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corpocookie · 1 year

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pls i hunger:

🍙🚙🔮🥢

Memories! Love to write them, love to take them away from V xD

🍙 - Goro Takemura:

"Sometimes I wish to become a nomad. To leave this world, forget everything." "Sounds nice, but…" It was her dream, too. To see horizons, blurred with speed and clouds of dust, to ride 'till her optics were bleached by the sun. A bittersweet smile spread V's lips as she realized this dream was nigh unachievable, unfathomable for someone like them. "You can't have this freedom," she thinks. "We've made our beds, Goro." "That is true." They gazed at each other with a silent understanding. "D'you believe in reincarnation, Goro?" "Reincarnation is just as likely to be true as that cat is to be a bakeneko," he glances at the furless cat. It peered at him. "I suppose we can be nomads in our next life then." "You, too, wish to be a nomad?" V lightly nodded, "Realized that after I met Panam. Even though she's scorned her family, they still came to help her. And Goro," she sighs, "should've heard the thunder of an entire clan riding out." "How did it feel?" He asks, surprisingly awe-struck. "Like nothing can stop them."

🚙- Panam Palmer:

"We should take the bikes," Panam says with gritted teeth. Scorpion just died and she won't let that go. V hops over one, relizing how different an Aldecaldo motorcycle is. Her Kusanagi was sleek, made to be fast and nimble, and this... this was a sturdier bike that was built to endure. The engine was still warm, just like their corpses. Before long, they leeave behind contrails of dust. V glanced at Panam. The sun is in her eyes but she does not care, speeding up through the rocky terrain as if it was a flat street. "Scorpion said I would hate Night City." "He knew you that well?" V barely kept up, thanks to some semblance of expertise in riding a motorcycle. "Probably better than I know myself. He said when I'd had enough of the city, we would stock up on canned kibble… Fill a couple of thermoses with coffee and whiskey, and hit the road. He said we would get away from it all." V finds herself wanting the same. The image is like a sour candy on her tongue, but at it's core is a sugary-sweet desire. Perhaps she and Panam had more in common after all.

🔮- Misty Olszewski:

"Well, since you guys picked such a gorgeous deck for me, how about we do a reading?" Jackie leaned on the counter. "I don't need to get a reading from you, 'cause I know we''re The Lovers." Misty chuckles and kisses his forehead to hide her blush. "Alright, alright. What about you, V?" "What kinda reading are we talking about?" "Did you know each person has two governing Major Arcana cards as their birthcards?" "What does that mean?" Misty smiles. "Basically your entire life's vibes." "Whoa, okay. How many of them are there?" "Just two. Ah, crap, I forgot," she devilishly smiles. "When was V's birthday, Jackie?" Jackie straightens up and looks at V, who in turn cocks an eyebrow at her best friend. "Third of July, twenty-fourty-nine." Misty scribbles the numbers on a piece of paper and does some math. "Your cards are..." her face turns sallow. "The Tower and The Chariot." V knew of The Tower, and that it was a shit omen. Figures that her life be dictated by crumbling stones after she got fired. "Know that The Tower's bad, but The Chariot? What's up with that?" Misty searches for the cards and pulls them out side by side, so V can see them. "The Tower isn't truly as bad as they say, just... it's like..." she stumbles, "imagine living your life with a blindfold. All you know is the illusion of darkness it creates. The Tower is the event that removes that blindfold, and it can be scary, traumatizing even. But your life will have improved for it." "Sheesh," Jackie says, a little bit unnerved. "The Chariot," Misty continues, "is a card of choices. A bifurcation of the roads ahead of you. The charioteer steers two sphynxes: they can represent desire, willpower, ambition, but also aggression and indiscipline. To control both is to keep a balanced path, but at times one of the sphynxes pulls harder. It's your choice which one it is, but remember: lose control of it, and the chariot gets sent stumbling."

🥢- Jackie Welles

"That'll be it, Jackie," V heaves. "Just lost control of my life." "I'd say you just got it back," Jackie pulls her into his life.

How wrong he was. The jobs, the shootouts, the grind to live another day. All her implants were gone, netrunner gear fried 'cause it got caught in the crossfire when Arasaka pulled the plugs. Now all she had was a good ol' Desert Eagle to see the night through. The days bled into each other and Jackie seemed none the wiser to her struggle, but perhaps she hid it too well. "Or maybe he knows, and he secretly loves that another corpo got the boot," and intrusive thought bleeds into her despair. "Karma or some shit, for all those 'saka jobs I pulled him into. Think the germans called it Schadenfreude."

It was all downhill from there.

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #my v #valerie lance #takemura goro #panam palmer #misty olszewski #jackie welles #not me dropping ficlets for these ask games but its fun! thank u for making these asks ♥#knorr drabbles

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arcandoria · 2 years

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E, O, Q, and W for The Blorbos? 👀

Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Overall Panam is the dominant one, and Dante rather be more on the passive side. He trusts her, trusts her judgment, and knows that if he speaks against something she will take his opinion in mind. Similarly, Panam knows her boyfriend is quick to be the voice of reason thinking about what's most benefitting for her and the Aldecaldos, so if he says something, she stops and listens, and specially when she becomes Clan Chief she does take it into careful consideration.

If we're talking bedroom dynamics, the playfield is pretty even. They let the other take the lead when they show inclination to it. Panam is generally bossy, but found out that letting him be in control can lead to pretty satisfying shenanigans. ;) Besides, she trusts him to always listen to her and to have her safety and comfort in mind.

On Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

I'm assuming this is at the start of a relationship!

Dante is subtle, he has been trained to be. It's hard to tell the difference between when he's in love or just really appreciates a friend because he's equally devoted to them when it's physically possible. The only one who felt the full force of him falling in love was Johnny, sharing his literal body/brain. Panam was the first person he truly fell in love with, and was a bit stumbling in the dark as much she was, but he had no issue being the upfront and most honest one about his feelings, and that inevitably hooked her to be the same.

Panam is guarded, it's difficult for her to be vulnerable, and that affects her ability to be open if she doesn't feel completely safe. When she does, however, is full hands on deck and she's not shy to make her feelings clear. With Dante being upfront about his feelings and showing his dedication to her needs, that's all she needs to go full in and stop worrying if things will go right or wrong.

Overall, they're pretty similar: it becomes obvious to others as soon they're both committed to it, and they don't shy away from being affectionate in public or to develop their relationship in front of others.

Quirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

There are many benefits of being so heavily trained in anatomy, and one of these is knowing just where to press to relieve pain. Dante's not any sort of expert in massages there, but damn if Panam isn't living the dream with big warm hands that know where to knead her to relieve the pain.

Panam is very willing to take calculated risks, and is extremely witty when it comes to coming up with plans for both serious and silly things. She often either invents something new for them to do together, or helps him come up with a plan, and they often have pretty interesting and fun dates.

Wild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

When things get too crazy on camp and they can see that the other is too stressed, tired or just in dire need of a quick rest, they invite the other for some nail painting time - their nail polish gets chipped often because of all the manual labor. Whoever invited is often the one doing their nails, so the other can just sit back and relax, and those 10-15 minutes of calm already help a lot.

The rest of the Aldecaldos slowly pick up that and don't interrupt their little beauty session unless it's urgent.

FLUFF ALPHABET | OC DIRECTORY

#fluff alphabet #cyberpunk 2077 #dante alkan #panam #otp: high octane #correspondence #trashkingnyx #ty nyx!!#i'm almost done with these haha just 1 more

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saleintothe90s · 3 years

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438. Initial Coverage of the World Trade Center Bombing, 2/26/1993

I was nine when this happened, and I’m pretty sure I was home sick from school that day. I just remembered recently that it was on a Friday.

