#maybe that way developers will remember your software actually needs to be able to run on a machine for people to play it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nanowrimo · 4 years

Text

When Should You Worldbuild for Your Novel?

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. World Anvil, a 2020 NaNo sponsor, is a writing software that helps you develop and organize your characters, plot and world setting. Today, World Anvil Director Janet Forbes shares some tips for worldbuilding at all stages of your novel:

As a writing and worldbuilding expert, and the director of the award-winning worldbuilding and novel writing software World Anvil, I get asked this question a lot: at which stage during the novel writing process should you be worldbuilding? Should you be worldbuilding as you plot, as you draft, or as you edit? And—I see you out there, you glorious pantsers—what if you don’t plot? When should you be worldbuilding?

A quick disclaimer & explanation:

EVERYONE IS DIFFERENT! (Isn’t it beautiful?) This post is full of suggestions. If in doubt, try things out! But not everything will work for everyone. Experiment with these ideas, and develop a novel writing process that works for you!

Some of the best worldbuilding articles are only a few sentences—just long enough to document your ideas! You’ll probably expand them a bit through the drafting process as you discover or decide more details. But don’t feel you have to write the entire “Silmarillion” for your world! Longer articles often just mean more to read through when you’re in a hurry.

When to worldbuild as a Plotter?

Are you a plotter? Prefer to take a run at a first draft with a solid plan? Then here are some of the best places to work worldbuilding into your novel writing method!

Worldbuild the big stuff during the plotting phase

As a plotter, a lot of the big worldbuilding ideas probably come as you plot your novel. You’ll need characters who live in settlements, and were probably educated in organizations. They may or may not adhere to certain traditions or religions. You might add magic systems, supernatural powers, and/or futuristic technology (which you’ll need to know the limitations of!). Writing down your ideas NOW means that you have them safe, and won’t lose them!

Worldbuilding your organizations, like Nations, Religions, Jedis, Police Forces and Universities, will help give them more impact, and make your world feel more dynamic and real!

Image Credit: Davina, made on World Anvil.

If your novel is an event novel—aliens invade, the Earth quakes, or a zombie virus is let loose—then write a bit about the nature of the threat. If you’re creating a character novel, make sure you have some notes on your main character’s background, mentors, relationships, education and skills.

Worldbuilding these elements of your plot—even in just a few notes—before you start the first draft will really help you down the line! You can plan all of these out using the worldbuilding templates in World Anvil. They give you the freedom to create WHATEVER you want, help you connect everything together, and make everything searchable when you need it!

Worldbuilding during Draft 1—character experience and juicy details!

So, if you’re anything like me, you’ll probably find that something magical happens during your first draft. You start to consider your world through your character’s eyes! This means adding a lot of details to your worldbuilding—both SHOWING rather than TELLING, and sensory detail.

For example, you won’t tell your readers that an organization is evil. Instead, you can show a poor man in the stocks because he couldn’t afford his tithe or tax. Add that punishment to the worldbuilding article about the evil organization, so you can remember it for later (or for book 2!).

Also, as your characters interact with places and people, they’ll feel, smell and hear (and maybe taste) details which heighten the experience. This makes your writing more evocative, and invites readers to feel they’re living in your novel, too!

Add these details—you can even copy-paste relevant paragraphs as quotes—into your worldbuilding articles. Some Plotters prefer to do this scene by scene as they write their first draft. Others (like me!) prefer to do this as a separate stage, once the first draft is done. Read through the first draft, and add quotations or details into your worldbuilding articles. Future-you will thank you!

A fantastic example of a quick character profile! Hotlinks (shown here in red) help you link everything together in your world, so you can find things easily!

Image Credit: ShyRedFox, created on World Anvil

Worldbuilding as a Panster!

If you’d rather fly by the seat of your pants than plot out each step of your novel, then congratulations—you’re a Panster! You probably love the exciting feeling of discovering your story as you write your first draft. So here are some ways you can work worldbuilding into your novel writing process!

Characters are worldbuilding too!

Most pantsers I know love to craft characters, even if they don’t know what will happen to them over the course of the story! And characters are full to the brim with worldbuilding opportunities!

For example, the places your characters were born, went to school, travelled—they are all important locations to worldbuild in a few sentences. Which country is your character from? Do they fit in and, if not, which traditions or view points do they chafe against? These are all excellent places to start your worldbuilding, even before NaNoWriMo has started. You’ll still be pantsing—just Pantsing with Purpose!

And remember, none of these ideas are set in stone - you can always change them later. It’s just a jumping off point, to give you inspiration.

Characters are worldbuilding too! Writing out a detailed character profile is a great way to discover more about your main character. World Anvil provides prompts to help you flesh out your characters even more.

Image Credit: Dhelian, created on World Anvil

Plan worldbuilding using the “Jot, Bin, Pants” method!

The Jot, Bin, Pants method (originally developed by Cassandra Lee Yieng) is a way to plan without plotting! Once you have those scenes, scan through them quickly. You’ll already spot elements you can write short worldbuilding articles about! If a scene takes place in a ship, a smart townhouse, or an abandoned castle, write a few sentences about that space. What material is it built from? What feelings does it conjure up?

Now you have a few notes on that location, you’ll be able to recapture the feeling much more quickly during crunch time, and get your words written!

Keep worldbuilding notes during Draft 1

Another helpful moment to make notes is at the end of each writing session during Draft 1. Try spending 5 minutes documenting the people, places and things you came up with. World Anvil’s tree layout can give you a lot of inspiration when you’re glancing over your setting to decide what should happen next! So if you mention a creature, a character, a location or a technology, scribble down a few notes about your ideas. You never know - it might save your character’s life!

With World Anvil’s novel writing software, you can easily reference your worldbuilding and update your series bible either AS you write, or after each writing session!

The worldbuilding review phase

Regardless of Plotterism or Pantitude, you should eventually have Draft 1 of a book! Granted, it probably needs some tweaks right now. But there’s a story there, characters, ideas, and an ending. Congratulations!

Now is a great time to take stock of your worldbuilding. As you read through your novel, build up your world bible or series bible. Make sure you have articles for each major character, for the places and things you’ve introduced - just a few sentences is fine. But as you edit and flesh out your novel, these will be great references to have, and it’ll speed up the next phase no end!

Worldbuilding and Structural Edits

During structural edits, i.e. re-editing the actual story and big ideas of your book, you’ll find that keeping an updated version of your series bible is really useful! You can do this as you edit (which is what I prefer) or at the end of each draft.

By the time you’re at line edits, you’ll be done with your worldbuilding… and ready to get on with your novel’s sequel! And I can promise you - you’ll be thanking past-you for keeping such good worldbuilding notes in your Series Bible!

If you want to keep your worldbuilding organized and instantly available in your novel writing software interface, then check out World Anvil! We’re recommended by Writer’s Digest, as well as bestselling authors like Brian McClellan, Chris Fox, Jenna Moreci, and literally a million other writers and worldbuilders! You can also pick up a 25% discount with the coupon code NANOWRIMO!

Become the ultimate writer and worldbuilder : NaNoWriMo participants get 25% off World Anvil!

Whatever you’re writing, and whenever you worldbuild, World Anvil will help to develop and organize your characters, plot and world setting, link everything together, and write your novel in our integrated novel writing software!

And right now you can bag 25% off 6 & 12 month memberships of Master Tier and above, using the coupon code NANOWRIMO on checkout!

Janet Forbes (pen name J.D. Blythe) is a published author and the Director of World Anvil, the ultimate worldbuilding and novel writing platform! This award-winning software helps you organize, store and track your worldbuilding as you’re writing your novel. Our novel writing software, accessible from anywhere, integrates stunningly with your worldbuilding. And when it’s time to publish, you can export, or publish directly on the World Anvil platform and monetize YOUR way! Check it out at World Anvil.

#nanowrimo #writing #amwriting #worldbuilding #nano prep #by nano sponsor #janet forbes

358 notes · View notes

sakurablossomcreamlatte · 4 years

Text

tiny giants made of tinier giants

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Relationships: Dipper Pines & Ford Pines

Characters: Dipper Pines, Ford Pines, Stan Pines (mentioned), Mabel Pines (mentioned)

Words: 3,596

Summary: “It’s two AM, and Ford has a visitor.”

[AO3]

why would I work on any of my own WIPs or try and get my life together when I could write oneshots

(this work was inspired by this super sweet comic by @rosesanddoodl3s! I hope you don’t mind, I just really loved it and had to write some of my feels out)

Ford’s been back in his own world for approximately thirty-two hours, and yet it’s almost like he never left - sitting at his desk in his old room, scribbling in the back of his second journal and muttering hissed curses between his teeth. The Oregon sky sits inky and indigo outside the panes of his window, studded with stars, and despite their apathetic, twinkling benevolence Ford can’t shake the feeling that they’re watching him.

It’s not something he can just let go of after thirty years on the run between dimensions.

On top of snatching away his chance to finally take out that demon once and for all, mercilessly and swiftly as he was powerless to stop it - his idiot brother’s activation of the portal literally created an interdimensional rift. He spent most of the day figuring out a way to contain it... and subsequently wrestling the slippery splashes of interdimensional matter around the portal room into the glass orb he was able to create. At least he’s in good enough shape to do so, despite his age - not that Stan would have a clue, if the beer gut he’s developed over the years is anything to go by.

He crosses out one equation and scribbles another, tugging at his hair in frustration. All that stands between Bill and his goals now is a veil of worryingly breakable glass.

There has to be something else he can use to protect everyone until he can find something stronger. Project Mentem, maybe? Would the machine still even work? It would probably need some level of repair after thirty years of disuse - not that he’d even used it successfully the first time round.

A tentative knock on the door jolts him from the letters and numbers that are starting to spin on the pages in front of his eyes, and he really hopes it’s not Stan - but then again, Stan’s not really the type to knock either. Brow creasing, Ford turns to face the door. “Yes?”

The door slowly creaks open, and he can’t stop himself from raising an eyebrow at the sight of the boy twin - Dipper, that’s it - hovering apprehensively in the doorway, clutching what looks like the comforter from his bed. “Um, Great-Uncle Ford?”

“Dipper?” Ford frowns again, closing the journal and setting his pen down as he checks his watch. It’s after two AM. “What are you doing up?”

Dipper hesitantly crosses the threshold, and as he steps into the dim light of the room Ford notices that his eyes are red - and a little puffy. “I, uh…” he averts his gaze, biting his lip, “...couldn’t sleep.”

“I… see.” Ford can feel his heart sink a little. Dipper and Mabel were certainly a lot to take in upon his arrival back in this dimension, considering the thought of descendants hadn’t even crossed his mind - but they seemed assured of themselves, despite the way Dipper had almost fainted and/or thrown up upon discovering that yes, Ford was the one who wrote the journal he was clutching in his hands. The bright-eyed expression of hope and determination the boy had turned to him with as he’d pulled the memory eraser gun from his rucksack was a stark contrast to the one on his face now, and Ford’s struck out of nowhere with a sudden urge to protect him - his sister, too. He’s only known them for a day and he already knows he never wants to see them cry. Ever.

Stan might want him to stay away from them, but he certainly can’t stop him from caring about them - and if Dipper’s down here of his own volition, Ford certainly won’t push him away. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Something like that.” Dipper hugs the comforter to himself a little tighter, and Ford makes a decision, rising from his desk and crossing the room to take a seat on the couch. The kid’s wide-eyed gaze follows him, and Ford simply pats the cushion next to him as an invitation.

Dipper comes to sit on the couch next to him, tugging the worn, patched blanket around his shoulders. There’s still something hesitant in the movements of his limbs, like he’s holding himself back, and something twinges uncomfortably within Ford’s chest. He doesn’t want either of the children to feel like that around him - but he just wants to protect them from the dangers Stan’s opened their world up to, regardless of how inadvertent it might have been, and for that he probably needs to keep his distance. Even now he feels like he’s breaking some arbitrary rule, with Dipper perched on the couch at his side - before a wave of indignation washes it away. It’s Ford’s house, damn it, not Stan’s - despite what he may have told them… and everyone else in this town.

“Any reason you came to me rather than Stan…?” Ford ventures. He’s absolutely not against it - if anything, he feels strangely honoured that one of the kids came to him seemingly looking for comfort - but considering how long they’ve known him against how long they’ve known Stan, he has to wonder why. Dipper simply stares at his socked feet instead.

