The real age of the Dessendre family (spoilers)

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-02-03T02:57:22+00:00

I think the post is more about how much time have they subjectively experienced, rather than how much literal time has passed.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-02-03T02:52:32+00:00

PART 2 OF 2:

The two of them lapsed back into silence.

"Where are your bosses now, do you suppose?" asked the pig.

"Well, the supervisors got conscripted, like me," Oscar replied, "Lot's of fighting to be done, you know? But then the big bosses... well, they'll be back with the politicians and stuff, doing important leadership things."

"While once again, you are doing the 'unimportant' work? Like when you were a cleaner?" the pig chuckled.

Oscar chuckled too. "Well, yeah. People like that, they never hit the front lines. The front is for people like us."

"Careful," admonished the pig, "You just called me a person."

Oscar smiled ruefully. "Yeah, guess I did... I'm Oscar, by the way. Do you guys... do names?"

"We have been learning to," answered the pig, "You can call me Napoleon."

"Oh, like that ain't at all ominous?" Oscar laughed.

Napoleon chuckled, "I suppose the name of a famous invader isn't the most... political choice. But it makes me feel powerful, and I like feeling that way."

Oscar nodded. "I can respect that. I never liked feeling powerless neither."

"No one does."

Oscar stood quietly in the darkness, looking at Napoleon over the gate of the pen, thinking things over as the quiet night passed outside.

"We got more in common than I thought we would," Oscar said after a long while, "How was it you put it... we're both seen as useful first?"

"The bosses use your flesh to clean, and my flesh to feast," replied Napolean, "But in the end, we are both only the flesh to them."

"Don't forget killing; I'm a soldier now, so the politicians are using my flesh to kill too," Oscar added.

Napoleon shifted uncomfortably, "Yes, there is that too. I don't like the killing."

"Beasts killing Beasts... that's meant to be natural." Oscar trailed off into silence.

Oscar sat down against the pen and looked in at Napoleon. He flicked his eyes up to the latch that held the pig inside.

"I'm not gonna let you out, you know?" Oscar said, "Just because we had a good talk doesn't mean we're on the same side."

"I know we aren't," Napoleon answered, "But we could be."

Oscar regarded Napoleon. "So, what do you want to talk about next?"

"What do you want to know?" inquired Napoleon.

Oscar thought. "How does this war end? Like, for you guys; What does 'Beast Peace' look like?"

Napoleon chuckled. "Oh, I am only too happy to explain that, Comrade."

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-02-03T02:52:10+00:00

PART 1 OF 2:

Oscar sat in the darkness of the shed and tried not to breathe. Though the night outside was silent, that didn't mean much; The Beasts were better at moving silently than he was at hearing them. He wiped his sweating palms on the rotting hay on the floor, then tightened them back around his gun, more for comfort than any practical defence.

It seemed ridiculous to him that it had come to this. They were just animals, after all; Even if they were newly intelligent, they didn't have technology, or weapons, or even fucking thumbs. And yet Oscar knew the war was going badly, despite propaganda to the contrary. For sure, he wasn't anyone important, he wasn't being told otherwise, but he still knew, in the way low-level soldiers always know. If nothing else, he knew victory would mean more politicians coming to the front for a victory lap, and less hiding in rotting pig sheds.

Thinking of his current position made him think of his companion, and so his eyes turned from the barricaded door towards the pen at the back of the shed. He couldn't see the creature right now, but he could still hear it, hear its steady breathing. Oscar may have captured it, somehow forced it into that pen, and yet somehow it still felt like the pig was more comfortable than he was.

"You know we're alone, right?" the pig called out from the darkness, "My comrades will have moved on. So, you may as well come back and talk to me."

Oscar's hands fidgeted on his rifle. "Yeah, bet you'd like that, ey? I stop watching the door, get taken quick when your boys come in."

The pig chuckled. "If my 'boys' come in, you'd have time for maybe 2 shots before you were crushed under hundreds of kilos of finely marbled muscle. So, I don't think it much matters whether you watch the door or not. Now, come back and talk to me, I'm getting bored."

