amneiger

[amneiger]

Are you Ĺ̵̨̪̯O̴̻̠̥̤̪̲̜̞͐̓̕͠S̷T̵͉̤͉̹̝̻̘̹͆̐̀̀͗̎̆? Another freebie spooky pattern, huge thanks to BlindCherub for letting me share this design based on his pixel art!! by Erotavlas_SVD

[amneiger]

Rereading...

“Think of your Pokémon. That Lopunny there, Umbreon, all the rest. You went through hell with them. They're not just your pets. They're your family…Imagine next year,” Domino said, ���the rules change. Your Pokémon are shit now. New Pokémon are good. Pokémon you don't have. Say goodbye to your family, go get a new one. See what I mean? The heart. The heart can't keep up.”

Lachlan Nguyen, during an uncommon loser's interview only minutes after his final Pokémon fell, faced all watching and tearfully announced his retirement from competitive battling at the age of twenty-five. He went on to explain his intention to become a gym leader in his native Giday region and train the next generation of Gidayers so that one might one day hoist the Champion's Cup. The crowd gave him a standing ovation with more enthusiasm than they gave the frankly boring match that preceded. Then Lachlan Nguyen vanished from all human memory.

We think the IPL has determined the course of battling history, but in reality, it's only existed for 64 years. After another century, will my region win? Or will the world end before it?

Aracely Sosa, burning bright, arms extended outward, eyes shut serenely. She ceased looking at him, at anything. Yet he felt her gaze burning into his forehead. Burning into his skull. He felt her eyeballs inside his brain. She's reading my mind! “Shut up,” he said to himself. His words broadcast to all. “Shut up.”

Science, officially stumped, tossed up its hands. Toril had her own theory. Shedinja was a shard of Nincada's soul. The part of it that was weak and afraid, motionless underground as it prayed no predator would detect it, sifting antennae through the soil for microscopic bits of sustenance. In that state it dreamed of the Ninjask it would become, its ideal self, but while other Pokémon could simply achieve their dreams with effort, Nincada was always too miserable and empty and alone, so alone in that dark hole. Bottom of the food chain, interaction with any other living creature meant death, interaction was loathsome, yet some part longed to interact, longed to reach out and touch, for why else did its antennae ceaselessly sift?

When Aracely was seventeen, the age Toril was now, she fell out of the world.

It's nonsense. It had to be nonsense. It was rebellion against a world grown too sensible, where too much unknown was stamped out. To them, it was only possible to create their own story by ignoring the story of the world entirely. That's what made them a cult; the willed divorce from reality.

You began to believe their narrative. The narrative keeping this world at a standstill. The narrative of endless repetition, annual cycles of pointless entertainment, winners crowned, winners to replace history.

Most first-time tournament challengers learned in regionals to blot out the crowd. Toril a few years back created her own method, to imagine the crowd as wind atop a mountain. That wind was the loudest thing on the planet, yet somehow the brain learned to filter it to nothing, to the point it became possible to sleep, to the point that on the rare occasions it suddenly stopped, the silence sounded louder.

In that parallel line of history, humanity lost the race. And all 8 billion of us were dead. I have seen many other lines now. I am a seer of all. And what I see is: This world will end on October 12.

...When I Win the World Ends.

[amneiger]

A friend has once again brought it to my attention that it is unusual to have an intact chronological memory of life prior to age 12 and you know what’s weird to ME is that the rest of yall forgot how to sing the clean-up song

[amneiger]

[amneiger]

The most fulfilled people I know tend to have two traits. They’re insatiably curious—about new ideas, experiences, information and people.And they seem to exist in a state of perpetual, self-inflicted unhappiness. These people tend to have a project they’re working on. An essay. A poem. They’re reading Wittgenstein for the first time. Or rereading Proust. They’re rehearsing for a dance performance. Learning about carbon capture technologies. Making a track in Ableton. Knitting a jumper. Testing out a new recipe. Improving their Cantonese. Taking a painting class… They’re serious about the project, although they may exhibit some self-consciousness, some hesitancy, about how badly they want it to go well. If you catch them on a good day, they’re full of freshness and vigor and excitement—an infectious enthusiasm that makes you a little more lighthearted, and a little more excited about whatever projects you have in your life. But if you catch these people on a bad day—well. I’m stuck, they’ll say. The project’s not going well. I’m not getting any better at this. It’s not as good as I want it to be. […] But it’s this restless pursuit of greatness, even when they feel demoralized and inadequate, that shapes their lives and makes things interesting. So let’s not call it dissatisfaction. Let’s call it a divine discontent.

