#also rotator and free shipping | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marlynnofmany · 2 months ago

Text

Little Legends

Eggskin leaned out of the medbay with both scaly hands full of disassembled electronics. “Are you free to run a quick errand?” they asked with the air of someone hoping the answer was yes.

“Sure,” I said, stopping in the hall. “Did something break?”

“I thought it was fixable, but no.” Eggskin rotated a couple pieces and fit them back together, revealing what looked like part of a medscanner. “Waste of time. At least this isn’t the good one for diagnosing, just the one for checking boxes. But we do need a replacement if you can get it.”

I mentally ran down the list of stores I’d spotted on this space station. “Yeah, I think I saw an electronics place that should have those. And we’re not going to leave for a while yet.”

“Excellent, thank you.” Eggskin looked relieved. “I’d go myself, but I have several other items in need of a tune-up.”

“No problem. I’ll let the captain know, then be right on it.” With a wave from me and further thanks from Eggskin, I headed off to find the captain.

Warm light spilled from the crew lounge as I passed. I mentally patted myself on the back for moving my sun lamp in there for everybody to enjoy. Humans may need their vitamin D, but Heatseekers craved warmth, and didn’t always want to ask for it. Paint was currently curled up on the biggest couch, along with Telly: a pile of mottled orange scales and mismatched fur. The cat had also started in just my quarters but moved on to spend time in the rest of the ship.

They looked awfully happy there in the light of the tiny, hovering, artificial sun. Maybe I’d bring a book in and take a seat on the other couch later. Right now, I had a bio-scanner to find. And while it would have been perfectly ironic for Captain Sunlight to be basking in the lounge as well, she was elsewhere.

I found her in the cargo bay, double-checking a new stack of boxes with Zhee. She held a clipboard in her scaly yellow hands while he moved things with his shiny purple pincher arms. They were a study in contrasts. When I told her where I was going, she was glad to hear it.

“Eggskin said there was something wrong with that scanner,” she agreed with a nod. “I wondered why they were using the good one earlier. Go ahead; I’ll make a note of the payment.”

“Righto.” I left the pair of them to rearrange the boxes, trusting that the captain would remember to note the payment later. Her memory was good, and she’d been in charge of the finances even before getting promoted. (The previous captain had only been good at delegating. When he got politely booted off the ship for incompetence, everyone agreed that Sunlight should take over. She hadn’t felt like giving someone else more work to do when she was already familiar with the ship’s record-keeping, so she just did both.) (She was good at both. It worked out well.)

I was good at other things, and one of them was recognizing when human-run stores were likely to have quality products. Luckily there was one such store in the nearest commerce sector.

I left the ship and strolled along a moving sidewalk at a delightfully fast pace, passing station-goers of a range of species, many of which were content with regular walking speed. One Mesmer rushed past in a blur of coppery bug legs, exoskeleton liberally decorated with metal inlays and their attitude suggesting they were late for a flight. The various Heatseekers, Frillians, and others gave them a wide berth.

The hum of a high-end jetpack made me duck, worrying I’d get accidentally kicked in the head. But no, it was higher than I’d thought. And the human using it only had one leg, which probably helped my odds anyway.

I wonder if that came from the same place I’m going, I thought. It seemed likely, since my destination was just coming into view past the big media store. Under the space station’s vaulted ceiling and silver-and-blue color scheme, the “Earthly Electronics Emporium” was an eyecatching collection of green circuitry. The big front windows had a whole section on jetpacks and hover-belts. I wondered if they were made by the same manufacturer as the ones Captain Sunlight had been looking into for a client.

Possibly. But we didn’t want to wipe out all the stock in this place, not when the client was content to wait while we gathered the rest of their order from the planet we were scheduled to visit next.

All in good time. Right now, bio-scanners.

I stepped off the moving sidewalk with a careful eye for momentum, and I didn’t stumble. Upholding human reputation, go me. With my head high, I entered the Earthly Electronics Emporium.

It was very green inside too. Not quite as bright as the outside, but somebody had really decided to lean in on the color scheme. I strolled between green shelves designed to look like circuit boards, on green tiles that glittered with LEDs, under ceiling lights that were mostly white, just with enough green paint around them that they could have been green too. At least the labels were easy to read.

There were a few other people in the store: mostly a group of humans chatting by the counter. It sounded like one was teaching the others a space shanty, which just made me smile.

Then I found what I was looking for, and I grinned in triumph. Got it. Let’s see here … “Good for everything from fleas to termites to truly exotic problems.” That sounds promising. I read the label thoroughly, and decided it was exactly what our courier ship needed for checking the crates we brought onboard. We hadn’t had to deal with an accidental infestation yet — well, not one that a cat or two couldn’t solve — and we didn’t want to.

I took it up to the counter.

When I got there, I was surprised to recognize the guy singing the shanty. When he caught sight of me, he broke off with a smile. “Hey, good to see you! Thanks so much for the advice; the animal calls and the caffeine went perfectly.”

“Awesome! Good to see you too!” I set down the scanner so I could return the handclasp-and-hug while he introduced me to his friends, including the guy behind the counter.

He told them, “This is the one I told you about, the human who’s done everything!”

“Well,” I said humbly, getting immediately talked over as Oscar told the others about how his large and intimidating alien crewmates had been disappointed that he didn’t live up to all the stories they’d heard about human antics, which had all, somewhat embarrassingly, been about me.

“But then she told me that imitating animal calls was impressive — and it was; I called in things for them to hunt, and they were amazed — and she’s the one who told me that the Mighty were lightweights on caffeine.” He grinned while they all chuckled. “You already know how that went!”

I was privately glad to see him so animated and social, since the only other time we’d met, he’d been pretty dejected about his lot in life. I asked for details on his adventures and he was happy to tell them, with the other humans chipping in to add that they touched base regularly now, since Oscar’s ship was making regular stops at this station, and most of them lived here.

“Are you staying long?” Oscar asked me. “You should really meet Aster. He’s been writing songs about human stuff, and he’s probably got some of your legends in there. He just started one about caffeine, thanks to me!” He beamed in pride.

“That’s great! I’d love to, but we’re leaving in a little bit,” I said. “Maybe next time we stop by.”

“I hope so! His songs are really good. I was just telling these guys about the new one. Have you heard it yet?” He launched into a melody. “Thiiiiis pirate ship was the scourge of the spaceways, stealing goods with their threats and their gunplay. The scariest ship that you ever did see … Until they met the skunk.”

I snorted and covered my mouth, eyes wide. I didn’t want to say it, but somehow he guessed.

“Don’t tell me,” Oscar declared, stopping the song. “Somehow that was you too.”

“Not directly,” I protested. “And maybe there are other skunks out there! Keep going.”

He sang the rest of the song, which told the story of some foolhardy pirates who didn’t believe the rumors of a merchant vessel with a hazardous Earth creature onboard. They wound up having to abandon their ship and let it fall into the nearest sun, ending their days as “the smelliest ne-er-do-wells that planet had ever seen.”

I applauded along with everyone else. “That is a great song! And I don’t know if that’s the skunk I knew or not. I did give one to a human on a merchant ship. But it had its stink gland removed, so maybe it’s a different one.”

An older woman laughed. “Or maybe Aster took some storytelling liberties with the song. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Oscar shook his head, still grinning. “Maybe!”

Then it turned into a storytelling session about skunk anecdotes, and while I could have happily enjoyed that conversation for quite a while, I did have a ship to get back to.

The guy behind the counter rang up the sale for me, charging it to the ship’s account successfully. “What a great name,” he said, reading off his screen. “Gotta love a ship called Slap the Stars.”

I told him, “It was named after the human tradition of high fives!” That derailed the conversation even further, and it was with real regret that I had to leave.

A couple of the others said they had places to go as well. Casual hugs for everyone, and suddenly it was like being back home for the holidays. After several tight embraces, I realized I’d been missing that and not realized.

I said goodbye to my fellow humans and promised to check in next time I was in town, then took the bio-scanner back to the ship. The moving sidewalk was just as quick in this direction.

Paint and Telly were still in the lounge when I passed. I gave Eggskin the scanner, checked in with the captain at the cockpit, then grabbed a book from my room.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked Paint.

“Sure; there’s plenty space!” She uncurled enough to wave at the broad expanse of couch.

Telly made a feline “Mrrp,” then put her head back down.

I found the sun lamp’s controls on the table, next to the box of accessories, and turned it up just a smidge. Then I lay down between Paint and the back of the couch, with my book above her head.

She made happy noises about the extra warmth, and Telly mrrp’d again.

From the door to the hall, something hissed, then Zhee’s voice complained, “Why is it so bright in here?”

Paint didn’t look up as she declared, “Basking is a time-honored form of enrichment.”

“I fail to see the appeal.”

“Hang on,” I said, sitting up long enough to grab an effects adapter from the box on the table. I’d checked before; these would stay in place even with just half of the cover. I clipped on the most colorful and glitterific galaxy adapter to the far side of the sun lamp, turning half of the lounge into a space disco that any self-respecting Mesmer would love.

Zhee was no exception. “Now that is lovely,” he said, clicking his way into the room. “Why didn’t you do that to start with?”

He made himself comfortable with a media screen while I settled back into place with my book and cuddle puddle.

Mur’s voice said from the hallway, “Why is it so bright in here?”

Zhee said, “Enrichment.”

Paint said, “You can join us if you like.”

I smiled. “I have a great new space shanty that I think you’ll enjoy.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#my writing #The Token Human #this one's less of a standalone than usual #with a couple references to previous stories #but hopefully still enjoyable for those who haven't read them #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are weird #humans are space orcs

109 notes · View notes

youthofpandas · 10 months ago

Text

Call Her Ishmael (or: a trans reading of one of my favorite Limbus characters)

Hi, I have been thinking about writing something like this since Canto V first released and today I finally felt inspired to actually make this... A compilation of the parts of Ishmael's story that lead me to reading her as trans <3 and why I think that understanding her character though that lens works so well

We begin with a woman stuck in the mundane. No plans for the future, no dreams of a life beyond the one she is currently living in, and that life is one she has long grown tired of. And she decides she would rather quit living that life, even if it would kill her. Everyone told her not to do this, but she wanted (needed) to do something new with her life.

She finds Ahab here, when she is at this low where she is unsure of where to go from here now that she has cast her old life away. She looks at Ahab and sees a woman with goals, determination, serious plans for the future she is willing to commit to. And she wants to be just like that woman. She wants to be a woman who will choose what her destiny is, choose what life she has.

"I hoped to be like her one day. To be someone who will face the destiny of her own choosing. To have something I could give it my all with conviction and without a moment of hesitation."

And when she gets on that boat and starts this new chapter in her life, well. There she meets Queequeg, and is asked for her name...

Queequeg asking her name, something that surprises Ishmael, and complimenting her hair is a defining moment in Ishmael's life and in their relationship. And not only is it the first conversation they have, it is the also last thing Queequeg asks of her. To hear Ishmael's name one more time is something that will bring not only herself comfort, but she knows will stabilize Ishmael as well in this moment. That it will bring her back to when they had first met, to the fond memories of a good friend who had asked for her name. Ishmael's name, her identity, the one she forged on that boat even through great difficulty is what shaped her into being herself... That is how their relationship begins and ends...