The main thing nine year old me took away from that day was being scared by seeing all the people exiting the building with soot around their noses during this dreary day with snowflakes flying around everywhere among the smoke.

In present day, another thing that sends shivers down me is seeing the people breaking the windows, waiting for help.

(I remember this shot so well [source])

Stupid nine year old me also thought that bombings were a common occurrence. I mean, we did have the Unibomber running around back then and PanAm flight 103 bombing had just happened a few years earlier.

Years ago, I found the news footage from that day, from CBS 2 in NYC, the only local news channel that had non-cable reception that day because their antenna wasn’t on top of the World Trade Center Tower One. 1. A baby Brian Williams is there. ABC7 from NYC also has a playlist on their YouTube Channel from their coverage.

9 things I learned from reading and watching the initial coverage:

1. At first, it was speculated that the bombing had something to do with ongoing civil war turmoil in Yugoslavia. 2

2. There was a class of Kindergarteners from Brooklyn on the observation deck at the time of the bombing. Another group of kids were stuck in an elevator for around 5 hours. 3 The kids didn’t get back home until around 7pm that evening.

(source)

3. People had to go down pitch dark, smokey stairwells, and commented that there were no alarms, no announcements, and no instructions. 4 A lady who was being interviewed by ABC7 said “we just kept following everybody else down the stairs, and everybody was going, ‘faster, faster!’ ... it just kept getting darker and smokier the further you went down.” Another said the place was a deathtrap, and that in five minutes there was already smoke on the 107th floor. 3. The World Trade Center Director, Charles Maikish said that the emergency communication systems were destroyed in the bombing.

4. A couple of hours later, there was a bomb threat at the Empire State Building. It obviously was a false alarm. I guess people weren’t taking it seriously, because check out all the people crowded around that entrance.

5. People were calling the local news channels for assistance. At around 13:52 of this clip, the news anchors tell a caller named John to not break the windows, and to stay low to the floor. Cell phones were still very out of range for most people, so I’m gonna assume while the power was out, phone lines were still working. Also, CBS2 superimposing the fdny and nypd phone numbers over footage of people having trouble breathing is unsettling.

6. 19 callers claimed responsibility for the blast in the hours following the bombing. (source)

7. 50,000 people were evacuated. Six people died, Port Authority Workers around the blast site, and a man who was in the garage at the time. It’s a miracle more people didn’t die that day from the smoke inhalation.

8. CBS News reporter Scott Pelley had some haunting words the next day:

“there is an uneasy feeling among some Americans that after yesterday, somehow something has changed. Perhaps forever. A loss of our sense of security.”

9. Honorable mention: Carl Selinger: the salad man. Carl had gone to the cafeteria to get lunch and was coming back up to his office via the elevator when the bombing happened. Carl ate half his salad while waiting, but decided to ration the rest of it just in case. It was a good thing he did, because he was trapped in the elevator for five and a half hours:

When Sergeant Timothy Farrell pried open Mr. Selinger’s elevator, he found him in the doorway, holding his salad. To this day, Sergeant Farrell said he remembers him as “the one with the salad.”

“I may have freed 25 or 35 people from the elevators that day, but how I remembered Carl was the fact that he wasn’t really physically upset, or emotional,” Sergeant Farrell, now retired, said at the lecture, which brought the two men together publicly for the first time. “He was calm, he was jocular. And he talked about how he wasn’t sure what happened — and how he had first started to eat the salad for lunch.”5

[...]

For Mr. Selinger, humor has helped. “He was after my salad! That’s the bottom line here,” he said of the moment he was rescued 25 years ago. 5

---

1. Sontag, Deborah. “EXPLOSION AT THE TWIN TOWERS: Disruptions; Manhattan Is Held in the Grip Of Traffic Snarls and Anxiety.” The New York Times, February 27, 1993, sec. New York. https://www.nytimes.com/1993/02/27/nyregion/explosion-twin-towers-disruptions-manhattan-held-grip-traffic-snarls-anxiety.html. // https://web.archive.org/web/20180330012332/https://www.nytimes.com/1993/02/27/nyregion/explosion-twin-towers-disruptions-manhattan-held-grip-traffic-snarls-anxiety.html

2. AP NEWS. “AP Was There: The 1993 Bombing of the World Trade Center.” Accessed September 12, 2021. https://apnews.com/article/north-america-us-news-ap-top-news-khalid-sheikh-mohammed-bombings-f4f1fd2b2d4b4a17b94ca7183fb65ba4.

3. C, Domenick and elieri. “LOOK BACK: Watch Archive News Coverage of 1993 World Trade Center Terror Bombing Attack.” ABC7 New York, February 25, 2020. https://abc7ny.com/3114288/ // https://web.archive.org/web/20201202035154/https://abc7ny.com/world-trade-center-bombing-1993-smoke-inhalation/3114288/

4. McFadden, Robert D. “EXPLOSION AT THE TWIN TOWERS: The Overview; BLAST HITS TRADE CENTER, BOMB SUSPECTED; 5 KILLED, THOUSANDS FLEE SMOKE IN TOWERS.” The New York Times, February 27, 1993, sec. New York. https://www.nytimes.com/1993/02/27/nyregion/explosion-twin-towers-overview-blast-hits-trade-center-bomb-suspected-5-killed.html. // https://web.archive.org/web/20110909150957/https://www.nytimes.com/1993/02/27/nyregion/explosion-twin-towers-overview-blast-hits-trade-center-bomb-suspected-5-killed.html

5. Otterman, Sharon. “Finding Resilience, 25 Years After 1993 World Trade Center Bombing.” The New York Times, February 19, 2018, sec. New York. https://www.nytimes.com/2018/02/19/nyregion/first-terror-attack-world-trade-center-anniversary.html. // https://web.archive.org/web/20180221041320/https://www.nytimes.com/2018/02/19/nyregion/first-terror-attack-world-trade-center-anniversary.html

#world trade center #1993 #1993 world trade center bombing #bombing #brian williams #cbs2 #abc7 #new york #1990s news #1990s television #new york times

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brywrites · 4 years

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Flight Risk IX

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part IX: In which a profiler and a pilot try their best not to care, featuring an incredibly tacky hotel.

(Series Masterlist) ( Previous | Next )

----

The case closes. When it’s time to go home, Reid sees her leaning against the wall of the hangar with a book. Their eyes meet. He stops walking, frozen to the ground. And in response, she walks away and disappears into the jet. Neither of them knows what to say. She gives herself over to the sky, he loses himself in paperwork. The jet has never felt so big. Like there are miles between them instead of just mere feet.

Y/N thinks of Peter Pan. “The moment you doubt whether you can fly you cease for ever to be able to do it.” She doesn’t know what they are to each other anymore. Are they still friends? Were they ever at all? Was Arthur right all along? Maybe she simply is made for staying, not with her airplane heart. Hopelessly circling, never quite finding a place to land.

Reid has never had to do this before, to hurt someone in this way. He’s not sure how to reach out to her after putting this distance in place. And so he doesn’t. It doesn’t ease the loneliness. Only Garcia notices the change, when he stops talking about her.

“She told you how she felt, didn’t she?” Penelope asks, her cheerful smile deflating. Reid averts his gaze. The pained look on Garcia’s face mirrors the ache in his chest. “Oh, Reid,” she says. “Do you really still believe that you’re not allowed to be happy?”

“But you looked so happy together,” Yeeqin laments when Y/N tells her what happened. “I just don’t get it.” She and her girlfriend Saoirse offer to key his car, an offer Y/N promptly refuses. They’re both hurting enough as is. And besides, knowing Yeeqin she’d vandalize the wrong car and need someone to bail her out. After the “graffiti incident of 2014,” Y/N has no interest in doing so again.

