fanciful things blurring and mixing together with reality. She began to wonder what else might be true, of the fairy tales in the myth she had heard on the seas in her father’s ship. Of the old folk stories of Erratz, often dismissed as nothing more than old wive’s tales.
A new world had opened up before her, and she wasn't sure to be fascinated or terrified of it. Certainly the paladins didn't want any part of it, and they certainly didn't want her to be involved. And from everything she knew of the church scripture, they were absolutely right. She felt the danger, the power of the matter, and knew that it was only a small fraction of what it could do. She even felt a certain degree of fear towards the masked man in the black robes, as respectful as he had been as a tutor.
At least he didn't use a switch to reminder of when she had failed.
But even in the murk of her disquiet in that moment, she also felt a smouldering frustration underlying it. The knife had been hers, her project, her duty, and she had resolutely failed to craft it. Part of her shifted the blame elsewhere - it was a new technique she had picked up over the course of an afternoon. Efrain himself had said as much, even going as far to say that he hadn’t expected her to do it.
Now that was something she didn’t like at all. When people expected her to fail, despite all her efforts.
However, that resolution meant little now, given that she had been excused from the effort. At least now the mage had the basic shape to work on. She let her hand drift on the rough stone walls of the church. Thousands of individual perfections, many thousands of years old, the stone functioning despite it. Perhaps it would be enough, the basic, overall function, but she recalled all the pittances and channels carved in her vision of the knife.
She knew what was driving the doubt. It was curiosity, that sticking bug that clung to her, despite all her prayers to the contrary. She just couldn’t seem to shake it, despite the ‘assistance’ of church teachers when it reared its head particularly high. She had expected the snap across the palms from Efrain when he drew that piece of wood. It had been a relief when he’d tossed it over his shoulder.
The thought was an unworthy one, she immediately considered. She should’ve been grateful to the various priests and scholars who’d spent years teaching the twins. Some had even prepared their entire lives, just on the chance they’d meet the beloved Bequeathed. If they were strict, then so be it, it was for the sake of preparing her and Frare for their duties.
The church was once more a buzz of activity as people prepared for the night ahead. She and Lillian found their way to the altar, attracting only minor glances. The villagers clearly had gotten used to their presence, although some offered a respectful and perhaps wary gaze for Lillian. One of Frare’s eyes opened as they approached, but he quickly returned to his half-rest leaning on a pillar. Aya was still very much asleep, chest gently rising and falling under the furs where Sorore had left her.
Sorore sat on the wide steps, put her chins on her hands, and began to think. It was a rather dangerous proposition, considering her recent failure. She had a tendency to ruminate on them, and often her twin would find her staring plaintively before loudly disrupting it. This time was no different, as before anything but impotent frustration could boil over, he plopped down behind her back.
“Stop that,” he said, “I can hear your teeth beginning to grind.”
She leaned back to lie upon his lap, despite the admonishment she heard in her head about proper sitting position. His eyes were closed again, and she followed suit, letting the minutes wile away as night crept into the word. She was shaken out of this reverie by a loud pop and Aya’s yelp. The girl was both mid yawn and bright red as both the paladins and the twins turned to look at her. She insisted that she was fine, and took to straightening her clothes subconsciously.
It was a mere temporary distraction for Sorore, who was largely engrossed in considering the knife. Rather than merely wallowing in her problems, she was invested in its function. She could almost see the stone parting before her, revealing the source of that smothering cold behind the door. Maybe if she had tried one more time, maybe if she reduced the complexity of the form, then increased when she got the basic shape. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
It was all of very little use. She was inside her head once again, at a complete loss of what to do. Maybe, within the grand archives of Angorrah, the answer was contained in a dusty scroll. Some offhand fact or technique of forging, long forgotten in the darkness of the shelves. But these were several weeks of travel away, and she wasn’t sure that she’d see the next sunrise. So then, what could she do to get them to bridge that gap? Just one more day, that’s all they needed, to hold out until the next sunrise.
Nothing. That was the simple truth of it - she was a lost little girl in a small village surrounded by terrible things. The thought was not a comforting one, and she wriggled, trying to nestle deeper into the legs of her twin. Aya by that point had come to sit down beside them, looking greyer as the dark came on. No wonder, for she knew she all felt the chill roll forward as the fog waxed in the night.
Another meal of common fare came and went, though Sorore noted that many soldiers were taking care with it. Perhaps it was common practice, to relish what very well may be your last meal. For her part she found it rather difficult to keep it down, the coming dread of the hours ahead offsetting her appetite.
The faces of the paladins had settled into that implacable, stoney cast once more. They quietly rebandaged their injuries, readjusted their armour, and set to sharpening their great blades with long deliberate strokes. Sorore idly thought that their sleeping faces were significantly more pleasant, if rarer to see. Thus it was that they crossed over into the late afternoon, where the light was quickly fading.
“I would like to take one last little walk,” Aya spoke up, “before… you know.”
The paladins looked up, their eyes twisting with barely veiled misapprehension at the request.
“My lady…” Lillian began.
“We can’t,” Niche said, “Not now. Not so close to dark.”
“Just barely outside the door,” said Aya, “Just so I can see something other than the church. Just to stretch my legs.”
The paladins looked at each other, looked back, and set their faces.
“Well, I suppose it can be accommodated,” Lillian said, “only just outside the church, and only for a few minutes.”
Her tone warned of dire consequences if these conditions should not be strictly adhered to. The children all collectively nodded and the party of five set out past the doors. The barricades within the church had grown in size and strength, at least as far as Sorore could judge. The villagers, under the supervision of the soldiers, had proven diligent in the daylight hours. She could only hope that it would be enough for the onset of the creatures, should they breach the church.
She had a dread certainty that it would indeed be breached, sooner or later. Though she hadn’t heard of any specifics, whispers of just how many of the things lurked outside were passed around. It was a small stroke of fortune that the windows were narrow and ensconced in stone. The last thing they needed was one of the flying beasts to crash through the glass.
The faint red-pink cast to the grey outside was beginning to fade into blackness as the sun shrank. Occasionally, the banks of fog would strip away, revealing the abominable silhouettes standing still past the wall. They would close just as quickly, removing any clarity, and leaving only the icy fear in its place. The remaining soldiers and villagers watched them with anxiety and exhaustion.
The garden around the front of the church was almost non-existent. Most of the flowers had been trampled either in preparation for or during the course of the battle. The only things left relatively untouched were the central beds around the side of the church, which grew produce for its tenants. Some trees still stood, showing minimal damage from the fog and its creatures.
The five ducked under the boughs of the closest one to the doors. The additional chill brought by its shade was a trifling concern at the present. The green, muted as it was by the overcast sky beyond, was a lively anchor in the cold, dead mists. Such was the comfort of the place that Soroe let herself lean back onto the bark of the tree and eyes drift closed.
The trunk was solid, a comforting sensation that seemed to offset the malevolence of the fog.
Enough so that Sorore began to wander the netherworld of half-sounds and sights that characterised pre-sleep. They all wandered with her, some staying, some peeling off, guided by their own demented logic. Little and less was coherent, but it took her away from the horrible reality of what lurked a few hundred steps away all the same.
She fell deeper into this other-state, letting the visions wash over her as the real world slipped away. Time became a mercurial concept, which led her to question when exactly everything had settled. But settled it had, into a hazy blackness which the eye could not pierce. There, in the distance, a bright ribbon of twisting warm color glowed. A piece of fresh-forged metal perhaps, the day’s task going straight to her head. Or maybe it was the remnants of another dream that day, one that was already a blurry memory.
From a great distance, she heard a crash, unmistakable in its ringing clarity. A forge hammer singing out a song of its own, for now merely a rhythm. It shifted in tone as it rang out through the abyss once more, adding progression, then melody, all written in singing steel. Sorore’s fingers began to drum out the sequence on her thighs as she felt it reverberate through her. Then, with a sliding screech, she was left alone in the half-dream, with nothing but darkness remaining.
Still, the bright memory of the song remained, and in the darkness another voice took shape. It was a deep, rich, and handsome sound, that spoke of a confidence of such immensity that you were convinced its wielder could do anything. Sorore had never heard the likes of it before, either on the docks, or in cities, or on the open waves.
“Come now,” it said, “this little thing is giving you trouble?”
Sorore’s eyes slowly open, pulling her from the dreamscape back into the dreariness of the real. Aya had her knees pulled to her chest, leaning back into the trunk. The paladins, tired but alert, scanned the endlessly shifting banks of fog.
Sorore had a fleeting impression that the answers were just beyond the pale mists. Maybe something would come through, parting it like thin curtains, and impart the inspiration she needed. Or maybe a whole set of schematics will drop into my lap from the sky, she thought with dark irony.
The vision was quickly fading into the abyss of forgetfulness. Perhaps Aya had shared it once more with her, but she was in conversation with the paladins. Not wanting to interrupt, Sorore looked at her outstretched legs. Past them were a handful of leaves that had fallen despite the summer of the valley, with a couple long decomposed to nothing but their skeletons.
She reached out to grasp at the leaves, looking at the yellow-grey veins that raced across its surface. The large ones spread from the central stem and the hundreds of smaller capillaries that interconnected them. Holding up to the sky, she screwed her face, trying to discern the details of this piece of nature. After a few moments of tepid stillness, the clouds parted for just a moment, letting a ray of sunlight lance down to catch their hill in its beam.
For a second, the leaf seemed to glow, shimmering like metal catching glare.
And Sorore had her inspiration.
With that, she sprang to her feat so fast that one of the paladins almost jumped. Both looked around with questioning and slightly alarmed expressions. Sorore didn’t have much of an answer - in fact her mind was going so fast that she could hardly even articulate the solution that had been revealed to her.
“The- the- the-” she said, snapping her fingers, trying to put words to the idea, “I know what to do. I need to find him.”
“Find who? The mage?” asked Lillian.
The fiery certainty of the thought sent Sorore tramping out onto the grass, leading to calls from the paladins to slow down. She didn’t bother to wait for them, consumed by this need to find the mage, the knife, to try again.
The forge was more or less empty, save for the few labourers packing up the tools and ferrying them into the church proper. With a furious set of questions, she gleaned that he’d vacated the premises some time ago. The paladins called for her to stop as she doubled back, but she couldn’, not now.
The scenery seemed to blur as she rushed through the church doors, past the bustling barricades, and to the captain’s tables. A somewhat perturbed Damafelce told the young girl that Efrain had been seen entering the door at the end of the church. With that, Sorore broke out into a run, past the altar, through the door and down into the darkness of the Catacombs.
She stepped out onto the sand floor, the members of her party at her heels as she tried to seek out the path to the black wall. She stumbled more than once as she felt her way along in the darkness, fortunately with no skeletal interruptions this time. Down the stairs and into the long corridor she came, the smothering cold increasing as she pushed forward.
As she had surmised, Efrain was there, just about to start whatever process pried apart the stone. The tip of the blade was raised, pressed into the stone above his head. He turned at the approaching footsteps, cocking his head at the lack of isolation. Sorore didn’t even wait for him to say something, instead thrusting out her head for the crude metal knife.
“ I know- I can- I can do it now,” she said, breathless from the long run from the surface.
Delicately, Efrain removed the metal from the stone, and looked down at her. There seemed to be a questioning quality to the look, at least as far as she could read the emotionless mask. He looked at the cat, then back to the girl, and then to the rest of her party.
“How?” he said, “ If I let you undo this, we may not have enough time to recreate it before the attacks begin.”
“Leaves,” she said, putting a hand on the wall to steady herself as her lungs complained, “it- was the leaves.”
“The… leaves?” he said, “ All right. Stop, take a few breaths, and start from the beginning.”
And so she did, explaining how she sat under the bows of the trees, the half-awake dreaming, and the skeleton of the leaf.
“I got it. I was trying to build the whole thing out myself, all at once,” she said, stumbling over her words, “instead of letting nature do what it wants. The metal wants to come together - I don’t need to force it into its final shape. I just need to build a- a-”
She snapped her fingers at the air, trying to reach past this new blank as Efrain regarded the knife.
“You want to build a frame,” he said, “and let the metal fill in the rest of the empty space.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he turned over the knife, hilt first, to the girl.
“Well then,” he said, “let’s hope you know what you’re doing.”
She did, or at least she hoped she did this time. Within moments, the metal was flowing over her hands like a cold stream, but instead of trying to sculpt it, she began to spin filaments outwards. Like the skeleton of the leaf, little veins of metal stretched outwards, stopping abruptly, and folding back into themselves. If it had been hard before, it was now brutal, the smothering cold dragging at every attempt to shape the material.
Hands trembling, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead, she managed to split the metal into dark fingers. All she had to do was resist gravity and prevent it spilling over the imaginary bounds of the shape. From those dark fingers, snaking vines spread out and connected with each other. Slowly, slowly, branching and arcing, they filled in the skeleton she’d created and fused.
The final product wasn’t altogether too different from what they’d created during the afternoon. The shape, a heavy chisel tip, tapering out to twin furls like a plough, a longer tang. Sorore, half blind by stinging salt, didn’t fail to notice swirling furrows spreading across its surface. She had no idea how she’d managed to etch those designs, or perhaps the metal remembered, just as the stone did.
“Well,” said the mage at last, “suffice to say, I am impressed. Now, hold it up.”
She did so, despite the exhaustion of her arms, the tip wavering as his finger touched its point.
There was a rush of something, extending over the surface of the blade, stopping just short of her hand. It was like a coat of mail had been pulled taught, the links aligning at the same time, snapping together in a regular structure. From the tip of the chisel, down to the tang, the metal shuddered and settled. By the time it disappeared under her grip, it was rigid as any steel tool.
The mage gently took it from her, holding the blade up to that little flickering light above his head. Flicking it this way and that, he seemed to find whatever he was looking for, and pressed the tip to the wall. Sorore, despite her fatigue, was practically exploding with excitement. She’d done it, not only conquering the task, but she was about to see what was behind those dark walls.
Then, before he pressed the blade into the stone and drew it down, he paused.
“Paladins,” he said, voice quiet, “it would be best to take the children back into the church.”
Lillian frowned and put a hand onto her hilt as she stared at the door.
“What?” said Sorore, aghast, “ But I-”
“No buts,” said Efrain, “we don’t know what’s behind this door. It may be dangerous, it may not. But I strongly suspect it’s not something you would want to see. Very well done, little one, but this is something I should deal with on my own.”
The tone of academic authority was not an unfamiliar one to Sorore. But unlike in virtually all other occasions in her life, she attempted to object. Before she could speak more than a few words, Lillian took her by the shoulders, her mind apparently made up. All three of them were carted up the stairs as barely contained rage began to bubble up inside her.
“Do you think we should…?” said Niche, gesturing to the surrounding stone.
“No, not yet,” Lillian said, “putting aside everything else, we still might need him.”
Niche nodded and said no more.
They had made a steady pace, overtaking half the hallway as the scream of metal on stone echoed out. It was followed by a grating rumble as presumably the doors opened. If the temperature below the surface was cold when they came, the resulting drop was freezing. The mist that rose up behind them whispered things in long mournful sighs as the surroundings began to buzz with what must’ve been magic.
Then, from up the stairs there was a long, terrible wail.
[←Chapter 47] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 49→]
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2023.05.30 05:44 ForSacredRussia1 Гражданский Совет/ Civic Council: "Continuation of the story of our volunteer - "Slavik" - about what the war looks like. 'At the front'"

