Losing the plot @alwayslosingtheplot-blog - Tumblr Blog

Build a world with me.

What's my plan?

To create a fantasy world from the ground up, showing the entire process from start to finish. So I usually start with characters in my stories and the world comes afterwards. This isn't that. I don't have any characters at the start of this. I want to start with the setting and see where that leads me.

Things I need to do:

Have a starting point, a big idea that is going to inform the rest of the thing.

Ask some questions and find the answers.

Think about food and travel routes.

Think about the geography and how that will inform the culture.

Creation myth? No. I think I want a discovery myth. This world was found by people, not made for them. So discovery myth.

Encourage others to ask questions and give ideas. So let's get started. (These are not all going to happen in one post)

The Big Idea

I love islands. Maybe because I live on a small island, but something about being separate and surrounded by the sea and all the things in it just makes me feel great. Let's lean into that.

A world where the entire of human civilization is forced into a small chain of islands.

Why? Is the world flooding? Is there just a lot of ocean? I don't think I want to go down that route. So why else would they be contained to the islands?

Monsters and megafauna. I like that. Gives a bit more of a fantasy feel as well. Not on the islands, because they don't have the space or the resources to sustain large creatures. So where?

A Pangea-like continent. The islands are off the coast of it, some of them have a view of the mainland where people can see these monsters.

Also, the shallows between the islands and between the coast and the islands are safe enough but the rest of the ocean is just full of monsters - sea serpents and leviathans and megalodons and all that. So exploring is dangerous. Trading is dangerous. Trying to find new places to settle is dangerous. BUT they need to do it. To avoid war, to find more resources, etc.

TL;DR: Everyone is trapped on a series of islands off a monster-invested, Pangea-like continent and surrounded by deadly seas.

Anyway! What do we think or this as an idea for a series of posts? If you have any thoughts or ideas or questions to help me out, please comment. Feel free to follow along or make a world of your own with me (I would love that!). I've been writing for about 15 years now but this is my first time doing something like this so I'm excited for it.

#fantasy #writing #writlr #worldbuilding #brainstorm

whydidisavethistomyphone

uss-edsall

Love seeing something from TikTok and going “girlie that is literally what led to the downfall of the Papal States”

uss-edsall

Jewish baby named Edgardo Mortara is seemingly about to die in Bologna, 1851

Catholic nanny secretly baptises him to save his soul, which she’s not exactly the kind of authority who can do that, but w/e, it’s interpreted by the church as valid later

Kid survives

1857 her secret gets out, a baptising makes a kid a Catholic according to the Church and a Catholic can’t be raised in a non-Catholic household in the Papal States, so the church authorises the police to kidnap Edgardo from his family

Raised personally by Pope Pius IX, Jewish family not allowed to take him back due to Church doctrine, this action destroys the family with grief and despair

This case gets international infamy with the Pope not understanding why everyone’s shiting on him for doing this, including allies

Emperor Napoleon III shifts from opposing Italian unification to supporting it as a direct consequence

Bologna falls the next year, 1859

Kingdom of Italy forms 1861

By 1870 Rome is lost to the Italians and the Papal States are no more

(Edgardo Mortara goes on to become Father Mortara)

(He dies in Belgium in 1940 three months before the Nazis occupied the nation, which if he’d have lived he would’ve been persecuted as a Jew)

communismlives

sztupy

Wikipedia confirms

bonyassfish

Fun fact: the Catholic Church did not stop doing this after Edgaro Mortara. During WW2, many Jewish children were put in convents or catholic-run orphanages for their own safety. Sounds nice right? Except after the war ended, when parents or surviving relative went back to claim their children, the church went, “uhhh, actually they’re catholic now, no take backs!”

The most infamous of these cases was the Finaly affair. Two Jewish children in France, Robert and Gerald Finaly, were placed in a Catholic nursery in 1944 in anticipation of their parents being deported to Auschwitz, where they were both murdered. Their aunt, Marguerite Fischel, survived the war and went to find the boys so she could take them to live with her. However, the nun who had custody of the boys, Antoinette Brun, adamantly refused to give them up, reportedly saying that “The Jews are not grateful”

What followed was a years long custody battle where despite being repeatedly ordered by courts all over Europe to return the boys, Brun took them to many different countries and hid them, with the support and help of other nuns and priests. It was suspected at the time, and later confirmed by documents released in 2020, that Pope Pius XII had supported the effort to keep the boys away from their surviving family and have them be raised Catholic.

Thankfully, after negotiations between a sympathetic cardinal in France and the chief Rabbi of Paris, the boys were finally recovered and reunited with their aunt.

