#delta locke's art | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sentientgolfball · 1 month

Text

Ghoulette Appreciation: Week 10

This one was later than I intended it to be

Read here or on Ao3

Pairing: Mistshine

Word Count: 1215

Summary: Mist and Sunny have a lazy day. Some new information is discovered.

It’s been boiling hot for the last few days and every resident of the Ministry seems to be at their limit. Even the infernal residents want to do nothing more than laze around trying to stay cool. Sunshine and Mist haven’t left their room all day. Mist’s room is always kept cold with a small amount of her magick. Being from the deeps means she is more susceptible to the heat than an average water ghoul, plus the cold brings her comfort. It’s been a perfectly lazy two for the two ghoulettes.

“Can I ask you something?”

Mist jumps ever so slightly at Sunny’s voice. The two had been sitting in comfortable silence for hours now, each doing their own thing while enjoying the company. Mist looks up from her sudoku.

“Of course you can.”

Sunny props herself up on her elbows from where she’s lounging on Mist’s bed “What was it like for you…in the Pits I mean.”

“Is there a particular reason you wish to know this?”

“Mmmmm no, just curious. You don’t have to answer though if it’s…too much.”

“How familiar are you with Lord Leviathan’s domain?”

“I’ve heard the big man talk about it but I’ve never actually seen it.”

“I see. Well as you know I am from the deep sea, a completely different environment than other oceanic ghouls such as Rain, Delta, or Chain.”

Mist starts her story by explaining the structure of deep sea ghoul society. They are mostly solitary, the only packs that get formed are very small and usually made up of family. There’s heavily focused on yourself alive before anyone else, even if that means sacrificing another. They are wary of other ghouls, always cautious of any games they might be playing. They are also typically the most devout of the oceanic water ghouls due to their proximity to Leviathan’s underwater home.

Mist was in a small pack made up of her parents and two siblings. They were average, nothing outwardly fantastic about them. They lived their life simply yet happily. That was until The Storm. To this day no one knows what angered the great Leviathan, but whatever it was was severe. For three days the oceans of Hell were locked in a storm surge, churning wildly with Leviathan’s fury. The waves were so great even the deeps felt the effects. In the chaos Mist got separated from their family, swept away with the raging current. Once The Storm finally settled Mist had tried to look for them, but after a few days of no success she gave up and focused on keeping herself alive. She never did find out if any of them were still alive before getting summoned.

“Oh wow Mist…I’m so sorry that must’ve been horrible.”

“It’s quite alright Sunshine” Mist assures “I have made my peace with it long ago.”

“Still” Sunny presses a quick kiss to the side of her head.

“I do have my own question though.”

“Hm?” Sunny tilts her head.

“Earlier you said you have heard the big man talk about it in reference to my question about Lord Leviathan’s domain. What did you mean by that?”

Sunshine laughs a little “Well you told me yours so it’s only fair I tell you mine. Back in the Pits I was a court jester for the Seven Lords plus Lucifer.”

Sunshine begins her story with how far back she can remember. Her father had been a fire ghoul in one of the legions created specifically to guard Pandemonium, that’s part of the reason Ifrit and Sunny got along so well right off the bat because the two were in the same legion. Her mother had been an air ghoulette who created art in honor of the Lords. For a while Sunny had been following in her mother’s footsteps, but when her other elements manifested and it was discovered she was a multi-ghoul instead of a hybrid, everything changed. She had been brought before the Lords as a prodigy, her parents humbly asking they provide her with a better opportunity than they could ever hope to give her. Lucifer Himself took an immediate interest in her. To this day she doesn’t know why, but she assumes it was because of her likeness to the sun.

She had always been a performer at heart. It was something she genuinely enjoyed, something she was good at without even trying. That’s how she became the jester. She was their favorite, always present when all Seven met at Pandemonium. It was stressful always having to come up with new and exciting things to please the Lords for thousands of years, but it was thrilling. Sometimes though she does wonder if she hadn’t done enough and that’s why despite being their favorite she was summoned.

“It’s okay you can laugh,” Sunny assures “being a court jester is a hilarious gig.”

“That is an amazing honor Sunshine. Being able to be in the presence of all seven lords and The Morning Star is noble.”

“Aw shucks Mist you flatter me. Really it was nothing special. I was just there so they had something to point and laugh at, or diffuse the tension so they didn’t kill each other.”

“You must have been well cared for if He sent you Topside.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Sunny shrugs.

“He must have known you would be perfect for the Ghost Project” Mist states.

Sunny stares at her for a moment before a grin cracks her face. She grabs both sides of her head and pulls her in, kissing her softly. Sunny pulls back, but keeps their foreheads pressed together. She combs her hands through Mist’s hair.

“I love you.”

“I love you too” Mist whispers before ghosting her lips over Sunny’s.

Mist still can’t quite believe Sunshine is hers. She can’t comprehend the feelings she has for her. She does know that she’d do anything for her though. Mist knows she’d be happy to spend all of eternity with her. She’d jump into the circle with her if she ever got banished back to Hell. She'd tear this whole Ministry apart to keep her happy if she had to.

Sunshine can’t believe it either. She never would have guessed Mist would actually make room for her in heart. The moment Sunny saw her for the first she knew. She knew there was something about Mist she had to discover. She couldn’t tell you why, but those deep blue eyes felt like home. Not the home she had been raised in, but something different. Something that felt like soft goodbyes and see you laters. Something that felt like watching the snow fall from inside a bundle of blankets on a winter day. Sunny would do everything she could to make sure Mist knows nothing but peace and love for the rest of her existence.

The rest of the day is quiet. The two exchange more stories of their time in the Pits, mundane things and fond memories. Mist even indulges Sunny and tells her all about her time Topside before she was summoned. As Sunny listens to her she can feel the tug in her chest, deep in bones. In that moment she knows that there really is nothing that will ever be able to separate them.

#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #the band ghost fic #ghoulette appreciation #ghoulette appreciation weeks 2024 #mist ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #mist x sunshine #mistshine #golfball writes

7 notes · View notes

princehoneytea · 1 year

Text

i can finally tell the (almost) full team wish AU storyline since it was revealed in my campaign but i have no idea how to present all that info in a single post. im gonna have to make a sub-page on my website or something theres so much Lore and Other Peoples OCs i need a bit to get that somehow-presentable but heres a quick tldr

( cw: violence, death, toxic relationships )

btw i am cringe but i am free

tldr: emmet managed to capture jirachi for the purpose of wishing for ingo’s return, forcibly waking it from its slumber and pissing it off really bad. therefore it took an innocent comment of his while he was rambling to it and interpreted that as his wish, which locked himself and all of his depot agents in forced immortality for the past ~1000-ish years. oops

after this they all remain in their original timeline for approximately a century as they capture exceedingly rare/legendary pokemon (its not that hard when you have Forever and cant die, not to mention are an elite battle facility trainer) and team wish is conceived to fulfill the conditions of their “curse” and that’s when they take on their codenames, and emmet’s is COMET

comet carves Team Wish HQ into existence in a place between time and space using his pokemon. team wish hq is essentially a living organism that is identical to gear station, but it and everything within it is bleached white. from the platforms, the tunnels sprawl out forever and grow out like the roots of a tree - theyre fleshy (yes its gross!) and lead to different timelines they can venture to, which is how they get around

team wish is able to teleport individually (NOT between timelines) because comet caught the agent who is secretly a hoopa, hasan, in a pokeball and instructed him to capture his alternate selves and take their rings to provide to each agent - which he had no choice but to do

> ( art via ronny )

MAJOR EVENTS DURING THIS TIME (thus revealed): - the youngest agent, dit, and her caretaker scout - both ditto, of course - make a major mistake in which scout teaches them intangibility for protection. at the tail end of the century spent in their original timeline, dit loses control over this ability and ceases to exist. scout loses himself and has not been seen by other wish agents since then, presumably staying in hiding since his loss.

> ( art via thog )

- an incident incited by comet occurs in which agent lacerta is fused with her krookodile, creating the beast GEMINI whom is kept locked up in the catacombs - comet becomes close to administrator perihelion, whom is his best friend and only real confidant in the world due to his ability to see comet as a person - comet’s cousin, sagittarius, who had been in charge of keeping the agents in line, snaps around cycle 500 after the loss of his SO lacerta. he (temporarily) kills a large portion of agents and is consequently locked up in chains for a century before being let out and receiving technological implants both to empower him and keep him under administrator control

> ( art via delta )

- comet loses himself in despair around cycle 650, relentless optimism finally giving in, and becomes an uncontrollable force of nihilism and violence. he stops attempting to control his agents’ own violent tendencies and develops the Unfortunate Hobby of hunting cycle emmets for catharsis, projecting onto them A Bit Too Hard and believing them to be useless parasites clinging to ingo

> ( art via me lol )

- on one particular encounter, he was attacked from behind by ingo’s chandelure when he came to protect emmet, and comet was severely injured - enraged and hopelessly betrayed by ingo’s (rightful) behavior, comet ended up killing them both; an action which he still regrets. as he attempted to leave, he was killed by depot agent furze (shai), who witnessed the aftermath

> ( art via ena )

- after this event, horrified by his actions, comet has mellowed out considerably, sinking further into despair and edging away from the pointless violence. he, of course, cannot take back any of his cruel actions in past cycles, and now believes himself incapable of improvement (”i am bad, that is my nature, i cannot take anything back with just apologies” sort of thing) and thus does not truly attempt to improve (this is his major flaw tbqh) (he’s sort of like you know the ‘nothing in life matters’ pic with the sunglasses now? yeah thats about right) - throughout this entire time his relationship with his significant other pardalis (previously known as atticus, NOT the one from team star lol) gets increasingly worse on both of their behalves, with pardalis callously damaging him emotionally & comet refusing to accept pardalis as an individual; instead projecting this vision of “his atticus” onto a man who is no longer that person

> ( left to right: comet, sagittarius, pardalis; art via cloud )

------

to get into actual events of the rp. this cycle is number 1522. to keep it as brief as possible: it is significant because, firstly, they are interacting with this cycle’s depot agents (their other selves) much more often than usual. they keep being stuck together by unexpected events and many have developed emotional attachments. secondly, they have a lead on jirachi, not yet revealed. thirdly, comet is rather fond of them - especially shai - and has been shirking his responsibilities to “play house” with them.

in the most recent event, team wish’s secrets were revealed by dreams projected to both depot agents and team wish agents, caused by scout - the ditto who disappeared 900 years prior. comet is enraged like he hasn’t been in centuries and is terrifying team wish and depot agents alike with his wrath.

> ( my art lol )

pardalis, no longer willing to participate in the endless cycle of failure, defects from team wish - along with cetus and chamaeleon; as well as a few others who have yet to officially defect. the rest of team wish is operating on orders to locate and destroy scout while comet falls to pieces, no longer in control of his own actions, motivated solely by the fear of being left all alone and disregarding all consequences - he is a man who has nothing left to lose.

> ( art via delta )

..............anyway that’s the tldr. this is much longer than i meant it to be. haha team wish :) my rp is closed but im always completely ok with ppl making their own depot agents/wish agents for this au! anyway goodnight.

#prince talks #team wish

38 notes · View notes

wander-over-the-words · 2 years

Text

What’s a Little EVE Between New Friends?

Summary: In which Delta comes across a strange new person whilst on a mission to get EVE.

Characters: Subject Delta, Calvin (OC), Augustus Sinclair; mentions of Splicers, Brigid Tenenbaum, Eleanor Lamb, Sofia Lamb.

Pairings: a little Augustus Sinclair/Subject Delta spliced in cause y’all know how I roll by now

Warnings: slight body horror (?), use of needles; mentions of bodily harm, human experimentation, smoking.

Notes: A little gift for @mail-me-a-snail , featuring her BioShock OC, Calvin!! Inspired by her art of Calvin teaming up with Sinclair and Delta; made this little scenario turn around in my brain like a microwave lmao. Insert that iCarly meme with Sinclair being all “whatcha got there, chief?” and Delta standing with Calvin and holding up the Plasmid jar like “A new Plasmid.”

Canon material belongs to International Games.

Calvin belongs to @mail-me-a-snail

…

Another surge of ADAM in his veins, thanks to that new Plasmid he’s just bought, Delta thinks it best to get some EVE to go along with that. Who can have ADAM without EVE, right?

Delta’s got a clump of dollars in the palm of one hand and he’s pushing at them with one finger as he counts his very limited cash (bloody Splicers have made him use more ammo and drill fuel than he’d like), taking the path toward the Circus of Values that he remembers is tucked into the corner of the next room.

If this machine is like any of the others, he’s got enough money for just one EVE hypo, which will have to do.

Delta steps through the Securis door and turns to go toward the nearest corner, when he freezes in place.

There’s a…person. Standing in front of the machine. At least, he…he thinks they’re a person? Because - call him crazy - but their…their head…is that of a slug’s. Yellow, a slight sheen on them from where the light is catching in the layer of what must be slime on their skin. Dressed up like the fishermen Delta had seen pictures of back in Ryan Amusements: red jumper and dark coveralls. Their shoulders are slumped, like they’re sad, and they’re staring down at their hands. And they’re making noises, little bubbling sounds, like they’re muttering to themself.

Delta stares, disbelieving of his own eyes.

Is this something to do with the ADAM he’s just taken in? Had it been - he doesn’t know - a bad batch? (Is there such a thing as a good batch of ADAM?) He’s never suffered any poor effects from ADAM intake before, besides the pain of new Plasmids.

He waits to hear a message from Augustus, for some confirmation that he isn’t the only one seeing this, but there’s no whirring of his radio, no surprised exclamation or casual explanation to be heard - and that isn’t right. Augustus is always with him, in his ear, in spirit. The fact he’s gone silent - it makes a jab of panic stab Delta right in the heart like a pin, and his immediate next goal is to go and check on him. He knows he might be overreacting - Augustus has a life outside of him, maybe he’s just distracted by preparing a cigarette or something - but Augustus is more important than his own needs. He’s got to be sure.

(Besides - perhaps if he just ignores this apparent hallucination, it’ll go away.)