And so they stay away. Things return to the way they always were – pilots and profilers. Two separate worlds on the same G550 jet. The only exchanges are simply pleasantries or requests from the team to the pilots, but they never come from Reid. Or announcements about takeoff and landing that almost always come from Captain Dobson. On the rare occasions when Y/N’s voice floods into the cabin, he closes his eyes and lets himself imagine that she’s speaking only to him. Sometimes when the agents disembark from the plane, she watches him go from the cockpit window and tries to remember what it was like when they sat so close.

He stops arriving early. She stops reading in the hangar if she’s not on the jet. They both pretend it’s normal. They both pretend it’s possible for them not to care. That it’s easy, that it doesn’t bother them one bit to be apart like this. That it wasn’t better before.

Y/N goes to dinner at Arthur and Malik’s house. Martin and Theresa are there and she runs around the yard with their older children, Carolyn and Benedict, and coos over baby Douglas. They share cocktails and swap stories and it feels so good to be surrounded by her own team, this makeshift family of aviators. She has movie nights in with Yeeqin and goes out with her and Saoirse anytime they invite her along and it’s so nice to be among friends. But then Martin looks at Theresa with all the love in the world and Saoirse falls asleep on Yeeqin’s shoulder in the cab on the way home and it’s acutely apparent to her that something is missing in her life.

Reid distracts himself with work and with books and tells himself that he’s always been just fine this way, with words and obligations instead of laughter over takeout or meetings at coffee shops. But then he discovers Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in his bottom desk drawer at work, the copy she’d loaned to him and he’d sworn he would remember to give back to her and suddenly he’s trying not to cry in the bullpen and he doesn’t quite know why.

She learns from Arthur, who knew him, that Spencer’s mentor has been killed. And she can see on their next case that he’s hurting. The sadness in his eyes, the exhaustion evident in his slumped posture makes her want to run to him and wrap him in a hug, hold him close like he held her that night on the couch. But she’s not supposed to care about him anymore.

He sees the way she looks back at him as she boards the jet that day, her eyes lingering on him for just a fraction too long, and he thinks that just maybe she’s going to say something to him. But she doesn’t and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. Either way, Gideon’s death seems only to prove his theory – the people he loves get hurt.

When they come home from the bombing case in Indianapolis, he’s drained from a week of mourning and a grueling chess match with Rossi. As Reid stands in the hangar searching for his keys in his bag, he hears, “Doctor Reid,” and turns to see Captain Dobson standing a few feet away.

“Yes?” he asks.

The captain opens his mouth, falters, and then says, “I’m sorry for your loss.” The sentiment is confusing, as he already told Reid this as he boarded the plane three days earlier. But perhaps Dobson has forgotten the conversation. So he thanks the captain and continues on his way.

Y/N and Reid seek solace in their friends, in their books, in the places that make them feel safe. And they try so hard to convince their hearts that they don’t feel anything that they wonder if it was ever even real to begin with. And for a little while, they almost believe it.

But then comes Nashville.

---

“Did you see the picture Martin sent of baby Douglas in his pilot’s cap?” Y/N asks.

“I did,” Arthur says. “It was cute.”

“The cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” she insists. “I wish he could bring the kids by for a visit sometime, I’m sure they’d love to check out the jet. Do you remember being a kid and how they’d let you go visit the flight deck and see how a plane worked? And they’d give you those little plastic pilots wings?”

“Relics of a bygone era,” Arthur sighs. “I’m sure I still have a pair of PanAm Junior Pilot wings stashed in a box somewhere.” The millennium ushered in a new vision of aviation security and sharp pins and strangers in the cockpit simply aren’t considered protocol anymore. “How are we looking?”

Y/N glances at the altimeter and airspeed indicators. “Flying at 46,000 feet. Currently at Mach point nine. Should be about one hour and ten minutes to destination.”

“Let the cabin now we’ve reached out cruising altitude, will you?” Arthur asks. Typically it’s her job to shift the jet into cruise while Arthur makes the announcement, but she nods and takes the speaker.

“Good afternoon passengers, this is your co-pilot speaking. We’ve reached our cruising altitude of 46,000 feet. At this time please feel free to resume using electronic devices and move about the cabin. We expect to be landing in Nashville in about an hour. Skies are clear, should be smooth sailing ahead. In-flight refreshments will not be served, but you’re welcome to help yourselves to anything stocked in the galley.”

A part of her wonders if he thinks of her when he hears her voice. Not that it should matter anymore. Before she can lose herself in her own thoughts, Arthur asks, “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?”

“Lincoln,” she decides after a moment to think. “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”

Arthur says, “The Terminator,” without missing a beat. The captain is well-versed in cinema, which makes Double Feature one of his favorite in-flight games. The first movie must always be a question, and whoever can come up with the best films in response is declared the winner. Arthur almost always wins, and it’s a challenge to think up films they haven’t already used.

“What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?”

“Hannibal.”

“That’s terrible,” Arthur laughs.

“Dude, Where’s My Car?”

“Brokeback Mountain.”

“Oof, that’s gonna be a long and sad trek to retrieve it,” she sighs. “I’m not prepared for that kind of emotional devastation.” But the game does help to take her mind off of what she’s really feeling. She can lose herself in words and not in wishes. They land GEFF gently on the tarmac in Nashville and when they pull around to the hangar, she doesn’t look out the side window. Y/N stares straight ahead at the horizon. The sky fades from deep royal blue to soft pale periwinkle where the distant skyline rises up to meet it and she loves every single shade in between.

Once the team has departed, she and Arthur walk through the cabin tidying up and making note of anything that needs to be cleaned or restocked prior to takeoff. Arthur won Double Feature (“O Brother Where Art Thou?” “Soylent Green.” “Oh, that is incredibly twisted!”) so it’s her turn to clean the bathroom. Fortunately a short flight like this means it’s fairly clean to begin with. She wipes sanitizes the sink and toilet, empties the paper towel bag, makes sure there’s enough soap and toilet paper. Garbage is deposited in the trash can at the back of the hangar and they return to Geff to grab their own go-bags.

“Listen, Y/L/N,” Arthur says as they lock the cockpit door. “About the IRT job.”

“Arthur,” she cuts him off. “I really don’t want to talk about this right now.” When he looks as though he’s about to protest she adds, “Please. I just want to go to hotel and take a nap and watch whatever silly romcom is on pay per view.”

He nods and says nothing more. They catch a rideshare from the airport together and she stares out the window at the buildings and billboards that line the roads. She already knows what she’s going to do about the offer. She made her decision after her conversation with Spencer. The choice was clear. But she doesn’t want to discuss it yet. She’s not ready.

They step into the lobby of the Graduate Hotel and her mouth falls open. It’s hideous. There’s a fuzzy tapestry – a fuzzy tapestry of a woman with a hat against a pink background that appears to be made out of the same material as a shag rug. The lamps at the concierge desk have hot pink floral patterns on them. A neon installation that looks similar to a vintage gas station sign announces vacancies in bright green and red light. The armchairs are blue velvet and the hanging lights look like tulle skirts. There’s too much happening at once.

“This is the ugliest hotel I’ve ever seen,” she says.

“Well the more affordable ones were nearly full – evidently this is a big weekend for admitted students at Vanderbilt – they had to double up all of the rooms for the team. But the Bureau managed to get us a discount here,” Arthur replies as they stand at the desk waiting for someone to check them in.

