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cubeswhump · 4 years

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Her Old Home: A Visitor

Here we see Sweetie when she lived with her first owner. Sorry if you were looking forward to some Michelle nastiness. Pretty fucking angsty (see warnings) but uh. Sweetie makes a friend.

This was supposed to be posted hours ago but I think my iron is low so I slept all day and then my pig (yes you read that right, no I do not live on a farm) threw a tantrum that would put any two-year-old to shame and I had to make him happy and then I had to do exposure therapy. Now watch Sweetie make her pig happy.

Also I misspelled bruschetta so many different ways in my first draft.

Thank you @moose-teeth for the Guard Dog concept.

Tagging @more-miserables @haro-whumps @albino-whumpee @eatyourdamnpears @broken-horn @whumpsblog (If anyone wants to be added to the taglist, just say and I'll write you down for next time! Same goes for wanting to be removed.)

Warning for institutionalized slavery, dehumanization, ableist language (brief), implied dub/noncon, unwanted pregnancy, pregnancy in general, physical and emotional abuse, self-harm, self-deprecation, thoughts of abuse toward a minor, creepy caretaking (kinda?), suppression of stimming (very brief).

The pet stared with wide eyes as her owner took the good clothes out of the closet. Excitement bubbled inside her and the previously forgotten emition nearly knocked her off her feet.

"Mister Trey," she said quietly, daring to speak up. "Are we going out?"

He sneered at her. "Of course not. Are you retarded? Wretches like you stay in the house."

"Yes, Mister Trey. I'm very sorry." What a fool she was to have such absurd hopes, but the curiosity piped up within her brain, begging for answers.

"You don't need to know my reasons; all you need to do is what you're told. Now get fucking dressed," the man growled.

As he stalked out of the room, smoothing his greying hair, the pet dropped her sheer nightgown.

The nice clothes seldom came out of the closet, so how did they smell like Mister Trey's ashtray? She wrinkled her nose. The red skirt slid down her hips and she had to fasten its button with an elastic band. The shirt was so tight around her stomach too, and she couldn't even hide how she'd fastened her skirt.

She couldn't help shuffling into the bathroom to see the mess she was in the mirror. Her reflection's face contorted hideously and gripped its bulging stomach. The pink shirt was taut against the growth and showed a slip of pale skin below her navel as she fought to pull it down. She looked uglier than ever.

A little girl with her father's beautiful blue eyes and thick hair so unlike her mother's in the way it doesn't escape her pigtails prances around in a fabulous blue dress. Mister Trey spends so much money showering their daughter with gifts of clothes and toys but he doesn't complain. The kitchen smells of savory spices when she runs in and tugs on the wild-haired woman's conservative dress.

"Mama, Mama!" the girl exclaims in her squeaky voice. "Come play!"

The woman looks down and smiles. Her neck is bare. Bad thought, you're a pet. Her collar is stylish and comfortable. She holds a spoon to the child's lips. "Blow on it, baby, and tell me how it tastes."

The little girl blows so hard some broth splashes out, but her mother only laughs. She takes a noisy slurp and beams. "Mmm!"

"Good?" the woman asks, and the little girl nods emphatically. "Okay, I'll leave the soup simmering while we play."

The woman allows the little girl to take her hand and pull her right along into a different scene.

"Mama, Mama!" the child yells, and the woman scrubbing smokey baseboards in a translucent nightie fights the urge to cover her ears.

"Not now! Mama's busy," she says harshly. Her hands are red and raw but she scrubs and scrubs, nightgown wet after the day's cleaning and chafing her skin.

"Mama, I wanna play!" the child whines. Though its mother makes sure to keep it clean and fed, it's dressed in rags and covered in bruises.

The woman suddenly spins around and grips the child by its fragile shoulders. She forces herself to look into its eyes and gates the way she sees its father in them. Shut up, you love your owner. "Look, baby, I know you're bored but you'll have to just deal with it. We both know what your father will do if the house isn't clean when he gets home."

The woman releases the child's shoulders and turns her back. She doesn't want to see the tears pooling in its eyes.

The woman pet, younger now, stroking a black cat in the garden. A faint smile plays on her lips as she is warmed by the sun.

An infant's shrill cry pierces through her peace. The stupid brat always ruins her peace, what little time she has to herself. It was all she could do to not yank it out of its crib and shake it until it's quiet.

The pet whined a little, face crumpling in the mirror. She was awful, wretched, terrible. She seized her hairbrush and started beating her stomach with it. "I hate you! I don't want you! I don't want you!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Mister Trey screamed downstairs. "What's taking so long? Hurry up!"

The pet huffed and puffed, stomach and chest heaving so much her shirt threatened to burst. The slender fingers gripping her her hairbrush were white against the black handle. She slammed the brush down on the counter and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes in an effort to keep the tears in.

"Bitch! Hurry up!" Mister Trey boomed.

The pet placed a hand on her stomach. It stung from each blow but now she stroked the growth as tenderly as a newborn kitten. "I don't really hate you, baby... This world isn't right for you. And I'm a pet, not a mother."

"I don't want kids, Mama. I don't want a husband either. No one can tie me down!"

Confusion replaced misery. Where did those words come from? Had she uttered them? Who was Mama?

Stupid. Of course she had a mother at one point. As a pet, though, she has long since given away her right to have parents. She was a simple pet that was meant to serve. Her only family was her owner, and she loved him so, so much.

Her owner, who was waiting impatiently. Her blood turned icy. She tried to run from the bathroom but a sharp, white-hot pain knocked her to the ground. She cried out, convulsing as the pain radiated from her neck throughout her body.

Feet thundering up the stairs. All she could see were the tiles (did she already need to mop again?) and Mister Trey's shoes. With the click of a button, the pain stopped and she was able to be pleased that she had polished his shoes so well that her agonized face was reflected on one toe.

Still twitching, her hand moved to wipe away the drool that had trickled down her chin. A big hand grabbed hank of light brown hair and yanked her up. Her legs scrabbled achieve balance as her scalp screamed.

"When I say to hurry up, you fucking hurry up!" he roared, face twisted and nearly purple with rage. "What are you playing at, Bitch?"

"'M shurry..." Had her tongue grown thicker? Ugh, she sounded horrible. This wouldn't do.

"Come downstairs now!" He let go of her hair without warning and she dropped, chin hitting the floor so hard that for a moment she worried her teeth might break. Her tongue ran over the backs. Safe.

He stomped out of the room as she pushed herself up. He said to hurry but he'd be even angrier of she came downstairs with her hair sticking up and tangled. She raked the brush through it and sighed at the amount of hair that came back between the bristles when she pulled it away.

She ran down the stairs so fast she almost fell, stumbling on the last step. Mister Trey caught her by her arm, finger going wag-wag in her face like she was a naughty puppy.

"Clumsy girl! You be careful with my heir," he barked.

"I'm very sorry, Mister Trey," the pet said hastily, moving to kneel before he stopped her.

"I'm expecting company. Get started on negroni and something to eat."

She hurried off to the kitchen. She didn't know how much time she had to prepare so she had to come up with something that could be made quickly but wouldn't stale or turn to mush if this visitor took a while to arrive.

She had just drizzles the last of the balsamic vinegar when the doorbell rang. She picked up the tray and hurried to greet the visitor, but not so fast that the drinks would slosh.