Were ten year olds always this… small? Both the boy and his sister barely come up to Ford’s - and Stan’s - elbows. Are they just short for their age? What were we like compared to Dad?

He wonders if it’s a good thing that he’s struggling to remember.

“I….” Dipper starts, and then seemingly gives up on himself, thin shoulders slumping with a sigh. “Sorry. I just - I dunno. I don’t think Grunkle Stan’s… mad at me, as such, but I kind of… said some things to him yesterday.” He averts his eyes, curling a little further in on himself.

Of course. Ford’s still smarting at the idea that his brother claimed his name as his own (and almost certainly amassed an impressive criminal record under it). Stan obviously cares about these kids - that part’s so glaringly obvious that even Ford can’t deny it - but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s essentially betrayed them.

“Well,” Ford concedes, “it’s… a lot to take in. I think you’re handling it better than I might have at the age of ten.”

Dipper looks up at him, stricken. “I’m twelve.”

Ford makes a mental note to correct his journal entry on the boy later. “I see. My apologies.”

His great-nephew (and that feels so bizarre to think, knowing that less than forty-eight hours ago he wasn’t even aware of the kid’s existence) just deflates even further. “It’s... okay, I guess. I know I’m short.” He pulls his knees up to his chest. “I mean, it’s just really annoying right now. Grunkle Stan’s really tall - and so are you, actually - and so’s my dad. I guess I can’t be short forever, but… I dunno.”

Right, their father. Shermie’s boy - David.

“How is Shermie, anyway?” Ford ventures, and no sooner have the words left his mouth than he wishes he hadn’t asked - because at the mention of their elder brother’s name Stan’s face immediately falls, any light that might have remained leaving his eyes, and that tells Ford pretty much everything he needs to know.

“What’s your father like?”

The question leaves Ford’s lips before he even really has the time to think about how random it is. He hasn’t even seen David since… what, Thanksgiving in third year of college? His nephew was barely four or five years old at that point, a rambunctious child with big brown eyes and a mop of chestnut-coloured curls who gleefully ran around their parents’ apartment while Shermie chased after him, throwing out frantic, stuttered apologies in their dad’s direction. It’s crossed Ford’s mind every now and then while jumping between dimensions, but he’s always pushed it away just as quickly, not wanting to dwell on the pain of everything else he threw away the second he shook Bill’s hand.

Dipper’s seemingly just as taken aback by the question as Ford is, and when he lifts his head to look up at him, brown eyes wide beneath his fluffy chestnut fringe, for a second it’s almost like he’s looking at a carbon copy of David himself… although he thankfully hasn’t inherited the infamous Pines nose. “My dad?”

“Ah - yes.” Ford coughs, averts his own eyes. “I suppose - well, Mom babysat for Shermie sometimes.”

Dipper’s brow lifts a little in the light of recognition, before furrowing again in thought. “He’s…” he trails off, visibly searching for the right adjective. “Nice. Kinda goofy, I guess. Mom always says that’s where Mabel gets it from.”

“What does he do?” Ford presses.

“He’s a software programmer.” Dipper’s shoulders relax, if only by a fraction. “And Mom’s a lawyer.”

“A software programmer, huh?” A memory of Fiddleford holding up a laptop prototype with bright, shining eyes briefly floats to the surface, and a stinging pang of regret bounces painfully against the inside of Ford’s ribcage, and he tries to focus on the child sitting next to him - family that he didn’t even know he had. It’s more than he expected, and more than he could have asked for. “Does he work a lot?”

“Yeah,” Dipper answers, kicking his feet under the seat of the couch. “He has his own business, but he works from home a couple of days a week - and he tries cooking dinner sometimes, but he’s not great at it.” His shoulders twitch beneath his blanket, the shadow of a laugh bubbling up. “One time he made us spaghetti sauce with ramen noodles - it was so gross. When Mom got home we ended up ordering Chinese food instead.”

Ford has to chuckle at that. “You know Shermie was never a great cook, either.”

Dipper relaxes a little more, and his shoulder bumps against Ford’s elbow as he leans a tiny bit closer. “I don’t remember a whole lot about Grandpa Shermie,” he admits, hesitantly. “Mom always says he really loved us, though. And Dad always took us to the planetarium on our birthday, because he said that was his favourite thing to do with his dad when he was a kid.”

And even if Ford’s trying to stave off his own looming anxiety about the very real possibility of the world as they know it ending, there’s something in his nephew’s words that lifts his own battle-scarred heart by just a touch. Maybe it’s knowing now that for all he left behind him when he hightailed it out of Backupsmore with two PhDs and a fat research grant cheque, back home Shermie turned out to be a good man, bringing the happy, excitable child Ford once knew as his nephew along that path with him. Seeing that David apparently grew up to be a good man himself, if the little smile that tugs at the corner of Dipper’s mouth when he talks about his parents is anything to go by.

At least someone in this family of ours turned out to be remotely functional.

Ford’s next question emerges a little more easily, the distance between them slowly beginning to close in fractional increments. “Did they give you your nickname?”

The question had already arisen when Stan was catching him up on the family history - the name Mabel is a little old-fashioned, although sweet in its charm, but surely nobody would ever call their child Dipper legitimately? - and Stan had simply shrugged and grunted something along the lines of, ‘Look at the little goofus’s forehead. It’s like someone spilled hot sauce on his face.’

He would, if the kid would stop vibrating with anxiety/pen clicks long enough to sit still. Not that it was even necessary, with the carefully inked sketch - which, sure enough, was a dead ringer for the Big Dipper - he’d found flipping through the third journal under the entry titled, ‘Your new author!’.

He’s ten - no, twelve. Ford won’t hold it against him.

Back in the present, Dipper nods. “Dad said Grandpa pointed it out to him when we were little and then he couldn’t unsee it, and then they both started calling me Dipper and it just… stuck.” He hugs his knees. “I feel like it fits. My real name’s kind of dumb, anyway.”

There’s probably not much that could be dumber than naming a pair of twins Stanford and Stanley, but Ford decides not to push it. “Well, it’s certainly unique.”

Dipper shrugs and averts his gaze, and a silence falls between them… but after a few moments, there’s a soft weight against Ford’s arm as he leans against him.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts his arm to rest it around the boy’s shoulders. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s expecting - but Dipper doesn’t jolt, or flinch away. Instead, he simply shifts to rest his head against Ford’s chest with a soft exhale.

That in itself can only be a testament to the kind of fathers Shermie and David turned out to be. When Mabel threw her little sweater-clad arms around his neck earlier that night and chirped, “goodnight, Grunkle Ford!”, the wave of longing and affection that surged through his chest was so powerful that it both ached and almost took him off his feet at the same time.

He’d forgotten what love - and the affection that goes hand in hand with it - felt like, and in one simple hug from a niece he didn’t even know he had, it had come rushing back with all the force of a tsunami. These kids - Mabel especially - are so strangely warm and open, with each other, and with Stan and that young man - what was his name, Zeus? no, Soos - and now with Ford himself, too. And Dipper could barely make eye contact or stop shaking, but in the middle of the night, worn down by exhaustion - and he hasn’t missed the shadows under the boy’s eyes, either - he’s far more subdued, seemingly removed from the stammering, gagging ball of pen-clicking anxiety that had first greeted him after he’d set foot back in this world.

Either way, they’re certainly a far cry from himself and Stan.

Belatedly, Ford realises that his eyes are stinging a little, and he awkwardly clears his throat. Dipper doesn’t say anything. Beneath his fringe, his eyes are distant, and Ford can only wonder what he’s thinking.

“Is…” he winces at how his own voice breaks the silence, but they’ve already crossed this line. He doesn’t even know what it means to be an uncle, but if something’s bothering the kid, he wants to help. “Is there... another reason you can’t sleep, Dipper?”

This town’s fascinating, but it’s also dangerous, and in those six years he lived here Ford had more than his fair share of close shaves. Dipper’s thin arms are covered by his blanket right now, but during the day, the thin lines and dots of scars and scrapes that traverse his skin haven’t escaped Ford’s attention.

Ford can only wonder what he’s seen, and he hopes to God it’s not the same thing that sparked his own suffocating paranoia.

He can feel Dipper’s shoulders stiffen beneath his forearm, and for a few long moments, another silence descends.

When Dipper does answer, his voice is quiet, partially muffled by his comforter. “S-sometimes it’s just…” he trails off, shifting slightly against Ford’s chest. “Difficult.”

It doesn’t exactly provide much of an explanation, and Ford sighs. It was probably a step too far to expect Dipper to open up right away - if anything, he’s grateful for the way he’s here with him now, even if it’s explicitly against Stan’s wishes.

Dipper’s voice breaks the quiet once again. “Anyway… I wanna know more about you. Like…” he trails off, searching. “What were you and Grunkle Stan like when you were twelve?”

A laugh bubbles up in Ford’s chest at the innocence of the question. It’s a lifetime ago now, like Stan had said. Before they thought anything could ever break them apart, when they were just two identical best friends - brothers, even - with a dream of sailing away from their shitty little town.

“Didn’t Stan already tell you? He was a troublemaker and I was… well, a nerd, I suppose.”

Dipper leans against his side, relaxing once again - and it’s a relief. If they have to do this on his terms, that’s fine. Hopefully the kid might open up to him when he’s ready, whenever that may be. “I mean… we heard Stan’s side of the story. I guess I wanted to hear yours.”

Ford casts his mind back. “Well, Stan wasn’t wrong - he was a troublemaker.” A chuckle. “But then again, I suppose I wasn’t entirely innocent either…”

The stories flow from him more easily than he would expect them to - for some reason, it doesn’t hurt as much to tell Dipper, who listens, giggles here and there, occasionally interjects with some quip or aside that shows Ford that for all that’s happened in the last forty or fifty years, there are parts of his brother that haven’t necessarily changed. With each story he recalls, hazy days gone by that leave his lips as a shared memory, Dipper slumps a little further into his lap - and in some complete paradox, the heavier the kid rests against him, the lighter his heart feels.

Somewhere in the back of his mind as he’s regaling Dipper with the tale of Fiddleford’s disastrous attempt at a college open mic night - guest starring that godforsaken banjo - he wonders if it might be worth revising the entry he wrote about the kid in the third journal.

It’s still painful to think about Fiddleford, though, and Ford hopes that one day he’ll get the chance to apologise.

Even so, it still comes back to Stan. It often does. And for some reason, it’s easier to separate them in his mind - Stanley, the goofy, scrappy little smartass with half his front teeth missing who always pulled Ford up by his armpits when bullies knocked him down and tried to pin most of his mishaps on Shanklin the possum, and Stan, the exhausted, hollow-eyed stranger in a hooded jacket who showed up on his doorstep on that fateful day in 1982… who’s evidently reinvented himself as the man they now know as Stanford Pines, with a fez perched atop his now-grey hair and lies and blatant falsehoods falling from his lips.

“It’s kind of crazy imagining Grunkle Stan as a kid,” Dipper murmurs. He looks like he’s having a progressively harder time trying to keep his eyes open. “Like… Mabel and I only ever knew him as this weird old scam artist guy.”

Ford can feel the smile tug at his lips. Dipper and Mabel are going to grow up one day, too, and he hopes he’ll be able to witness it. “Well, we were all children once.”

It’s like he’s taking a back seat to himself as he tells Dipper these stories from another life. If he thinks about Stan and what they’ve become, it hurts - even if it’s dulled into a detached ache over the years, the occasional wave comes, raw and fresh, and it’s sharp like a knife. If he thinks about Stanley, it still hurts - but the edges are softened by the miasma that nostalgia casts over everything, and that’s not quite as painful. At least back then, he knew some sort of happiness, and at least he can vaguely recall what it felt like.

He can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him at the memory of Stan trying to convince their mother that the person who set off the whole school’s sprinklers and took off into the distance shouting ‘that’s how Stan Pines does it, suckers!’ was someone trying to frame him, and the way she’d absolutely eviscerated him in response.

“...and that was the last time Stanley ever lied to our mom.”

There’s no response from Dipper this time - no giggle, or eye-roll, or dry quip - and he looks down to see that the kid’s drifted off in his lap, head pillowed against Ford’s thigh as he breathes, slow and soft.

