#vim or death even on windows

[niconiconwo]

I've decided on learning CMake so I can get things to build on Win10. I realised being stubborn about it was actually stupid as hell, so now I gotta figure this shit out.

The saving grace is CMake is cross platform, so I can use it to generate either Unix make or NMake files. And granted, once I start working with source trees that are actually complicated it'll be useful to have an autotool that can do configuration for me.

[tiraviarp]

Yield to No One

(WARNING: contains minor descriptions of a burn wound and implications of past and current abuse.)

Under the red glow of his little floating fireball, Arden stared at his reflection in the mirror and the ring of patchy, blistery, and raw-red flesh wrapped around his neck.

With a flick of his fingers, he cast the ointment-stained bandages that’d been covering it just moments before away into one of the many darkened corners of his cabin. The firelight from his little fireball didn’t extend far, and the moonlight shimmering through the cracked window nearby wasn’t any help for this nightly ritual. Several weeks now of cleaning the burn wound, applying the salve, and re-wrapping it gently made his motions rote and thoughtless - something he’d normally appreciate for a little while, then hate and strive for something else to engage his brain, but…

Well, he can’t get away from this, and the mindlessness of this routine forced him to contemplate his new reality.

__________________________________________

The verdict had been cast, and he’d been brought before a high-ranking Maelstrom sergeant he’d soon become very familiar with, flanked by two soldiers several ranks higher than himself. The Elezen man seated behind the desk had his feet up on said desk, on top of papers that were surely important, and was spinning a dull silver band in his hands the size of a small salad plate.

“So, Private Reis,” the sergeant drawled, pinning his golden stare on him. “You’re not fighting your sentence?”

Was he expecting rebellion? Fury and rage and spit? Arden inwardly scoffed. “I’m not, Sergeant.”

“What a surprise. I heard you were full of fire and vim and vigor!” A low chuckle rolled through the man, and something deep in Arden’s gut recoiled at it. “Why, I was expecting you to slash and burn your way through headquarters! It certainly would’ve been an exciting prospect, fighting for my life against you. The ‘you’ of the reports I’ve read, at least.”

Arden tilted his head very slightly. Ah. He can guess what those reports were about. “Regardless of my…history, Sergeant, I’m a soldier through and through. I take responsibility fer my actions and don’t fight my due punishment. I could’ve been dropped from the force and thrown out onto the streets.”

The Sergeant gave him a sly grin. “Oh, you could’ve, yes. And you still can.” Uncrossing his spindly legs, he rose from his seat, still spinning that band in his hands like a toy as he stepped out from behind his desk. “Buuut, I can’t deny that I’m sad I won’t have an Ala Mhigan firecracker on my team. I was looking forward to succeeding where the others couldn’t, and breaking you.”

As the man came to tower over him, Arden tried his best to force his expression to remain blank and ‘polite’. Kept it still and placid as he crouched down to meet his eyes, even as he reached up with one hand to brush the strands of red hair back and away from his neck.

Yet, as soon as the cold metal of silver band wrapped around his neck, he felt something in his expression shift -

And the man smiled. “But you’re already broken, aren’t you?”

__________________________________________

Arden stared at the burned band of flesh around his neck and grimaced.

That…thing was supposed to be temporary. Prove his worth and loyalty to the Maelstrom, do whatever they needed him to do, then get it taken off when they felt they could trust him again. But now, thanks to his ingenious brainlessness, that collar was practically branded on him for life now.

Wonderful, Arden. Perfect. Not only did his famous impulsivity get him stuck in this mess in the first place, it also nearly shocked him to death by having him join the fight against a Dalamud-corrupted lightning sprite in nothing but a cloth spellweaver’s gown and a shite ton of metal accessories. He’s lucky the collar didn’t get fused to his skin outright.

He gnawed on his lower lip and tasted blood. 

He really needed to stop doing that. 

Needed to stop…all of this.

But he couldn’t, could he? It was simply his nature.

Pressing his lips together, Arden dipping two fingers into the burn salve jar and began his nightly routine anew. With enough dedication, he had to hope the patchy, seared skin would eventually disappear.

[talpup]

Chaos: Epilogue

Summary: The day Aizawa Shouta betrayed his Love was the day the Daimon lost everything that mattered in his life. Now, with her awake from her slumber and memory wiped, he has another chance at having her and being happy. There’s only the small problem of heaven wanting his Love dead, and hell wanting control of her. And her promise to protect and help another. Oh! And her remembering what he did.

But Shouta has waited so long to have her back. Has planned and taken measures to see his Love protected. He won’t loose her this time. He’ll do anything to keep her safe, and stop her from remembering his betrayal. Cost and consequences be damned.

Though it really is a shame that the cost just might bring about Chaos.

Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of violence, sex, questionable con, and non-con (though we’re thankfully done with that), and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155333/chapters/57172294

Epilogue

Shouta's body moved at a languid, almost lazy pace.  Even he was tiring from the night of near endless sex.  But that wasn’t why his chest pressed against hers, arms around his Love rather than propping himself up.  It had been nearly two months since the tear to Oblvi had been closed.  Two months of living and being with Reyanna without worry or fear of threat.  And yet, despite every hour since then being spent in her presence.  Not going more than a minute without touching her in some fashion.  He still couldn’t get enough.  He would never get enough.

“I love you.”  Shouta breathed in between a broken kiss.

“I love you.”  Reyanna echoed and mewled.

Shouta watched her as he rolled his hips against her.  She was so beautiful and perfect.  And she was all his.

Her nails dug into the meat of his shoulders, moaning as he picked up the pace by a beat.  She was so sensitive from a night of making love and fucking that just the mere press of his pelvis against her clit could send her off.

“That’s it, Kitten.  Sing for me.  Let me hear you, Love.”

“Shouta!” She breathed, suddenly panting as she body heated, coil tightening.

“Once more, Anna.  Cum for me one more time, Kitten.”  Shouta grunted pressing his forehead against hers.

This was how life should be.  Not tired and drained from fighting and running, but exhausted from a full night of sex with his Beloved.

“Shou—ah!” The coil snapped leaving her a thousand times more drained than before.

“Ann--” Her name fell off in a groan, her quivering walls taking him with her.

He rolled them over, holding her close.  The sun was just beginning to rise.

“You alright?”

Reyanna nodded against his chest.

Shouta smirked thumb petting her sweat damp skin as his eyes drifted close. “Need a nap?”

“Yeah. But first...  I wanted to ask you something.”

She felt his eyes on her and her fingers paused their tracing against his chest.

When she didn’t go on, he prompted.  “What is it, my Sweet?”

Taking in a fortifying breath, Reyanna lift her head and turned to him. “Will you Bond with me?”

Shouta pulled his head back to get a better look at her.  His heart both soared and sunk at the idea.  After using the others affinity that day, they had realized the connection of their Bond was still there.  Seeking out a Thoth, a species of Third known for their wisdom and devotion to learning, they had learned the true purpose of a Vim ring; something that most Third’s didn’t even know.

It was true that he missed the comforting warmth and securing weight of the ring, but he now had Reyanna’s ever present warmth. She was finally, truly safe.  There was no reason for them to ever be apart again.  Yet she wanted to do the Vim ceremony again?  Why?

If Vim rings were simply to make up for the loss of power bonded lovers experienced when they were apart, then why would she want it?  Why would they need it?

Reyanna propped herself up, face hovering above his.

As if having read his thought she assured. “I don’t plan on ever being away from you again.”

“They why?”

She pressed her lips together and looked away.

“Anna. Talk to me.”

“It’s…” She sighed and said in a rush. “It’s simply that, I miss it.  Carrying a part of you.  Feeling as if you’re constantly with me.  Touching me, even when you’re not.”  Her hand smoothed his hair.  “We might never be more than a room away from each other again, but even that can be too much.  I want you with me.  Always. And…”  She shrugged a shoulder, smiling.  “When we actually do go out--” Shouta frowned at the mere idea making her kiss him and chuckle.

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them over.  “What?  What do you what when we’re forced to go out?”

Reyanna stared up into his dark, coal black eyes heart fluttering.  “I want everyone to see that ring and know that you’re mine.”

“Mine.” Shouta kissed her and held her close.

“So it that a yes?”

“Yes.” He kissed her sweet face and nuzzled her neck.

Laying here, spent from a full night of sex.  The soft warmth of his Love beneath him.  The sound of birds chirping through the open window.  First mornings light filtering through.  Shouta smiled, eyes drifting closed. He was more than content.  He had never been happier.

“Shou. You’re heavy.”  Reyanna groaned.

Shouta snuggled deeper into the crook of her neck.  “Deal.”

“I can’t breath.”

Shouta’s lips quirked in a smirk remembering a very similar instance when he had asked her to Bond with him.  “If you couldn’t breathe you wouldn’t be disturbing my nap.”

Reyanna wrapped an arm around him, other hand combing through his hair as her own eyes drifted closed. “Get some rest, my Love.  You’re gonna need it when wake.”

