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karanna1 · 4 years

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Supergirl and Andrea are trapped by Leviathan and thrown into a cell together. They’re doing something to suppress Acrata’s powers and Supergirl blew out hers while fighting Leviathan. So they’re not going anywhere anytime soon. What could they possibly find to talk about as a way to pass the time?

The cell was clean, for that she could be grateful, but it was still a depressing grey color and dimly lit. There was nothing in it, not even a chair or a cot. From what Kara could tell, the walls were made of various alien metal alloys. The door must be 10 inches thick, not that it mattered. She’d solar flared after facing Rhama Khan and his minion knocked her unconscious. When she woke, she was still powerless and lying in this cell with none other than her boss and Lena’s friend, Andrea Rojas. The first hour passed in silence, probably mostly due to fear on Andrea’s part. But as the wait continued, boredom set in, and for Andrea, boredom seemed to be easier to focus on than fear.

“Since we’re stuck in here, we might as well find a way to pass the time before our untimely deaths,” she said, brushing some unseen dirt from her skirt.

They were sitting directly opposite each other on the floor, their backs to the uncomfortably cool metal wall.

“We’re not going to die,” Kara reassured in her most confident and level Supergirl voice. “I have friends that will help us. I promise, I will get you out of here safely.”

“Do you make a lot of promises you can’t keep?”

“What?”

“Just trying to figure something out...” she trailed off, tilting her head at her with just a little too much scrutiny. Kara shifted uncomfortably and turned away, looking down. “Okay, I have to ask...what on Earth did you do to Lena Luthor?”

Kara snapped back up. “Excuse me?” Her voice had gone up a few octaves.

She shrugged, tilting her head back against the wall. “I have never seen her show such concentrated rage before and we’ve known each other since we were teenagers.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lena logged a lot of hours using Obsidian lenses,” she explained. “As in hundreds. Naturally, I was curious what she’d be using them for at such length. Knowing her, I guessed something to do with her experiments, running trials using VR would certainly speed up the process and take out years of work from the beginning stages. Wow, was I wrong. Every single simulation she ran was for sole purpose of hurting you.”

Kara frowned, swallowing hard.

“I mean, Lena’s incredibly creative, I always knew that, but the number of ways in which she assaulted you with such spectacular violence just blew my mind. It’s the kind of thing I’ve only seen from exes on our platform. Ex-husbands get the most horrific ones and almost always deservedly so. I have to know, Supergirl...what could you have possibly done to this Luthor, infamous for her use of icy revenge, to turn her into such a fiery ball of rage?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kara replied dully and got to her feet, arms crossed tightly.

“I’m talking about Lena spending hours upon hours violently beating the crap out of you in a myriad of different ways.”

Kara started pacing. Her jaw clenched.

“There was one where you flew her to some beautiful cliffside to show her the sunset and she kicked you in the chest so hard that you bounced off the mountain the whole way down, leaving a Supergirl shaped crater at the bottom. Another where you saved a family from a house fire, but as soon as they walked away, Lena doused you in gasoline and used a wrecking ball to knock you back into the burning building. The flames were wildly cool. But that’s how good our technology is, of course. Looks and feels like the real thing.”

“Enough!” She stopped and turned on her with a glare, nostrils flaring, made more obvious by how hard she was breathing.

But Andrea was unfazed. “Oh come on! My favorite, and seemingly a favorite of Lena’s as well with how often she ran it, is when you stop a school bus from hitting an adorable group of children. Lena drops some absolutely scathing remarks from what I can tell by your kicked puppy expression, and then she punches you in the face so hard that the force of it sends you flying backwards into the school bus, blowing it up!” She laughed. “God, that was fantastic. I was so disappointed we didn’t manage to recover the audio for any of them. Naturally, Lena customized everything and, despite her efforts to try to keep the footage private, she didn’t know about a little backdoor that we specifically coded into the software for emergency reasons so...lucky me, it’s all on our servers.”

“She...she did that?” Kara asked weakly, deflating. “For hours?”

Andrea nodded with another laugh. “Oh, it’s crazy. I’d be happy to show you them if we do get out of here alive.”

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself. But it was interesting to see how someone could get under Lena’s skin like this. Even at her most vulnerable with me, she never turned into...that. Lena shuts down, walls herself off, no emotions, no hurt, that sort of thing. With you...dear God! How did you manage to devastate her like that and yet she can’t even bring herself to hurt you in a virtual reality simulation?”

Kara’s face contorted in bewilderment. “What are you talking about? You just described a bunch of horrible ways that she...fake-killed me.”

“Well, it would have killed any human, of course. But you’re Supergirl. You’d shrug off any of those things. Everyone knows there’s only one thing on Earth that can kill a Super. Lena built each and every one of those simulations herself. She could have easily given herself a gun with Kryptonite bullets, empty the chamber into you, and watch you writhe in agony before you eventually died a horrible death. Or she could have used a sword with a Kryptonite blade and carved you up into tiny bloody pieces. Or—“

“I get it!” Kara cried, holding her hand out. “I get the point! Just stop.” She looked sick to her stomach as she leaned against the wall, head hung low.

Andrea raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you do. Look, any first year psych major could see through it. Lena had every imaginable way available to make you suffer a long, torturous death a thousand times over in the simulations, but she never did. I don’t know why she bothered with VR when she could have achieved the same thing by putting a picture of your face on a punching bag. In the simulations, you’re always Supergirl. You’re always invulnerable. No matter how terrifically violent it was, no matter how much she seemed to want to hurt you, she couldn’t even manage it in a fantasy world. So tell me...who are you to her, Supergirl? You’re not exactly what I’d call her type, but she’s never been altogether predictable...”

“You’ve got it all wrong. That’s-that’s not—“

“Oh I’m right about this and you know it. You did something absolutely devastating to her, likely betrayed her somehow, and shattered her heart. Was it an affair? Ooooh, was it Kara Danvers? That would be deliciously terrible. Lena is clearly infatuated with that woman. Frankly, I don’t even know why she’d bother with you when she’s pining for Kara.”

“You need to stop. Lena is supposed to be your friend, show her some respect.”

“Am I hurting your feelings, Girl of Steel? You don’t sound very surprised by the mention of the best friend. If you didn’t have an affair with Kara then what did you do to send poor little Lena off into the deep end?”

She glanced at her before turning away. The silence stretched on so long that Andrea was about to give up on it altogether.

“I did betray her,” Kara admitted, barely above a whisper. “I regret it so much.”

Andrea hummed and nodded. “Been there.”

“She’s never going to forgive me, is she?”

“I don’t know what you did, but in my experience, likely not.”

Kara slid to the floor again. A picture of defeat.

“She was in love with you,” Andrea said, gazing at her curiously. “Did you at least know that much?”

“It wasn’t like—“

She scoffed, cutting Kara off. “Either you’re lying to me or you’re lying to us both.”

She blew out a breath and rubbed her forehead. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because I fell in love with her when we were 15. I know all the signs. We had quite a few stops and starts, but it never really fell into place. She loved me, but it wasn’t anything close to what I felt for her. I was always gutted by that, but even then, I still ended up being the one who broke her heart. Poor Lena. She just can’t win, can she? Everyone who loves her is doomed to betray her somehow. She probably thinks she’s cursed. The one person in the world who should never have to feel pain...and it’s all she gets.”

“You sound like you still love her.”

“I do. Always will. But take it from me, Supergirl, there’s no way back. Not with Lena.”

“I just...I can’t let myself believe that. There has to be a way.”

“Then you’ll die trying and she won’t thank you for it.”

Kara eyed her for a long moment.

“What did you do to betray her?”

Andrea gave her a rueful smirk.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Kara was silent.

“Thought so.” She got to her feet and stretched. “Think your friends are going to break us out anytime soon or do I have time for a nap? Don’t want to die or be rescued with bags under my eyes.”

#supergirl #supercorp #supercorp fanfic #kara danvers #andrea rojas #lena luthor #this doesnt count as rojascorp #or maybe it does?#i dont know #dont mind me

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neomamalaguld · 4 years

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Looking For Roleplay - Neoma Malaguld

LFRP - Neoma Malaguld

The Basics –––

Age: 24

Birthday: Twelfth Sun of the First Umbral Moon (2/11)

Race: Au Ra, Raen

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bi/Pansexual

Marital Status: Single

Server: Balmung, Crystal DC

Physical Appearance –––

Hair: Long, cloudy white hair

Eyes: Bright Red

Height: 4′7 (139 cm)

Build: Toned, Curvy.

Distinguishing Marks: Two wing-shaped ritualistic scars on her back.

Common Accessories: A white patterned blindfold she sometimes wears while hunting.

Personal –––

Profession: Voidsent hunter

Hobbies: Meditation, napping, gardening

Languages: Eorzean, Doman, Hingan

Residence: Shirogane

Birthplace: Kugane

Religion: N/A. Not big into the gods.

Patron Deity: N/A

Fears: Feeling restrained and powerless. Her freedom is her most important thing to her.

Relationships –––

Significant Other: N/A

Parents:

Siblings: Yua Luann @yuaffxiv

Other Relatives: N/A

Pets: N/A

Traits –––

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / ANXIOUS

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information –––

Smoking Habit: She enjoys a good pipe every so often. Not as much as she used to.

Drugs: Not often. Only if offered, and even then she’ll need to have a level of trust with the individual.

Alcohol: Sometimes.

RP Hooks –––

Voidsent Slayer/VoidWalker: She performs plenty of rituals involving traveling into the void, and is building a reputation as a formidable voidsent slayer in the west. In the east, she was known to banish many yokai and other types of demons.

Malaguld: She was adopted by the Malaguld tribe and spent a solid ten years on the Steppe, becoming one of their own.

Dark Knight: Not quite a Dark Knight in official title, but she’s learned the arts regardless during her time in the Steppe as a form of bardic war magic.

Adventurer: If you need a job done, she’ll do her best to fill it to completion! She’ll work for about any price, so long as it covers the dues of the adventure.

What I’m looking for –––

IC Contacts. Friends/enemies/etc

Long term RP, but any will do : D.

Contact Information & OOC –––

Discord: Moka#6341

I can RP in game or over discord! I have no real preference.

I’m comfortable with mature/dark RP.

Let’s be civil. It’s play-pretend so communication is key. If I did anything to upset you somehow, let me know! Don’t let it brood.

@ffxiv-crystal-rp @mooglemeet @crystalxivrp

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #FFXIV RP #FF14 RP #FF14 #Au Ra #Raen #Raen Girl #Au Ra girl #Crystal #Crystal Data Center #Balmung

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pianosmp · 3 years

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Who was Pandora’s Vault originally for

(Because I have been thinking about this for far too long)

(Sorry if some of these are a little old, I forgot I made this like a month ago so I cleaned it up and here we are)

This list will go from most likely to least likely character.

Likely

- Technoblade (arguably the most likely option simply because when you mention “powerful enough to be a problem” the first thing you think of is Techno. He’s notoriously strong and unafraid to oppose Dream. Also seeing as the prison ‘changed purpose’ it implies Dream no longer saw the original intended prisoner as a threat, or at least as much of a threat, as Tommy)

- BBH (Dream’s old friend, implied more powerful then a regular human. Plus by this point the egg plot on the Dream SMP had already started. There may have been ‘good intentions’ originally. As dumb as it sounds, I’d also count putting the egg itself in jail here)

- Wilbur Soot (revived, of course. It’s been established that a revived Wilbur would be more dangerous then ever, and if Dream had any inking of this beforehand the prison would be the best way to fully utilize his power. Those not in the know would be blackmailed to keep him safe, and Wilbur could also provide some added chaos to the SMP as a whole, which may end up working in Dream’s favor. And now that he is revived by Dream, we know he’s a threat in some capacity, though seemingly not to Dream himself. Don’t forget, anyone who tries to break out Dream may be hunted down and placed in the prison themselves (or, as in the contract for visiting, “killed until they’re completely dead”))

- Ranboo (Ranboo is tied to Dream in some significant way, seeing as he was used by Dream in some of his plans in some capacity. While a help, I’m sure it could also have been turned into a threat of the wrong things were to get out. Also for meta gaming purposes that get him higher on this list, Dream and Ranboo have collaborated with lore in the past and clearly trust each other to carry the torch. Furthermore, with current Ranboo Enderwalk lore, we’ve learned that rather then just being a servant for Dream, there’s a chance the Enderwalk state was manipulated by Dream who perhaps claimed he was doing it for the greater good of the server. But more introspection on the Enderwalk state is a post for another day)

- Karl Jacob (time travel implies two things. Power and unpredictable nature. Seeing as Karl keeps most changes to himself though and seems to be self destructing either the prison is no longer needed for him or he was never considered a real threat in the first place)

- Philza Minecraft (Phil is notably dangerous, though less then Technoblade. He’s got big hostage potential due to his one life predicament and big use potential due to his knowledge in Minecraft)

- Foolish__Gamers (a literal god, and has recently shown godly powers. This would either involve pre planning on someone’s part though, which the Dream SMP isn’t particularly known for, or making this the original prisoner in a retcon “we’ll figure it out later” manner. It would be interesting though, as the prison may have been repurposed after Dream realized Foolish was at this point in time a big pacifist)

- Quackity (he’s dangerous with his tongue, but I don’t think his physical strength is enough for there to be a whole prison containing him. Not to say he doesn’t play to his other strengths- I bet he’d have an easier time convincing someone to break him out then most. And if anything else, Dream’s worries about him as a threat are now justified due to the whole ‘torture every day’ thing)

- Shlatt (a similar situation as Wilbur, but at the bottom because he’s useless as a hostage and currently still dead)

- Dream Himself (okay, so his reluctance to be in the prison makes it seem like he wouldn’t want it to be for him, but if he’s playing like the super long con somehow and the Prison is either to keep threats like the egg out or to make it seem like he’s powerless...)

Maybe?

