#magic all better

[painsandconfusion]

ideas to write horrifically and adorably. okie

a cute coffeeshop date

and brutal torture

Oooo yes yes yes!

I'm gonna make you be even more specific. One item, moment, or method.

Gimme a lil noun to play with <3

[egophiliac]

LET THE BOY HAVE AN EDUCATION

officially at the point where we're starting to see where it's all headed and I am just going NYEEHEEHEE in delight at it all. ahhh...next week can't come soon enough...

[ladystoneboobs]

so, one aspect of catelyn which i think is underrated (certainly the biggest adaptation loss which nobody talks about) is her, let's say superstitiousness, or better yet, let's call it genre-savviness, being one of the few adult characters open to magic and the supernatural in this fantasy world. we first meet her in the godswood, home of gods which are not truly hers, yet she is still very aware of their power. when she and ned talk of the deserter he killed, he hopes he won't have to go with the nw to deal with mance rayder, but she has even more fear of that idea bc there are worse things beyond the wall than just wildlings. ned scoffs and says she's been listening to old nan too much, but she's right. we already know from the prologue that she's right! and here she is, understanding the genre of their world better than her husband, who was actually born and spent his earliest years in this northern land of deep magic, listening to old nan's stories. same with the direwolves, where she was uncomfortable with them at first, but later believed in them as guardians from the old gods even after robb had lost his own faith. and once again, we know she's right even if she doesn't know the evidence to back up her instincts, bc summer and shaggydog did not fail bran and rickon and robb was almost certainly a warg like his brothers. (perhaps making it more fitting that she's the one brought back as a fantasy vengeance monster, not ned and robb, the most unbelieving dead starks.) and in her 2nd agot chapter, everyone focuses on her ambition in wanting ned to agree to the hand job (pun intended) and sansa's betrothal, and while she does recognize the value of their daughter being a future queen more than ned does, that's only her stated argument bc she thinks it's rational enough for ned to listen to. (if ambitious matchmaking were as important to her as to her father she never would have made those frey betrothals fandom loves to blame her for.) in her own head there's a deeper urge driving her. she keeps thinking of the dead direwolf with antlers in its throat, an omen which filled her with dread from the first she heard of it, before robert's arrival, and thinking of it again is what makes her desperate to convince ned not to refuse robert. she had to make him see. and really, she's not wrong, as jon snow would say. the dead direwolf was an omen of ned and robert getting each other killed. it's just one of those misread portents, with no way of knowing the danger to ned was in his loyalty to robert, not conflict with him. BUT the next time she's dealing with baratheons, she knows exactly what she's talking about. it's catelyn, not brienne, who sees the shadow slaying renly, and explains that it was stannis who did that through some dark magic. with no way of knowing how it was achieved and no prior expectation that such a thing were ever possible, she realizes with no hestitation that stannis was guilty and that his red witch was capable of pulling this off somehow. really, the only instinct of the supernatural she's wholly wrong about is her insistence that varys gathered his knowledge through some dark enchantment. however, though that might offend varys, given his own personal experience with a sorcerer, i'd say it's a reasonable assumption without knowing the dude had children moving through walls everywhere like oversized rodents. and imo it just shows she had a healthy respect and awe for varys's power which most other characters lack.

oh, oh, and let's not forget that she also believed in the curse of harrenhal, from her own childhood and the stories old nan told her kids. "and every house that held Harrenhal since had come to misfortune. Strong it might be, but it was a dark place, and cursed. 'I would not have Robb fight a battle in the shadow of that keep,' Catelyn admitted." sure, that wasn't enough to save robb, but he did not die from the curse of harrenhal. that doom was meant for his enemies from tywin lannister to roose bolton.

[dapper-lil-arts]

I'm not the kind of person that's like "Here let me fix the canon" usually but like holy crap gen 5 implied a lot of messed up shit about our hero Twilight Sparkle lmao

[smollkittykat]

I kind of don't like how a lot of people forget that despite all the angst and the drama around Dean and Cas they are fundamentaly best friends.

How many times did Dean say it throught the entire show? Bobby in season 6 saying "Well, you just lost the best friend you ever had."

For Bobby to say that, knowing Dean better than even Sam in some regards, how many times had Dean been sitting with Castiel on the couch in his living room?

