makyo

Author, Beat Sabreuse, Skunks

Recovering techie with an MFA, working on like a kajillion writing projects at once. Check out the Post-Self cycle, Restless Town, A Wildness of the Heart, ally, and a whole lot of others.


Trans/nb, queer, polyam, median, constantly overwhelmed.


Current hyperfixation: SS14


Skunks&:

⏳ Slow Hours | 🪔 Beholden
🫴 Hold My Name | ✨ Motes
🌾 Rye | ★ What Right Have I
🌱 Dry Grass | ⚖️ True Name
🌺 May Then My Name

Icon by Mot, header by @cupsofjade

posts from @makyo tagged #post-self

also:

They both knelt before this brand new plant in the yard, both looking at the yellow flower May turned this way and that in her paw.

“This is a dandelion. It–”

A memory clicked into place for Ioan and ey laughed. “Oh! Of course! I’ve been here too long, haven’t I? Here in the System, here in the house with its perfect yard. Almost ninety years now, I think. They were all over back phys-side, though.”

May nodded and beckoned for em to continue.

“We didn’t have a yard where I grew up. Just an apartment block facing the street, a strip of weeds between the building and sidewalk, and then between the sidewalk and road. At one time, I think that strip had contained grass and trees, but now it just contained a narrow path full of thistles and dandelions.

“I only ever saw lawns in movies or on the ‘net. The world wasn’t as bad back then as Douglas makes it sound now, but still, we weren’t wealthy, and it was hard enough to ensure a steady supply of clean water for the residents, never mind grass like this. We were certainly not wealthy enough for that.” Ey laughed. “Well, we were dirt poor, actually. Most of the weeds were green, leafy things with fuzzy green flowers that would turn into bundles of seeds, or spiky thistles with purple bulbs of flowers, but there were a few dandelions scattered about.”

“No lilacs?”

“More stuff from media. I remember wishing I could grow some indoors because I thought they were small enough to be houseplants until I was corrected. I have no idea if these are accurate, but I remember loving the smell.”

“They are spot on, Ioan.”

Ey smiled.

“So you uploaded and made your sim like this?”

“Yeah. Sort of. It was inspired by some sim I frequented on the ‘net, something a friend built. I found something close to it on the market, and when I had reputation enough, I dug the sim and grabbed that template, then spent a year rebuilding it as best I could remember. No dandelions.”

She laughed, bumping her shoulder against eirs. “Of course. They are a weed, yes. Or often thought of as one. The leaves make a good salad, though, and I was told that you could dry, roast, and grind the roots to make a coffee substitute.”

Ioan made a face. “I’d rather coffee.”

“I have no idea if the substitute was any good, but I like coffee, too.” She held the flower up to her snout and smelled long at it. “Me, though, I like the flowers. They are too complicated for their own good in this stage, are they not? Sure, they close up and then become the puffballs that spread them further and further, but here, they are almost platters of yellow.”

Ey grinned as she held the flower in both paws like a tray carrying food.

“But that is not what I like about them. I am telling you, now that you are awake, the things that I whispered to you to bring about this story. The things I suggested, as you put it. What I love is their scent.” She held it up for em to sniff. “They smell like muffins. How can anything that smells like muffins be bad?”

Ey breathed deep of that scent. There was, indeed, the note of some baked sweet bread, but that was layered atop a vegetal scent. It was not unpleasant, but not precisely like a muffin. Ey decided not to share this opinion with May.

Instead, ey asked, “Is that your story, May?”

“Of course not. You told the story yourself. Young Ioan with eir indoor lilacs.” She laughed, peeking up at em slyly. “Or perhaps we told the story. You asked, so I suggested, as you say, and you told the story.”

Ioan frowned, then rolled eir eyes. “That’s not what I asked, and you know it.”

“Tough shit. It is our story now,” she said. “Now, give me your hand.”

Ey held eir hand out for her, then let her turn it over in her paws. Before ey could object, she flipped the flower over, pressed it firmly to eir skin, and rubbed it in a vigorous circle.

“There.” She held eir hand up so that ey could see, looking proud.

On the back of eir hand, the skin shone a golden yellow in the circle where she had rubbed the flower.

Ey shoved her over onto the grass, laughing. “You nut.”

She lay there among the grass, giggling helplessly. Among the grass where a brand new dandelion poked through the green in front of her snout. One that had not been there before.

From Toledot (which is handily on sale for 25% off on Itch!)



"Look, I created something," she waved at the stationary dragon. "A whole world, a whole story. And what every creator wants when she creates something is for people to enjoy it. When someone doesn't like it, when they tell you to your face that they hate it, that's rough to hear. But it happens, and your options are to grow a thicker skin or to quit sharing, and I don't want to do that yet."

"Why worry about sharing? Why not, I mean, just build things like this for yourself?"

"No one builds for themself." She hesitated, then added, "No, well, lots of folks do. But me, the point of a story is for someone to experience it, to live in that world I've made, if only for a moment." She hesitated, then plunged on. "I spend a lot of time on my games. It takes up most of my time, not just in prepping, but, say, attending classes and lessons for stuff to increase the verisimilitude. Like this castle? I spent a year reading up on medieval architecture. I took classes on embroidery so I could add in little details for my players. Hell, I'm even thinking about taking sword lessons so I can make the combat more interesting."

Tyrean nodded, silent while he digested that. Livia was on the verge of telling the little lizard goodbye when he spoke up again. "But can't you use all those details for yourself? I mean, especially here, what stops you from conjuring up a battle axe and fighting the dragon on your own?"

"Because I already know how the story goes," Livia said, a little bemused. "What fun is a maze if I already know where the exit is?"

"You could fork," Tyrean suggested. "One of you builds the maze, the other solves it."

Livia had the strangest sensation of a train going off the rails. "Not that it really matters, but I don't like forking. And anyway, I can't just fork and," she waved her hand vaguely, "Ccreate. A new fork would be too similar to me, the story we'd create would be the same as if we never forked in the same instance. So I'd need to fork, let the new instance individuate until we were distinct enough that I couldn't guess the story beats. That's a lot of work to not be my own GM."

"Why don't you like to fork?"

"It makes me feel nauseous, and I ask myself uncomfortable questions."

"What?"

Livia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As far as she was aware, she was the only person who had this problem. Forking was just a natural part of the System, or so the volunteer seminar she had taken when she was a new upload had said. "Fork your problems away," was the clever title, and the instructor had explained all the benefits of forking, from more hands to do work to fixing any incidental damage one might incur. She had learned at that seminar that forking had unpleasant side-effects for her, and she disliked admitting it. She wasn't even sure why she was telling Tyrean. They were friendly, if not friends exactly, but that was a far cry from admitting her fears about glitching out.

Still, she had offered the information up, and she didn't want to leave the poor lizard hanging. "Whenever I fork," she said, eyes still closed, "my new instance asks one or more deeply uncomfortable questions. I don't know why, and no one I've ever talked to about it knows why, either, but as I don't want to answer questions about the darkest recesses of my psyche while feeling like I'm going to lose my lunch, I don't fork unless I have to." The memory of her very first fork, at that original seminar, still made her stomach twist. The nausea had been so bad that her memory of the seminar was focused around the queasiness.

"Who Haunts the Storm" by @jshawthorne will be in Clade: A Post-Self Anthology, out August 1!