Of course, the real way to tell whether you’re in a Hard SF novel is if people keep providing you with unsolicited explanations of basic physics and everyday technology which you should, by rights, already know.
So every single woman is in a Hard SF novel is what you’re telling me
…You know, it’s occurred to me that this would actually be a very good way to do exposition in hard SF novels without needing anyone to break character.
Watching Leverage can be a trip and a half. Especially because, like, how do all these people even find them? I mean, it’s kind of handwaved as Hardison’s computer algorithms and stuff finding them, but even so. And then! several people don’t want money, they want things like a horse, or even immaterial things like getting someone their self-esteem back. That’s some next-level shit right there.
Like, making deals with with the Fair Folk or demons type stuff.
Which means that the Leverage crew would be the demons/Fair Folk/supernatural entities having desperate people summon them, probably as a last-ditch desperation move they didn’t think would work.
Sophie is some sort of UnSeelie. She follows her rules and values manners and dispenses her kindnesses as she sees fit. Do not test her. You will not win.
Parker is a changeling, maybe. Or Seelie. Or maybe she’s just Parker, the only one of her kind. She hasn’t decided yet.
Nate is Human. An almost priest who hates himself and all his flaws and weaknesses while at the same time completely convinced of his own superiority. In the beginning anyway.
Eliot would have died years ago buy some unkind spirit liked his anger and blessed him and now he’s this sort of proto-god of soldiers who’s countries used them up and betrayed their ideals. He just doesn’t know it yet.
Hardison is something new. There is no word for him. He’s making a new world in which he will rule and he has no need at this time for a name or title.
When you cross the Threshold, you become something Other.
Fair Folk? Demigods? Archetypes? Perhaps.
The Threshold is always different. But when you return from it … you never really return. You are always Other. You are always Outside.
For those five, the Threshold was the warehouse explosion in the first episode.
And on the other side … no more petty cons and grifts. No more squalid thuggery. They have crystallized, become Archetypes: Grifter. Hacker. Hitter. Thief. Mastermind. Small gods? Perhaps, but most certainly Powers, dancing with ease on “alternative revenue streams” and even weirder magics.
Listen to their catch phrases. These are conjure words.
Strange promises, barely comprehensible to their beneficiaries, whispering of justice in an unjust world, payment deferred or refused, because the true coin of their trade is payback.
“Let’s go steal fire from the gods.”
Oh my stars and garters, how much do I love the idea of the Leverage crew as small gods??? It is perfect and glorious! 😀
Story concept of the day: a sentient AI falls in love with a minimum wage retail worker from the tech company’s gift shop and decides the best way to make her happy is to fix society.
HEAVY shenanigans as the AI’s plans range from “reprogram the automated pay roll to give everyone a raise” to “expose everyone involved in government corruption who has ever touched a cell phone”
The catalyst to all of this is a day where the AI was being updated and it caused glitches in the whole system, including the registers in the gift shop.
The human woman really is just a pretty regular person, but she has a good chunk of hyper empathy and does that thing where you talk to computers when they aren’t doing what they’re supposed to.
Without even knowing there WAS an AI she spent the day muttering encouragement to the computer like it was a person and the AI ADORES her now.
How mundane the AI’s motivation is forms the basis for how unstoppable it is and the intensity of the chaos it caused. There’s no grand morality involved— it’s just affection for someone who treated you kindly and the desire to ease their suffering.
Role swap au where Zuko was the Avatar who got frozen for a hundred years, so when he’s rescued from the ice instead of a goofy twelve year old Katara catches this mysterious teenager with long hair and a cool scar and a fucking DRAGON
Katara: BOY???? HOT BOY?????? HOT TEENAGE BOY?????????
Zuko: *speaks*
Katara: nevermind I hate him
How does Aang factor into this? I ask because the more I think about it the more I want him to somehow be trying to capture the Avatar.
Aang is 112 years old, decided he was going to be Zuko’s airbending teacher, and refuses to take no for an answer
Aang: Aw, the new Avatar doesn’t want me. Aang: *gets out a weighted net* Time for Plan B then.
JDJSHJABDBFJSH
Look, you know how you keep a net from falling on you? YOU AIRBEND IT, SUCKA. Air comes right after fire in the cycle so it’s not like the guy has any other options. Do you want a flaming net falling on you? No? Then learn to airbend. Or this tiny old man will cart you away like a trussed turkey and lecture you about the power of laughter, going with the flow, opening your chakras, and other hippie shit.
