nameless dead

  • environmental storytelling: cautious environment building that lets the player think for themselves what happened here, whats the lore of this game etc
  • environmental storytelling feat. bethesda: My Diary, by Nameless Dead Skeleton 1490. Day 1. Hey gamers, I heard theres a great big treasure in this cave but that damn fucker Al'hrdhrt doesn't feel like sharing. I hope I don't end up being a dead skeleton under a collapsed mine entrance somewhere
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That’s it…done…so done. 

Cause of death: Omega spanking Niels 

The Quinx Were Always Terrifying

This is our introduction to the Quinx, half ghouls in everything but name and appetite. Despite being essentially half ghouls, they lack the menace that has surrounded the introduction of half ghouls in the past. Kaneki has a gentle personality to be sure, but even within the first few chapters before any of his major trauma set in he was still doing things like this.

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Ok that’s it.. scoop me up and lay me in the earth because I’m dead.

teslaoveredison replied to your post “anyway brooklyn 99′s blatant and disgusting fatphobia is not excusable…”

Hey, can you give an example of this? I’m not disagreeing, I just haven’t seen much of the show.

aside from the fact nearly every episode has fat jokes, the prime example would be the episode “M.E. Time”. the case is a dead man, who happens to be fat. they walk in and immediately the fat jokes start:

“This guy must have weighed 500 pounds. I think we have an idea what killed him. It wasn’t starvation.”

“Wife found him this morning and called it in. Any signs of forced entry or a struggle?”
“No.”
“You sure about that? Looks like maybe his belt had a pretty epic struggle with his stomach.”

“All right I’m calling natural causes. We got heart medicine over here, home defibrillator. And a frequent customer gift basket from the cardiac wing of Brooklyn Methodist. This case is open and shut. Just like his mouth was, constantly.”

“I started cataloguing the contents of the fridge, but it turns out there’s not enough paper on earth.”

This is all 5 minutes into the episode. And later, when Boyle says he thinks the case might not be natural causes, but a murder, there’s this:

“We think it could be a murder.”
“Wait, like a murder-murder, or, like, his mouth murdered him by making him eat so much food that his heart exploded?”
“Murder-murder.”

And Jake doesn’t even believe that it could be a murder, and continues dehumanising and making light of this man’s death, and blaming him and his weight for it, until an autopsy confirms his wife poisoned him. And the autopsy scene is filled with fat jokes and prop-related jokes, such as the M.E. saying “here are the contents of his stomach” with an enourmous stuffed garbage bag that’s thrown offscreen.

First of all, the idea that fat people die more often, have more diseases -specifically heart diseases- and are all around sicker than thin people is bullshit.

Detectives walk into a crime scene and see a dead man, and immediately start 1) making fun of him, 2) blaming him for his own death, and 3) denying him any respect or humanity even in death.

It’s hard to find comedy TV that doesn’t disrespect one marginalised group or another. They all do it. The Office, Parks and Rec, 30 Rock, 2 Broke Girls, you name it. Parks and Rec’s fatphobia in particular was disgusting and a reason I didn’t finish that show either, but at least they had 2 fat main characters. But i have to say i think B99 and this episode is the worst I’ve ever seen. I’ve never felt so humiliated and insulted as I did watching this episode. The autopsy scene in particular almost brought tears to my eyes. As Andy Samberg is cracking his fat jokes, I don’t think the writers of the show realised that in this moment, I don’t identify with him. I don’t identify with Amy. I don’t even identify with Rosa, who tells Jake at least once to knock it off (not because she cares about fat people, but because it’s not Jake’s case and he should be more respectful of Boyle). No. I identify with the nameless, dead, fat person on the table, who can’t be handed even an inch of respect even as his murder is being investigated. I couldn’t finish it and I’m definitely not finishing the show.

But what hurts even more is how so many people champion this as a show that cares about marginalised people. A show that doesn’t resort to cheap bigoted jokes aimed to dehumanise people.

I guess even in leftist spaces, hatred of fat people is still acceptable. And everyone who says this show is diverse or progressive doesn’t have a problem with that.

And if anyone tries to tell me “It’s just a joke! It’s a comedy show! Get over it!”, it’s not acceptable when the Big Bang Theory makes sexist jokes. It’s not acceptable when How I Met Your Mother makes rape jokes. And it’s not acceptable when B99 makes fat jokes. These “jokes” contribute to real-life people, real-life consequences, real-life culture, and real-life deaths.

Marginalised people are not your punching bag.

