#yes this is probably ooc however. I am fucking going through it and shadow is great to use as a vent

[eggskie]

[Image ID in alt text]

retrospective

I think sometimes that shadow thinks back about his time on the ark with maria, and with gerald. and that some of his memories of gerald aren't great. and that now, with the knowledge of what gerald did to him after maria's death, some of those memories may mean something different with that new context. he doesn't like thinking about it

[lepoppeta]

For the song asks: Charlestor

charlastor/radiobelle has the benefit of relating to a lot of tropes and aesthetics in media that i already really enjoy and have a lot of content for. that being said, the songs ive chosen for them relate more to the pilot versions of these two characters, where it was speculated that alastor was going to be more of a mysterious, unflappable background mentor figure. ive heard their relationship being compared to that of clarice starling and hannibal lecter from silence of the lambs and hannibal, and i think some of that can vibe definitely be used here.

the first song that ever came to mind for these two (in recent memory) was a dangerous game from the jekyll and hyde musical (sung by anthony warlow and linda eder).

at the touch of your hand, and the sound of your voice, at the moment your eyes meet mine - i am out of my mind, i am out of control, full of feelings i cant define.

its a sin with no name, like a tiger to tame, (and though no-ones to blame) its a crime and a shame, and the angels proclaim its a dangerous game.

im a bit of a sucker for melodramatic gothic musicals, and the vision this song brings to mind is charlie wandering the empty halls of her dilapidated hotel and cautiously dancing with alastor and his army of half-sentient shadows. it relates to charlies pov more than alastors (as in this case he would be singing about her) and how they would have to tread carefully no matter what kind of close relationship they choose to partake in.

next up is me and mr wolf (the real tuesday weld).

you have the thing i love but the fear in me is way too much. if i open wide one of us may get lost inside. me or you, one of us is going to need to die.

my favourite version of this relationship is them being mutually fucked - alastor has never really given much thought to romantic love and hes shocked that hes willing to break so many of his own rules for this silly little slice of heaven in hell; charlie responds well to alastor setting clear boundaries against her sometimes-invasive behavior, and, like any good theatre kid, he "yes-and"s her (instead of vaggies pretty consistent "no"s). however, this song also touches on the fact that charlie is (or should be) at least alastors equal in power, if not far beyond him, and its a warning that neither of them should overstep in either love or anger.

the last one ill leave you with is actually one that was made canon by helluva - its look my way (paranoid DJ, but the alternate version sung by bryce pinkham) and its a bit of an ooc situation from alastors point of view.

unless its me, and no matter what in this world i could give - its not enough to get through the walls youve conjured up to live. is this what you feel? scorned by a world that cannot comprehend what you are, so ill grant you this mercy - this bind on our souls needs to end.

this is taking into account the deal that charlie makes with alastor in the penultimate episode of the first season of hazbin. the idea is that alastor (or at least, the speculative pilot version of alastor) strongly admires charlies perseverance against her own people - the very beings shes trying so hard to save. while charlie is a relatively open book he knows that she probably doesnt let anyone, not even her own girlfriend/best friend, see the emotional toll this project has taken on her (again, this tying in more to the pilot personalities of these characters), and hes upset that her deal with him has only made things worse in that regard. he makes the choice, to his own detriment, to sever the deal without her knowledge, so that if she doesnt keep her end of the bargain it will be of no consequence to her.

[the-storyteller-and-her-soldiers]

Carrying You From The Cold

Title: Carrying You From The Cold

Word Count: 2,056

Warnings: Some cursing, but nothing in malice. OTHER THAN THAT JUST FLUFF!! Also some poooooooooossible oocness but I think I got it good!

Ship: The Ripper’s Rose (Raiden x myself) Also Jetstream Sam x my friend Ace

Summary: When walking home from my bank well after midnight, I stop at my friend’s house for a visit. But upon seeing how exhausted I am, she’s not letting me go home alone

A/N: Just for clarification Ace and Alyssa are the same person. The same goes for Raiden and Jack! Enjoy!

