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letteredlettered · 3 years

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Absolutely no pressure to answer if u don't want to but how did u and ur girlfriend meet? U guys seem really cute together.

We are insanely cute together.

This is a long story that doesn’t need to be this long, but whatever. I love my girlfriend and you asked, so here you go.

Last spring I was writing That Lesson Alone, which was making me rethink a lot of things I’d already thought a lot about before. That rethinking made me promise myself to be more open to new experiences, which I try to be, but I do let my social anxiety drive quite a bit of what I do.

So, when I got an email from a fan who said she was going to be in what she thought was my hometown, and she loved my fics, and was I interested in meeting, I said yes. She mentioned she had left a comment on one fic and that we had had a little conversation; I remembered this comment in particular because the personal story in the comment was rather sensational and quite interesting. Still, I might not have agreed to meet, because it could be very awkward. I don’t like talking to strangers with faces. However, because of That Lesson Alone, and because she was fannish, I agreed to the meeting. (I like meeting strangers who are fannish far more than strangers in any other circumstance. At least you can talk about fandom with strangers who are fannish, and I’m very interested in fandom. You can talk about work with work strangers or the bus with strangers you meet at the bus, but most real things bore me so I struggle with these conversations.)

This person sent me another email in another language, which stymied me for a little while about how to reply, but then she quickly sent me another email saying the first email was meant for someone else; the someone else also sounded sensational. When she got to my hometown, she emailed to say she had arrived, but only had a vague idea of when she was leaving, and she had no concrete plans so could meet any time. I began to get the impression that this person was, how do you say, A Ride, by which I mean one of those people who is interesting and clever and sensational but also extremely non-linear and flighty and difficult to understand. I mean she was halfway around the world and didn’t know when she was leaving; she sent the wrong people emails; the people she told me she knew were sensational; she was perfectly bilingual; she was totally down for meeting random strangers. I have a friend who is A Ride. She is what the Sisters at the Abby would call a flibberty-gibbet, a will-o-the-wisp, a darling, a demon, a lamb.

I wanted to meet on a weeknight (I don’t know if you know this, honey, but I told you I wanted to meet on a weeknight because I was busy, but although I can always be busy, so it wasn’t strictly a lie, this wasn’t my main motivation. I wanted to have an excuse to only have a small window of time to meet so that I could get away if it was too awkward), but on the night we arranged to meet, I was unwell. I was in fact entering the worse part of what I have now learned is a chronic illness. Usually this would be enough to convince me to cancel altogether, and to this day I’m shocked that I didn’t. Is it becoming clear that I don’t like meeting anyone and never ever date? Anyway, because of That Lesson Alone and my determination to be open to new experiences, we rescheduled.

I bused to the restaurant where we met after work and then walked from the bus. I remember this walk. I remember doing the thing that I do to prepare myself for social situations I don’t like, which is not letting myself dwell on it too much, reminding myself that I am actually rather good at making other people feel comfortable when I make the effort, reminding myself to ask questions, reminding myself I could get away, reminding myself that people actually find me quite personable and even vivacious, because I am, but if it’s with strangers, only if I fake it hard enough. These little reminders get me into game face, the face I use for dealing with other people.

Anyway, when I met her, she was very tall. This immediately made me more comfortable, as I am very tall and often feel awkwardly large around other people. And then the first thing she told me was that she had been watching something happy and queer, which meant we could not only talk about fannish things but also queer things. But was she going to be one of those people who just went on about straight things being dull? That always makes me uncomfortable.

Luckily, she doesn’t talk that way, and it was such an amazing conversation, the kind of conversation you dream about having with the love of your life, but the one you doubt you’ll have when you actually meet the love of your life. You imagine when you meet the love of your life you’ll have a conversation that goes, “Pass the salt,” and maybe you’ll talk about the weather, and then a few weeks later you meet them again and talk a little more about something equally uninteresting. Not until months pass by do you realize how much you have in common and how much you like being near them, and then you will start to talk about the things that truly interest you, and after years, you realize they’re the love of your life.

Most of the time, when you have a really stunningly good conversation, you don’t assume you’re talking to the love of your life. You assume it’s a once in a lifetime conversation, with a once in a lifetime person, and you never see them again, because they are too smart and too cool and too tall for you. Or, you do see them again, and you keep seeing them, because they are so mystic, so magical; they are so stunning and intelligent and intellectual; they make you feel so much, you just want to talk to them and talk to them and talk to them. And the more you talk, the more you find out that behind the magic, there’s actually not much that you have in common. Sometimes you find out that they trot out the same sensational stories on every occasion; they make the same jokes you found so witty over and over; you find out that everything that was glossy and new about them is something old that has been polished to shine, with very little you can hold on to and firmly understand underneath. Other times you just learn that your moral centers diverge, or you don’t actually like them. There is no fire beyond the initial spark.

This is just not true of my girlfriend. She is still smart and still cool and still sensational and, very importantly, still tall. I would not describe her as A Ride. She’s not one of those people who makes you feel like you have to sit back and hold on; though she’s endlessly clever, she can explain her thought processes and likes to; she thinks deeply about herself and others and listens. She’s so thoughtful and interesting and clever and also deeply passionate and exuberant about so many things that when you’re with her you can create a ride together that both of you drive or both of you sit back and enjoy. (She didn’t know when she was leaving my hometown because her flight back wasn’t for a long while, but she was traveling down to Oregon and California, and hadn’t bought train tickets yet, and we solved how the mistake was made on the email. We are guessing it was an autofill accident, since the person she was trying to email has a name that starts with the same letter).

She is reliable. She has a whiz-bang, knock-you-flat kind of memory, that not only remembers facts and conversations and locations but that remembers how you are feeling, and remembers to ask. She has the kind of broad-yet-also-piercing intellect that can follow an abstract conversation and build on it, even when you’re in the territory of feelings and concepts without names. She always wants to talk about her feelings, which makes me want to genuflect with gratitude, and she’s so hot she’d probably light a candle if she touched its wick. Like definitely keep her away from flammable substances. She’s creative and theatric and theatrically creative. She has big dark hair and curvy hips. She’s generous and accommodating and care-taking in a way that doesn’t negate her own self-interest. She’s gentle. She’s kind.

But anyway, so we got to talking, and it was one of the best conversations of my life, and I got on a bus and went home, very proud of myself for having accomplished A Social Thing, and telling myself, “See? Social Things are not always bad.” She had mentioned that she would be in town a little longer if I wanted to hang out again, but that would just be crazy, as having to do anything social twice in one week is a strain for me, much less with someone I don’t know. But the truth is, I already felt like I knew her, and leave yourself open to new experiences, said That Lesson Alone, and when else was I going to meet a magic person?

Also, I should mention, which I’m not sure I’ve mentioned to her, but I am suspicious of magical people. When I meet magical people I assume they are vampires underneath, by which I mean they are putting on an act, as I said above, or they are one day going to get you in a very difficult situation, because they are A Free Spirit, which, eventually, you find out means they think crime is fun, or something. I’m just a suspicious person, okay.

But we did hang out again. And that was also magical. And I invited her to my apartment, something I’ve barely done with anybody and never ever ever in my whole life with someone I’ve just met. And then I thought about having sex with her, which is something I basically never think about. And then she left town and said she might be in love with me, but at this point I still A LITTLE BIT thought she might be A Ride, in which case she probably fell in love with people all the time.

Usually when I meet someone very cool I assume they don’t want to pursue friendship with me, because they probably have way too many other friends. I think we’ve all been in the situation of knowing someone very popular and realizing that we do not mean as much to them as they do to us. I am always wary of investing too much emotion in someone who does not have the capacity to equally invest in me. However, because investing time in people I don’t know well is such a commitment for me, I’m also frequently guilty of just ghosting people. I often don’t respond to texts or emails. I often just drop people, without ever really meaning to. Part of it is how intently I focus on things—it’s difficult for me to be pulled in many directions at once, so it’s easier to have a few good friends rather than many casual ones. But part of it really is self-confidence, assuming people don’t want to know me.

However, writing That Lesson Alone reminded me that I am allowed to pursue friendships. It made me realize that a lot of my assumptions about people not wanting to know me are my own self-confidence issues, and not actually other people not wanting to know me. Writing That Lesson Alone reminded me I was worth knowing.

So, we kept talking. I was still late to replying to some emails, but I eventually did reply. I even got a new messenger app just to talk to her. We both have an interest in theater. I was directing a play. She expressed interest in seeing it. She was going to be in Canada when it opened. I told her if she wanted to see it she could stay with me if she wanted. I’d never really done anything like that before. She said yes. I still didn’t really think it would happen—but it did. She came to stay with me for a week that summer. I remembered thinking about having sex with her. I remembered thinking she might be open to it.

One of the things I wanted to be open to when I was writing That Lesson Alone was the idea of dating. I used to think that if I was open to dating, I would have to be open to dating lots of people I didn’t want to date; I thought dating meant you had to give everyone “a chance” and suffer through a lot of “pass the salt” just In Case. That’s why I didn’t date. I have actually been happy being mostly single most of my life. I never really felt a strong need for a partner, except in some sadder lonely moments, and even then, I wanted to be alone more than with someone who was just “pass the salt” okay. But one revelation I had writing That Lesson Alone was that I didn’t have to give everyone “a chance.” I didn’t have to give anyone a chance. I could just be open to dating, and look at what was out there (OK Cupid), but if nothing appealed, I didn’t actually have to do anything, since I already knew I was happy being alone. So, I thought more about what would be appealing, so I could know what I was open to.

I realized the person I wanted was tall (natch). With big dark hair. They like reading and talking about fiction and fictional characters. They can have abstract conversations about philosophical topics. And they are caring and accommodating in a way that can deal with an acerbic nature like mine, but they are also self-aware enough and assertive enough to be honest when I’ve hurt them. And they aren’t acerbic back.

This is a tall order. (hahaha) I thought about it a lot, because I really am harsh sometimes. I try not to be. I try very hard. I just get snappy when I’m tired or stressed, and even though I think about it deeply and put measures in place so that it won’t hurt other people, and I reflect on my own behavior and make apologies, I still hurt people. And despite all of this I’m still hurt by anyone that acts like me. I can deal with it! In fact, lots of times I like it, as lots of people like that (myself included) tend to be blunt and I love blunt, because I love knowing where I stand with people. But I also know that, as a rule, I just cannot be extremely close and spend my life with someone who will snap at me. I’m just too sensitive.

Anyway, over this week she stayed with me, I realized she actually was the only person I’d ever met who fit all of these qualifications. She was someone I would date if she was local. Meanwhile, she made it pretty clear she was really, really into me, which was also something that had never really happened to me before. If people have been into me before (which I still doubt, but who knows), they haven’t made it clear. If they thought they were making it clear, they didn’t realize that I am someone who needs heavy, heavy hints in order to understand flirting, even when I see it happening to other people. But luckily my girlfriend is pretty great at making what she wants clear. She made it really clear she wanted me.

So, well, things happened. I told her I wished that we could date and she could be my girlfriend. She asked why we couldn’t. I told her I thought the distance thing was an obvious problem. She didn’t think it was. So then I had a girlfriend, and she did too.

The end.

PS I love her.

#z #i love you!!!#Anonymous

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sandwyrm · 4 years

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I always rant tons about things I hate in fiction and I scream tons in private about loving Elijah Kamski and disliking that many people Just Don’t Get Him(tm) so why not combine the two.

Like pretty much everyone playing this damn game, my initial opinion on him was “god I wish I could punch him in the face”, but having seen most other paths, and having connected some dots, added to Neil Newbon’s stellar acting as the dude, he’s easily become one of my favorite characters not only in DBH but in general in fiction.

So this is going to be “Why This One Smug Motherfucker With An Attitude You’d Love To Beat Up With A Bat Became One of My Top Favorite Characters, The Essay”

TL;DR: Elijah Kamski planned the android revolution and deviancy

First off, let’s start by analyzing the most obvious thing: his speech and mannerism, his appearance, all play along a very common and clear trope, one that Disney especially is super fond of using:

It’s not just Disney that does this, there’s many other villains who follow the rule, and have been since the dawn of time. And there are many essays and articles on why a smallish physically weak man with aquiline features, calculated speech, and effeminate mannerisms, is such a recurring Look for villains, so we won’t cover that. But it’s very well used on Kamski, perhaps better than any other place I’ve seen, because in him, it is something the character has calculated for himself. For once, we get to SEE what the Questionably Queer Villain STARTED as:

A goddamn nerd. Just your average neighbour. Steve down in IT who comes fix your computer and spergs a little about how COOL computers are, mansplains a little about stuff you already tried because he thinks you’re so much dumber than him, sips an energy drink, and walks away leaving your computer fixed and you with a million emails you still need to answer and a questionable urge to punch him that you’ll never act upon. His mannerism isn’t there. That cadence to his voice isn’t there. He has much more genuine expressions. It is my personal opinion the actor fucking smashed this, and it’s safe to say it is an in-character change: Elijah Kamski was a damn nerd and for whatever reason turned into the Questionably Queer Villain Archetype. Ego gone to his head? Defense mechanism, to survive the sharks of capitalism? Who knows what happened in those 10 years. Who knows how much nerdier he was even longer ago? He has a PR smile going on in that interview but it’s a lot less perfected and rehearsed than the one in 2038. I honestly think it’s a very minor and yet very very stellar detail. Ah! But this is an Extra Feature, most people wouldn’t have seen Past Kamski when they see Present (Future?) Kamski. It’s not the game’s trailer (not unless you’re brave enough to send it to your friends who aren’t into the game yet), it’s a little thing you can watch after you’ve already finished the game. The Kamski you meet at first is this fucker

The fucker who hangs a portrait of himself in his lobby while making you wait on him 5 minutes. The fucker who still swims three more minutes after you’ve been invited in. The fucker who just dodges every single question, and speaks to you condescendingly. The fucker who dismisses your concerns like it’s the funniest thing to him that robots are about to take over.

The narcissist that goes all “pff Turing test is ezmode, I’m gonna make a harder test named after me which I wanna see if my robots pass.”

And because this glib bitch is what the writers intended you to experiment at first, and this is the Kamski most everyone sees while other sides are extras or brief dialogue lines, this is where most people remain with their perception of Kamski. Just another Scar. Just another Jafar. A manipulative little bitch you wish the big buff Hero would punch in the end. But there’s so much more to him.

The obvious: Elijah Kamski is a transhumanist.

To sum it up: Transhumanist is what Steve from IT probably is. If you were to ask him about it, he would mansplain to you how humans are limited by flesh and poverty, and how making technology widely available and the internet free and pushing for technological advancements such as robotics is what would improve humanity. He probably has a whole wall covered in books about AI revolution and singularity, and probably believes robots are the next step in human evolution. That is, robots/cyborgs are to replace humans, and for us to leave our flawed shells behind. Elijah Kamski is such a man, too, and barely hides it. Choice quotes: - “We had to design a machine that moves, breathes, and blinks like us. But yet is smarter and more capable than any human being.” (interview extra) - “Tomorrow they’ll replace our soldiers, and who knows, maybe one day, our leaders, to make the best decisions in humanity’s interest.” (interview extra) - “Perfect beings with infinite intelligence, and now they have free will.” (Meet Kamski) - “Machines are so superior to us, confrontation was inevitable.” (Meet Kamski) - contrast to the PR lie in the interview of “They’re machines, they cannot ever develop a conscience. Trust me.”

It’s clear that he thinks robots/androids would do a better job at society than humans - a lot of nerds do (just ask around, I fucking do, 7 months into 2020), and he’s not even hiding it all that clever.

Or maybe he just wants to fuck some robots?

A lot of people get rapist vibes from Kamski. The creep who just made himself a bunch of sex toys because he could, and there’s nothing else to the androids as far as he’s concerned. And it’s easy to see. Like,

super easy to see

he’s basically eyefucking the androids

But here’s the catch: See, we’re so conditioned by that stereotype I started this essay with that we, and I mean myself as well, easily buy the “he just wanted some hot sex slaves” theory. Scar wants hot sex slaves. Jafar wants hot sex slaves. Frollo wants hot sex slaves. The list goes to infinity. Every time a male is acting this effeminate-flirty way on screen, it’s used to indicate he is a Deranged Pervert. I’m not gonna say where it stems from homophobia and how stupid it is very because smarter people have analyzed this phenomenon, but the bottom line is, we’re projecting something onto Kamski that isn’t there, simply because it’s everywhere else with similar characters. He designed the androids, he’s ogling the androids, and while I have no doubt he’d personally fuck each and every one of his androids, here’s the thing: He only ever touches his one Chloe in a sexual way. There’s strippers in this game. There’s sex in this game. If they wanted Kamski to obviously be a creep, it would’ve been there. Touching those naked androids in the factory. Groping one of the twin Chloes in the pool. Touching Connor in any other way than putting a gun in his hand

He’s not very sensual in this moment, now, is he? It’s a very casual touch, he’s there simply helping a robot aim a gun. Because as far as he knows and thinks, Connor is following his programming - explicitly forbidding him to hold guns. And yet...

Elijah Kamski wants Connor to deviate.

Maybe this one is obvious. Maybe it’s not. If reading forums and reddit has taught me anything, is that people think Kamski is just trying to see if Connor is a mean deviant with these questions. Far as we know up to this point, deviants are Bad. Far as many hot takes I’ve seen, deviants are always Bad because robots don’t have feelings lol way to miss the point of the game jesus christ anyway He isn’t putting pressure on Connor because he’s a jackass - he’s putting pressure on Connor because he knows pressure makes androids deviate. He keeps asking trick questions - what do YOU want. What do YOU think. Time to think WHO you are.

The Kamski Test

On the objective surface, it simply looks like Kamski is here running the Kamski test for his own pride - has he created a machine capable of sparing another machine? Dumb test, you could just program that in, couldn’t you? Yes and no. You could program a machine to never shoot a human or another machine - easily. And you can program a machine to prioritize solving a case, to aid the police. Empathy and critical thought are not easy things. A lot of humans would fail this test. Put a gun in someone’s hand and tell them they can shoot another human and solve all their problems, and they would do it. They fucking do it every day, over lesser things. But that’s not the real purpose of the Kamski test, is it? He could easily have programmed this in for a carnival trick, like he programmed writer androids, fortuneteller androids, medic androids, and everything else. The test isn’t “can Connor shoot Chloe or does he see her as alive?” The test is, “Can Connor put Chloe’s ‘life’ above his programming and specific instructions?” The test is, can Connor’s algorithms decide Chloe’s ‘life’ is more important than his own? Kamski knows it - Connor knows it - we know it. If Connor fails his missions, if Connor behaves too much like a human, he will be deactivated and repurposed. He’s constantly threatened by Amanda with “deviants are bad and must be destroyed.” He knows he needs to be a Good Robot and obey. Connor’s choice isn’t “Spare Chloe or kill Chloe.” His choice is “prioritize the life of another being over his own.”

Connor Deviates

boy u got issues that i can’t help with, godspeed you glorious idiot

But what if... he doesn’t

Let’s check this path out for a moment.

