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lullabyes22-blog · 26 days ago

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Snippet - In-Law - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Meet the parents. Zaun-style.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"Visiting bells are done," he says.

Sevika swallows. "I—"

"Go on." Silco hooks a finger into his waistcoat, checking his pocketwatch. "This won't take long."

Questioning the flat certainty of the order would be futile. Sevika's eyes flick once from him to Samik. She looks conflicted. Then the concern ebbs; the armor resolidifies. With a terse nod, she exits the chamber. Her father isn't spared a parting glance.

The chamber door bolts shut. The two men are alone.

The Eye of Zaun and the Wharfside Devil.

Samik's eyes are a stealth-crawl over Silco: from the tailored lines of his suit to the volcano glow of his eye and the gnawed-at skin around it. Fascination flickers in his stare; disgust is smothered in his jaw. Not an unusual reaction—from free men or inmates alike. Not all monsters are born equal.

Samik says, "You better explain who you are, buddy."

"In a moment."

A polite reply, and none at all.

Silco circles around the table to Samik's side. He trails a fingertip along Samik's empty chair and rubs it between his thumb, contemplating the rust. "

You're not wrong," he says. "Dredge is a step below Stillwater." His stare slithers across the bare lamps and weeping cinderblock walls, then up to Samik's face: a flecked mirror. "A fixer-upper is due."

Samik edges closer. "I asked who the fuck you were."

Silco doesn't answer. He settles into Samik's chair, one leg folding over the other. No ground ceded, but a playing field leveled.

Samik says, "You're—what? A Warden?"

"No such thing."

"What then?" His dark eyes hook into Silco's bad one. "A circus freak? 'Cause that's one nasty scar. Looks like a dog took one chomp too many."

"The dog lost." Silco gestures with a pale splay of fingers. "Care to sit? I'm not contagious."

Samik remains standing. Silco surmised as much.

He withdraws his smoking case and tips a cigarette into his mouth. Samik's wary expression flickers with interest. A fellow smoker. Fitting, given they already share the dubious designation of Unfit Fathers.

Flicking open his lighter, Silco sets the cherry alight and takes a drag. Smoke wafts through the dank chamber.

"I'm curious," he says, "why you turned down your daughter's offer."

Samik bridles, "Don't need her damn offer."

"A matter of pride? Or a misguided bid at distance?"

Samik's expression is undaunted. But something shifts in his eyes. A wary glint.

"Who are you?" he repeats.

"Consider me an emissary."

"Emissary. Real fancy word. Don't hear 'em often behind bars—except from chucklefucks who think their blue-blood airs will save 'em from a shiv. Let me guess. You're sent by the guy who runs things? Hoping to cut a deal for my parole." His lip curls. "Must be scraping rock-bottom, hiring gofers with ugly-ass faces and not a lick of sense."

Silco nods, pleasantly. "I hire talent, actually. Cutthroats, chem-fiends, cons—even the occasional child. But every rule has its exceptions. If I'm feeling exceptionally tolerant, I allow for fools to join the ranks. And you? You must be exceptionally foolish, Samik Mitra, to have thrown away your shot at freedom. All for a badge of pride. Or a bullet to the brainpan."

He reaches into his coat pocket, and flips a sheet of paper onto the table. It is a map. Traced in crude charcoal on a stolen sheath of parchment. It outlines, with fiendish exactness, a tunnel network beneath Dredge prison.

Samik's face stays composed. A vein throbs on his temple.

"This was recovered from your cell yesterday," Silco says. "An escape route through Dredge." He smooths the map thoughtfully with his fingers. "Three days from now, the convicts will stage a riot. During the chaos, you'll use this route to slip past security. You've old friends in Factorywood. Men and women willing to look the other way while you flee. At the harbor, one of them has paid for your safe passage aboard a ship. Bound for Smuggler's Cove. From there, I imagine your plan was a gradual return to glory. Resurrecting yourself, reputation and crew alike. You'd shed no tears for your daughter, who has been your punching bag since childhood—but would not hesitate to leverage her status once you'd returned. You'd force her to serve your ambitions. Repossess the flat that your eldest daughter deeded to you, out of duty if not love. And if Sevika didn't comply? You'd retaliate with everything in your arsenal. She knows that much; I certainly do. You're not the type to let a grudge go unanswered." Softer, "Even if it gets you killed."

Samik's jaw grinds. He says nothing.

"Mr. Mitra. I regret to be the bearer of bad news. But your plan will get you killed." Observing the spasm that crosses Samik's face, he unhurriedly adds: "We know it all. Every inch of those tunnels, mapped by you and the rest. Every conspirator in the riot. The transport you'll seize to escape. The dock where you intend to depart. The funds required to grease every step. My blackguards have already infiltrated the prisoners' ranks, and ended the riot before it began. The tunnels are scheduled to be demolished by dawn. Rest assured, though: your contacts were well compensated. Nothing like the threat of chemical castration to stir civic duty into the loins."

Samik inhales—a horrid rattle. Sweat twinkles on his brow.

"Take heart, Mr. Mitra," Silco murmurs. "There is good news to offset the bad."

He withdraws his lighter. The crackling flame edges along the crinkled sheet until it curls and catches fire. The acrid whiff overrides the spice of brightleaf.

Samik's hand darts out. Silco crooks a brow.

The challenge is plain: Go on, if you dare.

Samik's hand drops. His expression suggests a tug-of-war between stubbornness and bargain. He settles on the latter. Smart man.

"What are you after?" he asks.

Another Stillwater reflex. Nobody gives up something for nothing. Every favor has a price attached.

Cost; reward.

Silco turns his cigarette end slowly against the table's edge, shaping the cherry into a point. "Zaun's a city built on the bedrock of second chances. I see no reason to deviate. Your stunt was ill-advised. But I concede it was only because you haven't kept abreast of politics. The Undercity you knew is dead. It has given birth to something else. Something greater than us all."

"And what's that?"

"The promise—" a streak of glowing red mottles the gray on the burning map, "—of progress."

Samik watches his old hopes go up in smoke. He says nothing.

"Rest assured," Silco goes on, "your record will not reflect your plans. Next week's hearing will proceed as scheduled. Sevika will testify. Knowing her as well as I do, she will testify in favor of your release. That's the kind of woman your daughter is, Mr. Mitra. She'll vouch for family, even if they've shown zero loyalty in return." The sharp points of his teeth glint, a mouthful of splintered bones. "One word from me and her testimony will mean zilch."

Samik maintains his composure. But it's a brittle façade. His gaze keeps passing from the charred map to Silco. It lingers on his bad eye. His face spasms with denial, and something else.

Recognition.

"You're not a man to accept handouts," Silco murmurs. "I respect that. Truth told, if you'd folded the easy way, you wouldn't have merited my time. But because I'm acquainted with your reputation—" his tongue curls contemptuously around the syllables, "—I believe you are worthy of an offer. I have one. If you'd like to hear it."

"What are you talking about?"

"After your release, I've work for you. Real work. The type suited to your talents."

Samik shakes his head. "I don't make deals with freaks who won't even share their names."

"You know my name."

Samik stares. The devil, alive and awake, shaking loose his iron fetters. Except his features are carved in doubt, so acute it is almost denial.

