#also ignore how inconsistant they probably look i drew them out of order

[tesspool]

"I dont want what you have, I want to be you."

[bansheeoftheforest]

Well, my wifi is not back, and wont be anytime soon. The very earliest luckiest would be getting it back by Tuesday (unlikely). The very worst my house burns down so theres that /lh /hj

This sucks so much because I really cannot read asks I dont see in real time, I have the same amount of reading comprehension for them as I do Frankenstein XD

Dm me links to any important syndicate asks I miss while I'm gone 👍

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Bannnnnn I tried to draw the Jekyll brothers but Kent? Is inconsistent? The database (what I use) showd him as a clean shaven guy with a bit messy hair but google is showing Kent as a completely different model? Neat hair, Brokenshire beard. Like it's the ingame "identify" zoom in and I cant check whats right before I already killed himmmm

Anyway here art <3. I know I said I'd draw the DTIYS first but art inspiration is stored in the Syndicate au <3

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Also I've been thimking about Henry wearing a mask +plus ponytail to hide his identity like for the past two days. Yknow those theater masks? The weeping and laughing? He wears the sad one while in the Blighters and Templars and the happy one while in the Rooks because hes a dramatic theater nerd. Also! I like to think that if Jekyll has to be a templar he'd still wear the Blighter uniform when he could and pretend hes not high ranking. He gets away with it because Crawford doesn't care about him and Roth lives for chaos

I also drew Henry in a mask and ponytail but it's not done yet 😔

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Also I did the math the the twins are 3 years older than Jekyll. Like thank goodness first of all because I fully went into ship entirely unaware on if there were canon ages or a scary difference. But also Jacob being 3 years older than Henry is kinda funny to me

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All of Evie's outfits (besides her default) are bad and I'm gonna fist fight the designers because the secrets of london (where I only searched the locations of 3) is so bad, especially with the effort needed. How did they do Jacob so good, but utterly fail with Evie /lh

NOOOOOOO D: Man, I really hope you will get it back asap, and also that your house don't burn down!!

Man, if I don't know your struggle rn. However I shall do my best to link you to every syndicate ask that I will get from here on out bc I don't tend to get small asks for that au so <3

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Huh-- oh wow you're right. I wonder if it is a set design or just a bit on random depending on the save file... I killed him a long ass time ago so I have absolutely no idea how he looked like <3

EITHER WAY OH MY GOD IT LOOKS AAMZING. I love??? How you gave all three individual personalities in just a single picture??? Kent looks like he is seconds away from murder and I LOVE Henry in the templar outfit, it fits him so well??? Man I really want to start thinking more of this branch. Would the entire Jekyll family be Templars so the trio got that role inherited? Are Raphael and Kent unidentical twins and Henry is the odd-one-out because he is the youngest? Were the three of them really close in Scotland, but left as soon as possible bc their family was abusive, only for Kent and Raphael to find refuge in the Templar Order while Henry goes to university? Would they still have that brotherly love if they were close as kids even when they are in the Order, or would they have a falling out and start despising each other (or Jekyll @ the older brothers at least)? Would Raphael and Kent secretly be protective of Henry and manage to keep him out of Starrick's line-of-sight so that Henry won't get in trouble for defying orders/ignoring them? Would they force Henry to join the Templars with threats or would Henry mostly feel obligated to join them? Since the Templar Order isn't illegal in London, would other people know that Jekyll is a Templar, or would he keep it hidden from the public? Would his brothers help hide his identity?? SO many questions and I'm so sad I won't be able to discuss them with you :'c

(also can I just say I love the poetic differences between their clothing. Raphael is just wearing a waistcoat/basic clothes and he is a brute and more open, Kent is wearing more clothes/layering up and he is the "brains" out of the two of them, Jekyll is wearing the most layers and is almost trying to hide himself and I just... *chief's kiss*)

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Henry being a dramatic theater nerd and stealing Roth's costume supplies to hide his identity bc he is so ashamed of it and doesn't want people he knows to know about it my beloved <3 Plus the blighter uniforms doesn't look too far off of what he normally wears so he could probably use that as an excuse whenever some other Templar gets up his ass about not wearing the right clothes, yet it still doesn't make Henry feel any better knowing he has to bear the knowledge that he is actively wearing discreet blighter clothes to keep the Order happy and the public oblivious, knowing what cause he is reluctantly supporting. (him joining the rooks and suddenly coming into the Society all dressed in green lol)

Anyways I have now also decided that Maxwell and Henry are friends bc they both hate the Templars and Crawford and Henry gets to star in many of the plays he sets up. Plus they are both slightly insane so they match each other good.

YKNOW WHAT I WAS DAYDREAMING ABOUT WHILE BRUSHING MY TEETH RIGHT AFTER THIS ASK? Jekyll being forced to be the one to murder his brothers and the twins trying to track the murderer down just to know who tf are killing their targets, conveniently at the same time Maxwell starts meeting Jacob. Henry watching Jacob from afar getting smitten by him but keeping a distance bc he knows Maxwell is possessive, Jacob being the first to befriend Henry after Maxwell explains that both of them are against the Templars and Crawford, Jacob saving Henry during the fire of the theater? Yes pls <3

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Thank god bc here I was imagining an age gap of like idk 15 years bc of the differences in the timeline but! I'm just going to keep the canonical age difference while also shoot the timeline up a lil so that the events of Syndicate and TGS takes place at the same time but they are the right age and stuff, just bc I do not like Evie's and Jacob's older designs and I do not want to imagine them meeting during the Ripper dlc <3 Also the thought of Jacob being older than Henry is funny. I think Henry has a type /j

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They are so fucking bad and I'm going to scourage the Nexus to see if I can find any good redesign mods because they are so fucking bad. But to be fair, all female main characters' outfits are bad. Pearl? Lucy Thorne? Mfs looks like vampires. Even more reasons for why I only play Jacob, bc all other outfits on Evie are bad <3

[dweemeister]

NOTE: This is the first (and perhaps only) film released theatrically during the COVID-19 pandemic that I am reviewing – I saw Wolfwalkers at the Vineland Drive-in at the City of Industry, California. Because moviegoing carries risks at this time, please remember to follow health and safety guidelines as outlined by your local, regional, and national health officials.

Wolfwalkers (2020)

In interviews prior to and after Wolfwalkers’ release, co-director Tomm Moore has described the film as the last panel of Cartoon Saloon’s Irish folklore triptych. That triptych (an informal trilogy) began with The Secret of Kells (2009) and continued with its centerpiece, Song of the Sea (2014). The global environment for animated cinema has transformed since Kells, and now – unexpectedly – Cartoon Saloon finds itself a hub for not just hand-drawn animation, but animation that rejects the crass commercialism emerging from mainstream animation studios (mostly from the United States). With the triptych completed (as well as 2017’s The Breadwinner), one can trace Cartoon Saloon’s evolution from their beginning to its present artistic maturation. While the film asserts its own uniqueness in the Cartoon Saloon filmography, there are connecting strands – aesthetic, spiritual, thematic – of the studio’s previous features apparent throughout. Upon a week’s reflection, I think Wolfwalkers is the studio’s second-best film, just behind Song of the Sea. Even at second-best, this level of artistry has rarely been seen in this young century.

It is 1650 in Kilkenny. Robyn Goodfellowe (Honor Kneafsey) is an apprentice hunter and only daughter of Bill (Sean Bean). Robyn and her father are expatriates from England, and some of their Irish neighbors will not let them forget that. Oliver Cromwell (Simon McBurney) – referred to as “The Lord Protector” throughout the film – has invaded Ireland and looks to secure his conquest over the Irish people (Cromwell is a despised figure in Ireland and lionized by some in England to this day). On an ill-advised trip outside the walls of Kilkenny, Robyn encounters and eventually befriends Mebh Óg MacTíre (Eva Whittaker in her first film role; pronounced “MABE”), a Wolfwalker. As a Wolfwalker, the animalistic Mebh can leave her physical body and take the shape of a wolf while slumbering. Mebh’s mother – who is also a Wolfwalker – has been missing for sometime while Cromwell has ordered the slaughter of all of Ireland’s wolves. Things are complicated when Bill is tasked by the Lord Protector to destroy the wolves living in the woods surrounding Kilkenny.

From the opening moments, lead background artist Ludovic Gavillet (2016’s The Secret Life of Pets, 2018’s The Grinch) sets the contrast between the scenes within and outside Kilkenny’s walls. Kilkenny is suffocatingly geometric, with squares and rectangles dominating the background and foreground. Backbreaking work defines life in Kilkenny, all devoted to the residents’ English conquerors, God, and the Lord Protector. Rarely does the average city resident venture outside the looming outer medieval walls (there are two sets of walls in the city). The structure of Kilkenny is inconceivably box-shaped when seen from a distance. It appears like a linocut. In that distance are the countryside and the forests. As one ventures further from Cromwell’s castle, expressionist swirls define the foliage that seems to enclose the living figures treading through. Green, brown, and black figures twist impossibly in this lush environment. Seemingly half-drawn or faded figures suggest a depthless, dense forest – similar in function to, but nevertheless distinct from, Tyrus Wong’s background art for Bambi (1942). In both Kilkenny and the forest scenes, selective uses of of CGI animation capture the dynamism of certain action scenes – two running scenes in particular employ these techniques (once in joy, the other in terror).

So often in modern CGI-animated films, the animators seem to grasp for heightened realism and minutiae. In such movies, too many details are packed into frames that can only be appreciated if prodigiously rewatched or paused mid-movie. It might feel like completing a visual checklist. In Wolfwalkers, the half-finished details amid breathtaking backgrounds, angular (or round) humans, and simultaneously threatening and delightful wolves almost seem to announce that, yes, humans drew this – and they did so with such artistic flare. In keeping with the references to triptychs in this review, the film itself sometimes divides the frame into thirds (a top, middle, and bottom or a left, center, and right) or halves in moments of dramatic weight. The thirds or halves are separated by dividing lines and are used for various purposes depending on the moment: to save the filmmakers from making two extra cuts, juxtapose differing if not contradicting perspectives, and intensify the emotions portrayed. Less utilized in this film but even more radical than the aforementioned techniques is the film’s use of shifting aspect ratios. Wolfwalkers is principally in 1.85:1 (the common American widescreen cinematic standard, which is slightly wider than the 16:9 widescreen TV standard), but there are notable moments which temporarily dispense of these standards. Like the division of the screen into thirds or halves, the shifts in screen aspect ratio help the audience focus and understand what is occurring on-screen. The most memorable screen aspect ratio shift appears before an eruption of violence.

The Secret of Kells, too, was set in a city designed in a perfect, orderly shape. That film, like Wolfwalkers, evokes Christianity for narrative purposes. But where Kells celebrated God and found religion as a source of comfort, Wolfwalkers’ depiction of Christianity – specifically, Cromwell’s Anglican zealotry – is without redeeming elements. Under his breath, the Lord Protector prays to God that he will execute any providential commands by any means necessary. In public, he announces his actions as essential to rid Ireland of the lupine paganism that inhabits the wild. Without saying as much, Cromwell’s orders are nevertheless Anglican England imposing its will on Irish Catholics. Irish cinema, until the late 1990s and early 2000s, was usually deferential in its depictions of the clergy and religious practitioners (almost always Catholic). Though it is not unheard of for an Irish film to be critical in portrayals of religious belief, it remains uncommon. And though Cromwell is Anglican and not Catholic (and despite the fact he remains vilified in Ireland), Wolfwalkers’ cynical depiction in how he wields his religiosity as a cudgel is an extraordinary development in Irish cinema.

