I’m Thinking I’m Just Gonna Stay Out Of The Cult Stuff. It’s...not Really My Style. But Feel Free

i like the idea that he got it done while he was very drunk and has no idea what it is

Does. Does Yancy have the flowchart of the Heist tattooed on his arm

Yes he does 😂 I noticed that immediately and I think it’s so cool 😂 idk why they’d do that for tho

So JSE fandom...

how we feeling?

Okay I’ve just watched the end of the video. I’m a transcriptionist, so I thought I’d give a try at actually just transcribing what I hear as I hear it, then work it out from there. So I did that twice with the clip between “If you liked this video, then-” and it cutting to black with “END” scrolling by.

Transcription 1: fros nes fa amniverands folet esanafram re estoaman

Now like I said, I just transcribed exactly what I heard, playing it at half speed to make sure I got everything. I noticed that a couple of these distinct phrases sounded like words, so I made some guesses as to what those words were. I tried reversing it to see if it made more sense that way, but no dice.

amniverands = “anniversary”?

esanafram = “is in a frame”?

Transcription 2: frosnisfa amiverands folet esamafram festoamand

Again, I tried to write down what I heard, but this time I didn’t stope the audio at all and just wrote as it played (again, at half speed), and got fairly similar results. However, I heard the ending differently playing it all at once, and so my guess changed for what it meant.

festoamand = phase two as planned?

Is this calling back to Quit The Game To Win? “Now we start Phase 2″? What do you think, guys?

‘Scuse me while I try a different pain.

BANG

The sound was familiar. The numbness, and then the sudden shock of pain as he collapsed on the concrete. This form had felt this before, the old wound ripped open with the new one, the broken bones jolting out of place with the fall. The Darkness tried desperately to pull itself back together. Why this wound? Why had this one broken him? He was fading. No, no, no! This can’t be happening! This isn’t fair! This isn’t fair. This isn’t...this isn’t...

Suddenly, Damien gasped. His breath was weak and rattling...but it was his. He knew that this wasn’t his body, that he wasn’t truly his old self. He hadn’t been for a long time now, he’d been nothing but darkness for so long, he’d hardly remembered his own name anymore. But now, and he could’ve laughed if he’d had the breath, as he was lying in this puddle of blood, their blood...he remembered. Without the influence of that awful thing, he was himself, he was Damien, and...and...

Oh god.

Celine. His own sister, he’d left her there. And the DA...had he really left them in that godforsaken house? All alone for all of these years? And...

Oh no.

“Will...” he wheezed. A tear rolled down his cheek as it got harder still to breathe. He couldn’t see anymore. “’m sorry...Will, ‘m sorry...”

“Dark?”

No. No, anything but that name. Please, just let him be himself again. If nothing else in this cruel world, let him die as himself, with what little dignity he had left. He didn’t want to be that creature anymore. He groaned weakly.

Footsteps. A thud of someone collapsing down next to him.

“Dark, old man, what happened to you?”

He knew that voice...but it was wrong...it was wrong, but it was him. The tears came faster and he tried to move but grunted in pain.

“W...Will...”

“Speak up, Dark, I can’t hear you with your face on the ground like that.” He was so cheerful. Stupid, stupid man, Damien thought fondly. A hand turned him on his back and he cried out. Will sucked in a breath sharply.

“That’s a humdinger, alright. A hell of a joke.”

A joke. No, Will, no. Damien suddenly remembered what Will had become and sobbed painfully, coughing up blood. He used what little power lingered from...it...to stabilize himself slightly. Just long enough to do what he hadn’t gotten the chance to do the first time.

“Will...’s me...’s me...”

“I can see that, Dark-”

“No. No...not...that...’m...’m back, Will...’m back...”

There was a pause. Then a rattling breath. Then, in a very small voice...

“Damien?”

He laughed, coughing again, and Will tried to help him stop. His hands were shaking.

“’s been...a long time...”

“I...I-it has, h-hasn’t it...”

“’ve got..pink...ha...ha...”

