#charchive

[charl0ttan]

i need that photo of the distressed moneky u post sometimes i cant find it ANYWHERE im really uspet

[officialancer]

hey lets take a break from skyedge for a second how about some uhhhhh minecrap

I see the player you mean.

PLAYERNAME?

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

What did this player dream?

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?

It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].

It cannot read that thought.

No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.

It reads our thoughts.

Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.

And yet they play the game.

But it would be so easy to tell them...

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.

I will not tell the player how to live.

The player is growing restless.

I will tell the player a story.

But not the truth.

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.

Give it a body, again.

Yes. Player...

Use its name.

PLAYERNAME. Player of games.

Good.

Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.

Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.

We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a player.

The player was you, PLAYERNAME.

Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.

Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.

Let's go back.

The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.

And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.

And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.

You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.

Let's go further back.

The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...

Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".

Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".

Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.

You are the player, reading words...

Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive

You. You. You are alive.

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream

and the universe said I love you

and the universe said you have played the game well

and the universe said everything you need is within you

and the universe said you are stronger than you know

and the universe said you are the daylight

and the universe said you are the night

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

and the universe said the light you seek is within you

and the universe said you are not alone

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.

You are the player.

Wake up.

* What a lovely sentiment about the relationship between games and players! * Unfortunately, it has no applications here. * Minecrap is a very different game from UnderTale and DeltaRune. * Likely because its mobs aren’t actual people whose lives your affecting. * At least, I hope not…?

* It’s an interesting poem.

[charl0ttan]

miss charlotte you’re on youtube! you’re famous

(timestamp is 3:26)

https://youtu.be/MbvnGeQB_vc

ok thats cute i like matt's narration

[officialancer]

To #flower child

Here, and we are in different levels of reality, names for things change.

Were continuing the collective date, so you like flowers eh?

A flower, sometimes known as a bloom or blossom, is the reproductive structure found in flowering plants (plants of the division Angiospermae). The biological function of a flower is to facilitate reproduction, usually by providing a mechanism for the union of sperm with eggs. Flowers may facilitate outcrossing (fusion of sperm and eggs from different individuals in a population) resulting from cross-pollination or allow selfing (fusion of sperm and egg from the same flower) when self-pollination occurs.

There are two types of pollination: self-pollination and cross-pollination. Self-pollination occurs when the pollen from the anther is deposited on the stigma of the same flower, or another flower on the same plant. Cross-pollination is when pollen is transferred from the anther of one flower to the stigma of another flower on a different individual of the same species. Self-pollination happens in flowers where the stamen and carpel mature at the same time, and are positioned so that the pollen can land on the flower's stigma. This pollination does not require an investment from the plant to provide nectar and pollen as food for pollinators.[1]

Some flowers produce diaspores without fertilization (parthenocarpy). Flowers contain sporangia and are the site where gametophytes develop.

Many flowers have evolved to be attractive to animals, so as to cause them to be vectors for the transfer of pollen. After fertilization, the ovary of the flower develops into fruit containing seeds.

In addition to facilitating the reproduction of flowering plants, flowers have long been admired and used by humans to bring beauty to the environment, and also as objects of romance, ritual, esotericism, witchcraft, religion, holistic medicine, and as a source of food.

Etymology

Flower is from the Middle English flour, which referred to both the ground grain and the reproductive structure in plants, before splitting off in the 17th century. It comes originally from the Latin name of the Italian goddess of flowers, Flora. The early word for flower in English was blossom,[2] though it now refers to flowers only of fruit trees.[3]

Morphology

Diagram of flower parts.

Main article: Floral morphology

The morphology of a flower, or its form and structure,[4] can be considered in two parts: the vegetative part, consisting of non-reproductive structures such as petals; and the reproductive or sexual parts. A stereotypical flower is made up of four kinds of structures attached to the tip of a short stalk or axis, called a receptacle. Each of these parts or floral organs is arranged in a spiral called a whorl.[5] The four main whorls (starting from the base of the flower or lowest node and working upwards) are the calyx, corolla, androecium, and gynoecium. Together the calyx and corolla make up the non-reproductive part of the flower called the perianth, and in some cases may not be differentiated. If this is the case, then they are described as tepals.[6]

Perianth

Main article: Perianth

Calyx

The sepals, collectively called the calyx, are modified leaves that occur on the outermost whorl of the flower. They are leaf-like, in that they have a broad base, stomata, stipules, and chlorophyll.[7] Sepals are often waxy and tough, and grow quickly to protect the flower as it develops.[7][8] They may be deciduous, but will more commonly grow on to assist in fruit dispersal. If the calyx is fused together it is called gamosepalous.[7]

Corolla

The petals, together the corolla, are almost or completely fiberless leaf-like structures that form the innermost whorl of the perianth. They are often delicate and thin, and are usually coloured, shaped, or scented to encourage pollination.[9] Although similar to leaves in shape, they are more comparable to stamens in that they form almost simultaneously with one another, but their subsequent growth is delayed. If the corolla is fused together it is called sympetalous.[10]