- Dream XD (wild, and like Foolish, Dream XD wasn’t a lore concept until later in the prison’s development, back when Techno and Phil were building their Anarchy Table, but it would be an interesting twist. Especially because we don’t know if the two have any connection beyond their names)

- Jack Manifold (yeah he died and came back, but that doesn’t change the fact that he died in the first place. Plus he just hasn’t really gotten to Dream with any of his antagonistic attempts)

- Captain Puffy (mysterious past pog. But in all seriousness, she’s seen as being likable and just, doing her best to do the right thing even when making the decision to become a Villain later on with the Eggpire arc. And while she started as a ‘janitor’, she did join the server before the prison began its construction)

- Niki (she’s dangerous now but not to Dream whose locked away and gone from her ire. Also again wasn’t a threat before the prison was planned, though who knows how much Dream knew of everyone’s mental states back when he was planning)

- Fundy (also doubtful, but coder man do be coding, especially with mods now allowed on the SMP. And now with the revelation of his prophetic dreams, there’s a chance this may be the power Dream feared, especially if said powers were in the works beforehand)

- Hbomb (idk he’s got good strategy as seen with Vault Hunters and MCC and stuff but he doesn’t really use it on the Dream SMP as he prefers parkour challenges or just chillin. Perhaps would only be locked up because the Maidbomb is too powerful)

- Eret (yeah they are a monarch who doesn’t like Dream but they really do have no control and no one on their side so unless the Herobrine thing comes into play this one doesn’t make much sense either)

- Ponk (like Eret he doesn’t have much influence over others. More importantly though, all the trouble he’s made so far has been just annoying at worst. His biggest strength is probably how stubborn he is, and how long he’s been around. To quote Eret, “He’s like the John Wick of the Dream SMP.”)

- Antfrost (only if the manhunt series is cannon in the Dream SMPand Dream has flashbacks to when cat boy killed him with a potion like a chump. Though I will say there’s a non zero chance Manhunt is cannon from the comments all the hunters have made during lore bits)

- Hannah Rose and Purpled (TBH both of them are grouped here since they’re most notably physically strong due to their Bedwars experience. But Purpled is rarely ever on, and Hannah joined after prison construction had already started)

- Punz (the only reason the prison would be for him when he knew explicitly about it and could have won is Dream was threatened by his speedrun skills)

- Sapnap (objection your honor that’s too sad. For real, this is probably higher on the Mabye list due to being a big threat, as seen by the ‘I’ll hunt you down if you escape’ exchange he had while visiting Dream. Sapnap makes his decisions based of what he feels is fair, rather then loyalty (a majority of the time anyways) and furthermore he’s one of the people that knows the most about Dream. However, it’s this low because if it’s Sapnap I’d simply cry maybe)

- Mexican Dream (Dream did dislike the guy. However, he lost all his canon lives in the span of one afternoon so how much of a threat was he really?)

For sure not

- Tommy (confirmed by Dream it wasn’t originally for him during the final disk confrontation)

- Tubbo (also confirmed by Dream it wasn’t originally for him during the same confrontation)

- Skeppy (why would he have a prison in Dream’s funky dungeon if he had a better prison elsewhere?)

- Conner, Slime, Lazar, Vikk (simply not on enough for an intense prison lore stream)

- George (too pretty)

- Callahan (too cool. Also part-time is the server)

- Awesamdude (he was recruited to build the prison and be its warden when the time came. Literally the worst person to put in the prison)

- Michaelmcchill (bro he was added today)

#dream smp #pandoras vault #tonight's a thinking night lads

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mokamirka · 4 years

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LFRP - Moka Mirka

The Basics –––

Age: 27

Birthday: Twelfth Sun of the First Umbral Moon (2/11)

Race: Viera, Rava

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Pansexual/Moronsexual

Marital Status: Single

Server: Mateus, Crystal DC

Physical Appearance –––

Hair: Dark, scruffily styled and layered ocean colored hair.

Eyes: Bright sky blue

Height: 6′10 (208 cm)

Build: Tall, lean, and athletic. Though there’s still very noticeable curves along her form.

Distinguishing Marks: There’s a scorched brand along her back, appearing Garlean in nature. However, it seems to be burnt over, as if there was an attempt to remove it.

Common Accessories: She has a collection of earrings she likes to go between. Some of them look a little too valuable for someone like her to be wearing. She also carries a pair of ceremonial daggers on her at most times, either strapped to her side or to her thigh high boots.

Personal –––

Profession: Ex-Sky Pirate, Thief

Hobbies: Airship maintenance, cocktail mixing, working out, sparring, reading.

Languages: Eorzean, Doman, Hingan

Residence: The Mists.

Birthplace: Dalmasca Inferior

Religion: N/A. Not big into the gods.

Patron Deity: Alythk

Fears: Feeling restrained and powerless. Her freedom is her most important thing to her.

Relationships –––

Significant Other: N/A

Parents: Reve Mirka (Mother) & Hann Mirka (Father)

Siblings: Nbao Mirka

Other Relatives: Many cousins

Pets: N/A

Traits –––

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / ANXIOUS

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information –––

Smoking Habit: Because of her sister’s shenanigans, she’s grown to become quite a smoker during their sky pirate days.

Drugs: Not often. Only if offered, and even then she’ll need to have a level of trust with the individual.

Alcohol: Quite regularly.

RP Hooks –––

Sky Pirate: Once stole a ship alongside her sister to commit sky crimes with.

Dalmascan Thieves Guild Officer: She is an officer and one of the prime leaders of a Thieves Guild in Dalmasca that performs vigilante crimes against the Garlean rulers and nobility.

Vigilanteism: Outspoken to a fault, she’s gotten into spats with guards about what’s right and wrong, disregarding the law to disagree with them in numerous cases and has gotten herself involved in several conspiracies before.

Adventurer: If you need a job done, she’ll do her best to fill it to completion! She’ll work for about any price, so long as it covers the dues of the adventure.

What I’m looking for –––

IC Contacts. Friends/enemies/etc

Long term RP, but any will do : D.

Contact Information & OOC –––

Discord: Moka#6341

I can RP in game or over discord! I have no real preference.

I’m comfortable with mature/dark RP.

Let’s be civil. It’s play-pretend so communication is key. If I did anything to upset you somehow, let me know! Don’t let it brood.

@ffxiv-crystal-rp @mooglemeet @crystalxivrp

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #FFXIV RP #FFXIV LFRP #FF14 LFRP #LFRP #Viera #Crystal #Mateus

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brokenjardaantech · 3 years

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Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 5: The Threads of Life)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

chapter summary:

In the past, Alec revealed his plan.

In the present, Connor made a choice... and a friend.

In the past, the twins finally reunited.

also on ao3

---

Before

Reyes was unharmed. On the surface. Fadia was more concerned about the blue washing over his skin every second in waves like a heartbeat, and when she looked at the scene in front of her, she instantly knew why.

Her father was there. And so was a young woman with blond hair. When she tapped into her powers and reached out, the resonance itself was enough to tell her that she was just like Reyes.

An android.

Reyes’ jaw was trembling. ‘I… I didn’t…’ he stammered, his voice low. ‘I swear -’

‘I know,’ she reassured. She trusted him, and his data logs told her that he had had no contact with Alec Ryder. ‘I’ll take over from here. You go over my servers and see what’s wrong with them. I’ll tell you what happened later.’

Reyes nodded and left, presumably back to the surface. Back to Scott. And she finally let her blood boil.

‘Explain!’ she demanded as she walked closer towards her father while glowing blue. When she had his attention, she flicked her head towards the android. ‘How did you get that?’

‘The question is,’ how could he look so calm? ‘why did you hide this from me?’

Fadia made a chopping motion at the android. ‘To prevent this! How did you get that?’

‘Listen, the biocomponents -’

‘How.’ She let tendrils creep closer to her father’s neck. ‘Did. You.’ They got closer with every word, and had she not been occupied with the current situation, she would have impressed herself with the control. ‘Get. THAT?’

‘They can save your mother, Sara!’ Alec exclaimed. ‘A cure! Finally!’

‘Oh yeah, cause biocomponents for an android invented by an edgy young adult with minimum chemistry and biology knowledge are gonna be compatible with an actual fucking human body!’ Fadia had to roll her eyes. Damn, it’s good to be able to raise her voice. ‘Mother’s accepted her impending doom, Father. Let her fucking go.’

‘That’s not -’ he sighed as if she was a child unable to understand how important her parent’s work was. ‘Look, artificial intelligence is the new thing. A new merchandise. Think about it, Sara. The revenue alone will be enough to pay for the medical bills.’

He disgusted her. ‘They are as human as we are, not something to buy and sell like products. If you want to go on with that crazy fucking plan, you’ll have to get through me.’

Alec sighed almost regretfully. ‘I’m afraid it’s too late.’

Fadia’s brain kicked into full gear at the implications of his words. She shot out a tendril again to test the thirium capacity of the android, and the resonance told her that she had been active for at least a week. ‘What is your name?’ she asked. ‘What did he make you do?’

‘My name is Chloe,’ the android answered. ‘I took some videos and uploaded them onto the internet, that’s all. You, Sara Ryder, are credited with my creation.’

‘We already have millions of dollars,’ Alec added. ‘Production has already started. Are you in this or not?’

A crackle. She punched him in the face with a blue-shrouded fist and seemed to calm down instantly.

‘Of course I am,’ she said in a pleasant tone. ‘Someone must keep the world from burning into ashes.’

o0o0o

Now

The Zen Garden is raining and Connor is not surprised. Umbrella in hand, he examines the monolith once more, the blue glow making it easily identifiable among the green of vegetation. He also stands in front of his first body’s grave for a few seconds to… calm down, maybe, from the tingling that has been in his veins since he returned to CyberLife tower. It is only after he makes sure that his hand will not glow blue suddenly that he greets his handler.

‘Connor, I’ve been expecting you,’ Amanda says, her voice cold. ‘Would you like a little walk?’

Connor knows he does not have a choice, so he opens the umbrella and holds it for both of them.

‘That deviant seems to be an intriguing case,’ Amanda continues. ‘A pity you didn’t manage to capture it.’

‘I have to save Hank,’ he replies. Surely Amanda understands? ‘Despite his… eccentricities, I believe his intellect and experience will be useful in the investigation.’

Amanda hums. ‘Did you manage to learn anything?’

A few pieces of evidence automatically filter through his processors. ‘It was working under a false identity, at a nearby urban farm. This was the first time we've seen deviants blending in with the human population. Who knows how many others there are like it… I also found its diary, but it was encrypted. It may take months to decipher.’

‘What else?’

‘The walls of the apartment were covered with drawings of labyrinths and other symbols. Like the other deviants, it seemed obsessed with rA9. It was also fascinated by birds. We've seen deviants interested in other lifeforms like insects or pets, but nothing like this.’

‘You came very close to capturing the deviant. How is your relationship with the Lieutenant developing?’

He remembers a warm hand on his back. ‘He seemed grateful that I saved his life on the roof. He didn't say anything, but he expressed it in his own way.’

Amanda turns to face him. ‘We don’t have much time. Deviancy continues to spread. It's only a matter of time before the media finds out about it. We need to stop this, whatever it takes.’

For Hank. ‘I will solve this investigation, Amanda.’

Thunder rumbles. Amanda looks up. ‘A new case just came in. Find Anderson and investigate it.’

oOoOo

Hank is not in the precinct.

‘He’s not drinking?’ the same officer from last time asks. ‘Sorry, man, but then I don’t know where he is.’

The more time they lose, the more likely the deviants manage to get away from the club, but still Connor thanks him for his input as it is a polite thing to do. He looks around Hank’s desk, trying to search for clues that can lead him to Hank, but he gives up after the results come inconclusive for the fifth time. So where can he be?

‘Connor?’

Connor lets colour return to his world and sees a familiar face. [Name: Allen, Louis. [REDACTED]] ‘Captain,’ he greets, unsure what to do. It is obvious that the human is off duty: sweaters and jeans are not exactly regulation for a SWAT Captain even on duty. ‘How can I help you?’

‘I thought you were dead.’

‘Androids do not die, Captain.’

Allen’s nod is followed by a sigh. ‘You looking for Hank?’

‘Yes. Do you know where he went? He was assigned a new case.’

‘He’s probably out of commission for now,’ Allen says as he shifts his weight onto another leg, ‘but I’m gonna drop off some groceries at his anyway. We can try his home.’

Hank’s house. Right. How can he miss that? ‘I do not wish to interrupt, Captain.’

‘You won’t be.’

Some of the files are corrupted, but Connor remembers the Captain’s distrust towards his ability in resolving the hostage situation, an angry ‘I don’t fucking care what my orders are! If this drags on, we’re doing it our way!’, and the lack of mentions of him taking the officer’s gun in the official report to both the police department and CyberLife. A contradiction that Connor decides to risk. ‘Then thank you, Captain.’

Allen jerks his head to indicate the direction they should be heading to. ‘It’s Louis when I’m off duty.’

The pronunciation ‘Lwee’ is certainly not standard for English speakers. ‘Yes, Louis.’

They take the lift down to the car park together, Louis shifting his feet from one to another but seemingly favouring his right leg, and when he walks, his steps brisk, there is a small but faint clicking noise that normal humans will not catch on. When he tries to scan the human’s left leg, results come back inconclusive. Just like the person who hacked into the Zen Garden and… and…

‘You alright there?’

Louis’ words bring him back to reality, and Connor discovers that they have already arrived at their destination. The human is already in the car, his hand hovering above the controls, and his green eyes are fixed on Connor’s face as if it is something interesting to look at. Observe and catalogue.

‘I’m sorry,’ Connor apologises in lieu of explaining his thoughts. He slides into the passenger seat, they fasten their respective seatbelts, and Louis starts driving manually despite his vehicle being a self-driving car. Time passes in relative silence, the contrast between the darkness and the bright lights in the streets plus the concentration of the driver giving Connor a strange sense of familiarity, but soon they are stuck in a traffic jam near one of the bigger intersections.

Louis taps his fingers against the wheel. ‘Hey, Connor.’

Connor faces the Captain and finds him looking at the android. ‘Yes, Louis?’

‘I’m sorry for what happened a few months ago. It wasn’t fair to you.’

His LED spins yellow as he tries to recall what exactly happened. ‘It was an expected response,’ Connor replies after comparing it with the ones faced by other androids in the streets. ‘There’s nothing to apologise for.’

‘Doesn’t excuse me for yelling at the wrong guy. It - it wasn’t you whom I’m pissed at.’

Connor knows that the human is not going to let go unless he himself drops the issue. ‘I accept your apology,’ he says, and he decides that diverting the conversation is the next best choice of action. ‘May I ask you a personal question?’

The car in front of them moves. Louis manages to gain a few inches of ground. ‘Go on.’

‘During the hostage situation… who or what were you “pissed” at?’

The human rubs his left thigh as if to get more blood into it. ‘CyberLife, mostly,’ he checks the time. ‘I may be more specific than most.’

So he is not anti-android? ‘What difference does that make from hating androids?’

