#sagebrush game
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Tonight, at 7 pm CST, I will be playing Redact Games' Sagebrush as part of Short Game Fridays.
You're always welcome to join when I'm live with the above link.
#cuddlymuffintop#vtuber#fat blob#blob#indie vtuber#plus sized#plus sized vtuber#blob monster#vtuber uprising#monstuber#fat#english vtuber#sagebrush#grassroots indie games#psychological horror#redact games#ludodrome
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big if true
#ash.txt#'easy to plat' and 'shovelware' are not always the same thing tho#so i hope its like... actual quality control#games like sagebrush are easy to plat but are still good games with interesting story
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Sleepy Baby: Part 13
a/n: There are only going to be about 5 more parts to this story I think.
Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin / Reader
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1200 ish
Summary: Meet the Parents
Previous Masterlist Next
“I spy with my little eye something that is pokey.” You gaze out the window at the Arizona landscape enroute to some small town east of Dallas.
Jake fakes concentration while answering, “hmmm, is it a cactus?” Jake had moved into your house a few months ago, and you were driving to his home town to pick up some of his stuff that he had been keeping at his parents. It still feels fast but at the time you had been together for eight months and spent every evening together anyway. It did not make sense for Jake to continue to rent.
“Yeah,” you sigh, “your turn.”
“I spy with my little eye something tall.” Jake says with a grin glancing at you.
“Cactus.” You say with confidence. “I spy something reddish.”
“A rock?” You nod at his response. “Ok, I spy something rocky.”
“Jaaaake!” you groan, “You have to come up with your own things to spy!”
“There is nothing to spy but cactus, sagebrush, and rocks.” You roll your eyes but he is right. You are eight hours into the trip and still have another hour until you reach the campsite you are spending the night at.
“Ok, new game,” he says. “Would you rather fight fifty chicken sized alligators or one alligator sized chicken?
You ponder his question for a moment before answering. “One giant chicken. All I would have to do is cut its head off,” you say with confidence. “It would flap around and get blood everywhere but I think if I had a machete I would win.”
“I am horrified with the violence inside you.” Jake says with mock disgust. “I wish I had known of your atrocious blood lust before I moved in.”
“OH MY GOD!” you laugh, “you asked!”
“And I will always regret it,” he says solemnly to your giggles, “I'll never be able to look at you the same.”
– – –
The rest of the drive passed in contented silences, radio singalongs, and long discussions both serious and irreverent. Before you know it you are pulling up at a neat farm house a few miles outside of a small town. When Jake puts his pickup into park you feel the nerves that have been bubbling in your stomach rise to the top. You are nervous to meet Jake's parents.
Jake takes the hand that is not carrying your bags and gives it a reassuring squeeze, leading you up the walk. His mother comes running out of the house, wearing blue jeans, runners and a t-shirt. Her blond hair pulled into a ponytail. “Oh my baby boy is home,” she dramatically rushes past you and throws her arms enthusiastically around Jake giving his noisy kisses on the cheek. You step back and eye Jake’s blush over his mothers head trying to get a read on his response. Your lips pressed together to hide any emotion you might have. Whatever you were expecting it wasn’t this.
His mother turns to you, “Well aren’t you the sweetest thing!” Her accent is much thicker than you expected, you say a polite hello and introduce yourself. “Well my name is Tammy and my husband George and I raised this young man here,” she says, pinching Jake's cheek causing his face to redden further.
She turns and leads you into the house, “Now I have you set up to sleep in Julia’s old bedroom,” she says to you. “I can’t have an unmarried couple doing the devil's tango under my roof.” You feel heat flood your face and stare wide eyed at Jake.
“I didn’t mention that?” he asks quietly at your expression.
“No!” you whisper back before turning to Tammy, “That will work fine.” Tammy directs Jake to take the bags upstairs and ushers you into the kitchen and gives you a glass of lemonade.
“Now I hope you understand, I want there to be no horizontal refreshments happening here.” Tammy continues as you choke on your drink.
You manage a hoarse, “Ok,” between coughs.
Tammy tuts as she bustles around the kitchen placing a tray of cookies and fruit in front of you. “I don’t know what kind of mattress testing you get up to in California, but under my roof you will not be wiggling the toothpick.” You nod mutely and feel as if your face is about to catch fire. “And there will be no rolling in the hay either when you go riding next door either!” she shakes a spoon at you as she gives the lemonade another stir before filling more glasses.
A noise announces the arrival of a man who can only be Jake’s father, George. They have the same eyes and face but George's greying hair was originally brown. “You must be Jake’s girlfriend," he says kindly and pulls you into a hug before leaning back to look at you. He takes in the embarrassed look on your face and sighs.
“Tammy, I told you to stop with your anti-sex hazing!”
Tammy groans and immediately drops the elaborate accent, shifting to one that matches Jake’s. “Dammit you ruined it! I almost made it to six different ways to describe sex!”
You are glancing back and forth between the two of them confused. “What?”
George sighs, “Tammy likes to greet all of our childrens partners with an elaborate ‘no sex while you are here talk,’” he explains. “You’ll be sleeping in Jake’s room, just ignore everything she said.” He scratches his head in embarrassment. “I do have to say the walls here are incredibly thin and I am a very light sleeper so please be very quiet whatever you do.”
“I sleep like the dead,” Tammy chimes in with a smile, “I won't hear anything, so scream and moan away!”
You groan and rest your blazing face on the cool granite countertop listening to Tammy’s laughter, George sits beside you pats your back in commiseration. “Did Jake know you were going to do this to me?” you say in a muffled voice. “Is that why he ran off?”
“I did,” Jake sounds sheepish as he walks into the room and you raise your head to glare. “In my defense I laughed so hard at Jules’ husband when Mom did it to him that Julia threatened to say something I will not repeat if I didn’t let my mother do it to the next woman I brought home.”
“You sold me out!” you say in outrage. “Either you tell me that secret or Julia will, I deserve to know for the suffering you put me through.”
“Deal,” Jake readily agrees. “I need to limit the amount of blackmail Julia has on me to use on you.”
“Oooh,” Tammy pipes in, “tell me too!”
“That will never happen.” Jake declares.
After your embarrassing introduction the rest of the evening of getting to know Jake’s parents goes smoothly. They are welcoming and so incredibly kind it’s almost overwhelming. When you eventually head to bed Tammy sends you a wink, “remember I sleep like the dead,” and heat floods your face and you can see Jake’s face go lobster red.
Jake's childhood bedroom had been remodeled into a guest room and you are disappointed to not get a look into the life of teenage Jake. “Trust me,” Jake says, “it’s for the best.”
It’s nice to go through your evening routine beside Jake and the two of you are soon snuggled into bed. Despite Tammy’s encouragement, it’s George’s advice that wins out and after a few kisses, you drift off to sleep with Jake’s chest pressed against your back.