“I suppose a bunch of special agents wouldn’t blend in well at a place like this,” she admits. Hopefully they solve the case quickly and she’s not stuck here too long. True to her word she spends the first night relaxing in her room. The bathroom is beautiful – black walls with gold accents and a glass shower. The room itself is another story. The carpet is a rainbow of jewel-toned diamonds in a quilt-like pattern. The walls are pink and white striped, a candelabra sits next to a pink television. White curtains with a vibrant floral pattern line the window and form a hanging behind the bed. The bed, mercifully, has the standard white blankets and white pillows, though there is hot pink chevron quilt draped over the end and an eerie portrait of Dolly Parton stares at her from above the headboard. Y/N shudders.

Penelope Garcia calls her that evening. She’s waiting to hear back from the team and could use some virtual company. “I don’t even know if you’d like this place,” Y/N tells her. “It’s so garishly tacky. Like a sorority girl and her antique-collecting grandmother chose items from their storage closet at random.”

“Oh it can’t be that bad,” Garcia says.

“Penelope, I am ever the optimist. I love quirky, whimsical adventures. But this is something else. The Dolly Parton painting keeps staring at me, I swear!”

“Let me look it up.” There is the sound of fingers frantically typing on a keyboard. “Oh come on now, the lobby is way cute! And the patio? I just – oh. Oh my. Oh those rooms. You’re right. That’s bad. That’s very bad.”

“I told you!”

“That went from cute to crikey very quickly,” she agrees. After takeout for dinner and watching Serendipity, Y/N falls asleep under the unnervingly watchful eye of Dolly. The next day is completely free, and she heads out to explore the city. Wherever she ends up, she tries to take advantage of the adventures available to her. Just blocks from the hotel she discovers Nashville’s Parthenon – a full-scale replica of the Greek temple which hides an art museum inside. She wanders the galleries and stands at the entrance staring up at the pillars holding the roof up. What would it be like to visit the real thing? She wonders how many times the IRT has gone to Greece before. Maybe they’ll end up in Athens sometime this year.

Café Coco is the cutest coffee shop she’s seen in any city, and she grabs tea and a scone before returning to Centennial Park. Beneath the barely blossoming trees she sits and reads Dandelion Wine. It’s beautifully written and full of longing. That longing seeps through the pages and she can feel it in her bones. Nostalgia for times past and places far behind and things that cannot be. Everything that Spencer said it would be. As she reads she tries to imagine which lines would have made him smile or elicited a wistful sigh. Are the parts she loves most the same as the parts he loves most?

Her phone buzzes with a text form Arthur to ask if she wants to get lunch together at the hotel bar, and she shoves the book and her longing back in her bag and walks over to meet him.They step from the tacky lobby into a bar that seems remarkably normal. String lights and chandeliers cast an inviting ambient glow over the wooden tables and chairs. Country music is playing over the speakers. But as they she and Arthur move closer towards an open table, she sees it. The stage.

“What is that?” she asks. There’s a bear, a pig, and a fox in a wig atop a stage that says Cross-Eyed Critters. Each holds an instrument. And it’s then that she realizes the music is coming from them. It’s an animatronic band. Their eyes and mouths move as they sing and their fabricated bodies turn and jerk with the beat. “What?” she asks again, completely dumbfounded. “What?”

Arthur too is speechless. Then he shakes his head and says, “It’s nothing a drink or two won’t make more palatable.” She snaps a photo on her phone and texts it to Garcia, who will surely get a kick out of it.

As they sit down, a voice announces a new song over the speakers. A slightly tipsy looking man in a pair of red cowboy boots comes to stand in front of the stage. He has a microphone. The animatronics begin to play the opening notes of a song, and then the man begins to sing. This is not just a bar with an animatronic band, it’s an animatronic karaoke bar. The man in the red boots belts out an uncomfortably off-key version of a Kenny Rogers song –“You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away and know when to run!”– with just a little too much bravado.

“I think I’ll need that drink sooner rather than later,” Arthur admits begrudgingly. She has to laugh. This hotel, it seems is full of surprises. But the captain is right. When she receives a spiked cream soda and Arthur has a glass of bourbon and there’s a plate of tacos between them, it’s easier to tune out the karaoke band. She can just enjoy her drink and the light and the stories of Arthur’s first flights with the BAU that have her nearly in tears from laughing so hard. For someone who maintains such a serious demeanor most of the time, he knows how to tell a joke incredibly well. She’s always appreciated that about him.

“Y/N, there is something I wanted to talk with you about,” Arthur says. His tone changes and she knows the time for joking is over. “We need to discuss the IRT offer.” Before he can continue, her phone rings. She glances at the screen. It’s Penelope. Y/N sends it to voicemail. There will be time to discuss the disconcerting robot band later when she’s back in her room. Right now, she needs to focus on Arthur. She knows where this is going and he’s right. She can’t keep putting this off forever. She has to talk about this, and everything that it means.

“I’ve already made my decision,” she begins to say. But her phone begins to ring again, and her heart drops into her stomach. This isn’t about the picture. This is urgent. Arthur must realize it too. His eyes trail down to her phone and she hesitantly picks it up.

“It’s Garcia,” she tells him, before answering. “Hello?”

“Y/N, oh thank goodness you picked up.” The analyst’s voice is a little higher than usual, a little more strained. “It’s Reid. He’s in the hospital.”

#flight risk #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #imagine #reid x reader #spencer reid x reader

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silverhandsass · 3 years

Text

Can You Feel The Sun (Pt.3)

Buckle up, buttercup! <3

— SPOILER ALERT - this is post-game stuff, read at your own risk —

Read on Ao3

— — — — —

"No. Absolutely not."

Val pushed past the flaps and left the tent after her, taking quick steps to walk around Dakota. "Please, just hear me out."

"No," she barked, folding her arms and frowning. "Last time I helped you, my entire tent nearly burned to a crisp. Do you know how long it took me to rebuild what I lost?"

"You used Arasaka and lost Voodoo tech, stuff that I helped you find," V reminded, trying hard to maintain eye contact with the woman—difficult, considering she kept looking away.

"As payment for destroying my first rig. We're even, I owe you nothing," Dakota reminded.

Val stepped forward, almost aiming to reach for her but opting to gesture instead—better emphasis that way. "It's just a quick peek. Quick poke through the Blackwall and I'll be out before you know it."

"You say that like it's so simple," she scoffed.

There was little left that Valerie could try—that she could promise in order to convince the woman. Perhaps she should have been removing the risk altogether. Val took a deep breath and looked Dakota in the eyes. "If anything happens, if anything comes through or tries to burn your rig again, I... just jack me out."

Her head whipped forward as Dakota stared V in shock, probably wondering if she'd heard her right. "But you'll be stuck there. You might not come back, you'll die out here."

"I know."

With a furious shake of her head, Dakota hissed. "Do you know what Panam will do if she hears you talking like this? Or anyone, for that matter?"

If Dakota did not agree to it, Val had no other option. This wasn't going entirely as she had planned, even though she did expect a bit of resistance—a bit of pushback. Soliciting Rogue's aid had been a bust, Judy was not presently in Night City—might not ever return—and Panam... Bless her, but she wouldn't be able to help her. Dakota was her only option. "I don't know what else to do," she admitted, feeling her voice quiver in time with her lower lip.

"Why do you need to go there?" she demanded.

"I... Everyone that was in Mikoshi is beyond the Blackwall. All the saved engrams..."

"Silverhand," Dakota added, and V simply nodded. There was a heavy pause between them as Dakota pinched the bridge of her nose. She took a deep breath, mumbled something so quietly that V could not comprehend it, and then began speaking. "You get out the moment I tell you—"

Val's eyes widened.

"If you don't... I'm—" Dakota grunted as V wrapped her arms around her tightly, "—leaving your ass in there."