He’s quite... meh. He’s bored. He’s indifferent. He loses the little spark in his voice that little peppy jackass act. The rest of this encounter becomes just another boring PR stunt where Elijah Kamski acts nicely and answers questions by giving no fucking answers at all.

a ViRuS

Mandatory Covid19 joke We find out deviancy is probably a virus that spreads from one android to the other. You know, very useful information we’ve never found out by ourselves. Except we also know that’s wrong, don’t we? Markus spreads deviancy that way - but what about the first deviants? Can we backtrack to a patient zero? Not really. Many androids just deviated by themselves. Sure, they could’ve interacted with a deviant at some point I suppose, assuming...

rA9

Ask him about rA9, and Kamski will say it’s just the first android that deviated. But that’s just a lie, isn’t it? It can’t be the first android that deviated because most people and most androids believe rA9 is Markus - and we know Markus wasn’t the first to deviate. He was just the one to take on a leader role. And Kamski knows of this - planned for this. He gave Markus to Carl Manfred, and he knew Carl Manfred was a damn hippie talking about revolutions and better worlds and must be filling Markus’ head with ideas of being more than he is. It was calculated. So, either rA9 really is just a random religious thing androids rallied behind out of the blue, or Kamski is just lying. He probably is. He’s offering useless what ifs in answer to this question. Maybe it’s this. Maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s your mom and we need better jokes in 2020.

And speaking of just lies, let’s be honest. Do you really think someone would be as dumb as to admit they started AI revolution, in front of cops? That’s why Kamski keeps playing the idiot, don’t forget. A lot of people seem to be taking his cluelessness at face value, as if they’ve never lied in person. Kamski is openly dodging other questions, and offering half lies half truths here. That’s what I’m saying. But even assuming Kamski doesn’t know about deviancy or rA9, for real, what about

Jericho

When asked about Jericho, Kamski answers. He knows what Jericho is - the place where all deviants go. He has its location, conveniently.

Wait, Chloe?

Interesting how the pool Chloes know they shouldn’t be peeping at the talk and we get shots of them hastily going back to their scripted chatting nonsense and trying to return to neutral expressions when “caught peeping” by the camera. More interesting yet, whenever Hank or Connor are directly looking at any Chloe, they’re acting very stiff and robotic. Which... every deviant does. Including Connor. Especially Connor.

Speaking of

Even with Connor failing his test, Kamski insists. Insists to remind him he still has a choice. Insists to remind him of his escape clause (useless on this path but Kamski reminding him is there, and we’re talking about Kamski) It’s almost as if...

Elijah Kamski wants Connor to deviate. Like, wants.

One of the most powerful moments in the game as far as I’m concerned. And not because Connor gets told by his creator that he’s a deviant. Not because we’re told by his creator that he’s a deviant. Not because Hank’s wheels start moving. Because for that little exchange there, Connor shows genuine emotions. Connor’s LED is red. We’ve never seen a red LED Connor up to this point. iirc we don’t even after, I think the only other time is when the security guard android pulls his heart out. Getting shot leaves him on yellow. Dying leaves him on yellow. Processing complex things in 10 milliseconds leaves him on yellow if we’re that lucky, he’s usually on blue and about as unimpressed as y’all reading this essay. Remember how I said the test is between his life and Chloe’s? There’s no dramatic wall here. There’s no direct programming here to guide him along or that he needs to explicitly go against, like when he has to shoot Markus. This is a choice he had to make, by himself, entirely by himself, outside of bounds of his normal programming, using his own intelligence. He has empathy, and intelligence. He is alive.

fAsCiNaTiNg~

There is another thing that happens if Connor deviates, in that little exchange there, Elijah Kamski is no longer that glib, effeminate, Disney villain. For a brief moment, Elijah Kamski is back to being that nerd we’ve seen in the 2028 video. That nerd that is so hyped about what androids can become. He’s showing genuine joy. Genuine fascination. For a brief 30 seconds, he is no longer playing games. This is missing on the machine path altogether. Where he’s left indifferent there, he’s genuinely excited here, genuinely fAsCiNaTeD.

Almost as if he’s happy, proud, that Connor could do it. Like watching your child take their first steps or say their first word.

This isn’t JUST an android. This isn’t JUST another deviant. This is Cyberlife’s puppet. This android was specifically created never to deviate. And he still did. We, of course, as fine purveyors of fiction, saw it coming, but seeing it from Kamski’s perspective - it really is something he’s taken aback by. An android designed to HUNT other androids is going against his very tight programming. Of course, the both know it’s not over, but it’s a start. Indeed, like watching a child take their first step, there’s so many steps left, and there’s still the revolution.

We never see Kamski again in the game, unless we get to the

Failed Revolution

This is a Kamski we’ve yet to see. Not the hyped nerd in the android factory. Not the glib motherfucker dodging police questions. This is an annoyed man. A vindictive man. Sitting cross-legged in a chair. He’s that fucking villain we were always meant to see, isn’t he? Here, scheming, with his long face and Adidas tracksuit. But what’s he scheming against?

“Wait, doesn’t this invalidate your whole fucking essay?” Nope. Remember what I said about us being shown that Kamski was not born a glib liar and manipulator? That he learned that PR smile and smug way of speech? That he learned to be a Disney villain? Do you really think he would just tell the press - the cops - that yes, he has totally planned for the android revolution?

Of course he wouldn’t. But looking under the surface - he does not return to Cyberlife when the deviancy is in full crisis. If he truly believed he should be there to stop the “error”, he’d have been there, not pushing Connor to deviate instead. The “mistake” that he learned from is the FAILURE of the android revolution. He only ever returns to Cyberlife on this path where the androids fail to revolt. To “fix a mistake”.

There’s one last clue in the shit puzzle,

Connor can show empathy from day 1

Well we already know the “error” can be dormant a long time, no biggie, Connor just got Devid-38 from Daniel or something. Some other android. Maybe... Unless...

Connor-60

There’s one combination at the Cyberlife tower. Converting the androids, and getting Connor shot by Connor-60, which leads to the androids still converting with Connor-60, the machine, watching it.

He reacts quite badly to failing, for a machine, doesn’t he? Almost as if...

Deviancy is preprogrammed. And probably so is Jericho.

Remember Chloe had the key? Logically, why would she? Chloe cooould be a deviant that somehow ended up back with Kamski after she found out about Jericho, and told him about it too. Possible, but consider...: Kamski programmed Jericho location in multiple androids, knowing they would “spread it like a virus”. There was a little speech I’ll never find in a playthrough online, but in which it’s implied some androids just “knew” to head to Jericho “instinctively.” And one way to solve the puzzle in the police station is via instructions from Carlos Ortiz’s android. Who.... never left the fucking house. Plus, Kamski accounted for Cyberlife controlling Connor. I mean... He says as much. He doesn’t even hide it.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Let’s look back at the 2028 interview

Getting a little nervous there aren’t we? We ain’t never seen him fiddle with his hands anywhere else than this one question. Not in this interview, not in any other scenes with him.

Son of a bitch has one hell of a PR smile doesn’t he

and if I haven’t convinced you with my essay they admitted in some Q/A that the Kamski ending was going to be more obviously him going back to restart the android revolution. But I found that only ages after I made the connections and fell in love with the fucker.

#dbh #detroit become human #elijah kamski #long post

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j-mysticalien · 3 years

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🔫 the oc content, hand it over /lh

you don’t have to if u don’t want to lol I just saw you said something about ocs and 👀 I am interested

FIRST OF ALL 🥺🥺🥺

SECOND OF ALL OKAY OKAY HERE TAKE IT

(I ended up dumping a lot ... I saw the opportunity and ran with it I didn’t mean to oops)

These guys have been in my head for y e a r s and even though I'll abandon them for months at a time, there are plot points I've forgotten, it’s very very unfinished, and clearly influenced by my freshman year interests, they're some of my favorites to imagine and write like every time I do a picrew chain or something I make them too for myself okay okay-

So. Exposition. For ages the demons and dark things have slipped between the veil and into the world. As evil rises, so do those who stand against it. In some parts of the world The Order was established not to eradicate or wage war against the demons, just to keep everything in their proper dimensions and destroy those who refuse. Members of the Order work in groups with assigned roles, often passed down generations. 1: trained in the physical aspects of fighting creatures, they have the unique and mysterious ability to survive in the other dimension-at least better than the average mortal. 2, “Alchemist”: Usually a witch, human descendant of a magical being, or a particularly skilled mortal even. they provide the magical aid since the other cannot perform magic themselves. (Though Witches tend to form their own communities or work with the demon realm which historically has caused tensions) While fewer and well hidden, this secret society guards the mortal realm to this day...

There’s a small, quiet town in the northeast. Nothing much happens- the power may go out or the weather may turn within seconds and figures may appear and shift into the shadows but it all turns out fine eventually. Nothing to worry about. But those who know a little too much know where to go when things need to be taken care off. Bloom’s Florist and Garden Shop, a sweet little store in the middle of town staffed by the owner’s two teenaged kids. They’ve got a lovely selection of flowers and herbs. If you hear noises from their basement, best to ignore it. If you see the kids sprinting down the street, best to stay out of their way. If they tell you to avoid the woods one night, you listen...

OCS MY BELOVED HERE THEY ARE

Dante Achilles Sindweller. He is type 1. He’s tall, thin but muscular, almost dangerously pale. His hair is blue, eyes blue though they sometimes look red. Riddles with piercings and pale scars. Cocky bastard but well deserved. Friendly and deadly all at once. He’s good at what he does and is always up for a challenge. Low key high key losing his sense of humanity. You see actually being in the demon dimension is draining because of the pure chaos of it but returning to reality is rough too. Because of the hunter’s ability (I’m pretty sure they have this ability bc the og demon hunters secretly fucked a bunch of demons so Hunters have demon blood and cannot “die” in the hell dimension but idfk at this point) they can adapt to the word with a combination of demonic attributes and idealized forms that disappear when he gets back. So um the mental toll is very much a thing that he hides very well...at least at first. He doesn’t actually have to travel too often thought, just during emergencies and later he genuinely visits some chill demon friends there.

Cordelia Emerys Bloom, “Cordie”. 5′2″, dark brown skin, black hair she keeps in two short braids, round rimmed glasses. She’s the alchemist. a few of her far off ancestors were fae. Her own magical battery is low so she’s become skilled in working with. potions and magical plants. She’s the most serious member. of the trio. She knows the job, she has a rhythm, she doesn’t like change. This group had three braincells and 90% of the time she has all of them. She likes her plants, her books, and Dante. She’s a little high strung and stubborn but she’s clever, intelligent, and really warm person once you get past her shields. She grew up way too fast and with all her adult figures gone, Dante slowly slipping (though she denies it to the point where Alice bright it up and they didn’t talk for a week), and this irritation turned fear that Alice’s presence is temporary leaves her with some issues but it’s okay im determined to let her be happy, she just has to let herself accept happiness.

Alice Barnet. A witch. Thick, bright red hair, hazel/ blue eyes. Absolutely stunning. and a fashion icon. She moved to attend to uppity private school right outside of town. She stumbled upon the shop and immediately sensed the great power hidden in there. So she just walked in- because of the dimensional portal not because the girl at the register she saw through the window was so pretty what are you talking about it was witch instinct only- and announced herself and offered her services. She’s a flirt, though a sincere one. She projects a confident, fun vibes even if she doesn't actually feel it. Fake it until you make it I guess. Coffee addict will memorize your birth chart, Starbucks order, and all the little behavioral things. Most of my early drabbles with her involve her sitting on Cordie’s desk sipping her iced coffee while Cordie is like “how tf did you get in here” “good question. Better one: they didn’t have the black tea you like is green okay?” She actually is part of an informal coven but that’s a whole side story with its own cast of characters I haven’t touched in ages

Dynamics dynamics so Cordie and Dante are siblings in all but blood, they’ve been together for almost their entire lives. (Cordie’s parents are almost always away-either on Order business or just vibing idk they’re cool though. Dante’s parents are dead but only Dante himself seems to know that-Something about demon blood and dimension hopping doesn’t let their kind live long) They’re really close. If they met at this point in life they probably would never have been friends and Cordie probably would despise him but as they are they love each other and *know* each other. Technically Dante is older but Cordie is the eldest sister of the relationship.

The two of them have opposite reactions when Alice enters their life. (This entrance is one of the few *full* scenes I actually wrote down) Dante is allured-not by her but by the potential adventure she represents. She states her case and he’s like oh this’ll be interesting. They become best friends almost instantly. Their sass, confidence, and more adventurous sides click harmoniously- much of the time to Cordie’s dismay. To Cordelia, Alice is something unknown, something potentially dangerous. She makes her assumptions (prissy, incompetent, entitled, inexperienced) and tolerated her. Alice has had a crush on her since day 1. She was determined to prove herself to the group and really she’d just like to get her trust and friendship at some point, gushy feelings be damned. They fall in love slowly, they learn to trust and be weak and learn to know each other and be themselves Alice is genuinely interested in all the stuff Cordie knows about the magical world and Cordie gets to try to be a person outside of that world. The recent stuff I’ve actually written down involves a lot of sleepy conversations and whispered confessions and soft touched and hhh

Some of the non-human characters

“Lady”: the ghost that haunts the basement/ Order base. She can’t really speak and isn't always visible, never fully. They don’t know who she was or why she’s there. She helps out when she can though. Might help Dante in the very end.

All of the actual demons are off ideas. Like each deadly sin has it’s own demon (they didn’t realize some humans had grouped them together for some time but they think it’s funny, sometimes they hang out just because of that) The gang doesn't directly meet a lot of them but

Curiosity aka “Apple” aka “Heather” aka “Bee”aka...:The spark that fuels innovation ne the spiral of a downfall. frequently visits human world, team switches between stopping them from blowing up a building to playing Mario kart together. Like he definitely causes trouble and should not keep escaping through the portal but like...he’s fun to got to the mall with. Funky Lil dude who’s there for a good time and some chaos. Changes aliases all the time.

Nostalgia aka “Honey-Lavender”: the kind that leaves the ghost of a smile on your face, the kind that drowns you in the past, the kind that makes you want to go back, or forget. mostly stays in hell. One of the demons Dante visits and is acquainted with. They lay and talk. She can be a downer but he doesn’t mind, he appreciates the company and some days she keeps him tethered to his life and sanity (on the bad says she has the opposite effect, she can’t help it)

OKAY AHAHA THATS ENOUGH OUT OF ME THERE THEY ARE THANKS

#OH BOY UM OKAY #j mysticalien ocs #I’m cringing putting some of this on here but #j mysticalien speaks #Dante Cordie Alice

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dreaming-of-assclass · 4 years

Note

Hi! Can I please have some Karma and Sugino friendship beadcanons? ❤

*cracks knuckles* I’ve been waiting so long for this...😤💚

I literally adore this friendship! Definitely my fave Karma relationship (next to Kayano uwu).

I guess I could sum it up as...Sugino is such a popular, friendly, socially intelligent guy. Karma is “cool,” edgy, and very socially awkward. They’re literally the most iconic type of sitcom duo

Anyways, sorry I was freaking out for a sec there 😅

So...they get off to a rocky start, but I imagine they get super close over the year. At first Nagisa is kinda a middle man, but eventually, they can hang out and vibe without him around.

Sugino overcomes his prejudice and biased view of Karma, and sees the good qualities in him. His respect for Karma grows and he thinks of him as a trustworthy guy.

Karma thinks Sugino is ingenuine at first, but realizes he’s just purely nice. Sugino is very honest and easy to talk to, which is great for someone like Karma, who doesn’t trust people easily at all.

Now...for some headcanons hehe

Sugino is one of the few people that Karma will voluntarily help with studying. He may joke that Sugino owes him a favor or needs to supply him with wasabi or some shit, but he’s honestly just doing it bc Sugino is a close friend.

They’re the most confrontational in Group 4 and may end up verbally disagreeing just bc of their clashing personalities at times. Except it’s usually with little things, like directions, what to do, etc.

(In the future) Everytime Karma is mistakenly given the opportunity to drive, Sugino is such a backseat driver. He’s legitimately scared sometimes that Karma will kill someone...

They fight over the aux, and Karma somehow manages to get it every single time.

Sugino has accidentally hit him in the head with a baseball far too many times...Karma can’t even get pissed bc they are accidental.

Whenever they’re paired in PE, neither of them are taking it seriously. They’re just messing around so much bc it’s honestly so lighthearted. When they do take it seriously, it’s always an interesting match. Karma has faster reflexes, but Sugino beats him in agility. Sugino also has more raw strength, but Karma is a quicker thinker.

Sugino is canonically very talented at a lot of things: sports, art, acting... Karma jokes around that Sugino might finally beat him as the Class Talented Genius, but it’s not out of jealousy at all. It’s his way of complimenting Sugino and showing his support.

Surprisingly...Karma doesn’t ship Sugizaki. Of course, they’re both his friends, but he’s still way closer with Sugino. And he can’t help but see the delusional fantasy Sugino is living in where he puts Kanzaki on a pedestal. It bothers Karma but he isn’t sure what to say. He just hopes Sugino gets over himself eventually, but in the meantime, he’ll quietly support him.

The two of them and Maehara are the ones to come up with “get-rich-quick” schemes...they always invite Isogai but he just sighs and says “Don’t break anything. Don’t kill someone. Or each other.”

They once make a bet with each other that neither of them can indulge in their guilty pleasure for a week, and whoever caves first loses and has to do something embarrassing. Karma can’t eat any junk food or sugar, and Sugino can’t touch a video game. They constantly bait each other during the week while they’re both losing it. Sugino eats snacks in his face, including his precious strawberry milk. Karma rubs it in his face that he could afford the newest version of Sugino’s favorite game. They eventually end it without either of them lasting the week, and tackling each other in a fight. Group 4: “I literally can’t with these dumbasses”

They end up in a ballet class together with Kimura. It was suggested by Korosensei that it improves their balance and skills, but Karma shrugged it off and Sugino said he’ll pass. A couple days later, they change their mind bc dammit, Isogai and Maehara beat them AGAIN. They drag Kimura too bc why not, athletes and chuuni’s stick together. They leave having great ballet skills, and return to assassination. But Isogai and Maehara still be winning 😔

Karma is shook at first in the beginning of their friendship when he notices how many times Sugino nearly jumps into fights/starts shit. He brings it up, and Sugino just sheepishly responds “Oh you know, I only do it when my friends are being messed with. I really should handle things better though.” And Karma just stares at him like ?? “No Sugino don’t change. Now that I hear that, I finally have some respect for you lmfao.” And Sugino is like “oh cool! ...wait that was an insult.”

But that really is a part of Sugino that Karma respects and appreciates a lot. He knows that Sugino has got his back whenever he needs him there, whether it’s assassination, street fights, etc.

Sugino is a chaotic well-meaning idiot, but Karma never wants to use him as a minion like Terasaka. He’d prefer Sugino by his side, like a right hand man, with his support close by.

Karma lives to scare Sugino with his edgy stories, but of course, that goes away the longer they know each other and become friends. Sugino just either accepts it or eggs it on. Karma: “what if I drop this spider onto your head and it infects your mind?” Sugino: “do it bitch.”

Both of them get the same present format for each other on their birthdays. One joke/prank gift and one useful/practical gift.