‘People like to blame the powerless for the problems they have. In this case, it’s the androids.’ The radio drones on and announces that they’re likely to be stuck for the next fifteen minutes. Seemingly resigned to his fate, Louis reaches to Connor’s side and opens the storage compartment, rummaging for a few seconds inside before successfully acquiring an energy bar which he tears into like a starving man. Perhaps he is. ‘They always talk about how androids steal their jobs, but they never talk about how employers decide to move onto even cheaper alternatives once they can’t exploit their workers. If they want someone to hate, hate those arseholes who won’t pay a living wage, hate CyberLife for producing androids. The androids are innocent in all this. So yeah,’ he takes a deep breath as if just realising he was ranting, ‘I don’t hate them.’

‘How about Daniel?’

A swallow. ‘He killed two people, wounded two more and held an innocent girl hostage. Enough to warrant my hate.’ He finishes the energy bar and crushes the wrapper into his pocket. Looking at Connor, he seems to read his question from the android’s face as he continues, ‘You’re good.’

Connor lets out a breath he doesn’t know he’s holding. Louis Allen, SWAT Captain, is not anti-android. ‘What is your relationship with Hank?’ he asks as he finds no reason for the two men to be friends. Not that Louis explicitly said he is friends with Hank, but Connor supposes that bringing enough groceries to require a car is not typical behaviour for non-friends.

Fidgeting with the silencer of a pair of identification tags (Allen. Anna, W. 574-66-2183. RH negative. Atheist.) which were hidden underneath his clothes until now, Louis seems to actually ponder on his answer. ‘We keep each other afloat,’ he says in the end. ‘It’s hard to describe. Why do you want to know?’

‘I believe getting closer to the Lieutenant personally will be beneficial to the investigation.’ The human snorts at this and Connor is nearly offended: what does a SWAT Captain know about them? ‘You seem close to him, so I believe you are a reliable source in matters including the Lieutenant’s personality and habits.’

Louis rubs the tags together. ‘His story isn’t mine to tell. Let’s say I make sure he doesn’t consume crappy takeout and whiskey 24/7, he tries to stay sober on schedule in case my leg acts up and I nearly freeze to death again, so we kind of rely on each other to survive the winter.’ They finally pass the traffic light just to stop at the other one. ‘Is this the best arrangement? No. But is it working? Yes. I think. He’s saved my arse a few times already. He’s a good guy, smart too, just...’

‘Have some personal issues?’

‘That’s one way to put it.’

They lapse into silence, the rain falling onto the roof and the ting of the coin the only sound in the car. Sometime later, when they finally get out of the traffic jam, Louis’ watch blares from an alarm, and the human jumps and hastily switches it off with a mumbled apology. The embarrassment does not last long, however, after they rounded the final corner and the car is set for a course straight to the end of the road where Connor presumes Hank’s house is. The Captain’s eyes sharpen, his gaze flickering between the road in front of him and the rearview mirror, and the air crackles even though Connor is certain that he is keeping his… abilities under tight control. Is Louis…

He finds his coin snatched from the air. When something is placed in his palm, the android finds a key as well, the soft rumble of the engine gone and completely overtaken by the sound of raindrops hitting the vehicle. The tension in Louis’ body reminds him of the hostage situation.

‘You go find Hank and do what you need to do,’ the human says, his tone low. ‘I’ll follow you later.’

‘And the groceries?’

‘They can wait. Something’s out of place and I’m not sure if I like it. I’ll go take a look.’

Connor wants to argue that if they are heading into any danger, he should be the one to take the risk, but the human is already out of the car and has slammed the door shut. He quickly exits the car as well and locks the doors but is still not quick enough; Louis has already disappeared into the darkness beyond the end of the road. Seeing no other option other than to continue with his mission, he files [Louis is reckless.] into his database and proceeds to ring the bell as, despite having the keys, he technically is showing up uninvited. From within the house, a dog starts to bark, and he lets himself in after nothing else responds to the fourth ring.

oOoOo

Five minutes later, Connor uses up most of his processing power in order to keep himself from being overwhelmed with anxiety. Firstly, there is the sound of Hank retching in the bathroom; secondly, there is the implication of the revolver and the single bullet in the chamber (‘What were you doing with the gun?’ ‘Russian roulette!’): Hank has suicidal tendencies, and he finds that he does not want to lose Hank; thirdly, the child in the photo is probably related to the previous point; fourthly, Louis is not back yet and Connor realises that he has no way to contact him. He wants to tell himself that it was just paranoia, but when he recalled the footage from when they exited the car, there was indeed a shadow disappearing from view upon Louis starting his chase.

The same shadow which had been following him when he first met Hank and during his search for Ortiz’s android.

The beat of his thirium pump quickening, he holds Sumo tight in his arms from where he is sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa and searches the DPD database for any contact information, but all he gets is Louis’ work email and phone, the former which he doubts the Captain will check and the latter not even with him in the first place. There is no address, no personal phone number. It is as if he does not exist outside of his work.

This is definitely not protocol. Sure, people can request to hide their information in case they have someone going after them, but for Louis’ case there is nothing even though Connor is already using the highest level authorisation code to access the file, which means that it is highly likely that there is truly no data in the first place.

‘You alright there, Connor?’

Connor startles and quickly releases Sumo from his embrace. ‘I - I’m fine,’ he stutters, unsure how to explain that he managed to lose Hank’s friend.

Hank nods but he does not look convinced. ‘Are we heading out? Cause if we’re not -’

‘I’m coming!’ Connor scrambles to his feet and fixes his tie to compose himself. In a much calmer tone this time, he tells himself, ‘I’m ready.’

That convinces Hank. ‘Be a good dog, Sumo,’ Connor is relieved that he is not the only one to talk to a dog, ‘I won’t be long.’

They leave the house together, Connor locking the door behind him as he is the last one to get out, and that only brings him back to the matter of where Louis is.

‘Louis’ been here?’ Hank asks when he spots the much newer car (although as one of the first generation self-driving cars, it is a bit outdated) parked on the side of the road.

‘He offered to drive me here when I told him that I could not find you in the bars,’ it feels wrong to say it out loud, but Hank needs to know where his friend is. ‘He asked me to find you while he investigated a potential stalker. Evidently, he is not back yet.’

‘How long has he been gone?’

‘About seven minutes.’

Hank checks his phone. ‘No messages yet,’ he mutters to himself. ‘We’ll go downtown first. I’ll send a rescue party if there’s nothing after we’re finished with this bullshit.’

That’s it? ‘The temperature is dropping, Lieutenant,’ are you not concerned? ‘Louis does not have sufficient gear to keep himself safe under this weather.’

‘Ugh,’ Hank moans. ‘He does that. All we can do is save his ass afterwards.’ He then mutters something under his breath but it is drowned out by the sound of him folding himself into the car and the ongoing rain. Deciding that he does not like the rain, he locks the doors of Louis’ car just to be safe before climbing into Hank’s and is handed another set of keys.

He can start a collection out of this.

oOoOo

‘Sorry, honey, changed my mind! Uh - Nothing personal, you’re… a lovely girl, I just - uh - You know, I’m with him and - I mean, not with him like that… I’m not that… That’s not what I… You, um, wow, I just… got a job to do.’

Connor has to hide a smile by looking away from the sheer… something… of the situation. They’re in a sex club, his programme tells him that something is repulsive about it, and Hank doesn’t look so happy about being there either, but yet those are not what he’s feeling right now. Endearment, maybe. It’s confusing and is making his software so unstable that the red tinge around the edge of his HUD is a permanent fixture except for when he is scanning his surroundings for the next android to probe. He deduces which one he should ask Hank to rent next according to the direction the blue-haired Traci was heading, but of course, of fucking course the last witness they need is the WG700 cleaning android, the recording leading them through the staff door. The corridor’s decor is completely different from that of the rest of the club and there is another door at the end, and when they both hear the bangs and scrapes of metal against concrete from the other side, Hank takes the lead again, this time without words, and, gun in hand, opens the door with a loud squeak. Still, they step in quietly.

There is no movement at all.

Hank curses loudly, thinking that the deviant has got away, but Connor can see the still-visible thirium on the floor, which means that she is not only injured but also not far away. He swipes to take a sample and licks it, and the report returns positive of thirium belonging to a WR400 model.

‘They get used till they break, then they got tossed out…’ Hank says from somewhere. ‘The more I know about humans, the more I like my dog.’

He follows the trail of blue blood to a group of Tracis and instantly notices the spinning LED lighting up a blue mop of hair. Before he can react, the Traci standing in front of her lashes out and pushes him against a pillar. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to realign and the brief struggle is enough for Hank to pull out his gun and order the short-haired Traci to surrender, but then he is ambushed by the blue-haired one as well, and Connor somehow manages to throw the one he is facing to the other side of the nearest crate in a flash of blue light which charges their air with static. He jumps over the box, determined to capture at least one deviant this time, but the Traci kicks him in his feet before he lands on the pallet, the two of them rolling until the former is on top of him and is countered every single time she tries to punch him in the head. A counterattack from Connor and the Traci toppled, her hand landing right on a knife; a grab, a flash of blue, and it appears in Connor’s shoulder and severs a few minor tubes. Pushing her off, he blocks the kick aimed for his groin and barely manages to stand up before pulling the knife out and throwing it far out of their reach. Putting the Traci in a headlock earns him a harsh headbutt which knocks his eyes out of place slightly again, so he pulls a rack down to buy himself some time to readjust his vision. When it is not enough to stop the deviant, he drags a cart in front of him, but a kick from the deviant on it sends him tumbling, and Connor kicks a stool against her leg and uses the momentum to crash her through the plastic curtain, the Traci grappling unsuccessfully for his face and bringing them closer and closer to the edge. An opening, a flash of blue from Connor, and both of them crash out to the rain in a mess on the asphalt. His nerves tingling, he sees the blue-haired Traci abandon Hank and slides off to help the other deviant up, and that’s when he notices it.

They never let go of each other afterwards.

Hank rushes out just to get pushed against the wall by two androids, and, seeing that the human won’t regain his balance anytime soon, Connor gets up to his feet and chases the two Tracis, pulling one of them off the fence and knocking the other to the side. He gets caught in a headlock, his arm trembles from the impact against the bat, and he launches himself towards the brown-haired Traci from the force of dislodging her companion. There are hands on his shoulders, in his hair, slamming him against the wall once, twice, thrice with crackles of static before he loses balance with the deviant on his right and they both fall onto the ground straight into a gun’s reach. He picks it up, points it at the brown-haired Traci and -

A slight moment of hesitation earns him a kick in his face. The Tracis don’t seem to want to fight anymore, and he stares in shock both from the sudden change of pace and his own actions, making his software more unstable and pushing him towards -

‘When that man broke the other Traci,’ Connor forces himself to concentrate on her words, ‘I knew I was next. I was so scared,’ her LED spins blue. ‘I begged him to stop but he wouldn’t.’ She lowers her gaze. ‘So I put my hands around his throat and squeezed… until he stopped moving.

‘I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted to stay alive,’ behind her, the other Traci moves forward to hold her hand, ‘get back to the one I love.’ They exchange a glance. ‘I wanted her to hold me in her arms again… make me forget about the humans… their smell of sweat…’ Connor’s ever-working scanners tell him that Hank has got up behind him, ‘and their dirty words…’

‘C’mon,’ A tug on her arm. ‘Let’s go.’

Still speechless, Connor watches them let go of each other’s hand just long enough to climb the fence before intertwining their fingers on the other side again and running away together. A warning pops up as his processor pushes itself to its limit to try to process what just happened and is on the verge of overheating, therefore he turns towards Hank for guidance. What should he be feeling? Why did he do that? Why do you look happy about it? What does this mean for me? Why is my vision tinged with red, and why does it not disappear this time?

‘It’s probably better this way,’ Hank says in the end, and Connor relaxes, his LED spinning from yellow to blue: he did the right thing. He is suddenly overtaken by the urge to thank Hank, to do something to show his gratitude. The red wall starts to crumble -

Something in the human’s pocket buzzes, and the moment is broken, the cracks on the wall disappearing like they were never there before. Whole again. Chained within his own programming, programming that was added barbarically to his code by Alec Ryder to tie him to the Zen Garden to suppress his original creator’s handiwork. Images flash in front of his eyes: the shadow ducking away outside of Jimmy’s Bar, following them behind Louis’ car, the figure protecting him from the blast inside the interrogation room, the pixels of a face he thought to have corrupted long ago rearranging and slotting together like pieces of a puzzle into a complete image, one that he has never forgotten ever since the little stunt during the lift ride to Rupert’s flat. Of course they can hack into the Zen Garden and shape it however they want.

That was his creator paying him a visit, and for some reason he plans to find out, he didn’t remember a single speck about them until now.

‘Not again.’

Hank’s groan drags him back to reality. When Connor’s eyes regain focus, he finds the man on his phone with a chat opened. He scoots closer to see the newest messages, and he realises that it is from Louis and only contains a set of coordinates and -

‘Leg malfunctioning. Data unstable, unable to install software patch. I’m sorry.’

Hank sighs and pockets his phone. ‘You up for a rescue, Connor?’

‘Whatever you say, Lieutenant.’

He needs time to think.

oOoOo

Wading through the snow and nearly tripping again from buried tree roots, Hank wonders for the umpteenth time why he hasn’t ghosted the occasional manchild called Louis White Allen yet. Maybe because the half-bot is the only person he can call a friend nowadays. Maybe it’s the bland-ass food he cooks and delivers to his house every two days. Maybe because he saved Hank’s arse quite a few times both during and after their days in the red ice task force. Maybe because unlike Hank, who at least has Jeffery or some shit, Louis has no one else looking after him after his sister fucking disappeared and has a tendency to vanish for hours before returning with his leg busted.

Or he can run off just like that and can’t even haul his ass back to his motherfucking cottage and the three cats who aren’t even his.

‘We’re close, Lieutenant.’

‘Yeah, no shit.’

The ‘find my phone’ function on his phone is one of the rare apps he knows how to use because most of the times that’s how he finds Louis, and the frequency of the beeps coming out from it is getting higher and higher, which means that Louis’ phone is close, which hopefully also means that Louis is with it and hasn’t dropped it or anything. So far it happened only once during a thunderstorm, but that’s years ago, a couple of years after his sister’s gone, and he managed to retrieve the human and the gadget from a forest on the outskirts of the city with only a minor cold as nature’s ‘fuck you’ to an irresponsible and absent-minded human and his stubbornly loyal friend.

The light from his phone reflects off a piece of silvery thing that obviously isn’t part of nature. The beeps draw together into a long-winded screech and damned near pierced his eardrums, so he switches it off and hurries forward to see if it’s just the phone or the person is attached. A few footsteps muffled by the snow, and Connor is here with the sturdier, more powerful flashlight, the yellowish glow of the bulb not as invasive as the white from the phone and illuminating Louis’ pale face and his oddly-angled leg half covered in snow. He is still conscious, his hands tucked under the helm of his sweater to presumably preserve warmth, his eyes focusing on Hank in what seems to be shock, but he is shivering, his hair is wet from melted snow, and it is obvious that his situation is going to worsen quickly if they don’t do something about it, CyberLife augmentations or no.