He starts to turn away, his gaze still locked on the person despite his own plans, and gets through one step when the person jolts softly, their eye stalks straightening, and spins around, and Delta stops immediately, alarmed.

Delta stares.

The slug-person stares.

There’s complete silence between them…then the slug-person’s head tilts downwards slightly, their gaze directly pointed at the clump of bills in Delta’s hand. There’s the smallest upward movement in their shoulders, then they look at Delta’s face again and gesture toward the Circus of Values behind them with a hand that looks like a goopy, dripping mitten. From the stiffness of their body language, they are as unsure as Delta is in this situation, interacting with the figure in front of them.

Delta understands the question and gives an affirmative grunt in response - yes, he is planning on buying something. He remembers then that this person is not Augustus, who knows him well enough to know his sounds (and whom he still needs to check on, so he’s got to hurry this up), and then tries a different approach: he gives a thumbs up.

The person’s shoulders jerk and their eye stalks straighten up again, and they suddenly look perkier. Like Delta is the beacon of hope they’ve been waiting for.

They look down at their hands, think about it, then look over their shoulder. They step aside, then use their foot to push something, moving it from behind them to in front of them with a scrape of plastic and paper on tiles.

Tilting himself, Delta looks down; it’s a ringed notepad, open to a page with one word written in black marker pen in very uncoordinated handwriting.

EVE?

Delta looks back at the person, and they hold up their hands to show them to him. He watches as they point down at the pad, then hold up their hands again, little bubbling noises escaping them as they attempt to explain.

Delta suddenly knows how Augustus feels, God bless the man. He looks back and forth between the person’s face, their goopy hands and the notepad.

It takes a few seconds, but he thinks he understands: they’re asking him to get EVE for them, because…because their hands aren’t supposed to be dripping like that. Because their hands are useless in their current state. Because they need EVE to fix it. (That must be why the handwriting is so messy, too.)

Come to think of it, now that Delta is really paying attention to those hands, they almost seem to be…falling apart. Does that hurt? It looks like it must hurt. Poor maybe-hallucination. And judging by the pre-written message, he isn’t the first person they’ve asked.

Delta looks down at the balled-up dollars he’s got, and the solution to this situation seems clear: if this is a hallucination, then he gets an EVE hypo anyway, and if it isn’t, then this person clearly needs the EVE more than him - his hands aren’t falling apart.

Like himself, the person has no proper human face to show, but he can practically feel the hopeful stare. And if there’s one thing Delta hates, it’s hurting someone who doesn’t deserve it, physically or emotionally.

And so he gives a grunt for confirmation, and the person perks up even more as he moves quickly toward the Circus of Values.

Delta takes each bill individually, pressing them between his fingers and the vending machine’s decorative clown face to straighten the paper out, to ease the slide into the machine’s slot. Once the payment’s been made, Delta presses the button for an EVE hypo.

The clown mascot laughs, and an EVE hypo pops out.

Delta stoops and picks it up, then turns back to the stranger and offers it to them.

They shake their head and nudge his hand, and they’ve definitely just tried to tell him something, but he’s distracted entirely by how he’s just felt them touch him, actually felt the faint pressure against the fingers he has wrapped around the hypo, and it’s surprising enough that Delta’s shoulders jolt in surprise and he lets out a gasp.

Hastily, he transfers the hypo to his other hand and turns over the one the slug had touched. Where their gooey hand had connected, there is a small patch of slime, with a glittering sheen from where it catches in the overhead lights.

Delta lets out a small rumble of wonder.

Either this hallucination is more than just visual and auditory or…this isn’t a hallucination at all.

Jesus Christ. This isn’t a hallucination, is it?

The person had jumped slightly when he accidentally spooked them and now they’re staring at him worriedly, and Delta wishes he could apologise. Instead, he leans forward a little, getting a better look at them, then he remembers why he’s holding this EVE hypo at all. He thinks over what they might’ve tried to say with that little nudge they’d given him -

Ah! Of course! Silly him.

Delta grunts once and turns the hypo over to show the needle to the person, and they nod eagerly and hold out their hands.

He’s a little nervous using a needle on another person, but he pushes aside his nerves for the sake of this funny fellow and carefully moves their sleeve up. He then eases the needle into their wrist, hoping he’s doing this correctly, and pushes the plunger with his thumb, injecting them with the EVE, draining the hypo.

He pulls the needle free from their squishy flesh and watches as the dripping goo of their hands wiggles faintly, then begins to solidify, back into mitten-like hands that are no longer falling apart. No longer unusable, no longer painful-looking.

The slug nearly jumps with joy, brandishing their hands in front of themself, turning them over excitedly. Clearly, they are exactly as they should be, because the person claps them twice, then stoops to collect their notepad from the floor. They pluck the pen from the plastic rings atop the pad, scribble something on the page, then turn it around to show to him.

Thank you!

Delta stares at the message, then at the person’s face.

They really aren’t a hallucination. They’re really…here, with him. He’s never seen anything like them before, never seen any mention of slug people in the history lesson back in Ryan Amusements, never heard Augustus - in his infinite knowledge - talk about this kind of individual. He feels as though he shouldn’t be surprised, a city like Rapture having a person like this as a resident.

A slug person - but more importantly…the first person since Augustus to not try to do him any harm. To treat him…well…like a person.

Delta stares some more, then his shoulders lift happily as he lets out a warbled croon of delighted awe.

…

With a sharp intake of air through his nostrils, Sinclair jolts awake, some voice in his subconscious telling him now is not the time for a nap - and that small voice is right! Good God, how had he even let himself drift off like that? Sure, he’d been feeling a little impatient when Delta felt the need to explore instead of returning to the train like he’d asked, but sleeping? At a time like this, in a place like this? Has he hit his head recently?

Sinclair rubs his aching neck and his face, giving himself a few slaps to the cheek as he mutters to himself to get it together. He’d even been drooling in his brief slumber, and he quickly grabs his handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the small trail from below his lip, embarrassed despite there being nobody around. Getting himself in a state like this, slumped over and drooling - it’d be photo-worthy, back in the day, when his reputation had been at its best. At least it doesn’t seem Delta saw.

Oh, shit -

“Kid…!” Sinclair mutters in surprise, immediately grabbing at the bench to turn himself so he can look at the screen on the wall, to check on the guy he’d accidentally left hanging.

The good news is: Delta isn’t in any trouble. He’s moving quickly through a familiar corridor, Sinclair recognises it from watching Delta leave. He’s on his way back to the station now. Good, good.

Sinclair breathes a small sigh of relief - both at the fact they’re finally going to leave, and because Delta is okay - and shuts his eyes as he slumps back against the window, revelling in the chill of the glass against his temple as his brief spike of anxiety comes down. He urges himself not to sleep again since Delta is returning (what’s more embarrassing: being caught drooling or sleeping?) - and that suddenly becomes real easy when he hears a…bubbling sound.

Confused, Sinclair frowns and opens his eyes, lifting his head from where it’d begun to droop.

What the hell was that? What’s the kid up to, playing with some water or something? He knows his nap had been ill-timed, but playing with water is even more so! What’s Delta thinking?

His gaze immediately locks onto the screen, and he watches the point of view of Delta’s camera as Delta turns his upper body to look from the direction he’s jogging in to…to…

“What.”

Jogging alongside Delta is a…a slug. A yellow slug, jogging. A yellow slug, dressed in the uniform of the old employees of Fontaine Fisheries. A yellow slug, making the bubbling noise he’d just heard.

Sinclair’s mouth falls open. He shuts it, opens it, shuts it, opens it again.

What…What the fuck?

What the fuck happened while he’d been sleeping?!

Sinclair blinks twice, then rubs his eyes and looks again. Is he dreaming? Is this a dream? Surely, it must be, that’s not really a…a bipedal slug, accompanying Delta. Surely.

He thinks to take up the radio, to ask Delta what’s going on, but he can’t see Delta’s body language or hands from here, and any meaning of any noises Delta might make will be lost to him if he can’t see gestures or demeanour. His communication with Delta really does work better face-to-face (or face-to-porthole, as it were).

So he waits until he hears the Securis door open and the thump-thump-thump of footsteps quickly approaching, and then his curiosity gets the best of him and he flings himself off the bench and over to the doors. They sense his presence and open accordingly, revealing him to Delta and his…companion.

Delta sees him, comes to a stop so suddenly he nearly falls over, and the slug crashes into him as they stop too, putting a hand to their head as they back up after righting themself; Delta notices none of it. Instead, his gaze is locked on Sinclair; he turns at the waist to look around the station, looks back to Sinclair, then sighs softly as his shoulders lift, and the fact Delta is using his happiness tell just at the mere sight of Sinclair might’ve made him smile and blush a little, if he weren’t so distracted.

The pair starts making their way over; the slug is watching him, Sinclair thinks. Walking so jovially beside Delta, as if they’re eager to meet him. How…nice.

His stare is strained and he knows it. Can’t manage to hide it as Delta and his companion approach and stop in front of him.

“...Aha. Kid,” Sinclair says slowly in the silence, “I wouldn’t normally ask this of ya, but seein’ as we’re friends and I know you got a handle on that strength of yours - would you be a lamb and give my arm a quick pinch? I fear I may be somewhere off in dreamland.”

Delta gives a grunt to say no, and Sinclair can’t tell if he’s saying no to pinching him or no to the fact he thinks he might be dreaming. Instead of pinching, Delta steps up next to him, faces the slug and pats Sinclair’s shoulder thrice, then he uses that same hand to tap himself on the chest.

Out of habit more than anything, Sinclair watches that hand, cogs turning to try and figure out what Delta is saying, and concludes with He’s with me.

The slug nods twice, apparently understanding, and then waves at Sinclair with a hand that has no proper fingers. Their other hand lifts, and they show a notepad with one word written on the page, and Sinclair - again, out of habit - automatically raises his glasses to his eyes so he can read it.

Calvin

Bringing his glasses away from his eyes, Sinclair looks the slug up and down, then smiles a smile just as strained as his stare.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” he says, tone dripping with sarcasm, then he turns on the spot, places a hand on Delta’s arm, and keeps his eyes on Calvin. “Now, if you’ll excuse us kindly, the big fella an’ I need to have a little talk - in private.” He looks up at Delta. “Ain’t that right, chief?”

Sinclair cocks his head subtly toward the open train car, and Delta’s shoulders drop from their perches.

Far be it from him to deny Augustus’s wishes (even though he, quite frankly, finds them rather rude - Calvin is standing right there, Augustus), but this isn’t going as he’d hoped it would. Honestly, he had hoped Augustus would recognise Calvin, give some explanation as to where he came from. Augustus is clever like that.

Still - he complies, but not before turning to Calvin and gently gesturing to him to stay put, please, they’ll be back with him in just a moment.

His body language betraying how nervous he is, Calvin clutches his notepad to himself and nods once.

Sinclair ushers Delta inside the train car, and the second the doors shut behind them, Sinclair whips around to face him, hands on his hips and smile very much gone.

“Alright, son,” he says quietly, just in case Calvin can hear, “now I know that - unlike myself - you ain’t got the luxury of pickin’ an’ choosin’ your lines from a dictionary, but I sure hope you’ve still got a good way to explain to me why in the hell you brought a stranger back to our train!”

Delta looks toward Calvin, then back to Sinclair. He holds out his hand, and Sinclair finally notices he’s been carrying an empty EVE hypo this whole time. Delta taps the hypo over its label, then gestures at Calvin. When Sinclair doesn’t seem to immediately get it, Delta taps himself in the chest, taps the hypo, then points the hypo toward Calvin.

“You shared EVE with him?” Sinclair ask and Delta grunts in the affirmative. “Well, that was mighty generous of you, but it still doesn’t explain why a slug is standin’ on that platform out there - or why he’s a slug at all.”

He points toward Calvin.

Delta stares, then shrugs. He points his own finger at Sinclair.

For a moment, Sinclair thinks he’s being accused of something and frowns sharply, opening his mouth to voice his defence, but then he realises Delta’s body language is still unsure, not all serious like it should be for an accusation like that. His interpretation is proved correct when Delta gives a quizzical tilt, like he does when he’s confused, and Sinclair realises Delta’s asking him if he knows.

Sinclair sighs, then cups his chin as he thinks on it, looking away from Delta.

“Well, now…See, ADAM was purely experimental back in the old days…Tested its limits and abilities - sorta just to see if we could do all that we thought we could. Believe I…can recall some mention of, ah…of tryin’ to mix an’ match the DNA of the average man with…well.” He glances at Delta with a half-lidded look. “Believe his appearance should finish that thought. He wasn’t born that way, after all.” He looks away again and adds in a mumble, “Brings to mind the phrase ‘a face only a mother could love’...”

Sinclair scratches at the faint stubble around his jaw, then looks at Delta again, eyes widened. He coughs awkwardly into his fist, then puts all of his fingertips together as he looks toward Calvin out of the corner of his eye.

“But, ah, I’m afraid such things in those early days were outta my circle of business, so I’ve not got any exact answers to feed your curiosity with, sport.” He looks back to Delta and recalls why they’re having this conversation in the first place; his hands go back to his hips and he raises his eyebrows, staring at Delta from under his eyelashes. “But, see, that’s where we falter, cause you’ve still yet to answer me, son: are you plannin’ on bringin’ this fella with us?”

Delta’s shoulders jerk once, as if he’s surprised by the question, then he grunts to say yes.

Sinclair sighs softly, hoping Delta doesn’t notice. He was worried that’d be the answer. This might require a delicate touch.

“Now, son. I understand that they left your heart inside your chest when they stuffed you into that get-up of yours, and I know for a fact that that heart’s made o’ solid gold (seen it for myself), but now ain’t the time to be usin’ it. Our partnership was between the two of us,” he shakes his head, “and I for one left no room in that deal for third parties. So, how ‘bout we leave this fella with that EVE and our well wishes and just,” he gestures out the window with his thumb, “head on our way, hm?”

A breathy little noise comes from under Delta’s helmet, a borderline gasp, and Delta takes a very purposeful step backwards, away from Sinclair. He folds his arms, showing firmly what he thinks of that idea.