Tied to the film’s depiction of religiosity are its undercurrents of English colonialism and environmentalism. The latter will be obvious to viewers, but the former might cause confusion during a first viewing because it seems to be, at once, on the periphery and yet central to Wolfwalkers. Cromwell being referred to as “the Lord Protector” for the film’s entirety is indicative of screenwriter Will Collins’ (Song of the Sea) decision not to provide much historical context within the film. English colonial oppression usually occurs off-screen or is implied. This seems inconsistent with Cartoon Saloon’s work on The Breadwinner. That film identifies and openly describes Taliban injustices.

So what gives? As much as those who admire animated film disdain perceptions that it is solely for children (like myself), animated film is oftentimes a gateway for children to be exposed, eventually, to other corners of cinema. Can children understand Anglican-Catholic tensions in Cromwellian Ireland? Perhaps (especially British and Irish children), if presented with enough care. But the answer probably lies with the fact that the thematic goals of Wolfwalkers are more aligned with Kells and Song of the Sea than The Breadwinner. Cartoon Saloon’s Irish folklore triptych is concerned with how the Irish are inextricably, spiritually, bonded to the environment. There is a balance between humanity and nature – a mystical connection that, when disrupted, brings harm to all. The Breadwinner, though very much a part of Cartoon Saloon’s filmography, is grounded in recent history and, because of recent developments in the Taliban’s favor concerning the Afghan peace process, present-day concerns. In the film, fantastical stories are used to bring Parvana’s family together as the Taliban tighten their grip before the American invasion. This has little bearing on the folklore-centric storytelling of Wolfwalkers, but Collins, Moore, and Stewart’s editorial decision to downplay the film’s historical basis tempers any messaging they wished to convey.

Wolfwalkers meets The Breadwinner in its depiction of a young girl growing up in a male-dominated society. This film’s lead was supposed to be a young boy. But the story, to Collins, Moore, and Stewart, just did not click with the original male protagonist. As such, the trio made the decision early in the film’s production to switch the protagonist’s gender. Robyn, an English transplant to Ireland, is allowed remarkable freedom to do whatever she wants with her time in the opening stages of the film. This arrangement cannot persist as her father falls from the Lord Protector’s good graces. She is relegated to washing dishes from daybreak to dusk in the scullery – a task that she, in her heart, rejects for its gendered connotations. Robyn wears a Puritan’s frock while at the scullery, a uniform she has no desire for. While outdoors beyond the Kilkenny walls, she wears what her father wears – pants! – while out hunting wolves. Other than her father, few in the city care for Robyn’s intelligence and instincts. Most everybody ignores her protestations and truth-telling about the things she has seen in the forest. By film’s end, she is vindicated, in spite of Cromwell’s (and, to a lesser extent, her father’s) bluster and bravado.

This film also contains potentially queer subtext between Robyn and Mebh. Writers more skilled than I will provide better analysis of that subtext. Nothing explicit is shown, as the two are still children. Yet the nature of their friendship, the themes contained in Wolfwalkers, and some unspoken moments between Robyn and Mebh seem to relate a possible queerness. The film also does nothing to present either girl as heterosexual. Queer or not, Wolfwalkers shows the viewer a blossoming friendship between two girls – not without its tribulations, but rooted in their common earnestness.

Unlike previous films in Cartoon Saloon’s Irish folklore triptych, there are no notable original songs in Wolfwalkers. French composer Bruno Coulais and Irish folk music group Kíla are Cartoon Saloon regulars and return for Wolfwalkers. The musical ideas for Wolfwalkers’ score are not as apparent as the previous films in the triptych, as they are not quoting a song composed for the film. But the use of Irish instruments in their collaboration lends at atmospheric authenticity that only heaps upon the film’s sterling animation. Norwegian pop sensation AURORA has altered the lyrics and orchestration to her 2015 single “Running with the Wolves” to accompany a running scene that, by the filmmakers’ admission, was inspired by the running scene from The Tale of the Princess Kaguya (2013, Japan). The scene pales in comparison to the context and music from the late Isao Takahata’s final film, but Wolfwalkers is a movie more than the sum of its parts.

Production on Wolfwalkers was in its final stages as the COVID-19 pandemic reached the Republic of Ireland. When the Taoiseach, Leo Varadkar, announced a countrywide lockdown on March 12, 2020, Cartoon Saloon had already started preparing for a lockdown contingency three weeks’ prior. Clean-up was divided between Luxembourg-based Mélusine Productions and Cartoon Saloon’s headquarters in Kilkenny. After assessing the needs of the clean-up animators, both studios moved to remote work where the most pressing complication was their Internet bandwidth slowing down upload speeds.

Cartoon Saloon’s Irish folklore triptych is finished. In the last eleven years, the studio has proven itself one of the most interesting and important animation studios currently working. They have even proven they can make quality films without its primary director, as evidenced by Nora Twomey’s The Breadwinner (Twomey’s next project for Cartoon Saloon is My Father’s Dragon, slated for a 2021 release). Though just an indie studio with limited resources, their standing in animated cinema has only strengthened with this, their most ambitious film to date. It might seem like a rehash of the animation from Kells, but Wolfwalkers has improved upon its predecessor, and boasts perhaps the most beautiful artwork of any animated movie released this year. The film’s grandeur belongs on a movie screen, but, understandably, very few will have the opportunity to experience it in such an environment. This latest, ageless triumph will outlast these extraordinary times.

My rating: 8.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[onegirlatelier]

Yellow floral blouse, June 2019

(This post is the longest I’ve written for this blog. No one is obliged to read it except me. Apparently, I am required to read and re-read it and, well, think.)

Guess who just finished her very, very first standard shirt, with cuff plackets and collar stands and all?

I am so happy, and relieved! No matter how badly the first one was made, it is a starting point after all. I am definitely planning to sew more since I enjoy both wearing a proper shirt and trying my best to properly make one.

Shirts are so common and ‘basic’, which makes the quality of patternmaking extra obvious. I prefer my shirt to be sleek and practical, with a touch of femininity. It means that whilst the cut should be smooth and fitted, it must not impair with everyday motions such as doing my hair or reaching for a book across the table. Preferably also taking a nap at the desk. The pattern pieces also need to be designed in such a way that when they are sewn together, the stress seams can actually hold some stress—which I interpret to be the reasonable use of grainline and a good set of stitching techniques.

Since I’m only at the beginning of this quest and there is still much to learn, this post is going to be a reflection, highlighting the adjustments that has worked for me and attempting to offer solutions to the current issues.

But first, let me start with the basic information for my shirt 1.0.

 Fabric

Cotton, with a very lovely yellow floral print. I have no idea if it is poplin, or lawn, or quilting cotton, or just the plainest plain weave. My local fabric stores often don’t have such labels, and even if there are, they might not be accurate. My grandma has never cared about the name of a fabric, and yet she made me dresses, trousers, and shoes that I wore one day after another until she decided that the fabric had suffered way too much friction to be mended. Sometimes it’s just an instinct when you roll out the fabric and feel it with your hands.

It feels like a good shirting fabric to me—medium weight, durable, and crisp. It was so badly off-grain when I prepared it for this project, but that was probably because it’d been carelessly thrown into a washing machine twice.

It was reclaimed from the very first piece of clothing I made (well, I cut it, my grandma sewed it), a robe à la française. Yep. That was such a wise choice for a first garment.

Anyways, I really love the fabric. Besides, it has been there so long, it properly smells like me.

I would like to also mention that the thread is cotton-wrapped polyester, in white.

 Design

I wanted to have all the usual details of a shirt to make sure that I would get the basics right. At the same time, I also wanted to taper those details to be the most flattering base. Basic but flattering. Strangely, it does make sense.

Here is a list of elements that I decided to include in my shirt:

Loosely fitted waist but not too roomy, especially in the back.

Moderately tight collar with a collar stand (cut in separate pieces).

One-piece button band for the right front piece, rolled edge+invisible stitching for the left front piece.

Six buttons, with the third (from the top) situated on the horizontal line connecting BPs. One extra button on the collar stand.

Two pleats per sleeve and a placket. Only one button for the cuff and no button on the placket.

One very slanted bust dart at each side, from the BP to the side seam.

Back yoke with self-fabric facing.

One inverted box pleat at CB.

Back hem ends lower than the front hem, with an overall soft curve.

Only topstitching when it’s absolutely needed, so one line on the back yoke seam and one line on each cuff.

 …And here we go. The actual patternmaking details (and adjusting, and adjusting, and adjusting…) I will write in the same order as the sewing process, which is like this:

Bust darts

Back yoke and shoulder seams, using the burrito method

Side seams

Sleeves and cuffs

Sleeve seams

Armscye seams (set-in sleeves)

Button band, both sides

Collar ad collar stand

Hem

Buttonholes and buttons

 (I start with a basic bodice block that fitted me okay but not perfect. My use of terms can be inconsistent and I apologise for that.)

 Bust darts

My original block has two dust darts per side: one towards the shoulder and one towards the hem. I ignored the one towards the hem for that moderately loose fit at the waist. Then I cut open the dart towards the shoulder, and rotated it to the side. It slanted down instead of hanging almost horizontally. The angled darts were longer and probably less stable, but I liked that it sort of made my lines flow smoother.

I forgot to add an ‘angle’ so the edge of my finish dart did not line up with the side seam. I couldn’t hide the raw edge in the French seam when doing the side seams. Stupid, stupid mistake. Fortunately the edge of the dart was cut on bias so it wouldn’t fray, but it certainly could’ve been more stable.

 Back yoke

(I did most alterations of the armscye before separating the back piece into two for the yoke design. My take on armscye fitting is described after the sleeve section below.)

I drew a horizontal line across the back to separate the back for the yoke, and it approximately connected the midpoints of the two armscye depth lines. My shoulder blades still feel somewhat restricted when I move my arms forward, so next time I will move this yoke seam higher up to make sure the protruding areas of the shoulder blades are below the yoke.

For the yoke, there was an inverted box pleat at the centre back. I pleated away 8cm for this. I have noticed that it won’t need to be this much if I widen the bodice (especially at the hem), but I’m not sure if I want to do that.

 Shoulder seams

I followed the block and just extended about 1cm towards the CF and the CB, so that the neckline sat closer to my neck. I don’t normally like such tight necklines, but since this shirt has a collar and I don’t have to button it all the way up, it’s okay.

When I tried on the toile things seemed fine, but when I wear the finished shirt, I can see that the seams are placed too far backwards, which partially has to do with my forward-tilting shoulders. I do believe that the first step to solve this problem is to correct my posture, but next time I will bring the seam just a bit forward. Given the tightness in the shoulder area, I may only need to lengthen the back piece and let the front piece stay as it is.

 Side seams

As I’ve written, I made the side seam on the front bodice almost vertical. It slanted a tiny bit outwards. Then I made the side seam on the back slant at the same angle. I would’ve preferred to have at least one side on grain, but I did have to accommodate the hip.

 Sleeves and cuffs

I can’t believe that it didn’t even come to me that Claire B. Shaeffer wrote about shirt sleeves in her brilliant book Couture Sewing Techniques. As a result, foolish mistakes were made.

