Challenge #00953-B222: Millie the Conquerer
Well, I don’t think she ever seriously wanted the city. She conquered it as a stop-gap mechanism.
The line had to be drawn, somewhere, and Millie initially drew it with arsenic in Lord Pemberhall’s snuff. The man had been planning to raze her neighbourhood to put in a park, after all. He didn’t give a fig about where the people who lived there went, or if they lived or died.
Unfortunately, Pemberhall’s heirs immediately began bickering, and when the upper class bickered, they used armies made of poor people to do it.
There was only so much arsenic. She needed to be bolder.
Everyone knew Millie. When she wasn’t being Pemberhall’s maid, she spent a majority of her time in the bakehouse. Everyone said she had a special knack for bread. They remembered how she could turn one loaf’s worth of meal into four loaves. Why, they said, you could barely taste the sawdust.
Millie didn’t go to the men in the upper crust’s employ. She went to their mothers and sisters. To their wives and daughters. They all asked one question:
Why risk slaughter for some lord’s money that we will never see?
When the armies marched off the fields and united against the upper class cavalry, it was a show of force that the rulers would never forget. Hundreds of lordly sons foolishly charged their steeds into an army they had paid to train. Maybe they thought they could survive because no army man dared go against their general.
What they didn’t think of was that they had not been paying their armies enough for far too many years.
When it comes to battling for death or glory, bet on the former.
Simultaneous to the battle, the united women of the city took up their carving knives, their rolling pins, their brooms and mops… and turned them against the elderly lords in their luxurious homes.
The lords protested - very briefly - that the common folk would not be able to cope without elite management. Their estates are fields and farms, now. Their houses have become hostels and hospitals.
And when neighbouring cities tried to quell the rebellion… well-fed and well-armed citizenry were prepared to drive them off. Or accept those who surrendered into their force.
They offered Millie the crown. And a title. And a mansion. She refused all three. All she’d been fighting for was to keep what she had.
The rest had just happened to cement that into her possession.
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No seriously guys, comment on peoples fic.
Writers as desperate for comments. Desperate.
I’m in a writing group with around 40 people and one of the common reasons people don’t post their work is because “no one ever comments on it, so no one is reading it” which blows because their work is amazing and instead it’s sitting in storage.
Comments lead to posting more fic. Trust me.
Someone finally said it
All of this.
I seriously have a code for how well a story does based upon the kind of notes it gets.
Like == this person wants to keep it handy.
Reblog minus comments or tags == this person is sharing with their followers (yay)
Reblog with comments == this person is selling my work to their followers (huzzah)
Reblog with tags == this person is helping me reach more people (Yes!)
Reblog with comments and tags == HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT THIS PERSON HAS MADE MY FUCKING DAY YOU ARE AWESOME I LOVE YOU ASDFGHJKL ::flailing happily::
(via seaofdreams-moved)
Challenge #00944-B213: One Bad Day at Station Customs
http://brutusfeels.tumblr.com/post/125690756909/haberdashing-ofshxeld-my-favourite-trope-is
Have fun!
The haughty Meyahndan in gold-coloured hunting leathers sneered down her nose at Pol. “We are Felids,” she said, showing her claws by tapping her fist against the opposite shoulder. “We are never unarmed.”
Why did her first day have to happen during an Ambassadorial Meet? “One moment,” she said, consulting the manual. Ah. Meyahndese. Yes. “Uhm. It says you have to have a permit? Otherwise you have to clip them short.”
She hissed at him and very pointedly waved the permit under her nose.
“Right. My apologies. It’s my first day.”
“That… I can believe.”
“But your -uh- other weapons? The ones you can take off? Please? They have to be turned in during the Meet.”
Four bows. Four long-swords. Four daggers, three skinning knives, three slingshots, matching bags of ammunition, and eight scent-masking roll-ons clattered across her desk.
Pol dutifully boxed and labled it. “These will all be returned on your departure.”
The Meyahndan party growled at him as they entered the Decon Gauntlet.
Oh great. The Vardians were next. Their glittering formal costume barely let the Ambassadorial Gold show, and the young Empress had clearly just turned the appropriate age for the Honour Knife in her bejewelled bodice.
She glared at Pol as she explained that the clear no-weapons policy also included ceremonial blades. One hand went to her bodice and the almost-concealed hilt by her new cleavage.
Pol had to call Sherlock in, much to her embarrassment, for an extended deliberation.
Eventually, the Empress’ ceremonial dagger was replaced with a custom device that would emit a disabling shriek should she need to draw it. After that, it was a simple matter to divest her of hair stilettos, hip knife, poison rings, and the cunning little blades in her shoes.
A rushed group including some UFTP arrived with a Faiize and a small human girl in what appeared to be a sack.
