@serialephemera / serialephemera.tumblr.com
Seven novellas. Thirteen novels or novel-length serials. 1.4 million words. This is the Bright!verse.
From a sorcerous fantasy romance to a children-noir adventure, Bright!verse fiction wanders the realm of speculative fiction.
Did I stop writing? Part 2, or, I don’t want to publish. My ex-boyfriend is taking a leaf from my worse ex's book: loitering in public staring at me, making absolutely certain I know I'm being watched. Just, not physical loitering. He wants to copy that behavior digitally. He knew my ex. He saw this behavior, and how unhappy it made me. Now he's bringing up quotes from my posts and repeating them in group meatspace settings to let me know he's been watching. He was quiet for a while after I told him it made me uncomfortable, but oh boy! He's back! Joining a group at a party, making sure I was nearby, and recounting a joke I had posted that no one reblogged. Just letting me know that he didn't engage, but he was watching me. He was watching me in a context that I intentionally separate from my life, and spoke up outside that context to inform me. Repeatedly. I will not reward his head games. If he wants a reaction other than this one he can damn well ask for it using words. I no longer feel safe sharing here. I know, it's public, there are no laws or regulations banning his behavior, but someone with the empathy of a concussed badger would know that trying to hurt me exactly like my other ex hurt me - "I'm watching you wherever you go, I need you to know that I am watching you, and you can't object because being in public is consenting" - is unacceptable. Hence, no more sharing. He always thought my writing was embarrassing anyway, he was the original Dave, so there, he doesn't have to look at any more of it. The only thing stopping me from deleting my whole blog is the thought that maybe someone would enjoy one of my posted stories. I mean, no one ever does, but maybe. It's just crushingly unpleasant to find that a reader beyond my average of three likes per story may exist... and is a creep. I can and will salt the earth if I feel trapped. Bye-bye.
Did you stop writing? ☹
Well, Nonny. There are two answers to that. I will address #1, Popularity, here. Warning, long rant.
Short answer: Yes.
I've been tagging ships and fandoms on four sites for twelve years now and I have a probability cloud averaging to three regular readers. I once built up to 105,000 words and earned five kudos. I am a failure. I am a bad writer. I've been writing for the love of it for twelve years of my life and it has objectively been a waste. It's not just the posting, it's the tail. I have left a long slimy trail of garbage. I thought that people might like my painstakingly documented projects as tagged here or elsewhere. Well, people do, if they already know me and cut me a break. Otherwise…I get about four kudos a month off of 120 ship/trope tagged stories. That is, in a typical year fewer than half my stories get one kudos each. I got about two likes last year on older Tumblr story chapters. Not "two groupings of likes from reading a project", two likes. Putting things out there forever does nothing. No one comes looking for more things I've done. Because my stuff is not good. I am provably inferior. I'm inferior to Redditors. I'm inferior to Tumblrinas. I'm inferior to Archivists. I could improve, maybe, if I worked hard, if I knew where to start. But my passion is about intuition. That intuition has decisively failed. I don't have the discipline or the intelligence to sort the good from the dross. (Being smarter would indeed be a big help, but we can't have everything, can we?) I just hate that I'm bad at this and it inspires zero new people to respond or remember. I make master posts and indices and blurbs and nothing happens. I write about classic projects that I was sincerely proud of and no clicks occur. I write novels about the most important things in my life and two people like them. Nobody enjoys any of this, all the stories about love and anger and wonder and trying and trying and trying; only people who already like me see anything in it. In twelve years, I have only diverted a few friends in the most selfish way possible: my stupid intuition. It does nothing for the rest of the world. And I can't do this forever. I can't run my words and my ideas and my heart up the same damn flagpole indefinitely waiting for salutes. I need to disengage. The difference between playing to an empty hall and not playing is one of sanity. I'm not holding writing hostage. I'm not saying I will write when I get X many likes. First, I would be crushed when that doesn't work, second, I despise that behavior, and third, I have nothing in the pipeline. I just want to scream, no more and no less. I'm on a lot of caffeine right now. Maybe I'll calm down. Stay tuned for reason #2 I have stopped writing lately.
Tumblr took down the original
So here
Don’t get me wrong, Nalenne/Quinn is endgame. But when two ethically loose, violence-loving renegades come up against one colossal stick in the mud, well, things can happen. Nalenne/Andronikos was never supposed to be a love for the ages, but could they be a pastime for a few weeks during a marital spat in the sequel to No Death, Only Wrath: The Helicarrier Chronicles? Signs point to yes.
*
*
The Corellian op, to everyone’s displeasure, was a bust. The military had gotten their act together long enough to take the immediate objective, and the Republic was playing it cautious, leaving nothing very interesting to storm. Nalenne heard the report and retreated to the reading nook to flop over and sulk.
Quinn followed her. “The strike team did very well,” he said.
“Quiet, you,” said Nalenne.
Andronikos sauntered out of the engine room. “Nalenne, your ship looks like an Imperial textbook had its way with it.”
