“The building is truly a living man. You will see that it must eat in order to live, exactly as it is with man. It sickens and dies or sometimes is cured of its sickness by a good doctor. Sometimes, like man, it becomes ill again because it neglected its health. Through corruption, the body of the building rots like that of man. Through excess it is ruined and dies like man.” Filarete, Treatise on Architecture, 1464
VotG is a historical fantasy story that has been in development since 2019. It has a large cast of characters whose tales will be told through various forms, be it visual, written, or otherwise. The narrative spans several decades and a lot of the characters’ stories are intertwined.
Basic Summary: Like many others, VotG is a story that takes place in New York City. Except, in this reality, many significant structures and locations have an entity attached to them that can take a human form. Said entities are often known as ‘buildingfolk’. They are humanoid, near immortal, and have come to blend into society fairly well. Their lives are often determined by the fates of their sources.
Voices of the Grid was created by @closingtime1973, and is currently a collaborative story featuring @warewolfish and @planefood. As of now, it is merely a loose passion project with no official format.
Q&A
Can I make a VotG OC?
Short answer, no. This probably will not change in the future. This project is not open and stories often have a very specific vision behind them.
Can I make fan art?
You can absolutely make fan art! Make sure to tag the blog or send it in if you do. :]
What about people with similar story concepts? Can I make my own building humanizations?
Those do not bother us— humanizing things is a very common occurrence and no one is going to have a completely original idea. If anything, it’s interesting that so many people all over the world can come to a similar creative conclusion. As long as you aren’t directly copying characters or lore, all is well!
That is all for now! Thank you for stopping by or showing interest in our silly little story <3
People should make more doomed by narratives siblings relationship.
Like with lovers you can just sever it and not have it related to you ever again but with siblings how could you?
You grow up with them you raise them or they raised you you both know how unforgiving the world is to both of you? You would die for them but will hate them for doing the same and yet none of you would regret it and both of you know it. They could be the person you loath the most and miss the most cause you still remember how they sneaked a candy into your hands. You can sever the tie but you can never look away at what you've lost, at whom you've lost because fate doesn't allow you to be together, eating dinners in quiet peace, if only there's another life, another time, where i can make you another plate of pancakes i would im sorry im sorry im sorry —
A story exploring the emotions of Edward Barnes during the events of 9/11. Content warning for depiction of 9/11, mild suicidal/self-harm ideation, and emotional distress.
6 AM: BEEP BEEP BEEP BE– CLICK. My fist slams down on my alarm clock, rattling the bedside table that it sits on. I groan and roll over, covering my eyes with my forearm to block out the beams of sunlight filtering through my curtains before grasping the covers and throwing them off of me. Another sleepless night. Must just be too much on my mind. Maybe I ought to get my apology over with today. I’ll have to think about it when I’m not still half asleep. I never make good decisions before coffee.
6:07 AM: The shower hisses to life as I turn the knob just a hair away from the highest temperature. Wispy steam rises from the water, filling the small room with wavering clouds.
6:29 AM: Goddamnit. Got lost in thought again. There goes my sit-down breakfast. At least I can read the paper on the train.
6:42 AM: I adjust my hat in the hallway mirror. My eyebags are dark and heavy.
6:50 AM: Thank god for travel mugs, huh? My brother was nice enough to have coffee ready for me as I rushed out the door. And to think we hated each other at one point. I take a sip as I sink into my seat in the subway car, snapping open today’s newspaper. Just a touch of sweetness. Exactly how I like it.
7:33 AM: The door to my office clicks shut behind me. I hang up my coat and hat on the rack in the corner, just as I have for the past… However many years I’ve been here. I pull the shade that hangs over my window up to gaze out on the city before I start my work for the day. Nary a cloud mars the topaz blue of the sky that extends out as far as the eye can see. I glance at the World Trade Center in the distance, the two great towers that anchor the campus. They stare back at me with their thousands of tiny windows, unblinking. Judging me. I have got to apologize to those kids. I just… can’t believe how goddamn immature I’ve been. Fuck.