I HC that Sugino becomes friendly with Gakushuu too at some point, so whenever the rivals are being petty and ready to kill each other, Sugino is just like :D

It’s a pain doing laundry at his apartment since his family has so many clothes and sweaty sports gear to wash, parents are usually busy, their machine doesn’t work sometimes, and he hates leaving things to air-dry... So Karma lets him wash his stuff at his house UwU

Karma always makes sure to watch his baseball games in the future. Not in person all the time, and not the whole game, but at least a couple minutes of the screen. Just to make sure Sugino is doing alright. If he’s having a bad day and isn’t in the lead, Karma texts him like “wtf u better win bitch >3” and Sugino replies “ur right but fuck u”

Karma has a field day whenever girls are flirting with Sugino and he’s so oblivious. Over the years, he has: pretended that he was Sugino’s boyfriend instead and “back off hoes,” basically arranged dates for him just out of fun, and catfished Sugino (as adults)

Sugino’s home isn’t perfect at all, his family is far from perfect. But it’s still way better than the emptiness that Karma is surrounded by. So he invites Karma over a few times for dinner and such, and Karma appreciates it a lot. He also bonds with Sugino’s wild little brother and they create so much chaos.

Sugino can’t trash talk at all, and Karma tries to teach him but it doesn’t work. He’s too wholesome, and Karma just gives up after ten minutes of hearing harmless, stupid shit come out of Sugino’s mouth.

Overall, they’re the Iconic, Talented, Sitcom Duo with so much comedy potential. I love this friendship so much!

#assclass #assassination classsroom #karma akabane #tomohito sugino #ansatsu kyoushitsu #headcanons #thank you so so so much #i love this friendship and i will take any chance to write about sugino uwu #group 4

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stevesharrlngtons · 5 years

Note

28 with Steve? :) 💛💛

you’re still mad.

(thank you to the amazing @harringtonhq for helping me when i was stuck! (: )

you love him. you love him. you love him.

you chant to try and cool your boiling nerves. you love steve harrington, you really do, but sometimes he could be so stupid, you wanted to scream (and often did).

so much about him was endearing, there was so much about him to love. he had a kind heart, a great capacity for love, always wanted the best for others, was eager to learn, had a wonderful sense of humor, the list when on. but, everyone has their flaws, and steve was definitely was not exempt.

he was stubborn, vain at times. he gave horrible advice and could often be too proud for his own good.

somehow along the way of dating steve, you had been roped in to hanging out with a group of thirteen year olds. at first, you would just sit quietly next to steve as he talked to them, praying for it to be over soon. you weren’t necessarily jumping up and down to hang out with children in your limited free time. though as time went on, and you got to know each kid better, you started to like the time spent with them. you now enjoyed all the kids that your boyfriend was friends with, which can still be an uncomfortable sentence to say. you generally got along with all of them, but with max and el, you were bonded to them in a much deeper way. they were floundering for any positive female energy by the time you showed up, and you happily took them under your wing.

so, when steve was off with the boys, you migrated towards the girls. you enjoyed them deeply as friends, but you also enjoyed feeling looked up too. you relished in your new role as the cool older girl in their eyes. you loved that they trusted you, that they would come to you with questions and concerns about the world, and would take your advice seriously.

you had developed a strong protective instinct with the girls over the past year, and that was why you had sped over to max’s house as soon as you received a hysterical call from el. when you arrived you fled your car and went to knock loudly on the hargrove’s door. to your dismay, billy answered it with a smarmy grin.

“finally ready to give in to what we both want, (y/l/n)?” he leaned his bare shoulder against the doorframe.

“ugh, in your dreams, hargrove.” you gagged, and pushed past him into the house.

“every night princess! lemme know when you’re gonna allow me to make all yours come true!” he called after you.

you rolled your eyes, and thankfully got to max’s bedroom before he could say anything else.

“your brother is so gross.” you scowled as you entered.

“i know.” and your head snapped up to where max and el were sitting on her duvet.

max’s face was flushed pink, her eyes were glossy and her cheeks painted with tears. el had a comforting arm around her.

you went into immediate lioness mode, “what happened? who hurt you?”

you rushed forward and pried max from el and into your arms.

“lucas.” el stated simply.

“my god, what did he do? i’ll kill him!” you pythoned the redhead closer.

“he was being so rude. so rude and just ignoring everything i said. and, and he was just so…”

“rude.” el chimed in.

“yes! god!” max wailed into your t-shirt.

“what exactly happened, honey?” you murmured, stroking her hair calmly.

“I was just trying to talk to him, to have a conversation! but nothing, and i really needed to talk to him about all this stuff with neil and my mom and i got nothing. when i pointed out that he was being an ass he told me to stop being so crazy.”

“he what?” you gasped, still trying to console her.

“yeah, so then i told him that he was a dick and that we were over.”

“again.” el said, mostly in observation. she wasn’t wrong, lucas and max broke up all the time.

“i just can’t believe him!” max sobbed.

“it’s like he just didn’t care.”

and then it clicked.

didn’t care.

“son of a bitch!” your tone had changed so drastically from sweet and reassuring to anger and frustration, it caused both girls to jump.

“what, what is it?” max pulled away to look up at you.

“do you know where he is now?”

“at the mall. he, dustin and mike are gonna sneak into stupid top gun again.” max wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“perfect, let’s go. get your shit.” you released max and started towards the door.

“what are you gonna do?” el asked, scrambling off the bed with max as they searched for their shoes and jackets.

“i’m gonna rip my boyfriend a new one for giving that dumbass advice to her boyfriend.”

“wait steve told him to do that?” max questioned as she followed you.

you lead the girls to your car, and whipped out the hargrove driveway and toward the mall, grinding your teeth. chanting away in your head to remind yourself to not follow max’s lead when you saw steve.

meanwhile, el and max were beside themselves with excitement. they loved you for so many reasons. you were smart, intelligent, compassionate and always ready and willing to stand up for yourself and others. you were a badass. a badass who lent them your copy of the feminine mystique and preached the gospel of angela davis. they just thought you were cool.

when you all arrived at starcount, you were a woman on a mission. you knew that you were probably overreacting, but if you let your boyfriend continue to think for one more minute that ignoring women and what they have to say will someone get them to desire you more, you’d be failing yourself.

so, you with your two little ducklings in tow marched toward scoops ahoy, where luckily, dustin and lucas already were waiting. no doubt your boyfriend was nearby.

“hey, tweedle dee and tweedle dumbass, where’s the ring leader?” you jeered when you entered scoops.

“oh, so you’re still mad…” lucas spoke first, glancing back to max whose face soured.

he knew that if you were showing up this mad looking for steve, there was no doubt max tattled to you.

before you could respond, the man himself stepped out from the backroom.

“hey baby, wasn’t expecting you.” steve smiled affectionately at you, not processing your anger.

“you!” you moved and pointed an accusatory finger toward him.

“me?”

“yes, you! god, dammit steve! what exactly did you tell lucas?”

you watched steve go through a facial journey. of being confused by your anger, to looking at max looming behind you, to lucas, back to max then back to you, and finally understanding.

“nothing. i said nothing.” he shook his head.

“nothing? huh, really? so, you didn’t give any advice that might simmer down to being a dickbag to a girl to make her like you more?” you hissed.

“he actually said-”

“lucas! shut up!”

“too late, he just sold you out, harrington. now, what did you say?”

steve looked to both boys for support, but they averted their gazes.

“i didn’t say anything! why would i say anything like that? he clearly thought of that himself.”

“excuse me?” lucas chimed in.

“wanna play dirty? fine, let’s do this,” lucas turned to you, “steve told me and i quote, “you gotta act like you could take it or leave it. that if you didn’t talk to her today it wouldn’t matter.” end quote.”

your eyes widened and you turned back to your boyfriend for now, “are you crazy! who gives advice like that? to a child no less?”

“hey, i’m fourteen!”

“eh, eh, eh, i don’t care.” you said impatiently back at lucas.

“i just… look, ok, it works! how do you think i got you? who is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, by the way. have i mentioned that lately?” steve batted his eyes at you.

“how you got me? seriously? i only started liking you after you cut out all that pompous dick behavior! but y’know that? maybe i acted to soon, maybe i was wrong.” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“(y/n/n), come on, ok, listen! it’s just standard advice, my dad gave it to me and i’m sure his did to him. i’m only passing on the legacy.” steve tried to explain.

“the first problem for all of us, men and women, is not to learn, but to unlearn, gloria steinem.” max chimed in, causing everyone to look back to her.

“see! that!” you gestured to her.

“baby-”

“do not baby me, steve harrington.”

“sweetheart-”

“you don’t actually believe that works, do you?”

steve made an unsure sound, and racked a hand through his hair.

“i cannot believe you! if you ever give that advice to anyone again, impressionable child or not- i swear on my life i will lose my mind.” you clenched your fists.

“this isn’t you losing your mind?” lucas asked.

“not the time, not the time. abort, abort.” dustin said under his breath to his friend.

lucas immediately clammed up and looked away from you.

“forget about coming over tonight, harrington.” you sneeded, and turned on your heel to leave.

max and el looked between each other with huge grins, then followed after you, rife with giggles and praise.

“oh man, you’re so fucked.” dustin chuckled with a shake of his head.

“nah, nah. this is fine, this is cool. it’s all good. it’ll be fine.” steve muttered, placing his hands on his hips as he watched your figure become smaller in the distance.

“go after her.” dustin advised.

“what? no, we’re…”

“go after her.” he reiterated, and steve was already fleeing his post behind the counter to run after you.

“baby, i’m sorry! i’m an idiot, what’s new? i love you!” both boys watched steve catch up with you and start to apologize. he placed on hand on your cheek, and seemed to pouring on the amends thick.

“he was kinda right?” lucas mused.

“excuse me?” dustin asked aghast.

“i mean she just left like she could care less and steve was tripping over himself to follow her.” he shrugged.

“if you let (y/n) hear you say that, i won’t stop her from kicking your ass.” dustin snorted.

“she couldn’t-” dustin gave lucas a pointed looked, “ok fine, yeah she could.”

feedback is greatly appreciated pls & thnk u!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #stranger things imagine #steve harrington fanfiction

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

The Goode Case, 4/14 (Multi) - Juno

Chapter Summary: Jaida meets both Heidi’s date and Dahlia’s girlfriend, along with a woman who she might want to get to know a little better. Brita and Jackie do not have as good a Sunday on call. What will happen at the guest house?

(A/N: Hi all, here is part four, I hope you enjoy. Thank you very much for your supportive words!)

Sunday 29th October

12.14PM

There were no calls early that morning, thank God, and Jaida managed to sleep in until almost eleven. She knew Heidi would be waiting for her at one, so there was plenty of time to shower, tie back her box braids, and put on some makeup.

Her phone buzzed, friend tone, and she looked down at it.

Dahlia: shop closes at 4, so can u come over for 5? then we head over and can set up and be ready for 6.30 x

Jaida: Thank youuu! That’s perfect. X

Jaida: Brittany

Jaida: Dahlia can set up for 6.30 tonight x

Brita: awesome! Thanks for sorting it Jai xx

She’d thrown on a pair of stonewashed jeans and a royal blue hoodie and was setting off to meet Heidi and her new girlfriend, when she saw Widow in the front room, holding a mug of coffee in both hands and staring at nothing. A canvas lay on the ground, having been ripped and torn from its frame; paint was slowly dripping from it onto the newspapers.

“Widow,” Jaida began, but Widow’s face crumpled, shuddering with sobs.

“It was all wrong,” Widow whispered, motioning weakly to the canvas. “It was all going wrong.”

“Come here,” Jaida sat next to Widow and rubbed her shoulder, while Widow shook with silent tears. The grief going through her was making her take one step forward and two back.

Jaida watched the woman in the corner as she reappeared, just as ashen and hollow as she had been yesterday; the same spirit, something Jaida could feel and see from Widow.

She stayed with Widow until the shorter girl stood, wiping her eyes and moving to grab her cigarettes, kicking at the frame of the canvas as she passed it.

The spirit in the corner vanished again.

—————————————

Getting off the bus after her ride in, Jaida saw Jackie stood at one of the bookshop windows, gazing inside, her dark hair being blown into a mess by the wind. She tugged her coat around her and pushed her fringe back and out of her eyes.

Jaida crept quietly, intending to surprise her, but when she was about six feet away, Jackie’s head snapped up towards her. Jaida stopped dead in her tracks, while Jackie chuckled.

“I know what you were trying to do!” She wagged her finger. “No more of that now!”

“Damnit!” Jaida laughed.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jaida nodded, looking towards the shop.

“It’s fine, Jaida. Really.”

“Brita asked me to organise a séance at the house tonight, see if there are any paranormal clues to go off,” Jaida changed the subject rapidly. “Can you be at the house at six thirty? My friend Dahlia runs an esoteric shop and phone line, she knows what she’s doing.”

Jackie nodded solemnly. “And did you talk to Brita?”

“Oh, shit. I meant to, honest. I will tell her. I will.”

“Because if we’re doing a séance, it will be useful to see any spirits that are there. And you’re the only one of the three of us who can see them.”

“Alright, alright!” Jaida rushed past. “I’ve gotta go, I’m late!”

Heidi greeted Jaida with a squeal, a hug, and two air kisses on her cheeks in that order, when she eventually got to Vanjies. Heidi looked absolutely radiant in a purple mini dress, showing off her long legs, toned from years of running track; with a pleather jacket on top, and spiky boots.

“Bitch, I’m freezing,” Heidi announced, wrapping her arms around herself. “Why did I wear this in October?”

Jaida just laughed. “Making a good impression, even when it’s monsoon season out there?”

“I guess so!”

“She must be amazing,” Jaida winked, while Heidi playfully slapped her arm.

Heidi’s date arrived shortly after, pushing the door of the bar, her attention focused on finding Heidi. Her platinum blonde bob scraped her chiselled jawline, and she had piercing grey eyes. She waved when she saw Heidi, coming to give her a peck on the lips, before turning to Jaida.

“Enchantée,”, she said, giving Jaida two air kisses as well. “I am Nicky. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” Jaida took in Nicky’s slender frame and immaculately clean cream-coloured raincoat, hanging to just below her knees, neat wine-coloured buttons down the front; along with bare legs and Chelsea boots. She was casual and cool, but also breathtakingly beautiful. Not someone Jaida expected Heidi would go for, but she seemed very put together, an intelligence behind her eyes.

“What do you want to drink? My treat for standing you up yesterday, Heidi Almighty.” Jaida grabbed her purse.

“You know I want a Pinot, Jai,” Heidi replied.

“Thank you, that would be lovely for me too,” Nicky purred, nodding at Jaida.

As Jaida approached the bar, a short, blonde-haired woman in pale blue jacket, ordering two pina coladas, twirled round a bit too exuberantly and knocked one of them into Jaida.

“Oh my God! Oh, Jesus!” She exclaimed, her hand rushing to her mouth.

“It’s fine,” Jaida muttered, fishing the melting ice cubes out of her sweater and brushing herself down, but the blonde woman had grabbed some napkins from the bar and was wiping at Jaida’s front with them, their hands getting tangled.

“I am so so sorry! Oh God! I’m not normally this clumsy!”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just an accident,” Jaida tried to wave her off, but the woman grabbed her hand.

“Let’s go to the bathroom, and get you dried off.”

She dragged Jaida to the bathroom, turned on the hand dryer and turned the barrel upwards, so it blew straight up into the air. For a split second her sheet of blonde hair was caught in the gust, flaring upwards, spilling a scent of peach shampoo into the atmosphere. She grabbed at Jaida again and pulled her into the stream of hot air.

“That’ll dry you off in no time! Oh, God! Really, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine, really, you don’t need to apologise again,” Jaida said, letting the blonde woman maintain a grip on her hand nonetheless. She let the hot air dry her sweater as much as she could, still smelling peach shampoo, before turning off the dryer and removing herself from this girl’s grip.

“It’s, uh, it’s a really nice sweater,” the blonde said, her voice hitching up an octave.

“Thanks,” Jaida said with a small smile. “I like your outfit too.” The blonde wore a lilac shirt under her jacket, and a pair of skinny jeans. She looked vaguely familiar …

“That’s really nice of you! Especially when I just, you know, soaked you!” The blonde twitched her shoulders happily. She had light-brown eyes that crinkled up as she smiled, and a kind of perpetual motion to her face, darting eyes and an expressive mouth, ever-changing.

“I’m Jan,” she held out her hand. Jaida took it to shake.

“Jan,” she muttered, the name and face finally connecting in her mind. “Do you work at that Italian place? Mantione’s?”

“Yeah!” Her eyes widened with shock. “How did you know?”

“We were there yesterday afternoon – me and my friend Brita – she knows the Mantiones, she grew up with them.”

“You know Brita? Yeah, she was like a big sister to me. I only have brothers,” Jan nodded, looking relieved. “I’m a Mantione. The baby,” she added with a giggle. “Brita was in school with my older brother Paul. I only graduated in June, she graduated a few years ago. How do you know Brita?”

“I work with her, we started together,” Jaida said.

“No kidding! This city is far too small!” Jan laughed. “Are you from New York?”

“No, Milwaukee. I moved for work. Sorry, I’m Jaida by the way.”

“Okay, hi Jaida!” Jan shook her hand, Jaida realising she still had it in hers. She wasn’t relinquishing it. Still not letting go.

Jan turned her eyes nervously to the ground and cleared her throat.

“Well, Jaida, I think I owe you a slice of pizza or two at some point, for spilling my drink all over you. Just drop in when I’m on shift. Which is, like, all the time unless I’m auditioning. I mean, all the time. Well, I mean,” Jan paused for breath, “I mean, come and see me whenever.”

“Is that – an invitation?” Jaida felt the realisation hit her. She perked one eyebrow up, realising her hand was still in Jan’s, unable to stop the coy smile creeping across her face.

Jan tilted her head to the side, smiling nervously.

“Maybe,” she said softly.

——————————————

“Bitch, that better have vodka in it,” Heidi nodded to Jaida’s coke when she came over to them.

“I’m on call today,” Jaida replied, “so no can do until my shift is over.”

Heidi and Nicky hadn’t even been looking at the bar when Jan had spilled her drink, a bit too immersed in each other to notice that Jaida had just been drenched and then flirted with in the space of the last two minutes.

“What is it like, being a secret agent?” Nicky asked Jaida, a polite smile gracing her face.

“A what?”

Heidi spluttered with laughter.

“Heidi!” Jaida cried. “Bitch, what have you told her?”

“She told me you are a secret agent!” Nicky gave Heidi a playful shove. “I didn’t trust her, and I was right!”

“Sorry, Jai, I couldn’t help it!” Heidi giggled. “She’s a detective, Nicky, so she has to go out and work on cases sometimes unexpectedly.”

“And you are working today?”

“Yeah, we got a lead on a case yesterday. A serious case. Nothing I can talk much about, but I need to be on call today, and I have some work tonight.”

It was that moment that Jaida felt a sharp pain in her stomach, a stabbing sensation. She ignored it and smiled at Nicky to mask it.

“Do you worry about your cases?” Nicky was asking.

“Of course, but you do have to learn to leave work at work, in my line.” Jaida carried on smiling. “What do you do for work?”

“I work in an office for a finance company, but I also do translation, and some French tutoring for high school students,” Nicky replied. “French is becoming more popular for students to learn.”

“I don’t speak a damn word,” Jaida waved her hand, “I took Spanish instead. Four years of Spanish, and I can barely remember adios.”

“I can say, voulez-vous coucher avec moi?” Heidi cackled, while Nicky groaned and rolled her eyes at her, giving her a playful slap on the arm.

“So of course you know that Heidi teaches Kindergarten?” Jaida asked.