Shouta hummed, feeling his cock stir at the thought.  His mouth pooled with saliva just thinking about the taste of her.

“Brunch in bed.” He mumbled, voice low and drowsy.

The windows were open, doors unlocked, and not a single warding spell around the place. Lucky for them they were safe and alone and could sleep without a care until they woke up in a few hours to start up again.

Post Script from Dabi—

That’s pretty much it folks.  The crazy, mean, murdering Daimon gets to live the good, quiet life with his just as crazy, murdery girl. You would think that a guy would run for the hills after what Anna did, all be it unknowingly.  But not Aizawa. The man was enthralled.  Full on Sally Field, you love me!  You really do love me! Yes, I know that’s a misquote and Zawa hardly broke down like that.  But give a Demon some creative license here.

Reyanna left Todoroki and Hitoshi in charge as sort of co-regents.  A misuse of power and stupid thing to do if you ask me, but as usual no one did.  The Third’s were exactly happy about a Nephilim child and made Third ruling over them; but when the person putting those kids in charge was the woman that had killed the oldest and most powerful of Third’s, no one was gonna put up a fight.

At least Reyanna didn’t just crown the child Kings and leave them adrift.  She left them with two advisors, Hizashi and Enji.  I could've made a good advisor. Hell.  I would've made a good king.  But again, no one thinks of me unless it involves danger and a high chance of death.

Speaking of Hizashi.  The Angel went over to visit Aizawa and Reyanna not too long ago. You know, just to make sure the happy couple were still alive.  I mean we hadn’t seen or heard from them for over a month.  Zawa nearly killed his friend.  Yep.  You heard me.  The Daimon's gotten everything he had ever wanted and he’s still as rude and murdery as ever.

Halo relayed the story saying that Aizawa asked him if anyone was dying. When Hizashi answered no, Zawa asked him if he wanted there to be; because Zawa had clearly stated not to disturb their little love nest unless it was life or death.

Good riddance to them I say.  I’d be happy if Aizawa and Anna never came out of their little sex cabin.  My Tie is still in place after all.  Fucking Zawa ordered me to keep silent and sit on the floor throughout the entire celebration after their Bonding ceremony.

You make one comment about how hot Anna looks and the damned Daimon pulls that crap.  I guess I’m lucky Anna was there or else he might’ve tried and kill me.

Speaking of killing.  We never found out what happened to Hawks.  Feathers just seemed to disappear without a trace.  Hizashi said that maybe he was sucked back through the tear before it closed; but I’m pretty sure he thinks the same as me, if he doesn’t know for sure.  Hawks was taken down that cliff face by one of the beast, Aizawa knocked in after; but only Aizawa came up and out of there.

Now I’m not saying Aizawa killed Hawks.  I’m certainly not saying it anywhere within a hundred-thousand miles of Aizawa or Reyanna’s hearing.  But there are two things that I know for sure.  One, Aizawa had said more than once that he would end Hawks.  And two, Aizawa is a man of his word.

The Archangel had a thing for Zawa’s girl.  Hawks tried to kiss Anna and take her from him.  Even I’ve killed for far less then that. Feathers had it coming if you ask me.  I never liked the Archangel.

If you’re wondering about Shigaraki.  He’s pretty much kept to himself.  I know none of the others have seen him since Aizawa and Reyanna’s bonding celebration.  But I’ve seen him lurking around.

The Creepy’s added to his hand collection.  Obviously all of them Third’s; but I haven’t gotten a good enough look to tell what kind, not that I’ve really tried.

All I know is that Shigaraki is a problem waiting to happen.  Though heaven and hell help that creepy ass if it gets to the point where it requires Aizawa and Reyanna to come up for air.  Seriously.  I love sex as much as the next hell spawn.  But really, how much sex can two people have?

As for me.  Well I’ve been invited, forced more like, to have weekly dinners with Todoroki, his feisty Were Witch boyfriend, and Todoroki’s glaring, ‘flame on’ Dad.  I’m okay dining with the co-rulers.  Not that I enjoy it, or will ever grow to.  But I could do without Enji’s presence.

It’s not that the Archangel scares me...okay, maybe he scares me a little.  But the Dude always sounds angry and never smiles.  I almost wish Aizawa had killed him.  Not that Aizawa kill anyone in our little group of misadventures, certainly not Hawks.

In any case.  Life is good, for now.  Those that lived got a relatively happy ending.  Zawa and Anna especially.  I might not like the ‘family meals’ I’m forced to enjoy but at least the food is good.  And it’s free.  Although, Nephew or not, if that Child King calls me Uncle ever again…

Thank you all SO much for sticking with me on this ride.  I hope you all enjoyed it.

As always, I want to give an extra special thank you to @inorganicone2230. I would’ve given up posting this fic a long time ago if it weren’t for their encouragement and friendship. Your thoughts and our chats mean more than I could say my friend.

If you want more Shouta, there’s Erase the Shadow, which is my personal guilty pleasure that has Shouta and Hizashi sharing and fighting for Reader/Teris.  I’m also working on Crossroads, a Kai centered 1920’s fic.

Two upcoming works I have planned are:

*Lost Song – a reworking of my somewhat orphaned fic, which will be changed up a bit and focus on Sphinx!Aizawa, Dragon!Kai, and Griffon!Reader/Teris.

*Wonderland – a mostly porn without plot Alice in Wonderland series featuring smutty scenes with BNHA guys.

These two won’t start until either Erase the Shadow or Crossroads is finish; because I’ve learned I can’t work on more than two fics without quickly feeling overwhelmed.  I don’t see Crossroads lasting more than 10-chapters though, so Wonderland will be coming soon enough.  If you’re interested or have any questions about any of my fics please feel free to comment or dm me.

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!! This was a long and, I hope, fun ride.  Here’s a peak at what the line-up for Wonderland currently looks like:

Chapter 1: White Rabbit – Yagi

Chapter 2: Tweedledum & Tweedledee Dee – Yamada and Oboro (threesome)

Chapter 3: Caterpillar – Dabi

Chapter 4: Cheshire Cat – Aizawa

Chapter 5: Mad Hatter – Kai, with Hari (threesome)

Chapter 6: King of Hearts – Enji

Chapter 7: Cheshire Cat – Aizawa

[anonthenullifier]

You think Tommy and Billy would eventually ask Wanda about their Uncle who's picture they see on display?

Yes, they definitely would, probably sooner than Wanda would like. It could go something like this:

Wanda rounds the corner to find Vision’s legs dangling from the ceiling. With a shrug she sidesteps his calves, sending a whip of scarlet along the back of his knees as she keeps vacuuming, head bobbing along with her music. A few seconds go by before there’s an indistinguishable grumble in the periphery of her thoughts. Her hand inches up to remove her headphones as she turns towards her husband, “What was that?”

“They,” he aggressively points up where he had just been dangling, “need to get out of this house before they break all our furniture.”

Wanda glances up towards what sounds like a herd of elephants attempting ballet in a crowded antique store, “That’s why I’m just drowning it out,” an earbud waves limply through the air, “so long as they don’t need the ER, I say we leave them be.” 

“We could go sledding—“

With a pointed, exaggerated turn Wanda faces the window, the snow whizzing by so quickly it looks like they installed a white curtain outside. “You really think we should go out in that?” 

Vision draws his frustration in with a deep inhale and she can feel him mentally counting, a technique he never needed until a couple years ago when potty training the boys went sideways real fast. “No, but we need to find them something soon.” He doesn’t add in the or else they’ll break everything but it resides in the tired droop of his eyes. They’ve already watched a movie, played games, and attempted crafts, which went so successfully they are now cleaning to rid the house of every last speck of glitter in existence. 

“Maybe once it slows down a bit we can head over to the compound and they can run around the training gym? ”

Finally Vision exhales, “I suppose that could work as long as we remove all weaponry and the road is drivable.” 

Wanda flashes him a grin and slides her headphones back on, steps following the beat as she moves into the living room. This peacefulness, as always, is short lived, a “Mooommmm!” coming from upstairs that is stunningly clear even with her music. Scarlet forms around her phone, pausing the song as she waits to see if it’s a call of distress, anger, victimhood, or actual emergency. “Moommm!” It’s none of those options, this one a scream of discovery that goes along with a blue streak whizzing down the stairs, followed by the thudding of Billy’s slower run. “Mom! Mom! Look what I found!”

Wanda reaches out, her, “Let me see,” a little terrified since the last time he was this excited she found herself holding the curled up carcass of a cockroach.

Tommy hands over a non-bug like rectangle (thankfully), a beaming smile gracing his lips, always brimming with vim at finding something new to ask them about. “It was on your dresser.”

“How many times have we informed you to not climb on the dresser?”  Vision’s stern voice is getting better, this one forceful enough that Tommy’s smile falters for a moment, though it doesn’t dissolve completely. 

“It fell while Tommy was running.” Billy’s attempt at saving them from a scolding is admirable but not helpful. 