Гражданский Совет/ Civic Council:

SOURCE: https:// t . me/civiccouncil/218
Гражданский Совет/ Civic Council
Continuation of the story of our volunteer - "Slavik" - about what the war looks like. Your donations helped Slavik survive, help save the lives of other volunteers (details: https:// cutt . ly/uwqsBg68)❗️
At the front
A few days later we arrived at the front to strengthen the positions occupied by the local military. Somewhere in the distance periodically there were skirmishes, attempts at assaults. From the radio came reports of dead and wounded.
The duties were day and night. During the day you look out of the trench through binoculars, at night through a thermal imager or a night vision device. You see that there is an attack - you report it on the radio and open fire on the team. It's simple, but it's terribly exhausting. Constant risk to life, expectation of an offensive. After the shift, you sleep like the dead.
I was lucky with the position - in the trenches we only carried out duties, and we could rest in the basement of an abandoned house nearby. There were no buildings with basements in the neighboring areas, the soldiers spent the night in camouflaged shelters (this is something like a dugout).
Positioning on my site turned out to be a rather boring occupation, 90% of which can be called domestic survival in difficult conditions. It is necessary to equip a place for cooking and lodging for the night, its heating, protection from rain, camouflage, etc.
Unlike winter tourism, which I was fond of at school, a machine gun, body armor, a helmet and a mountain of ammunition on a shoulder-belt system were added to a heavy backpack with equipment. And in place of the risk of freezing to death in the mountains, there came the risk of catching a bullet or shrapnel.
As a result, I will catch 4 fragments from the explosion of a 150 mm heavy artillery shell from “our boys”.
But I will survive.
And my brother-in-arms, at whose side the explosion will occur, will die from his wounds in the hospital.
Civil Council, author: https:// t . me/yugoslavskiy_channel


Продолжение рассказа нашего добровольца — «Славика» — о том, как выглядит война. Ваши донаты помогли «Славику» выжить, помогите спасти жизнь другим добровольцам (подробности: https:// cutt . ly/uwqsBg68)❗️
На фронте
Через несколько дней мы приехали на фронт, укреплять позиции, которые занимали местные военные. Где-то вдалеке периодически происходили перестрелки, попытки штурмов. Из рации доносились сообщения об убитых и раненых.
Дежурства были дневные и ночные. Днем смотришь из окопа в бинокль, ночью — в тепловизор или прибор ночного видения. Видишь, что идет атака — сообщаешь о ней по рации и открываешь огонь по команде. Все просто, но это ужасно изматывает. Постоянный риск для жизни, ожидание наступления. После смены спишь как убитый.
Мне повезло с позицией — в окопах мы проводили только дежурства, а отдыхать можно было в подвале заброшенного дома неподалеку. На соседних участках не было построек с подвалами, бойцы ночевали в блиндажах (это что-то вроде землянки).
Позиционка на моем участке оказалась довольно скучным занятием, 90% которого можно назвать бытовым выживанием в трудных условиях. Нужно обустроить место для приготовления еды и ночлега, его обогрев, защиту от дождя, маскировку и тд.
В отличие от зимнего туризма, которым я увлекался в школе, к тяжеленному рюкзаку со снарягой добавлялся автомат, бронежилет, шлем и гора амуниции на ременно-плечевой системе. А на место риска замерзнуть насмерть в горах, пришел риск словить пулю или осколок.
В итоге я словлю 4 осколка от разрыва 150 миллиметрового снаряда тяжелой артиллерии «наших мальчиков».
Но я выживу.
А мой побратим, со стороны которого произойдет взрыв, скончается от полученных ранений в госпитале.
Гражданский Совет, автор: https:// t . me/yugoslavskiy_channel
submitted by ForSacredRussia1 to FreedomofRussia [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 05:39 alurry [US] [Selling] Entire 4K SteelBook Collection (300+)

I am selling my entire personal collection. 95% of these were purchased new by me. Immediately after purchase I put them into the plastic protectors and haven't removed them since. None are heavily damaged (bending, major dents, multiple large scratches, etc.). There may be tiny dents, scratches, and the odd spine slash here and there. When you are ready to purchase I will let you know if I see any noticeable damage, however minor or major.
These are all used and opened and none contain the digital code or j-card. The vast majority contain all the original discs but a few might be missing the regular blu-ray. Most discs have never been played but I have watched a few once or twice. No issues while playing any of them.
I will ship for free via Media Mail. If you would prefer I ship using First Class or something else we can work out an extra fee. I would prefer to use PayPal F&F but will accept G&S if you insist. I will ship with the plastic protector (or with the slipcover that originally came with the SteelBook) and I will ship securely in a box with lots of bubble wrap (see picture below).
Prices are somewhat firm but it's hard to say what a lot of these are worth so feel free to make an offer. The more you buy the better deal I can give you. 10% off (possibly more) if you buy 2 and it only goes up from there. I would prefer to keep most of the collections together for now but could sell individually for the right price.
Proof ( If you want more assurance I have 224 transactions in DigitalCodeSELL (check my post history). I can also link you my eBay page if that is allowed. 3.6K items sold with 100% positive feedback.
Metal Tin SteelBook Collections (
Title Retailer Price
Game of Thrones Complete Collection (4K) SOLD
The Hobbit Trilogy (4K) Best Buy $100
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (4K) Best Buy $125
Mad Max Complete Collection (4K) Zavvi $100
Monsterverse 4 Film Collection (Empty Tin) SOLD
4K SteelBooks (Collections) (
Title Retailer Total SteelBooks Price
Bad Boys 1-3 Best Buy 2 $45
Back to the Future 1-3 Best Buy 3 $100
Bond 1-5 (Craig) Best Buy, FNAC 5 $140
Cars 1-2 Best Buy 2 $40
Dark Knight Trilogy Zavvi 3 $130
DCEU 1-12 Best Buy + + Zavvi 12 $450
Equalizer 1-2 Best Buy 2 $45
Finding Nemo/Dory SOLD
Frozen 1-2 Best Buy 2 $75
Godfather 1-3 Best Buy 3 $60
Godzilla + Godzilla vs Kong Best Buy 2 $60
Halloween (78, 18, 21, 22) Best Buy 4 $165
The Hitman's Bodyguard 1-2 Best Buy 2 $40
How to Train Your Dragon 1-3 SOLD
The Hunger Games 1-4 Best Buy 4 $70
The Incredibles Best Buy 2 $90
Indiana Jones 1-3 Best Buy 3 $70
Indiana Jones 1-4 Best Buy 4 $55
Jack Reacher 1-2 Best Buy 2 $75
John Wick 1-3 Best Buy 2 $60
Jumanji 1-3 Best Buy 3 $55
Jurassic World 1-6 Best Buy 2 $70
Kingsman 1-3 Best Buy 3 $50
The Lion King (94,19) Best Buy 2 $50
Maleficent 1-2 Best Buy + Zavvi 2 $45
MCU 1-30 Best Buy 30 $1200
Matrix 1-4 Best Buy 2 $95
Men in Black 1-4 Best Buy 2 $40
Monster's Inc/University SOLD
Mulan (98, 20) Best Buy 2 $70
A Quiet Place 1-2 Best Buy 2 $50
Scream (96, 22) Best Buy 2 $40
Sherlock Holmes 1-2 SOLD
The Shining/Doctor Sleep Best Buy 2 $150
Sicario 1-2 Best Buy 2 $70
Sonic the Hedgehog 1-2 Best Buy 2 $40
Space Jam 1-2 Best Buy 2 $35
Star Wars 1-9 + Solo & Rogue One Best Buy + Zavvi + FNAC 11 $500
Terminator (91, 19) Best Buy 2 $35
Top Gun 1-2 Best Buy 2 $75
Toy Story 1-4 Best Buy 4 $100
Trolls 1-2 Best Buy 2 $35
Venom 1-2 Best Buy 2 $40
Wreck-It-Ralph 1-2 Best Buy 2 $45
Zombieland 1-2 Best Buy 2 $30
Mondo X SteelBooks (
Title Retailer Mondo # Price
Boyhood (HD) Best Buy Canada #002 $25
Nightcrawler (HD) SOLD
Ghost in the Shell (HD) Best Buy #018 $15
It (HD) #022 $30
Friday the 13th (HD) #023 $25
Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (HD) #025 $50
Justice League (HD) #026 $25
300 (HD) #028 $25
Wreck-It-Ralph (HD) Zavvi #034 $30
Avengers (4K) FNAC #039 $35
Doctor Strange (4K) Zavvi #041 $45
Black Panther (4K) FNAC #042 $40
Captain America: The First Avenger (4K) Zavvi #043 $40
Thor (4K) Zavvi #045 $40
Ant-Man (4K) Zavvi #047 $40
Iron Man 2 (4K) SOLD
Blade Runner: 2049 (4K) FNAC #049 $100
Captain America: The Winter Soldier (4K) Zavvi #050 $40
Thor: The Dark World (4K) Zavvi #051 $40
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (4K) Zavvi #052 $40
Avengers: Age of Ultron (4K) Zavvi #053 $40
Avengers: Infinity War (4K) SOLD
Avengers: Endgame (4K) SOLD
4K SteelBooks (Individual Movies) (
Title Retailer Price
21 & 22 Jump Street Best Buy $30
300 Best Buy $65
3:10 to Yuma Best Buy $20
Air Force One Best Buy $25
Alien Covenant Best Buy $20
Almost Famous Best Buy $45
Animal House Best Buy $25
Apollo 13 Best Buy $40
Baby Driver Best Buy $30
Babylon Best Buy $30
Beauty and the Beast (1991) Best Buy $50
Beetlejuice Best Buy $40
Blade Runner: The Final Cut SOLD
Bloodshot Best Buy $30
The Blues Brothers Best Buy $45
The Bourne Complete Collection Best Buy $60
Boyz N the Hood Best Buy $60
Brave Best Buy $25
A Bug's Life Best Buy $45
Bullet Train Best Buy $30
Bumblebee Best Buy $30
Carlito's Way Best Buy $30
Cinderella (2017) SOLD
A Clockwork Orange Best Buy $30
Cold Pursuit Zavvi $50
Coming to America Best Buy $15
The Dark Tower Best Buy $15
Deadpool 2 Best Buy $20
The Deer Hunter SOLD
District 9 Best Buy $45
Downton Abbey Best Buy $15
Dracula Best Buy $25
Dune (1984) Zavvi $35
Dune (2021) Best Buy $35
Edge of Tomorrow Best Buy $55
Encanto Best Buy $40
Ex Machina Zavvi $40
Frankenstein Best Buy $30
Free Guy SOLD
Forrest Gump Best Buy $40
Gattaca Best Buy $25
Gemini Man Best Buy $15
Ghost in the Shell (1995) Best Buy $20
Gladiator Best Buy $100
Godzilla (1998) Best Buy $25
The Good Dinosaur SOLD
Goodfellas Best Buy $70
The Goonies Best Buy $50
Grease Best Buy $45
The Green Mile Best Buy $30
Groundhog Day SOLD
Hacksaw Ridge SOLD
Heat Best Buy $50
Home Alone Best Buy $40
Howard the Duck Best Buy $35
How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000) Best Buy $80
The Hurt Locker Best Buy $30
I Am Legend Zavvi $45
Inception Best Buy $80
Inglorious Basterds Best Buy $25
Inside Out Best Buy $35
Interstellar Best Buy $65
The Invisible Man (1933) Zavvi $25
The Invisible Man (2020) Best Buy $25
It (2017) Best Buy $25
It's a Wonderful Life Best Buy $20
Jaws Best Buy $35
Joker Best Buy $40
The Jungle Book (2016) SOLD
Jungle Cruise Best Buy $25
Kick-Ass Best Buy $35
King Kong (2005) Best Buy $30
Knives Out Best Buy $50
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2023.05.30 05:36 skeriphus On the Nature of Sorcery: Chapter 0.2 — Tea Time.