#jake seresin#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman x reader#jake seresin/reader#jake seresin x reader#hangman#hangman/reader#top gun hangman#topgun maverick#topgun hangman#hangman topgun
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in celebration of one of my sister's friends admiring my "gamer swag" (all the games i've played that are apparently obscure) i've decided arbitrarily to try to dredge up some obscure games to share with you all in case people are interested in that sort of thing. in terms of determining the obscurity of the game, i think i'm gonna go with less than 1000 reviews, and/or looking at all-time peak concurrent player stats in steam charts. whatever i feel like maybe. Also, if there are absolutely no guides on steam or the internet, then i guess that's for sure obscure.
also these are all games that i've finished. some of them i finished a long time ago so i may not remember much about like. quality. or how good they are. shrug. they're interesting though.
Mysteries
Aviary Attorney
Chicken Police
Blacksad: Under the Skin
A Case of Distrust
The Flower Collectors
The Forgotten City
Hitchhiker - A Mystery Game
I hope she's ok
Legal Dungeon
Lucifer Within Us
Paradise Killer
The Occupation
Observation
Root Letter
Sagebrush
The Shapeshifting Detective
Silicon Dreams
The Sinking City
Song of Farca
Visual/Sound Novel types (minimal gameplay)
Alone With You
428: Shibuya Scramble
Booth: A Dystopian Adventure
Divination
Elsinore
Necrobarista
Neo Cab
Overboard!
Signs of the Sojourner
Sorcery!
Unmemory
Adventure/Puzzle or whatever
A House of Many Doors
Battle Chef Brigade
Falcon Age
Genesis Noir
A Golden Wake
I Am Dead
Labyrinth City: Pierre the Maze Detective
Lemon Cake
looK INside
The Low Road
Maquette
Mind Scanners
Minute of Islands
Mu Complex
Nobodies
Omensight
Pilgrims
Roadwarden
Robot Island
Rumu
Senna and the Forest
Sizeable
Small Radios Big Televisions
The Solitaire Conspiracy
Song of the Deep
The Spirit and the Mouse
Still There
Summer Paws
Teacup
Tick Tock Isle
Vane
The Wake: Mourning Father, Mourning Mother
Windbound
Windowsill
Yono and the Celestial Elephants
Four Last Things
FixFox
Walk around a cool place and pick stuff up
Heaven's Vault
Deliver Us the Moon
An Airport for Aliens Currently Run by Dogs
Beasts of Maravilla Island
Draugen
Eastshade
event[0]
Ghost on the Shore
Haven Park
In Other Waters
The Magic Circle
Mail Time
Mu Cartographer
Paper Beast
Paradise Marsh
Penko Park
Here Comes Niko!
Sea of Solitude
Summer in Mara
Time on Frog Island
TIMEframe
Train Station Renovation
Horror
The Horror of Salazar House
Moons of Madness
Subway Midnight
#malky plays games#there's a lot more than i thought...uh...anyways...#maybe i'll write more about like. the individual games later. i'm just tossing these out there for now#basically these are games that i remember standing out to me maybe??#i dunno.#obscure game recs
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What's the Bird?
Location: Albuquerque, NM
Date: -
We ask that discussion under questions be limited to how you came to your conclusion, not what your conclusion was.
Happy Birding!
Keep the game alive! Submit a bird HERE
Bird - 76 graciously submitted by @nohriantomatoes
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so… I’ve been working on this lil fic idea for Spooky because he occupies my thoughts - I am affectionately naming it
Now and Then
like the Beatles song, because it also occupies all of my thoughts
there’s a little teaser below the cut!
Will turned one final time and looked around. Leaving the apartment and realizing there was no semblance of home was simultaneously comforting and numbing to his system.
There had only ever been one reason that anywhere had felt like home.
And, as the sun continued its game of tag in the sky with the moon, the days on the bus began to blend together.
Those thoughts of 'home' swam across the colorful and repetitive horizons over sagebrush and sand.
Strangers, with their own homes, embarked on and off the bus as he remained. He couldn’t help but wonder - what was ‘home’ to them? Did they know how important that was?
To have ‘home’?
Miguel did cross his mind frequently. How excited he was to see him. Maybe Miguel would help him feel a little closer to normal.
The soft orange hues in the sunset told him that it wouldn't help him truly settle.
Not without her.
That soft hair he longed to run his fingers through flew across the practically spinning desert panorama outside his window - her laugh that had never failed to put him at ease echoed in the soft buzz of chatter on the bus.
And, if he closed his eyes, he could still see the blue ribbon at the pie tasting table that she had been incredibly proud of, the very day they had met, so many years ago.
A single tear fell down Will's cheek as he quietly whispered into the dark, trying to call to her from across what felt like the entire universe.
"Pumpkin..."
♡ ♡ ♡
here’s the link to the series!!
#I am going against how I regularly write things#working on expanding my different writing perspectives#and I am loving it#pretty excited about this idea too#its coming in pieces but dang people#can somebody please be excited#because I am SO excited to share it with you when it’s finished#anyways#val kilmer#conspiracy 2008#conspiracy#will ‘spooky’ macpherson#will macpherson#spooky#will macpherson x reader#spooky x reader#spooky x pumpkin#spooky and pumpkin#👻 x 🎃
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Dancing Bughead, A Collection (Part 2)
From Sagebrush Shuffle, Archie’s Pal Jughead #73 (1995).
From The Red Shoes, Archie Giant Comics Bash (2018).
From this scene in Archie Meets Batman #6 (2019).
From Her Beast of Burden, Veronica #67 (1997).
From Bug Off, Archie’s Story and Game Digest #32 (1995).
From The Prom, Archie Giant Series #632 (1992).
From The Ghouls of the House, Archie’s TV Laugh-Out #14 (1972).
From The Great Switcheroo, Archie #636 (2012) - as JJ and Billy.
From Dance Boy Dance, Betty and Veronica Double Digest #223 (2014).
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I streamed these games, so go buy them.
(If you liked them.)
We may remember Chants of Sennaar, but maybe something a little further back tickled your brain that you forgot about? The Steam Spring Sale is live, and while not every game is a recommendation, this list is a bizarre sampler that dodges my sci-fi shooter phase to take you on a trip through time. (Most of these games were released after 2014.) You know Commander Shepard already.
We translated, we transformed - both full of color. You know them.
Chants of Sennaar (25% off; $14.99) / Gris (75% off; $3.75)
The future of American McGee's Alice franchise has been a recurring channel topic, and I'll always love my little region-themed planets. Hey David Hayter, how's that TV adaptation going?
On the flip-side of video games and adaptation: another subject of discussion, Eidos-Montréal, saw itself sold to the Embracer Group after the release of Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy, and has more recently seen layoffs alongside news of a now-canceled secret Deus Ex game. Hit new Spider-man game? We have a Mahvel game at home!
Alice: Madness Returns (85% off; $2.99) / Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy (75% off; $14.99)
We ask: how does The Beginner's Guide emotionally impact people who experience it today? Come be our guinea pig and experience the game unspoiled if you never caught it yourself. You may recognize "The Stanley Parable", the game previously made by the developer of this 2015 title.
Action-adventure cleaning? We had to take a tour of this planet and solve some puzzles.
The Beginner's Guide (50% off; $4.99)/The Gunk (65% off; $8.74)
The took a boat ride a new years back... While Sea of Solitude does not have you captaining a pirate's ship, we navigated our fears and past, largely through climbing with our feathery body and trying not to succumb to the large beasts embodying our family and fears.
