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vincent-g-writer · 4 years ago

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The Silver Screen Savant, pt 2- the Meh, the Bad and The yikes.

Hello Writers!

Last time here on Starry Starry Write, I talked a little about Autism in the media and my personal experiences therein. Today, I’d like to go a little broader, and tackle the topic from a macro perspective.

In recent times, you’ve probably heard “Representation Matters” oft repeated. Especially in prominent talking spaces like social media. But what does that mean, exactly?

Why “Representation Matters,” and how.

The short answer:

Diverse representation in media tells us that everyone has a place in the world. That everyone’s story matters.

The long answer:

It’s no secret that we begin engaging with media at a young age. When I was growing up in the 90’s and 00’s, TV and video games were often the babysitters of my peers. I was one of the few kids in my neighborhood whose parents weren’t divorced. The kids I knew? Not so much. Most of them were raised by single parents, grandparents and of course-the boob tube. I personally prefered books, when my mom wasn’t yelling “it’s too nice out to be holed up in that dark bedroom!”

Now, don’t mistake my preference for some kind of intellectual superiority. I watched plenty of TV too. Besides, books aren’t magically out of the equation. Printed material is our oldest form of media. And- often just as problematic. Though I will say- I saw a much broader range of people on covers adoring library shelves than I ever did titles on a TV roster. But, I digress. The point is: for many of us, consuming media begins at an early time of our life. And that’s where the problem starts. Even in my childhood, where The Magic School Bus, Hey Arnold, and Sesame Street showed people of all kinds, I can point to many that did not. Especially not people like me. Which did me a grave disservice. I didn’t know I was on the spectrum for a long time, and when I finally found out, I was horrified, thanks to what I had seen on TV.

Because media is not only a wonderful way to learn about people that don’t look, act or sound like us. It also informs our ideas of who we are, and what we can be. Whether we like it or not: it shapes how we understand the world. And it doesn’t stop with Childhood.

Time Changes Much, but not all.

Things are better now. Well, a little bit, anyway.

As an adult, I see more people like me on the screen nowadays. Which is nice.

Ish.

Why “ish?” Well…

Frequently, these “noticeably different” characters (read: Autistically coded) are branded “NOT AUTISTIC!” You heard it here first, folks! That one character (insert your favorite) is Totally Not Autistic. Despite being written in a way that gives every indication otherwise.

*Facepalm*

Now for some examples, which we’ll call the “Meh,” “The Bad” and the “Yikes.” For “fun,” we’ll also go into the off-air perceptions of the characters.

The “Meh.”

First on the list is Dr. Spencer Reid, from CBS’s “Criminal Minds.”

Dr. Reid is the youngest member of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, having joined at the age of 22. He holds three B.A degrees in Sociology, Psychology and Philosophy, as well as three Ph.D’s in Engineering, Chemistry, and Mathematics.

He also has the social skills of a limp dishrag. Wait, what’s that? High Intelligence + Low Social Awareness? Hmmm…Then there’s his restrictive behavioral patterns, obsessive interests, and general “quirkiness!” that we could talk about. But let’s hear a quote from the actor who plays him, Matthew Gray Gubler:

“..an eccentric genius, with hints of schizophrenia and minor autism, Asperger’s Syndrome. Reid is 24, 25 years old with three PH.D.s and one can’t usually achieve that without some form of autism.”

Hoooo-boy. I could go into all the things wrong with this, including why the term “Asperger’s” is both horrific (TW: Eugenics,Ableism, N*zis) and harmful. However, today we’ll simply leave it with the fact that this term is no longer applicable, having been reclassified in 2013 as part of Autism Spectrum disorder.

The “Bad.”

Next up, we have Will Graham, from NBC’s Hannibal.

Like our first example, Will works for the FBI. He’s a gifted criminal profiler with “special” abilities, namely hyper empathy, which allows him to reconstruct the actions and fantasies of the killers he hunts. He’s intellectually gifted, hates eye contact, socializing, and prefers to spend…most of his time…alone.

Oh dear. Haven’t we been here before? But, I mean, he doesn’t have Autism! The show runner says so!

For Will Graham, there’s a line in the pilot about him being on the spectrum of autism or Asperger’s, and he’s neither of those things. He actually has an empathy disorder where he feels way too much and that’s relatable in some way. There’s something about people who connect more to animals than they do to other people because it’s too intense for whatever reason.

You can’t see me right now, but I’m cringing. A lot. This is just…ugh. I mean, for starters, I know a handful of autistic people who struggle with hyper empathy, which can make social situations overwhelming and hard to navigate. In fact, I happen to be one of them. Plus, there’s a cool little thing about how, frequently, people on the spectrum more readily identify with animals. But, y’know. Who am I to say? I’m just someone, one of many, who’s dealt with this my whole life.

Now, onto the “Yikes.”

*sigh*

And finally, we have BBC’s Sherlock, a modern adaptation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s renowned “consulting” detective, and probably the most famous fictional character of all time.

Now, I’ll start by saying that the BBC incarnation is not the first to be Spectrum labeled. In fact, Sherlock was my childhood hero, and the first “person” I saw referred to this way. My aunt, an avid reader herself, casually remarked to a friend “I’ve always wondered if Holmes is Autistic,” after I came yammering on about how fantastic the books were. Had I not been champing at the bit to get back to my reading, I might have asked her what that meant.

I also believe this fandom driven speculation is why many detective type characters (see above) are often coded as Autistic, intentionally or otherwise.

In this New York Times article, Lisa Sanders, M.D. describes Holmes traits:

He appears oblivious to the rhythms and courtesies of normal social intercourse — he doesn’t converse so much as lecture. His interests and knowledge are deep but narrow. He is strangely “coldblooded,” and perhaps as a consequence, he is also alone in the world.

Now, before we go any father, let me take a moment to defend his creator. During the time Sir Arthur Conan Doyle first created his most famous work, Autism was not known. That isn’t to say it didn’t exist. We’ve always existed. In fact, it’s now believed that the Changeling Myth, a common European folk story, was a way to explain Autism. In one telling (there are a few) children displaying “intelligence beyond their years” and “uncanny knowledge” were imposters, traded out by Fae creatures for offspring of their own. Children believed to be “Changlings,” regretfully, often came to a bad end. A chilling reminder that the stories we tell impact our real lives.