Despite knowing he’s generally in Delta’s good graces, something about that image makes Sinclair’s heart give a little jump, and he quickly waves a hand.

“Now, now - don’t get bent outta shape over it, kid. I’m just tryin’ to think practically here. We can’t go around collectin’ every lost soul we come across - might as well let all of Rapture hitch a ride, if that’s the case you’re makin’.”

Delta holds up a finger.

“Well, call me a stickler for the rules, but that sounds like one too many to me, chief. I don’t recall a mention o’ him when Doc Tenenbaum first brought up our little arrangement to me.”

Delta’s shoulders droop, then he gestures toward Calvin, brings his finger and thumb close together, then gestures toward the expanse of the train car, turning at the waist to indicate the entire cabin.

He won’t take up much space. We have room.

“Well,” Sinclair says through a puff of a laugh, “I wasn’t worried about where he’d hafta sit.” He folds his arms. “What reason has he got for wantin’ to tag along, anyhow? I understand as much as anybody that the state of Rapture nowadays is a less-than-ideal livin’ arrangement, but he’s a stranger to us, and we to him. How do we know he’s trustworthy, huh? Are we even sure he’s, ah (how shall I say this?)...tame?”

Another breathy noise escapes Delta, then he gives a rumbling noise that shifts downwards in pitch. Disapproving.

Sinclair splutters, exasperated. “Chief, I have had experience with all manner of people, but a man fused with a mollusc ain’t one of ‘em! Though a lot could be said about some of the fellas I have had conversations with in the past…but I digress: my point still stands, kid. We don’t know a thing about this fella.”

Delta gestures toward Calvin, holds up his fist, and then draws an X by crossing his forearms.

Sinclair’s raised eyebrow is enough to tell him his message has gone misunderstood, and so Delta gestures back toward Calvin to try again. He holds up his fist, shaking it for emphasis and leaning over Sinclair to try and appear menacing (and of course, as a Big Daddy, he doesn’t need to try), and then he very, very gently bumps his fist against Sinclair’s collarbone. Then he grunts to say no and crosses his forearms again.

It takes a moment as Sinclair thinks over each gesture, then he gets it: He won’t hurt you.

Sinclair sighs again, glancing toward the slug-man still waiting for them outside. He trusts Delta’s word, he really does - Delta would never bring anybody back to the train if he thought they could be a threat to Sinclair - but this…this is…

“Well…Believe I’ll…trust your word on that one, chief. You’re more careful than I’m givin’ you credit for, an’ that one’s on me. But,” he shakes his head and points down at the floor, “I shouldn’t hafta remind you that we’re on a time limit here.” He steps forward and reaches up to pat Delta’s chest twice, over his heart, and he keeps his hand there once the pats are finished. “We gotta get you to young Eleanor, before your conditionin’ tells ya to pack it in, and that deadline is gettin’ closer by the minute. There just ain’t room for this fella’s wishes in that schedule, I’m afraid.”

Delta stares in silence, then his empty hand comes up to gently grasp Sinclair’s.

Augustus jumps slightly, not expecting it, and he’s almost ashamed of the heat he feels rise in his face; Delta’s hand is so warm and his touch is so gentle, his fingers huge compared to Sinclair’s. The swirl of emotion it causes almost makes Sinclair want to wrench his hand away, but Delta’s moving to communicate something, so he has to hold still for now.

Delta puts the empty hypo down on the bench nearest, then gestures at Calvin with the now-free hand. He taps atop his own fingers then, and Sinclair can only scrunch up his brow in confusion; such as it is, Delta tries again, only this time he taps the point where he and Sinclair’s fingers are touching, deliberately gesturing to the both of them, and then he rests the hand he’d used to gesture at Calvin with atop the pile.

The warmth Sinclair’s hand is feeling, now covered by both of Delta’s, is rivalled only by the heat in his face, and he clears his throat and scrambles to understand what’s been said, lest Delta take too much notice of how he looks at their piled hands.

“Wha - He…only wants companionship, does he?”

A grunt to confirm.

“Well, there’re plenty of folks to choose from out there. They’re…spliced to hell an’ back, but, ah, that’ll just be somethin’ they’ve got in common. Might…make for a good ice-breaker, if anything. Uh,” he clears his throat again and pats Delta’s bicep, steadily sliding his other hand out from Delta’s grasp, and Delta’s shoulders slump a little, “lemme just…have that back now, thank you - B-Besides, kid, we’re gonna be up on the surface once we reunite you an’ Eleanor, and I can’t be the only one thinkin’ a slug-man won’t fare well around folks on land.”

Delta gestures at himself.

“Why, you’re differe -” Sinclair starts to say, but Delta grunts and waves a hand, and Sinclair closes his mouth; Delta hadn’t finished.

Delta gestures at himself, then draws the X with his crossed forearms again. He points upwards, his arm extended, and Sinclair follows the point with his eyes. Delta repeats it all a few times, and Sinclair frowns softly; he might need to play word association for this one.

Me - Won’t - Up?

Me - Won’t - Ceiling?

(Big Daddy, then?) Big Daddy - Won’t - …Surface.

Big Daddy - Won’t - On the surface.

I won’t be a Big Daddy when we’re on the surface.

“That’s right, son,” Sinclair says with a nod, wagging a finger. “First thing on the agenda once we get ourselves settled up there is gettin’ you cured.”

After a soft jolt of his shoulders, Delta lets out a crooning noise, impressed that Augustus understood, and Augustus gives a humble shrug of one shoulder and a short smile before Delta goes on with what he was saying. He gestures to Calvin, crosses his forearms, then points up. He finishes with that same quizzical tilt.

Maybe we can cure him too?

Sinclair opens his mouth, only to falter. Truthfully, he has no idea if the man can be cured, but he’s fairly certain Delta can be; Tenenbaum had mentioned her plan to find a way to cure ADAM sickness when she’d been discussing this arrangement with him, and if the secret to curing Delta is by - mayhaps - removing his ADAM or flatout exterminating it within his body, then…he supposes the same would work for the slug.

He furrows his brow at Delta, who has his fists together in a hopeful pose, and he watches as Delta gestures between he and Calvin with one hand, back and forth, until Sinclair understands.

Friends.

Sinclair stares some more, considering his options here, and that’s when Delta puts his fists back together in that same optimistic gesture that it makes that same uncomfortable twisting feeling in Sinclair’s heart start up again.

If there’s any Big Daddy that could actually manage to have some puppy-dog look about them, of course it’d be bloody Delta. He knows Delta doesn’t mean for it to be so manipulative, but it makes him horrifically aware of how upset Delta will be if they leave Calvin - somebody he could help, somebody he’s befriended - behind, and the thought of Delta being miserable makes that twist in his heart intensify, until it bleeds a sick feeling into his belly. Unfamiliar and terrifying, but enough to make him reconsider his stance here.

Goddamn this man.

(God…bless this man.)

Sinclair sighs heavily, then there’s a light twist to one side of his lips, a rueful half smile.

“Is there…really anythin’ I can even say to dissuade you at this point, chief? Seems as though you’ve already made yer mind up.”

Delta rumbles softly, then pats Sinclair’s shoulder. He uses the same hand to very, very gently tap Sinclair’s forehead, making him flinch and move back, and then he pats himself on the chest with both hands. He’s telling Sinclair his opinion matters to him.

“Well, I appreciate that.” Sinclair sighs again, then smiles and arches a brow at Delta, looking at him from under his eyelashes. “That golden heart you’ve got’s just gonna keep you pinned to this ocean floor if you ain’t careful, son…Word of advice. But - there I go again: you are the careful sort, aren’t you? Considerin’ what’s on the line here…?”

Delta shrugs.

“Hm. Well. If you’re certain he’s not got some hidden agenda and that he ain’t gonna get in the way of our plans, then…well, I suppose we can…lend ‘im a chair. Got…plenty to spare, after all. And I guess - if he’s willin’ - he could be extra muscle,” Sinclair holds up a fist, “to help ya against anythin’ else Doc Lamb tosses your way. Ah - well, I suppose he’s all muscle, really...”

Delta lets out some of his warbling laughter, standing a little straighter, and Sinclair’s eyes light up at the sound of it, despite everything. Delta then grunts in the affirmative and gestures to Sinclair before pointing down at the train floor.

Or he could keep you company here.

“Uh, well, that’s a…nother role he could play, sure. Uh.” Sinclair huffs a chuckle, grinning despite it all. “Call me batty, sport, but I could swear my gift of the gab is rubbin’ off on you - and you haven’t even a voice to gab with! Oughta find you a job in business once we fix that throat of yours, we’ll be makin’ millions by the dinner bell.” He chuckles to himself, watching as Delta’s shoulders lift happily, then adds, “What I mean is: you’ve gone and convinced me, and as my former business partners could tell ya, I was a master at hagglin’, back in the day. So…to hell with it - bring this fella on board.”

He jumps about a foot in the air when Delta suddenly lets out a short shout of a delighted warble, those fists lifting to the spot just under his porthole, the pose going from pleading and sheepish to excited and happy in an instant.

As much as Delta’s just scared the crap out of him, how joyful he looks now makes Sinclair give a fond chuckle, the twisting in his heart gone and replaced with a flood of warmth that Sinclair is aware is creeping up to his face. He can only hope the train’s dim lighting hides the reddening flush on his cheeks.

Delta goes to leave the train, only to freeze and turn back to Sinclair with a little gasp. He steps forward, then prods Sinclair in the chest, holding his finger there.

“What’s that?” Sinclair asks, body language stiffening under the touch, and watches as Delta points to the radio, to the screen, to the window, then returns his fingertip to Sinclair’s chest.

Sinclair thinks on it, then clicks his tongue.

“Ah - Oh. Right. Not to worry there, chief, I was just fine,” he replies, gently ushering Delta’s hand off of him with a light push and a comforting pat to the back of his glove. “I, ah. Hm. Well. I’m a…mite embarrassed to admit it, but I somehow ended up shuttin’ my eyes and, ah, keepin’ ‘em closed - hence my worry that I was still stuck in dreamland when I happened upon the sight of your companion out there.” He hastily waves a hand. “Just for a few minutes, mind, and I certainly will not be makin’ a habit of it. Won’t happen again, mark my words.” He points at Delta via finger gun. “These lamps will be switched on an’ my attention shall remain with you, kid.”

Delta lets out a note of whale song that lowers in pitch and volume as it goes on, and he lifts a hand to deliver a few sympathetic pats to Sinclair’s head.

“Ah - Now, we’ve had this talk, I’m fairly sure.” Sinclair waves Delta’s hand away, passes a hand through his hair to fix it, then points from Delta to Calvin. “Come to think of it - I understand we’ll have someone else around who’s missin’ a certain somethin’ in the way of speech, but you make sure none of that behaviour of yours rubs off on him. I don’t appreciate my personal bubble bein’ invaded by folks I don’t invite to step inside, and you’re the exception to that, kid - just barely. He can make do with that paper an’ pen of his.”

Delta looks from Calvin to Sinclair, then gives an affirmative grunt.

“Much obliged. Now,” he waves a hand dismissively, “go fetch this new recruit of yours. Made him wait long enough.”

The matter resolved, Delta turns to go again, and the doors open to reveal him to Calvin, who straightens up as Delta steps off of the train.

There’s tension in his shoulders as he awaits the verdict, but that’s immediately dealt with when Delta, with an air of joy, gestures to the open train car and ushers Calvin aboard with a wave of his hand.

Calvin perks up immediately, hugging his notepad to himself and he holds his hands together in a pose that is undoubtedly thankful and cheery, and Delta gestures to the three of them, then points up at the ceiling, toward the surface.

Calvin nods enthusiastically, then follows Delta’s direction to board the train. As he steps on, his head is swivelling, taking in the entirety of the train car like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, then he looks suddenly to Sinclair once he realises he’s standing in front of him, caught up in his tourism. Hastily, he turns over a couple of pages in his notepad and shows it to Sinclair.

Sinclair puts on his glasses and reads, Thank you!

Sliding his glasses off, he looks up at Calvin with a thin smile, sarcasm barely concealed. “Mm-hm. You’re, uh, you’re welcome. Feel free to, ah, make yourself at home.”

Calvin shows Delta the pad and Delta warbles happily, his shoulders lifting, and he leaves them to go and start the train.

In the few seconds he’s gone, Calvin looks at Sinclair and Sinclair looks at Calvin. Sinclair lets out a short “Hm,” and clears his throat into his fist awkwardly.

As the train rumbles to life and starts to slide down the track, Delta returns to the car and pats Calvin’s shoulder, gesturing to the benches lining the car to tell him to sit anywhere he’d like, while Sinclair sits in his usual spot at the end of the bench, nearest the screen he keeps linked to Delta’s camera.

Calvin nods once, looks at his choices, then double takes when he sees the bent crater in the spot next to Sinclair, his eye stalks straightening up like a cartoon rabbit’s ears in surprise.

His observation hasn’t gone unnoticed, and Sinclair hums and reaches for his cigarette case. Suddenly feels like he needs a smoke.

“As you might be able to make out, that seat is taken.”

He gestures at Delta as the big guy wanders over and carefully lowers himself into the crater, shimmying to get comfortable; he slots in perfectly.

“Only place he’ll sit, unless we want all these chairs to be broken,” Sinclair adds, and once he spots Delta awkwardly playing with his hands in obvious embarrassment, he reaches up and pats Delta’s arm. “Aw, now, you can’t help it, son. Nobody’s blamin’ you for these chairs not quite bein’ right for ya.”

Calvin makes a bubbling noise and Delta looks at him to see him giving an encouraging thumbs-up, and Delta’s shoulders lift.

Sinclair regards Calvin’s noise awkwardly, and he watches as Calvin takes another look around the cabin to survey his choices again, then he happily plops down on the seat opposite Sinclair, placing his pad in his lap and folding his hands over it politely.

Delta’s optimistic gesture comes back and Calvin bubbles and reaches to write on his pad, and Sinclair busies himself with prepping his cigarette, glancing at Delta out of the corner of his eye and lamenting his inability to say no to the big guy.