"Fuck, Dakota, I..." Val felt her throat burn with gratitude and relief. "Thank you—"

"Don't thank me," Dakota sighed, like she had told her once before. "Just... get yourself back in one piece or I will kill you myself. Before Panam kills me."

"I'll owe you big for this," V told her.

"Damn right you will."

—

The wind was fucking soothing around that time of day. The sun just on the verge of setting, the heat of it subsiding and allowing for the cool evening breeze to come say hello; it was the sweet spot during the day that V could step outside the car and breathe. Especially when she was partly drenched in blood, sweat and dirt from a day full of fulfilling gigs.

Preferably, it would be somewhere far away from the fumes of the city.

Whenever she'd be in the middle of a job, the coast seemed to be the easiest place to reach. If not the coast, then the canals would have to do—though they did nothing to give her that fresh air she desired. There were days that V had finished her jobs entirely, having enough time to herself that she could sneak a walk along the piers.

On one such day, she found herself sharing that peaceful moment of hers with the surprise guest in her mind. Sure, Val had expected some commentary from him about how cheesy it was, how she was wasting time and how she needed to track down ways to get into Mikoshi, burn down Arasaka, bla bla bla.

But... There was no such talk.

Where Val had sat down, her feet hanging off the pier and toward the water, she watched as the static of the engram slowly faded to show a more coherent image of Johnny—sitting beside her.

"Y'know, I'll probably get why you're doing this in a few hours, when the shit-stained breeze and the salt finally kick into my sensors," he sighed. "But at least the view's not that bad."

It was probably one of the rarer times that had earned a true and genuine smile from V. "Yeah, it's hard to get away from that smell around here, especially with you around all the time."

He flipped her off; she laughed.

Then, she lit a cigarette and took a deep, long drag. "If we're not getting any fresh air, at least we get this," she gestured to the smoke, watching as Johnny lit his own little pixelated cig. When Johnny said nothing, V looked over to him. "You ever have a place like this of your own? Somewhere to go when shit gets a little... too loud?"

He turned from her, looking out to the open water, and V expected that to be that. However, he took off his aviators and pursed his lips, nodding a little. "Yeah. It's actually closer to this side of the city."

"Really?" Val raised a brow. "Well... tell me where it is, we'll pay it a visit."

Johnny looked at her, some look in his eye that she could not quite place. He opened his mouth to speak, then sighed. The aviators went back on, and so did that playful smirk of his. "Maybe some other time."

Right. Coming from anyone else that she knew, that usually meant: never.

Surprising her for the third time that day, he leaned in close and whispered, "It's not a place I go to feel better. This spot's much better for that than mine."

Val shot him a look and found nothing that told her he was being disingenuous. Having hardly had any moments like this, she felt herself wanting to cherish it a little; savor it.

"Then... maybe we can come here again before all this is over," V offered before taking a puff.

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe."

And that usually meant: yes.

—

Well, she certainly did not miss the ice, that's for sure. The moment she gripped onto the tub, two things happened. First, she gasped sharply at the sensation of the cold metal and air biting into her warmth. Her legs dipped into the water and her muscles seized momentarily before shaking uncontrollably. Secondly, her mind was sent right back to Mikoshi just over a year ago, to a familiar arm that pushed her beneath the rim and forward to start her life anew. To him.

I'm coming, you bastard. Please be there. Please.

"You ready? This is going to be rough, you won't have anyone in there with you," Dakota explained.

"It's okay, I-I've done this bef—" she gulped down a shudder, "before."

"That's what worries me," Dakota sighed, glancing back at V once.

Val tried to focus her mind on the coming trip, thinking about what she would say, what she would do. If she found him, was there even a way to bring him back? The chip was still slotted in her head. It was at a standstill, dormant and appeased until further notice—maybe it still had space to carry both of them at once, should she be able to take him with her.

Or would that simply take away from everything they had sacrificed?

Her optics lit up as the rig's interface loaded in. She watched the progress build as she felt her entire body slowly grow numb—both from the cold and the process of being chipped in. Sounds and voices around her began to grow into a blur, images turning distorted and grainy.

The flaps of the tent burst wide open as someone walked in, her attention focused on V. "What the fuck are you doing?!" she yelled—it was Panam. She made a stop by Dakota's deck, then knelt beside the tub. There was little else that V could comprehend, only that Panam was talking to her. Or yelling at her. There was really no way to tell the difference.

She'd understand, though. Hopefully she'd understand.

Val couldn't think about that now, as she felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into a deep, dark pit. The world around her faded away into nothingness, being replaced by a facsimile of her strongest memories built entirely out of streams of data. That blue tinge and the splash of red were things she had hoped to never see again in her lifetime, but such was the way of it all.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and allowed herself to give into the process that Dakota ran her through, letting her guide V to the wall. She dug in deep, searching for the memories left behind like forgotten baggage, the images of a life gone by that did not belong to her—but that felt like her own in some strange way. The early 21st century. Alt. Johnny. She focused on those memories, hoping it would help her find the right way as it once did, hoping that Dakota would pick up on it on her end. It would take time, but V had to hope that this would work—and more importantly, that somebody would be there to greet her on the other side.

—

The haze of consciousness was something Johnny did not miss. All the anesthetics they had been pumping into his system was certainly not doing him any favors when it came to trying to take in his surroundings. He could feel himself waking just before his next dose was applied, putting him down again. It felt as though he was allowed single gasp of air before being pushed right back down into deep waters.

In some ways, this was worse than Mikoshi.

Find the Merc. Find the Merc. Find the Merc.

He wasn't sure exactly how long it had been since he was completely awake, but the more he felt himself reach the brink of complete coherence, the more he began to realize the voices around him grew careless.

Bide his time. That's all he needed to do. Use these little moments to figure a way out of this. There was no way he would ever take Bryce's offer, but Johnny had changed his mind. If he truly was back in a body, there was no way in hell he would let them use it to their advantage.

Find the Merc.

All he needed was a bit more time.

—

The wall was a little more menacing than she remembered. Perhaps it was because she was entirely alone in the Net. She had Dakota's protective eyes and ears above, watching from the outside, but within the streams of pixels and data, she was well and truly alone—and her blades could do nothing to protect her here.

Even within the construct, she could feel her insides churning and her guts aching in nervousness. She wondered what she would find, and found herself stopping inches before the wall, unable to keep moving.

But time was a luxury she did not have.

Whether or not she was truly prepared, V had to give it a shot. She had to try anything to silence the aching madness within her chest. Reaching out to touch the red wave was the first step.

It was unclear just when exactly she had switched over, but the intimidating clouds of red and darkness around her signified a horrifying truth. She was now beyond the Blackwall once again. Entirely alone, once again. There was no sign of anything nearby—thank fuck—but there was no other way to get what she needed than to go against her survival instincts right now.

Valerie took a deep breath.

"Johnny!" She cried out, her voice echoing into nothingness.

And that vast emptiness stared right back.

"Johnny!" She cried again, "Talk to me!"

No response.

Her blood—simulation or not—ran completely cold, and a pit grew in her stomach. "J-Johnny?" V called, a little softer this time, maybe a little broken. Her arms wrapped around herself as she looked around, waiting for a small glimmer, a small change in the landscape.

She waited, and waited, and waited.

Nothing came.

Maybe he was actually, well and truly gone. She had to come here, she reminded herself. She knew this would be a possibility. V had allowed herself a small inkling of hope, a kernel of light that she allowed to influence her decisions. It had been over a year and she deserved closure. She wanted to know that she had done the right thing.