Tommy puffs up his chest, chin lifting in redemption, “See dad, no climbing.” 

“Perhaps we need to have a new discussion of the parameters of playing upstairs.” Wanda tries hard to keep her face impassive, never wanting the boys to see how entertaining she finds it when they go toe to toe with Vision since it would only lead to more insubordination.  At the same time, the dresser is a much bigger sticking point to her husband than her, given she has fond memories of getting into trouble like this when she was a kid.

Just like Pietro, Tommy always knows how to weasel his way out of discussions about parameters, pointing at her hand with a, “Who is that?”

She looks down, having forgotten why the boys joined them, and all at once her lungs stop working, the impishness of her own twin’s face taking her in. “It’s um,” she’s mentioned Pietro to them  before, in passing, never directly because she doesn’t know how to explain his absence, truthfully she’s never wanted to do so, going so far as to grieve each anniversary in quiet, waiting until the boys are asleep to curl into Vision’s arms.

“That is your late Uncle Pietro.” Vision tries to be helpful, she knows he means well, but his use of late wedges its sharp point into her scars. 

Their sons share a look before Billy turns towards Vision, a discerning slant to his mouth, “When was he supposed to get here?”

“Oh, I, um,” Vision looks to her for guidance but she’s out of it, still trying desperately to control her own breathing. The explanation he offers is halting, each word fumbling along his tongue as it comes out. “Late, in this usage, deals with the concept of, um, death.”

Death they’ve talked about with the twins, as best they could, the questions starting around their fourth birthday when they watched the Lion King. Vision has read whole books on the matter, confidently informed her of how all they have to do is cover the subconcepts of death.  Selfishly, it’s a minor relief to watch him freeze up, to see that even he doesn’t find these conversations easy. But there’s a difference in discussing why the cockroach isn’t coming back or why the flowers had to be thrown out or even why an animated lion cub is crying than why a person in a photograph isn’t going to come to dinner. Wanda struggles to clarify anything, offering a quiet, “He died a long time ago,” while her mind reminds her it’s been almost ten years even if right now it still feels like 12 days. 

“How about we sit down?” her husband’s hand is gentle on her shoulder, guiding Wanda towards the couch, where she takes the right side, Vision the left, and the boys share the middle. Thankfully Vision reaches out along the top of the cushions, entangling his fingers with her own, rooting her to the present. “Do you recall what we have discussed about death?”

The atmosphere of the room dips to match what it must feel like outside, which is not too different from the bite of admonishment when Billy or Tommy have pushed too many buttons. Wanda hopes to quell the discomfort wrapping its bony arms around them, “You aren’t in trouble.”

Billy’s lips tighten into a grim determination, his thoughts flying past until he pulls something out. “Death is when things stop working,” nonfunctionality the first subconcept Vision read about, the one most easily grasped by young minds. 

“Right, so Pietro’s,” Wanda struggles under the memory, the feel of his body tumbling and heart stopping just as strong today as it was a decade ago, “body stopped working a long time ago, while we were on a mission.”

Vision squeezes her hand and it helps, lifting her from the weightlessness of recollection. His attempt at explaining the concept further is also appreciated, “Once a body stops functioning, it cannot come back.” The statement is said as if it is an easy, uncomplicated topic, when in fact it is one even she and Vision have trouble talking about together, both of them having died at least once already and yet they are here and Pietro is not, the world a fickle, unforgiving place where the universality of death is muddled and contradictory. “So unfortunately, he will not be coming back.”  

This deflates the room, neither of the boys willing to look at them, their still developing minds attempting to figure out what to do with this new piece of information, 5 far too young, at least to her, to grapple with these thoughts if it’s not necessary. Wanda tries to ease the conversation back towards the picture, answer the original question so they can think of better times. “Pietro was my twin,” this word perks them up, their eyes locking on to her as she hands the picture of her and Pietro back to Tommy, “he and I were just like the two of you, we did everything together, had the same birthday, got into a lot of trouble climbing on dressers. Pietro even had super speed, just like Tommy.” 

Billy’s eyes slide to his twin, their hands having found each other at some point, “And Uncle Pietro will never come back?”

“No.” The way the boys look at each other, the whitening of their knuckles as they no doubt consider an existence alone, makes her want to tell them about souls and heaven, finding each other again, inform them that sometimes when the wind blows past her on a particularly gusty day, she wonders if it’s Pietro. But she isn’t sure if she actually believes all that and all the books and advice, all the conversations she and Vision have had about covering this topic with their children, all of it says to be direct at this age, that they are concrete thinkers too easily confused by abstractions of hope. Instead Wanda lets go of Vision’s hand and sinks into the couch, just enough for her to wrap her arm around Billy and Tommy’s backs, “But I still love him and I still think about him all the time. We all die eventually, so we just have to hold on to what made us happy and never forget each other.”

Even this might be too much for them, neither Billy nor Tommy responding, only Vision does anything, his fingers tracing her tricep. Then Tommy’s face knots up, “Does that mean you and dad will die too?”

Death is inevitable, sure, you might get a few deaths, but eventually there are no more loopholes, even for supposedly indestructible synthezoids and reality warping witches. So the easy answer is yes, yet it seems an awful response. Wanda meets Vision’s eyes over the brown and white curls separating them, begging him to figure out a good response because she can’t muster one. Vision phases downwards, bringing himself to the same level as the twins, and closes the open parenthesis of their hug, “We will, but your mother and I are very careful and do our best to remain safe. We plan to be with you for a very very long time.”

“Well that’s good then,” Tommy shrugs away his worry, returning to an earlier comment, “you said Uncle Pietro ran really fast?”

Wanda grins, relief washing over her now that the conversation is turning in a new direction, “Super fast.”

“Was he faster than me?”

If Pietro ever met another speedster, Wanda knows this is the first question he’d ask, “I don’t think you’re faster than him yet,” Tommy frowns, petulant in the face of any perceived loss, “but I think you will be eventually,” now he smiles and Wanda decides perhaps their afternoon can be spent in the past, so she begins to tell them all about Uncle Pietro, relieved, more than broken, at the way their laughter sounds so much like his.

[hells-mansion]

I don’t remember how it started Something was trying to force me out of my own apartrment My mom was panicking and trying anything to save me But nothing could stop the screaming

I remember being forced outside, into the hallway, and the lights were flickering, even sparking now and then. My mom chased after me with some holy water in her hands, hoping that it could fend off whatever had a hold on me.

I only remember her splashing holy water on the walls and putting a cross on our door before everything started shaking and something dug it’s claws deep into my legs and pulled me into the street.

It was foggy as all hell, and these disembodied voices were everywhere Crying in pain, begging for someone to end it all. And I was about to become one of them.

I struggled to my feet and trudged down the street as the crying grew louder and louder. In the fog, I could see visions of people in agony, their bodies were rotting, disintegrating; Their skin and flesh sloughing off of their bones and turning to bloody sludge. But even death wouldn’t spare them of this ceaseless pain.

I kept walking as I clenched my teeth, trying to shut it all out. But I couldn’t fight the feeling of my own body beginning to fail The wounds on my legs were slowly crawling up my body Sinking deeper into my sides

The pain made me open my eyes, and I saw a figure through the fog A body wrapped in crimson vines, weaving through various open wounds and exposed bone, with blooming flowers that served to distract from the hideous atrocity. However, despite the horror in front of me, It’s eyes, those haunting blue eyes, glowing like small embers, drew me to it.

Through the screaming and the cries, I heard it’s voice It offered me a way out, saying that I need only do it myself Take my own life, and it’d all be over.

With each step I took, I could feel my heartbeat, the blood run down my fingers, down my legs, staining the pavement I walked on. I could taste it, and feel it flood from my mouth and even the tears in my eyes. The pain was almost overwhelming, and each step felt it would be my last.

And then I heard something else More footsteps More voices

I blinked and it came to me that I was surrounded by so many other people who sought a way to escape their pain. We were all walking towards that same figure who promised us a way to be free.

I stopped, mid step, and looked around me A blackened, starless, sky Bloodstained streets The windows of buildings were like projectors, me the visions that were plaguing my mind.

It was all too much Then, I felt something well up inside me, something powerful And I began to scream.

But, this scream was something else Not of pain, or fear But rebellion

The monster ahead of me glared at me I continued to scream And others began to stop walking towards it and looked towards me

Something woke up within me, something strong enough to reject the enticing offer for “freedom” Something that made this thing take notice of me.

i don’t know what came over me But, watching others throw themselves away, giving in to pain, killing themselves I couldn’t watch it anymore, nor could I join them

Instead, I continued to scream Let the will to live take hold of me And let it spread to everyone around me

Although, like me, their bodies were bruised, bloody, and falling to pieces Something sparked in their eyes and their hearts started beating faster.

I would not give in to this “Liberator” This pain may have nearly destroyed me But, it won’t have me completely

With one final scream, I pointed towards this horror And everyone around me charged forward with vim and vigor And began to tear it apart, just as it did to so many others before us.