Cas doesn't sleep, and rarely does Dean, with the Apocalypse looming right behind him.

So all they had left, in those quiet nights were each other. And they were okay with it, because they liked each other's company.

[naomistares]

making promo type art for a fantasy story that doesn't exist... yet..

(ambitiously, it will be a webcomic but im literally just a guy. more fun info abt this in tags)

[is-not-a-bell]

Ghost blobs lead someone to Danny

(There is a part 2 now)

Batman froze at the floating blob, nearly the same color of lauzus waters and glowed even brighter. It seemed to notice him and ziped over to him at an alarming speed. Batman tensed ready to strike. But the thing just hovered in front of him and humming? It sounded desperate and worried, despite sound completely inhuman. His lack of response on seemed to increase the noise it made now make odd movements in one direction.

Before he could blink suddenly he was swarmed with the things. Some started pushing at his back and face. Others grabbed at his cape and tried tugging him forward. All of them humming the same desperate tune. Against his better judgement, a feeling in his chest told him to follow. "Alright" He whispered to the odd blobs. "Lead the way." Several bolted away as he chased behind them. A few stayed with him flying next to him or tucked into his cape.

He followed them over buildings until they reached a warehouse district. He was lead to an area designated for demolition. Finally the blobs float to the ground stoping at a warehouse with a door left ajar.

When Batman pushed the doors open he saw nothing, he stood still for a moment. He nearly thought it was a trap. Before the familiar gentle push urged him on. The ones leading him before flew behind a pile of trash and just barely he could see a faint glow behind it.

When Batman walked behind the trash pile, he froze. A dozen more blobs were there all crowding around a dimly glowing child. The white haired child was curled up and seemed to be bleeding lauzrus green. Batman rushed over and grabbed the child's wrist to feel for a pulse. His heart lurched when he found one, and it lurched again when the boy moved. He whimpered and weakly tried pulling away.

He sprang into action and pulled the boy to himself. He grabbed his bandages and gently uncurled the boy to see his wounds. He froze again at the Y-shaped cut on his chest and the countless other cuts left on him. "Please- please stop." Batman snapped back to when the boy spoke. "It's alright, you're safe now." He said softly, he wrapped the boy up as best he could. "What's your name?" He asked as he gently picked the boy up.

The boy was humming like the blobs he realized, it was far weaker like a buzzing in his hands. "Danny" The boy replied, Batman nearly didn't hear him. "I'll keep you safe Danny, I promise." At that Danny seemed to relax and melt into him. Batman called the Batmobile.

The blobs followed them outside a few seemed to fly away before coming back. Like they were patrolling the area. Others were comforting Danny, rubbing up against him or humming a different sound possibly to reassure him. "What are they?" Batman asks, hoping to get some information before the boy could pass out. "Blob ghosts." He muttered.

"Ghosts?"

"It's what I am, but I'm really bad at it" Danny mumbled the last part to himself but Batman caught it. A ghost entity? It would explain the lack of a pulse and even the wounds. A ghost haunted with his own autoposy scars. Before he could ask more the bat mobile stopped in front of them.

Batman hopped inside and gently place Danny in the passenger seat, buckling him in. The blob ghosts followed tucking into the back in a quick flurry. And like that Batman set off. He called Alfred. "Alfred, prepare the medbay. I have a severely injured unknown."

"Right away"

Batman barely managed to keep the boy awake all the way to the Batcave. Batman tries to ignore Alfred's shocked face as he sees Danny and the swarm of blob ghosts that follow them. "You didn't say they were this unknown."

"Danny says that they are 'blob ghosts' and claims he is a ghost as well. But that he is bad at it some how." Batman explained as they rushed to the medbay. When Batman set the boy down a white ring of light appeared around the boy it split and passed over him. They were left with a very human looking boy who was now bleeding red, mixing in with the green.

He and Alfred shared a look of shock. Before having to push the feeling away to help the boy.

[bet-on-me-13]

Sam is Adopted

So! Have you ever noticed how Sam doesn't look like either of her Parents? Her Mom and Dad are Blonde and Ginger, and neither of them have Purple Eyes. How would Sam ever come from either of them?

She tells people that she dyes her Hair and wears Contacts, but the reality is that she was adopted as a baby by them. They had just found out that Pamela was Infertile and they wanted an Heir foe their company, so they decided to Adopt a kid.