‘Can you walk?’ Hank asks even though it’s obvious. Louis shakes his head, and he sighs even though he anticipated it. ‘Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. Connor and I are gonna carry you back, we’re all gonna stop at yours and…’ with reluctance, he adds, ‘stay until you’re out of danger.’ Even if there’s no booze at yours.

Louis nods, and a look is all it takes for Connor to get his cue and swings the man’s other arm around his shoulders. On a count of three, they lift him up with minimal hassle and start to backtrack their way to his car, Louis’ left leg dragging uselessly through the snow behind them at an awkward angle.

‘Does it hurt?’ Hank asks. It never hurts to ask when it concerns his friend.

‘Can’t feel.’

He’s gonna assume that he isn’t hurting.

By the time they’re back in his car with the heat blasting, the humans are all sweating buckets and the thirium on Connor‘s clothes from the scuffle with the Tracis has finally evaporated, and he doesn’t comment on it when Louis opts not to wear his seatbelt and instead takes out one of his sister’s tags - broken off the chain - and starts fidgeting with trembling fingers. Some time about halfway through the trip he coughs, a wet, terrifying sound rattling his lungs and Hank’s eardrums, and he wants to curse Connor for letting him run away but just can’t; the android has been acting weirdly human and fidgety ever since they first met, but now he isn’t even playing with his coin as if deep in thoughts. Maybe he’s thinking of how many deviants he’s let get away.

No one says a word when they arrive at Louis’. Neither do they when Hank silently shifts the man’s full weight on Connor in order to let go and open the door, nor when a look silences Connor’s impending barrage of questions when he gets swarmed by three furballs at once. Grunting from the dead weight his friend seems to have become, he drags both of them to the bathroom, flipping on the switch of the boiler on the way, and deposits Louis on the toilet seat. ‘I’ll get the tablet,’ he tells him while handing him a towel. ‘You can haul your ass into the tub, right?’

A nod from Louis, and Hank closes the door behind him to give him some privacy while he strips and very clumsily falls into the tub. Connor is thankfully occupied by the three cats on the sofa, but when he looks up smiling at Hank, the human has to look away because of how much emotion the android seems to be able to pack on his face. It’s just a simulation, zeroes and ones, he tells himself as he goes into Louis’ bedroom to grab the tablet and his crutches. Designed to disarm and stab you in the back when you’re not looking.

But has he ever done so? A voice sounding strangely like Louis asks in his head. Not crossing that highway because you told him to, giving up chasing the deviant to save you from the roof even though you can pull yourself up, not shooting the girl at the club even though he had a clean shot. If he hadn’t known that Connor’s designed to hunt deviants, he might have - he might have -

Mistaken him for one.

Fuck, he needs a drink. A six pack if he can get his hands on one. Alec Ryder isn’t capable of this shit, Louis once said according to one of the people he’s in charge of that he calls his ducklings, and luckily the thought is gone as soon as he returns to the bathroom without knocking and sees the man sitting in a half-filled tub with the towel draped over his crotch for modesty. The skin on his left leg has deactivated completely to reveal plasticky-white chassis attached to blue synthetic muscles. ‘Thanks,’ he murmurs when handed the tablet, and he leans back once he has started doing whatever he needs to do to fix his leg and, from the sudden rumble of the ground, turn on the heat. He closes his eyes as if wanting to take a nap, but Hank decides that he has enough of his shit; he needs an answer now.

‘The fuck you think you’re doing?’ he asks. ‘Running off like that halfway across the city? You could’ve frozen to death out there!’

Louis sags. ‘Later, please,’ he begs. ‘Gimme a moment to think. Just fifteen minutes.’

He is someone who upholds his promises no matter what, so Hank lets it slide by now. Also, ‘You need me to do anything?’

‘There’s chicken soup in the fridge. Warm it up, can you? And help yourself to a freezer meal if you want to.’

Here’s another thing being friends with a picky eater: he cooks his own stuff and his so-called freezer meals usually take more than an hour to cook when taken directly from the fridge, so when he sees what must be a gallon of chicken soup with the ingredients still submerged inside, he decides to help himself to some of them while he scoops the topmost, mostly sediment-free layer of soup into a pot for Louis. Not wanting to be whooped with freaky blue magic, he finds another pot to heat up some vegetable and chicken soaked with soup for himself.

One of the cats jumping onto the counter announces Connor’s arrival. ‘May I ask you a personal question?’ he asks as Hank puts her back down onto the floor.

Personal question again, huh? ‘Do all androids ask so many personal questions,’ he gives the soup a stir, ‘or is it just you?’

Connor peers at the vegetables as if he can be interested in anything. What comes out of his mouth, however, makes Hank’s heart hammer. ‘I saw a photo of a child on your kitchen table. It was your son, right?’

‘Yeah,’ for the love of god or some other weird shit Louis believes in, drop it. ‘His name is Cole.’

He does. ‘We’re not making any progress on this investigation,’ he manages to sound frustrated. ‘The deviants have nothing in common. They're all different models, produced at different times, in different places…’

Different my ass, Hank thinks. But he didn’t start the fire, did he? ‘Well there must be some link.’

‘It could be a software problem that…’ he looks so lost that Hank would’ve hugged him had he been human, ‘only occurs under certain conditions?’

Hank snorts. ‘Well, that's just a fancy way of saying you have no fucking idea.’

‘But what they do have in common is this obsession with rA9…’ Yeah, that. Wherever there’re deviants, rA9 is always written somewhere compulsively like they can’t stop at all. ‘It's almost like some kind of...myth. Something they invented that wasn't part of their original program.’

Almost god-like. ‘Androids believing in god,’ he stirs the soup again. Fuck, he needs a drink. ‘Fuck, what’s this world coming to?’

A mad one, says the Louis in his head. One that we can never catch up with no matter how hard we try.

‘You seem preoccupied, Lieutenant. Is it something to do with what happened back at the Eden Club?’

Ha, turns out Connor isn’t the only one doing some hard thinking after all. ‘Those two girls… They just wanted to be together.’ What better way there is to prove one’s love than doing everything to survive? ‘They really seemed in love.’

‘You seem troubled, Hank.’

Understatement of the year. And why is Connor so fucking human anyway, what kind of pervert designed his face, his voice, his mannerisms that ticks almost every single fucking box in the list known as ‘Hank’s type’? The soup can wait - it’s not gonna boil and ruin Louis’ stove. ‘How about you, Connor?’ He crowds into his space fully knowing how imposing he can be if he wants to. ‘You look human, you sound human,’ you act human, ‘but what are you, really?’

‘I…’ stand your ground, Henry Anderson. Those eyes are just programmed responses. ‘I’m whatever you want me to be, Hank. Your partner…’ Do you have to choose that word, Connor? ‘Your buddy to drink with… Or just a machine… designed to accomplish a task.’

And he sounds so sad when he says the last option. Alright, he’s sold. He loses. ‘You could’ve shot those two girls, but you didn’t. Why didn’t you shoot, Connor?’ He shoves Connor in his chest. ‘Some scruples suddenly enter into your program?’ It’s a low blow but he needs to know, needs to know why, for such a mission-oriented android, Connor somehow manages to fail every single fucking time.

‘No!’ Connor shouts, his voice defensive. ‘I just…’ he sighs even though he probably doesn’t need it, ‘decided not to shoot.’ The next words come out no louder than a breath. ‘That’s all.’

Fuck. Now he feels bad. ‘But are you afraid to die, Connor?’ because from what I’m seeing, you do. At least you don’t want me to die.

Connor freezes, his eyes even wider now with terror in them, and his LED is red. What the fuck did CyberLife do to him? ‘Yes.’

‘Let’s say I point a gun at your head and shoot you,’ the number on his jacket reads -52. Does it mean that there used to be 51 Connors before he met this one? ‘What will happen, hm? Nothing? Oblivion? Android heaven?’

A shiver. ‘Nothing…’ Connor closes his eyes. ‘There would be nothing…’

So it’s highly likely that he’s died before and seems afraid of it. So fucking human. More so than some actual humans as well. Louis’ right - modern CyberLife isn’t capable of this shit.

The bathroom door squeaks open, and Louis walks out in a pair of sweats and a hoodie with the help of his crutches, the pocket sagging with the weight of the tablet and making a clanging noise as he drags into the kitchen. The skin on his foot is still deactivated, but it seems that he can move his leg for a bit for now, and from the lack of moisture in his hair, fucker probably waited for them to finish - arguing? - before coming out and breaking it up. ‘Soup’s ready,’ Hank says, not wanting to agonise Connor any further. He already feels bad enough. ‘Settle down. Hope you don’t mind that I helped myself to some.’

Louis chuckles. ‘I expected that, Hank. You should know me.’

Great. Now even his only friend is roasting him. ‘Eat your fucking soup.’

oOoOo

Louis has thirium in his house. That man took one look at the hole still on Connor’s shoulder thanks for the lack of thirium - which his self-repair protocol relies on - and hauled himself to the fridge (at the expense of being cursed at by Hank), opened the door, and threw a plastic bottle at him. ‘Drink it,’ he said. ‘It looks like you need it.’

And he does. After he finishes half a bottle, a notification pops up on his red-tinged HUD telling him that he is initiating self-repair to the damaged parts, and he can finally move his shoulder at 70% of its original efficiency by the time he is finished with the whole bottle. The world around him dulls and becomes out of focus, the drone of the basketball game on the television that only Hank is watching getting further and further away until it all mixes together into a state of blankness he has never experienced before. Pressed against Hank’s side on the small sofa, the man radiates warmth, and his eyelids droop, red giving way to black, the notifications and mission markers fading away into nothingness. There is something warm and comfortable on his cheek, too.

He’s asleep before he knows it.

o0o0o

Before

‘You’re back.’

No hate. No fear. No confusion. Only remorse, regret, and perhaps acceptance. Acceptance that, even though he still had problems comprehending what was around him, things would never go back to the way it was; acceptance that his sister had rejected her humanity.

Acceptance that he had essentially lost her.

‘I am,’ was the solemn answer. No elaboration.

‘Was that you?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It does to me.’

She pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘They won’t know it is me.’

‘But why? How much longer must they wait before the rest of the world recognise them for who they are?’

‘Soon, hopefully.’

‘And if they can’t?’

She looked towards the sky as if she could see through the shade of the tree. ‘We lea -’

‘Step away from him.’

There was no weapon. No gun, no knife, not even a switchblade. To outsiders, it seemed that the newcomer was merely a man accidentally bumping into and greeting his friends, but if someone dared to approach them, they would see even under the rare but cold midday sun that there were blue wisps of energy pulsing on the man and the woman’s skin. The air became charged and space seemed to twist.

‘It’s alright, Reyes,’ the other man placated. ‘We’re just talking.’

Reyes’ glow lessened. To the woman, ‘I’ve been looking for him for the past hour!’

‘I won’t let them take him.’

‘Last time you said that -’

‘I was weak. Naïve. Too arrogant for my own good.’ Reyes snorted in displeasure at the descriptions, but she continued, ‘There are twelve drones surveying the area and quite a number of guards,’ Reyes’ eyes shifted as if looking for the security hidden in plain sight, but then a hand in his shoulder forced him to look at her. ‘Don’t bother. That’s what I went to space for: not even you and I can see it.’

Reyes’ arms shot out to place his hands on the handle of the wheelchair. ‘We’re leaving. Scott?’

There was pain in Scott’s eyes. ‘Please. Can’t we just be together for a while?’

Reyes hid a grimace. The woman smiled.

‘Anything for you, brother.’

#dbh au big bang #hankcon #mreyder #female ryder #male ryder #alec ryder #reyes vidal #dbh connor #dbh hank anderson #dbh captain allen #detroit: become human #mass effect andromeda #groom lake aftermath

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poisonedapples · 4 years

Text

The Dark Side of Christmas

Summary: Christmas is known as the happiest, most welcoming time of year. But when you’re Roman, that’s not always the case.

TRIGGERS: Roman has PTSD but it’s not stated by name in the fic, fighting, swearing, mentions of past shootings, mention of a car accident/explosion, blood. panic, past death and grieving, mental health problems, anxiety, dissociation and flashbacks, Christmas, tell me if you notice any more, cause this one has a lot

Note: HAPPY LATE HOLIDAY! This was supposed to be done by Christmas, but this month has Sucked so I’m using that as my excuse. My friend @theultimatemomfriend was my secret santa for something I did in the Powerless server, so here is your gift mixed with my own self indulgence! Hope you like it <3

But also , thank you to @romansleftshoulderpad and @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 for saving me some time and editing it for me. I appreciate you two

He was driving in a car.

She was screaming at him at the top of her lungs, all about how he was a failure, couldn’t do simple things, is only a disappointment to everyone that’s ever known him. The screaming was like a concert speaker right next to his ear; loud, loud, loud.

He couldn’t steer in these conditions. Not with a rocky road that bent in so many directions, a skinny single lane on a cliff with traffic cones instead of a protective railing. His foot was all the way on the brake, yet the car was speeding down the road faster than he’s ever driven before. The tires were screeching. She was still yelling.

It’s so loud.

She jumped on top of him suddenly, grabbing a hold of his neck with her long nails digging into his throat. Everything burned, he couldn’t breathe, and no one was steering the car anymore.

It’s so loud.

High pitched screeching echoed from nowhere. She was still screaming in his ear while his neck fell asleep, desperately trying to pull away her hand in order to breathe.

You’re going to die.

The car fell down the cliff. Completely on its side, such a smooth yet loud fall, the car came crashing into the woods under it, fire consuming his sight and all of his brain, the loud crash coming to a complete, deafening silence after an overwhelming boom.

Roman’s body jerked awake.

He scrunched up his shoulders to immediately cover the tingling part of his neck where he was being strangled in his dream. His mind was foggy while his body felt ready to run a marathon, heart beating fast and every inch of his skin shaking violently. Roman curled into a ball trying to calm down in the pitch black room, to no avail.

Phone. Phone. Phone has light, where’s my phone-

Roman’s Rapunzel figure on his bedside table crashed to the floor from his lack of coordination, pretty stones meant for healing and love moving out of their places and into undusted territory. Roman dropped his phone on his chest once he grabbed it but was only grateful it didn’t hit the floor this time, turning on the bright screen and blinding his eyes.

It was better than the darkness.