As more and more people rushed passed me, I couldn’t help but drop to my knees and my vision began to blur. But, I could see something change in the world, the stars reappeared in the night sky.

[phoorn]

Let me complain about Meson

About Hobbits

Meson’s a build system. Or possibly Ninja, Meson’s backend, is a build system. Let’s just say the whole thing is.

It’s an alternative to CMake, which is an alternative to the Autotools, which is a way to write makefiles that work on various systems for fewer pints of blood and sweat. And makefiles are basically recipes, a convenient way to run shell commands that (most commonly) translate your source code into a binary that your computer can run.

When I first used Meson I went, “Wow”. I was thrilled. I’ve never got my head around makefiles, I think because – well, I’m always saying I’m stupid, so this time I’ll say – I’m lazy. Makefiles aren’t complicated at their core. I think what’s confusing is the many shortcuts you can take with them. Many shortcuts make things hard to learn. You can’t see the wood for the trees. And cruft.

If I do one day finally learn Make, I’ll deliberately restrict myself to the old, more verbose syntax. This general approach is what everyone should take whenever they learn something. Start with the scales (music analogy). I’m a guitarist and I’ve hardly bothered. They’re boring. And you think (’cause you’re arrogant) other people need to start with the scales, OK – and there’s nothing wrong with being dumb! – but me …

Lots of us are like this. We think we understand enough or at least trust our perception of our own intelligence – and rush ahead. When people ask other people how to make computer games they get told to make Pong. “Actually, sorry, no,” says OP, “I’m making an open-world simulation CRPG, thanks. Yes, I know it’ll take me a while.”

You’ve got to make Pong. I’m thirty-six and I’ve known this for years. And yet the game I’m writing is a Zelda clone. However, I have paid my dues, having written approximately 1,00,000 command-line programs.

The problem with bells-and-whistles, do-everything-for-you things (like Meson) is what do you do when you can’t get it to do the thing you you need it to do? Look in its documentation. Or possibly the documentation for one of the many programs/libraries/framewords/apis it uses. And when you do, you find (tenuous metaphor) they’re talking Mario and GTA and the Elder Scrolls and you don’t understand, because you didn’t make Pong.

They don’t want you to make Pong. “Try our system/framework/platform. It’s got x and y and you’ll love it! You’ll never have to bother with all those low-level things again.”

Tom Waits can explain it better.

And you end up dumb as a brick. A user instead of wizard you deserve to be. They took your magic wand.

So why am I ranting away about this? As any mediocre scriptwriter will be able to guess, there has been an inciting incident. I am incited, and an incident is responsible.

Basically, I was playing with Zig 1. No one’s written a Syntastic (Vim linting plugin) checker for it, but there is a Zig language server. So I got rid of Syntastic and got ALE (Asynchronous Language … ?), which does the same job as Syntastic, but asynchronously and with LSP support.

LSP – Language Server Protocol – is a Microsoft thing. A good thing, a way for any editor to offer lots of IDE-like things. We could always do those things, with various tools like Ctags but this does it better. Because it makes use of your actual compiler or interpreter’s output.

Getting it set up’s not easy, though, though it worked for me first try this time. A testament to how much I’ve learned? Maybe, but ALE knew where to look for the compile_commands.json and Meson stuck it in the right place.

I always make an effort to properly introduce technical things I talk about, for the sake of the fictional layperson. I, for one, get bored and stop listening to things I don’t understand. But it’s hard, and I’ve failed here before even getting to my point.

Which is systems like Meson are shit. I’ll keep using it, though. I won’t write Pong, and I won’t use Cmake.

The reason it’s shit is I’ve spent five hours trying to silence a clangd warning. clangd’s the name of a language server. For C and C++. At some point today I completely forgot about Zig.

I use gcc to compile my C programs, and too eagerly use gcc extensions. The language server stuff is all to do with clang. So, though I’m compiling with gcc, clang is being used to LINT 2 my C program.

This should be fine. clang claims to be a drop-in replacement for gcc. But it’s not.

Tom Bombadil

I like gcc’s “-fms-extensions” flag. That lets you include structs that have already been defined as anonymous members of another struct.

struct apple { char *name; }; struct orange { struct apple; };

It’s -fms-extensions that permits the nameless struct apple inside the struct orange. Normally you’ve have to give it a name, like:

struct orange { struct apple apple; };

And refer to it like orange.apple.name = "Frederick". -fms-extensions lets you do orange.name = "Frederick".

It’s just nice. I’ll show you another trick, while I’m on the subject.

It fixes the only downside of this approach, which is that now you can’t refer to the member struct as itself: it doesn’t have name. But!

struct orange { union { struct apple; struct apple apple; }; }

Now you are eating your cake in addition to having it. You can now refer to apple’s members without saying apple’s name. And you can pass just the apple to functions that expect one. By writing orange.apple.

One last thing on this topic. Even without -fms-extensions you can mostly do this. You can define anonymous structs, anonymous unions. You just can’t define a struct outside and then use it inside without its name. You can do this:

struct fruit { char *name; union { struct { float sourness; }; // oranges struct { float crunchiness; }; // apples } }

The Barrow Downs

Right now I’d rather know the language of Make. I would have silenced that warning in a jiffy. I’d be rich by now, the time I saved.

It’s swings and roundabouts. I’m obsessed with this idea. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Programmers (and maybe writers) know this better than anyone.

You do this really awesome thing in an effort to make your program or story better. And it takes ages. And when you’re done you have …

Oh, sometimes you’ll have more flexible code, or more robust code, or faster or more memory-efficient code. But you’ve sacrificed something. Readability, perhaps. Speed. Whatever. It’s gone and there’s no fucking way you’re going back over it again. You’re stuck with it. You’ll defend your decision to the death. You bled for it.

Meson’s big selling-point is it just works. Oh, it’s worth it. I said it was shit earlier – that was a lie. But I’m still mad it took me ages to fix my linter problem.

Hey, Wait, We’re in Mordor?

I’ve got a new complaint.

When I first started programming, I used Visual Studio and Windows. I remember how hard it was for me to compile my first program, which was probably an SDL example. Probably there was Hello, World before that.

Someone said somewhere the hardest thing you’ll ever do in programming is compile your first program. And, oh, I agree. Because there’s all this stuff to learn.

I buggered off to Linux, partly because I’d come to realise if you want to program, particularly in C, it was the place to be. A lot of programming in Windows and Mac is programming in Linux. Users of those OSes use virtual machines, compatibility layers and servers to do it. They have, I am sure, mighty brains, because it’s one thing to compile a program, and quite another cross-compile it, or do it in a VM or container, or do it on the web somehow.

What I didn’t like about Visual Studio was simple: you gave the compiler and linker and build system options by filling out textboxes and picking from menus.

I roared, “But how does it work?”

I felt strongly that Visual Studio’s friendly user interface was obscuring the reality of what I was doing. Now it blindingly obvious to me it’s turning all those textboxes, checkboxes into a commandline, which it’ll fire at the compiler. But I didn’t then.

Meson gives me a strong whiff of that. Look.

add_global_arguments ('-fms-extensions', language: 'c') add_global_arguments ('-Wno-microsoft', language: 'c') m_dep = cc.find_library ('m', required : true) sdl2_dep = cc.find_library ('SDL2', required : true) sdl2_image_dep = cc.find_library ('SDL2_image', required : true) sdl2_ttf_dep = cc.find_library ('SDL2_ttf', required : true)

These are just commandline flags. Meson is taking these strings you give it – “SDL2”, “-fms-extensions”, etc – and appending it to a call to gcc. The cc.find_library function is calling something like pkg-config or cmake. Is all this stuff really better than:

gcc -ggdb3 -Wall src/* -fms-extensions -Wno-microsoft \ -o build/whatever -l -lm \ $(pkg-config sdl2 --cflags --libs) \ $(pkg-config sdl2_ttf --cflags --libs) \ $(pkg-config sdl2_image --cflags --libs) \

Maybe so.