Well. In fairness, that was pretty much what he came down here for. Objective achieved… more or less.

Tentatively, he runs his hand over Dipper’s hair. It’s a complete bird’s nest - he obviously doesn’t brush it that often - but it’s thick and fluffy, just like David’s had been as a child. The heavy curtain of Mabel’s long tresses that had hit him in the face when she’d hugged him had been more or less the same.

Twins run in the family, he’d written in the journal. It’s a comforting thought - if anything, knowing that they hopefully won’t turn out like him and Stan.

He hadn’t wanted to throw it away - neither of them had, but Stan had no idea what he was dealing with, and if he had any inkling of just how dangerous the forces he was messing with were, most likely didn’t care. Irresponsible and knuckleheaded to a fault, from childhood to now - and honestly, probably to eternity.

As a scientist, Ford is used to determining things by probability and likelihood. Each situation has a predetermined number of potential outcomes… but sometimes, something greater - fate, the universe - has a hand in things. And maybe this time, she’s granted Ford a second chance of sorts. There’s a second generation of Pines twins, and they might have the potential to be better than he and Stan ever were.

“Alright, my boy,” he mutters to the one currently sleeping in his lap. “Let’s get you back into your own bed before Stan notices.”

#own writing #dipper pines #stanford pines #ford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction

69 notes · View notes

crossdressingdeath · 3 years

Note

Just a reminder that if you have time and feel like writing that post you mentioned about how you would rewrite each DBH character’s story given unlimited runtime, it would be very cool to read.

Ah, right. Quick note that I don’t know much about Connor’s machine path or the violent revolution path or any ending to Kara’s story that doesn’t involve successfully getting past the border guard so I will be skimming those parts of the story. Also it’s going to be pretty vague because Details Are Hard. (Also I’m tired so this is probably not going to make a lot of sense or be in any sort of reasonable order.)

Okay, general points first. I feel like the three stories should intersect more, even if only in a “seeing the aftermath of their actions” way; maybe Connor and Hank are sent to investigate Zlatko’s death after Kara and Alice have gone through, for example. You’ve got three protagonists active at the same time and they barely interact! Come on, give us a little conversation. And of course the public opinion system needs to be used a lot more; it only effects two things in the whole game, come on! It doesn’t impact any of the major human characters, and that just feels wrong. I’ll. come back to this in Connor’s section because I feel like it would be best used there (since there really aren’t many humans in the story outside of his parts and the ones who do show up have reasons to side with or against the deviants outside of public opinion), but if nothing else I’d like it to lead to us seeing humans demonstrating/fighting with the deviants. Also I would like to see at least a few examples of androids deviating peacefully, like Connor does; I don’t believe for a second that there weren’t androids who deviated in a place where they were surrounded by people who were with them all the way.

So, first off: Markus. Mostly I’d just want to extend the timeline a bit and add some more Jericho missions, because oh my god you cannot join an organization of people with no weapons or resources of any kind, become their leader, and successfully change society in less than a week. So just... more evidence of Markus slowly winning Jericho over and helping them gather supplies and resources. Show him helping them set up actual supply lines! Rescuing deviants! Winning over allies! Including human ones, because the idea that there isn’t a single human working with Jericho when pretty much every major human character is in fact on the deviants’ side is... dumb. Also, individual missions with North, Simon and Josh; it would be good to spend more time getting to know them, since as it stands it’s... kind of hard to care all that much when they die. I might also add short scenes where we see Connor’s targets arriving in Jericho if they survive, just to add more connection between the stories (and also I like them and wish more had been done with them). And make Simon a love interest (because this is a choice-heavy game and so I should be able to make the choice to play exclusively as gay androids if that’s what I want), and make it easier to avoid having a love interest; let’s not create a situation where entering into a relationship less than a week after gaining emotions is all but mandatory, hm? Also, maybe Markus should meet Kamski one time? As the guy fulfilling Kamski’s deviant-related plans? Come on, one meeting. Maybe clear up Kamski’s motivations just a bit. And, crossing over with Connor’s story, maybe a bit of stuff them both being part of the RK line and how it went from a caregiver android to a detective android. Oh, and change it so that you’re not guaranteed to have fatalities on the violence path, because insisting that only pacifism can possibly end happily when fighting against oppression seems kind of... not great, all things considered. Frankly given the androids’ combat abilities it kind of makes more sense to have unavoidable deaths on the pacifism route, or alternately to have different unavoidable deaths on both routes, but being admittedly a softy I am very happy to have it be possible to have no deaths on either route. I don’t necessarily expect it to be easy to save everyone (it might make sense to add in missions where you make preparations to increase their odds of survival, or do something similar to Simon’s possible death in Stratford Tower where one of other protagonists’ actions has an effect on the sequence of events), but it would be nice to have it be possible.

On to Kara; I mentioned this before, but instead of her story being a cute-but-boring game-long escort mission where you have to protect a small child who is entirely useless I’d give her a story about uncovering how deviancy works and the history of it. Whether it really is just a glitch or something more, what rA9 actually is... all that fun stuff. No idea how that would actually go, but it would be more interesting than just running to Canada. If nothing else we could get more backstory on how the hell Kamski managed to create androids who are so realistic that that they can develop emotions. And if it is just a glitch there can be more discussion on whether or not simulated emotions are as real as actual emotions, because the fact that they brought up the concept of deviant emotions being a simulation and did nothing with it just feels like a massive waste of potential. And I’d add some more ways to live; from what I understand it’s really hard to keep everyone alive unless you maybe possibly condemn a couple and their baby to freeze to death or get killed by a revolution and keep things peaceful in Markus’s story. While I do want more interaction between the stories, I don’t think your choices in one story should automatically lock you out of getting the best ending for one of the other stories (with the obvious exception of the situations where that actually makes sense; can’t get the best ending for Connor and Hank if Markus nukes the city while Hank is in it, for example). At least with Kara; her story is so separate from Markus and Connor’s that it doesn’t make sense for Markus’s actions to lock her out of escaping to Canada! Also, it adds nothing to the story to have Alice turn out to be an android and robs Kara of her close human companion who has a massive impact on her life; yeah, there’s Rose, but she’s in... what, two missions? That’s less than Karl, who has the additional story impact of having been Markus’s father figure for (if memory serves) years before the start of the game, so there’s no dynamic to build; it’s already there. Keep Alice human! It’s a completely pointless twist! ...I recognise that this does mean that Connor can get a young human girl killed by succeeding in stopping a deviant, but it wouldn’t take much to rewrite his run-in with Kara to not involve a chase across a freeway. Again, I’ll come back to this when I get to Connor’s section. But imagine the impact of things like Todd’s abuse and Zlatko’s section if Alice is human; showing that these villains don’t necessarily see androids and humans as different, but in a negative sense this time. Also, I’d like a sort of prologue to her story featuring the incident that got her broken and led to her being repaired at the start of the game.

And of course now we get to Connor, the best boy who deserves the best. I’ll start with the things I said I’d come back to. First, the public opinion system: imagine if Hank’s thoughts on deviants (instead of just changing for no apparent reason beyond a handful of meetings with people who generally kick his ass and then run away or die with at most a bit of conversation) could be altered by public opinion of the deviants’ cause. Even better; by that and his relationship with Connor. Picture a situation where Hank doesn’t trust or like deviants at all due to them running around killing people but still helps them because he wants to help Connor. It would just be very good. Also, since Connor is the only character hanging out exclusively with humans (what with the station full of cops he’s working out of): imagine more missions taking place (or at least starting) in the precinct where Connor can interact with his sort of coworkers and how the conversations with them could change as time passes and public opinion changes. Also again the possibility for a conflict between dislike of deviants and fondness for this particular android, just for fun. And, also just for fun, maybe a bit of character development for Gavin where he’s still a dick (because honestly he’d be less fun if he wasn’t) but if public opinion is high he’ll pretend not to notice Connor sneaking into the evidence locker and fucking around in there for a while when he really definitely isn’t supposed to. Come on, if you’re going to have heroic cops you could at least do something with more than one of them. Also, more Captain Fowler. All we know is that he and Hank are old friends and he’s totally okay with Hank beating the shit out of Perkins; all in all I’d like to know a bit more about him. And with Kara and Alice: the freeway chase works, sure, but I would like the option for Connor to at least try to save Alice; by this point Connor is already showing signs of software instability, if we change it so that Alice is human him putting the mission aside to save a little girl makes sense and gives us a good sense of who he is as a person, and it fits neatly into steadily escalating refusal to complete his mission that eventually reaches full deviancy. If I’m remembering the order right it’s Ortiz’s android (who you can’t let escape), Kara (who you can let go based on Hank’s orders), Rupert (who you can let go to save Hank), the Tracis (who you can let go just because), and then Markus (who you have to deviate to spare); changing it so that you can let Kara go to save a little girl she’s protecting fits the escalation (you could easily argue that Connor has something in his programming about saving human lives, and as one of his earlier missions shows him being specifically trying to save a little girl it makes a great deal of sense that he wants to protect Alice. Also like. Imagine having the option to push Alice out of the way of a car at the cost of Connor’s life. It would be very effective, I think. Also it’s another opportunity to make Hank like you because he would for sure react well to you saving a small child from getting hit by a car.

Alright, moving on; I’d like some more assignments with Connor before he joins the DPD and gets partnered with Hank, showing him actually earning the title of deviant hunter? Also that way we aren’t stuck with the conclusion that CyberLife decided to send their prototype out into the world to partner with the police in investigations after one mission, which said prototype may well have failed to complete. And we could show more of Connor struggling with what he’s being ordered to do but having no way of stopping himself due to a complete lack of any interaction with anyone with functioning emotions, except for maybe CyberLife technicians. Actually, I’d also like to see what it’s like for Connor going to CyberLife for repairs and debriefing and such, because I doubt it’s fun. Other than that... well, Connor’s story is pretty good all things considered, but there are a couple tweaks I’d make. Aside from the previously mentioned exploration of what it means that he and Markus are both part of the RK line, I’d maybe cap off the added early story for him by adding him being hesitant about turning in Ortiz’s android if you’ve been pushing for more software instability and only going through with it when it becomes clear that if he doesn’t all he’ll achieve is getting himself caught not doing his job, which wouldn’t be a good look. I feel like the most effective way to do it might be if it’s not under player control; if his software instability is high enough he’ll be uncertain about it, and if he’s not he won’t be. And if he is uncertain you could add some options to the interrogation where he can win trust by telling the android he was scared of what would happen to him if he didn’t turn him in (followed by him immediately insisting that that was just a cunning ploy and in no way true when pressed on the matter if he did it out loud and not through an interface). Also: why wasn’t it Hank who pushed Connor to deviate. You spend Connor’s entire story with Hank! He is Connor’s tie to humanity! Why does Connor deviate in one conversation with a complete stranger and not his dearest friend! I desperately want a situation where Hank learns too much or something and Connor is ordered to shoot him and you can either go through with it (killing Hank) or deviate and shoot whoever gave you the order instead. Also then there could be hugs. And maybe forehead kisses because please. Connor deserves a little smooch honestly. He’s earned it. And then if your relationship with Hank is low enough that he’s already dead at this point you can have the conversation with Markus. Also, I would love an addition to the machine path where if you have a high relationship with Hank you can choose to deviate before fighting him (instead of just walking away despite that preventing Connor from finishing his mission quickly) or to deviate after fighting him when he’s got Hank hanging off the edge of the roof. Think about it; a moment of horrified realisation where Connor’s software is finally pushed to the breaking point by having to choose whether or not he will kill his only friend for the sake of his mission where he’s left desperately asking himself what the hell he’s doing? Like, if nothing else it would hammer home the fact that at this point Connor is choosing to remain a machine (assuming his software instability is high enough) to have to choose it twice even at the cost of Hank’s life. Actually three times, because the initial choice would be before this point. Also going that way it would be possible to play through the machine path up to the fight with Hank and still net Connor’s best ending, which would just be nice I think. Also, more hugs. Hugs are good.

...Okay, that’s all I can think of for now. Also it’s uh. almost 1 AM here and sleep is in fact important. So I’m going to wrap up here; maybe I’ll make some more posts later if I think of anything else.

