#they r so silly nilly
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
🌭
50 notes
·
View notes
Text
gonna ramble for my msm au rq under the cut🚿🚿🚿🚿
Imagine, you were created by accident. But you were a happy accident, and it was just you and your siblings. Then imagine the creator of your siblings come back. But, heres the thing, you dont know them. At all. Thats Rare Wubbox with Galvana.
thats the au basically. rare was a happy accident, from being a virus on an 90s abandoned computer to a baby to an adult, wayyy after the Cataclysm
thats a crazy summarization if the au LMAO😭
then galvana comes back and is like "who is this silly nilly" proceeds to treat rare like theyre their child and rare is so confused like "my indirective creator is trying to adopt me help" and the others r like "ur fine, its fine."
Galvana: "Hey kid want some happiness and appreciation and motherly love? ActuallyI'mnot letting you answer"
Rare: "whag"
*Galvana dumps appreciation and motherly live on Rare*
"AHKKKKHJKHKHKH-"
thats them right there lol
#galvana#galvana msm#rare wubbox#msm rare wubbox#msm#my singing monsters#msm au#comets rambles#not art
8 notes
·
View notes
Note
Please tell us more about how your wife tricked you into dating her
So, setup, details all under cut, cuz it's a bit lengthy. Fun story though!
Tumblr circa 2015. Junior year of high school. I've convinced myself that dating is NOT for me, and that I should just wait until college to fuck around and find out. Just gone through a nasty little emotional breakup where in the near future, I'll wish that thar 2nd ever relationship was simply, entirely expunged from my life.
Paige, known as benedict-cutiebatch here, makes a post about being bored and wanting asks sent her way. Send your best pickup line. This was back when people sent eachother asks willy-nilly. I think, "Oh, sure, I've seen this person around, she seems alright. I'll send something funny and stupid, maybe make her laugh."
Send the "hot leg, hot hot leg" poem thing. She is so amused by it, she asks for my hand in marriage. Yaddayaddayadda, back and forth of just playing around pretend times. I have a lot of lighthearted fun. Cue the interaction ending, and us doing our separate things again. A week or so passes, and I've been specifically checking her blog. I don't do that with anybody else. This is a new habit I've picked up, because I loved the silly fake marriage tee hee haha joke.
Send an ask saying as such. She expresses similar sorta thing on her end. And we start talking again. Talking waaaayyy mooorree.
We talk fully through the night. No sleep. We talk fully through that next day. Eventually we exchange Skypes, because that's what everyone did in 2015. Flirting through the roof. Terribly blatant. Oml. But we're not dating, we're just. Completely all up in eachother. And I'm perfectly convinced that this girl probably just wants to enjoy the fun of somebody being bluntly into her, but not actually follow through further then that, and we'd just remain terribly forward friends with eachother, and that's how life goes sometimes.
Until I recieve an anon ask, that basically asks if me and her are dating and how c u t e we both seem to be, and I Assume that this is an unrelated third party, because, again. It was just waaay more common to recieve asks like that, back when I was a teenager. I respond to it all...
"L o l, naaahh.... b u t... It's not a Bad Idea.... 👀"
Anon sends another ask all... You should! You should try asking!
I think nothing of it, I take it as quite genuine advice that I do frankly agree with. And so. That's what my ass did. Asked Paige out in the most goofy, awkward way, after sending her screenshots of the anons, all "Haha, omgg, isn't this just sOoOoOo CrazyYyYy?? How Silly, hahaha.......... Unless.....?"
Fast forward like 2 years later into us being together, she's visiting me while I'm at college, we've Been seeing eachother, we've been having fun! So much fun!
She's sat on my lap while we're waiting on a ride back to my home, outside at a table and chairs; my ass fucking commuted. It's winter, and terribly cold in NY. I'm holding her close, and she starts saying something like... "Hey, you wanna hear something kinda fucked up...?"
I'm intrigued, of course, I'm like. Shoot, okay! I'm all ears.
Tells me that She was the one who sent those anons, and that she had a feeling I wouldn't Just Ask without being prompted. She, as she put it herself, lied to and tricked me. And she's clearly all broken up over it a bit, because she's sounding so hesitant as she tells me it.
I just sigh, hug her tighter, and I'm honest. Recalling best I can, I think it was something along the lines of...
"Thank goodness you did that, because you were totally right. I was too nervous otherwise, to just do that myself. And I would've kept on thinking you only wanted somebody to flirt with. I liked you too much. I didn't want to accidentally ruin anything between us."
Poor thing starts crying. So I just keep holding her, and telling her I love her, and that I'm r e a l l y not upset, after she says she was so worried that I would be, that I'd hate her, or think our relationship was built on a lie. I just see it as a perfectly reasonable thing to do, when someone too stuck in not doing the wrong thing, is too afraid to just ask for what she wants.
So yeah, basically, I got led into a relationship with a carrot and then a box slammed down around me, and I was completely chill with it the entire time. I truly was just having a blast.
#liveblogging#ask#timetodiverge#wifey#lmaooo i love retelling this story even though im certain my forgetful ass has probably left out a detail here or there#it's fiiiineee
5 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi I like your Mind Melters fic. As a big believer that there has to be some consequences for how willy-nilly Rick used the damn thing was sad basically no fics ever explore it.
Curious what you think about the idea in general. Is it healthy for Morty when he does it to himself (or more often Rick does/did it for himself)? Do you hope we'll see it again in future and see Morty choose to stop "needing" it.
I think at some point or another we’ve all wanted something erased from our minds, but obviously we cant. There’s also the psychological trauma response of being unable to remember an event, which I feel ties into this idea even though its not explicitly related.
I think that Morty having his memory erased so frequently is a clear representation of the sheer amount of trauma he’s been thru, and i think that even without the memory gun. He would have trouble remembering some of it.
From Rick’s POV, i think Rick believes that his brain is more developed, so he can handle the thousands of traumatic memories, while Morty’s mind is small and underdeveloped, and this many traumatic memories would probably kill him. While canon Rick’s intentions were likely not all good, it’s implied that the first erased memory is Moonspiracy, and that was one Morty asked to have erased. I think there’s a mix of Rick being an asshole, wanting to help, and Morty asking for it.
I do not think erasing their memories themselves was healthy, even if it was by choice. (Slightly personal—>) as someone who has experienced multiple traumatic events, i have literally begged and prayed for them to be removed, but obviously science doesnt rlly work like that rn LMAO . While these memories suck ass, erasing them would leave us with gaps in our minds, erase learned experience and lessons related to memories, and likely set back or prevent brain development entirely, especially when a child’s memories are erased.
When Rick erased his own memories, i think he knew on some level it was reversible. He’s a full grown adult, and his knowledge is more ingrained in his actual mind rather than just based on memories. Morty, however, doesn’t have that ability, and can;t regulate his emotions the way an adult can (not that rick can regulate his emotions lmao)
I think on some level canon Rick would feel guilt if faced with Morty erasing his own memories, and Rick would think of his own influence on Morty. I think Rick genuinely did mean well t times, and erased traumatic memories or fuck ups that would ruin Morty’s mind, because you can’t process trauma in a healthy way when you’re 14 unless you’re super emotionally mature, and while Morty is fairly emotionally mature, he’s just a kid, and Rick wouldn’t want Morty to turn out like him.
On the other hand, Rick is an asshole, and it makes complete sense that he erased memories of Morty winning, or being better than Rick, of feeling confident. Morty’s mindblowers being in season 3 is showing their abusive dynamic and the power Rick needs to have over Morty in order for their early dynamic to function. I DONT think that in season 7, or even in season 6, that Rick was actively erasing good moments with Morty, because their dynamic has shifted. Rick definitely doesnt see Morty as an equal, but he cares more, and I believe he’s more willing to let Morty have wins, and I think he believes that Morty is stronger than he thought and can handle things better now.
These r just some thoughts and theories, I really think that the majority of memories are bad. If blue is what Morty asked to be removed, the purple is his family’s, and Rick’s are red, there is an overwhelming surplus of blue in the room, meaning most of them were likely requested by Morty. (There’s also a few YELLOW vials, which im curious about and have a few theories of!)
Anyway thats all!!q thank u for this ask i love sharing my silly thoughts and theories <3
#rick and morty#rick n morty#morty smith#morty’s mindblowers#rick and morty theory#:3#thank u sm anon <3
6 notes
·
View notes
Note
https://www.tumblr.com/hysteria-things/748924233036578816/helpp-why-r-we-hating-on-anonssss
all bc haleigh knows who i am non anon 😭😭
-🎀
some of you on tumblr are so silly nilly
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Just a couple of notes from someone who is still in process of learning the language, but getting better at it for all you fanartists and fic writers:
Na'vi to english doesn't translate 1:1 and the language has its own unique grammar rules. This includes name/word making where while letters you want to use themselves may exist, not all combinations are actually valid
The ' is it's own letter and it can't be just added to stuff willy nilly. Similarly, ì and i as well as a and ä are different letters. Don't be lazy, copy+paste them if you must, but accents matter A LOT
If actual na'vi speakers come across your art and comment about these things, please don't feel bad, we are not trying to bully you. The majority of us is genuinely just super happy to share this language with other people and to help them to get better at it. Unfortunately, beginners or exclusive dictionary users tend to make lots of mistakes, usually because they underestimate the level at which the language is actually developed.