Not bloody vikings

So. 

I’m a Heathen because I live in North Lancashire, in the Danelaw, because my ‘ancestors’ were here - even though I’m Cornish born and bred. My one-eyed grandfather used to preach in Lancashire and Cumbria. My mum remembers holidays here and the Lake District. I’m one of the Hanged God’s cos I was hanged in the womb, but also because I began my proper magical life in Hanging Town.

When I can, I honour our literal peer, Baron Ashton,on Good Friday/Easter Saturday, with cigars and rum, at home, or at his memorial if I can.. This place’s dead are my dead now. Its water has nourished me for 17 years, its isotopes are in my teeth, my bones.

When Legba told this white Cornish boy the lwa weren’t his ancestors, but that he had ancestors here up North, that was what he meant. Dead in the ground, some become landwights, some just *here*.

And now my Mum’s ashes are here - she died in Preston. My Dad just moved to the building next door.

I’m not a Heathen cos I want to play Viking. I’m one cos this place got into my bones. And yeah, I’m a Brit, but moving 300+ miles from an an area where you’ve had traceable kin since 1400? That’s a wrench, for me. Sounds like nothing, but, it isn’t.

But what people forget is roots grow in all directions through the earth, Wherever there’s the water of memory. The proper nutrients. They’ll grow sideways, upward, downward. Find things to climb up, entangle round, embrace.

Connections, roots, they happen through the dead and the land. You just have to learn to notice them. And that’s a *skill*, it really is.

As a FB/Mugtome friend wrote, emphases mine:

If ancestors are considered at all, it is either in the narrowest possible terms - such as deceased family members who you knew in life but might not have had the best relationship with, or who might have been fundamentalist Christians that would disapprove of such practices, etc. Or else with this weird 400-year disconnect, where they want to edit out the whole complicated ugly history and horror of their ancestors’ actual lives in the Americas, and hark back to a romanticized idea of their ancestors as they were in Europe.

[…]

There often seems to be an underlying desire to absolve one’s ancestors of any complicity in genocide and slavery by conveniently skipping over that section of their ancestors and instead venerating “nice” imaginary idealized ones from before colonialism when their hands were clean. But nobody’s hands are ever clean, and certainly not within the history of Europe prior to colonization of the Americas.

Your ancestors are going to include some reprehensible fucking bastards, no matter who you are, and you have to own your own dead. You don’t have to condone their bullshit or justify what they did in their lives, or make excuses for them, or even sit in judgement over them - but you do have to own them. You are your ancestors - the sum total of all of the desperate day-to-day lives and entanglements that culminated in your birth - and you will always dance to the tune of your own nature and nurture. But you are also the only one with the choice and free will to decide where you’re going to take that ancestral inheritance from this point forward[.]

Our contemporary moment - right this instant - emerges out of our ancestral past and its myriad entanglements of joy and suffering, and it’s our responsibility to shepherd that moment into tomorrow. The conductor’s baton is in our hand for a minute, and you have to make that minute count. It’s harder to do that, or to do it constructively, if you are estranged from your own ancestors - or if you are in denial about who they were or what they did. 

[…]

To engage with the mysteries of landscape is to engage with the mysteries of the dead, and engaging with the mysteries of your own ancestral landscape can be a means of approaching your own ancestral dead, nameless or otherwise. The streets they walked down, the places where they drank, the types of food they ate. People always go on about how America doesn’t have history like Europe does, but it totally has history. If it has dead in the ground, it has history. Even Miami, which has less history than most pubs where I used to drink in London, is a landscape teeming with the dead.

 […]You are who you are, your ancestors did what they did. You can’t change any of that, but you *can* pay close attention to the voices of the dead as they emerge through landscape. You can take uncompromising ownership of the emergent process of human lives that culminated in your own life, however raw and ugly, and decide what the next sentence of that narrative is going to be. You can have an ancestral practice that is rooted in the realities of your actual dead within America, and the landscape and history that they weave through.

 Ancestor work is not really about that, [it’s] about giving the future a solid foundation - and that might not always be easy or comfortable to engage with as a process - but nobody else is going to do it. Thorny material may arise, but the strategies of ancestor work are replete with methods for mediating such difficulties. It’s not a half-hour sit-com, and you are not going to cheerily resolve all the gnawing torment and wickedness that wracks that landscape and churns through those dead, but you can do your bit. You can set your light in the darkness, and contribute to creating a foundation for the future that is a little more solid, a little more aware of its past, and a little less in denial about the realities of its history. It’s the work.


kiss kiss fall in love

Din of the damned, Feast of the corpses or the Dumb supper.