#My writing #BioShock #BioShock 2 #Subject Delta #Augustus Sinclair #OCs #Deltaclair #Topclair #I hope I wrote Calvin correctly!! ^^'#Please lemme know if I didn't haha

46 notes · View notes

mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune · 2 years

Photo

Paper Trail Fan Art x Deltarune-Headcanon/Theory+OC (2022)

-----------------------------------

Credit for Paper Trail AU goes to Lynxgriffin

Credit for Deltarune & Undertale goes to Toby Fox

---------------------------------------

this drawing is a mix between a Paper Trail Fan Art and Deltarune Headcanon/Theory and a OC...

the “Red Strawberry Ralsei Prince” is just a guess as to what the last one of them would look like, I know I did another fan art before about a Red Version.

them being called [REDACTED] shows that his name is hidden but also because I couldn’t really think of anything to call him, he isn’t really canon to Paper Trail and he is just a fan’s guess on what the last prince might look like.

at the bottom is Kris’s Big Brother Asriel, Ralsei/Flowey and Faux-Ralsei and a OC that I decided to name Alisre.

I still believe that the “Ralsei” in Chapter 2 might not be the original one we befriend from Chapter 1, and the Original is trapped in the Card Kingdom along with one of the Lancer Quadruplets (and possibly with Jevil as well if the Player only unlocks the door to his cell but was never able to beat him but just leave the door open and then leave to face the King....)

I still think Lancer might be a Quadruplet, why else would he still be in Kris’s pocket but at the same time be in that bakery as “Mustache-Lancer” and if he is hanging out with Queen at the same time while being in the pocket, then you know it is possible that it isn’t the same Lancer, you just been having one of the Lancer Quadruplets this whole time....

and the reason why they are all name Lancer, is because King was too lazy to give them a different name and at some point he forgot he has more than one son who is named Lancer.

the Ralsei we first travel with in Chapter 1, I believe they were originally from Undertale and are Flowey, but the hat they wear allows them to keep their “Ralsei Form” plus it could turn out that when Lancer knocks Hooded-Ralsei/Faux-Ralsei off screen, it isn’t him who reappears but Ralsei/Flowey instead.

which would mean that the Faux-Ralsei was the Original Ralsei, and the reason why Flowey switched places with him, is because Flowey might of know that Ralsei’s True Colors and he is keeping secrets and will lie to Kris and Susie.

when Chapter 1-Ralsei is in that cell with Kris, and when we are following Susie...it is possible that Chapter 1-Ralsei shows Kris his true form and explains why he switches places with the Other-Ralsei, and tells them that if they and Susie ever run into the Real Him again (Faux-Ralsei), that they both need to be cautious and not trust him.

when Kris and Susie are about to leave, the Other Ralsei aka “Faux-Ralsei” he possibly uses magic to send all the darkners (all but Flowey, Lancer and Jevil)

through the dark fountain and to the unused classroom.

he then took Flowey’s hat that keeps him in his Ralsei form, and goes out through the Delta Rune Door and back to Castle Town and locks the door and then once Susie and Kris left for home, he goes to the Light World and goes to the unused classroom and locks the closet door in there.

because the door in that room is a counterpart of the Delta Rune Door in the dark world, and if it is left unlocked, Susie and Kris could go inside and end up back in Card Kingdom and find out the truth.

the Shadow-Lancer that tries to throw attacks at as when Kris and Susie seem to first enter the dark world, might not be the same one that Susie befriends.

and it is one of the Lancer’s brothers that make up The Lancer Quadruplets.

but it might be possible that part the game could take place in the far future, and when Kris wakes up close to Castle Town, it might be the first time they did since falling through that endless darkness....and what we saw before wasn’t Kris’s first time waking up in the dark world, but it might of been a scene of the future, or I could be wrong about that theory and that’s okay.

plus you know how Error-Sans uses those strings on souls, and then there is that fight with Spamton who has green strings seeming to hold him up in the fight...?

and then there are those papers in that very big dark room that is suppose to be the supply closet.

well what if Error-Sans ended up working with the Knight and is the one using his strings on Spamton...?

and the papers that are in the dark room that Susie and Kris first fall into the dark world from, are papers that belong to Ink-Sans...?

I don’t think Nightmare-Sans is that bad, I mean sure he comes off as a “villain” but he was just going through a lot and his brother wasn’t really being all that helpful, and well there can be a “Toxic-Positive” like if someone doesn’t have a little bit of a bad dream and maybe have a dream catcher to catch it, any other future nightmare might become even worse than the last.

and replacing the small bad dreams with “good dreams” can be a problem.

it could in theory could become a “Bad Dream Buildup” and just suppressing it with just good dreams, without having some kind of dream catcher to eat up the bad dreams that are building up could be bad.

if there was a Crossover with the different Sans from Undertale and Deltarune.

I think Susie would be the only one to truly get where Nightmare-Sans is coming from, and might be able to see that there is still some goodness in him, even if it’s WAY deep down.

well maybe it wouldn’t just be Susie, Lancer might be able to get Nightmare-Sans as well, but that is just my guessing.

if Ink-Sans and Error-Sans (or one of the versions of them) never really discovered the Deltarune Universes and it’s AU and Timelines,

one might wonder what they would do when they end up accidentally falling in the dark world instead of the light world part of it...?

or finding out that it is possible for those from Undertale to travel to Deltarune through that door that is like Sans’s door to his bedroom.

and the same thing can be said for those who are from Deltarune being able to travel to Undertale.

I think that in the Neutral Route (from the Timeline where one of the Froggits are missing from that room in the ruins that has that sign for the spider bake sale), it could turn out that it isn’t just Flowey who ends up going to Deltarune, but Alphys as well and she takes the human souls with her.

but when she does take the human souls, they end up escaping and end up being reborn as Noelle, Catti, Jockington, Berdly, Susie and Lancer.

the Sans we meet in Deltarune, could be Sans from a Geno Route Timeline or he could just be from Deltarune, but the Sans from Undertale might of had more than one Sans.

like the Sans who wanted to sell snowballs isn’t the same one who was with Papyrus, and might be the Sans from the Other World.

or he could be a Avatar of Gaster in disguise, like even if Sans says he would keep a eye-socket out for us in the game, he really doesn’t do anything at all.

the only one who really keeps a eye on us and follows us, is Flowey.

which I’m guessing could probably use healing magic and not just “friendliness bullets” and well, we know Undertale-Toriel isn’t what she seems either.

cause she obviously knows about the Resets and possibly pretends not to.

even when we point out to King Asgore about how many times he has killed us in the game, he doesn’t try to deny it, which means he knows about the Resets as well and has memories of previous timelines.

so just like Chapter 2-Ralsei, Toriel of Undertale is keeping secrets and lying to the Player and to the Human inside of the said game.

also while Ralsei from Paper Trail might be one of the Alternate Universes of Ralsei, that doesn’t hide anything from Kris out of bad intentions...

and he isn’t the version that could be Flowey from Undertale who needs a magic hat to keep himself in his Ralsei Form.

but while one could be a flower and the other being a piece of paper....

and both could have a type of soul in them, like when each Dark Prince was born, they were born with a soul.

and Flowey could of ended up having a type of remnant of the Original Prince Asriel from Undertale, that would slowly form a new soul for him.

but it’s possible that the Ralsei who we meet Chapter-2 is fully soulless or in other words a “Hollow-Soul” where it looks like a normal soul but has no filling inside of it but it still mimics a real soul.

and that Chapter 2-Ralsei is really Prince Asriel from Undertale, and he didn’t just stay as dust, the determination he got from his adoptive sibling ends up letting him reform in that throne room with the flowers.

but he can’t get all his dust back into his body, because it is stuck with Flowey.

and when the Prince Asriel reformed, he reformed without a soul.

so when he ends up in Deltarune and in the Dark World, when he loses HP and all that is left is his clothes, he doesn’t just turn into a Flower and just hides under his magic hat and clothes like Flowey does.

but instead what is hiding under the clothes, is just dust the very dust of a soulless monster and former prince of the underground.

he even renames himself as “Ralsei” and his plans might be to wait until Kris’s brother comes home so he can take his soul.

Flowey, before he replaces that Ralsei to protect Kris and Susie in Chapter 1...

Flowey might of found out about that Soulless-Ralsei/Original-Asriel’s plan to take Delta-Asriel’s soul.

but he didn’t get to tell Kris about that Other-Ralsei’s plan, because there was no time to tell them or he just forgot to.

but when it did become too late to tell them while still in the Card Kingdom,

Soulless-Ralsei took Flowey’s hat that keeps him in his Ralsei form, and Soulless-Ralsei uses magic to send everyone except Flowey, Lancer and Jevil to the unused classroom in the light world before Kris and Susie closes the dark fountain.

and while still in the Dark World, Soulless-Ralsei hurries back to the Castle Town and locks the door that has the Delta Rune on it.

when Kris and Susie go home, Soulless-Ralsei goes into the light world and then goes to the unused classroom to lock the door, this way Kris and Susie wont be able to go back to the Card Kingdom and find out the truth.

and he could end up taking the key with him back to the dark world.

Flowey and Lancer aren’t able to escape from that part of dark world, and no one would know that Lancer is missing because of his brothers who are all named Lancer, because once again his Dad is too lazy to give his own Quadruplet Sons and he likely forgot that he has more than one son.

not everyone has to agree with this theory, but it is possible that the Ralsei we meet in Chapter 2, isn’t the same one we befriend and treasure as the cinnamon roll fluffy prince who needs to be protected.

one of the clues is from when Kris drinks the Ralsei Tea in the Cyber Kingdom of Dark World, you don’t really get much HP from that tea and Kris might not really like that Ralsei, but could like the one who might turn out to be Flowey...

another clue is that Chapter 2-Ralsei is slightly taller than Kris, while in Chapter 1 both Kris and Ralsei/Flowey are the same height.

Chapter 2-Ralsei also has longer horns and bigger feet than the Ralsei we travel with from Chapter 1.

besides those two Ralseis, there could really be a REAL Ralsei who like Flowey, has a soul but that Ralsei is a Captured Prince, that Soulless-Ralsei has locked up in his own room, but you can’t really go up the stairs where Ralsei’s room is because it is blocked off.

the Captured Prince Ralsei or possibly could be seen as the True-Ralsei, could be like the True Counterpart of most of the Fanon AU versions of Ralsei.

and the magic hat that let’s Flowey become “Ralsei” was a gift from the True-Ralsei who was still locked up because of the Chapter 2-Ralsei.

True-Ralsei could of used his magic to transfer some of his soul essence into the hat that would allow Flowey to turn into him and protect Kris and Susie from the Faux-Ralsei (who might not really be the True-Ralsei at all.) and his future plans.

True-Ralsei could still be wearing a hat much like the one that Flowey wears that keeps him in his Ralsei form, but the one that Flowey wears is a spare green hat that belongs to True-Ralsei.

True-Ralsei could of been the first friends that Flowey made when he left Undertale’s Neutral Timeline.

and one of the reasons why he even bothers to pretend to be True-Ralsei and look after Kris and Susie and protect them from the Faux-Ralsei, was by the request of True-Ralsei.

I think I like to think of this fan theory as headcanon.

but not all fans have to agree about it possibly being true.

I also think that Kris (or the Hollow-Soul of Kris) didn’t just go down to the kitchen to eat the pie, but went out of their home first, then broke into the library to create a dark fountain and after they did that, they went home and used the knife to cut a slice of pie and eat it, but then ended up eating the whole pie.

well either they ate the pie or Susie did because the thing controlling Kris’s body that isn’t the Player, left the door to their house open, and Susie might of smelled the pie and went inside and ate almost all the pie.

and when Kris returns there is only one piece of pie left, so they ate that last piece but left the knife and went back to bed.

it’s possible that in the canon of Deltarune, if there is more than just one Ralsei, one being a Decoy who’s true form is Flowey, the other being a Soulless Prince from the Other World/Undertale and the last one being the True-Ralsei who was born in Deltarune and it’s Dark World.

it’s possible that if True-Ralsei did end up in the Light World, his true form might be the horn headband that Kris lost.

Faux-Ralsei would still stay in his form, and he possibly can’t stay in the Light World for too long, like a full day, because his body would break down into dust and if he were to die in the light world with very little magic, he wouldn’t be able to reform and go back to the dark world on his own.

if Flowey were to go into the Light World while wearing the hat he got from True-Ralsei, he might not be able to keep his Ralsei form while he goes into the Light World, and would turn back into a Flower.

but instead of a non-talking and normal Flower, he would just be himself, and still being able to talk.

the little magic in the light world, would allow him to still move around and go underground and even go into Kris’s room.

but he would have to be kept secret from everyone but those who have been into the Dark World.

like it could turn out that Flowey could tell Kris that they would need to save the True-Ralsei because he is not what he seems, and even asks Kris that they must of notice that they seemed slightly different from them, and even explains that Flowey’s Ralsei form is based off of the True-Ralsei of the Dark World.

because True-Ralsei’s magic and some of his soul essence was placed into a extra hat of his, which he gave to Flowey so he could take his form and replace the Faux-Ralsei who is really a Soulless-Body of the Original Prince Asriel from Undertale, who reformed thanks to Chara’s determination, but he only reformed after Alphys took the Flower that would become Flowey from the Throne Room.

well either her, or Wingdings Gaster....

I mean it wouldn’t be the first time Alphys took credit for Gaster’s work.

so it would make sense that it would turn out that Flowey was Gaster’s creation, and in his absences, Alphys used his creation as a experiment and lab rat.

anyway my fan headcanon and theory, is that the Ralsei we travel with in Chapter 1 is really Flowey who came from Undertale and comes from a Neutral Timeline and came to Deltarune with Alphys.

and he was asked by the True-Ralsei to keep watch over the Lightners and protect them from Faux-Ralsei.

and maybe if it were true, and Flowey talks to Kris alone if they go to the light world, he explains that he shouldn’t trust Susie with the truth, because it is likely Faux-Ralsei has already told her some lies and would turn her against them if they reveal the truth.