More than that, perhaps she had hoped to hear his voice again, even if it wasn't entirely him anymore. And yet... She waited for a minute; two; three, and nothing came.

Only silence.

Then, she swallowed the lump in her throat and knew there was one final thing to be done before she could leave. One last thing she could try. She mustered up the courage within her and hoped that it would be the right thing to do, taking a deep breath and tilting her chin high. "Alt!" She called out into the air.

"You should not be here," the voice boomed, loud and sudden as a large red mass formulated into a familiar form in front of V.

"Alt?" V glanced up.

"V," she replied. "You've managed to survive the effects of the biochip so far."

"I have," no thanks to you, she almost added, but that wasn't fair. Alt did give her a head start—even if it was mainly due to Johnny's presence. It was as she had once said to V, they would not be talking if it wasn't for him. "I'm here for Johnny."

"You came all this way, on your own with no way out, you risked your life and the stability of the biochip, just to come here," Alt stated, her form shifting a bit closer and seemingly larger. "You also risked being followed, or tracked, or even hunted; risked bringing the ever-present dangers of the outside world within—to me. I had told you once that there were many dangers lurking beyond the Blackwall, but you do not listen."

"Alt..." V muttered, a sense of dread building within her.

"You risk yourself anyway. You and Johnny made a sacrifice, and yet you cast it aside so easily. You are too late."

Too late...

"Alt, where the fuck is he?" V asked adamantly.

"He is not here," Alt revealed in monotone.

"What."

"Johnny is not here," she repeated more clearly.

"He's... He's gone? He's merged with you, then?" V asked, feeling her heart pounding hard within her chest.

"No. You do not understand. Johnny did not cross the Blackwall with me, as he should have. He remained in Mikoshi long after you left, despite my best efforts to convince him to leave."

"This can't..." V took a breath, and another, trying hard to maintain her composure as the panic set in.

"Johnny is not here."

No, no, no.

"He was never here."

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warsofasoiaf · 3 years

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I'd love to hear your thoughts about Cyberpunk 2077 when you are ready/have finished the game. Maybe besides the game itself you have an opinion about the crunch, bugs and general feeling of disappointment in a good portion of the fans

Sure thing. It’s going to be a long write-up and there are going to be spoilers, so you better believe that this is going to have a cut. Reader beware. For context, I have beat the game, and I played it on PC and only on PC.

I’ve been a fan of the cyberpunk genre for a long time. Transhuman and techno-utopian sci-fi always struck me the wrong way; that it was too optimistic and ignored a less savory element of human nature that simply would not go away with the advent of new technologies. While I only briefly dipped my toes in the water of the Cyberpunk tabletop game (I was always a bigger fan of Shadowrun), I did enjoy the genre and was eager to see a AAA cyberpunk game. I also really liked CD Projekt Red with what they did with RPG’s like the Witcher 3. Particularly when it came to the smaller sidequests, they really found a way to bring a lot of noir elements and hard-hitting character moments to the game, and I believed that it could translate very well into a cyberpunk game. After all, noir was a similar response to detective fiction to what the cyberpunk genre was to earlier elements of sci-fi. So I was quite optimistic when it came out. What we got was...well, it didn’t quite meet up with expectations.

There are some good things about the game. Assuming you have a beefy rig, PC cyberpunk looks pretty good. Not only does it look good, but it looks like the dismal 1980′s inspired future that had defined the genre, with its neon lights, omnipresent advertising to the point of satire (amphetamines are available from vending machines in a variety of flavors and commercials are completely ridiculous). The fixers are great examples of different cyberpunk archetypes like Regina Jones being a media or the Padre being an underclass civic leader looking to protect his community with a bit of a violent streak. Plenty of the characters had great personality, the nomads and Panam were enjoyable, Judy had a great questline that detailed optimism and bitter disappointment (and the character looks cool and is a bit of a cinnamon roll), River’s quest was a perfectly serviceable cop questline with enough horror elements, they were all fine. Keanu wasn’t a great voice actor, but he did serviceably and was apparently just wonderful with the staff, so I’m willing to cut him a pass. The level design can encourage a variety of different play styles, with attribute points opening up certain pathways. Given that it’s an open-world sandbox game, the goal should be to immerse yourself in the world, and touch on elements of cyberpunk as you go through the various quests, and you do see some of that. You see the gross exploitations of dolls in the sex trade when you go to Clouds, the bizarre elements of self-expression that new technologies can offer such as the twins in Kabuki, Pacifica is an abandoned recreation ground for the rich with the nice image of rotting Ferris wheels and abandoned malls, and you can see the divide between the have’s and have-not’s on full display both in the opening (compare and contrast the Street Kid with the Corpo beginnings) or take a look at the Peralez’s penthouse apartment versus Judy’s cramped digs. Honestly, one of my favorite things in the game were just the consumables to highlight the different food and drink available to the people of Night City. The heavy population means that foods like fried ants or locust pepperoni are common, amphetamines are available in a variety of flavors, and there are no less than 20 burrito vending machines on every street (the future is not all bad it seems). I like little worldbuilding moments like this in video games because it does give a sense of completion and immersion within the world. I honestly felt bad for Johnny Silverhand, because by the end of the game I had to be a bloated man-ball of Holobites Peach Pie and Cirrus Cola.

The game even took a few things that had aged poorly in the cyberpunk genre and improved them. The Mox is a gang specifically meant to stop the Disposable Sex Worker trope, it’s small and part of the reason it survives is that it’s small, but it offers a chance of improvement over the exploitation that the Tyger Claws offer. The cyberpyscho quest is probably the best one of this. Earlier Cyberpunk had cyberpsychosis as a serious concern directly correlated with how many implants you got. The Solo archetype even spoke about how you risk losing your humanity with your implants as you became stronger, better, faster. Even later iterations had depersonalization/derealization disorders as people who could see in the dark lost connection to those who couldn’t. A quick thought in our present though, changes this. My eyesight and hearing is just fine, but I don’t lose connection or common empathy with individuals who are blind or deaf. I have two arms and two legs and I have not lost empathy for amputees. Why then, would I lose empathy and connection with someone with average human eyesight after I get my eyes replaced and now I have the ability to see in the dark or have telescopic sight? The cyberpsycho quest actually took this concept to task; cyberpsychos around the city are seen as horrifying threats that need the high-threat response of MaxTac to deal with, but Regina is looking to see if she can cure cyberpsychosis. Mechanically, the cyberpsychos are boss-fights with elements of puzzle gameplay (how to handle the different skillsets that they have) and a bonus reward for non-lethal damage which rewards certain playstyle archetypes or prepwork for those who ensure that they have a non-lethal option. The information you find around each cyberpyscho showcase different problems in the target’s life, no real common thread or inciting incident that you can trace the onset of cyberpsychosis toward and identify a culprit. After you complete the quest, you learn the twist: there is no such thing as cyberpsychosis. Each of the targets were actually just experiencing different stressors within their lives, such as PTSD, losing their job, drug abuse, etc. and the breakdown is made much worse because these individuals have the ability to toss dumpsters like they were baseballs or pick the wings off a fly with a cybernetically enhanced brain with a .50 cal. Some of these individuals had terrible implant surgery done by bargain-basement ripperdocs and temporarily lost the ability to discern reality from fantasy, something that could easily be seen as a science fiction adaptation of temporary insanity brought on by a poor reaction to medicine. It’s backed up by the game too. V can fill every slot in their cyberware deck but never once experiences cyberpsychosis. Oda has ultra-legs and flaming-hot mantis blades and is in perfect control at every point in the game, even when he’s trying to jab those mantis blade through your sternum. Cyberpyschosis isn’t real, the irresponsible media just ran with it because fear sells. For all the flaws of the game, I respect the game for taking cyberpsychosis in that direction.