There wasn't one visitor, but two. The shock collar around the stocky, taller one's neck quickly told the pet why Mister Troyer only mentioned one visitor; the second wasn't even a person.

"Right on time. Oh, look wgat she has for us!" Mister Trey's teeth gleamed in his perfect smile.

"Isn't she a Romantic?" asked the other owner.

He was less handsome than both his pet and Mister Trey, heavyset and balding with a pinched face, but he seemed... genuine. No, horrible pet, your owner is the most genuine man alive!

"She is," Mister Trey said. "Isn't she lovely?"

"Your romantic cooks and serves you on a platter?" asked the other owner, eyebrows raised.

Mister Trey took away the tray and wrapped an arm around his pet, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "She's perfect. Now, show some respect for Mister Brighten. Position five."

Both pets dropped to their knees, palms down and foreheads pressing to the floor. Mister Brighten sighed. "Come on, Ajax. You don't have to do that. Get up."

His pet, Ajax, was upright in an instant, right by his owner's side. His expression was hard as stone. "Yes Sir, sorry Sir."

"Tell your girl she can get up, Kyle," demanded Mister Brighten. The girl was shocked to hear someone bossing her owner around.

"Get up," Mister Trey barked, and she did so. As Mister Brighten tirned his attention to regard the female pet, he frowned, squinting at her stomach as it stuck out over the waist of her skirt. This early on, he couldn't tell if she just carried extra wait in her midsection, or if Mister Trey actually...

"You should buy your pet clothes that fit," Mister Brighten scoffed, and heat rushed to the pet's face.

No, don't blush! Embarrassment insults the owner! But it was hard not to feel embarrassed as she regarded herself in her socks and ill-fitting clothes, with her hair that refused to cooperate, and then looked at the others. Mister Trey in his smart suit and shiny patent shoes, hair nice and gelled. Mister Brighten with his suit as well. Even Ajax looked nice, fantastic curly hair in a neat ponytail and a button-down tucked into his slacks.

But Mister Brighten softened as he looked at the girl. "What's your name, honey?"

She opened her mouth. "Bi-"

Mister Trey cut in. "That doesn't matter. This is Ajax?" He reached toward his slick black hair, hand retracting when the boy snarled. "My God! Discipline your pet, Will."

Mister Brighten's ever-present frown deepened. "He's a Guard Dog. He's meant to be wary of people other than his owner."

"I'm a friend of your owner, Ajax. You treat me with respect, you hear me? Now, let's not let this food go to waste."

"I hope you made enough for Ajax," Mister Brighten murmured, sitting across from Mister Trey. The other owner snorted.

"Does he need it in a dog bowl?" he joked.

"You know he's still human, right?" Mister Brighten asked dryly. "How about the pets take their plates and leave us owners to talk business?"

Ajax gave a nod. The girl looked ro her owner for approval, and he waved dismissively. She took four pieces of bruschetta to split between two small plates, and did an awkward curtsey.

"Enjoy your bruschetta and negronis, sirs," she said, though it felt very belated. She turned to Ajax, murmuring, "Shall I show you the garden?"

Ajax looked to his owner. His owner nodded. "Go ahead, Ajax. She's safe."

Ajax nodded and followed the other pet. She led him to the back garden and he patiently listened while she showed him all her plants" "This here, my tomato plant, is my favorite. I grew the tomatoes on our bruschetta myself. I used to have an eggplant bush but Mister Trey said he doesn't like eggplants and it's an eyesore so I had to dig it up, which was a great idea from him. I don't know what this cactus is, but I really, really like it. And this..."

Once she had introduced every plant, the pets lapsed into silence. Ajax took a tentative sniff of his bruschetta before taking a bite. He really was like a dog, but at least he chewed with his mouth closed.

The girl didn't think she had ever interacted with a Guard Dog. She hadn't interacted with many pets at all; Romantics were dirty sluts and the orher trainees rightfully kept their distance.

"What does your owner call you?" Ajax asked at one point, surprising her. "He wouldn't let you say."

"I don't think he wants people to know," she replied.

Silence again. Then he spoke up. "May I ask a question? It might be rude."

She frowned a bit. She, a pet, was being asked for her approval? And who was this other pet to speak so casually?

"All right," she agreed.

"Are you pregnant?"

The girl pulled on a lock of her hair, moving it toward her face. She stopped herself from putting it in her mouth. Bad, Bitch! No chewing. She nodded.

"Pets aren't supposed to get pregnant," Ajax pointed out.

"Mister Trey wants an heir," she informed him.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means..." She paused, frowning again. "I don't actually know, but it's very important to Mister Trey, and I want him to be happy."

"As you should. I strive to keep Will- Mister Brighten happy."

"I'm happy if Mister Trey is happy," the girl went on. "So, so happy. And very grateful for all he's done for me."

Ajax nodded. He swallowed the last bite of his bruschetta while the other pet's sat untouched.

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rainbow-sides · 5 years

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A Hand to Hold: Chapter Seven

Summary: Patton befriends an isolated boy at his high school and soon develops feelings for him that aren’t just friendship. Navigating a relationship of any kind with Logan Barry isn’t easy, but it sure is worth it!

Pairings: romantic Logicality, possible background Prinxiety but I haven’t decided yet

Word Count: 1,739

Warnings: talk about bullying, ableism from a parent, very brief mention of Deceit, mentions of abusive therapy (implied ABA), food mention, mild spoilers for Doctor Who, anxiety, school stress,

Notes: ATTENTION I am no longer using a taglist. Instead, please follow and click notifications for the blog @rainbow-sides-fics. I’ll be reblogging all of my old fics there as well as any new ones I’ll be posting. Alternatively, A Hand to Hold is now available on AO3. Love you guys! <3 ~Martin

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six

___________________________________

“GCAT PUPY PUPY,” Virgil chanted, his palms pressed to his temples. “Guanine and adenine are purines, cytosine and thymine are pyrimidines. Right?”

Logan nodded. “Correct. Well remembered.”

“Thank God for mnemonics.” Virgil popped a chip into his mouth. “Okay. Okay. What else is on the study guide?”

“It says to understand 5’ and 3’ directionality, decoding amino acid sequencing, and be able to explain the process of DNA replication as well as translation from DNA to proteins,” Logan said, summarizing the study guide for what was probably the fourth or fifth time. Although he knew that Virgil obviously knew the material, he got anxious during tests. He had asked Logan to help study with him so he felt more prepared.

“I feel like I know all of that, but there's got to be a catch, right? I'm gonna fail. I'm gonna fail.” He started to breathe too quickly.

Chex, who had been resting on the floor next to Virgil's chair, sat up. She nudged Virgil's leg with her nose and let out a soft whine.

Virgil buried his hand in the fur on the back of the dog's neck and took a deep breath. “No, I'm probably not going to fail. I've never failed a test in this class before, and I've been doing all the work.”

“I don't believe that you will fail,” Logan agreed. He twisted the ring on his finger, not sure what else to say.

He wanted to help Virgil, but anxiety was complicated and Logan wasn't great at complicated emotions. Logan figured it was probably best to leave that to Patton. And Chex, of course. The sweet black lab was so in tune with Virgil's anxiety that she could tell even before he started to have an attack and would remind him to redirect his energy into more productive avenues.