Chat GPT may be instructed to translate english to na'vi for you but it does even poorer job than you checking out individual words in available dictionaries. Don't touch it with a 10ft long pole. Whatever it spews out is an absolute garbage
Na'vi has no verb "to love". Yawne is an adjective meaning "beloved" and tìyawn is a noun meaning "the love". The sentence "I love you" in na'vi is expressed as "nga lu yawne oeru" or any combination of those words in any different order, with all of them literally translating as "you are beloved to me"
In the case of the word lu meaning "to be" proceed with caution. It is almost as irregular and as messed up in its use as english "to be" and can express anything from "am/is/are" to "have/own" and it has some more gramatical shenanigans connected to it. You have been warned
In na'vi we have ✨ AFFIXES ✨ Just... so many affixes. Most of them stack. Sometimes a word has more affixes than core letters. Looking at you, kä (to go) turning into käpeykimvängä meaning "made oneself go (with a special little -iv- thing for other gramatic purposes) with the person in question being unhappy about that fact" because yeah, no
Na'vi has the rattling R sound and also the longer RR version. It's not the same sound one as the french R and it's definitely not the muted half swallowed english R, and it is generally very hard to learn to pronounce correctly for english speakers. If your art includes a clash between humans and na'vi, or humans having to speak the language, feel free to use this as a part of your plot or as the point of a joke. Missunderstandings, misstranslations, or just being made fun of for sounding as silly as a slurring child with missing baby teeth - they are all right there waiting to be used by you. The choice is yours
More funky sounds! The X in kx, tx, and px means that they make a pop, like when beatboxing people imitate drums, which could again be used against human speakers. Think of all those times someone calls someone else a skxawng - moron. Tsu'tey pronounces it excelently when he mocks Jake as he is trying to catch his ikran
Na'vi don't have any form of written language and they can't read (unless taught by humans which so far seems to be only the case of Omatikaya people). Again, this may be important for your storry. Doesn't matter if someone scribbles a note in na'vi if the native "reading it" has not learned letters from someone before that
Have fun including these bits and pieces in your fics and fanart!
na’vi language i would love to see being used in fics:
yawntutsyìp - darling, little loved one
yawne - beloved
tìyawn - love
‘awsiteng- together
yawnetu / yawntu - loved one, lover, beloved person
atan - light, source of illumination
syulang - flower
muntxate - wife, female spouse
muntxatan - husband, male spouse
txe’lan - heart
tsamsiyu - warrior
oeyä - my (possessive)
sevin - pretty (mainly for female)
sayrìp - handsome, good looking
lor - beautiful, pleasant to the senses
yuey - beautiful (inner beauty)
narlor - beautiful visually
tsawke - sun
oare - moon
letsranten - important
tanhì - star, bioluminescent freckle
hì'i - small, little
flrr - gentle, mild, tender
tìmuntxa - mating, marriage
kalin - sweet to the taste
paskalin - honey (term of endearment)
tstew - brave
mowan - pleasing, enjoyable (physically, sexually)
manga - hey, hey you
nga - you
ngatsyìp - little you, you little
fahew - smell
onlor - good smelling
lu - be, am, is, are
vonvä’ - butthole, asshole, dickhead (requested)
nìwotx - all (of)
mei - wet
fìtxan - so
source:
8K notes
·
View notes
Note
nilly nilly silly nilly i think you are so cool!
whoa !! thanku !! i think u r very cool too !!!
1 note
·
View note
Text
Have Your Name (And Your Back) Chapter 4
Viridi drops in to say hello, and Patton's left with more questions than answers
Chapter 3 | Masterlist | Chapter 5
Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, self-deprecating thoughts, descriptions of Patton's 'punishments', touch starvation, mentions of cannibalism and torture (courtesy of Remus), boys in skirts, malnourishment and bruises
“What are you doing out of bed?”
Patton jumped, staring at the figure with wide eyes. It took a moment for him to recognize the person leaning into the doorway. Lord Ignis’ brother. Isn’t his name Viridi? Patton then registered the question and bowed his head. “I-I’m sorry, sir. I know I’m n-not allowed to leave the room, b-but I had to use the r-restroom, and-”
Viridi stepped forward, and Patton immediately went quiet. He did his best to not curl in on himself in fear, knowing that would only make his punishment worse. Hopefully, he would only get a slap or two for disobedience, but Patton was never good at judging the severity of things (it sometimes felt like there was no set severity, but that was silly because Patton deserved it). As the seconds ticked by with no pain or verbal command Patton felt himself tense up more and more. Mother and Father never waited, always punishing him immediately. So why wasn’t he being touched or ordered? Does he want me to clarify my disobedience? No, then he would tell me to do so. If he wanted me to continue speaking he could’ve just punished me for being silent. Maybe he wants to wait so I don’t know when it’s coming-
Patton’s vision started to blur, his mind racing. Images of past punishments flickered through his head. Does he want me to pick my punishment? Mother made me do that sometimes. Maybe he’s waiting for me to kneel so he can lash me with his belt. But Father always told me to kneel or pushed me down. He’s not doing anything why isn’t he hurting me what’s my punishment I’m scared I can’t breathe-
Patton felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched. The hand didn’t move at all, just applying enough pressure for Patton to know it was there. It could push me to the ground or slap my face or strangle me or-
The hand shifted to his back, and the rest of Viridi’s body seemed to press itself against Patton. “Focus, Kid. You’re safe. I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.” Patton felt something warm spread throughout his body, moving from his chest to the tips of his toes. His head felt fuzzy and when he opened his eyes, everything had an odd green tint. He couldn’t see Viridi anymore, his head on his shoulder. Patton couldn’t tell what was happening. Why were Viridi’s arms around him? Is he going to squeeze me until all my bones break? Patton whimpered at the thought.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Patton went silent at the question, and Viridi elaborated. “The thoughts. You shouldn’t have this many bad thoughts.” Patton whimpered again, ashamed at how weak and broken he was. “Hey, I heard that. Just because you have bad thoughts doesn’t mean you’re weak or broken.”
Patton gasped. “I-I’m sorry sir, I d-didn’t mean to speak out of turn!” He whimpered as he remembered the pain he got in the kitchen for speaking out loud.
The green tint became stronger as Viridi spoke. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re not getting punished for speaking your mind. Actually, we want you to talk, Kid. It’s easier to understand what’s wrong when you talk. And you didn’t actually say that out loud, I heard your thoughts.”
Patton frowned, confused. “You heard my thoughts?”
Suddenly the green tint became a green light, swirling around in Patton’s vision. He gasped at the sight. He brought his hand up to touch the light and gasped again. The light was covering his entire hand, licking against his skin like a warm fire. “It’s pretty neat, isn’t it?” Patton nodded, staring at the light. “That’s my magic. Me and your Godfather can both do it. Fire magic and Dream magic. It helps us see what your thinkin’, though I’m the only one that can see these nasty thoughts.”
Patton frowned at the implications. “I’m sorry you have to see those. My pa-” Lord Ignus didn’t want me to call them that “Lord and Lady Hart wanted me to remember my punishments so I would learn my lesson and behave better.”
There was a pause before Viridi spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “So those were memories, not just random ideas?” Patton nodded, and he felt Viridi’s hold get slightly tighter. “When I get my hands on those bastards-”
Patton whimpered as he felt the pressure increase. It wasn’t anywhere near painful, but he didn’t know what was going on and his best guess was that he was going to be crushed. He tried to stop himself from stiffening up (when had he relaxed?), knowing that it would just make it worst. Please don’t hurt me please don’t-
The arms immediately went lax, but they didn’t move. “Why do you think I’ll hurt ya?” Patton thought back to getting crushed, and the green light got slightly brighter for a few seconds. “Crush you? Why would… oh.” Viridi’s hands began rubbing small circles into Patton’s back. “Do you not know what a hug is?”
Patton frowned. “A… hug?” He’d never heard of that word before.
Viridi sighed. “It’s a form of comfort. Here, wrap your arms around me.” Patton followed the order, still confused. “You’re supposed to add just enough pressure to comfort, not enough to hurt. I’m gonna hug you now, okay? Tell me if you wanna stop.” Patton nodded as the arms squeezed him lightly.
The pressure was… Patton couldn’t think of a word to describe it. He’d thought that the green light was warm, it was nothing compared to this. It felt like a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, protecting him from the chill. It reminded him of a long lost friend, or seeing your shadow after years in the dark. It feels like home.
Patton broke down, sobbing into Viridi’s shoulder. He felt Viridi start to pull away and he whined, trying to pull him closer. The hug was almost painfully warm but it felt right. Viridi sighed. “I’m sorry they hurt you, Kid. If I could, I would make them pay a thousand times over. I would rip off their toes and feed them to the other. I would make them relive every punishment you’ve ever had and have them trapped in an endless cycle of pain as they bled out.”
The thought of Viridi hurting Patton’s parents should’ve made Patton feel… something . Anger, fear, sympathy. But all Patton felt was calm and… happy. Safe. He truly cares.
Viridi sighed, adjusting his hold. Suddenly, Patton was being held off of the ground, safety in Viridi’s arms. The green light fully dissipated as he spoke. “C’mon, Kid. You need to lay-”
“Patton.” Viridi stiffened, but Patton continued. “My name’s Patton.”
Viridi shuddered. “Do you know anything about the fae, Kid?”
Patton frowned. “Fae?”