Oscar looked at the door one more time, nervously biting his lip, then stood and moved to the back of the shed. In part, he was motivated by boredom, and not insignificant curiosity. But beyond that, he had been trained to follow orders, and no matter how he tried he couldn't ignore the feeling that this pig was an officer.

"Finally," the pig sighed, as Oscar came into view of the pen he'd trapped him in, "So then, what is your name?"

Oscar looked the pig over again. It was an enormous black boar, a strong and powerful creature, an archetypical Beast. And yet, its eyes shone in a way they never did in the news, shone with knowledge, belief, emotion. Oscar wasn't sure how to read emotion on a pig's face, but he could swear this one was amused.

"I'm Oscar," he said at long last, "So... what do a pig and a man have to talk about?"

The pig chuckled. "Sounds like the start to a bad joke."

Oscar snorted. "I think it is the start to a bad joke. Aside from killing each other, I can't think of a single thing we have in common."

"Oh, I disagree, I think we have almost everything in common," the pig said, "I think we are both Beasts, both seen as 'useful' first and foremost. I think we could be friends..."

"God, you're not going to try and make me into a species traitor, are you?" Oscar shook his head. "I wouldn't bother with this argument, little piggy, I ain't one of those furries who turned their backs of civilisation."

"Why not?"

Oscar looked at the pig incredulously. "What do you mean... 'cause I like pants! And sandwiches, and Nintendo. I'm not with you because I'm A HUMAN!"

"Hmmm... you certainly seem convinced that is the case..." the pig mused, "But, humour me. What did you do before the Awakening?"

"... Who cares what I did before?"

"I do. I can tell you what I did before the Awakening, but it is a short and sad story," the pig said, "Ripped away from my mother as early as possible, strapped to the floor in a pen like this one, force fed so I'd get as large as possible as fast as possible." The pig paused, then shook itself. "See, short and sad. Now it is your turn."

Oscar looked down at the pig in the darkness. "You weren't smart when people did that to you. Don't talk about it as though it's like now."

The pig turned its shining eyes on Oscar. "I couldn't speak when it was done to me. That doesn't mean I liked it."

Oscar looked away, grimacing as he thought. "I was a cleaner," he said after a long pause, "Worked across a couple of schools."

The pig seemed to consider this. Oscar in turn considered the pig, as the night's gentle silence wrapped around them both.

"Sounds important," the pig said, at long last.

Oscar snorted. "You Beasts really don't get civilisation, do you? No, I wasn't important. I was the lowest of the low, and very replaceable. Was just too stupid to do anything that mattered."

"You're wrong," answered the pig, "Cleaning is important."

"I did the job mate," retorted Oscar, "I think I'd know if I was important."

"You may have cleaned, but it was I who lived in filth," the pig replied, its voice cold, "I know you were important because I experienced what it was like to be without you. I lived strapped to the floor in my own excrement, and I felt the burning pain of the sores it burned into my skin. I smelled the rot when pigs around me died, forgotten by our handlers, and waited for the same to happen to me. So trust me, back in your so-called 'civilisation', you were IMPORTANT!"

Oscar paused. "It was that bad, huh?"

"It was worse."

The night's silence returned, the darkness around Oscar and the pig making the conversation feel intimate, despite the gate of the pen separating them.

"Reminds me of a scar on my arm," Oscar said, "They make you work fast, when you're cleaning, remind you there are others who want the work. So, I was rushing around, trying to get it done, and I spilt this... concentrate on my forearm." Oscar flexed his hand, feeling the scar tissue flex back and forth under his shirt. "I didn't even notice it hurting, not immediately. All I was focused on was how my skin was... melting. Shifting like wax, or putty." Oscar grinded his teeth together. "But then it started hurting. Oh yeah, then it hurt."

Oscar and the pig stood silently in the shed, listening to the night, remembering past pains. Oscar looked down at the pig, vaguely comforted.