Call of the Sea had us solving puzzles by lush jungle as we followed the footsteps of our husband to discover that we might have more of a connection to the island than we thought...
Sea of Solitude (75% off; $4.99)/Call of the Sea (60% off; $7.99)
The Spookies:
Mysteries Under Lake Ophelia (50% off, $2.49) / Fatum Betula (50% off; $2.49)
Fostering Apocalypse (50% off; $2.49) / The Space Between (60% off; $2.39) (itch.io: 56% off; $2.63) / Sagebrush (60% off; $2.79)
#jupiterposting#Throwback!#not everything obvs#If you do play these games come tell me on stream what you think. Digestion and discussion doesn't have to stop when I streamed these#a couple years ago.
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Screw it. WIP on a Sunday cause I feel like it.
Just a little prompt thing that @ltcolonelcarter and I were talking about yesterday or the other day? (Those prompt mashups)
Anyway, it's still a draft. I may not even use it but we'll see.
Under cut for length
Also tagging @persephotea @hamartia-grander and anyone else who wants to drop WIPs (even though it's not Wednesday)
"I missed you." He whispers earnestly against her shoulder as his arms draw her near and he nuzzles into her neck.
A year of radio silence and here they are back at his room at The Sagebrush tangled in sheets and giggling like time hadn't passed at all.
"I'm sorry I didn't call." She admits as she rolls over to face him, letting her fingertips trail along his cheek. The bluish glow of robotic and cybernetic interfacing brings a familiar serenity in Sixty, a calmness that he lets himself get lost in for a moment.
"I could've called too." He shrugs and pulls her to him while he traces her facial prosthetic, exposing the polymer underneath then kisses her softly... sweetly.
"Life gets in the way sometimes. Don't worry about it." She assures him with a smile and a shrug of her own.
He'd missed that smile and the sensation of her body pressed to his, the warmth of her and to have her in his bed again - in his arms again after so long...
It still seems funny to him just how much Kiki feels like home. It's even funnier that it's a feeling that he doesn't even bother trying to lie to himself about anymore.
"So how long are you back for?" Sixty asks casually, the look in his eyes as he gently tucks her hair behind her ear and their foreheads press together makes her smile again and she tells him in a hushed tone while playing with his hair;
"For good. I missed this place, y'know? Missed my friends, missed you obviously."
"Wait. You didn't get the job at Marshall just for me, did you?" Sixty jokes, and she answers in jest while they both still laugh;
"Oh yeah totally. What better way to reconnect with a best friend you're still in love with than by working at the same place they work on totally different teams." She chuckles into another soft kiss that lingers for a few seconds. She follows up with a more honest;
"No, actually. Needed the money since subscriptions to FansOnly don't quite make me as much as it used to and I figured since Marshall's the only game in town, fuck it. Why not go back to mercenary work for a while? I'm good at it and I don't completely hate it." She explains, but he just smirks and teases;
"You're still in love with me?"
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For the "Kick in the Pants" Writer Ask Game, I realize you told @jrob64 not to ask for the amnesia/beating one ("The Risk of Remembering") but I can't help but do it instead. I hadn't heard anything about this one, and my whumpy, hurt/comfort loving heart needs to know more.... ;)
If you absolutely refuse, how about "A Lady in Distress"?
Thank you! <3
I am still shaking my finger at you, missy… but here you go! From The Risk of Remembering.
Killian Jones crested the rise and immediately swerved his bike to avoid a huge chunk of metal in the middle of the road. It was too close and he lost control, laying the Harley on its side before skidding fifty feet and coming to a stop in the sagebrush that lined the state highway.
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song/playlist tag game!
Shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up. Then copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals ❤️
Tagged by @thebookshoparoundthecorner Thanks for the tag! 😊
Radar -Britney spears
Greedy -Tate McRae
Make you feel my love-adele
Touch it- Ariana Grande
Hello good morning -Diddy, Rick Ross, Nicki
No pressure tags: @royalfirenavy2 @sagebrushed, @doitcody, @katthemenace86
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It's still Sunday, I swear! What? You don't believe me? Fine!
Lol, I've greatly enjoyed reading through your fic excerpts today, you're tremendously expanding my future reading list, @artsyunderstudy, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @cutestkilla, @hushed-chorus ,@fatalfangirl, @facewithoutheart, @johnwgrey, @larkral, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @shrekgogurt, @palimpsessed, @ileadacharmedlife and @technetiumai
Since I haven't posted in two weeks, I'll give you a bit of every fic I'm working on. It's six sentences-ish about each one (sometimes a little more was necessary for context). And hey, I'm down to five WIPs! Just in time to start EGF 🤦♀️.
Under the cut for length:
From: Saving Simon Snow
“You–You baked these for me?” I hate the way my voice sounds uncertain, young. Fragile.
His face softens though and he says. “Of course I did. It would hardly be a care package for Simon Snow if there were no sour cherry scones in it.”
“I…thank you,” I whisper. He nods and smiles, and then tells me he’ll be back later, with Penny.
After he’s gone, I unwrap the scones. And break down sobbing when I realise that he’s left me a bowl of butter and a spreading knife to go with them.
From: The White Chapel (A Xanadu AU)
I watch Simon and Baz. They’ve found a cleared space over by the grand escalator, and they’re dancing. Simon’s arms are around Baz’s neck, and there’s not an inch of space between their bodies. As ELO plays on the store’s speaker system, they sway in place, Simon’s head resting on Baz’s chest, Baz’s head resting on Simons. Baz’s eyes are closed and there’s a dreamy smile on his lips. Simon’s are open. And strangely, he looks sad.
From: Westward Son
Simon alternates between calm acceptance and extreme irritation about his new appendages, so it’s a guessing game each day as to whether he’ll be tolerable to be around. We’ve not found much feed for the animals, because the river is far below us at the bottom of a canyon and the vegetation is growing down there, not up here. We’re surrounded by sand and sagebrush. And no trees for shade against the ninety degree heat. I spend each day in a puddle of my own sweat, and Simon’s irritation grows exponentially with the temperature, given he also has thick wings resting against his back, heating him up further.
From: House AU, gift fic for @yellobb-old. (In the market for an actual title if anyone's got ideas!)
Simon runs his arm over his eyes and then sighs, louder and longer this time. “Alright, Baz, I get it. I’m a liar and an idiot. But are we going to talk about why you decided to sleep in the bed next to mine?”
I look at him for a long moment. His blue eyes are staring into mine as if he can read his answers in them. He’s earnest and good and beautiful—and I need to get out of here before I declare my undying love for him.
“No,” I reply, and walk out.
And from: Raising Dragons
“There’s blood!”
If I had blood in my cheeks, it would have drained down to my toes. Well, this is it; this is what I’ve feared for the last eleven years.
When Simon was ‘with egg’ as he calls it now (he hates hearing the word pregnant applied to him. Even if he is pregnant again right now.), we had a lot of questions for the doctor. And Dr. Wellbelove patiently answered them all. But I had one question I never dared to ask, too afraid of the answer. And I’ve lived with that fear ever since.
And now it seems that fear has come true.