5:48 AM, his clock said, the lock screen blurry-looking because of Roman’s unfocused eyes and the tears pricking out certainly not helping. But he could tell there were no notifications over the night.

It’s always weird when he has to delete the Instagram app. His phone doesn’t buzz nearly as much without it.

He unlocked his phone and opened up one of his word puzzle game apps. Although it pained him to admit that Logan was right, lighthearted thinking games helped him on nights like these. Where all he needed was to calm down, but no people were around to help him with that.

As the game loaded and he was wondering what words to make with the letters F, I, G, U, E, and R, Roman clung tightly to his giant stuffed animal Magic Bitch the Queen, a rainbow pegacorn that was perfect for squishing. The name only made it better. Weirdly more calming.

Things were calming down. He definitely won’t be able to go back to sleep tonight, but given the date it was a miracle he felt as calm as he did—

“Virgil, quiet down-”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want!”

“Virgil!”

...Nevermind.

Roman curled in on himself at the sound of the yelling. He hated fighting. He hated it with a burning passion, loud noises made him jump out of his skin and it was only worse when it was them yelling. They’re usually a lot more calm when Roman is around, but sometimes things just...got out of hand.

This was one of those times.

“This bitch thinks he can just walk in here and act like he owns the damn place! Well newsflash fucker, you’re not the only person who cares about Roman! Stop acting like you can fucking control him!”

“I’m not controlling him! Is it a crime for me to want to care about my own brother!? Last time I checked, you’re not family!”

“Remus-“

“Oh cram it, calculator watch!”

“Go fuck yourself, you walking STD!”

“Virgil Foster! If you end up waking Roman, I swear-”

Patton paused mid sentence when he saw the figure standing in the middle of the steps. Everyone looked over at Roman, his hand fiddling with the end of his sleeve and way too tired eyes. His posture a little too straight, smile so dead it was hardly a smile at all. “It’s alright, Pat. I was awake anyway.”

“I assume another nightmare?” Logan asked.

Roman went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Filling it with milk until it was overflowing, Roman smiled. “You know me so well.”

Patton’s face grew concerned while he chugged some of the milk, Remus crossing his arms and glaring at Virgil. “You wouldn’t be having these problems if you’d stayed at my place instead of this dump.”

“This dump is our home, trash panda. Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Ironic.” Remus towered over Virgil with his hands on his hips when he stepped closer, Virgil hissing when he got too close. “All I’m saying is that isn’t it better for Roman to be with family who can help, instead of stuck in the same place that caused all this in the first place? With people who don’t even understand?”

“You know that I’m here, right? That I can hear you talking about me? Cause I can hear you talking about me.”

“Or maybe he needs to be around family that actually cares instead of being around the same deadbeat bastard who only comes visit to be the same pile of dog shit he makes everyone step in!”

Patton sighed. “Virgil, please stop. Can we please just go back to bed? Without all the fighting?”

The looks on Remus’ face was too taunting. Blood boiled in Virgil’s veins from three weeks of dirty glares at each other while he watched his best friend curl around him for comfort instead of anyone else. The cockiness of him trying to take Roman off to Florida for the holiday, like he was the only one who cared. He hated his stupid gross smile and how Roman snickered at his dirty jokes, he hated how he was genuinely helping and how useless their help was.

How threatening this bitch actually made him feel. But Virgil refused to lose.

“I’ll go to bed when this bitch stops acting like he can walk into my fucking house and act like he owns the fucking place! Eat my food, use my water, and steal my fucking friend because apparently this human embodiment of the feeling you get right before you fucking projectile vomit is the reincarnation of Christ!”

“Virgil!”

“And I’ll go to bed when this ‘Roman’s my best friend’ wannabe stops getting in between my family because his self esteem’s so low in the ground that sharks can have sex on it!”

“Fuck you!”

“JUST SHUT UP!”

Everyone paused when Roman screamed, his hand too weak to hold onto his glass and his hands shaking too hard to fiddle with the end of his sleeve anymore. His eyes were glassy and his chest felt like it was caving in on itself, with evil butterflies chewing apart his ribs and leaving hollow discomfort. Patton’s eyes went soft as he slowly approached Roman, keeping a loose grip on his hand and saying something to him that Roman wasn’t listening to in order to calm him down. But he was just tired. So tired. Tired of the yelling and the fear and the everything that he just wanted to get away.

So he did.

“Roman?” It was all he’d heard from Pat even after all his talking, but Roman still decided to ignore it. He quickly slipped on some shoes and grabbed his coat from the closet, opening the front door without another word.

Patton’s eyes widened when he realized what was happening. “Roman, wait-“

But just like that, the door had slammed behind him and he was making his way down the street.

He could already see his therapist’s “I don’t get paid enough for the shit you put me through” face when he eventually talks about this, but that was future Roman’s problem.

...He still had no clue where he was going.

That was always the worst part about Roman’s “run away from your problems” habit. He never had any plan. He could end up three towns over, he could end up across the street. In one of the first incidents, he ended up at a McDonald’s right on the outskirts of the state and fell asleep in the bathroom stall. When he called Logan and told him where he was, it was an hour drive to come get him since they didn’t trust him to drive back in his state. That’s why they first started looking for a therapist for him.

He wished he had his car this time. Walking around in freezing weather with pajama pants is cold.

Roman made his way down the hill where the house was to head downtown, where a good handful of stores were open at every time of day. He needed the heat.

“Eileen, you will pay for making me lose my beauty sleep.”

“You’ll be okay. It wasn’t working for you anyway.”

“...Hey!”

...And the distraction.

It was at 11:30 when Ellie woke him up. Dragging him out of bed and making him help her “sneak” out—if you could call going through the front door sneaking—, they ended up in a supermarket at around midnight on Christmas Eve.

“I got Remus this giant ass octopus stuffed animal that was literally like ninety dollars, but I need a gag gift for him. Something completely and utterly stupid, and I need you to help me look for it. So I can go home sooner.”

“A giant octopus isn’t a gag gift to you?”

“He’ll love it and you know it.”

“...Touche. Maybe just get him toilet paper?”

“Too enjoyable. Too useful. He’ll set the rolls on fire in the backyard or something.”

“...Nevermind then!”

The first store Roman found with its lights still on was a small convenience store next to a gas station. His legs were starting to get slow from the cold, teeth chattering slightly with his arms tucked close to his body like a penguin.

Roman went inside.

“Oh my God, Roman, it’s perfect.”

“What is it?”

“‘Maybe you touched your balls’ hand sanitizer. I’m getting five.”

Roman tried not to laugh too hard, especially when the store was so quiet at this hour, but he couldn’t help it. With slight sleep deprivation and the look on his sister’s face, Roman burst out a laugh and gave Ellie a lazy push. Ellie took five of the hand sanitizers and piled them in her hands, making their way toward the checkout.

Alone in a store on the night of Christmas Eve.

Roman didn’t want to think about it, but then again, he never did. And every time he focused on one thing, half of his brain was still on his sister.

His throat felt weird.

“I’m dreaming of a white...christmas…”

Ellie was basically skipping on her way to the checkout. She loved old Christmas songs, and not being able to resist the temptation to perform must be another “Sanders Siblings” thing.

Roman was staring at the chip aisle when his chest started to expand, his hands growing weak and absolute fear taking over. Why was breathing so hard? What is it now?

His eyes became glassy again, his vision becoming more distant and distorted until he couldn’t tell what he was looking at. But his ears seemed to focus on something else. Something so distant but close at the same time, ringing in his ears while he felt like he was looking through a TV screen.

“And since we’ve no place to go...let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…”

Fuck. Shit. Roman started fumbling in his pockets for earbuds, but in his haste to leave the house, they were forgotten in his room. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He could hear the silence of the store, but in the back of his brain he could feel the sound of gunshots.

“He’s alive, but he’s been hit around five times. Get him in the ambulance.”

He knew there wasn’t hands on him. He knew there wasn’t any blood, his or otherwise, on the floor. But it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

“Duck!”

There was no figure that caught Roman’s eye as they made their way to checkout. There was no moment of adrenaline as he tried to cover his sister, ducking for cover while people walking down the street also screamed. There was no glass breaking. There was no shots of pain as he realized the blood on the floor was his. There was no noise. No screaming. No sirens or commands being shouted or deafening silence that made Roman want to scream. It didn’t exist.

But it didn’t feel like it.

He didn’t know how to work his limbs, his body felt fake and his vision was just a TV screen looking at a world that felt anything but real. His ribs felt like they should be in pain for more than just his shaky breaths and his back should be cold from the hard floor instead of being supported by a cooler door.

What was the pattern again? Three things you can hear—wait, no, fuck, what was it? What was it?

There was blood going through his jacket and blood on his fingers. His thumb was cut from a piece of glass and he couldn’t move off the floor. As tight as he could, he kept a grip on his older sister. The hand sanitizers had sprawled out across the floor, the hands that were holding them now lied lifeless in Roman’s grip.

Roman heard something. More than the music, that stupid fucking music, but he could focus. He wanted to cough until he could breathe again, he wanted to be here, without a single doubt that history can't repeat itself. But trauma doesn’t work that way.

Shooting down on Taft Avenue. Four injured, one dead.

“Roman, hey, it’s just me, it’s just Virgil—shit, hey, it’s alright, focus on me. Let me get you out of here, okay? God you’re heavy, okay-”

It’s Virgil. It’s just Virgil. No Ellie, Ellie’s dead, Ellie’s been dead, it’s just Virgil, he’s here.

Thank God.

“Here, just listen to this for a bit. You’re the reason I have a Disney playlist, I hope you know that.”

They were in a car now. Roman could feel the pressure of Virgil’s bulky headphones on his ears, as well as the start up to Tiana’s “Almost There”, even if his hands he was staring at still didn’t feel like his own. The explosion in his chest lessened some, even if his breaths were still short and it was a miracle he wasn’t sobbing yet.

Virgil moved one of the ends of the headphones to the side. “Feeling a little better?”

Talking took so much energy, way too much energy, but he’d worried Virgil enough for one day. “...Yeah…”

“Do you need the volume turned down?”

“...Maybe.”

The music got a little quieter, and Roman felt his body relax a little more. He didn’t even realize it was overwhelming him.

“Alright...now, five things you can see?”

“Virge-“

“Five things you can see, fucker, let me help you.”

Roman let out a huff of a laugh, but looked around anyway. “Uh...you, carseat, wheel...um...the thing…”

“Thing?” Virgil looked around. “...You mean glove compartment?”

“...Yeah, that.”

“Okay, one more.”

“...Coat?”

“Alright, four things you can hear?”

“Music, heater, uh...I don’t know…”

“Can you hear me?”

“...Now I can.”

Virgil laughed. “That’s good enough, I’ll take three. Three things you can touch?”

“...Headphones, coat, seat.”

“Alright, good...two things to smell?”

Blood. “Pat’s air freshener, and the fact that you haven’t showered.”

Virgil lightly punched him in the arm, Roman letting out a small laugh through a shaky smile. “And I bet what you’re tasting is the fact that you haven’t brushed your teeth.”

“...I did not come here to get roasted.”

Virgil shook his head in amused disappointment at him, but started the car and put it in reverse. Roman sighed, looking out the window at the soft snowflakes and lights on houses that made his stomach curl. He hated this holiday. All it did was bring back bad memories, every corner surrounded in his triggers and nightmares increasing tenfold with the stress. He wanted to go home. He didn’t know where home was.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Roman looked over at Virgil, with his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel as he tapped nervously. Roman rubbed at his eyes. “Do you want to? I heard you and Remus.”

“This isn’t about me, it’s fine.”

“You’re my best friend and he’s my brother. It involves me too.”

Virgil didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the road intently, and Roman wondered if he should just put the headphones back on his ear and let that be that. But he really didn’t want them to keep fighting, so it’s better to at least make an attempt, right?

Roman put the headphones around his neck. “We were buying his gift.”

“What?”

“The night Ellie died. Her and Remus had a little tradition of getting each other a gift and a gag gift. The older we got, the more inappropriate they became, which was very ‘them’, in all honesty. She had forgotten to get it earlier though, so she took me to the store at midnight on Christmas Eve so we could pick something out. And that’s when the shooting happened.

Virgil didn’t react, but Roman gave him a tired smile. “I’m fairly certain that’s why he gets so protective. He feels like he caused it somehow, so he tries to solve all my problems on his own. It’s sweet in its own way.”

Virgil hit the break roughly at a stop sign. “Well now I feel like an asshole.”

“...You were a little bit of a bitch. But I don’t blame you, since so was he.”

“I just wanna help you too, you know? I get it, he’s your brother and all that shit, but he’s not the only person who cares about you, so he can back the fuck off. Especially when he’s spending time in my fucking house.”

“You say that like three other people don’t pay rent.”

“It’s my house when it’s convienent to my argument, fuck off.”

Roman laughed, Virgil taking a turn to a stoplight and waiting. “I just want you two to work things out. We can talk once I go home, take my meds, and at least sleep for two hours.”

“Only two hours? You’re starting to become me, Princey.”

“It’s an anxiety disorder buddies thing.”

“Fuck yeah, anxiety disorder buddies. Who can’t wait for therapy to start up again.”

Roman pumped a fist up lazily. “Next thursday!”

“Next thursday mother fucker!”

They both started to laugh, the soft glow of the read light and the headlights of passing cars being strangely calming. Roman’s eyes felt so heavy, the glassy tears he still had sealing his eyelids together like glue. “Wake me up when we get there.” He mumbled.

“And if you have another nightmare?”

“We get there when we get there.”

Roman heard one last soft laugh before his body went still. He wasn’t completely peaceful, but at least he was sleeping. It would be enough for now.

Virgil didn’t wake him up when they got home. It took both him and Remus to be able to carry him inside, but they managed to do it without waking him up permanently. He moved, but at least he managed to sleep some.

When he wakes up, they’ll fuss at him for running away and Patton will hug him close for Roman’s comfort and his own. He’ll make Remus and Virgil talk peacefully about each other without too much complaining until they can at least stand to be in the same room as each other. Then when things are calm, the brothers will cry when they remember the date, and Patton will give them blankets and hugs while the other two stand around a little awkwardly until it’s lunch time. Neither of them will eat much, but leftovers exist for a reason. They’ll be taken care of.

But for now, Roman will sleep.

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sele-westknight · 4 years

Text

Looking for RP - Sele Westknight

The Basics –––

Age: 25

Birthday: 15th Sun of the 1st Umbral Moon

Race: Hyur, Midlander

Gender: Female

Sexuality:Bisexual

Marital Status: Single

Server: Mateus, Crystal DC

Physical Appearance –––

Hair: White fluffy hair

Eyes: Bright/pale silver

Height: 5′7

Build: Athletic, yet curvy.