Viridi sighed. “I’m… not the best at explaining this sort of thing. Just know that you shouldn’t give away your name all willy nilly. And don’t get upset when we don’t call you by your real name.” He carried Patton over to the bed. “Names hold a lot of power to the Fae.” He leaned over the bed and let go, Patton’s lower half landing softly on the bed. His hands stayed tight around Viridi. “Kid, I need you to let go. You need rest, and I have some things I’ve gotta do.” Patton frowned, but he let go, leaning back against the pillows. “Get some sleep, kid. My bro will be here soon with some food. And if you need me, just call for the Duke!”
Patton tilted his head. “The Duke?”
Viridi smiled, but this time it seemed a little too wide, his teeth a little too sharp. “I told ya, names hold a lot of power to the Fae. You may call me the Duke.”
Patton frowned. “I thought your name was Viridi?”
Viridi the Duke chuckled. “That’s the name that I let those assholes call me. That doesn’t mean it’s my real name. No one here gives away their real name unless they’ve earned it.” He gave a dramatic bow. “See ya, Patty-Cake!” The green light came back, bright enough for Patton to close his eyes, and suddenly the Duke was gone.
Patton stared at the now empty spot. That looked eerily similar to the first time Patton’s Fairy Godfather disappeared, after they made the deal. All of this seemed impossible, but apparently it was.
Magic. Patton didn’t know much about magic. Everything he had ever learned was from other staff members or things he overheard while visiting the market. He remembered one of the maids talking about magic and love, but Patton didn’t think that was what the Duke was talking about. They had a gardener once that taught Patton the different uses for plants. They had spoken of magic and curses and cures for anything under the sun. But they spoke about witches, not Fae.
What are the Fae, anyway? It sounded a lot like Fairy, so it would make sense if they were one and the same, right? The Duke said that he was one of the Fae, and Lord Ignis was Patton’s Fairy Godfather, so they were probably the same thing. Patton tried to remember everything about them that seemed off. They can make warm light that makes my head go fuzzy. They can read minds? The Duke said only he and Fairy Godfather could do that. The Duke also said that they all use fake names, and both he and Umbra said that I shouldn’t tell them my name. They can appear and disappear. Umbra healed the cut on my hand. Fairy Godfather did something magical when he told Mother and Father to not look at me. And the Duke made the blood on his face disappear- oh shoot, I forgot to apologize for undercooking his chicken! I’ll probably get punished if I tell him, but I’ll get in more trouble if I don’t say anything because Fairy Godfather and Umbra already know.
Patton groaned, sitting up. All this thinking about magic and Fae made his head hurt. He had so many questions and no answers. And he was starting to feel twitchy by this point. He had already felt bad when the Duke found him but didn’t punish him, and this was the longest Patton had ever gone without cleaning or cooking or doing something productive.
After a few more minutes of fidgeting, Patton got back up. He made his bed and fluffed the pillows, but was disappointed when he realized there was nothing left to clean. The room was mostly bare and everything was spotless. Patton frowned. He always had something to clean at home, so he could prove his worth. How could he prove that he was a good godson if he couldn’t clean?
Patton scanned the room before his eyes landed on the walk-in closet. It looked empty when Patton first walked in, but maybe he overlooked a cobweb or something? Patton shuddered at the thought of spiders, but he pressed onwards.
The closet was pitch black until Patton fully stepped inside. There was apparently a set of fairy lights on the ceiling that lit up once he entered. Patton shut the door and moved further into the closet, studying every square inch. The racks and drawers were all empty, not a single item of clothing in sight. Patton wondered if the room he had been staying in was a guest room of sorts, though it looked more like a master bedroom to him. When he reached the end of the closet, Patton was surprised to see a little wooden platform and a full-length mirror. Patton took a look at himself and winced. His hair was a mess, his clothes were ripped, and the bruise on his face still hadn’t gone away. Patton stepped up on the platform, wanting to get a better look at himself when he felt a surge of warmth around him. Patton immediately flinched, not expecting the sudden warmth that immediately disappeared. When Patton opened his eyes, he didn’t see anything different at first. His hair was still messy, his clothes were still torn, and his bruise was still there. It wasn’t until Patton turned around that he saw it.
The entire closet was now filled with clothes, all in different styles and colors. Shirts, pants, suits, dresses, skirts, everything! Patton was pretty sure he saw some undergarments and accessories peeking out of the drawers!
Patton stared at it all in awe, not even realizing he had moved until he was rubbing a shirt between his fingers. It was soft, softer than any clothing Patton had ever touched, much less anything Patton had ever worn. Patton carefully pulled it off of the rack and held it up against his chest at the mirror. It looked like a perfect fit.
Patton giggled, and for the first time that he could remember, Patton felt pure joy as he sorted through the clothes. He carefully held every clothing item up to the mirror, giggling every time. Sometimes he would make a silly face at the mirror, giggling so hard that he needed to take a break for air.
Patton went through dozens of clothes before an outfit stood out. It was a sky blue shirt and a white shirt. The shirt sleeves were long and billowy, longer than his arms and big enough at the ends to fit his whole head inside. The skirt was also quite long and billowy, ending just a few inches above his ankles.
Patton looked up at the mirror and bit his lip. The outfit was so pretty, and it looked like it was made to fit Patton perfectly. And Patton’s current clothes were so dirty and torn. But Patton wasn’t told that he could wear these…
Patton looked down at the outfit and smiled. His Fairy Godfather probably wouldn’t be back for a little while. He could just try on the clothes and then put them back! Patton giggled at his own brilliance as he set the clothes off to the side.
Patton slowly took off his clothes, wincing at the sight. His skin was extremely pale, with various bruises painting awful images across the surface. His torso was the worst, with dark bruises and shallow cuts. He could perfectly trace most of his ribs, and his stomach was caved in slightly. Patton frowned at his body. He knew it wasn’t good to look like this, even if he deserved it.
Patton searched through the drawers until he found a pair of underwear he was comfortable with, slipping them on along with the shirt and skirt. He looked back in the drawer and saw some pretty white knee socks to go with the outfit, and rows of shoes sat on the shelves below. Patton frowned; he didn’t actually know where his shoes were, since they weren’t on him when he woke up. Patton shrugged, deciding to complete the outfit. He quickly tugged on the socks and a pair of blue mary janes. He went to turn back to the mirror when something sparkly caught his eye. Patton looked into one of the half-open drawers and saw jewelry, hair accessories, and a hairbrush.
Patton held the brush in awe. When was the last lime Patton was allowed to brush his hair? He slowly pulled the brush through his tangled hair, watching with awe as it went through his hair with ease. Magic brush, he thought giddily as he finished brushing his hair. He put the brush back in the drawer and stepped back onto the platform, gasping when he looked into the mirror.
Is that… me? Patton held up his hand, watching as mirror Patton did the same. But the boy in the mirror couldn’t be Patton. He looked so… clean. And pretty. And… happy.
Knock knock knock
Patton jumped, spinning around (if he wasn’t terrified he would’ve giggled at the way his skirt fanned out). He froze when he heard a voice on the other side of the door.
“Pat? Are you in there? Your food’s ready.”
Patton nearly cried at his Fairy Godfather’s voice. He wanted to do so many things at that moment. Run to his Fairy Godfather. Run and hide. Quickly try to change his clothes back. Tell his Fairy Godfather to go away. Tell him to come in. But Patton didn’t do any of that. Instead, he stood frozen with fear as the doorknob jiggled.
“Pat? I’m gonna open the door now, okay? Just to make sure that you’re okay.” Patton watched with tears in his eyes and his breath caught in his throat as the door slowly swung open.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess
30 notes
·
View notes
Note
OMG Caro we want the cut scene !!!
okay so this came from the original chapter four, which was a hot mess. i think i only wrote about 8k of it? before i scrapped it and rewrote everything. this is really the only scene that wasn’t rewritten and put into the real chapter four, minus a few more shenanigans that john and roger get into, and brian and freddie warning john about living with roger.
part of the reason this got cut was i didn’t like the way that i had written veronica, and i felt as though she would purposefully go out of her way to avoid john, and vice versa. but nevertheless, here it is!
enjoy!
The inevitable didn’t hit until mid-March.
He and Roger had finally managed to peel themselves off the floor and stumble to their local Tesco, donning sunglasses against the worst of their hangovers.
“I think we need more cereal,” Roger rasped, running a hand through his incredibly messy hair. “And some cheese?”
“I bought cheese two days ago,” John shook his head. “Did you eat the whole block?”
“I don’t...think so? Okay so bread, cereal, tinned ravioli?”
“I am not eating that shit,” John made a face. “You want it? You buy it.”
Roger debated it for a moment, but ultimately chucked the can into the basket John was holding. They continued making their way through the aisles, making up their list as they went along. There was a brief moment in the produce aisle wherein John quizzed Roger on the different names of vegetables to hilarious results.
“Is that not a legume?” Roger cried over John’s boisterous laughter, waving around a zucchini. “It’s a legume!”
“How did you make it to twenty-five not knowing what a zucchini was?” John laughed as he wiped at the tears in the corner of his eyes.
“Because who actually eats zucchini? What do you use it for?” Roger snapped.
“You put it in ratatouille,” Veronica said from behind them.
Three things happened at once. Roger, still waving around the zucchini, let go of it midair, sending to flying into a pyramid of apples that all went crashing onto the floor. John panicked, spinning around so fast that the basket smacked Roger in the shin, who cursed. And finally, Veronica stumbled back from the pair of them, right into the man who had been standing behind her.