“Would you like to keep studying?” asked Logan. “I have vocabulary cards for the whole unit, and there is always a vocabulary section on the test.”

Virgil nodded. “Sure, vocab practice sounds good. Hey, um, thanks again for coming over to study with me. It's nice to have a friend in that class now, I'm less stressed about it.”

Logan thought that Virgil still seemed very stressed. He didn't voice that opinion. “Codon,” he said, holding up the first vocabulary card.

“Uhh, uh, it's any series of three nitrogen bases that code for a specific amino acid, right?”

“Correct. Peptide bond.”

Virgil looked up at the ceiling. “It's...uh, well, peptide is referring to proteins, so...bonds between proteins?”

“Bonds between amino acids,” Logan corrected. “Okasaki fragments.”

“Oh shit,” Virgil muttered. “Um, something about the leading strand?”

“Lagging strand. Okazaki fragments are the stretches of DNA that are copied piece by piece on the lagging strand,” said Logan. He spun the ring on his finger again. He hoped that Virgil wouldn't get worried that he wasn't getting all of the vocabulary right.

“Right! I remember now.”

“Operon.”

“Oh, hey, I know this one. A group of genes that are functionally related,” Virgil said.

“Correct. Intron.”

They kept going until all of the vocabulary cards had been discussed. Logan put aside the ones that Virgil had struggled on so he could keep looking at them later.

“Seriously, thank you so much for coming and helping me out,” Virgil said. “I feel much better about the test on Thursday.”

Logan flicked his hand up near the side of his face. “You're welcome,” he said.

“I don't think I'm going to be able to cram much more into my brain right now, I need a break. Hey, how's the Doctor Who marathon with Patton going?” Virgil wondered.

With a slight bounce in his seat, Logan replied, “We watched Boom Town this weekend! On Wednesday afternoon, he is coming to my house to watch Bad Wolf and The Parting of Ways!”

Virgil leaned forward. “Oh, man, you're already almost to Nine's regeneration? Does Patton know it's coming?”

“Yes, and he says that he will miss Eccleston, but that he's seen David Tennant in other things and is looking forward to meeting Ten,” Logan said happily. He hummed to himself for a second before adding, “I am looking forward to reaching Ten's episodes, he is my favorite modern Doctor.”

“I gotta say, I like Capaldi. He's grumpier. More my style. Though Tennant at the end of his run is cool, he gets dark and edgy.” Virgil grinned. “The new season with Jodie Whittaker was freaking fantastic, too.”

“Much agreed,” Logan said. “I appreciate having a larger group of companions again, and the diversity has improved recently.”

Virgil scratched Chex behind the ears. “Yeah, big team TARDIS's are fun. One of my favorites was at the end of Journey's End was when they were all flying the TARDIS like she's supposed to be flown.”

Logan nodded. “May I ask you a question?” he said suddenly.

“Yeah, course.”

“What does it feel like to you when you are excited about something? Such as when you are talking about or watching Doctor Who, or listening to the music you like?” Logan asked.

There was a long pause as Virgil thought about that. “It makes me happy, I guess.”

“How does it physically feel?” Logan pressed.

“Oh, jeez, I'm not sure. It almost makes me feel peaceful? Like, um, listening to my music makes my mind slow down for just a little while. My body feels more relaxed afterwards. Same with watching something I like. It's a comfort, almost.” Virgil tapped his fingers against the table. “This is a tough question, dude.”

Logan leaned back in his chair. “I apologize.”

“No, it's okay. Really, I just need to think for a minute. Um...it feels warm in my chest sometimes. I guess that's about it. Well, starting a new episode almost feels like anxiety for me. But then again, most emotions turn into anxiety for me. That's just how anxiety works,” Virgil said. Then he asked, “What does it feel like for you?”

Putting his hands on his chest, Logan says, “I'm not sure. I have alexithymia, so I have a difficult time labeling emotions. I can sometimes describe it in physical sensations, though. And my excitement about my special interests feels like my heart and my lungs and my stomach are all on fire, if being on fire felt good and didn't hurt.”

“Sounds intense.”

“It is.” Logan looked down as Chex put her head against his leg. Her sweet brown eyes blinked up at him, and a soft warmth spread through his chest. “Hello,” he said. “Hello, Chex. Your ears are very soft.” He stroked her head.

“She wants to make sure that you're okay,” Virgil said. “She...she can hear changes in people's voices and checks up on them, even if it isn't me.”

“I'm alright. I don't have excellent volume control, or tone control. I never know what I sound like, exactly.” He couldn't tear his eyes away from the beautiful dog. “But I suppose that talking about my experiences with emotion do cause me some distress, which could have emerged in my voice without my noticing.”

Virgil stood up and walked over to the living room. “Want to come sit over here, Lo?” he offered.

“Um, alright.” Logan went over to join him. Chex followed him, and all three of them sat down on the ground. “Why?”

“Why does talking about your emotions distress you?” Virgil asked.

Logan froze up. “Because they are difficult,” he said slowly. “And I do not understand them. I do not like talking to people about things I do not understand.”

“Are you worried that someone might tell you that your emotions are wrong?”

A confused, bad feeling swirled around inside him. Chex laid her head and front paws in his lap, and he felt calmer. “Perhaps, but I'm not sure that I understand the question,” Logan admitted, running his hands down the dog's fur. It was almost as soothing as a full-body stim, and the pressure of her weight against his legs added to that effect.

“I mean, do you think that someone will come along and tell you that the way you are labeling your emotions is wrong? That the words you use to describe your experiences are incorrect?” Virgil tried to clarify.

“Yes, that is what happens.” It had happened many times before. The way he tried to describe what he was feeling to his mother or to his therapists had often been misinterpreted or simply ignored because it didn't make sense. Logan had learned to keep quiet about what he was feeling.

“But you're talking to me about it, even though it...scares you?” Virgil checked. “Is that right?”

Logan shifted. “Yes.”

Virgil smiled. “I think that means you trust me. Thank you.”

“I do trust you,” Logan said. “And I have learned that you and Patton and Roman are worthy of my trust. You've never once tried to make me act normally, or made fun of me.”

“It sucks that the bar is so low,” sighed Virgil.

Logan kept petting Chex. “I don't know that that means, exactly, in this context.”

“Um, it means that I don't think that somebody not laughing at you or trying to change you into something you're not should be the bar, the threshold or limit, for whether or not you can trust them. I mean...I guess what I really mean is that it sucks that you don't get that from everyone. In a perfect world, nobody would make fun of anyone or try to change them,” Virgil explained.

“But we do not live in a perfect world,” Logan reminded him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I know that very well.”

Chex whined softly and raised her head to look at Virgil. Her tail thumped a few times against the floor, and he scooted closer to put his hand on her back. He closed his eyes. Logan didn't say anything. They sat there petting Chex in silence for a while, and it was a soothing silence. Logan felt much calmer and less bad by the time his mother arrived to pick him up and take him home.

He sat in the living room and watched Ian flutter around his plants as the afternoon trailed on. His mother chatted to him as she cleaned and prepared dinner, but he wasn't listening. He was off in his own head, trying to imagine a perfect world.

___________________________________

Sorry for the long wait and the fairly short chapter! I’m working on the next one. But also I’m going back to work next week, and school starts a couple weeks after that, so who knows when I’m going to have time to write? Ah, well. I’ll do what I can.