But for all those good things, the game couldn’t help but feel shallower than the Witcher 3. The side-gigs were formulaic to the point where they even led with a category. There were few twists and very little that was surprising. Exposition for these quests was limited to a short text dump and a minute voice-over. Night City was big but it was relatively sparse. NCPD never seemed to intervene in any crimes (giving the character the chance to do so) but every so often they were around a taped-off crime scene, giving a sense of inconsistency that hampered the world. While it was a bustling city, it felt empty, most of the people I saw on the street were meaningless, just NPC’s walking around to give a sense of activity. There was little in the way of things to see and experience that was unique or different about these NPC’s. They weren’t crowds I could hide in like Hitman, they didn’t have ambient dialogue that showcased something like the Witcher 3. Much like other open-world games, this sense of shallowness pervaded much of the empty space of the world; it was incredibly *big* but there was little in it. Much of the time I was driving or running through empty space that was completely worthless to me. Normal for city living, but all of that is wasted time going from point A to point B, and unlike the Witcher 3, there were no small in-game beats to help flesh it out or build it. I never had Millie from “Where the Wolf and Cat Play” give me a little picture, I never had people from a liberated village say “hey, look, it’s that guy Geralt, thanks for killing those harpies.” These were things that made the Witcher 3′s world really come alive. I didn’t have that, and I was left

Of course, we also have to handle the elephant in the room, and that was CDPR’s conduct both during production and after release. Crunch has become an increasingly common part of video game development and it’s not healthy to developers. CDPR had been called out on it once before, but it seemed there was little change in how that happens. I’m not quite sure if there’s anything we can do, and I’m sympathetic to the need to hit target deadlines to actually deliver a finished product, but there’s got to be a better way, whether that’s a change to the incentive structure, or something, because it’s hurting folks. I like games like Witcher 3 and Red Dead Redemption 2, but I understand that there was a real human cost to these masterpieces, and I wonder if there’s something we can do about that.

Similarly, what happened after launch was beyond terrible. The last-gen console version were simply not ready for release and shouldn’t have been released to the public. CDPR openly covered up this, by only previewing the PC version, they hid the fact that the game wasn’t ready, and they avoided delaying the last-gen console version because they were looking to capitalize on holiday sales. I’m sympathetic for the need to generate sales, but the flip of this is that you have to deliver the product you advertise, and for last-gen consoles, they didn’t do so. Bugs are one thing, these games are massive undertakings of interacting systems and bugs are inevitable; some of my favorite games were buggy at release, notably Fallout: New Vegas, Witcher 3, and so on. But this went past bugs and into malpractice and deception, and that’s something that’s less forgivable. I personally had few bugs that were out-and-out game breaking but things not loading, quests bugging out, floating bags and other physics wonkiness, all of that hurt the immersion. I’d be more willing to forgive the game without the deception; I can laugh at bugs but not at ignoring quality control to get holiday sales instead of delivering a quality product. Consumers are angry at CDPR and have every reason to be, and I’m one of them. I can express my disappointment and I will do so, we need developers to stop these practices and the only way we can do that is through our wallets and words. I’m not going to tell anyone not to buy CDPR games, that’s entirely your decision because I’m a radical individualist. But I am going to say that they’ve burned a lot of their good karma with me; credibility is a hard beast to gain back. Much like other big name developers, CDPR has hurt their standing in my eyes. Whether that means I need to resort to going to indie games for a little bit or something else, I don’t know, but it’s rough. I liked CDPR and wanted to believe it’d be different, but it seems to not be the case.

Overall, I think it’s another AAA open-world game only made better by my love of the genre, and that stings. I enjoyed some aspects of it, and I hope that through Free DLC, patching, and other good deeds, the game can redeem itself and stimulate new love of the genre. But CDPR needs to do a lot more than that to win back my affection. If anyone has anything specifically that they want to know about the game, such as talk about the main story, individual characters, or so on, just ask.

Thanks for the question, Khef.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#video game reviews #cyberpunk 2077

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wraithsoutlaws · 3 years

Text

love writing dagger and panam interacting bc they are like 2 bickering kids at recess and v is stuck between them like :| while they threaten to kill each other back and forth

#actually dagger is just really amused by how much panam is bothered by him and he likes to push her buttons bc its easy #like the embodiment of a kid a hairs breadth away from poking you but going 'im not touching you'#panam just decks him #he'll call her pan and she hates it and eventually v has to take him aside and seriously tell him to stop and daggers like ok fine #and then five minutes later starts calling her pam instead #but to be fair she gives him a lot of shit (even if he deserves it) its good he just takes most of it with a smug ass smile #bc when he reaches his limit and shes at hers then its genuinely really ugly between them #and poor v is left to clean it all up in the aftermath #n e way im just writing a lot of things lately #rambling self indulgently is my passion #oc: dagger

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pyratetm-a · 6 years

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18th Century Words & Phrases for the Most Noble Rper

This is in no way completely comprehensive, because if I was going to write one that was completely so, 1. it’d be a literal book, if not volumes of a series, and 2. I’d be getting paid for it, lmao. But what I do want to do is offer some period-authentic terms and a sort of guide for people writing early modern characters situated in the Long 18th. So here you go, Amanda’s guide to 18th Century language, centered around things that will most likely pop up in rp as far as conversation goes. Be aware there are some nsfw stuff here! Because sex was as much a part of life then as it is now. Go forth. Use it. Make your writing more period appropriate with it and make your local pirate historian proud, guys.

Dialogue Things

Things to spice up your dialogue a little. While early modern english is pretty similar to modern english in a lot of ways, some words and phrases have shifted in that three hundred years to mean something wholly different, and these are the ones I tried to focus most on in this section.

against: often used in place of before. ex. against the crowd. allow: often used in place of admit. ex. i'll allow it may be true. awful: to inspire awe, as opposed to being terrible. ex. it was an awful sight. blow: to bloom. where full blown comes from. ex. the flowers were blown. calenture: an illness from a tropical region. ex. he was down with calenture. cant: low language, common language. ex. cant is an example of an uneducated mind. check: hold back or restrain. ex. check your temper. coach-and-six: a coach and six horses. ex. she came along in a coach-and-six. condescending: not negative, means showing a proper degree of courtesy. ex. he condescended an impeccable degree of courtesy. conversation: any social interaction; criminal conversation means adultery. ex. they were seen in a bit of conversation. correspondence: any sort of relationship; does not mean the exhange of letters. ex. we keep a lively correspondence. distracted: a person who suffers from mental illness (of any type) was said to be distracted. ex. and the poor dear was distracted. eat: not only to eat; but also used in past tense. ex. i eat and then i was for my bed. else: used either for else, or to mean otherwise. ex. elseways everyone t'would know where it was. fee: a fee, but also meaning to pay for. ex. i feed the bill. gross: large or coarse; did not mean disgusting. ex. a gross load. hand: someone's handwriting. ex. and it was in his hand. hardly: sometimes barely, sometimes with difficulty. ex. we made it through hardly. humour: comedy, but also mood or caprice; also found in medicine as part of the four humors theory. ex. she's in a bad humour. iambic: a metric foot but also for satire. ex. he was keen on iambic. indifferent: the same as now, but applied to an object instead of a person. ex. it was indifferent to me. letters: physical paper letters, the alphabet, learning. ex. he has his letters (he is educated). license: freedom, liberty. ex. i've license to do as i wish. mobile vulgus: a mob. ex. here's the mobile vulgis now. occasional: not from time to time, but on a special occasion. ex. it was occasional. ordinary: a chaplain at a prison. ex. i confessed my sins to the ordinary. own: acknowledge or admit to. ex. i'll own my words. paint: makeup, cosmetics. ex. she wore her paint. precipitate: to rush, to hasten. ex. we precipitate our departure. proper: one's own. ex. it was proper. quit: to leave. ex. let's quit this place. rail: speak harshly. ex. he railed at me. repair: to go or travel. ex. we repair for savannah. retire: to leave the room, to withdraw. ex. he retired to his apartment. romance: a fictional narrative. ex. it was a romance. sex: not the act, but usually in use with regard to women. ex. the fair sex. singular: exceptional. ex. he's a singular man. snacks: to divide or go into equally. ex. we went in snacks. suffer: aside from the modern meaning, also allow or permit. ex. i'll suffer to see him. token: a small sign or indication. ex. a token of her affections. traffic: commerce, trade. ex. pirates traffic here. try: test, make a trial of. ex. he wants to try my measure. use: sometimes to treat. ex. he uses me as though i were his child. vicious: given to vice, immoral. ex. he's a vicious man. vulgar: common, but not necessarily disgusting. ex. i found him vulgar. want: desire, but also a lack. ex. a man could die for want of acknowledgement. weeds: clothes, especially by women in mourning. ex. she was in her weeds. worsted: a fabric made of woolen yarn. ex. he wears worsted. zounds: a swear about as bad as damn. ex. zounds and buggery!