“Ronnie!” John cried, shoving the sunglasses up on top of his head, squinting in the light. “I, uh, I mean Veronica, hi, you, uh, you alright?”
“Hello John,” she said, smiling sweetly if not nervously. “I’m doing well. And you?”
John knew that he had bags under his eyes big enough to carry his groceries home, that his hair was a matted mess that he hadn’t even attempted to comb, and that his shirt smelled sourly of beer from last night. He looked like shit, and everyone knew it.
Veronica, on the other hand, looked just as lovely as he had remembered. She was wearing a new dress, her hair neatly braided back the way she always had. John desperately wished he had showered, even more so when she moved in close to bus a kiss against his cheek.
“Roger,” she added, moving in to do the same for him. Roger, however, merely returned her smile with something that probably originally started as a smile but finished as a grimace.
“Veronica,” he said, terse.
There was a pregnant pause, before the man behind Veronica cleared his throat. Veronica startled, turning to face him before flushing.
“Oh, of course, how silly of me. John, Roger, this is Timothy. My—my boyfriend.” She slipped her hand into his, smiling nervously up at John.
Timothy reached out his free hand for John and Roger to shake. For a split second, John considered smacking it away, taking up his fists and pounding him straight through the floor. He clenched his knuckles, know that the meat of his palms would bleed from the force of his nails digging into them. But reason prevailed, and he found himself shaking his hand, doing his best to stop his glare.
“John Deacon,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Timothy replied, still shaking his hand. “I’m uh, a big fan. Your last album was really, uh, really something.”
John let go of his hand, stepping back closer to Roger. “Oh, thanks. Means a lot.”
“Ronnie here’s always talking about you all, and how you’re gonna make it big one day, and I gotta say, I do agree with her,” Timothy continued. John didn’t know how to respond, he was too busy trying to relearn how to breathe when he heard him call her by her nickname. No one person can have a monopoly on nicknames, especially when it’s not even yours, but it felt too real, too painful to hear from someone else.
There was a pregnant pause, made all the more awkward by Roger glaring from behind his shoulder, his face set in a hard scowl. Veronica, too sweet for her own good, tried to engage him in conversation.
“And how are you, Roger?” she asked. “Is your mother doing well?”
“She’s fine,” Roger said shortly. Veronica nodded, opening her mouth to say something, but thought better of it.
Timothy, too, tried to shake Roger’s hand, but he merely stared at it as though it had personally offended him. Timothy dropped his hand awkwardly, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck.
“Listen,” John tried. “We should get going. Practice, and recording, all that. Things to do, you know how it is.”
“Oh, of course, right,” Veronica nodded. She sounded almost upset, and for a moment, John considered taking the words back, telling her that he had more time. The moment passed though, when Roger grabbed at his arm, tugging him and the basket towards the register.
“C’mon, Deaks, let’s get going. We’ve got that dinner with the producers tonight, very important, can’t miss it.” He tugged John faster towards the register, throwing a terse farewell over his shoulder. “Great to meet you, Theodore!”
“Roger,” John hissed, trying to tug his hand from Roger’s. “What was that about?”
“The gall of that woman,” Roger snarled. “Who does she think she is, flaunting her boyfriend in front of you like that?”
“Roger—”
“And ugh, did you hear him?” Roger pulled a face, mimicking Timothy in a stupid voice. “Ronnie’s always talking about how you’re going to make it big one day. What a fucking asshole. We’ll make it big one day. As if he knows anything! We have a number one single—number one!—and he thinks he can talk to us like that? Ugh, I could have killed him.”
John allowed himself to be dragged into the line, watching as Roger threw the groceries onto the belt willy-nilly, probably breaking all the eggs in the carton and denting his tin of ravioli. Roger was upset for him. Roger was angry for him. John was flattered, proud, happy.
“We didn’t get the vodka,” Roger gasped, snapping his fingers. “Shit. Go get it, the big bottle, alright? Hurry, hurry!”
John did as he was told, pushing back through the line and jogging to the liquor aisle.
“Vodka, vodka, vodka,” he muttered, hopping from foot to foot as he scoured the aisle.
“Bottom left shelf.”
John froze. “R—Veronica.”
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Veronica teased, lifting her shoulder carefully. They stared at each other from across the aisle. John’s fingers itched to reach out and touch her one last time.
“I, uh, I have to get the vodka back to Roger,” John said stupidly.
“Might help if you picked it up,” she suggested. John flushed, looking away before bending down to grab a bottle, clutching it tightly with sweating fingers.
“I need to leave,” he muttered. “It uh, was good. Good to see you. But uh, I have to go.”
“John, wait,” she grabbed at his sleeve, stopping him in place. “Please, John, can we talk?”
“I can’t,” he shook his head. “I have to get this to Roger.”
“I know, but I just—we ended so soon, and I know it wasn’t, uh, the best—”
“I have to go,” he repeated, trying to pull away.
“John—”
John couldn’t help himself. Stepping back, he shook his head. “You already said everything that needed to be said. There’s nothing left to discuss.”
He pushed past her, ignoring anything she might have said and practically running back to Roger. In order to stall, Roger had bent over the belt so as to flirt with the cashier, laughing gaily at whatever she’d said. John slammed the bottle down on the belt, his hands shaking. Roger took one look at him and immediately snapped into action.
Stepping away from the belt, he turned off any and all charm that he had pulled in order to speed things up. The cashier, stunned by the change in behaviour, quickly scanned the bottle.
“That’ll be eight quid,” she said. Roger threw the money onto the belt before scooping up their groceries in one hand, grabbing at John with the other.
The moment they were outside, Roger whirled on John, his face pinched. “What did she say to you?” he demanded. “What happened?”
“I want to go home,” John gasped, struggling to regain his calm. “Let’s just go home.”
“Of course, babe,” Roger frowned as he hurried them down the street. “Let’s go home.”
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Reverse-engineering the Two Ronnies crossword sketch
Among the catalogue of classic sketches by the late and much-missed Two Ronnies, sits this little piece: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVWdbO6FFfw
Give it a watch all the way through then come back here.
Done? Okay.
Being of a cruciverbal mindset, it occurred to me to try and see whether the clues Ronnie Corbett’s character was struggling with could actually be worked into a plausible grid. When writers have characters doing crosswords, they often throw out clue numbers willy-nilly, without paying much attention to their structural plausibility – something I found pretty quickly when I tried to reverse-engineer The Owl crossword from Jasper Fforde’s Lost in a Good Book (but that’s a post for another time).
Ronnie reads out the text of seven clues. In four of these, he’s already got some letters in. Can we assume that’s because those letters are from crossing answers? The only alternative, that they (or at least some of them) are “givens” (i.e. actually printed in the grid by the publisher) is too dull to contemplate for the purposes of this (admittedly silly anyway) exercise, so let’s assume they are from crossing answers.
For three of the clues, we are told the actual clue position and number.
This, in essence, is what we have to go on:
2ac. They peck holes in your milk-bottle tops (4). ? ? T S
6ac. Often found in the bottom of a birdcage (4). ? ? I T
16ac. It’s green and often found on football pitches (5). G R A ? ?
??. It’s red, it smells, and it’s often picked in the garden (4). ? O S E
??. Place where fish are kept (4).
?ac. Strange animal found in a hive (5,3).
?dn. He always plays with Big Ears (5).
We are told that the fifth letter of the penultimate of these crosses with the first letter of the last of these.
For the fifth clue, Ronnie Barker’s character mocks Corbett’s for having filled in “coop” (or “Co-Op”) but doesn’t suggest a correction, and we’re not told what letter or letters he might have had in already. There are plenty of four-letter possibilities for where fish might be kept – tank, bowl, pond, maybe even pool – and note that many of them share the second letter “O” with Corbett’s guess, so let’s make it one of those (instead of “tank”) and make the second letter check with another crossing word.
For the sixth and seventh clues, Barker’s character confirms that the correct answers should be “queen bee” and “Noddy” (not “queer bee” and “Roddy”).
Let’s make one more basic assumption: since this is in a daily newspaper (Corbett describes it as the “Sun Junior Coffee-Time Easy Clues”), it should abide by the normal standards of crossword symmetry. That is to say, most likely 180° rotational symmetry. We initially don’t know the dimensions or style of the grid, but it’s not likely to be huge. If we start trying to construct a grid that would take these clues in the positions indicated, come constraints quickly start to show themselves.
Firstly, if there’s a 2 across, we can pretty much rule out there being a 1 across (since it would have to have no more than the first letter checked), so 1 is a down answer only.
Secondly, note that we have the third and fourth letters of 2ac in already – T S. Likewise the second, third and fourth letters of that “It’s red…” clue; the first, second and third letters of that “It’s green…” clue, and so on. Multiple consecutive checked letters? Well, for a blocked-grid crossword you might be able to envisage that somewhere in the middle of the diagram, but 2ac is clearly in the top row (and 6ac very likely is as well). No – this is sounding distinctly like a barred-grid puzzle. This puts our own meta-joke layer on top of those intended by the writers, since barred-grid puzzles are normally used for advanced/difficult puzzles (probably akin to the “Financial Times Mephistopheles” that Ronnie Barker is trying to concentrate on), and peppered with recondite vocabulary – not the sort of thing one might describe as a “Junior Coffee-Time Easy Clues”.