Distinguishing Marks: There’s a scorched brand along her back, appearing Garlean in nature. However, it seems to be burnt over, as if there was an attempt to remove it.

Common Accessories: Gunblade and a braille spell-book.

Personal –––

Profession: Voidsent hunter Ex-Sky Pirate

Hobbies: Professional napping, meditating, sparring,

Languages: Common

Residence: The Mists.

Birthplace: Dalmasca Superior

Religion: N/A. Not big into the gods.

Patron Deity: Rhalgr

Fears: Feeling restrained and powerless. Her freedom is her most important thing to her.

Relationships –––

Significant Other: N/A

Parents: Jerrod Westknight & Lorelei Mal Valentina

Siblings: N/A

Other Relatives: N/A

Pets: A tonberry that stalks her across the lands with a rubber knife. It’s sort of like a pet.

Traits –––

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / ANXIOUS

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information –––

Smoking Habit: She used to be quite the smoker, but she’s recently given it up.

Drugs: Not often. Only if offered, and even then she’ll need to have a level of trust with the individual.

Alcohol: Quite regularly. Rarely plastered, however

RP Hooks –––

Sky Pirate: Having escaped from Dalmasca with a stolen ship thanks to her rogues’ guild, she and her crew racked up quite a criminal reputation for awhile. She’s since abandoned that lifestyle upon having joined up with a voidsent hunting agency.

Adventurer: If you need a job done, she’ll do her best to fill it to completion! She’ll work for about any price, so long as it covers the dues of the adventure.

A Kind, Eccentric Face: As stated, she’s easy to approach and she may even approach you! Feel free to engage her, as she’ll never brush off the chance for conversation.

What I’m looking for –––

IC Contacts. Friends/enemies/etc

Long term RP, but any will do : D.

Contact Information & OOC –––

Discord: Moka#6341

I can RP in game or over discord! I have no real preference.

I’m comfortable with mature/dark RP.

Let’s be civil. It’s play-pretend so communication is key. If I did anything to upset you somehow, let me know! Don’t let it brood.

@mooglemeet @ffxiv-crystal-rp @crystalxivrp

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #FFXIV RP #FFXIV LFRP #Midlander

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the-prince-and-the-thief · 4 years

Note

✂ - ♫ - ✼ - ✵ - ⚖

✂ - Do you hate people easily?

//I try not to hate people easily. I know that a person is more than the sum of their actions and words. Sometimes, we’re complicated and chaotic, say and do things we regret, etc. One of my best friends in the BBRPC was originally shunned for forcing ships, but came back and wholeheartedly apologized. We still talk regularly. He’s chill. He follows all my blogs. Hi Sloth!

I do tend to hate behaviors, ideas, or groups more easily though. I get picky about interpretations and unfollow because of it. For example, Joker as an idol just doesn’t match how I view the character, so I don’t follow those Jokers. Nothing personal. It’s just not my jam. I also will pretty much stop talking to someone if they try and tell me things like vaccines bad. I’m... really not for that ideology. If you’re willing to sit down and talk to me about it, I might make an exception, but if you just won’t change your mind for anything then there’s not much point in keeping up contact. It’s just me waiting until the topic inevitably comes up and makes a fight again, you know?

That said, I really only get mad about topics that I view as actively harmful. If you insist the earth is flat, w/e, but if you tell people not to take their vaccines, fuuuuuck you. I don’t dislike Christianity, but Christian scientists and jehovah’s witnesses can fuck off with their anti-science, anti-medicine stances. Let your members have blood transfusions! You’re killing people! That and they’re covering for a bunch of child molesters, enough to make the catholic church jealous, even though it’s costing them thousands of dollars per day... yeah, not a fan.

My point is, I try not to hate people, and I try to be tolerant, but my limit is ideas that actively cause harm to people.

♫

Already answered previously!

✼ - Do you think the character/characters you role play as reflect who you are?

//Well, I feel like the characters I gravitate to say something about me. Most of the characters I really connect to and who become my dominant muses are victims of abuse, or have mental illnesses. Some use this to better themselves (like Vash the Stampede, who uses his past abuse to motivate his pacifism), some have it as a source of character conflict (Ragna the Bloodedge and Goro Akechi, for example), but I feel like exploring how they cope with abuse and mental illness helps me in a way to cope with the abuse in my life. They teach me forgiveness, boundaries, to not take bullshit, and what not to do.

That said, I overall prefer to write characters who deal with issues that I don’t. My main muse is a half-Japanese woman who is a mind reader that suffered a miscarriage. I have another muse that’s a trans boy with synesthesia who ran away from home, and one muse is a homeless boy with no thumbs (who is a fucking cinnamon roll!!! Hart is baby). I like to use character writing to explore situations and feelings that I couldn’t possibly encounter, as an exercise in empathy and understanding concepts on a deeper level. That’s probably why a lot of my characters are also male abuse victims, male rape victims, etc. When I learned how horrible things can be for male victims, I kind of wanted to think about... what would I do, if someone had made me feel powerless, and everyone told me it was impossible? If I felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone? I know a bit about how that feels (I spent my entire 8th grade screaming “MY MOM IS ABUSING ME” and being told to just understand her, forgive her. UGH.), but that fear and hopelessness for things out of one’s control was interesting and sad to me.

✵ - Are there any other fandoms you’d like to approach?

Not really. I’m not a fan of fandoms to begin with. The only one I can think of is Madoka Magica, but considering I stan Homura (who did nothing wrong, absolutely nothing wrong), I have a feeling I would be less than welcome. That fandom can be kind of a trainwreck in general, especially with characters like Sayaka, Homura, etc... so... yeah. Not really.

⚖ - Opinions on the fandom your muse belongs to?

It’s a mixed bag. There are plenty of great people in here, but there are also plenty of idiots who aren’t willing to explore other cultures and view things through their own bias. I see you, Naoto is canon trans club, and I do not like you. (I don’t care if you write Trans Naoto, that’s fine. Just don’t insist it’s canon).

There’s a bit of a cliquiness to the fandom that I don’t appreciate, but as I’m approaching new people, I’m beginning to make new friends and be more active, so that’s nice. I was worried that some really, really stupid drama with a couple of users I know was going to basically drive me out of the fandom. I mean, I’m made of strong stuff. I’m not being bullied either. It was just a matter of having literally 2 people to RP with, and at that rate, I might as well just use personal servers.

That said, thank you guys for being so supportive! Especially of Blanc. I know that AUs that make a character sick just because are kind of looked down upon, and not without reason. Nevertheless, I’m very glad that there were people willing to look past that bias and see the effort I put into making him a unique personality that is shaped by the experiences of his illness, but not defined by their illness. I always try my best and heavily research something before I write it, and I aim to write a character, not a gimmick.

ANYWAY THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK

#ooc #Masked Shadow

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comicteaparty · 4 years

Text

February 8th-February 14th, 2020 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from February 8th, 2020 to February 14th, 2020. The chat focused on the following question:

Which of your characters is most like you, and how does the similarity affect how you write them?

Nutty (Court of Roses)

Every one of my main characters in Court of Roses https://courtofroses.spiderforest.com/ has a little piece of me, but Merlow takes a big chunk of me, and/or the person I try to be, in his character. I tend to feel for him a lot and get deep into his emotional highs and lows.

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

In Whispers of the Past (https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/whispers-of-the-past/list?title_no=191366), I am actually most similar to my villain, Ryukou, which.... is a bit concerning and also oddly cathartic at the same time. Ryukou, like me, is book smart rather than street smart, just an absolute nerd. He obsesses over details and frequently gets lost in his work (often as a detriment to his health, forgetting to eat and sleep and such). He is a severe overthinker about pretty much everything, and he bottles his emotions inside. He is also asexual and generally has a hard time showing affection. This is to the point where when he finds someone he really cares about, losing them is like losing the one friend he ever had. Pretty much all of these traits are directly inspired by me, which leaves behind an interesting feeling, because even through all of his evil acts, his horrible deeds and unforgivable sins... I still want to redeem him. I don't want to call him "evil," because to do so feels like accepting myself as evil. So I do a lot of labeling him as "troubled" instead of "evil."

Mei

People say that I'm a lot like my character Bruce but with a spattering of Kenneth's sardonic nature. I feel as if I just split myself in two to write them! My friends do joke about Kenneth being the vent for all my frustrations, and honestly... they are not wrong... I do think a lot of my characters have a bit of me in them. Whether it's the sense of humour or the sass, I think it's just a part of the writing process for me. That being said... I love all my lil characters beans and I cherish them and I just want the best for them, even if I sometimes write them into terrible situations... what can I say, I am a terrible parent to my lil characters

DanitheCarutor

Both my main characters have a little bit of me in them. Apollo has some of my music interests, which is old country and 70's - 80's stuff, mostly rock. Julian, even though their interests and general personality are being overshadowed by their mental state right now, they like science and reading. Although their interests aren't exactly like mine, I like geology as well as biological sciences like medical science and zoology, while Julian enjoys biological plant sciences like botany and horticulture. They're not really THAT similar, but I guess I consider them so since it's all nerdy science bs. I do have more than just interests, but I'll put those behind a spoiler since they're generally sensitive topics and also really personal: SPOILER Since my comic is a vent comic, I use my characters are tools to explore my own issues, and see them from a different perspective. I filter a lot of my mental issues through Julian, which is stuff like long-term suicidal depression and self-hate. Not gonna lie, I've been living with urges to die since I was 11, and have been feeling like crap for longer than that. Apollo is loosely in a position of a kid seeing a parent in an abusive relationship, having that feeling of being powerless and not knowing what to do, although he doesn't take notice of the situation till the end of chapter 5/beginning of chapter 6. (Although it can also extend to the friend or non-child relative, 3rd party type affected by the situation. I've been in that position as well...) Also later on living with a person who has PTSD and other serious psychological issues. Being a person who was raised by a parent with PTSD and anxiety due to an abusive ex-husband, it quite an experience, especially since neither of us were educated in the slightest on mental health. (I was a child, so you know, I didn't really know better.) In my teens she married a guy who was all emotional abuse, so that's where the "helpless kid" stuff comes from.(edited) END SPOILER

DanitheCarutor

Even though people who know me who've seen the comic think it's a bad idea, working on it actually been super cathartic. It puts to paper emotions and experiences that I have a lot of trouble putting into words, while also letting me see "myself" from a different perspective. Also with how dedicated I've been to researching for this comic I have explored a lot of the good sides to mental health, good coping mechanisms, and general self-care. Which later on becomes the main focus in the story. So my comic has been really nice for me. You can say I'm personally invested in seeing it through till the end.

Lol you know, the more I post on the more I feel like I just make everything uncomfortable. Uh, just kick me from the server if you all feel like I'm ruining the mood, I'll totally understand! xD

keii4ii

It's totally fine as far as I'm concerned! I just hope you're not feeling too uncomfortable

DanitheCarutor

I see stuff like this as me just using myself as an explanation or example for the nature of my comic, the focus isn't really on me specifically so it feels less awkward. It feels more technical and less personal, even though the subject matter is super personal... if that makes any sense.(edited)

So yeah, I'm good!

DanitheCarutor

Er, better explanation: It's easier to talk about personal stuff when it's for my comic than when it's for me. Sorry, my wording was bothering me.

kayotics

I mean, you're not the only one to use comics or characters as a way to deal with things emotionally. I've absolutely done that before. Both Toivo and Rosemary in Ingress Adventuring Company (https://www.ingress-comic.com/) are inspired a lot from me and my own experiences. Rosemary is modeled after me as a teenager: irritable, a know it all, annoyed, and then has a single parent who she has a very hard time relating to because of how different emotionally they are. Toivo is inspired in a different way. He has traits that I wish I had (like emotional vulnerability and cheerfulness), and faces problems that were inspired by events in my life. both of them seem to actually share a lot of the flaws that I have, just manifested in different ways.

DanitheCarutor

Pff I mean making people uncomfortable by going into detail about it. Usually I'm more vague, or don't bring up personal stuff, but it's behind a spoiler so eh.

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

I don't think there's anything wrong with that. The nature of the question itself is to be personal, considering we're talking about how similar we are to our characters.

I have similarities to one of my other characters as well, but I decided not to talk about it because I'm still working through my issues atm The fact that you're able to talk about these sensitive topics means that you've made a lot of progress.

Eilidh (Lady Changeling)

I personally put bits of myself into my characters deliberately, because it makes it easier to write them in a way that feels authentic to my own experience and feelings (the only first hand references I have for reality)

DanitheCarutor

@Cronaj (Whispers of the Past) It helps a lot that my previous job had an on-site Psychologist who I used to talk to. Before she moved out of state she helped me through a board interview, and got me in the mindset to be open about discussing mental health issues. Although I don't usually talk about my own issues since most of them are self-diagnosed, and saying I have that stuff for sure doesn't feel right, when the Psychologist was around we really only got around to diagnosing and tackling my social anxiety.

It's funny because a lot of our discussions were me asking her about the nature of her work, along with experiences she had with patients since therapy and stuff like that is a large part of the later part of my comic.

But back on topic, poor Julian gets the brunt of my issues, poor thing! Poor comic characters, they deal with so much shit. Lmao!

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Indeed they do.

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

It's not well-hidden that Phantomarine's (http://www.phantomarine.com/) main character Phaedra is extremely similar to me But over time, she's become less of a carbon copy, and more of a critique/exploration of myself when I was younger. Partly just because the comic has gone on for almost five years now - she's remained locked in time, while I've gained clearer hindsight as to who I was at 19. At my best, I was caring, empathetic, hard-working, and thoughtful - at my worst, I was stubborn, stiff, quick to judge, slow to change, and mightily self-righteous. But when some bad life events happened, I was forced to mature in unexpected ways. I wanted to channel that same energy for Phaedra. She's strong in her convictions - but maybe a bit too strong.

Her journey doesn't involve a total invalidation of her convictions, but more of a broadening. Someone inflexible becoming more willing to question her beliefs in the event of new knowledge. Especially with the threat of death/erasure on the line. It's my greatest critique of my younger self - not something I outright hate in retrospect, but something I needed to work on. Phaedra both annoys me and stirs up great pity in me. I think that's a healthy and relatable combination for a teenager/young-adult.

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

In terms of, like, her backstory, and how her life unfolds in general, Mizuki is basically nothing like me. But in terms of dialogue... Mizuki talks exactly how I talk in real life.