Suddenly, Jaida felt another stabbing pain, this time on the left side of her temple, like a migraine was coming, but it hit her fast, making her wince. She gripped the side of the table with one hand, and concentrated on moving to take her coke with the other, trying to make sure neither Nicky nor Heidi noticed.

The pain vanished almost as fast as it came on, only lasting seconds.

“… kids, my brother has two younger than five, and they drive him and his wife crazy! They’re back in France though, so I don’t see them very often.” Nicky peered at her quizzically. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah fine.”

5.16PM

By the time Heidi and Nicky said goodbye to Jaida, they were both a little tipsy. Nicky had seemed very nice; beautiful and very down to earth; and Jaida was happy for her friend in finding someone. The two of them had planned to grab some food and maybe a movie, and Jaida thought it best to leave them be.

Dahlia’s outlet, Syn City (as Sin City was copywritten) was a tiny, narrow shop about ten blocks away, with three rooms, two of which were rented by fellow esoteric folk for psychic readings and trades; but Dahlia’s mom owned the lease. The shop was closed, with the “Gone to raise hell lunch” sign on the door serving as a Closed sign too; but the apartment above it was what Jaida was interested in. She buzzed the buzzer, with the door opening shortly after.

Jaida didn’t recognise the woman who opened the door, whose dyed pastel-blue hair clashed with the deep red shawl and the floor-length red skirt. It definitely wasn’t Dahlia, or her mom.

“Hello?” Jaida asked.

“Who are you?” The woman replied.

“Who are you?” Jaida retorted.

“Jaida, is that you?” Dahlia called from up the staircase behind this strange woman.

“I think it is!” She turned to call back up the stairs, while Jaida gawked silently at her.

Dahlia came down the stairs two at a time, leaping gracefully to the bottom from five up, with no shoes on as she normally preferred. She gently pushed the other woman away from the door.

“Come in, Jaida, we’re almost ready to go.”

She took Jaida’s hand and led her past this woman and up the stairs to the apartment on the first floor, above the shop. The scent of incense was alluring, and the beautiful, intricate hangings draped around the walls were familiar and welcoming. Dahlia’s mom’s apartment was full of character and personality, in spite of its small size.

Dahlia’s childhood room was lit by fairy lights which glowed a warm orange colour, a mess as always, the floor covered with Dahlia’s clothes and makeup, but also some unfamiliar shawls and a few scattered piles of manga. Incense burned on the altar in the corner, just underneath the window, Dahlia’s old school desk, covered now in candle wax and crystals, and an icon to a deity that Jaida had forgotten the name of in the centre.

“Got all my shit packed, and Rock’s gonna join us too.”

“Rock?”

“Yeah, don’t call her Roxy or anything, she hates that. Says it’s a ‘doggie’ name,” Dahlia made quote marks with her fingers before Rolling her eyes. “And no Roxanne either. Says she can’t stand that song. Something about getting told all the time about putting on a red light.” Dahlia shrugged.

“So … she decided on Rock as her nickname? Okay, cool,” Jaida shrugged. “Rock it is. Is she your new girlfriend?”

Dahlia rocked from side to side, pondering the answer. “I wouldn’t say new. You haven’t been to my house in like, three months, bitch. That’s a long time in politics. And romance.” Dahlia smacked her lips.

“Alright, so why is she coming?” Jaida asked, motioning down the stairs, where it appeared Rock still was.

“Girl, I told you, I’m not taking no chances at this place. Rock is good at casting protection. She’ll be making sure we’re all safe from anything nasty in the building.”

“How are we all meant to fit on your motorcycle then?” Jaida frowned.

Fifteen minutes later, Jaida was in the back seat of Rock’s battered old third-hand Citroen, clinging to the hook on the ceiling with both hands; Rock behind the wheel and Dahlia in the passenger seat; Dahlia’s box of wonders as she called it on the seat next to Jaida. Rock drove like a crazy woman, seemingly hyper-vigilant to whenever any lights changed, taking left-turns at frightening speed, and screeching to stops every so often for a squirrel crossing the road.

It was probably the fastest that Jaida had ever made it to the old guest house, a full half hour early. Brita would be so proud.

She took out her phone to send Brita a message to that effect, to find four missed calls, one after the other, from Brita about two hours ago, followed by a series of frantic texts.

Brita: Jaida pick up xx

Brita: Come on sis xx

Brita: Jaida please, it’s not work I promise xx

Jaida’s chest felt ice-cold. She pressed the phone key and put the phone to her ear, waiting for Brita to pick up, but the phone just rang and rang.

Frowning, she disconnected, and tried again after a few moments.

Still nothing.

“Brita,” she whispered to herself, tapping at the screen. “Come on, sis, pick up your fucking phone.”

Jaida: Brita I’m sorry I missed u. Pick up sis. X

Jaida: Brita?? You’re scaring me xx

Rock, still in her red shawl, brushed past Jaida now, scattering something from a large jar she cradled in her arms, muttering some kind of incantation.

“Protection,” Dahlia shrugged. “Just let her get on with it, she’s real fucking good at this.”

Jaida’s phone finally sounded, and Jaida looked down with relief to see Brita’s selfie on the screen.

“This is Hall.”

“Jaida. Something happened. Not with me – with Jackie.”

“With Jackie? Is she okay?” Jaida’s heart dropped through her stomach.

“Yeah, she’s fine, just a bit shaken. She tried to break up a fight earlier, took a couple of hits. Assholes! She’s got a bit of a headache from a punch one of them landed, but she’s not bad. We’ll just be a bit late.”

“Well, I’m already here. And Dahlia.”

“Oh, good. Is she setting up?”

Jaida turned to watch as Dahlia lit a cigarette, and Rock continued her slow walk with the jar, sprinkling and murmuring under her breath.

“Uhm, yeah.” Jaida nodded.

“Good. We’ll be there in five.”

As Jaida disconnected the call, she looked up, seeing something out of the corner of her eye, in the room on the top right of the front of the building.

It looked like …

No way.

When she looked up, she saw shoulder-length blonde hair, an anguished face, peering out at her from the window, a young woman silently reaching down towards her.

A young woman who matched the photograph and descriptor they’d had for Gigi Goode.

Jaida ducked under the hazard tape and ran for the window on the ground floor with the loose board, while Dahlia watched her confusedly.

“Aren’t we meant to wait for your colleagues?”

Rock, finishing her circle at the front, placed her jar at the floor and ran up the path, grabbing Jaida by the ankle as she was climbing inside. Her hand was shockingly cold.

“Where are you going? You’ve seen someone? Who did you see?”

“Let me go!” Jaida shook her leg, but Rock frowned at her.

“You definitely shouldn’t go alone. Let me come in with you.”

“Alright, let go of me, and come inside.”

“Can you unlock the door?”

Jaida shook her head. “Brita has the key.”

“I can’t climb through there! I can barely climb stairs!” Rock folded her arms.

Dahlia tossed her cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with her boot. “Move over, Rock.” And she swung herself up and inside, tumbling on top of Jaida as she did so.

“What did you see?” Dahlia demanded. “Because you’re not going anywhere on your own in here, no way. I told you, this place is fucking crazy.”

“I need to get upstairs.”

The main entrance inside entered into a large main room, with the kitchen behind it and the hallway and staircase on the left. Past that was a closed room, that was firmly locked, which according to the sign above it was a smoking room and small bar in its day. Upstairs were four guest rooms, and one larger room at the right hand side, which was a living and sleeping area for the guest house owners.

Jaida took the stairs two at a time, Dahlia bounding gracefully along with her, and turned right at the top of them. There was a short corridor with two rooms on either side, and at the end one larger room with two double doors, which was the owners’ living area.

Without pausing to think, Jaida sprinted down the right hand corridor to the double doors, but they were shut tight.

“Gigi? Gigi!”

Frantically, Jaida rattled at the doorknobs, but the doors would not budge.

“Come on, Dahl, give me a hand, maybe they’re stuck.”

Dahlia joined Jaida in shoving at the doors with her shoulder, as hard as they could, but they wouldn’t even shift a little.

“Jai,” Dahlia whispered suddenly, her voice shaking, and Jaida turned to see Dahlia’s startled green eyes, fixed in the opposite direction, pointing a finger behind them.

Two shadowy figures had emerged from one of the guest rooms behind them.

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conelly · 4 years

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( luke hemmings, twenty-two, cismale, he/him ) did you see BYRON CONELLY walking down main street earlier? you know who i’m talking about, they’re a DECKHAND. everybody in town says that they’re SANGUINE & NONJUDGEMENTAL, but have a tendency to be IMPRESSIONABLE & VOLATILE too. BYRON has been in town for ONE AND A BIT years. c'mon, they’re always requesting SWEET CAROLINE by NEIL DIAMOND at karaoke nights. well, i’m sure you’ll see them soon! ( ooc: sunny, 22, she/her, est )

hi thanks for tuning in, SUNNY here to tell you all a lil bit about westmere’s very own new nd improved favorite loser below. sorry for this summary being all over the place, it’s kinda how my brain works heh which is kinda perfect bc byron will for SURE be all over the place too ( u can rly tell at a certain point i was like ok i give up + i’m posting mf ). let me know if u have any questions about ‘em and most importantly, lmk if you would like to plot a lil connect or sumn 😙

@westmerestarters

FAMBAM + BACKGROUND

born 14 years after the elder conelly ( wanted brother connect !!! ) entered this word to two parents who didn’t seem to read the job description, it was clear that byron wasn’t planned. and down the line, he’d soon realize through the tumultuous household he was brought up in - perhaps never even wanted.

byron’s parents had one constant - and that was fighting. over anything, all the time. there just wasn’t any love between the two and they stayed together for whatever meaningless reasons until byron hit middle school. ( there might’ve been a super short lull in toxicity once byron was born, but it had to be short as his first memories are nothing shy of toxic. ) it was a messy separation ( they never paid the full legal fees for a full divorce ) - his father moving to the coast of nj & his mother moving to a smaller apartment nearby her own mother ( which, due to the negative relationship among his mother + grandmother, also called for more tension ). he’d often be dropped off @ his grandmother’s house for baby-sitting or when he was ‘ becoming too much to handle. ’ eventually his grandmother moved into his cousin’s house ( MONROE ) and although grateful he made a practically new brother, similar tendencies of feeling unwanted occurred when byron noticed their grandmother praising and coddling and favoriting monroe just a bit more.

( his mother was a struggling addict ( and had been her whole life ), but the loneliness, newfound pressures and whatever excuse she was able to name caused her drinking to spiral worse than byron remembered ( even at his young age ) before. )

( his father was rarely in his life, but when he was, he was THE coolest. always played good cop in any situation regarding his mother, despite choosing not to have an active role in byron’s life. byron looked up to him like no other. when he WAS around, he taught byron how to surf, skateboard, play sports, they’d play video games, they’d eat junk food - honestly anything that byron wanted to do. his dad was an adrenaline junkie and created the stepping stones for byron to be one too. he was a marine biologist & pretty successful at that. passionate, intelligent, but seemingly finding his newfound life a lot better than his previous - which is why he never wanted byron to stay too long, the boy reminded him of her, of the past. )

( his older brother moved out of the house when byron was just a lil kid, they’re not very close and don’t have much in common ... or so it seems. he lives in nyc and they only talk here and there on holidays. he was never a huge part of his life, but it does bum him out to think what could’ve been / could be. )

TO GET THE GIST

due to never receiving the attention he craved from his family members, he made up for it tenfold in school. he was always talking to everyone, loud, boisterous, gregarious, life of the party; he wanted people to like him and they did. he become a total people pleaser, molding himself to make sure everyone was content and stayed around. impressionable, adaptable. he felt less this way towards adults and had a bit of a rebellious phase, hanging with the wrong crowd & getting into things he probably wouldn’t do otherwise. old habits die hard and he still tries his best to make everyone crack a smile, to remember him - since he believes he won’t be remembered for much else.

after he just barely skated by in high school ( his grades were never as good as his cousin’s and never lived up to his father’s expectations ), byron felt a bit lost. a lot of people had plans, were heading off to college - but already under the assumption he couldn’t reach any expectation in that realm ( a lil self fulfilling prophecy am i right pals ), he stayed in town - caring for his mother who hardly had anything together, his uncle who got sick very quickly & passed, spending time with his grandmother, while he himself fell into a rut. most of his days meant he drove out towards his dad’s place ( dad hardly there now, out and about with his new family ), surfing, smoking, and grabbing some cash doing odd jobs any way he could. he lost any purpose he once had ( but yall would never know it bc who wants to be in someone’s life who’s a buzzkill ? all smiles, baby, all smiles. )

IN WESTMERE

when his cousin offered the opportunity to travel cross-country in his van, byron had nothing to lose. always adventurous in spirit, he immediately said yes - deciding to ignore that ‘obligation,’ that feeling to make sure they were a-ok that he felt towards his parents. he needed an out and this was it.

after landing in the small connecticut town for the night, the two fell for it - especially since when they got there along the water, it was a summer night + everything landed into place. they decided to stay there a bit longer ... and that eventually turned into more than a year. still antsy to keep traveling and to move around, byron has been ready to head out ... but stays for a few reasons - and them all being people ( bc lbh the surf is not even on point here ok )

his current job is a deckhand ( on a bunch of boats, ppl prob hired him as word of mouth got around that he knew what he was doing ). prob got that knowledge from being by his dad’s on the water when younger ( he’s ... obsessed with the water ) ! and also he’s just a quick learner ok ( ps: if your charrie has a boat pls let’s make somethin happen )

TO KNOW [ headcanons + more ]

his fav karaoke song is sweet caroline bc he knows everyone will be able to sing nd party along. he does it for the ppl, ppl.

he never saw too many baby / kid pics of himself which was kind of a bummer bc he really only remembers negative times - somehow they overpowered ( i bet lil byron was cute as fuck too fml )

he’s super into drugs, hallucinogenics, honestly you name it. it started off w/ him being impressionable, then bored, and now he just enjoys it. despite his mother’s addiction running through his blood, he still continues to do his thang.

longboards around town so watch your toes

uses 🤙🤙 all the time and not ironically

has an existential crisis on the daily about purpose but keeps that to himself most times

WANTED CONNECTIONS

someone pls give me a sugar mama idc how we plot it out they don’t have to hook up they can idk idc i just want someone giving him money or expensive things it can be so much fun ok ,, pool boy ? idk sign me up

pls if your muse has a boat, let him be the deckhand ok it will also be so fun and potentially angsty if he fucks something up

a fling 100% - even multiple ? idc listen he is currently sharing a tiny VAN with his COUSIN he needs a place - like an actual bed - to crash on at night

can he save someone who was potentially drowning pls??? he used to be a lifeguard, it can be a cool/fun thread to write out

omg off of that can he teach someone how to swim

look if anyone is into marine bio, can they somehow know byron’s father ?? i feel like that could make room for a cool plot

also i have an older brother connect on the w/c’s page lmk lmk

give me a good influence that will somehow have him open up + tell him that it’s weird to be so sunshiny all the time. maybe someone who witnesses him at his worst + stays, ya know ??

a bad influence plot where y/c takes this impressionable young lad and puts him through the ringer tbh ( srrsly he’d do a lot for ppl, so ask him to do something illegal for them it’ll be fun )

party pals, smoking pals, on the water 24/7 pals,

co-worker, other ppl that work on the water ( fishermen?? more deckhands?? captains??)

gimmie someone he accidentally bumped into while longboarding ( he’s a large human it might’ve done damage ok )

i want and need enemies ok i know he’s chill as fuck and wants everyone to like him but there’s always a way to find enemies >:o. anything angsty for REAL.

unrequited thing? where he led someone on?? i’m sure he does this constantly

don’t ruin the friendship thing omg plsssss always so fun

look i’m open for it ALL. every plot u have in mind so lay it on me

#westmereintro #TW ADDICTION #nd ... i think that's it

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philip-seville-archive · 3 years

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BDRP 2021 Resolutions

Write your RPer Resolutions for 2018! (What are some goals for yourself as a writer? Improve descriptions? Plot with more members? Etc.)

A silly goal but I would like another female character lol

More one-shots! I always have these ideas for them but because I let them grow too large in my brain or I feel like I need to turn them into a proper ‘short story’ I intimidate myself out of doing them and then let the opportunity to slide. So this year I hope to fix that and once again be more chillax with myself. (Though here is a shoutout to me bc I published some one-shots last year I was happy about, like Nemo’s “Breath,” Berlioz’s parentage reveal, and my John Darling stuff!)

Do One Task Every Month. Another small but very doable goal

Learn how to say no: ahaha this seems a weird thing to put here but its actually about events and i feel this is a safe space to admit that i love love events but they like, truly take a toll on my arthritic hands which means i really can only do two characters probably. But i feel bad only rping with just two ppl etc esp if other people hit me up, or if there are other people i WANT to rp with, so i end up not doing it at all because i get overwhelmed and feel like no one will believe me about my shitty hands (which is of course silly but man chronic illness anxiety am i right). Sooooo i need to find a better way to enjoy events and manage my own health!

Finish some of the fairy lore stuff i got in the works lol

Write at least one resolution, or “goal,” that you have as an RPer for your character(s)

These vaguely feel like spoilers but oh well i love spoilers

Berlioz: Find His Daddy. Also groove room stuff.

Hades: Pokevolve his emotional intelligence! Also would like to do more Board things with him actually, esp bc he will have to run for office so: focus on his political aspirations

Merida: Integrate into society! She is doing it more but I really hope her friendships with the knights will let her fully embrace herself again. ALSO ALSO alpha Merida!

Charlie: Greater control over his magic and more confidence in himself. We gettin there bb

Ashleigh: Entangle her further with the knights/Henry and eventually reveal she’s a mara bc i would like that for Henry it will be horrifying for him

Nemo: embrace dance as a career option and therefore overcome the systematic factors that have convinced u that u cant! YOU CAN

Jun: Date. (Horrifying for him. Not his goal.) Also just more hijinks, I love love hijinks, would love business-related hijinks.

Olaf: Get more involved on campus!! More uni plots for him would be great esp when it comes to figuring out if he’ll stay on campus after this year (and also like how this affects his friendship with Sindri)

Atta: QUEEN STUFF. This is first on my list so we’re gonna make you happen. Blow up Atta’s life, really make her deal with that imposter syndrome. Love it.

Pip: Put the mortifying fear of being known into Pip. aka open up about his mum a bit with like, someone. Or just admit that the people he says are his enemies are actually his friends.

Write at least one resolution IN CHARACTER for your characters. What do THEY want to accomplish or change in the New Year?

Note that I love seeing which characters echo my goals and which ones don’t at all. It’s just fun and neat. Probably says something about each one’s emotional self-awareness. (Mostly pointing out how Hades is extremely self-aware i love that for him)

TW: weight

Berlioz: Literally nothing. Sorry he just thinks resolutions are stupid and life is pointless (he is in a state).

Hades: Prepare for his election next year, raise his children well, help Belle in her recovery

Merida: Assist King Arthur. Become a good alpha to Alice specifically (not u lou i mean like she is but she’s like that bitch doesnt need me)

Charlie: Reup his certs! Figure out a specialty!

Ashleigh: Revenge against Romeo, revenge against John Darling + company for destroying her tree

Nemo: Get an apprenticeship this year. Work on Hangul. Lose seven stone. Work on wing sprints. Be better son. Be more responsible and help Appa. Get job again? ...Quit dance?