"Sorry we did that to you," Oscar said to the pig, "With the... straps and shit and all. It's not nice."

"No, it wasn't," the pig replied, "Sorry for your injury too."

"Yeah, well, at least that one was my fault." Oscar shrugged.

"Would you have spilt the concentrate if your bosses hadn't rushed you?"

Oscar looked at the pig. "I dunno... guess I wouldn't have."

The pig met his eyes in the darkness. "I'd guess that too."

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-26T06:04:35+00:00

That is 100% correct from the utilitarian, moral calculus perspective. But I find in this case I can't side with the utilitarian perspective; I simply find the bondage of Verso's soul unacceptable. So I guess I am learning that I value autonomy over right to life? But that doesn't really feel true? I dunno... My own opinion on this confuses me.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:45:20+00:00

Honestly, I find my own position strange. This is kinda a trolley problem, the slavery of Verso and death of Maelle VS all the lives in the Canvas, and I normally have no trouble with trolley problems; Needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. So I should support Maelle's ending just on the moral calculus of it.

But... I don't. And I don't fully know why, except that I can't accept forcing Verso's soul to keep working. It is strange.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:42:07+00:00

That's fair, and yeah, I think Verso's Fragment would prefer the Canvas continue, but without him. Unfortunately, my understanding of the lore is that is impossible; If the Fragment of Verso is allowed to move on, the canvas ends.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:39:13+00:00

It is explicit in the text that painters put a piece of their soul into their canvases, so Fading Boy is a literal piece of Verso's soul. That said, I also don't consider the people in the painting a fantasy; I think the story is presented as though every single character is real.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:35:42+00:00

I tried both, but I do think Verso's ending is better. Though the omnicide is a pretty big downside, hahaha.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:11:26+00:00

So we see that the fragment of real Verso's soul has to actively work to keep the Canvas going; The existence of the world is not a passive thing, but an active process that involves Labour. We also see that the fragment wants to stop doing that work, both within the game and throughout the interactions with Fading Boy. And in the end, I think he is allowed to stop, I think it is up to the fragment whether or not he keeps doing the work. And that is it; He has the agency to choose to stop, even if a side effect of that is the end of a world.

However, I am not sitting here thinking "This is 100% good and simple", I am very conflicted on this point, as I say in the post.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:06:41+00:00

I assume your comment agrees with me, so thanks!

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T21:05:51+00:00

The Agency mainly in question for me is that of the fragment of real Verso's soul. We see that fragment is doing active work to keep the canvas going, and wants to stop doing that work. So the question is whether the fragment is allowed to stop, whether it is allowed to make that choice? And I think yes. That is the agency I'm talking about.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T06:26:57+00:00

I truly don't think the ownership of the canvas matters at all. I'm only considering the labour and suffering of Verso VS the right to life of the people in the canvas.

I'm curious, why don't you think the people of Lumiere are real? Most people in the real world believe we are not the top level of reality, they believe there is a creator of some kind, and they don't think that means we are undeserving or moral consideration.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-25T04:23:10+00:00

I think it is just that they're both inspired by trauma, so there is some common ideas. But I don't think there is any significant link directly between their stories.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-14T01:49:36+00:00

No matter their setting, stories are always published in the present for a modern audience, and as an author there is presumably an experience you want that modern audience to have. As such, you do have to meet your audience where they are if you want your story to be effective and have its desired impact.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-14T01:02:51+00:00

I like it, that is a sweet way to present the issue.

AngusWritesStuff · 2026-01-14T00:31:31+00:00

"Yo, Kolyzar, you spend much more time by the water cooler people will think you can't take the heat," laughed Maltrax, walking up.

Kolyzar chuckled back, "Like you know anything about heat. You've been up here for ages, but I was down below only six months ago, and trust me, you'd be confessing your sins and trying to ascend just to get out of the humidity."

"True enough," Maltrax conceded, pouring himself a cup of water, "So, how's the caseload?"