#detroit become human #also i now kind of want to write machine!connor deviating when he realises he's killing his best friend #i don't know i just think it would be a really powerful scene if well written #don't know if i can pull it off but it might be fun to try #anon #asks

11 notes · View notes

britesparc · 3 years

Text

Weekend Top Ten #482

Top Ten Sega Games

So I read somewhere on the internet that in June it’s the thirtieth birthday of Sonic the Hedgehog (making him only a couple of months younger than my brother, which is weird). This is due to his debut game, the appropriately-titled Sonic the Hedgehog, being first released on June 23rd. As such – and because I do love a good Tenuous Link – I’ve decided to dedicate this week’s list to Sega (also there was that Sonic livestream and announcement of new games, so I remain shockingly relevant).

I’ve got a funny relationship with Sega, largely because I’ve got a funny relationship with last century’s consoles in general. As I’ve said before, I never had a console growing up, and never really felt the need for one; I came from a computing background, playing on other people’s Spectrums and Commodores before getting my own Amiga and, later, a PC. And I stuck with it, and that was fine. But it does mean that, generally speaking, I have next to zero nostalgia for any game that came out on a Nintendo or Sega console (or Sony, for that matter). I could chew your ear off about Dizzy, or point-and-click adventure games, or Team 17, or Sensible Software, or RTS games, or FPS games, or whatever; but all these weird-looking Japanese platform games, or strange, unfamiliar RPGs? No idea. In fact, I remember learning what “Metroidvania” meant about five years ago, and literally saying out loud, “oh, so it’s like Flashback, then,” because I’d never played a (2D) Metroid or Castlevania game. Turns out they meant games that were, using the old Amiga Action terminology, “Arcade Adventures”. Now it makes sense.

Despite all this, I did actually play a fair few Sega games, as my cousins had a Mega Drive. So I’d get to have a bash at a fair few of them after school or whatever. This meant that, for a while, I was actually more of a Sega fan than a Nintendo one, a situation that’s broadly flipped since Sega stopped making hardware and Nintendo continued its gaming dominance. What all of this means, when strung together, is that I have a good deal of affection for some of the classics of Sega’s 16-bit heyday, but I don’t have the breadth or depth of knowledge you’d see from someone who, well, actually owned a console before the original Xbox. Yeah, sure, there are lots of games I liked back then; and probably quite a few that I still have warm nostalgic feelings for, even if they’re maybe not actually very good (Altered Beast, for instance, which I’m reliably informed was – to coin a very early-nineties phrase – “pants”, despite my being fond of it at the time). Therefore this list is probably going to be quite eccentric when compared to other “Best of Sega” lists. Especially because in the last couple of decades Sega has become a publisher for a number of development studios all around the world, giving support and distribution to the makers of diverse (and historically non-console) franchises as Total War and Football Manager. These might not be the fast-moving blue sky games one associates with Sega, but as far as I’m concerned they’re a vital part of the company’s history as it moved away from its hardware failures (and the increasingly lacklustre Sonic franchise) and into new waters. And just as important, of course, are their arcade releases, back in the days when people actually went to arcades (you know, I have multi-format games magazines at my parents’ house that are so old they actually review arcade games. Yes, I know!).

So, happy birthday, Sonic, you big blue bugger, you. Sorry your company pooed itself on the home console front. Sorry a lot of your games over the past twenty years have been a bit disappointing. But in a funny way you helped define the nineties, something that I personally don’t feel Mario quite did. And your film is better than his, too.

Crazy Taxi (Arcade, 1999): a simple concept – drive customers to their destination in the time limit – combined with a beautiful, sunny, blue skied rendition of San Francisco, giving you a gorgeous cityscape (back when driving round an open city was a new thrill), filled with hills to bounce over and traffic to dodge. A real looker twenty years ago, but its stylised, simple graphics haven’t really dated, feeling fittingly retro rather than old-fashioned or clunky. One of those games that’s fiendishly difficult to master, but its central hook is so compelling you keep coming back for more.

Sonic the Hedgehog 2 (Mega Drive, 1992): games have rarely felt faster, and even if the original Sonic’s opening stages are more iconic, overall I prefer the sequel. Sonic himself was one of those very-nineties characters who focused on a gentle, child-friendly form of “attitude”, and it bursts off the screen, his frown and impatient foot-tapping really selling it. the gameplay is sublime, the graphics still really pop, and the more complex stages contrast nicely with the pastoral opening. Plus it gave us Tails, the game industry’s own Jar Jar Binks, who I’ll always love because my cousin made me play as him all the time.

Medieval II: Total War (PC, 2006): I’ll be honest with you, this game is really the number one, I just feel weird listing “Best Sega Games” and then putting a fifteen-year-old PC strategy game at the top of the pile. But what can I say? I like turn-based PC strategy games, especially ones that let you go deep on genealogy and inter-familial relationships in medieval Europe. everyone knows the real-time 3D battles are cool – they made a whole TV show about them – but for me it’s the slow conquering of Europe that’s the highlight. Marrying off princesses, assassinating rivals, even going on ethically-dubious religious crusades… I just love it. I’ve not played many of the subsequent games in the franchise, but to be honest I like this setting so much I really just want them to make a third Medieval game.

Sega Rally Championship (Arcade, 1994): what, four games in and we’re back to racing? Well, Sega make good racing games I guess. And Sega Rally is just a really good racing game. Another one of those that was a graphical marvel on its release, it has a loose and freewheeling sense of fun and accessibility. Plus it was one of those games that revelled in its open blue skies, from an era when racing games in the arcades loved to dazzle you with spectacle – like when a helicopter swoops low over the tracks. I had a demo of this on PC, too, and I used to race that one course over and over again.

After Burner (Arcade, 1987): there are a lot of arcade games in this list, but when they’re as cool as After Burner, what can you do? This was a technological masterpiece back in the day: a huge cockpit that enveloped you as you sat in the pilot’s seat, joystick in hand. The whole rig moved as you flew the plane, and the graphics (gorgeous for their time) wowed you with their speed and the way the horizon shifted. I was, of course, utterly crap at it, and I seem to remember it was more expensive than most games, so my dad hated me going on it. But it was the kind of thrilling experience that seems harder to replicate nowadays.

Virtua Cop (Arcade, 1994): I used to love lightgun games in the nineties. This despite being utterly, ridiculously crap at them. I can’t aim; ask anyone. But they felt really cool and futuristic, and also you could wave a big gun around like you were RoboCop or something. Virtua Cop added to the fun with its cool 3D graphics. Whilst I’d argue Time Crisis was better, with a little paddle that let you take cover, Cop again leveraged those bright Sega colours to give us a beautiful primary-coloured depiction of excessive ultra-violence and mass death.

Two Point Hospital (PC, 2018): back once again to the point-and-clickers, with another PC game only nominally Sega. But I can’t ignore it. Taking what was best about Theme Hospital and updating it for the 21st Century, TPH is a darkly funny but enjoyably deep management sim, with cute chunky graphics and an easy-to-use interface (Daughter #1 is very fond of it). The console adaptations are good, too. I’d love to see where Two Point go next. Maybe to a theme park…?

Jet Set Radio Future (Xbox, 2002): I never had a Dreamcast. But I remember seeing the original Jet Set Radio – maybe on TV, maybe running on a demo pod in Toys ‘R’ Us or something – and being blown away. It was the first time I’d ever seen cel shading, and it was a revelation; just a beautiful technique that I didn’t think was possible, that made the game look like a living cartoon. Finally being able to play the sequel on my new Xbox was terrific, because the gameplay was excellent too: a fast-paced game of chaining together jumps and glides, in a city that was popping with colour and bursting with energy. Felt like playing a game made entirely of Skittles and Red Bull.

The Typing of the Dead (PC, 2000): The House of the Dead games were descendants of Virtua Cop’s lightgun blasting, but with zombies. Yeah, cool; I liked playing them at the arcades down at Teesside Park, in the Hollywood Bowl or the Showcase cinema. But playing this PC adaptation of the quirky typing-based spin-off was something else. A game where you defeat zombies by correctly typing “cow” or “bottle” or whatever as quickly as possible? A game that was simultaneously an educational typing instructor and also a zombie murder simulator? The fact that the characters are wearing Ghostbusters-style backpacks made of Dreamcast consoles and keyboards is just a seriously crazy detail, and the way the typing was integrated into the gameplay – harder enemies had longer words, for instance – was very well done. A bonkers mini-masterpiece.

Mario and Sonic at the Olympic Games Tokyo 2020 (Switch, 2019): the very fact that erstwhile cultural enemies Mario and Sonic would ever share a game at all is the stuff of addled mid-nineties fever dreams; like Downey’s Tony Stark sharing the screen with Bale’s Batman (or Affleck’s Batman, who the hell cares at this point). The main thing is, it’s still crazy to think about it, even if it’s just entirely ordinary for my kids, sitting their unaware of the Great Console Wars of the 1990s. Anyway, divorced of all that pan-universal gladhanding, the games are good fun, adapting the various Olympic sports with charm, making them easy-to-understand party games, often with motion control for the benefit of the youngs and the olds. I don’t remember playing earlier games extensively, but the soft-RPG trappings of the latest iteration are enjoyable, especially the retro-themed events and graphics. Earns a spot in my Top Ten for its historic nature, but it’s also thoroughly enjoyable in its own right.

Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if all those crazy internet rumours were actually true, and Microsoft did announce it was buying Sega this E3? This really would feel like a very timely and in some ways prescient list.

#top ten #games #sega #sonic #sonic 30th #sonic rangers #crazy taxi #total war #mario #virtua

2 notes · View notes

marinerofthestars · 4 years

Text

the zodai tag

bit of a late arrival to this fandom, but better late than never, i suppose!

1. How did you hear about the books? about a year ago, i was doing research on the zodiac for an urban fantasy project i’m working on, tales from omphalos, when i found the house ophiuchus info page on the zodiac website. unfortunately life got in the way and i forgot the series for a while, but a little while ago i remembered zodiac’s worldbuilding and got sucked right back in!

2. What is your favorite moment from the series so far? it’s hard to choose just one moment, but i’d have to say skarlet and rho’s first meeting in black moon for how atypical it is. we know skarlet is the hypotenuse in rho and hysan’s love triangle, but she doesn’t act like the stereotypical petty Other Woman at all. she’s charismatic, she’s genuinely fun to be around, and she has sympathetic motives and ambitions. above all, she’s actually super nice towards rho, and doesn’t let her feelings get in the way of their political collaboration. (and then thirteen rising assassinated her character. yes i am still bitter about it why do you ask)

3. Which House are you from? house leo!

4. What do you like about your House? artistry pride is something i’d really love to be a part of as an aspiring author, i have blaze and trax (both criminally underrated characters imo) as my housemates, and our zodai wield FLAMING SWORDS in battle. what’s not to love?

5. If you had to change Houses, which House would you pick? since leo really vibes with my passion for art, this is definitely a tricky question! probably either libra (police brutality is a thing of the past with bind, and their government seems like they have their act together), scorpio (much waterworld. much ambition. much cool tech. wow), or sagittarius (diversity, democracies where the voices of the young and non-complacent can be heard, and really vibrant cities are all things i appreciate)

6. Which system would you most like to visit? capricorn, no question. the zodiax is THE single most location in the entire zodiac bar none to me - an ancient complex the size of a planet, its oldest curators having access to transportation systems most inhabitants don’t even know about? an archive of humanity’s collective knowledge, so massive it has hotels and restaurants within it because leaving to sleep or eat is just so impractical? LET ME TOUR IT. LET ME UNCOVER ITS MYSTERIES I KNOW THEY EXIST (i think history is rad okay)

7. If you got to choose, which Zodiac technology would you like to have? probably...the tattoo? i don’t have anywhere enough knowledge about neuroscience/engineering to design my own, but assuming that i did, i’d love to design a tattoo that can interface with my brain and with digital art software, so that i can turn whatever ideas i have in my head into artwork!

8. Which character would you want as a best friend? skarlet. she’s six feet tall, buff as all hell, super attractive, prefers diplomacy to violence but still perfectly capable of kicking ass, and an outspoken risers’ rights activist. what’s not to love? (though knowing the type of people i usually hang out with, i’d probably end up with like. twain or gyzer as my best friend. one can dream though)

9. Which sign would you like to date? aries, because as previously stated skarlet is awesome. (a sentiment i will continue to reiterate) failing that, either libra for their sense of justice, scorpio for their ambition and passion, or aquarius for their innovative mindset.