Since Sunday's over, tag backsies to everyone above for Wednesday, as well as @asocialpessimist, @bazzybelle, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @dragoneggos, @excalisbury, @erzbethluna, @fight-surrender, @foolofabookwyrm-activated, @giishu, @jbrrring, @krisrix, @letraspal, @moodandmist, @nightimedreamersghost, @otherworldsivelivedin, @onepintobean, @prettylightsbigcity, @raenestee, @thewholelemon, @tea-brigade, @whogaveyoupermission, @whatevertheweather, @yeonjunenby
#six sentence sunday#cotta 2023#house au#dragon babies#oregon trail au#canon divergence#co/ws/awtwb#mpreg
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32, 42?
32. Is there a smell that reminds you of your childhood?
Sagebrush! I grew up in coastal California, and the the coast sage scrub, especially after rain, smells like home to me!
42. Do you have a favourite swear word?
I like them all. I love to use words other than shit and fuck when something goes wrong though. I live to stub my toe and yell "Cock!" I trip and fall and yell "Piss!" It's just nice to say a bad word.
I grew up in a household where we really didn't swear (well, my dad did, but my mom was extremely against it). So I learned how to swear as an adult. It's a fun hobby.
Random Ask Game
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Songs of 2022
Year-end lists always seem doomed to become outdated. Am I really expected to have heard all the best songs of 2022 in 2022? It’s never going to work, they’ll seep through over the course of the following year or years. But giving it six weeks is better than nothing, so here we are in mid-late February.
1. Tomberlin, “Stoned”.
Stoned indeed: woozy, baffled, bodily undone.
2. Camp Cope, “Running with the Hurricane”.
Camp Cope perfected a bassy, blunt melancholy with How to Socialise & Make Friends; here they don’t so much break from that template as turn it to other—affirmative? aggressive?—purposes.
3. Caroline, “Good Morning (Red)”.
The year’s most something-new-on-every-listen song, its most capacious.
4. Christian Lee Hutson, “Age Difference”.
Lyric of the year: “Do my impression of John Malkovich critiquing food in prison / At first it isn’t funny, then it is, and then it isn’t.”
5. Big Thief, “Change”.
A panoply of possibilities on such a sprawling, immersive album by the absolute best in the game, but this most plaintive and stubborn lament just edges the rest.
6. Rachika Nayar ft. Maria BC, “Heaven Come Crashing”.
Sounds for the silentest disco.
7. The A’s, “Why I’m Grieving”.
A path not taken from an archive not delved-into; a peppy sad spurt of jolly heartbreak.
8. Black Country, New Road, “Snow Globes”.
I’m still not sure if this song’s about going mad, getting old, living through winter, all three, or none.
9. Arctic Monkeys, “Body Paint”.
Searching, insistent: like Alex Turner’s got you caught in a lie.
10. Stella Donnelly, “Cold”.
This could’ve been any of Stella Donnelly’s songs where the lilt of her voice is always dropping into conversationality, but this one, where she ends the conversation, full-stop, shuts me up the most.
11. Martha, “Irreversible Motion”.
So many of these songs are about little things, like the bones of the inner ear; this one maybe more than all the others.
12. Florist, “Red Bird Pt. 2 (Morning)”.
A delicate retrospective collage, a slow bashful loving appreciation, a puzzled amazed asking-why, a cautious comfort.
13. Aldous Harding, “Fever”.
Aldous Harding’s songs have this wonderful, dignified refusal to cohere; this one just lopes, or loafs, in and out of view.
14. Meg Baird, “Will You Follow Me Home?”.
The way Meg Baird’s vocals stay half-submerged here is what gets me: “Will You Follow Me Home?” goes from lazy river to maelstrom without you quite noticing.
15. Brian Eno, “Making Gardens Out of Silence”.
If you ask me, “Making Gardens Out of Silence” is a panorama from the time after humans, built from salvage by whatever-comes-next.
16. Hurray for the Riff Raff, “SAGA”.
A lot of these songs express a specifically 2022 kind of bafflement. “SAGA” doesn’t know how to get past this condition either, but it’s pushing against the boundaries.
17. Lana Del Rey, “Watercolor Eyes”.
You think you know someone’s schtick, but they surprise you.
18. Black Belt Eagle Scout, “My Blood Runs Through This Land".
Alternating between wordlessness and breathlessness, either way keeping on building to something.
19. Jake Xerxes Fussell, “Love Farewell”.
Stoic and stolid, Jake Xerxes Fussell bets on metaphor but could’ve made do with just rumble, growl and twinkle.
20. Ezra Furman, “Ally Sheedy in The Breakfast Club”.
Secret-telling in movie-theatre darkness.
21. Let’s Eat Grandma, “Happy New Year”.
Let’s Eat Grandma have the saddest synths but this one’s rose-coloured.
22. Joshua Burnside, “Louis Mercier”.
Time-travel klezmer-pop that jostles you like a cobbled towpath.
23. Beth Orton, “Weather Alive”.
When talking songs become singing songs so sylphlike and effortless.
24. Sault, “Life We Rent but Love Is Free”.
Sounds like certain small parts of London, for certain small moments, on busy summer days in the past.
25. Bill Callahan, “Coyotes”.
One for slickrock and sagebrush, which are not without their romance.
26. Yard Act, “Tall Poppies”.
A self-consciously small story, a kitchen-sink drama, a talking head, no denouément.
27. Angel Olsen, “All the Good Times”.
A rhinestone widescreen production, a road movie on a soundstage.
28. Beach House, “Hurts to Love”.
Generationally speaking, the ending of Skins series 1 still packs a fair bit of a punch, so rewriting “Wild World” by Cat Stevens makes more sense than you’d think.
29. The 1975, “The 1975”.
Imagine taking “All My Friends” and making it about your cock and it’s still good; that takes rare talent.
30. Craig Finn, “Birthdays”.
Comforting because it really is nice to know there’s someone in this world who’s always known you, and comforting because it’s Craig Finn doing Craig Finn stuff with his big dumb Craig Finn voice.
31. Julia Jacklin, “Lydia Wears a Cross”.
A bodily song: knees, eyes, clothes, adornments.
32. Anaïs Mitchell, “On Your Way (Felix Song)”.
You get the sense Anaïs Mitchell finds nothing all that difficult—eulogising, philosophising, doing justice to a life, picking out the pithiest reminiscences, in just under three minutes she bowls it all over.
33. Billy Woods, “Pollo Rico”.
Intrusive thoughts, compulsion to repeat. A personal history of madness.
34. Bright Eyes, “Arc of Time (Time Code) (Companion Version)”.
This year Bright Eyes re-recorded some of the songs from the 2000s I love/hate the most. “Arc of Time” gets remade without the beats or the keys, but stays smart and wry and death stays on its mind.
35. Fred again.., “Berwyn (all that i got is you)”.
Fred again..’s songs are urban explorations, entries to London’s subterrene.
36. Yeah Yeah Yeahs, “Spitting Off the Edge of the World”.
Cosmic.
37. The Big Moon, “Ladye Bay”.
Supersized, tectonic.
38. Drive-By Truckers, “The Driver”.
Grimy, grunting noir.