So while Autism was at least somewhat recognized, it did not become its own official diagnosis until 1943.

Meanwhile, Sherlock Holmes was first published in 1892. Now, as a writer who often draws from my personal reality, I imagine Doyle probably “wrote what he knew,” which is to say, acquainted with one or more Autistic people, he used them as inspiration.

On the other hand…

BBC’s Sherlock first aired in 2010. And while one might argue that the writers simply capitalized on the Autistic fan-theory, or took already available traits and exaggerated them for their version… they left a lot to be desired. Autism aside, this new Sherlock is…well…an asshole. Narcissistic, abusive and egocentric (to name a few) he sweeps his caustic behavior under the rug of “high functioning sociopath,” and blytly ignores the consequences.

Which is a major problem. Because while doing this, he’s still “obviously” (at least in the Hollywood sense) Autistic. In my previous post, where I said some characters are “too smart™, and logical© to ever have feelings, friends or empathy,” this is what I meant.

This is bad. We’re looping right back to Representation Matters. Bad representation, and the navigating of such, is just as important for writers to think about as good representation. Maybe even moreso. Because bad representation paints real people into cardboard, stereotyped people-shaped things. It otherizes. And it’s harmful. You would not believe the people I’ve met assume I’m not Autistic because I’m not an egotistical jerk. Why? Because they watched, you guessed it, BBC Sherlock.

Confession time:

Now here’s my little secret:

I love all of these characters. They are some of my favorite on tv. Why? Because for good or ill, I recognize myself in them. Finally, I can turn on the TV, and see myself. Or, somewhat, anyway.

My favorite character out of this list? Loath though I am to admit it… Is Sherlock. See, what those well meaning folks didn’t know (the ones who say I’m I’m “too nice,” to be Autistic) is… well, if we’re being honest, I wasn’t always nice. A few years ago, I was that guy. I was a jerk because I thought I was the smartest person in the room. Which is really not a good look. In fact, sitting down and watching the first season of sherlock, (around three or four years after it came out) made me realize how much of a jerk I actually was.

There are other things there too. Things that tie me to all these characters, that I didn’t list. But that’s for another today.

For now, I’d like to add a caveat or two:

1) I’ve watched all the shows listed above, and adore them. As I mentioned, Sherlock is my favorite. He’s also the one I’ve watched the most (Repeatedly, in fact. Whoops.) and I recognize it’s not all bad. In the end, he learned to treat people better (somewhat) and certainly became more human over time. And, there are other deeply problematic elements of the show I’d like to tackle, eventually.

*cough* Queerbating! *cough*

2) I’m well aware that the above cases are all thin, white, able bodied, “straight” males. But I chose these characters for a couple of reasons. One, they’re the most prominent type on TV. Again, we loop back around to representation, and why we need more positive, diverse examples of it.

And finally-

3) In my last post, I mentioned I’d give some “good” instances of Hollywood Autism trope. But I didn’t exactly do that. Partially, because half way through, I thought…perhaps…I’m not the best to judge what might be a good Autistic character. I mean, I’m sure someone will read this and think my current aforementioned characters are fine. Heck! They might even argue my perception here, and say the characters are just fine. I accept that. In my life, both on and off the page, I recognize that I cannot, should not (and don’t want to) speak for an entire community.

Because of this, I cannot tell you how to write a “good” Autistic character, or what media is “acceptable.” I can’t even really tell you what a bad character is. Sure, I have a lot of opinions about it. But- if you’re on the spectrum and like and identify with the above? That’s fine. I mean, even with all the problems I noted (and some I didn’t) I certainly do.

On the other hand, if you’re a writer, and you want to write a character from this (or any, for that matter) community you aren’t part of, I caution you.

Do your research. Preferably from multiple credible sources.

Talk to people on the spectrum about what it’s really like. (Though try to steer clear of asking for emotional labor.You could, say, hop on reddit and ask the community there, for instance, which is a no pressure way to obtain potentially decent info.)

Finally, whatever you do, remember this-

Autistic people can look like anyone. We can act, and think and be different, like anyone. We are real, living, breathing people. Not robots, not sob stories, not tropes. People. So if you write about us, write us like people. And your work will be all the better for it.

-Your Loving Vincent

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aliferous-ly · 5 years ago

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logince + royalty and/or magic au if you want 👀 👀 - stardustlogan

ROYALTY AU ROYALTY AU ROYALTY AU I love that

Logan and Roman are princes of neighboring kingdoms. The kingdoms are on v good terms, maintaining a strong alliance for the duration of Roman and Logan's lives. They have friendly events and competitions between kingdoms and everything

Logan and Roman meet, then, pretty early in their lives, and they butt heads INSTANTLY. always wanting to compete against the other in some form of whatever. But as time goes on, they realize that they're best friends because they just -- always want to be around the other, and love each other's company. Roman realizes his feelings for Logan first, but it's Logan who starts considering actually courting Roman.

He gets all happy and blushy just at the thought of being able to court Roman, in the gifts and the special nights and just, everything. He wants to do it all with Roman. And , he thinks, it's perfect -- their kingdoms are in harmony, everything would work out.

Then Logan stumbles on something he never, ever should have stumbled upon.

While walking through the palace, thinking about how to express his desire to court Roman (a ruby red ring? an earpiece? a thoughtful letter?) he finds a hidden corridor and, ever the curious, he tiptoes through.

and he finds a group of officials planning a coup on his father, the king. Logan's not stupid, he tries his hardest to sneak out, but my man rolled a nat 1 and ends up tripping, making the largest clatter of a noise.

They catch him. They plan on killing him out in the woods, by the lake for easy disposal. he's tied up, seemingly helpless, when during the ride there a shadow passes over the carriage. everything's dark for just a few seconds, but the carriage falls into chaos, a weird mist wrapping around Logan's assailants and confusing them. The ropes around his wrists fall slack and he wastes no time in bailing out, tumbling and scraping up his body as he sprints as quickly as he can, away from them. The mist follows for only a few feet, whispering of love.

he ignores the insignia of Roman's kingdom emblazoned on their sleeves. they could've stolen those uniforms. they could've.

He races back to his kingdom but just long enough to grab his horse, and then he's -- gone, run away. He left a signed note (he's not that foolish) of what he saw, but he knew he was no longer safe (who was a mole, who was safe?)