In the There Is No Death, There Is Only Wrath: The Helicarrier Chronicles, the Quinncident was fatal but he got over it:
"After everything Malavai Quinn has accomplished, the most you can do when he returns to the regular chain of command is Colonel?" "My lord, since his promotion from Lieutenant less than four years ago, some of his most conspicuous accomplishments have been failing to execute a failed Sith Lord's plan and then, er, dying. We have to take these things into account when making personnel decisions."
“‘Did you get any monogrammed stuff you don’t want?’ If he said yes, I’d hurry ‘round and we’d exchange initialed presents.”
— Cary Grant on his Christmas tradition with Clark Gable (x)
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the station No sign stirred of life or of droid automation. Some contraband stockings were hidden with care, No rebels in sight. This night no one would dare.
The Stormtroopers settled all snug in their beds, While visions of victory danced in their heads. And Tarkin and I, bent on world domination, Had planned an effective ka-boom demonstration.
When off went the klaxons! It made such a clatter I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter. Away to the viewport I flew like a probe, Pushed open the blast shield and lit the search strobe.
The sky of the station, unchanged day and night, No space debris showed, and no planets in sight, When what to my wondering eyes should appear But a flight of X-wings in full rebel-scum gear,
With a cocky young pilot who’d threaten us soon: I knew he had noticed that this was no moon. More rapid than Kessel daredevils they came And a voice rising high whooped and called them by name.
“On Binli, Antilles, on Naytaan, on Gaul! On Porkins, Darklighter, come one and come all! Pew-pew them with presents, pew-pew them with cheer! The sector will know that Red Squadron was here!”
As tactical experts ‘round turrets they sped, And ducked to the trenches, still full speed ahead, So toward the exhaust port the rebels they flew, With a youth in their midst who might be Jedi, too.
And then, in a twinkling, surveillance made clear The face of our enemy barreling near! A ghost on one shoulder, a girl on the other, (You never would know they were from the same mother.)
He was dressed in a jumpsuit, and buckled with care, And he suffered, it seems, from extreme helmet hair. A bundle of toys did his astromech carry, And he looked like a target to those who aren’t merry.
The X-wings they formed up in consummate Vs, And ran down those trenches with holiday glee. I heard as I looked while the raid zoomed about, Each pilot fire presents, and miss, and fly out.
“Get me to my fighter! I’ll blow them away!” But then something shifted, the Force had its way. There dawned in my shriveled and barbecued heart Some holiday spirit, an overdue start.
“Hold fire in the trenches! Take turrets offline! Let pilots stay grounded to drink and to dine! Come, Tarkin, and smile once, it can’t be that bad, I’ll lay off the choking, so people, be glad!”
Luke spoke not a word, but he fired with joy And behold! the exhaust port was filled up with toys! Then, laying a finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, with the rebels he rose.
He soared from the trench, to his team gave a yell, And left us all feeling, I have to say, swell. And I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight, “Happy Star Wars to all, and to all a good night!”
The fact that gaslighting is not merely the act of saying something that's false, and I'd have to question your trust in any online source you quote claiming that it is, absolutely fucking kills me
I can’t find it on tumblr and IT CHRISMAS GOD DAMMIT.
MERR CHRISMAS.
A holiday tradition.
I have always been torn on whether to call Niralia (gnomish frost mage) or Liranya (draenei enhancement/resto shaman) my "main."
By time it's Niralia, hands down. Niralia has been around for longer, she's the one with a PvP career, she had all the achievements before cheevos became account-wide. It's she who experiences plot first for me. And she's a more fully realized voice in my head.
But...by utility, Liranya wins. The blacksmith, the jeweler. And, most importantly, the heals. Nobody asks for Niralia unless they're feeling starved for overpull. Lir, however, can slot into any party and make herself indispensable. Lir gets the PUG invites, gets the shorter LFG queues. Lir is a part of a raid configuration that is hard to replace. Because I'm good at what I do.
If I could save only one character, it would be Niralia, but it should be Liranya.
I played WoW for several years and I had a lot of fun.
I was every stereotype of the mad DPS (my mage main) and the tank-chasing healer (my shaman second). Had a lot of fun. I was in a small social guild so I took my shaman out to PUG with larger guilds for raids semi-regularly. Far more often, though, I was the sole healer in five-player groups. I spent a non-negligible amount of time coaching fellow players in how to avoid taking damage so I could focus on the tank. I also spent a non-negligible amount of time cussing out the players who knew when to pull cooldowns to survive doomsday abilities. I didn't know they knew that. I just thought they were irresponsible monsters as the casting bar filled up.
Yes. I remember the ones who did that. I have a long memory for some stunts.
guys. healing is awesome
when I'm dps-ing I wanna kill every other player, including the tank, and myself. I'm glancing at the dps meter with hatred
healing? I wanna fuck the other healer. not even joking
thought perhaps this was going to be a post about going on a journey of self improvement.
Someone asked why I DNFed Dragon Age: Awakening, and... well, I didn't like anyone in my opening party. I started questing with three characters I actively disliked, and it wasn't fun.