Motivation — A Close Reading of Tea Time

"I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking: maybe six feet ain't so far down?"
Nimander Golit
Chapter V of Weathered
2002 BS
Click Here for the Introduction to the essay series.

Prelude to the Close Reading

Why, hello there, again. It’s been a few weeks but I promise that this endeavor is still moving forward. For those that don’t know, this essay is a part of a collection I’ll be putting together which investigates the Eleint, their blood, and sorcery within the Malazan shared secondary universe. We’re still laying down our foundations, and today we’ll be covering a sequence of scenes in Chapter 8 of Toll the Hounds.
My intentions were to cover all of the scenes in a single post, but that has proven itself to be difficult. As such, I’ll cover the first scene in this sequence in this post. There’ll be one or two follow-up posts.
There are ten scenes that are in this sequence:
  1. Nimander 1
  2. Desra 1
  3. Desra 2
  4. Skintick 1
  5. Desra 3
  6. Nimander 2
  7. Desra 4
  8. Kedeviss 1
  9. Nimander 3
  10. Kedeviss 2
I’ll be approaching these scenes (including the one discussed today) through a few lenses.

A ringing of bells.

In his musings on writing, Erikson discusses the notion of a bell. I’ll let him speak for himself.
In the scenes we’ll be looking at, some of the bells that I believe are used are (and not all of these are represented in this first particular scene):


Particularly the genealogy of continental philosophy that led to Sartre’s existentialism and the shared/adapted/bifurcated philosophies of his contemporaries (such as de Beauvoir, Camus, and Merleau-Ponty). This wasn’t my initial intention when I decided to use this sequence of scenes as a launch pad into my collection of essays. However, the beauty of close-reading is that you go into a text with a hypothesis seeking evidence and support, and then end up with new insights.
Some of the concepts that will be brought up are:

Genre conventions as grammar.

Particularly, we’ll look at Erikson’s use of genre conventions from the likes of Gothic literature and Weird Fiction — namely the Sublime, cosmic horror, and the Weird — as the subtle language used to convey tension that is congruent with some of the other subtexts. If these grammars are subverted, we’ll try to point that out too.
We will later delve more into Malazan’s literary genealogy in other essays, but I want this lens to be present during the reading to see how Erikson aligns or subverts these genre conventions.
We’ll be using Professor Michael Moir’s YouTube lectures on Weird Fiction as reference.

What the fuck is happening?

This is a question about plot that I will answer at the end of all of the scenes, but keep it in mind as we go through. It has less to do with existentialism and Gothic literature and more on what Gothos was trying to do during these scenes.

Pre-TtH Context

We first meet Nimander and his siblings (unnamed) in House of Chains on Drift Avalii. By Bonehunters, they had left Drift Avalii and ended up at Malaz City, where they then joined Tavore Paran’s fleet while fleeing Malaz City. In Reaper’s Gale, we find the siblings had been ‘adopted’ by Sandalath while they traveled to Lether with the Malazans. Phaed wanted to kill Sandalath. Nimander stopped Phaed from killing Sandalath. Withal (Sandalath’s husband) throws Phaed out a window. The murder is taken as a suicide. The siblings intern Phaed and then meet Clip, who offers to lead them to Anomander in Black Coral via Kurald Galain.
This gets us to Toll the Hounds, where Nimander is being haunted by Phaed. They’ve left Kurald Galain and are now on Genabackis (but not yet to Black Coral). Nimander fears the future meeting his father and the rest of the Tiste Andii. The siblings and Clip ‘stumble’ on Morsko, where Clip is curious about its cult of the Dying God. A ritual takes place there. Nimander and Skintick are nearly enthralled, but are saved by Aranatha (and thus Mother Dark herself). The group then find Clip, who is in a coma. They collect him, and set off in a wagon to follow the Dying God’s priests to Bastion. Along that journey, the siblings stumble upon the High King, Kallor, who reluctantly chooses to not kill them and instead travels with them.
The sequence of scenes in Chapter 8 that we’ll be discussing follows some time after Kallor joins the siblings.
Now that the administrative stuff is out of the way, let’s dive into the first scene.

Nimander 1

Rum-induced memories.

We start this sequence thrust into Nimander’s introspection on ‘rage’ as a breaking of a vessel, impossible to fix. He recalls Deadsmell’s musings that ‘rage in battle’ was a gift while the two drank rum. Rum that awakened memories once ignored by Nimander.
(Note: in Scene 2, we’ll see Desra’s view of Nimander, and we’ll see that Nimander’s ruminations on rage here are what inform Desra’s view of him, and not in the way that Nimander’s doubt imagines.)
In the previous post, we discussed memories and their decay. So much of this series and the lore surrounding it is driven by the memories of ancient beings. Nimander is younger with respect to ancient beings (but ancient nonetheless), and even he struggles with his memories. Perhaps this is a result of the traumas he’s experienced with respect to his being in diaspora and perceived abandonment by his father (a symmetry itself with Rake’s — and the Tiste Andii as a whole — relationship with Mother Dark).
He recalls the rum lighting “a fire in [his] brain, casting red light on a host of memories gathered ghostly round the unwelcoming heart.” He reminisces on the time after Kurald Galain (but before Drift Avalii) and his father’s emotional indifference. He recalls the pranks him and his kin would pull on Endest Silann; the arrival of Andarist and his arguments with Anomander. It is unclear what the arguments were — if you’ve read Forge of Darkness, you might be able to infer what’s likely, but I’m curious if the argument is Andarist asking to take the siblings and Anomander refusing, or Anomander asking Andarist to take the children and Andarist was reluctant? Was the argument about Anomander thrusting the Hust blade, T’an Aros/K’orladis (i.e., Vengeance / Grief), onto Andarist or did Andarist already possess the blade? We don’t know exactly to my knowledge, but it’s fun to speculate.
Regardless, Nimander recalls, like a certain inscribed hearthstone, there was peace. Andarist was to take them all through a threshold, a portal elsewhere (as mentioned, portals end up being a rung bell, so pay attention). Nimander remembers Endest’s weeping as the children were pulled through a “portalway into an unknown, mysterious new world where anything was possible.”
Andarist raised the Tiste Andii children on that portal’s other side, on Drift Avalii. We know (or can infer) that this was a task to protect the Throne of Shadow, but Nimander and his kin didn’t understand this as children. But Andarist led them with his pragmatism, he ensured they learned how the world was. With our knowledge of Kharkanas, this is so powerful. We know Anomander’s hubris was abused as a motivating factor for Hunn Raal’s despicable acts. We know that Andarist likely lacks children of his own in response to this, and so his taking on guardianship over the children of his brother — that very same brother that rejected Andarist’s grief in favour of vengeance (and materialised in the T’an Aros/K’orladis dichotomy) — is a stark, challenging, and ultimately selfless decision.
But this pragmatism created child soldiers. The collision of reality’s necessity to survive and carry out the duty of protecting the Throne of Shadow came at the expense of what little remaining childhood innocence Rake’s brood still had (even as a people on the run, exiled from their home due to a sociopolitical schism). Andarist became a stern teacher, juxtaposed to the echoes of Endest’s gentleness. “The games ended. The world turned suddenly serious.” Nonetheless, the Tiste Andii siblings grew to love Andarist.
Nimander continues his introspection:
See a bored child with a stick — and see how every beast nearby flees, understanding well what is now possible and, indeed, probable.
This reminds me of a general rule of advice: ‘never fuck around when a child has gun.’ Tiste Andii or not, children can be cruel especially when mixed with unknown doses of trauma and violence. Regardless, I want to call attention here that this notion of children and beasts are each bells rung. To Nimander, Andarist “unleash[ed] them, these children with avid eyes.” He “had made them good soldiers,” ones that know rage.
Vessels broken.
As such, from his own experience, Nimander suspects that the Dying God is a child. He speaks to the dialectic between gods and their worshippers (another bell rung):
The mad priests poured him full, knowing the vessel leaked, and then drank of that puerile seepage. Because he was a child, the Dying God’s thirst and need were without end, never satiated.
The group stumbles on desiccated bodies staked among fields: dried up, tapped of their libations. This speaks to a particular exploitation between mortal and god, symbolised literally as worshippers feeding a god to then become the harvested. This perpetuates the Dying God’s power to accumulate more worshippers via addictive kelyk. The language here shows that the Dying God has stumbled upon a sort of cheat code, an exploitation of the god-mortal dialectic that allows him and his priests to arbitrage power. Like a cancer that, via the law of large numbers, is equipped with the mechanisms to divert a body’s resources to it while it slowly destroys the body.
The scarecrows being in fields is such a perfect choice of this analogy: things to be harvested. A product, a commodity — a thing with both use-value and exchange-value, for our Marxians out there. I believe Erikson has said that he was thinking of oil here, and that is fine by itself, but I do like the mirroring to Eucharistic transubstantiation in Catholicism (due to my being a very-very-lapsed Catholic). Especially with wine, an extremely addictive substance, transcending into God’s blood to cleanse us as cannibalistic sacrament.