A long held tradition on samhain (though one may be held at any time) is to host a dinner party where the living and the dead may make deals, strike pacts or simply commemorate death and life.

What you will need:
+ Cups, Utensils, Plates and blowls for the participants.
+ A host who will tend to the needs of the others.
+ Chairs
+ Incense
+ Table
+ Letters to the dead, one from each participant. All entailing a thank-you to the spirit who attended. Alternatively, pacts or contracts.
+ Bell
+ Large amounts of ash
+ black marker
+ Candles.

1) An hour before the dinner starts, set the table with everything you will need. You may not leave the room until the dinner is over.
Along the walls of the room, pour ash while saying: “In memory of what was, i bring death into the room.”
On the back of the spirits plate, cast it’s sigil or write it’s name. Light the candles and incense and turn off all artificial lights.

2) Invoke the spirits and set a candle on a window sill facing east.
Invocation:
“Oh forgotten and nameless dead, I do conjure, summon and evoke thee!
Rise up from thy grave and join us in this silent feast of the dead!
RISE
RISE
RISE
To this feast I command you!
RISE!
RISE!
RISE!
Manifest thyself and join our din of corpses!”
Repeat this three times.

3) Ring the bell to signal the other guesrs that the dinner has begun.
From this moment on not a single person may speak.

4) Serve all of your guests ( the spirits included ) and attend their needs. When each participant is finished eating, take out your letters and burn them. The host rings the bell, blows out the candles and each member sits in silence and darkness. Take this time to speak with the dead (in silence), feel the spirits tug at you from all sides but make no attempt to move against them. Raise and ring the bell. Say the words
“[Spirit name], depart! I wish you vale and a peaceful rest!”

Holding the bell above your head, ring it and say “go now, my brothers and sisters, the din is done. I thank you all for your presence on this occasion”.

Rules of the dinner:
1) All participants must be dressed in funeral attire or all black clothing.
2) All participants must paint their faces like that of a corpse or skeleton, regardless of artistic talent.
3) The themes for the table settings are black, white, red and purple.
4) The food must be made without salt.
5) Drinks must be of fruits. This includes wines and cider.
6) The dinner should start at 12 am or 3 am as these are the hours the spirits are most active.

anonymous asked:

how is the narrator nameless, joseph literally said on twitter that we learned her name in episode 10 and she was called Keisha in episode ten??

“Alice, is that you?”

I don’t know why I asked that. But it was you. And the surprise of that seemed to justify the question.

You smiled. You looked like you always had, except a little older, like I looked a little older, incrementally, the way we never notice until we do.

“It’s me, Keisha,” you said.

“Keisha now, is it?” I said. “It was always nicknames before with you.”

“Who calls their wife by their actual name, right?” You smiled. “Boring people, that’s who.”

-Alice Isn’t Dead, Episode 10 (shoutout to @alicescripts for the ref)

as for joseph confirming it on twitter, this is all i could find:

so yeah, she’s still nameless

10

Laura Mullen | Murmur

Ingeborg Bachmann | The Book of Franza

Anne Carson | Plainwater

Alice Notley | Parts of a Wedding

Christa Wolf | No Place On Earth

Cassandra Troyan | Throne of Blood

Sarah Kane | 4.48 Psychosis

Alice Notley | The Book of Dead | Songs and Stories of the Ghouls

Melissa Broder | Dark Poem | Scarecrone

Tumbleweed, Her #9 - [BAP] Noir!Au

[A/N] For your information, my lovely followers, I’ve written the parts from Part 9 all the way to 12, just so we’re clear about me being a slow on updates, it’s just I tend to hoard everything. 

Originally posted by bapassion

The Pursuer: Yoo Youngjae

‘I’m worried about her. I’m worried about everything. She conceals too much and yet, I’d still want to know where she is, even when she doesn’t want me to. I chose to protect her.” Youngjae let out a shaky breath.

“Stupidest decision you’ve ever made,” Daehyun chuckled, and, “…And though I hadn’t known you for long, I’m telling you, back away while you can. This girl is dangerous.” Daehyun snaps open a can of soda and handed one to Youngjae, but Youngjae refuses. Daehyun could see from his face that he was a hard headed believer that you were on the good side of the law, though Daehyun believes otherwise. “…Alright,” Daehyun sighed, as he twisted the car key around, “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Daehyun clicked his tongue.

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