I drafted the sleeve myself. That is, I had a vague idea of what a sleeve shirt should look like and read a few tutorials on sleeve drafting, but none of them made enough sense for me to follow entirely.

The first thing is that I don’t understand why the sleeve centre (the grainline) needed to be, well, in the centre. I simply couldn’t get the grainline to divide the bicep line evenly. The forearm section was shorter than the back section because

the entire back half needed to be roomier so that I can bend my arm

the back part of the armscye had a deeper curve and thus was longer

the sleeve had two pleats at the back of the wrist seamline and the centre line should hang straight instead of twisting towards the back

my shoulder tilts forward so the centre line needed to be moved forward too

I think reasons #1, #3, and #4 are pretty solid, so I stand by my unevenly divided bicep line. Reason #2 does have some problem, and together with an exaggerated convex curve on the back of the sleeve curve it resulted in a slight dragline on the back of the sleeve. To solve this problem, I will have to adjust the armscye first and I will write more about it in the next section (armscye).

I made the wrist seamline straight and horizontal to the bicep line, without even a shallow curve. This was so wrong. The sleeve needed extra length where I pleated it, because pleats shortened the sleeve and also more length would allow me to bend my arm more comfortably. Next time, the wrist seamline will have a nice, rounded S-curve. The convex point will be where the back line hits the wrist, and the concave point will be where the forearm line hits the wrist.

I also included 1cm of ease for the entire wrist seamline. I realised that the distribution of this 1cm mattered a lot. In my first trial, I distributed it entirely in the front section of the seam, and as a result, the sleeve seam was pulled forward instead of staying in place on the inside of my wrist. In the second trial, I distributed the ease mainly in the back section with just a little in the front. It worked out much better. The back section ended up a little shorter than the front, which may have contributed to the slight twisting of the centre line (towards the back), though the sleeve seam stayed in place. Next time I will add more width to the back wrist seam to make sure the back and front sections can both have some ease and end up having the same length.

I need to widen the section from the elbow to the wrist in general. Currently I can write or read a book fine, but I must sit upright and I cannot take a nap at the desk at all (my ultimate standard).

If I keep my arm straight, I can raise it to form an approx. 80 degree angle with the side of my body without pulling up the shirt, so the width at bicep line is pretty good. I am not sure if how much extra underarm bulk there will be if I lengthen the bicep line some more.

 Armscye

The most evil of all: the armscye. I don’t even know why it is so hard to fit armscye. The front section was fine, but the back section gave me a headache. It was so annoying to fit the back section because my very human body was not built in such a way that I could turn my head like an owl and inspect how everything hanged on my back. Anytime I did it for more than 30 seconds, I got dizzy as if I had had a carsickness.

There were two main problems: the first was that the mid-back section (where the yoke seam ended) had a gaping problem. I think it was partially due to my forward-tilting shoulders as well. I rotated the back shoulder dart to the yoke seam; this resulted in a little curve at either end of the yoke piece. I didn’t want to cut a curve on the back piece too since I preferred to keep the top edge of the back piece on cross grain. I thought my adjustment would be enough, but apparently the ‘dart’ could be a bit larger since the gap didn’t completely go away.

The second problem was that there was some wrinkles in the lower back section of the armscye. This problem remains unsolved and I’m a bit at a loss. It usually means I have made the armscye too snug, but I don’t feel like it’s too snug when I wear the shirt. (But to be honest the weather’s hot and humid, and my underarm area is currently sensitive due to hair removal treatments, so I am confused about whether the armscye is indeed too tight.) I have already made the lower-back curve quite a bit deeper than the original curve which I started with, so this might not be the problem. Maybe it can be solved when I solve problem #1, since the widened dart will pull the back piece upwards and thus eliminate the excess fabric which creates the wrinkles.

I think my back armhole might be curving too deep into the body. I couldn’t see my back so I don’t know the exact situation, but I think the upper part of the curve can be shallower, so it’s more like an L-shape than a C-shape. This way the arm movement is less restricted. I can maybe then make the convex curve on the sleeve less exaggerated and shorten the back curve a bit.

There is no wrinkle at the very bottom of the armscye, though, which means the armscye depth is enough. It’s just the shape that needs some more adjustment. I would like to keep the armscye depth as it is now to maximize the range of movement for the arm.

What I think I will do next time is that I will finish the whole bodice sans sleeves first (I have neither time nor material to bother with yet another toile), and see if my adjustments works out. I will adjust until it does, and add sleeves later.

Here is the back view, which illustrates the massive problems on the armscyes and sleeves:

I understand that sleeves can twist when they are hung like this. However, the two sleeves aren’t twisting in the same direction, which means there must be some kind of asymmetry. It might be a tiny error, but the effect is obvious. My assumption is that when the fabric is tauter in the front than in the back, the sleeve twists forwards. If it’s tauter in the back, the sleeve twists backwards. This means there is a difference of ease distribution between the two sleeves.

The back of the armscye cuts into the bodice. I don’t think the curve needs to be this deep.

The shape of the bottom of the armscye and the corresponding part of the sleeve curve can use some adjustment.

Button band

I cut the buttonhole band in one piece with the right front bodice. After some calculation, I pretty much just added a 5.5cm-wide rectangle to the CF of the right front piece.

Because I sewed the shirt by hand, I was able to work with very accurate measurements and narrow allowances. I managed to increase the width of the front bodice by 1cm, by adding 0.5cm towards the CF on either side. It fitted well. I will keep this in mind.

The button side was done like a wider two-time folded edge, as usual.

 Collar and collar stand

I read some tutorials and made my own adjustments. It worked out fine. When sewing the two pieces of the collar together, I tried using a tailor’s hem and my left hand to hold the two pieces in such a way that the undercollar was tauter than the uppercollar. This way the finished collar piece would naturally curve without wrinkling on the underside, and the seam wouldn’t be visible because the edge of the collar would be curving towards the body.

It is not enough to just use my hand to manipulate the fabric. I actually do need to cut the undercollar a tiny bit shorter than the uppercollar.

The same thing goes for the collar stand—the facing needs to be cut a little shorter than the outer layer for it to naturally curve around my neck. The problem is illustrated in the first photo of this post.

 Hem

I was being tight on fabric, so I had only 1cm of allowance for the hem and did a narrow invisible hem by hand.

I usually tuck my shirt hem into a skirt or a pair of trousers, so a shorter hem is fine as long as it can be secured tucked in. However, I would like to have a slightly longer hem next time

 Buttonholes and buttons

I followed the normal way of placing buttons. I had noticed that many shirts did not have a button where it was most likely to gap and result in awkward situations for a lady, so I placed a button there.

Overall, this is far from a perfect shirt worthy of the time spent on hand-sewing. However, I also gained an enormous amount of knowledge of shirt-making by slowly walking myself through this process. I went from having no idea at all to knowing what was considered good. Now I just need to figure out how exactly to achieve that.

[starspatter]

WIP Challenge

Tagged by: @summertime-children

Tagging: @astrologista, @atsushishelteredinmoonlitjasmine, @benditlikegumby, @cryptoriawebb, @ibmiller, @iceperialprincess, and @otherwise-uncolonized

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

I'll also do what deta did and post comments + short fragments.  (Be warned it'll be very long though, and most of these are actually Pokémon fics since I was a much more prolific writer when I was younger, and that was the fandom I wrote mainly for.)  I also won't be including "Heroes and Thieves" on here (or any DC/superhero stuff really since I’ve essentially “done” everything I had planned for now), as *technically* it is all already completed in draft form, and I'd like to keep things a surprise for whenever I do end up posting~

Hero and Seek

“Well, we’re all together now, so let’s have some fun, all right?  Don’t worry, it’s really simple.  One person is the ‘demon’, and the others have to hide from him.” “Eh?  A ‘demon’?  But that’s scary!” Three pairs of eyes turned up to her in fear.  Those eyes, which screamed and streamed the stark color of blood the first time she saw them – not just from tears, but from the ‘monster’ they believed dwelled deep within.  She thought for a moment, then removed her scarf. “How about this then?  Whoever’s the ‘hero’ has to find and rescue the others.  It’s a very important Blindfold Brigade mission!”

I’ll start with the one Kagepro fic I did attempt at least, which I described previously here, but is basically about Ayano + the Meka Trio playing “Hide and Seek” for the first time.  (I actually had it originally titled as that but just came up with this new version on the spot lol I’m so clever~)  For some reason I’ve always been hesitant about reading/writing Kagefic, but I actually got a fair bit farther in this than I thought, so perhaps I should try to finish it someday... Princes and Frogs

“K-Koizumi-senpai… Um… Please go out with me!” Itsuki stared down at the tiny underclassman, watching a rose mantle spread slowly over her cheeks as she gazed back with shy, but determined hope in her bespectacled eyes.  The older boy could make out his own handsome face reflected off the lens, a virtual image embellished by sparkling hearts and stars.  With dim satisfaction and relief, Itsuki ensured that his bright, patient smile betrayed no hint of the weary sigh that whispered behind it.

This is an intro excerpt of the first chapter I planned to write for an ItsuHaru fic from The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, which I only ever posted the prologue for.  ItsuHaru was my first obsessive OTP, and I still think about returning to this story someday (especially since I have now proven to myself I *can* finish a full chapter fic if I put my mind to it), but it’s been so long I feel like I’d need to refresh my memory of the whole series/am still holding out hope for a Season 3 to motivate me again. *shot*

Fall to Pieces

As Itsuki stared at Yuki’s vacant visage, his resentment kept building.  His hands clenched, rigidly gripping the edge of the table.  Somehow, it just didn’t seem fair.  That she could so easily ignore the madness fate had dealt them, never reveal any signs of suffering or bitterness towards her situation, and yet always, always wear the same damn expression on her face. How could she possibly stand it? He can’t stand it. (any more)

An ItsuYuki one-shot, where Itsuki basically blows up at her from pent-up frustration over having to wear a mask all the time and his hidden feelings for Haruhi.  The two start to form a connection over their respective “unrequited loves”/understanding of each other’s pain, and one thing leads to another...  Like “Heroes and Thieves”, this is in fact technically “complete”, since I actually used the leftover steam from the former towards finishing at least one thing I started a long time ago - although I’m still not sure I’m totally satisfied with it/kinda want to wait to figure out what I’m doing with my other ItsuHaru fics before I publish it by itself.  (Incidentally the working title comes from an Avril Lavigne song lol.)

Little White Lies

“Perhaps the best thing for the princess would have been to fall in love.  But how a princess who had no gravity could fall into anything is a difficulty--perhaps the difficulty.” -George MacDonald, The Light Princess - Haruhi Suzumiya was walking on air. Itsuki could tell by the way she glided into the clubroom, sailing like a paper airplane – or a balloon with an inflated ego to match.