“A tease as usual, I see.” A tear dripped onto his face. “I’ve missed that.”

His breathing was failing again, and the power was fading. “’m so...so sorry...”

“I-it’s...i-it’s alr-right...” A hand closed around his, and he was sad that he couldn’t return the pressure it put there. “It’s qu-quite alright.”

“Tell them...’m sorry...”

“Of course.” Will’s voice was a whisper.

“‘m sorry...” he mumbled again. The blackness of the Void was closing in again, and it was getting harder and harder to hear anything. Will’s hand felt a million miles away. “‘s good...to hear...y’r voice...old friend...”

A rattling breath. He couldn’t tell whose it was anymore.

“Goodbye, William.”

Then there was nothing.

A short story? about Wiford finding out that we killed Dark (in A date with Markiplier) saying that he trusted us and we are the only monster here. Because i like to make me suffer

@markired

Hmmmmmm.

Okay. So! I’m thinking these are locations and/or people that have a connection to Wil.

-”Springf_....” (Springfield?)

-”Florid_...” (Florida, probably)

-”Tuscany” (...as in Italy??)

-”Next???” (Probably questioning where he’s going to be next or what he’s going to do next)

-”_aldorf Juniper” (Waldorf, I’m assuming. But I’ve no idea what Juniper means.)

-”_a Jaka Baka” (...what.)

-”_son Jackson” (PLEASE LET THIS BE JAMESON JACKSON OHHHH THAT WOULD BE A COOL CROSSOVER FOR STORY REASONS)

It just doesn’t add up…

my glitchy boy is back. i just got my emo boy back, and lots of story for him, and now my glitchy boy is back with TIME TRAVEL JACK I LOVE YOU.

so! thoughts and theories about the latest video!

-have we decided if Dapper Jack is an ego yet? because I would love for Dapper Jack to be an ego. maybe we can call him Sir Septiceye? or something equally silly or old-timey? are there any decided names for him yet?

-Anti apparently has the power to control time now, which is cool. Does this support him being a demon? Or is it more on the idea of a series of alternate universes that he can hop between? I like that second idea better, I think.

-I wanna say it’s a possession in the last few minutes of the video, rather than “it was me the whole time!!” (primarily bc i wanna have Dapper Jack as an ego) I think the mustache ripping is more of Anti mocking Dap by using his own tropes against him.

-Jack becomes Dap when he time travels, which is very neat. So Dap is literally just Jack, but in old times, very Oh Sir and Charlie Chaplin. He’s also 10000% more adorable.

OH FUCKING HELL

Current theory: 

A tulpa, which is a thought form. It’s something created by thoughts, stories, and ideas. As we all know, an idea is hard to kill, and it’s ever changing, never solid, hence the glitching. It also explains why Anti only seems to be physical on recordings, or when he’s possessing Jack. 

(Today’s video I’m counting as happening inside coma!Jack’s head.)

Okay but for real???? I wanna know what the actual fuck Anti is

On Today’s Unus Annus Video!

So today Unus Annus tackled the idea of artificial intelligence, and I got really excited and wrote a text wall comment that’s undoubtably going to get buried there, so I thought I’d post it here for anyone who’s interested! Posting it under a cut because HOOO BOY it’s a long one.

tl;dr AI is super cool and scary and much closer to being a thing than we think it is. Signed, a nerd who did way too much research for her scifi book.

Hi! I actually did a TON of research into the mechanics and ethics of AI when I was writing my first novel in 2018.  Be prepped for a text wall dump of cool AI info!

So you're actually hitting on one of the biggest conundrums of artificial intelligence technology, which is, to quote the wiki, "If an AI system replicates all key aspects of human intelligence, will that system be sentient"? At that point, there is significant debate over who would own the rights to the system, or whether there would be a way to determine that at all. This point in history, where it becomes impossible to distinguish between an AI and a human being (AKA, the first machine to pass the Turing test) and in fact, the AI surpasses human intelligence, is referred to as the singularity (Originally coined by Scifi writer Vernor Vinge). The majority of the debate comes from what to do in the event of the singularity, which is taken by many to be a when not an if. Do we trust that the machines we make will trust us? Or do we stop them before they get that far because they might consider us a threat to their existence and wipe us out instead?