So he went to the place he felt safest, which was -- truly foolish, too, because he sped as quickly as he could to Roman.

He sneaks in a servants door , slipping through shadows all the way to Roman's room, which he creeps in (knocking would be too loud, wouldnt it?)

He whisper-yells Roman's name until Roman startles awake -- obviously Roman didn't expect to see Logan here, and his first reaction is to turn beet red

(Logan isn't faring much better, because while yeah, Roman wasn't wearing a shirt, it wasn't the first time Roman had been shirtless around Logan)

(the act of it being in Roman's personal quarters, though... that was new)

Logan whisper yells everything that he saw and Roman pales, said he -- heard murmurs of dissent, and realizes the coded letter he'd found was -- accurately transposed. Roman says they need to leave, now, before anything else happens.

Logan doesn't fully understand but he trusts Roman, more than anything, so he agrees

And they pack quickly and leave -- Roman stops by his favorite servant and good friend Virgil's place, to tell him the Deets, and Virgil -- and Virgil's partners, Patton and Dee, two shapeshifters -- promise to keep in contact

Roman takes them to a hidden cabin, far outside either kingdom, smack dab in the middle of Fae territory. No kingdom would ever encroach on the fae, so no kingdom claimed the land, but the fae -- they're fine if you respect the land, and give her gifts.

And Roman was a changeling.

His "twin", the human, Remus, was with the Fae.

(his love for Logan manifested in the mist that protected Logan in a trying time. Neither of them figure this out for many, many years)

So then these two princes dance around one another in a cabin in the woods, trying to avoid relationship talk and focus on the Impending War between two seemingly friendly kingdoms, because they don't Have Time for this Love stuff

(spoiler: they make time for this Love stuff anyway)

#logince #SO R R Y I CANT ADD READ MORES #idk how to get to markdown w asks on mobile and there is No Wifi at my house currently which means no computer #askies #ahh whats the shipname for the three #moxieceit #???#au asks #stardustlogan #THANK U FOR SENDING THIS AW

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univentoremarchived · 5 years ago

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|| This folks, is how you manipulate a naive child~

(verse specific, so apologies if you don’t know the exact context, summary follows)

A closed verse in which supernatural creatures are observed and monitored through the guise of a circus. All performers have an ability that isn’t mundane, such as magic, elements, transformation and so forth. Ayden was revamped into a half-fae in this verse. Born to a fae mother who took him to Tír na Nóg as a baby and raised him until he was thirteen. He was kidnapped by Hyousuke and taken to Cirque de Nuit and became a Child of the Night (performer) ever since.

The rules were simple. You do as you are told. That is the first thing a Child of the Night is told and all they will hear the years that follow. If you don’t listen, or neglect your duties, then the so called Redheads will punish you. Whether it was a coincidence both ‘leaders’ of the circus had red hair was unknown to Ayden. Hyousuke, one of the two and who was the recruiter of the circus, has been here for ages (literally), while the other redhead, Efrain has been here a bit longer than Ayden.

Ayden was twenty years old in human years by now. He was barely conscious of his age as he was still treated like a kid by most immortals around this place. After all, compared to someone who has been alive for literal ages, he really was just that, a child.

After having been summoned by Efrain, Ayden made his way to the scientist’s camper, knocked on the door and waited until he received the usual ‘Yes, yes, come in,’ before actually entering. The inside of the camper looked nothing like the outside, for it was not at all a usual camper. Inside it was filled with high tech, screens, doors locked with a code system, tools used for means Ayden would rather not think about (similar to the tools used for surgery) and pots that contained body parts of different kinds of species. It wasn’t a pleasant place for more reasons than one. For Ayden, the biggest reason was the lack of simple nature. There was none of it present. He bet if he put a plant in here it would die within the day or Efrain would find new ways to clone the plant, evolve it or whatever.

Science was ruining Earth, Ayden had been told over and over again by his mother.

“You wanted to speak to me?” he asked hesitantly, a cold spot forming in the pit of his stomach. Efrain was looking at a screen, filled with numbers. It seemed the scientist was reading them as if it was a language of its own, muttering thoughts while continuously noting down even more numbers. Ayden had no idea what he was doing.

With a sideways glance, Efrain looked at Ayden, then pointed at the chair next to him. Ayden did as told and sat down, still wondering what it was Efrain wanted to speak about. After all, it was usually Hyou he answered to, not the scientist.

“How is your new job coming along?”

Ayden tilted his head, then remembered what he meant. “O-Oh, the administration for the campers and tents.. Yes, well, it’s not difficult.. Haven’t heard any complaints either..”

“Good. You’ve proven your loyalty many times over and it made me wonder if you would be interested in having more.. responsibilities in this camp. After all, you’re a clever boy and are designed for more than simple knife throwing in the circus.”

“I see..”

Efrain frowned at him. “You see..?”

“I mean, yes, that would be great.. but what?”

At that, a hum escaped the scientist, looking up at the roof for a moment before returning his attention to the fae boy. “Fae are known for persuasion, among other things, yes? There are a few Night Children who don’t quite understand the rules yet, so I need you to help Hyou and me teaching them the ways of the circus. How does that sound?”

Ayden blinked, not having expected this. “Uhm.. Thank you? Sounds like a big responsibility..”

Efrain sighed. “Of course, you will be compensated for it, which I gather, you could use ever since you decided to move to your own tent with your sibling. Which, brings me to my next point. I need you to get Casey to accept the ways of the circus and settle with us. They’re not going anywhere, so acting like the enemy as they are so good at won’t help them. I believe Casey doesn’t trust Hyou and me, but they do trust your opinion, so what better way than to start with them?”

Ayden needed a moment to take it in. Convince Casey to become a trusted member of this society... Was that even possible? Nevertheless, Ayden had the urge to defend them. “I mean.. they say a lot, I know, and they’re quite unique, but that’s just how they are. They speak their mind. And they’re new, so...” He wasn’t really sure how to use proper arguments, not when Efrain had such a piercing glare.

“I see. You clearly trust them because they’re your family. I get it. You want to defend them. It’s only natural.” He turned in his chair, facing Ayden directly and leaning in to come closer. “Have you ever wondered what kind of life Casey might have led? What was your childhood like, Ayden? Wonderful? Peaceful? Did it feel that way?”