Celine Nguyen, the divine discontent

[amneiger]

Currently playing...

Food cube: Spongy foodstuff molded into a slate-hued cube of perfect proportions. What forces married the messiness of eating with the precision of cubes? Large boulder: It's a large piece of rock, older than every idea. Normality gas pump: It's a hermetic cask, hose, and nozzle. Inscribed are the words: 'in case of dimensional emergency, spray'. Crib: Wood slats are megaliths to a child. Feather pillows are cold meadows. Here are the boundaries of their dusk-world. Electromagnetic sensor: Small distortions in the electromagnetic field caused by machine folk are visible to this sensor. Hills: Blips in the wave graph of stone over time. Ruins: Here crumble the mysterious Eaters' vine-swathed works, spun on the cyclopean lathe in an ageless past. Chrome steeples and parapets that rise above the clutches of shale hint at the labyrinths beneath them. Box of crayons: Wax from the hives of Odrum is mixed in dye and moulded to the shape of styli. Together in the box they sample the iridescence of the world and offer the tools to expand it. Glover: Hand-coats for sale! Spare your digits the indignity of early removal! Small sphere of negative weight: A sphere of some black pyritic metal succumbs to the negative pressures of gravity and tries to fall upward. Mechanical wings: Force is pushed across bronze spines through an improbable series of flapping motions, whereupon parasols pop open to catch the mercurial wind. Penetrating radar: Picophase transceiver arrays assemble an exquisitely detailed model of one's surroundings. Gemcutter: If you bend the light just so, it frays into brilliance.

...Caves of Qud.

[amneiger]

revising your writing is just like "is this weird. is this a weird sentence. is this the weirdest most poorly-worded sentence ever written by anyone" and the sentence in question is "he walked across the room"

[amneiger]

Mozu: 小さなスペース (2023)

[amneiger]

I love the Dawn Machine, and not just because I stared at it for so long it took over my brain and turned me into its ever-obedient pawn.

[amneiger]

Fallen London writing is 30% the most bone chilling terror you've ever experienced, 20% soul altering beautiful and poigiant prose, and 50% your character and the narrator looking at each other and trying to decide if the funny option is worth suffering the consequences of your actions

[amneiger]

[amneiger]

wait

wait

are you saying that I actually have to think of characters

um

ummmmmmmmmm

give me a minute

...

give me another minute

...

give me another minute please

...

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

That's three out of five who define themselves as intellectual types, and one who might as well compared to everyone else around her.

...I don't have five people to tag. Most of the accounts I'm following are gimmick accounts. Um. Let's just pretend I did.

RULES: make a poll with 5 of your all-time favourite characters and then tag 5 people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favourite!

I got tagged by @nelfes

@greatshell-rider @ohmygourd7 @originalcontent @noumios @thatonespook

[amneiger]

I never did update when this got finished last summer, did I?

Happy with how it turned out, even if it does take some serious hairpin architecture to construct a bun that'll hold the hat steady - it's a little heavier (and a lot more ready to blow around in the wind) than anticipated.

[amneiger]

[amneiger]

When I was a very suicidal trans activist in Texas, Benjamin Sisko saying “sure, you would [die for your people]. Dying gets you off the hook. The question is: are you willing to live for your people?” changed and possibly saved my life. It’s up there with “if we are going to be damned, let us be damned for who we really are” from Picard. Star Trek not only shows us a better world, it teaches us how to make it there

[amneiger]

hey. let's do a group exercise. go play No Vehicles In The Park, which is a short, text-based browser "game"—it shouldn't take more than five to ten minutes to complete.

make sure you play the full version with all 27 questions (if you see the option to skip to the end, ignore it). then, when you get to the results page, tally up the number of red bars on the graph.