There is also a recurring theme of being reborn, of happiness being found in another life that is kinder to them both. Ishmael dreams of a life where they can break out of their cocoons. She wants to bury her past and had no dreams of the future before joining the Pequod, before meeting Queequeg and finding someone she wants a future with. Through Queequeg, through the woman who thinks her hair is the brilliant color of sunset and asked for her name, Ishmael is capable of imagining a destiny of her own choosing just like she had wanted when she met Ahab. (She isn't able to chase after it, not yet, because of Ahab's influence over the Pequod, but she for the first time can at least dream of a future where she is happy)

When tragedy strikes, she is left as, in her mind, the sole survivor of the crew, she has lost Queequeg, lost Ahab, lost her chance at finding happiness and purpose. It's then that she takes Queequeg's rope (the thing that kept her alive! Queequeg throughout their time knowing each other is always there to save her and help her keep on living) and makes it into a headband, attaches cute bows to it, a bit of femininity that is intrinsically attached to the woman who helped save her. She grows out her hair, her beautiful sunset colored hair, and it is so heart warming. For a long time I assumed that her not cutting her hair was done out of mourning, out of an unwillingness to move on from the life she had on that ship, but instead it was because Queequeg had loved her and she had loved her friend in kind.

In conclusion I love Ishmael very much and I like to rotate her around. Everything from her metaphors of being stuck in a cocoon and wanting to break free, her envy of Ahab's ability to find purpose so easily, her relationship with Queequeg that helped inspire her to dream for more to dream of a future where she is happy,, it is all very good and to me reading her as trans strengthens the themes of her story. I've watched the final part of the Canto V dungeon several times over when my friends arrive at that part of the story, and the Call Me Ishmael line always makes me start tearing up.

Ishmael starts as an unhappy office worker with no future and it is a life she cannot continue living, she meets an older woman who has the drive and passion to chase after her goals and wants to be like her when she is older, she has a life defining moment where another woman asks for her name and wants to be good friends with her, that woman will save her in so many ways and she will love that woman so deeply for how she helped influence her life, she sees herself trapped in a cocoon and wants to break free, she dreams of her and that woman will persevere, how they will live out the rest of their days, countless mirror worlds of happiness spent at each other's side. She starts the game proper with her hair grown long, ribbons attached to a rope that helped save her that represents the woman who had saved her before. She ends her chapter finding a new adventure to go on, one will she get to explore the world she lives in, she has found a compass in Dante who will help her chart her path forward.

Also I know we all make jokes about how inconsistent the art is when it comes to her chest but like... Come on look at the difference here.... I'm correct about this. But I mostly wanted to make this post to point out that her narrative arc is also trans and it goes so much deeper than just art inconsistencies.

Okay that's all I can think of now, thank you for reading, I hope you all also love her <3

#limbus company #ishmael lcb #not quite sure what to tag this as but I hope you all enjoy...?#i just sort of wrote whatever came to mind so i hope this is like... understandable

285 notes · View notes

whack-patty · 2 years ago

Text

HEY THIS IS CANON AS FAR AS IM CONCERNED

Bonus

Heh. Funny dream...!

The first four seconds were kinda serious before it started going downhill lmfao. God, it went downhill so fast with basically zero prompting-

...

So uh, I got a lovely little idea from this post made by the creature known as @whack-patty- and I've seen other people in this small community drawing some Sneep Snorp, so I thought- why not give it a go? What could possibly go wrong??

A lot, apparently.

I don't use an actual drawing program, I use Kleki. And when it closes or crashes, if you didn't decide to save your progress on your measly one file of browser storage- it's pretty much gone. The site decided to shut down on me- twice- destroying my progress on a couple of frames. It was like the universe itself wanted me to not make this. So uh... you're welcome for powering through?

[also rq, this is a crackship, definitely, I think. I think maybe definitely. Get back to me on that one later- like a lot later- but get back to me]

#HELP IVE BEEN WATCHING THIS OVER AND OVER AND OVER FOR SO LONG #AND IM NOT GONNA STOP HERE #tHIS IS THE NEXT FEW HOURS ENTERTAINMENT OH MY G OOOPOSHHSHFBSKDH #okay okay okay #WHAHAHAGDH OKAY #andwering some questions in the tags here we go #man i love being @'d in stuff dont even worry about jt #it makes my day oh my golly #this js so funny how long did it take you #oh my gosh thank you for powering through all the technology crashes and everything youre a SAINT FOR THIS #GOSH DANGNNDNDJSJBDND #BIG FAT HUG BTW THANK YOU #okokok so i dont have an official ship name for them #bc the ship is highkey a crack ship #but oh my g o s h is it a funny one so i should probably make one at this point huh #im open to suggestions #also yea sneep snorp is uh #hes a little uh #hes a little f #a little freak thats fo sho #a little funny in the head #a little. well #hes a little guy with a lot of thoughts #gosh dang im gonna rotate this video in my head rent free microwave safe forever THANK YOU AGAIN #OK ACTUAL TAG TIME #sing 2 #buster moon #sneep snorp #sneep snorp fanart #sing buster

105 notes · View notes

burningcheese-merchant · 2 months ago

Text

I WILL NOW BE PRESENTING MY BURNINGCHEESE EVIDENCE TO THE COURT

It is Sunday. I have free time. There are people out there who still do not ship BurningCheese/GoldenSpice. This offends me. You all must now endure Maximum Annoyance in retaliation.

Exhibit A: The description of Burning Spice's throne decor ends with this line: "Now, after tasting the sweet joy of destruction and chaos, Burning Spice Cookie sits and meditates... waiting for the perfect moment to hunt down his prey."

This is most likely referring to Golden Cheese herself. She is constantly, directly called "prey" (and also "bird") by the Wild Spices throughout the story. Burning Spice himself calls his seeking of her "the bird hunt".

Smoked Cheese also remarks at one point that Burning Spice could probably go after them whenever he wishes; he's just toying with them, watching them go. Playing cat-and-mouse.

Two things can be drawn from all of this:

Burning Spice talks about Golden Cheese so often, and calls her "bird" and "prey" so often, that his forces have adopted these nicknames he's given her and now think of her as them themselves

Burning Spice has been sitting on his throne and watching/keeping track of her for literal hours, if not even longer than that. And he does that instead of just getting up and going after her immediately because he likes watching and chasing her. (ADDITIONAL NOTE: He yells "ALL THE WAITING I'VE ENDURED... FOR THIS?!" at her later on, further proving that he's spent for-fucking-ever just thinking about her and their meeting/fight. I will address this line again later.)

Exhibit B: As soon as Golden Cheese appears within his line of sight, he stops caring about anything else. Nutmeg Tiger speaks directly to him and he completely ignores her. He does not acknowledge Smoked Cheese in any way. He does not acknowledge the Spice Swarm in any way. The entire episode, the Wild Spices are combing every inch of their territory in search of her, claiming over and over again that if they bring her to Burning Spice, he will shower them with praise and glory. But when this finally happens, when they succeed in holding her in place and stalling for time for Burning Spice to arrive, no such thing happens. Burning Spice acknowledges nothing and no one except for her. It's as if time has stopped. Like the earth has ceased to rotate on its axis. All that exists in the universe is himself and Golden Cheese.

Exhibit C: First thing he says to her is "Finally... we meet." An expression of joy and relief that he finally gets to be face-to-face with her. Second thing is calling her the thief who stole the other half of his Soul Jam. THIRD THING IS A GODDAMN COMPLIMENT.

Of all the words of tongue and pen he could have chosen to give her. The cruel insults. The petty jabs. The cocky assertion of his impending victory over her. Even a single nod and commendation of his soldiers' hard work, even in passing. Nope. No, sir. All that time he spent waiting to meet her, all the time he had to think of something to say to her, and he chooses to say "hey, you did a sweet job of beating the shit out of my general, I fucking loved it" (and he honestly said it super weird. Go back and listen to the line. Listen closely to his tone. He sounds borderline flirtatious/seductive, I swear to God)

Exhibit D: Mr. Creepshot over here starts his gacha animation doing the yin-yang pose with Golden Cheese, and the way he opens his eyes and looks at her almost makes it look like he's either trying to peek up her collar at her chest, or trying to peek up her skirt:

Look at that twinkle in his eye. The predatory grin on his face. He is ZEROED IN on her. He looks like he wants to eat her for every meal of the day (and I don't just mean literally). Jail. Immediately.

Exhibit E: He does not stop smiling ONCE during their entire interaction, from the second he shows up to the end of their fight (and then he goes back to smiling like a maniac at her soon after anyway). He is grinning at her like he's the Joker and she's his Batman (and we all know how... attached to Batman Joker is lol). He looks like this - like she - is the only fun he's had in a long, long time. He is HAPPY to see her, even in this evil, deranged way.

Exhibit F: He looks at her like this:

No man that looks at a woman like this has holy intentions, I'm telling you. Wrath's not the only sin on his mind right now. Line directly below may or may not be related :)

Exhibit G: Some of his overworld dialogue seems to allude to Golden Cheese specifically.

"I do enjoy my prey to have a little fight in them!" - he says this exact line directly to her face in the story

"Why, I, too, once had things I held dear." - He's talking to you, the player. This is something he says when you tap on him in his little lobby. But it can be argued that he's talking to Golden Cheese, as well. He might be thinking of her, referencing her specifically when he says this, because... that's her. SHE had things she held dear. Things she loved, things she lost. Things she grieves still. He knows this. He reminds her of it. He might almost be trying to acknowledge a connection with/to her, beyond them sharing the Light of Change. He was like her once. He had people he loved and lost. (Watch his interaction w/ Nutmeg Tiger in your kingdom, it'll all but tell you this.) They have a lot more in common than just a power source. Maybe he knows this. Maybe he's trying to express that, to you and to her.

"Abundance? Hah! More stuff to break..." - 555-COME-ON-NOW

"Sorry to break it to you... but nothing is eternal!" - Again, he's talking to you/us, but he could just as easily be talking to/thinking of her when he says this. Golden Cheese always championed her kingdom and her wealth as eternal. She essentially doubles down on this notion through her keeping them all alive inside a digital fantasy world. Episode 18 is literally titled "Goddess of Eternal Gold". He could be making a jab at her here.

"Cookies clinging to their little possessions... Pathetic!" and "In the end, everything becomes dust." - Double whammy. Him talking/thinking about her here can be further supported by what he says to her before he rips her wings off: "Ruler of a fallen kingdom. The Tide of Change will swallow you whole. You will crumble and become dust, like all those trinkets you treasured so." Again, he already knows her whole life story. He knows what happened to her. To her people. To everything and everyone she ever loved. He knows she loves trinkets. He knows she revels in opulence. He already knows her well enough to know what to say to her and how, to drive the knife in deepest. He calls her dust. He reminds her of all of her precious trinkets that she loved so damn much. She clings to her little possessions. She will become dust. Like her kingdom already did. Like everything one day will.

Exhibit H: When he wins their fight and he's holding her over the cliff, he yells "ALL THE WAITING I'VE ENDURED... FOR THIS?!" (we're back to this line, just like I said!) Before you bring up him wanting the Soul Jam back (which he does, I do not deny this), consider this: he makes no move whatsoever to take it back, even when he's got her in his grasp and the Soul Jam is inches from his face. He's got her beat, pinned, but he leaves it at that. He doesn't even mention the Soul Jam at all, not even once. All he does is yell and throw a huge tantrum about how their battle didn't go the way he wanted it to. He just go on and on about how it can't end like this. His bird hunt can't end like this. Where's the thrill? He honestly seems to care less about the Soul Jam and more about her. It's not the "the Soul Jam hunt", it's "the BIRD hunt". He wants his power back, of course. But that's not all he wants. He wants her. He's after her.

Additional point, that may or may not be enough to count as Exhibit I: In the beginning, Saffron Buffalo tells Golden Cheese that Burning Spice chose her. After she and Smoked Cheese kick his ass, he says now he understands WHY Burning Spice chose her, and he was wrong to doubt her and her strength.