Dal Honese burial practices.

Nimander sees these fields as “bizarre cemeteries, where some local aberration of belief insisted that the dead be staked upright, that they ever stand ready for whatever may come." This makes him recall some shipwrecked Dal Honese on Drift Avalii. He thinks on the ancestor cult and burial practices of Dal Hon: literally constructing their homes with their dead in the walls as both material and essence, the building stretching out with additional rooms as time moved on and kin died.
This reminds me of the Neolithic proto-city, Çatalhöyük, found in Anatolia within modern-day Türkiye where ancestors have been found to be buried beneath platforms in living quarters. See: Chapter 6 of The Dawn of Everything by Graeber and Wengrow.
With or without intention, I like to view this ritual via an existentialist lens, particularly Sartre’s notion of the Look. To Sartre — in contrast to other phenomenologies — being is in flux, some path of a given chaotic double-pendulum switching to and from poles of being-in-itself***\**1* and being-for-itself***\**2*. The Look, to Sartre, is a sort of symmetry breaking — a realisation by being-for-itselves that decentralises it, the sudden awareness of its being an object, an Other, to Other consciousnesses.
A heuristic often used to showcase Sartre’s notion of the Look (or Gaze) is that of a voyeur peeping through a keyhole into someone’s room that hears a noise down the hall. Regardless if that noise is from another person (another being-for-itself) or not (say, the house settling), the subjective voyeur suddenly objectifies themselves, collapsing the chaotic pendulum from being-for-itself (nothingness as "no thing-ness") to their facticity — their being-in-itself, their thing-ness — whose meaning to Other being-for-themselves is relative to a separate centre than the voyeur’s own.
To Sartre, the resulting anxiety experienced snapping from subject to object is a proof against any nihilistic approach to solipsism. The fact that we can Other our own being-for-itself means that we can also recognise being-for-itself external to us since those we Other too can Other us as we Other ourselves. The reflexivity as a result of the Look is evidence against solipsism to Sartre.
As a result, this Dal Honese practice is a cultural self-burdening via Sartre’s Look by literally having your ancestors clay-filled bodies decentralise your subjectivity and externalise you as an object that can be judged by its facticity. This results in a sort of collective Dal Honese being-for-others, Sartre would argue. This isn’t inherently good or bad to existentialists, but it does necessitate a calculus that discerns if the living descendants are authentically expressing their freedom with each moment they accept this practice, or if they are living in bad faith.
Regardless, though, this is a haunting of the Past. This haunting isn’t something that is only important to existentialism or other philosophical traditions (such as post-structuralism — see: Derrida’s hauntology), but to the genre conventions and tropes of Gothic horror and its descendants (such as cosmic horror, weird fiction, and their influences on sword and sorcery, etc.).
There are mappings (some more subtle than others) between the Sublime and the existential anxiety and dread experienced in phenomena similar to the Look. The experience of looking upon the vastness of the sea, of stumbling upon an ancient statue, of learning of the size of the universe — which are described as the Sublime, the Weird, or Eldritch in some literary traditions (e.g., Romantic, Gothic, Horror, the Weird, etc.) — are the same experiences that are often analysed in continental philosophies using words such as angst/anxiety/despaiabsurdity/alienation.
Nimander goes on to further expose the relationship between this Dal Honese ancestor cult and inter-tribal conflicts that lead to deaths and stolen bodies that leave physical voids in Dal Honese architecture. He muses how this physical representation of wounds begets a cycle of vengeance (a cultural tradition, a product of facticity and bad faith): “blood back and forth,” he says. He mentions that this cycle is what pushed the shipwrecked Dal Honese from their homes, an act of revolt and perhaps even authenticity to Sartre. Eventually the Dal Honese recovered and “paddled away — not back home, but to some unknown place, a place devoid of unblinking ghosts staring out from every wall.
I love that Erikson has this whole little short story in this scene, especially in the contrast of its being some rum-induced reflection by Nimander on his own past’s haunting of him and his siblings. Moreover, these Tiste Andii are travelling with Kallor, the Undying Unascendant: a being-for-itself that literally manifests the past’s haunting on the present — a man cursed, jaded, who carries the past with him wherever he travels. All of these together show that one’s freedom can have one flee (even be redeemed — which balances with other plotlines in TtH), but that doesn’t necessarily — nor sufficiently so — annihilate the past.

Finding a tower.

After this, Nimander’s reminiscing is interrupted by his hearing Kallor nearby (like a footstep in a hallway). Kallor comments on the use of the corpses and notes that the flora “[is] not even native to this world, after all.” Nimander replies that the corpses are being used for saemankelyk. The mention of the plants not being native to this world should orient the reader back to the Weird, especially since it brings upon a sense of unease, an Othering — the house settling that again serves to reduce both Nimander and the readers to our thing-ness
‘The past’ versus ‘the present’ versus ‘the future’ (and their hauntings of one another) bubble up again with some banter between Skintick and Kallor about the state of things. Kallor states ‘nothing changes.’ Skintick counters ‘it keeps getting worse,’ to which Kallor claims is but an illusion.
I find this dialogue to be a comical little conflict between Kallor’s perceived-postmodern, nihilistic judgement of the state of things being inert versus Skintick’s pseudo-Rousseauian, inverted-Hegalian, modernist grand narrative of things getting worse.
Again, it alludes to a haunting of the past on the current generation. Interestingly, this is a trend within the Book of the Fallen in general: not as an espousing of the ‘old vs. young’, but Erikson’s decentering/challenging/deconstruction of that binary. Think of Raest in GotM; Menandore, Sukul and Sheltatha in RG; Karsa in HoC; the Witness trilogy. He does this via a sort of Ancient's Hubris colliding with its differences to the Present’s Ingenuity, and this being dual to the Present’s Naivety colliding with the Ancient Wisdom.
Kallor eventually hits a sore spot with the Tiste: he brings up Rake. Unlike the Dal Honese whose freedom had them flee the cultural practices of letting their ancestors haunt both literally and figuratively, Nimander and his siblings were pulled/pushed away from their father (and people) as children — by what very well could be their father’s request. The Tiste siblings are haunted by Anomander’s active absence. Their continued distance from their father isn’t an act of expressing their freedom against an Ancestor’s Gaze — it isn’t an act of revolution — it is their facticity and a source for their Othering of themselves. We often see this from Nimander’s POVs up to and including this sequence.
Kallor sniffs out this weakness and presses upon the wound. Nimander gets flustered and retorts. To which Kallor responds:
'Anomander Rake is a genius at beginning things. It’s finishing them he has trouble with.'
Damn, Kallor.
Also, I didn’t need my ADHD called out so harshly, dude. What the fuck.
Without diving into what Erikson was dealing with while writing this book, this hits hard for Nimander, and is an interesting commentary nonetheless. His father, Anomander, is the leader of a diasporic people who’ve been without home, without a centre, for 400,000 years. I think Kallor’s words hurt Nimander so much because the Tiste siblings don’t know Anomander’s current plans nor have they experienced the "settling-down" from the unveiling of Kurald Galain in what is now Black Coral. They are unaware of Rake’s teleology for his people, for himself even. Regardless, we see again and again that Kallor isn’t just a strong skirmisher, his words cut nearly as well as his blades.
Kallor goes on to confirm that he knows Rake before the group notices a ruined tower among the alien plants and scarecrows. Kallor says its Jaghut. Kallor trudges forth indifferently, pushing corpses out of his way as he bee-lines it to the ruined tower. I don’t think such a sequence of action has ever described Kallor’s whole raison d’être and modus operandi so well: just a man seemingly indifferent to the corpses in his path as his will pulls him forward.
We get a small interaction between Skintick and Nimander that reveals Skintick’s acuity in reading Kallor’s take on Rake. Kallor sees their father as an equal (it isn’t just the readers that need to be keen to subtext, characters do too).
Skintick offers the idea of sicking Kallor on the Dying God, hoping he “decid[es] to do something for his own reasons, but something that ends up solving our problem.” I like the use of “deciding to do something for his own reasons,” as this aligns so well with authenticity in existentialism (and the absence of some absolute morality for authenticity).
As Nimander approaches the tower behind Kallor, both Nimander and the readers get a great sense of horror, the weird, the uncanny, and the sublime with how Erikson describes the scenery:
Drawing closer to the ruin, they fell silent. Decrepit as it was, the tower was imposing. The air around it seemed grainy, somehow brittle, ominously cold despite the sun’s fierce heat.
The highest of the walls revealed a section of ceiling just below the uppermost set of stones, projecting without any other obvious support to cast a deep shadow upon the ground floor beneath it. The facing wall reached only high enough to encompass a narrow, steeply arched doorway. Just outside this entrance and to one side was a belly-shaped pot in which grew a few straggly plants with drooping flowers, so incongruous amid the air of abandonment that Nimander simply stared down at them, disbelieving.
Nimander notes an incongruity of this place — its aesthetic of abandonment juxtaposed with a curated garden. “The cold despite the sun’s fierce heat.” This evokes a certain unsettledness to Nimander (and thus, the reader). These genre conventions are sources of tension and anxiety, similar to non-diegetic violins building up to a real or false jump-scare in a slasher flick.
Arrogantly, Kallor chooses to go out of his way and insult the presumed Jaghut within the tower. Classic Kallor. The Jaghut replies “nothing changes,” resulting in Kallor shooting Skintick and Nimander a “pleased smirk.”

Tea time, but before falling into a rabbit-hole and not after.