In summary, I could have solved this Meson/LSP/ALE/Vim thing in five seconds flat if I’d written a makefile (or, frankly, since my project is hardly huge, a shell script). But I won’t start writing Makefiles any time soon. I reserve the right to complain about it in the future, though.

a language I definitely approve of, that’s packed good ideas and things done right, that I probably won’t use, because already know how to do the things it tries to solve, and learning new languages makes me feel like a toddler or an old man. Maybe one day! But it’s new, too, and if there’s one solid lesson I’ve learned in my years using Linux and programming it’s don’t use new things. Use old and safely dead things, expecially those whose undead life is regulated by crusty old men and women. Because there’s documentation! And they’re getting round to implementing those features you envy. They’ll get there. And in the meantime, well, you can do it gcc already.↩︎

A linter is a program that looks at your code and points out some kind of problem. Some show syntax errors, some tell you that it doesn’t like your coding style. Some just annoy the shit out of you and you don’t know how to shut them up.↩︎

[art-of-manliness]

Window Shop At Your Own Risk: The 26 Worst Products for Men Ever Created

One of the very first articles we published way back in 2008 was a fun look at some of the “worst products for men.” A year after, we created another such list with even more wacky products we had discovered. These gems have been gathering dust in the archives, so we dusted off our favorites from each list and then added a bunch of new ones we’ve unearthed since the aughts to create a comprehensive, all-in-one exhibit of these oddities. Below you’ll find some of the funny, dorky, disturbing, and just plain out-there products that were pitched to the men of yesteryear — often playing on male insecurities like hair loss and impotence — that aren’t due a comeback anytime soon. Window shop at your pleasure, and your risk! Male Virility and General Groinal Health Radioactive Jockstrap Radioactive materials were once thought to impart healing and vitalizing powers. Radium was infused into drinking water, baths, toothpaste, and, though the advertisement above doesn’t come right out and say it, packed into jockstraps. As is the hallmark of impotence-correcting ads even today, the copy doesn’t directly state the problem this radioactive banana hammock is designed to cure, instead coyly framing it as the antidote to a “decline of sexual strength,” “low vitality,” “premature old age,” and “loss of manly vigor.” Here at last was the cure for the fellow who “realizes his happiness depends on his ability to perform the duties of a REAL MAN,” and who isn’t “satisfied without the pleasures that are his birthright!” If the jockstrap didn’t do the trick in restoring one’s vim and vigor, radium also came in the form of suppositories “guaranteed to be perfectly harmless.” The Prostate Warmer Invented in 1918, this device promised to “stimulate the abdominal brain!” (I am not sure what that is, although men have long been accused of thinking with it.) The warmer consisted of a 4.25 inch probe which was plugged into the wall and then inserted into the rectum. When plugged in, a blue light bulb lit up to tell you it was working to restore your manly vitality. It really brings a whole new meaning to the phrase “blue light special.” Recto Rotor Truth in advertising: the Rector Rotor was most certainly “in a class by itself.” This dilator promised to cure “piles, constipation, and prostrate problems.” It was designed to break up, your, um, “piles,” lubricate the rectum, and stimulate the prostrate from the inside out. With a motto like “large enough to be efficient, small enough for anyone over 15 years old,” how could you go wrong? Heidelberg Electric Belt In the early 1900s many people believed they were suffering from “neurasthenia,” a disease caused by modernization and over-stimulation. This “sickness” produced a wide variety of symptoms, from depression to impotency to fatigue. Touted as a cure for those suffering from such a “weak and deranged nervous system,” the Heidelberg Electric Belt encircled your waist with five electrodes — one which hung over your junk — and promised to zap “the proper organs and affected parts” back to vim and vigor. The Dila-Therm Prostatitis is the inflammation of the prostate gland and can cause your man junk to really hurt. The Dila-Therm promised relief, but only for the owner with the wherewithal to boldly apply it himself . . . or to ask someone else to do it for him. The Lantz Supporter The Lantz Supporter was basically an everyday jockstrap, for the man who felt his boxer briefs didn’t provide sufficient support for “freedom of action,” and whose quest for a “refined appearance” went beyond tailoring his trousers. Anti- “Self-Pollution” Devices Spike-Lined Ring During the 1800s and early 1900s, extreme measures were recommended to control the sexual libido of young men. This particular device was aimed not only at preventing masturbation, but nocturnal emissions as well. Young men would tie this ring of death around their member, and whenever they became aroused, the spikes would sink into their flesh. Don’t worry though, as according to its creator, it would “produce no uneasiness till erection comes on, when the patient, roused by the pricking can jump out of bed and thus arrest an impending emission.” Spermatic Truss Patented in 1876, the spermatic truss was designed to make erections impossible by binding the genitalia down. Twenty-one years later, the designer changed the truss a bit, making erections possible. The only downside? An erection would now drive the penis against painful spikes. The Timely Warning Invented by Frank Orth in 1893, The Timely Warning was a penis cooling apparatus designed to prevent wet dreams. A man would attach the device to his penis before he went to bed, and when an erection occurred during the night, levers opened to allow cold water to flow through tubes around the genitalia. This cooled “the organ of generation, so that the erection subsides and no discharge occurs.” Basically, it was like taking a cold shower, but without the shower. Clothing and Personal Appearance Model 25 Nose Shaper Why waste thousands of dollars on a rhinoplasty when you can simply smoosh your nose into submission? The ad says you can wear it day or night, but the former is only true if in addition to a large schnoz, you’re also a dedicated homebody who’s got a bad case of agoraphobia. Paste-On Facial Hair All men long to grow a manly mustache or sideburns. But it takes so dang long, and wouldn’t you like to be able to wear some sideburns to work and then attach a cool handlebar mustache for your date that night? And sometimes you just want to rock the Satan Van Dyke. With this kit, there are so many options to play with; as the ad notes, “The combinations are limitless!” Though, as the author of the Modern Mechanix blog observes, “actually there are only seven combinations, unless you count each side burn individually.” Crosley Xervac Head Vacuum This large device (which you could rent for home use) operated on the principle that sucking more blood into your scalp would make hair grow healthy and strong and prevent it from falling out. A hose attached to a skull cap surrounded your head with suction power. This reminds me of Garth using the Suck-Cut on Wayne‘s World. “It’s sucking my will to live, man!” Here’s another device operating on the same principle: A New Kind of Hat Not only does this hat help you grow hair, it also protects your brain from mind control. The Allied Merke Institutes definitely should have invested more in their marketing department; they couldn’t even come up with a name for this thing except for “invention” and “new kind of hat.” Carbo-Magno A compellingly passive way to regrow your hair. Just put on the topper you were going to wear anyway, insert the “Hat Sheath,” and let the magic vapor go to work as you go about your business! Fleischmann’s Yeast Acne Cure Did you know that chocolate makes you break out? 100% true. Also, the same substance that makes bread rise can cure your acne. Honest. Just eat a few cakes of it a day; your mouth will smell like bread, your face will be as smooth and clear as a baby’s bottom, and you’ll be on your way to the corner office. Weil Reducing Belt Here’s the pitch: you wear a rubber belt around your midsection constantly, and every time your portly flesh rubs up against it, it melts away your fat. It’s a man girdle. Much better idea than doing “strenuous reducing exercises which are liable to strain your heart.” Plus, it puts your “sagging internal organs back into place.” I know I hate it when my liver droops. Rainat Hat Cover Utilitarian, especially for a time where nearly every man wore a hat day in and day out? Surely. Suave? Surely not. Can you imagine Humphrey Bogart pausing at the first sign of drizzle to put a jimmy on his fedora? Paper Hat Parasol Hats are by nature supposed to keep the sun off your neck and face. But if the brim just doesn’t extend far enough for you, then you can place a very handsome paper parasol on top, and attach it with a rubber band. Ever enterprising, the manufacturer suggests printing the paper with an advertisement. Perhaps one for sunscreen. Glow-in-the-Dark Kiss Me Tie Do you often find yourself in the pitch black darkness? While wearing a tie? With a woman who will do whatever your tie tells her to? Well, sir, do I have the tie for you! If this one doesn’t float your boat, the company also makes another equally suave design: Glow-in-the-Dark Striptease Tie This is the mullet of neckties. Business during the day and a party at night. The Dribble Bib Necktie At least with this product, the manufacturers are in on the joke, touting the tie’s “bright, gaudy, horrible stripes.” Perfect for overweight uncle types looking for a laugh at the family reunion. Bow Legs . . . Cure? What kills me about this ad is the sheer mystery and uncertainty of its intent . . . should a gentleman just send away for a booklet of perfect leg forms to gaze upon? If, after gazing upon them, a man is filled with envy and left bemoaning his less than perfect drumsticks, will the booklet then hawk a cure for those beset with dreaded and “unsightly” bow legs and knock knees? And . . . what kind of ghastly contraption could correct them?? Tactical Float-ees Swim Trunks Making it to adulthood without learning how to swim can be quite embarrassing for a man. You can’t very well put on a man-sized puddle-jumper. Float-ees is the solution! But make sure no one sees you blowing them up; you might get a real funny look. The “Stick-‘Em-Up…The-Joke’s-on-You” Gun Recommended for the “well dressed Chicagoan” in “these days of flying bullets and indiscriminate hold ups,” this invention was introduced in 1929, but unfortunately still seems useful for navigating the modern Windy City. Don it underneath your clothes (no one will notice you’re wearing a pillow-sized contraption under your suit), and “Instead of merely throwing up the hands when threatened by a hold up man the wearer can spray a stream of lead bullets in his face.” I surrender . . . psyche! _________________________________ Note: Most of these old advertisements were found on Modern Mechanix — a fascinating, often laugh-out-loud funny, but unfortunately now-defunct blog that collected this kind of delightful ephemera. The post Window Shop At Your Own Risk: The 26 Worst Products for Men Ever Created appeared first on The Art of Manliness. http://dlvr.it/PfkbgJ

[phooll123]

How to set up an iPad for web development

A few months ago, I detailed my process for setting up a Pixelbook to code on. It wasn’t easy or simple or straightforward, but it worked in the end: I had all the power and flexibility of Linux, access to my favorite code editor (VS Code), and, of course, the slick web browsing experience that Chromebooks are known for.