Documents reveal the private discussions behind both Pope Pius XII’s silence about the Nazi deportation of Rome’s Jews in 1943 and the Vatic

I wish I could say that the phenomenon of the Catholic Church kidnapping children and keeping them away from their families for the purposes of forcefully raising them Catholic is unique to Jews, but it’s not. From the mid nineteenth century to the mid twentieth century, the Church ran hundreds of residential schools in the US and Canada where indigenous children were kidnapped from their homes and forced into these cruel and inhumane “schools”. The children were forbidden from speaking their own languages or practicing their own cultures and religions, their hair was cut, and they were subject to emotional, verbal, spiritual, physical, and sexual abuse. Many of the children died due to malnutrition or medical neglect, their bodies buried like dogs beside the schools. The Catholic Church was not the only Church to participate in this, but they’ve been the most reluctant to fully acknowledge and apologize for it. It was only in 2022 that Pope Francis apologized on behalf of the Catholic Church for their part, but some people found the apology inadequate.

Idk what my point is here, just that there’s such a clean link between evangelizing, cultural/religious imperialism, and how damaging and horrifying a religion can be when it is thoroughly convinced of its own superiority. And that unless an institution is forced to change, it probably won’t change on its own.

impormable

Old dude came in the shop and when I said "lemme know if you have any questions" he goes "what was the name of Alexander the Great's horse," thinking he was so funny. I told him Bucephalus, and he was so disappointed. Like his whole day was hanging on beating me at trivia. He says "you're only the second person who knew that" and I said "well, probably the third if you count Alexander the Great." He left without buying anything, and did not say goodbye. I think I honestly hurt his weird little feelings! Sorry I'm a bitch, old man!

sonnetscrewdriver

I had one of these once, bookshop customer randomly challenged me to name, quote, ‘the only word in English where two u’s are next to each other’, and when I immediately said ‘vacuum’ he looked disappointed and when I pointed out it isn’t even the only word with two u’s next to each other in English and offered ‘continuum’ as an example he looked like I’d just punched his ribcage out his back like a Mortal Kombat character

captainclickycat

People claiming this didn’t happen have never worked a day in retail

homunculus-argument

A free-range group therapy called "get herded, idiot", where you and everyone in your group is set loose to run around on an open field while a highly trained shepherd dog tries to keep you all in one group. I am not sure what benefit this would have for anyone involved.

derinthescarletpescatarian

This would fix everyone involved including the dog

pronouncingitwang

at some point in your life you will be boiling fruit, water, sugar, and lemon juice in a pot to make a syrup or jam. the instructions will tell you to simmer for a certain amt of time. your timer will go off and you will look at the pot and go, "hm, this doesn't look thick enough. maybe i'll let it go for another 10 minutes." this is the devil speaking. it's only so liquid right now because it is at boiling point. it will thicken when it cools down. learn from the follies of my youth and do not let this happen to you

yokowan

at some point in your life you will be making a sauce or a stew in which you need to add cornstarch to thicken it. and you will prepare a slurry of starch in cold water and think "this looks like way too little starch to thicken this amount of liquid." this is the devil speaking. cornstarch instantly polymerizes at 95°C and if you add too much it will turn into an impossibly thick goop.

le-jardin-inculte

at some point in your life you will be making some sort of cream based dessert that requires gelatin to thicken it. and you will soak some gelatin sheets in water and think "this is too few gelatin sheets for this amount of cream." this is the devil speaking. it will thicken in the fridge and if you add too much you will end up with milk jelly

shithowdy

at some point in your life you will be baking cookies. you will take the sheet out after twelve minutes as the recipe instructs and the cookies will still be glistening and soft. "these don't seem cooked enough," you will think to yourself, "i should place them back into the oven until their edges are nice and golden." this is the devil talking. this is how you get dry, overdone cookies. the cookies will continue to bake on the warm sheet for several more minutes and then harden up after sitting on a rack for a while. trust the process. trust the process.

whitachi

at some point in your life you will be adding a small pasta to a soup and you will think "that is not enough small pasta." this is the devil talking. the pasta will absorb the stock and expand. this is how you end up with a soup that is a solid mass of soggy ditalini.

araceil

At some point in your life you will be adding garlic to a dish and you will think "that is not enough garlic." These are angels speaking. They are correct. Add more garlic.

pocketss

blockhead gets mogged

corpseprize

the reality of being a writer

notahorseindisguise

the "came back wrong" trope except like... they didnt. like this mad scientists wife died, and so he studied necromancy, brought her back, and she came back and it all worked. like she came back exactly the same as she was before with literally no difference. but the scientist guy is like "oh no... what have i done.... shes Different now!!!! she came back Wrong!!!!" and shes just like. chilling. reading a book. cooking dinner. shes just so so normal but in the guys mind hes like "oh shes soooo weird" but shes just normal

mysticorset

Peer reviewed tags from @somanyofthekids

notahorseindisguise

NO its a JOKE and YOU DONT GET IT. ITS NOT THAT DEEP

hiveswap

While she was dead he put his memory of her on such a high pedestal that she could never live up to it alive

midnight-revolucion

alternatively‚ she came back perfectly fine but he thinks she came back wrong‚ because the tragic reality is that he never actually knew his wife

notahorseindisguise

im going INSANE thats MY POST.

marlinspirkhall

It's your post but the journey to posting it changed it to such a degree that even its closest intimacies are now foreign to you. Sorry dude.