When you've been trapped in a dungeon for decades, belief in what is real is the first thing to go. The second's belief in redemption. Samik Mitra lives somewhere between both impossibilities: unable to fathom a future worth dying for, unwilling to die a compliant cog in someone else's war-machine.

That's what the prison break was meant to be—severance from two worlds in transition; freedom in total exile, gained at all costs.

Pity he forgot whose city he's in.

"No," Samik says. "No fuckin' way."

Head tipped back, Silco takes a deep pull of smoke, then performs an old jailhouse trick. He parts his lips, letting the cigarette adhere to the tip of his tongue, almost swallowing it, then catches it, still lit, between his teeth, smoke roiling from the corners of his mouth. His eyes do not blink.

The greeting is plain: No fuckin' way?

Try the truth, then.

Samik's jaw works. A depthless disquiet leaks at the edges of his composure. Whatever he glimpses in Silco's stare, it exerts its own terrible thrall: the dark hazard of encountering oneself at the farthest ambit of possibility.

Silco stays, legs crossed, in the chair. They've entered a territory they both recognize as beyond civility's scope. And yet, for the first time, Samik seems unsteady on his feet. The bare skin of his sinewy arms is stippled in gooseflesh, as if it's cold, which it isn't. His body holds the rigid hammerlock of a boxer primed for a fight he's determined to win, but won't.

He'll yield, and in yielding, take the five steps across no-man's-land to the empty chair. Silco isn't the Eye of Zaun for nothing. He'll tangle Samik's gaze with his own and drag him to the edge.

No doomed man denies himself a miracle.

There it is. One foot, then the other. Nowhere to go except forward.

Slowly, Samik occupies the chair Sevika had vacated minutes before. His wide-legged posture broadcasts nothing so feeble as submission. But behind his carefully-cut facade, old instincts are reorienting themselves.

This is no not a poker game or a fighting pit.

This is warfare, played under the cover of ceasefire.

"So, you're him," Samik says slowly. "The Eye. My girl's boss."

"The very same."

"Never knew her to work for anybody. Maybe alongside. Never under. She ain't a pushover. None of my brats were. But especially not her." He sneaks an appraisal: torn between the ingrained desire to best an unknown threat, and the fatherly urge to ward it off his flesh-and-blood. "Must take a firm grip to keep a wildcat on your leash. That right?"

"Very firm," Silco says, relishing the burn of smoke in his throat: rich, heavy, intoxicating. "But she isn't leashed."

"That right?"

"She runs with me because she chooses to. In good faith. Same way she made her offer earlier. In good faith. But since you were disinclined to take it, I'm here to offer mine."

Dark eyes scour Silco's mutilated features. "That being?"

"Work for me," Silco says softly. "Or don't work at all."

The airwaves recharge: rage seaming together with danger. The small chamber ripples as the smoke coalesces into its own miasma.

"Is this a threat?" Samik says. "Or a bribe?"

"I don't threaten my allies. Nor do I bribe my enemies."

"So we're either?"

"Depends."

"On what? Whether I make nice? Tuck my tail and and play fetch for you like a good boy?"

At Silco's nod, he laughs. The belligerence is camouflage, concealing an ego rubbed raw. He'd plotted to exit prison on his own terms, without regard to old bonds or older fealties. Now, he sits face-to-face with the evidence of his failure.

Humility's a rare taste to develop at sixty-three; he spits the dregs between Silco's feet.

"Fat chance," he sneers. "I ain't built to grovel. Least of all to a bastard who doesn't care dick about me or mine."

"You're right," Silco agrees. "I don't care. But I do owe mine."

Again, the dark eyes size him up. Trying to strip away flesh from bone, and excavate deeper strata. Impossible. Silco's mismatched eyes are obscured by the smoke spindling to fill the space. His silence is its own dimension of enigma.

"What—" Samik stops, swallows. "What's in this deal?"

Two fingertips cradle the smoldering cigarette. The cherry winks, an unholy red, then wanes. Only the glow of Silco's bad eye endures.

"A week from now," he says, "your daughter will testify. You will be released. You will be given the rundown of your duties. Nothing too complicated. Mostly night-work at the waterfronts. A slit throat here, a bashed skull there. Enough to remind any unwelcome guests that Zaun's house is in order."

"Meaning," Samik extrapolates, "I'll do your dirty work."

"Don't mistake it for grunt labor. Every corpse you send floating down the canals earns my appreciation—and compensation. Enough to establish your place in Zaun's hierarchy. Enough, in fact, to make retirement a possibility rather than a pipe dream. All I require is proof of your fealty—everlasting." The notched edge of Silco's lip quirks. "Your choice, Mr. Mitra. Stay in the shadows or earn your legacy."

Samik catches his lips between his teeth. Sevika does that sometimes, when she's feeling ambushed. It must be hereditary.

"And," he asks, "if I say no?"

"You'll be released, regardless. Given clothes, coin, papers. Then you'll board the next vessel to Bilgewater."

"Bilgewater?"

"There is no better city to lose yourself in. Or to find your death by way of rebirth." The quirk becomes a grin: not pleasant, but unsettlingly intimate. "Besides. Your boys are settled there."

"My boys?"

"Rohan and Raakesh."

Samik's breath stops. His eyes glitter in naked shock.

"You didn't know? After your arrest, the Wardens split your children. Sent the girls to the orphanage, and the boys abroad. Both Rohan and Raakesh were set up to work for a shipping-baron. They earned their keep, and excelled. Raakesh made his start as a fisherman, and now owns a fleet of trawlers. Rohan was offered a clerkship at the docks. He parlayed it into ownership of the site, and is now the Harbormaster."

The revelation strikes Samik like a blowback from a Gatling gun. His jaw unhinges.

"They... they're alive?"

"Alive and thriving." Silco takes an idle pull of the cigarette. "I've met them. My network has import-export interests in Bilgewater. Your boys help keep the trade lines flowing. They write to Sevika from time to time. Not a lot of warmth, given their history. Still—they reach out every year, without fail, on Bloody Sunday. The anniversary of Nandi's death." Smoke spirals through the Silco's slitted smile. "I wonder if they still remember their old man? Especially after nearly three decades of his absence?"

A shadow crosses Samik's face. Ego's taken the backseat. Hope, pitiful in its scope, wrestles in its stead.

"I didn't know," he says hoarsely. "Didn't know they survived the Wardens."

"They did. As well as fatherless boys can. But they aren't boys anymore. They're grown men. Ones who, I must add, bear absolutely zero resemblance to their sire." The smile's gone; Silco speaks with lethal precision. "Sevika reached out to them with news of your impending release. She asked if they'd testify. On your fitness as a father; your merits as a man. You know their answer? They asked her why she bothered. Told her to waste neither coin nor paper. They wouldn't lift a finger to aid the man who'd put their childhood six feet under. In Raakesh's words: 'He's rotting because of his own choices. He made us pay for them once. Now there's no price we won't pay—except the price we'll make him pay."

Samik exhales: a gut-stabbed hiss.

"You're surprised? Don't be. Rohan and Raakesh still carry the scars of their boyhood. It's not grudges they nurse, but grief. They've put their pasts behind them. Settled into prosperity. Raakesh has a wife, and a child on the way. Rohan has mistresses aplenty, and more bastards than I've got fingernails." A shrug. "None named after his old man."

Samik's palm creeps up his face. He makes a rough sound, halfway between snarl and sob.