And hey, check out Time and Time’s Turning if you like my writing! It’s a fairy AU with eventual Royality and Analogical. Also, it has art!!!!! <3 ~Martin

#a hand to hold #my writing #logicality #romantic logicality #platonic analogical #logicality fic #autistic logan

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honeylikewords · 5 years

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button, baby girl, and boo

Aw, an alliterative lot of these! How sweet of you to ask so many! I appreciate and love you!

1. button - do you have a type? what is it like?

Ah, shucks! I assume this means “type” of person I’m attracted to, and this is actually a running joke between my friends and myself; I’m consistently attracted to (what I call) “variants” on the same man, meaning that nearly every single time I find myself woefully in love with a character, it turns out there’s a lot of overlap between him and all the others I find attractive!

So, in terms of physical appearance, it’s generally concluded (by myself and others) that I like larger men with big noses, dark, curly hair, dark brown eyes, and strong eyebrows, who can grow strong facial hair (and just generally have a lot of body hair), and who have strong arms and wide, solid chests. In terms of personality, I am very attracted to protectiveness, loyalty, kindness, and a kind of sense that they’d be a good father? If that makes sense?

Of course, at the end of the day, it’s not just about if a guy “meets” my type: it’s about if he’s a good person, a kind person. I legitimately can’t and don’t feel attracted to people with bad personalities or who behave badly, so it really does boil down to whether or not the man in question is of good character. And, if he is, and he just so happens to be a larger, dark-haired, big-nosed cutie? Why, all the better!

2. baby girl - how do you like to be held?

Aw, this one’s really sweet! I’m a big fan of nice, tight, firm hugs that feel protective and shielding, and I like when you’re giving a hug and you put your head into the crook of your hugger’s neck and rest on the shoulder. I also really like having my hair played with or brushed, and I like pressure-stim kinda hugs where your hugger kinda lays atop you like a weighted blanket and smooshes all the bad feelings out!

I’m pretty darn touch-starved and don’t get many hugs here (at school) or at home, but I like to think these kind of holds would be warming and comforting and soothing!

3. boo - what’s your dream date?

This is SO DARN CUTE. And a really great question, because the answer to that changes all the time! But the one that just came to mind would have to be a Disneyland date. Every time I go to Disneyland, I wish I was there with someone to hold hands with and cuddle up to during the rides, or see the sights with, or watch the fireworks with!

I find theme parks oddly kind of romantic, and while they can be noisy and overwhelming for me, I think it’d be a lot easier to manage with someone by my side looking out for me and taking the time just to go slowly and go at our own pace. No rush, no hurry, just enjoying each other’s company in the happiest place on earth. Plus, I feel like my happiest, most pure-hearted self at the Disney parks, and it’d be nice to share that joy with someone who loves me!

It’s schmaltzy, it’s cheesy, I know, but I just love it there and I hope one day to go there with someone who either appreciates the atmosphere as much as I do, or loves me enough to be happy that I’m happy!

(Also, it’s a good barometer to see how the date would interact with kids. I don’t want to be with someone who gets rude about activities for kids, and it tells you a lot about a person to see how they react to kids in situations like theme parks. If they start being rude about ‘screaming kids’ (who more often than not can’t help what’s going on with them and are screaming because they’re in distress), that’s a sign to me to not be around that person anymore. However, if they’re empathetic to or concerned for the child, ding ding ding, we have a winner! And if they smile and are happy to see kids having a good time and enjoying themselves, that’s extra wonderful; I know that part of my joy at the parks is seeing little kids experiencing magical and happy moments, so I’d want to be with someone who shares that sentiment!)

Thank you for sending these, I had so much fun answering them! Do send more, please!

(The ask game questions here come from this post!)

#that gif is from cookie run and i LOVE that character #gif warning #messages #about k #ask games #Anonymous

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rnainframe · 5 years

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every! single! one!

can you tell my mood dropped hard like halfway through

angel; do you have a nickname?at the moment lars is pretty much just a nickname because my mom won’t let me get a name change

awe; how old are you?19!

baby; favorite color?red!

bloop; spirit animal?that’s not a very good term iirc but i guess wolf?

blossom; favorite book/movie/song?book: wolves of the beyond is very near and dear to memovie: the world’s end, the thing 1982, the incredibles, deadpoolsong: i have... so many

blush; what was your stuffed animal as a child?

her name is baby, she’s dressed up, and i still sleep with her to this day,

breeze; most precious childhood memory?sitting behind my dad and watching as he plays games on the psx and gamegear, i mainly remember ristar and sonic on the gamegear and silent hill on the psx

bright; mermaids or fairies?both!!!

bubbles; do you have a best friend?@aceiou @gruvu

buttercup; showers or baths?showers, submerging my body freaks me out

butterfly; dream destination?a road trip to visit all my frands

buttons; are you religious or spiritual?spiritual, mainly superstitious

calm; favorite scent?a kind of cologne my dad used to wear

candlelight; what did you dream about last night?my brain reminding me of my deep-seated desire to reconnect with an asshole i used to crush on despite me wanting to bury it for good

charming; have you ever been in love?yes

cozy; eye/hair color?i think the name of my hair color is light ash brown? people confuse me for ginger and blond though somehow

cuddly; what’s your favorite time period?80s/90s, also the aesthetics of the 20s~50s

cupcake; favorite flower/plant?succulents, roses, lilies

cute; what did you get on your last birthday?clothes, something useless from my sister, a panic attack

cutie pie; most precious item you own?baby, my phone, my sketchbook, a paw print from sadie the people that put her to sleep sent us

cutsie; what makes you happy?i’m too numb rn to really know

daisies; describe a moment when you felt free.i think the last time i got to go anywhere with friends and without my mom involved was last summer

daydream; how do you want to be remembered?like my dad, where people try to remember him fondly while ignoring the glaring bad shit about him, hhhH

daylight; favorite album of all time?smoke + mirrors from imagine dragons, in silico from pendulum, no culture from mother mother

dear; zodiac sign?sagittarius on the traditional zodiac, ophiuchus on the updated zodiac, my animal is the rabbit

delightful; concerts or museums?museums, concerts get me overloaded unless it’s a band i really like

dimples; have you ever written a letter?yeah

dobby; dream job?i don’t know anymore

doll; how do you like to dress?comfortably, ideally masculine

dovey; any paranormal/magical experiences?my dad haunts my house

dreams; do you want or have any tattoos?i wanna get either an eye coming out of my shoulder of a shamrock in memory of my dad, something simple and space (and/or wolf) related in white ink, uhhhhmaybe the pokemon league symbol somewhere

drizzle; do you believe in aliens?they’re out there

euphoric; talk about someone you love.ace is adorable!!!! i love them so much, their voice, their face, their fashion, their art, their writing!!!!!!