But the Adoption Agency didn't have any kids who would realistically look like them, so they just got the first kid they found.

She had been left at the Orphanage by her Mother citing an inability to raise her and an unstable income. She never told the Agency her name, but told them that the baby's name was Sam, named after her Grandfather.

Sam was raised knowing that she was Adopted, but never really put much interest into it. Until one day when she decided that her adoptive Parents support of the Anti Ecto Acts was a step too far for her. She took an Ancestry DNA Test to see if she could find her Bio Mom to get away from them.

The results came back, and she found out that her Mom was a woman from Metropolis named Lois Lane.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Against Lore

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

One of my favorite nuggets of writing advice comes from James D Macdonald. Jim, a Navy vet with an encylopedic knowledge of gun lore, explained to a group of non-gun people how to write guns without getting derided by other gun people: "just add the word 'modified.'"

As in, "Her modified AR-15 kicked against her shoulder as she squeezed the trigger, but she held it steady on the car door, watching it disintegrate in a spatter of bullet-holes."

Jim's big idea was that gun people couldn't help but chew away at the verisimilitude of your fictional guns, their brains would automatically latch onto them and try to find the errors. But the word "modified" hijacked that impulse and turned it to the writer's advantage: a gun person's imagination gnaws at that word "modified," spinning up the cleverest possible explanation for how the gun in question could behave as depicted.

In other words, the gun person's impulse to one-up the writer by demonstrating their superior knowledge becomes an impulse to impart that superior knowledge to the writer. "Modified" puts the expert and the bullshitter on the same team, and conscripts the expert into fleshing out the bullshitter's lies.

Yes, writing is lying. Storytelling is genuinely weird. A storyteller who has successfully captured the audience has done so by convincing their hindbrains to care about the tribulations of imaginary people. These are people whose suffering, by definition, do not matter. Imaginary things didn't happen, so they can't matter. The deaths of Romeo and Juliet were less tragic than the death of the yogurt you had for breakfast. That yogurt was alive and now it's dead, whereas R&J never lived, never died, and don't matter:

https://locusmag.com/2014/11/cory-doctorow-stories-are-a-fuggly-hack/

Hijacking a stranger's empathic response is intrinsically adversarial. While storytelling is a benign activity, its underlying mechanic is extremely dangerous. Getting us to care about things that don't matter is how novels and movies work, but it's also how cults and cons work.

Cult leaders and con-artists know that they're engaged in mind-to-mind combat, and they make liberal use of Jim's hack of leaving blank spots for the mark to fill in. Think of Qanon drops: the mystical nonsense was just close enough to sensical that a vulnerable audience was compelled to try and untangle them, and ended up imparting more meaning to them than the hustler who posted them ever could have dreamt up.

Same with cons – there's a great scene in the Leverage: Redemption heist show where an experienced con-artist explains to a novice that the most convincing hustle is the one where you wait for the mark to tell you what they think you're doing, then run with it (scambaiters and other skeptics will recognize this as a relative of the "cold reading," where a "psychic" uses your own confirmations to flesh out their predictions).

As Douglas Adams put it:

A towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have "lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Magicians know this one, too. The point of a sleight is to misdirect the audience's attention, and use that moment of misattention to trick them, vanishing, stashing or producing something. The mark's mind is caught in a pleasurable agony: something seemingly impossible just happened. The mind splits into two parts, one of which insists that the impossible just happened, the other insisting that the impossible can't happen.

You know you've done it right if the audience says, "Do that again!" And that's the one thing you must not do. So long as you don't repeat the trick, the audience's imagination will chew on it endlessly, coming up with incredibly clever things that you must have done (a clever conjurer will know several ways to produce the same effect and will "do it again" by reproducing the effect via different means, which exponentially increases the audience's automatic imputation of clever methods to the performer).

Not for nothing, Jim Macdonald advises his writing students to study Magic and Showmanship, a classic text for aspiring conjurers:

https://memex.craphound.com/2007/11/13/magic-and-showmanship-classic-book-about-conjuring-has-many-lessons-for-writers/

There's a version of this in comedy, too. The scholarship of humor is clear on this: comedy comes from surprise. The audience knows they're about to be surprised when the punchline lands, and their mind is furiously trying to defuse the comedian's bomb before it detonates, cycling through potential punchlines of their own. This ramps up the suspense and the tension, so when the comedian does drop the punchline, the tension is released in a whoosh of laughter.