"Don't misunderstand me. If you showed up at Bilgewater, they'd not hunt you down for a reckoning. But nor would they welcome you with open arms. As far as your boys are concerned, you're already a dead man. And sons," silkily, "are much like daughters. Once they've carved a future on their own terms? They don't look back."

Silence wreathes the chamber. Samik's jaw spasms; his knuckles pop. A rupture of emotion that deep is never without violence. But without a real outlet, the only flipside is despair.

Silco offers no comfort. Just a half-lidded scrutiny: iced over with knowledge.

He's been in this man's seat. He understands, as only experience permits, that the loss of a child's love isn't a tragedy, but a debt collected long overdue.

"Fuckin' hell," Samik breathes. "Why give me a choice to begin with?"

"We all reap what we sow, Mr. Mitra. You wanted your freedom. Here it is. The only question is whether it'll be lonely."

"I'm no friend to loneliness. Learned that pretty damn fast."

"Lucky you're getting a second shot. Most ex-cons don't."

Silence, and Samik's ragged breathing. Then—

"You said," he mutters, "I could start over."

Silco nods.

"But I'd be starting over in Zaun. Old haunts. New possibilities. Bilgewater's no beginning. It's... a burial. Except the corpse still breathes."

Silco nods, again.

The seconds seep, one by one, into minutes. They're both old inmates. Between them sits the knowledge: no man is ever truly cornered. Just corralled by circumstance.

And in circumstances like these, a smart man sees beyond the bars. A smarter man sees further ahead: beyond today's loss, to tomorrow's gain.

Cost; reward.

"It's not a fair bargain," Samik says thickly.

Silco tips a shoulder. "Nothing worthwhile is."

Again, Samik scrubs his sandpapery jaw. Calluses on silver bristles: marking a tally for his options: a new beginning with strangers, or old memories among familiars. Out of place among loved ones, or isolated among killers with no love lost in between.

His palm closes into a fist.

"I'd bet," he growls, "you've never fought a single bare-knuckled brawl since you started your climb. Too clever to dirty your dukes. Too smart to risk your neck. Instead, you stack your cards and rig your odds—then get folks with bigger biceps and no brains to take the fall. Ain't that right? That's why my girl works for you. It's why you keep her at your six. Why you wanna keep me. Insurance." His glower takes Silco's measure in full—and finally parses the meaning behind the epithet. "I'd bet that creepy eye ain't the half of the lesson life's beat into you. I'd bet it took someone dear—someone close—to knock it home. Never fight fair. Just fight til the other guy's in the ground."

Silco thinks of Vander: rescuer, rival, lover, betrayer.

A lesson that's never stopped bleeding.

"I think—" His smile bares the ruminants of razored teeth, "—you should give me your answer."

Samik doesn't flinch, but his demeanor alters. Agitated; caught in a chokehold he can't snap. Again, the seconds seep; the smoke spirals.

Finally—

"Deal," he mutters. "I'll join your crew."

"Wise choice." Silco leans back in his seat, hands splayed across his waistcoat, cigarette burning in his steepled fingers. "Sevika will confirm the arrangements."

"Arrangements?"

"Once you're out." Silco ticks them off his fingers. "Your shift schedule. Your assigned posts. Your compensation rate, plus extra. A cut of the earnings per assignment, to be shared with the crew. And of course—your accommodations. Especially since your original residence—the flat Nandi deeded you as part of her Will, has already been claimed."

"By who?"

"Me," Silco says. "Last night."

A frisson skitters up Samik's spine. Outrage, molten and indignant, pours his dark eyes.

"You're fucking insane," he growls. "Bad enough that you think you're in charge. But stealing a man's property? And Sevika's gone along with it?"

"She is my second-in-command. She trusts my judgement—as I trust hers."

"You've got no right butting into my family business—"

Silco's upper lip peels back to bare the full array of teeth. It is no smile, but a chilling simulacrum: the deepwater predator finally riding to the surface.

Samik stops short. The airless chamber shrinks, a tide of coldness spreading. Never mind that he severely outclasses this spindly stranger in a fistfight. He still possesses that instinctive dread of the unknown, that inclination to roll over and bare his throat.

Stillwater hasn't stolen his humanity. Only hardened it.

Silco's humanity has bled into something else entirely.

"Mr. Mitra," Silco says, and the pitch of his voice is brimstone permafrosted into a eternal twilight. "Do not speak to me of rights. You forfeited yours as a father long before I entered Sevika's orbit. Or her bed. You dug your grave; I staked my claim. And I do not need blood to declare it. I claim by loyalty. By choice. Mine—and hers. And for every morning after, as she rises to serve my city—I'll ensure my mark is made. Until there isn't a man in Zaun who would dare dispute it. Starting with you."

Samik recoils, half-cringing from the fallout of the truth. Half-torn between rage and revulsion—until his pride overpowers everything else.

"How fuckin' dare you—?!"

"I dare," Silco cuts through the tirade, "because your daughter gave me leave. Last night—beneath the roof where you will never again set foot—she permitted me to make my claim. Not to replace you—but erase you. And believe me when I say: if you weren't hers and Nandi's father, your erasure would come with the sweet catharsis of a severed throat."

The pulse throbs in Samik's throat. He's a fearsome beast, a seasoned veteran, a survivor. But he's seen enough brutality in his days to scent death at its rawest: without recourse.

Without end.

"Bastard," he whispers. "Fucking bloodsucking bastard."

Unspooling from his seat, Silco flicks the cigarette across the table. It skitters to a stop, smoke coiling from the cherry.

A parting gift.

"One week," he says. "Hold your tongue. Mind your manners. Your freedom's a heartbeat away."

"Wait just one godsdamn minute—"

"After, you'll join the crew on the evening-shift guard duty at the docks. You'll report to your designated checkpoint and perform your work without fail. Supper is at sunset. I dine with my crew every Tuesday. Your daughter's conferred an invitation, which you would do well to accept. After the meal, I'll show you to your quarters. Five streets over from mine and Sevika's. Enough proximity to maintain contact. Not enough to force conversation. It's Fissure tradition for in-laws to stay cordial, but not kissing-close, Mr. Mitra. So let's try cordial, shall we?"

The jibe—in-law—slams like a gavel. Samik's brows contorts: the rage stoked on a decade-long forge, fed on fresh indignity.

Except he cannot retaliate. Cannot lash out. Can only swallow his losses: pride, hope, family. Silco has his number: an ogre with no luck and nowhere else to go. And the ogre knows it; feels every pound of humiliation grinding his bones to powder.

His voice holds a fritzed-out flatness.

"Go to hell." Then, cordial, indeed, "Sir."

"Already there." With a grave flourish, Silco nods. "Welcome to Zaun, Samik Mitra."

He glides out without a backward glance. The cigarette, and Samik's silence, smolder in his wake.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #forward but never forget/xoxo #arcane silco #silco #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane sevika #sevika #sevilco #silco x sevika

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dear-indies · 1 year ago

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Hello :) Please could I get some FC Help? I am looking for female, 35+ , my only preference is that they're brunette. poc preferred.

Kathy Najimy (1957) Lebanese.

Alexandra Billings (1962) African-American, European, Unspecified Indigenous - is trans.

Michelle Yeoh (1962) Malaysian Chinese.