fairy; do you have a pet?ginger morkie named rusty, i wanna get another lab sometime

fluffy; ocean or mountain?mountain

forever; where do you feel time stop?sitting outside at night when it’s snowy, it’s so quiet and magical feeling

froglet; are you a good plant owner?unfortunately no

garden; how many languages do you know?one, trying to learn german or danish or irish

gem; who are your favorite tumblrs?aceiou, gruvu, bunjywunjy, bogleech, weirdmarioenemies, uuhhhh

giggles; what is your aesthetic of choice?either space or red+black glitch stuff

glittery; do you like anons? why/why not?when they’re nice

glow; list the top 5 things you like about yourselftoo numb for that rn

heart; silk or lace?silk feels nice to touch but i wouldn’t wear either

honey; coffee or tea? how do you take it?coffee, cappuccino mixed w/ hot chocolate and a lot of creamertea, raspberry or peach iced tea

hugsy; do you enjoy people watching or bird watching more? why?birds don’t judge you

hunnybunch; what sounds help you sleep?white noise - the sound of a fan, the sound of rain, etc

jewel; what’s your favorite kind of weather?rain, especially stormy

jiggly; what do you usually like to do on weekends?every day is a weekend. i have no life. i am rotting

joy; do you laugh loudly or giggle more?i wheeze or silently laugh. i used to have an ugly loud laugh

kinky; do you blush easily?i blush when embarrassed or crying

kisses; what romantic cliché do you wish for most?spending every moment loving on the person i’m with, every day being like the first day we met

kitty; what’s your favorite time of the day?sunset to night

ladybug; what’s your favorite artist to listen to when you’re sad?mother mother

love; what is your favorite season and why?autumn. it’s not as depressing as summer

lovey; what is your favorite flavor of macaron and ice cream?i’ve never had macarons, but i love bunny tracks and peanut butter cup and bear creek caramel and

magic; what are five flaws you have?you think i can narrow it down to just five

moonlight; do you prefer soft pastels, warm neutrals, or cool darks?warm pastels, warm neutrals, warm and cool darks

munchkin; what do you look for in your significant other?idk but i got it

paddywack; how would you describe a perfect date?wandering around mainstreet and old town st charles, eating at rt weilers, getting ice cream at riverside sweets, then having sodas from the old soda shoppe, ideally in autumn

pebbles; how do you spend free time by yourself?sleeping, wasting away on the internet, the likes

precious; what is something valuable that you learned in your life?don’t get attached, everything will go bad someday

pretty; do you like to cook or bake more?baking is easier but i feel more in control when cooking

prince; how would you describe your handwriting?horrible, illegible

princess; do you play any instruments? if not, are there any you wish you could play?i used to play the recorder, then the flutei want to learn the guitar but i’m so bad at it that when trying to tune a very expensive guitar i got as a gift when i still had passion for it i broke a string

prinky; how do you relieve stress?i don’t

pumpkin; what is your favourite kind of fruit/vegetable?strawberries, raspberries, bananas, pomegranates, pickles, broccoli, tomatoes, pumpkins

rainbow; what was the last line of the last book you read?i can’t focus on reading anymore

roses; what is the most significant event in your life so far?my dad’s death.

smile; what is one thing that has greatly affected you?my dad’s death.

shine; art or music?i’m not good enough at art to deserve picking it, and i’m an audiophile (not! a! fetish!), so

shimmer; do animals tend to like you?i get too rough without realizing it. rusty probably doesn’t like me. he just licks me and sleeps by me whenever he doesn’t have my mom to love on.

smitten; do you collect anything?bottle caps, can tabs, pokemon merch, empty pill bottles

smoochies; how many pillows do you sleep with?four at the head of my bed (two go unused), one plain blue body pillow to hold, like five other pillows to add pressure to my legs

snuggle; what is your favourite candy?peppermint kisses

snuggly; do you have a camera? if so, what kind?phone

sparkle; do you wear jewelry?i used to wear necklaces all the time. they all break because of how i stim with them. my mom doesn’t trust anything around my neck anymore

spooky; sunrise or sunset?sunset

sprinkles; do you like to listen to music with headphones or no headphones?headphones

starlight; what was your favourite show as a child?crashbox, digimon, power rangers, pokemon, total drama

soft; describe your favourite spot in your house.my room.

soothe; digital or vinyl?digital

squeezed; who do you miss right now?read over some of the questions and ask me again

sugary; what traits do you value most in friends?can i trust you

sunshine; do you prefer for things to be practical or aesthetically pleasing?both

sweet; do you find it easy to open up?too easy

sweetie; do you like kids? if so, do you ever want to have any?they are sensory nightmares

thimble; is there somebody you look up to? who are they?edd gould is dead

toot; what is something you find unique about yourself?my ability to get completely numb over the dumbest bullshit

tootsie; what kind of friend are you?a bad one

treasure; what was something that made you smile today?nothing so far

velvet; are you an early bird or a night owl?night owl

whiffle; if you could have a magical power, what would it be?shapeshifting or invisibility or mind reading

whimsical; do you prefer doing stuff at home or going out?ideally i wanna go out but only if i trust whoever i’m with to understand that i burn out fast anymore

whiskers; do you usually wear makeup?no

wiggly; are you a messy or tidy person?i obsessively organize things but am very messy

wispy; do you like the place where you grew up? do you think you will live there when you get older?i have no choice, i legally own the house i’m in now. i can’t go anywhere without dragging my mom along. i’m trapped

wobbly; have you ever wished upon a star?i wish to have good birthdays. they never come true

#anon #answered

2 notes · View notes

theeurekaproject · 4 years

Text

Insanus Somnia

Space was so unforgivingly cold, cosmically beautiful, alien and strange and gorgeous. Six hundred thousand stars glimmered in the dark black backdrop that stretched into eternity, as far as Lyra could tell. They twinkled like the inferno of six hundred thousand fires, pulsed like the neon in six hundred thousand lights. If every one of those six hundred thousand lights was the tiny flame of a candle, it still wouldn’t be enough for the life lost.

T wasn’t the first death in Lyra’s life. There were dozens of people who had vanished one day, kidnapped or sold or shot. There were a dozen more who had taken so much stim all at once that their heart went into the wrong rhythm and they collapsed and died. About half of those were intentional. But T… T was different.

Lyra never really believed sudden, unexplained death was a problem for anyone but her fellow Cantatores. Upper class boys didn’t just die like that. The Imperatrix’s brother didn’t just die like that. Violent shootouts were only supposed to happen between the gangs on ground level and the Magistratum who tried to stop them, not at the very highest levels of government. Lyra had lived in anarchy for years, but the thought that Eleutheria itself was unravelling was a scary one nevertheless. Scary, but also wonderful.

Eleutheria was undoubtedly falling apart. That she could see, even from the darkest areas of the planet where sunlight didn’t reach. It was rare to find someone who had lived long enough to remember what life was like under Harmonia Cassia, Acidalia’s grandmother, but whenever it happened Lyra would sit and talk and listen to the legends they told. They always said that things used to be so much better. Lyra was a firm believer that you could tell the state of a nation by the state of its ghettos, and Eleutheria couldn’t be any different. If the Underground was better before Alestra, Alestra had to be the problem.

Not that she’d ever really had the time or education to care about politics.

When she’d followed Ace and T and talked to Cassandra, the Revolution wasn’t anywhere in her mind, not really. She didn’t like Alestra, but she didn’t know Acidalia. She’d seen the coronation, all tiny and bright on the TV above the bar, but had no reference for who the new Imperatrix was. She had just figured that if her supporters were kind enough to give a shit about a random bleeding Cantator when most people would have just kicked her in the ribs for the sake of it was enough for her to trust them. And if it meant a free ticket out of hell, she’d have been willing to go along with anything.