It can be inferred from this, from Burning Spice's reaction to her, from his reaction to their fight, from his reaction to her swift loss, that Burning Spice thinks highly of her and her capabilities, at least in his own evil, violent way. Enough for it to be noticeable even to his subordinates. Enough that he would not bend the knee if and when questioned. Enough that he's beyond disappointed when their fight ends the way it does. He wanted more from her. He expected more from her. He had high hopes for her, right from the jump. And she let him down. Broke his dark heart.

Burning Spice has had Golden Cheese on his mind for God and the Witches know how long. He thought well enough of her to choose her. To proudly state that she meets his standards. He waited for her, again for who really knows how long. He sat and meditated on her, on his hunt for her, on their fated meeting and battle. He was beyond pleased when she once again proved her might to him by taking out his general (even better, he might have gotten to see it happen as he was approaching the scene). He all but purrs his words of contentment at her prowess at her (go back and listen to him when he says that line. Pay close attention to the tone and cadence of his voice. He sounds... a certain way when he's talking to her. He really does, I mean it). He's entirely too pleased to see her. He comes to life when they battle. He looks like this is the best day of his whole damn life so far. He's angry and bitter when she throws it all away to save an insignificant child. He's angry and bitter she's taken everything he's done, all the time and effort he's spent, for granted. He's bitter enough to take pot shots at her. To sprinkle some salt in her wounds, where he knows it'll hurt most. He KNOWS her. He WAITED for her. He expected so much of her. Of course he wants the Soul Jam back. But he's shown that he wants Golden Cheese herself just as much.

In conclusion:

#please note that this was all said in good fun #you obviously don't have to take anything i say seriously lol #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #burning spice cookie #golden cheese cookie #burningcheese #goldenspice

112 notes · View notes

nevadancitizen · 5 months ago

Text

-> CH. 13: THE JOYS OF SOVIET TECHNOLOGIES

synopsis: you celebrate the release of kollektiv 2.0, and meet a kind stranger and an american danseur that both seem really familiar.

word count: 1.9k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: the long wait is over!!!! the research essay has been slain and i have time to write again :)

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

The bright sun above fills you with a pleasant warmth, but the plentiful trees that line the canal provide a wealth of shade. Automated paddle boats cut through the water at a languid pace, giving the couples inside plenty of time to talk and a semblance of privacy.

People are friendlier now than at any other time of the year – you’re all attending a festival, so it makes sense. They smile and shake your hand and greet you with a happy “Is it not an amazing day, comrade?”

The booths you walk past are showing off the new weapons they’ve developed and their upgrades (you’ve never seen a Kalashnikov in person before!), THOUGHT devices and their benefits, and a myriad of other advanced technologies only now being revealed to the public. But the bells and whistles are to be expected – today is a celebration of Facility 3826, after all.

The date is June 12th, 1955. And it’s a wonderful day to be a citizen of the glorious Soviet Union.

As you walk by, machines continue their routines. VOV-A6 Techs work on foot to deliver crates (you’d almost mistake them for humans if not for the mark on the middle of their backs and the unfeeling, unmoving mask they have for a face). MTU-7 Bumblebees move cargo crates through the sky, the sound of their blades beating against the wind sending a soft hum through the air. TER-A1 Tereshkovas guide tourists through the city, their feet barely scraping the concrete as they move.

“Good day, comrade!” Someone’s voice cuts you from your thoughts. It’s a facility representative – a man dressed in a white labcoat, a crisp black tie, and a THOUGHT device (a module placed on the temple with wires that float off the browbone to reach over to the opposite temple). “Come closer! I’m here to help.”

“Hello, comrade,” you say. You look over at the booth he’s standing by. It’s a short silver pole, no taller than him, with a circular tray floating around it, rotating slowly. It has little different colored modules on it, each floating above their designated coupling.

“Would you like a THOUGHT device?” He asks. “It’s high time you got one!”

“No, thank you.” You hold up a hand. “I’m just browsing for now.”

“Why restrict yourself to browsing when you can get your own personalized device this very instant?” The man asks. “I can help you pick out the right unit. It can even match your eye color!”

He picks up one and holds it close to your face, as if gauging it. “Ah, yes! A violet gooseberry model would suit you well.” He takes the module away and looks you over. “You… are polymerized, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you say. “But… I thought those devices weren’t going to come online until next Monday.”

“That’s right, comrade. But some people like to get it early, like a pre-order.” He tosses the module on the tray, and it magnetizes back to its coupling. “At the moment, the device functions as a personal telephone set and headlight, but it also allows the user to get used to wearing it on their head.”

“Well…” You look over the modules on the rotating tray. “It’s free, right?”

“Absolutely!” The man says, a smile on his worn face. “Allow me to connect you.”

He gestures to the booth, telling you to take your pick. You look over your options before picking out one that’s a crisp cerulean blue – you don’t know why, but the color seems nice to you. Like it reminds you of something, or someone. You pick it up even as the device tries to stay magnetized to its coupling. You turn it over in your hand before pressing it to your temple. It sticks, and wires come out to reach over to your other temple, like a half-crown or half-halo.

The man presses a finger to his THOUGHT device. After a few moments, a confused look crosses his face.

“Khm, that’s odd…” he says. “It seems I can’t access your biometric data. Maybe there’s some sort of malfunction…? I’m so sorry.”

You take off the module and return it to its place on the tray. “Ah, don’t sweat it. I don’t wear a lot of jewelry, anyway. Thanks for telling me about it, though.”

“Of course, comrade,” the man says. “Again, I do apologize. Have a good day!”

“You too.” You turn to walk, but stop yourself. “Actually, sir – I have a question, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes?” He says.

“It’s about…” You gesture vaguely around. “The people. They’re all speaking English. I don’t mind, since I can speak it. But I would expect at least some Russian.”

“Oh, yes!” The man laughs. “Facility 3826 is promoting the learning of English, just in case anyone sees anything of American origin. This is so if anyone sees or hears English, they’d be able to discern whether or not it’s a threat to the goodness of our Union. The festival is a good time to practice for people that are still learning.”

“That makes sense,” you hum. “Thank you.”

You continue walking down the street. It would’ve been nice to have a transportable telephone, but it’s not like you’re in dire need of one. You can figure that out later.

There’s a small crowd gathered around a RAF-9 Engineer juggling various things it’s taken from the crowd: pochette-style purses, children’s toys, cigarette cartons. You stop at the edge of the group and watch as it throws the items up and catches them with pinpoint accuracy.

There’s a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, kid.”

You turn and see a man. He’s late forties, early fifties at most. His hair brushes past his ears in an untamed, grey mop and his beard matches it. His face is worn, but his gap-toothed smile is kind.

“I’m sorry, comrade.” You smile politely. “But I… don’t recognize you. You’re probably mistaking me for someone else.”

“Oh, shit,” he says, removing his hand from your shoulder. “You look like someone I know. My bad.”

“Well, I’m sure your friend is around here somewhere!” You try. “They may be at one of the cheburek or bliny stands. There’s a really good one selling bliny just down that way.”

The stranger checks over his shoulder, where you were pointing, then looks back to you. “I’m not from around here. You mind showing me the way?”

You check your pocket watch and mentally count the time until Dmitry Sechenov’s grand speech. You’re not crunched for time yet, and it would do you good to have something to tide you over until you could eat a real meal.

“Yeah, sure.” You start walking, and the stranger matches your pace.

“The stand has a few fillings,” you say, both to fill dead air and to make the silence less awkward. “Fruit preservatives – cherries, apples, plums, berries – meat, honey, or just plain with butter and salt.”

“What’s your recommendation?” The now-somewhat-familiar stranger asks.

“Well, in the spring, they’d have imported lemon preservatives,” you say. “But it’s summer, so that well’s dried up. I’d just go with the cherries. Sweet or bitter, it doesn’t really matter to me.”

“You’re just makin’ me hungry,” the stranger mumbles with a smile.

You laugh. “That’s the idea, no?”

After another minute of walking, the stand comes into view. Two men are operating the stand, and the soft scent of batter on the griddle beckons you closer. A radio is playing.

“Look at the menu,” you tell the familiar-stranger. “Take your pick. It’s cheap, so I’ll pay.”

You look around while he looks at the menu. There’s other people, obviously, and some on the canal are pointing at a man in an automated paddleboat. You barely hear whispers of “It’s comrade Major Nechayev!”

You turn your eyes away. Nechayev doesn’t really interest you. From what you’ve heard, he’s just some military dog leftover from the Red Army. What does interest you is the crowd across the canal.

They’re gathered around some sort of stage that must’ve been assembled temporarily for the festival, like an American carnival. You watch for a few moments, but can’t glimpse what’s happening on stage.

The stranger pulls you out of your thoughts. “Hey, what’re they talkin’ about on the radio?”

You turn back to him. “Huh?”

He points at the radio that’s playing on the bliny stand. It’s playing a jingle: “For the greatest advancements in cosmetic enhancements, there’s only one man you should be trusting your glam with!”

You listen a little longer and catch a name – Doctor Steinman – and roll your eyes. “It’s that underwater city off the coast of Iceland. The one that uses the same technologies as the ones invented to create the Neptune complex here.”

The stranger nudges you. “Why’re you rollin’ your eyes?”

“The city won’t last,” you say. “They say that it’s a city where the great won’t be brought down by the small. And all those immigrants go to Rapture thinking they’ll survive the fire of American-based industry. But they forget that, even in utopia, someone has to scrub the toilets.”

“Yeah, that’s a factor most forget,” the stranger says.

“Eh, what else do you expect from capitalists?” You shrug. “Let’s just order. What do you want?”

The stranger looks back at the menu. “Uh… a bliny with… apple preserves.”

You quickly order your bliny and his and fork over the rubles, then look across the canal. The performance is still going.

“Listen, khm,” you say to the stranger without looking away from the stage. “Can you watch our order? I want to see what’s happening across the canal.”

“Uh… yeah, sure,” the stranger says.

You thank him quickly and hurry over the bridge to get to the other side of the waterway. You slowly make your way through the crowd – not to the front, but just enough so you can see…

A danseur? (Or a ‘ballerino’ in other countries, you suppose.) He’s wearing a form-fitting black shirt and a matching pair of tights. His pointe shoes are a soft pink, just a few shades off his skin tone. A THOUGHT device crowns his head – the same cerulean blue model you were looking at earlier.

As he moves, he matches the music perfectly. It’s like he was born to extract the flow and rhythm from music and express it in dance. His feet don’t break their arch and don’t falter, even for a split second.

Then, he turns. On his front, over his left breast, is a small American flag.

Your eyebrows crease. You lean over and quietly ask a nearby woman, “He’s from America?”

“It was made in America,” she whispers back. “It’s an android, comrade.”

The danseur turns his head as his arm swoops up to point his fingertips to the sky. His soft, brown eyes lock with yours with you and you feel… you don’t know what you feel. It’s something physical, on your back. Maybe someone bumped into you? But the crowd isn’t moving.

You take a step backwards as he continues staring at you, stock-still. You take another, then look behind you. The crowd is gone.

“Какого хуя?” You mumble.

You look back up at the danseur. He’s moved a little closer, his feet just barely stepping off the stage. He comes closer, his movements still fluid and graceful, like he’s still dancing.

“Officer?” He asks softly.

“What?” You say.

His hand comes to your face, his fingertips just barely brushing across your jawline. His lips start to form a word, but –

-> CH 13: GOOD, HONEST SNAKE OIL – IF THERE IS SUCH A THING!

synopsis: after you and arthur swing by the sheriff's office, you go on a run to hunt a bounty and meet a man who seems really familiar.

word count: 1.3k

ships: CH: “mister kamski? the officer is stable, and is responding well to the reintegration system.”

notes: EK: “make sure they go through each as quickly as possible, chloe. i need to see if they can get back on their feet.”

