I'm working on Chapter 2 of the fic (and getting back to answering comments!), and I found the Slay the Princess AMA on r/Games and it's really giving me a LOT to think about when it comes to how reality works in the construct, and how character progression and development for the Voices becoming more rounded people might work as well as positive and negative traits for them.
(I'm also amused that despite the Voices being "both at their best and their worst in different parts of the story" on purpose, I actually can't think of a chapter in which having Paranoid or Hunted is actively detrimental to you!)
I also found this:
Which is really making me think the customization of them getting their own bodies could be wild. What if some of them have beaks and some of them don't, and it only actually solidifies because of actual observation -- like until the first split they both have a beak and do not have a beak but Smitten's body specifically does not have a beak (he must, of course, be able to have passionate, romantic, perfect kisses!) and Hunted's body specifically does (closer to nature, closer to Bird)... Lots to think about for the upcoming parts...
I also also found this one, which does sort of have a characterization point I want to think about, but also just makes me laugh so I wanted to share:
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Several weeks ago one of my coworkers called me over into her cubicle and gave me a very unexpected gift. Her mother passed away recently, and she'd been packing stuff up at her condo to give to relatives and sell, so the home could be sold. The mother was an avid knitter and crocheter, and when my coworker came upon her stash of equipment, she told me, she "immediately thought of me as someone who might get some use out of it."
So, I have inherited a varied collection of knitting needles and crochet hooks, cable needles, sewing needles, and, best of all, now-out-of-print pattern books, mostly for blankets, because that was what this lady loved to make most. Plus, I also have a bunch of gauge swatches she made, pinned to little bits of card covered in perfect schoolteacher handwriting setting out the patterns they were made to test.
And also...
My coworker brought another bag, full of yarn and...knitted blanket squares.
Her mother's last started project, before she got too sick to continue.
And she asked if there was anything I could do with it.
It turned out, there are twelve completed squares, and I quickly located the pattern book they are from amid those given to me. It's a book of 60 patterns, meant to be put together however the maker wishes into blankets of 20 squares. I figured out which of the numbered patterns were already made, and selected eight more that I thought might go well with them.
So now!
I am working on completing!
My coworker's mother's last knitting project!
And I really am feeling very good about doing it.
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Absolutely like….MIND BLOWN getting to do a RANCHER TATTOO?? and @acidistyping traveling SO FAR to me as well for it, I cannot BELIEVE how lucky I am :,,,)) thank u for making my job so COOL
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im doing the notes thing
I doubt it'll work but I have also witnessed the power of Tumblr so...
100 notes: I'll paint my nails the trans flag colors
200: I'll buy a nonbinary pride moth bracelet (skyebluez.com)
250: I'll also buy a classic pride bracelet (I know it's not a lot but it's kinda all I can afford)
500: I'll find a way to go out in public wearing all three
900: I'll talk to a friend that I suspect is a system about our DID
1000: I've been wanting to stream on twitch but am insanely anxious about it so if we hit this I'll do it at least once
1500: I'll have y'all recommend stuff and I'll make a poll
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this is sort of pathetic, but when you were younger, you were sort of puzzled by the cartoon representations of fathers: how a kid would be outside with a mitt, waiting to play catch.
it's not that your father never played catch with you, but you also didn't like when he did. something about a hard ball coming quickly towards your face doesn't seem exciting. not that you'd ever say you don't trust him. you trust him, right?
it's not like he never tried to teach you anything. or never tried to parent. on rare days, a strange person would walk in your father's skin. bright, happy, magnificent. this version of your father was so cheerful and charismatic that you would do anything to keep him. and this is the version of your father that would laugh and gently coax you try again. this is the version of your father that would break down the small elements of a problem and point them out so you have an easier time with them.
as a kid, those days happened more often. but somewhere around 11, you started being too much of a person, and he was often cross about it. when he'd try to sit you down to learn something, you spent the whole time with your shoulders around your ears, nervous, uncertain. terrified because you didn't immediately understand how to navigate something. worried you will run out of his goodwill and then you will have the Other Father back, and you will have ruined a good day for your entire family. something about you being visibly afraid - it just made him angry. he would accuse you of not wanting to learn and storm away.
on tv, it's not like there's a lot of versions of men-who-are-mostly-fathers. they can be good dads, but usually their stories are not told in the household. so it's normal that your father is there, but he's never around. you know he was in the house, somewhere, it's just not that you guys ever... "hung out". he just seemed to get kind of bored of you, annoyed you weren't made in his perfect image. frustrated with how much energy it took to raise a kid. over time, you kind of adopt a bittersweet band around your throat - he knows nothing about me. he says at least i never abandoned my family.
and it's technically - technically - true. he was there for you. sometimes he even made an effort and made it to the big moments; the graduations and the dance recitals. he grins and tells everyone that he taught you. it almost erases the days in between, where he complains because you need a ride to school. the weeks that go by where he doesn't actually ever speak to you. the times you say i am struggling and he says figure it out on your own. i can't help you.
and that's fine! that's all fine. you can call him if you are having a problem with your car. or if you need a ride to the hospital. he loves playing hero, he just doesn't like the actual work that comes with being a father. and you've kind of made your peace with that; because you had to, because you don't want to live your life like he does; the whole world at a managed distance, a little rotating and controlled orb he can witness and take credit for but never truly love.
as an adult, you are rewatching some dumb cartoon - and again, the child standing in the rain, with a mitt, waiting for their father to come play catch. as an adult, there's this strange creeping dread - this little thing? this little thing, and their dad can't even show up for that? oh god, holyshit, it's not about the mitt, is it. oh god, holyshit, your father spent most of your life leaving you hanging.
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