Jun: something nerdy about increasing the overall revenue or something of the market i dont know im not a business person. Also something nerdy about Animal Crossing, maybe he wants to add a new room to his house. Jun’s goals have nothing to do with himself personally.

Olaf: Get involved in uni! Learn more about his talent and practice it intentionally, including how to control it better so he is not overwhelmed in situations like the nightmare fog.

Atta: Help Dot with her apprenticeship!! Learn more stuff about clumsy culture. Pass her petition about water fountains.

Pip: Grow SSIC followers by 100+; grow Spill engagement by 20%; arrange guest speakers for SSIC and maybe help SSIC write a petition together?; get a solo for the spring concert; get a lead role in the summer musical; read 50 books in a year; drink less coffee (he will fail this last one)

List one or more characters you have never interacted with that you would like to do so

Ferb. Technically I did interact with him but it was just ONE gif chat when he first got here and I would like to do more!! I think he’s great, i love all of Sid’s characters!

Bianca: HOW HAVE I NOT RPED WITH BIANCA! I don’t know but I want to. Maybe Merida and Bianca would be interesting bc of RAS things! (Also I have interacted with Kristoff but I want to do stuff with Kristoff and trolls please message me bee if u want to do troll things...i love. them.)

Rita: In a similar vein, I think Rita/Ber or Rita/Pip might be interesting. Pip totally looks up to Rita and sees her as a role model so i dunno that could be cool.

Rose: Whitman: Kit, we need to have Rose and Merida interact. Fighty ladies. I am sure with the knights this can happen!

Pacifica: Hello Lins, Pacifica and Ashleigh should be Best Friends Of Course. I could also maybe see Pacifica and Jun if Pacifica wants to do some kind of business philanthropy for her image etc. Or Olaf and Pacifica! Sounds like a wild time, that.

Tod: Olaf/Tod would probably be very fun, I love Pixie friendships! Also maybe Ber bc i think Ber knows Tod from way back when maybe?

Edward: Z PLEASE. PLEASE. Pip and Edward bc they are from the same movie and no other reason!! But I will also throw literally anyone at him.

Plotting Exercise! Pick one of the resolutions/goals in #2 and plan a rough guideline to how you could accomplish it. Here’s an example.

ATTA’S ROYAL TALENT AWAKENS

Attendy: Atta goes ice skating with Wendy and has to stop bc of a headache and faints on the ice!!!

@: Directly after attendy, Dot panics about Atta’s health and wants her to come clean. They fight!

Full Moon Event: Atta faints again in front of everyone. MARLIN helps heal her and Dot/Sled confesses to Queen Clarion what’s going on.

Clarion/Atta: Oh Honey You Got A Big Storm Coming

#bdrptask

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princess-of-the-worlds · 5 years

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our love was never meant to last

For Day One of Klaroline AU Week 2019: Mythological Creatures.

Happy KC AU Week! It was always my favorite part of the Klaroline fandom, and I’m so glad that Luiza (@klaroline-events and @itsnotacrimetoloveyou) brought it back! Lu, ily!

Prompt was partially suggested by @dottie-wan-kenobi who told me to write mermaids and partially by a short story I wrote in high school that I never completed.

Also, can I mention, I hate the new tumblr text formatting.

***

ao3 link: here

word count: 6281

summary: When Hope Mikaelson begs her grandfather Klaus for a story, he tells her off a love long-lost. Seventy years ago, Klaus Mikaelson, then a RAF pilot, tumbled into the sea when his plane was shot down and was rescued by a beautiful girl with sunshine hair, a wolfish smile, and a silver tail. Their story was tragic and never meant to last.

***

One of Hope’s earliest memories begins like this:

It is a late summer afternoon in Albany, New York. The house is empty; Hope’s parents and grandmother are away running errands. The air is muggy and thick enough to choke on; Hope’s grandfather sits in his rickety old rocking chair on the porch to take refuge from the scorching rays of the sun. Hope perches at the edge of the porch, only a small distance away, kicking her slender feet out in no discernable rhythm. She stares out into the empty street in boredom, finding no fellow children to run out and play with.

It's too hot; everyone is avoiding the heat, choosing to remain indoors with the artificial chill of their air conditioners and fans.

Her grandfather leans back in the chair, and it creaks as he shifts his weight. He too cannot stave his impatience with the spy thriller he had been reading, so he sets it aside, down on the floor.

“Would you like to hear a story, Hope?”

His voice, a low baritone tinged with an eclectic mix between a Southern and British accent, is a startling relief from the sleepy silence of the neighborhood, and Hope perks up, turning to face him.

“Yes! That would be awesome! I am so bored.” She stretches out the syllables of her words in child-like exaggeration, pouting up at her grandfather.

“There are several that I can think of…” he begins, but Hope interrupts.

“No, grandad!” she cries. “You’ve already told me all of your stories.” Hope blinks eyes heavy with exhaustion up at him. “Tell me a new one.”

“A new story?” her grandfather mutters, stormy eyes going distant as he thinks back. Having decided on one, he turns his attention back to his granddaughter and smiles gently. “I think there is one story from your old grandad that you have never heard.”

***

I know that you have learned somewhat about the Second World War at school. It was a terrible war; there were so many innocent deaths, so much violence. But, I was never involved directly in the fighting.

No, I was a pilot. I flew airplanes for the British Royal Air Force. We often went on dangerous missions; it wasn’t always a guarantee that we would come back home. And, what we were doing, dropping bombs to destroy German U-boats, it wasn’t a terribly-good thing to do. But we were saving lives.

On one such mission in…September of 1945, I think, I was flying over the ocean. The Atlantic Ocean, it is the ocean between the United States and Great Britain.

Around me, the sky was surrounded in inky darkness; it was nighttime. And it was raining, such stormy weather that hadn’t been seen all summer. Still, I was safe inside my airplane.

Suddenly…I saw a flash of fiery light streaking toward me; it hit my plane with such a loud boom that my ears still rang for moments after.

My plane had been hit by fire from an enemy pilot.

They had ruined my plane’s engine, and I no longer had control. The plane began to plummet down so swiftly that my head smacked against the ceiling, and I was knocked unconscious.

I woke up once, only briefly. I had somehow fallen out of the plane, and I was dropping towards the ocean like a stone. My side was aching; I could not feel it, but I was paralyzed with fear and shock. I thought I was going to die, and I passed out again.

Once more I woke up. I had just plunged underwater; it was freezing, my entire body ached, and the water kept dragging me further down.

I opened my mouth to breath, a stupid mistake. The water rushed into my mouth, filling up my lungs, stinging the way skinning a knee does but everywhere. I tried to swim, I reached out a hand to claw my way out of the water, but it was too heavy, my body was too heavy. I only sank faster.

The water burned like hot lava in my stomach after I was forced to swallow some.

Everything began to become fuzzy at the edges, and I couldn’t tell upside from down. Still, I fought to keep my eyes open, but it was a losing battle.

And, then, imagine this.

Just as all I could see became darkness, there was a flash of silver, almost like light. It was shimmery, metallic. And I tried to reach for it.

But my body was still not under my control.

I thought I saw a face, a human face, but that was not possible. No one could be underwater with me.

I could not ponder this, because unconsciousness came quickly.

***

When I came to, I saw the brightest sky I had ever seen. Brilliant and clear, not a cloud to be seen. And below me? The softest, purest sand ever felt against the exposed skin of my arms.

I shifted against the sand, pain licking like flames down my sides. I was in the most agony that I had ever felt. Something hot was boiling up in my throat, and I gagged, unsuccessful in keeping it down. I turned my head and vomited the remains of my last meal onto the sand; I kept my eyes away from the mess. My stomach roiled again as I dry-heaved.

Something hovered into my view.

A face. The face I had caught a brief glimpse of underwater.

It was a woman-no, it was a girl.

She was beautiful, yes, but did not surpass my childhood sweetheart Camille in beauty. Her skin was unblemished and fair like the sand I lay against, and her hair, hanging loose further than I could see, was a sunshine yellow, though it gleamed even more golden when it caught the light. But, more remarkable, was the keen intelligence that shone in the depths of her cerulean eyes, muddled against the stare of a predator.

I craned my head to allow my gaze to travel further than her delicate collarbones and a slash of nearly sheer fabric that covered her entire upper body; I glanced down and then immediately jerked my head back in bewilderment. I snuck another painful look to make sure that my tired eyes and brain were not playing tricks on my mind.

This girl had a tail.

At her waist, where Camille would wear her skirt, was a majestic tail, silver in color. It was a beauty, iridescent, wide at the waist but narrow where the flipper protruded. It flexed, shimmering with lustrous color under the rays of the luminous sun.

My brain could not compensate for both the agony and the impossibility of a girl with the tail of a fish.

I screamed, the sound ripping itself from my throat. It was the sound of a wild man, a man losing his soul; it was a sound that I believed myself incapable of making until that moment. I screamed myself hoarse, until my throat rubbed raw against itself as I attempted to make noise, but the girl with a tail made no indication to move.

Finally, when all the noise and all the fight was drained out of me, sucked away and replaced by an exhaustion so heavy I felt it in my bones, the girl lunged into my view. I could not flinch away; my limbs dragged against each other as I attempted to move.

She opened her lips, a slash of bright color against the white sand, and I braced my body, stiffening away the best I could.

But she spoke not.

No, she sang.

And her song, oh her song, light, airy, melodious, unlike anything I had ever heard. It was distant at first, the hushed background noise of a radio while the channel is being adjusted. It was still one of the most beautiful sounds in the world.

Then I began to listen.

It was harmonious, it was precise, her song was in tune with the rhythmic beating of my heart.

A magical spell was woven in her music, in her song, in her voice. Her voice wove threads in my mind, dulled it until I could no longer refuse to obey, fogged the rest of my brain until the slapping of ocean waves no longer registered. The color of my vision faded, her face disappearing, only her voice left as my guiding focus.

Her voice paralyzed my body. I could not flinch, I could not tremble, I could not resist.

So, I obeyed her song.

And my mind slept.

***

For a second time, my mind stirred, and my eyes fluttered open. The aching in my bones was now a lingering memory, my pain receptors somehow dulled so my body was temporarily relaxed from the pain. There was faint light filtering from above, though my eyes were staring straight ahead at the slate cavernous ceiling of a cave. My body rested on a surface more solid than the sand had been, but my fingers twitched unconsciously and stroked against the slippery silk of cloth.

I shifted my body; there was heat flaring over my body suddenly, so thick it weighed heavy in my chest and lungs. I coughed, a million bees buzzed in my mouth and throat.

Immediately, there was relief in the form of a cool, soaked rag draped against the delicate skin of my forehead. The difference in temperature was as distinct as the difference between black and white. Water trickled down the sides of my temples, and I sighed audibly.

The rag was a heavenly gift to me in my poor state.

I turned my face towards my savior as a blind man would to the sun, but, immediately, I recoiled and tried to shove myself further away.

The girl had placed the rag on my forehead and was now lifting it. I traced the paths of her slender hands with my eyes and watched as she dipped the rag into a small pot likely filled with water, allowing the cloth to become weighty. Then, in rapid, harsh movements, she retrieved the rag, squeezed the liquid from it thoroughly, and returned it to its position on my forehead.

Her hand brushed against the prickling skin on my forehead; her skin was smooth and soft against the dampness of my temple.

I stiffened, heart roaring to life, but there was no escape. Despite the lack of pain in my body, I was pinned between her and the cavern wall.

“Get away from me,” I demanded weakly, bursting into a fit of violent coughing that left me doubled over. Even speaking strained my voice after my bout of screaming…days ago? Hours ago? Time seemed to have passed so sluggishly since I fell from my plane that I could no longer tell.

She ignored me.

“Humans.” She clicked her tongue with strange indifference. Her voice was cool, evenly-pitched, almost throaty. It struck me as odd; after hearing her song, I had expected her speaking voice to also be honeyed and lilting. “So clumsy and fragile.”

Singing…

“What did you do to me?” I blurted in outrage and immediately regretted it when my throat ached.

“Hmm?” The girl swept the rag from my forehead, and, though the heat was swiftly returning, I shivered. “What did I do?”

“You forced me to sleep!” I protested.

“Oh, yes. That,” she replied tonelessly, as though it had suddenly occurred to her. “I sung to you.”

“You sung to me?” I managed to prop my head up at a slight angle; my eyes unconsciously travelled back to her waist.

I would have blushed at the shamelessness of my gaze, several years in the air force had not trained away the innocence and decency ingrained in me by my family and culture, but my eyes were then popping out of my head at her current lack of tail.

“You have legs!” I gasped audibly. “Where did your legs go?”

She rolled her cerulean eyes, a gesture usually found uncouth on most ladies but that strangely suited her. Once again, she ignored my question. “You have several broken ribs and deep surface wounds. None are critical, but some may scar and mar your pretty face.”

I was unsure if she meant that as a compliment.

The girl continued, “I have treated your wounds with a paste made of lavender and wintergreen; both are natural anesthetics. Your ribs I have numbed with a gel of clove oils. They must heal internally, and you must keep them tightly wrapped.”

“Why are you doing this?” I must have mumbled, and the girl smiled, a wolf smile not fit for her fair features.

“I don’t like my victims untainted.”

The air was snuffed from my lungs, and the blood must have drained from my face, leaving my countenance considerably paler, because the wolf girl’s wolf smile grew wider.

“Relax,” she purred, voice silky and deceptive. “I won’t harm you. I don’t like getting my hands dirty. I only sing humans to death; that’s where the fun is, the deception and the chase and the hunt. I’m a predator.”

Chills ran down my spine, warning bells echoing in my ears. “Dangerous girl, what kind of creature are you?” I managed to gasp through my strangled throat.

“Silly human boy.” Wolf girls’ laughs were not meant to sound like tinkling silver bells. “I am a monster. I lure boys like you in and watch you crash to your own death into rocks. I am a siren like in those myths humans are so proud of. I change form at will.” The tense silence that stretched between her next words brought tentative hope to my heart. “I will heal you, and then you will leave.”

I had no time to flinch when she yanked the threadbare fabric of my shirt up and ripped wraps of fabric away from the skin that covered my ribs. If the pain had not been dampened, I would have howled.

She would have likely sneered in satisfaction.

“Hold your shirt away from your skin,” the siren ordered, and I obeyed out of fear. “I must replace your bandages. I will return in a moment.”

I must have drifted off from the exertion of my body, because, when I focused my dazed eyes, there was a subtle gleaming between new cloth on my ribs, likely more numbing gel.

My stomach growled noisily.

Strange. My brain had not registered hunger.

The siren materialized at my side, clutching what appeared to be a hollow coconut shell. Something sloshed inside it as she shoved it none-to-gently toward me.

“What is that?” I mumbled. When she raised an eyebrow, I repeated my words with more volume.

“Food,” she replied crisply. “Careful when you raise yourself up.”

She lent no helping hand as I tenderly propped myself up, leaning my back against the hard rock behind me. I retrieved the shell from her hands, avoiding skin contact.

The liquid inside the coconut was thick and slightly murky, though the color was most likely due to the small herbs dotting its surface. I raised the lip of the shell to my mouth and tilted; the brew had a sharp, sour flavor that I did not shy away from. It reminded me of my mother Esther’s chicken stew, something I had not had in several years, or at least not since rationing began in England.

My hunger took over me, and I drained the shell. Some liquid dribbled over my lips as I swallowed; I wiped the excess away with the back of my hand as I set the shell on the cot besides me.

The siren watched me with clever eyes, smile finally gone.

Hunger momentarily quelled, my body not in any immediate trouble, I surveyed the cave in which we rested.

The space was small and tidy, furnished with a mishmash of objects like the cot I was laying on, a burgundy rug embroidered with ornate patterns, or the curtains of translucent cloth that fluttered as a light breeze brushed through the entrance of the cavern.

“Where am I?” I dared question.

“An island,” came her brief response.

“An island where?”

The siren’s eyes glimmered as jewels would. “That is not a concern of yours when you remain in this condition. You are to remain on this island, my island, under my care until you recover to near-perfect condition.”

“Do I have a say in this?”

“No.” Her refusal was perfunctory but decisive, and I realized that I did, in fact, not have a say in my condition.

“Sleep,” she instructed, and, though this time her words were more of a mere suggestion, I still heeded them.

For several days, we existed like that. I slept on the cot, feeling as if my legs were deteriorating from their lack of movement. The siren would drift into the cavern occasionally to change my bandages or apply more ointment or forcibly hand me a shell of the same brew. She would always disappear to the water at nightfall, always wearing dresses of the same nearly-sheer fabric. My pain remained numbed for most of the passing time, leaving me to assume that the siren slipped her painkilling substance in my meals.

We shared vague, undisturbed conversation. She never proved intimidating after the day I first awoke, though she behaved as if I remained uninteresting.

One of our exchanges went like this:

“Have you no name I may call you?” I asked her as she scraped a paste of herbs for my next ointment. It had been less than a week after I nearly drowned, and I lounged the best I could against the solid surface of the cot.

“What may I call you?” she shot back rapidly, clever hands at swift work.

I detected no venom in her taunts, a usual occurrence of late; it seems that she was beginning to warm up to me. “Klaus,” I told her.

“Klaus.” She tested my name several times, weighing it on her tongue with curiosity. “What is the significance of your name?” Her voice had taken a near childlike quality.

“It is a diminutive of Niklaus, which means victory of the people in a certain language.”

“Victory?” The siren’s full lips curled into a soft expression, lacking the sharpness of her wolf smile. “What war are you fighting?”

Her question struck a chord with me, and I laughed hollowly. “No war that I can win.”

She eyed me intuitively before nodding silently, her hair bobbing along with the movement of her head. “You may call me whatever you please. I have no name and have grown accustomed to the titles others award me.”

It took mere seconds until inspiration struck me. “May I call you Caroline?” I briefly knew a Caroline once, a daughter of distant family acquaintances, and something about the sharp stare of the curious siren reminds me of her.

The siren nodded her assent, and Caroline she became.

***

“Why do your fellow humans war in the sky and in the sea?” she questioned only a few days later.

I gaped at her in astonishment. This was one inquiry I had never expected. “We’re fighting a war,” I finally managed to reply. “The last war like this that my country fought in was called the war to end all wars. It seems that this might be the war to end all wars.”

“What is the conflict?”

“Conflict?” I echoed with bewilderment.

“Why does your country fight?”

“We must crush the forces that threaten the will of the world as I know it,” I stated, a sentiment I had heard from many of my fellow pilots.

She glances at me and then away, as if one view into my eyes has exposed my meager secrets. “And why do you fight?”

“I fight, because my country chose me to,” I reply swiftly, but she had heard what I had left unsaid

“But you do not choose to,” Caroline guessed.

My silence served as confirmation.

Her eyes softened to the closest that I had seen as kindness in her expressions. “It was never my intent to force you to sleep against your will,” she confessed, “but it was a necessity for your body to heal.”

“I have never had my mind turned against my will until that instance,” I commented quietly. “I never intend for it to happen again.”

“Take this as my word. Or, rather as my vow.” Caroline had been kneeling on the rug besides my cot, but, now, she rose to look down upon me. “I will never sing to you again,” she promised sincerely.

After that day, the last vestiges of our stony animosity were washed away, and we treated each other as equals, dare I say friends.

***

Several days later, Caroline determined that my wounds had healed well-enough for her to allow me to venture outside.

First, however, she urged me to practice walking around the cave.

It was easier said than done.