Your mind wants the tension to be resolved ASAP, but the pleasure comes from having that desire thwarted. Comedy – like most performance – has an element of authoritarianism. You don't give the audience what it wants, you give it what it needs.

Same goes for TTRPGs: the game master's role is to deny the players the victories and treasure they want, until they can't take it anymore, and then deliver it. That's the definition of an epic game. It's one of the durable advantages of human GMs over video game back-ends: they can ramp up the epicness by "cheating" on the play, giving the players the chance to squeak out improbable victories at the last possible second:

https://wilwheaton.typepad.com/wwdnbackup/2009/03/behind-the-screen.html

This is so effective that even crude approximations of it can turn video-games into cult hits – like Left4Dead, whose "Director" back-end would notice when the players were about to get destroyed and then substantially ramped up the chances of finding an amazing weapon – the chance would still be low overall, but there would be enough moments when the player got exactly what they'd been praying for, at the last possible instant, that it would feel amazing:

https://left4dead.fandom.com/wiki/The_Director#Special_Infected

Critically, Left4Dead's Director didn't do this every time. As any showman knows, the key to a great performance is "Always leave 'em wanting more." The musician's successful finale depends on doing every encore the audience demands, except the last one, so the crowd leaves with one tantalyzing and imaginary song playing in their minds, a performance better than any the musicians themselves could have delivered. Like the gun person who comes up with a cooler mod than the writer ever could, like the magic show attendee who comes up with a more elaborate explanation for the sleight than the conjurer could ever pull off, like the comedy club attendee whose imagination anticipates a surprise that grows larger the longer the joke goes on, the successful performance is an adversarial act of cooperation where the audience willingly and unwillingly cooperates with the performer to deny them the thing that they think they need, and deliver the thing they actually need.

This is my biggest problem with the notion that someday LLMs will get good enough at storytelling to give us the tales we demand, without having to suffer through a storyteller's sadistic denial of the resolutions we crave. When I'm reading a mystery, I want to turn to the last page and find out whodunnit, but I know that doing so will ruin the story. Telling the storyteller how the story should go is like trying to tickle yourself.

Like being tickled, experiencing only fun if the tickler respects your boundaries – but, like being tickled, there's always a part where you're squirming away, but you don't want it to stop. An AI storyteller that gives you exactly what you want is like a dungeon master who declares that every sword-swing kills the monster, and every treasure chest is full of epic items and platinum pieces. Yes, that's what you want, but if you get it, what's the point?

Seen in this light, performance is a kind of sado-masochism, where the performer delights in denying something to the audience, who, in turn, delights in the denial. Don't give the audience what they want, give them what they need.

What your audience needs is their own imagination. Decades ago, I was a freelance copywriter producing sales materials for Alias/Wavefront, a then-leading CGI firm that was inventing all kinds of never-seen VFX that would blow people away. One of the engineers I worked with told me something I never forgot: "Your imagination has more polygons than anything you can create with our software." He was talking about why it was critical to have some of the action happen in the shadows.

All of this is why series tend to go downhill. The first volume in any series leaves so much to the imagination. The map of the world is barely fleshed out, the characters' biographies are full of blank spots, the mechanics of the artifacts and the politics of the land are all just detailed enough that your mind automatically ascribes a level of detail to them, without knowing what that detail is.

This is the moment at which everything seems very clever, because your mind is just churning with all the different bits of elaborate lore that will fill in those lacunae and make them all fit together.

SPOILER ALERT: I'm about to give some spoilers for Furiosa.

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FURIOSA SPOILERS AHEAD!

Last night, we went to see Furiosa, the latest Mad Max movie, a prequel to 2015's Fury Road, which is one of the greatest movies ever made. Like most prequels, Furiosa functions as a lore-delivery vehicle, and as such, it's nowhere near as good as Fury Road.

Fury Road hints as so much worldbuilding. We learn about the three fortresses of the wasteland (the Citadel, the Bullet Farm, and Gastown) but we only see one (The Citadel). We learn that these three cities have a symbiotic relationship with one another, defined by a complex politics that is just barely stable. We meet Furiosa herself, and learn something of her biography – that she had been stolen from the Green Place, that she had suffered an arm amputation.