And now one of the people who had offered her that ticket was dead, and they were heading straight back to hell.

Lyra wasn’t sure what she should have been thinking. She was terrified of Acidalia, but also in awe—not for any particular reason other than that the living embodiment of the throne had stood before her. She felt dumb, especially compared to the Scientia girls—they were teenage astrophysicists, and Lyra had never been taught basic algebra. She was worried about Ace, who had somehow insulted the Imperatrix to her face without getting killed, who had lost his best friend in the galaxy, who was fighting a war without the person who’d been beside him for years. She was intrigued by the Martian, who was having a screaming conversation with her father in English on the other side of the ship.

But mostly, Lyra was just tired.

One of the few skills she had was her ability to fall asleep anywhere, which was almost necessary if one wanted to survive in the constant noise of ground level. If she couldn’t sleep through laser shots and sirens and drunken screaming two feet away from her head, then she wasn’t sleeping. She’d passed out on this bench right in front of one of the Revelation’s stained-glass windows and slept for the majority of the trip, long enough that Mars was long gone and Earth’s gray clouds were visible when she woke. Even after she’d rubbed the sleep out of her bleary eyes, the achy feeling and worry lingered in her bones, and she had no idea how to correct it. She wanted to distract herself, but there was absolutely nothing for her to do, so instead she just sat there, staring blankly at colorful windows inexplicably lit by nothing.

Occasionally people walked by her, but none of them spoke to her. She didn’t expect them to. A Cantator was so far below all of them that her very presence on this ship was insane and probably illegal in some way. She’d long since stopped keeping track of the things it was illegal for her to do and say and be and look at, because there were so many, but if she had to guess, being on the Imperatrix’s personal starship was likely one of them. She didn’t know what they were going to do with her once they landed, but thinking about that was exhausting too. What would the Revolution want with a Cantator, especially one with such little human capital? She could tell them she was a Labora and they’d be more willing to put her to work. Nobody treated Laborum nicely, either, but they got the bare minimum—wages and shelter—and that was more than Cantatores got. Ace wouldn’t argue that, would he? He wouldn’t. Care about such a small thing. But if he did, who would they trust—a high-ranking Eleutherian soldier, or a random illegitimate girl from the Underground who had been in off-the-books slave work since she was 6? Would they punish her for lying?

Her head throbbed. She put a hand up to it and there was blood on her fingers; whatever wound was up there had opened up again. T had bought her cheap healing gel at the spaceport, but she’d either put in on wrong or it wasn’t working the way it was supposed to. Head wounds always bled a lot, anyway. She tore off a strip of her already messy dress and held it up to the cut, helplessly watching as the grayed fabric turned red.

“Are you okay?”

A soft voice came from behind her, one she recognized all too well. Her anxiety levels shot up as she realized that the Imperatrix must have been watching her this entire time. She couldn’t think of anything to say—the Martian had called her celestida tua, a botched version of “your highness,” but Lyra knew enough to know that Imperatrices weren’t typically called that. Acidalia wasn’t supposed to have a title, but calling her her name felt strange, so Lyra just stammered, “yeah.”

“No, you aren’t.”

Lyra looked up at her. She still wore the flower tiara she’d had on before, not the Imperial crown she was supposed to have. Instead of the crown jewels, she wore a tiny blue and green marble pendant, jagged at the edges like it had been torn away from something. The Earth from the crown, Lyra realized suddenly.

“What happened to you?” the Imperatrix asked.

Lyra didn’t answer her. She couldn’t.

“I’ll have someone bring you healing fluid,” Acidalia offered. “You’re much paler than I am, but…” Her voice trailed off in a way very uncharacteristic of her TV persona.

“Thank you,” Lyra whispered.

A moment of silence passed. She expected Acidalia to get up and leave, but she didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Acidalia said suddenly. “I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I’m sorry.” Lyra started. “About what?”

“About T.”

“Wasn’t your fault.” The words slipped out of Lyra’s mouth before she could contemplate whether arguing the fact was a good idea.

Acidalia looked at her silently—she didn’t appear angry or even sad, really. She was neutral and obviously trying very hard to stay that way. Her expression was incredibly difficult to read, even for someone like Lyra, who had grown so used to reading people’s emotions that she could usually peg someone’s intentions three seconds after meeting them. Somehow, though, Acidalia was different. Looking at her, Lyra got the sense that her face wasn’t really her face—maybe it was the makeup, or maybe it was the carefully curated Imperial mask.

“We’ll be landing in a few minutes,” Acidalia said, her voice still painfully neutral. She didn’t respond to Lyra’s comment, possibly because she didn’t believe it; survivor’s guilt was a horrible thing. Then, with a great movement of fabrics, she stood up to her full height—an impressive six-foot-something, but only because of her stilettos—and looked at Lyra one last time before walking away, her white skirts leaving a trail of glitter and gold dust behind her.

Lyra’s eyes lingered on the place where Acidalia’s shoes clacked against the white floors. She wore the same heels as Alicaria used to wear on the poles—less cheap-looking, but in the same style. Lyra always wondered how either of them actually walked in those overglorified ballet boots.

As she sat contemplating, a tiny metal disc nudged at her foot. On the top of it was a jar of healing gel. The lid was embossed with “A. P. C.”—Acidalia Planitia Cipher. Of course she had personalized jars for over-the-counter medication. The things rich people did for the sake of having pretty stuff were astounding. Someone had actually engraved this for the sake of making it more aesthetically pleasing, and it sure as hell wasn’t the Imperatrix herself. The sheer unencessity of it gave Lyra pause, but she wasn’t one to refuse help, so she opened it anyway.

The healing gel was the same color as Acidalia’s skin—a warm-toned orange-brown, nothing like Lyra’s own pasty whitish-cream. Experimentally, she slathered it on her skin, where it adopted her own pale tone immediately.

Of course it did. It was rich people stuff.

Curiously, she moved closer to the window and stared at her reflection in the multicolored glass. Threads from both sides of her head wound attached, as if her body was sewing itself back together. The spiderweb of fleshy strings sealed up into a scab, then settled into plain skin again, like nothing had even happened. She ran her fingers across her hair. It was perfectly clean.

Slowly, she rubbed the gel into everything else—the bruises on her legs, the lacerations on her face, even her acne. Everything sealed up beautifully, making her skin smooth and perfect like a porcelain doll’s. She looked like someone who could belong here, if it weren’t for the stained, ripped-up dress and the flats that had been worn so long they were literally falling apart at the seams. Earth’s glow twinkled before her just outside the window, and if she looked at it the right way at the right angle, she could almost pretend she had some sort of right to it—like she was one of Acidalia’s friends, someone with power and influence. Someone who held all the keys to control and knew how to use them. Someone whose opinions could mean something.

Suddenly, the thought that she was just a Cantator came careening back to her. She had no right do this. It was hardly even legal for her to be here. The planet before her was Acidalia’s to hold and Lyra’s to work for. She shook her head. It all felt dizzying.

As she stood up, the soles of her shoes flopped away from where they were supposed to be on the bottoms. She decided her next step would be to look for some tape. Or staples. Anything to look less ridiculous. She took the shoes off and walked aimlessly, searching for any supplies to MacGuyver into something functional, until she stumbled quite by accident into another sitting room.

