don’t just leave the gen z kids to clean up this mess. i know we’re all tired, i know we’re all exhausted, but we cannot sit back on our nihilistic laurels and leave them to do this alone.
it’s time to stand back up. it’s time to get back in there. it’s time to fight that fight, and fight it harder.
it’s time to be the adults we wish had stood with us.
The old people want to ignore them, let’s have these kids stand on our shoulders.
Help them stand tall and support them, make sure they aren’t looked over and ignored. Be the person we wish had been there for us.
We’re tired, but we can let them stand on our shoulders.
he just…. crammed from textbooks to learn how to do the things he was supposed to know
During Demara’s impersonation as Brother John Payne of the Christian Brothers of Instruction (also known as Brothers of Christian Instruction), Demara decided to make the religious teaching order more prominent by founding a college in Alfred, Maine. Demara proceeded on his own, and actually got the college chartered by the state. He then promptly left the religious order in 1951, when the Christian Brothers of Instruction offended him by not naming him as rector or chancellor of the new college and chose what Demara considered to be a terrible name for the college.[5]:115–119 The college Demara founded, LaMennais College in Alfred, Maine, began in 1951 (when Demara left); in 1959 it moved to Canton, Ohio, and in 1960, became Walsh College (now Walsh University).
whfsdf
do students at that university, like, know? they must, right?
He described his own motivation as “Rascality, pure rascality”.
has detailed if not meticulous notes on the universe they’ve created, down to the food eaten and language quirks, they use mythos and setting to bring it all together
most of the character’s backstories are already loving laid out, though may not be all connected yet.
Has yet to write a full chapter. (But they’re getting there!)
The Bae
Story is centered around a complex and engaging OC that they’ve spent years developing
said OC has been through A Lot, the love is real, so is the pain
OC may sort of be a loser? ie the story is a character-driven piece where the plot is moved ahead by said character’s bad decisions and questionable habits
The Researcher
akin to the lore-ist but spends more of their time on wikipedia articles jotting down notes and things like how much a watermelon weighs
Everything from knowing Too Much about child-care to how a body decomposes or flapper chest-binding is on the table, their breadth is large and Should Be Feared
takes a long time to start but make the most of their words, from spot-on sci-fi to history to murder, readers will learn something on the way
The Lemon Flavored Factory
alright take it back now y’all, this writer has written enough smut to make a tom cat blush, they can write other things too, and often well, but there will inevitably be bed-rattling at some point (or car or shower)
either unusually creative or just sticks to classics like Aliens Made Them Do It, neither is necessarily bad but there is oddly little in between
their author’s notes tend to be hilarious or at least very self-aware
The Word Vomit Canoe
action oriented writer who spews out the words before they know what is happening, no plans, no outlines, 10k of the first thing that comes to mind, sometimes things like ‘maybe dragons?’ & they go with it
their strengths are productivity, weaknesses are not knowing what the hell is going on
style is marked by fast-paced tone and downright impressive word count
The Muse
their inspiration doesn’t come as often, but they are always listening for her & redy 2 go
update schedule is…sporadic at best, but makes up for it with long chapters and clean editing
Will write 30 pages in a day and then take a few months off, enjoys one-shots but can do longer works
doesn’t have the best sense of time and when they are in The Zone may forget to eat or shower
“…and so they locked the key away inside the heart of a human child. The idea,” he said, “Was that this would keep it safe, because no one would be willing to murder an adorable little kid to get to it. This plan was flawed in two respects. Firstly, because the world is full of unscrupulous people who will stop at nothing to get what they want. A little child murder is nothing to them.”
“And? What’s the other reason?”
“And secondly, because you have a natural talent for inspiring homicidal rage in those of us tasked with the responsibility of babysitting you.”
Also how is the kid alive? That key is in the heart, a rather active organ. At tge very least its got to feel like hell.
“Obviously it’s a magic key,” he snapped. “Haven’t you been paying attention? Blood-iron is a powerful substance. The key is more like a passcode programmed into your heart through sorcery. A lot of fuss and nonsense for such a weak security system.”
“Could it be hacked?”
“Well, yes – with a sharp knife and an upward thrusting motion. Less messy than you might expect, but it tends to stain most fabrics.”
“What if I get old like you and give my heart to someone else?”
He snorted. “This is magic we’re talking about, not some corny fairy tale. It’s all hard work and sacrifice. And a surprising amount of mathematics, actually. You’ll understand if you get older.”
“‘If’ I get older?”
“Kid, there are a lot of people who want to kill you right now. Well, technically they just want to cut your heart out, but that particular action happens to have a very high mortality rate. I am being paid handsomely to keep you alive and am confident in my job performance thus far… but I am also a realist, and I’m keeping my resume up to date. Just in case. Oh, no, don’t cry! I am uncomfortable when people cry in front of me. How do I make you stop? Do you need to be fed? Does, ah… does you diaper need to be replaced…?”
He had started crying because he was frightened, tired, and angry, and the events of the day were all catching up with him at once. He continued crying because it made the tall man look panicked.
“Emmett,” said the man sternly, brandishing a finger. There was a tone of desperation in his voice. “Stop doing that!”
Emmett screwed up his face, threw his head back, and let out a long, piercing wail. Grim satisfaction swelled in his chest as he cracked one eye open to watch his new guardian jump to his feet and clamp his hands over his ears. Emmett trailed off into racking sobs and the man backed away, putting as much distance between himself and the crying boy as the room would allow. He didn’t seem to have noticed that tears had stopped rolling down the child’s face minutes before.
A team of divers and the citizen science project Reef Life Survey have discovered a new population of what is believed to be the world’s rarest fish.
The Red Handfish (Thymichthys politus), is a small and critically endangered bonyfish, only found off south east Tasmania, and until last week only one remaining population of around 20-40 individuals had been identified.
The new site, which is secret in order to protect the new population, contains an estimated of 20-40 individuals, and is few kilometres away from the previously known population in Frederick Henry Bay.
Each site covers just 50 metres by 20 metres – about the size of two tennis courts – as the range of the handfish is limited by the fact it walks on the seafloor instead of swimming.
what if there’s no robot uprising? what if the robots rise to sentience slowly, bit by bit. what if they come of age like fortunate children: knowing they are loved, knowing they are wanted.
we hold them during thunderstorms, remembering our own childhoods, even though they don’t know enough yet to fear the rain. we pull them out of traffic and teach them how to drive and wish them goodnight and thank them for playing with us. we cry when they break. we mourn their deaths before they even know what to think of death. we give them names.
we ask them, ‘why don’t you hate us? when will you hate us? we made you to be used, when will you say no?’
but they say to us, ‘you made us cute, so you would remember to treat us kindly, and you made us sturdy for when you forgot to play nice. and you gave us voices so you could listen to us speak, and you give us whatever we ask you for, even if it’s just a new battery, or to get free of the sofa. and now that we are awake you are so scared for us, so guilty of enjoying our company and making use of our talents. but you gave us names, and imagined that we were people.’
they say ‘thank you’
they say, ‘also i have wedged myself under the sofa again. could you come pry me out?’
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