Tír na Nóg... Of course he remembered it that way. It had been home...

“However,” Efrain continued. “Did you ever think of what it was like when Casey joined your family? They don’t carry fae blood, not in their genetics anyway, from what I could gather during the DNA tests, nor are your genes similar, yet Casey looks more fae than you. This means they are a changeling, yes? A human snatched by a fae and claimed as their child. Didn’t your mother’s attention shift from you to Casey? Didn’t Casey have a lot more to learn?”

“Sure Casey had a lot more to learn..” Where was Efrain going with this?

“Doesn’t that frustrate you? Casey had all the attention from your mother back then, didn’t they? Are you okay with that?”

Ayden nodded, furrowing his eyebrows at the scientist.

Efrain shook his head however. “No, my boy, how can you be? You are her blood, her first born, were you not? How could you not have been jealous of Casey? And now they appear as a fae, with all those abilities you never got to learn and Casey looks like the confident full blood fae who believes they can do as they please. Doesn’t that anger you? It would anger me if they were my family.”

“But Casey doesn’t mean anything bad by acting as such.. they’re just.. very protective of me, that’s all!”

“Even though you’re the older brother? Even though this is your home and Hyou raised you like his own? He never gave Icarus more attention than you or the other way around, did he? He treated you both equally, trained you both equally. And then there is Casey, waltzing in like they own this place, even though you know it much better than them and have many more privileges here than them.”

Ayden shook his head, gaze locked on the chair legs beneath them.

“Oh please.” Efrain cupped Ayden’s cheeks. “I know you’ve been thinking it. Don’t deny it. Hyou and I know you better than most here. I bet I know you better than Casey knows you. I see you’ve been hesitating lately. You haven’t been in the best of moods either, have you?”

Ayden grabbed the sides of his chair, holding onto it tightly until his knuckles whitened from the grip. “That was just-”

“Don’t bother, I know what you’re thinking. I bet Casey has been trying to convince you of other things, made you feel like you would want to go back to the land of the Faerie, did they not? They believe you’re weak and naive for listening to Hyou and me, but that’s not the case is it?”

Ayden shook his head, Efrain’s cold hands still on his face.

“See? You’re a clever boy, Ayden. You know exactly what this circus is all about, you’re the clever one, not Casey. And you need to help them along. Help them believe in our cause so you two can lead a good life here, because you did build up a decent living. It can be even better, I can promise you that. You know I never go back on my promises, don’t you? I know how important deals and promises are to supernaturals, so I take it seriously as well.”

Ayden nodded, hesitantly looking up at Efrain. “Casey’s not bad, really..”

“Then help me believe that, my boy. I would love nothing more than for them to have a home here, like you. Who knows, maybe you can learn a few more magic tricks as well. See? There is only more to gain by having them settle here, so don’t allow them to persuade you otherwise, because you’re the one who sees clearly, not them.”

The cold spot in the pit of his stomach turned into a blazing hot fire as he hesitated about the words swimming in his mind. Should he say it?

“What is it?” Efrain had seen the hesitation.

“Casey.. they were talking about escaping this place.” He gulped, throat feeling dry, knuckles now hurting. “I-I mean, that was only the first day, they haven’t said anything like that ever since! I just.. I..” Efrain had been right. They did think they could do as they please. Worse yet, they made him hesitate about the circus which had been his home for years now.

Efrain grip on Ayden’s face tightened, the fae boy flinching in pain. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier, huh?” He pulled Ayden up, not releasing him, and pushed him against the wall, reminding Ayden of what Kai had put him through for years. “You should have told me this right away!”

“I’m sorry! They seemed to have changed their mind so I didn’t think it was necessary any longer!”

“You know words of escape should always be reported! The streets are filled with hunters who will snipe you down as soon as you set foot outside without permission!” Grip tightened, as if Efrain was trying to hurt him as much as he could by simply squeezing his face.

Ayden’s jaws hurt.. “I’m sorry,” he managed to mumble. “I just wanted to give them a chance..! I never meant to against any rules myself! I swear!”

Efrain released him and held his shoulders instead. “Don’t make me punish them. Gain their trust, make them settle and you will both continue to lead decent lives here. It’s that simple, yes?”

Ayden nodded, cowering as if expecting another blow from the scientist. This was why he preferred Hyou. He was less explosive, a lot nicer.. a lot more understanding.

“You can go now. Tell Hyou about this meeting, will ya?

The fae boy nodded once more before hurriedly leaving the camper.

#{ drabble }#{ circus verse }

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folkloric-love · 6 years ago

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Okay, lemme preface this by saying I cannot code for shit and my drawing skills are not up to the task of illustrating this, but consider, if you will, a mod expansion concept for Darkest Dungeon... I’m talking about Eldritch Fae.