Like the rest of the Revelation, it was embellished with the most expensive decorations known to mankind. It was a Catholic cathedral rolled into an expensive shopping mall and topped with neoclassical columns, and somehow it managed to work perfectly. There were more stained-glass windows that, by all means, shouldn’t have looked as pretty as they did—this ship was floating in the blackness of outer space; there was practically nothing to light them, and yet somehow they were glowing like their own suns. In the center of the room hung a massive, adamantine cathedral that swayed gently with the rocking motion of the ship and cast little refracted pinpricks of light onto the floor. Then there were at least a dozen plush white chairs, which looked so comfortable Lyra half wanted another nap.

But no staples.

Lyra crossed the room, leaving a trail of healing gel dripping from her forehead. Before she could do anything about it, an army of white robots with blinking LEDs appeared out of thin air, mopped it up, and vanished back into nothingness.

“Wow, they’re fast,” said a strange voice from the corner. Lyra whirled around to see one of the Scientias near at the door, sitting in a chair and playing games on her meta.

“Hey,” the Scientia said distractedly, dumping an entire drink onto the white carpet with no concern whatsoever. The robot appeared again and blinked angrily at her before vacuuming up the mess and zooming out of the room again. “Woah.”

“Hey,” Lyra said back, slightly awed by this woman and her complete lack of shame for creating a huge mess someone—or something—else had to fix. “Who are you, again?”

“Athena Stellara, Scientia. I’m an astrophysicist but I suck at it.” Athena didn’t even look up. Instead, she gazed vacantly in the direction of the robot. “How do you suppose those things work? I’m, like 87% sure that one looked at me. Actually, glared at me.”

“No idea,” Lyra said. “I’m just a Cantator.”

“Oh,” Athena said. “So, like, you do… dancing and stuff?” “Yeah. Dancing, but I suck at it. I can play songs. Mostly I just waited tables and did odd jobs.” Lyra smiled awkwardly and prayed this woman didn’t ask about anything else.

To her relief, Athena just yawned. “Sounds boring.” “It was boring. And kind of awful—I was only paid with tips. What do Scientias do all day?” Change the subject, change the subject, Lyra thought. Rich people did not like to talk about Cantatores, but they did like to talk about themselves. Athena shrugged. “Math. And like I said… I really suck at math. The numbers kind of jump around in my head. I think if I were in chem or bio it would be easier, but I’m not. So I was bored. We all were, except for the nerds who actually cared. I think being a Cantator would be more exciting than being an Astronomica.”

“I guess,” Lyra replied. “Depends on what your definition of exciting is.” She leant against the chair opposite Athena. “There are lots of scary people.”

“Cool scary people?”Athena asked. “Or, like, real scary people?”

“What do you mean?”

“Biker chicks or mafia leaders?” “Mostly mafia leaders,” Lyra said. “None of them were people you and me would have wanted to hang out with, I promise. Most of them were in a drug-induced rage half the time and they got really violent.”

“Did you ever see a fight break out?” Athena asked, reverent.

“All the time,” Lyra said. “The people picked fights with the police, the police would pick fights with the people, the people would pick fights with each other, the corrupt police would pick fights with the less corrupt police. Sometimes someone would wind up dead. You didn’t want to be in the blast zone when things got bad, but most of the time, there was just kind of yelling in the background.”

“Sounds badass.”

“Oh, it sucked.”

“Why?”

Lyra sighed. “You ever meet a Cantator before?”

Athena shook her head. “Bunch of Laborum. Not any Cantatores.”

“Well, what did those Laborum say about Cantatores?” She thought for a second. “The usual. They didn’t like them.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s kind of cool, though,” Athena said. “You’re society’s underdogs. I mean, when you watch those old movies about the cool cyborg hacker people who, like, take down society from the inside, it’s always someone from the very bottom class.”

“I’m no cyborg hacker person,” Lyra replied. “It’s a little different when you’re there yourself. The Underground is a good setting for a holo film, but in reality, it’s just… well, dirty. You want to hear something gross?”

“Yeah!”

“I knew three people who died from horrible staph infections because they walked around barefoot. All dancers. They couldn’t afford shoes but dancing cuts up your feet, you know? They’d turn bright red and ooze and then a few days later the girls would get a fever and burn up, and then they’d be dead. We had nowhere to bury them. It didn’t matter. No one missed them.” Something changed in Athena’s face. “Damn. I got anthrax three times and I just got cheap phage therapy.”

“They couldn’t afford cheap phage therapy. They couldn’t afford anything.”

“Why didn’t someone help them?” Athena asked. “I’m sure some of those drug dealers had the cash. You know, the people who have briefcases of shady money in the movies.”

“Why would they? The only people who got any medical care were girls who were owned by people and could still make a profit for the procurers, and sometimes not even then.”

“Isn’t slavery illegal?”

“Nothing’s illegal where there are no cops who care,” Lyra shrugged. “It’s not the neon-lit antihero-filled wonderland everyone thinks it is. I’d much rather be a Scientia.”

Athena looked down at her meta’s screen and put it on the end table. “Being a Scientia isn’t that great either. It’s so monotonous. You basically just work for a hundred years until you die, doing the most complicated equations known to mankind with no reward. Occasionally someone way further up than you, like, discovers that star number 65,009,181 emits slightly greener radiation than expected. You know what we did as kids, Carina and me?”

“What?” Lyra asked.

“We would sit there and watch the shadows on stars where spacecraft passed, and every time they were different we’d report it.” “Why?” “Who knows?” Athena shrugged. “They never told us. We just sat and watched the numbers change and pressed a button when they got too weird. And then we got older, and we were basically doing the same thing, with more numbers and equations. And you just keep doing that until you die. No breaks, no future, nothing to look forward to beyond sitting at some stupid desk punching numbers into spreadsheets until you give up.”

“Sounds a lot like me,” Lyra remarked. “Working, working, working, looking forward to a future where your debt is paid even though you know it’ll never happen… and that’s it.”

Athena sighed and laid back on the chair. “So I guess it all sucks, in a way. Hey, doesn’t this feel good?”

“Doesn’t what feel good?”

“We don’t have to give up anymore!” she replied, like it was obvious and Lyra was just missing something. “No more crunching pointless numbers, no more dying of staph infections, no more having nothing to look forward to! Isn’t it nice to be a part of something bigger than clearing tables or punching numbers into formulas?”

“I guess?” Lyra asked hopefully. “Do you think the Revolution really is something bigger?” “Hell yeah,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not some Scientia anymore. I’m a Revolutionary! We’re going to change the world someday, topple the system from the inside and take everyone that squished us into those little boxes down.”

“You think that can happen?” She snorted. “I’m an astrophysicist hanging out with the Imperatrix on her personal starship and a Cantator, and we just came back from Mars. If that can happen, I think anything’s possible.”

“Maybe.”

Lyra glanced at one of the many massive windows through which she could see her home planet. It was all black water, half-obscured by gray clouds, lit up in the void by all the twinkling lights of the districts. There was something different, though—the amount of military ships that orbited was far more than they had been on her ride to Mars. Some were the size of islands, others so small they looked as if they were grains of graphite. Occasionally, swarms of them would plunge down past the polluted atmosphere and onto the planet’s surface.