Before Kallor can announce himself, the Jaghut lists off Kallor’s titles, his facticity. Kallor’s reputation precedes him and there’s an asymmetry here in which the Jaghut knows who Kallor is but Kallor doesn’t yet know who the Jaghut is. This is our first hint that this meeting isn’t serendipitous, and is instead an intentional interaction with regards to the plot. And if this Jaghut knows of Kallor, does he know those who Kallor travels with? Who is this Jaghut’s intended audience among those options?
I also like the play here with facticity: the Jaghut lists out things about Kallor, but is Kallor some sum of those thing-nesses? How many are true, how many are manufactured myths? It’s an act by this Jaghut to Gaze upon Kallor, to show to Kallor that he’s being seen. It’s a deliberate tactic to destabilise and decenter Kallor: an offensive.
We as readers are informed of Kallor’s limitations from the Azathanai curses via Draconus, K’rul and Nightchill, but these limitations on Kallor don’t necessarily restrict his freedom until Kallor allows them.
We get a flash of Jaghut humour and guest rites — this ancient dismisses Kallor while inviting everyone in for tea. Interestingly, Erikson has this Jaghut use the proper noun of ‘Others’ which lends me to think that an existentialist lens hasn’t been the worst pick (not that ‘Othering’ is strictly existentialist by any means).
So, we’ve had corpses drained dry for kelyk, alien plant-life, a ruined tower of an unknown age stumbled upon beyond the urban, a preternatural creature to Nimander and his kin (something they’ve maybe only witnessed a handful of times) and then we get this description:
The air of the two-walled chamber was frigid, the stones sheathed in amber-streaked hoarfrost. Where the other two walls should have been rose black, glimmering barriers of some unknown substance, and to look upon them too long was to feel vertiginous — Nimander almost pitched forward, drawn up only by Skintick’s sudden grip, and his friend whispered, ‘Never mind the ice, cousin.’
Ice, yes, it was just that. Astonishingly transparent ice–
I love this. First: “it was just that” screams “no it isn’t” to anyone paying attention to the words Erikson is using to make the reader uncomfortable. We know: Jaghut + Ice = Omtose Phellack. The atmospheric setting here is directly being called out in not just a sublime way, but his description has an added layer of horror to Omtose Phellack.
Erikson uses “vertiginous,” giving both Nimander and us a sense of vertigo, being decentred and unoriented. This isn’t too different from descriptions found in works like Vandermeer’s Annihilation or other New Weird authors. This ice wall calls to Nimander, draws from him feelings of unknown when he’s caught himself staring for too long — emphasis on staring.
For all intents and purposes, this ice wall is a thing, a being-in-itself, neither active nor passive. But its effect on Nimander is similar to the Dal Honese ancestors’ Gaze — this ice wall objectifies him, calls to him, evokes his being-for-others, and emotionally alienates him. The pull Nimander feels is his submitting his being-for-itself with the freedom of those that Gaze upon him. A justification of his facticity, his bad faith. This will be important later.
Eventually we get this awesome line from the Jaghut host:
’Once, long ago, a wolf god came before me. Tell me, Kallor, do you understand the nature of beast gods? Of course not. You are only a beast in the unfairly pejorative sense — unfair to beasts, that is. How is it, then, that the most ancient gods of this world were, one and all, beasts?’
There’s so much going on to unpack in this paragraph.
Later, again, we get this Jaghut saying Others as a proper noun, and then the Others are called Tiste Andii.
‘Ah, and what of the Others with you? Might not they be interested?’
Clearing his throat, Skintick said, ‘Venerable one, we possess nothing of worth to one such as you.’
‘You are too modest, Tiste Andii.’
‘I am?’
'Each creature is born from one not its kind. This is a wonder, a miracle forged in the fires of chaos, for chaos indeed whispers in our blood, no matter its particular hue. If I but scrape your skin, so lightly as to leave but a momentary streak, that which I take from you beneath my nail contains every truth of you, your life, even your death, assuming violence does not claim you. A code, if you will, seemingly precise and so very ordered. Yet chaos churns. For all your similarities to your father, neither you nor the one named Nimander — nor any of your brothers and sisters — is identical to Anomander Dragnipurake. Do you refute this?’
Above, the Jaghut goes on to describe genetics, but also calls out the fact that they are children of Anomander — dude definitely knows more than he’s leading on, that’s for sure, and is winking directly to us readers, seemingly going over the heads of both Kallor and the Tiste. Also, the bit about chaos in blood will come up again and again in later scenes and later essays.
Moreover, we see that the Jaghut says that which he scrapes "contains every truth of you, your life, even your death" — our genetics are facticities, among our thing-nesses. "Yet chaos churns," the Jaghut rebuts. That chaos in our blood is a source of our "no thing-ness," from which we may express our freedom against the determinism of genetics — of facticities — and transcend.
For each kind of beast there is a first such beast, more different from its parents than the rest of its kin, from which a new breed in due course emerges. Is this firstborn then a god?’
I love this for two reasons. One, it speaks to a criticism of the assumption that a prime-mover is necessarily divine. But, through the existentialist lens, it’s a challenge and criticism of the presumed Authority of Genealogy. Jumping back to the early musings on ancestry: if ancestors haunt us and dictate our facticity as a result of suppressing our being-for-itself, then where does that chain of dictating/suppressing end? And is that terminus also an Authority above all generations below it just due to its being something new, something sufficiently different from its own genealogy, its ancestors ‘behind’ it?
I also like the subtext of trauma as hereditary here with the double entendre behind ‘beast’, we can think of this Jaghut as asking if the primordial source of generational trauma has authority over its descendants? What does this dialogue mean for Nimander and his siblings and their place with respect to their father and the rest of the Tiste Andii people? Does this inform an analysis of Nimander’s chaotic double-pendulum between being-in-itself, being-for-itself, and his being-for-others?
A huge thing I would like to point out here, too, is that neither Skintick, Nimander, nor Kallor have used the Tiste Andii’s names, yet this Jaghut knows them by name. Kallor could deduce they were Rake’s children, but he didn’t know their names. Even though Skintick showcased an acuity to subtext when considering Kallor’s opinions of Rake, he doesn’t catch onto this subtlety. This Jaghut not only knows of Kallor, he knows of Nimander and his siblings. The evidence that this meeting isn’t serendipity continues to build.
‘You spoke of a wolf god,’ Skintick said. ‘You began to tell us a story.’
‘So I did. But you must be made to understand. It is a question of essences. To see a wolf and know it as pure, one must possess an image in oneself of a pure wolf, a perfect wolf.’
‘Ridiculous,’ Kallor grunted. ‘See a strange beast and someone tells you it is a wolf — and from this one memory, and perhaps a few more to follow, you have fashioned your image of a wolf. In my empires, philosophers spewed such rubbish for centuries, until, of course, I grew tired of them and had them tortured and executed.’
This sequence of dialogue is fantastic and reminds me of arguments foagainst the strong/weak Sapir-Whorf hypothesis/es. We see the Jaghut musing on a seemingly prescriptive Platonic idealism that Kallor interrupts with a more descriptive, pragmatic, empirical framework in which he follows with a jest of torturing and executing philosophers (remind me to never live in the Kallorian Empire).
Kallor speaks as if his words contradict the Jaghut and show the assumed idealism to be wrong. But, by Kallor’s own argument, the Jaghut’s words of ‘pure’ and ‘perfect’ are just as empirically contingent to one’s memories as ‘wolf’ is. The combinations of signs and symbols language users use give flesh to those signs’ and symbols’ own meaning — but bury that meaning beneath the flesh by doing so. The concept of a ‘perfect wolf’ (i.e., ‘perfect’ + ‘wolf’) emerging from one’s own contingency with the notion of ‘perfect’ and ‘wolf’ is entirely possible without that imagined ‘perfect wolf’ being actually some idealisation, i.e., some Platonic Perfect Wolf.
The Jaghut responds with laughter to Kallor’s absurdity: both in his misinterpretation of the Jaghut’s musings as well as the nature of Kallor’s brutal reaction to those that question things he finds to be rubbish. This pairs well with Skintick’s future POV in this sequence, but the contrast between Kallor and this Jaghut is entertaining nonetheless. Sometimes it’s hard to distinguish when Kallor is telling the truth about his brutality or if his mutterings are just words congruent to his reputation.
The two then have a pissing contest. We find out the Jaghut was in disguise — I don’t have the evidence or time here to say, but there are ideas that this particular Jaghut is a d'ivers and it is fucking awesome even if untrue. The discussion here points to some T’lan Imass’ Jaghut War. It being the Kron, I’m inclined to wonder if there is a relationship with the bones Karsa stumbles upon in HoC (where he and his war party find Calm).
Skintick squatted to pick up two of the cups, straightening to hand one to Nimander. The steam rising from the tea was heady, hinting of mint and cloves and something else. The taste numbed his tongue.
Don’t take candy from strangers tea from Jaghut, people.
We find out that Raest is this Jaghut’s child. We find out that this Jaghut took on 43 T’lan Imass and a Bonecaster, killing them all. This is a threat rallied back against Kallor’s assertion that he’s killed Jaghut.
Teeth bared, Kallor bent down to retrieve his cup.
The Jaghut’s left hand shot out, closing about Kallor’s wrist. ‘You wounded that wolf god,’ he said.
Oh shit. What follows is one of the first times I can recall that Kallor is scared. Contrast with his earlier treatment of Rake as equal.
'Oh, be quiet, Kallor. This tower was an Azath once. Shall I awaken it for you?’
Wondering, Nimander watched as Kallor backed towards the entrance, eyes wide in that weathered, pallid face, the look of raw recognition dawning. ‘Gothos, what are you doing here?’
‘Where else should I be? Now remain outside — these two Tiste Andii must go away for a while.’
The revelation: the Jaghut is none other than the Lord of Hate himself, Gothos. You can understand why Kallor, always so arrogant, submits to Gothos and listens to his instruction.
Immediately after the reveal, Skintick and Nimander succumb to the effects of whatever extra ingredient Gothos had slipped into their tea. We get this final sequence:
Nimander’s eyes were drawn once more to the walls of ice. Black depths, shapes moving within.
He staggered, reached out his hands–
‘Oh, don’t step in there–’
And then he was falling forward, his hands passing into the wall before him, no resistance at all.
‘Nimander, do not–’
Again, the readers eyes are drawn along with Nimander's to the icy, abyss-like, objectifying, Gazing threshold. Here's where the sublime and the weird really flavour the setting in this scene.
There's a bell’s echo here from the start of this scene: this sequence starts with Nimander discussing the uncertainty related to moving through a portal with Andarist away from the rest of his kin, a breaching. During these final lines of this first scene, we get a tension between us and the unknown, between what has happened and that-which-is-to-come, between what we’ve imagined about Malazan’s cosmos and some contorting of those assumptions. What’s beyond the veil decentres not only Nimander in its draw and pushing him to being-for-others, but it decentres the readers too. Hic sunt dracones, terra incognita, the sublime, the enigmatic, the terror. We’re made to feel small and inconsequential by this icy threshold.
It isn’t mysterious because it evades our Gaze like other fantastical things (e.g., many renditions of some archetypal tricksters found within various folklores), instead it invites our Gaze eventually since It Gazes back (almost Nietzschean).