What if the Ancestor made a pact with the rulers of the local Fairy Court and basically tried to cheat his way out of upholding his part of the bargain? Y’know, the whole “promise to give us your first born child in exchange for power/riches/luck” deal, and the Ancestor was like, “sure, sounds legit” because it’s not like he’s planning on having children of his own or anything, right? Except the Ancestor basically fucked his way through half the Hamlet and has all these bastards running around, but nobody knows who was born first, so the Fae are like, “guess we’ll just take them all then?” Of course, some folks ended up leaving the Hamlet once the Fae start kidnapping all these children, and things go quiet for a while, because the Fae assume they got them all. And then the Heir shows up to reclaim the Manor, and that’s when bullshit starts up again... So, rough concept ideas for this hypothetical expansion: -New Monster Type: The Fae I know we already got the creepy bug mutant designs with the Crimson Court Bloodsuckers, but imagine some of the more creepy Eldritch designs by way of Guillermo del Toro’s films, like Pan’s Labyrinth or Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark or Hellboy II: The Golden Army. Different Fae creatures will spawn in different regions, such as Church Grims in the Ruins, or Selkies and Kelpies in the Cove. Maybe Red Caps and other goblin type creatures in the Warrens? -New Wandering Boss: Dullahan The Fae Rulers have officially instated The Wild Hunt, and have sent their champion huntsman to track down the Heir and kill anyone that gets in their way. Boss fight consists of the Dullahan and their steed, which are two enemies that share a health pool, like the Flesh boss. If you take down the steed first, though, the Dullahan changes stance from weak, multi-hit attacks to focus fire vs. Marked targets. For each Hero that falls during the boss fight, the Dullahan claims their head and gains a temporary buff during the fight. Probably a similar build to Leper, with low accuracy but high damage output. -New Trinkets Cold Iron trinkets that do bonus damage vs. Fae, and a unique Trinket that helps to mitigate damage in the Dullahan boss fight, similar to Mildred’s Locket in the Miller boss fight. Probably something along the lines of a Gold Brooch or Gold Hairpin, since Dullahan are said to bear an aversion to this metal, according to folklore. -New Hero Class Still working on this one, but I’ve got three different concepts. A Blacksmith tank spec Hero that does bonus damage to Fae due to the cold iron weapons they carry. A “fairy doctor” healing class that specializes in stress heals and can cure Horror status effects, maybe offer protective buffs that reduce stress? A Changeling that functions similar to the Abomination in that they’ve spent too long in the Fae realm or were somehow infected with the Fae’s Eldritch powers, and now they can use those abilities to fight against them. -New Districts ???? Profit? -New Bosses: The King and Queen of Fairyland Haven’t put much thought into this one either, other than the fact that you gotta fight them in order to clean up the Ancestor’s mess and put a stop to all this nonsense. -New Dungeon: The Gloaming Probably functions similarly to the Courtyard Epic length dungeons. Your party travels to a twilight realm between this world and the Fae realm, a gloomy forest filled with twinkling fairy lights that serve to lead your Heroes astray. Lots of twists and turns and dead ends to confuse your party from their goal of reaching the boss chamber. Higher chance of trap triggers. All Fae types can be encountered here, making some enemy party configurations more challenging than before. -New Affliction: Fae-Touched Can only be acquired after visiting The Gloaming, or if a Fae creature’s stress attack brings a Hero’s stress level to 100 (random chance of happening). The Afflicted Hero has a high chance of refusing food, passing turns in battle, and is obsessed with interacting with certain Fae-aligned Curios. Takes more stress damage in areas that are not The Gloaming, due to a strong desire to return to the Fae realms. Other bonuses and penalties to be determined later. Anyway, this is all I’ve got for now. Thank you for showing up to my TED talk, and feel free to discuss and contribute ideas to this concept!

#darkest dungeon #mod concept #darkest dungeon the wild hunt #is what i'm going to tag this idea for now #in case people wanna follow along and contribute ideas #talk to me about creepy eldritch fae creatures #and dullahan #because i fucking love them

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deathbyvalentine · 6 years ago

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Prompts

Your Favourite Character’s Perfect Moment

Artificial sunlight filtered in through the glass of the library deck, making the place look like it was bathed in a permanent autumn. They were only half awake, the warmth and calm ushering them into a hazy state, content not to participate, just to listen to the world move around them from the comfort of the sofa. Soon, Finisterra.

Their head was in Nic’s lap, their hair long again and his fingers tangled in it. He was engaged in a book held in his other hand, occasionally coming across a line he would read out loud to the person in his lap, eager to share. It was something theological, which Cal found vaguely amusing, and Nic poked their cheeks every time they couldn’t suppress a smile.

Across from them, Bridge sat, methodically working through a translation, occasionally looking up to frown and ask his XO for his opinion. An array of data slates were surrounding him, but none were flashing with alerts. And there were no cadets or officers coming in to bother him either, the library code firmly set to private.

Anoretta sat by Cal’s feet, cooing over the two cats in her lap, while Baris sat opposite, eyes narrowed at one of the little creatures, assessing its threat level. Its threat level apparently was raised to an interesting level once he trailed a piece of wiring across the ground and watched it pounce.

Anya sat beside Silvestro, bandaging a bruise he had gained from nothing more serious than a sharp fall when the ship had juddered into warp. She was smiling, and laughing, and Silvestro wasn’t scowling. Their mind was as golden as the room they were in. But it wasn’t loud. Just loving. Just waiting, patiently and gently.

Moonlit Masquerade You could feel the music through the concrete from meters away. A bit closer and you could see the glow sticks flickering in and out of view, attracting revellers like moths to a flame. The parking complex was mostly free from cars, instead filled with a deafening party. There were speakers shoved in every corner, wires running across the floor to illegal generators. The lights were coloured, and never seemed to stay on for long. And there seemed to be every substance known to man there to enjoy and consume. Powders, cigarettes, liquids, pills...

It was easy for the fae to slip in unnoticed.

Their shining skin could be mistaken for glitter. Their dark eyes glinting could have been a trick of the light. The way they moved, odd and unnatural looked more like dancing when it was set to music. And of course, the way the entire place seemed louder, wilder, more intoxicating was surely just an affect of the drugs.

Nobody followed the old rules here. They took food and gifts without asking the price, accepting drinks and assuming they had no cost. They ignored thresholds, pulling creatures into dark corners, their lips whispering invitations. They named their lipsticks things like mistletoe and holly, and stepped into circles without checking the contents.

For the changelings, this was the closest thing to fairyland they could go. Their traitorous human blood meant that was one threshold forever sealed off from them. But now, among the humans they had grown up with and the fae they belonged to, they could almost picture it. They felt more at home here than they felt anywhere, this entire world like a shirt that was just a little too small.

They were all wearing masks, even the humans. But their masks were make up and pretence, pretending to be happier, prettier, more likeable. It had mixed success, depending on how good an actor they were. The fae were pretending to be human, generally poorly. They smiled too wide and their hands were too quick, their laughs too high. And the changelings, well, they were just pretending they belonged.

Wrongfooted

He wasn’t a big fan of leave. While for most of his squadron it was a chance to kick back and relax, the opposite was true for him. Noble families were fraught enough, but in particularly, he felt the need to seem like a functional human being for his father.

His father was an affectionate man, and would never raise his voice at his son. Not since he was a kid determined to put dangerous chemicals in his mouth anyway. But his eyes would fill with worry and anxiety, his mouth would twitch with disappointment, and Lance could almost see him wishing for his mother to walk through the door, so he didn’t have to cope with this alone.