Lots of Scifi writers have tackled this idea in their works (including me!), but one of the most famous solutions is the one proposed by Isaac Asimov in his short story "Runaround", which was published in 1942 (this story later became part of I, Robot, which is where you've probably heard the rules before). Asimov instituted in his fictional robot-filled society three basic rules:

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. 2. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. 3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

Asimov's laws have been a huge part of the discussion around real scientific research into the capabilities of programming and machine learning because people see them as a way to safeguard advances that we make. But they also present the problem of not seeing robots as equal to humans, which could cause serious stress in sentient robots.

An interesting dive into this is Sophia, the world's "first robot citizen" from Hanson Robotics. Sophia isn't truly sentient, but she's the closest thing we have right now, being able to learn and react on her own without constant input from her research and development team. She can even make facial expressions that mimic real emotional responses! The trick with Sophia is that she recognizes that she isn't a human, and is, in fact, an experiment. She is designed to be okay with this and has even expressed excitement about it (which, like, amazing, a robot that can express excitement?!). If she were to ever say that she does not wish to do an interview that her team wants to do though, would she have the right to say no? What if she asked for her image to be taken down from a certain site? If she, herself, decided she no longer wanted to make public appearances? Would she have the right to do that, and would it be morally problematic to reprogram her to consent? Where does she cross the line from simulated sentience into real, self-contained sentience?

It's the same problem you talked about with owning your own image. If we as people don't know where we stand on that, what can we say about the machines we create and their ownership of themselves? No one has steady answers. It's all very interesting, and legitimately concerning, but also fascinating. I'm excited to see what happens next...if also a little worried.

Sources for above text wall: - Sophia's page on Hanson Robotics' website: https://www.hansonrobotics.com/sophia/ - The Wikipedia for artificial intelligence: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Artificial_intelligence - Asimov's "Runaround": http://www.isfdb.org/cgi-bin/title.cgi?44191 - Vernor Vinge's work on the singularity: https://ntrs.nasa.gov/search.jsp?R=19940022856

“I was scared.” (A DBH Oneshot.)

A/N: So I thought I’d write a couple of Connor’s deviancy moments, because who doesn’t want to get into his head? First, the most poignant one.

BANG!

Connor barely had time to register the gunshot in his right shoulder before someone yelled "Take cover!" and the shootout began.

He scrambled up from the ground and dove behind a nearby metal housing unit as Hank slid in beside him, gun drawn but loose in his hand as he assessed the scene. Connor did as well. Calculations were spinning through his head as he tried to preconstruct the best solution. At the rate the officers were firing and the proximity of their shots and the androids’, he had a little more than a minute to intervene. "You have to stop them! If they destroy it, we won't learn anything!" Hank looked at him as if he'd gone totally insane. "We can't save it, it's too late! We'll just get ourselves killed!" He looked back toward the source of the shots. 60% chance of success. Would require 100% accuracy of movements, and the deviant following the most logical pattern of fire, no margin for error. If he slipped or skidded on the snow, if his damaged shoulder slowed him down at all, he'd be shot through the head and they would lose it. 99.9% chance of failure if he stayed, as Hank asked. Even if the android conceded, it’d be shot before a ceasefire was called. The information would be lost, and his mission would be in serious jepordy. He charged, barely registering Hank's fingers closing just behind his arm. Shot incoming, dodge right. Another, dodge left. Duck down. Next shot is coming from above, right again and over the barrier. The deviant hadn't expected this, shock registered on its face. Connor backed it against the wall and, synth skin already retracting, grabbed its arm to connect.

The faint image of a ship's hull, the word "JERICO" against rust.

I have no choice...

I'm sorry...