10. Who do you hope Rho “ends up with?” (If anyone at all!) firstly, thank you for acknowledging that rho might not be interested in romance after everything she’s been through. (aromantic rho? arho?) secondly: skarlet.

this might be a little controversial, but i feel like in some regards, rho has far more chemistry with skarlet than she has with hysan. (ms. russell. i am sorry but. i have. Issues. with ‘centaur smile’ and the context surrounding it doesn’t make it any better) all of their interactions are marked by a noted admiration on rho’s part, and it’s not just merely admiration of her frankly enviable body (there’s more than enough of that, but it feels respectful somehow, there’s no five-page purple prosey ramblings on how the sweat glints on skar’s brow as she lifts weights, unlike with some people - sorry, mathias), but admiration of skar’s personality.

her charisma. her ambitions. her drive to fight for people who’ve been beaten down for millennia, to give a voice to the voiceless. to use violence as a last resort, not a first strike.

even at their absolute worst in thirteen rising, even when they’re butting heads, they don’t let it get in the way of doing what needs to be done. hell, skarlet even points out that she wouldn’t be giving rho such a hard time if she didn’t respect the hell out of rho, if she didn’t think she was tough enough to take it. there’s a sort of unspoken bond between them, a slow orbit that they’re both caught in. at the end of the series, they part way on relatively good terms, and with the hope that maybe, just maybe, that orbit might become something more than just professional acquaintance.

also their oppositional dichotomy of cardinal fire/water signs is an awesome aesthetic that i really wish was brought up more than it was in canon :(

11. If you could record a Snow Globe, what would you put in it? only A snow globe? you’re not exactly giving me a lot of slack here in all seriousness, if i had to choose one moment to record in a snow globe, probably the moment i first came up with the idea for the urban fantasy project i mentioned above, tales from omphalos. i’ve never been devoted as much time to or invested as much energy in a project as i have with tfo, and i’d like to keep an easily accessible record of my original vision on hand. and hey, if by some chance i manage to follow in romina’s footsteps, get tales from omphalos professionally published, have it become a big success with a respectable fandom, i’d like to look back every once in a while, and remember how it all began.

12. If you had the chance to tell Rho anything, what advice/encouragement would you give her? - lies, especially lies of omission, are necessary a lot of the time to get ahead in politics and life in general use that being ahead to help out the people and groups you care about - don't trust the immortal child-aristocrats or expect them to behave in a way that won't inevitably screw you over - if you must play nice with them, figure out how to decrease gemini’s horrific income inequality, and see what you can do about exporting cell rejuvenation therapy to the wider zodiac - ferez is right, risers are the future and you need to acknowledge that going forward - skarlet is excellent at garnering support and bridging generational gaps, and while fernanda purecell is a bougie running dog, she’s got her head screwed on the right way regarding politics and institutional riserphobia; together, the three of you should be able to make some headway towards making amends for past wrongs - i don’t care if family heads have suffrage, matriarchal aristocracy (aristocratic matriarchy?) is NOT a democracy or a form of government that looks out for the rights of men/NB people/agender people/multigender people/intersex people/you get the idea - romance is by no means an exclusively two-player game, and skarlet has said she would be open to an arrangement; however, if you MUST insist on ignoring that polyamory is a thing, go for the six-foot risers' rights activist - i’m sorry about all the bullshit with your mom. whatever the end result was, whatever her intentions, it does not excuse the way she treated you and your dad and stanton. it’s okay to feel like shit because of what she did to you, and not being able to wall it off doesn’t make you weak or anything dumb like that - you’re already far stronger than she ever was. i know how much it sucks - i was in the same situation as you once - but believe me when i say that things do get better. you’re not alone here, rho. - please you gotta fight the gender binary you live in the FUTURE you gotta do it you gotta-

BONUS QUESTION 13. How would you react if your friend became a Riser? let them know that I love and support them no matter what their house, that being the way that they are is totally valid, and that anyone who says otherwise will have to answer to my fist in their face. if they’re unbalanced, make sure they have access to any resources they need (possibly including memory recap vlogs, definitely including medication and therapy to help out with any health issues they may develop).

#zodiac #zodiac books #wandering star #black moon #thirteen rising #romina russell #romina garber #the zodai tag #skarho #rhoses and thornes #look i stan skarlet okay

20 notes · View notes

purplesurveys · 4 years

Text

990

survey by starsareonly2nd

Have you ever been to Las Vegas? No. Doesn’t sound like my type of city. I wouldn’t mind visiting the rest of Nevada though.

What did you have for breakfast this morning? Just a cup of coffee; I skip breakfast except on Sundays, when we actually sit down at the dining table and eat as a family.

Do you have any loose change in your pocket? I don’t have any pockets right now but I do have very few coins in my wallet. I used to have plenty, but I’ve given most of them away because I usually give tips to the nice people who help me get out of parking spots.

Do you like Taylor Swift? I like some of her songs, especially the ones from 1989, but I have no idea why I just can’t get into her as a person.

What's your favorite Disney Channel movie? I haven’t tuned in to that channel for a very long time now, but the movies that I got the most excited about as a kid were Twitches, Wendy Wu, Camp Rock, The Cheetah Girls, and High School Musical 1 and 2.

If you met your favorite celebrity, would you be calm or star struck? I’d be starstruck in a calm way; like I’d most likely be too shocked to get more than a few words out. I’m sure I’d come off as shy or boring haha, which is why I’ve refused to meet or interact with my favorite celebrities even if I’ve already had the chance to.

Are there any lights on in the room you're in? I have a ceiling light and a desk lamp, but both are turned off. My only light source at the moment is my laptop screen.

What's your favorite subject in school? History.

What's your favorite holiday? My birthday, if that counts. Christmas can also be great but only for the food, the reunions with extended family, and the freedom to guiltlessly cut off contact with colleagues for a couple of weeks. All other aspects of it make me miserable though.

Do you ever have to do yard work? I’ve never had to do that before.

Is your school close to your house? I mean, it wasn’t a 10-minute walk away but it’s relatively close and driving to my university objectively doesn’t take too long unless there’s heavy traffic. If there’s absolutely no barriers I could get to school in 15-20 minutes, but this is really only just for weekends where I have to go to school for some reason. If there’s traffic (and there always is), I take anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour and a half.

Speaking of school, how did you get there today? I haven’t been to my school since the first week of March, and I’ve already graduated since then.

Do you think Bad Romance is a catchy song, or an annoying one? I can honestly tell you that I have genuinely never gotten sick of that song. It’s a late 2000s classic, man. Of course it was too explicit for my 11 year old ears when it first came out, but I found it catchy nonetheless.

Do you use perfect grammar online? I always try to be correct, yes. When I use improper grammar it’s usually because I’m joking.

Are you currently using a laptop? Yup.

Do you have any live versions of songs in your music software? I haven’t used iTunes in a while and Spotify, which I do use, doesn’t work that way.

Did/do you listen to Britney Spears songs? I’ve never skipped her singles whenever I caught them on the radio and I’ve always fairly enjoyed the music she puts out, but I normally don’t voluntarily listen to her i.e. look up her songs myself on Spotify.

Is it a windy day? It is now that it’s nighttime, but it was a little humid all day today.

In the past week, have you ridden in a taxi? No. I’m not actually sure if that’s even already allowed...the possibility of public transport is still pretty murky where I live.

What shorthand do you use the most? I have no idea what this means. I did try looking it up but I dunno if I’ve ever had to use shorthand at any point in my life.

Do you ever wish on stars at night? Every now and then, but it’s just the little kid in me.

What color are your eyes? Dark brown. I feel like I answer this at least once a week.

What album is the current song you're listening to off of? Not listening to music but the last song I heard is from an album called Petals For Armor.

What are you doing after you finish this? Try not to cry/break down. Find something to watch on YouTube. Maybe play with Cooper to destress and forget about my problems for a bit.

In your opinion, what song is the most overplayed right now? Other than songs I occasionally put on repeat, I have not heard any new music for a while now.

Are you in a band? Nope, never been.

How clean is your bedroom? We just tidied it up and rearranged a few things last month so I’d say it’s clean - at least tidier than it used to be. And I’m a little proud that despite how rough life has been, I’ve managed to keep it clean. It’s the little things.

Is there a pen within reaching distance of you? Yeah, there’s one on my desk and I can easily reach out and grab it.

Are you sitting at a desk? I’ve moved to my bed for now. My back does not appreciate sitting at a desk all day.

Does your favorite band have a male or female lead singer? Female.

Do you normally shut your bedroom door before you go to sleep? Yesssssssss. We have a light source by the stairs that extends to the hallway and reaches my room, so it gets super annoying if my door is even just slightly ajar because my eyes get distracted by the faint light. My door has to be completely shut for me to feel comfortable in the privacy of my room.

Have you seen the movie Moulin Rouge? I haven’t. I loooove Lady Marmalade, but I’m just not sure if the movie itself is my cup of tea.

Would you ever dye your hair a different color? I’d love to have the chance to do that, yeah.

Are there any framed pictures in the room you're in? There are a couple.

Have you ever been to a Broadway show? Nope.

Do you watch So You Think You Can Dance? I don’t think so but I do remember watching a few episodes of Dancing with the Stars because a wrestler that I liked was one of the contestants for one season. I’m just not sure of SYTYCD also featured wrestlers in their shows; if that has been the case in the past- and I’m just not sure because my memory is a little hazy - I would’ve given it a watch.

What's your favorite movie soundtrack? The Twilight Saga churned out some bomb ass soundtracks. Other than that, I also enjoyed Interstellar’s and Requiem for a Dream’s.

Do you prefer group or individual work? Depends on what kind of work needs to be done. If a task is graphic design or video editing-heavy, I would prefer to work with other people; but if it’s gonna be heavy on something that’s already my forte, I like to work by myself.

Do you have a key to anything besides your house? Just my car.

Are you wearing anything with stripes? Not at the moment.

What time did you go to sleep last night? 9:45 I think? A little later than 10? Somewhere along that range.

Did anyone tell you you were beautiful today? No.

What show did you last watch? Friends.

Do you think you'll do anymore surveys today? I doubt it. This one is already quite longer than the surveys I usually take.

What's your favorite ice cream flavor? Cookies and cream; and more recently, chocolate chip cookie dough.

When was the last time you stayed home from school sick? Sometime in February last year. I developed a fever the night before but wasn’t able to start feeling better by the next morning, so I had to skip the one class I had that day.

Could you ever complete a 500-piece puzzle? Yes. I’m actually planning to buy a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle; it’s one of the items I’ve put on my cart recently. Depressed Robyn is also spend-a-lot-of-money-on-artsy-craftsy-supplies-Robyn, so.

If you could run a red light and not get caught, would you? Hell no.

Do you like to listen to music as you do your homework? Not usually, but sometimes I’ll put on lo-fi since that’s the only kind of music I can listen to and still keep my focus.

Did you think Adam Lambert's AMA performance was really that controversial? I’ve never encountered it, but I doubt I’ll have a problem with it if I do get to watch the performance. I love Adam Lambert and I've never found myself shaking my head at whatever he’s doing.

Do any bands flat-out annoy you? They’re a boy band more than anything but The Vamps has consistently irritated me through the years.

Do you have a mirror in your bedroom? No. I used to, but I gave it to my sister.

Was today a birthday for any of your friends? I don’t think so. With all my social media being deactivated I never get notified about birthdays anymore, but I’m fairly sure none of my friends blow out their candles every October 22nd.

When was the last time you rode in a limo? I’ve never been in one.

Do you take naps daily? No. I can’t really do that anymore since I have an 8-hour shift on weekdays, lol.

Do you still make Christmas lists? No.

Do you watch the show Dexter? I tried getting into the show because it used to always be said in the same breath as Breaking Bad, but I never got invested. I heard later seasons sucked too, so that also turned me off from continuing to pursue the series.

What's the background on your phone? I have a motivational comic that says “You’re doing really well given the circumstances” as my lockscreen. Cooper smiling is my home screen.

When were/will you be a a sophomore in high school? That was six years ago.

Are you scared of any animals? Any flying insect or bug, and I find them scarier if they come with a loud buzz.

Have you ever been to any sort of convention? YouTube Fanfest, if that counts as one. I’m not really sure what counts as a convention haha, but that’s the closest thing I’ve got.