Eyes of ebony gazed into the window’s glow while the frigid wind whipped Rebecca’s back without any remorse. She stood on the crooked porch of her friend’s home that had been converted into separate spaces for multiple families waiting to be granted access once more to her haven from the hellish temperatures. When the door creaked open, amethyst wisps of hair smacked against her rosy cheeks and temporarily blinded Rebecca to the figure who greeted her.

It wasn’t the slim yet toned figure of her childhood friend, Ace, but instead, one that towered hers both in height and muscle. It was a man with long umber shaded hair tied into a ponytail, chocolate eyes that always seemed to burn brighter than the sun, a scruffy five o’clock shadow, and a long scar sliced deeply into the right half of his face. Using her fragile fingertips that had gone numb long ago to brush the strands away, a warm smile spread across Rebecca’s face.

“Ah, the lady of the hour. Come in, come in, Alyssa has already set up the fire and a drink for you.” The man greeted, beckoning Rebecca in with two metallic fingers before stepping aside.

The smile on her chilled lips grew even brighter as Rebecca gave a short bow. “Thank you, Sam, and happy holidays! I would’ve dropped by sooner to wish you well but school, work, and the government trying to screw me over have left me drained. I hope you have been enjoying the last bit of the year though and that Acey has been sending my regards.”

“She always does. It’s honestly very sweet that you look past my past with Jack to still wish me well.”

Rebecca let out a quiet laugh as she wandered what was practically her second home growing up. “It’s no biggie! As I told you shortly after you came back, you are my sister’s husband so if she trusts you to keep her arms open for you then so can I! But if you ever hurt her...”

“Yes, I know, I know. You’ll have my head, and by you, I mean that your guard dog Jack will. But you know that without Alyssa I’d not even be alive, honestly.”

The polite conversation slowly shifted to a slightly wary silence as the two made their way to the kitchen. Yet any reservation that Rebecca held was thrown to the softly howling wind as she finally met with her sapphire haired sister-figure. Her slow steps burst out into a stumbling dash as she rushed to tackle the older woman by two years in a hug.

“Acey, you’re an absolute lifesaver! You know that right? It’s so fucking cold out there, it’s not even funny!”

A slight smirk crept on Ace’s lips as she caught the shorter girl in the tight embrace. She only removed one of her hands to flick Rebecca’s forehead before returning it to where it had been rubbing her back to help warm her up. “And you’re absolutely insane, you know that, right? What’re you doing out so late? It’s twenty to one in the morning and twenty-five to zero outside! And why didn’t you have anyone accompanying you?! You know what kind of assholes are out there, especially at this time of night!”

The laugh that left Rebecca’s lips this time was much more sheepish as her dark chocolate gaze flicked from her life-long friend to the floor, then to the kitchen table where two mugs filled with steaming liquid sat.

“Um well, because I’m a dumbass! I bought myself a last-minute Christmas or early b-day present but I went below my net in my bank account and I’m forgetful sooo I just went out to restore it! It was only a quick thirty-minute walk one way, so I’ll be home in no time! I just wanted to stop by since I know you were awake!”

Ace shook her head, but the smile on her lips remained. Out of all the people in the world, her little sister would be the one to do this. She was always drawn to the silence of the sleeping world, finding it even more enchanting to wander around while everyone else slept. A slight exhale left Ace’s lips as she took a moment to admit to herself that she had probably been the one who planted that seed of wonder when the two were much younger.

Her slightly scolding gaze of thrashing seas melted to a still lake as she looked Rebecca over and found no wear or tear. “Well, at least you bundled up this time, but you still feel like a friggen ice-pack!! C’mon, sit down; the marshmallows I put in our cocoa are gonna melt into nothing soon enough!.”