Ming-Na Wen (1963) Macanese / Chinese Malaysian.

Kim Hee Ae (1967) Jeju Korean.

Gina Torres (1969) Afro Cuban.

Chandra Wilson (1969) African-American.

Cherry Pie Picache (1970) Kapampangan Filipino.

Sandra Oh (1971) Korean.

Stefany Mathias (1972) Squamish.

Sherri Saum (1974) African-American / German.

Merle Dandridge (1975) Japanese, Korean / African-American.

Rhona Mitra (1976) Bengali Indian, English / Irish.

Tawny Cypress (1976) African-American, Accawmacke / German, Hungarian - is queer.

Taís Araújo (1978) Brazilian (African, Austrian, Portuguese, possibly other).

Bérénice Marlohe (1979) Chinese, Cambodian / French.

Sharon Chan (1979) Hongkonger.

Noémie Lenoir (1979) Malagasy / Belgian, Corsican.

Maggie Q (1979) Vietnamese / Irish, Polish, French.

Elaine Tan (1979) Malaysian.

Jung Ryeo Won (1981) Korean.

Jana Schmieding (1981) Miniconjou Lakota Sioux and Sicangu Oyate Lakota Sioux.

Atiqah Hasiholan (1982) Yemeni Indonesian / Batak Indonesian.

Ki Eun Se (1983) Korean.

DeWanda Wise (1984) African-American.

Seo Ji Hye (1984) Korean.

Débora Nascimento (1985) Brazilian [Unspecified Indigenous, Black, Italian] - is bisexual.

Nathalie Kelley (1985) Argentinian, Peruvian [Quechua, possibly other].

Meaghan Rath (1986) Ashkenazi Jewish / Goan Indian.

Alba Flores (1986) Romani, Spanish [including Andalusian] - is a lesbian.

Lucy Alves (1986) Brazilian [Black and Unspecified Indigenous] - is bisexual.

May Calamawy (1986) Jordanian, Palestinian / Egyptian.

Antonia Thomas (1986) Afro-Jamaican / English, possibly Welsh.

Anushka Sharma (1988) North Indian (Uttar Pradesh and Garhwali).

+ here's my fc directory with filters!

Please let me know if you want something more specific!

#fc help #rph #rpc

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nityarawal · 7 months ago

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h0bg0blin-meat · 2 years ago

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WAIT YOU'RE RIGHT (Also considering Varuna is also/used to be a night god as well and mitra sort of a day god this twilight scene is just a cherry on top!

Kama: *sees two people having a bromance* And they were roommates!

Mitra: Yes that's exactly what they are.

Kama: Damn you really do hate lovers don't you?

Mitra: I just think two people can be friends, unlike you who makes everything romantic.

Kama: Okay, Varuna's boyfriend.

Mitra: WE'RE JUST FRIENDS JEEZ.

Varuna, appearing outta nowhere: *near tears* we are?

Mitra:

Mitra: No I-

Kama: Way to go, prat.

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p-and-p-admin · 3 years ago

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WIP Game

I was tagged by @deepshadows2, who is my long-standing writing buddy and No.1 Cheerleader (thank you).

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips. (You can make your own post or reblog this one!) I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? Dnd campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!

Red Commentary: I'm sticking with my fanfiction works and not my original or screenwriting as I prefer to maintain a separation between the bits of my writing life.

The Augeretis Fons

The Surgens Umbra

The Mrtyu Mitra

An utter blackguard

Untitled seasonal holiday short

Forget me not

The sweet taste of Summer cherries/ It started with mushrooms

Perchance to dream

The Wych Elm

Secrets (working title)

Sins of the father

Still here (working title)

Time waits for no man

In theory, I am supposed to tag 13 people (1 for each WIP) and challenge them to participate also, however, both the writers I know well enough to ask have already been tagged. Oops. So instead I invite all my followers to participate. I'd love to hear about what you are all up to.

#sevmione #snamione #sshg fanfiction #sshg

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marvel-lucy · 6 years ago

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The Walking Disaster

(Start a new fic when I haven’t finished the last one? Me? Surely not!)

This came from a prompt I was given about two years ago, and I can’t find who gave it to me - apologies, but thanks to whoever you were!

-----

What happens when the most beautiful man in the world moves in next to the most disastrous woman?

All chapters are on the Walking Disaster Masterlist

Chapter 1

Let’s take a quiz.

Are you a) one of those quiet people who keeps themselves to themselves, or b) the kind who opens their mouth to find their whole life spilling out in all its glory, for all the world to see?

Do you a) walk through the world with a sense of purpose, striding through the town as if you own it, or b) stumble through, yesterday’s underwear dropping out of your trouser leg and a cup of coffee always about to spill down your shirt?

Do you a) have the ability to put one foot in front of the other, repeatedly, or b) did you stop at the toddler stage of development and manage to trip over fresh air?

When faced with the person of your dreams, do you a) smile beautifully and draw their attention with your wit/intellect/style, or b) face plant into the nearest bush and reappear with a pigeon perched on your head?

I’m option B. Every time.

But I’ve got news for you other B-ers. It’s not always a bad thing…

I always mean to be cool, calm and collected. I write lists and set alarms extra early so I can get up and do yoga in a patch of Instagram-worthy sunlight, before leaving for work in plenty of time, a bottle of lemon-infused water in one hand, and a deep and meaningful novel in the other. But I lose my lists, and snooze my alarms; I’ve never managed yoga (I only bend when I spot candy I’ve dropped); I survive on caffeine, and I read Buzzfeed on the train, often missing my stop because I’m too busy finding out just what the first initial of my future husband will be, based on my top three doughnut toppings.

It was S by the way.

Today was no exception, although to be fair to myself, the world conspired against me. I actually did leave on time for work today. I was so proud of myself that I walked along, head held high, as I left my apartment and headed down the stairs. I’d have done better if my head was slightly lower, because then I’d have seen the cardboard box just outside the apartment next door. The box that I then tripped over, ending up hanging half over it, feet on one side, head on the other, and backside pointing straight up as I listened to the cheery sound of the contents of my unzipped bag rolling down the stairs ahead of me.

I no longer even bothered to sigh, or to moan, when these kind of things happened to me. It was un-noteworthy these days, so I just flumped myself sideways, rolling over onto the floor so I was lying flat on the grimy hallway to catch my breath.

I only lay there for a second, staring up at a damp patch on the ceiling, when my view was blocked by the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Light brown hair, dangerously blue eyes, and a beard worthy of the gods, all appeared over me. There was a frown line between those beautiful eyes, eyebrows were pulled in with concern, but the overall effect was still like the sudden appearance of an angel, albeit one peering down at humanity with some mild anxiety.

‘Are you OK?’ Ah, voice of an angel too. Deep, golden. Delicious.

I heaved myself up, glad at least that I hadn’t been carrying any drinks today so I wasn’t dripping. I was now eye-level with a broad expense of checked shirt, stretched across what could only be a broad expanse of chest. My eyes continued upwards, to meet the eyes of my concerned angel, and bam, boom, choirs of angels singing, 4th of July fireworks, the full shebang. I’m surprised I didn’t tip straight over again.

I fall over a lot more than average I’m sure, but this was the first time I’d fallen head-over-heels for someone’s face.