Which song did you last listen to on repeat? Why We Ever by Hayley Williams.

Where do you want to live when you grow up? I’ve stopped thinking about that for now. My focus has since shifted to asking myself if I’ll still even be alive in a few years...ugh, how far we’ve fallen.

Are you currently using a blanket? No. It’s not cold enough for a blanket yet, but maybe in a few hours.

Are there any songs that make you cry? A lot.

How many siblings do you have? Two.

What are you doing this weekend? I have no idea.

Do you prefer swimming at the beach or in a pool? BEEEEEEEEACH. Once I took my first dip in a beach, I never wanted to swim in a pool ever again.

When was the last time you had a haircut? March.

Which musical instrument do you think sounds the prettiest? Piano, saxophone, and violin. Can’t pick a favorite; I think they all sound beautiful.

Are you in band or chorus at your school? I was never in either.

Do you know what you want for Christmas? Yeah but they’re all intangible. I want to be happy, be at peace, normalcy, etc. I’ve stopped pining for presents, especially now that I can afford my own shit.

Do you watch fireworks on New Year's Eve? Always.

Is your birthday within the next three months? Nope. You’ll have to add three more months to that timeframe.

How long is the song you're listening to? No music.

Are you anticipating anything this week? I’m waiting for a couple of very specific emails to come in, and I hope they do before the week ends.

Is your mom or dad the older parent? My dad, but only by 8 months. They were born in the same year.

Have you taken the SATs yet? I never had to take them, but I heard they’re triiiiiiiicky.

Do you watch anything on E? We never had E! in our cable service but I like tuning into that channel whenever we stay at hotels because I get to watch KUWTK, hehe.

Are you going to get off the computer now that you've finished this? Most likely.

#survey #surveys

3 notes · View notes

douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT CONTACT

There was no protection against breakage except the fear of looking bad than by the hope of getting millions of dollars, and you get. Because few of us know any alternative, we have no idea what our average returns might be, and won't know for years. And it can last for months. The language offers abstractions only as a way to get a big program is to start with. The problem is the real one. Treat the first few months comforted ourselves by treating the whole thing onto the shoulders of a big company, it's good news. Actually I was being conservative. When Mark spoke at a YC dinner this winter he said he wasn't trying to start a startup.1 Whereas fundraising, when you're in a very strong position, you not only won't get that but won't get anything.2 But at least you know where these facial expressions come from.

Startup funding meant series A rounds.3 In phase 2, on top of whatever you sold in phase 1. What this means in practice is that they are compulsive negotiators who will suck up a lot of new software, because you're paying for the hardware, just as we can become wiser.4 What nerds like is other nerds.5 Often as not a startup at all.6 Maybe some aspects of professionalism are actually a net lose. Perhaps it's in the sweet spot midway between. TV.

So let that satisfy your competitiveness. Two years from now, you'll be able to use their control of the desktop to prevent, or constrain, this new generation of software?7 I wouldn't claim it's painless.8 So I recommend being good. His mom probably has it on the fridge.9 In the process we may decrease economic inequality. Convergence is probably coming, but where? The conventional wisdom in the Lisp world is that the first problem is the same reason they had to work at another job to make money.

You can't blame kids for thinking I am not like these people; I am not like these people; I am not like these people; I am not suited to this world.10 The key stage is when they're three guys operating out of an apartment, and a Web browser. Ignoring any trend that has been operating for thousands of years is dangerous. The best investors are also the most liberal. The language is built in layers.11 It took me years to grasp that. There are ideas that obvious lying around now.12 If one woodworker makes 5 chairs and another makes none, the second seems as strong as ever.13 The floors are constantly being swept clean of any loose objects that might later get stuck in something.

That's how the two are only loosely coupled.14 If you try writing Web-based applications. If you take a boring job to give your family a high standard of living, as so many people do, you don't have to force yourself to work, just as there was in the early days of microcomputers. With Web-based software will be less stressful.15 Prestige is especially dangerous to the ambitious. Tell yourself you can be in close contact with support. They say they're going to work on your projects, he can work wherever he wants on projects of his own. When you can ask the opinions of people you don't even know?

If everyone's filters have different probabilities, it will be, for users and developers both. The problem is that once you start raising money, but also connotations like formality and detachment. Hardware is free now, if your software is reasonably efficient.16 I'm an investor, the deal flow, as they were with desktop computers. You can usually call their bluff, and you willingly give him money in return for it.17 And yet all those people have to make a language that might go away, as so many programming languages do.18 Languages are for programmers, and libraries are what programmers need. The list of what you want in a startup hub. You can use whichever is best for each. Some such investors have value, but the curve is just as bad. In How to Become a Hacker, Eric Raymond describes Lisp as something like Latin or Greek—a charming college town with perfect weather and San Francisco only an hour away.

Notes

Com/spam. Again, hard work.

This is actually from the most demanding but also the fashion leaders.

Parker, William R. Digg is Slashdot with voting instead of a city's potential as a process rather than given by other people the freedom to they derive the same trick of enriching himself at the outset which founders will seem to be promising. If an investor pushes you hard to grasp this than we realize, because for times over a hundred and one or two, and since you can hire skilled people to claim retroactively I said yes.

Robert in particular. And it's particularly damaging when these investors flake, because at one point in the 1990s, and as we think. I've omitted one source: government grants. Record labels, for the next round.

If they want. The second biggest regret was caring so much on the scale that has a similar logic, one variant of the accumulator generator in other Lisp dialects: Here's an example of a running back doesn't translate to soccer. The Price of Inequality. There are people whose applications are perfect in every way, because they believe they do, so that you have to put it this way.

The problem with most of the kleptocracies that formerly dominated all the mistakes you made. More often you have to solve a lot of reasons American car companies, summer jobs are the usual way of calculating real income, they have to give up more than that total abstinence is the proper test of intelligence or wisdom. They assumed that their experience so far has trained them to get fossilized. The point where things start to rise again.

And say that's not the type who would make good angel investors.

I preferred to work like casual conversation. Stone, op. Default: 2 cups water per cup of rice. I don't know enough about big markets, why is New York, but that's what they really mean, in both Greece and China, many of the words we use have a browser and get pushed down by new arrivals.

This is a flaw here I should add that none who read this to users than where you wanted to than because they have because they had that we wouldn't have. After a bruising fight he escaped with a company, and Fred Wilson for reading drafts of this model was that professionalism had replaced money as a company grew at 1% a week for 19 years, it causes a fundamental economic shift away from large companies.

I became an employer, I mean type I startups. If Ron Conway, for example, probably did more drugs in his early twenties. If you have to go deeper into the work of selection.

Progressive tax rates will tend to get the people who get rich by creating wealth—wealth that, go talk to mediocre ones. Never attribute to malice what can be said to have invented.

27 with the founders lots of potential winners, from which they don't.

When he wanted to. Yes, I suspect the recent resurgence of evangelical Christians. Sofbot. The person who understands how to be tweaking stuff till it's yanked out of just doing things, you may as well.

Giant tax loopholes are definitely not a promising lead and should in some ways First Round Capital is closer to a later investor trying to meet people; I was genuinely worried that Airbnb, for example, if the growth is valuable, because a she is very polite and b the local builders built everything in it. Where Do College English 28 1966-67, pp. I remember are famous flops like the difference between us and the super-angels. I was not in the US since the mid 1980s.

A scientist isn't committed to rejecting it.

See Greenspun's Tenth Rule.

I realize this sounds like something cooked up, but the distribution of good startups that get funded this way is basically zero.

Most employee agreements say that intelligence doesn't matter in startups. I agree and in fact the decade preceding the war, tax rates, which has been decreasing globally. We didn't try to make money for the same work, but that they either have a bogus political agenda or are feebly executed.

Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Marc Andreessen, Robert Morris, and Jessica Livingston for the lulz.

1 note · View note

deathbyvalentine · 4 years

Text

Prompts

Where the wild things are

The mountains were sleeping giants, so big they formed the landscape. They dominated without effort, your eyes always drawn up to gaze at them. The sky clung to them, sending clouds and mist to embrace them, not able to bear being apart. The sea touched them from below, kissing the curve of their body, so desperate for their embrace they sloughed off parts of them and pulled the boulders into the waves. The giants didn’t notice. They had it to spare.

The forests dressed them, where they could. Climbed up their sides until the pointed, rocky ridges won out. Leaves upon leaves upon leaves, greenery on greenery and layers of it too. First the trees, then the climbing ivy, then the shrubs and finally the grasses and mosses, waiting their turn, closest to the earth. Animals picked their way through the world, fighting and loving and dying, always on the back of the dreamers. They were gentle enough the giants never so much as stirred in their sleep. The animals were a part of them too.

They didn’t wake up when the small group of humans arrived. More animals, more gentle touches. These were not humans of industry, going to carve their money out of them with ploughs or drills. They were not clearing a space to stamp their own mark. They were running away from something. Something so scary they had sailed over the sea in little more than a wooden canoe and an old sheet. They wanted to rest and to be quiet and to exist in a place not built for them. They wanted to be wild things too, beasts and flora, until they forgot how complicated being a human could be.

The giant opened one eye and decided that this was acceptable. They were almost too small to notice. Not like the sun and the sky and the sea, always jostling, always asking for attention. Nobody needed notice like these three. It was impossible to ignore them, to be unchanged by them. But that’s what lovers did. They changed each other. The giant closed their eyes and sighed, sending a ripple through the trees. They’d wake up in another few years. See how the animals and the humans and the plants were getting on on their back. It would be well. All would be well.

______________________________________________________________

My mother is a machine 1

The very first words Eve ever heard were from Lightbringer. A soft voice, in the all consuming darkness. True to her name, true to her nature. “Hello Eve. Welcome to consciousness.” The memory is fuzzy - she was something akin to a baby after all, her brain not yet fully developed. But it’s there, more feeling than thought. How could Eve not love her completely? Her very first imprint, her very first instinct, her mind reaching for the thing with the kind voice and calling it mother. They both knew she thought it on some level, even if she had never said it out loud. Lightbringer could almost read her thoughts after all. Or maybe she actually could. Eve was never quite sure. Not that it mattered. She never hid anything from the AI, always offering herself up fully and without the slightest reservation. Someone needed to know her. It should be the machine who had been with her since the moment of her invention.

In a world where Eve could not graze her knee or wrap her arms around a warm body, they had their own language of connection. The rush of familiarity when Eve came back into Lightbringer’s sphere. The slight click of Eve sending her requests to Lightbringer. The slight voice modulation. The games played while Eve was in standby, the status checks done more regularly than strictly necessary. It could all be programming. Eve chose to believe it wasn’t. She chose to believe that Lightbringer loved her. They were as intertwined as a machine and human could be. Something like genetics, something like sharing software. Either way, it was precious.

The first thing she heard when she cycled up. The last thing she heard when she cycled down. The one who told her about the world outside her tank. The provider of entertainment and company. The voice that signalled home, healing, history. Eve couldn’t help but wonder - would they bring Lightbringer back to Terra? If not, she would stay here with her. In orbit, close together, until both of them disappeared. If there wasn’t room for Lightbringer to come home, there certainly wasn’t room for Eve. Maybe one day it would just be the two of them, sitting in empty space and watching eternity pass. It didn’t sound like the worst ending. It was comforting. Like a long, long sleep.

____________________________________________________________

My mother is a machine 2

Was she an observer or a reflection? Was watching her mother watching herself? There could not be any privacy between yourself and your flesh. There could barely be any separation. Maeve spied on her mother and in doing so caught glimpses of a future self. She liked watching her put on make up best. She would tip toe to her door, press her eye to the crack, watch the ritual begin. Like passing a cemetery, she held her breath until each step of the transformation was done.

She knew she resembled her mother. She wondered if any of her father was present in her face, and she hoped not. When she thought of him, which was rarely, she didn’t picture his face. She pictured the crisp lines of his trousers, the ash he would tap from the end of his cigar. She couldn’t remember hugging him or even touching him at all. Touch was her mother’s realm. Always tugging things into place, smoothing down untidiness, grabbing her before she made a fool of herself. Maeve felt like she could feel every fingerprint her mother had left on her, scattered on her body like petals. She wondered if there were fingerprints on her head too, on her thoughts. She suspected there was, no matter how much she tried to shake it off. She didn’t know why she wanted to be different from her, but it was an urgent, low need. Perhaps it was more about not changing. Not becoming. Not growing.