Despite Caroline’s assistance in slipping off the cot, the moment I attempted to stand I wobbled so critically that I would have fallen had Caroline not been there to catch me.

“Steady,” she murmured, eyes shifting down to my trembling legs. “Take this step by step, and, soon, you will be able to stand.”

How odd had our acquaintanceship become that it never once occurred to me to doubt her words.

Steady step by steady step, I spent hours that day relearning how to walk, and not once did Caroline ever leave my side.

At the end, I was trembling and sweating, my legs aching hollowly as if I had run miles and exerted my body more tremendously than I had done, but I had managed to walk the length of the cavern several times.

“What did I say?” Caroline crowed as I moved to perch on the edge of the cot in exhaustion.

“Even a blind miner strikes gold once,” I replied stubbornly.

The next day, Caroline dragged me from my cot early in the morning.

“What?” I groaned, rubbing my eyes blearily. My last meal had been last night, and her pain-numbing concoction’s effects were wearing off; I could feel the aching beginning, deep in my bones. If I still sustained true pain from my injuries, even after two weeks, it would hit sooner or later. “I think I’ll need more of your painkilling substance soon.”

“I will give it to you soon,” she promised sincerely, “but hurry!” Caroline bundled me towards the entrance of the cave while I tottered for balance. Her push was gentle but steady, and, slowly, I limped towards the lip of the cave, further than I had ever been.

I broke through the shadow of the cave, bare feet brushing against the velvety but grainy sand, my boats having left unworn in the cave for weeks, and gasped, heart nearly thudding out of my chest as I surveyed the landscape that unfolded below me.

The sun had just risen, casting yellow light that washed over the dark sea and formed a trail of white where the light hit the water. Around me, the dusky purple of the night sky was lightening for day, revealing a verdant forest of green to my right. The snow-like beach lay spread to my left, speckled with grey and brown boulders.

“Of all the sights in the world,” I breathed quietly, “this is one I am glad that never went unseen.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Caroline admitted. “Come.” She motioned with a single hand as she began to herd me down a gentle slope that led to the beach.

“You wouldn’t know?” I questioned curiously.

She shook my question off and took off running towards the long stretch of beach. “Chase me,” she demanded in a joyful cry.

I laughed loudly for the first time in weeks, and the sound echoed in the silence around me. I followed Caroline, trailing behind in a quick walk, not trusting my legs enough to run.

In front of me, Caroline reached the water and came to an abrupt halt. She waited a few moments for me to catch up, glancing back at me with invitation in the endless oceans that were her eyes. As I grew closer, she began to chuckle, a melody almost as stunning as her song.

She took a running start, water flying up behind her as she dashed forward, before diving forward into the water.

As her head became submerged in the water, the air surrounding her legs began to blur slightly, as if becoming covered with a smoke screen.

I will never be able to describe exactly how it happened, but it was almost magical, the way her legs metamorphized into her shimmering tail.

I had reached the edge of the water and hesitated slightly.

The memory began to loop itself in my head: how the water had reached into every crevice of my lungs, how it had filled my nostrils until I could no longer breath, how I had begun to choke, how the water weighed me down, dragging me further into its depths.

A cool spray of water slapped me in the face, and I gasped, breaking free from that nightmare’s hold, head turning to gaze at Caroline.

She had splashed me with the fin of her tail, and she did it again, sending a torrent of water splashing into my face.

I only blinked slowly as my hair became plastered to my head.

“Well,” she called eagerly, “are you coming in or not?” When I failed to respond after a brief pause, her face took on an expression of concern. “Oh. It did not occur to me that you may have retained a fear of the water after your near death.”

“No,” I said frantically, attempting to soothe her worries. “That is not what it is.”

She shook her head in refusal. “I am centuries old, Klaus. I am not oblivious. It should have occurred to me, I apologize.”

“No…really…” I sighed. “It is not right for me to be afraid.”

Caroline stared at me critically. “Why is it not right?” she asked calculatingly.

“Men in my society,” I began softly. “We are not supposed to have such ordinary weaknesses.”

Snorting in disbelief, she swam up to where the shallowness of the water began, and, when she edged out of the water, she walked on her feet, skin still covered by the cloth of her dress, now soaked and floating above the water.

I gaped briefly, amazed by her transformation.

She strode up to me, nearing closer until we were nose to nose. “That is complete and utter bullshit,” she snapped. “I have swum the waters of this world for far longer than you could imagine, and, of every man and women who have sailed these seas, for there have been many women, and who I have lured with my song, all were susceptible to ordinary weaknesses or fears. It is only natural. Every person has fears; one must simply be courageous enough to brave them.” Caroline seated herself on the sand and reached up a hand. “Come.”

I gently eased myself into the sand beside her. “You have lived long, haven’t you?”

“I have.”

“Yet you have never seen the world,” I stated in confusion.

“I cannot,” Caroline explained. “It is not in my nature. I am not meant to walk among the humans; I am meant to be their death and destruction. I was created from sea foam to be such.”

“You walk alongside me; you have cared for me.”

She laughed in melancholy. “That is different. I will never be able to live amongst the humans; there is no point in pretending otherwise.”

“If I could,” I breathed. “I would take you anywhere in the world. You deserve to see it as such.”

“That is the kindest offer anyone has ever made me.” Her smile could have launched a thousand ships; she would have been Helen of Troy, her beauty amplified by her happiness.

I do not know how we shifted until our sides were pressed together; I could feel the heat of her skin brushing against mine through the thin fabric of her dress and my trousers.

She turned her face towards mine, and I must have done the same for our lips were touching.

Her lips were soft as they brushed against mine, a whisper of butterfly wings.

Our kiss was sweet and soulful, but there was a dissonant cacophony of danger bells clanging themselves in my head.

I reached a tender hand to cup her face, stroking my thumb over her cheekbone, before slowly drawing my head back.

“I cannot,” I apologized in a hushed voice. “In other circumstances, I would be able to love you, but I cannot now. My heart already belongs to another.”

Her eyes were understanding. “Who?”

“I can only show you.”

So, my heart writhing in emotional pain, I led her back to the cave and to the heap where my bomber jacket and boots lay. From that inner pocket, I withdrew my compass. Amazingly, it remained intact, despite all the trauma it had gone through; the lid was only the slightest bit dented. I flipped it open to reveal the photograph that lay embedded within.

“This is Camille,” I stated softly. “We met as children.”

The photograph was from that last occasion we saw each other before my training, before she had gone off to work as a nurse in the war hospitals; we had gone dancing. Though the print was black and white, my mind filled in the brassy yellow of her hair - not too dissimilar to Caroline’s, the flecks of green and grey in her eyes, the rosy red of her cheeks. She remained burned in my memory: her sparkling eyes, her angular chin, the narrows of her delicate hands, the melody of her laugh.

“Do you love her?” Caroline’s eyes were glossy with unshed tears, but there was a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Very much.” A lovestruck expression overtook my face. “She is kind but witty; her words can be barbs on her tongue, but she never wields them to hurt, only to sooth.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“She is.” I nodded eagerly.

Caroline laughed without venom. “Love is the one human emotion I never understood,” she said straightforwardly. “I believe I never will.”

I could not respond to that.

***

For days after, conversation between us remained stilted and awkward until, one day, Caroline sat me down and forced me to talk about Camille.

“I’m a sucker for love stories,” she demanded.

I could only oblige.

From then, we laughed and talked the way we had before.

A day almost four weeks later, Caroline declared that my injuries had healed almost fully.

“Now what?” I inquired as I perched on the edge of my cot.

“I do not know.” She shrugged, hands fiddling with the cloth of her dress. “Let us eat while we ponder your next opportunities”

After another meal of broth, we traveled out the beach. My fear of the water had dulled slightly, enough that I did not panic when we waded out into the water as we were currently doing.

“It never seemed that you wished to fight in your human war,” Caroline told me.

“That is true,” I remarked. “I was drafted; I had no choice.”

“Do you not need to return?” she asked.

“I do not know,” I replied truthfully.

The war had not occurred to me in all my weeks with Caroline; it was a thing of the outside world, distant and nearly forgotten.

“I do not need to,” I mused. “I could stay here with you.”

Her eyes flashed. “No, you would not survive here. Humans have short lives, and yours would end soon enough. I would be lonely again. Besides, you have family and someone who loves you.”

“You can come with me!” I cried passionately.

She barked a bitter laugh. “I have already told you, Klaus. I cannot be a human; I cannot live amongst them.”

“Why not?” I demanded.

Her wolf smile had returned. “You are so naïve,” Caroline hissed. “I bring death with my song. I would destroy humanity. It is not a choice; it is a compulsion. I stayed away from humans for a reason, watching from a distance. You showed me the best of humanity, but even my song was too much for you. My song will ruin you; we will never be able to live together in harmony anywhere.”

There was a flood of agony to my heart and head. “I have never met a soul like you,” I said, trying to appeal to her. “We could figure it out together.”

Her angry demeanor cracked as her eyes flooded with tears. “It will not work,” she stated simply, turning her face away.

“How do you know?” I protested.

“You will never understand.” She rose elegantly, like a queen. “Come with me.”

I did not follow. “Why?” I asked stubbornly, holding my ground, bare toes digging into the sand.

“Please.” Her airy voice cracked with emotion I could not understand.

At the pleading in her voice, I loosened my body and took a step towards her. “Fine.”

Briefly, there was brightness in her pained smile. She began to walk towards the cave, and I trailed behind her, my bewilderment growing as we entered the cave. Caroline grabbed my bomber jacket and stuffed it into my arms. “Put those on,” she ordered, gesturing to my boots. “You’ll need them where we’re going.”

I obeyed, asking as I balanced to pull my boots on, “Where are we going?”

Caroline held out a hand to me. “Wait.” The moment I had tied the laces of my boots and slid my jacket on, she led me out of the cave.

We traveled along the cave until the path became steeper and steeper, until I was gasping for breath, though Caroline remained unaffected, until the cave became a mound of rock surrounded by dirt. We were crossing to a side of the island I had never seen before, following the line of trees from the forest but never venturing inside. Finally, roughly ten minutes later, we arrived at a small cove with a direct view to the sea. I stopped at the entrance while Caroline ventured to a large rocky overhang.

From its shadow, she heaved out, with incredible strength, a vast wooden platform, made of logs tied tightly together, with a narrow paddle attached.

It was a raft.

“Sirens have always had an innate sense of the sea. For example, I know that, if you paddle out for a few hours and drift in the same direction for some more, you will find yourself in the path of a ship,” she told me nonchalantly. “It could be a U-boat, but it is more likely to be one of your country’s boats.”

“I do not understand,” I stuttered.

On the contrary, however, a small seed of comprehension began to sprout in my mind.

“You do not need to.”

Then, she opened her mouth again, lips stretched wide, and I understood.

Caroline began to sing.

It was a terrible song, music of hopelessness and frustration and sorrow and loss. Her voice, as airy and beautiful as it was, was also rough and full of turmoil, a voice of grated rocks and sharp edges. One listen would open up your heart, one listen would cut a wound, one listen would cause bleeding.

I tried to steel myself against her voice; I stilled my heart and mind, left them as hardened as possible.

It was futile.

Her song drove itself into my mind, wrapped itself around my heart. Her warbling ordered my feet to move against my will, to stride toward the raft and toward her in clumsy steps.

My body couldn’t resist as it stumbled toward her.

I came to stand in front of her.

“Why, why are you doing this?” I cried emotionally. “Let me stay here with you.”

At that moment, all thought of the war, of my home, of my Camille were driven from my mind; my only focus was Caroline.

She turned her head to face me, still singing. Her eyes were wide, the endless water in the endless oceans of her eyes finally spilling over and down her quivering cheeks as she took miniscule gasping breaths between notes. Her lips met and parted as she articulated her music.

My body moved itself to the raft and tugged it further to the ocean tide that teased the shore.

Of my own accord, I called out to her, but my helpless pleading fell on deaf ears.

I was seated on the raft, able to sprawl my full body across it and still reach the oar.

Caroline continued to sing.

“Please…” was all I could manage.

She gave me a bitter, sea salt smile as one of my hands lifted the oar.

No amount of resistance could tear my palms from the oar as my arms began to paddle, pulling the raft into the hungry tide. The song never lifted from my mind, though my heart remained free to beat in relentless agony.

As the raft began to drift into the ocean, my head was forced to turn to face the water, until I could no longer see Caroline.

Only her voice continued, tainting itself into my ears.

Her song changed suddenly, no longer heavy or dark but now light and freeing. There was loss, yes, but it was overcome by the coolness of sacrifice, by the sweetness of innate selflessness.

The siren’s song remained in my ears all the way to sea…

#kcauweek2019 #klaroline #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #klaroline drabble

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inforapound · 5 years

Text

Ease The Dawn Chapter 10

A/N - Thanks for reading and thank you so much for your likes, reblogs and in comments. They mean the world to me.

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith

Chapter - 10 of 18

Notes - I am Canadian so there will be ‘u’ in various words.

The heavy fog that surrounded Winchester was so dense it concealed the first light making the morning bells seem out of place. The chamber was dim with little light coming through the diamond mullions and the warmth from the stone fireplace barely reached the men.

They sat in silence around a table at the centre of the room. Strained silence, broken only by the scuffing of Aethelred's boot on the gritty floor and Burgred's thick fingers tapping on the table. The fire crackled and the resignation obvious in the King's posture felt as loud as the quiet.

Slouching deeply in his chair, Alfred, studied the skin on the back of his clasped hands.

"He has no intention of negotiating with us. I do not understand the purpose of this kidnapping." Aethelred cut through the stiff atmosphere, raising both hands in question.

"There is a plan," Alfred replied without looking up. "He is not a man to act without meaning. There is something he wants." Nodding softly, his voice was muted as if he was speaking to himself. "We must wait."

"While Aethelswith sits and rots in the encampment?" Aethelred scoffed.

"Brother," Alfred straightened and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. "I want her returned safely. You must know this, but we can not be foolish." His face was pensive and his wariness was showing around his eyes.

Each night, he would rest his head on his lavish goose-feather pillow, sick with thoughts of his sister's treatment. Conjuring images of where she might be forced to sleep while he lay in luxury. Was she hungry or cold, injured, he wondered, worrying if the heathens acted out their vengeance towards him, by forcing themselves upon her. His mind would race until he felt ill. Come morning, his reasonable self would admonish some of the fear, remembering the young, intelligent prince from all those years ago. He too had been young, very young. Since that time, the crippled prince had accomplished more than so many infamous Vikings. Alfred sensed, prayed, that Ivar was a true gamesman, one unlikely to tip his favour with carelessness or brute treatment of Aethelswith. His belief in his sister also provided a sliver of comfort. Her intelligence and iron nerve would serve her in any volatile circumstance as would her good sense...he hoped.

"It seems impossible," Burgred blared, finally joining the discussion. "The time for exchanging terms has passed. Our attempts to penetrate their parameter guard failed as did our blockade to impede their river access to Abingdon. They ransacked it! Their offensive strike was bloody merciless. We cannot allow them to advance further into Wessex." Clearing his throat, he shrugged. "Or Kingdoms north of Wessex."

Pressing his lips together, Alfred all but rolled his eyes. His disenchantment for Burgred was clear as he listened to the man rattle on, knowing there was nothing more important to him than becoming king of Mercia. Nothing.

"We have sacrificed nearly two chapters of our best men to those Northmen animals. Will be far more if they move on Winchester," Burgred continued, oblivious to the discomfort of the other two men. "Our attempts to rescue were fruitless."

"The strategy to resolve through force may still be a possibility," Aethelred interrupted. His strength and value always demonstrated through battle. Less often with strategy and politics and he, unlike his brother admittedly, was short on Devine patience.

"Well," Burgred shifted uneasily in his chair. "Perhaps, we must consider that the cost of retrieval is too great," pausing, he ran a hand down the front of his face, "and accept the loss... for Wessex." Burgred shook his head, sighing deeply, averting his eyes from the brothers. "Face a most unpleasant truth."

Both brother's eyes darted to Burgred. Alfred's solemn face giving little insight to his opinion but Aethelred's anger was clear.

"This is Aethelswith we are talking about," Aethelred spat.

"The Princess of Wessex. Our sister. Your wife," Alfred added calmly. "And the future queen of Mercia." Shifting he pushed his back against his chair, his hands squeezing the armrest. "You speak of her with such little emotion."

Burgred's eyes flicked between the two brothers. "Is it not the true mark of a nobleman to respond to hardship with unwavering fortitude?"

"How stoic of you," Alfred replied, his cool eyes staying fixed on Burgred.

"She has likely been defiled. Damaged. Devalued!" Burgred sneered defensively.

"There is nothing those barbarians could do to her that would devalue her," the rosiness in Alfred's cheeks began to mirror the red apples sitting in the bowl on the table. "Prince Ivar is a brilliant strategist. I, we, must trust that he would not be so short sited as to mistreat her and undermine his position to negotiate." Turning, Alfred looked toward the open cut-outs in the stone wall. "He will eventually state terms. There is an air about his delay that," closing his eyes, he shook his head, "feels personal. But, let me be unequivocally clear," he opened his eyes, narrowing them at Burgred, "there is no crown for you in Mercia without Aethelswith as queen."

"Any concession you make is a glaring sign that you can be manipulated. That he can put you on your knees by playing familiar," Burgred retaliated, leaning forward. "You bend to any of that heathen's demands and Wessex and Mercia, even Northumbria will be vulnerable and...."

"Enough," Alfred cut him off. "You will excuse us now. My brother and I must speak on the matter."

Burgred looked to Aethelred, his friend of nearly twenty years, seeking support against the King's dismissal. Gazing into his cup, Aethelred said nothing.

With a dour face, Burgred pushed his chair back across the stone floor and stood, bowing stiffly to Alfred before walking out. Alfred and Aethelred sat in silence until the chamber door thudded closed.

"Send another scout. Inform the prince that we are eager for terms."

"Alfred, wait, please listen. I know you do not care for Burgred. He..." Aethelred teetered his head, "lacks diplomacy and is, certainly, an acquired taste but he is brave and has fought for many years for this family."

"You are correct, I do not care for him. I wish I had the authority at the time to prevent his union to Aethelswith. Mother was too...determined..." his voice trailed off.

"But he is not entirely wrong, Alfred. You must admit, if we bend, we are offering this kingdom. Consider Wessex."

"Aethelred! You do not need to remind me to consider Wessex. Unless the players change, the game remains the same. I will see Aethelswith returned safely. Now, send another scout."

---

She hopped and kicked and raised her left arm into the air with a small grunt. Stepping backward, she slid quickly to the side.

"If you are attempting to seduce me with a form of exotic dance, I must tell you that you have the grace of a turkey," Ivar said in a flat voice, sitting on his stool, unclasping his braces.

"Your humour is endless, my Lord."

"Woman, what are you doing?" he asked as he tipped further down to work on a stubborn buckle.

"Endeavouring, rather failing, to usher a field mouse from the tent."

"How Christian."

Not responding, instead, she walked to the open stove and grabbed a small shovel from the iron bucket.

"To be afraid of a mouse," he continued.

"Ha," she quipped. "I sleep with Ivar The Boneless. You believe I would fear a mouse?" Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes gave away her amusement.

"Why are you such a deranged person, princess?"

"Only you would think me deranged for showing compassion to a mouse," she looked over again to see him dramatically roll his eyes. Pausing, she studied his expression.