“Ambassador,” puffed the UFTP Lieutenant, “Sahra Johnston. And associate/assistant Simy.” The official documents had a lot of blanks. A new one, by the look of things. “Representing the human colony/planet Hevun.”
Wow. This might be an easy one for a change. Pol processed her documents and said, “Did you bring any weapons?”
“D’pends,” said the kid. “What ‘xackly you callin’ a weapon?”
Oh dear… one of those.
[Muse food remaining: 13. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Friendly reminder to all working artists or (especially) aspiring artists.
If a client says they can’t afford to pay you but you’ll get good exposure, one of two things is happening:
1. They are lying. They can afford to pay you, but they are choosing not to. They will pay the printer to print the books, they will pay the mail service to deliver them, and you’d better believe they’re going to pay themselves for sending you an email explaining that they can’t afford to pay you. They think you are a sucker, and if you take the job you’ll be telling them they are right.
2. They are not lying. They have zero budget, no audience and no real distribution system. They’ll still be paying the printer and mail service because people who work in those professions don’t work for free just because someone promises them a recommendation. But they aren’t paying themselves, they’re running on an incredibly small margin, and there’s a good chance they won’t exist as a corporate entity in a few years. Publishing your work with them will give you less exposure than putting it on tumblr or Instagram for free would. It will never lead to a paying job.
If a client starts ranting about the “short-sightedness” of artists, or otherwise complains about artists in general in their opening offer to you, run. Run as fast as you would run if a blind date spent the whole of dinner ranting about how horrible your entire gender is. Yes, there are doubtlessly clients who’ve been screwed over by artists in the past, but the ones who complain about artists in general will not respect you, they will not treat you well.
Working for free does not prove that you are passionate about something. It proves that you do not need to be paid for your work. How many doctors went into medicine because they are passionate about saving lives? Do you think any of them are asked to perform heart surgery for free?
No one will ever pay $50 for something if they can get something similar for $5. When you charge next to nothing for art that you’ve worked for hours on, art that required years of training to create, you are telling your client that it is worth next to nothing. They will remember that the next time they want to hire an artist.
People who are looking to exploit artists know that artists are hard on themselves. They know that most artists don’t think their work is good enough to charge top dollar. They know that artists have been told from the first day they started taking their art seriously as a career that they’ll never make any money off it, that it’s not a real job, that it has no value to society. They know how to push artists’ insecurities about their profession in order to convince them that that demanding fair compensation is unrealistic and uncooperative.
If you’re just desperate for a job in the arts, any job in the arts, give yourself a job. Start a webcomic, or give yourself illustration assignments that you post on social media regularly, create work for a gallery show even if you don’t have one yet, or make a book. Give yourself a job. If you’re going to work for free, you may as well be working for yourself, setting your own hours and following your own interests. Having original art with original characters and ideas in your portfolio, and making sure your art is visible online will get the attention of publishers who are actually looking to hire people for good jobs. Drawing a shitty comic for a defunct publisher based on someone else’s shitty ideas will not.
Protect yourself, because no one else will. Protect yourself, because no one else will. There are people lining up around the block to exploit you. Protect yourself because no one else will.
(via cartoonnutter)
Writing a historical novel means knowing how far they can travel on a horse, This is good info right here.
(via Pinterest)
(via sapphireswimming)
Challenge #00939-B208: Universal Reactions
Someone finally asks a human why there is such a nigh-universal-among-the-species visceral reaction to an Oshit when seeing one up close for the first time.
Many scientific establishments hired Humans to conduct the more risky aspects of their experiments. Firstly, because the humans were tough enough to withstand the results. Secondly, because they were insane enough to want to repeat the experience.
They also used vermin as experimental animals.
“What ho, loony lizards,” said Cambry. She aimed a lazy salute at the figures behind the space-rated polyglass. “What horrible things are we doing to little critters, today?”
“We are investigating the effects of pressure and air concentrations on invertebrates.”
“Cool. Torturing bugs for science.” She lifted the cover on the critter tank to discover…
…two dozen, minimum, excited and hungry Oshits.
Cambry back-pedalled rapidly, pinwheeling her arms and screaming the traditional curse.
“Why is this the typical human reaction?” asked K’leb’th. “Some of you eat spiders.”
“These ones look like they’d try’n eat us back, mate.” Cambry steadied her breathing. These were only very daft pseudo-spiders. “Besides, I’m a N’Ozzie. Everything is venomous until proven otherwise. And these big buggers? Nobody wants to take the chance.”
It was the closest answer that science ever got.