‘Are… you OK?’ he asked again. I’d obviously left slightly too long a pause here, and may have been staring a little too much at his face. ‘God, I’m really sorry,’ he continued, ‘I’m just moving in, that was the last box, I was about to bring it in.’

‘I’m fine,’ I said, and now it happened, the red flush that usually accompanied my disasters starting creeping its way up my skin. I could feel my chest flush, my neck start to turn lobster, and knew that my face was about to resemble a beetroot. Logically, I was OK with my ineptness, I was used to tripping over, dropping things, saying the wrong things; but my body seemed to feel the shame that my brain denied, and I blushed like a cherry.

‘Nice to meet you, sorry for tripping over your stuff….’ I scuttled off, head down, trying to grab at the detritus that had leapt from my bag. A pen here, a lip balm there, enough scrumpled tissues to house a hamster in luxury. I shoved things into my bag haphazardly as I fled down the stairs, a little too fast, grabbing at coins and my phone (the screen had broken so long ago that I wasn’t worried about any further damage).

‘I’m Steve, nice to meet you,’ my new neighbour called down. I twisted to call back my name, wanting to at least make a good second impression since the first one had been a little botched, but as I turned, my foot caught on a loose roll of candy and went out from under me. I landed hard, on my behind, a giant ‘OOF’ echoing up the stairs.

I looked up, hoping beyond hope that this angel-neighbour would have been inside with his door shut by now. No such luck. His face appeared at the top of the stairs, and I couldn’t decide if that was a look of alarm or a look of amusement that I saw.

‘I’m fine!’ I called again, more merrily than I felt, as I hastily gathered up the last of my belongings (leaving my dignity strewn across the lobby), and rushed outside the building. I wasn’t. I mean, that’s not my name for a start (‘Hi, I’m Steve’, ‘I’m fine’ isn’t how the conversation rules generally go), and I was bruised, red, dusty and late for work. But more importantly, I’d done it again. I’d fallen for someone on the basis of a pretty face, and I’d scuppered my chances from the start.

I’d just have to pull it together for the next time we met. Easy, right?

-----

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#steve rogers fic #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers au

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niamh-sims · 5 years ago

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~ Jerarevia~

Persian(esque)

Seasons: Spring - Summer- Summer- Autumn

Seasons last 8-days each, lining up with Almighty Hat’s ageing mod, which is 4-days = 1 year. I plan to play a complete Season in each neighborhood before playing the next one.

Deities: Hati & Mitra

Each of the three neighborhoods in this game have their own regional varieties of fruits, vegetables, crops, livestock and game, unique to their environment and weather. I’ve tried to research to make it as accurate as I could, but I have still taken a bit of creative license. When going through the Sun & Moon sets, individual items were sorted into English (Anglo-Saxon era), Northern Europe (Viking-esque), Persian (combination of Middle Eastern and Mediterranean), Oriental, Tropical and New World. The Oriental, Tropical and New World items will eventually make it into themed, custom vacation destinations. Once each neighborhood adds a harbour and docks and achieves Charter City status,they will be able to travel to their associated vacation destination, eventually travelling to new lands.

Jerarevia’s items are as follows:

Garden Crops: Artichoke, asparagus, beans, beets, broccoli, cabbage- red, cantaloupe, carrots, cauliflower, celery, cucumber, garlic, honeydew, leek, lettuce, onion- red, peas, radish, turnip, watermelon, zucchini

Herbs: Aloevera, anise, basil, bayleaf, bergamot, catnip, chickory, chives, coriander, dandelion, deadly nightshade, dill, fennel, feverfew, lavender, lemongrass, licorice, marjoram, milk thistle, mint, oregano, parsley, penny royal, rosemary, sage, thyme, valerian

Spices: Cardamon, cinnamon, cloves, cumin, ginger, mustard, nutmeg, peppercorn, saffron, sumac, turmeric

Fruit trees: Apple, cherry, fig, olive, peach, pear, plum, pomegranate

Berries: Goodeberry

Nuts: Almond, pistachio

Livestock: Camel, chickens, cow, donkey, duck, goat, goose, horse, peacock, pig, pigeon, rabbit, sheep

Wild game: Boar, deer, duck, fish, fox, hare, wolf

Other: Grain, grape- cabernet, grape- chardonay, honey, mushrooms, salt, reed, wild roses

#ts2 #mcc #jerarevia #neighborhood

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playnow-i58bet · 2 years ago

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Yggdrasil maju lebih jauh di pasar iGaming Italia melalui kesepakatan Microgame

Blog Article

i58BET - Penyedia solusi game online Swedia Yggdrasil telah memperluas jangkauannya di Italia setelah menandatangani lisensi perangkat lunak dan perjanjian pengecer dengan penyedia layanan game terkemuka di negara itu, Microgame.

Kemitraan baru akan melihat 80 game penyedia dari portofolio pemenang penghargaannya tersedia untuk jaringan mitra operator Microgame yang luas di negara Eropa Selatan.

Pemain di Italia sekarang akan memiliki akses ke permainan seperti Lightning Joker yang baru saja dirilis, lengkap dengan putaran turbo pertama dan memenangkan casino online hingga 10.000x taruhan, bersama dengan Multifly, dan Arthur's Fortune bertema abad pertengahan.

Lebih dari 37 mitra operator Microgame juga akan dapat menawarkan trilogi Vikings yang sangat sukses, termasuk Vikings Go To Hell, Vikings Go Wild dan Vikings Go Berzerk, serta game yang dikembangkan melalui program YG Masters andalan penyedia.

Splitz, Gigablox, dan Boost:

Selain itu, game yang menampilkan mekanik Splitz baru yang inovatif dari Yggdrasil, termasuk judul utama Temple Stacks: Splitz dan Neon Rush: Splitz, dan, akan diluncurkan pada 24 Juni, Lucky Neko, game klasik yang terinspirasi Jepang lengkap dengan Gigablox, pemasok fitur baru yang menggunakan simbol berukuran besar untuk menarik lebih banyak garis pembayaran, juga akan menjadi bagian dari integrasi.

Jika itu belum cukup, Boost, alat promosi dalam game pemasok game Cherry AB, juga akan tersedia untuk mitra Microgame di Italia.

Kehadiran yang mapan:

Chief Executive Officer Yggdrasil, Fredrik Elmqvist, menggunakan rilis berita resmi untuk mengomentari kemitraan baru yang memberi perusahaan lebih banyak eksposur secara signifikan di pasar Italia, dengan menyatakan…

“Microgame adalah pemasok platform terkemuka di Italia dan melalui kemitraan ini kami akan sangat memperluas jangkauan kami di negara tersebut bersama dengan mitra operator premiumnya.

“Game kami telah terbukti sangat sukses dengan pemain lokal sejak kami memasuki pasar pada tahun 2017 dan kami sangat senang dapat menawarkan portofolio kami ke grup pelanggan yang lebih luas bersama dengan Microgame.”

Salah satu merek paling mapan di Italia, penyedia yang berkantor pusat di Benevento menawarkan layanan taruhan ritel dan online end-to-end ke jaringan operator besar termasuk berbagai produk taruhan kasino dan olahraga. Platformnya disesuaikan untuk distribusi di negara ini.

