if it’s okay i’m going to be greedy…. c/g/r? thanks for sharing!!!
Ask Game
C: What member do you identify with most?
I want to say I’m super cool like Lena (and on paper, I kind of seem like it - MIT degree, pilot, scuba diver, etc).
But I think I’m most like Sam or Winn. Sam is pretty down-to-Earth most of the time, Winn is tech-savvy and geeky but in an understated way compared to Lena (and will occasionally completely fanboy over stuff in a way very similar to me). In person, I’m very unassuming.
I definitely borrow some of Brainy’s cultural cluelessness, though. (Yesterday I found out that the person I thought was Seinfeld was actually a character named George.)
G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?
Oh my story writing is completely chaotic. This post has some screenshots for outlines of different fics, but to grab the top example:
I have a one-shot that is 32 scenes so far. It doesn't need more, but it'll probably grow more anyway. Scene 7 was the scene that prompted the fic, I think.
Scene 9 was written first (sort of). I've also written scenes 13, 14, 21, 22, 23, 24, and 30. Note that scene 7 isn't written yet.
R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?
I can share some supercorp fic that were formative back when I was blasting through fic in early 2022, before I started to write my own: A Ribbon at a Time, Love of Forgetting, Hope, Hope(less)
The extent to which it influenced my style, I’m not certain. I think those writers are much better at conveying their thoughts into words than I am (though I think this is something that I’ve been improving over time). On the flip side, I haven’t found as many fics that utilize canon as heavily as I do (part of why I started writing is because I wanted to rewrite the existing stories in canon… and now I drive myself crazy making timelines 🤣).
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Some warmth would be great. Seasonal prompts 19. warming cold hands/feet for siavash and woljif please. 🙂
Thanks for the ask! Apologies in advance for 1) grumpy Woljif and 2) nerding out via Nenio. Credit to my dad for Regill's insufferable aphorism.
The Pathfinder Winter Solstice prompts
“Yeah, who named it Ch-Chilly Creek? Hard up for inspiration, huh? And who decided we needed to pay a social v-visit to Chilly Fucking Creek in the middle of f-freezing fucking Kuthona? What’s with the c-creepy dolls, anyway? And then there’s what, a sea monster with t-two dozen heads? And it splashes freezing water on you when you try to s-stab it?” Woljif was really out of sorts. His feet were so cold they hurt—the parts of them he could still feel, at least. A steady, horizontal sleet pattered against their tightly wrapped cloaks. Under a wide hood to accommodate his horns, his teeth were chattering and his breath made angry little clouds.
“There’s no such thing as poor weather,” Regill declared. “Only poor preparation.”
“Hey, good one.” Lann raised his eyebrows appreciatively.
“What the hells? You’re half lizard, you oughtta be f-frozen solid right now.”
“Perhaps he’s not as cold-blooded as he lets on,” said Daeran. “Perhaps an ardent, four-chambered heart beats in that chiseled breast.”
“At least I have one,” Lann retorted.
“You err, my chimeric companion. My breast is perfectly chiseled.”
All this talk was diverting attention from Woljif’s complaining. “I c-can’t feel my hands. You better hope there’s no t-traps in Chilly Creek, ‘cause you’ll be outta luck. Hells, a f-fireball sounds kinda good right now, come to think of it.”
Yet they were warmly welcomed by Chilly Creek as Jernaugh and his friends led them through the gates and half the village came out despite the weather to greet them. Siavash and Woljif were lodged in a tiny but cozy guest cabin. Malessa brought them firewood and dry clothes.
“Well,” she said, looking Woljif up and down with a crooked smile, “these aren’t going to work for you.” She pulled out a razor-sharp filet knife and began cutting a hole in the trousers for his tail.
“You don’t have to—”
“Don’t fret. Easy enough to sew back up. Or better yet, we’ll set them aside for your next visit,” she smiled.
Woljif’s ill humor got the best of him: her smile seemed so natural and guileless his guard went up instantly. Good old suspicion and contempt would have been honest at least. He frowned.
Not seeming to notice, she peered at him worriedly. “You’re looking a little pale around the gills, sweetie.” His expression turned from grumpy to sheepish. “Get changed and warmed up and we’ll fetch you as soon as supper’s ready. See you shortly.”
At last Siavash noticed. “Great gods, look at you.”
Woljif was standing there shaking violently, hugging himself, his tail wrapped so tightly around his right leg he couldn’t bend his knee.