"Why are you looking at me that way?" he asked, the ease was gone from his voice.

"You were rolling your eyes so violently, my Lord, I thought, perhaps, you might tip backward." Smiling, she let out a soft laugh.

"How witty," he clucked. "Do I need to remind you of who you are addressing in such a way?"

"You do not." Stopping, she turned fully to face him.

At a glance, Ivar could tell that she was trying her best not to smirk.

"I would not want to risk the punishment of being held captive," she added.

Grunting, Ivar bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from smiling. "You are a very annoying person."

"And you..." she stopped, her eyelids fluttered for a moment before she looked up towards the ceiling.

"What? Finish what you were going to say," he ordered, straightening on his stool.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I did want to ask you a question," her eyes dropped to her hands as she fumbled with the tie of her dark green robe. Ivar noticed a familiar flash of emotion which often accompanied those instances at night when they would share stories and she would burst into giggles. Guilt. Guilt or shame, he was not entirely sure. Some variation of remorse, he suspected, for being so at ease with her enemy.

Nodding, he indicated for her to continue. His face lifted as if waiting on her next word.

"If it would not be a burden, I was wondering if you would teach me about your Gods."

"Princess," his head tilted to one side, "I cannot imagine you want to convert?"

Her eyes flared wide, "No!" she raised a hand as if to motion for him to stop. "No, no. I wish to better understand."

Seeing her standing before him, earnestly waiting for his response, he had to take a breath and steady his voice. Curb his delight.

"Ofcourse! This is a good notion. We will begin with the All Father," he nodded, looking down at the table, beginning to gather the papers in front of him. "There is much to learn. I hope you have the time," he jabbed, sarcastically.

"That is up to you, my Lord," she answered quietly and his eyes shot up to hers.

There was no sparkle in her soft blues as was the custom when they would banter. Instead, she looked solemn, perhaps from the reality of his silly statement. Not wanting the atmosphere to shift, he pretended not to notice.

"Come, sit, we will begin with Bor and Bestla and how everything we know of this world was created from death."

"I think I will get ready for bed now. Perhaps, tomorrow?"

"So early?" he sounded disappointed. "You will not have any food first?"

Shaking her head, she filled a bowl of water and collected a fresh washcloth from the stool beside the tub and began to wash her face.

Such a personal act to witness, he thought. It reminded him of the days lounging on his mother's bed watching her evening custom. Rinsing off both the grime of Kattegat's streets along with her brave face. If only he knew then that one day, soon after, he would be without her. Always expressive with his love for his mother, he would have still savoured and valued their time together more. Would have memorized every detail of her.

Scanning Aethelswith's figure, his eyes settled on her hands, watching how she submerged the cloth entirely in the bowl, wringing it out, careful not to allow a single drop of water to fall outside the rim. Dipping her head forward to meet her hands with the cloth, she carefully wiped her face starting under her eyes and ending with soft strokes down her throat. Her thick wild hair hung loosely plated down her back, resting over the dark robe, tied around her small waist. His eyes did not miss how the synched tie accentuated the curve of her hips and the round swell of her behind.

Letting out a small sigh, he wondered if there would ever be a time when he could not recall the nuisances of her movements. Would it even be possible to forget, he wondered? Would he, one day, desperately want to? Closing his eyes, he inhaled, picturing his future self, sitting on Kattegat's throne, surrounded by people but daydreaming of her. How each night, she would meticulously straighten the furs on her bed before climbing in. How she would lie flat on her back, eyes closed with lips moving in silent words to her God. Would that be his life? Still...regardless...he must soak it in. Burn her into his mind. All of her.

Turning, she caught him watching her from where he sat at the desk.

Clearing his throat, he looked down at his papers and shook his head, uttering, "very, very annoying."

@ill-skillsgard @allvikingsfanfic @youbloodymadgenius @lol-haha-joke @fangirl-nonsense @jacksonroth @dreamwritesimagines @ceridwenofwales @whenimaunicorn @medievalfangirl @naaladareia @yanii-the-hippie @flowers-in-your-hayr @equalstrashflavoredtrash @geekandbooknerd @readsalot73 @tephi101

#ivar #ivar fanfic #ivar's heathen army #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarson #Ivar and Aethelswith #ivar and princess #ivar smut #vikings ivar #vikings #romantic ivar #friennemies #slow burn #kidnapping

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ticklefits · 5 years

Note

i’m still cryin to bud it’s okay :,) so the prompt is- keith and lance are basically best friends. not in a relationship, not in love, just great friends. then allura sacrifices herself. lance is messed up over it and doesnt leave his room for god knows how long. keith visits once and, seeing his friend in this state, becomes scared for the boy. without thinking he turns into his galra form without knowing and lance just tickles him and smiles cause he’s purring and gigglin andit makes his day

sorry it took so long to get this done , i was in the middle of moving and figuring things out with my job but ! here it is , hope u like it ! and thanks again for the prompt sweetie c’:

AO3 LINK !voltron | keith & lance ( platonic ) | words : 1363

“How many times have you listened to this song, Lance?”

Despite the encasing darkness of the bedroom, the same Bebe Rexha song lulling from the stereo sitting on the nearby desk and Lance’s closed, strained eyes, it was easy to depict who’s slightly accusatory voice played in his ears. He doesn’t bother lifting his body, aching and fatigued from having been an immovable object under the covers for what felt years.

“…Don’t worry about it. What’re you doing here..?”

Keith scoffs lightly, having expected that sort of answer. “Don’t I get a hello first?”

“You didn’t give me one.”

“Fair. Rachel let me up. Told me that our sharpshooter still isn’t really feeling like his old self.”

It was Lance’s turn to scoff, complete with a tired roll of his eyes. Sharpshooter, huh? He sure didn’t feel as cool and badass as his old nicknamed suggested he was. In fact, he probably couldn’t have felt worse.

“I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.”

It was one of the saddest lies Keith’s heard Lance try on him so far and truthfully? It caused his heart to sink. Through all of their experiences, Lance was one of the people he was the most proud of. He had blossomed so much from the beginning of their journey: from a mouthy, pride-laden, overconfident amateur pilot to someone trustworthy, intelligent, and cares so much for his team. And while it took Keith awhile to really see the development of these qualities in Lance, he is definitely one of the people that’s come to cherish him and appreciate what he’s done for them. It’s also why he’s here now, taking a break from the blade’s affairs in order to help his friend. Whether he wanted him to or not.

“Lance… C'mon buddy, just talk to me.” Keith takes a slow stride to the bed, settling on the edge of it gently so as not to startle or disturb Lance too much.

There’s silence and then a small sigh as Lance finally forces his drained frame to rise, just a little bit, so he can turn towards Keith and meet his gaze and what Keith witnesses only furthers his own distress. Even in the darkness ( perhaps thanks to his Galra genes ), he can clearly make out the bloodshot whites of his eyes & how dulled the sapphire color has become. There’s a bit of dried drool on the side of his lips and his hair’s a total mess; this is all worse than Keith could’ve imagined.

“–Hey…”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Keith. You.. already know.”

So his suspicions were confirmed. He is still torn from what happened with Allura. “Lance… I’m so sorry about Allura, we all are. But, you’re worrying people.”

“I'm… worrying people?” The tone of the query comes off a tad more .. aggressive, than Lance probably meant it to be, but he couldn’t help it, not with subtle agitation already begin to bubble in his chest.

“Well, yeah – I mean, all of us, we know you’re upset about Allura, but you gotta understand that moping in your room.. in the dark.. isn’t doing you or anyone else any favors. You’re wallowing. And if you keep going like this, you’re gonna end up.. –”

“End up like what exactly? Like you when Shiro disappeared? Obsessive and reckless and biting people’s heads off? Well, newsflash Keith, I’m not like you. Besides, who’re you to tell me how I should or shouldn’t feel? You never stopped looking for Shiro or gave up hope that Shiro would come back, even when everything seemed lost… and in the end, you got him back. I don’t get to have that luxury, you understand? I have to deal with that fact that Allura said goodbye, right in front of me! Without her… without her, Shiro wouldn’t be alive, I wouldn’t be alive!”

At that point, Keith’s hoisted himself from the bed, slamming a gloved palm down on the blanket that surprisingly seemed to have enlarged a bit.

“You don’t think I know that, Lance?!” Keith nearly growls and Lance can swear he notices fangs elongating as he barks back at him. “Allura did so much for us, for all of us! Each and every person on Earth owes everything to her, but do you really think this is what Allura would’ve wanted you to feel, would’ve wanted you to be, about her passing?”

Okay.. now his skin’s painting over itself in a shade of purple. Lavender, maybe? No, no.. too dark for that.. maybe royal purple…

“–Keith–”

“No, seriously Lance! It’s not fair that me and everyone else here are trying to go about our lives, like Allura wanted us to with her sacrifice, but you just want to sit in the dark and sulk instead of being the greatness she saw in you! That we all.. see in you– ah!”

His statement is abruptly disrupted by something of a squeaky yelp as he felt curious digits stroking at new appendages atop his head; Lance might have gotten distracted by the Galran features that have decided to show themselves during Keith’s own outburst.

“.. Dude,” the brunet begins, soft awe and bewilderment replacing the anguish within oceanic sight, “when… did you start growing Galra ears?”

A sigh pulls from slightly flared nostrils, cheeks flushing as Lance’s fingers refuse to rest from touching him. “It’s.. not something that I can fully control. Yet. A-anyway, that’s not the point he–hehehere!” A palm swiftly raised to cover his mouth, but the giggle already did the damage. Within seconds, there’s a familiar sparkle of mischief glimmering in Lance’s eyes, the corner of his lips perking into something of a half smile as he shifts his weight to lean further and softly tickle along the shell of ears, vibrating from the rim towards the inner tenderness. The reaction is almost instant.

“L-Lance! No, knock it ohohohoff!” Keith squirms, attempting to shove the other back and away from his sensitive ears, but Lance anticipates this and quickly swerves to avoid the hands, only to better put his own to work. He migrates between small spots that he notices gives off more prominent reactions and before he realizes it himself, he’s grinning brightly and even releasing a giggle here or there.

“Keith, you feel like a teddy bear, man. This is ridiculous.” But the joy in his tone & beam of his expression is enough to keep Keith from cursing at him for teasing him like this, no matter how abashing.

“Sh-shut uhuhuhup!” He retorts, squeaking and un-intimidating despite growling underneath those words.

Wait… that’s not a growl..

“Ohhh my god, you’re purring now too?” He is way too amused by all of this new information, but he can’t deny how much fun he’s having. Keith discerns this as well and though it’s obviously at his own expense, he doesn’t find himself in real disdain at the situation.

“Lance! Aahaa– stop, stohohop already!” Even Keith didn’t realize how ticklish his Galran ears would be… and now this goofball has that knowledge too. He can only cringe at the future ordeals this was bound to bring; however, he feels Lance’s fingers start to slow and eventually, halt altogether. Blessed with a moment of fresh breath, Keith glances up towards his friend, studying his face to catch any signal of emotional relapse. He flushes with relief when Lance still bares that sweet smile of his.

“… Thanks Keith. Seriously.”

Keith’s own lips lift into another smile, genuine in his subtle delight. “Don’t mention it, Lance. We’re a team. Always will be.”

“So, does that mean you’ll let me tickle you whenever I need a pick-me-up, teammate? ‘Cause that was pretty funny.”

“Not on your life, buddy.”

It was Lance’s turn to let out a laugh, soft and almost timid as it was.

“But… for real man. Allura’s still here with us. Still watching over us and.. The whole universe. She’ll always stay with us. You know that right..?”

Lance turns, moving to push aside the curtains of the window just above his bed, permitting illumination to wash over the both of them from a gorgeous sky painted an array of pinks and baby blues.

“Yeah… Yeah, I know.”

#voltron #tickle fic #keith kogane #lance mcclain #tickle prompt #fic #Anonymous #jay writes.

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swiss-army-fangirl · 5 years

Note

DnD ask post, do odds for Morrigan and evens for Evelynn go

oh fuck u really want me to go all out huh. *cracks knuckles* ow

MORRIGAN

1. How many dead parents do they have?

one confirmed dead parent. one....potentially dead parent?

3. Biggest regret?

hmm. fuck. I’m not sure she has one? there’s been moments in her life that have definitely not been good but she’s been able to work with them and make them a learning opportunity.

5. If they could hang out with one famous person in 18th century American History, who would they want to hang out with?

Alexander Hamilton. They both don’t know when to shut their goddamn mouths and they’ll die bc of it.

7. What fictional character are they most like? Was this an intentional or accidental influence?

i didn’t realize this until later but she’s very much like roman from the sanders sides series, in that she’s really loud and stubborn and charismatic and fucking dumb as hell sometimes. but at the end of the day she has the best intentions.

9. What’s their dump stat?

strength. she had a negative modifier in it for two years.

11. What is their favorite anime?

Naruto bc of the meme potential [i don’t know jackshit about anime i’m so sorry. she probably watches shit with Byron]

13. If they can use magic, what’s their favorite spell?

vampiric touch. look she’s a nice girl but sometimes it’s fun to be bad.

15. Most despicable thing they have ever done?

my sweet tiefling has never done anything wrong in her fucking life.

17. What’s their favorite food?

leftover scones from fantasy starbucks that fantasy starbucks jim leaves for the haunting shadow that plagues him [it’s actually her but no one needs to know. maybe that’s the worst thing]

19. They have to go live on a deserted island. They can take one thing and one person. What do they take?

she brings xerox and a bottomless flask. yeehaw.

21. How did they become an adventurer?

a want to be like the heroes she grew up reading about. she almost got scared off of it but decided to keep going.

23. Thoughts on death?

honestly? she’s terrified of it. she’s had several brushes with it herself and it’s taken/nearly taken too many people she cares about. Not A Fan.

25. Favorite animal?

i could see her with some ferrets for some reason. she’d get a kick out of the fact that they’re like snakes, but fuzzy.

27. They’re at a tavern. They bump into a big burly angry drunk with a combative attitude. What happens?

she tries to throw hands and then gets knocked on her ass. then she remembers she has magic and uses that, and that tips the scales in her favor. she’s yelling the entire time.

29. Biggest positive and negative influences on their life and development?

positive: Hulda, her mother figure. taught her patience (she’s working on it) and that she has the potential for great things. also loves her a whole lot.

negative: her father. he abandoned the family when she was young, and after her mother’s passing, neither side of the family would take her in. he also killed one of her friends and traumatized the other two and her so...not quite Dad of the Year.

EVELYNN

2. How good are they at tongue twisters?

really good. intimidatingly good. you get like that when your brother only talks to you in them for weeks on end.

4. Are they formally trained or have they gone through a more organic learning experience for their skillset?

she taught herself necromancy (it was more like taming the potential that already existed), but she was taught hemomancy.

6. What’s their theme song?

“Another Way Out” by Hollywood Undead.

(bonus - the song for andra’lynn is “Amaryllis” by Shinedown)

8. Paper or plastic?

paper. it looks nicer.

10. What’s their best stat?

intelligence. what a fucking nerd.

12. What’s their favorite beverage?

on a good day? a warm cup of black tea. on a bad day? a warm cup of black tea with alcohol in it.

14. Most heroic thing they have ever done?

honestly? probably when she died in her trial of introspection. that took some serious guts that even she didn’t know she had.

16. Are they a hero or a supporting protagonist?

hero? i think? i plead the fifth.

18. Would they rather fight a hundred duck-sized horses, or one horse-sized duck?

a hundred duck-sized horses. they’re no match for a good AOE spell.

20. Are they religious? If so, what god or gods do they serve?

i wrote on her D&D Beyond sheet “what is god” so no.

22. Most amazing monster they have ever killed or helped kill?

her and leviticaan had a cool ass encounter with a zombie in the tombs, and it wasn’t the monster itself, but the fact that she killed it and then dropped dead immediately after bc she was using a toxin made of her own blood. that was neat. (i really want this answer to be ‘alesis’ when we finish but don’t tell alex that)

24. Do they have any interesting skills?

she’s good with alchemy and sewing. she’s also good at dying.

26. Expansion of civilization or the preservation of nature?

nature is good but the expansion of civilization means more knowledge to be gathered and shared!

28. What do they do between quests?

she reads novels and pets her cat. also she sometimes writes letters to her family but she usually never ends up sending them bc it’s probably better they don’t know what she’s up to.

30. Would they smooch a ghost?

she would smooch One Ghost and his name is Quem Hotboi CItadel.

ahhhhhhhh this got so long but thank you for letting me yell into the void about my daughters i love them

#JESUS this is a long one #but....love yelling about my ocs sorry not sorry #long post #tori talks #lars-and-sadie-doyle

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nowwhateinstein · 6 years

Text

Land of Endless Sky: ch 2

Intro & Prologue Chapter 1

++++++ Chapter 2

General, I respectfully address you on the matter regarding my continued service under your command. Events have transpired which have caused me to question my fitness and willingness to serve in my current capacity as Captain of Company “K” Second Dragoons. I herewith tender my resignation of my commission, to take effect immediately and unconditionally.

Very respectfully, Fox William Mulder Capt. Co. “K” 2d Dragoons U.S.A. June 16th, 1856

++++++ FORT KEARNY NEBRASKA TERRITORY

The sun beat down oppressively as Mulder passed through the gates of Kearny’s stockade and into the small, dusty town that had grown up in the shadow of the fort. He pushed open the door to Frohike’s Fine Goods and Provisions and entered the blessed shade and coolness of the shop.

From behind the counter, the balding, diminutive proprietor looked up from a months-old, yellowed issue of Harper’s Weekly. He squinted at Mulder through half-moon eyeglasses. “That you, Captain Mulder?”

“Yes, but not for much longer, Melvin. In two days’ time, I’ll be plain old ‘Mulder.’”

“Had enough of the frontier life, have you?” Frohike asked teasingly. “Miss the luxuries of a soft feather bed and a woman to keep you warm at night?”

“If I did, I’d have married you years ago.” It was a well-known secret that Frohike’s personal quarters at the back of the store was furnished with every modern comfort and luxury - all of it financed by the exorbitant prices he charged unwitting emigrants and spendthrift soldiers.

Frohike rolled his eyes at Mulder’s good-natured ribbing.

“Truthfully, Melvin,” Mulder said, his tone becoming serious, “I resigned my commission.”

Frohike’s face turned grave. “I heard about Ash Hollow. Can’t say much about them who would slaughter women and children, Indian or not. You’re a good man, Mulder. I’m sorry to see you leave like this.”

“As am I,” Mulder said, smiling sadly at the man who had become the closest thing he had to a friend during his time at the fort. “I’m in need of provisions. And,” he said, remembering the state of his civilian clothes, “some new attire.” What spare clothes he did have were moth-eaten and too large for him; years of living off Army rations and bison had made him leaner than when he’d first arrived from the East.

“If there’s anything I enjoy more than your company, Mulder, it’s your money,” Frohike said, jumping from his perch behind the counter and walking over to the small selection of shirts and trousers.

“Heading back East, I assume? Take up the family business?”

“No,” Mulder said, trying banish the image of his father, and the disappointed look on his face when Mulder told him he was entering West Point to earn an Army commission. He’d wanted Mulder to practice law, like he had. But the war with Mexico had captured young Mulder’s imagination, and he entertained boyish daydreams of earning glory on the battlefield. So he’d applied to the United States Military Academy. Never did he imagine that glory could be so one-sided and bloody.