HoTS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HOUSE OF TRUE SECURITY MASTERLIST

“I got it.” A voice pulls you to look over at the entrance to the Valentine’s Sheriff’s Office. It’s Arthur Morgan, holding up a folded-up wanted poster.

You lean down from your horse (a beautiful Dutch Warmblood named Bronya) and reach out to Arthur as he approaches. “Give this to me.”

Arthur hands over the poster, and you unfold it. It’s for one mister Benedict Allbright – needed alive, for a reward of fifty dollars.

“He needs to be living?” You say. “This is unlike you.”

Arthur mounts his horse, a Tenessee Walker named Marie. He clicks his tongue and presses his legs together against Marie’s flank once, and she starts trotting. You and Bronya follow.

“Was the only one there,” Arthur says as you pull up beside him. “They says he’s been poisonin’ folks with some ‘miracle cure’ from here to Annesburg. Says he killed more ‘n Landon Ricketts without even pullin’ a trigger.”

“Troubling,” you say. “He is dangerous?”

Arthur looks over at you. “Would I bring you along if he was?”

“He cannot be more trouble than Angel Island,” you say.

And everything comes rushing back. The Wild West is being tamed. A robbery in Blackwater went wrong, and you and the rest of the Van der Linde gang were forced to flee east – the exact opposite of where you wanted to go. And you’re only in this mess because of the officials operating Angel Island. They somehow messed up your papers, and you couldn’t get the work you were promised. You were forced to steal, lie and sometimes even kill to get your way.

The date is June 12th, 1899. And it’s a normal day as a somewhat-citizen of the United States of America.

“Where is this… Allbright?” You ask.

“Fellers down at the Sheriff’s said he was holed up in some gorge north a’ here,” Arthur says.

“Ah! I know what you speak of,” you say, squeezing Bronya’s sides with your claves. She breaks into a canter. “Follow!”

“Now, you can’t just –!” Arthur makes an exasperated sound, then matches your speed. “At least give me a warnin’!”

You laugh, the sound full of warmth. The ground beneath the horses’ hooves turns from the mud of Valentine into the drier dirt of the outer town limits.

A few minutes later, you pull off the well-trodden trail and into the knee-high grasses. You lead Arthur through the sparse trees that make up the edges of Cumberland Forest.

“How come you know these parts so well?” Arthur asks, breaking the somewhat-silence.

“I have a good head,” you say. “After riding through this place once, I know it, um… I know it like…” You grumble, frustrated. You know what you’re trying to say, but just… can’t articulate it right. You’re tempted to just say it in Russian, but Arthur wouldn’t understand, and you would risk any passerby potentially becoming hostile. (Shouldn’t you speak better English than this? You remember speaking better English than this…)

“What’re you tryna say?” Arthur asks. He’s used to this.

You take one of your hands away from the reins and hold it up. “Something to do with hands. I know it like… like my hands know it?”

“Like the back of my hand,” Arthur corrects.

“That!” You chime, re-taking the reins in hand. “I know it like the back of my hand.”

You hear the sound of water running along a riverbed and perk up. “We are close.”

Marie follows Bronya as you guide her up a slope into a small alcove carved into a mountain. It’s a thin slope – on one side is the mountain, and on the other is a twenty-meter drop into a river. The alcove is housing a man – supposedly Benedict Allbright – and his horse.

You turn back to Arthur and jerk your head towards Allbright. He’s always been the more intimidating of you two, so you’re letting him lead this one.

Arthur grunts and dismounts his horse before walking by Bronya, towards Allbright. “Oh, what we got here?”

He continues walking forward until he comes to a stop just before Allbright’s bedroll and campfire. “Are you Benedict Allbright?”

Allbright stands, backing away from Arthur a bit. “N-no, sir.”

“You kinda look like him,” Arthur says. “And we was told he’d be up here.”

“No, uh,” Allbright says. “Not me, sir.”

“It’s because…” Arthur sighs, and looks out of the alcove, down at the river. “I wanna buy some medicine. And, I heard… I heard good things.”

The corner of your mouth twitches up. Arthur could rival Hosea with his tact for semantics, even if he adamantly denies it.

“I’ll pay – in gold – i-if you can help me find him. It’s just…” Arthur glances over at you, then the ground, like it pains him to look at you. “My brother’s child over there is real sick. Russiatitus, they was callin’ it. Rare disease. We tried all them medicines they said to try, but… nothin’s workin’.”

“Oh!” Allbright looks over at you through his spectacles and smiles. “Well… if it’s for the ill, I’d be more than happy to help!”

He turns and walks over to his bags, picking out a small bottle filled with a viscous, dark yellow liquid. “I’m a healer, y’know? A medical man.”

Allbright turns back and hands it to Arthur. “Finest medicine in the state.”

Arthur pretends to be wowed, then tosses the bottle off the edge of the alcove and into the river. Before Allbright has time to react, he’s drawn his revolver. So have you. You spur Bronya to walk forward, past Allbright’s horse and partially into his camp.

“Game’s over, mister.” Arthur angles himself so that he’s blocking the only other exit. “Put your hands up – we’re takin’ you in.”

“Takin’ me in?” Allbright repeats, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. He puts his hands up. “What for?”

“Apparently that stuff you’re pushin’ is killin’ folk, n’ there’s a price on your head,” Arthur says. “I don’t know, it ain’t my business.”

“C’mon, partner, that’s crap. I’m a healer! I-I’ve got an aura… I speak to spirits! I’m a scientist!” Allbright insists. “Folks get real angry for no good reason, and this… this is a mistake.” He looks over at you. “S-surely you can talk some sense into him?”

“Hm…” You twitch your nose and shrug, not lowering your gun. “No.”

“Keep your hands up, buddy.” Arthur reaches forward carefully, taking Allbright’s gun from its holster and tossing it into the river. “They only want you for questionin’.”

“I – I have to insist that this is a mistake,” Allbright says.

“Don’t be a fool,” Arthur says, corralling him towards the edge of the alcove.

You look down at the river, then notice… a man. He’s looking up at you from where he stands in the riverbed, his pants soaked up to the knee. And – shit, from where he’s standing, he can clearly see you and Arthur pointing your guns at Allbright.

“Arthur,” you say without looking away from the man. “A man is watching. Maybe he is thinking we are robbing.”

“Go get ‘im,” Arthur says. “I got this handled.”

You click your tongue and tug on Bronya’s reins. She turns and starts walking down the slope to the river.

The man doesn’t run as you approach him, despite your saddlebag holsters both holding rifles. Instead, he’s just… staring, with soft, brown eyes.

He seems… familiar. Really familiar. Then again, Angel Island is on the west coast, and you’re pretty far from there, so you’ve seen a lot of people while in America. But… the bright blue stain on his temple seems so familiar. God, you swear you know him. Where is he from?

“You are watching me and my friend?” You ask, jerking your head towards the alcove. “The man is a bounty. He has been killing people from here and eastward, poisoning them with a… tonic. We do not rob for joy. We hunt bounties.”

The man walks forward, almost stumbling on the stones of the riverbed. “Officer?”

You rack your brain for that word, but come up with nothing. “I – I do not know the meaning of this English word… officer.”

He swallows thickly, then takes a breath. His lips start to form a word, but –

-> CH. 13: LET’S TALK HOMECOMING (THE MILITARY OPERATION, NOT PROM)

synopsis: you wake up on a helicopter, fresh from being saved, and meet a pilot that seems really familiar.

word count: ~900

ships: CH: “they were relatively unresponsive to that one. shall i introduce one that is less familiar?”

notes: EK: “yes. it should still be american, but... mixed with soviet suffering.”

ToFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

THREAT OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

“Wake up,” a voice mumbles. A hand grasps your shoulder and shakes you. “C’mon, commie…”

You open your eyes and see a man that’s familiar, but not. Like you’ve known him your whole life but only really registered his existence just now. He’s wearing a half-balaclava with a skull pattern and a beanie, and the skin around his ice-blue eyes is smeared with black greasepaint.

“What the hell is happening?” You manage through gritted teeth. You shift and try to sit up from the bench of the helicopter you’re in, but he pushes you back down.

“You got the bright idea to follow the twin brats to find Elias,” he says. “Into a goddamn burning house, no less. Jackass.”

You groan and close your eyes, bringing a fist to your forehead. “Keegan, don’t. Not right now.” His name slips from your lips before you even realize it. (So you do know this man, and probably the rest of the people on this helicopter… odd.)

In a fashion that seems familiar, it all comes back to you in a tidal wave of information. The energy deserts of Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and the rest of the major oil producers dried up a decade ago, sending the world into a panic. The entirety of South America united under the banner of the Federation of the Americas and the guide of General Diego Almagro, both willingly and unwillingly. General Almagro was assassinated in 2015, but his presence was still felt as the Federation took over Panama, then Costa Rica, then Nicaragua, working their way up to Mexico and, the other night, Dallas, Texas.

You are a part of the Ghosts: a spec ops team set on beating back the Federation, even if it is a losing battle.

The date is June 12th, 2027. And it’s a godawful day to be a citizen of the burning remains of the United States of America.

Hesh (one of the ‘twin brats,’ even though Logan is two years younger) pulls Keegan away and shoves him up against the wall of the helicopter. “You need to get this bird back on the ground. We’re not going anywhere!”

Keegan pushes him back easily, then adds, “Calm down, kid.”

“Hey!” Merrick body-slams Hesh into the wall. (He’s never been known for his gentleness.) “We just saved your asses!”

“We didn’t need your help!” Hesh snaps.

Merrick takes hold of the collar of Hesh’s tac vest. Keegan taps your legs, and you sit up, pulling your legs up to your chest. Good thing you did – Merrick shoves Hesh down on the bench a moment later.

“The hell you didn’t,” Merrick spits, towering over Hesh.

Elias shoves Merrick away with a, “Stow it! All of you.” (His voice is slightly muffled through his full-face balaclava, but it carries authority all the same.)

There’s a lot of light violence happening in the cabin of this helicopter, but you suppose that’s to be expected when the military comes around.

Hesh stands, facing Elias. “We have to go back! Our dad’s down there, and we’re not leaving without him!”

Logan stands too, signing at Elias. His words are angry, and his face is drawn into something like a snarl. He’s signing fast, but you manage to pick up something about him kicking everyone’s ass and tacking on a “TRUE BIZ” at the end, meaning that he’s not joking.

“That’s real admirable of you, Hesh, and I’m sure you can, Logan,” Elias says, sitting them both back down. “But your father’s not there anymore.”

He takes off his mask, revealing himself.

“Dad?” Hesh says. “This whole time you were one of them? You’re a Ghost?!”

You look up and exchange glances with Keegan. Neither of you were really ones for surprise plot-twists or epic reveals. From what you can see, his expression looks bored and his eyebrows are drawn together a little, like a silent, ‘Can you believe this shit?’

You get up and Keegan automatically holds onto your shoulder, just in case you were to fall. You walk closer to the open cockpit, keeping a hand on the wall for the same reason.

“What even happened?” You ask once you and Keegan were an acceptable distance away from the commotion.

Keegan lets go of your shoulder and leans against the back of the pilot’s seat, crossing his arms. “Burning houses tend to collapse, dumbass. You got a roof tile right to the face.”

You rub your cheek and lean back against the wall adjacent to the cockpit. “Somehow that doesn’t shock me.”

The helicopter jolts a little bit and your head snaps over to the cockpit. From where you’re standing, you can see the co-pilot. He’s facing forward, but you can see the sparse freckles that dot his face and the tuft of brown hair that escapes the gel that slicks back the rest of his hair. The headset he’s wearing has a bright blue circle painted on the earcup – it must be a sign of his squad, or whatever pilots are a part of.