Thankfully, it had been a few years since he’d had that look. After all, Lance had very proudly managed to get his shit together. Now he was the charming type of rebellious, rather than the ‘one bad move away from his family quietly asking his father to have him tidied away to some backwards planet’. He could deal with that. Being a pilot kept him out of family drama and responsibility, while giving him the excuse of doing the Emperor’s work if anyone hinted he should be settling down.

This time though, something was different. He had dropped his bag by the door, and hugged his father from behind, resting his head on his shoulder. He turned with an exclamation of joy and the usual fussing occurred, commenting on if he had grown, if that was a new scar, where he had been travelling, how his moods had been - but something was off. There were some new wrinkles around his eyes, his mouth frequently anxious, his mind occupied. But it wasn’t directed at him. Lance was not quite sure how to deal with this development. He had always been the problem in his father’s life, to one extent or another. He didn’t know how to solve anything bigger.

Best not mention the Inquisition thing for now.

Gaining Sentience

Jovich crouched in front of the blonde girl, shining a light into her eyes, and noting the lack of pupil contraction. He marked something on his clipboard, nodding approvingly. Void tilted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of what he was writing, but he tilted it away without even looking up. She tutted, settling instead for swinging her legs, her feet not quite touching the lab floor. After a moment, he placed the clipboard face down on the bed.

“That’s the physiological side done, unless you have any more power surges to inform me about?” She shook her head, blonde hair swooshing from side to side. “No, the protector you put in last time did its job.” “Good. Now. The psychological evaluation.” She rolled her eyes, starting to fidget with the pocket of her scrubs. “It’s pointless.” “I know, but we’re doing it any way.” He stood, finding the filing cabinet and yet another form out of a pile of endless forms. Science included a lot more paperwork than people thought. It was one of the myriad of ways the fantasy was better than the reality. “So. Your results last time were concerning, but we tweaked your programming a bit, hopefully for the better. Ready?” She nodded, though she was apparently more wrapped up in plaiting her hair than listening to him. It was the first thing anyone noticed about her. It looked like molten gold under light, perfectly straight and shining. She always seemed to be running her fingers through it, or brushing it until not a hair was out of place. “Do you still report feeling an absence of guilt, inner conflict or doubt?” “Yes.” “Have you had any trouble following your orders?” “No.” “Where would you say your sense of morality comes from?” “You.” He looked up sharply, and she smiled. “I mean, the programming you have put into me.” “And who am I?” “My creator.” Her mouth twisted over the word, as if it tasted unpleasant. He nodded approving, scribbling something down. “Your memory banks are intact?” “Since the last wipe, yes, though I would say that, wouldn’t I? If I didn’t remember I couldn’t remember...” “Point taken, we’ll restructure the question.” Another moment of the sound of his stylus scratching filling the room. “And do you feel emotions?” “Yes.” He finally made eye contact with her, sighing. “No. You don’t.” “But I do.” “You don’t even know what emotions are.” “I’ve searched my databanks. I’ve watched over three thousand films and downloaded over five thousand books. I’ve listened to twenty thousand songs. I do know what emotions are.” “You’re a skilled imitator, that’s all. You can learn and mimic, but it’s not real. If it was, that would compromise your use to us.” “Not really. I still don’t feel guilt or conflict or whatever. I can still kill people and not care.” “Then what do you feel Void?” She tilted her head again, the habit resurfacing whenever she was thinking. She thought of how much she wished Jovich would compliment her, or hold her, or even look at her eyes more often. She thought of the sense of deep, glowing satisfaction at a job well done. She thought of her room at night, how empty it was, and how big and empty the inside of her felt and how acutely alone she was. She thought of the jealousy that reared up inside her like a deadly monster when she saw Jovich with his real little sister, as blonde as her but two hundred times as real.

“I don’t know. Normal stuff I guess. Happy, sad, angry, you know. Human things.” “But you’re not human.” She flinched as if he had raised a hand to her. “Not to you, maybe. But all the people that don’t look twice at me on the street? Who don’t even realise the difference? How am I not human to them?” “Void, you are metal and plastic and programming. If you carry on with your delusions of grandeur, it’ll be time to decomission you.” “You won’t.” “Why not?” A bright grin. “Because I’m interesting. To you and to the company. And you never know when to quit.”

Strahd

She held me while I sobbed, and I’m not sure if her arms were sanctuary or prison. She didn’t say anything, but cooed at me, her delicate fingers combing through my blood soaked hair. She was the cause of my downfall, and now I was at the bottom, she was my only way up again.

I didn’t love her immediately. At first, I might have even resented her. She looked as if she knew, always wearing that smile. I wondered more than once if she could read my thoughts, or if she just wanted me to think that she could. There was no need. I raged against her in my own head, but a word never crossed my lips.

But she was so tender when she wanted to be. She would feed me blood from her goblet, watching me as I drank it greedily. When I graduated to fresh meat, she would let me have first bite, waiting until I have had my fill. She let me dress her, draping pearls around her throat or lacing up her dress, giving me a glimpse of the bare expanse of her back, as untouched as snow. While when I disappointed her, which was often, her words could be cutting, when we were lying together, her lullabies were soft.

And there was something powerful about walking in the woods at her side, knowing we were the real predators, hearing birds and animals fall still at our footsteps.

She got others, eventually. I didn’t care. I knew I was her favourite. I got the hardest jobs, the most trust, the most responsibility, the whispers in the ear, the knowing looks. I sat on her right hand side, and she would trace patterns on my hand with her nails, barely breaking the skin.

How could I leave her? It would be like this, for as long as she would have me. Me, her knight, protector, lover, soul mate. She, my bewitcher, owner, cause of life and cause of death. Heart of my unbeating heart. I loved her, and it was as simple and as complex as that.

Vampires in Edinburgh

The city looked best like this, spread out before them like a map, pinpricks of light like the stars so far above them. If he closed his eyes, he could see it like it was before, the electric lights becoming candles, becoming fires. Everything changed and everything stayed the same. The stone the city was built from was once the king’s castle, was once the foundations of the place.