So I looked through old notebooks this morning. Sorting, organising, feeling nostolgic. Found a few story ideas from nearly 20 years ago. Then there was one...it was a reincartion isekai that I gave up on because I didnt think anyone but me would like it...

#now-i-know-how-those-guys-who-used-bitcoin-to-buy-pizza-feel

lampshadefrankly

we need John green to buy tumblr

@sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog

sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog

I do often think, "You know what's missing from my life? 200,000 nerds yelling at me every day."

typhlonectes

Flower by the River

It's petals are large and white, with a spattering of black speckle near the center by the bright yellow of the pollen stalks.

Do not touch it without gloves.

Cover your mouth and nose when approaching it.

Ignore the singing behind you.

If you see movement to the side of you, turn away and not towards it.

Burn all of the cuttings.

Trust the river to wash you clean.

If you lose someone, do not look for them.

If they return to you - no, they didn't.

__________________

#flash fiction

domesticatedpigeonsoup

movie howl: that's my girl! sophie you're hair is so pretty, i want to protect you and love you forever

book howl when sophie wants to clean his room:

Trailing her own tears

The one-eyed girl came to a crossroads, and there she stopped. The man she tracked was a thief. He was tracking her mother, looking to steal more from her than he already had. The fool.

He had been here not long ago. She could smell him on the air and could hear the dirt and dust whisper his name. The dirt had always clung to him, and he had tracked it through her most precious memories.

Her mother had not been here for decades. Her mother had gone this way many years before the girl was born, and had not returned.

The girl stood up straighter and looked around. When this did nothing, she crossed her ankles and floated until the tips of her toes pointed at the foot of distance between them and the floor.

The world treated you differently when your height changed. Even an inch or two could change everything. Floating was much the same as standing straighter, and allowed her to see the world differently. It allowed the world to see her differently as well. It ran under her like water, and carried with it a current.

The smell of lavender and death came from above and below her, and she was reminded of falling asleep trusting that she would wake up whole.

It showed her different things. Now, more than ever, perspective was important to her. With half of her sight gone, she had to fit in as many points of view as she could into a small space.

She did this, this raising, only when she was alone. To do it in front of another person would be like masterbating in front of them. This was a private thing, like having a piece of her soul on display. She had done it in front of the man once, he had asked her to. She had been impressed with how he had found her. She had believed that he was as full as he pretended it to be. He had known what she was, which was new. She felt the wrongness of showing him her power in the instant she agreed.

He told her that it was wonderful. She could have forgiven him taking her eye, using it to trace his way through her mother's life, tracking dirt all the way. She could have forgiven him his lack, and the way he envied the fullness of her. She could have forgiven him the blood and the lies. But she could not forgive him that awful moment, when she felt her least and he thought it wonderful.

Still, the floating worked. She saw something she otherwise would have missed. Here, he had taken a wrong turn. Perhaps her eye led him wrong. Perhaps her mother, from her home by the sea, sensed something seeking her and sent him the wrong way. Perhaps the reality of what he had done, who he had done it to, was falling on him. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

It did not matter anymore. He had wanted to learn of magic. Being wounded by the wondrous things he sought out was his own fault. She had tried to warn him, tried to show him. But he could not see with his own eyes. His lack blinded him. This had angered him. He had refused to believe it. He was her equal, he insisted, if she would only train him right. He would have been her better, had her mother been his. That is what he said to her. She laughed at that, at him. So he had stolen part of her to parade as his own.

He had left behind his own, useless, eye. As though it were a trade. A child trying to swap a speck of dirt for a shining diamond. She had swallowed the insult and burned the thing. Not before using it to put a trace on him. Knowing his name would have been enough, but she didn't want him to know she was coming. She didn't want to give him the chance to run, or to beg for help.

Now he travelled the road of her mother, believing that he too could have been great if born in her place. That some great discovery lay waiting in her memories. That knowledge could replace the power within her. That it could tame the endless flow of time and magic. Fool.

It would eat him as he moved, her eye. It would pull him into a single sight and draw him in like it did light. It would twist him and turn him into something she could understand and, seeing as how she wouldn't be there to do so, it would never stop twisting.

She would find him, broken and frayed and even less than when he had run from her. He would cry for her help. It would take years to clean her eye.

He tracked her mother through her life.

The girl with the one-eye tracked him to his death.

#fiction #flash fiction #writer #writing

Necromamcer

She liked flowers. She liked all pretty, dead things. Hair styled up on a smiling face, bones polished to gleaming. She didn't much distinguish between rot and growth, after all the two were so connected it seemed pointless. Was a living tree any more beautiful than the things that ate and hatched inside dead wood? Was a cloud less if made of smoke and ash?

People seemed to think that death was the end of things, when really it was just a change. She understood, of course, change could be scary. She would be lying if she claimed not to fear change, even as she knew that fearing it was one of the most useless of things.

So when it came to choosing specialties when learning magic, she chose the pretty, dead things. She chose the bones and the things that could whisper to her when she was alone in the dark. They would whisper anyway, so why not understand them?

#writing #fiction

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