Flowey turning out to be a Decoy-Ralsei and helping Kris and Susie by the request of the True-Ralsei who is the prisoner of Faux-Ralsei, might make sense but it might not to everyone and that’s okay.

anyway Alisre is suppose to be a “Princess from a Dark World”

the form she has if she ended up in the Light World, could be that of a doll that looks like a boss monster, and it could be doll that belong to Kris when they were really little, but like their horn headband, they lost the doll.

anyway hope some like this drawing that is a mix of being a Paper Trail Fan Art and a theory about Deltarune.

there is a reason why Flowey’s Ralsei form has a different shade of green hat from the Ralsei from Paper Trail, and well hope some like it.

so the theory about Flowey helping the True-Ralsei and trying to protect Kris and Susie from Faux-Ralsei that appears in Chapter 2, is a new theory and headcanon.

I know that only some fan theories will turn out to be true, like what we see in Chapter 2, and it turning out Kris did use the knife for the pie...

but I believe they only used the knife of the pie, after coming back from breaking into the library and making a new dark fountain.

another thing that was a fan prediction that turn out to be canon, was that when Darkners leave the Dark World and go into the Light World, they turn into objects, like any item, from toys, game pieces, cards and possibly anything else.

when they do turn into items, it’s possible they go into a type of sleep mode.

I wouldn’t be surprised if it would be revealed that Kris or whatever was controlling them that isn’t the Player, did create the dark fountain in the library’s computer room.

hope Toby Fox and his team do their best with each chapter of Deltarune, but remember to relax and take breaks, make sure to eat and got good night rest.

Stay Determined Everyone On The Deltarune Team. :)

#deltarune fanart #undertale fanart #paper trail fanart #ralsei deltarune #asriel dreemurr #flowey the flower undertale #fan headcanon #undertale theory #deltarune theory

21 notes · View notes

cryptid-killjoy · 9 months

Text

School List

Ok So I’m only doing this cuz I really lost a whole year somehow with everything going on - Went back to the last school list to double check Scout’s age like how did I lose a year. Whaaaaaaaat? Scout was still listed as junior and I was thinking oh man. If we missed prom They missed graduation. No way that wasn’t made a big deal of in the Laveau household.

Nigel - Zombie in Feral

Babyface - Freshman (due to 2x failure) - Currently living on the street and never finished with Circe or Halloweentown or the human public school system. His mother and Black Arts Beagle will have something to say about this when they come fully into the picture. They are not going to agree on what he should do next.

Lance Zombie in Feral

School

Halloweentown High

Spade - Graduated with honors - Halloweentown High Alumni

Lena - Feral Zombie with a cursed entity inside

Hypno - Feral Zombie

Libi Heart - Feral Zombie

Ace - Feral Zombie

The Nola High Population that no longer exists and is now called Feral

Jax - Sophomore - TBA (also there’s a real part of me that wants to say they’re on the island cuz I miss them as a way to cop out and bring them back later but can’t decide so not labeling them as zombies)

Mazzie - Sophomore TBA

Ellie - Junior - Current dropout traveling with Babyface Beagle (not sure if she should be a senior by now or if due to all that went down she never made it and would still be at junior status if she started again even though it’s probably at the point these guys would probably opt into a GED program if they continued now)

New Zealand - Auckland High Kiwis

GoGo - Graduated

Scout - Graduated

Seven is still enrolled in Mortuary Science School - Feral Zombie

Note: Chip and Pips got their wings

Other Feral Notes that have nothing to do with schools but the younger generation:

When the Feral lock down went down I don’t want to forget Chernabog’s son was locked in too. He is not a zombie and survived in shadow form and was hiding in Pixie Hollow. It’s how he wasn’t found or affected. That’s what Bastien was speaking about when he spoke of a moving shadow to Maddy some while back and comparing it to Peter Pan. He was at Skull Rock when all this started spying on Atticus’s meeting before the zombie riot and got stuck in when Delta shut it down with the dance spell. So if the dwelling of Feral does find tortured or mutilated carcasses of strange kinds, animals, fae, what have you that don’t seem natural anywhere, oocly, let it be known, it can be from him. We know what he’s like. He won’t be able to not be himself forever.

Lena’s zombie still houses the soul of Magica De Spell. She was already a magic object. So her zombie isn’t normal because her shell isn’t normal. She has no control. She’s stuck. She’s trying to figure out how to communicate from within the zombie, but it’s worse than trying to control Lena. To say the least she’s in a pickle.

Chernabog is still in Delta’s necklace.

Barrel is pretty aggravated about the island he procured for his mother being behind Delta’s fairie ring.

Spade isn’t because she’s bored of the whole school thing and even though it sucks to be upped is young and more interested in making a name for herself like her mother and be a real someone in the Boogie Empire. Fans are so much easier to rally, seduce, and persuade than people are to educate, and so much more fun.

CJ still has possession of the black cauldron.

The Horned King is still dancing.

#head canon #and #school #update

2 notes · View notes

rubykgrant · 2 years

Note

for the ask prompt: York?

i really love your art, stories, and interpretations on the characters!

hope you have a good day! <3

First impression

I saw the Freelancer flash-backs before Out of Mind, so my first impression of him was a little different than some people; I at first thought he was kind of the "office slacker" kinda dude, like he's really chill but not especially close to anybody... and I wasn't entirely wrong about him being chill, but obviously there is MORE to him than that~

Impression now

A lot of his aloof attitude is intentional to either put people at ease or make them underestimate him; now that I've seen a small glimpse of him VERY early in the Freelancer program (thanks to Wash time traveling), I feel like York used to kind of set aside his real feelings. When he put his armor on, he was Mr Serious! After a while though... this attitude clearly wasn't working. For one thing, EVERYBODY was super stressed-out, and it started to carry over to when they were supposed to relax. So, York would try to make them laugh, remind them of what fun was, but not in a totally irresponsible way. He was just really calm and funny, and it worked! Not only did his companions feel more hopeful because of him, when he started joking around with guards or other enemies, they assumed he was no threat... which meant he had an advantage. York was just an effortlessly charming dude, and the only thing that got in his way was when he tried to hard to no-nonsense

Favorite moment

All the bits with him on the mission to get the Sarcophagus; he was very York-tastic through it all

Idea for a story

I had an AU idea once for a Freelancer/AI/Sim Trooper swap; in which the AI were Freelancers (with Greek Alphabet code-names; Alpha is still the original AI, but he's had his memories taken away and given a false identity as a Freelancer), the original Sim Troopers are now AI Fragments (because they're still supposed to be Alpha's friends that represent ways to help him), and the PFL agents are now Sim Troopers in Blood Gulch. York and North were the dudes on Red Team who just stand around talking all day. York also picks locks so he can hide in closets or storage rooms to take naps and get out of work

Unpopular opinion

I'm not sure how "unpopular" it is? I think York would have bonded fairly well with the other AI as well, and while he perhaps wouldn't have become the Meta (that feels like a specific Maine and Sigma situation), he also would have listened to Sigma and tried to help him (again, the situation would have been different... would it have been better? or worse? hmm!!!)

Favorite relationship

My MOST favorite is him with Delta; they were so close and genuinely cared about each other so deeply... and Delta wanted to stay with him, even when York was dying. That's just EVERYTHING. Obviously him and Carolina is wonderful, and his friendship with North and Wash is good too... but remember what I said about him having a serious side, while also joking around with people? I wish we could have seen more between him, Maine, and Wyoming. I feel like they actually worked really well together (they were even a team against Tex), and had a unique sort of bond. Still, nothing tops York and Delta. I got the vibe that, they didn't always understand each other BUT they understood that it was alright, they could talk about pretty much anything, and they just made each other feel comfortable and safe

Favorite headcanon

I can't think of too many that aren't canon in some way... my own personal HC is that he was genderfluid, York just never got to really talk about it much

Thanks for asking~

#answer #red vs blue #agent york #copperphysics106 #ask

11 notes · View notes

mandalorianbrainweasel · 2 years

Note

Hi! I love you writing! I never really thought about Walon/Jaster before, but you make it so soft?

Anyway, if you ever wanted too, I’d love to see you do anything more with Delta squad, either the four of them+ Walon, or just Walon and Sev? I feel like Delta has a lot more repressed feelings that are bound to burst at some point, and a lot of confused feelings surrounding Walon. Him as well, since he clearly wasn’t great for them as children, but he does love them in his own way.

Sorry if none of that made any sense, or you’re just not interested. Regardless, I hope you have a lovely day 😊

Hello!! Yes I came up with Jaster/Walon and I love them very much.

At the moment I'm not really in the headspace to directly deal with Walon's Fucked Up Canon Actions and how Delta deal with that and how they feel about him etc etc. HOWEVER! I have a stalled out WIP that has something I'll think you'll like, Nonny. Under the cut we go 😌

[Context: Delta have been sent to lie low at Keldabe City's Hotel Sarad, owned by the Mereel-Fetts and notably hosted by Akaani'ka "Spar" Mereel.]

“We’ll be fine here,” Boss finally decides. Hopefully they’ll be cleared to go back by the time Vau returns.

“Why do you call him Walon?” Scorch asks their odd host.

They blink a few times. “I knew him. Before. So I’ve always called him Walon.” They clap their hands. “I need to get back to the courtyard. I’m usually somewhere about. Since you have Walon’s keystone, you’re able to take the back lift all the way up to the family rooms on the fifth floor, the ones that are gated off from the rest of the fifth floor. I have a bigger kitchen, so feel free to use it. The manager, Yeva, has my comm code if you need to get a hold of me and can’t find me. Walon said you are free to explore everything, but he went ahead and locked his room so everything he put away is out of your way. I believe he is aware you can all slice locks. I’ll make sure that the keystones made for you are the only ones that can open your room. Though I believe eventually all of the squads Walon trained are supposed to receive keys. Unlikely that you’ll all be there at the same time, after all.” They have deep dimples when they smile. “Anything else?”

None of the others say anything, so Boss says, “Not that we can think of.”

They nod, hand him the keystone, a shiny piece of rock with little lines of blue that glow like electronics, and then disappear.

“What,” Fixer says succinctly, “the kark?”

---

They spend the next while taking stock of the place. Boss picks through the kitchen, looking for listening devices and pondering at what Vau keeps in the conservator. Things that keep well, but most of it is incredibly foreign to him. The counters are stone, a number of the cooking utensils are beskar, as are all of the knives from what he can tell. There’s a row of cookbooks, and, next to them, there’s a holo. It’s not on, but when he clicks it on it shows Vau, but much younger. He’s laughing, arms wrapped around a clone. Until it dawns on him that it isn’t a clone.

It’s either Fett, or it’s the glamorous Mereel who showed them up. Obviously close, and even...happy.

He’s not sure how he feels about it.

While Boss goes through the kitchen, Scorch picks the lock into Vau’s bedroom, peeking in like Vau’s going to be there with a disapproving look ready and waiting for him. Instead, the room is empty and dark. There’s art on the walls, with swoopy swirls, vibrant colours even in the darkness, and asymmetric figures. Men and women and others dancing and lounging. Some are in beskar’gam, some look to be in fashion not terribly different from the Mereel’s style. The bed frame has similar lines, carved of thick, dark wood, and the sheets are soft and dark. There’s a bed that just screams Lord Mirdalan on the floor. There are flightsuits and more varied garments both in the closets. A few of the leather jackets he’d wear when he was really tired, on Kamino.

He steals a super soft sweater. He’ll put it back before they leave.

Fixer digs into the tech, seeing how far he can get into the hotel’s systems. Not far, not without something else—he doesn’t think it’s an organic being—curses him out and about locks him out of the system entirely. It punts him to a collection of databooks and it takes him only a minute to realize that Vau wrote them. They’re...interesting. It’s a collection of linguistics and philosophy, bits of history, all how they wrap together. It’s not something he would have expected from Vau, from the brittle way he always held himself, from the snapping and the frowns. No, all of it is thoughtful and hopeful and...kind of whole.

He wonders what happened. He wonders why he cares.

Sev is the only one who wanders into the free bedroom. Their bedroom, in a way, that smells of freshly carved and stained wood. There are two double beds, just like the Mereel said. They’re both a red wood, sturdy, and when he sits down at the end of one, the one with the blue sheets instead of the red, they’re firm but with a little indulgent softness. A treat, but not one they’ll be discomforted by. He looks up at the shelves lining the walls, matching wood with matching carvings—star motifs and swirls that he doesn’t know match the bed in Vau’s room—and boxes along it. Less than one hundred, and when he counts them there are ninety seven of them. Well. Ninety six, but there’s a ninety seventh one on the bedside table. A note asking them to ferry it to Atin. He recognizes a lot of the numbers, but he stands up and pulls out the four most familiar ones.

He brings them into the living area and sits next to Fixer, who is frowning at a datapad, and passes him the box with his name and number marked on it. Fixer scowls, but he opens it. And then he just stops, frozen. Scorch sweeps in from Vau’s bedroom with a giant sweater on and he slings himself across the other two’s laps, accepting his box from Sev with an “ooo!” Finally, Boss comes over with a plate of snacks, sets them on the dark brown table that sits low in front of the sofa, and accepts his own box as he sits down in one of the chairs. Only then does Sev open his.

Credits—Mandalorian and Republic. Identification—at least three separate identities and one even has their names as Vau. Datachips—Sev’s has information for an armoury building, Scorch’s has a garage plot and a key code, Fixer’s has bank account details, and Boss’s has a list of names.

It doesn’t take them long to realize it’s people who owe Vau.

“What is this?” Fixer asks.

Boss sucks in a breath. “I think...I think this is if we ever need a new life.”

Boss has them close the boxes back up, taking only a bit of the Mandalorian credits for now, and then they all stack them back up on the shelves. In case of emergencies.

The Mereel arrives less than half an hour later, clapping their hands and offering to treat them to supper.