39. Ethel Cain, “American Teenager”.
D. H. Lawrence would’ve liked Ethel Cain and her Great American Hauntedness.
40. Girlpool, “Butterfly Bulletholes”.
Such a shame to lose Girlpool in 2022 but they were four or five bands in just two people, they gave us a lot.
41. The Beths, “Expert in a Dying Field”.
This one speaks for itself.
42. Nilüfer Yanya, “Shameless”.
Breathless, almost somehow fleshless, rattling ribcage xylophone.
43. Mesadorm, “Soap Opera”.
Skew-whiff boiler-hiss robot pop.
44. Porridge Radio, “Back to the Radio”.
Porridge Radio’s skills are in cacophony, cataclysm, crisis, ruination, disaster mismanagement.
45. Wet Leg, “Too Late Now”.
Every introspection needs a wise-crack or two.
46. Wilco, “Tired of Taking It Out on You”.
Aged 29, I had chickenpox recently; I recovered but it’s made looking in the mirror interesting, all these new small markings on the same face.
47. Plains, “Hurricane”.
The lyrics to “Hurricane” read like an apology, but Katie Crutchfield’s voice always sounds a little barbed to me; that’s what makes this work, I think.
48. Daniel Avery, “Higher”.
Frenetic travel in place.
49. Kevin Morby, “Bittersweet, TN”.
Kevin Morby hits all the requirements, he straight-A’s being a country singer.
50. Beabadoobee, “You’re Here That’s the Thing”.
In 2023 I resolve to continue to love silly rhymes, campfire rhythms, dewdrops and holding hands.
#music#2022#tomberlin#camp cope#caroline#christian lee hutson#big thief#rachika nayar#the a's#black country new road#arctic monkeys#stella donnelly#martha#florist#aldous harding#meg baird#brian eno#hurray for the riff raff#lana del rey#black belt eagle scout#jake xerxes fussell#ezra furman#let's eat grandma#joshua burnside#beth orton#sault#yard act#angel olsen#beach house#bill callahan
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PROLOGUE
(written 6/22)
(wordcount 2.8k)
---
FOR THE LORDS OF ESHNAR HAVE ABANDONED THEE,
AND THE STEEL WINDS NOW BLOW AGAINST THY FACE.
FOR THE MYRIADS OF PANDAEMONIUM HAVE FORSAKEN THEE,
AND THE RUIN OF THY WEALTH IS THE RUIN OF THY BODY.
WITH THIS FINAL EDICT, MAY THINE EMPTINESS BE FILLED.
BE SEALED HERE, AND MAY THY SOUL BE CONDEMNED
TO TEN THOUSAND RESTLESS LIFETIMES.
---
October, 1821. Niebla Roja, Alta California.
Far in the mountains of the newly-christened Mexico’s remotest territories hides a cottage of mud-brick and pine. Smoke billows from the adobe chimney in the flat roof, up and across the sandstone peak and the rock-clinging mesquites before drifting and disappearing across a cascading, silent blanket of sagebrush. Above, the stars hang undisturbed by any distant lantern; only the moon’s light filters down across the vast and rocky desert through the sparse and lazily-drifting clouds.
Here, in the dead silence and stillness of the night, would be where Arsenio Alhasra makes history.
A small man, clad in wrapping and overlapping layers of cotton, wool, and ancient, embroidered silk, huddles at the center of his small cottage. A bed, a chest, and a few pots and pans – he owned almost nothing of tangible value to anyone but himself, and perhaps, in a cosmic sense, the world. Age clings to his amber-colored skin in long, ribbony wrinkles, his head topped with a shaggy mop of curly black hair. In many ways, he resembles the rock upon which he built his secluded home, both time-tested keepers of the knowledge that lay locked away, hidden from the light of the sun.
It’d been so long since he began his life’s work that he nearly forgot he had ever started, the motions and rituals coming to him less through study and more through the mysterious workings of deja vu muscle memory. All would culminate tonight, though, the product of uncountable hours of labor in remembering something long left forgotten.
Machines, boilers, flasks, and bookshelves; they line every available wall in the small space, not an inch left undevoted to the grueling task of refining the mysterious fuel out of blood – first that of pigs, and when this no longer sufficed, Arsenio’s own – and keeping it pure long enough to use. He’s been saving for months, his constant bloodletting aided by a fattening diet of fruit, tequila, and game. Finally, he had enough – a cupful of shimmering carmine, passed through his arcane sieve twelve times over before it was sufficiently pure.
Arsenio clutches a ribbed, brass chalice in his ring- and bangle-adorned hand, the surface interrupted only by strange, circular carvings. On the wool carpet below, between his knees, sits a disc of solid, similar brass, marked and etched in a similarly-alien style. Its surface is dominated by a complex, circular sigil, cast deep and bold into the very metal itself. Ancient things; he knew neither their places nor times of origin, having bought them second-hand from an alchemist in Andalusia prior to his exile – but by now, he certainly knew what they were used for.
Arsenio tilts the chalice, and out pours thick, shimmering blood.
It hangs in the air. Gravity pulls it down for a mere second before something… greater takes hold of the droplets, slowing their descent before it stops them in the air above the brass object. Goosebumps quickly cover every inch of the man’s sunkissed skin, a powerful shiver running down his back. Another few precious drops of blood join the hovering mass – turning to barely-visible streaks an instant later, it slams into the surface of the sigil, forcing itself deep into the metal’s intricate grooves.
A bang. Arsenio is knocked from his kneeling position to the floor as a burst of oven-hot air floods the cabin. He coughs, retching, the toxic stench of campfire and gunpowder assaulting his nostrils and slipping down his throat like he was drowning in it. He waves his hand in front of his face to clear the billowing clouds of ashy, reddish smog; it’s no use, and soon he’s forced to take his wide-brimmed hat and begin to use it as a makeshift fan in order to catch a breath of fresh air.
Damn – another failed experiment, another… well, it could be anything wrong, Arsenio thinks. The sigil, the blood, the shimmering red within it that he understood simultaneously so intimately and yet almost nothing of – any one of those could’ve…
...gone wrong…
...a dim, red glow emanates from the surface of the brass disc, now halfway across the room from Arsenio. His past failures had inevitably gone up in smoke, literally – the strange flux in the blood seemed to combust when improperly supplied to one of the artifacts, and he’d feared that he’d set off such a catastrophy in his own home. This, however, was new; never had he seen such aglow, save for the setting sun in the sky. A warm, crimson-red tint to the familiar glow of golden yellow, cast through the sleepy clouds as the sun crept below the mountains – it now filters into his home long after sunset, originating not from the windows, but unmistakably from the glowing surface of the sigil.
Arsenio blinks. He crawls across the room on all fours and grabs the disc, finding it hollow as a wheel on the front, and as solid as a rock on the back – like a bowl with no bottom.
He looks down, and gazes upwards towards an alien sky.
The disc clatters to the floor a second later, as a trembling, shaken Arsenio rushes for his pad and quill. A lifetime’s work had finally, miraculously come to pass! The thing he’d suffered for, lost his family for, been forsaken to the sea and the desert for; the thing no one in the past three thousand years had been bold, or perhaps insane, enough to attempt – until him.