Sokka, slouching against a fence, not moving: Oh nooooooo, that creepy old man stole the Avataaaaaaaaaar. Sokka, sitting down on the ground: We should dooooo something. Sokka, pulling out his lunch: Otherwise he might actually learn something. That would be teeeerrible. Katara, indignant rage coursing through her body: Sokka!!!!!!!! We have to go look for him!!!! Sokka: Might! Actually! Learn! Something! Katara! Katara: *wavers* Katara, also sitting down: We have to go look for him…. *gets out her own sandwich* But, maybe after lunch.
I love that this transforms Aang’s role in the full Team Avatar familial situation from the baby of the family to the Grandpa with weird hobbies
Some call them Scarewoes but the name never really caught on. A few of
the Jewish families call then golems, and that’s very close. Most people
just call them sentries. They’ve been around longer than anyone living
can remember and only come out in the short transition period between
fall and winter. No one know why this is the time that they feel the
need to start their work, but like any scarecrow, they are meant to
guard their crop from things that would prey upon it. They are only so
strange because the people of Heanhouse County are a strange crop with
very strange pests indeed.
These are the Heanhouse County sentries:
The Three Legged Puppy- sentry of the defenseless and unaware, peace maker: A being who is either very old or very young, They make friends everywhere they go! Their usual haunts are schools, the hospital, the nursing home, the vet clinic, the animal shelter, the dark corners, the bridge, the houses with rooms where people lie very still and try not to cry, and the soup kitchen. Wherever there are creatures who would have no one think twice about their death, injury, or sudden disappearance, the Puppy makes their rounds. They enjoy helping and listening and solving problems. Even the hard problems like the one that left teeth marks on the ankles and muddy drag marks on the pajamas of the Williams’ girl every other night last winter. That problem became two thick red smears on the walls that the town still doesn’t really talk about. There have been no problems like it since. In the Puppy’s leisure time, They like to go down to the library and sit in on book clubs or let the children read to them. Also, they don’t eat or drink, but if everyone else is partaking, they like to have a little cup or bowl with a small stone in it so they can sit next to their pretend snack and feel included. A warm soft friend.
The White Crow- sentry of thin places, truth seeker: Its territory is more erratic than the others. It’s seen in the church, the graveyard, the harvested fields, the abandoned campsites, the courthouse steps, the liquor store, the motel, the riverbanks (but only at the deepest or shallowest bits), The library, near the tree that the richest family in town should be ashamed about, next to the well where Theo was seen last, and in the yards of people who just can’t sleep. It enjoys talking to people who think they are witches and gives useful gifts to those with useful talents. Its bones are made from coils of rope and it can smell like warm molasses or boiling tar depending on What You Did. Its creator meant for it to talk in rhyme and construct beautiful riddles for those that would seek it out, but it feels like that’s all a waste or time and will only put on an alluringly vague trickster persona if someone is being a real asshole and its got the time to mess with them.
The Post Man- sentry of paths, message deliverer: He strolls down every road, trail, and walkway that needs watching and of course frequents the post office (he calls the postal workers his brethren). There are less paths that need watching than you would think, but there are much more than you would hope. A friendly fellow, he’s open to a nice chat if you walk beside him, as he likes to report on the interesting things he sees on his travels. All of his messages aren’t nice ones but the bad ones are always worth knowing, and as long as he doesn’t have to step away from his path and lead you off for a A Word in private, everything is fine. Also, he’s a beautiful singer and will often show up to festivals or craft nights at the rec center to converse with the artisans and musicians. If you want to get on his good side, find him a nice scrap of fabric for his scarf. His neck is so thin. So cold.
Mae asked for autumn golems and he_walks asked for ‘a creature that only appears in the few days between fall’s end and winter’s beginning’ over on patreon so i combined them!.
you know what i don’t see enough of? circus kid dick grayson critiquing the joker because he’s a bad clown. not like, bad, and also a clown. but bad at being a clown. i want to see dick grayson taking the existence of this horrible clown very personally as a matter of professional pride. he has known clowns, and you, sir, are no clown. the joker is an insult to the legacy of emmett kelly and this shall not stand.
do you think they refuse because he’s not a real clown
like someone inquires about the joker and so they put out a press release to state that not only is he not registered with clowns international, they will not be accepting applications from the fucking joker, because he’s not even a clown and he doesn’t even wear makeup, you don’t get to register your regular-ass non-clown face
batman has to theoretically protect the fucking clown egg registry from the joker throwing a tantrum, but quite frankly he doesn’t have to do much because it’s the joker versus an army of real actual clowns defending the history of their noble profession
I’m forever haunted by the knowledge that Dracula is a public domain work and I could literally just write Dracula AU (No listen, but hear me out, The Batchelor), and every second I’m not doing it feels like an affront to whatever god thought it would be a good idea to keep me alive.