All of this is left for us to fill in, and for a decade, my hindbrain has been chewing on all of that, coming up with cool ways it could all fit together. I yearned to know the "real" explanation, but it was always unlikely that this real explanation would be as enjoyable as my own partial, ever-unfinished headcanon.

Furiosa is a great movie, but its worst parts are the canonical lore it settles. Partly, that's because some of that lore is just stupid. Why is the Bullet Farm an open-pit mine? I mean, it's visually amazing, but what does that have to do with making bullets? Sometimes, it's because the lore is banal – the solarpunk Green Place is a million times less cool than I had imagined it. Sometimes, it's because the lore is banal and stupid: the scenes where Furiosa's arm is crushed, then severed, then replaced, are both rushed and quasi-miraculous:

https://www.themarysue.com/how-does-furiosa-lose-her-arm/

But even if the lore had been good – not stupid, not banal – the best they could have hoped for was for the lore to be tidy. If it were surprising, it would seem contrived. A story whose loose ends have been tidily snipped away seems like it would be immensely satisfying, but it's not satisfying – it's just resolved. Like the band performing every encore you demand, until you no longer want to hear the band anymore – the feeling as you leave the hall isn't satisfaction, it's exhaustion.

So long as some key question remains unresolved, you're still wanting more. So long as the map has blank spots, your hindbrain will impute clever and exciting mysteries, tantalyzingly teetering on the edge of explicability, to the story.

Lore is always better as something to anticipate than it is to receive. The fans demand lore, but it should be doled out sparingly. Always leave 'em wanting more.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/27/cmon-do-it-again/#better_to_remain_silent_and_be_thought_a_fool_than_to_speak_and_remove_all_doubt

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 183

There’s a loud snarling noise outside the window. 

Not that Jazz is concerned. She’s just also trying to study for med school and would appreciate some quiet. And preferred her brother not contracting rabies whenever he tried to square off with the local rogue or three who tried to use the alley. 

As he had put it, it was his alley, he’d claimed it for tinkering. Though perhaps she should maybe ask him to quiet down on his insisted territorialism, even if she understood it. She would also probably maul someone if they tried to enter their apartment flat. It came with the territory of being ecto contaminated, or as the rest of them were now calling it, with being a liminal. 

Once the more draconic aspects started to emerge well, one wasn’t just contaminated anymore after all. Hence the whole school-worth of them leaving Amity while all their parents waged war against the guys in white. Last she heard it was going well. 

Which meant she could focus on her studies as soon as- okay it wouldn’t be quiet, it seems the rest of the kids joined in on mauling the poor idiot who tried to steal their things from the alley. Damn…

[heartless-brainrot]

so i was planning to do heartless art for pride but i forgot and now its 11:42pm on june 30th so have this for now

i sware ill do something art in july

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

which group do you find the most absolutely delightful at bringing the lolz together??

[wasyago]

day 16482 of trying to figure out what color jay's magic is

[zoe-oneesama]

He might be a little biased, but he is friend to all who have the heart of a hero.

Ko-fi | Patreon

[turtleblogatlast]

I think a lot about Leo’s tendency to push his way into the spotlight despite clearly being a natural in the shadows. Hell, you could argue that his worst moments are when he’s forcing himself onstage, and his best are when he does things no one notices until it’s already been done.

[justaz]

merlin’s secret being a visual thing. when he is around arthur or gwen or leon or morgana or [insert whatever character here] merlin seems pale and thin, almost like a ghost or an apparition. when the sun lands on him he reflects it like a corpse, he eyes seem dark and dull. he has this ethereal beauty to him, this otherworldly visage that leads many to believe he is of fae blood. he just doesn’t seem to be 100% human. but when he is ONLY with lancelot or gaius (cough or gwaine bc gwaine DEFINITELY knew) merlin is heartachingly human. merlin shines in the sunlight, colors are brighter and more vibrant around him, and his smiles are wide and his laughs are boisterous. he takes on color and leaves everyone wanting to know him. but when other join in or interact with the two, merlin shifts before their eyes so quickly and suddenly that they aren’t sure whether or not what they saw was a trick of the light. the idea still leaves them wanting more and wanting to see the merlin who is just so full of life but that merlin only appears for a small select group of people. merlin who has a guard so high that it has an effect of other’s perception of him.