So my initial attempt to fit the answers we know into the positions we know, gave me something like this:
A bit of careful work with the grid-filler function and we can populate the rest of the diagram with a mix of common, harder, and obscure words typical of the barred-grid puzzle.
But we have a problem. Look at 16ac: the two letters that Corbett says he hasn’t got (the fourth and fifth) are parts of 3dn and 4dn – which also supply the last two letters of 2ac, the very two letters that he says he has got. If he’s solved 3dn and 4dn, then he’ll have both sets of these final letters, and if he hasn’t, then he’ll have neither. This arrangement of bars can’t support both scenarios. Therefore, if 16ac is going to be positioned there on the left side of the grid, we need bars above those letters, making 3dn and 4dn both three-letter words. We need to think again about the position of the bars.
Because we need to have the last two letters of 2ac not give away the last two letters of 16ac, and we need the second letter of 16ac not to give away the first letter of 2ac, those parts of those two words need to be cut off from each other by bars, and that in turn means adding more three-letter words into the grid. There are already going to be quite a few of them, and we really want to keep the number down as best we can (because it’s poor form in crossword setting to have too many three-letter words), so this means removing bars in other areas of the grid to make longer words (making sure as we go along that we don’t introduce or delete bars that would change the clue number for “grass”). That in turn increases the likelihood that we will have to accept some pretty obscure words.
In the next screenshot I’ve marked the given words in green, the known letters in blue, and then re-done the pattern of bars preparatory to trying another grid fill.
So – having filled the grid (and yes, as was inevitable, there are a few obscurities – but actually fewer than I expected) – it’s time to write the remaining clues. So, do we attempt to give all the other words “easy clues” like the ones the Ronnies read out? Or do we contrast those seven with cryptics more in keeping with the style of grid?
I went for cryptic clues in keeping with the style of the grid, and then decided to omit the clues for the seven given words and get the solvers to seek out the sketch for themselves (I circled the letters ‘TWO RONNIES’ in the grid to give a nudge in the right direction). Okay, link to the puzzle here: http://crossword.info/skirwingle/coffeetime/
Next here’s a long scrolly bit so you don’t see the answers by mistake. (see you after the dots)
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Let’s have a look at the words I fitted around the givens, and separate them out by vocabulary difficulty:
EVERYDAY WORDS (26)
legato, onus, duty, wands, liaise, atomic clock, press, dandy, sail, Eileen, slay, ted, tat, sty, grain, tussocks, aspen, guano, rotundas, Simeon, obese, quest, email, Rio, old, eel
IN-BETWEEN OR GUESSABLE WORDS (6)
unmoor (to cast off moorings), Indic (the Indian branch of Indo-European languages), nailer (a maker of nails!), sri (an Indian title roughly equivalent to Mr.), cep (a mushroom), ryes (slightly unusual plural of the grain or the whiskey derived from it)
“HARD” WORDS (4)
irenicon (same as eirenicon – a peace-making scheme)
odal (same as udal – an Orkney or Shetland estate without feudal superior – possibly the most obscure word in the grid, and therefore the one most in need of a simple clue that gives you the necessary letters – such as a hidden or initials clue; thankfully 75% of it is checked by down words)
alogia (inability to speak, due to a brain lesion)
kisans (Indian peasants – probably the next most obscure word, and only 50% checked, so again in need of a plain clue)
I don’t think that’s too bad! If you add the “hard” words to the in-between words, that’s still less than half as many as regular familiar words (and then there are the seven original answers from the sketch as well).
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Peppermint
You remember how for basically ever, fangirls have complained about movies with male leads and asked why this or that movie can’t be about a woman instead? Peppermint is the movie that heard that cry and did a vigilante action movie in the style of Death Wish, Death Sentence, and The Punisher but with Jennifer Garner and her sick gains as the hero.
And the fangirls promptly said “Uhh, we don’t actually like action movies” and went back to talking about how cool it would be if someone made a Spider-Man movie where, like, Spider-Man was a transwoman, black, and otherwise not Spider-Man.
But Peppermint is actually good, even if it can’t think up a name as good as Death Wish, Death Sentence, or The Punisher. Sure, it’s no John Wick, and it seems to have more than its fair share of misses, but it also has way less shakycam than the Takens and more-than-you’d-expect scenes of 1/2 Bennifer performing mook control. But I will share a list of those misses, just so no one thinks I’m picking on Peppermint.
1. After doing an efficient short-cut through Peppermint (okay, okay, ‘Riley Nolan’) training herself up into a commando with a brief montage of the FBI tracking her progress from bank robbery to MMA fights to gun store robberies, the movie also glosses over Riley’s vengeance against the initial group of hitters and crooked officials responsible for her family’s murder/justice delayed/justice denied. Obviously, she’s going to work her way up the food chain to bigger and badder adversaries (Trailer Voice: When this mom says she wants to talk to your manager, SHE MEANS IT), but why set up these scum-sucking parasites for her to take out and then have them killed off-screen? To fit in more scenes where the characters talk about how “social media is blowing up about this!”?
2. At the end, the lead Cartel guy gathers all his men and takes them to Skid Row, where Riley is hiding out--by action movie convention, this is the part of the movie where the hunter... becomes the hunted. Yet, after scoring double-digit body counts in her other fight scenes, Riley takes out a handful of guys before the villain takes a hostage and obviously, she has to turn herself in, you know how it is.
3. Redeeming the movie somewhat, this turns into a mano-e-womano fight between Cartel Boy and Riley. But it’s still pretty truncated and ends anticlimactically.
4. There’s a post somewhere on Tumblr pointing out how, while male avengers will often fight on behalf of their dead wives or girlfriends, female avengers never fight for their male lovers--only their kids. And, true to form, although the movie does go to the trouble of making Riley’s baby daddy innocent of any wrongdoing (surely, the one time a movie has depicted someone actually turning down a get rich quick scheme that’s no problem, easy money man, no one will ever know!), the only one Riley has flashbacks to and hallucinates is her daughter.
Anyway, the movie is basically revenge porn for soccer moms in the same way that Taken was revenge porn for divorcee dads (Riley manages to have to punch out a bitchy PTA mom in her quest for vengeance). I’m neither, but I can still enjoy an R-rated movie where mooks take more shots to the face than Paris Hilton. Missed opportunity: a car chase where Riley uses one of those huge mommy SUVs to ram the drug dealers’ cars off the road.
I am a little amused that, as in the current Rambo: Last Blood, the bad guys are Mexican drug dealers and there’s, like, a miniature controversy over whether it’s okay that five percent or so of action movies have Mexican bad guys instead of all of them being about evil Nazis or aliens. Just seems a bit silly to me that some people seem to have decided that no one is allowed to depict Mexicans as criminals, that will NOT be tolerated... Except in the most popular and critically acclaimed show of the modern era.
But other than that! We will not tolerate immigrants of a certain ethnic group being demonized as a bunch of criminal scumbags to be killed off willy-nilly. Except for the Russian Mob, obviously. And the Irish Mob. And the Italian Mob. And sometimes the Yakuza. But that’s it!
13 notes
·
View notes
Link
A Day at the Park (part 1)
Vampires are not real. That may be true but the Ka-Sekhm are just as much a part of our lives as any other human. For a blood trusty race that feeds off the blood of a human, they would argue that they live there lives just like any other human. Or is it that they have just become to jaded with death to tell the difference anymore?