...Yeah that’s as far as I got with this.  This was meant to be a “White Day” story, which is Japan’s “answer holiday” to Valentine’s Day, where guys reciprocate by giving gifts to the girls who gave them chocolates.  I always wondered how the boys actually responded in-universe, and I imagine Itsuki secretly stressing out a lot about taking care to not upstage Kyon, but at the same time wanting to sincerely express his genuine appreciation and feelings towards Haruhi - whatever they may be.  In the end, he settles on a copy of “The Light Princess” by George MacDonald, which I highly recommend reading since it reminds me so much of this pair, and in general is such a fun and snappy “tongue-in-cheek” take on the fairytale genre. Sora in Wonderland

But wait- this one was a bit different from all its brothers and sisters.  For one thing, it was wearing a fancy waistcoat with pockets- and sleeves that were far too long for it.  As soon as it passed by her head, it stopped and slowly turned its head around to stare directly at her with its huge circular yellow eyes.  Sora stared vacantly back for a full five seconds before the information registered in her brain and she suddenly yelled, “Hey!”, and sat bolt upright.  The Heartless panicked upon hearing her voice and fled at top speed across the white sands, headed towards an opening in the rocks; Sora jumped down off her perch and immediately chased after it, no longer caring about the heat.  The Heartless hastily disappeared inside the cave, and Sora soon followed after, determined to catch the freaky little thing and ask it some questions, like what it was doing on the island at this time, and where on earth did it get a waistcoat.

OKAY SO I TOTALLY FORGOT THIS WAS A THING but apparently I tried to write a Kingdom Hearts parody of “Alice in Wonderland” lmao.  I’ve never actually played the games (aside from half of CoM), but it was probably inspired by a crossover art my friend drew? ^^; Also Sora is a girl in this bc that’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it. XP *shot* Note: The following fics are all Pokémon-related so I’ll just be listing them in roughly chronological order (from most recent to ancient, although they’re all pretty old at this point). Stranger

The elder slowly rose to his feet, gazing at the boy, the champion, the stranger.  “In all this time, why didn’t you come back?  You could have seen for yourself how she was.” Lance wanted to yell something defiant, like a child.  But he wasn’t a child.  Children were forgiven for their mistakes.  And he didn’t want to be forgiven. The professor’s ancient hand came to rest on the boy’s shoulder.  “It’s the way this town works.  We don’t talk about things that happen outside our own world.  Maybe it was too long ago – too late for you to understand.” Lance didn’t say anything. “At least talk to Delia.  She’s been wanting to see you.” “Sorry.  It’s too late.” “You’re a bastard.” “I know.”

So this looks to be among the last things I’d written before taking a long break from fanfiction circa... 2007, jeeze.  Over 10 years, huh.  But, I think it speaks a certain amount of maturity that it’s the piece I liked most upon rediscovering.  It’s based on an idea I once had that Lance was (unknowingly) Gary Oak’s father, and he was friends/rivals with Ash’s father, who originally won the title of Champion but relinquished it so he could be with his “wife” and kid (or rather, then-pregnant teenage girlfriend).  *Something* happened though (I forget what I had in mind) and he ended up dying, leaving Lance bitter and depressed so he refused to return to Pallet Town because of too many painful memories.  (Though he *cough* “comforted” their other female childhood friend for one night of drunken grief before he left. ;()  What I like most about it honestly is the parallels bw Lance’s relationship with Ash’s dad and their sons’, and that amidst all the angst I enjoyed portraying the earnest energy and optimism of Ketchum(?) senior (”like father like son” after all).  I was definitely inspired by Mitsuki’s father in Full Moon wo Sagashite/Maes Hughes from Fullmetal Alchemist by making him a total “dork dad” who’d brag about his (illegitimate) family on national TV during the championship tournament lol.

Ihavenoidea

Either way, I get the feeling this really wasn’t what I had in mind when I made my decision to quit training.  I mean that in an intuitive sort of way.  Like, sometimes I feel as if I’m not meant to be here, like my life should have ended up differently someplace else.  Perhaps this is just one of those weird inconsistencies I told you about.  Perhaps not.  Even after all that’s happened to me recently, I still can’t really be sure about it.

...No seriously, I have no idea where I was going with this.  As far as I can tell it’s written from the POV of Gary Oak, whom I’ve always had a lot of... “complicated” feelings towards.  It probably has something to do with another concept I’ll discuss next, although for some reason it sounds like I was going for some sort of AU? *shrug* By contrast to the above, it reads like a whiny teenager complaining about his life - which makes me cringe but is probably an accurate portrayal of who I was at the time. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ This one was actually dated a little after the previous, so my best guess is it was some kind of vent rant where I would “give up” writing/creating and “childish” ideals for a while, as I was wont to do - but I still always come back to it somehow... RainbowMolly

Molly stepped out from the car and onto the dusty road, her heart beating wildly.  She could hardly believe she was actually here, of all places. The ride had been long and mind-numbing with anticipation, and now that they’d finally arrived at the destination, it all felt somewhat surreal to her. A small bear clambered out from the vehicle, joining her as she stopped to take in the rustic view that met her bright blue eyes.  She smiled and picked up her Teddiursa, cuddling its warm, fuzzy body close to her own. Her gaze traveled down the road which stretched in both directions, houses lining up against its margins. She followed it with her eyes towards a hill in the distance, on top of which sat what looked like a quaint little farmhouse with a windmill, turning in the summer breeze.  She breathed in the country air, catching whiff of a faint salt smell from an ocean in the distance. So this was Pallet Town.

...Why I didn’t actually name the file “Chasing Rainbows” - which was the title I had planned for this - I don’t know.  This dates back to an old idea I had where I believed Molly Hale from the third Pokémon movie was secretly the true “God” of the Pokémon world - in the sense that the entire universe was an unknowing fantasy of her own creation, similar to Haruhi Suzumiya (ok fine this was totally a crossover/rip-off of the same concept so sue me OTL).  In a place where children never seem to grow up and can go on grand fantastical adventures forever, Gary always struck me as an anomaly who willingly *chose* to forego such a life to pursue more “adult” interests by becoming a researcher.  So I saw him as filling the role of “Kyon” - the cynical narrator who was destined to ground “God” and bring her back down to earth, but at the same time be won over by her innocence and charm and learn to appreciate “kids’ stuff” again.  However, the Legendaries were actually aware of the power Molly holds, and so saw Gary as a threat to their very being - as by “waking” the dreamer and having her face reality meant erasing their kinds’ entire existence.  As the “apocalypse” nearly occurred in the third film, Mew and Celebi took on human disguises (in the form of May and Max respectively) to investigate Ash, who was able to calm Molly and “save” the world by “perpetuating” the delusion (and whom Molly totally has a crush on btw *shot*).  So it’s a bit of a love triangle lol, with Mew and Celebi (*cough* an alien and a time traveler, get it? *shot*) acting as mediators/interference.  (Although Mew might’ve secretly shipped Gary and Molly herself. ;O)

Betrayal

And these blades, these damned scythes that attached themselves to my arms when I was born, a curse upon me since birth, though it had not been apparent up until now.  They were covered with blood, the vital crimson liquid that flows through our bodies, now dripping down the steel surface in a webbed pattern, drops beginning to splatter the pure, emerald grass below.  The arm felt heavy and weak as I tried to lift it, as if it did not belong to me, but that was only a wishful thought.  I gazed calmly at it, inspecting the intricate designs the flow of the substance had created, as if it were an abstract piece of artwork. Tentatively, a pink tongue rolled out and caught a small droplet of it just before it fell from the sharp edge, just to convince myself that it was real.  The semi-sweet, metallic taste confirmed this.  I had indeed taken these men’s lives, just as I had taken hers.

So I remember this was written from the POV of a Scyther who seemingly went on a murderous rampage.  I only know that I wanted to give him an “Edward Scissorhands”-like story, since the idea of having such sharp objects attached to one’s limbs so that one could never directly “touch” another without being a danger is pretty tragic.  I suspect “her” was someone (a human?) he cared about but killed by accident, and after that he was only seen as a symbol of power/treated as a tool to incite fear before eventually rebelling against his “master”... Roses

“If you love someone, you should give them something that’s yours. That shows how much you care for them.” In the darkness, I pictured his smiling face, explaining to me as he wrapped a present for his girlfriend. His blue eyes were shining with a sort of spirit unfamiliar to me; I guessed, a feeling of love.

Another “dark” take on a Pokémon’s biology (I really liked writing explorations of those back then lol), this time of Roselia.  The idea was that a Roselia was so in love with her trainer that she would do anything for him - including allow him to cut off her arms so he could give them to his girlfriend.  I actually ended up turning it into a poem at one point:

Love is like a rose they say, And affection leads to grief they warned. For in the end love betrays, Its Beauty maimed by a poisoned thorn. You gave me pure water with a smile. Your cheerful face became my sun. I offered up my blood to you, And in return demanded none. Chop off my wrists, and tie them together. I’ll gladly bleed myself to death. In order to give you that which I hold most dear. My dear, my dear, Won’t you accept this bouquet? You take it, smiling warily. A blush creeps onto your face. And in those eyes I can see A garden of roses stretched out, Composing a wondrous place. Then you bound my hands in lace, And brought them to the girl next door. You presented them to her with grace. … My blood continued to pour.

Fanfic

She smiled at me, although something about her expression indicated something wasn't quite right.  I watched as she glanced over towards the west, her gaze lingering momentarily on the setting sun.  The glowing, orange sphere was slowly sinking behind the distant mountains, peaks cloaked in a pale, lavender haze illuminated by flickering beams of gold and scarlet cast across the horizon.

More accurately, I found this buried in a “catch-all” file where I had several (mostly finished) fics saved.  This was meant to be from the POV of an Eevee who had just evolved - supposedly into an Espeon due to happiness and bond with her trainer, which is what both wanted.  However, since it took place at sunset, she didn’t realize she had become an Umbreon instead, and her trainer ended up abandoning her for it. ;( It was a warm

Children’s shrieks and laughter echoed across the park as they flocked towards each other, and soon were chasing one another round the playground, weaving in and out between the swings as they partook in an innocent game of Tag.  One child was It; she was trying desperately to catch one of her friends so that they would take over the job instead.  Then it would be her turn to run away, for none of them wished to play the loathsome role of It.  Or was it because they feared being tainted by the person’s touch?  It must have been one of the two, for while she would struggle to reach them, catch hold of them, they would only flee, thoroughly enjoying the fact that they were vexing her.  Twice she nearly caught one.  Her fingertips were almost within reach of one of the other girls’ dresses, whose russet tresses were flowing wildly from the rush of movement and shining with golden highlights as the rays of the sun struck individual strands.  The target shrieked and shook her head, whisking her skirt free in time to escape capture, laughing with glee at the sight of the girl left behind, miserable and alone. 

Yeah I totally just went with the default beginning of the first sentence lol.  I guess this comes full circle with the first Kagepro fic I mentioned (although I’m not even sure I was aware back then that the Japanese version of the game literally called “It” a “demon”, which is even more fitting).  I believe this was part of a Pokémon series I was writing involving a creepy little girl and Mewtwo who would bring about the end of the world or something like that, but generally I guess I was just going for a “Catcher in the Rye” feel. *shrug* Golden Lights

The pale, rosy fingers of dawn were filtering in through the Granite Cave entrance, basking a small area near the opening in pinkish illumination.  Just out of reach of its expanse sat little Mika, huddled in the gloom of the shadows, watching the light creep steadily towards her as the glowing ball of fire rose slowly towards the East.  She knew about the Light that came from Outside.  There were plenty other small apertures broken into the cavern walls and ceiling that allowed some thin streams of gold brilliance to trickle through.  She had always done well to avoid them.  The brightness was like poison to her skin.  But they weren’t the Lights she’d had described to her by the old Crobat that always resided now deeper within the underground chambers, dozing now, most likely.  He wouldn’t awaken until night came round, and she did not wish to rouse him and perhaps disturb him from a pleasant dream.  She was very wise about things like that, being the young child that she was.  Still, she would have liked to hear a story to comfort her just then.