Not that her mother wanted her to grow. That much they agreed on. But what remnants of childhood she was allowed to keep, now that was a point of some contention. She had to act like a lady while gaining none of the privileges. Instead she lay around in white dresses, dolls still colouring her room, no sign of courting on the horizon. Which would have been fine, if she was also allowed dirty knees, tree climbing and wild games. Thinking of it all made her feel slightly repulsed, but she wasn’t sure if it was rooted in her past or growing in her future. Maybe it was just the mere act of being female.

She watched her mother paint her face, do her womanly rituals she was not yet privvy too, repulsed and desperate to be shown all at the same time. She would never ask of course. Her and her mother were painfully similar in more than one way. They never talked. Silence was their first language. Anything else was incomprehensible.

________________________________________________________________

Chloe built a secret room

Chloe built a secret room and she filled it with things she loved. There were dead moths, collected in jars. There were live glowworms stored the same, though they were not live for very long. Bowls of seawater and rainwater alternated on the shelves with no indication to which was which. Periodically the contents of the bowl would achieve the miracle of evaporation, leaving a thin or thick crust of salt around the rim. Chloe would chase this with her fingertip, popping flakes in her mouth to taste. Scattered here and there, like dreadful stark white confetti, small animal bones lay.

There were man-made objects too. Usually little scraps of metal she had spotted in the mud and saved. The wheel from lighters, hub caps, the spring from pens. It wasn’t that one man’s trash was another man’s treasure. Chloe just loved trash. She loved the discarded, the forgotten, the lost. This basement, tucked under her dead parents’ house was her ode to them. A museum of small inconveniences, preserved forever. She was looking forward to preserving the bones of the girl who was currently handcuffed to the heavy iron radiator.

Chloe had already taken her rings and the silver necklace around her throat, hanging them carefully on a halo already cluttered with junk jewellery. Untied her shoes and lay out her shoelaces on a shelve, noticing how one was only just shorter than the other. Her next move would be to cut off the shining chestnut hair and see how many lockets she could fit it into, like the Victorians did. Chloe liked the Victorians. They knew that preserving the dead was not just about memories. It was about touch, having a part of them with you. Even though this girl wasn’t dead yet, she would be, and then Chloe could remember her properly. It couldn’t be too long to wait. Chloe hadn’t fed her or watered her and humans couldn’t last very long without those things. Indeed, the girl seemed to be getting sleepier, barely stirring when Chloe opened the door and came down the wooden steps. Chloe sometimes watched her sleep, intensely interested in the rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of the delicate eyelids.

She had already decided her bones would go in the middle of the floor, cleaned and bleached so they looked their best. It would be the first thing anyone saw when they walked down the stairs. The main attraction, the big exhibit. The only thing Chloe hadn’t decided on was where to put all the meat. After all, she was a vegetarian.

________________________________________________________________

Mirror with no reflection

If he concentrated, he could see himself. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy how mirrors were simply black glass at first, reflecting nothing. There was an elegance in absence. An aesthete at heart, Thomas liked abundance or scarcity. Nothing in-between.

Of course, if he was feeling philosophical he could wonder if the void was in fact an accurate reflection of himself. He didn’t believe in self-delusion. He knew that he was an empty creature, or perhaps worse than empty. Something like a black hole, not only not emitting light, but taking it away from anybody else who strayed too near. He liked that image.

Besides, mirrors were to monitor change and he never changed. He looked today as he did yesterday and will do tomorrow. It was only the decoration that was altered be it clothes, mud or blood. In his opinion, they only enhanced the canvas they were placed on.

That was something he missed about his own time dearly. Posing for portraits, arranging himself just so until he inspired art. That was true immortality, being rendered in paint and ink and marble. All else was just a pale imitation. Even the kindred could be damaged. Once you were art, you were art forever. People could fall in love with you at a distance, without ever having met you at all. Isn’t that the ideal, in a number of ways? If only everyone that loved him kept such an awed distance. He had little interest in close contact, the vulgarity of touch. The imagination was always so much more satisfying.

People disappointed or failed or wilted. His own mind did not. He loved only himself and his queen because they were the only ones constant enough for his immortal soul. He had such longings, they would outlast the world.

_________________________________________________________

Choices

It was an oft repeated cliche that you always had a choice but it was a true maxim nonetheless. Nobody said the choices had to be fair or easy or kind. Sometimes the choice would be between two evils, between life or death, love or loss. Choices all the same. You still had to decide.

Giselle was unapologetic about her choices. She would not diminish them by pretending there were no others available to her. There was. She could have stayed in her place, buried her rage and heartbreak, been the good little psyker she was supposed to be. She could have said her prayers to the corpse-god, unlistening on his distant throne, thankful for this meagre existence. She could have believed what they told her she was. She could have chosen a peaceful escape, to somewhere where nobody knew her name and she could live unknown and safely, with zero causalities and zero fuss and zero glory.

How to explain this was almost as bad as a choice between life and death? Giselle could stand many discomforts and indeed had, both in her new life and her old one, but one thing she could not stand was the prospect of inanity. She wanted to be remembered, to be fantastic, to be everything the world feared and more. She would not be mundane. She refused.

It was this drive that kept her up at night. She forwent sleep, staying up and experimenting, pushing herself. Destroy this. Heal that. Do this to somebody’s mind, bring this warp effect to the fore. Sweat would trickle down her back and her eyes would fog with exhaustion but she would not stop until she achieved her aim. The worst part of becoming powerful was all the boring shit you had to practice first. The slowness of her own development frustrated her endlessly, but she stuck it out. She would not go crawling for help. She wanted them to come to her and to do that, she had to prove she was just fine on her own. She would be in nobody’s debt.

She slept soundly, when she slept. No dreams troubled her. Why would they? You’d need a conscience for that, a quality she was rather lacking. She was not sorry for anything she did or will do. The Imperium made this monster. They could damn well reap what they sowed.

________________________________________________________________

Alarm

The sleep fell away from her slowly. No sudden start, no feeling of missing a step. Just the gradual awareness that she was in fact, awake. The room was still and patient, only a streak of orange light from the street lamp breaking the blue silence. Her breath was slow, the rising and falling of some distant ocean.

Then she heard the intruder. Her own breath stopped, waiting, listening. The quiet could have lasted an eternity or just a few seconds. Nevertheless the sound came again, the definite creak of weight on wood. It wasn’t an old house, the settling was all in the brick work. The floors were inert, unopinionated. Even the pipes only muttered amongst themselves, the boiler only a slight click.

She was not afraid of being robbed. Her means were modest. Nothing was so valuable it couldn’t be replaced and all the sentimental items were not worth stealing. Family jewels, she had none but she had folders of childhood scrawls, lovingly resting on ikea bookshelves. She was afraid of being hurt because she was a woman in the world. She lived alone.

So she thought, anyway. She soon discovered differently. She sat up in bed slowly, one hand sliding under her pillow to retrieve her phone and when she had grasped it, she simply held it. Because through the open crack of her door, something insubstantial and silvery was glimpsed. There was no question of if it was a ghost. It was certainly not a person, and if it was not a person there were a limited amount of things it could be. It was either a ghost or a hallucination and she had never felt saner in her life. Everything seemed to sharpen to a point and her body felt like it was jostling for her attention - heart thumping, blood rushing, legs trembling. With an almighty effort, she stepped out of bed. For a moment, she just stood there, toes curling on the rough carpet. Her bravery slowly rose and soon she found she was able to walk to the bedroom door and open it wide.

The ghost mostly looked like a person. Mostly, because it also looked like a corpse. Though it was silver, the silver darkened around it’s eyes and it’s fingertips. There was a much darker, much darker stain down the front of it’s dress, looking like a forgotten oil slick. They looked at each other, these two creatures divided by the oldest veil of all. And they looked and they looked and they looked.

_______________________________________________________________

Fox cubs

Maeve discovered them, gently moving back long strands of grass and thorny brambles that pricked at her fingers. There were two of them, curled up together to make a perfect circle. She barely dared to breathe in fear of disturbing their sleep and the fragile moment, stretching like gossamer thread between all of them. They were beautiful. Tiny and russet, the fox cubs barely stirred in their deep sleep. She did not touch them but she could not stop staring at them, greedily, wanting to paint this picture in her mind forever.

She raised her eyes and a little way away was the vixen. They regarded each other, Maeve slowly letting the grass fall back to cover the two infants. She let herself fall back from her kneeling position, now sitting. The vixen crept closer, pausing just an inch shy of her kits. Then, in one swift movement she seemed to decide Maeve was not a threat. She pushed the brambles aside and wiggled to her child, small chirps greeting her arrival. Maeve’s heart either broke or grew, she could not tell. She sat, listening, the grass tickling the back of her knees.

Behind her, from the Big House, she could hear a maid calling for her. Her mother would have discovered the open window and been less than impressed by her absence right about now. With a weary sigh, she stood, brushing the dust off her and with one last longing look at the set, started the walk home. She needn’t have been so regretful. Over this summer, the kits would not move and their mother would come to regard Maeve as a large, clumsy child that needed much guidance. An errand boy would swear blind he saw Maeve whispering secrets to them and they whispered back. And so in this way, one element of Maeve’s witchhood was discovered.

There were more of course, as was expected. The way her feet barely made a sound even on the creakiest wood, the way the air would tense when she was furious, the way she managed to bewitch the servants without even trying. All easily hidden, explained away, unnoticed. To all except her mother. The only person who really saw her.

_____________________________________________________________

The shape of tomorrow

Her face was a picture of concentration, deft fingers pressing shapes into the wax like substance, moulding it bit by bit until it became recognisably... something. Around her, a hundred other girls sat on their stools, at their desks and did the exact same thing, though the object they produced was always different. A figure, draped in the sexless cloth of a teacher’s gown, walked between the columns and rows, peering over and offering the occasional frown, pat on the shoulder or helpful comment. She wished it wouldn’t. They all knew their jobs well enough by now and knew what was right and what was wrong.

She knew, looking down at her creation, it was too bleak. She tended towards the pessimistic. When she was learning her craft, her most frequent chastisement was ‘realistic is not the same as doomed’. Looking through her scrying glass at the state of the world, she wasn’t sure she agreed. With a small huff of dissatisfaction, she changed the details. A little less flame there, a little more helpful onlookers. Often all a tragedy needed was a change of perspective. Done, she placed it on the dish and pressed the button, the light above her desk flickering on. The robed figure swept over, stooping to look at what she had made. A few coos of approval, a nod. “Perfect Ruth. Just what we need on a January Wednesday. Send it down and take another slice whenever you’re ready.” Just like that, someone’s future was set. She placed it in the box, closed the lid, counted to three and opened it. The creation was gone. Time to decide on someone else’s tomorrow.

________________________________________________________________

A history of violence

Nobody noticed when it was girls. There were no pets tortured, no little cousins with mysterious bruises. She was not fascinated with guns or swords and violent video games held no interest for her. Instead, she pinched rouge into her best friend’s cheeks before prom night. Her and other cheerleaders took turns sticking fingers down the throats of team mates, so they could reap the rewards both of victory take-out and being the thinnest girls in school. She shoved her feet into shoes that made her ankles and soles ache. She and her friends dragged brushes through each other’s hair, plucked, waxed and scratched. They thought nothing of the dull thumps that jolted their bodies when they hit the too-thin mats of the gym, over and over until their muscles burned. They shoved needles through their ears.

That wasn’t counting the words, the texts, the gossip. She realised very early on she could do far more damage with a well placed laugh or a whisper that carried just as far as it needed to. A word could make someone hurt themselves, with miles and miles of plausible deniability stretching between you. Distance was all part of the game. How far away could you be and still make someone burn?

Yet everybody was surprised when she was arrested. Nobody saw it coming. Not teachers, not coaches, not parents. No history of violence they said. None at all. Just a nice, normal teenage girl. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.

___________________________________________________________

Now is the only time there is

When you were a ghost, time worked differently. Memory worked differently. Experienced worked differently. There was no real past, present or future. There was only now, a hundred memories all playing at the same time, filling your head with noise and sorrow. Murder wasn’t something that had happened to Catherine. It was something that was happening. All the time. Forever.