8:05 AM: I tap my pen impatiently against my desk. Guilt is making it incredibly hard to focus on the task at hand.
8:43 AM: Goddamnit. I’m not going to get anything done like this. I’ve been up and pacing around my office for the past twenty minutes. I can feel those towers with their thousands of little eyes on my back burning straight through to my soul. Fuck it. I’m going home and I’m apologizing to the kids. Work can wait. I frantically shuffle papers into my desk and lock it shut before marching over to the coat-rack in the corner of my office. I grab my hat and—
8:46 AM, SEPTEMBER 11TH, 2001: BOOM.
I wheel around. There’s a dull thump as my hat falls from my grasp. My jaw hangs open in… Shock? Awe? Terror? I don’t even… I don’t know what to call it. I can’t name it. I just feel it.
I rush to the window.
There on the North Tower – Wyatt’s building – Is a gaping maw of shredded steel spewing black smoke.
Shit.
Is he hurt? What the hell caused… That?
I rip my phone from its cradle and frantically dial home to my brother with trembling hands.
“Clarence…?” My voice breaks as I barely choke out his name.
“Yeah, I – No, I don’t know what happened– Clarence– I– A plane? How? What?”
9:03 AM, SEPTEMBER 11TH, 2001: BOOM.
A soft gasp and a muffled sob filter through the receiver.
I look up from my desk. I… Know… I know what must have happened but I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to see. But I force myself to look anyway.
A gash clawed through the South Tower – Winona’s building – is spewing the same black smoke that her brother’s building is. Oh my god.
“Clarence?” I ask, trepidation thick in my throat, “Are you…?”
He sees it too. I’m not dreaming. A nightmare then, surely. I… No, no this isn’t real this is just some god-awful nightmare, my subconscious trying to teach me a lesson.
Some… cruel trick.
9:33 AM, SEPTEMBER 11TH, 2001: I haven’t been able to peel my eyes off of the smoke pouring from the Towers. I have no idea where the twins are. If they’re hurt. They have to be hurt. I remember when I – No, no. Goddamnit, Ed. Don’t think about you. This is about them. They’re hurt. I hurt them. I. Fuck. They’ll be okay, right? If I survived back in ‘45, surely…
9:35 AM, SEPTEMBER 11TH, 2001: They’re evacuating my building. What happened to the towers is deliberate.
I’m not leaving.
A captain always goes down with his ship.
If I’m next, so be it. Maybe I deserve it after what I put those kids through.
9:38 AM, SEPTEMBER 11TH, 2001: I tell Clarence I’m leaving. I lie. I don’t want him to worry about me.
Click.
I keep my hand on the phone for a moment after I’ve returned it to its cradle. I wish I could tell him how much he means to me. I wish I had been a better brother.
I go to my liquor cabinet. I pour myself a drink. The good stuff.
9:58 AM, SEPTEMBER 11TH, 2001: Smoke is still pouring from the gaping wounds in the towers. I am numb. Sunken into my chair. Eyes glued to the blackened horizon in my window. My glass dangles precariously in my loose grasp.
9:59 AM, SEPTEMBER 11TH, 2001: CRACK.
The glass falls from my limp hand and shatters on the floor as I bolt upwards out of my chair.
She’s gone.
The South Tower… Winona… It… She’s… Just.
Gone.
Hot tears well in my eyes.
10:21 AM, SEPTEMBER 11TH, 2001: I pace the length of my office in front of my window. I am an animal, trapped in a cage of my own making. The glass remains shattered on the floor. How long have I been pacing? When did this start? When did it all go so wrong?
10:28 AM, SEPTEMBER 11TH, 2001: There is a great roaring in the distance.
The North Tower falls.
Dominoes. A house of cards. A structure that once held the title of tallest building in the world, reduced to nothing.
Ash.
Wyatt is gone. Winona is gone. That wish that I had made so long ago, that awful, awful wish of just wanting them to disappear…
The first few scenes of this were sitting in my files for months until I picked this back up as a final for an animation class. Most of it is still roughs but I’d ideally like to come back and visit it some day. Again I’m just happy to have my head amvs down in some form lol