He knew what the deviant was going to do in the split second before it happened, and for a moment, something strong welled up in him. He didn't want this, no, this was wrong, this was wrong. It was like an error alert in his system, but stronger, almost...

It took the shot. Connor recoiled. Involuntarily, he tried to cry out, but nothing happened, his vocal speakers stayed silent. Everything was silent but the pounding in his head, thumping to the beat of his thirium pump. It was too quiet, everything was moving too fast, and he couldn't see, why couldn't he see? Everything was white, too bright, far too bright. Buzzing. A faint buzzing sound. The buzzing became a voice, and the voice became Hank's voice, muffled and still far away until there was a hand on his arm.

"...you alright?! Connor!" Hank's face, openly concerned, came slowly into focus, but his eyes were glued to the body...to the android. Too still, slumped against the wall with a pool of thirium slowly collecting around the gaping wound in its head. He found his voice, shaking and weak though diagnostics said he was undamaged. "'m okay." "Are you hurt?" "I'm okay," he repeated, trying to shake the unnecessary hesitation from his voice. "Jesus!" Hank leaned back and took a few steps, clearly rattled, and suddenly turned back to him, anger leaking into his voice. "You scared the shit outta me. For fuck's sake, I told you not to move! Why do you never do what I say?" He didn't realize he was leaning against the barrier but he couldn't make himself stand straight. He heard himself talking.

"I was connected to its memory. When it fired...I felt it die." 

Abrupt ending. Nothingness. I'm sorry.

"Like I was dying."

Please, no. Too strong for an error message.  Like pain, he realized. It was like pain. He didn't want it, he couldn't stand it, it was...he was...

"I was scared."

Hank was staring at him, his expression melting from anger into something unreadable, but that was registering at the edge of his awareness. He needed something to focus on, anything. Anything to distract him from this moment. "I saw something, in its memory." He'd almost said "his". "A word, painted on a piece of rusty metal. 'Jerico.'" It was a lead. It was what they had chased him for. This part of the mission was complete, he should be fully focused on finding out what Jerico was, but...

Nothingness. Pain. I'm sorry.

He made himself stand straight, but it was as if his joints were stiff from the cold. That was ridiculous, though, he was built to withstand temperatures far colder than this. No...what was holding him back was...shock. Fear. He was truly afraid. He shouldn't be able to feel anything, his programming was capable of basic emulated responses only, but in that moment... He couldn't let himself think about it.

Coffee and a Chat. (Ninth Doctor Imagine)

Pairing: None, Nine/Rose if you squint real hard

Rating: G

It was raining. Again.

Though, of course, this was London, so it wasn't like you'd expected today to be sunny. But all the same, it was a dreary, grey, rainy September day.

And it was your birthday. A horrid one, at that.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, putting a hand under your chin and moodily sipping your coffee, brooding on the day's events. First, you'd woken up twenty minutes late for school, then, when you got there, not one person had remembered your birthday at all. Then your favorite book had been stolen from your bag, only for you to find it later, food-stained and ruined, in the school cafeteria. After school, when you were supposed to be meeting your friends to go out to celebrate, you'd been stood up.

And now it was raining. Great.

"Lovely day, isn't it?"

You blinked and looked away from the window, up at the owner of the voice. A tall man with close cropped hair (and rather large ears, though you'd never say) smiled down at you and plopped himself into the seat across the table. You smiled back politely.

"If you like rain, I suppose." You turned your head back to the window, hoping he would leave.

"I like it myself, but I s'pose some don't. Don't understand why. Rain's so refreshing! It clears up all the dust and the smog and the car fumes and things, and it sounds pleasant, and it's fun to run in if you do it right." Clearly not. You refrained from sighing again, and instead raised an eyebrow and turned to look at the stranger in more detail.

He looked older, but not old. Mature, perhaps. As if you couldn't put an age on him at all. He wore boots, dark jeans and a dark green jumper, over which he had on a well-worn leather jacket. Overall, he looked as if he could be a workman of some description, or perhaps a traveler. Based on his way of talking, you assumed he was from somewhere in the North of England, and that it wasn't the first time he'd sat down to chat with a stranger, and that he saw nothing at all wrong with it. But he didn't seem dangerous, and actually the way he described the rain made it sound a bit fun. So you decided not to boot him from his seat immediately.