Around that same time, I attempted to set up an iPad for coding. I failed miserably. I love using the iPad for writing and other creative work. It’s super portable, has great battery life, an excellent screen, and the limited multitasking keeps me focused. Unfortunately, it’s very bad for complex tasks and intentionally crippled for software development.

But I’m older and wiser now, and after an entire Saturday spent bashing my head against a wall, I’m happy to report that I can use a $799 tablet computer to write software. Will I ever actually use it for this purpose? Maybe! But we’ll get to that.

Feel free to follow in my footsteps if you, too, wish to code on the iPad. I can’t promise you it’s a worthwhile destination, but I learned a lot on my way there.

Chapter 1: The journey begins by lowering my expectations

As everyone knows, Apple is scared to death that anyone might ever run arbitrary code on one of its pristine iOS devices. It makes a little bit of sense: the strictures of iOS and the App Store are why a years-old iPad is vastly more responsive and cruft-free than a similarly aged MacBook Pro.

But it makes developing software nearly impossible. It’s ironic because the iPad is excellent for creators in so many ways like drawing, design, and music. Under the hood is the same Unix kernel that makes macOS excellent for programmers.

Anyway, you know all this.

Unlike on the Pixelbook, where I wanted a full-on Rust development environment basically comparable to my Mac setup, I decided to just do some JavaScript-based web development on my iPad.

I knew just the place to go: CodeSandbox. It’s a website, and everything runs in the browser. Therefore, the iPad won’t be able to stop me from my dreams of creating my “Calculator 2: The Sequel to Calculators” web app in JavaScript.

CodeSandbox allows you to use arbitrary NPM packages, and it has a code editor based on VS Code’s own editor. So as long as you stick to the world of JavaScript, it’s almost as powerful as a traditional desktop-based web development setup. CodeSandbox also sands off some of the rough edges of configuration files and has a lot of premade projects built with various technologies (React, Vue, Redux, and even exotic frameworks like Hyperapp), which makes it easy to get started with the uber-complicated build chain that modern web development seems to require.

And I was extra excited to see that CodeSandbox has a Vim mode. Vim keybindings are my preferred way to navigate around text, and it’s especially important on the iPad where you don’t have a mouse for assistance. Moving the cursor, highlighting text, deleting words or lines, moving lines, and jumping large distances in a file all require just a couple keystrokes in Vim. Contrast that to the iPad alternative: seconds spent poking at the screen with your clumsy finger, hoping iOS will discern your intent.

Basically, everything was going great. CodeSandbox was all I needed, and my iPad was suddenly an ultra useful webdev box — at least for building the sort of small experiments I gravitate toward.

Except there was one problem: the iPad doesn’t have an Escape key.

Chapter 2: What despair feels like

See, in Vim, there are different “modes.” There’s the default mode where you use the keyboard to navigate around your document. There’s the selection mode, where you use those same navigations keys to select text. And, importantly, there’s an insert mode, where you use your keyboard to type. Since you need to get out of insert mode to move your cursor again, you need some sort of command to exit insert mode. By default, that command is wired to the Escape key.

Many Vim users (like myself, for instance) map a fancy key combo like “jj” to make exiting insert mode easier, but CodeSandbox isn’t actually Vim. It just emulates some of Vim’s default keybindings. So I need an Escape key. And the iPad doesn’t even know what that means.

I’m serious! At first, I thought this was just a problem with Apple’s own Smart Keyboard Cover, which has no function row and no Escape key. So I pulled out a regular Bluetooth keyboard and hooked it up to the iPad. I jammed on the Escape key and... nothing. In the world of iOS, there is no escape.

I browsed around StackExchange and various GitHub issues in a state of despair. Yes, there are ways to emulate an Escape keypress with “Ctrl + [,” but that gets me nothing in this case. I’m stuck in insert mode for the rest of my life.

CodeSandbox, you brought me so close!

In fact, based on CodeSandbox’s rapid iteration, I wouldn’t be surprised if they solved this issue in the near future.

But in the meantime: what’s a boy to do?

Chapter 3: Okay, let’s try the cloud again

The first time I tried to set up an iPad for coding, I naturally went straight to the cloud. But the cloud isn’t a magical place where all your dreams come true. Setting up a devbox on Digital Ocean or Google Cloud requires some knowledge of Linux and SSH, and there’s no GUI Linux interface to fall back on when your command line skills fail you.

Why was this so hard before?

Weirdly, the debris of scattered knowledge from my last attempt at a cloud devbox setup was all I needed to quickly get everything working. I paid for the basic $5 box on Digital Ocean, put a clean install of Ubuntu on it, and provided it an SSH key I generated in Panic’s Prompt app, an SSH terminal emulator for iOS. Why was this so hard before?

After SSHing into my Digital Ocean box, I started adding the tools I need. I installed Neovim (a modern Vim alternative) and found someone’s .config file for Neovim on GitHub and copied it. Then I installed nodejs, yarn, npm, parcel, rust, gcc... all the good stuff I crave. Because the “language server” aspect of VS Code is open source, I can get many of the hints and errors I rely on so heavily when coding into Neovim, even though it lacks all the GUI bells and whistles of VS Code.

It’s hard for me to describe how I did all these things, other than a liberal application of sudo apt-get install, copying and pasting shell scripts, and careful reading of error messages. Mostly, it’s just years of trial and error in the command line. I guess DM me if you get stuck on something, and I’ll do my best to help. Have you tried modifying your $PATH?

So, anyway, now I can write a web app in JavaScript, serve it from my Digital Ocean box, and preview my work in Safari (with live reload, thanks to some magic performed by Parcel). I can even split-screen the terminal and Safari and reallyget to work.

But soon, I got frustrated: a very small fraction of my work “coding” is actually typing code. I spend most of my time reading documentation and other people’s code to try and figure out how the hell anything ever works. After a couple of minutes browsing StackOverflow, I get a notification from Prompt, warning me that my SSH session is about to disconnect because of inactivity.

The whole reason iOS is so nice and responsive is because it has almost zero multitasking unless you’re working with multiple audio apps at once. Prompt does its best to stay alive, but iOS always kills it in the end.

Chapter 4: UDP saves the day

So, I Googled for a solution and discovered Mosh. Basically, Mosh is a UDP protocol for using a terminal from an intermittent connection. You connect over SSH like usual, but then that connection is handed off to Mosh to keep it “alive” during downtime. Prompt doesn’t support Mosh, so I paid another $20 for another terminal emulator app, called Blink, and set up Mosh. It took some trial and error to get the Mosh server running on my Ubuntu box and correctly enter my login details into Blink, but once I got it working, it works great.

I can leave the terminal for days, and as soon as I open Blink I have all the sessions open from the last time. For command line warriors, this is no huge feat. They know all about “reattaching” to sessions or whatever they do. But for me, it’s a huge achievement.

In fact, in some ways, I prefer my iPad / Blink / Digital Ocean setup to coding on my Mac. I can’t do everything my Mac does — anything involving windowing or graphics, for instance, outside of a web browser, isn’t really possible — but I have the joy of knowing I’m not mucking up my Mac with all the various weird command line software I install from the internet. If my setup ever breaks beyond repair, it’s just a couple clicks to wipe my Ubuntu box and start fresh.

Also, while my Digital Ocean box is a lot slower than my MacBook Pro, it has a blazing-fast internet connection. Anything I want to git clone or npm install feels way snappier on this cloud box, thanks to its minimal latency and huge internet pipe.

Only one problem: I’m terrible at JavaScript

Oh, and in case you were wondering: Blink supports the “Ctrl + [“ command to emulate escape. You can also map your Caps Lock key to escape if you want to be really crazy (I traditionally map Caps Lock to Ctrl, which is also supported by Blink). But, thankfully, my Neovim config maps “jj” to escape when in insert mode, so I’m golden on that front.

There’s really only one problem with my current setup: I’m terrible at JavaScript, and therefore nothing I write works the first time, and I can’t see any console error messages in Mobile Safari because it’s a crippled browser for babies.

CodeSandbox.io includes its own console interface.

I guess my first job on this new coding setup will be to write a pull request for CodeSandbox to support the “jj” escape method.

If only I was better at JavaScript!

It’s a real pickle I’ve found myself in.

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[beyond-the-legends]

Chapter #10.2: Activation

Two sentient acorns… The sight of a couple of walking nuts, wobbling towards the party, just barely not falling over, was as anticlimactic as a first encounter could have been. One suddenly held still, but rather than charging some kind of devastating attack, it merely stood there, frozen, as if it wouldn’t be noticed. The other kept pressing onward with the same vim and vigor as before, but it didn’t look like it had the combat prowess to back that courage up.