Chief Executive Officer untuk Microgame, Marco Castaldo, juga mengomentari kolaborasi tersebut, menambahkan…

“Dengan menambahkan konten terkemuka Yggdrasil ke platform kami, kami Gadis Luar Biasa akan secara signifikan meningkatkan penawaran kami dengan judul-judul inovatif dan menarik yang menarik bagi demografi pemain yang luas.

“Yggdrasil adalah salah satu pemasok terkemuka di industri ini dan kami menantikan kemitraan yang sukses.” NIGTH LIFE KITA

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cinquecolonnemagazine · 3 years ago

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Festival di Film di Villa Medici 2022

Nell'ambito della seconda edizione del Festival di Film di Villa Medici che si terrà a Roma da mercoledì 14 a domenica 18 settembre 2022, saranno presentati quattordici film in competizione internazionale. Queste produzioni, di tutte le durate e i generi, includono 2 film presentati in prima mondiale e 9 prime italiane. Anche quest'anno, artisti, registi e pensatori di tutti i continenti si danno appuntamento a settembre a Villa Medici per celebrare la vitalità delle pratiche cinematografiche contemporanee attraverso una selezione di proposte – film d’autore, cinema d'essai, fiction o documentari – che si distinguono per l'originalità del discorso o della forma. Festival di Film di Villa Medici, cos'è? In un'epoca in cui lo storytelling è nella migliore delle ipotesi uno strumento di lavoro e nella peggiore dei casi un'arma da guerra, gli artisti e i registi contemporanei sono necessariamente messi di fronte alla questione della narrazione, intima o politica, in un movimento riflessivo che mette in discussione la materia stessa della loro arte. Ciascuna delle opere in gara sovverte a suo modo i codici di questi racconti individuali o collettivi. Il potere di un racconto Sostituire il racconto dei vincitori con quello dei vinti significa riscrivere la storia alla luce di una «morale della minoranza» (per riprendere le parole del filosofo francese Didier Eribon). In MOUNE Ô di Maxime Jean-Baptiste, le comparse di un film sulla colonizzazione della Guyana rivendicano l’immagine del loro popolo assente dall'immaginario francese; in MANGROVE SCHOOLdi Filipa César e Sónia Vaz Borges, gli scolari guerriglieri sistemano quaderni e matite tra le mangrovie della Guinea-Bissau. Assenza ed interruzione Questi personaggi assenti dalle rappresentazioni del secolo scorso fanno gioiosamente irruzione nel nostro secolo, sfrenati, orgogliosi e con una smorfia sul viso. Come la strana figura, senza sesso né età identificabili, che impersona l’artista guatemalteco maya Edgar Calel in XAR scritto insieme a Fernando Pereira dos Santos: un essere la cui potenza originale fa esplodere qualsiasi cosa attraversi, tanto lo spazio quanto il tempo. Un misticismo politico su cui lavora anche l’artista libanese Ali Cherri con LE BARRAGE, la sua favola di resistenza girata nel Sudan in guerra. Festival di Film di Villa Medici: un'altra... narrazione? Questa ricerca di un'altra narrazione avviene spesso attraverso il ritratto degli Antichi, in una filiazione che i film mettono in discussione. Sparite le «memorie dei nostri padri» al loro posto ci sono le nonne, protagoniste della trasmissione al centro di KICKING THE CLOUDSdi Sky Hopinka, cineasta indiano d’America, e di INTO THE VIOLET BELLY dell'artista tedesca di origine vietnamita Thùy-Hân Nguyễn-Chí, rivelazione dell'ultima Biennale di Berlino. Questi antenati, ai cui film si richiamano, sono anche gli artisti che li ispirano. In À VENDREDI, ROBINSON, Mitra Farahani, con il suo inimitabile talento nell'ammansire le anime selvagge, riunisce Ebrahim Golestan e Jean-Luc Godard in una favola inaspettata in cui è difficile dire chi sia più serio o più malizioso. Éric Baudelaire raccoglie la parola del compositore d’avanguardia Alvin Curran contestualizzandola nella Roma delle Brigate Rosse in WHEN THERE IS NO MORE MUSIC TO WRITE, AND OTHER ROMAN STORIES. Estate e tempi felici al Festival di Film di Villa Medici Dopo L'estate di Giacomo e I tempi felici verranno presto, Alessandro Comodin continua a lavorare sul territorio del suo paesino al confine tra Friuli e Veneto, con il ritratto di un poliziotto sognatore e strampalato, GIGI LA LEGGE, suo zio, che sfata i luoghi comuni più duri a morire sul Nord e il Sud dell'Italia. Altro territorio assurdo e familiare nel secondo lungometraggio di Tyler Taormina, HAPPER’S COMET, sorprendente ritratto notturno e lynchiano della classe media di una città di medie dimensioni, che condivide i segreti silenziosi di coloro che il cinema non riprende mai. Ascoltare... Ma per far ascoltare una storia è necessario innanzitutto ascoltarla. Con SAINT OMER, la sua prima fiction, la documentarista Alice Diop mette in scena la storia di una madre infanticida. Questo andirivieni tra parlare e sentire rivelerà le ferite politiche della società francese. Il cinema pensa l’inascoltabile, ma anche l’inguardabile. In DE HUMANI CORPORIS FABRICA, Véréna Paravel e Lucien Castaing-Taylor (Léviathan, Caniba) penetrano all'interno del corpo umano con le nuove telecamere che i medici usano per gli interventi chirurgici o le diagnosi. Tra sacro e volgare, gli organi e gli stati convocati – l’occhio, il sesso, il cuore, il cervello, l’oblio, la morte, la nascita – creano vere e proprie deflagrazioni metafisiche. Infine, raccontare l’irraccontabile, è il compito doloroso che si è dato la scrittrice siriana Samar Yazbek, di cui il nuovo film di Rania Stephan, LE CHAMP DES MOTS, fa un indimenticabile ritratto – quello di un essere la cui umanità è irrimediabilmente ferita. Read the full article

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csnnat23 · 3 years ago

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touchsensitiverecords · 3 years ago

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TSR22: VOX POPULI - PSYKO TROPIX

VOX POPULI! - PSYKO TROPIX

Touch Sensitive Records – TSR22 LP / Digital Fri 15th April 2022 https://li.sten.to/psykotropix

Touch Sensitive is honoured to dig into the vaults of legendary cult French group Vox Populi! with a collection primarily pulling from their creative highpoint of 1986-1990. The vast majority of the works are unreleased and all make their first appearance on vinyl. The recordings have been licensed from the group’s extensive archive, mastered by Rupert Clervaux and cut by Andreas Kauffelt at Schnitstelle. The release is completed by liner notes focusing on Vox Populi!’s creative process and prolific output.

Springing from the rip it up restart of post-punk in 1980 and primarily active throughout that decade, Vox Populi!'s discography is a perfect showcase of an almost unclassifiable group. The often-used ‘ethno- industrial’ tag - even if not approved by the group - goes some way to describing a melting pot of primarily self-taught techniques and vast cultural influences. Founding member Axel Kyrou’s parents were avant- garde musicians and filmmakers resulting in a heavy cultural immersion from a young age. His partner and bandmate Mitra moved from Iran to Paris in 1978 - followed a few years later by her virtuoso brother Arash who joined the group at the age of 14.