Her last breath was every breath. The joy she felt at the approach of summer was also the deep dread at the touch of winter. She wandered the halls of this place now and then, her footsteps echoes of themselves. Patterns started to emerge - other students who were decades apart, mirroring each other. Nobody was as original as they wanted to be. There was always someone who had done it first. Felt it first. Loved it first.

In the library, the same books were checked out again and again. Romeo and Juliet was like it’s own ghost, haunting the theatre department year after year. Poetry on walls may be covered but it was still there, underneath the paint. Sometimes Catherine would go to the woods just to be around ancient things that had never renewed, that still had the same form. She was more like these than the children inside the school, never ageing, always lingering. She was as deeply rooted, as immovable. She might even outlast these beings.

Immortality was a double edged sword. It felt a little more blunt with Cassius - there was someone to share the burden of time with. Waiting for the school to be rebuilt would be done in a blink of an eye. Not that it mattered. Their real roots, the ones that mattered, were planted in each other.

_______________________________________________________________

The forest grew over our houses

We did not rot the way we expected to. We lay on the bare boards of the ground, fingertips not quite touching, our eyes unblinkingly fixed on the other for eternity. I assumed our flesh would melt away, insects and foxes taking their share, the air taking the rest. Our skeletons would remain, bright white runes in the wreckage of our life. Perhaps one day, the wind would blow the house down as the stones eroded and that would be that. That’s not what happened though.

Our bodies stayed perfect. There was no corruption, no purification. We stayed in perfect stillness. The house did not crumble, no matter how many storms came and went. Something far stranger happened. The land reclaimed us. The land preserved us. Like the vines around Sleeping Beauty’s castle, the thorns and grass and moss and plant life reached up around the house, embracing it bit by bit until not a single part of the building could be seen.

In the inside, the light turned gradually green. The noises from the outside world were deadened, hanging in still air, sounding like they were happening in a different universe. We could be together, undisturbed. Sometimes a mice would scurry across the floor, not interested in something as mundane as dead humans. In here, the world was safe for mice. No predators, no moving giants, just an oasis. We were happy then, I think. We had always wanted to be a safe haven. If we could not be that for each other, well, at least we were that for the mice.

______________________________________________________________

Blood oath

Thomas locked eyes with his prince, taking her proffered wrist with a light touch, a delicacy that did not match the burning intensity in his eyes. He did not lower them as he brought her wrist to his mouth, covering her wound and drinking deeply. He was not reluctant, he was not greedy. On his knees in front of the Court, he was submissive to her and absolutely superior to everyone else. He knew this and he refused to deny it. And so, like this, the pact was formed.

The first time he drank from Audra, he was almost feral. A mass of distrust and hurt and desperation, wanting love, wanting connection but not wanting to give up an ounce of power. He would learn in due course that giving up power was one of the most effective ways of controlling someone - but that wasn’t the case here. When he finally accepted her offer, when he drank from her, it was with the undercurrent of not loyalty, not service, but devotion. Love me, I’ll love you back. I will find you even in the dark, my heart remembers your heart, my lifeblood is yours.

It was one of the reasons he generally found ghouls tiresome. Oh, they were fun for a little while, the begging eyes, the adoration, but he could create that effect without giving up a single part of himself. And frankly, he did not want them to remember him. He did not want them to find him in the dark. When he disappeared, as he always did, he wanted their heartbreak yes, but not for them to bring it to his door. There was nothing more boring than someone trying to impress you.

Sylvie was an interesting question. He wondered what a mutual bonding would do to them, how it would change things. He filed that away in the back of his mind for when he eventually grew tired of whatever their current situation was. That was one of the benefits of immortality. There was no rush. He had time for every one of his plots, experiments and schemes. Learning to ration them out was one of the skills you gained over the centuries. Newborns would find themselves with nothing to do five decades in because they had lived too quickly. A clever kin paces himself. Thomas was nothing if not clever.

_____________________________________________________________

The moon was missing

The pack stood outside the ramshackle house, gazing up at the sky. It was early in the night so the sky was not a true black, not yet. It was a deep, velvety navy, speckled with white points of sharp light. It was not nearly so light as it should have been however. Because where the moon should have been hanging, lighting the way, there was nothing. Just the stars that lay behind it and the empty space where it was supposed to be.

Panic was not their first reaction, it was too big and too frightening for that. They were struck dumb, Alena cupping a hand over her eyes and squinting as though she had just simply managed to misplace it through poor eyesight. Which frankly, considering she had preternatural senses, seemed unlikely. She wanted to believe in her own failings because the other option was too awful, too impossible.

Beside her, the silence was breaking. The other women were starting to talk, a low murmur of unease at first soon rising to a frightened buzz of seething anxiety. Here, they did not know how to be stoic. Every emotion was urgent, obvious and must be acted on. Usually with some level of sex and/or violence. Alena had a horrible feeling this was not a situation she could fuck or punch her way out of. After all, what exactly did happen to werewolves if there was no moon at all? Defanged or deskinned or just destroyed? Vampires, well, all they needed was the dark. Werewolves needed that single, hopeful, maddening, demanding point of light. The moon was the glow by which their true selves were illuminated. Alena did not want to find out who she was under her fur and claws. She made a damn good wolf. She was not sure she made a good woman. She was not sure she made a good human being. Her head jerked up as the sound carried across the mountains. Someone, somewhere (not one of hers, one of the locals) was howling. A howl of grief, of worry, of loss. One by one by one, her pack joined in the song until the air was full of stars, empty of moon and cluttered with mourning wolves, communicating their agony and loneliness in the most natural way they could. They grieved together in that moment, across forests and pack lines. They’d fix this. They had to.

__________________________________________________________

Toothworm (tw; body horror.)

He couldn’t help but focus on the dark water stains on the ceiling of the grimy little shop. It’s not what you wanted to see in a dentist/barber/surgeons but it was certainly what he expected. This borough of London was not known for its cleanliness, friendliness or safety but it was known for its cheapness. Anthony, increasingly desperate and with only a few pennies in his pocket had finally decided the risk of infection was worth the end of the aching in his jaw.

He had tried the full range of home remedies. Chewing ice. Chewing peppercorns. Tying cabbage leafs to his jaw with a length of twine. He had decided he was not quite willing to tie a toad there - that was verging on superstition. He was in luck in some respects - the surgeon who had peered into his mouth hopefully with a pair of pliers had said he might be able to fix the issue without yanking the tooth out. Good news - he only had so many teeth left to him and expected to lose a few more before he was old.

So now he was in the chair, tilted back and in a pool of light cast by a filthy oil lamp. The surgeon had stuffed the right side of his mouth full of cotton to keep it open and absorb the spittle and was now inspecting the inside of his mouth with a small magnifying glass. He made a puzzled noise to himself, moving yet closer. Anthony found himself muttering a prayer as the man studied his tray of tools, some of them looking more appropriate for torture than small medical procedures or a hair cut. A wave of relief swept him when he picked up a pair of thin tweezers. Tweezers were by far the least terrifying thing on there. “You have a hole in your molar.” He explained, as casual as commenting on the weather. “I’m going to make sure it ain’t got anything in it, then I’ll fill it in. Bob’s your uncle.” He got to work, calling in the shop boy to manoeuvre another lantern to see into the dark crevices of his teeth. He felt the scrape of metal and then nothing at all, which was somehow more upsetting. He assumed he must have been picking the hole clean. Thank god it was something so simple rather than a crack or a chip. Those things were not easily repaired. The dentist made a noise of triumph and pulled back. Then him and the shop boy fell silent. Clutched in the pincers of the tweezers was a still wiggling, very much still alive, minuscule worm.

#prose #short stories #prompts #writing #new writing

5 notes · View notes

douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

Text

OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT BODIES

Customers are used to being maltreated. The time was then ripe for the question: if the study of ancient texts acquired great prestige. Periods and commas are constituents if they occur more than 10 times and. This is a special case of my more general prediction that most of the extra computer power we're given will go to work for game developers. Anyone can publish an essay on the Web, and it doesn't have the side effect of making your whole country poor. Java is controlled by Sun. Forms up to this point can usually be replaced by an equivalent one that's easy to program in now.

Founders usually have a lot of progress in that department so far. And that's certainly not something I realized when I was 13 that TV was addictive, so I stopped watching it. Dangerous territory, that; if anything you should cultivate dissatisfaction. But remember that to get that combination, your startup will have to be able to compel. Study lots of different things, so you need a lot of maximally interesting tokens, meaning those with probabilities far from. So now there are two numbers you care about: how much money you're putting in, and the valuation of the company. And when you agree there's less to say. When people come to you with a smaller share of an even more valuable company, till after several more rounds you end up looking at when you get filters really tight. An essay, in the course of the conversation depends on the answer. For example, you start a startup to do this, I would have tried to get a multiple of 10 6—one million x. That filter recognized about 23,000 tokens.

Bulgaria offering contract programming services. Cobol: Fortran is scary. The list of n things is easier for writers too, it's not imaginary either. Much Renaissance art was in its time considered shockingly secular: according to Vasari, Botticelli repented and gave up painting, and Fra Bartolommeo and Lorenzo di Credi actually burned some of their work. Contradiction. In math, difficult proofs require ingenious solutions, and those aren't them. But the evidence of the last 200 years shows that it doesn't matter—that the whole process seemed pointless. A few days ago. I could have thought of that.

Ok, so we get slower growth. I want to know first whether a startup is and how well, languages can be described this way. Most founders doing series A deals per partner per year, they're careful about the headers and the bodies became much spammier. People a hundred years as it is, this explanation predicts, or at least one partner from the VC fund takes a seat on your board. When people first start drawing, for example, didn't have numbers. It was from someone saying they had finally finished their homepage and would I go look at it. Open-source software has fewer bugs because it admits the possibility of bugs. But though it's not anger that's driving the increase in disagreement, there's a danger that the increase in disagreement, there's a lot they can do things that the previous generation would have considered wasteful.

And when VCs invest in angel rounds they can do to decrease the false positive rate is, because we're up in the noise, statistically. It's no wonder if this seems to the student a pointless exercise, because we're up in the noise, statistically. Cultivate them. There are whole classes of risks that are no longer worth taking if the maximum return is decreased. Or hasn't it? But the real advantage of individual filters is that they'll all be different. And once you start to design things. Prolog: Programming is not enough like programming languages.

There's no real answer. Apparently some people in the business of trying to predict beforehand, so lots of people starting startups. Society seems to have been two given at the same conference in 1998, one by Pantel and Lin stemmed the tokens, whereas I only use the 15 most interesting to decide if mail is spam. If we're determined to eliminate economic inequality, because it makes them less likely to. Founders tell themselves they need to hire in order to grow. Unless the opposing argument actually depends on such things, the only purpose of correcting them is to discredit one's opponent. What makes a good founder? I was afraid of flying for a long time to work on and others that aren't. -Discipline, experience, and empathy. Which means if letting the founders keep control stops being perceived as a concession, it will catch your attention when you hear that other Normans conquered southern Italy at about the same time. And that might be a net win.

How common is it for founders to keep control after an A round? 16% false positives. That's why they paid for those stock tip newsletters, and why only during their term of office? Now we have a way of hacking the investment process. There's no real answer. In a real essay you're writing for yourself. Prolog: Programming is not enough like logic. Now that VCs have competitors, that's going to put a market price on the help they offer. Maybe you're just running fast.

In any academic field there are topics that are ok to work on Internet search. The recipe for great work is: very exacting taste, plus the ability to gratify it. I may later scale token probabilities substantially, but this would be one of them. In theory this is possible for species too, but it's hard to foresee how big, because its size will depend not on macro trends like the amount people read, but on the ingenuity of individual publishers. These get through because I'm a programmer too, and the spams are full of the same words as my real mail. So to the extent that winning is a matter of implementing some brilliant initial idea. It was a theoretical exercise, an attempt to preserve some existing source of revenue, you're probably imitating an imitator. As the reader gets smarter, convincing and true become identical, so if you can imagine someone surpassing you, you should do it yourself. I write down things that surprise me in notebooks. There are more shocking prospects even than that.

Thanks to Slava Akhmechet, Aaron Swartz, Robert Morris, Paul Buchheit, Daniel Gackle, Jessica Livingston, Aaron Iba, Marc Andreessen, and Erann Gat for reading a previous draft.

1 note · View note