A ball of scorching fire just barely flew past Quinten’s head before impacting between the two monsters, creating a wave of flames that engulfed the acorns, roasting them on contact. Their death was a sight that made the Botanist’s stomach sink, but even more so had been the near-death experience of what was essentially a bomb flying past, a mere inch from his face. He turned around to face his assailer and discovered it had been Lucil, who had cast a spell.

His complete lack of empathy for his surroundings as well as his fellow guildmates was worrying and even Elise addressed him about it: “Lucil. Refrain from carelessly casting spells. You could have wounded someone or caused a forest feu.” The Warlock looked like he wanted to rebut, but swallowed his word at the last second, upon seeing how serious her face was.

“Very well. I will be more careful.” He replied, almost reluctantly. It seemed Lucil wasn’t much of a team player.

While everyone’s attention was being drawn to the interaction between the guild’s leader and of her companions though, another creature had drawn near. It looked like a squirrel, but its body had been morphed into something akin to a hot air balloon. It was bouncing up and down in the air, producing nary a sound. Even if the rest had seen it, they probably wouldn’t have acted upon it, because it looked docile, harmless, minding its own business. Yet, in the labyrinth, looks could deceive.

As the flying squirrel began floating upwards, it caught Elise’s eye. Seeing through the creature’s plan, she raised her voice to warn its target: “Watch out-” She choked on her words, coming to the realization that she knew not the name of the Therian and in the split second it took for him to realize that those words were aimed at him, the squirrel struck him down.

With one strike, the brave Masurao was downed and the monster would make many more victims if the four still standing weren’t quick to counteract it.

Clara tried punching it, but it effortlessly flew outside of her reach. Lucil tried to hit it with a spell, another fireball, though, quick as the creature was, it completely missed its target. Before he could whip up what looked to be a lightning bolt, the squirrel dropped itself onto the Warlock. Thankfully, he was able to step out of the way not a moment too soon. It would have been enough to incapacitate him, like it had done to the Therian.

In an effort to protect Lucil, Elise was able to distract the monster with a thrust that just barely scraped its flesh. Enraged by the small wound that had been afflicted on him, it launched a barrage of attacks at her. With every strike or slash, the Fencer was pushed back further and further. There was no room for her to counterattack, no window of escape either, and at this rate, she would eventually be cornered and defeated.

Perhaps, Quinten thought, they shouldn’t try to weaken the squirrel with attacks. In a hurry, he reached into his medicine bag, looking for some thick, fat leaves, ones that would produce a lot of smoke upon combustion. If it couldn’t see, it couldn’t attack.

“Lucil! Fireball, now!” The Botanist threw the leaves in the direction of the monster and the Wa rlock quickly picked up on his idea. A spark transformed into a large flame, right in the palm of his hand. He aimed it towards the bundle of leaves that lay beneath the squirrel, and quickly unleashed the fire’s destructive power.

“Everyone, close your eyes!” Quinten exclaimed, before the sound of an explosion resonated throughout the forest and a thick smokescreen began to spread around the battlefield. The creature unleashed cries of agony as it blindly wailed and scratched at its void surroundings, to little avail. Clara put it out of its misery by punching it into the bark of a tree, effectively knocking it out. With that, the first enemies had been slain.

[themutewatcher-blog]

Internal Affairs, and International Relations: On Remembering Budapest

The plane flew smoothly if you didn't pay too much attention. I was sitting between two men, and like myself they were not slight of frame. The three of us were shoulder to shoulder like one dreary wall of meat. Occasionally part of the meat bricks would shift a bit and those adjacent would settle accordingly. Chain reaction. There was no resentment over the move, no bother, just a slight sigh that was a near annoyance with being awoken from the trance of over-oxygenated air and bad movies, and part relief that we had an excuse to bring a little lifeblood into our heavy limbs. I watched a few of those bad movies on my way from Chicago to Budapest, but mostly I just stared at the pictures and let my mind drift away- out the window a few seats to my right where nothing else lay but water and the giant open blackness of the midnight Atlantic. I thought of Her, then. There were so many hers. I thought of the petite little Beauty who got away; she had golden eyes, silky hair, and caramel skin that seemed to bask in it's own light. Those soft lips, so full and so gentle, used to be the only thing that could soothe me when I felt the beast inside me start to stir. She had such a kind wealth to her. She had this laugh, it caressed my ears and used to bring a smile to me even when my heart felt black and icy- as frigid as the seas outside the window. I don't know if I ever told her that in those words. I think I tried, but sometimes you can never fully understand the incredible worth of a single moment until it becomes a memory. I told her once, as we lay there on the beach, that she was it for me. I told her that no matter what happened that I would love her until I was dead, and if some part of me carried on thereafter it would carry on with the sweetest moments we ever shared therein. I said a lot of things as a young man. It's been years since we laid there on the sand. Its been the return of an engagement ring since then. It's been other relationships and countless other women, but when the plane isn't quite still and the seas look so black and so cold, it's still her that my mind seeks for warmth. She made me hope for a brief time that the beast inside me was just a little darkness, an innocent shadow behind the Christmas lights that shine through pine needles casting me patterns around a room; or the seductive darkness of a bedroom that dances with candlelight to cast shimmering black on golden skin. It wasn't though. It was none of those types of darkness. It was a consuming, hungry, vile dark that consumed everything. It was a foul carcass left to rot underwater in a black cove forgotten by all good things in this world; it was spawned of hate, and fear, and suffering. It was sad more than anything, not evil. It had much of me, but it often felt as though it was not me. She told me I needed help. The dark is gone now, reborn into the beast that holds all my darkness in it's own devilish heart. My beast and I get along quite well to this day, we even have tea a few times a month just to catch up. She was not the only she passing through my mind that night. There was a period of soul searching after her, and by soul searching I mean that I found the souls of others and did my best to nibble on them. I've found that to nibble a soul is to find alleviation from the black for a bit, and it's not hard to do. It is not a permanent consumption, only a temporary tasting. Soul searching is my vice. Vices, and there are many, are all about escape. Some drink until they can't remember what hurts them, or until they can only remember what the hurt is; others act the dragon and billow smoke from between their teeth, altering reality with whatever drug fits the bill that night; some seek a temporary outlet through violence. I prefer sex. It is not a guilty pleasure, I have never felt guilt for my pleasures, but it is still a vice. Carpe Noctem. Perhaps the worst vice of all. Sex is not always about intimacy. There is no closeness or even interest in the act or in the person sometimes- not since the golden eyes stopped beckoning me through the candlelight. Sex is about forgetting I exist for a few hours. It's about relinquishing thought and control of myself to the beast. The beast does well in the darkness. It is, after all, his domain. It brings me closer to balance when the creature born of hideous violence finds a gentility, or at least releases the violence in a way that hurts so sweetly. He can taste her soul when he traces my tongue down along her hips, as He slowly pulls her exquisite reservations loose with one sucking swirl after another. He feeds as her inhibitions fade when he sinks his sharp teeth into the meat of her bottom lip hard enough to make her whimper- which is only half as hard as she wants him to. Surreptitious sensuality. I try and take over that beast at times and ask that he go gently, I try to add in a little of myself- I am often ignored if not forgotten. I allow the beast to do as he will, we work well together, after all. Sometimes a feral growl escapes my throat and I almost worry that she'll be afeared. I am always, always wrong. The beast in me awakens the beast in others, and they like it. There are many kinds of beasts in this world. Beauty and Myself. Watching someone unfold is like watching a flower bloom in a matter of minutes. The petals soften and grow fuller, the outermost chafe falls away. Raw intimacy exposed when there is nothing left to hide. Perfection through reduction. Reality is not altered, it is revealed. Life is given meaning and the taste of all the substance in an entire galaxy can be found in one succulent droplet at the edge of a softened petal. For a moment there is no difference between anyone. We all simply are, and are not, existing- in a swirling, dripping, ebbing vortex of passion and lust and escape; we are painted with the entire pallet of the human experience; filled to the brim by the essence of humanity, and swept up into raw, chaotic, feral vim. We rejoice by releasing that gasp that's not so unlike a death rattle. Le petite mort. My beast found a new She after I landed. The She I met in Budapest was from Kosovo. She was barely 20, a child by all western definitions, but she had lived through the war. She had been living in Belgrade when my country blew it to pieces. She had watched her father tear away the roof on their home and scatter the debris around so that when my country flew over it appeared to be already bombed. Reclusive resourcefulness. She learned too young how to hide in plain sight. She was a lucky one, some of the architecture nearby that was weaker would fall apart without the cross beams to hold the walls together. She was a lucky one, her roof was only removed by choice. She slept in a cold winter for 108 days under the open sky because it was too risky to live warmly- she had to choose between shelter and life. She was a child who knew what that meant- she grew up fast. She was young, but she had an aged look and mature feel to her. She was enlightening to behold. She had beautiful eyes, large and kind and wounded and curious; they were paired with a smile that could melt the coldest ice and soften the hardest steel. I was no exception. Her lips were like the galaxy's edge, and tasted like a constellation falling into place. Her hands were small for a woman as tall as she was, but her fingers felt so strong as they dug deep into my back. She did that when I tried to let my beast apologize to her for what my country had done in her childhood. She must have still held pain from that, because as she traced the tender wounds along my shoulders made by her teeth and apologized, she had a wicked smile of satisfaction. She took a drag off of her rolled cigarette, and the smoke slithered out from between her teeth like eels between a smooth, porcelain coral. The eels swam around a bit before reuniting in the dark cloud forming above the bed. She was beautiful, gorgeous even. She was dangerous only so far as she was harmless. Harmed. She was deeper and more rich in experience than anyone I had met in the states, and some small part of me loved her for that. She seemed so raw and so unrefined that I knew she was exactly as she seemed, and she seemed an amazing woman; earthen, corporeal, honest. I loved her nearly as much as she hated me- which is to say, not at all. We lay there for hours, wordless but not in silence, tracing the tendrils of one another life through the sensations of the body. It was amazing how similar we were despite having nothing in common. I was from Los Angeles in the States, and she was a young Albanian woman living in Kosovo. I was born into poverty by American standards, but won the birth lottery by international consensus. She made me feel privileged, and ashamed of ever feeling otherwise. Weak little beast. I loved her for that. We never said anything to signify emotion was a part in our evening- in truth we said very little at all. Nature invented the kiss for when words become superfluous, I remembered. We were healing each other, sharing in the life of another that was so fundamentally different from our own. We were evading death and dealing in life as we rolled and licked and pulled and bit chunks of experience and memories out of one another. We shared countless stories as we thrusted and twisted our hips into unfamiliar truths. She whispered soft moans to the smoke cloud above us, it seemed like a billowing deity looking down with approval. The beast inside me had done well for her, and she was happy to be feasted on. Soul searching. She was dripping in experience and love when we were done. I felt drained and empowered. The room smelt of cigarettes, sweat, and pride as she slipped into the shower. It gained a hint of rose perfume when she got out. I watched as water danced with the light and ran down her skin- the water seemed to be following the trails of my fingertips. We were reborn as we were cleansed, softer kisses came- from me, not my beast. Conflicting stories. I realized then that she had never awoken him fully, that for once it was me, and I wasn't using her to forget, but to remember that which I had never known. It was beautiful, and I loved her for that. A few short hours later she had to go. She had a 13 hour train ride to Kosovo, and had to split the cost with a group. As she slid into her undergarments I couldn't help but notice small holes in the thin fabric. She had an incredible wealth about her, a profoundly different type of wealth than what I had been taught to consider. That night, as she walked across the wide beautiful bridge in the heart of Budapest, I was the saddest of all it's paintings, the most fractured of it's many monuments. She took with her my secrets, and had left me shaken. International Relations. The plane flew smoothly if you didn't pay too much attention. It's funny to me that I have to return to the States knowing what I know, feeling what I've felt. I wonder if I can even do so. There is a gripping and absurd difference in the way I relate to people in the States, the largest difference of course being that I, in fact, don't. The Eastern Europeans make sense to me. They shake hands and make love to those they should hate. Americans can barely tolerate those who they claim to love. Forgiveness doesn't come easy to them, at least not any more easily than it does to us, it's just that they know that even the people who are aggressors in conflict once suffered. The coldest hearts once cared too much. At a point, people look for any reason to rejoice. At a point, people look for cause to despair. It seems to me the difference is selecting your narrative. I had forgotten this. There are some things you should never forget, and if you want to be happy, this is one of them: events in your life mean very little. The way you choose to interpret them is all that matters. Life is beautiful, exceptionally gorgeous. Life is dangerous so far as it is harmless. Harmed. Life is deeper and more rich in experience than anyone you know, but you have to love it for that. We are remarkably similar, even to those we have nothing in common with.