Calling back to the genre conventions, this extended scene is one that definitely plays with the established conventions of Gothic literature and its descendants. Constantly, Erikson hits us with tension sewn into his choice of words in Nimander’s ruminations, his angst associated to diaspora, the notion of Dal Honese ancestors gazing upon their descendants from clay walls, absent ancestors that too haunt the same, the fields of scarecrows as desiccated (and harvested) bodies of worshippers, the alien plant-life, the ancient Jaghut tower, the ice threshold. Each of these (and those unmentioned) add onto to the dissociation (de-centering) of both Nimander and us, the readers. Each of us seem small and inconsequential to the dynamism of the cosmos: everything we know, including that of what we already know about the Malazan universe (and our own) can be challenged. We’re each just travellers who have stumbled upon a shattered visage in the desert that reads: “My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings. Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
This stands in contrast to — almost a revolution against — the modalities one can garnish from the Enlightenment and post-Enlightenment that favour an almost religious rationalism and positivism. This is why I believe (and hope I have shown) that the existentialist (and those schools of thought peripheral to it) lens is apt. The genealogy of Gothic literature serves as a grammatical sandbox that gives way to exploring the things that existentialism tries to frame in its study, such as the dread and anxieties — the nothingness (no thing-ness) — of being.
Not only are the Dal Honese clay-filled ancestors present to alienate the reader by entertaining a certain ‘exoticism’ (by the readers’ juxtaposing such practices against what we consider ‘normal’ — here's where Sartre is applied to White or Male Gazes), but they are there as conduits for understanding how Nimander is affected by Others, by their Looks — his siblings, his absent father, his dead uncle, Kallor, Gothos, and the icy threshold — even if this ‘othering’ is one done only by Nimander onto himself (the house settling perceived as a footfall). This becomes more important in the scenes that follow.
So, how does this relate to the Eleint, dragonblood or sorcery? If you want to know now, please read ahead in the text — i.e., he future scenes in this sequence in Chapter 8 of TtH — you’ll find out. Otherwise, I’ll attempt to provide more clarity in the follow-up post(s). Until then, I just want put forth some questions:
Beyond those questions (which align with my grander narrative shared in this collection of essays) — in regards to the plot, I think it is smart to continue asking, ‘why has Gothos ensured that Anomander’s children and Kallor would stumble upon his tower?’
1 the facticity of what can be understood as objective states ascribed to things, including social constructions — thing-ness — e.g., how things are thrown into the world, a mode of existence that simply is, the contingent being of ordinary things, such the language(s) one speaks, one’s occupation, etc.
2 the mode of existence of consciousness that stands in contrast to being-in-itself, “no thing-ness”, that which negates being-in-itself
submitted by skeriphus to Malazan [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 05:31 Secondary_Type Vengeful Ghost

Barber’s Star, 2382

Captain Jayme Dawson sat at the centre of the bridge of the destroyer NFNS Anders T. Christian and grinned to himself with a proprietary satisfaction at his crew’s performance during the drill he’d just run them through; tensions along the border had been growing for months, and he’d be damned before he’d give his people anything less than their best chance at survival. Destroyer Squadron 193, part of the task force sent to defend Barber’s Star, was picketing the system and watching the hyper limit. The Christian’s closest fellows, her sister ships Invincible and Redoubtable, were each a quarter of the way around the system in different directions, millions of kilometres away. Were she to encounter any trouble, the Christian would be on her own for hours.
Dawson saw his sensors officer stiffen in her seat, and rose an eyebrow. “Share with the class, Ensign?” he asked, pulling up the tactical plot on one of his own displays…and nearly had a much more unseemly reaction. Even as she was reading out the situation in a shaking voice, he was running through his options in his mind. “Th-three light cruisers just jumped in, Sir. They aren’t broadcasting any identification—power spike. They’re raising shields.”
A corner of his mind noted how much professionalism she managed to regain by the end of her report, but he had more important things to worry about. Those cruisers were not supposed to be in-system, and clearly had intentions far from peaceful. “Comms, get word to Admiral Miranda and broadcast the standard challenge. Ops, get me shields, and bring the weapons up; looks like we won’t be able to get out of this one if they turn out to be hostile.”
The look he gave at his crew was the grin of a cornered wolf. When they returned it with similar expressions of their own to the beat of the General Quarters alarm, he felt a strange assurance they wouldn’t disappear into the black alone.

Admiral Carmen Miranda listened to the briefing with an incredulity she couldn’t hide even behind the habitual snacking she partook in. After she squawked her distress, the Christian had engaged the cruisers and her signal had abruptly cut off. She’d made the obvious and prudent assumption Dawson had been defeated and his ship destroyed and sent a small force out to reconnoitre the area. Expecting to find the wreckage of a destroyer, they’d found a field of debris surrounding three light cruisers floating dead in space. Lifeboats screamed for help. The enemy’s lifeboats. He’d sent his report off to FLEETCOM at Charlemagne. The raiders had been defeated, themselves…but where was the Christian?

Barber’s Star, 2495

NFMS Hera’s Dream wallowed through normal space, as was the merchant ship’s wont and lot in life. The uneventful flight had left the Second Mate Sammy Ortega, officer of the watch, yawning. He hated routes like these, and glanced at the plot with a well-hidden resentment; Nine (the creatively-named ninth planet of the system) was on the outskirts of the Barber’s Star system, and it left him and his captain’s ship vulnerably near the hyper limit for nearly two-thirds of the trip. The perfect place to get jumped by pirates. Still, though, the system had grown into a defence nexus since the War of ‘82, and it needed the precious metals Hera’s Dream carried. It also meant that Fleet ships weren’t exactly rare in the system.
None of that, however, was much consolation when four pirate ships lit off their drives and began to burn hard to intercept the ponderous fleet supply ship travelling with no protection but the light asteroid shielding that allowed it to travel at a small percentage of light speed. Even before Johny Nelson, the man sitting at the sensor console, could give his trembling report, red icons littered the plot as the pirates’ fire-control radars swept across the unarmed ship’s hull.
“They’re hailing us, Sammy,” Nelson said quietly, the shake in his voice flattening into a disbelieving facsimile of a person’s speech.
Gritting his teeth, Ortega told him to accept the signal. A slovenly face grinned back at him through the command chair’s display when they made the connection. “Cut thrust and prepare to be boarded. Any resistance will be met with force,” he stated, then grinned savagely and licked his lips. “A lot of force.”
The connection closed even while the overwhelmed second mate opened his mouth to respond; before he could turn to the wide-eyed woman at the helm to order their acceleration halted, to give in to the pirate’s demands, Nelson stiffened. “Another contact, Sammy,” he reported. “I don’t think it’s a pirate—the vector’s all wrong. And she’s fast, Sammy.”
“A fleet patrol?” Ortega asked.
“No IFF,” Nelson replied.
“Get her on the horn, Johny,” Ortega ordered.
“Nothing on the comms…huh? That’s weird,” Nelson said, then leaned forward. A strange dread filled Ortega; why wouldn’t she answer hailing? Nelson’s eyes widened. “She’s got her shields up, Sammy!” he exclaimed.
The plot said she had enough power to be a destroyer, but even a true warship of her class should be cautious about engaging this many pirates! On she came nonetheless, shields glowing a curiously menacing red. On she came, hundreds of thousands of kilometres from either the Hera’s Dream or any of the pirate ships. On she came, speeding toward the centre of the pirate “formation.”
When the first beams reached out, Ortega reflected on the courage of that single ship. It was a rare thing, shown by very few even within the navies protecting the disparate human planets. Even as he snapped orders to the woman at the helm, who obeyed in a sort of fugue state incurred by the stress of the situation, he contemplated the stranger’s fearless behaviour.
Like a tiger to its meat, he thought to himself.
The unknown ship flew incredibly; Ortega thought that the helmsman must’ve lived that ship, for how she pirouetted and slipped mere metres aside to avoid the pirates’ beams. Never did that ship fear their guns or numbers, and when their beams inevitably impacted, the entire bridge crew of the Hera’s Dream cringed, expecting those ruby-red shields to collapse. To their astonishment, they held strong, and hot lances of fury struck out from that unyielding bubble, rending the aether. The crew could only watch and shake their heads as this strange, astounding ship cut the pirates to bloody shreds.
Just as quickly as the stranger had shown up and begun to fight the pirates, then the fighting was all done; the pirate fleet was shattered, and the unknown ship had won. Ortega instructed Nelson to attempt to hail the stranger again to thank them, but once again their hailing went unanswered.
“She’s matching velocity,” Nelson reported, his voice filled with the awe and stunned surprise the rest of the crew were feeling. She pulled alongside close enough the hull-mounted cameras could get a good look at her when she dropped her shields.
When she did, the only sound on the bridge was that of three souls collectively inhaling.
The hull of that strange ship was irrevocably marred by the scars of some long-ago encounter; thirty holes ran clear through her, and a large gash left one side missing much of its hull panelling. Every spacer aboard the Hera’s Dream looking knew, without a doubt, that when the ship sustained those grievous wounds everyone aboard had died.
“Mr. Ortega,” the helmswoman said, finally gaining her voice. When his eyes met hers, she gave him a shell-shocked grin. “Have you ever heard the tale of Dawson’s Christian?” she asked, then pointed at the monitor. Ortega was confused for a brief moment, before his eyes returned to the feed and widened.
Painted in white lettering across what seemed to be the only surviving hull space on their side, they could see the ship’s name…Anders T. Christian. That realisation seemed to course through not only them, but also the stranger; instead of flying away, though, the hull itself began to fade from reality before their very eyes. The stunned, silent crew of the Hera’s Dream laid witness to the grizzly sight that was the view of the outer compartments of the shattered ship. Bodies laid askew, floating in the zero-G vacuum, limbs burned off by the edges of beams or torn off by flying shrapnel.
Mercifully, further detail was hidden by the dead crew’s shipsuits.
The bulkheads began to shimmer from perception as the bridge crew aboard Hera’s Dream began to tremble.
The last thing to slip from view were the bones…dead white bones of Jayme Dawson and his crew.
There are stories of the Dutchman, the Celeste and Barnham’s Pride, stories of the Horseman and the Lady at his side…

Kuiper Yard, Sol, 2500

“...but the tale that chills my spirit,” Ortega finished, “and I swear to God it’s true, is the tale of Jayme Dawson and his crew.”
The spacers sitting around the table shared disbelieving glances, but in their years since working aboard Sammy Ortega’s ship, they’d never heard him tell any tall tales. Besides.
It was comforting to know that merchants had a protector.
Even if it was just a vengeful ghost.
ِ A short story I wrote based on the song Dawson's Christian. Highly recommend y'all give it a listen. Critique is welcome.
submitted by Secondary_Type to scifiwriting [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 05:21 Jtrash121 Possible Dead Amiibo Fix! (?)

So, I was playing Breath of the Wild and got really bored and decided to scan all of my amiibo alongside my Zelda ones...all of them scanned and worked besides Smash Bros. Marth. I tried going into the settings and trying to reset him but he didn't scan at all like he was dead. I read somewhere on this Reddit that someone had a similar issue with their amiibo and tried scanning it on their 3ds and Wii u. I tried on my 3ds to no avail but the second I painstakingly set up my Wii u and scanned him in the settings Marth decided to work again and not just on the Wii U but the Switch as well! I'm glad he's up and working again hopefully, this post helps anyone else with similar issues!