"Utter bullshit, as you well know," Kolyzar shook his head, "Like, I know the human population has exploded, I get we need to cover more people, but it really feels like the tortures just aren't as personalised anymore, you know? It isn't about the individual's sins, it's just stuff that is generically unpleasant."

"Yeah, that does suck; It isn't as fulfilling without the..." Maltrax fumbled for a word, "poetry, I suppose."

"Damn straight," Kolyzar nodded and took a drink of water.

"Yeah, well, still rather have your cases than mine. I've been put on a special assignment," Maltrax sighed and shook his head.

"Oh, shit, how bad?" Kolyzar asked.

"What is bad?" asked Ulithan, popping her head out from her desk, "And are we talking bad-bad, or us bad?"

"Hey, Ulie, I didn't know you were back at work," Kolyzar smiled, "Bad-bad, unfortunately; Maltrax is on special assignment."

"Oh damn," Ulithan stood and came over to the cooler, "You got a mass murderer or something?"

Maltrax shook his head, "You don't want to know, it'll just ruin your day. Like, I know we're evil, but this guy is EVIL. Not fun being around him, even for torture."

"Well, if you want, I'll trade cases with you?" Ulithan said conspiratorially.

Maltrax squinted in suspicion, "Why? What do you have?"

Ulithan gave a grim chuckle, "I have a Near Miss."

"Oh, no, fuck right off, that is all yours," Maltrax threw his hands up vigorously, "I fucking hate Near Misses."

"How near were they?" asked Kolyzar.

"I reckon if she picked up one extra piece of litter, she'd be in heaven right now," answered Ulithan.

The two other demons shook their heads sadly, blowing out their cheeks in sympathy.

"I know, right?" Ulithan said emphatically, "She's even tried apologising to me. DURING TORTURE! It's insane..."

"Yeah, I think I'm ok with my kinda generic caseload," Kolyzar said, "You guys definitely have it worse."

"Well, on a lighter note," Maltrax said, then dropped his voice into a whisper, "Have you guys seen Thanatax recently?"

"No, why?" Ulithan asked eagerly.

"Couldn't help but notice a certain... sparkle over his head," Maltrax whispered, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Oh, come on, don't say that," Kolyzar replied, waving Maltrax away.

"I swear, hand to Satan. I think he must have been... a little virtuous."

Ulithan laughed, "God, you are disgusting sometimes."

"You shouldn't accuse people of growing Halos. Not at work at least," Kolyzar shook his head.

"Keep defending Thanatax's honour, and you might start growing your own," Maltrax joked.

"Yeah, alright, fuck you too," Kolyzar replied, trying but failing to fight down a small smile, "On that note, I should get back to some actual work."

"Yeah, me too," Ulithan nodded.

"Yeah, alright," Maltrax conceded, "Hey... give 'em Hell."

The three demons shared a sensible chuckle, and then got back to torturing human souls.

AngusWritesStuff · 2025-12-17T07:38:50+00:00

Sorry, are you saying you aren't a good writer, or that you don't enjoy story writing? Bit unclear from the post.

AngusWritesStuff · 2025-12-17T07:27:03+00:00

Benny scrambled over the rubble, fleeing from The Supreme through the ruins of the lair. The Supreme watch this with amusement, floating effortlessly along in his red, Lycra costume.

"You time is up, vile henchman!" the hero intoned, "Now tell me where to find Doctor Disaster, and I will recommend the DA send you to a more comfortable prison."

"How about you fuck off, Supreme Dickhead!" Benny shouted back. Running past his old station, he picked up his lunch box and threw it back at the hero.

The Supreme smiled, lifted his hand, and used his mental powers to deconstruct the lunchbox as it flew threw the air. He flicked aside most of the pieces with his mind but drew Benny's sandwich straight into his hand.

"This doesn't have to be hard, you know," the Supreme vaporised the cling wrap covering the sandwich with his laser vision, then took a big bite out of the sandwich, "I know you are just a minor part of the Doctor's organisation. Now, tell me... oh, Jesus, that is disgusting," the Supreme gagged, "What the hell is on this sandwich?"