#my fanfiction #delta squad #delta squad scorch #delta squad sev #delta squad fixer #delta squad boss #walon vau #scorch vau #sev vau #fixer vau #boss vau #guest appearance from Spar #hotel sarad

13 notes · View notes

wannaberp · 1 year

Photo

— WHO IS JUNG HARU?

he’s a TWENTY year old wannabe, born MAY 23, 2002. he’s currently eyeing STUDIO DELTA and lives by the words “if you can make it through the night, there’s a brighter day.”

maybe you should learn more or ask him a question.

▶ PLAY THE CLIP [ dream_reality.mp4 ]

Haru shifts uncomfortably, feeling his eyes naturally drift towards the camera just like he knows they shouldn’t. He’d figured there’d be no better way to get himself out there than to literally announce on national television that he’d like to be signed, please — and camera experience was something he’d severely lacked. It’s as good practice as he can get, and he’d thought he’d locked the art of conversation down by now, but the presence of a lens and a little red light somehow makes all the difference.

“My dream?” He repeats back, perhaps a little dumbly. The phrasing cloys at him; a little juvenile, he thinks. His goal is the same as anybody else’s they’ll interview for this. He wants to get signed, and if he achieves that, his goal will be to debut, and then it’ll be to get a win, and so forth. But, he supposes that it’s the same as how you can’t tell an interviewer that you want the job just because you need money. The guys who give people jobs need to be convinced that it’s your dream first. It’s not enough to be skilled enough to do it well. If you don’t have an uncle already working in your desired field, you have to bet your entire life on it.

He has his reasons, but why should he have to share them? Why should he have to flagellate himself, convince a jury of men in suits who may not even be watching that he wants it enough, and for pure-hearted enough reasons? He wants to present his skills, and be judged on that.

“Well, it’s kind of cheesy, but,” He can’t say any of that, so instead he makes something up. He puffs out a nervous laugh, and hopes he can spin his embarrassment at being put on the spot for bashfulness, instead. “I suppose I want to be an idol who doesn’t stop improving. That you can look to and always see the efforts of hard work. I think that’s what makes me dream of being an idol.”

He hopes it sounds earnest, because he doesn’t really know if he knows what he means. It sounds pretty, which should be enough. With any luck, he’ll at least come across as agreeable for media training.

#BE:ACCEPTED #kwak jiseok #xdinary heroes

4 notes · View notes

raggedbreathwhump · 1 year

Text

Whumpfic: The Hunt (Part 2)

Setting/fandom: Generic futuristic spy-fi.

Content warnings: Torture, PTSD, brainwashing, implied noncon, suicidal thoughts, self-destructive coping mechanisms

Word count: 9906

Rating: T

Summary:

What can Zack say? That it wasn't really him, and his dealing with that has for some months now been contingent on accepting that reality? On thinking of Diego as gone, lost to years of captivity and state-of-the-art corporate brainwashing, even though he's right over there in Safehouse Delta, a team of professionals doing their best to put his mind and memories back together?

PART 1 HERE

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Six months later

“You want another smoke?”

Zack snaps out of watching the rain in fascination to turn back to Rickard, nod faintly, then follow him in across the threshold. Rickard shuts the door behind him and leans on it heavily to lock it, keys jangling in his hand, then curses as they clatter to the floor. Swaying in place, Rickard kicks them into a corner, then fumbles through the inside pockets of his trench coat.

He makes a vague gesture at Zack. “Get that off. Don' want you drippin' on my antiques...”

Zack obligingly shrugs out of his coat. At least, he tries to. It takes him a couple of attempts to coordinate the removal of his arms from the sleeves and hang it on an old-fashioned brass hanger, but at least by that time, Rickard has finally produced the smokes. Since neither of them has bothered to turn any lights, only the dreary evening light through a narrow overhead window is giving them any guidance.

Still in his trench, Rickard gestures for Zack to come closer. Rather than give him the cig, Rickard places it directly between his lips with a delicacy that surprises him. The gesture is charged enough that Zack's eyes flick up to meet his for some hint of confirmation, a reassurance of the first unambiguous thing that has happened since they both mutually agreed to drunkenly stumble to Rickard's home together.

Rickard's eyes are unfocused with alcohol and distant with something very different and dark. In the past moths, Zack has discovered he doesn't like looking at them. It is a bit too much like staring into a mirror.

Zack steadies the cig between his teeth with his hand and patiently waits as Rickard produces an actual lighter, too. “Is that a gas lighter?” he can't help but ask, briefly fascinated. In the short-lived, warm glow of it, Rickard's face looks warmer than it did a second ago.

“Yeah, yeah. Might be older than me. Don't get too excited.”

Zack takes a quick, deep drag, coughs a little – still hasn't quite got the hang of this, really, and Rickard's eye-roll agrees. Indoors, the smoke wafts around them. The smell of it suffuses him, mixing with the smell of rain, moth balls and cheap alcohol.

Rickard lights a cig of his own, inhales professionally, then gestures at Zack to follow and steps past him, out of the tiny hallway into the living room, without so much as taking off his hat. Zack follows obligingly. The smell of old things hits him in the nose all at once like a cudgel, even before he's through the door. The room has a strong resemblance to a severely neglected attic, cluttered in every corner with thing out of this century.

“Make yourself at home,” Rickard grunts, stepping expertly past piles of memorabilia to stop in the center of the room, leaning back against a couch piled so high with rolled-up rugs that it's impossible to actually sit on, while Zack carefully perches on the edge of a vacant-enough armchair opposite of him. He can't help his curiosity here, so his gaze is wandering about, taking in what it can. It helps that he's buzzed, the alcohol level in his blood just high enough to suppress any dismay he might have felt at this level of clutter.

No smoke detectors anywhere – some scuff marks on the ceiling indicate they may have been installed, but were removed. This place is one misaimed cigarette butt away from going up in flames, isn't it? He glances at the rugs Rickard is sitting against. They certainly look as if they would ignite like a paper towel if given the opportunity.

Rickard doesn't seem to mind the ogling. He's calmly enjoying his smoke with the same impassioned concentration as if though it might be his last. They're not talking, but that's okay. Most of their time spent together lately consists of not talking. Zack will take that over concerned or pitying stares any day of the week.

The windows are larger in this room, the curtains drawn – there are actual curtains. There's a pitter-patter of rain on the glass, and the natural light that fills the room is calm, not glaring. It's almost... nice.

“I took Mariya here once,” Rickard volunteers, apparently feeling some need to fill the silence anyway. “She practically had a fit, and I don't blame her. Said the place smelled like an 18th century dump.” Rickard chuckles dryly to himself. “Don't know why 18th century, exactly.” He then reaches into his coat again until he's holding a flask. He flashes a boastful smile at Zack. “Refilled this one at the bar, sneaky-like.” He takes a swig.

An easy enough silence descends again. Zack's gotten to the good parts of this particular cigarette and has found his gaze resting on what he's almost certain is an early 20th century radio, and he's mentally picking it apart with his eyes, trying to identify what components he can.

At least, he thought the silence was easy enough until Rickard grunts, and Zack looks up to find the other man's eyes on him. “Used to be, you'd almost never shut up,” Rickard points out. His tone is not judging – an observation, nothing more. Zack returns his look blankly. Used to be. Less than a year ago, really, but there's not much he can say to that.

“Here. Catch,” Rickard grunts, then tosses him the flask. Zack catches it deftly enough, slowly unscrews it to sniff at the contents. Rickard gives a low chuckle at that, shaking his head. “The hell are you sniffing for?”

It's whiskey – or something close enough to it, anyway. Zack takes a deep, final drag of the cig, then washes it down with a sip from the flask followed by a greedier gulp. The smoke and the alcohol burn his throat in different ways, and it's not unpleasant. The heat goes to his chest, bringing a flush to his cheeks and reviving the buzz from before.

“I'm gonna need that back, you know,” Rickard points out. Zack ignores him. He finds it in himself to give him something resembling a smirk. “Should you be drinking, at your age?”

Rickard scowls playfully. “Fuck you,” he mutters, staggering to his feet and towards Zack.

Zack's smile turns wry. “This place is one giant fire hazard, and with that much alcohol in you, you're at the top of the list. I don't think we should be in here.”

Rickard chuckles and reaches to take the flask from him. “Well, there's always the other room.”

Zack lets him. He gets to his feet as well – his knee buckling briefly as he shifts his weight - steps closer, but stops awkwardly, then looks between Rickard and the cigarette stub in his hand. “Where...” he begins.

Rickard sighs and gestures to a tin box on the cluttered coffee table next to them.

Zack shakes his head. “Never mind.”

He tosses the stub into the tin, then carefully steps into Rickard's personal space to kiss him. He fully expects to feel nothing and for them both to declare this experiment a failure, but it's... not bad. Different, certainly. The taller man pulls him closer into the grasp of the still-damp trench coat, as Zack processes all the impressions. Cigarette smoke and aftershave and stubble and the smell of the coat, bizarrely enough, and stale sweat. Something damp hits the back of his neck, and he realizes he's dislodged Rickard's hat to the point where it's dripping onto him. And then the thick, bitter taste of alcohol on Rickard's tongue hits him strongly enough that he actually pulls back, dismayed.

Rickard glowers back at him. “You just gonna stand there?”

Zack reaches for his hat by way of answering, but Rickard grabs his wrist and steers him into 'the other room', instead. It's marginally more clutter-free than the previous one, or at least the bed is. Not trusting him to handle that part, Rickard carefully hangs his hat and coat on a chair. He looks awkward and uneasy without them, and doesn’t stand there long before moving in for another kiss.

Zack's not sure where they're going with this, or what's going to happen. They certainly haven't talked it out, but when Rickard's hands grasp his shoulders and then move down his arms, he thinks it's probably something he can live with. The man presses him to a wall. Zack answers by pulling their hips together, pressing them together through the fabric that's still between them. He hasn't been with someone in a good long while, but he remembers how it's supposed to go, when it's not happening in a cell. When it's over, Zack staggers to his feet to find his clothes again, feeling very pleasantly rumpled. His puts on his pants and sits back down on the edge of the bed, already rummaging for a smoke. Stretched out next to him, Rickard does the same – a meaningless gesture of shared addiction that nonetheless gives Zack a welcome sense of kinship in that moment. Rickard lights up, then reaches for his hat on the chair next to him and places it on his head, still buck-naked except for the sheets half-tangled over him to ward off the chill. It's a comical enough sight that Zack snorts softly as he takes a drag.

“Not bad,” Rickard grunts. Zack looks at him with a hint of smugness, but the man is staring up into the brim of his hat, breathing out puffs of smoke. “I always assumed you'd be terrible in bed. Can't keep up in the field, can't keep up off of it, am I right?,” Zack snorts again, and Rickard continues. “But guess I had you pegged wrong. That wasn't half bad, even with that busted knee.”

Zack glances down despite himself. The knee is more achey than usual after what he just put it through, but the haze of smoke in him is already starting to dull it. He reaches out to massage it absentmindedly, then takes another slow, deep drag, savoring the discount chemicals as much as he can, and with all the curiosity of a new smoker trying a new blend. Rickard had offhandedly raved about the earthy, lung-deep satisfaction of a good cigarette after sex enough times over the past months that Zack had not only found his interest piqued, but finally recognized it for the un-subtle come-on it had so clearly been. So now he plans to savor this to the last.

Rickard chooses to ruin his enjoyment of it with his next comment.

“Back when you were in lock-up. That prick did something to you, didn't he?”

Zack turns to stare at him. He is taken too off-guard, and too dazed with the pleasant rush of dopamine from various sources to feel more than vague irritation at the comment, even though Rickard normally doesn't have it in him to pry, but his inhibitions seem a little looser right now. He shrugs, and that seems answer enough for Rick even though the man can probably barely see him past the brim of his hat.

“I had a feeling. You've been off ever since you got back. Means it had to be personal,” Rickard explains, with the same dismay one might express at a shipment delivery delayed for no good reason. He scowls, then. “Fucking prick.”

Zack wasn't expecting to talk about this today – isn't sure how to talk about it now, really, though having Rickard call him that is almost comically reassuring. He shrugs again. “He wasn't himself.” He repeats that as he has repeated it to himself time and again. An old mantra.

So it surprises him when Rickard swears and rebukes him in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. “Bullshit. Once a prick, always a prick.” He stops and sniff, inhales deeply. “Fuck. These are some good smokes...”

Oddly enough, thinking him as a prick helps, just a little. There's something reaffirming about it. Maybe it really had been Diego, and maybe it hadn't been. It doesn't change what happened, won't mend the scarring or soothe the phantom pain in his knee. It simply is.

All along, Zack has been so focused on needing to forgive him, as if he might lose himself if he fails at that. Maybe... maybe it's alright not to.

Rickard doesn't need to hear that, though. Their relationship, such as it is, has thrived, such as it has, on not making things too personal.

Shared smokes notwithstanding.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One month later

Zack rolls out of bed to sit on the edge of it, hands braced on his knees as he breathes, blinking at the darkness. The dream is still fresh, as real as his racing heart, the thud of his pulse in his temples, his shallow breaths. His skin feels clammy where the air touches it. Everything else feels distant.

“...Ngh, the hell?” He hears a grumble just as a hand nudges his back in the dark. Zack flinches, turns to look at where he can only barely make out Rickard's sleepy shape. Rickard. What the hell is he still doing in Rickard's bed, anyway? It's late.

Zack staggers to his feet, manages to gather up his clothes from the pile on the chair on the first try. Rickard makes a dismayed, protesting noise, probably at the prospect of Zack moving around the flat unsupervised, but he can't bring himself to care.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” he says flatly, his voice almost steady. He dresses as he limps out of the room.

It's only when he's outside the apartment building that it dawns on him that he's forgotten his coat, and the nights are colder now. Still, the door locked automatically behind him, no going back for it now, and in a way, the cold is welcome.

Lost, Zack stands there for a while, shivering. He mechanically searches his pockets for a flask (should have grabbed Rickard's on the way out...), his smokes, anything, but those are in his coat. Hissing out a breath, frustrated and jittery, Zack starts walking away quickly, nowhere else to pour his restlessness and his knee already aching more with each step through the cold. At least he roughly hits on the direction of the HQ.