Distantly, the sound of wind whistles in the still and silent sagebrush night. Notetaking could, perhaps, come later, his hazel eyes drifting to the enticing warmth of the glowing shape. He sets his papers down and reaches curiously for the disc, pulling it along the floor. The sky on the other side would shift and move in response to his motions; he plays with this for a bit, holding it in front of his head and then looking down towards his carpet to discover an upside-down field of rock and debris, the clouds disappearing beyond an apparent haze that blankets the skyline. Rotating the disc slowly turns the ground to the sky and vice-versa, the view now properly aligned with…
...well, wherever this was, for that was a question Arsenio could not answer despite his best research. Whatever texts refer to this place had been evidently destroyed, for not even a shred of evidence exists of this place other than a singular mention of a sigil which would open the way to it – in the back of an old, fire-damaged tome Arsenio could not even fathom the age of without growing nauseous.
He cautiously sticks a finger into the opening – followed by a hand. It goes in effortlessly, as if he were simply reaching into a barrel deep enough to accommodate him. He pushes forth, soon holding the ‘ring,’ as it were, of the disk all the way up to his shoulder, managing to actually touch the rocky ground below him. He pulls back, startled by the realness of it – and finds his fingers stained with soil. His eyes go wide, motioning for the notepad and wiping some of the residue onto the paper.
None would doubt him, now. No more would he have to hide his studies, for he finally had proof that he was right all along. He drops the disc – the… portal, perhaps – to the ground, grabbing the quill once more before setting to work on his notes. Precise measurements, precise methodologies; all of it had to be preserved in the hopes that he would be found finally, blissfully innocent by those that had slandered and persecuted him for so long.
All he had to do was write it down, and after several centuries of torment, the Alhasra name would be spoken outside of hushed tones and spiteful slurs. For a moment, he gestures at the portal once again, sliding his pointer finger and its jewelry through the window of the world.
With another bang, it shuts instantly. A scream – followed by a gushing torrent of red, hot blood.
The brass disc clatters to the floor, the surface returned to solid metal – blood now spattering all over the etched metal. Arsenio clutches his hand with horrible, immediate recognition that his finger is entirely gone. It’s severed at a flawless angle, the flesh seemingly blinked out of mere existence; no cut marks, no sign of the slightest struggle – even the very bone of his digit, to his abject terror, is bisected cleanly, the structure of the marrow visible beneath the velvety coating of fresh blood.
Arsenio falls to the floor, pushing his precious notebooks aside before they got ruined – the prospect of saving them from damage now entirely unlikely, which he cursed with a hiss before returning to the mind-shattering pain at hand. He rolls to the side, managing to smack his wooden shelving with enough force to knock a roll of gauze onto the floor beside him. A small blessing.
It’s not long before he’s able to fasten a makeshift tourniquet from the dense fabric, bandaging the rest of his hand as the bleeding slowly subsides. He thanks God that he’d neglected today’s bloodletting, or he may have just died on the spot, the stars and swimming spots of light in his vision stubbornly refusing to fade.
The cabin was a total mess. Blood shot with such force out of the wound that it’d sprayed the entire wall and roof of the place, which would surely attract flies – and ruin the calibration of his sensor-sigils, the very things which allowed him to create the blood-fuel in the first place! Damn it!
Still, if there were one thing the Alhasra line were used to, it was setback – and this was just another one, despite its apparent permanence. Arsenio looks down at his dominant hand, now bereft a pointer finger. Hm. He’d… have to figure out writing again, have to figure out how to do a lot of things.
...for now, though, he had to rest. Blood loss was catching up with… with him. The books… they’d come tomorrow, or… or the next day…
He slumps, unconscious, onto the blood-stained rug, silent for a moment before his usual snoring resumes.
---
29 Red Wind, 547 AI. Nuhr-Akkal Steppe, Orbiting Marches.
---
Two figures clad in pitch black stand aside their chittering mounts, the beasts temporarily leashed to a rocky outcropping. Their robes flap violently in the bitter, biting wind, clinging helplessly to their torsos and wide-brimmed metal hats, yet the majority of their crimson-skinned forms face the weather bare. Heat made the prospect of fully covering oneself an impossibility, especially in such a remote region; winds blow up from the lowlands and whip the plateaus like biting leather. It made their presence all the stranger; the two in black were perhaps the sole conscious organisms in a 250-parasang radius.
Both are members of a dying creed. They were many, before the hated Yynoshites and their sickle-swords turned the chthonic safe-havens to bloodbaths and slave mills – now, two remained, the final remnant of a tradition countless generations old. The old routes had been abandoned, now unsafe without the traditional guards and guardians of the flock, and so the two moved alone through the wastes and dryland towards the city of Ved Ulam – salvation, of a sort, for the new order’s myriad victims.
It wasn’t for pleasure that they found themselves here, but for discovery; in the taloned hands of the larger figure sits a bleeding, stumpy length of flesh – a solid gold band of indefinite make wrapped around one of the bony joints. They’d seen it sticking out of the mud, reflective metal unmistakable in the uninhabitable wasteland through which they traveled.
“...it’s a finger.”
Kalad Nur, the smaller figure of the two, furrows their brow as Nihal Nur, the larger, speaks.
“Are you jesting, Sister? Does this resemble ANY finger you’ve seen before?”
Nihal doesn’t answer, clutching the thing between her long, taloned fingers. In truth, Kalad was right. Dirt and grime cling to its surface; it’d bled a bit on its own, but now dry and brushed clean on her already-soiled robes, she took a better look at it; compared to even her own smallest digit, the thing was miniscule. The color and texture is completely wrong, the flesh an odd, pale brown, unlike any tone she’d ever seen. Indeed, it even bore no visible pads or claws – what manner of beast would lack the most basal sensory and defensive organs?
Why was it wearing jewelry?
“...no, it doesn’t.” Nihal clicks, tightening the straps on her iron hat after a period of silence. She holds it up to her dim and sand-choked sun, the golden ring gleaming in the sleepy light. It was perfect, far more perfect than any smith she’d known could hope to achieve. Flawless, glimmering, perfectly-smooth gold, devoid of pockmarks and the distinctive casting lines she’d known so well from her own trinkets.
Something catches the light. Text – the faintest reflection of an indentation in the surface of the metal. Nihal’s first heart skips a beat. Trembling slightly, she pulls the object closer to her myriad slitted eyes, the compound image of an alien script, totally indecipherable, as clear as the daylight.
“a Arsenio, mi amor.”
Such bizarre and diminutive lettering – which way was it even read? What could it possibly mean? What hand could’ve possibly penned something so intentional yet so utterly and profoundly meaningless? What…
...hand… could’ve...
Nihal’s six eyes widen, her spiked brow furrowing. No – it had to be. What else could explain it? Stomach-turning absolution bubbles up inside of her like a poisoned well. Wind kicks dirt into the air around her, yet she makes no attempt to shield herself, soporized by the gravity of her own realizations.
“It is a sign from Naar.”
Her voice is calm and resolute, barely audible beneath the howling sands. She stares at her cliquemate; Kalad’s face, at first, bears a slight and crooked smile.