Your eyebrows furrow. He seems familiar, somehow. But not like how Keegan was familiar, and not like Merrick, Hesh, Logan, or Elias. He’s… you don’t know how to describe it.

The helicopter jolts again, and a hanging carabiner knocks the back of your head. Keegan huffs out a laugh when you whimper a small “ow.”

The co-pilot looks over his shoulder and back at you. You meet his soft, brown eyes.

“Officer?” He says softly, his hands still on the yoke of the helicopter.

“Try Sergeant,” Keegan corrects.

He glances at Keegan, then back to you, his eyebrows furrowing. His lips start to form a word, but –

-> CH. 13: THE SMALLEST CHURCH IN SAINT-SAËNS

synopsis: come to the church.

word count: 1.2k

ships: don’t listen to them.

notes: you’re with us now. we’ll take care of you.

ToFS taglist: just come to the church. please.

TALES OF FALSE SERENITY MASTERLIST

You hear waves crash on the coast before you’re even fully aware that you’re on a beach. A church stands before you, sea-worn and rotted. A banner, yellowed with age, hangs above the entrance, reading: Holy Church of the Amnesiac (formerly the Dolorian Church of Humanity).

You walk up the stairs to the entrance, the rotted wood barely holding your weight. When you reach the door, you raise your fist and knock.

A few moments later, someone answers the door. The person who answers is covered head-to-toe in police riot armor with a duster jacket on top. Their headgear resembles a reinforced gasmask with dark green lenses, and the words FORGIVE ME MAMA are messily carved into their helmet.

They look you over, then take your hand.

You don’t know why, but you follow them inside. The inside is somewhat dilapidated, but still nice. The pews have been pushed aside to create a common space and the floor is littered with rugs and blankets and a few sparse pillows. People are scattered about, laying on the pews or sitting on the floor.

A few of them perk up at the sight of you, but the person corrals you to the front of the church, where a figure is sitting. Their silhouette is stark against the light shining through the stained glass window behind them, which depicts a woman holding up two fingers with her right hand and cupping a breast with the other. The windows that would have been her lungs are punched out, leaving sunlight shining through.

“Come, friend.” They wave you over. “Sit with me.”

You look at the person who escorted you to the front of the church, and they nod, then turn away and leave you.

You ease down and sit with the person, tucking a leg under you. You look over at them – they’re dressed in all black, a cloth mask covering the bottom half of their face and their clothes covering the rest of their body. Their knee-length jacket flutters in the slight wind of the smashed-through windows.

“What is…” You gesture around. “This? This church.”

“This is the Church of the Amnesiac,” they say. “And I am the Hunter of Vilebloods. You need not tell me your name – I have been awaiting your arrival, as has the rest of the church.”

“Who are you?” You ask. “I mean, I know your name, but… what is the purpose of this church? Because from what I can tell, it’s not worship.”

The Hunter takes a breath and sighs. “We do not know. We are simply wanderers that have found our way here. This is not our home. We are all… bereft of memory. Something has cursed us, and I know that you have happened upon this curse, too.”

“What do you mean?” You ask. “I – I have memories.”

“Think back.” The Hunter looks into your eyes. “Think back to when you were but a child. Can you?”

“Of course I can,” you say.

“Then tell me,” the Hunter says. “Recount your first memory.”

You look away and think back. “I… visited the Exhibit of National Economy Achievements when I was a child. I must have been… five, or six. There were machines there, both modern and vintage. It was a beautiful place that showcased the highest of Soviet achievements.”

The Hunter hums in response. “Your next memory?”

“When my father gave me a Makarov pistol,” you say. “He gifted it to me when I was ten years old. He never let me fire it, but it was still important to me. I had a hell of a time getting it over to the States when I immigrated.”

The Hunter tilts their head. “I… do not quite know what a Makarov pistol is, or where the States are, but please. Continue.”

“And then, my next memory is… when I was sixteen.” Your eyebrows furrow as you remember. “There was an accident, and I lost both of my legs. Luckily, I was able to be quickly fitted with prosthetics that mixed existing technology with neuropolymer. I was able to move my legs, but unable to really… feel them.” You sigh. “Now I have different ones, as I wasn’t done growing at sixteen. That, and the technology has improved.”

The Hunter shifts how they’re sitting so that they’re closer. “That is your next memory? There is… nothing in between?”

“N… no?” You say, unsure. “Is there supposed to be?”

“Typically, yes,” the Hunter says. “There is a menagerie of memories for one to look back on. Family, friends, parties and religion… but are you admitting that there is nothing?”

“Well, it…” You think for a moment, then admit in a small voice, “Yeah. I don’t remember anything until I emigrated from Chelomey.”

You feel something push against your leg – something solid and furry. You look over and see an orange cat with a little backpack rubbing against your leg, then sniffing at your shoes. He looks up at you and meows softly, as if noticing your sudden spike in stress.

“Hello,” you say softly. You reach out a hand and rub your fingers together, making a soft sound. The cat sniffs at your fingers before pushing his face against your hand, purrs starting to rumble in his tiny kitty chest.

“Who is this?” You ask, starting to gently scratch at the cat.

“That is Stray,” the Hunter says. “He does not have memories, just like the rest of us.”

“But I do have memories,” you insist.

“I apologize. I misspoke. He has… gaps in memory, just like the rest of us.” The Hunter looks over your shoulder and around the church. “Just like the Courier, the Tarnished, and everyone else here.”

You sigh, looking at the Hunter. “So what happens now? I died, so… is this all the afterlife has to offer? The Holy Church of the Amnesiac and a cat?”

The Hunter returns their eyes to you. “Oh, you did not die. You simply just… left your body behind.”

“What?” You snap, and Stray bolts. “What do you mean?”

“Did you really think that this is all dying has to offer?” The Hunter asks. “A church and a cat and a few sad wanderers?”

“I…” You trail off. “Maybe! The philosophy I read about isn’t about death and what comes after. It’s the philosophy of man and his nature.”

“Man and his nature,” the Hunter echoes. “What a fickle thing one’s nature is. And I can see your very nature being unraveled before me in this very moment.”

“I don’t…” You groan and bring a hand to your forehead. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach. “I don’t know what to make of this. This is all just – it’s too much.”

“You will emerge victorious. And if not, you will return to the church, and we will send you on your way again,” the Hunter says.

They reach out and draw you closer, holding you against their side with an arm around your shoulder. They lean down and whisper in your ear, “It has been an honor, but we really must say good-bye. Now go, cleanse the tarnished streets of your homeworld. And may the good blood guide your way.”

-> CH. 13: WAKE UP & SMELL THE ASHES

synopsis: you wake up and kamski explains everything.

word count: 1.7k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: the long wait is over!!!! the research essay has been slain and i have time to write again :)

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

“Officer?” A soft, melodic voice calls. “Officer, can you hear me?”

You groan and turn on your side, away from the light that’s burning into your eyelids. “Huh…?”

“Officer, you need to wake up,” the voice continues.

You open your eyes slowly and look up, only to lock eyes with… Chloe. What is Chloe doing here?

“You’re awake.” Chloe smiles and cups your jaw. “I will alert Mister Kamski right away.”

She looks away as her LED flickers, as do her eyes. After a moment, she looks back down at you and takes her hand away. You lay on your back, close your eyes, and wait.

A few minutes later, Kamski enters the room. You sit up, then immediately regret it when a stabbing pain shoots through your head.

You screw your eyes shut and cover your eyes with a hand. You grind out, “Kamski, what the fuck am I doing here?”

“Lay back down,” Kamski says. You feel Chloe put a hand on your shoulder, and she guides you back down. The pain subsides enough for you to open your eyes again.

Kamski takes a seat by your bedside and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. You look over.

“Again, what the fuck am I doing here?” You say. “I… I died. I remember dying.”

“You did,” Kamski says, as if it was a completely normal thing to say.

“Then how the hell am I alive?” You hiss.

Kamski leans back in the chair and crosses his leg over his knee. “Do you remember your childhood?”

“Snippets,” you snap. “I just had this conversation. Now tell me how I’m alive after being shot in the goddamn head!”

“It’s simple,” Kamski says. (It’s not.) “You were never alive to begin with.”

You shoot up from the bed. “Чего?!” Again, Chloe pushes you back down.

“You know philosophy. Do you know Chariton Zakharov?” Kamski says, not pausing to give you a chance to answer. “Of course you do. You’ve read The Life, Death, Neuropolymer-Induced Transformation, and Secondary Death of Chariton Radeonovich Zakharov. In one of his letters, he wrote, ‘The radiance of pure reason, and it alone, can illuminate the path of humanity. Because a human being is not a body. It’s a way of thinking.’ I wanted to prove that.”

“I don’t really care to talk about philosophy right now!” You snap.

Kamski holds up a hand. “Just wait. The sooner you understand this, the sooner you’ll get to see that android. What was its name again? Connor?”

“Connor!” You echo. “He’s here?! Take me to him – now!”

“Listen to me first,” he says. You grit your teeth and do your best to settle as he continues. “I wanted to create something that no one had created before. Obviously, I already did this with androids. But I wanted to go further.”

You nod, telling him to continue. You really want to get this over with.

“So I thought, what about an android that thinks of itself as a human?” Kamski lets out a scoff-laugh. “Ridiculous, right?”

“If it’s ridiculous, I have no doubt that you probably did it,” you say. “Where is this android-human? Show me it so I can go.”

Kamski reaches under the chair and pulls out a mirror, then hands it to you. You take it and look at it. Sure enough, it’s a reflection of yourself, looking just as confused as you feel.

“I don’t… understand,” you say, looking up at Kamski.

He taps the surface of the mirror. “You’re looking at it.”

You look at the mirror again. There’s nothing human-looking behind you – just a reflection of yourself in bed.

Kamski leans closer and whispers, “It’s you, Officer.”

“What an absurd idea.” You look at him. “Surely you’re joking, yes?”

“I’m not.” He leans back in his chair. “You’re the first android that was fully tricked into thinking that it’s human. You’ve been living this delusion for eleven years, ever since you thought you emigrated from Chelomey.”

“Again, this is idiotic!” You snap.

“You only remember core components of your childhood,” Kamski says. “The Exhibit of National Economy Achievements. Your pistol. The accident.”

“I…” You sigh. “Yes, but –”

“Your parents didn’t traumatize you,” he says, tilting his head down and looking at you through his eyelashes. “That was what you were gonna say, right? That people with childhood trauma have gaps in memory and don’t remember a lot of their childhood.”

The words you had prepared die on your tongue. You look away. “Then who am I? Tell me, if you know so much about me.”

“Do you want me to tell you the truth?” He asks. “Or to recount the lie you’re used to living?”

“The truth,” you say before you can change your mind.

“There was a baby born in Chelomey with the same name as yours. Same birthday, same birth year. It was stillborn – didn’t even have a chance to take its first breath,” Kamski says. “That was where I got your birth name and birthday. Tensions between America and the USSR were already tense back then, so it was easy to fake documents. Your birth certificate, your passport, affidavits of income and support, your permanent residency card. You won the Green Card Lottery during a low-emigration year. You thought you got lucky, but you didn’t. I fabricated everything.”

There’s a sinking, swirling feeling in your stomach. You don’t really… know what to feel. You feel numb, somehow? But also like you’re ready to explode – to ask Kamski what the fuck he’s going on about, to tell him that he sounds like a raving lunatic, to tell him that you don’t believe a word he says.

And yet… you do. It… it makes sense, somehow. Why would America let a nondescript Soviet such as yourself in? And into cybersecurity, no less.

“It’s obvious until it isn’t, isn’t it?” Kamski says.