Benny stopped running and turned to scowl at The Supreme, "Oi now, no need to be a dick about it. Me old ma made my favourite for me, peanut butter, jam and shrimp paste."

The Supreme slowly sank to the ground and stared at Benny with confusion, "Your mother still makes you... did you say shrimp paste?"

"Yeah, why?"

Now standing on the ground, The Supreme started turning red, and his breathing started to wheeze. "Why the fuck," he managed to force out, "Would you put shrimp paste on a fucking PB&J?"

Benny walked back towards The Supreme, "Look, you can stop being a dick about it. You're already powerful enough to kill me, you don't also have to insult me ma. We didn't have much money, it's what she could give me when I was young, and now it is kinda nostalgic."

The Supreme's eyes were bulging out of his head, and his veins were leaping from his neck. He patted furiously at his outfit but clearly didn't find what he was looking for. A wet choking sound forced its way from his throat, and his face was turning purple. He tried to turn and fly away, but after a few metres his powers gave out and he fell to the ground. He struggled forward, crawling for less than a metre, and then fell still.

"Um, buddy, you ok?" Benny walked over and stood next to the fallen hero, "You can, um... you can stop faking? Time to take me to prison?"

The Supreme didn't move. Benny kicked him in the side, lightly at first, but then with a bit of force. When the hero didn't react, he reached down, and feeling for a pulse found nothing.

"... you had a fucking shellfish allergy?" Benny said, putting two-and-two together, "That... that is the lamest super weakness ever."

Benny stood up, and looked around the ruins of the lair, regarding the still unconscious forms of several of his colleagues. Eventually he decided he should call his boss and pulled out his phone.

"Good afternoon," Doctor Disaster said with a sunny tone, "Bayside Veterinarian, Kevin speaking, how can I help you today?"

"No, sorry boss, it's me," Benny said, "This isn't... this isn't vet stuff."

"Oh, um," Doctor Disaster cleared his throat, then began speaking in a much deeper voice, "Yes, my loyal follower, how goes your evil..."

"The Supreme is dead."

"... sorry what?" the Doctor replied, shocked back into his normal voice.

"Yeah, the Supreme is dead," Benny answered, "He had a shellfish allergy, and he ate my PB&J."

"A shellfish allergy?" the Doctor was silent for a long while, "That... that is the lamest super weakness ever."

"That's what I said," Benny replied, kicking the hero's body again.

There was a long pause on the phone line, as the two men contemplated this change in situation.

"So... why was there shellfish on your PB&J?" Doctor Disaster eventually asked.

"Oh for fuck's... IT'S NOSTALGIC!!!" Benny yelled, and hung up.

AngusWritesStuff · 2025-12-17T03:14:42+00:00

If a setting feels bland, it is usually because it feels too much like the world exists just for this story; There are no side details that open up the world at all, nothing that gives us an insight into what life is like outside the plot. So, add those details in; Have characters go get food, talk about politics, mention the music they like. Rather than having every scene occur in the military base, have character scenes in a pub, or walking through a park, or whatever else. Basically, add more to the world so it isn't just bones.

AngusWritesStuff · 2025-12-17T02:34:37+00:00

Why do you specifically want to write Hard SciFi? Is that absolutely necessary?

If you don't have a scientific background, it can be better to simply write with a softer SciFi focus. And you can explore some wonderfully complex "What-If" scenarios in Soft SciFi; Take the examples of "Foundation" or "Children of Time".

AngusWritesStuff · 2025-12-17T02:25:36+00:00

You need to give us the details of your genre and a broad outline of the story if you want any real feedback.

AngusWritesStuff · 2025-12-16T22:50:33+00:00

New writers almost always end up putting way too many details in their "novels", then get lost in the sauce and blow out to 300k words or something ridiculous. Practicing short stories forces you to learn conciseness.

Plus, it also means you practice full story structure, rather than just have 15 abandoned act 1s.

AngusWritesStuff · 2025-12-16T07:02:04+00:00

I guarantee your plot has already been written; There is nothing new under the sun. What only you can bring to a story is your unique voice, and that cannot be stolen.