The afternoon was warm as the new blossoms from the flower bushes flew through the air. The two of them sat on a bench under the shade of a nearby tree. It was a place that they had become very familiar with. They enjoyed change a lot but would find themselves falling into a routine quite easily. They'd done this every day for a long time now. They would discuss many things while they were there, but most of the time it would be one talking about anything that popped into his head while the other tried to read. They sat underneath their tree, on their bench. There had been a lake about a mile down the road, that had a nice breeze, but they found there were far too many people around to get comfortable. So they found a nice little spot that they would not be disturbed at. The man with long dark hair sat back on the bench reading a book, every few minutes would flick his finger over a page. He did his best to ignore his companion who continued to fidget in his seat, unable to get comfortable that morning. The other man pulled at his tie. "Whose idea was it to make this many layers of clothing fashionable? I swear if I find out I'm going to hunt them down and eat them." He leaned back in an uncomfortable-looking position, which seemed perfectly fine to him. "Stop it, Grendel," he said without taking his eyes off his book. "If you keep that up, you're going to make yourself look like a tramp." He glanced over to see it may have already been too late. His tie was hanging out and slightly wrinkled. Grendel tilted his head to look at him. "Oh?" He seemed slightly upset by this, trying to straighten the tie best he could. "And will you be embarrassed to be seen with me?" He gave him a disapproving look before going back to his book. "Yes," he said flatly, ignoring the other's frown. "Oh?" He put his legs up on the bench as he let his head fall into Dexter lap. At the same time, Dexter twisted himself so he was holding his book away from where he landed. Grendel looked up at him as if he was a child beginning to whine. "I'm hungry." "Then go get someone to eat." Dexter doing his best to ignore him, trying to focus on his book. "Aren't you coming with me?" Grendel whined as he looked up at him. "I already ate yesterday," he said in the same blank tone. "Without me?" His brow scrunched together as he asked. "Rude." He pawed at the book to get a glimpse of the pages. "What are you reading? Is it any good?" He took the book out of Dexter's hands and held it above his own head. "I read a book about blood drinkers the other day. I don't get why they are always depicted as being so nasty." "Because we are nasty," Dexter said as he grabbed his book back. Grendel stared up at the sky for a moment, thinking."I don't think we are," he said, looking back to Dexter with puppy-dog eyes. "No one ever sees themselves as the villain. You have to keep in mind that these stories are written by humans for humans." "Well, maybe I'll write my own book." His grin widened as he poked his friend in the chest. "It could be about me and you." "Why would anyone want to read a story about us?" His voice was just as flat as before, but a small grin began to form at the corner of his mouth. "Because we're amazing!" Grendel leaped up, thinking himself a genius for this idea. "You know, if you think about it, humans are far more brutal than us." With both hands stretched out against the seat of the bench he looked up at the sky, allowing the occasional beams of light to flash across his face as the warm breeze ruffled the leaves in the trees above them. "I mean, they eat, like, what, five times a day, and most of their meals contain meat. And the way they kill the animals is a lot harsher than how we do it." He glanced over at his friend too, see if he was paying attention to him. "I mean we only eat, like, once a week, and we let the people run around all willy-nilly, having a good life beforehand." "I'm not disagreeing with you, I'm just saying they have good reason to fear us." He turned another page of his book, not wanting to get into this same conversation again. After a long period of silence and contemplation, Grendel finally spoke again. "Well, I think it's stupid. I don't like being pegged as the bad guy," he said, slightly disgusted by the idea of his actions being considered villainous. "This coming from the necrophiliac," Dexter said under his breath. "What was that?" Grendel shot a glance over to him. Dexter closed his eyes and heaved a long sigh. "Nothing. Go get someone to eat." He looked out to the lake as his eyes became fixed in front of himself, almost as if he was lost to all that was around him. "There," he said as he pointed to a spot at the side of the lake. "The girl over there." Grendel's face scrunched up as his eyes fixed to the same spot. "Nah. I don't like her nose." "Huh?" Dexter gave him a look, moving his head close to Grendel as he looked back out into the lake. "Oh, no, not that one. The one on the other side of the lake." He moved Grendel's head a little to the right. Grendel looked much happier as he jumped to his feet. "That should do fine," he said with a smile. "Don't do anything stupid," Dexter said, opening his book back up as Grendel ran off. As he went off, Grendel turned to face him, still taking a few steps backwards. "I've been doing this for over four thousand years! I think I've got this." Dexter waved his hand distractedly in the direction he had gone. "That's what you said about Pompeii, and we all know how that ended."
***************************************************************************
A few minutes later Grendel was on the other side of the lake, just outside of the tree line, watching the girl throw some bread to the ducks that had gathered nearby. He flashed a seemingly innocent smile at her, and she blushed and looked away. He waited for her to glance back over before waving at her ever so slightly. Something told her she should ignore him, but she found him too irresistible to ignore for long. A few minutes later she was walking his way. He stood his ground as she walked over to where he was standing. "What's a handsome man doing peeking on a lady such as myself?" she asked, finding herself flirting more than she had intended to. "Just hunting," he said as he pushed himself away from the tree, taking a few steps closer to her. "Hunting?" Part of her began to feel like she should run the other way, but her heart would not listen to what her brain told her to do. "Yes. You see..." He took another step forward and leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "They say there are monsters in these woods. I was hoping for your company, and help finding one." "That sounds a bit silly." She normally wouldn't let any man this close to her, not even those she had known for a long time, but somehow she felt comfortable around him. Grendel placed his hand on his own chest in disbelief. "You think I'm silly?" His brow creased as if he had been upset by what she had said. "Well, no," she began, not wanting to hurt his feelings. "I just..." She scrambled to think of the words she wanted to use. He smiled at her. "No need for words," he said as he took her hand. "Just join me." She didn't see him look quickly around to make sure no one was watching them as he led her deep into the woods. *******************************************************************************
Grendel leaned against a tree, rubbing his tongue against his enlarged canines as he gazed upon the dead girl sprawled out on the ivy that lined the forest floor. In the far distance were two wolves making their way to where she lay. "Come on," he said impatiently. "I don't have all day." They eyed him as they approached. "She's all yours," he said with a smile. He turned his head as the first one ripped into her skin. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he didn't need blood to survive, but ever since that one night, he couldn't bear the sight of it. He glanced back to see if he would be able to stomach the little blood that was left. Not even a half-second later he spun away again, fighting back the urge to vomit. No, he thought to himself, still can't do it.
#warm blooded vampires#Wattpad#inkitt#writing#writing stuff#my writting#vampires#vampire#horror#gaz042#Horror Thriller#supernatural#slice of life
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
*:・゚Ƴσυ Mυѕт Ƈσмє Ɓαcк Hσмє, Iη Ƭнιѕ Rσυgн Lιƒє
⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ R P - Nº1 ♡Come Back Home - BTS♡
hyungwon...well, what was the real reasoning to even go up to this lad? to even waltz right up in front of this mysterious -or not so mysterious- dancer, I mean he doesn't ever really make deals and such with dancers. that's only specifically to pho and kihyun but everyone else that was in this same building? never, hardly let alone if hyungwon WAS...ahem, how should I word it, interested? -was interested the right word to use in this?- in that terms of service, you could be rest assured that hyungwon is a classy guy. he's one to not just pick willy nilly within topics like these does this mean this little one has caught his attention? well, who's hyungwon to say no -oh god how he can already hear the smirk appearing on kihyun's face at the pure thought that he was correct about the though of the newbie catching his attention and he was curious about him. ok not THAT curious but he will admit it that this blonde lad had caught his attention though this won't be said out loud that's for sure- the dark haired lad had taken notice of the not so subtle change of expression, the shock or surprise that was when the blonde had taken notice of who he was. ah yes, this was something he was quite used too. he was used to people getting this sort of surprise when it came to seeing him. that it was none other then THE chae hyungwon, he was in the flesh! no longer was it just words being spoken about him and yada, yada, all of the other random stupid things people would say though the cover up was quick, a quick change from sudden surprise to him having a more neutral look after hearing the other lad clear his throat. light peek of interest twinkling in his chocolate brown eyes before he had busied himself with working on his other heel and fixing himself up so to speak so he could look a bit more presentable and not look like he was working under a bucket of sweat right under the bright and illuminating lights that were coming from the stage all while doing very interesting...aerobics if you will. no longer were the heels in place and instead our dear little one was instead barefoot. still keeping the bright apple red fuzzy anklets that were matching within the other red accessories as well as fixing the bunny ears that were tossed aside after the performance and now it was back to it's rightful place a fitting look overall an eyebrow quirked up at the sudden comment of the nickname and hyungwon made a small noise from the back of his throat, one that was of amusement so to speak though he didn't mind to it. he was used to hearing similar comments from the other performers whenever visiting 'secret delights' the taller lad couldn't help the 'tch' sound escaping past his lips when he heard the other male's comment about pho. god pho was a pain in the behind, like that...that annoying, pesky mosquito bite you never had asked for in the middle of the hot, summer day. pho was like that. though hyungwon did get the basics of kihyun's and pho's business relaitionship, I mean logically speaking why the actually h3\| would someone of class like pho be one to say when the performer's could leave when all he deals is in silly, children, playground deals! kihyun has more power in his mind -the broad lad is getting to understand why kihyun cannot stand pho more and more- "last time I remember pho doesn't own a dime to this place in actuality, he's just being played like a puppet for my puppet show and you know what else that means little one?" the dark haired lad stated, eyes being focused on his wool jacket as he was working on a crease that appeared and was resting, folded up in his arm, tone low but smooth as silk. "that also means you're also something apart of my puppet show" hyungwon replied with a smile, a smile that seemed all too strange to be speaking, one to send chills up your spine "and as the puppet master, I am allowing you to clock off and leave the place" he finished while waving his hand to prove his point
🏶∥ @chaebugi-rp not my best but it will do cx
3 notes
·
View notes
Link
Last weekend, a fascinating act in the history of humanity played out on Reddit.
For April Fool's Day, Reddit launched a little experiment. It gave its users, who are all anonymous, a blank canvas called Place.
The rules were simple. Each user could choose one pixel from 16 colors to place anywhere on the canvas. They could place as many pixels of as many colors as they wanted, but they had to wait a few minutes between placing each one.
Over the following 72 hours, what emerged was nothing short of miraculous. A collaborative artwork that shocked even its inventors.
From a single blank canvas, a couple simple rules and no plan, came this:
Each pixel you see was placed by hand. Each icon, each flag, each meme created painstakingly by millions of people who had nothing in common except an Internet connection. Somehow, someway, what happened in Reddit over those 72 hours was the birth of Art.
How did this happen?
While I followed Place closely, I cannot do justice to the story behind it in the few words here. There were countless dramas -- countless ideas, and fights, and battles, and wars -- that I don't even know about. They happened in small forums and private Discord chats, with too much happening at once, all the time, to keep track of everything. And, of course, I had to sleep.
But at its core, the story of Place is an eternal story, about the three forces that humanity needs to make art, creation, and technology possible.
The Creators
First came the Creators. They were the artists to whom the blank canvas was an irresistible opportunity.
When Place was launched, with no warning, the first users started placing pixels willy-nilly, just to see what they could do. Within minutes, the first sketches appeared on Place. Crude and immature, they resembled cavemen paintings, the work of artists just stretching their wings.