TL;DR: If a specific amiibo seems to not scan try scanning it on Wii u or 3ds somehow brings life back into a possibly dead Amiibo!
submitted by Jtrash121 to amiibo [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 05:14 AmericanClassic7 51 [M4F] #Lakeland, Florida - Attractive, right wing, dominant man seeks younger, fit, conservative woman for traditional relationship and marriage

How are you?
You know how you want to be bowled over and think, whoa, I think I've found my exact match who just fits me so well, it's like we're made for each other?
Yeah, let's find out.
We're not talking perfection or anything, just a really great match that makes our lives seem like our own little Heaven on earth. At least we try and make it that way every day.
With that in mind, here's who I am and what I'm looking for.
Here's what I want in you:
Now, a quick note: I like a woman who shares her ideas and opinions and sees if something holds water when I say what I want done. Not in a sarcastic tone or questioning way, but tactfully and politely. If there's something you wrestle with, let me know. Ask if I've considered this or that, or give me a different perspective to consider. Or just as good, offer an alternative. Say I want to obey you and I will, but would be ok if I... (fill in the blank with your alternative idea) to try and get that same result for you?
Something like that. And if you're the quiet type and just want to obey without much input, I can work with that.
Note: Be willing to talk about sex and answer any number of questions. Ask any you have. Sex is essential in a great marriage, and we need to know if we're compatible with our desires and preferences and what we expect or are looking for. If you're less experienced or a virgin, no worries. There are still things to talk about.
This is getting long and you're not reading fast enough.
You should already be thinking of what you're going to say to me and stand out from the other women.
Hints: I love honesty. It's essential to me. I love longer replies (not just the first ones, but any). Not every one has to be some mini-novel but you get what I'm saying. I love details. I mean, I don't need the "I had this sandwich at 12:32 and it didn't sit well with me, and my boss has this habit where he walks the hall and I keep my door partially open so..."
More like you just fill me in who you are, what you believe, what you like or love, what you want in relationships, anything. "I love swimming, I try to go 2-3 times a week and mountain biking is almost my thing. I went on this trail the other day and it was..."
Or "OMG you described me to a T. You mentioned being obedient and loving to serve my man and I'm like, hey, if he only knew! I'm throwing up a hand here and making my way to the front of the line so you notice me because (fill in the blank with things you love to do)
OR the super honest route:
"You know what, there are prettier girls (I'm doing ok in that area, though ;) and I don't have all of what you're looking for but I do have (list the things you have) and most would probably win if you compared us in some of the things you listed, but I can say that no one will outwork me, no other woman will be as committed to you, or do her best to make your life better in whatever way I can, or love you like crazy (we'll get there) or not let myself go and try and look good. Those things I can control. So if you're looking for an "average" girl but who can offer extraordinary in some ways, and treat you like a king, you may want to write me back. We could have the best relationship!"
You get the idea.
I work odd hours sometimes.
So if you write me (and you should), don't disappear if you don't hear from me right away, or even in a few hours. I will find you. I will write and we'll begin our first chapter in what is hopefully, a wonderful romance that fills us with joy, love, happiness and a peace because we've found that right match for us.
Message or chat. Hit that button and tell me about you. Age and location and anything you want to share. Be willing to trade pics very soon.
submitted by AmericanClassic7 to AgeGapPersonals [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 05:04 LordOfTheVim [QCrit] Adult Science-Fantasy THE MACHINIST (105k, version 1)

Hi PubTibs! I have completed my Science-Fantasy novel The Machinist, and am now in the process of querying. I had already sent out a couple queries before discovering this sub - hopefully I can polish it for the next round, with your help!
Dear ,
I’m currently seeking representation for my post-apocalyptic science fantasy novel THE MACHINIST (105,100 words).
Machinist Zane Ismael is on a mission. For months, he has followed his dreams in pursuit of a tree that he believes will cure his people of a deadly plague. He has trudged across badlands of ancient city ruins, bandits, and rogue machines, with only a drone companion by his side. Zane finally reaches the seaside village of Caledon, intent on acquiring a boat to cross the sea channel, but there is a problem: boats are a luxury that few can afford. Zane is left with no other option but to strike a deal with the head of Caledon, Ald Roderick. In exchange for a boat, Zane will help fight back against Those Who Come By Sea, raiders who beset Caledon once a year to kidnap the Branded villagers. But Zane is withholding a secret. He is also Branded, born with a mark that confers to him limited power over electricity.
If Zane stays to fight Those Who Come By Sea, his secret could be revealed—but if he does not, he won’t be able to stop the plague spreading across his continent. As he becomes more entwined with Caledon—and the Ald’s daughter, Helena—Zane must struggle to hide his Brand and avoid the wrath of Helena’s betrothed. Little does The Machinist know, his problems go worlds deeper than the socio-political dynamics of one seaside village.
THE MACHINIST is the first novel in a planned series. It will appeal to fans of such novels as Stephen King’s The Dark Tower series, Frank Herbert’s Dune, and N.K. Jemisin’s The Broken Earth trilogy. I have been in love with reading and with science fiction and fantasy my whole life, raised on Phillip Pullman, Madeleine L’Engle, and Ursula Le Guin. This particular story had rattled around in my head for years before I put pen to paper.
Thank you so much for your time and consideration.

submitted by LordOfTheVim to PubTips [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 05:04 SleepyStar98 "I'm going to die here, aren't I?" {F4A}

Hi! I hope your day is going well. I'm SleepyStar, and I have a few plots that I'm interested in trying out. I'm in my 20s, and I'd like my partner to be around my age. Sorry, but I don't write with anyone under 18, especially since I'm a fan of darker plots. Speaking of, here are my ideas:
1) This will be loosely based on the MHA universe, as I'd like you to play as a Villain!Izuku. I say 'loosely' because I'm not caught up with the source material just yet, so I'm willing to switch things up a little. As well, this plot is very OC friendly, as long as you can play as Izuku.
It happened so fast. Too fast for anyone to realize what was happening. In one moment, you heard nothing but cheers and praises coming from the stadiums as you fought against another student. It was only supposed to be a match to show how far you'd gotten. How strong you were since you'd gotten your quirk. How much work you'd put in since you started school.
Yet... the dead silence that filled the area flooded your heart with dread. You didn't mean to...
"Izuku! What is wrong with you!?" "How could you do this!?" "You monster!"
How could they say such things...? You didn't mean to hurt anyone. You didn't mean to kill another student. You were supposed to hold back, but-
"It was a mistake!" You cried out. How many people were willing to listen, though? How many people cared to hear your side of the story?
It wasn't long before you were kicked out of school, shunned by your peers and teachers alike. The only reason why you weren't arrested, was because of your mentor. The number one hero could get nearly anyone out of trouble, but it didn't matter anymore. You couldn't be a hero. You couldn't follow in his footsteps.
Time passes by, and each and every day, the incident replayed in your head. The love that you had for the people who once adored you turned into hatred, making it so much easier to find a new mentor.
What's worse was that U.A. had replaced you with another student. A new girl that filled the hole that you left. It was clear that she was your replacement, as she was now being doted on the same way that you used to be. Well, that wouldn't last too long. After all, your mentor saw the potential in her Quirk. All you had to do was convince her to join your side...
((Sorry about that one being so long!! I was trying to shorten it while giving a basic synopsis. If you're interested in this one, I will be able to give you more details and answer any questions you may have.))
2) It had been months since my parents finally decided to divorce. I remembered being so proud of my mother for leaving my father. After all, he was an abusive piece of garbage. The two hardly ever spoke, but whenever they did, it was never for a good reason. Any conversation turned into a screaming match, and my father always threatened to kick my poor mother out onto the streets, emphasizing how little he cared for her well-being.
I was so happy when I turned 18, and she asked me to move in with her, away from the man that constantly put her down with insults and threats. When we moved to Vegas, I was excited to meet new people and find my own happiness. It didn't matter that, months after I got my first job as a waitress, my mother asked me to pay her half of the bills. It didn't matter that I had to use my college fund to loan her money to "pay for food". I was helping my mother out, and I needed to be grateful that I didn't have to witness my parents fighting anymore.
Unfortunately, I didn't know what she was doing behind my back. I didn't know that she'd gambled all of our money away. That she had done the same thing to my father, putting him in debt. Even worse, I didn't know that she borrowed money from a crime boss, and that she couldn't pay it back. That she offered her own daughter's life so they wouldn't take hers.
((I tried to make this one short but sweet lol. Anyway, I do hope that the plot is clear for this one, as I'd either like you to play as the crime boss himself, or the boss's son/daughter, who will take over the business one day.))
Either way, those are the two plots off the top of my head! If you have any questions, feel free to DM me. I prefer to roleplay on discord, so hopefully, that's okay! Other than that, I will say that I only roleplay with people that are fine with doing semi-lit or lit. As well, if we are writing and you aren't able to continue or you're no longer interested, let me know! We might be able to work something out. Though, if you do wind up disappearing for more than a week, I will assume that you are no longer interested in the story, and that will be the end of it. I love chatting OOC, so I'd be happy to find a partner that would be willing to communicate with me and let me know what's up.
Again, sorry for my ramblings. I hope to hear from you, and I hope you have a lovely week!
submitted by SleepyStar98 to RoleplayPartnerSearch [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 05:03 Individual_Cable_306 Taking my Nclex in 2 weeks

I am utterly terrified. I have done my best to study for it this last two weeks, by going over rationales and questions. I have done over 900-1000 questions (some of it was redoing incorrect questions) and read about 600 rationales. I wanted to do more studying but I was unable to, due to personal life. I graduated two weeks ago, and have been an A&B student, always gotten 70-80s on Hesi by just doing questions from YBG and skimming rationales. I was able to go over Pedi and OB and a little mental health. I guess what I’m saying is I need advice on how else I should proceed forward for my Nclex? Thank you in advice!
submitted by Individual_Cable_306 to nursing [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 05:00 Ok_Original7911 Blade in the Dark - Bizarre Behavior