So the two took their respected seats and began sipping on their drinks, with Rebecca once again deeming her sister as a lifesaver for the sweet treat. The two stayed there for about fifteen minutes, with Sam also pulling up a chair to join them, talking about everything that came into their thoughts. Ace could see her little sister growing more exhausted by the minute though. From the way, her eyelids began to droop and how the weight of her head was becoming too much to hold up, she knew that Rebecca wouldn’t make it in the land of the conscious too much longer. So when the young girl slid back and shakily stood up to bid the hosting couple a good night, Ace simply walked to her side and forced Rebecca to plop down back into her chair.

“What makes you think I’m letting you walk home?”

Rebecca’s heavy eyelids shot wide open as she looked up at Ace. “I-I only came for a visit! There’s no way in hell I’m letting you let me stay or drive me back! I don’t wanna be a bother!”

Once again, Ace flicked Rebecca’s forehead. “One: You’re never a bother. Two: You’re right around the corner. Three: I will not let you go back to walking another fifteen minutes all alone, so if I won’t drive you back I know someone who will. Heard from a source he was working late anyway, Sam can you call Raiden for me and let him know that his girlfriend is trying to make a dumbass decision again?”

Rebecca tried to protest, squirming around and insisting she was fine but Sam smirked and remarked how he was on it. Ace just brought her to the couch by the heater in the living room to let her rest.

Sam stood nearby in the foyer as he dialed his old enemy and current work-rival, silently pondering if the cyborg with silver shaded hair would even answer. The phone had begun its fourth ring and he then wondered if getting ahold of Wolf would be a better way to get in contact with him. But before he could get too far on to that train of thought, there was a soft clicking sound before a familiarly raspy voice spat,

“What the hell do you want?”

Although there was no way that the stormy gazed man on the other end of the line could see him, Sam slowly raised his hands in a surrender gesture.

“Always so defensive, aren’t you Jack? Don’t worry I’d like to keep this short as well so I’ll just get to the point. Your little kitten is at my house, it was something about buying a gift then wanting to go to the bank to manage her funds. She stopped by to visit with my Alyssa and now wants to walk herself home--”

“What?!” Raiden growled before there was a short pause. 

Sam could only imagine him gritting his teeth together and pressing his foot further down on the pedal. Thinking back on the comparison he had made about him earlier, it took all his willpower for Sam to stifle the chuckle reverberating in his chest as he thought further on the mental image. The idea of the oh-so-infamous ‘Jack the Ripper’ acting as nothing more but a scary guard dog to his innocent and kitten-like girlfriend was something that Sam never thought possible. But then again one could say that Sam was in a very similar position with his wife, so who was he to judge?

Before Sam could further explain the situation, he was silenced by Jack telling him that he’d be there in fifteen minutes and not to touch Rebecca in the meantime before he hung up. Sam chuckled to himself as he strode into the room where the two women were resting, slinging his arm around his wife and explaining the current situation.

Lifting her heavy head from Ace’s lap, Rebecca softly spoke, “Oh no... I didn’t wanna cause him any trouble. I hope he’s not mad. I can walk, really!”

“Mad at you? I don’t think he’s capable. But at me, well, there’s a possibility.” Sam assured, although his jovial tone revealed how little that mattered to him.

Rebecca let out a soft sigh of relief before laying her head back down to return to her rest, leaving the hosting couple to get cozy with each other. Yet within only thirteen minutes, there was a low humming of a car engine sounding from outside and only a minute after that the sound of knocking against their heavy wood door. Seeing how Ace was still occupied with her cat-like friend, Sam was the one to greet the other guest of the night waiting outside their door. Unlike before however, these two didn’t exchange pleasantries. These two barely exchanged a full glance before Raiden brushed by his host to greet his partner.

When he did enter the living room and took in the sight of Rebecca’s small stature all curled up in the warm scarlet hue of the heater, her expression free from any strife or worries. Raiden brought his hand over his mouth but that couldn’t hide the way the corners of his mouth twitched upwards or the warmth that coursed through him just by being in such a peaceful presence, her presence.

Once more Sam strolled in and stood beside Raiden, letting his arm rest on the other man’s shoulder. “See, there’s your kitten all safe and sound.”