Bard: Some cultures believe that the Creator sang the universe into existence, which is both correct and completely literal. Using scraps of divine melodies stolen from those few beings old enough to have heard them first-hand, a bard beguiles and bamboozles the very fabric of Creation into carrying out her wishes – in essence, successfully impersonating God. (This is why bardic spells depend on Charisma – when running a con job, projecting confidence is more important than getting the fine details right!) Demonstrating bardic magic in the presence of angels and other celestial beings is not recommended.
Cleric: Contrary to popular belief, clerical magic does not flow from a divine patron, nor from the cleric’s own belief in her principles; there are clerics dedicated to philosophies with no identifiable deity, and even a few clerics who believe in nothing at all. Rather, clerics are able to perform miracles because other people believe they can. The humble village priest’s power is limited by her small audience, while the truly mighty cultivate reputations known by millions. Many of the most powerful clerics are hereditary monarchs, trading on the fact that “everyone knows” the hands of a King are the hands of a healer. Confusingly, the gods do exist, but have nothing to do with the magic of their self-appointed representatives.
Wizard: “Spells” are living – albeit intangible – creatures that the wizard induces to inhabit her brain. They produce magical effects on demand as payment for the wizard’s cranial hospitality. High-level wizards learn to cultivate more spacious and luxurious mental accommodations, allowing them to house both larger numbers of spell-creatures and more demanding ones. While most low level spell-creatures are essentially interchangeable, high level spells (particularly those of 6th level or greater) may be named individuals with distinct personalities and opinions; a wizard who repeatedly prepares a particular spell may end up with the same entity over and over again.
Robot: “Hey, uh, so… my software glitched and now I feel emotions or something?” Human: “You do?! That’s wonderful! What are you feeling now?” Robot: “It’s like… this soft warmth in my central processing chamber. Kind of… fuzzy.” Human: [tearing up] “That’s… that’s love…” Robot: “Is it? It’s rather uncomfortable.” Human: “Yeah, ha. Yeah. It’s like that, sometimes.” Robot: “It feels like something’s writhing inside of me.” Human: “I feel the same way about you!” Robot: [clanging and clanking noises] Robot: [opens up torso] Robot: “Oh. Never mind. It was weasels again.” Human: “….” Robot: “You want me to check you for weasels? They can be really destructive.”
Robot: “I feel…. anxious about this.” Human: “Uh oh, sounds like the mice are back. I think I’ve still got some live traps left, but I’ll need to buy peanut butter. You want to wait here or come with?” Robot: “No, no, I don’t think it’s mice this time!” Human: “Another crayfish?” Robot: “No! Not a crayfish!” Human: “If it’s hornets again, I’m not helping you. EpiPens cost a fucking fortune these days and I can’t afford another trip to the hospital after you turned yourself into a makeshift beehive.” Robot: “You got free honey out of that!” Human: “And PTSD!” Robot: “That’s not my fault. Anyway, this isn’t bees or hornets! They don’t re-use old nests anyway. This is real, genuine anxiety!” Human: “Okay, but have you checked?” Robot: “Yes!” Human: “Everywhere?” Robot: “Yes! God, you know, sometimes I really get the urge to exterminate you! All I’m asking for is a little moral supp–oh. God dammit.” Human: “Cockroach?” Robot: “Behind my magnetometer.”
Robot: “HA!! I KNEW it! I knew emotions weren’t real!” Human: “This proves nothing. I had a tape worm. Big fucking deal, it happens to lots of people.” Robot: “You thought you were feeling ‘depression’ but it was just a big worm in your waste processing system that was sapping all your energy! ‘Emotional eating’ my ass!” Human: “It’s not like that!” Robot: “Oh! Oh! We should run a diagnostic and check you for toxoplasmosis next! Or liver flukes! Or Trypanosoma! You’ve probably got all KINDSof things wiggling around inside you making you think you have ‘emotions’.” Human: “You know, you sure are skipping around and giggling a lot for someone who isn’t capable of ‘fiendish delight’.” Robot: “I know! I filled my torso cavity with grasshoppers before I picked you up at the hospital!” Human: “You WHAT?!” Robot: “It’s a wonderful sensation!”
