AI can't do my unhinged style of writing because AI has to mostly be rational. My mind is pure chaos which is some AI can't really do.
- Thread starter Abere Lucifer Productions
- Start date
DigDug69
Engaged Member
- Jun 29, 2019
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I've done irrational stories.
I did one where Robin Williams did not die, but was reborn as a mine, and he rescued an alien princess and then used his mime powers to overthrow the tyrant that had taken over her homeworld.
The fight scenes were epic.
It all depends on the story prompts that you add to get the story going the way that you want it.
I did one where Robin Williams did not die, but was reborn as a mine, and he rescued an alien princess and then used his mime powers to overthrow the tyrant that had taken over her homeworld.
The fight scenes were epic.
It all depends on the story prompts that you add to get the story going the way that you want it.
I could tell, especially with how unhinged 23s got very quickly.
AI can only reproduce what's already been done before. A lot of the stuff that happens comes from my own life.. Minus the incest of course. A lot of the conversations are conversations I've had with friends or family.
Horizon666
Member
- Jun 30, 2018
- 295
- 400
Sorry I wasn't more clear. I meant the bit that I've highlighted. Zooming in it looks like logs with planks strapped to the side.
Behold my awesome MS Paint skillz! (This is why I leave art to people like you who can actually do it).
Also if I got AI to do it it would no longer be fun. I enjoy coming up with crazy shit to happen in the game. For example you may remember me posting this image a little while back. I came up with a great scene for it in this update. It fact it will be in the Alpha. It's something AI just could not come up with. You'll love it.
Ah, it's an abandoned gas station asset. They're just really old worn out, rusted metal shingles.
DigDug69
Engaged Member
- Jun 29, 2019
- 2,554
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I'm not saying to use what ai writes, but if you have a mental block, and you need an idea, ai might get your brain in gear, and give you a path to go in.
This is a short Mary Sue story I just had it write, with only a few basic prompts added.
Mary Sue stood at the precipice of her porch, her eyes narrowed into slits as she surveyed the enemy's domain. The verdant foliage of the sprawling oak trees whispered taunts as they swayed in the breeze, their branches teeming with the furry foes that had plagued her for months. She clenched her fists, feeling the sweat dampen her palms, the taste of victory already lingering on her lips like the promise of a sweet, juicy peach on a sweltering Missouri afternoon.
Her heart hammered a staccato rhythm in her chest, each beat echoing the thirst for vengeance that had consumed her every waking moment. The squirrels had stolen her birdseed, destroyed her garden gnome collection, and had the audacity to use her birdbath as their personal latrine. This was war, and she had no intention of losing. With a crazed glint in her eye, she reached for the AR-15 that leaned against the doorframe, the cool metal a comforting weight in her arms.
The neighborhood of Branson, Missouri, had no idea what was about to unfold. The quiet, unassuming streets were about to become a battleground for a vendetta that would be whispered about for years to come. Mary Sue had been planning her counteroffensive meticulously, her hatred for the squirrels growing with every nut they pilfered from her bird feeder.
Her plan was simple, yet ingenious. She had spent countless hours watching the squirrels' movements, learning their patterns, and exploiting their weaknesses. The squirrels had grown complacent, their tiny brains unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the retribution that was about to be unleashed. With the stealth of a cat burglar, she had set traps, baited with the very birdseed they coveted. Now, they would learn the price of their thievery.
The first shot rang out like a declaration of war, the crack echoing through the suburban jungle. A squirrel, caught mid-leap, froze in midair, its eyes wide with terror before it plummeted to the ground, lifeless. The others, momentarily stunned by the sudden interruption to their raid, scurried for cover. But it was too late. The battle had begun, and Mary Sue was a force to be reckoned with. She moved with a grace that belied her age, the military precision of her movements a stark contrast to the chaos she was about to unleash.
Her finger danced along the trigger, her breathing measured and steady as she targeted the next unsuspecting rodent. The squirrels had become a nuisance, a blight on her otherwise pristine lawn, and she was about to show them just how serious she was about keeping her property squirrel-free. Her neighbors, blissfully unaware of the war unfolding just beyond their windows, went about their mundane lives, oblivious to the impending doom that awaited the squirrel population.