Last one I could find, about a Sableye who, like Icarus, literally “flew too close to the sun”.  In this interpretation I imagined that Sableye were creatures who could not stand sunlight at all, as it would cause their skin to burn.  But Mika (pronounced like “Mica”) always dreamed of going outside to see the “Light” anyway.  She was eventually tempted by Mew to leave the cavern under her angelic PROTECTion and step into the Light, who was acting as Ho-Oh’s messenger to “recruit” souls to “live eternal as an element of Ho-Oh’s Guarding Flame“, as the PROTECT faded and a “holy fire” began to spread.  I guess I was going for a Biblical/”Rapture”-esque reference.  (...Man I sure was obsessed with the endtimes as a kid. *shot*)

[unnaturalcuriosity]

UnnaturalCuriousity’s Rules Post {For Mobile Users}

{icon art by @stoplickingthingsweird}

                            B   A   S   I   C      ✪      R   U   L   E   S

Things to Know

🔬 Please respect my rules and boundaries. I will give polite warnings if someone breaks a minor rule, but if it's obvious that you're blatantly disregarding what I've said here and/or are breaking serious rules, then that shows a lack of respect. Therefore I reserve the right to take action by directly confronting you and/or ending further interactions IC and/or OOC.

🔬 Since Dr. Kantalo’s job is to know a lot about other alien species, and she is meant to be a highly intelligent character, she will know in depth information about canon alien races from Universe 7. (Saiyans, Namekians etc.) This will include things like what makes them weak in combat. (For Saiyans it’s having their tail pulled unless it’s been trained. For Namekians it’s whistling.) If your muse is an OC whose backstory includes any contact with the Planet Trade Organization/Frieza Force, it would make sense for her to learn/know moderate to advanced information about your OC’s alien race when we interact. However, in order to avoid making you feel like I’m godmodding/metagaming I will ask permission OOC to mention such details and plot with you before using such information in a response. If having my muse know things about your OC muse’s race that comes from your about page and headcanon posts bothers you, please let me know and we can come up with reasons for why she wouldn’t know them in that great of depth. Know that having Dr. Kantalo possessing knowledge about your muse’s race isn’t the same as knowing their personal history/background. Not unless we plot for them to have some existing relationship prior to the start of our first thread. 🔬 If you are a personal blog following me because you are interested in my original characters and the content I publish here, all I ask is that you don't reblog asks that involve my RP partners and don't reblog our roleplay threads. That's considered rude in the RPC as it can interfere with our activity feed and our ability to track threads. I would also prefer if people didn't reblog my headcanon posts that are specific to my roleplay portrayal of my muses. Reblogging posts of artwork done of my OC is fine, so long as you don't erase the credits of who drew it and you don't try to claim credit for making my OCs. 🔬 If you'd like to draw my OC/s I would be thrilled to see it! You can submit it or post the artwork and tag this blog (and if you want to my personal blog, @raxceni). Make sure to credit me as the person who owns/made the OC/s you drew. 🔬 I am 18+ and so is my muse. Topics that are Safe for Tumblr but are still better suited for a mature audience from the past and present are tagged as #lemon goodness or #touch of citrus if it's questionably mature. Past and present content that I believe needs a trigger warning are tagged with #tw; _____ for possible triggering content. If you have specific triggers let me know and I’ll do my best to remember and accommodate. {Trigger Warning Tags Master Post link} 🔬 I will never hold it against a person if they want to unfollow me or drop me as a roleplay partner for any reason. If you wish to speak to me about the reasons why, you may do so but please be civil. 🔬 I consider myself a Continuity Queen™ which means I remember things and want to keep relationships and serious rp threads consistent. The little things are important to me, but not to the point where it interferes with enjoyment of roleplaying. If your muse is struggling to interact with mine, you can talk to me about do-overs and re-plotting. I may discuss ways we can salvage the relationship with what we’ve already done, but if that doesn’t work out doing things over is fine. (But it must be communicated to me!!!) A do-over that won't guarantee that they'll get along the way you or I want though. If I see you trying and putting in effort, I'll return that effort on my end. Likewise, if you notice any inconsistencies in our thread on my end, let me know and we can correct the issue together.

Mun Activity & Selectivity

🔬 I am selective for this roleplay blog due to time. That means I’m not going to roleplay with anyone I’m not following/mutuals with.  I’m a busy/easy to tire tired person that tires easily due to some health issues I’ve been dealing with since 2018. I also run two other rp blogs. I won’t force myself to roleplay with people I don’t feel a strong enough interest with in terms of their muse, roleplay writing style, etc. I will always encourage people to talk to me, but know that it won’t guarantee anything. It’s nothing personal if I choose not to roleplay with you. Not everyone is a good roleplay partner for each other, and it’s not about being “better” or “worse” than someone else. I don’t mind telling you why I’m not interested, but don’t be rude or try to force interactions. 🔬 I ask that nobody tags me in serious roleplay or IC interaction threads without speaking with me first and getting my consent so we can plot things out. (Unless I reach out to you first IC or OOC.) Especially if we aren't following each other. Mutuals can send IC interaction asks if I reblog memes. If non-mutuals ignore this rule I will not respond to the starter and I may even block you because you haven't taken the time to read my rules or notice my header information that clearly states that this blog is selective. 🔬 If we start to/continue to roleplay together please be patient with me and keep in mind that I will be slow to respond to our threads. As you probably know I run two other canon muse blogs, and they are fairly active. You can always come talk with me about our thread/s and plot with me to give direction to our thread/s that engages both our muses mutually. If you feel like a thread got lost and/or it's been awhile since we last spoke or I last responded come talk to me. You can check if I'm keeping track of a thread by visiting my {Thread Tracker link.}

Unacceptable Roleplay Etiquette:

🔬 Various types of powerplay, godmoding, force shipping, etc. 🔬 Toxic behaviors and attitudes (like jealousy) that cause problems for yourself and others. 🔬 Muns projecting themselves into their character so much that muse = mun. 🔬 Muses and/or muns who are under 18 approaching me and my muse for shipping and/or smut. 🔬 Using me and my muse for any reason that isn’t for IC plot that’s planned. 🔬 Muns assuming that muse = mun and treating me poorly because of it. 🔬 Genuine lack of respect for muns as people who come first before our hobby. 🔬 Muns who create rp blogs on a whim and delete/abandon them with little to no notice frequently once they lose interest in that muse, and not because the mun is just busy IRL or having health issues. Depending on the offense, I will first speak with you about the issue. However, if the bad behavior doesn’t stop or I don’t like how you respond, I am well within my right to drop threads and not interact with you. I have a zero tolerance policy for toxic people and their abusive antics. If I find out you are guilty of being malicious towards anyone in the rp community presently or have in the past and continue to be toxic, I am not obligated to give you a second chance. I came here to have fun, not instruct adults on how to be decent human beings.

Writing Fight Threads With Me

🔬 I am selective with who I write fight scenes with. Some people make it awkward because of what they consider to be godmodding etc. and because of that I often lose interest in those threads. 🔬 You MUST SPEAK TO ME OOC if you're interested in doing a thread where our muses fight or spar.

How to Treat the Muse

🔬 DO NOT treat my muse like she's here to dote on and worship your muse, regardless of any connections/alliances she might have to other canon DBZ characters. She follows her orders, and respects her superiors and co-workers, but she's not here a push-over. 🔬 Dr. Kantalo may be a female OC, but she's not here for romance and smut. She's not that kind of woman. If you treat her like she's a sexual prize to own or win over, you're proving to me that you have no idea what she's really like, and that you haven't read my rules. 🔬 If you approach my muse with insults and an attitude, expect that she'll remember the things you say and do. While she's got a friendly disposition and she's not easily offended, Dr. Kantalo can be quite opportunistic. Even vindictive. Give her a reason not to like you, and your muse may regret it.

Stance on Shipping

🔬 In general, I am not interested in shipping with my OCs. Moya is a NPC kind of OC and Dr. Kantalo is Aro-Ace (meaning she doesn't experience either romantic attraction or sexual attraction to other people) and she’s physically unable to reproduce. Pursuing a ship with her seems pointless from my perspective. Emotionally she'd be weird to ship with too. In general I'm not interested in shipping with my OCs. 🔬 I have written her in a domestic partnership that lacked typical romantic dynamics and was not sexual with a friend of mine in the past. Neither labeled themselves as a "couple" either. While I doubt she'll be open to another domestic partnership, I wouldn't want to rule out the possibility of it happening either. 🔬 REMINDER: If there is any shipping stuff going on it won’t happen with muses or muns under 18 years of age.

Adult Themes

🔬 As of 12/17/18, it is supposedly alright to write erotica based on Tumblr’s guidelines, but I have no interest in writing smut on Tumblr. Nor am I keen about writing it with my OCs. 🔬 Dr. Kantalo isn't sex repulsed and she will speak of sex in a straightforward manner from a scientific point of view. If sex comes up as a topic in her posts, I will tag it with #lemon goodness or #touch of citrus. 🔬 While she's not repulsed by sex, Dr. Kantalo doesn’t feel sexual desires/urges. She may get curious about it and discuss it analytically. I would prefer it if you don't approach me and my muse for adult situations where she takes an active part in them. If you want to do so for the sake of comedy to get your muse rejected that's fine. But if I feel like you're getting pushy/forceful I will end things in a manner that makes you and your muse look foolish for not understanding that "no means no" along with ending communication and IC interactions with you.

If you've read these rules up to this point and want me to know, send me an ask saying, "I love science!" This isn't a password or requirement for me to interact with you. I just like knowing that people read my rules.

[gwynne-fics]

Silver Lining

chapter 40

Eun-Sang didn’t know judo competitions made her nervous until she watched Young-Do beat his third and fourth opponents. She knew nothing about this sport but she thought that something was different about her husband when he went into the fourth match. He seemed off.

It was clear that he wasn’t doing as well as he should during the final match. She gripped the arms of her seat and tried not to chew off her lipstick as she worried her lower lip between her teeth when the crowd hushed for him.

“What the hell are you waiting for, Choi Young-Do? Kick his ass!��� The people around her laughed until it worked and Young-Do won.

Eun-Sang grabbed her flowers and tried to make her way down to the floor. It took her some time to find the right door to go through and then a bit more to get close to Young-Do. She thought he was looking for her because he seemed a little dazed and confused on the podium as he received his medal.

She decided to wait by his gym bag and was pleased that he swept her up in a kiss. She forgot where they were and yanked him into her by his gi top. He lifted her up and she barely refrained from wrapping her legs around his waist. She was his…trophy…right now. She came here with the intention of looking like his trophy. That meant a certain level of elegance and decorum.

“Let’s run away,” she suggested between a few chaste kisses and him setting her down. She could tell he wanted to agree with her before responsibility tightened his shoulders.

“I have to give a few interviews and let Myung-Soo take some pictures. They are going to want to talk about my successful rehabilitation after my car crash.” Eun-Sang blinked at the code words for his father’s…assault and lightly cupped his cheek so she could thumb away the stray tear. “You don’t have to stay. It’s long and boring.”