Even from that humble beginning, the Creators quickly saw that the pixels held power, and lots of potential. But working alone, they could only place one pixel every 5 or 10 minutes. Making anything more meaningful would take forever -- if someone didn't mess up their work as they were doing it. To make something bigger, they would have to work together.
That's when someone hit on the brilliant notion of a gridmap. They took a simple idea -- a drawing overlaid on a grid, that showed where each of the pixels should go -- and combined it with an image that resonated with the adolescent humor of Redditors. They proposed drawing Dickbutt.
The Placetions (denizens of r/place) quickly got to work. It didn't take long -- Dickbutt materialized within minutes in the lower left part of the canvas. The Place had its first collaborative Art.
But Creators didn't stop there. They added more appendages to the creature, they added colors, and then they attempted to metamorphize their creation into Dickbutterfly. Behind its silliness was the hint of a creative tsunami about to come.
But it didn't happen all at once. Creators started to get a little drunk on their power. Across the canvas from Dickbutt, a small Charmander came to life. But once the Pokemon character was brought to life, it started growing a large male member where once had been a leg. Then came two more.
This was not by design. Some Creators frantically tried to remove the offending additions, putting out calls to "purify" the art, but others kept the additions going.
Suddenly, it looked like Place would be a short-lived experiment that took the path of least surprise. Left to their own devices, Creators threatened to turn the Place into a phallic fantasy. Of course.
The problem was less one of immaturity, and more of the fundamental complexity of the creative process. What the Creators were starting to face was something that would become the defining theme of Place: too much freedom leads to chaos. Creativity needs constraint as much as it needs freedom.
When anyone could put any pixel anywhere, how does it not lead immediately to mayhem?
The Protectors
Another set of users emerged, who would soon address this very problem.
But like the primitive Creators, they weren't yet self-aware of their purpose on the great white canvas. Instead, they began by simplifying the experiment into a single goal: world conquest.
They formed Factions around colors, that they used to take over the Place with. The Blue Corner was among the first, and by far the largest. It began in the bottom right corner and spread like a plague. Its followers self-identified with the color, claiming that its manifest destiny was to take over Place. Pixel by pixel, they started turning it into reality, in a mad land grab over the wide open space.
The Blue Corner wasn't alone. Another group started a Red Corner on the other side of the canvas. Their users claimed a leftist political leaning. Yet another started the Green Lattice, which went for a polka-dot design with interspersing green pixels and white. They championed their superior efficiency, since they only had to color half as many pixels as the other Factions.
It wasn't long before the Factions ran head-on into the Creators. Charmander was among the first battle sites. As the Blue Corner began to overwrite the Pokemon with blue pixels, the Creators turned from their internecine phallic wars to the bigger threat now on their doorstep.
They fought back, replacing each blue pixel with their own. But the numbers were against them. With its single-minded focus on expansion, the Blue Corner commanded a much larger army than the Creators could muster. So they did the only thing they could do. They pled for their lives.
Somehow, it struck a chord. It ignited a debate within the Blue Corner. What was their role in relation to Art? A member asked: "As our tide inevitably covers the world from edge to edge, should we show mercy to other art we come across?"
This was a question each Faction faced in turn. With all the power given to them by their expansionary zeal, what were they to do about the art that stood in their path?
They all decided to save it. One by one, each of the Factions began flowing around the artwork, rather than through them.
Rebel against Bluegoisie all you want, but let's make one thing clear: THESE THREE ARE OFF ABSOLUTELY OFF LIMITS. THEY ARE NOT TO BE HARMED. from place
This was a turning point. The mindless Factions had turned into beneficent Protectors.
Still No Happy Ending
Finally at peace with the ravenous color horde, the Creators turned back to their creations. They started making them more complex, adding one element after another.
They started using 3-pixel fonts to write text. A Star Wars prequel meme that had been sputtering along took a more defined shape, becoming one of the most prominent pieces of art in Place.
Others formed Creator collectives around common projects. Organizing in smaller subreddits that they created just for this purpose, they planned strategies and shared templates.
One of the most successful was a group that added a Windows 95-esque taskbar along the bottom, replete with Start button in the corner.
Another were a block of hearts. They started with only a few, mimicking hearts of life in old bitmap video games, like Zelda, before their collective took off with the idea. By the end they stretched across half the canvas, in a dazzling array of flags and designs.
And of course, there was Van Gogh.
But not all was well. The Protectors who they had once welcomed with relief had become tyrants dictating fashion. They decided what could and couldn't be made. It wasn't long before Creators started chafing under their rule.
Meanwhile, with the issue of artwork resolved, the Factions had turned their sights on each other, forcing followers to choose sides in epic battles. They had little time to pay attention to the pathetic pleas of Creators who wanted approval for ideas of new art.
The fights between the Protectors got nasty. A Twitch live-streamer exhorted his followers to attack the Blue Corner with Purple. There were battle plans. There were appeals to emotion. There were even false-flag attacks, where the followers of one color placed pixels of the opposing side inside their own, just so they could cry foul and attack in return.
But the biggest problem of all was one of the only hard rules of Place -- it couldn't grow. With the Factions engaged in a massive battle among themselves, the Creators started realizing there wasn't space to make new Art.
Country flags had started emerging pretty much from the beginning. But as they grew and grew, they started bumping into each other.
Out in the unclaimed territory of the middle of the canvas, with no Protector to mediate between them, Germany and France engaged in an epic battle that sent shockwaves through Place.
Suddenly, a world that had been saved from its primitive beginnings looked like it would succumb to war. There were frantic attempts at diplomacy between all sides. Leaders form the Protectors and the Creators and met each other in chat rooms, but mostly they just pointed fingers at each other.
What Place needed was a villain that everyone could agree upon.
The Destroyers
Enter the Void.
They started on 4chan, Reddit's mangled, red-headed step-brother. It wasn't long before the pranksters on the Internet's most notorious imageboard took notice of what was happening on Reddit. It was too good an opportunity for them to pass up. And so they turned to the color closest to their heart -- black. They became the Void.
Like a tear spreading slowly across the canvas, black pixels started emerging near the center of Place.
At first, other Factions tried to form an alliance with them, foolishly assuming that diplomacy would work. But they failed, because the Void was different.
The Void was no Protector. Unlike the Factions, it professed no loyalty to Art. Followers of the Void championed its destructive egalitarianism, chanting only that "the Void will consume." They took no sides. They only wanted to paint the world black.
This was exactly the kick in the ass that Place needed. While Creators had been busy fighting each other, and Protectors still measured themselves by the extent of canvas they controlled, a new threat -- a real threat -- had emerged under their nose.
Against the face of extinction, they banded together to fight the Void and save their Art.
But the Void was not easy to vanquish, because the Place needed it. It needed destruction so that new Art, better Art, would emerge from the ashes. Without the Void, there was no force to clean up the old Art.
I used to hate the Void but watching the time-lapses I see they're a vital part of the r/place ecosystem. Like a forest fire making way for new life. from place
And so, by design or not, the Void gave birth to some of the largest Art in the Place.
Take, for example, the part of the canvas right in the center. Almost since the very beginning, it had been one of the most contested areas on the map. Time and again, Creators had tried to claim the territory for their own. First with icons. Then with a coordinated attempt at a prism.
But the Void ate them all. Art after art succumbed to its ravenous appetite for chaos.
And yet, this was exactly what Place needed. By destroying art, the Void forced Placetions to come up with something better. They knew they could overcome the sourge. They just needed an idea good enough, with enough momentum and enough followers, to beat the black monster.
That idea was the American flag.
In the last day of Place, a most unlikely coalition came together to beat back the Void, once and for all.
They were people who otherwise tear each other apart every day -- Trump supporters and Trump resisters, Democrats and Republicans, Americans and Europeans. And here they were coming together to build something together, on a little corner of the Internet, proving in an age when such cooperation seems impossible, that they still can.
The Ancients Were Right
Reddit's experiment ended soon after. There are so many more stories hidden deep in the dozens of subreddits and chat rooms that cropped up around Place. For every piece of artwork I mentioned, there are hundreds more on the final canvas. Perhaps the most amazing thing is that on an anonymous, no-holds-barred space on the Internet, there were no hate or racist symbols at all.
It is a beautiful circle of art, life and death. And it isn't the first time in our history that we've seen it.
Many millenia before Place, when humanity itself was still in its infancy (the real one, not the one on Reddit), Hindu philosophers theorized that the Heavens were made of three competing, but necessary, deities that they called the Trimurti. They were Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Protector, and Shiva the Destroyer.
Without any single one of them, the Universe would not work. For there to be light, there needed to be dark. For there to be life, there needed to be death. For there to be creation and art, there needed to be destruction.
Over the last few days, their vision proved prescient. In the most uncanny way, Reddit proved that human creation requires all three.
The Final Canvas
0 notes
Text
When Pixels Collide
sudoscript
Last weekend, a fascinating act in the history of humanity played out on Reddit.
For April Fool's Day, Reddit launched a little experiment. It gave its users, who are all anonymous, a blank canvas called Place.
The rules were simple. Each user could choose one pixel from 16 colors to place anywhere on the canvas. They could place as many pixels of as many colors as they wanted, but they had to wait a few minutes between placing each one.
Over the following 72 hours, what emerged was nothing short of miraculous. A collaborative artwork that shocked even its inventors.
From a single blank canvas, a couple simple rules and no plan, came this:
Each pixel you see was placed by hand. Each icon, each flag, each meme created painstakingly by millions of people who had nothing in common except an Internet connection. Somehow, someway, what happened in Reddit over those 72 hours was the birth of Art.