“M… my legs,” you say. “Why did you take my legs?”

“You needed to have some excuse for how you felt,” he says. “You didn’t have aches in them, nor did you experience any real pain. Right?”

“Yes,” you say. “Just phantom pain. But…” You sigh. “How am I able to feel? Not touch, but emotions. I thought correctly-functioning androids weren’t supposed to feel emotions.”

Kamski furrows his eyebrows. “You never did find a ‘patient zero’ for deviancy, did you?”

“No,” you say. “All we know is that it started in Detroit, and spread… across the country…”

A horrible feeling overcomes you. You were patient zero, weren’t you? You were the first to break your programming, to feel emotion and to feel pain – even if it was only imagined. And you probably infected Connor, too, didn’t you? You are the reason for his pain and suffering and all the turmoil he’s going through. You’re the root cause for the pain and suffering and turmoil everyone’s going through.

“You are the free radical. The outlier,” Kamski verbalizes your thoughts. “You were the spark of chaos that was required to start the revolution.”

“I didn’t want to start the revolution,” you say. Your voice is softer and more shaky than you’d like it to be. There’s a burning in the back of your throat. “I just… I just wanted to solve the case that was assigned to me.”

“But you did.” Kamski stands, then starts walking towards the exit, as does Chloe. “You are the deviant android that infected others. The others you infected started a revolution. There are no two ways about it.”

“I want to go home,” you manage.

“Chloe,” he says. “Get Connor.”

There’s a door opening, then rushed footsteps as someone comes to your bedside. You look over. It’s Connor. His LED is stuck on red.

“Officer?” He says. His soft, brown eyes search yours, lingering on the hot tears that swell at your waterline. Your bottom lip trembles.

Connor immediately sweeps you into a hug – one unlike the one you’d shared back at the station. This one is firm, bordering on desperate as he clutches at the back of your shirt. He rests his forehead in the crook of your shoulder and lets out a shuddering exhale.

“Officer,” he says softly. “Officer, I’m so sorry.”

“What?” You say. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I didn’t do a good enough job of protecting you,” he says. “You got shot. I… I failed my mission. And I don’t have anyone to blame but myself.”

You exhale shakily and lean your head against Connor’s. His hair tickles the side of your nose. Tears slip from your eyes, and there’s a lump in your throat that makes it hard to talk. “Don’t be. We were… we were both being stupid.”

“The revolution is still going,” Connor says. “Markus has instructed me to wake up the thousands of androids housed at the CyberLife assembly plant. I want you to come with me.”

“What?” You pull back and meet his eyes. “But that would be a suicide mission.”

“They’ll let us in,” he says, his voice full of conviction. “I’m an RK800, and you’re an android. We can act like we’re there for an emergency meeting.”

“You knew?” You snap. “You knew all along?”

“No!” Connor says, clutching you tighter. “Chloe told me. It explained everything. I couldn’t believe it at first, but… the evidence was too convincing, and it aligned with everything I had already learned about you.”

“Right,” you say. “Right. Obviously. I’m just…” You furrow your eyebrows and screw your eyes shut. “Everything’s a lot right now. And it seems like everything bad that’s happening in the world is happening to me.”

He draws you back into the hug, rubbing up and down your back. You rest your head in the crook of his shoulder, and you’re overwhelmed by a smell you only now recognize as Connor’s – clean, leather, and a hint of something else.

After a few minutes, you sigh and squeeze around his middle. “Okay. I’m ready to go.”

“Are you sure?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” you mumble back. “Let’s go before I realize how stupid this is.”

#riptide writes 🌊#head of false security #dbh connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #connor x reader #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #dbh x reader #detroit become human x reader #dbh connor x you #connor rk800 x you #rk800 x you #connor x you #dbh x you #detroit become human x you #connor rk800

77 notes · View notes

nightabyssart · 10 months ago

Text

Loveit? (Dead Plate Animation)

My best friend said I wasn't allowed to label this as an animatic anymore so this is now an animation. Because I overdid it again.

So now, my rotted brain presents to you - my new favorite toxic ship to rotate around in my head. It's kind of an AU where Rody ate the Grilled Hanger Steak.

Cover/Vocal ￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣ Sena Kiryuin @sena_daze Video: • English Cover - Loveit? | Sena Thanks Sena for allowing me to use your cover for this video!!

Original Song ￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣ Music: biz / biz_nuko Music: ZERA @zera--203 Vocal: LOLUET @LOLUET Original: • Loveit? / biz×ZERA feat LOLUET

Animation & Video ￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣ me! You're here Night Abyss @NightAbyssArt https://linktr.ee/nightabyss

PLAY DEAD PLATE ￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣ Download for free: https://racheldrawsthis.itch.io/dead-... Devs: https://studioinvestigrave.carrd.co

Programs & Equipment used ￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣ Illust & Animation - Clip Studio Paint Ex Compositing and Editing - Davinci Resolve 18 Drawing Tablet - Huion Kamvas Pro 20

If I had a nickel every time I was relentlessly obsessed with a ship with themes of cannibalism as a metaphor for love, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

-----

Also hi again, I'm not dead - I just have a full time job now. Idk how people do things while having a full time job. This took me almost two months because life happens but I'm finally done!

97 notes · View notes

insomnya777 · 8 months ago

Note

Hello! First I want to say I adore your boat boys super power AU so much, it’s currently rotating at light speed in my brain like a broken microwave. I think I’ve read at least six times all the way through with what you have, it’s fantastic!

I was also wondering if you had any other recs or personal favorites for boat boys fics, or just fics in general, I’m always looking for recommendations and wonderful authors usually also have great tastes in other fics as well! Thank you for what you do for the boat boy and smalletho community, you’re keeping us well fed lol

Oh my god I have many many recommendations!!!! I've actually been waiting for someone to ask me this LOL

Completed:

Settled is one of my favourites of all-time. If you read it you'll see the long ass comment I left on it lol. Description: A five plus one type of fic where Etho struggles to voice his feeling about double-life, and Joel is there to make it harder.

BIR Universe is a classic, a staple, even. One of the most iconic series of all time. Description: A very messy college universe with a bunch of hermitcraft/life series members.

Somehow, I always end up back in Marianas Trench is another personal favourite. I reread it way too often. The writing is incredible in this one + has a side of ranchers and impdubs. Description: AU where our three favourite soulbound couples go on a triple date! Except it's not a date, all of them broke up sometime before or during their last year of college and none of them are over each other.

Holy Father, judge my sins is so, so good. Anything by giddyfenix always is, I think I've read, like, all of their works. Description: Joel and Etho as the seven deadly sins. After all, what were they if not corrupted?

I Don't Smoke (Except for When I'm Missing You) made my heart break a million times over. I actually cannot read this fic without breaking down. It is a clockers-centered fic, exploring the Etho-Scar relationship, but I had to include it because it's just one of my favourite fics of all time. Description: A look into Etho's perspective on the life he and Scar share. They're not so different, you know? They both like to run away.

Works In Progress:

to all the ships at sea is another personal favourite, because the writing is just so, so good. There are currently six chapters out! Description: Etho has a job as part of the crew manning a lighthouse on a small island. With Cleo and Bdubs gone for a few weeks, Etho settles in to keep the Light running single-handedly. He wasn't expecting his life to be turned upside-down when a visitor turns up on the island, completely out of the blue...and he definitely wasn't expecting to develop feelings for the mysterious young man.

Good Luck, Babe is also very, very good. There are seven chapters out right now! Description: Etho couldn't get himself to turn Joel down. Even when Joel has made it clear time and time again that he had no problem doing the same to him. The lengths he was willing to go for a guy who would barely even let them be seen together in public...

hi, etho is super cute, too. I read it a while ago, and it's still one of my favourites, so do what you will with that. Description: About a month after going missing and having no memories to show for it, Etho gets a weird letter from a strange, anonymous sender who might have the answers to his questions.

And that's about it!! If anyone has more recommendations feel free to comment or leave in the tags because I'm always looking for more fics LOL <3

#my asks #boat boys #smalletho #hermitfic #trafficfic

65 notes · View notes

toska-writes · 2 years ago

Note

Hello!

In your 'Random Headcannons' you talked a bit about Rex falling asleep and I was wondering if you could write a fic about it? Maybe the reader finds him sleeping somewhere, joins him, then more and more join until it's a big pile of people on the floor and someone walks by and is like "What the??" If you can't, that's okie dokie.

Have a lovely day,

-V

I loved writing this so much! Hope you enjoy!

“Can’t beat ‘em, Join ‘em”

Summary: Over taken by sleep the only thing you wanted to do next was to close your eyes- no matter where that may be

Pairing: Captain Rex x GN Reader (platonic!)

Warning: None just tooth rotting fluff!

Word count: 1117

Notes: loved this one! But I should really follow suit and go to bed myself!

The only noise aboard the Dominator was the quiet hum of the ship currently going through hyperspace and the small noise of the lights.

Everyone aboard seemed to disappear- this normally happened after longer missions and frankly all you wanted to do was get to your room a take a fat nap.

You feet dragged on the floor as you practically leaned against the wall.

You could have been asleep an hour ago if Kix didn’t think it was necessary that you stoped in the med bay first. In your book it wasn’t broken if you could still move it.

You groaned as you turned yet another hallway, this ship wasn’t this big when you boarded it mere rotations ago. Was it?

There was a small alcove just up ahead, you nearly missed the small noises that came hidden behind the wall.

You were already walking that way why not just take a quick peek- maybe it could be a wonderful place to just rest your eyes for a moment.

Someone clearly had the same idea as you. You came to a stop and leaned up against a corner was none other than captain Rex.

His mouth hung slightly open and his arms were crossed tightly on his chest. Rex looked almost peaceful, the lines that were normally engraved into his forehead seemed to disappear masked by sleep.

You let out a small chuckle just watching the captain, it wouldn’t hurt anyone if you joined him right?

Plus if Rex was sleeping you knew that you better be too. This was the longest time you ever seen him with his eyes closed, excluding when he was sighing and scolding the domino twins or when he was unconscious.

Some of his upper armor was tossed to the side a little bit away from him. Taking the free spot you saw your limbs almost thanked you as you started to try and snuggle up by Rex.

He stirred for a second and opened one sleepy eye to look in your direction.

“I’m sorry go back to sleep please.” You whispered squeezing your way between his arm and his torso.

He threw a careless arm over you pulling you in and mumbled a very unintelligible “Night kid.”

Your head now rested on his chest, the slow constant pounding of his heart lulled you almost to sleep. The warmth that radiated off of all the clones was perfect compared to the coolness of the floors and wall.

Sleep welcomed you like it never had before and you gratefully took it. Wrapped in the dark blanket of sleep.

Fives practically leaned all his weight onto his brother that walked next to him. Echo trying to keep both of them up was having a little bit of trouble.

After this mission the duo decided to get a celebratory snack- but not accounting for the fatigue it also brought along that snack was slipping further and further away.

As they turned another corner what stoped Echo right in his tracks was a pair of legs that stuck out .

He heard Fives groan as well as he immediately reached for his blaster, hoping that he didn’t need to take it out of the holster.

He really just wanted to sleep. Was that too much to ask?

Now coming around the corner was a sight to behold. The captain and commander were practically passed out on the ground.

Echo looked up to see what Fives thought of all this and was met with a small smirk that said it all.

With a small nod from his brother Echo took out his data pad and quickly snapped a photo giggling slightly.

“So are we just going to leave them there or…” Echo trailed off putting the data pad away but Fives already had a plan of his own.

He started to take off some of his armor as well then sunk to the floor. Searching for a second he seemed to find the perfect spot on the floor with his head resting in Rex’s lap.