Siavash kissed his pale, trembling lips in concern, then helped him change, bundled him into blankets in front of the fire, and only paused to change his own wet gear when he was satisfied some color started to come back to Woljif’s cheeks.
Throughout this, Woljif was lost in contemplation. He couldn’t remember one instance when Gran took any interest in whether he was cold except to tell him to quit complaining. Seemed like that was normal. He’d always had an inkling in the back of his mind that maybe it wasn’t, but with everyone fussing over him there was no denying it. This is how it’s supposed to be, he thought angrily. How come I’m just finding out now?
But the anger melted into a glow of gratitude when Siavash scooted under the blanket next to him and snuggled close, making little concerned sounds. “Your hands are ice! By all the good gods, why didn’t you say anything?”
Woljif opted not to tell him he had said a great deal while Siavash was out of earshot. A pretense of stoicism could go a long way.
They sat cross-legged facing each other so that Siavash could tuck Woljif’s freezing feet under his knees and his hands in his armpits. One last huge shiver passed through Woljif’s frame as the warmth flooded in.
“Boy did we get an earful. His teeth weren’t the only thing chattering,” Lann chuckled.
Supper was a whole-village affair in the longhouse, fires blazing and dishes passed around a massive table. On his third helping of fish, Woljif was getting the ribbing he deserved for his complaining, which attracted Nenio’s unpredictable attention.
“Having a furless tail is indeed a thermodynamic liability,” she said, a phenomenally quick hand catching the appendage in mid-annoyed twitch.
“The high surface area to volume ratio allows for rapid radiation of heat, and the way you wave it around, convection is also a significant factor. Indeed, it’s curious you aren’t chronically hypothermic. Hm, it must have a thick subdermal layer of adipose tissue,” she said, poking it. Her grip was firm; he couldn’t pull it away without risking it whipping someone, especially the children who had gathered behind them to whisper and giggle. “I would hypothesize it possesses a countercurrent exchange system. Aasimar boy, if I take a cross-section for observation, you could re-attach it, yes?”
“Of course,” said Daeran with a mischievous smirk.
“Don’t egg her on!” Woljif cried, snatching his tail out of her hands and wrapping it firmly around his chair.
Meanwhile, down the table, Siavash was also on his third helping of river perch filets in herbed butter. “There’s no village leader?”
“No,” said Malessa, “it’s too small to bother. Whenever we have a big decision, anyone who cares enough to voice an opinion speaks up.”
“Loudest wins,” said Markyll.
“Sounds a lot like Andoran. So Jernaugh, no converts yet?”
The priest shook his head with a self-deprecating smile. “No. I’m trying to convince them they can welcome Old Deadeye in their midst and keep their traditions at the same time, but they have their convictions. Not to say they’re stubborn.”
“He’s a clever one,” said Markyll, pointing a fork. “Just insistent enough not to get himself kicked out on his arse.”
“And helpful,” Malessa added with a warm look in her ice-blue eyes. “We’re growing fond of him, our odd little priest.”
Jernaugh blushed.
“So what I’m really curious about,” Siavash went on, eyes twinkling at the flustered young priest, “is how you’ve never had any trouble with demons. We’ve almost forgotten what peace like this feels like.”
“They don’t bother with a little backwater like this one,” Markyll shrugged, looking away.
“Our mother Icy Rill looks out for us,” added Malessa, but her smile had gone a little rigid.
Markyll shot her a quick glance.
“A parochial goddess,” Jernaugh explained. “Probably a Sarkorian river spirit. They’re very devoted to her.”
“But that’s hardly interesting,” Markyll said loudly. “We have the Commander of the Crusade at our table. How about some Crusade stories?”
That night Woljif lay awake in the cabin, listening to the wind and the soft hiss of snow outside, the restless wheels of his mind engaged in more contemplation. He was reminded of something Lann had said about everybody pitching in and being better off for it. This village seemed to be working pretty well on that model. Nothing like the streets of Kenabres. Dry clothes set aside for guests, platters of food passed around until you could burst, Malessa with her all-purpose fishing knife calling people sweetie.
Suddenly there was that prickly sensation at the back of his neck that meant his shadow was about to have opinions.
Something is not right about this village, it whispered.
“Somethin’ fishy?”
His shadow was silent.
“They’re tryina reel me in?”