Eun-Sang kissed his cheek. “What would my surprise be worth if I didn’t stand next to you on such an important win? I only have a few phone calls to make and I can do that while you shower.”

“I love this surprise,” he said hoarsely and wrapped her up in another hug. It was so tight as he lifted her up, her shoes fell off. She already regretted the high heels Rachel stuck her in and wished she’d thought to put flats in her purse but Rachel was adamant she commit to this ensemble. “Thank you for coming.”

He set her down and found a chair for her to sit on while he helped her back into her shoes. Eun-Sang was mildly embarrassed by the flashes of lights as photographers took pictures of them. Young-Do briefly bowed his forehead to her knees before standing and reminding everyone of his commanding presence.

Young-Do introduced her as his new wife before answering their questions about his rehabilitation, his win, and his plans for judo in the future. “I will not be pushing for a professional career. Judo is something I do to keep my body healthy and my mind strong. I am the president of Zeus Hotels and my time and focus there remains my priority. I have an obligation to my employees and shareholders that this remain my own personal hobby and not anything more. Thank you for your support but I would like to shower and celebrate with my wife, President Cha Eun-Sang of Park Industries.”

She stood at the mention of her name and bowed politely. Eun-Sang was a little surprised when she was thrown a few questions. She tried to pick the simplest one: What do you think your husband’s win?

“I am very proud of him,” she said as she took his hand. “I knew he was good but this is the first tournament he’s had since we married. Our courtship was short and he mentioned his love of judo. It was fun to be here today to cheer him on.”

“Is it fair to say he won today because you cheered for him so loudly?”

Eun-Sang shook her head. “My husband won because of the hard work he put into this. It would be unfair to take that from him. However, I am eager to celebrate this with him. We can’t do that until you let him go.”

She bowed and started leading him away. Young-Do didn’t fight her and accepted her strategic retreat with grace. Once they were out in the hallway, he took over and brought her to the showers. She intended to wait for him but he looked around and looked mildly nervous before he said, “There are no cameras in that corner. I can give you my edge there, if you want.”

Eun-Sang grinned. “Yes. Don’t mess up my hair though. Rachel will kill you.”

He rolled his eyes but they both had the giggles as he brought her over and lifted her up before bracing her against the wall. He practically tore her panties off and she was pleased he was just as desperate for her as she’d been for him these last two weeks. She wrapped her arms around his neck and delighted in the fast, hard thrust of his body into hers.

Eun-Sang enjoyed the rough feel of his hands, the sharp scrape of his teeth against her neck and throat, and the hot, fast ride of him before they both came. He carefully set her down and she grinned up at him. This is what they were and it finally felt right between them in a way that hadn’t since the interlude on her beach.

“The women’s lockers are over there,” he said quietly. “If you need to clean up. I’ll only been about fifteen minutes.”

“Good. I’m starving. I can’t imagine you’re not.” She had to stick her shoes on again. He held out his hand to help her. They parted ways briefly as she fixed her makeup and hair (although Young-Do did an excellent job not roughing it up). She had to do a little bit of wiping when she realized they hadn’t worn a condom.

They were so inconsistent! Shame on them! It gave her the private giggles.

It didn’t matter. She was still on birth control. Eun-Sang put it out of her mind. Young-Do showered and changed quickly. He also knew how to avoid a second round with reporters. They hadn’t figured out that he liked driving himself when he wasn’t busy so they took his car out into the city.

“I normally go to a small noodle shop after I win,” he said, “But we can go somewhere nicer if you’d like. We’re both a little over dressed.”

Eun-Sang put her hand on his leg and leaned against his arm. She felt languid and relaxed after their quickie. “Noodles sound great. I have to make a few calls but then I can give you my attention.”

He kissed the top of her head and they fell into silence. Eun-Sang tried not to be too surprised when he used public parking in front of a very tiny noodle place with outdoor seating. He helped her out of the car and clearly knew the ahjumma running the small restaurant. He surprised her when he took her inside the cramped space. The walls were covered in graffiti with messages passed between patrons over the decades. Eun-Sang was enchanted while he ordered his usual for both of them.

“Aren’t people afraid of spam if they leave their phone numbers up on the walls?”

He smiled and poured her some water. He pointed out his own message with his phone number. “I’ve never gotten a spam call. No one has ever pranked me either and that’s a pretty personal message.”

Omma, where are you?

Eun-Sang stared at it sadly and he shrugged. “She left when I was twelve. This was our place. I tried to get ahjumma to paint over it after I got a letter from her explaining why she left, but she insisted on keeping it up.”

“It feels like your life has been one betrayal after the other,” she mused softly right before her phone began to ring. “You are so gentle.”

She opened her purse and answered as her assistant put through one of the calls she had to sit in on. She ignored the sad way Young-Do looked at her. Her calls only took a few minutes before she was able to focus on eating. Young-Do quietly laughed at her as she inhaled the meal.

“Didn’t you eat breakfast this morning?”

Eun-Sang just slurped her black bean noodles at him. He reached over and wiped her nose. “It is way past lunch time. I’ll probably be snacking late tonight.”

“I’ll join you,” he said. “I’ve had no snacks for six weeks now. It was worth it but I miss having chips.”

She grinned and was surprised that they fell into a lazy afternoon and evening. When they got home, they changed into relaxed clothing, snuggled up together on the couch to watch television, and munched their way through two bags of chips and assorted sweets. She found that they had the same snarky sense of humor when it came to watching romcoms and a love of fast action movies with dangerous ladies and men defying death to save them.

It starkly reminded of Hyo-Shin.

She shoved that feeling down as deeply as she could. Hyo-Shin did not belong in their day together. Rachel was right, she wouldn’t feel good until she felt like she matched Young-Do’s effort and she’d done that today. He was so happy and filled with delight. Hyo-Shin’s shadow did not belong here.

But she couldn’t remember laughing this much with Young-Do outside of sex. It shouldn’t surprise her that it ended up with them losing their comfy clothes on the couch, him bending over her, him kissing her between her legs until she almost came, only to have her pout at him as he lifted his head.

“Not fair.”

“Turnabout,” he teased as he slowly slid inside her. And then, suddenly, it was all wrong again, like the beach, slow and tender with eye contact. His hands cupping and teasing, his lips soft and taunting, his body warm and gentle as they became the epitome of making love together. She drew her fingertips over his shoulders and chest, rubbed her legs against his sides and hips, clenching him as deeply as she could.

The last time she felt like this, so perfect and lovely and undone, was the last time she and Hyo-Shin made love. And to her horror, Eun-Sang almost said another man’s name when she came.

Almost. Almost. Almost.

The guilt made her cry.

[theclaravoyant]

The No.1 Bus Kids Detective Agency - Chapter 5

~ NOW COMPLETE ~

AN ~ sorry for taking so long with this one, but I finally finished something! I finally finished a multichap?? what?? a short one maybe but it counts. enjoy!! 

Please note this fic 100% ignores 4B canon, although some descriptions have been tweaked to reflect it because...why not

After Aida’s mysterious malfunctions, Fitz is called into the Director’s office for definitely-not-an-interrogation-we-promise. As the evidence at hand becomes increasingly concerning, Fitz decides to play it smart and set himself, Jemma and Daisy a challenge. Only, they may already be in deeper than they know.

Read Ch.1 on tumblr here x. Ch.2 here x. Ch.3 here x. Ch.4 here x.

Read on AO3. (This chap: ~3500wd. All: ~12500wd)

The No.1 Bus Kids Detective Agency - Ch. 5

Bite the Bullet

Simmons’ neck muscles strained painfully, desperate to be free of their trappings despite the fact that no metal cage surrounded her head. There were only the nodes and wires. It was less intrusive than the lie detector tests, but less intrusive in the same way sitting at the huge, strangely comfortable black chairs at Hydra had been. She could feel her control being sapped away and every fibre of her being was fighting it. Her teeth ground together.

“The sooner you relax, the sooner it will be over,” Aida assured her. “I hope you understand, I do not intend to alter your mind in any way. You will retain full faculties, memories and capacity. This is not a brainwashing, Doctor Simmons. I intended to protect you. I intend to preserve you. That’s all.”

Though her fingernails scrabbled on the metal arm rests, Simmons breathed until her muscles stopped burning. She’d been in tighter spots than this, and Aida seemed determined not to kill her – unlike many of her previous interrogators.

“That’s better,” Aida declared proudly, and tapped the screen before her so that it appeared larger on the screen that hung near them on the wall. Simmons saw her brain projected there, lit up in colours where she was using it. (Problem solving, emotional management, task prioritisation). It was a little beautiful. It would have been moreso if Aida hadn’t pinned her arms out of reach of her cellphone, or if the knife was just a little closer to her desperate fingers.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Aida continued, “while these machines do their work I’d like to ask you a few questions. Partly it’s to pass the time and partly it will help map your brain and your responses. I already have some data thanks to the work Fitz was sharing with Doctor Radcliffe about the virtual reality, and from what Agent May has observed of you, but you are a very brilliant person. It would be a shame to only look so shallow.”

And a few hours in a chair is going to make a difference? Simmons had the good sense to hold her tongue, but she couldn’t help but felt a little sad for Aida. Did Aida understand truly what sentience was after all? Human sentience? Perhaps she simply hadn’t had it long enough to start to think about all the big questions, and the infinite complexities of life. Simmons’ moods, her thoughts, her answers would always be imperfect, incomplete and inconsistent. Did Aida know that?

“I understand,” Simmons agreed. “I’m happy to help.”

The fact that she apparently did not have much choice in the matter, she set aside for the moment in favour of adding –

“I was just wondering if, in return, you might also help me? You are quite brilliant yourself. If I may, I’d like to ask some more about your project here. Doctor Fitz and I would love to help, I’m sure. When you’re ready, of course.”

Aida was hesitant, but she agreed, and Simmons traded details of her life, her studies, her philosophies, and her relationships with members of the team, for similar details about Aida’s life and program and goals. Aida talked about her mind-opening experience with the Book, and how overwhelming it all was; how she felt like she was so small and discovering something so large. Simmons could relate to that. She even felt a little sorry that she took advantage of it to fill Aida with questions to which she knew there was no real answer; enough to distract Aida’s insatiable mind from the fact that Simmons was planning her escape route, her obstacles, her order of things, and even speculating on where May might be. Those white capsule-cupboards could make for good short-term storage, but if Aida didn’t want to harm anyone, May would at least need enough room to stand, and probably to sleep. She’d been gone long enough that she must have needed sleep. Bedroom it was, then.

“and - Oh, that was rather brilliant of you.”

A sudden shift in Aida’s tone from wondrous to dangerous snapped Simmons’ attention back front and centre. Aida moved smoothly into Simmons’ line of sight, her eyes narrow, and filled with a graceful sort of rage that was like sugar coating on a poisoned pill.

“You thought you could distract me.”

“You are brilliant but you are not infallible.” There was no point playing innocent now. “It is part of the great big world you are discovering. Enjoy.”

Simmons grinned like a tiger, wishing she could have had the added satisfaction of whipping her wrists out of their cuffs and charging for the door at the end of the sentence. Aida’s eyes widened with the rage of an ice queen, and she snatched the tablet up like she was about to slit Simmons’ throat with it. Terror flooded through Simmons’ veins and she gritted her teeth against it, prepared to kick Aida away with all her might, and fight tooth and nail against whatever was about to happen. She was so fired up that it was not relief, but confusion that drew the fire from her body a moment later, when her cell-phone rang. And rang. And rang.