“Very funny, Sister.”
Nihal doesn’t smile back. The grin fades from Kalad’s pockmarked outerskin. For a while, neither of them say anything, the taller of the two simply holding the severed, dust-covered digit out to her partner. They take it in their hand, staring down with trickling confusion.
They blink.
“...you can’t be serious..?”
“The ring bears Angel-Script.”
Another several wind-swept seconds of silence. Kalad timidly tilts their hat-covered head into the wind to read the minuscule symbols. A strange sinking feeling forms in the pit of their gut; it’s like they’re staring off the sheer face of a great cliff, self-doubt gnawing at their feet as they decide whether to jump. Nihal is already busy unhitching the six-legged mounts, readying the packs and saddles.
“Ved Ulam cannot wait a second longer.” Nihal barks, stomping over to the dazed Kalad and swiping the finger from their grip. “The Angels have shown that the tide of fortune is about to change.”
“Have you lost your mind, Sister?” Kalad stammers. “The March is already under enough scrutiny as it is for their protection of us – should Yynosh learn that they possess modern Naaric artifacts would surely lead t-”
“Where? To violence? We’ve seen enough of that, Sister,” Nihal injects, her tongue lashing like a whip, “and I’m beginning to hate further delaying the inevitable. Enough of what Yynosh thinks – it’s time something REAL is done about her.”
Kalad doesn’t reply. They gaze back over their shoulder, out at the vast expanse of wilderness that cradles them both. If what their partner says is true, the relative tranquility of blistering sands and parched granite, of the vast, overpowering weight of the world upon them, would be the last moments they knew a life of true peace. They’d walked so long in search of safety and a reprieve from the torment – now, over halfway there, they knew their destination was gone.
A long, drawn-out sigh escapes Kalad’s chapped lips. They shrug and take the reins of their mount-beast in their hands, pulling their iron hat tight around their horned head.
“I suppose we have no more to lose.”
The two beasts shamble off, zig-zagging their way towards the next chapter of history – one more violent than any of them could have imagined.
The steppe is empty once again.
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I've been dicking around with ChatGPT for a couple days. It's been fun to see where it does very well and where it does surprisingly poorly. For example, it's very good at giving writing prompts, building story elements, composing limericks, and even fleshing out a homebrew D&D setting.
But then you ask it to create male Plainsfolk Lalafell names, which have a consistent "AB CB" structure, and...well...
Me: Good morning! Could you come up with some male plainsfolk lalafell names for me?
ChatGPT: Good morning! Of course, I'd be happy to help you come up with some male Lalafell names for your plainsfolk character. Here are a few suggestions:
Pipkin Meadowbloom
Thistlebrush Wheatfield
Tumbleweed Dustwhisper
Willowgrove Greenleaf
Bramblethorn Hopper
Sagebrush Swiftfoot
Pebblebrook Stonefoot
Glimmerwind Frostbranch
Quicksilver Flintlock
Starling Moonwatch
Feel free to mix and match or modify these names to suit your preferences. Let me know if you need more options or if there's anything else I can assist you with!
Me: Do you know the naming conventions for lalafell from Final Fantasy XIV?
ChatGPT: Yes, I'm familiar with the naming conventions for Lalafell in Final Fantasy XIV. Lalafell names in the game often follow a pattern of two given names. The first name is typically shorter and more playful, while the second name is longer and more descriptive. Here are a few examples:
Male Lalafell Names:
Tataru Taru
Papalymo Totolymo
Riripu Pipiru
Fufucha Nencha
Toto Kewkalo
Chachanji Gegenji
Petyr Patteryn
Momo Jjimomo
Kuplo Kopp
Yuyuhase Yuyu
These examples should give you an idea of the naming conventions for Lalafell characters in Final Fantasy XIV. Remember, you can mix and match syllables or create new combinations to come up with unique names.
Me: Following the syllabic pattern of "AB CB" for male plainsfolk, can you come up with some lore-compliant lalafell names?
ChatGPT: Certainly! Here are some lore-compliant Lalafell names following the "AB CB" syllabic pattern for male Plainsfolk:
Popoto Bumbli
Pippin Glimli
Kukuru Rattli
Dodo Boombi
Lolo Tinkli
Toto Quivvi
Koko Frondli
Ruru Bristli
Zizi Fizzli
Kiki Paddli
These names should adhere to the syllabic pattern and maintain the playful nature of Lalafell names in Final Fantasy XIV. Feel free to customize or modify them as you see fit. Enjoy creating your Lalafell character!
Me: This seems to be a bit beyond your grasp. Male plainsfolk lalafell names are like "Penco Zunco" "Peneli Bureli" "Kubuna Mobuna" - can you follow that pattern to make more names?
ChatGPT: Apologies for the confusion earlier. I understand now that you're looking for Lalafell names specifically following the pattern of "AB CB" for male Plainsfolk. Here are some more names that adhere to that format:
Pono Tofu
Bimo Zano
Gobo Rudo
Zido Lamo
Rono Noso
Buno Sogo
Lido Vero
Mono Zico
Piko Hano
Vono Joso
I hope these names align more closely with the pattern you're seeking. Let me know if there's anything else I can assist you with!
Me: Still not quite, but you're making a valiant effort
ChatGPT: Apologies once again for the confusion. I apologize for the misunderstanding. Let me try again, focusing specifically on the "AB CB" pattern for male Plainsfolk Lalafell names. Here are some revised suggestions:
Penko Zanko
Benco Fumfo
Renlo Kumgo
Tenco Rando
Zunco Pimpo
Jenco Rempo
Tundo Lingo
Lumbo Vimto
Penli Curli
Kumbo Lonbo
I hope these names are more in line with the pattern you're looking for. If there's anything else I can assist you with, please let me know.
Me: 1, 9, and 10 follow the correct pattern. Do you think you can come up with some more names like that?
ChatGPT: Apologies for the mix-up once again. I appreciate your patience. Here are some more Lalafell names following the "AB CB" pattern for male Plainsfolk:
Denlo Fenmo
Penro Limbo
Kenbo Zindo
Henlo Jumbo
Renko Vanbo
Senlo Tindo
Genro Kumbo
Fenlo Penko
Menbo Zanbo
Jenlo Lenpo
I hope these names align more closely with the desired pattern. Let me know if there's anything else I can assist you with!
Me: Let's try this: can you come up with some monosyllabic words or word parts?
ChatGPT: Certainly! Here are some monosyllabic words or word parts that you can use to create Lalafell names:
Kip
Jax
Zan
Bop
Lux
Nim
Pox
Quip
Vex
Yon
You can combine these monosyllabic words or use them as standalone elements to create Lalafell names that suit your preferences. Feel free to mix and match or add additional letters to create unique combinations.
Me: Using monosyllabic words and word parts along those lines, can you create two-part name sets where each part combines two or more monosyllabic word parts, but both parts of the name use the same monosyllable at the end?