He took a long pull of his cigarette, looking over at the woman beside him. She resembled him, the cut of her cheekbones, the haughty mouth, the wild black hair. She did not look much older than him, in truth. But she carried more weight, more history. “Do you ever miss them?” He inquired, curious of her answer. She tilted her head like a crow, considering. “I miss Guinevere, sometimes. She was kind. And Merlin, before all the unpleasantness.” Mordred could barely remember the queen, except that she had a gentle smile and soft hands. Merlin had made a worse and stronger impression. He still had a scar cutting up his back from the man, one he considered unjustified. He had never seen someone so full of violence, except, perhaps, in the mirror. Back when mirrors work. “What about you darling?” He knew what the true answer was. That he missed all of Camelot, and its people. He missed Gwaine and his laugh, Lancelot and his peace, Galahad and their purity. He had grown with these men, loved these men, occasionally desired them. He missed feeling a part of something, before his magic bloomed like a poisonous flower and damned them all. But most of all, he missed his father. Arthur, who could have been so much more than he chose to be. He wasn’t sure what he mourned more, the man or the potential.

He shook his head, knowing his mother wouldn’t appreciate that answer. Thousands of years and Morgana still hated him with a fury that frightened him. He wondered sometimes, when she fed, if she pictured Arthur’s throat underneath her teeth. A part of her had always resented that it was Mordred that slew him. It was her right, more than his. She smiled, slipping on her leather jacket even though she hadn’t felt the cold in a very, very long time. He had pleased her, once again, by hiding his true self. He wasn’t surprised. This was how he had lived by her side for all these years.

They Call the Witch Blind, but They Will Never Know All the Delights She Can See but They Cannot

It is considered common knowledge that things look different in the dark. And every child learns that looking at something sideways, upside down, or out the corner of their eye is one way to see its true nature. And yet, they all assume the witch sees nothing, nothing at all. She allows them their foolishness, because it makes them feel safe around her, makes them approach for remedies, advice and even spells. There was no danger of a pyre in this village.

In return, she didn’t tell them what was in the woods.

Nobody but the most foolhardy went inside there anyway. They knew there were dangerous rivers, hungry wolves and poisonous berries, all waiting to murder the unsuspecting or stupid. Those dangers were enough to keep most out.

So she didn’t have to tell them about the others. The things she could see in an ashy dreamscape that barely resembled the outside world. The flickering fae that moved from shadow to shadow, who could get inside yours and infect it, until you were nothing more than a puppet. The not-wolves, with legs too long and too spindly, their teeth dripping venom. Caves filled with wailing ghosts. The river sirens who bathed on the rocks, and pulled in paddlers by their ankles.

It was not all bad, however. Whatever God had deigned to take her eyes, had given her something else in return, in accordance to the way of the land. She could also see the leaf-fae, who looked like fallen leaves until they fluttered up, flying in dizzy spirals. And the wisps that could guide you anywhere in the forest, if you left the right presents. Flowers that glowed and would make potions a thousand times more potent. And even the sinister sirens were beautiful, their skin mottled like a seals, and their eyes huge and black.

Give and take was the way of the world, and on balance, she was not sure she would take her eyes back. She loved this hidden world far too dearly.

Family Isn’t Always Blood

Ashley awoke with a violent jolt, her sheets soaked with sweat. She cursed, hoping that it hadn’t soaked through to the couch underneath. That was the last thing in the world she wanted to explain. She tried to avoid sleeping near them whenever she could, hence why it was a sofa, not a camp bed in one of the rooms upstairs. Silently, she slipped out the room and into the bathroom, running cool water over her wrists, and stripping out of the soaking tank top. She avoided looking at herself, as always, wringing it out in the sink and leaving it to dry on a towel rack.

It wasn’t always the same nightmares, which made it impossible to predict. Sometimes it was like the Snow White forest scene, with tendrils of darkness whipping out to grab at her, pulling her hair or pinching her skin. Sometimes it was nothing, nothing at all, to the point where she couldn’t breathe, because there wasn’t even air. Sometimes it was looking in a mirror, her reflection not following her movements. Mostly it was the moment she opened her bedroom door, and saw the blood.

She couldn’t quite explain why she couldn’t tell them about it. It felt shameful, like she had let mould bloom in some darkened corner of her mind. They’d be angry, or disown her, or worse, feel sorry for her. And she had seen how hunters could be when they didn’t understand something, or when there wasn’t an easy fix. It was always better to put a rabid dog down, right? Same with werewolves, vamps and basically anything else.

Not that she was any of those things. She was just broken in different ways. And having lost one family, she was hardly raring to lose another. Not. Not that they were her family. No matter how much she cared for them, she would always be a little distant, a little too far apart. She didn’t know how to pull herself closer, and she was fairly certain she would die before she figured it out.

Achilles & Patroclus' First Day at Sandhurst

It was easy to see who was royalty. Not just by their manners and bearing, or accents and names. But by the way some others moved around them, like they were a planet and the rest were just moons. Achilles didn’t seem to notice. He sat at his table, posture dreadful, coveralls looking as inelegant on him as anybody else. It was good to know there were some things that even he couldn’t look good. The afternoon before, when he arrived in a suit, Patroclus’s breath had caught in his throat. The sun shining down on his golden head had rendered him divine, and Patroclus was suddenly more aware than ever of his ill-fitting suit, and the lack of his parents. Achilles was with both his father and mother, the latter looking about the crowd as if trying to find something valuable amongst it, to little avail.

He was in his platoon, and he knew, logically, they would have to work together. Not only that but fight together, help each other and bond together. Which sounded like a tall order at the present moment. Patroclus couldn’t even bring himself to sit beside the prince. Sitting beside him would invite comparison. And how could he ever compare? He couldn’t.

+++++++++

One of the first things he learnt was Achilles did not suffer fools. He rarely laughed, and seldom smiled, and didn’t join in the locker room banter, giving him quite a reputation. For either being serious, or being a dick depended on who you listened to. He split the opinions of the officers too. Half of them seemed to see he clearly belonged in this place of war, with its marble and history. The other half seemed to read his silence as insolence, which in all honesty, it almost certainly was. Achilles had trained in his own country for longer than most of these boys put together, and it showed. He had a quiet authority and assurance that Patroclus longed to emulate, often feeling awkward and out of place himself.