[matthewjosephtaylor]

VSCode Is Awesome, Is Microsoft Giving Up On Being Evil?

I'm typing this in VS Code.

A year or so ago I started using Atom as my light, friendly, small-footprint, general-purpose editor (for those times when using a heavy IDE like IntelliJ or Eclipse is too large a tool for the job).

I've enjoyed my time with Atom. Like any useful tool there are some things I don't like.

Written in coffeescript (A worthy language in its time but it lost, and I personally was never a fan)

Doesn't handle large files well (neither does VS Code but it has the saving grace of refusing to open large files vs lagging-to-death or crashing, which is much preferred behavior)

There are probably others but those are the ones I can think of off the top of my head, and really it is a pretty solid editor, and I wasn't actively looking for a replacement.

Then comes an interesting new fact into my life, thanks to a lunch-discussion with a co-worker.

I learned that the source code for VS Code is under the MIT license

I knew that VS Code was licensed under an 'open source' license but there are OS licenses and there are OS licenses. I had assumed that Microsoft being Microsoft that they would have chosen an OS license that would would have allowed access to the source code but would have denied forking (you can see but you can't touch). So I wrote it off as not being worth my time and attention.

I'm extremely picky on what I invest my time on. Rule of thumb: not 100% open = you have to pay me $$$ to spend time/attention on it. Closed source (including look but no touch licenses) is generally too big a risk unless there is a very large, obvious, and immediate payback.

The MIT license is well-known as perhaps the simplest, most permissive 'do what you will with the code' license available. So this new information got my attention.

Life would be simpler if evil companies would just continue to do evil things. But alas, the world it seems is not that simple.

I've been playing around with VS Code for over the weekend, and so far it is doing everything that I have asked of it.

Key bindings are simple to remap (but perhaps a tad incomplete (no 'go back to last edit' that I've been able to find so far)).

Every plugin I've wanted I've found, and they have been high-quality with recent development. The plugin 'marketplace' is an active repository with a good rating system, and easy access to source repositories.

The 'project explorer' is easily put away and recalled.

TypeScript is a language I'm actually excited to use. Long have I envied Lisp/Emacs user's ability to easily reshape their editor at will. I had thought Atom would be the editor to scratch that itch, but I think I was just too turned off by coffeescript to make a go of it. Hopefully this will be the one...

The built in terminal is amazingly good. Like open vim in it and and it behaves well good. I can see myself living in this terminal.

Haha I just figured out that it appears to be using Apple Terminal under the hood. Well played.

Tasks are powerful but weakened significantly by being project-based. Hopefully this feature request will make it through.

In the meantime the macros plugin looks kind of cool, and it might just be a that a 'better tasks' plugin already exists or might become my first plugin :)

VS Code Gotchas

There is no spell checker 'built in'. No worries, there are plugins, but one of the top plugins is not to be trusted (sends all text to a 3rd party). There is now a warning message at the top of this plugin, but the fact that it exists at all, and got so popular is worrying

Complaints

The name 'Visual Studio Code'

Too similar a name to 'Visual Studio' and 'Code' too generic so it messes up google searches (I'm currently using 'vscode' which seems to work fairly well)

The 'Visual Studio' branding is not helpful for adoption among those of us who wrote off all things Microsoft long ago which I'm sure is hindering adoption (and I very much want the tools I use to be widely adopted to get as many network effect benefits as possible).

Everything requires a restart .

Reboots are not acceptable, there is no reason why things can't be reloaded on the fly except poor programming practices.

WTF is this '.vscode' crap.

It is NOT COOL to litter up the filesystem with editor meta-data, especially without asking and making it clear this is going to happen.

Unintuitive that there are 'user settings' which I'm guessing are the global settings and 'workspace settings' which are tied to a project folder and seem to be responsible for creating the '.vscode' folder. It creates a '.vscode' merely by 'looking at' the 'workspace settings' even if no changes are made.

Themes

There needs to be a theme explorer

Should be easier/possible for me to tweak theme properties

Still a little bit evil:

Telemetry/crash reporting on by default

How to turn it off

Has Microsoft really turned the corner?

I fully admit that I had written Microsoft off many years ago. The OS was crap. The company engaged in ethically unsound practices that garnered them a well-deserved reputation as an 'evil' company. There was simply nothing about the company's actions, or philosophy that lead me to believe they were worth any brain-cells, and so I intentionally stopped paying attention to them and avoided everything they produced.

I will stand by this decision to shun that despicable organization, and I think it has served me well over the years.

But recent actions such as releasing VS Code, TypesScript and I was amazed to learn in my lunch-time conversation dotNet including the CLR Under an MIT License, including a patent promise (which is better than nothing, but is still questionable...but really the whole idea software patents is questionable, so I'm going to leave that aside for the moment), strongly suggests that Microsoft is becoming worthy of attention once again. They are even making baby-steps into turning Windows into a decent OS by adopting compatibility with Linux of all things.

Actions do speak.

While I will forever remain wary. I am, for now, no longer going to auto-ignore everything coming out of Microsoft. They have earned a cautious, untrusting, eye...but an eye all the same. :)