“If you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em vod.” Fives yawned and then gestured for Echo.

Echo didn’t have the energy to say anything more, clearly you all needed sleep if neither of you stirred when Fives joined the group.

Echo found his own spot between yours and Rex’s legs with his own head nearly touching Fives.

Behind him Echo felt you shift a little praying to the maker he didn’t wake you up. But all you did was pull him into you tighter with your free arm.

Small snores now filled the hall from a very tired commander, captain, and two arc troopers huddled together on the floor.

Anakin was finally released from the med bay. It was strange though that he has yet to run into anyone else.

He stared out the window for a second, the stars that shot swiftly passed put him into a daze. He wobbled for a moment realizing just how tired he was.

Anakin turned down a corridor, just wanting to see if you made it back to your quarters ok before returning to his own. Sure he could comm you but if that woke you up he’d never hear the end of it.

He made a few more turns, now all he wished was for the lights to go out and he could be peacefully tucked into bed where nothing could bother him.

“What the-“

As he turned once again his path was now blocked. In the middle of the halls he found many troopers asleep? They had to be, many of their mouths hung open and everyone seemed to be cuddled up together. Snores- some louder (*cough cough Hardcase) echoed through the vacant hall.

Anakin came a few steps closer, a large smile decorated his face as he found most of the 501st together here in this corridor

Towards the back he noticed you and Rex and the peaceful expressions sleep painted over your faces was enough to put him at ease.

Stepping over a few troopers and nearly dodging a arm to the shin by Jesse Anakin found a nice corner spot where he could comfortably lay his head on your shoulder.

He was happy in this moment. Truly happy. Many people he cared so much about for better or for worse seemed almost at ease here together.

They’d have to start a tradition for the next campaigns to come- this was a wonderful way to make sure many of the soldiers got the sleep they deserved.

But for now the only thing anyone had to worry about was falling asleep. That or trying to figure out how to get through the hallway.

—————————————————————

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @thereforepizza

#star wars clone wars #clone wars #the clone boys #star wars #the clone wars #my writing #toska-writes #captain rex #clone boys #rex x reader #captain rex x reader #reader insert

810 notes · View notes

elbiotipo · 7 months ago

Note

So when it comes to distance in a fictional setting, is metric king? I wrote some fantasy post-apoc recently where the protagonist measured it in Oranges and Aevums (the latter being their own name), but more generally speaking is it worth it to hash out bespoke measurement systems for fictional cultures, do you think?

Oranges as a measurement unit sounds so funny, and a measurement based in... yourself makes surprising sense, given all the measurements based on body parts. Why not YOURSELF?

Well, I would think in a real post-apoc world metric would be king indeed, scientific and technologic instruments are in metric even in the US and you could always get a ruler from a school or scales from a grocery store, so eventually you could get back on track to reforming the metric system. It would be interesting, though, if every society during isolation had slightly different measurements for the same units because of faulty equipment (say, ohms or amperes or even grays) and they had to make a congress to clear things up.

Returning to your main question. My perspective here is the same as conlangs. It's very, very fun to have them, but it's not fun to force your audience to read them. When I write something set in a fantasy or science fiction setting, in my head I'm assuming the characters are speaking different languages and I DO explain them and even give examples of them, but the story itself is written, for both the reader's and the writer convenience, in a language we can understand (Spanish in my case, and then it can be translated). Same with units of measurement. I seldom use direct units of measurement like writing "the ship was 110.3 meters long" (in science fiction, it's often a trap as they force you to stay true to them), when more descriptive language can be used...

In any case, you could do, for the kind of immersion I love, say something like "she was 14 oranges* tall, rather small for her age" and do an asterisk like "*A.N. : 1.39 meters tall". This is very fun when used sparingly, because it gives the worldbuilding obessed reader something to play with, you can do the conversion yourself and learn more about the world, without interrupting the story. Some understandably dislike this approach, but I think that if you know what you're doing, you can hide some pretty deep lore behind it. In one of my favorite retro games, The Ur-Quan Masters, there is an alien race called the Slylandro who live in a gas giant. When they tell you their ancient history, they use their own system of measurment based on the rotation of their planet with its own names like Dranhasa and Dranh. The game actually provides you with the rotation time on "Earth" time, so some dedicated fans did the conversion, and found out the dates fit with major events in the game's past. I thought that was an awesome bit.

But I digress again. Does this mean you should not talk about measurements in your story? No, it can do for very fun plots and digressions, as well as make things more realistic and beliveable. A fantasy world sharing all the same measurement units can be as unplausible as everybody speaking "Common". Let's remember that the current metric system is a modern invention which took a long time to be adopted (and some, well one, country, still resists it). Just take a look at the many, many historical systems of measurement:

This was especially prominent in places like the Holy Roman Empire, where every statelet, county, principality, free city, prince-bishopric, duchy, archduchy, etc. may and most often did have different measurements from each other. Just take a look at how measurements varied from each German region, it's crazy. The systems of weight where particularily important. Before the introduction of standarized coinage, coins also varied not only between kingdoms, but between regions, and even towns, and coins made at different times with different alloys had different values. Rather than money in our modern sense, you could think of them as some kind of 'asset' that could vary in value depending on the circumstances. What's more, those values had to be checked by people who knew what they were working with. Silver and gold content could be weighed, ah, but you need good scales and weights, and someone who knows how to work them! And these people could easily rip you off, or you could lose value accidentally if those scales weren't done just right or fiddled with on purpose. In fact, this is where the word 'Mark' comes from.

It wasn't as easy to take say a 100 something bill and get the change in 1 something coins. There is a very interesting subplot in the anime Spice and Wolf where Lawrence, the trader character, has been paid in gold coins, and he has to trade them into lesser denominations. However, he has to be REAL careful so that nobody scams him given all I told you above. Even getting 'gold' coins was a gamble before modern coinage and banking (another long topic). How much of that is REALLY gold and not an alloy with silver or other metal? Who can you trust to tell you how much your coins are worth? Are they compatible between borders or even time, is this version worth as much as the others? Things that characters in fantasy who have just plundered a dragon's hoard almost never think about. Except in Spice and Wolf.

(here is a gif of Holo to break the wall of text)

This all of course, as again you can see in Spice and Wolf, can make trade very tedious and even unstable. This was one of the reasons why the metric system was so quickly adopted in Europe and then elsewhere; consistent units just allow for easier trade. Lots of other things involving measurement can have a major impact on your story. For one, you NEED consistent and accurate measurement to create even the most basic industrial and scientific equipment. You can wing it for a time like alchemists (and even they knew their measurements) but eventually, you need to measure things to understand them. To have working steam engines, steel production, chemical industries and more, you need to know your temperature is. If you want to do electricity, you need measurements for current, resistance and charge. If you're doing engineering, you need to have lenght, weight and volume very, very clear, or people will die. They don't necessarily need to be universal like the metric system (though it has lots of advantages, being coherent between units and decimal so it doesn't jump between different denominations) but they need to be standarized and measurable.

Most of the above, unless you're writing some kind of encyclopedia about a fictional scientific revolution (BASED BASED BASED) will not affect your characters directly. But IT IS worth keeping in mind for what kind of world your characters are living in. The standarization of measurement units always means SOMETHING in the state of your society, the strenght of the state and centralized authority, the state of scientific understanding (one could say that trying to measure the world was perhaps THE scientific revolution, "Man as a measure of all things"), the capability for industry and the standarization of coinage and trade.

Even if you don't have your characters interact directly with those things, they will interact with them. It's also, like I've said in the examples, fun to imagine characters having to learn or deal with different units of measurement, just as it is fun to imagine them learning new languages or cultural quirks. It's something I've done in the past, in my space opera setting, the worlds descended from the United States STILL use the imperial system, much to the frustration of the rest of the metric human sphere. There is also an alien character who has a hard time to learn human measurements, and that makes her melancholic about her past, as they can't intuitively see the now-extinct measurements she does. Again, man as a measure of all things... this does include other thinking beings...

There's more I could talk about here regarding time, but I did a post about that, though I'm not satisfied with it and will probably redo it in some time at the future. In any case, there's lot to talk about why every calendar in science fiction has 365 days and 24 hours.

As always, if you found this interesting and helpful, I would be very thankful if you gave a tip to my ko-fi! And feel free to ask about anything you'd like!

#worldbuilding #measurements #conlanging #writing #writer advice #biotipo worldbuilding

75 notes · View notes

rustbeltjessie · 9 months ago

Text

To what purpose, April, do you return again? (or: finally, a pinned post for April)

Hi all. I'm Jessie Lynn McMains, aka Rust Belt Jessie. I'm an Xennial/Elder Millenial (please don't call me a Geriatric Millenial, thank you) writer/artist/zine-maker/etc. (I wear many hats.) I'm queer and nonbinary/genderfluid, and as far as pronouns go, I’m okay with any human pronoun (they and she are my most-used, but I like he, too, and I especially like it when people switch up the pronouns they use for me). I’m disabled and neurodivergent.

I live with my partner and our two kiddos, both of whom are also neurodivergent, and right now I’m supporting all of us on whatever money I earn. I do freelance copywriting and editing as my main thing, but I also make a decent chunk of my income from selling my zines and books and pins and whatever else I make, so the more I sell, the better able I am to pay bills and take care of my family.

Through my Ko-fi, you can buy my zines and books (I have both poetry and prose available) and pins, as well as commission me to make you a music-inspired mini-collage or hire me to edit your own writing. Or also just throw me a few bucks if you appreciate the content I make available for free.

If you live outside the US (I can only ship within the US via Ko-fi, because setting up shipping for multiple countries is a pain the butt), or just prefer to purchase something or donate via a different platform, I also have PayPal and Venmo (@ JessieLynnMcMains).

I also have a Substack newsletter. I try to send something out at least once a month. Sometimes it's a longer piece about music and nostalgia (I recently started a series called These Fucking Songs, for just that purpose), sometimes it's just updates on what I'm up to, sometimes it's something else. I'm currently working on one about poetry, and my writing process, and revision.

As if that weren't enough, this month I'm doing a 30/30 on the Tupelo Press site, which not only means I have to write a poem every day to be posted the next day, but I am also fundraising for Tupelo Press. My goal is to raise $350 by the end of the month. You can follow along with my daily poems here (the newest is always at the top; scroll down to read previous days), and the fundraising page is here. (I'm also offering some cool incentives for people who donate; more info about all that is available on the fundraising page.)

I'm pro-trans, pro-vaccine, pro-sex worker, pro-abortion, pro-Black Lives Matter. I'm for harm reduction for any drug user or addict, meaning I want them to be able to use drugs as safely as possible, rather than forcing them into rehab or incarcerating them. I'm anti-censorship and anti-fascist. I believe everyone, everyone, should have a safe place to sleep and enough to eat without having to earn it. I consider myself an anarcho-socialist, basically, but I do vote. I'm telling you all that because if you are vehemently against any of those things, we'll probably not get along.

I'm a forever-goth/punk who loves all kinds of music. (Things on heavy rotation for me as I write this are: The Replacements, Einstürzende Neubauten, and Oliver Nelson.) I'm femme but I'm a disaster femme; when I use nailpolish it's always sloppy and/or chipped, when I wear eyeliner it's always crooked and/or smeared, and I am incapable of not ripping a hole or two in every pair of tights and stockings I own. I love art and film and theater and literature and music. I'm a Shakespeare stan, I love growing my own vegetables, I collect souvenir pennies and stick and poke tattoos. I'm always a slut in theory, even when not always in practice. I'm perpetually nostalgic, melancholy, and restless. I spend all my free time posting pictures of myself on the internet and trying to prove I'm punk to anyone that'll listen.