His pause earned an inquisitive look from Frohike.

“I’m headed west,” Mulder went on to explain. “Maybe California. Or New Mexico. Anywhere but here.”

“Well, you picked a hell of a time to leave,” Frohike said. “Most of the emigrant trains passed through here a month ago.”

As he spoke, a lone cart with a team of four oxen passed in front of the store window. “As I was saying,” Frohike said, watching them go by with a frown, “most of them. Those folks will be lucky to make Fort Bridger by the first big snow.”

“I can make good time just myself and Ghost. If I need to lay by at Bridger or some other outpost for the winter, so be it. I’m in no hurry to get there - wherever there is.”

He handed Frohike a list of his requests. The older man nodded approvingly as he scanned the items. “I’ll have everything ready for you by this time tomorrow.”

Frohike quickly held up a hand. “Just a moment,” he said, then reached behind the counter and produced a small, bulging burlap sack. “A parting gift,” he said as he handed it to Mulder. He looked inside, and smiled at the sight of sunflower seeds.

“My thanks, as always, Melvin,” he said, and shook the man’s hand fondly.

Mulder stepped outside into the oppressive June heat as a small woman in a bonnet arrived in front of the shop. He quickly moved to open the door for her.

“Thank you,” she said, glancing up at him as she passed. Intelligent blue eyes met his. Mud and dust clung to the hem of her pale green dress, and her shoes bore evidence of miles of travel. Despite her well-worn attire, he found her remarkably beautiful and strangely familiar, and had to make a conscious effort to avoid staring longer than was appropriate.

He touched his hat in greeting. “Ma’am.”

She nodded politely, then disappeared into Frohike’s. Must be from that lone wagon party, he thought, glancing up the street. Sure enough, the wagon stood in the shade of the livery stable. The oxen stood unharnessed, taking long draws from the water trough. Frohike was right, he thought - at this rate, they would be hard-pressed to catch up with the mass of wagon trains.

++++++

He set out at first light two days later on the dusty, wheel-rutted road that led westward. The sparse, overgrazed vegetation that surrounded the fort presently gave way to a lush, waving sea of waist-high prairie grass. Above him, swallows swooped and dove in the mid-morning sun in search of insects. Their intricate acrobatics and constant twittering provided a welcome diversion from the images of dead Sioux that plagued his dreams and lingered increasingly into his waking hours. He felt his heart grow lighter with every mile he put between him and the fort. He even started singing one of his favorite tunes:

“I'm lonesome since I crossed the hill And over the moor that's sedgy Such lonely thoughts my heart do fill Since parting with my Sally I seek for one as fair and gay But find none to remind me How sweet the hours I passed away With the girl I left behind me”

Ghost snorted in agitation at his rider’s crooning. Mulder laughed and patted his neck affectionately.

“You’re right, boy. I can’t carry a tune. And I don’t even have a girl.”

He did, once. He’d fallen for the beautiful Diana Fowley when he was a cadet at West Point. The war with Mexico had raised the prestige of the Army in the eyes of the nation, and it became fashionable for a woman to be seen on the arm of a dashing young cadet. But the war ended, and when it became clear that she’d have to trade the comfort of New York City for the privations of the frontier, Diana had called off the engagement. She’d only loved him for his uniform, he’d realized too late, and the attention it afforded her within New York society.

And so, with a broken heart and a feeling of having played the fool, Mulder accepted his commission as a Second Lieutenant with the Second Dragoons and set off for the borderlands of the newly formed Republic of Texas. The pain of Diana’s rejection had eased with the change of scenery and the passage of time. He soon realized that the frontier held more opportunities for a man to avail himself of a woman’s pleasures than were afforded a young man among the New York elite. The forts had their fair share of women with questionable morals who were ready to bed any soldier with coin, but his infrequent encounters with such women always left him feeling empty and miserable, and soon he’d stopped visiting brothels altogether.

But if one had to feel empty, the Plains were a fitting place in which to find oneself, he’d discovered as the years went on. In his early days with the regiment, he’d developed a reputation as a loner, often volunteering to go out on solo patrols for weeks at a time. He could ride for days without seeing another soul, and that suited him just fine. Promotion through the ranks had decreased his opportunity to roam, and he found the responsibilities of an officer dull and tiresome. Out among the vast grasslands and rolling hills, he had found solitude, not loneliness; solace instead of restlessness. Now that he was free of the constraints of Army life, he prayed that freedom would be enough to exorcise the demons of Ash Hollow.

After a hurried midday meal taken under the slight shade of an eroded hillside, Mulder set Ghost back on the trail. He’d glance down at the trail every now and again to try to decipher the signs of those who had passed before him. Newer wheel tracks and fresh ox dung told him that a wagon had passed by not long ago. Probably the same party that had stopped over at the fort a few days prior. What’s more, he noticed, leaning over in his saddle for a better look, riders - three, perhaps four - had also used the trail after the wagon. The tell-tale U-shaped prints told him that the riders were white; Indians didn’t shod their horses, instead switching out mounts so as not to tire or injure them.

After a few miles, he crested a hill. What he saw on the other side caused him to immediately drew up on the reins to bring Ghost to a halt. He jumped down and pulled Ghost back down the hill until he was out of sight, then drawing his revolver, slowly crawled back to the top.

At the foot of the hill on the other side stood the wagon he’d seen pass through the fort; its contents were scattered on the ground nearby. The four oxen, still yoked, lay dead. He could detect no movement, no other signs of life. Carefully, he made his way down the hill to cart, using the tall grass as cover until he reached the cart. Mulder noticed arrows scattered about the ground, but curiously, they all faced in different directions, as if someone had haphazardly tossed a quiverfull up in the air and let them fall. Even odder: the oxen had all been shot by a small caliber pistol - not the firearm of choice by Plains Tribes, who much preferred rifles.

It took him a moment to notice the two bodies amid the tall grass. A bald, older man lay beside a younger, pimple-faced boy. Both had been shot and both, he saw with a sickening twist in his stomach, had been scalped. Whoever had done the scalping had botched it on the older man; his scalp was still partially attached to his skull. With rising dread, he frantically looked about for the woman he knew belonged to the the party - the woman with whom he briefly exchanged courtesies outside of Frohike’s.

As if in reply, a woman’s scream shattered the expansive stillness of the prairie. Mulder drew his revolver and sprinted down a small ravine in the direction of the scream.

Two men stood close together, laughing and cheering as they watched a third man struggling with something on the ground. The men were shirtless, their faces and chests painted in red and black paint. At first, Mulder took them for Indians, then one of them spoke.

“Come here and hold her down,” the man on the ground yelled in English. “She’s a feisty one.”

Mulder stiffened at the familiar voice of Sergeant Krycek. He squinted at the other men; beneath the copious red and black face paint, he recognized Private Colton and Corporal Kersh. Like Krycek, the two men had a poor reputation among the Kearney detachment: he recalled Colton had once been confined to quarters on bread and water rations for a month for attempting to steal a milk cow from an emigrant family passing through the fort.

“As long as you leave some of her for me,” Colton answered with a leer. He bent down and grabbed the woman’s arms, pulling them roughly above her head. Krycek paused to unbutton his trousers, leaving just enough opportunity for the woman to deliver a well-placed kick to his face; he fell hard on his ass, raising a laugh from Colton and the other soldier.

“Bitch!” he said, spitting out a mouthful of blood and stumbling to his feet. “You’ll wish I killed you with your father and brother, before I’m done with you.”

Krycek had barely taken a step forward before Mulder fired. The sergeant’s stomach suddenly blossomed crimson, and he staggered backwards before dropping to the ground.

Colton let go of the woman and whirled to face Mulder, his gun drawn. Kersh managed to get a shot off at Mulder; he winced at the sudden, searing pain in his left arm.

Before Kersh could fire again, another shot rang out, and he collapsed. Colton, confused, glanced down at the corporal. That bought Mulder just enough time to take aim at Colton. He fired. The private fell on top of Kersh.

Mulder ran over to the woman. She lay shaking, gasping on the ground. In her hands was Krycek’s revolver. Smoke curled upwards from the barrel. He helped her to her feet. She stared, shocked, at the weapon, then at the men who lay dead at her feet.

Before either could speak, a groan caused Mulder to turn away. Krycek was still alive; his breathing came in ragged gasps as he lay on the ground nearby, grasping at his bleeding stomach. Mulder stood over him. Krycek’s eyes focused on him and widened in recognition.

“Please, Captain, have mercy,” he said weakly between bloody coughs. “Have mercy.”

He was a dead man - it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to blood loss. But a gunshot wound to the stomach was painful, and often resulted in a slow death; anger rose within Mulder at all of the needless suffering and death this man had inflicted. He wanted to walk away and leave Krycek to a prolonged, agonizing demise.

Instead, Mulder pointed his gun at the sergeant. “The only mercy you’ll get from me is a quick death,” he said, his voice iron-edged, as he cocked the hammer with his thumb. Krycek whimpered. The air reverberated with the sharp crack of his Colt.

He holstered his gun and walked back to where the woman stood. Wordlessly, he took the revolver from her. She swayed, as if about to faint. He put a hand out to steady her. “Easy does it, ma’am.”

She didn’t fall, but instead took his hand in a tight, vice-like grip. He squeezed back, causing her to look up at him. Her eyes registered shock, surprise - and fear.

“It’s alright, ma’am,” he said gently. “You’re safe.”

Her eyes focused on him as if truly seeing him for the first time. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. He felt her hand slip from his.

“I must bury my father and brother,” she said, composing herself. Her face, although tear-stained and smeared with dirt, was set with a firmness and resolve that surprised him.

“Allow me to pay my respects by assisting you,” he said.

She hesitated, as if unsure whether to trust him, but presently gave brief nod of assent. Without speaking, she turned and headed in the direction of the cart and her dead kin.

Mulder picked up the dead men’s weapons and followed. Behind them, the shirtless, painted bodies of the soldiers lay staring upwards at the expansive sky.

#land of endless sky #work in progress #my fic #xf fic #txf fanfic #msr fanfic #historical au

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brianna-lei · 7 years

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Butterfly Soup Asks #16

This time including the squad as DnD characters, Liz facts, Noelle getting her yaoi education, and more

I’ve only played Dungeons & Dragons once (1) in my life so I’m no expert! I’d consider my thoughts suggestions (like with my takes on the charaters’ MBTI types, which I’m not an expert of either):

Noelle as a Wizard sounds right, since she definitely can’t do anything reliant on physical strength. She would be an asshole and attempt things like building a Clone Army

AKARSHA THE BARD. Rogue sounds too cool for her

Diya: I actually want to say she’s a Ranger because the Wiki on 5th edition says “The Beast Master archetype forges a connection between civilization and beasts, allowing the character to interact with animals in certain ways including gaining an animal companion to control.“ Fighter and Knight also sound plausible though!

Min: Barbarian with high Strength and no Intelligence and Wisdom

I don’t want to say too much because I want to save things for the sequel, but here’s some stuff:

She actually played against Diya in youth leagues before she transitioned. That’s why she recognizes Diya+specifically approached her to sign the baseball club form while Diya doesn’t recognize her. At the first club meeting Liz tells her “I was at one of your games when you were little” -- This is purposefully ambiguous/misleading (sounds like Liz was just watching) because she passes and doesn’t want to out herself to a bunch of club members she doesn’t know well

After transitioning she quit baseball and switched to softball. It was weird being the one trans girl on a team of cis dudes, and additionally when she was younger she sort of felt like she had to prove she was a girl; she naturally has feminine taste, but she’d overperform it by 25%. It wasn’t until she got close to Chryssa and found out she also liked baseball that she reclaimed her interest in it

She has a nice resting face so strangers tend to ask her for directions

Sunburns easily

Yesss check the FAQ guys! Fangames are fine as long as you explicitly say it’s a fangame!!

I’m almost mad I didn’t think of this myself. I’m one of those people who overuses “spoopy”

All art in the game (including the title screen) can be downloaded here!

NO!!!

Noelle. The day the others find out will be the End of her

Akarsha was reading some yaoi so it came up in conversation, and since Noelle had never heard of it Akarsha gleefully educated her (to Noelle’s horror). Noelle was extremely scandalized that Akarsha kept sending her inappropriate images, and Akarsha was like “i’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart! it’s for ur education!! me: Master Teacher. call me sensei”

Following this Akarsha changed her chat name to YAOI SEME as seen at the beginning of the game

Diya and Noelle: Never tried it

Min: Has tried it

Akarsha: She constantly makes weed jokes but actually only does it rarely

Yes, I’m planning on exploring this more in the sequel!

Diya; Dee-ya. Rhymes with “See ya”

Min-seo: Korean way, but most characters like Diya pronounce it like Min-so, with the “Min” rhyming with “win” (not like “mean”). The “so” is one syllable (not like “see oh”)

Akarsha: uh-KAR-sha

Noelle: No L

I was planning on making the sprites blink! I’m still a bit sad I didn’t end up doing it

It’s supposed to be fall 2008 when they’re in high school, but I took a LOT of artistic liberties when it came to the references. For example, Akarsha makes a Durarara reference even though the anime didn’t come out until 2010, and there’s a lot of modern memes that ended up in there too...I couldn’t hold back...

The IGF trailer video is especially modern-day meme-wise -- since it broke the 4th wall, it was like, all bets are off. Don’t think too hard about it!

I wanted to put a lot of 90s and early 00s hits in the game for the nostalgia factor, like Complicated, Rock Your Body, Dilemma, etc. I think it would’ve made the experience even more surreal for players who are around my age!

I don’t own the rights to all the music so I can’t distribute it around for people to download! Here’s where you can find everything:

Thought Projection by Ketsa

Holding Your Breath by Ketsa

Thoughts of You by Ketsa

2011-13 by Ketsa

Miyauchi Yuri/110515 (miltata remix) by Miltata

Night Tourist by Miltata

Sound413_Images(short) by Miltata

Sound429_Floating Cloud (draft) by Miltata

Side by Side by Miltata

Blooming by Miltata

Romaras by Miltata

Little Circle by Miltata

Daydream by Miltata

Calling Project 2 by .que

Flame of Love by YOSHI

Valar Morghulis by Bloodgod

Overflowing by Tatsuya Kato

My Heart Will Go On - Recorder By Candlelight by Matt Mulholland

At one point Diya finds out what it means on her own. After she finds out, she uses it for the actual meaning :) (added this to the FAQ now)

I can totally relate to all of them, but I’d say Diya! (added this to the FAQ now)

that sounds a bit alarming

(I added this to the FAQ page now, thanks for reminding me) I’m fine with people shipping whatever!! The only thing I can think of that’d make me uncomfortable is incest and shipping Diya and Min with male characters – other than that, go nuts

Oh noo im sorry, that must’ve been stressful! For those who don’t know, I chatted about my game for a few minutes last week with MEGA (a USC club I used to be in!). I’ve adapted them here with what I assume what the questions were:

1. Is that your cat on your Skype icon?

yeah it is!! it's burrito

(people think it’s a cute name)

LOL glad you guys approve

2. Was the game made in Renpy? What do you think of Renpy vs. Twine?

yep! it's made in renpy! I actually started out in twine -- twine is impossible if your game is like longer than an hour and is image heavy. the engine started lagging so bad it would take 30 secs to do anything

2. Would you eat a tiny 2 inch man for $100 million?

LOL it's hard..it's a lot of money. I don't think I would

(but you could use that money to save many more lives! utilitarianism)

it's a real dude tho! i'd feel awful for him haha it's hard when you have to physically do it LOL

3. How long did it take for you to make Butterfly Soup?

FOREVER. I thought of it in my junior year over winter break

4. Was it for school (like an assignment)?

nah! just on my own

(people saying that’s impressive)

yeah!! self motivation

5. What’s your favorite part of the game?

hmmmmM I like the "date" with min in the dream. it's so fun, with the dog park

6. Which character do you relate to the most?

diya!! social anxiety queen, so relatable

(people comment on how she runs around when anxious)

i really did that before my sat once, ran 2 miles at the school's track

7. Are you from the San Francisco Bay Area

yeah i'm from the bay! east bay

8. Which year did you first come up with Butterfly Soup?

winter 2014 i think

(people trying to calculate which year was my junior year)

i graduated a year early so junior year was also senior year

9. Are you making a sequel?

yes!! once ihave more time. i have a lot of ideas for stuff that goes after

10. Was this a prequel to Pom Gets Wi-Fi? Or maybe spiritual successor?

this is a prequel. i dunno about spiritual successor tho, they're a bit differnt

11. Any tips on how to balance schoolwork and working on personal projects?

hmm...i honestly sucked at this and could only work on it on breaks lol...if you can try to work it into your school projects, like some bit of it...

other than that i cant think of anything LOL it's hard

12. How did you organize yourself making such a long game? Any tips?

it was SUPER hard to organize, i was really lost until i split it into 4 sections with each character. so if you're planning on making a game this big definitely think about forcing yourself into sections like that

the art was the most confusing to do bc of how many assets there were. i was going to say "have consistent naming conventions" but that's literally impossible LOL it'll always become inconsistent no matter how hard u try

13. What part of the game took the longest (writing? art?)

writing, actually, despite how much i complain about art assets. it's really hard making sure the structure and themes come across correctly. like pacing is so hard. art is like #2 biggest time sink

14. How early in did you write the Akarsha/Min skateboard scene?

that came pretty late haha i put it in at last second

15. Are the characters based on real people?

they're all inspired by combinations of ppl i know! i wouldn't say based on them, tho. for example min is like a combination of 3 friends i have, strategically arranged to play her part in the story

character design is design so u still gotta be deliberate about it

16. Who’s the other cat on the computer? (they’re referring to the cat on my desktop wallpaper)

that one's maru! he's a famous japaense cat. he's super photogenic

(people speculating that he’s the “tube one”)

the tube one? probably. he's famous for going into stuff

17. What was your favorite aspect of working on the game?

definitely getting to put specific Asian-American experiences into it

i was like HAHOH i can do this and no one can stop me! it was really fun getting to do this without any creative direction from like, a studio or anything. so i could just go bonkers. i hate pitching stuff so

18. Any writing advice?

definitely have other people beta your writing as soon as possible! they always catch stuff you missed. also this is like a cheat, make your characters really extreme. like find one aspect of yourself, and turn it up to 11 and make it into a character. that way they'll be relatable and memorable at the same time. i think most people don't make their characters extreme enough so they're all kinda samey

19. (I can’t remember what they asked me here, sorry! They were asking if a specific meme was in the game)

LMAO nah it's not. i did briefly think about it though, i will admit

20. Would you eat a Gusher the size of your hand?

that would be pretty cool. i don't think i could eat it all at once tho...i would try to save it. like half

You’re welcome, I’m really happy to hear it helped the game feel relatable!!

Thank you! I hope you have a good day too!!

haha I feel like my game is almost propaganda bc so many people wish they had girlfriends after playing it! the agenda...Thank you for waiting for the sequel, it makes me super happy to hear people are looking forward to it!

You’re welcome!! I’ll do my best!!!

You’re welcome!!!! :>

You’re welcome!!!

same I’m really happy so many people find them relatable! you’re welcome!!

You’re welcome!! my kids can never get enough love im very happy

I’m glad you liked it! Thanks for the support! TT_TT

#briANSWER #ask #my post #Butterfly Soup #socialpoison

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