Sheesh, his shadow really didn’t have a sense of humor.
Be wary. They’re hiding something. And another thing…
Woljif rolled his eyes, but he was listening.
It is because you weren’t coddled that you’re so tough and self-reliant.
His brows knit in the dark.
Don’t let them soften you up, the easier to shape you to their own purposes. Or stab you in the back.
“Piss off, I’m tryina sleep.”
“Hm?” Siavash rolled over.
“Nothin’, I didn’t mean you.”
Sleepily, Siavash tucked an arm around him and kissed his cheek. “Bad dreams?”
“I’m all right.” Woljif remained rigid and wide-eyed. He was definitely being coddled. It was making him soft, and he was going to regret it bitterly.
Right? Or was there a sort of strength in having somebody’s armpits to stick your hands in when they were cold?
He was aware he was in danger of believing what he wanted to believe, but it felt good to stop on that thought and snuggle into the pool of warmth in Siavash’s arms, heave a deep sigh of contentment, and let himself relax and drift off to blissful sleep. Beside him, the shadow seethed.
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7, 17, 27, and E for streetkid!Val!
Thanks for the ask @togepies! 🥰
7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?
For both versions of Val, sometimes blocks or corners in Watson make her nostalgic. She hates it, because usually it makes her remember being small and alone after Virginia died.
17. Are they easily embarrassed?
God, yes. Streetkid Val is extremely self-conscious. Deep down she knows she is a badass -- how can you be one of the most requested mercs in NC and not be a badass? -- but that hasn't quite translated yet into self-confidence.
27. What causes them to feel dread?
Val fears leaving Mitch alone if when she dies. She still carries the burden of Driss's death, and she doesn't want to put him through that again, especially so soon.
E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?
Yes!! I think she and I would get on great. We would talk about quickhacks and coding and cars, just for starters.
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41. Comfort food for the micro story prompts!
Thank you, this was a nice one Ash ❤️ but it went over "micro" I guess. A little post-Fifth Crusade since I’ve been working on that today.
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Before a crackling fire, Aivu asleep in his lap, Woljif stretched his legs out and sank deep into the comfy stuffed armchair and contemplated whether there was some way to teleport the contents of his stomach somewhere else and have more cake. Nothin’ a little dimension door can’t fix right up, he thought complacently, with a pleasant sigh as the pressure in his abdomen receded. A couple of hundred yards away a school of Andoshen trout received a happy surprise.
Doran came in and settled on the divan with a glass of sherry, loosening his belt a notch. “You’ve got a healthy appetite, son. Don’t know where you put it.”
“Haha, yeah.”
Nilufar came in and perched next to her husband with a cup of tea poised on her knees. “Sia’s gone out with Ky for a bit. I hope he works things out with him.”
“Yeah, he’s good at that kinda thing.” It hadn’t ever crossed his mind that people outside Mendev, especially eleven-year-old nephews, had a certain mental image of crusaders that didn’t bear much resemblance to reality.
“We tried to talk some sense into Ky but I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect myself. I admit I was a little worried Sia’d come back grim and scarred. And then there he was. Hasn’t changed a bit.”
If you only knew, Woljif thought.
“You seem like a sensible young man, Woljif.” Nilufar sipped her tea. Gods, she had the eyes, looking at you over the lip of the cup like that. Except hers were dark brown instead of hazel, her brows and olive skin a shade darker.
“I guess I am,” he grinned.
“This child,” Nilufar said kindly, “needs some stability. Schooling. Someone to comb her hair, for crying out loud.”
In Woljif’s lap snoozed what appeared to be a human girl of nine or ten with plump brown cheeks and a mess of purple hair. Her legs were tucked under her flouncy purple dress and she had tossed aside her dagger belt to curl up more comfortably. Both she and Siavash had informed the family repeatedly that she was a dragon and a friend, not their daughter, but this apparently was not the only imaginary dragon Siavash had ever come up with, so they weren’t buying it. No sense arguing.
“You’re right, but don’t you worry. She uh, has a tutor.” He’d made up his mind not to lie to Siavash’s family, or as little as possible, and strictly speaking it was close to true, because although Hal had sent her back to Elysium three times he always took her back. “We got good people to take care of her while we’re traveling.” A reformed succubus counts as good people, right?
“We’re relieved. Zarin wants to try to do something with her hair tomorrow.”
“Good luck. Hey, can I get some more a’ that cake?”
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