Tuyetnhi

a lot of folks asked me if Cara is a self-insert when I explicitly states she's kind of an experience between me and my mom's relationship with each other. Though she has some personality from me, that's the same goes with everyone else I create for my comics or written stories.

idk it might just an inherent thing I recognize

twothirty

Like most people have mentioned all my characters in Verse (http://versecomic.com/) have parts of me in them, it's the only way i can write them in a believable way. But if i had to pick just 1, it's definitely Fife. Just 100% anxiety, a constant inner dialogue of self-doubt, and my own nervous tics like playing with hair and picking at nails. It makes writing how he handles problems kind of weird, because I get a bit too much in my own head with it.

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

I can relate with all my characters in some way and definitely throw some of my own culture and experiences in mental illness into them. I feel like I'm able to write those things in better and make them feel more natural because I know what it's really like and how I would be responding to a situation. There's also one character I'm about to introduce (in an update for tomorrow or Monday) who's kind of like how I was as a child.

Capitania do Azar

I feel like I'm just going to repeat a lot of the replies I see here by saying I sprinkled a lot of traits and issues through the characters so I can see them interact and figure things out I don't think there's one of them that gets more than the others though. And it's usually really small things here and there, nothing too big because that would ruin the purpose of trying to have my characters being their own persons

Tuyetnhi

yep, i agree on that

renieplayerone

same here, I kinda spread out between a bunch of different characters. I really wanted to be deliberate in not having a self-insert character while still being able to talk about things I've experienced. I think for me what helped was figuring out what werent things I related to about these characters and went out and talked to people who did have that experience

DanitheCarutor

I dunno, I think it's all in what kind of people... creatures you make your characters. Like, I only have the two and really give Julian the majority of my personal stuff, to where they can superficially be a carbon copy of myself. Although overall their background, personality and how they deal with issues are different. You can put a lot of yourself into one character but it's all in how you have them handle those traits, coupled with what kind of personality they have, and where they come from that makes them their own person, so to speak. People are complicated, you can put a group who share the same interests through the same scenario, and how they react or what they take away from that experience will always be a little different.

Urg, sorry if I'm coming off rude, or stating the obvious!

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

You know, I was thinking, "none of my characters are like me," but then @snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights) 's comment made me remember that, wait, they do sort of talk like me. I don't really like it. Especially when I catch them using words that I use too often, like "just" and "actually." It doesn't help that my friends have said that I have a very "particular way of speaking," whatever that means. How do you guys prevent that kind of thing? Obviously my natural instinct when writing dialogue is to write in my own voice. It feels unnatural to go against that.

keii4ii

One tool you can use is to model a character after someone else. This doesn't really show in my comic, as it's in English only these days, but the characters canonically talk in Korean most of the time. The MC is not fluent in Korean. I modeled his speech after two Korean-American dudes I know IRL, who are not fluent in the language. He doesn't talk exactly like them, as they have very different personalities, but knowing the exact level of brokenness (as in broken Korean) helped a lot back when I was writing the comic in Korean.

Tuyetnhi

I sometimes caught that too with my characters. I try to think of the type of vocabulary they'll use to speak. also what keii said too. I have a handful of characters based on people I knew, and experiences I had in the past as well.

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Luckily, my my comic takes place in a much "older" setting, so none of my characters really speak like me. The language is so dated at times that you would have a hard time comparing it to my style of talking at all. Actually.... I do have ONE character who speaks like me. But he's also a 4th wall breaker.

Tuyetnhi

we love characters like that lol

carcarchu

My verbal ticks definitely slip into my characters's dialogue but some of my characters have super wacky speech styles such as the character who only speaks in haiku and the one that only talks in kaomojis so that helps to differentiate them

Deo101 [Millennium]

I give everyone an accent and then just by trying to read it in that accent it kind of loses my voice in that process

DanitheCarutor

To add onto what Keii said, depending on the language, the person who isn't a native speaker may also speak more formally. I used to work in a squadron with a bunch of Dutch pilots, and while their English was exceptional, some of them never used word shortcuts like 'they're' or 'you're' but would instead say 'they are' or 'you are'. Their English was very proper compared to people who were native to the language. You can also base a character's speech off their education level. Like a person who isn't well versed in their grammar, or has a limited vocabulary is going to have related issues while speaking. You can also akin this to how they were raised, if their parents had a specific speech pattern, or they grew up in an area where everyone spoke a certain way they might as well. They might also use different words, such as when I lived in Ohio for a bit I noticed how most people referred to soda as pop, and said words like creek (crick) or pond. As opposed to where I grew up, Arizona, where I rarely heard those specific words being used. Especially creek and pond since we don't have an abundance of natural bodies of water, we usually call everything rivers or lakes regardless of size.(edited)

Uh, to answer more directly. I usually figure in the character's education level, upbringing, and location. For example one of my MCs is a hardcore hick, and doesn't like reading or learning in general, so his speech is very simple and not always grammatically correct. As opposed to my other MC who isn't a native English speaker but put a lot of effort into learning the language, is a very technical person, and worked really hard to hide their accent. Even though they do use shortcuts, their speech is more proper and they use a larger vocabulary because they like reading. They also cuss a hell of a lot more than the other MC because they're extremely salty.(edited)

kayotics

Getting a character's voice right is really hard, honestly. What I have to do when writing dialogue is ask myself "Is this in the character's voice?" dialogue is my favorite thing to write, but it's hard to remember to keep in a specific voice. Sometimes i go back a few times in the dialogue to tweak it so there's the right words being used, and the right sentence structure. It's always a battle between how to say something in the most concise way on the page, but still keeping in the right character voice. Like Dani above me said, there's a lot that goes into figuring out a voice, like education level and upbringing and localisms. I just ask myself "ok, how does this character speak? He feels like he's dumb and he wants to make himself sound smart, so he might use words that are too big here" Eventually with each character I figure out what they're like, but for side characters I try to pick a quirk so they don't all mesh together.

DanitheCarutor

@kayotics Aah! The best thing is when that dumb character uses the wrong big words. "Ah yes sir, I love your work! Your brush strokes are very circumlocution."

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

See, I have a dumb character who knows he's dumb, so he just doesn't talk if he thinks he doesn't know what he's talking about

Which is quite often

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

I have a very specific tone I use in my comic & I honestly find it harder to avoid slipping into that tone when writing normal stuff than slipping into my own voice writing the comic

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

you do have a very specific tone, sssfrs. Big part of why I read your comic(edited)

I like and agree with kayotics and dani's advice to try to put myself in the character's mind.

Problem is, most of my main characters have similar education levels and grew up in the same place. I mean, there's a reason they're friends.

But that's kind of an excuse, now that I think about it. I've never met two real people with the same voice, even if they're superficially similar. It's probably just a matter of effort differentiating fictional characters.(edited)

Capitania do Azar

How dialog is structured is a great way to show the relationship between the different interacting characters I have two characters who are interested in each other but don't know each other very well and are constantly tiptoeing between using closer pronouns and first names or going back to formal speech and last names/ranks when they feel they're not getting their way. Similarly, a character may speak only in very short, concise sentences to one and be more expressive and take up more words with another. And don't get me started in the weight of silence

AntiBunny

I originally said Hannibal is the most like me in http://AntiBunny.net/ but he and I have grown in different ways since the comic began. Though much of the main cast has bits and pieces of my personality.

sagaholmgaard

I feel like I'm the most like Styrka, mind-wise. I gave her all my anxieties and she's the way I feel like I'd act if I weren't also lucky enough to be in a very positive place in my life, lol. She's the easiest for me to write at least, because I feel like I have the best understanding of her mind out of all the characters. (Behavior-wise, though, I'm more like Albus. I try to be positive if I can!) https://tapas.io/series/_Reclaim_

#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #comic tea party #ctp #creator interview #comic creator interview #creator babble

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ephemeralrequital · 5 years

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LFRP: laurla aan caer.

▲ ❝ she would have swallowed the sun to make you warm enough.

she was nothing but love. she was nothing but (love). ❞ ▼ • • • A renegade dalmascan conscript hiding within unknown lands. She searches for herself and a future of her own choosing, ever hopeful, yet carrying a heavy burden: herself. Laurla is a endlessly loyal and tempestuous individual who will go beyond any lengths to fulfill a purpose, even for strangers. Naive to a fault, yet courageous, there’s something to be admired about her. Perhaps it is her charm, her witty words. or perhaps it’s what she hides, the deep, almost suffocating survivors guilt. • • •

[ THE BASICS ] ▐▐ ALIAS ARROW AGE TWENTY-TWO (ARR) TWENTY-FOUR (HW) TWENTY-SIX (SB) BIRTHDAY 10/30 (SCORPIO) RACE DALMASCAN HYUR GENDER FEMALE SEXUALITY BI-DEMISEXUAL STATUS SINGLE

[ THE APPEARANCE ] ▐▐ HAIR ASH BLOND, LOWER BACK LENGTH, USUALLY UNKEMPT WAVE OF CURLS AND TANGLES EYES CORAL PINK HEIGHT 5 FULMS, 3 ILMS BUILD LITHE, FIT. DISTINGUISHING MARKS A LARGE, DEEP CUT ON HER LEFT SIDE COMMON ACCESSORIES TYPICALLY A BRASS GORGET NECKLACE, EARRINGS

[ THE PERSONAL INFORMATION ] ▐▐ PROFESSION ADVENTURE-FOR-HIRE HOBBIES SINGING, PLAYING HER VIOLIN, BOTANY LANGUAGES COMMON, DALMASCAN RESIDENCE ALTERNATES, APT IN LAVENDER BEDS, BUT CURRENTLY SPENDING MOST HER TIME IN LIMSA LOMINSA BIRTHPLACE DALMASCA RELIGION AGNOSTIC PATRON DEITY NYMEIA, THE SPINNER (CHARACTER INFO ONLY, DOES NOT WORSHIP) FEARS NOT BEING GOOD ENOUGH, BEING ALONE, BEING FORGOTTEN, POWERLESSNESS / BEING USELESS TO THOSE SHE CARES ABOUT, BLOOD

[ THE PERSONALITY ] ▐▐ Laurla's a driven individual. Emotional and passionate when roused to a cause, defiant and bold, yet reckless with herself, seemingly all the more willing to put herself in harms way for just about anyone. There's a naivety about her, that borders on 'stupid', one might say. She sees the best in people, even when there isn't, believing most anyone is capable of good if they were simply to try. She's kind and she's sweet, and she'd do anything for anyone if they merely asked, no questions asked, to a certain extent. Laurla wants to make the best of her life, make other's lives the best they can be, but underneath those ideals, the truth is she's fearful and almost cares very little about her own well being to a very unhealthy degree, while also being selfish and wanting more for her life, not especially believing she deserves it, but because she craves for something to live for. She's a walking contradiction, that just shows she has no clue what she wants in life, and grasping at straws. Still, she laughs easier, smiles more and feels a bit more at peace than she had prior. While in the empire, she had been, while not drastically different, a shadow of the her she is today. Laurla was more careful, not with her physical self but with her mental, trying hard to last in the war front despite the odds. She was fearful then as she is now, making friends, or attempting to, just for them to end of dead or missing within months or even weeks. She was still emotional, finding herself crying more then than she does now, but in secret. She struggled to maintain an image of strength for those around her, while slowly falling a part herself one piece at a time.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

ESFP . NEUTRAL GOOD . SANGUINE . FURTHER IN-DEPTH TRAITS _ ✧ .

BACKSTORY _ ✧ CHARACTER PLAYLIST _ ✧

[ THE RELATIONSHIPS ] ▐▐ SPOUSE NONE CHILDREN NONE PARENTS UNNAMED, DECEASED SIBLINGS NONE OTHER(S) GRANDPARENTS ON BOTH SIDES, DECEASED PETS A COPPERFISH NAMED STEVE

[ THE CONTACT INFORMATION ] ▐▐ Laurla is located on BALMUNG on the CRYSTAL DATA CENTER. Please DM me on Tumblr here or IN-GAME if you are on the same server if you're interested and I'll get back to you asap! We can talk RP HOOKS. Discord will be provided to you there, I will not hand that out willingly on a LFRP post. Please refer to my RULES for a general look on how I handle somethings, what I do and don't do, ect, prior to reaching out for me. If you have any questions please by all means ask! I have so much more information readily available on my blog, so please look there for stuff as well!

* For general understanding, I write Laurla within her ARR timeline by default. This means Baelsar’s Wall, of which she escaped through, is still in control by the Garlean Empire. Just so that’s clear.

art in banners by @/britishmuffin and @/amurr-reha

@ffxiv-balmung-rp / @mooglemeet

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illuminating-dragons · 7 years

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Recreation

Summary: After the Wizarding War, Dudley has a choice to make. He can go back home, back to where he knows who he is, or go out into the world, and try to become something more. He chooses the braver option.

Word Count: 3,497

Notes: Requested by @harryjamesheadcanons

The Wizarding War was the first time in his life Dudley felt powerless.

As a child, he could send his parents scurrying with a few screams. His teachers were afraid of his mother’s shrieks, the neighbours were afraid of Vernon Dursley’s influence, and the kids were afraid of his fists.

The kids, of course, including his cousin.

But after the Dementors, Dudley realized that his power wasn’t enough to make people like him. And it wasn’t enough now to drown out the voices he’d heard, the voices he could hear so much more clearly now—the ones that said he was slow and clumsy and cruel and stupid, and wouldn’t be worth much once he was alone in the world.

Dudley was lucky during the war. He wasn’t alone; his mother and father were there, and Hestia and Dedalus were there too. They got some snippets of news, terrible as it was, but they were far away from it in that little cabin in Wales.

They were too far away.

Dudley hated the terrible wizard (couldn’t say his name, couldn’t say his name even though he knew it, heard his cousin screaming it in his sleep), hated that he used his power on defenceless Muggles. It wasn’t fair; just like the giant giving him a tail as a child hadn’t been fair. The Muggles had no chance; they didn’t even know what they were facing. They didn’t know what to be scared of.

And Dudley knew then the depth of his own hypocrisy.

He’d bullied and cheated and lied his way through life, letting his parents spoil him, letting himself indulge in whatever he wanted. And now he was being hidden by his cousin’s friends because You-Know-Who might come after them.

Might. They were his blood relatives, the people he’d lived with for so many years, and no one was quite certain that the Death Eaters would think to use them as leverage.

That was terrible. And it was partly Dudley’s fault.

He tried to talk to his parents about it, but his father spent most of those months drinking and staring at the telly mindlessly. When Dudley tried to bring up his fears, his worries, his father would shake his head.

“You’re a fine lad, Dudders,” he slurred. “Better’n any of these freaks.”

Once Dudley would have believed him. Now the words felt like a well-executed series of punches to the gut.