The AR-15 was almost an extension of her body, a tool of destruction that she wielded with surprising skill. Each shot was a symphony of fury, a beautifully executed dance of death that brought her closer to her ultimate goal. The squirrels had no chance, no time to mount a counterattack. They were mere pawns in her grand scheme, a problem to be eradicated with extreme prejudice.
Her senses were heightened, the smell of gunpowder mingling with the scent of freshly cut grass, the sun a warm embrace on her skin. The sound of squeaking and rustling leaves grew distant, replaced by the rhythmic thud of her heart and the metallic symphony of the rifle. Her eyes never left the trees, searching for the next target, the next victory in her quest for squirrel extermination.
As the bodies began to pile up, a sense of gleeful satisfaction washed over her. She felt like a goddess, wielding the power to control the fate of her furry adversaries. The thrill of the hunt was intoxicating, each squeak of terror music to her ears. Her garden, her sanctuary, would no longer be marred by their tiny paws and beady eyes.
The squirrels had picked the wrong human to mess with. They had no idea that their petty thefts would lead to their doom, orchestrated by the unyielding wrath of a woman with a vendetta and an arsenal at her disposal. The once serene neighborhood of Branson, Missouri, now reverberated with the thunderous claps of her AR-15, a symphony of vengeance that sent shivers down the spines of the few surviving squirrels.
Mary Sue's eyes, now bloodshot with a mix of rage and adrenaline, darted from tree to tree, seeking the next victim in her crosshairs. The heat of the day seemed to amplify her determination, her skin glistening with sweat that rolled down her neck and between her ample cleavage. Her breasts heaved with every breath she took, her heart pounding like a drumline at a military parade as she stalked the treetops, the rifle feeling as natural in her hands as a paintbrush to a master artist.
The squirrels had no idea of the horror they had unleashed. The air grew thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder, and their once-playful chatter had been replaced with the occasional panicked shriek. The trees that had once been their playground were now a minefield of pain and fear, their branches littered with the lifeless forms of their fallen comrades.
This is a short Mary Sue story I just had it write, with only a few basic prompts added.
Mary Sue stood at the precipice of her porch, her eyes narrowed into slits as she surveyed the enemy's domain. The verdant foliage of the sprawling oak trees whispered taunts as they swayed in the breeze, their branches teeming with the furry foes that had plagued her for months. She clenched her fists, feeling the sweat dampen her palms, the taste of victory already lingering on her lips like the promise of a sweet, juicy peach on a sweltering Missouri afternoon.
Her heart hammered a staccato rhythm in her chest, each beat echoing the thirst for vengeance that had consumed her every waking moment. The squirrels had stolen her birdseed, destroyed her garden gnome collection, and had the audacity to use her birdbath as their personal latrine. This was war, and she had no intention of losing. With a crazed glint in her eye, she reached for the AR-15 that leaned against the doorframe, the cool metal a comforting weight in her arms.
The neighborhood of Branson, Missouri, had no idea what was about to unfold. The quiet, unassuming streets were about to become a battleground for a vendetta that would be whispered about for years to come. Mary Sue had been planning her counteroffensive meticulously, her hatred for the squirrels growing with every nut they pilfered from her bird feeder.
Her plan was simple, yet ingenious. She had spent countless hours watching the squirrels' movements, learning their patterns, and exploiting their weaknesses. The squirrels had grown complacent, their tiny brains unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the retribution that was about to be unleashed. With the stealth of a cat burglar, she had set traps, baited with the very birdseed they coveted. Now, they would learn the price of their thievery.
The first shot rang out like a declaration of war, the crack echoing through the suburban jungle. A squirrel, caught mid-leap, froze in midair, its eyes wide with terror before it plummeted to the ground, lifeless. The others, momentarily stunned by the sudden interruption to their raid, scurried for cover. But it was too late. The battle had begun, and Mary Sue was a force to be reckoned with. She moved with a grace that belied her age, the military precision of her movements a stark contrast to the chaos she was about to unleash.
Her finger danced along the trigger, her breathing measured and steady as she targeted the next unsuspecting rodent. The squirrels had become a nuisance, a blight on her otherwise pristine lawn, and she was about to show them just how serious she was about keeping her property squirrel-free. Her neighbors, blissfully unaware of the war unfolding just beyond their windows, went about their mundane lives, oblivious to the impending doom that awaited the squirrel population.