Reproductive

Main article: Plant reproductive morphology

Reproductive parts of Easter Lily (Lilium longiflorum). 1. Stigma, 2. Style, 3. Stamens, 4. Filament, 5. Petal

Androecium

The androecium, or stamens, is the whorl of pollen producing male parts. Stamens consist typically of an anther, made up of four pollen sacs arranged in two thecae, connected to a filament, or stalk. The anther contains microsporocytes which become pollen, the male gametophyte, after undergoing meiosis. Although they exhibit the widest variation among floral organs, the androecium is usually confined just to one whorl and to two whorls only in rare cases. Stamens range in number, size, shape, orientation, and in their point of connection to the flower.[9][10]

Gynoecium

The gynoecium, or the carpels, is the female part of the flower found on the innermost whorl. Each carpel consists of a stigma, which receives pollen, a style, which acts as a stalk, and an ovary, which contains the ovules. Carpels may occur in one to several whorls, and when fused together are often described as a pistil. Inside the ovary, the ovules are suspended off of pieces of tissue called placenta.[11][12]

Variation

Although this arrangement is considered "typical", plant species show a wide variation in floral structure.[13] The four main parts of a flower are generally defined by their positions on the receptacle and not by their function. Many flowers lack some parts or parts may be modified into other functions or look like what is typically another part.[14] In some families, like Ranunculaceae, the petals are greatly reduced and in many species the sepals are colorful and petal-like. Other flowers have modified stamens that are petal-like; the double flowers of Peonies and Roses are mostly petaloid stamens.[15]

Many flowers have a symmetry. When the perianth is bisected through the central axis from any point and symmetrical halves are produced, the flower is said to be actinomorphic or regular. This is an example of radial symmetry. When flowers are bisected and produce only one line that produces symmetrical halves, the flower is said to be irregular or zygomorphic. If, in rare cases, they have no symmetry at all they are called asymmetric.[16][17]

Flowers may be directly attached to the plant at their base (sessile—the supporting stalk or stem is highly reduced or absent).[18] The stem or stalk subtending a flower, or an inflorescence of flowers, is called a peduncle. If a peduncle supports more than one flower, the stems connecting each flower to the main axis are called pedicels.[19] The apex of a flowering stem forms a terminal swelling which is called the torus or receptacle.[17]

* It has been too long since I properly studied these. * Re-learning the terms will be a nice challenge, as well as a useful distraction. * …thank you.

[officialancer]

Do you have a favourite plant?

* Golden flowers were always my favorite. * Though I’m told they don’t exist in your world? * It must be difficult to live in a world like that. * Still. * There have to be better methods of escapism, * Than manipulating another world to your whims.

[bangthedoldrumsz]

About me!

★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★

Name: Charlie / Char

Birthday: May 11 (Currently 17)

MBTI: INFP

Pronouns and Sexuality: He/Him ; Gay

Interests: K-pop, Fashion, Gaming, Nijisanji EN, Movie analyses videos, Anime, Music

Hobbies: Writing, Making music, Re-watching The Devil Wears Prada, (current count is 26), Blogging when I'm bored, Procrastinating

Archive tag: charchive 

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[anarkyintheusa]

La Confrontation || Batman and Anarky

ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ: ʙᴀᴛᴍᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴᴀʀᴋʏ ᴋɪᴅ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ sᴇᴠᴇɴ ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴏғ ɪɴᴀᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛʏ

It had been seven years. Seven years since Anarky had last been around. Then he had been a child and now Bruce imagined that he wasn’t much more than a child. But he was starting things again and Batman didn’t really appreciate it. This was his city, not Anarky’s playground. After the meeting with Joker he wanted to punch something, however in Gotham there was a growing list of things that he needed to do before punching something. Visiting Anarky was one of them. It had been too easy to find where Lonnie lived. It had been too easy to sneak through the window and begin to creep around.

Lonnie had been working at his desk, bent over what was the beginning of a board that would expand Max’s computational power tenfold. His arm was resting on a twist of fiberoptic cables when a red light went up on the corner of his monitor, and when he stood suddenly they fell to the ground. Yap (who had been sleeping with his paws over his face under the workbench) was the first to move - he padded up the stairs and found the Bat on the second floor, yipped once, and stared at him. Lonnie in the meantime had pulled the easier of Anarky’s costumes on, slipping into the red-slashed hoodie and mask in record time and showing up plainly in the doorway in front of the vigilante. “Batman, Hi.” he greeted, shrugging a shoulder. “‘I assume you’re not here to join the movement.”

Batman looked down at the dog that had barked him. Cute. He had a dog. Eyes narrowed he tried to wave the dog away without frightening it. However the dog didn’t move and before he got the chance to even take another step Anarky -- Lonnie, a nineteen year old kid, that is in a costume -- in the doorway. “You’ve assumed right,” he said, still half distracted by the dog by his feet, but he looked at Anarky. “I thought we talked about this, Lonnie, I thought that you were… done.”