Forty minutes. With the subway, it would be faster, but he doesn't take the subway.

By the time he's there, his cheeks are numb and he's resorted to sticking his hands under his shirt to keep them warm.

The sliding doors of the store front on the ground floor of the HQ are sealed shut this time of night, so he takes the back entrance, unlocking it with a hand print and walking down the narrow, squat corridor into the elevator, deceptively shaggy-looking for something with that much scanning tech behind it. Zack can hear the faint electromagnetic thrum of it as the more sophisticated devices verify his identity. He looks away from the camera he knows is concealed in the corner. In the warmth of the elevator, his cheeks are starting to sting.

The HQ is quiet this time of night. Some night owls, but not many. That suits him just fine, all he wants is to get to his room and get back to sleep.

He is unlucky. Mariya Cortez passes him in the hall and stops him, her eyebrows climbing at the sight of him.

“Zack? You look like death warmed over. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Zack says truthfully. Belatedly, it occurs to him how he must look: Under-dressed, disheveled and skin flushed from the cold. And oh, Cortez can probably smell Rickard's mothball collection on him, too.

He moves past her, though he can feel her gaze following him.

Zack finally ducks into his room, locks the door behind him, and makes his way to his bed by touch. He collapses onto it face-down, nuzzles into the pillow, stretches out his limbs until his joints pop, shuts his eyes, and makes a valiant effort to sleep.

Fifty minutes later, he finally gives up.

Zack strips, stuffs his clothing into a bin and enters the miniature bathroom. He steps under the shower and lets the jets of water scald him for a good minute before stepping out again. He dutifully pats himself down with a towel, puts on fresh clothing, dries his hair and makes some effort to pat it into shape. He pours a careful five minutes into shaving. There. He's normal. Everything is fine.

On his way into the workshop, he stops at the hallway crossroads, as has become his little ritual of late. The signs are as obtuse as you would expect them to be in a spy agency, but the words “firing range” are straightforward enough. After all, many private companies have their own firing range for personnel training. Nothing strange about that.

The firing range has guns, as you'd expect. Secured in storage lockers, but simple enough to get past. Not beam weapons, either. Bullets and gunpowder. Messy.

He could probably get away with taking one for later. You never know when you might need a gun, 'approved' or not.

A crushing grip on him, dragging him along the floor

Zack starts walking toward the firing range. Down the corridor, there'll be another elevator, he knows. He hasn't been there since he got back, but knowing it's there has made it impossible to forget.

He hears the boss's voice around the corner before he sees her, then, and backtracks rapidly, taking down the other route to engineering instead. He can't tell who she's talking to, though by the second set of footsteps, it must be another agent.

Zack walks briskly to the workshop until he's inside, surrounded by its familiar dimness. He shuts his eyes, leans back against the door to calm his suddenly spiking pulse.

He's not sure when he started avoiding her.

He takes his place at his work station, the familiarity of it embracing him. He can probably get a solid four hours of work done before anyone else shows up.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zack's not surprised when Rickard follows him outside for his smoke break. But when the man tosses a crumpled bundle at him – Zack's coat – the animosity catches him off guard.

“Thank you,” he says, holding the cig between his teeth, and slips it on.

Rickard glares at him and lights up his own.

After a while, the hostile silence irritates him enough to break it.

“Did I do something?” Zack asks, more than a little tersely.

Rickard grunts. “Depends. We've been shacking up every week now. Does that entitle me to get pissed when you just up and leave? You tell me.”

Zack looks at him in disbelief. Of all the people, he didn't expect to have to deal with this from Rickard. Zack shrugs and looks away. “You'll get over it.”

A stunned moment of silence, then a hiss. “Fuck you.”

Rickard tosses the unfinished cig over the railing and storms back inside.

#whump #whumpfic #whump fic #spy fi #spy fiction #whumpfic: the hunt #i've got another part of this ready to post #after that we'll see

4 notes · View notes

legitimatesatanspawn · 5 months

Text

So I remember enjoying dot hack IMOQ and to a lesser degree dot hack GU back on the PS2. The difference had less to do with the gameplay and GU being darker but more to do with loving R1 and the dot hack SIGN anime. I remember being utterly furious that dot hack GU got the PS4 remaster job when dot hack IMOQ needed it more due to being released near the start of the PS2's lifespan.

But I got curious about the sheer number of area locations.

(I also am aware I rarely talk about the series in spite of my Balmung of the Azure Sky avatar/pfp but it's mostly because I'd be talking way more about the Phases and Cubia than anything released from GU anime onward.)

Now for those unaware of the series: with the dot hack franchise the games are designed like a fake MMO because the setting itself is an early example of a VRMMO series. It was out long before Sword Art Online, although Log Horizon has dot hack beat in turn (while still being its own unique thing with Log Horizon more of an en-masse Isekai than the objective secret-known-to-few nightmare that The World is). Each area in-setting of dot hack is supposedly designed by the devs or maybe is just generated out of the box by the blackbox code "Morganna" with humans taking credit.

But because this is a real video game too, instead the area codes are used to help generate which specific style, size, element, level, and sort of drops you'll expect to find in a map. There are some areas that you access only for quest/storyline stuff. There are also some that you are blocked from reaching until you get a specific keyword through the fake forums, emails, or in-game interactions with other characters.

The key code system goes Server then a word from each three distinct codeword banks. So like the most famous example in the series is Delta Hidden Forbidden Holy Ground, but accessing it in Theta, Lambda, or Sigma for example would result in a very different map. Holy Ground is one word as some keywords are like "Sea Sand's", "No Face", or "Royal Edict".

dot hack IMOQ are spread across four games. There's a total of 5 listed servers (I forget if Omega is accessible before/after the finale), 101 word A, 103 word B, and 102 word C.

dot hack GU, which is now 3.5 games, has as far as I know 3 servers with a viable Chaos Gate (the teleportation system to reach the dungeon maps) and 150 word A, 91 word B, and 131 word C.

Even just by the basic number of words I already know this is going to be insane. I never even did more than 200 maps in one set of games, goodness... Admittedly I don't remember if any game locked some key codes off for plot reasons but this is insane.

Basic probability used: A times B times and so on, this results in the potential combinations.

IMOQ: 5 times 101 times 103 times 102 = 5305530, or 1061106 per server. That's 1.06 million combinations. Per server.

GU: 3 times 150 times 91 times 131 = 5364450, or 1788150 per server. 1.79 million combinations.

Thankfully you don't need to visit every area to complete or get everything possible but I think I now know why the characters willingly shell out for The World even setting aside it being native to their computers' OS. It's bigger than anyone could feasibly ever beat!

#.hack//imoq #.hack//g.u.#.hack//gu #.hack #dot hack #applying math to fiction #video games #chaos gate #gaming #anime and manga #thought about this because gu is $5 right now

0 notes

bookyourpostsblog · 6 months

Text

Locked Out of Snapchat? Here's How to Unlock Your Account

Unlocking your Snapchat account can be a lifesaver, especially when the dreaded error message, "We’re sorry, we were unable to process your request," pops up. This happens if you've been messing around with unapproved third-party apps or plugins. Snapchat doesn't take kindly to these rule-breakers and might even send you a direct message.

But here's where it gets tricky. If your account is blocked, you're in a digital lockdown, unable to read or reply to messages. This is where knowing "how to unlock a Snapchat account" becomes essential, and you might not even need a phone number to make it happen.

Snapchat is pretty serious about enforcing its privacy guidelines. Violate them, and you risk temporary or, worst-case scenario, permanent locks on your account. Ouch!

Some folks turn to third-party Snapchat bots to add friends and send automated messages, but it's a risky shortcut.

If you're in a bind, wondering "how to unlock a Snapchat account without a phone number" or how to "unlock permanently locked accounts," don't fret. Our comprehensive guide on our website has you covered. Just follow the link, and you'll have all the know-how you need to regain control of your Snapchat account. Trust us, you won't want to miss this. Explore our complete blog to master the art of Snapchat account recovery without needing a phone number. Read whole blog to know in delta how to unlock a snapchat account without phone number

#unlock a snapchat account

0 notes

tgablissortonn · 7 months

Text

Minecraft

the realm is filled with endermen, and there are towers that hold unique end crystals ontop, and have to be destroyed to prevent the ender dragon from regenerating. the ender dragon also drops its own egg.

in minecraft there are many kinds of biomes, there are currently 24, ranging from snow to desert, underwater, hills, plains, acacia, mushroom, cherry blossom, swamp savannah and many more. there are some that are specific to the nether as well, such as basalt deltas which more regularly spawn endermen, each biome has its own unique assets, blocks and animals.

there are 4 game modes in minecraft, which alter the amount of damage hostile mobs do and other features to make the game increasingly difficult. peaceful is the mode which removes all hostile mobs and any enemy that can do damage, making the game completely safe for roaming. the next modes are easy to hard, increasing the amount of mobs spawned and the damage they deal, and for some mobs such as the "enderman", the time you can look at the enemy before it attacks is decreased significantly. the final mode is "hardcore", which means the game is permanently locked on the hardest difficulty, and if you die, the world is lost forever and you cannot go back. also, in this mode, hunger can kill you and you can die of starvation, a feature unavailable in other game modes. and all of these mobs and enemies being in 3d respectively. there is also a superflat mode, in which the terrain is completely flattened out and there are no generated structures or terrains.

the game features things like weapons, armour, shields, potions and other items for player protection which are built with thinner pixels but still have dimension and are 3d, unlike some assets such as flowers and grass which are fully 2d. hostie mobs deal damage, and health can be regenerated through food that can be crafted or harvested from animals. crafting is the mechanic that can create many kinds of blocks, weapons, armours and foods. each armour range going from chainmail to netherrite and all are more sturdy and protective.

minecraft has a great legacy, and worldwide has grossed hundreds of millions of dollars. minecraft was developed by Markus Persson, known as Notch online and Jens Bergensten known as Jeb_ as creative direction. although, microsoft bought Mojang and minecraft's intellectual property for a deal of $2.5 billion in september 2014. minecraft began development in 2009 and released in 2011. minecraft in 2011 was far different and much more simplistic to the game today, but the nostalogia value of this generations older teens and adults keeps the game alive in 2023 and is still by far one of the most popular games of the past two decades, and in 2019 it was voted as the best video game of the 21st century and many people have built internet careers through minecraft and it was prominent in Esports for some time with popular streamers and youtubers.

personally, i love minecraft and it has been a good part of my childhood. it has also opened a lot of doors for me creatively, as the landscaped are inspiring and have inspired me to create landscape pieces based on screenshots from the game. also, it has inspired me to make pixel art and physical paper 3d models from the game and my own costume of the default character in around 2015. it has also allowed me to create stories and worlds through its building and i have built many large structures alongside friends and played multiplayer survival more times to count. i personally love minecraft's textures and even though they are very customisable through mods i will alwasy like the defaults as they are very unique to minecraft and are very recognisable and the dirt block is the trademark of minecraft. i think that minecraft is very simple but it can be realy aesthetically pleasing and the colour palettes and alterations of colours during sunsets and midnights are very nice and i like the use of shadows and lighting throughout the game and i think that the block game aesthetic fits it perfectly, and if everything were in regular 3d it would be quite boring. the limitations of minecraft being in only 3d blocks creates limitations but i believe that it pushes people to push the limits of Minecraft rather than playing a regular sandbox.

0 notes

mikialynn · 1 year

Text

2021 Reflection

Yet again, I am writing this reflection a bit past the New Year mark. I had told myself explicitly as the New Year approached that I needed to write this reflection promptly because of how volatile and unexpected the changes in 2021 had been…and I was right! I missed my deadline by just a month, but in that time, both my siblings caught covid, I attended my grandma’s funeral, I had surgery, my brother and his wife announced they were pregnant, my good friend visited and announced she was pregnant, I got asked to be a bridesmaid, and I put in my notice at my consulting job. So, before any other life changing things happen, let’s try to reflect on 2021.

I already know the tone that I’m writing this reflection in now will be a bit calmer than how it would have poured out of me if I’d written this earlier. Just to give you a taste of where I was emotionally as 2021 was winding down, here are some of the notes I had been jotting down for my reflection:

-The world is absurd

-I'm more serious and angry than I’ve ever been

-Loss

Clearly not a great year. It was year of highs, lows, and prolonged limbos that chipped away at my resiliency and positivity. At the start of the year, we had the excitement of a vaccine – a possible end to the restrictions on normalcy that we’d been accommodating for over a year. This enabled little changes that, because of how routine and basic life had become, added so much joy. Stewart and I stopped sanitizing our groceries and recooking take-out food, hooray! I started joining my roommates in eating out—discovering the outdoor dining experience that had established during the pandemic with its makeshift wooden booths, wind barriers, outdoor heating and QR codes. I booked a trip to visit home. For my birthday, I even dined indoors without a mask.

But it didn’t take long for the first major variant to emerge and the world to lock down again. And this time, on top of the normal covid worries that returned, there was the sinking realization that the lifespan of the pandemic had suddenly expanded indefinitely. We now understood that this was the time of variants. Of cycles with peaks and lows. Of having the opportunity to live with slightly more normalcy, but only with heightened vigilance, greater nuance, and more real-time strategic thinking in a context of rapidly changing risks. A decision to go to a family party or eat out was based on how long since you’d had a booster and where on the caseload curve of this particular variant your town stood. Trips and visits could be planned, but one had to plot out in advance the timing of potential exposure, incubation days, ideal testing windows, and cautious quarantining until the results came in. Finding testing centers and administering swabs became commonplace.

As the Delta variant was establishing itself outside of the U.S., three particularly stressful life changes were happening.

The first – my roommate Asha had set a move out date from our apartment, which triggered my other roommate Kenzie and I deciding to align our departure with hers. I loved that apartment and our little family unit. I loved our corner shops, our nearby parks, my big bay windows, the tall ceilings, the open kitchen and the soft blue and pink walls. My first year in San Francisco was one of my favorites. I felt on top of the world biking past the city capital with the backdrop of the orange sunrise, hopping on the bus and crossing over the beautiful San Francisco Bay on the fog-covered Golden Gate Bridge every day on my way to work. I lived as a young adult, fully independent and open to the world. I was going to random art events, concerts and film festivals. I went on dates just for the fun of it for the first time. I joined a singing chorus and ended up falling in love with the community center – the retired folks and young people I met looking to chase a passion like myself. It felt like I was living fully as myself.