Turning his narrowed gaze towards Sam, Raiden only told him to shut the hell up. His voice remained low as to not disturb the dear sight before him. But it was Ace who had broken the quiet as she cleared her throat.

“Will you two stop mind fucking each other? ‘Cause if you don’t then I’ll be the one having to stay with our cat the whole night.”

This seemed to snap the two out of their mental fighting as Raiden reached forward, easily scooping the small stature of his starlight into his arms. Without opening her eyes, Rebecca just wrapped her arms around her partner’s neck while a happy noise slipped from her lips. She then leaned forward to brush her lips against his cheek before immediately burying her face in the crook of his neck as though it was the safest place for her to be. Even though it was common knowledge how comfortable Rebecca was with her love, the wave of not only relief but pride that flowed through Raiden never ceased.

He then quickly said his goodbyes to Rebecca’s sister and her husband. Thanking them both for keeping an eye on her before carrying his partner out.

The sensations, however, tickled his cybernetics nerves and Raiden couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped his lips. “Long night, huh?”

“Mmmmm, needed something special... as a gift... Now I gotta recharge. It’s too cold.”

“Alright then, I got the car still running so it’s nice and warm for you. But next time, just call me if you needed to get out for a bit.”

Rebecca lulled her head to the side as she let out a breath of a laugh, “I know, but I wanted to surprise you with a gift, ‘cause I love you...”

Raiden leaned down slightly and pressed his lips against Rebecca’s forehead. “I don’t need anything else when I’m lucky enough to have you by my side... So, as I said if you need anything just give me a call, alright? I love you more than you’ll ever know...”

[carmintros]

@rowanfelixgreen​     /     ❛   ｡   ✩   ﾟ my eyes are probably playing tricks on me again, but is that really  brianna hildebrand? oh, wait, it’s just  rowan felix green. yes, that  seventeen  year old  shop attendant  & computer repair person, who i am pretty sure is a  local. according to the talk of the town, he is incredibly  wild & always ready for a fight, yet undeniably  smart & unafraid to be different. that is precisely why  leather jackets, the haze of alcohol just starting to set in, bloody knuckles, stuffed animals pouring out of every space & the clack of noisy keys on an old laptop  remind me of them so much, but then again you know what they say about  aquarius, we’ll see how that one turns out !   penned by kit  /  mst & they / them

ooc note: rowan is non-binary/transmasculine. He uses he/him pronouns because he says they/them is confusing and neo-pronouns are never going to be taken seriously, he also likes the fact that he often looks femiminine in his dress but acts masculine and uses he/him pronouns.

introduction post . TW: self harm, abuse, rape, substance use ooc information: kit, mst, they/them. ic information: Rowan Felix Green Age: 17 Gender: Transmasculine, he/him [Boxcar - Jawbreakers] - ”Uhhh, shit, I guess if I had to pick a theme song it’d be Boxcar. I like the whole vibe of it, like, calling out punk purists. Punk should have no room for purism. If you say you’re a punk and you’re not a nazi, cause in the words of Dead Kennedys ‘nazi punks fuck off,’ you’re welcome. That’s what the whole point of punk was, dude. It’s the ultimate counter culture movement ‘cause it welcomes fucking everyone unlike mainstream culture.”

D.O.B: February 14

“Why the name Rowan?” “So, like, originally I was named Hannah. Which is totally a bullshit name and when I met my forever family I decided to give myself a new name and I wanted it to be all nature-y because they all had nature names. They like helped me look and I found Rowan and read this folklore about how a rowan tree was where the devil hanged his mother and I knew right then. That was my name.”

Ethnicity: Half white, half mestizo

Relationship Status: single “Single and definitely not ready to mingle. If it happens it happens but I sure as hell ain’t seeking it out and I don’t think it’s gonna happen anyways so it don’t fucking matter.”

Sexual Orientation: Unsure “Yeah, I don’t really wanna think about sexy shit. I was raped as a kid, I’m not especially into remembering it. And all this sexual orientation shit makes me remember it.”

Appearance:

Height: 5’0 Build: Smaller than he looks from far away. He’s actually really tiny. And he hates it.