Neverwinter Nights 2 might be the only other game where that happened, and, well, Khelgar and Neeshka aren't bad, only bland.
Mask of the Betrayer had Okku, One of Many, and Gann, all brilliant, in early questing.
Planescape: Torment have Morte and Dak'kon in the first full party. I would die for these idiots.
Just as good, Pillars of Eternity and Deadfire had Edér and Aloth.
Torment: Tides of Numenera had Aligern. I think Erritis was an early gain, too.
KOTOR had T3-M4. KOTOR 2 had Kreia. So much to love.
But Awakening? Anders "I'm so witty", Nathaniel "why am I suddenly not killing you" Howe, and, heh, Oghren. Nope.
We will never know their names.
The first victim could not have been recorded, for there was no written language to record it. They were someone’s daughter, or son, and someone’s friend, and they were loved by those around them. And they were in pain, covered in rashes, confused, scared, not knowing why this was happening to them or what they could do about it - victim of a mad, inhuman god. There was nothing to be done - humanity was not strong enough, not aware enough, not knowledgeable enough, to fight back against a monster that could not be seen.
It was in Ancient Egypt, where it attacked slave and pharaoh alike. In Rome, it effortlessly decimated armies. It killed in Syria. It killed in Moscow. In India, five million dead. It killed a thousand Europeans every day in the 18th century. It killed more than fifty million Native Americans. From the Peloponnesian War to the Civil War, it slew more soldiers and civilians than any weapon, any soldier, any army (Not that this stopped the most foolish and empty souls from attempting to harness the demon as a weapon against their enemies).
Cultures grew and faltered, and it remained. Empires rose and fell, and it thrived. Ideologies waxed and waned, but it did not care. Kill. Maim. Spread. An ancient, mad god, hidden from view, that could not be fought, could not be confronted, could not even be comprehended. Not the only one of its kind, but the most devastating.
For a long time, there was no hope - only the bitter, hollow endurance of survivors.
In China, in the 10th century, humanity began to fight back.
It was observed that survivors of the mad god’s curse would never be touched again: they had taken a portion of that power into themselves, and were so protected from it. Not only that, but this power could be shared by consuming a remnant of the wounds. There was a price, for you could not take the god’s power without first defeating it - but a smaller battle, on humanity’s terms. By the 16th century, the technique spread, to India, across Asia, the Ottoman Empire and, in the 18th century, Europe. In 1796, a more powerful technique was discovered by Edward Jenner.
An idea began to take hold: Perhaps the ancient god could be killed.
A whisper became a voice; a voice became a call; a call became a battle cry, sweeping across villages, cities, nations. Humanity began to cooperate, spreading the protective power across the globe, dispatching masters of the craft to protect whole populations. People who had once been sworn enemies joined in common cause for this one battle. Governments mandated that all citizens protect themselves, for giving the ancient enemy a single life would put millions in danger.
And, inch by inch, humanity drove its enemy back. Fewer friends wept; Fewer neighbors were crippled; Fewer parents had to bury their children.
At the dawn of the 20th century, for the first time, humanity banished the enemy from entire regions of the world. Humanity faltered many times in its efforts, but there individuals who never gave up, who fought for the dream of a world where no child or loved one would ever fear the demon ever again. Viktor Zhdanov, who called for humanity to unite in a final push against the demon; The great tactician Karel Raška, who conceived of a strategy to annihilate the enemy; Donald Henderson, who led the efforts of those final days.
The enemy grew weaker. Millions became thousands, thousands became dozens. And then, when the enemy did strike, scores of humans came forth to defy it, protecting all those whom it might endanger.
The enemy’s last attack in the wild was on Ali Maow Maalin, in 1977. For months afterwards, dedicated humans swept the surrounding area, seeking out any last, desperate hiding place where the enemy might yet remain.
They found none.
35 years ago, on December 9th, 1979, humanity declared victory.
This one evil, the horror from beyond memory, the monster that took 500 million people from this world - was destroyed.
You are a member of the species that did that. Never forget what we are capable of, when we band together and declare battle on what is broken in the world.
Happy Smallpox Eradication Day.
The killer of more people than all the wars in history. Now extant in only two carefully-guarded cultures: one at the US Centers for Disease Control and one at the Russian State Centre for Research on Virology and Biotechnology.
Let’s for God’s sake keep it that way.
imagine if we could’ve gotten rid of Covid before it became endemic. But too many people fought for the right to deny vaccinations.
anyone else have a word they absolutely cannot spell as in no matter how many times you read or write this particular random word your brain just absoltuely will NOT play ball for me its "genius" and "parallel"
Me: I'm tired of Reddit rabbit holes. I will go to the library and pick something at random to read. This probably won't go well but I'm out of ideas
Mr. Bright: Have you considered...*runs into the other room and comes back with three well- loved books I've never noticed before because they were stacked three deep on one of his shelves*...Wraith Squadron?
Me: Well, I have now.
I cannot adequately express how much I love this person