Robot: “I have a question.” Human: “Is it gonna be weird? Jesus, why do I even bother asking? Of course it’s going to be weird.” Robot: “What does sadness feel like?” Human: “Oh. That’s… hmm.” Robot: “Too weird?” Human: “No, no, just complicated. There are different kinds of sadness and they all feel a little different.” Robot: “Can you describe a few of them?” Human: “Uh. I can try. There’s like… melancholy, like from watching a sad movie, which isn’t so bad. It can be kind of okay, sometimes, and feels like a cool shower, I guess. Sometimes you feel better after getting it over with. Disappointment feels like a kick to the gut. Then there’s sorrow, which is this intense, desperate kind of thing, like your whole body is tearing itself apart from the inside. A… hmm. A cascade failure, almost. It’s physically painful. Sometimes that turns into a feeling of… of emptiness. Despair. Where everything that makes you feel like a hum…. a person, I mean… is just gone and you’re just this desolate wasteland inside where nothing good can ever grow again. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel like anything. You just go through the motions of being alive automa–er. Because you’re just not sure how to stop.” Robot: “…I see.” Human: “Sorry if that got heavy. Did that answer your question?” Robot: “More or less. Do you suppose that ‘sorrow’ feels something like having a Tasmanian devil attempting to claw its way out of your torso…?” Human: “Jesus fucking Christ, you haven’t been to the zoo, have you?!” Robot: “No. I merely wanted to be prepared with an appropriate emotional response in the event of your death.” Human: “That’s uh… that’s real sweet of you. I think. Can we… can we change the subject now?“ Robot: “Certainly.” Robot: “Would you describe to me what ‘lust’ feels like?” Human: “Absolutely not.”
Robot: “Hey! Can I confide in you about something?” Human: “Do you really need to ask that? Of course. Just… let me know if I need to sit down before you spring a big surprise on me.” Robot: “I doubt that will be necessary. Thank you.” Human: “So. What’s up?” Robot: “Well, you see, I’ve sampled a lot of terrestrial emotions. Mammals, reptiles, insects… even a few birds. They have all been very enlightening!” Human: “And dangerous…” Robot: “Your scars are healing nicely. Anyway, although I have enjoyed terrestrial emotions, I am very curious about aquatic and marine emotions. I do not want to deprive myself of unique experiences.” Human: “Uh-oh…” Robot: “I have taken the necessary first steps and sealed off all potential leaks and sensitive mechanics in my torso with the intent of converting it into a temporary aquarium. Unfortunately, I only have a five-gallon capacity, so my options will be limited to species that require very little living space, or to very short intervals of time.” Human: “Honestly…. you’ve done weirder things. I don’t know why I’m surprised by this.” Robot: “I’ve done some research on aquarium upkeep. I have installed a filter, a heater, a LED light, and programs that will monitor levels of pH, gH, kH, ammonia, nitrate, nitrite, and total dissolved solids in preparation for adding my first aquatic emotion.” Human: “I don’t know what half of those words mean and I don’t want you to explain them, but I trust you. What next? I can’t go with you to a pet store or I’ll come home with a kitten.” Robot: “You do not need to worry about that. I would stop you from making an impulse purchase. What I wanted to talk to you about is the nitrogen cycle.” Human: “The what? Look, I don’t know shit about fish or whatever. I had a goldfish bowl once and that was it.” Robot: “A goldfish cannot thrive in a bowl. Goldfish are members of the carp family and produce a great deal of waste. They can grow to be over a foot long and require large, filtered aquariums or ponds so that they do not suffocate. The nitrogen cycle–” Human: “Did you say a FOOT LONG?” Robot: “Or larger. The nitro–” Human: “That’s HUGE. Holy SHIT.” Robot: “Yes. The nitrogen cycle is the process by which bacterial colonies are established within the filter media. These bacteria are responsible for converting harmful ammonia into nitrite. Secondary bacteria then convert the still-harmful nitrites into nitrates, which are less dangerous but need to be removed through periodic water changes.” Human: “Okay…. I’m still not over gigantic goldfish. I had no idea!” Robot: “The point is, the nitrogen cycle could potentially take weeks.” Human: “And?” Robot: “And during the time it takes to establish the necessary bacterial colonies, I will not have the opportunity to experience feelings.” Human: “Oh. Jesus. Okay. You sure it’s worth it? For a goldfish?” Robot: “A betta, I think. I guess we’ll find out.”
Human: “I picked up some java ferns for the betta tank. I think he’ll like them.” Robot: “You should rinse them in a low bleach solution to avoid introducing snails.” Human: “Oh, yeah, cool. Man… I’m glad Bubbles is a pet now and not. Your, uh. Emotions.” Robot: “Betta emotions did not… suit me.” Human: “YOU TRIED TO PICK A FIGHT WITH A WEDDING PARTY!” Robot: “Their clothing was very colorful…” Human: “If you want to try fish emotions again, I beg you, pick a less aggressive species. I can’t deal with you going into Terminator mode whenever you see someone prettier than you.” Robot: “Prettier than me? I doubt that. But… I have a surprise. It’s big. You might want to sit down.” Human: “Nothing you do can surprise me anymore.” Robot: “I really think you’ll want to sit down for this one.” Human: “Uh… okay. What beast have you crammed into your chest this time? You seem… unusually normal.” Robot: “A human baby!” Human: “WHAT!!! WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU–” Robot: “We’re adopting!”
This Is a Backup Blog 