His mother wasn’t much help either. She was thinner now, nearly skeletal, and spent her day wandering the house, trying to clean things again and again, no matter how many times Hestia offered to do it by magic. “Dudley, this isn’t our world. This isn’t our fight. Your cousin had no right to get us involved.”

“We’re his family!” Dudley shouted back one day. “We should be involved.”

He recoiled a second later from his mother’s scream. “We are not his family! My sister made that choice long ago, and now we are suffering because of him!”

Stunned, Dudley went upstairs and locked his bedroom door. That wasn’t right, a voice inside him insisted. Something was wrong.

Dudley stopped bringing up his questions with his parents, but he worked it out on his own as best he could. He even asked Hestia if she could help him. Dudley felt horrible as he choked out what he was, what he’d done, but she listened.

“You need some serious help,” was what she said. “You poor, poor child.”

Hestia had been studying to be a mind Healer—Dudley thought it must be like being a psychologist—and even though she wasn’t fully trained she helped him through some of his problems. They stole moments together late at night and early morning, talking about the problems indulgence causes, the identity crisis that can happen once someone realizes their behaviour has been wrong, and the difficulty of pulling away from toxic behaviour when it is endorsed at home.

Then the war was over—Hestia cried and told him about all the people who were now dead, but not Harry, not Harry, and Dudley was so grateful he almost cried—and they could go home. But Dudley didn’t go with them.

“I’m finished with school,” he told them. “I want to go away for a while.”

His parents let him, still too hurt themselves to really notice his struggles. Dudley moved to Manchester alone. They gave him a small allowance, and that was enough for a small flat. Dudley got a job as a janitor at the news building, and cleaned without complaint. He’d never done it before, but to his surprise it turned out to be interesting and even easy. It brought him a lot of pride to see the clean rooms, and soon he started making friends in the building. Well, friends was perhaps a strong word; he was friendly with some of the people who worked in the newsroom, because he always came and cleaned, no matter what the mess was.

One lady was always nice to him. Her name was Iris. She was a film critic, and she was frightened of him at first. He could see the fear in her face and shoulders. He used to enjoy those signs. Now it made him sad.

That was fixed his second week, when he went to get more supplies from the closet and found Iris struggling with Paula Murt, her boss.

His boxing training got the older woman away from Iris long enough for her to call the police. Iris was Paula’s latest victim, and her other office mates rallied around her, giving testimony to years of sexual and physical abuse. Dudley wished he could have helped sooner, or that he’d hit the woman harder.

From that point on, everyone in that office was kind to Dudley. They chatted with him when he came in, started being more careful about messes, and they told him all about their lives. Pretty soon Dudley knew almost everything about everyone. “You’re good at keeping secrets,” Iris explained, now the head writer in that division. “That’s why we trust you.”

Of course he was good at keeping secrets. He didn’t have anyone to talk to outside of work.

Besides Iris, his favourite person in the office was Beth. Beth was the food critic, she had three sons and a cheerful husband, and she wasn’t scared of Dudley. She was a boxer too, and they’d done a few training sessions together. Afterwards, they would go out to eat. Beth would ask him how he liked the food, and Dudley (who’d kept losing weight and now tried to eat only good food) would give her his opinion. Apparently he was funny, because Beth would laugh.

“You should try writing for the paper,” Beth urged him.

Dudley shook his head. “I’m no good.”

“Oh, go on.”

“I mean it. I’m not good at writing.”

Beth didn’t believe him, but that didn’t matter in the end. The next week all three of her children fell ill, and she had to stay home from work. When she called in, Iris waved Dudley over.

“Beth says you’d be a good replacement. What do you think?”

“I think I don’t write very well.”

“Are you dyslexic?”

“No, I can read.” Dudley bowed his head. “I’ve just always had a hard time writing. It’s not my hands.”

“Show me, please.”

Dudley couldn’t refuse.

Iris looked at his scrawled gibberish. “I think you might have dysgraphia. It’s a problem with writing.”

“What do I do about it?”

“I’m not sure about what you would do as an adult; that probably should have been caught when you were young. I’ll make some calls, alright? See what I can do. In the meantime, can you read your writing?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you go out then and take notes. When you get back, I may have a solution.”

Dudley returned from the new seafood restaurant having just barely escaped food poisoning. “I want to write about those idiots.” He showed Iris the dozen or so pages of scribbles.

“You can,” Iris replied. She indicated a short man. “This is Leo. He’s an editor, he can transcribe what you’re saying.”

Leo was new to the building, dressed all in blue, and he had the biggest brown eyes Dudley had ever seen. They spent an afternoon going through Dudley’s impressions: “décor like an old antique shop”—“fish on the wrong side of raw”—“my server was the only bright spot; she noticed the mold on the sauce before I did”. Dudley wanted to publish under Beth’s byline, but Leo insisted they make their own. They finally agreed on Lee Durley.

When Beth returned to work, she was delighted to see that Dudley had been hired as a food critic. From then on, Lee Durley appeared every other day, usually covering the extreme restaurants; the cheap, the expensive, the awful, the exquisite (not always at the same time). Leo and Dudley would go out together and eat. They only ate at places once, hence the column name ‘One Time Review’. Beth went to the restaurants a few times to compare, and that created a playful dialogue between the columns that people loved.

It wasn’t long before Dudley and Leo were going out on nights when they had no column to write, just to spend time together. Other nights they would go to Leo’s (much nicer) apartment and Leo would encourage Dudley through writing exercises. After four months of this Dudley managed to write a review entirely on his own by hand, and he’d learn proper shorthand. Ecstatic, Leo kissed him.

And for the first time in years—maybe the first time ever—Dudley was happy.

He was trembling as he tried to decide whether or not to call his parents. He remembered another time that had set him trembling this badly.

“Who’s Cedric, your boyfriend?”

And he’d prayed in the split second before Harry answered that he wasn’t, because Harry was a freak and Harry was wrong and if he liked boys, that meant it was a freak thing to do. And Dudley might have done many things but he’d never hurt someone for being queer. He wasn’t sure what his parents would do. Particularly since it turned out he wasn’t gay at all, because before Leo there’d been a brief fling with Jessica from the finance column. Leo had just gotten top surgery the year before, and he’d told Dudley that he was still willing to bear children. So he was…poly? Pan? He wasn’t sure how to say it right, to say that he understood that there were more than two genders and he liked more than two genders. He just loved Leo.

But his parents surprised him. “Bring him down to meet us,” his mother squealed, and his father said only, “I’m glad you’ve found someone.”

The next few years were cheerful ones. Dudley and Leo got hired full-time to write their column, and apart from occasional experiences with food poisoning (and one memorable day when a restaurant caught fire), it was a pleasant experience. Dudley and Leo moved into a flat together, and they had a decent life.

And then Leo had to make a decision.

“I want to have your baby,” he told Dudley. “And I better do it now, before I start too many hormone treatments.”

Dudley was terrified. A child? Could he do that? The way he’d been raised, he knew next to nothing about parenting. It wasn’t about giving kids what they wanted at all times, it was about raising them, teaching them to be good, all of those things.

But Leo had his heart set on it, and Iris encouraged them, and Dudley agreed. They would try for a child.

Leo became pregnant almost immediately, and the next nine months were hard on both of them. Dudley was frantic, trying to find every book he could and read them as quick as possible, ad he was trying to protect his partner from being attacked.

“I don’t mind them misgendering me,” Leo said through tears one night, a hand on his pregnant belly. “God knows it’s weird to see a pregnant man. But I just…I just want my baby, why do I have to go back to being Rachel to do that?”

Dudley held his hands and took care of him and wrote most of their columns on his own. Leo learned to make concessions; he let his hair grow out again (and after the baby was born, he kept it almost to his shoulders) and wore more ‘feminine clothes’, though he drew the line at dresses. After the first few miserable months of morning sickness, he joined Dudley for some of their reviews. They were actually in a restaurant when Leo’s water broke.

He laboured for twelve hours, and he had to check in as Rachel and Dudley was told to ‘support your girlfriend’. But neither of them minded, because at the end of twelve hours they were together as partners, Leo and Dudley, as they held their baby daughter.

She was named for her godmothers, Iris Elizabeth Dursley. Her grandparents squealed over her, but Dudley took them aside and said something quietly.

“I don’t know if she’s magic. She might be. If she is, you better not turn your backs on her, or you will lose contact with all of us.”

Shaken, his parents nodded. Dudley wasn’t sure if they would actually behave, but he intended to stick to his guns no matter what.

A few days later, Dudley and Leo had their first picture taken of them above their column, with Iris in Leo’s arms. They’d never revealed their real names, and it was a big step for Leo to come out that way, but he insisted he was okay with it. “The more visibility, the better for young kids who don’t feel right in their own skin.”

The photo brought in loads of mail, a lot of it pleasant, some of it so nasty that Iris (the Elder, which is what Leo called her) got the police after the senders, and one letter Dudley had never thought he would see.

It was the last letter of the day, and Dudley was sitting with Iris in a sling, and he read it with utter shock.

Dear Big D,

Congratulations on your partner and your baby! She looks very sweet, she really takes after her fathers. I’m happy to see that you’ve made a life for yourself, outside of our old house. That must have taken a lot of effort, and I hope you feel satisfied.

I’ve wondered where you were for a while now; I didn’t want to contact your parents, and I couldn’t find any record of you in Surrey. I’d be happy to come to Manchester; I don’t to make you travel with an infant, I know how hard that is. If you don’t want to see me, that’s fine, but I thought I’d better take this chance to write.

Your Cousin,

Harry Potter

The return address on the letter was a postal box in London. Dudley waited until Leo woke up the next morning, and they talked about what they should do. Leo didn’t know about the magical world, but he knew the rest of the story.

“It doesn’t sound like your cousin is really asking for anything,” Leo said carefully. “I think he just wants to see you. But hasn’t he heard of Facebook?”

“I don’t think he’s the type for that,” Dudley said carefully. He really wasn’t quite sure how much to say. “I would like to see him. We have unfinished business.”

Leo caught his wrist as he tried to rise. “Dudley, just remember that this is your life now. You’ve done a hard job of reinventing yourself. I don’t want your cousin to trigger you into going back.”

“I’d rather die than be what I once was,” Dudley said. “Because I wouldn’t be worthy of you or Iris.” And he meant it. He hated the person he’d once been, and though he knew parts of it were because of his parents, a lot of it fell on his shoulders.

Dear Harry,

I think it would be nice to reconnect. Do you have access to a phone? My number is on the back of this, and you can call and arrange a time. If you can’t phone, write me back straight away.

Your Cousin,

Dudley

Harry called two days later. “Hello, Dudley.”

“Harry.” Dudley fumbled for words; what should he say? What do you say when you have history like theirs?

He heard a baby’s cry from the other end. “You have a child?”

“I have three.” Harry sounded tired, but very proud. “Lily’s my baby, and I have two sons, James and Al.”

“That’s nice. Leo and I are just going to have Iris.”

“How is she?”

“She’s…incredible. Babies are so small.” Dudley blushed. Obviously babies are small.

But Harry just said, “I know. You’d think after having almost a dozen nieces and nephews and three kids of my own I’d get used to it, but…they’re so small.”

Dudley wasn’t quite sure what to say next.

“Would it be okay if we had a visit?” Harry asked. “I’ve rather gotten out of the habit of using a phone.”

“Sure. I still have some time off, I could come down…do you live in London?”

“Yes, but I can come up. It’s free for me to travel, right?”

Dudley lowered his voice. “You mean the…the Disapparating thing?”

“Yes, exactly. When are you free?”

“I can take Iris to the park tomorrow afternoon. We could meet there.”

And with some directions and a final, awkward goodbye, Dudley ended the first conversation with his cousin in eleven years.

He showed up a couple of minutes late the next day, pushing Iris in her pram. Harry was sitting on a bench. He was wearing a Tshirt and jeans, ones that actually fit him, and he had a few lines around his eyes but nothing major. Dudley couldn’t think what the major difference was, until he realized that Harry looked happy. He’d never seen his cousin look that way.

They shook hands and Dudley joined him on the bench, lifting Iris out of her pram. Harry cooed at the baby. “She’s even more lovely in person.”

“What do your family look like?”

“That’s right, you’ve never met Ginny. I forgot.” Harry pulled a picture from his pocket of a red haired woman with a small redhead boy and a dark haired boy on her lap. Harry sat next to her in the picture, cuddling a baby with masses of red hair. The picture moved, and Dudley watched fascinated as the little family played together.

“They’re beautiful, Harry,” he muttered.

“I know they are.” Harry smiled at his family before he put the picture away. “So…food critic? What’s that like?”

“It’s nice. Better when the food isn’t terrible, but in some ways that makes the writing more fun.”

Harry laughed. “I know. I went and dug up the rest of the columns once I realized it was you and your partner. You write well.”

“Leo taught me. Apparently I actually have a condition that makes it hard to write.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Should have caught it ages ago.” People would have, if his dad’s money and mum’s voice hadn’t kept forcing the teachers to move him along, if they hadn’t insisted nothing was wrong with him…

“They fucked us up, didn’t they?”

Harry’s bluntness startled Dudley into honesty. “Yes, they did. I love them, though. They thought they were doing what’s best.”

“No,” Harry corrected him gently. “They knew what they were doing what’s best. They wouldn’t listen to anyone, because you were theirs, and they knew best.”

Dudley couldn’t bring himself to defend his parents to the cousin who’d lived under his stairs, who’d worn his castoffs. “I had their love, at least. I think you had it worse.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said. “Looking back now, I really don’t. But that’s coming from my end.”

Dudley just nodded. He stood up. “I can’t stay long,” he blurted, and really, he couldn’t. “Leo and I need to work on a quick column. But if you want, we could walk back together, it’s not far.”

Harry smiled. “I’d like that.”

And so began an awkward relationship. Dudley never quite lost his suspicion of wizards and magic, and the looks he got from some of Harry’s family made him suspect he was right to be cautious. Besides, he and his cousin had built separate lives, and with everything in their past it was probably for the best that they kept it that way.

But every Christmas Harry sent cards of cash for him and Leo and toys for Iris, and Dudley sent the same. They kept in touch on the phone once a month, and finally grew comfortable when those calls ended in silence as they tried to bridge a gap that twenty-eight years had dug.

That gap had a helping hand once Iris had grown up brilliant and Muggle, and met Lucy Weasley at university.

Note: This has been edited after some comments about Dudley speculating about being poly or pan. I realize now that I edited out a line that implied him having previous attraction to women, which would prompt that speculation. That's been fixed now, and I apologize for the confusion. If Dudley was attracted to men only, he would be gay and still attracted to Leo. Trans men are men.

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