ChatGPT: Certainly! Here are some two-part name sets where each part combines two or more monosyllabic word parts, and both parts of the name use the same monosyllable at the end:
Daxip Nipnip
Zanix Banban
Jaxux Quipquip
Yonex Poxpox
Luxip Kipkip
Vexon Nimnim
Bopux Zanzan
Quipy Jaxjax
Poxex Vexvex
Nimon Loxlox
In these examples, both parts of the name end with the same monosyllable, which adds a sense of cohesion. Feel free to modify or combine these names as needed to create unique combinations that suit your preferences.
Me: Still not quite there. How about this: following the pattern of "AB CB," where "A" "B" and "C" represent different monosyllables, can you try to create names?
ChatGPT: Apologies for the continued confusion. I appreciate your patience. Let's try to create Lalafell names following the pattern of "AB CB," where "A," "B," and "C" represent different monosyllables. Here are some revised attempts:
Pembo Zanko
Jenpo Tundo
Rinco Nampo
Daxmo Jempo
Kipbo Lanco
Zinlo Penpo
Tonbo Kemco
Vaxso Hinro
Limco Daxmo
Nipdo Zinco
I hope these examples are closer to what you're looking for. Let me know if there's anything else I can assist you with!
Me: Looking at number 1 in that list, can you identify the monosyllables used for "A" "B" and "C" in the pattern?
ChatGPT: Apologies for the confusion in my previous response. In the example "Pembo Zanko," the monosyllables used for "A," "B," and "C" in the pattern are as follows:
"A" monosyllable: Pe "B" monosyllable: mbo "C" monosyllable: Zan
I apologize for any confusion caused earlier, and I appreciate your patience. Let me know if there's anything else I can assist you with!
Me: In that case, shouldn't the prescribed pattern of "AB CB" result in "Pembo Zanmbo"?
ChatGPT: You are absolutely correct, and I apologize for the oversight in my response. The correct interpretation of the pattern "AB CB" in the example "Pembo Zanko" would indeed result in "Pembo Zanmbo." Thank you for pointing that out.
To provide some revised examples that adhere to the "AB CB" pattern with monosyllables:
Kembo Tanmbo
Jinpo Rencho
Linco Jaxmco
Dexmo Kinbo
Sanbo Penmbo
Rinlo Zinpo
Voxco Menpox
Lenso Vaxnso
Tinxo Kenpo
Banmo Dexnmo
I apologize for the previous inaccuracies and appreciate your understanding. If you have any further requests or questions, please let me know.
Me: You're getting much closer now. Can you get more varied with your monosyllables and keep them to 2 or more letters?
ChatGPT: Certainly! I apologize for the previous limitations in the monosyllables provided. Here are some revised examples that include more varied monosyllables, each consisting of two or more letters, while following the "AB CB" pattern:
Rondo Pimto
Hexen Minco
Zephyr Fipry
Jaxon Quirlo
Blizko Voltro
Sylva Thondo
Nimbus Crimto
Zenith Viflo
Lyric Solpo
Rumble Pixto
I hope these examples better meet your criteria. Feel free to mix and match or modify them to create unique combinations that suit your preferences. Let me know if there's anything else I can assist you with!
Me: Ah, no, you've strayed from the "AB CB" pattern. Remember that the "B" part needs to stay the same within each name
ChatGPT: Apologies for the continued confusion. Let's try again, making sure to follow the "AB CB" pattern with monosyllables where the "B" part remains the same within each name. Here are some revised examples:
Kiplo Zanko
Jenbo Tondo
Rinmo Pempo
Daxco Jempo
Zinpo Penko
Tonso Kembo
Vaxdo Hinco
Limto Daxmo
Nipso Zinco
Hexbo Minpo
In these examples, the "B" part remains consistent within each name, following the "AB CB" pattern you specified. Once again, I apologize for any confusion caused earlier. Let me know if there's anything else I can assist you with!
Me: You've got the concept of sticking the same letter on the end, but the letter preceding it also needs to remain consistent within the name, such as "to" "se" "pi" "ru" and so on. Can you try again with that in mind?
ChatGPT: Apologies for the confusion once again. Thank you for clarifying the requirement. Here are revised examples of Lalafell names following the "AB CB" pattern, where the letter preceding the final monosyllable remains consistent within each name:
Zito Peto
Gimo Limo
Fupo Sero
Keno Teno
Miso Duso
Rupo Nipo
Bemo Jeno
Lodo Puno
Siso Vexo
Holo Zono
In these examples, both parts of the name follow the "AB CB" pattern, with the consistent letter preceding the final monosyllable. I apologize for any confusion caused earlier, and I appreciate your patience. Let me know if there's anything else I can assist you with!
Me: You're getting there. 1, 2, 4, 5, and 6 are correct. In 3, "po" and "ro" are not the same, neither are "mo" and "no" in 7, "do" and "no" in 8, "so" and "xo" in 9, nor "lo" and "no" in 10. Do you understand that?
ChatGPT: Apologies once again for the oversight. I apologize for the confusion caused. I appreciate your patience. Let me provide some revised examples, ensuring that both parts of the name follow the "AB CB" pattern with the same letter preceding the final monosyllable:
Zito Peto
Gimo Limo
Tupo Sero
Keno Teno
Miso Niso
Rupo Nupo
Bemo Jeno
Lodo Puno
Siso Xeso
Lono Zono
I apologize for the mistakes in the previous examples and thank you for pointing them out. These revised examples should now accurately follow the "AB CB" pattern you specified. If you have any further requests or questions, please let me know.
Me: 3, 7, and 8 are still incorrect. Would you like to try again?
ChatGPT: Apologies once again for the mistakes in my previous responses. I appreciate your patience. Here, once again, are revised examples of Lalafell names following the "AB CB" pattern, where both parts of the name have the same letter preceding the final monosyllable:
Zito Peto
Gimo Limo
Sipo Miro
Keno Teno
Nimo Gino
Rupo Nupo
Jedo Buno
Podo Lono
Xiso Tuxo
Lono Zono
I apologize for any confusion caused by the earlier mistakes. These revised examples should now accurately follow the "AB CB" pattern as you specified. If you have any further requests or questions, please let me know.
Me: Still not quite there. Try to break down each of your examples into the "AB CB" pattern to see where you're going wrong. Remember that within each example, "B" needs to stay the same in both parts.
ChatGPT: Apologies once again for the persistent errors. Let me provide you with revised examples of Lalafell names that accurately follow the "AB CB" pattern, with the "B" monosyllable remaining consistent within each name:
Zizo Bibo
Gigo Lilo
Soso Roro
Kiko Tito
Nono Gogo
Ruru Nunu
Jijo Bibo
Pipo Lolo
Xixo Toto
Lolo Zozo
In these revised examples, both parts of the name adhere to the "AB CB" pattern, with the consistent "B" monosyllable within each name. I apologize for the confusion caused by my previous incorrect responses. If you have any further requests or questions, please let me know.
Me: Oh dear, you've strayed even further from the pattern. I know that you're trying your best, but I'm not sure how to explain it to you in a way that makes sense to your programming. Perhaps we should just end this exercise here.
ChatGPT: I apologize for the continued difficulties in providing the names according to your specific requirements. I understand that it has been frustrating, and I'm sorry for any confusion caused. If you have any other questions or need assistance with a different topic in the future, please don't hesitate to ask. Thank you for your understanding, and have a great day!
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