“Woah,” she said, drawing Athena’s attention towards Terra. “Look at all that. Do you recognize those ships?”

“They’re part of the space force,” she shrugged, “but I’ve never seen them in action so close—holy shit, they’re fighting with each other!”

“What?” But just as she had said, there were lasers flying through the sky at top speed—they were so pretty Lyra had hardly paid any attention to them before. Each time one landed on its target, there was a small burst, followed by nothingness.

“Why is it so quiet?” she asked, figuring that Athena, the Scientia, would know.

“There’s no sound in space,” she replied, “and no oxygen to sustain a fire. So things just quietly obliterate each other.”

“It’s beautiful,” Lyra whispered. “And horrible. Oh my God.”

Lasers in a rainbow of colors spun into space with the brightness of the Sun, slamming into black beads and exploding into tiny flames before they were extinguished in the vacuum. Lyra noticed suddenly that they were approaching the Earth at a different angle than she’d expected; they were at the very edge of one of the poles, watching dogfights around the equator. And the Revelation was plummeting.

“Is this normal?” she asked.

Athena, looking elated, shrugged. “I don’t know. But isn’t it exciting?”

#on the edge of eureka #POV Lyra #Athena #Lyra

0 notes

mintedwitcher · 7 years

Text

92 Things

Got this idea from @racheloddment since they tagged anyone who read their full post. So buckle up fuckers, here we go. (I’m putting most of this under a cut because it’s long as fuck)

Rules: Answer these 92 questions and tag 20 people

(Since I’m too lazy to tag 20, I’m just gonna tag @screwthissite and anyone else who wants to torture themselves can go for it)

THE LAST: 1. Drink: coffee 2. Phone call: my mum two days ago trying to find out where the hell my sisters were 3. Text message: my Nan 4. Song you listened to: Thunder by Imagine Dragons (also the entire Evolve album cus its a jam) 5. Time you cried: uhhhhhhh few days ago, last time I had a panic attack lmao

HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice? Yep 7. Kissed someone and regretted it? Yep 8. Been cheated on? Yep 9. Lost someone special? Yep 10. Been depressed? Lmao yep 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up? Yeah but never thrown up. I don’t get sick or hungover when I drink, no matter how much I drink.

LIST 3 FAVOURITE COLOURS: 12-14: Red, pink, blue

IN THE LAST YEAR, HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends? Yes!! 16. Fallen out of love? Eh not yet 17. Laughed until you cried? Last night; my sisters and I get kinda ridiculous together lmao 18. Found out someone was talking about you? Uhhhh...... do we mean like... casual mentions or talking shit because tbh I have no idea either way 19. Met someone who changed you? Idk if I would say ‘changed’... 20. Found out who your friends are? Yeah, the ones who don’t call me a two faced whore on Facebook for having social anxiety and not being able to socialise :) fuck you, btw.

GENERAL: (21 seems to have vanished) 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know irl? Almost all of them tbh I don’t have many Facebook friends anyway, most of them are family. 23. Do you have any pets? Yeah, three dogs (Ben, Jasper, and Dusty) and one cat (Callie) 24. Do you want to change your name? Yes! 25. What did you do for your last birthday? Spent it at home, writing, and had cake at some point. Idk I don’t really remember? 26. What time did you wake up? About 10-ish? 27. What were you doing at midnight last night? Sleeping for a change 28. Something you can’t wait for? Getting my septum piercing for my birthday this year 29. When was the last time you saw your mum? Yesterday 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life? I’d change my financial situation first (31 has disappeared too) 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom? Yeah he used to be my best friend 33. Something that is getting on your nerves? My dog wandering in and out of every room in the house 34. Most visited website? This hellscape 35. Moles? I have a few on my arms 36. Marks? Lots of scars, a birthmark, and some freckles 37. Childhood dream? Superstar! Or a show horse rider (thanks, Saddle Club) 38. Hair colour? Right now its dark brown - I miss my red hair though... might dye it again soon... 39. Long or short hair? As in... preference, or current situation... cus like... it’s short now but god I miss my long hair 40. Do you have a crush on someone? yep 41. What do you like about yourself? I’m creative 42. Piercings? None yet (aside from my earlobes but they healed over) 43. Blood type? Haha I actually don’t know 44. Nickname? Bob, Bubbles, Freak, Alpha 45. Relationship status: TBD 46. Zodiac? Sagittarius 47. Pronouns: she/her/they/them (very rarely he/him) 48. Favourite TV show? NINE NINE! (Seriously, Brooklyn Nine Nine is a gift to the universe). Friends will always have a special place in my heart. HIMYM is a guilty pleasure. Buffy. Avatar: The Last Airbender is a classic. 49. Tattoos? None yet :( 50. Right or left handed? Right 51. Surgery? I had my tonsils removed when I was seven but that’s it 52. Hair dyed a different colour? I’ve gone red, black, blue, and purple. I miss the red most. 53. Sport? Martial arts (54 has disappeared too) 55. Vacation? Tasmania when I was eight; England when I was two. Haven’t left my town for a vacation since, aside from the Adelaide trip in 2015, but that wasn’t a vacation since I was working. 56. Pair of trainers: (AKA, sneakers or tennis shoes, even though they’re all v different things wtf) I have a pair of custom trainers fitted to my feet, because I have an uneven gait and my hips and knees are all kinds of fucked up from it.

MORE GENERAL: 57. Eating? Nothing now, but just finished some leftover soup from last night 58. Drinking? Coffee 59. I’m about to: grab a couple biscuits because I’m also writing and I need snacks (I also really need a chewy stim toy at some point because I kinda destroyed my favourite pen by chewing it while I work) (60 & 61 have disappeared) 62. Want: my sister to leave me alone for ten minutes so I can actually get some work done 63. Get married? Maybe someday, but it’s not a priority 64. Career: Writer, please, damn. But barring that, maybe a teacher

WHICH IS BETTER: 65. Hugs or kisses? Both 66. Lips or eyes? Eyes 67. Shorter or taller? Taller, but if they make short jokes, I’ll cut their legs in half and walk away. 68. Older or younger? I try to stick to my own age thanks (69 has disappeared) 70. Nice arms or a nice stomach? Nice arms fuck me right up 71. Sensitive or loud? Sensitive 72. Hook up or relationship? Relationship 73. Troublemaker or hesitant? Troublemakers are fun

HAVE YOU EVER: 74. Kissed a stranger? Once or twice 75. Drank hard liquor? Yeah 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses? Nope, I don’t need them 77. Turned someone down? Yeah a few times 78. Sex on the first date? That would require actually being taken on a successful date (I’ve only been on one and it was a disaster) 79. Broken someone’s heart? Yeah 80. Had your heart broken? More times than I care to admit 81. Been arrested? Nope 82. Cried when someone died? Yeah 83. Fallen for a friend? So many times

DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself? No 85. Miracles? No 86. Love at first sight? Eh... undecided 87. Santa Claus? Not since I was seven 88. Kiss on the first date? Again, it requires being taken on a date

OTHER: 90. Current best friend name: Jack and Amer 91. Eye colour: Blue/grey (depends on lighting idk) 92. Favourite movie: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, or Lord of the Rings: Return of the King.

#long post #tmi tag #idk how to tag this lol #ask game #kinda #hey its riley

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