Based in their 14th arronidissement studio - previously Axel and his brother’s family playroom - Vox Populi! quickly became a lynchpin in the Parisian experimental scene and beyond through the burgeoning mail-art scene. The group contributed work to a huge number of independent labels. Their music and approach quickly progressed from rudimentary experiments to harness transcendental spiritual qualities and moments of intense beauty. In this collection, we can feel the vibrations of Don Cherry’s Organic Music Society, Faust’s communal explorations and King Tubby’s forward-thinking studio experimentation.

“We recorded everything - every idea. We would always have a cassette or a reel running. We made such different styles - freaky, alternative, experimental, industrial etc. We had no rules and no plans - our main motives were play and pleasure. I think that many people can feel that in the music.”

Three tracks recorded in 2017 by a reconfigured Vox Populi! sit perfectly with music from 30 years previous - “We were never defined by fashion or the zeitgeist. So we remained ourselves. Our sound is still natural. We had to be turned on by our own music and we wanted the music to have an impact on consciousness. We were the subjects of our own experiments and there was also a kind of mystery - even for us."

The Psyko Tropix collection is another magical and mysterious addition to the open-hearted and open-eared world of Vox Populi!

“The music of Vox Populi! found me several years ago and it was one of my record digging highlights. Their stark contrast of dark and light paints a beautiful picture of the physical and mental world we all live in. This new album doesn’t miss a step in exploring further in both directions” Cut Chemist

#vox populi!#Touch Sensitive Records

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langwrites · 7 years ago

Note

ABC questions for each character of the letter their name starts with

So this is a long one.

A: Aptitude

Grand Duke Arno Lambert, who has basically reinvented himself to be Lumina’s Duke Consort, really.

1. what are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young?

Arno is a born healer. As a Trugiln, he’s always been a decent tracker, guide, and hunter when necessary, but his preference is always to care for the people and animals who stumble their way to his home. He’s also pretty good at math.

2. what activities have they participated in?

Arno, back when he was under a different name, used to be a champ at drunken arm wrestling because he was chronically sober.

3. what abilities do they have that they’ve worked for?

Herbalism, rather than healing, was something he had to learn. He also practiced with throwing axes and hammers as melee weapons back in the day, to mixed success.

4. what things are they bad at?

I never said he was any good at throwing weapon. Only that he tried to use them.

5. what is their most impressive talent?

Arno can heal with enough skill—and a touch of divine providence—to revive the recently-dead.

B: Basics

Here we have Brigid Rime, a villain!

1. what is their hair color?

Her hair is white, which she dyes different colors when the mood strikes her. It’s been a very lovely nigh-prismatic purple before.

2. what is their eye color?

Deep brown. There’s something a bit odd about the way her eyes appear in bright light, though… (Her pupils are actually square.)

3. how tall are they?

About 5’4”.

4. how old are they?

Somewhere between 25 and 32.

5. how much do they weigh?

137 lbs.

C: Comfort

Cirrus, Gabilan’s master-at-arms.

1. how do they sit in a chair?

He prefers to sit in a chair the way chairs are meant to be sat in, and gets a little annoyed with everyone else deciding that “furniture” is the same as “climbing wall.”

2. in what position do they sleep?

Cirrus sleeps on his side or back, occasionally rolling from one to the other and landing squarely on the floor.

3. what is their ideal comfort day?

Cirrus would definitely prefer to spend the day in three major sections: sparring with everyone in Gabilan, then visiting a steam house to relax after a workout, and finally reading a good book late into the night.

4. what is their major comfort food? Why?

Jellied eel, because his mother used to make it. It doesn’t actually taste appealing.

5. who is the best at comforting them when down?

Cirrus prefers to visit the stables and check in with the horses, because he feels more relaxed around them than around his brothers sometimes. Of said horses, his favorite is named Silverstream.

D: Decoration

Dazma Kiltaea, master sorceress. Probably not human.

1. how would they decorate a house if they had one under their name?

Dazma has the correct total lack of taste to appreciate white marble columns in home decorating, in some 40-room manor that was impressive enough before cultural grave-robbing kicked in.

2. how would they decorate their child’s room?

Not her problem. She doesn’t have one of those anymore.

3. how do they decorate their own room?

Gold. So much gold. She wants to be a dragon of yore. She would also like an arcane workshop within easy reach to help with the obtaining of more things her real self missed out on. Also, she’s rather fond of floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

Light hitting the room is like as not to blind visitors.

4. what type of clothes and accessories do they wear?

Picture a woman-shaped swathe of white, blue, and black fabric. Anything past that point is a mystery.

5. do they like makeup/nail/beauty trends?

Trends are for people who care what other people think. Her nails are sharp enough to cut, exactly as she likes them.

E: External Personality

Evander of Oltose, not exactly Mr. Personality.

1. does the way they do things portray their internal personality?

No.

2. do they do things that conform to the norm?

He certainly seems like a model soldier. Obeys orders, never asks questions…

3. do they follow trends or do their own thing?

He kinda tends to go along with the crowd, whatever that might entail.

4. are they up-to-date on the internet fads?

The internet doesn’t exist.

5. do they portray their personality intentionally or let people figure it out on their own?

The latter. Less effort that way.

Interestingly, every thing said by or about him is almost guaranteed to be a lie. Evander’s original personality and identity was entirely overwritten by a creature from the Dreamscape years ago, whose central personality tenet is “Deceit.”

F: Fun

Fiamma of Kingsroad, the Red Shirt of the Royal Kaltekas Army, Magical Operations.

1. what do they do for fun?

Fiamma prefers to organize large parties with friends if at all possible. If not, she used to be the one who kept track of betting pools, card counters, and weighted dice.

2. what is their ideal party?

50+ attendees with free-flowing alcohol, games, and at least one fantastic musical performance. She wants to have a concert.

3. who would they have the most fun with?

She prefers hanging out with people like Zahara, rather than the party poopers of the world like Lumina.

4. can they have fun while conforming to rules?

Yes!

5. do they go out a lot?

Under better circumstances, yes!

G: Gorgeous

The Gumiho, also known as one of the walking, talking Dreamscape dangers.

1. what is their most attractive external feature?

Silky black hair seems to appeal!

2. what is the most attractive part of their personality?

The Gumiho can make any part of its personality attractive, from sense of humor to ambition to the urge to devour human flesh. It’s in its nature as a predatory trickster to adapt to anything that might convince prey to relax. Then come the teeth.

3. what benefits come with being their friend?

Not getting eaten.

4. what parts of them do they like and dislike?

Nothing of note.

5. what parts of others do they envy?

Nothing of note.

H: Heat

Hokide, Dreamscape born-and-raised. Which causes problems.

1. do they rather a hot or cold room?

Cold. Hot rooms have a bad relationship with Hokide’s lack of thermoregulation. His species has a much easier time in the wintry parts of the world.

2. do they prefer summer or winter?

Winter. So much.

3. do they like the snow?

Sort of?

4. do they have a favorite summer activity?

Does “not dying” count?

5. do they have a favorite winter activity?

Exploring glaciers to make maps and sketch landscapes. It’s fascinating!

I: In-the-closet

Ismene Nikos, Oceanus’s mother and healer extraordinaire for the Royal Kaltekas Army.

1. what is their sexuality?

Heteroflexible, I think.

2. have they ever questioned their sexuality?