“I never said that.” Anarky answered with a short clip to his tone. He sounded like his mom, and it shook him for a moment. “I never said that. What, did you think time in juvenile detention would make me less aware of the horrible situation or world is in?” He scoffed, crossing his arms, and Yap barked sympathetically. “I was never done. I was working. Every day for seven years, training and preparing. You should know it better than anyone! You see it, in the streets, and I’m sure with all your money you have to see the news and shake the hands of the corrupt more than once in awhile.” Anarky’s voice was hard, but there was a thread of shaken passion in it. “Gotham needs me.”

Kids. Kids were so difficult to deal with and when he was looking into the face of a masked teenager who was barely legal and not to mention misguided. "I was hoping that time in juvenile detention would make you more aware. You are still a child and Gotham does not need /you/.” A pause and he looked towards the dog near his feet. “Take the costume off. I’m not talking to Anarky. I’m talking to Lonnie.” His eyes were narrowed as he looked at the kid. Older he may have been but he was still young and he still had his entire life ahead of him. Didn’t he have something better to do? No, because he believed that what he was doing was right. That it was okay. It was a misconstrued ideal of justice. It wasn’t wrong, it could be illegal, but it wasn’t wrong. He had his ideals in the right direction but he wasn’t going to right way about it.

"Everyone thinks they’re talking to Lonnie. They aren’t.” Anarky took a step forward, pulled the mask off and offered it to the black cowled madman in front of him. He dropped the heavy coat to the floor too, with it’s huge spray painted closed-a on the front, and Yap moved immediately to sit on top of it. Defiant, Lonnie Machin, in all his blonde hair and deceptively soft blue eyes - and arm bandaged, from where he’d fallen in a wreck on the western side of Gotham Proper the day before - stood across from Batman in his street clothes, feet bare in his own home. “The mask is just a symbol. I am Anarky.”

Really Batman had no reason to break in Anarky's home, because technically he hadn't done anything illegal yet. But, he wasn’t going to take his chances. Even if all he was doing was just making television broadcasts and having rallies. Unless he was acting under Batman’s nose, which was very very likely. Bruce looked towards the dog on top of the robe and again tried not to be distracted. Damn cute animals. He looked back at Anarky. “I don’t care what you do as long as you stay on the right side of the law. Do you understand me? As soon as you cross the line between legal and illegal, I will be back.”

Lonnie, exasperated, sighed and dropped down to lift Yap up. The dog nipped at his jaw, but Lonnie held him out with a cocked eyebrow, otherwise ignoring the vigilante's disappointingly benign interest in his pet. How scary. He shifted at the threat – it was reassuring that Batman seemed, so far, to have no idea what he was working on at all – and he remembered what Legs had told him earlier that day. "The Joker. You saw him." Anarky threw out like it was common knowledge, "Did he do it?"

Sighing slightly, Batman petted the dog on the head a couple times before dropping his eyes and looking back at Anarky. Had news spread that quickly? That he had visited Arkham? He supposed it was hard to miss the Batmobile driving in the direction of Arkham Island. “He didn’t deny it.” He began, “But he didn’t confirm it either. He’s playing mind games.” The real answer was he didn’t know. He didn’t know and it bothered him.

"The violently insane are wont to do that." Lonnie set Yap back on the ground and the dog padded over to sniff at the Batman's cape where it met the floor. He huffed in thought, blowing blonde bangs out of his face, then turned immediately to the side table near the window the Bat must've come in through. He flipped open the laptop there and set on it, flicking his eyes up at the Batman as he opened up his MoneySpider terminal. "How likely is it that I can get you to tell me what you do know?"

Batman raised his eyebrows at Anarky, even though they couldn't be seen through the cowl. "Not very likely." He replied, moving so he could look over the shoulder of Lonnie to see what he was doing on the computer. “But it depends on your behavior between now and the time I figure everything out.” He wasn’t going to pretend that Anarky wouldn’t be an useful part of the team, but he also wasn’t willing to take a criminal into ‘the family’. Despite of what he may or may not have recently done with Selina. “What is that?”

 "This? Batman, I know you're getting up there, but this is what the kids call a laptop." Lonnie hid his smirk, dropping into his chair. Yap was full on pressing against the Bat's leg now, knawing at the kevlar where is boots met the leg of his suit, and Lonnie rolled his shoulders before explaining more seriously. "It's my system. I've been working on it for seven years, and if it's not one of the most advanced terminal network -- soon to be the most advance when I launch the interactive AI component -- in the world, then I've been wasting my time. It can find anything with epsilon time-cost, and I'm checking what I have on your Madman."

He was deadpan at Lonnie's response, to say the least. Smartass little criminal. "I know what a laptop is, I was referring to your terminal." Still peering over his shoulder. "How were you working on this when you were in juvenile detention?"

"There was a computer in the common room, for taking classes and accessing the ebooks they didn't have in the library. I think," he dragged out the word, "that it wasn't supposed to have internet access, but the block didn't even affect commands straight from their terminal, so it's not like I broke an actual rule."

Anarky was too smart for his own damn good, Bruce decided. Shaking his head he backed away and stopped hovering over the teenager and his laptop. "Right..." He looked towards the dog that was following him as he moved. "This has turned into more of a personal visit than I expected it to be." Anarky was behaving, that was good enough for him. For now. "If you behave, I won't have to be back. I have other things to attend to."