The AR-15 was almost an extension of her body, a tool of destruction that she wielded with surprising skill. Each shot was a symphony of fury, a beautifully executed dance of death that brought her closer to her ultimate goal. The squirrels had no chance, no time to mount a counterattack. They were mere pawns in her grand scheme, a problem to be eradicated with extreme prejudice.
Her senses were heightened, the smell of gunpowder mingling with the scent of freshly cut grass, the sun a warm embrace on her skin. The sound of squeaking and rustling leaves grew distant, replaced by the rhythmic thud of her heart and the metallic symphony of the rifle. Her eyes never left the trees, searching for the next target, the next victory in her quest for squirrel extermination.
As the bodies began to pile up, a sense of gleeful satisfaction washed over her. She felt like a goddess, wielding the power to control the fate of her furry adversaries. The thrill of the hunt was intoxicating, each squeak of terror music to her ears. Her garden, her sanctuary, would no longer be marred by their tiny paws and beady eyes.
The squirrels had picked the wrong human to mess with. They had no idea that their petty thefts would lead to their doom, orchestrated by the unyielding wrath of a woman with a vendetta and an arsenal at her disposal. The once serene neighborhood of Branson, Missouri, now reverberated with the thunderous claps of her AR-15, a symphony of vengeance that sent shivers down the spines of the few surviving squirrels.
Mary Sue's eyes, now bloodshot with a mix of rage and adrenaline, darted from tree to tree, seeking the next victim in her crosshairs. The heat of the day seemed to amplify her determination, her skin glistening with sweat that rolled down her neck and between her ample cleavage. Her breasts heaved with every breath she took, her heart pounding like a drumline at a military parade as she stalked the treetops, the rifle feeling as natural in her hands as a paintbrush to a master artist.
The squirrels had no idea of the horror they had unleashed. The air grew thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder, and their once-playful chatter had been replaced with the occasional panicked shriek. The trees that had once been their playground were now a minefield of pain and fear, their branches littered with the lifeless forms of their fallen comrades.
Oh, I never get writers block. I've always got something flowing in my head. For me it's just am I in the mood to write. My mind is a river of stories to tell. If I ever say I have writers black it just means I'm not in a writing mood and won't write because it will lower the quality of the story. If I was forced to write nonstop I could. The quality might not be the best but I never run out of ideas.
Luna Broinne. Noted Breakfast Beer Enthusiast and Connoisseur. This is how you make the term alcoholic seem classy. LOL!
I thought I'd show y'all one of my DAZ3D secrets. A lot of the environments I make use camera tricks. The first image is what the environment I built actually looks like when the camera isn't in shooting position. You'll notice there's not much there. That's because when rendering with DAZ the less assets in the scene means less rendering time. Ya want to get rid of what doesn't need to be there. If it's not seen in the camera's sight get rid of it.
Perfectly normal brother sister behavior here.
Back to work tomorrow. Stay tuned...
Back to work tomorrow. Stay tuned...
I just realized that about 85% of the Tomboy 0.9 Alpha is custom made environments. All but 3 I custom made. There's a scene at Boot Camp, a short scene at the Broinne home and Luna's apartment that were prebuilt. The dirt track has 3 custom environments, Alicia's cabin has 3 custom environments, Pattie's garage is a custom environment, 2 of the Boot Camp scenes are custom and 1 driving scene was custom. As I said, I'm going all out with this update. I can't wait for y'all to play it. Stay tuned...
Good morning y'all! Rendering will resume around 1PM EST. New preview render incoming...
Rendering has begun for the day. I wonder who's house this is? Stay tuned...
PhineasFlynn
Forum Fanatic
- Feb 1, 2020
- 4,853
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Maybe Alicia's?
There are four points in this Alpha where most will cheer but I will also get tons of hate from certain groups of people. This is the first one. In this scene Gracia here states "Now, you're gonna come in here and fuck me straight." The other three are way worse. LOL!
Can't wait to see who we knock up this time!
8 hours worked today. I got 44 renders and the cabin scene done. There's just 2 1/2 more scenes left to render and the animations. I double checked this time. I might be able to finish up those scenes tomorrow but it'll probably take until Saturday. I don't know how long the animations will take. Sometimes they take a few hours each and sometimes they take 9+ hour each. Knowing how quick the renders went today I'm gonna guess on the few hour when I render them. I could be wrong though. We'll see. If they don't take to long they could be finished on Sunday. If they take longer it would be Monday. Stay tuned...