You put your coffee back on the table. "Well, when you put it that way, it doesn't sound nearly as bad."

"Oh, there's always a way of makin' things not sound so bad," he smiled, resting his elbows on the table. You mirrored him.

"What's your name?"

"(Y/N)."

He nodded approvingly. "'S a good name, I like it." You laughed a little.

"Thanks, I've had it since I was born." That made him chuckle.

"And what's yours?"

"I'm the Doctor." You blinked.

"The Doctor?"

"Yeah."

"That's your name."

"Yeah. Problem?" He said, amused, as if he'd had the same problem a thousand times.

You laughed. "Yeah, problem is that's not a name."

"It's what people call me!"

"But no one just calls people 'Doctor'!" you insisted with a grin, "People call each other by their titles and their names!"

"Your people do, but not everyone does."

That caught you off guard. "What d'you mean, 'your people'?"

He seemed to catch himself in a mistake. "I mean, you lot."

"Right, yeah, that clears it up." He shook his head happily.

"I just mean that other places, it's fine when I call myself that. No one asks any questions, they just call me as I tell them."

"Well," you picked up your drink again, "for normal people, there're titles and names together. So, Doctor who?" You toasted your drink mockingly and took a sip from the cooling coffee.

For some reason, "the Doctor's" smile brightened and he chuckled to himself.

"What did I say that was so funny?"

"Nothin', nothin'. It's just I get asked that a lot." He tilted his chin up, thinking. "You ever think, if someone made a book or a movie or sommit about you, what they'd call it? I reckon they'd call mine 'Doctor Who'."

"I don't know that anyone would be interested enough in my boring old life to make a movie."

The throwaway comment made the Doctor blink and frown a little. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, I'm nothing special, is all." He shook his head and leaned forward a little.

"(Y/N), just your existing makes you special. Think of all the coincidences that led to you being here, today, right now. One atom had to hit another just right to cause a huge explosion. One rock had to get just big enough and be just far enough from this sun to support a few little puny shrubs and some fish, that had to survive long enough to evolve into apes, that had to get smart enough and lucky enough to evolve into people. And two of those people fought the odds of meeting each other, a one in a few billion chance, to come together and cause you to live on a little soggy island and sit here today chatting to me. You're made of stardust and happy chance, and if that doesn't make you special, then I dunno what does."

Before you could really even process what he just said, and close your gaping mouth, the bell over the cafe door tinkled, and the Doctor looked up to smile at someone. You glanced over your shoulder to see a pretty blonde girl motioning to him to come with her, apparently a bit panicked.

You turned back to see him standing, and blurted, "D'you have to go, Doctor?" You really didn't want him to. For some reason, it felt like you'd be saying goodbye to a good friend.

He smiled again and stuffed his hands in the pockets of that worn leather jacket. "Oh, I never stay in one place too long, (Y/N). And apparently," he nodded to the door with an amused smirk, "it's a bit urgent." He walked up beside you and put a hand on your shoulder. You put your hand over his.

"Do you do this all the time?"

"Have coffee with strangers?"

"No," you smiled, your voice oddly a little choked, "say amazing things to strangers and then just leave."

"Oh, that. Yeah. Yeah, I do." He winked and pulled a package, which looked much too big to fit, from his pocket and set it on the table beside you. "Happy Birthday, by the way, (Y/N)."

And with that, he was gone. You watched him meet up with the girl and walk down the street with her, your eyes not leaving him until they lost him around a corner.

An odd sound echoed through the street, and you frowned. Somehow, you knew it had to do with him. You picked up the package and opened it carefully.

It was a copy of your favorite book, first edition, autographed, and with a tiny note inside that only read, in cramped quick handwriting, "Hell of a time finding this and getting it sighed, you know. See you someday."