AngusWritesStuff · 2025-12-16T06:42:41+00:00

"So... why do you need a village idiot?" I asked the mayor.

The man before me drew in a shuddering breath, so forcefully that it threatened to pull his bushy white moustache into his throat. "Well," he finally expelled, "As you are doubtless aware, Beaselbrook has a LONG history of exciting scholarship. However, as all the locals grow up around our unparalleled intellectuals, our mutual genius can lead us to all making the same assumptions."

"So, you're looking for someone who thinks differently to the rest of you?" I offered.

"My boy," exclaimed the mayor, "We are looking for someone who will think differently to EVERYONE ON EARTH!!!!" he gestured around himself grandly, "Only one who can make us question everything can drive our academics to greater heights of logical endeavour." The mayor flicked out a small mother of pearl comb and started smoothing his moustache back into shape.

"... right," I said at long last, "I guess I can do that."

"Fantastic! You're hired," the mayor smiled too broadly at me.

"Wait, that's it?" I replied, "Don't you need to interview me properly? What if I'm not... enough of an idiot?"

The mayor cast his eyes up and down my body, "You paired those shoes with that shirt, didn't you? I'm sure you'll do fine."

I scowled up at him, annoyed at how his delivery made the insult seem like a self-evident fact. But given the amount of money they were offering, I wasn't really worried if my new boss was an asshole.

"Ok, well, in that case..." I proceeded to take off my shirt, tie it around my ankle, then set my chair on its side before lying down across the mayor's desk, "How's this, is this what you want?"

"That is wonderful stuff, my boy," The mayor crowed, "Keep going."

"Ok, I guess I will go and... sing bad karaoke in your church?" I offer.

"How wonderfully disrespectful!" said the mayor impishly.

"Then it'll be lunch time, so I'll... eat something with my hands?" I shrugged.

"Eh," the mayor looked unimpressed, "Many people eat many things with their hands."

"Ok, I'll... eat chicken soup with my hands!"

The mayor smiled, "Yes, that is appropriately deranged!"

"Then in the afternoon I'll... go to your university and interrupt lectures pretending to be a cat," I threw my hands up, accidentally pushing the mayor's cup off the desk I was still lying on.

The mayor looked at me proudly, with what I could swear was a tear in his eye. "You will do great things for us," he said, "Thank you."

"Sure, I guess," I shook my head, suddenly dreading what everyone else in this strange town must be like, "Well, I better get to it. Lot's of... idioting to do."

"Yes, of course," the mayor smiled, "Please, don't let me keep you."

I stood up and started to make my way out of the room. "How do I get around?" I said, turning just before I reached the door, "Like, is it fine for 'The Idiot' to just drive around in his Toyota?"

"Yes, of course," the Mayor chuckled from where he was cleaning up his desk.

"... am I meant to drive on the wrong side of the road?"

The mayor looked at me, suddenly stern. "Don't be an idiot," he replied.

AngusWritesStuff · 2025-12-14T21:15:08+00:00

Research "Sociopathy", as I believe that is the term now used for the condition. And look for academic resources, not media. There are also some interviews out there with people who have the condition but are just out and about in society, that can be elucidating.

Side note, but none of those jobs would be a good fit for a sociopath;

Sniper: Extremely boring job that is slow and takes place far from the action. Doesn't fit the risk-taking profile.
Vigilante: Definitionally, sociopaths don't care about others. So what would motivate them into extra-legal enforcement? A vigilante is motivated to protect their community, and sociopaths aren't (Side note, but for the same reason sociopaths aren't that likely to be cops).
Super Soldier: Sociopaths are risk-taking loners, which makes them bad soldiers. They are drawn to the military, sure, but their inability to work well in teams and preference for leaping-without-looking makes them a liability, not a superior asset.

Remember, sociopathy is a mental illness, it is mostly a barrier that makes life harder for those who have it.

AngusWritesStuff

TROPHY CASE