Want more Jessie content? There's my website (still under construction, but it exists). Or you could try searching the my writing, my art, Jessie Lynn McMains, or Rust Belt Jessie tags on this blog. I also have a side blog, where I tend to post more frequently than I do on this blog. If you ask nice, I'll probably give you the URL.

On that note, my DMs and asks are open, and, as of right now, anon is on.

I think that's it! As always, whether you can send any $$ my way (or to my fundraiser) currently or not, keeping this post circulating helps. Thanks much. 🖤

#rust belt jessie #jessie lynn mcmains #about me #pinned post

67 notes · View notes

stashandtell · 3 months ago

Text

Nobody Asked For This: My Rankings of the Hermione x Weasley Ships with REASONS

I drafted this weeks ago and had set it aside with no clear plan to publish it. Then, after a stroke of 2 AM genius this morning, I wrote a piece called Ranking the Weasleys, (to be posted on 19 Sept 2024 in honor of Hermione's birthday) and it seemed like a great time to finalize this post and share it. Feel free to tell me your rankings in the comments, be it your list of the fittest Weasley as you find them or your ranked-list of pairings with Weasleys, whatever you fancy to share. Enjoy! - - - - I made a loooong post with recs for each of my top Hermione/Weasley ships that you can check out here. Read Ranking the Weasleys or see the related post where I talk about writing Ranking the Weasleys and I share just a few initial thoughts on the fetishization of war wounds in the fandom here. - - - - I've recently dove into the world of Hermione x Any-Of-The-Weasley-Brothers pairings, which is what happens when you're burnt out on the regular ships you read and looking for something more. Personally, I'm surprised I gravitate towards so many Hermione-focused pairings, especially het pairings, but that's just what I've been into lately. I hadn't considered pairings with her and any of the Weasleys until someone recommended Charmione fics in a thread for Theomione. Once I dug into the fandom's characterizations of the Weasley brood and had a better sense of who each of them were on their own, I found I really like many of these ships, some more than others. The rankings of my top-three rotate pretty regularly depending on the last great fic I've devoured. This is a snapshot of where things stand today but it could move around. Before we dive in, I've preview my rankings and the major themes of the pairings in the most popular fics shipping Hermione with a Weasley. 1. Bill: Wolf-ish Daddy 2. Fred: Uplifting, Fun, and Romantic 3. Charlie: Sexy and Rugged 4. George: Growing Through Grief 5. Percy: Acceptance of Self, Also Rules Daddy 6. Ginny: A Firecracker and a Friend 7. Ron: Angsty Best Friends-to-Lovers 8. Gideon or Fabian: Time Travel AU or Ghost Lover(s) 9. Arthur or Molly: I haven't read these ships so they're going in the bottom of the list. I'm not opposed to reading these pairings but there's already such a trove with all the brothers in my tbr list that I'm not sure I'll ever dive in. 10. Weasley Progeny: I haven't read any of these ships. I have not read many pairings that include anyone dating their friends' kid in the next generation. (Though I have read a small number of fics pairing characters like Hermione or Ginny with older characters like Kingsley or Sirius...shoutout to the older/younger Nottcissa ship.) 11. Aunt Murial: Technically she's a Prewett but I think I would be into a Murmione ship if we got there. So far nothing comes up on AO3. - - - - 1. Billmione: What I love about a Hermione x Bill dynamic is his position as oldest-sibling and caretaker. If the author has resolved the relationship with Fleur as one that has ended in divorce or death, that extra element of emotional tenderness really can push the story to complex depths. I also find it interesting to see how writers engage with Bill's hybrid/half-werewolf affliction. I'm hard-pressed to really fall in love with any Billmione fic where their relationship starts pre-Battle of Hogwarts, though I do get it. I personally enjoy stories that can be canon compliant so I want to see how the Fleur issue is handled. I also find that with such a significant age-gap for that developmental stage of teenager-dom, (not like Fleur was THAT much older than Hermione but still...), it's incredibly rewarding to see an older Hermione that brings some kind of life experience to the relationship so she can be more equal with Bill.

In some of the fics, especially a few of the multi-Weasley, reverse-harem style pieces I've finally started reading, Bill's older-brother position and wolfy streak create the core dynamic of the group.

I'm not the biggest fan of the multi-Weasley pairings with Hermione but what I loved most in the standout fics are the group dynamics and individual roles that come out. Hermione can be incredibly stubborn and independent on her own and it's always interesting when she's in opposition to Bill to see how the others in their relationship choose sides.

- - - - 2. Fremione: On it's face, I don't even know if I like this ship all that much but I keep finding myself suckered in. I suspect a big part of it is that it hits me in the sentimental feels. My inner-teen just loves a Hermione x Fred story that traces their young love to whatever conclusion the author brings it to. Even if they get together when they're older and Fred lives through the final battle, they both usually end up with a friends-to-lovers scenario that's full of light sweetness and sometimes romance.

There are some truly fantastic works in this ship and I go 50/50 on whether I prefer ones where Fred lives or not. Depends on my mood and the tone of the story I suppose. There are very few stories in this pairing that I haven't enjoyed and the element of pranking really can make shorter fics fun.

I REALLY enjoy past Hermione/Fred relationships being included in fics where she looks back on their love fondly while she navigates new relationships, sometimes with one of his brothers. Fred is often portrayed as a goof, which seems to encourage authors to consistently write a more engaging and dynamic version of Hermione instead of following some of the fanon's (beloved by me as well) personality tropes/traps of her being insecure, slow-to-assert-herself, angry-broken-or-both and etc. His character brings out some of her best qualities consistently across fics, imo.

- - - - 3. Charmione: I quickly realized when I started reading Charmione fanfics that I do not give a shit about dragons but deeply wish I did. It's a cool plot device and part of the world to hang out with but it's not for me. Tons of appreciation for writers who have thoughtful plot lines and research interesting medical maladies-- but it's hard to hold my interest. (A million kudos when a dragon-centered fic does though!) The Reserve is usually full of original characters, which is fine, but I find myself less invested in the story if we don't know much about these OCs to build out that world.

I often find in the dragon-reserve heavy pieces that I was getting part-way through were objectively GOOD multi-chapters but I kept stalling out in favor of reading something else. Usually whenever there's a Hermione that ends up at the dragon Reserve, she's characterized by her unyielding passions for creatures' rights, spurred on by house elf and werewolf activism. Those are interesting characterizations for her but they just don't keep my attention. That said, I have yet, to date DNF'd any Charmione work so clearly it's not a huge imposition. That said, Charmione is in the top third because there's so much that can be done with this character. I've read a number of fics where Charlie is ace (asexual, demisexual, etc.); where's he's inexperienced because he's married to his job; where he's "too free-spirited" and very experienced; where he's enthusiastically bisexual; where he's not interested in marriage; where he's pining over Tonks; and so much more. His sporadic attendance at family holidays and the ability for Hermione or others to visit him on the Reserve lends to great plot opportunities.

- - - - 4. Geormione: I haven't been around long enough to fully understand why Fremione is a more popular ship than Geormione, but here are some observations: - Fred is portrayed in the fandom as the more loveable, airy goof while George tends to be painted as the more serious and quiet of the two - Generally, in the canon, Fred speaks more than George, from what I've been seeing, as I notate up my secondhand copies of the books - Fred's death or, depending on the fic, brush-with-death, is ripe for the reimagining of his relationships and personality - According to internet gossip, Hermione with Fred were considered for pairing in the canon originally but it didn't suit the overall plans for the series. Source for this can not be verified but it's come up in multiple places. I believe this contributes to the numbers: Fremione has 2182 works and Geormione has 548 works on AO3, as I draft this. All that said, George is usually characterized as the quieter and possibly more serious twin. He might be more shy than the outgoing Fred. Post-war, he often mourns the loss of his twin brother, his best friend, and his sense of himself as part of the pair which can, frankly, be kind of a drag if a writer is looking for a pairing to write a hot romance about. (Not that people can't be sexy or have healthy sexual relationships while grieving!) However, when works take the journey to establish Hermione and George, it's often incredibly rewarding. It tends to feel like Fremione with the temperature turned down on the lightness and has the ability to go deeper into any darkness that needs to be explored. I do love a Geormione but there are statistically fewer works out there than some of the other pairings, thus it's earned it's spot mid-tier. - - - - 5. Permione: There's not much to say because there aren't that many longer fics with this pairing written and most times it's tied to a Hermione x Multi-Weasley scenario. This gets the 5th and some days I would rank it higher because there are worlds in which this is the actual correct pairing of all of the brothers, based on what we can surmise from the canon.

A swotty, uptight prefect-turned-Ministry drone with a regretful heart of gold, Percy's guilt over abandoning his family and Fred dying before him is well-matched for how many writers imagine Hermione's coping with the aftermath of the war. Hermione would have known him during some prime formative years and knows he'll date muggle-born or half-blood witches, a la Penelope Clearwater. It's easy to dismiss Percy as being "not fanciable" if you don't read this ship but some of the writers out there make a compelling case for him, particularly when they make a logical transition from his personal fastidiousness to him seeking to play with control and BDSM elements in his private affairs. I love a good Permione piece. He's often positioned as the conservative punching bag of the family and it's a thing of art when a writer makes us root hard for him.

- - - - 6. Herminny: I haven't much of anything in this pairing yet. Truthfully, I've been holding off on it because I'm sure I'll do a deep dive once I start. It shouldn't come as a surprise that I've read almost no Harmony works either. I love a F/F fic but tend to read in waves and I've been working my way through the Weasley brothers pairings (when I'm not refreshing for Nevmione and Theomione works.) If you have any excellent recs for Herminny or other pairings name, please drop me a line! The reason Herminny is above Romione is because I love many of the fanon characterizations of Ginny in all the other fics I've read, especially when she's mischievous, cheeky, in tune with her sexuality, and ready to take on her own adventures in the world. The ones I have read where she and Hermione have been together were lovely but most were very short fics in collections. - - - - 7. Romione: I read A LOT of Hermione-centered works and authors very often find a need to resolve the young romance with Ron or use him and their relationship as a catalyst that propels our heroine down a path into the arms of another man. I can honestly say that I have read ZERO Romione endgame fics to date, and that includes one shots AND drabbles (~100k words or less.) WILD, right?

I really enjoy angst and Ron is one of the punching bags most often leaned on by writers. One of these days, I'm going to go on a Romione bender as an offering of penance to his character for all of the times I rooted against him in every other fic.

- - - - 8. Lowest Tier: I have never read a Hermione x Molly nor an Hermione x Arthur fic, and while I'm not fundamentally opposed, I'd be flabbergasted to find either pairing beating Romione. I'd much sooner read an Arthur/Molly fic than one that ships either with Hermione because that's just where I'm at right now. I'm happy reading works that aren't smutty in any way but damn if some smut doesn't help along a work that really isn't capturing my interest. While I love when I see versions of Arthur and Molly who are loving friends and/or parental figures to Hermione, the angst-lover in me doesn't mind a solid bashing of either of them and it's hard to get that out of my head. As for the other possible pairs with Hermione and Gideon, Fabian, Murial, or the children of the other Weasleys, I'm just not well-read enough in any of those pairings to have an opinion. I literally only started reading Marauders-era works two weeks ago (and really ONLY well-known Wolfstar fics so far.) A Note About Fleur: One character who's excluded from this list is Fleur Weasley nee' Delacour. I've only read triad- or multi-Weasley fics that put Hermione with her and Bill. While I do love a Bill/Fleur/Hermione work, it seemed disingenuous to rank Fleurmione against the others with what little I've read. That and I'm so clearly jazzed about a Billmione where Bill's free-and-clear to be with whoever, that my ranking of Fleurmione would be heavily biased.

31 notes · View notes