So I'm trying to get Blade in the Dark to complete and Diplomatic Immunity to start. Suffice it to say, I've been trying everything - saving and reloading, ensuring I have the shout, read the note, finished the quest to return the horn, using various console commands, etc. Suffice it to say, nothing is working. The "Delphine doesn't talk after you eat the dragon's soul" bug hits, the quest is completed by setstage MQ106 200,
Now it turns out that when I use "resetquest MQ106", it completes the quest and gives me the key. Daphne still doesn't more forward with the quest, I still don't get Diplomatic Immunity, and can't get to start with console commands. According to the console, the quest isn't Enabled.
I'm a bit baffled why the game is behaving this way. I know the quest has been bugged pretty much since the SE was released, and I'm probably SOL, but if anyone has any ideas, I'm open to suggestions.
Here are my mods:
0 0 Skyrim.esm
1 1 Update.esm
2 2 Dawnguard.esm
3 3 HearthFires.esm
4 4 Dragonborn.esm
5 5 ccasvsse001-almsivi.esm
6 6 ccBGSSSE001-Fish.esm
254 FE 0 ccbgssse002-exoticarrows.esl
254 FE 1 ccbgssse003-zombies.esl
254 FE 2 ccbgssse004-ruinsedge.esl
254 FE 3 ccbgssse005-goldbrand.esl
254 FE 4 ccbgssse006-stendarshammer.esl
254 FE 5 ccbgssse007-chrysamere.esl
254 FE 6 ccbgssse010-petdwarvenarmoredmudcrab.esl
254 FE 7 ccbgssse011-hrsarmrelvn.esl
254 FE 8 ccbgssse012-hrsarmrstl.esl
254 FE 9 ccbgssse014-spellpack01.esl
254 FE a ccbgssse019-staffofsheogorath.esl
254 FE b ccbgssse020-graycowl.esl
254 FE c ccbgssse021-lordsmail.esl
254 FE d ccmtysse001-knightsofthenine.esl
254 FE e ccQDRSSE001-SurvivalMode.esl
7 7 cctwbsse001-puzzledungeon.esm
8 8 cceejsse001-hstead.esm
254 FE f ccqdrsse002-firewood.esl
254 FE 10 ccbgssse018-shadowrend.esl
254 FE 11 ccbgssse035-petnhound.esl
254 FE 12 ccfsvsse001-backpacks.esl
254 FE 13 cceejsse002-tower.esl
254 FE 14 ccedhsse001-norjewel.esl
254 FE 15 ccvsvsse002-pets.esl
254 FE 16 ccBGSSSE037-Curios.esl
254 FE 17 ccbgssse034-mntuni.esl
254 FE 18 ccbgssse045-hasedoki.esl
254 FE 19 ccbgssse008-wraithguard.esl
254 FE 1a ccbgssse036-petbwolf.esl
254 FE 1b ccffbsse001-imperialdragon.esl
254 FE 1c ccmtysse002-ve.esl
254 FE 1d ccbgssse043-crosselv.esl
254 FE 1e ccvsvsse001-winter.esl
254 FE 1f cceejsse003-hollow.esl
9 9 ccbgssse016-umbra.esm
10 a ccbgssse031-advcyrus.esm
254 FE 20 ccbgssse038-bowofshadows.esl
254 FE 21 ccbgssse040-advobgobs.esl
254 FE 22 ccbgssse050-ba_daedric.esl
254 FE 23 ccbgssse052-ba_iron.esl
254 FE 24 ccbgssse054-ba_orcish.esl
254 FE 25 ccbgssse058-ba_steel.esl
254 FE 26 ccbgssse059-ba_dragonplate.esl
254 FE 27 ccbgssse061-ba_dwarven.esl
254 FE 28 ccpewsse002-armsofchaos.esl
254 FE 29 ccbgssse041-netchleather.esl
254 FE 2a ccedhsse002-splkntset.esl
254 FE 2b ccbgssse064-ba_elven.esl
254 FE 2c ccbgssse063-ba_ebony.esl
254 FE 2d ccbgssse062-ba_dwarvenmail.esl
254 FE 2e ccbgssse060-ba_dragonscale.esl
254 FE 2f ccbgssse056-ba_silver.esl
254 FE 30 ccbgssse055-ba_orcishscaled.esl
254 FE 31 ccbgssse053-ba_leather.esl
254 FE 32 ccbgssse051-ba_daedricmail.esl
254 FE 33 ccbgssse057-ba_stalhrim.esl
254 FE 34 ccbgssse066-staves.esl
11 b ccbgssse067-daedinv.esm
254 FE 35 ccbgssse068-bloodfall.esl
254 FE 36 ccbgssse069-contest.esl
254 FE 37 ccvsvsse003-necroarts.esl
254 FE 38 ccvsvsse004-beafarmer.esl
12 c ccBGSSSE025-AdvDSGS.esm
254 FE 39 ccffbsse002-crossbowpack.esl
254 FE 3a ccbgssse013-dawnfang.esl
254 FE 3b ccrmssse001-necrohouse.esl
254 FE 3c ccedhsse003-redguard.esl
254 FE 3d cceejsse004-hall.esl
13 d cceejsse005-cave.esm
254 FE 3e cckrtsse001_altar.esl
254 FE 3f cccbhsse001-gaunt.esl
14 e ccafdsse001-dwesanctuary.esm
15 f Unofficial Skyrim Special Edition Patch.esp
254 FE 40 Unofficial Skyrim Creation Club Content Patch.esl
254 FE 41 Unofficial Bone Wolf Patch.esl
254 FE 42 Unofficial Arcane Accessories Patch.esl
254 FE 43 Unofficial Farming Patch.esl
254 FE 44 Unofficial Forgotten Seasons Patch.esl
254 FE 45 Unofficial Civil War Champions Patch.esl
254 FE 46 Unofficial Dead Man's Dread Patch.esl
254 FE 47 Unofficial Myrwatch Patch.esl
254 FE 48 Unofficial Tundra Homestead Patch.esl
254 FE 49 Unofficial Sunder & Wraithguard Patch.esl
254 FE 4a Unofficial Vigil Enforcer Armor Set Patch.esl
254 FE 4b Unofficial Spell Knight Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 4c Unofficial Hendraheim Patch.esl
254 FE 4d Unofficial Umbra Patch.esl
254 FE 4e Unofficial Lord's Mail Patch.esl
254 FE 4f Unofficial Arms of Chaos Patch.esl
254 FE 50 Unofficial Bittercup Patch.esl
254 FE 51 Unofficial Bow of Shadows Patch.esl
254 FE 52 Unofficial Chrysamere Patch.esl
254 FE 53 Unofficial Daedric Mail Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 54 Unofficial Daedric Plate Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 55 Unofficial Dawnfang and Duskfang Patch.esl
254 FE 56 Unofficial Divine Crusader Patch.esl
254 FE 57 Unofficial Dragon Plate Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 58 Unofficial Dragonscale Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 59 Unofficial Dwarven Armored Mudcrab Patch.esl
254 FE 5a Unofficial Dwarven Home Patch.esl
254 FE 5b Unofficial Dwarven Mail Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 5c Unofficial Dwarven Plate Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 5d Unofficial Ebony Plate Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 5e Unofficial Expanded Crossbow Pack Patch.esl
254 FE 5f Unofficial Elite Crossbows Patch.esl
254 FE 60 Unofficial Elven Hunter Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 61 Unofficial Ghosts of the Tribunal Patch.esl
254 FE 62 Unofficial Gallows Hall Patch.esl
254 FE 63 Unofficial Goblins Patch.esl
254 FE 64 Unofficial Goldbrand Patch.esl
254 FE 65 Unofficial Gray Cowl Returns Patch.esl
254 FE 66 Unofficial Headmans Cleaver Patch.esl
254 FE 67 Unofficial Iron Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 68 Unofficial Necromantic Grimoire Patch.esl
254 FE 69 Unofficial Netch Leather Armors Patch.esl
254 FE 6a Unofficial Nix-Hound Patch.esl
254 FE 6b Unofficial Nordic Jewelry Patch.esl
254 FE 6c Unofficial Orcish Plate Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 6d Unofficial Orcish Scaled Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 6e Unofficial Pets of Skyrim Patch.esl
254 FE 6f Unofficial Plague of the Dead Patch.esl
254 FE 70 Unofficial Redguard Elite Armaments Patch.esl
254 FE 71 Unofficial Ruin's Edge Patch.esl
254 FE 72 Unofficial Saturalia Holiday Pack Patch.esl
254 FE 73 Unofficial Shadowfoot Sanctum Patch.esl
254 FE 74 Unofficial Shadowrend Patch.esl
254 FE 75 Unofficial Silver Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 76 Unofficial Staff of Sheogorath Patch.esl
254 FE 77 Unofficial Stalhrim Fur Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 78 Unofficial Steel Soldier Armor Patch.esl
254 FE 79 Unofficial Stendarr's Hammer Patch.esl
254 FE 7a Unofficial The Cause Patch.esl
254 FE 7b Unofficial The Contest Patch.esl
254 FE 7c Unofficial Wild Horses Patch.esl
16 10 SkyUI_SE.esp
17 11 magicalcollegeofwinterhold.esp
18 12 Undeath.esp
19 13 lovepotion.esp
20 14 UndeathFixes.esp
21 15 barenziahquestmarkers.esp
22 16 ssetweaks.esp
23 17 khajiit_npc_overhaul_just_khajiit.esp
24 18 deathlord.esp
25 19 forgottencity.esp
26 1a joy of perspective.esp
27 1b spouse make over.esp
28 1c theblackstardilemma.esp
29 1d improveddaedricartifacts.esp
30 1e improvednecromancy.esp
31 1f improvedmagic.esp
32 20 improvedstandingstones.esp
33 21 improvedarchmage.esp
34 22 improvedsaints.esp
35 23 sl99marriageablevoiceplus.esp
36 24 BM_LevelUp.esp
37 25 BetterSummons.esp
38 26 Vokrii - Minimalistic Perks of Skyrim.esp
39 27 immersive citizens - ai overhaul.esp
40 28 Relationship Dialogue Overhaul.esp
41 29 alternate start - live another life.esp
submitted by Ok_Original7911 to skyrim [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 04:58 StringUnable8467 Crate/dog question

Adopted my dog in late Feb when he was approx 4 months old. He's been crate trained since day 1 of adoption. He's been amazing - house training was super easy, crate training super easy, eating on schedule super easy, getting along with my other dog super easy. Lately, he needs to be carried and placed in his crate (60 lb lab mix) and when I come home to let him out (he's only in crate for max 4 hours at a time during work week) the crate is covered in what I'm guessing is saliva? His paws are usually wet, along with his snout. Tonight was concerning (only crated for 3 hours while out to eat). Snout, all paws up to elbows and belly super wet and crate was really wet. Not urine. Is this anxiety? And he's only in crate bc he chews up everything. Don't want him to chew/eat something and end up in hospital or dead. He was fine in crate until about a month ago and nothing (in home, socially, etc.) has changed. Vet appt in 2 weeks (regular visit) and will ask her for advice. But...has anyone else had this issue? Any tricks or advice? Thanks
submitted by StringUnable8467 to dogs [link] [comments]

2023.05.30 04:57 kentukya1 The Worst Morning of my life.

Here’s a story that I would like to share. It was something really traumatizing for me and I hope nobody will experience something like I did that morning…
(Before I begin, I’m an operator, driving heavy machines.. Also, English isn’t my main language so sorry if they are things that aren’t making any sense or if it’s unclear lol))
It was a sunny Monday around 8:00am. I was working, snowplowing residential driveway. I was driving a heavy machinery equipped with a big snowblower (Wheel Loader). I was clearing snow from a driveway.
(\note that They is a crosswalk near the driveway I was plowing. And they are big bushes and tree that hide/annoy our visibility *).*
When I was done clearing the driveway, I pull up the snowblower from the ground. Looking at my surrounding, I see no one around the crosswalk or even on the road, so I begin to go slowly forward. And then while I slowly accelerate, I kinda see something fall at the left of my snowblower. At first, I thought it was a piece of ice that fell from the top of my snowblower. And I get that horrible mind in my head, ‘’Imagine if that piece of ice was someone’’. I keep driving, going very slowly, convinced that it was a snow piece. I turn my head, looking at the road through the glass door. And I believe to see clothes on the ground and I heard noises like if someone was screaming. My brain don’t want to believe it. I keep driving maybe 15-20 feet from the crosswalk and I look on the back behind me and I see someone laying down in the middle of the road.
At that moment, I’m like; ‘’This can’t be real, I bet it’s a nightmare and when I will turn the key to cut off the engine, I will wake up’’. *Proceed to turn the engine off*. I didn’t wake up, this is really happening! I open the door and climb out of the wheel loader. I was convinced that I had just killed someone. ‘’There I am, 19-year-old my life is over I just ran over someone, and he’s probably dead’’. ‘’What my family will think of me now?’’. I run toward him. While I run, I heard him scream, probably from pain. When I arrive at his side, I told him that I’ve never seen him and that I was sorry. He’s screaming from pain and tell me to call the ambulance. (I already had my phone out, but I was so panicking that I wasn’t able to call 911. My hands were shaking, I was in shock. I turn around and see 3 people running toward us. One holding his phone already talking with a 911 dispatchers. I let them take care of the victim because they seemed to knew what they were doing better than me, so I go on the side of the road away from them. I was feeling my heart going very fast, my hands were shaking. I was cold. They were 3 people taking care of the victim while waiting for the ambulance, and they were other people who were reassuring
me telling me that it was an accident, but I wasn’t really listening to what they were saying. After maybe 4–5 minutes of waiting, I was hearing sirens coming closer from us. I turn my head, I see 2 fire truck coming toward us. I turn the other way and I see like 4-5 police cars following with an ambulance and paramedic pick up. I don’t remember a lot of things after that. Basically, an ambulance proceeded to take care of the victim and another ambulance with a team of paramedic took care of me because I was in shock, they were saying my heart was going too fast and that I should go to hospital or something. They called an ambulance for me, but I refused to take it because I felt that I didn’t need an ambulance, lol.
(Took me literally around 1 week to recover from this, I was having trouble sleeping, I couldn’t think of something else than the incident.)
Anyway, the guy ends up having only a broken leg and other minor injury. Police investigated and it end up it was an accident. He crossed the road without making sure I saw him. He was in my blind spot when I hit him and I never saw him coming because they were tree and bushes and big snow blank hiding the pedestrian road, so I couldn’t see him coming. And again he doesn’t make any eyes contact with me or making sure I saw him before crossing the road.
Here’s what I don’t stop thinking about! Why me! I’m only 19 year old and I literally drove over someone, what is the chance!!?? I’m always driving very safely, watching every pedestrian and paying attention while driving. I can’t believe that I didn’t see him. I hate myself for that. I literally drove over someone with a wheel loader. And I can’t stop thinking that I could have killed him. This incident took place a few months ago during the winter. Now i’m fine but still to this day, they are not one day that I don’t think of that morning. I already know that I will keep thinking of it until I die. For real, that day, it was the worst morning.
submitted by kentukya1 to offmychest [link] [comments]