Not especially. Ismene didn’t really think her early life gave her many opportunities to experiment much with her sexuality, and life in the army came to a pretty spectacularly horrible end. After the fallout, she decided none of it was worth the trouble.

3. have they ever questioned their gender?

After speaking with Fithrain and accidentally getting introduced to the concept, yes. After some thinking, Ismene shrugged and came to the conclusion she was a cis woman.

4. would/was their family be okay with them being LGBT?

She doesn’t think they would have been.

5. how long would/did it take for them to come out?

Closest she ever got was explaining to her son that he didn’t have be ashamed of being attracted to some of the village boys instead of just girls. Oceanus, being about seven at the time, never made the connection between his mother’s acceptance in that moment and anything past that.

K: Kill

Keyah, the head of scouting in Gabilan!

1. have they ever thought about suicide?

Yes.

2. have they ever thought about homicide?

Definitely. It’s a part of her job description as a former Army scout, though not exactly a recognized aspect of being a courier.

3. if they could kill anyone without punishment, would they? Who?

Probably people who threaten Gabilan, because she’s done it before.

4. who would miss them if they died?

Her friends in Gabilan, her extended family, and her boss.

5. who would be happy they died, anyone?

No one?

L: Lemons

Lucretia Araceli, would-be knight!

1. what is their favorite fruit?

Cherries.

2. what is their least favorite fruit?

Peaches.

3. are there any foods they hate?

Jellied eels.

4. do they have any food intolerances?

She can’t stand beans, but isn’t intolerant or allergic.

5. what is their favorite food?

Oltosian wheat bread.

M: Maternal

Mitra bint Naviyd ibn Copernicus al-Fulan, one of the people least suited for this.

1. would they want a daughter or a son?

If forced to address the question of children, she’d say one of both. Or neither.

2. how many children do they want?

None, generally speaking.

3. would they be a good parent?

Yes.

4. what would they name a son? what would they name a daughter?

“Omair” and “Fatimah.”

5. would they adopt?

Probably not.

N: Never Have I Ever

Nimbus, schoolmaster of Gabilan.

1. what would they never do?

Get married.

2. what have they never done that they want to do?

Climb to the tallest peak in the Spine and plant a flag there.

3. is there anything they absolutely can’t believe people do?

Read anything written by “S. Burat.”

4. what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done?

Fell asleep on his desk, directly onto a still-wet document. Woke up with writing all over his face.

5. have they done anything they thought they’d never do?

Yeah: Live to see forty.

O: Optimism

Oceanus of Seabridge, one of our main protagonists.

1. are they optimistic or pessimistic?

Oceanus is deeply pessimistic.

2. are they openly optimistic, throwing it on others?

Nope. And nope.

3. are they good at giving advice?

Absolutely horrible. Most of his advice is phrased in a way that comes off as sarcastic or just blunt even when he’s trying to help.

4. is there anyone in their life that throws optimism on them?

Khalil and Alena both do, but Khalil is the more insistent one by far. Alena is a quieter presence.

5. were they always optimistic?

Fuck. No. And never have been.

P: Personality

Pyrrhos Razen, low-level tyrant.

1. what is their best personality trait?

He would say his business sense and pragmatism are the most useful to him and everyone around him. He’s proud of every moment he gets one over on someone else, and celebrates.

2. what is their worst personality trait?

Complete and utter disregard for human rights. The guy’s a mid-level crime lord, and what scruples he has don’t apply to anyone but himself and Brigid Rime, his partner in crime.

3. what of their personality do others love?

Brigid is most fond of his confidence. Others like the fact that when bought, he stays bought like a good mercenary. Or at least he honors deals made with him personally.

4. what of their personality do others envy?

Confidence, generally.

5. do they hate anything about their personality/about other’s personalities?

Pyrrhos despises indecisiveness and doesn’t understand the point of altruism. Which on its own means he doesn’t understand altruism in general.

Q: Questions

Quillyn, proprietor of the Evening Primrose in the Oltose town of Lysand.

1. do they ask for help?

Not really.

2. do they ask questions in class?

What’s “class?”

3. do they answer questions that make them a little uncomfortable?

Sure, though it’s hard to really put a brothel madam off her game.

4. do they ask weird questions?

Mostly, she’s asked weird questions.

5. are they curious?

Not especially. It’s not a survival trait in her world.

R: Rules

Radovan of Stalmo, Alena’s long-missing biological father.

1. do they follow rules?

Pretty much. He’s a mercenary, so in many ways his life is a series of changing rulesets to go along with employers.

2. would they be a strict or laid-back parent?

As evidenced by his other actual children later on? He’s a laid-back dad insofar as he doesn’t do punishments.

3. have they ever been consequenced for breaking a rule?

No.

4. have they broken any rules they now regret breaking?

“Don’t sleep with the boss.”

5. do they find any rules they/others follow absolutely ridiculous?

He doesn’t understand why anyone would make rules against looting. Don’t they know that’s how bonuses happen?

S: Streets

Sinrajin of Skytear.

1. are they street-smart?

Not especially. One gets the impression he was raised by wolves—in fact, he was raised by spirits. As such, he sees the world entirely differently than the Kaltekans do.

2. would they give money to someone on the streets?

Yes, he would. Spirits don’t have much of a concept of money, really.

3. have they ever gotten in a fight on the streets?

Not once! It turns out that looking like a Trugiln bloodseeker is good street cred, because people assume he’d remove their faces with his teeth if angry enough.

4. has anything happened to them on the streets?

Nothing notable.

5. are they cautious when out?

Not a bit! Someone made the mistake of pointing out that Sinrajin was unlikely to be robbed by anyone unwilling to face the reality that he could probably break them in half, and he runs with that assumption.

T: Truth

Tirane of Queen’s Crossing, the token uninvolved human who is suddenly in the midst of shit.

1. are they honest?

Sort of. She does tend to qualify her statements by admitting she’s not really telling the whole truth, ever, but she does try to do people a good turn.

2. can they tell if someone is lying?

Absolutely. It’s a part of her magic skillset.

3. is it obvious when they’re lying?

She’s not especially good at it, so yes.

4. have they lied about anything they regret lying about?

Nope.

5. have they told truths that have been spread against their will?

Probably.

Y: You

1. how old were you when you created them?

It varies. A lot of these characters have been around since I was eleven or so, and some have been around for less than a month. Such is author life.

2. what inspired you to create them?

I really, really wanted to tell a story.

3. were they different when they were first created?

Oh boy, yeah. Some of them have had total personality flips. Others have been molded to suit their roles. Others stayed mostly the same, or at least their one-word summary did.

4. do you enjoy writing them more than other characters?

Some of them?

5. what’s your favorite thing about them?

They’re all great in different ways. Or despicable. But at least they’re running around in a created world and doing what characters do.

Z: Zebra

Zinnia Veritos

1. what’s their favorite animal?

Songbirds, especially small ones with bright colors.

2. do they like animals?

Yes.

3. cats or dogs?

Cats.

4. what’s their dream pet?

A housecat that won’t eat her bird friends.

5. do they have any pets at the moment?

Nope.

#terramir gang #Oceanus #Alena #Mitra #Lucretia #Zinnia #Fiamma #Tirane #Radovan #Pyrrhos #Brigid #Quillyn #Ismene #Naviyd #Sinrajin #Fithrain #Keyah #Nimbus #Cirrus #Hokide #Arno

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