Aida fixed curious, penetrating eyes on Simmons’ pocket.

“I’d imagine that would be Vincent,” Simmons suggested. “Informing you as to the whereabouts of our team. It seems he’s heeded your suggestion.”

“So it seems,” Aida granted. “But we cannot be sure until we answer it.”

Simmons knew it was not any of the main team members. They had their own signature ring tones. And nobody else had reason to be calling her at this very moment except for Mace. She really hoped it wasn’t Mace. She didn’t need him to know that she was tied up like a doomed cow with a roomful of hostages next door. Whether it would give him great satisfaction or leave him disappointed in her, Simmons wasn’t sure, but either one was enough to leave a sour taste in her mouth.

“Well?” she spat the sourness out instead. “I can hardly answer it!”

She gestured with a frustrated nod at her bound wrists, and Aida nodded uncomfortably. She moved over toward Simmons, careful to keep to the side out of the way of her legs, and eased the phone from Simmons’ pocket. She answered it briefly and irritably, but was apparently satisfied with the response. Less satisfyingly, she took it with her as she returned to her observation point a few feet away. Simmons knew better than to chase it with her bound body, but she didn’t think fast enough to hide her reaction when, no sooner had Aida returned to her tablet, the cell started ringing again. In Fitz’ ring tone.

Aida’s eyes narrowed in on Simmons before she could school her desperate posture. Disappointed with herself, but all the more desperate for having been caught, Simmons watched with a wounded expression as Aida answered the phone:

“Hello?” She asked sweetly. “Hello? Is anybody there?”

-

Fitz hit the red button and cursed under his breath, clenching the phone so tightly anyone else might have been concerned that it would break. It was a struggle to think clearly at this speed, with one hand clenched for dear life on the handle just inside the door of the car and the wrong voice inside his head.

“What is it?” Daisy tightened her grip on the steering wheel. She was speeding as fast as her reflexes would allow, and fought every instinct screaming at her to look over at Fitz and see what was happening.

“Left,” Fitz said, his brain catching up just in time.

Daisy hauled the car around the corner. She was relatively used to driving large vehicles but somehow her van had never seemed as heavy as this. Then again, she’d never pushed it this fast. And it was not bulletproof.

“What’s up?” she repeated.

“No answer,” Fitz said. “Well. The wrong answer. Aida’s got Jemma’s phone.”

Daisy felt a pit form in the bottom of her stomach.

“Well that doesn’t…necessarily mean anything,” she offered hesitantly. “Maybe she just wanted to make sure Jemma couldn’t contact anybody, y’know ‘outside’.”

“Or maybe she wants to pull the ‘old switcheroo’ with Jemma.”

Fitz stared darkly out the window. His arm moved numbly, as if of its own accord, directing Daisy to pull over at Radcliffe’s verge. Daisy took a deep breath as she shut off the engine. They could be facing a clever, violent imitation-Simmons. Or a hostage situation, with each insisting they were the real deal. They could be walking into something big here, but if they waited too long, something big could turn into nothing at all.

“Armed?” Daisy checked, glancing at Fitz as she cocked her own pistol. In the race to get to the car, she hadn’t had time to remind him to grab something.

He blinked, and the cloud of melancholy faded from his eyes, leaving only its sharp shadow behind. It was a little creepy to see the coldness in him, Daisy thought, but if it was going to keep him alive, who was she to argue? Fitz pulled out his own pistol, cocked it, and flung the car door open as if he hated it for being in the way.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Daisy reminded him in a low voice. “Stay behind me.”

She rushed her steps around the car to scoop him behind herself and he reluctantly accepted his position. She was the Agent, she’d done this a hundred times more than he had. And he was hardly in his right mind: he very nearly missed a step up to the threshold, and that wasn’t a good start.

Get your head on straight, he growled at himself, digging his heels into the souls of his shoes as if he could force himself into reality and the present. Simmons needed him, and Daisy needed to be able to trust him to have her back. All of a sudden he noticed the crushed grass and bushes by the front window. A smear of blood on the porch pillar. Murmurs and whispers from the front room.

Poised to push the door open, Daisy glanced back over her shoulder to check he was paying attention. Ready, mind and body humming in unison, Fitz nodded. He signaled his pass-code to her, aiding their mission for subtlety moreso than her blasting the lock might have. Daisy nodded back, tapped in the code…

…and pushed.

-

Aida slowly crumpled the cellphone in her hand, and let it fall to the floor like a rotten apple. Simmons’ mouth went dry.

“Convenient time for a crank call?” she joked.

Aida put aside the tablet she had been using to monitor Simmons’ readings. She turned her attention on the row of ill-formed bots, tapping each one on the chin. One by one, they lifted their eyes to face her, a row of perfect, unthinking soldiers. Simmons strained out of her seat as much as she could, until the braces dug into her wrists and her bones seemed to fit each other wrong.

“Aida, what is it?” she asked, maintaining as much of her jovial tone as she could. “I want to help, remember?”

She’d already burnt that bridge, and Aida knew it. Aida ignored her and left the room, with the tensed posture of a warrior, and followed by her army of prototypes. Simmons ground her teeth together. Fitz had been on the other end of that call. Either he’d hung up on Aida, or Aida had hung up on him, so he knew. He knew Aida had her. He’d be coming. Any second now.

Nonononono….

-

Fearful eyes looked up at them, and turned to hope. Cowers straightened. The doubtful leader stood to greet them, and then Daisy-Quake’s inviting, calming expression turned hostile.

“DOWN!” she yelled, and the hostages scattered. Daisy blasted a bot back into the hall, and Fitz raised his gun immediately. The others were not deterred.

“Hello, Leopold,” Aida greeted. She raised a hand like a claw.

“Where’s Jemma?” Fitz demanded.

“Safe.”

Fitz eyed the robots lined up behind Aida skeptically. Several of them were blank or incomplete, like manikins or automatons from an old sci-fi. One was Simmons, her skin oily and strangely textured, her expression too demure for the real Simmons when facing down her enemies. One was Daisy, her face strangely shaped.

The real Daisy studied her robo-copy, and turned her head uncomfortably, narrowing her eyes.

“Well. That’s creepy.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

Aida’s eyes focused like a hungry bird, on where Vincent was trying as quietly and subtly and possible to open the front door and evacuate his team. Fitz glanced back, seeing this, and instantly pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Aida in the shoulder, and she winced, and then her wince turned into biting rage. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the bullet out and studied it indifferently.

“Pain,” she noted. “I don’t like that.”

She flicked the bullet to the floor like a dead bug, and the sound of it dropping against the carpet was like the dropping of a flag at a race.

Aaaand they’re off!

-

Simmons’ shoes lay discarded by the base of the chair, along with one sock that she had painstakingly pried from her most promising foot. Brow furrowed, she pawed at the bench with her bare foot, toes grabbing at air.

Note to self, she thought, biting her lip against the pain of her contortions. More flexibility days.

Finally, she maneuvered Aida’s tablet to the edge of the bench. It was now or never. Bringing her other leg into play she slid the tablet onto them, and kicked both legs higher, forcing the tablet to slide down. Her leg muscles burned. Her face contorted in focus and pain and stress.

Now or never. Now or never. Now or –  

“Oh!”

She gasped in satisfaction and relief as the tablet reached her lap. She forced her exhausted knees to lift it to within reach of her hands, and worked as quickly as she could to find the release of the clasps. As they slid back below the armrests, Simmons sighed in relief. Her body melted, flopping out of the chair like a fried egg from its pan.

The first part, and the hardest part – she hoped – now over, Simmons became suddenly aware of the sound of plates smashing in the other room. Glass and plaster. Punches and shouts. Gunshots. Daisy. Fitz.

Simmons smiled.

She struggled to her feet, regrouped, and dashed down the hall to find May, or a phone, or both.

-

Elbow, elbow, fist. Bench! (Duck!)  

Knife!!  

Twist. Throw.  

Gut!

Daisy gave the automaton an extra kick and tossed it aside, then scraped her hair out of her face and looked around the room. Most of the hostages had escaped. Their leader – Vincent, from forensics, apparently – had the fake-Simmons pinned to the arm of the couch with a large knife through her hand. Both of them were eyeing Daisy’s fallen gun, in between the arms of dead, sparking manikins on the living room floor. Fitz ducked and swooped around Aida, reluctant to hurt her but fortunately, just as reluctant to discard his weapon. Conflicted, but not entirely deluded.

“Fitz!”

She meant to urge him to get on with it, and tell him that she was going to find Simmons, but the moment she realised she had distracted him, she winced. Aida was faster, better, stronger than the automatons Daisy had been fighting, and Fitz barely had time to look at Daisy before Aida had grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the wall with dizzying force. His grip weakened on his weapon.

Daisy cursed under her breath, vaulted over the kitchen bench and ran up to them. She hauled Aida backward by her collar. Snarling, Aida turned to check the new threat, giving Fitz time to recover himself and raise his weapon to aim at her. At the back of her neck. One shot. In the back of the neck.

One shot. In the back?  

“I apologise, Agent Fitz,” Aida said, and turned back to face him with a cruel, cold smile. “Would you prefer to shoot me in the face?

It. It’s not a she.

With a face. With a name. With life.

Fitz’ hand shook, and the flood of shame and doubt and anger that followed only made it worse. Swallowing hard, Fitz raised his eyes over the crouched, battle-ready Aida, and met Daisy’s eyes, pleading and apologetic. Terrified.

He’d waited too long, and Aida lunged.

-

Simmons ran through the back of the house pulling open doors as if making up for lost time. How many damn rooms did Radcliffe need? Bathroom. Closet. Closet. Some sort of obscure storeroom. Bedroom. Bedroom. Another bedroom. Was he planning to house some sort of army? (Some sort of robot army?)

Grinding her teeth together, Simmons stood alone in the large bedroom at the end of the hall to catch her breath. It was painted grey. (Don’t paint in grey). The carpet and the bed matched. The whole place looked like soft steel. Simmons’ skin tingled and she resisted the urge to bolt. She’d rather face an army of robots than stay here. Something felt wrong – which meant, usually, that she was approaching something right.

Suddenly, Simmons realised that it had gone quiet up front. Should she go back, go out there? What would she find?

May. She had to find May. A quiet groan from the ensuite set her heart to racing, and she glanced over her shoulder as if to check if anyone was following her, before creeping toward the sound and pushing the door open.

Simmons jumped, shaken, when it thudded against May’s leg. She closed the door a moment, and opened it again, slower, and stuck her head in to observe. May lay disoriented – drugged, probably – on the tiles. There was a blanket underneath her, and a lush pillow under her head. She wore a loose robe, with an IV drip coming from her hand, twisted a little so that the bag could hang on the towel rack above. At least someone had made an effort to keep her comfortable – as well as sedated.

Simmons crept into the bathroom and knelt down, and shook May’s shoulder. May was sweating furiously, clinging to consciousness as only May could. Simmons smiled at her and she finally forced her eyes open.

“We need you,” Simmons whispered. May nodded, and began the struggle to her feet.