On top of that, I inherited the apartment from its former occupants and was able to select my new roommates. I found two people who I absolutely adored. For a couple months there, Kenzie and I hung out all the time going out dancing and to secret basement music events. Her Spanish friends even commented that we did everything together. And then I met Stewart and I had that magical experience of falling in love in that city. We also started going on trips that opened up California to me—fishing adventures along the coast and backpacking trips in the Sierras. And, at the end of the day, I’d come home to my happy place, plop on the couch to download to Kenzie and Asha, and maybe end the day with a group crossword. That was me happy.

But COVID changed things—as I talked about in my last reflection—and in 2021 I had to finally accept letting go of that world completely, even though I felt like time in that phase of life had been cut short. And I was really sad. I didn’t want it to end. I think I also knew that I’d probably live with Stewart next and, while that’s an exciting next chapter in life, it is the end of living with friends and that whole roommate dynamic. I’ve been lucky in that basically everyone I’ve ever lived with has become a best friend. I enjoy that balance of having friends to come home to. That effortless way of keeping up friendships, especially since it’s not as natural for me to keep up friendships when they aren’t physically in the same space. So it was hard imagining never having that environment for forging a friendship again, and hard accepting what that indicated about my age and stage in life.

And of course, the act of moving out was also challenging. Furniture, random junk, and a whole lot of dust had been accumulating in that apartment for over a decade, and we were responsible for emptying it all. It was a constant barrage of craigslist and facebook ads and weekly filling of trash bins and dropping off useful goods on the sidewalks. Some of the things I had major anxiety about being able to lift or fit out the door (in fact, one couch required removing the door and having 3 young men assist us). The stress and the allergies that came with that process resulted in my first full-body episode of eczema. We said goodbye to Asha first, and then to Kenzie. And then finally came the day where it was just me in the apartment doing the final sweep. I walked through the empty rooms, down our stairs onto the street past the playground and the restaurants, across the civic center and into the BART station for the last time. I honestly felt heartbroken. And in the coming weeks while Stewart and I hopped between airbnbs and his aunt’s place in Mill Valley, I would feel the strange sensation as we would drive by San Francisco of no longer being a part of it and not having a home to go to in it.

The second major stressor at that time was that Stewart and I were wrestling with the commitment to and timing of our departure from WRA, the consulting job we had both been generally unhappy with. I was ready to leave and had been for over a year. I was pretty burnt out and stuck in a 9-to-5 work experience that I did not want to waste any more of my life on. Stewart’s situation was not as cut-and-dry, and he was much less comfortable with the ambiguity of the next step. The plan was to give ourselves the space and flexibility to figure out the next long-term step by working for a period of time at my parent’s fish farm. But it wasn’t easy coming up with a game plan that we both were comfortable with. And, even if I felt sure it was the right thing to do, I didn’t want to be responsible for pushing someone I loved into a situation that would make them unhappy. So all I could do was give him the space, listen to his concerns, and try to assuage them without biasing him. I experienced how complicated it is to have your life wrapped up with someone else’s.

After a couple of months of feeling it out and some second guessing, we made our announcement to WRA. In the end, they offered to keep us on part-time with the plan to check in after 6 months to see if we wanted to return as full-time employees. As an aside, one of the programs our departure most disrupted was the drone program, and the company quickly pulled together a short list of people to train as their new drone pilots. I am proud to say that I emailed the CEO and told him that I had noticed the list was exclusively male despite my understanding that several equally qualified women had applied. He responded positively saying he had overlooked that and that they were now planning to add one more female candidate (though in reality no one ended up going their drone license in the ensuing 6 months).

The third stressor that creeped up was that, during a routine pap smear, I had an abnormal result. Because I was just about to move to Hawaii and wouldn’t be able to get a follow-up appointment until after I was supposed to have already left California, I had to leave that up in the air until I was settled in Hawaii. For the most part I tucked that away in the back of my brain, but it was an underlying stress with a dash of extra worry because I was postponing follow-up and hoping that didn’t have repercussions I’d regret.

Once Stewart and I did finally overcome the hurdle of giving our notice to WRA, it felt like a weight had been lifted and for a brief period we hit another high in the year. We road-tripped across the country to make an adventure of getting to Maine, where we’d spend some time with Stewart’s family and drop off his things. Our first stop was Big Sur where I was a bridesmaid in Barb’s wedding. Then it was through the southwest to the Grand Canyon, south through Texas to the coast, along the gulf with a stop in New Orleans, and then north along the Appalachians. There was a fair bit of stress and arguing with all of the daily logistics of figuring out where to go and where to stay with a Prius stacked full of valuables. We were also juggling doing the I-Corps program with my parents for a grant and WRA work. But overall there were also a lot of cool firsts and new sights.

After a brief stop in Vermont to meet Stewart’s uncle & aunt, we finally settled in Maine for the next month. It was very pleasant time just making meals and hanging out with his parents. In particular I loved a weekend trip to Monhegan Island with its water color landscape and fairy-filled forests. We also did a road trip down to Virginia for his brother’s wedding where I met a lot more of his family. I had a lot of fun with his cousin Nan, who was crushing on Stewart’s classmate and bumbling along with her guitar drunk at night certain she’d somehow find a way home despite not knowing anyone and not able to get an uber.

I finally flew home in October to set up the living space for Stewart and I and to spend some quality time with my parents. I proudly transformed the upstairs of the two-story building into a livable space. I also made some improvements to my parent’s living situation, but ended up also fighting with them, in particular my mom, quite a bit as I took in how much things had gone so awry since I’d left for SF. The pandemic was to blame for a lot of their isolation from external pressures that kept things in check, as was some unpredictable changes like my mom’s craft’s class instructor passing away and her hula class getting more competitive and nudging her out. But still, things had gotten bad. Mom was no longer able to even go in a long walk without cramping and the house was covered in a layer of grime. Dad was limping around on crocs that were worn down to almost nothing, unable to wear shoes because of his intense swelling but also unwilling to prioritize initiating medical care, and sleeping on an uneven surface of a cot and twin mattress with a wedged pillow that his feet would slide off of. I was angry at them for not taking care of themselves, and overwhelmed with how many things I saw around me that needed to be fixed. I felt myself getting easily frustrated and triggered by their justifications, and it was still so fresh for me that I wasn’t yet able to filter out what things to react to and which to patiently work on over time.

It was within that context that Stewart arrived. In addition, at this point, we’d been working parttime for almost two months, and the awareness of feeling unemployed and the open-endedness of our arrangement was heightening. I felt a strong sense of pressure and responsibility to make sure the HFC arrangement provided a sense of stability, and that also made me very sensitive to Stewart’s assessment of our living quarters and HFC work dynamic. I was also sharing my home and my parents with him, as well as some very messy but cherished and vulnerable parts of my past with him, which made me very sensitive to his opinions. I found myself very wrapped up in his mood and very easily stressed by anything that seemed to come across as unhappiness or dissatisfaction, which to be honest is something he’s much more outwardly expressive of than I’m used to. I felt a combination of guilt and embarrassment about things he didn’t like since the farm was very much part of me and my past, and an indignant reaction to his dissatisfaction—anger and resentment for his inability to be more appreciative and positive and kind when he knew this was my special place and I was obviously trying so hard to make things better for everyone. All in all, it was not a great combination of circumstances, and I found myself very reactive to everyone around me.

During this time, I also did my follow-up to my abnormal pap-smear and found I had severe dysplasia, or pre-cancerous cells, in my cervix. It was the first time the word “cancer” had ever applied to me and, though I knew the procedure was fairly routine and my odds were good, it was a scare. Ultimately I had 1.5 cm removed from my cervix, which puts me at a higher risk for premature births. And ultimately the sample they removed showed that the dysplasia was clearing up on its own and I didn’t need to remove part of my cervix—but there was not way to know that would happen between the time of the diagnosis and the surgery, and we went with the safest option. So that’s that. I feel like I was mostly disconnected from that experience emotionally. It felt very step-by-step and I was never really scared but also didn’t try to think about it too deeply.

Also during this time, the highly contagious omicron variant began to emerge, and I watched as Covid case numbers became the highest they had ever been during the whole pandemic. And yet people did not react. Long gone were the days of taking a wide birth on a sidewalk to avoid walking near someone, or only dining outdoors. People had acclimatized to the pandemic even though it was the worst it had ever been. It frustrated me. While we were all vaccinated and the death rate wasn’t as high with this variant, I still operated under the assumption that if my mom were to get any strain of covid, even the mildest form, she would be at high risk of death. So the “mildness” of the variant doesn’t change my behavior or alleviate any of my stress over, it’s still the probability of catching covid that I track. This was also during the holidays when a number of family gatherings, including Christmas, were happening. So I had to serve as the bad guy with my family forcing people to keep masks on and hang out outside. I didn’t like playing that role and my brother even poked fun at me and sent me a photo of his covid vaccination card to ask if he had permission to visit with us. But I stand by what I did, because my parents and I didn’t get Covid, and my siblings did. And I believe strongly that every day my parents don’t get Covid—particularly if we can avoid it during peak times so hospitals aren’t spread thin—the higher their chances of survival are. Because more people are getting immunity every day and treatments are improving.

And then, out of nowhere and with no kindness or sympathy for how hard things already were or for how much I’d been looking forward to seeing her, life took grandma away. And it just seemed like – when is it enough?

I felt both that the world had let me down and I, in my failure to have achieved some societal impact or transformation of some personal passion into a professional endeavor, had somehow let the world down too. How silly to feel so self important, right? But at the same time, we only experience one life, so isn’t everything life or death? Isn’t me wasting the opportunity to utilize myself for something meaningful the most monumental failure? Life just felt too big and too fast and too disappointing. It was the first time in my life I was really struggling with the thought of ‘what’s the point?’ I know I’ve been lucky in that, for most of my life, I had the privilege of feeling amazed. Amazed at how beautiful my home was, amazed by places I had the privilege to see. I always felt a little like my life had this movie-like quality. Last year was the first year I can remember just not loving my life. And, because I felt responsible for these let downs and, on a higher level, because I was upset at myself for getting stuck in such a bad attitude and perspective, it was also my first time really not loving myself.

And then while I was lost in all that ego, to then unexpectedly lose grandma, and to feel the guilt of not having realized I should have been thinking more of her. I should have been prioritizing visiting her over everything else. I had been talking about her to Stewart, and to his parents. I had been . And yet I was so wrapped up in fixing things and getting stressed about thigs that I didn’t just visit her. I’ll never forget that the week before she passed, I had been talking about visiting her, and Stewart said “let’s just go then. We can just go for a few days”. And then the next week she died. I’ll never forget that she had called mom the month before, and I knowing it was difficult to talk with her on the phone and not having nailed down when we might visit her with mom and thinking I’d be visiting her soon, just continued walking out the door and doing something else. I should have stopped and said hi to her.

I have never felt so much anger at myself before. I was angry at myself for not being able to help my parents in a way that seems sustainable for them. I was angry at myself for putting Stewart in a position that he might be unhappy in. I was angry at myself for being so emotional, for being so embarrassingly quick to argue and lash out. And now I was angry at myself and so overwhelmingly guilty for not having visited grandma right away. For not having visited her the last Christmas in Hawaii before COVID hit.

I was also just devastatingly sad.

Grandma's house was my happy place. It is a fixture of my childhood. Sliding down the stairs, memorizing every bridge and curly fern in their anthrium patch, seeing grandpa out with his machete clearing the veg, the smells of ginger and garlic, the early morning sounds of mom and grandma sitting at the kitchen talking downstairs.

Going to grandma's was like going to camp in the summer, and it was as much a part of the winter holidays as putting up the tree. She was an anchor in my life, and as an adult a refuge where my siblings and I could live under the same house and be kids again. losing her is the the type of loss where you look forward and you're not sure what normal is supposed to be any more.

To grandma I want to say, thank you for giving me the most uncomplicated love. I thought I did, but now realize I did not grasp enough how much I relied on and cherished that love.

My previous reflections have been centered on a worry of getting older. My perspective has shifted slightly. I'm feeling older not because I'm getting physically older or feel that I no longer considered young, but because things of my past that were constant and cherished are going away. Because there is a state of things I can't hold on to, and the time has come where I am witnessing it change and disappear.

There is a sweet window of time where the constants that have been in your life are in no immediate danger of going anywhere. Where you can enjoy the new and exciting with the comfort of the existing being stable. Now it feels like the new heralds the old. That one gives way for the other. I feel myself transitioning into a life that is not like the one I grew up in. That I have to find new normals. It’s sad and scary.

I’ve found some closure in helping to accomplish grandma’s funeral—in giving people an opportunity to grieve and in pushing myself to do something uncomfortable and growth-enabling as my tribute to grandma, to show her that I’ll keep pushing forward for her. And the ability to work full days under Kupu funds seems to also have alleviated some of the stress I felt as a mediator between HFC, my parents, and Stewart.

But I’m not trying to wrap up 2021 in a tidy bow. I think 2021 will go down in my memory as a rough year, and that’s fine. Life isn’t a reasonable character. It’s not going to hold back a bad life event just because you’re already dealing with other struggles. It unfolds with no sympathy and no agency. I’ve learned that. And I also know that the hardest parts of my life are yet to come. I have underlying anxieties now that took root from experiencing this deep sadness that I don’t think will ever go away. But I do think I will continue to improve on how I cope with stress and worries about the future. I am going to actively work on being less quick to react, on misdirecting my stresses into unnecessary arguments, and on feeling less responsible for the way things happen and other people’s lives. Though at the same time, I am going to push back on the fact that I’m someone who does care about other people’s needs and feelings, and that should not be treated as a negative quality. So for now, I’m going to help my parents get through this big push on the farm, and just trust my future self to figure out the rest when the time comes.

0 notes