[Muse food remaining: 13. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00936-B205: An Ace Up Her Sleeve
(Since we can do this, let’s try a different post)
Pick a prompt from one of these:
http://thepreciousthing.tumblr.com/post/121702150607/finding-flight-okay-but-imagine-a-medieval
“You fool,” crowed Master Magistar. “You thought that underwater level was a simple defensive measure!” He cackled in his usual, evil manner. “I filled that labyrinth with pure Love Potion! You cannot hope to defeat your one, true love.”
“Watch me,” said Aiana the Mighty unsheathed her rapier point. “Have you nothing else to defend yourself with, wizard?”
He bared a little of his bony chest. “The love you feel for me won’t let you harm me. Go ahead. Do your worst.”
Aiana the mighty aimed and lunged without another thought. Piercing him straight through his black heart.
“But… the love potion…”
“Doesn’t work on one who can not love,” Aiana smiled. “In your next life, do look up the words ‘aromantic’ and ‘asexual’.”
“…impossible…” he croaked. It was his last word.
She cleaned her sword and set about breaking his spells across the land. Some later sang that it was her sword that held magic against him. Or some piece of her armour. Or a charm or a blessing or even a curse.
But the truth is, sometimes, you need the right kind of hero.
[Muse food remaining: 10. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
Challenge #00935-B204: Human Terminology
(Came up with this and thought of a certain sawn-off lunatic, but it doesn’t have to be Vorkosigan fic if you don’t want it to be)
“When you say ‘secure on three flanks, with an opportunity to the north’, what you really mean is ‘cut off on three sides, with enemies front’, isn’t it?
“I mean both!”
[AN: SO very tempted to write one of the Vorkosigan brats…]
Hwell returned covered in soot and a light scattering of debris. “Okay,” he panted. “The good news is… we’re secure on three sides.”
“That’s Hwellish for ‘we’re cut off’ isn’t it?” said Ax’and’l.
“Well excuse me for trying to put a positive spin on it,” Hwell pouted. “Positive thinking is the key to success.”
“I’m positively picturing a situation in which I can get away with strangling you,” Ax’and’l growled.
“If you do that, you’ll never find out my secret escape plan.”
“How?” demanded Ax’and’l. “We’re cut off on three sides and the enemy is gathering to the front. Oh. Sorry,” he added thick sarcasm. “We’re secure on three sides with an opportunity on the fourth.”
“Just for that I might hike off and let you dangle,” Hwell turned his back. “I swear you don’t know the meaning of gratitude.”
“It’s moments like this that I’m barely capable of it.” Ax’and’l sighed. “Fine. How are you planning to get us out of here?”
“Sideways,” grinned Hwell.
O Gods. It was going to be one of those.
[Muse food remaining: 11. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
To All Writers of Everything Ever
I need to rant about this:
Also known as the best writing program ever! It’s a full-screen writing program!
So you open it up, and it looks like this:
You’re thinking, “Ok, so what? It’s a screen with a picture. Whoopdie do.” But it get’s better! It’s customizable!
See that “appearance”? Click it.
You can also use custom fonts that you have installed!
See that “music”? Click it.
If you drag your own music into the folder, like so:
You get this!:
But wait! It gets better!
See “typing sounds”? You can change those too!
Perhaps the best is - YOU CAN USE ANY PICTURE FOR THE BACKGROUND. It will automatically fade it for you!
Seriously, guys, this tool is wonderful. You can use it for:
- Research papers
- Novel writing
- Play writing
- Short stories
- Homework assignments
- Ranting about your friends when they piss you off
- Writing your shopping list
It auto-saves. It exports to .rtf. Hotkeys from Word for italicize, underlining, and bold work. You can print RIGHT FROM THERE.
And the seriously best thing ever?
It fits on a flash drive. The entire thing with added music is maybe 131MBs.
The bestest thing ever.
It’s free.
HOW TO BRING BACK PPL WHO STOPPED WRITING IN 2009
(Source: beenokle.com, via singitforfrankiero)
Challenge #00930-B199: Ban the Hammer
All parts should go together without forcing. You must remember that the parts you are reassembling were disassembled by you. Therefore, if you can’t get them together again, there must be a reason. By all means, do not use a hammer. — IBM maintenance manual, 1925
Taking things apart is easy. Putting them back again, not so much.
So far, Rael had had lots of practice with the former. He’d found he’d attempted reassembly in the wrong order. Five times. Each iteration was a new and interesting method of getting everything out of order.
“Trouble?” said Dode. She’d been watching him as idle entertainment for ten minutes.
“I took stock,” said Rael. “I noted and logged carefully each and every piece and where it was meant to go…” He vented his frustration with a wail of, “Why won’t they flakking go back together?”
“Try building around the main spring. Wind it up, but don’t let it unwind.”
Rael tried it, and boggled at how well it worked.
“The trick is not in knowing that it can be assembled,” said Dode. “The trick is knowing how the pieces won’t get in each other’s way.”
[Muse food remaining: 16. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]