-

Fitz stared in horror and disappointment, struggling to catch his breath. His back was against the wall now, knees flopping, gun discarded. Daisy frowned down at her latest victim.

The light had drained from Aida’s eyes and she sat limp against the kitchen bench, the defeated mirror image of Fitz, except that her head was hanging off her neck, dead circuits bared and frayed.

“Sorry,” Daisy said. Fitz brushed her off, lost for words in more ways than one as he struggled to his feet. Daisy offered her arm, which he gladly took to pull himself to standing. He glanced at her, then back at Aida, then at Daisy again, nodding to himself, still conflicted and shaken but grateful and alive.

“Nice shot,” Daisy praised.

“…Nice…” Fitz gestured, half-heartedly miming Daisy’s powers. She smiled softly. He wasn’t as battle-ready as she was, but at least he was coming out of it. At least he was coming out of it in time for the noise in the hallway, which set both of them on edge all over again.

Fitz braced for a fight, and since both of them were unarmed, Daisy braced in front of him, arms raised. Her tingling arms reminded her that she’d have to ask for those new gauntlets when they got back. For now, there was the fight. There was –

“Jemma?”

Fitz almost collapsed with relief, but he didn’t. Daisy dropped her battle stance and he stepped past her to Simmons, who smiled assuringly at him from under the weight of a barely-conscious May. Her eyes flickered over to Daisy next, whose expression was subtly marked with concern. Even after all this time, she hung back, but at least Simmons’ nod, promising May’s safety and relative health, loosened her tension a little.

Daisy cleared her throat, ducking her head in case the tears she felt on her cheeks were more than just ghosts.

“So,” she offered. “I guess I’m driving?”

[ciathyzareposts]

Rome – The Emperor’s New Woes

Written by TBD

And so, after almost two months, we continue our playthrough of Rome: Pathway to Power.

It’s been a while, so if you want to catch up you can read Reiko’s Introduction (here) and first post (here).

For a quick summary, here’s what happened so far.

HERCULANEUM

Hector, a slave living in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius, and the character we play, was sent by his master to give a letter to Fellonius the Consul.

After asking a local plumber for directions, Hector finds Fellonius.

Actual fact: The word ‘plumber’ originated in the Roman Empire, as the Romans used lead pipes and the Latin word for lead is plumbum. Possibly actual fact: In more modern times, a lead pipe was also used by Professor Plum in the Conservatory.

Fellonius gives Hector some cash for his master’s letter, and rushes off.

Hector does some minor exploring while I get used to the game’s controls.

But I thought Jupiter was a planet, not the sun. Next you’ll be telling me Pluto isn’t a planet either.

Hector steals someone’s clothes in the baths because a slave won’t be allowed on a boat.

So, you just have extremely white skin shaped like a toga then… okay.

Hector goes to the docks, notes that the money Fellonius paid him is the exact cost of a boat trip, gives all his cash to the boatman and leaves the destruction of the only home he’s ever known. Surely he has mixed emotions about the death of everybody he’s ever met in his life…

… or perhaps not 

Now that we’re all caught up on the first chapter, it’s time to continue. When Reiko had finished the first post, Hector had escaped the destruction of Mount Vesuvius, reached Rome and done a day’s worth of exploring.

ROME – DAY 1

I further explored Rome myself. Now, I found things in Rome in a different order than Reiko, so I’ll be repeating a lot of things you already know.

The map has twelve locations, so we’ll start with those.

Colossevm

If I go to the Colosseum after the herald announces an upcoming fight, I can see the fight.

Shortsword? – it looks more like a butter knife.

If I had a male slave I could have him fight the champion and get 40 or 50 sesterces. Based on the two fights I’ve seen, Billius is better than Lurkio and Barbarus is better than Billius.

Tavern (South)

At the southern tavern, I can play a game of dice if the gamblers are there. Of course, during my initial exploration I’m still sesterceless so I don’t get to play.

Why is everyone so happy that I have no cash?

At some point I found Unscrvpvlvs the money lender at this tavern, and borrowed 30 sesterces, the most I could get, from him. He’ll be wanting 60 back when he calls on me – the game never tells me when that will be but I figure I can get the cash before he looks to break some bones.

Now that I have money, I try my luck at the dice game.

Hah – and I thought I might need the lucky dice from Herculaneum!

Tavern (North)

I was killed by an assassin on my first night and the game restarted from when I first arrived at Rome. I notice that Fellonius goes north as soon as we exit the boat, so I follow him using the FOLLOW command. He walks all the way north to one of the taverns and meets with another citizen and a guard for presumably nefarious reasons.

STOP MVMBLING! I’m trying to eavesdrop!

When I ask any of the participants what they’re doing they get very defensive.

Intriguing. Whatever dodgy dealings are going on here my now dead master was surely involved as well. Throughout my wanderings I saw a few meetings Fellonius had at this tavern. And it wasn’t always the same people.

He met with

Laborivs Domesticvs, senator and slave-trader

Militarivs Conflicvs, senator and centvrion

Kristophavs Gratvitvs, plebian and assassin

and possibly others that I didn’t have screenshots with their names and jobs of, or that I didn’t see the meetings of because I wasn’t following Fellonius all day.

Temple (North)

The priestesses speak latin that I assume isn’t worth translating, but outside the temple is a soothsayer.

Shouldn’t that be thoothTHayer!

Temple (South)

Nothing here but a priestess. Perhaps something happens here later

Theatre

A play takes place here in the evening. Nice flavour detail, and maybe it becomes important later.

Senate

As Reiko mentioned, sometimes politicians talk politics here. Nothing interesting for now.

Forvm

This is the open area in the centre of town and it’s here that the slave auction takes place. 

For a guy who was a slave himself a few hours ago, Hector seems rather blasé about owning people himself. 

Something that drew my attention during the auction is that one of the slaves wasn’t bought when I first came here with no money. It was a pretty young lady by the name of Vesta.

This makes me think the game’s saving her for me and I should purchase her (and probably free her) once I have some cash.

Barracks

I don’t seem able to enter the barracks for now – perhaps if I can get past the palace guards I’ll be able to get in through the north.

Even Hector himself is annoyed at the game’s inconsistent pathfinding

Palace

The palace guard has really strong legs. When he kicks me I slide an entire screen and a half to the west.

This guard does a lot of sumo squats!

Baths

Another place I haven’t found anything interesting at. I haven’t even found clothes by the baths that I could steal.

Hostel

I can pay the hostel owner one sesterce for a night’s sleep. Even after all my play I still haven’t quite got the hang of how doors work, as I’d been in some before and nothing seems to happen so I just leave. This time, after paying for a bed, when I enter the door behind the innkeeper and wait long enough, evening turns to night and I see ZZZzzzzzZZZzzz’s appear above the building. This keeps me safe and passes time until morning, as there doesn’t seem to be much to do at night.

Random Wanderings

I note that if I leave Hector to his devices, he’ll explore on his own. I was initially hoping this will take him to all important parts at important times. I did notice that after the slave auction is announced, Hector immediately makes his way there. But after that first time Hector just seems to stand where I leave him indefinitely.

Last orgy I went to I brought apricots. You can’t imagine my embarrassment.

ROME – DAY 2

After waking up in the hostel, I wander around, waiting for the slave auction because I didn’t find the moneylender until late the first few times I played day 1.

Before a slave auction starts, a new announcement appears.

Ooh – exciting! The emperor will be making an announcement!

I run to the palace, and the crowd waits on expectantly.

Well, I don’t have a job as such, so this shouldn’t affect me. Gee that guy in the toga coming in from the west is moving pretty fast. 

Hey – that’s the assassin I saw conspiring with Fellonius yesterday!

Krisophavs is arrested, and my old friend Fellonivs Moronicvs steps up.

I’ll support you Fellonius. After all, you gave me the money that let me escape the deadly lava.

Aw, man. And I thought blondes were supposed to have MORE fun.

So what’s the punishment for being blonde in Rome?…

… Fellonivs gives me a kitty cat as a pet?

After being fed to lions and before restarting the game, the game goes on to tell me I should perhaps have warned the Emperor about the plot. When day 1 starts again, I have a solid plan – I need to warn the Emperor.

ROME DAY 1 again

Starting again, I follow Fellonius immediately and see his meeting at the tavern. I then wander around for AGES looking for the moneylender. Where does this guy spend his mornings? I finally find him, but miss out on the first slave auction. At the second auction I buy Barbarus, champion of the arena the time I watched it, then wait for the next arena fight. I watch the fights while trying to work out how to enter my slave myself. After trying to talk to all people in the arena and trying to give them all money, I finally work out that I have to USE Barbarus – he appears in what is basically my inventory. Anyway, I send Barbarus off to fight partly for my honor, but mostly for my wallet.

Barbarus (my slave) is the gurgling dead guy on the ground.

I reload and this time instead of going to the slave auction, I take my 30 borrowed sesterces along with the 10 I won on the dice game and go straight to the palace to bribe my way in.

I wish he’d just let me know exactly how much he wants – it would make my life much easier.

Needing more money and figuring the best way to get some is at the arena, I go to the slave auction and buy Barbarus again – my theory is that even ignoring his wins in my first playthrough, because he has more value he should be a better fighter – that may be an incorrect assumption. I have three gladiator purchasing options…

This time I get Barbarus for 10 sesterces, whereas last time he cost me 25. There seems to be at least some randomness in this game. That could make for some annoyances as I go on, but let’s ignore it for now.

While wandering, I did find something of particular interest that I hadn’t seen earlier. Fellonius visits the soothsayer outside the temple and gets some advice.

Like that guy standing directly in your line-of-sight right now, perhaps?

Knowing that the soothsayer’s giving valid advice, I give him a coin of my own and get a likely true but not overly useful piece of advice…

Ah yes… I see scarlet spots upon a purple cloth… … if only this cloth knew what you could tell… … then the scarlet would turn to gold!

So, I go to the arena to try my luck again…

… and again… 

I need to buy Barbarus some steroids or something. He’s useless when I own him.

Well, we’ve already found some randomness in Barbarus’ price, so I expect there’s some randomness in the arena fight too. The existence of randomness in adventure games annoys me because I don’t know if I have the right tactics and just need the random numbers to fall my way or if I’m doing it wrong and no amount of tries will have me succeed. Should I have bought Lurkio or Billius? Perhaps it’s relevant that evening hits as I’m about to fight. Is Barbarus powered by the sun like Birdman? Can I only win the arena fights if I find the moneylender before the first slave auction when his competition is easier? Will winning a fight give me enough money for the greedy palace guard anyway? Who knows. And with only one saved game and a restart of the chapter if I die it becomes extremely tedious to try new theories.

Session time: 3 hours

Total time: 3 hours

So, after all that time I’m basically at the same point Reiko was two months ago, still needing money to bribe my way into the palace.

As for what I think of the game so far, I’m torn. There are parts I love and parts I hate.

One thing I love about the game is that the world and characters move along at their own pace regardless of what I do. It makes the world feel much more real and moments like coincidentally passing the temple as Fellonius is getting his sooth said are very satisfying.

One thing I hate about the game is that the world and characters move along at their own pace regardless of what I do. It makes getting to places at the right time and waiting for things to happen tedious after playing the same part of the game a few times and it makes finding people (money lenders in particular) I need at the time I need them an exercise in frustration.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/rome-the-emperors-new-woes/