How did this happen?
While I followed Place closely, I cannot do justice to the story behind it in the few words here. There were countless dramas -- countless ideas, and fights, and battles, and wars -- that I don't even know about. They happened in small forums and private Discord chats, with too much happening at once, all the time, to keep track of everything. And, of course, I had to sleep.
But at its core, the story of Place is an eternal story, about the three forces that humanity needs to make art, creation, and technology possible.
The Creators
First came the Creators. They were the artists to whom the blank canvas was an irresistible opportunity.
When Place was launched, with no warning, the first users started placing pixels willy-nilly, just to see what they could do. Within minutes, the first sketches appeared on Place. Crude and immature, they resembled cavemen paintings, the work of artists just stretching their wings.
Even from that humble beginning, the Creators quickly saw that the pixels held power, and lots of potential. But working alone, they could only place one pixel every 5 or 10 minutes. Making anything more meaningful would take forever -- if someone didn't mess up their work as they were doing it. To make something bigger, they would have to work together.
That's when someone hit on the brilliant notion of a gridmap. They took a simple idea -- a drawing overlaid on a grid, that showed where each of the pixels should go -- and combined it with an image that resonated with the adolescent humor of Redditors. They proposed drawing Dickbutt.
The Placetions (denizens of r/place) quickly got to work. It didn't take long -- Dickbutt materialized within minutes in the lower left part of the canvas. The Place had its first collaborative Art.
But Creators didn't stop there. They added more appendages to the creature, they added colors, and then they attempted to metamorphize their creation into Dickbutterfly. Behind its silliness was the hint of a creative tsunami about to come.
But it didn't happen all at once. Creators started to get a little drunk on their power. Across the canvas from Dickbutt, a small Charmander came to life. But once the Pokemon character was brought to life, it started growing a large male member where once had been a leg. Then came two more.
This was not by design. Some Creators frantically tried to remove the offending additions, putting out calls to "purify" the art, but others kept the additions going.
Suddenly, it looked like Place would be a short-lived experiment that took the path of least surprise. Left to their own devices, Creators threatened to turn the Place into a phallic fantasy. Of course.
The problem was less one of immaturity, and more of the fundamental complexity of the creative process. What the Creators were starting to face was something that would become the defining theme of Place: too much freedom leads to chaos. Creativity needs constraint as much as it needs freedom.
When anyone could put any pixel anywhere, how does it not lead immediately to mayhem?
The Protectors
Another set of users emerged, who would soon address this very problem.
But like the primitive Creators, they weren't yet self-aware of their purpose on the great white canvas. Instead, they began by simplifying the experiment into a single goal: world conquest.
They formed Factions around colors, that they used to take over the Place with. The Blue Corner was among the first, and by far the largest. It began in the bottom right corner and spread like a plague. Its followers self-identified with the color, claiming that its manifest destiny was to take over Place. Pixel by pixel, they started turning it into reality, in a mad land grab over the wide open space.
The Blue Corner wasn't alone. Another group started a Red Corner on the other side of the canvas. Their users claimed a leftist political leaning. Yet another started the Green Lattice, which went for a polka-dot design with interspersing green pixels and white. They championed their superior efficiency, since they only had to color half as many pixels as the other Factions.
It wasn't long before the Factions ran head-on into the Creators. Charmander was among the first battle sites. As the Blue Corner began to overwrite the Pokemon with blue pixels, the Creators turned from their internecine phallic wars to the bigger threat now on their doorstep.
They fought back, replacing each blue pixel with their own. But the numbers were against them. With its single-minded focus on expansion, the Blue Corner commanded a much larger army than the Creators could muster. So they did the only thing they could do. They pled for their lives.
Somehow, it struck a chord. It ignited a debate within the Blue Corner. What was their role in relation to Art? A member asked: "As our tide inevitably covers the world from edge to edge, should we show mercy to other art we come across?"
This was a question each Faction faced in turn. With all the power given to them by their expansionary zeal, what were they to do about the art that stood in their path?
They all decided to save it. One by one, each of the Factions began flowing around the artwork, rather than through them.
This was a turning point. The mindless Factions had turned into beneficent Protectors.
Still No Happy Ending
Finally at peace with the ravenous color horde, the Creators turned back to their creations. They started making them more complex, adding one element after another.
They started using 3-pixel fonts to write text. A Star Wars prequel meme that had been sputtering along took a more defined shape, becoming one of the most prominent pieces of art in Place.
Others formed Creator collectives around common projects. Organizing in smaller subreddits that they created just for this purpose, they planned strategies and shared templates.
One of the most successful was a group that added a Windows 95-esque taskbar along the bottom, replete with Start button in the corner.
Another were a block of hearts. They started with only a few, mimicking hearts of life in old bitmap video games, like Zelda, before their collective took off with the idea. By the end they stretched across half the canvas, in a dazzling array of flags and designs.
And of course, there was Van Gogh.
But not all was well. The Protectors who they had once welcomed with relief had become tyrants dictating fashion. They decided what could and couldn't be made. It wasn't long before Creators started chafing under their rule.
Meanwhile, with the issue of artwork resolved, the Factions had turned their sights on each other, forcing followers to choose sides in epic battles. They had little time to pay attention to the pathetic pleas of Creators who wanted approval for ideas of new art.
The fights between the Protectors got nasty. A Twitch live-streamer exhorted his followers to attack the Blue Corner with Purple. There were battle plans. There were appeals to emotion. There were even false-flag attacks, where the followers of one color placed pixels of the opposing side inside their own, just so they could cry foul and attack in return.
But the biggest problem of all was one of the only hard rules of Place -- it couldn't grow. With the Factions engaged in a massive battle among themselves, the Creators started realizing there wasn't space to make new Art.
Country flags had started emerging pretty much from the beginning. But as they grew and grew, they started bumping into each other.
Out in the unclaimed territory of the middle of the canvas, with no Protector to mediate between them, Germany and France engaged in an epic battle that sent shockwaves through Place.
Suddenly, a world that had been saved from its primitive beginnings looked like it would succumb to war. There were frantic attempts at diplomacy between all sides. Leaders form the Protectors and the Creators and met each other in chat rooms, but mostly they just pointed fingers at each other.
What Place needed was a villain that everyone could agree upon.
The Destroyers
Enter the Void.
They started on 4chan, Reddit's mangled, red-headed step-brother. It wasn't long before the pranksters on the Internet's most notorious imageboard took notice of what was happening on Reddit. It was too good an opportunity for them to pass up. And so they turned to the color closest to their heart -- black. They became the Void.
Like a tear spreading slowly across the canvas, black pixels started emerging near the center of Place.
At first, other Factions tried to form an alliance with them, foolishly assuming that diplomacy would work. But they failed, because the Void was different.
The Void was no Protector. Unlike the Factions, it professed no loyalty to Art. Followers of the Void championed its destructive egalitarianism, chanting only that "the Void will consume." They took no sides. They only wanted to paint the world black.
This was exactly the kick in the ass that Place needed. While Creators had been busy fighting each other, and Protectors still measured themselves by the extent of canvas they controlled, a new threat -- a real threat -- had emerged under their nose.
Against the face of extinction, they banded together to fight the Void and save their Art.
But the Void was not easy to vanquish, because the Place needed it. It needed destruction so that new Art, better Art, would emerge from the ashes. Without the Void, there was no force to clean up the old Art.
And so, by design or not, the Void gave birth to some of the largest Art in the Place.
Take, for example, the part of the canvas right in the center. Almost since the very beginning, it had been one of the most contested areas on the map. Time and again, Creators had tried to claim the territory for their own. First with icons. Then with a coordinated attempt at a prism.
But the Void ate them all. Art after art succumbed to its ravenous appetite for chaos.
And yet, this was exactly what Place needed. By destroying art, the Void forced Placetions to come up with something better. They knew they could overcome the sourge. They just needed an idea good enough, with enough momentum and enough followers, to beat the black monster.
That idea was the American flag.
In the last day of Place, a most unlikely coalition came together to beat back the Void, once and for all.
They were people who otherwise tear each other apart every day -- Trump supporters and Trump resisters, Democrats and Republicans, Americans and Europeans. And here they were coming together to build something together, on a little corner of the Internet, proving in an age when such cooperation seems impossible, that they still can.
The Ancients Were Right
Reddit's experiment ended soon after. There are so many more stories hidden deep in the dozens of subreddits and chat rooms that cropped up around Place. For every piece of artwork I mentioned, there are hundreds more on the final canvas. Perhaps the most amazing thing is that on an anonymous, no-holds-barred space on the Internet, there were no hate or racist symbols at all.
It is a beautiful circle of art, life and death. And it isn't the first time in our history that we've seen it.
Many millenia before Place, when humanity itself was still in its infancy (the real one, not the one on Reddit), Hindu philosophers theorized that the Heavens were made of three competing, but necessary, deities that they called the Trimurti. They were Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Protector, and Shiva the Destroyer.
Without any single one of them, the Universe would not work. For there to be light, there needed to be dark. For there to be life, there needed to be death. For there to be creation and art, there needed to be destruction.
Over the last few days, their vision proved prescient. In the most uncanny way, Reddit proved that human creation requires all three.
The Final Canvas
sudoscript
04 Apr 2017
(via When Pixels Collide)
0 notes