Food Things

blue tape: gin. black jack: a leather drinking jug. bog orange: potato. bohea: (bo-hay) a type of tea. bonny clapper: sour buttermilk. booze: ...booze. yes, it's really that old. brown cow: a barrel of beer. bumper: half full glass. cackling farts / cackle fruit: eggs. chocolate: in this context not a candy bar. usually in bricks or powder, used as drinking chocolate. milk chocolate did not exist, so it's fairly bitter. often sprinkled with chili powder or paprika. cold tea: brandy. corn: any grain. mais or maize is the word for corn specifically. dog's soup: water. draught: the usual spelling for draft (you've been reading it wrong in your head haven't you); drink. english manufacture: ale, beer, or cider. fiddler's pay: thanks and wine (and no money). grub: food. grunting peck: a hog. gut an oyster: to eat the oyster. knock down: very strong ale or beer. meat: any food, not just literal meat. panam: bread. pharaoh: a strong malt drink. purl royal: canary (the drink) with a dash of wormwood. ruff peck: bacon. strip me naked: gin. wibble: a sad drink. wobble: to boil.

Medical Things

crinkum: venereal disease. french pox: venereal disease. lying in: a pregnant woman would be said to lie in until the birth.

People Things

abbess: a woman who runs a brothel. baggage: an insulting term for a woman. blue stocking: an educated woman. christened by a baker: freckled cucumber: a tailor. jack of legs: a tall person. jade: another not at all nice term for a woman. jilt: a sex worker or kept mistress. mechanic: a tradesman or workman. mercer: a cloth merchant. quean: sex worker. whither go ye: a wife. wife in water colors: a mistress.

Pirate & Sailing Things

admiral of the black / of the coast: the big wigs in the brethren of the coast. black spot: a real thing; a smudge on one side of the paper and the written threat on the other. usually is a death threat. blow the man down: kill someone. chandler: a dealer offering ship supplies like robe, tools, etc. crimp: procurring sailors by trickery or coercion. davy jones's locker: a watery grave / to die at sea. dead men tell no tales: exactly what it sounds like. deadlights: the shutters that can clap down over a porthole or cabin window in bad weather; windows in a ship's side or deck, eyes. fire in the hole: the warning before a cannon is fired. give no quarter: refusal to spare the life of anyone that fights; a red flag raised on a pirate ship also signals this. holy stone / bible stone: piece of sandstone used to scour the deck of a ship; big ones were bibles, small ones were prayer books - called so because it was used by getting on one's knees. jack: a flag at the top of the bow - especially the one signaling ship nationality. jack tar: a sailor. line: the equator. no prey, no pay: no ships taken, no pay received. on the account: to turn pirate; to go to work for one's self. pay debts with the topsail: to run off to sea to avoid debts. real: (ree-al) a spanish denomination of money common in south america and the caribbean. red ensign: a british naval flag. refit: to resupply a ship. would always be referred to this particular way. rum-gagger: someone who tells false stories of hardships at sea. run a rig: to play a trick. show a leg: wake up. strike colors: lower the flag; typically a signal of surrender. sutler: a merchant selling all manner of goods for supplies and repairs. take a caulk: take a nap - comes from sleeping on a caulked deck which left streaks of tar down clothing. warp: moving a vessel (especially along a dock) by hauling a line fastened to different things like pilings, anchors, or piers. yellow jack: used to indicate illness (typically yellow fever) aboard - often used to try and trick pirates.

Place & Stuff Things

apartment: instead of the modern connotation of apartment, this wouldn't be a whole dwelling, but a rented room. bowsing ken: an ale house. brake: heavily overgrown area. flats and sharps: weapons. garret: an attic. house of civil reception: a brothel. jakes: a privy. kennel: a gutter or street sewer. lanthorn: a lantern. magazine: a storehouse, especially for things like weapons. had just come into vogue as meaning periodical publication. ordinary: a roadside inn with stabling for horses. taper: a small candle. tea voider: a chamber pot. tube: sometimes a smoking pipe. welkin: the sky.

Sex Stuff

box the jesuit: to masturbate. buttered bun: having sex with a woman who just had sex with another man (i.e. as in a brothel). crack jenny's tea cup: spending the night in a brothel. cundum: a condom, usually made of sheep's skin (yes they had condoms). doxy / doxies: a sex worker; can also refer to a kept woman. dragon on/upon st. george / riding st. george: the woman topping. fancy lad: a term for a male sex worker who usually services other men. fancy man: a backdoor man (that is a man kept for the hanky panky). flogging: pretty much the 18th c equivalent of spanking. hell cat: considered a lewd woman; one who doesn't shy from her sexuality. screw: to have sex (yes it's that old).

Slang Things:

admiral of the narrow seas: a drunk who vomits in his neighbor's lap. apple dumpling shop: a woman's boobies. been to an irish wedding: to have a black eye. bring one's ass to anchor: sit down. cast up one's account: to vomit. dance the hempen jig: to hang. dance with jack ketch: to hang. fed with a fire shovel: to have a big mouth. go a snail's gallop: to move slowly. grin like a basket of chips: grin broadly. hand like a foot: to have bad handwriting. make faces: to have children. milk the pidgeon: attempt the impossible. navel-tied: to be inseparable. piss more than he drinks: a braggart. up the ladder to bed: to hang.

Social Things

banns: declaring intention to marry. in the anglican church it had to be read three sundays before a couple was allowed to marry. cloud: tobacco. fog: smoke. guinea: a coin worth 21 shillings (just over a pound at the time). hombre: a popular card game of the time. make love: to flirt, did not meant to have sex. macaroni: not food, but a specific type of dandy. mrs.: applied to women of a certain age regardless of marital status. naked: indecently dressed; a man without frock and waistcoat would be naked. oaten pipe: a shepherd's flute made of reed. penny: four farthings, one-twelfth of a shilling. plain-work: basic sewing. pound: twenty shillings. ridotto: an entertainment with music and dancing. shift: a woman's undergarment consisting of a thing loose dress of muslin or linen. shirt: the linen shirt of a man, considered an undergarment. toilet: a dressing table. transportation: forcible exile for committing a crime, such as to the american colonies or australia.

#; { with vigilance and vim : history #// this is just one #// i might do another one later on at some point #// but this will add some flavor to your writing #// so go forth and enjoy

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