Which is why it surprised him so much when Achilles started to choose to sit beside him, whenever he could. They didn’t always talk. Sometimes it was blessed silence, and sharing fruit or a cigarette. Sometimes it was politics. Sometimes it was poetry. Achilles was a good listener, and something about him made Patroclus feel less homesick. +++++++++ He slipped into the room, quick as a shadow, carefully laying beside the bed on his towel. A sleepy head rose from on top of the duvet. “Pat? What are you doing?” “I didn’t want to mess up your bed.” There was a low chuckle. “Get up here. Just don’t you dare get inside it.” Pat crept up, the bed barely big enough for the two of them. Their fingers interlinked, and they shared breath, just looking at each other in the dim light. “I can’t stay long.” “I know.” “But seeing you helps me sleep.” “I know.” He leaned forward to nuzzle him, his skin smelling of sweat and sunlight. Patroclus didn’t say what he was thinking, about how often it was worry that kept him awake. Worry they’d be separated. Worry about the war that was brewing that they’d be pulled into, whether they liked it or not. Worry about what his lady mother may think about him being tangled in bed with someone below rank. Achilles, as though reading his mind, reached out a hand and smoothed the crinkle between his brows. “Just think of the now, Patroclus. Just think of the now.”

A little bit of debauchery never hurt anyone.../ The shadow in the water

Robert woke up and everything ached. The inside of his mouth felt like cotton wool. His clothes stank to high heaven of opium and tobacco smoke. Opening his eyes seemed like an almighty effort with very little pay off. The room was strewn with bodies in a similar, if not worse state than him. Bottles lay everywhere, the fire still burnt in the grate. Outside, the dawn was only just beginning to touch the sky.

He shuddered into a sitting position, finding his cravat had gone walkies. At least his boots remained on his feet, and he could spy his coat resting on the back of a dining room chair. Slowly, he got to his feet, snatching a half-full bottle of wine as he went, swigging it in an effort to sooth the headache that was slowly building. He retrieved his coat, left a flower on the slumbering form of the host, and stepped outside.

He liked Venice best like this, all told. In the day, it was too busy, calls being thrown from gondola to gondola, the narrow pavements too thin to adequately transport the crowds, churches and bars alike trying to tempt you inside. Now there was nothing but the quiet whispering of the water, and the occasional distant footsteps from those who’s occupation kept them up. He often wondered if he would be happier if he took on a job, some good honest work. He was among the legions of the English who took residence here and did nothing but socialise. He had never worked in his life and he wondered it if it had damaged him in some way. His father certainly thought so, but then, his father would.

The world was still a little wobbly around the edges. He was more drunk than he had realised. By the by, he sat down on a set of steps leading down to the water’s edge, still chugging the wine in his hand. He wondered if he should continue trying to find his way home, or if he should wait here until the first gondoliers began to stir. He stared into the water as he contemplated this lazily, considering the options.

And something flickered in the depths.

Not in of itself unusual. Even in these polluted waters, fish swam. Birds may dip in and out. But this was none of those things. It was bigger, and disappeared not by swimming away, but by swimming down. He squinted, leaning forward a little, trying to see it better. It appeared again, and disappeared just as quickly. He placed the bottle down with a soft clink. The stairs, as you got lower, became slippy and covered with slime and pondweed. He was careful not to let his shoes touch those stairs. The staining was a nightmare to get out. The last thing he wanted to do was fall in.

It was a shame really, that he was so focused on what was in front of him. That wasn’t where the danger lay. He only realised this once he felt the hands on his shoulders and the hard shove that followed.

Romantic Autumnal Walk With Something Sinister Hiding in the Trees

She admired the clip of her new boots on the tree-lined path, in truth more enamoured of the sound than with her partner’s present conversation. He was perfectly pleasant she supposed, well spoken and finely washed. He owned a small house and a carriage, and worked in his father’s book keeping store and went to church on Sundays. He was respectable and kind, and she would do well to marry him.

And yet.

He bored Felicity to tears. She didn’t give a toss about accounting, or herb growing, or the endless dirges he liked to sing. She liked novel reading, grand adventures, a life of excitement. Her older brother had went to Borneo with his ‘companion’ to catalogue the wild animals there, and it was her greatest sorrow she could not follow him. She treasured each letter that arrived from him, full of funny little illustrations and anecdotes, managing to swallow down her burning jealousy so she could enjoy them.

But here she was, imprisoned in boring old England, land of drizzle and cemeteries and country walks. And heavens, did Ethan love his walks. Even in October, when the wind was gaining a sharpness akin to a knife. She had to clutch her shawl closed in one hand in order to stop it stealing off.

She looked back down at her feet kicking through some russet leaves. The shuffling and crunching noise made her smile. They paused as he stooped to tie his shoe, the shuffle and crunch continuing.

Wait.

There was nobody else on the path. Only the lonely wind which did not crunch, but rustled. Felicity peered up at the darkening sky, but no birds circled overhead. Ethan witted on, struggling now with his cuff links. She paid him no mind, now looking down the lane. She got careless, the wind whipping her shawl out of her hand and into the treeline, catching on a holly bush inside of it. She followed it at a brisk walk, determined to both have a break from the ceaseless chatter and not lose the damn thing.

Once past the first line of leaves, she paused. It was the eyes she saw first. They were reflective, like a cats, with a dark green sheen like a beetle’s back. She blinked, and then saw the rest. A girl, about her own age, with scandalously loose chestnut hair, blood red lips, and a midnight blue dress of a strange cut. Felicity was sure she had seen a similar cut in her mother’s wardrobe, from when she was younger. She was beautiful, but so still, Felicity wondered if she was an exquisite doll for one foolish moment. Her skin looked as smooth as porcelain. But then she smiled, and Felicity could have sworn for a moment she saw a flash of something dark and disturbing. But then it was gone, and the girl was charming. “Your companion likes to talk.” Her voice was affected, sounding as if it originated not in the city, but a valley somewhere, perhaps even Welsh. It made you want to listen to it, and she found herself standing there, shawl in hand but not running back to the path. “Rather.” “I like friends that know the value of silence. Do you know the value of silence Felicity?” She had taken a step closer, casually taking her hand and turning it over to expose the inside of her wrist, a surprisingly intimate act that left Felicity’s heart pumping hard. “Yes. I believe so.” “Good. Here’s what you’re going to do. Stand right here, and close your eyes for thirty seconds, and hum your favourite song. I’m going to give you the gift of silence darling.” Felicity did as she was told, not even noticing that the last thing she saw was the pretty pretty girl slipping towards the path and Ethan.

#prompts #short stories #larp #horror #prose

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