If he wasn’t so intimidating he could be cute. With a small stature, high cheekbones, a cocky swagger and big brown eyes he is definitely attractive. But the scowl that takes over his features whenever he’s around someone he doesn’t trust and the aggression that seemed to exude from every pore disguises that attractiveness pretty well.

Ripped flannels and fishnets under cropped tops and t-shirts are among Rowan’s signature looks. There’s something decidedly sexual about how he dresses but he doesn’t seem to register that. He just wears what he likes and hopes will scare people. He displays his self harm scars like a badge of honor – or insanity. They seem to warn: I AM UNSTABLE, DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ME.

Look at Rowan the wrong way and at the very least he’ll gnash his teeth at you. At the most he’ll pull a knife on you and threaten to gouge out your eyes if you ever look at him again. He claims he tried to once but that’s unlikely. He would be in jail if that was the case. …right? Better not to risk it.

History:

Rowan was born to a teenage mother in an abusive household.

When Melissa Webber got pregnant at only age 15 she knew she would be in trouble. Her father, Frank, wouldn’t approve. Melissa kept it from the man as long as she could. Eventually, of course, he found out. Frank was livid. Melissa was banned from leaving their little trailer, she was banned from seeing her friends, and she was even banned from seeing her boyfriend of just over a year and the father of her baby. She was to be homeschooled for the rest of her high school career so, in the words of Frank, she could no longer “be a slut.”

Her baby was born on Valentine’s Day in a house with no love left. Melissa’s mother had died of suicide when Melissa was only 11, and it often felt like she took any warmth and care that had been lingering in the corners of rooms, hidden among the shadows with her. How funny then that Rowan, initially named Hannah Jane, was born on Valentine’s day.

Frank’s anger and the isolation he forced on Melissa eventually pushed the girl to suicide. Rowan was only 6 months old. Before Melissa’s death, Rowan had been largely ignored by Frank. Now, however, he became the scapegoat. Melissa hadn’t killed herself because she was isolated from the world. Nor had she killed herself because the mental illness that ran in her family was untreated. Instead, according to Frank, she had killed herself because the baby had ruined her life.

Frank turned this rage on the baby. Rowan’s earliest memories involve him being tied onto a tiny children’s chair for hours because Frank didn’t want him to make a mess in the house; Frank coming into the bedroom at night to ‘visit’ with him in a way that, to this day has left Rowan, extremely anxious about sex and sex repulsed; Frank holding his hand against a hot burner to ‘teach [him] a lesson’ (Rowan was never told what the lesson was); having his face pushed under water in the bath to stop him from crying; and other acts that could only be described as torture. Rowan lead an extremely isolated life for the first several years of his life. He was homeschooled, like his mother, and besides Frank and a handful of Frank’s friends he was largely alone. Most of his socialization came from the television. Frank justified this by saying school was how Melissa got pregnant so he wouldn’t “make the mistake of sending another one there to be a slut.” Instead rowan was kept inside the house during school hours.

It had been noted that Frank was capable of abuse and neglect when Melissa was little (she had spent several months in the system when she’d come to school with visibly bruises as a child), however, for the first 7.5 years of Rowan’s life, overworked and under competent social workers consistently overlooked the abuse in the Webber household. Eventually one of the social workers noticed and cared enough to go through the proper procedures to get Rowan out of that living situation. She reported it to her supervisor and a full scale investigation was launched. The abuse was soon discovered through talking to and examining Rowan and Rowan was removed from the situation. For the first time in his life, he was safe – though Rowan did not know what ‘safe’ meant or felt like yet.

Rowan was placed into the Green household temporarily, as at the time the Greens were acting as an emergency house for children who had just been taken away from their parents. He was only supposed to be with them a week but the Green adults fell in love with the skittish, self reliant child they had taken in. They asked for him to stay with them and began the process of adopting him soon after. It took a long time for Rowan to realize he was safe and he was loved. For months he put up with people touching him because he was afraid that if he spoke out he would face some sort of punishment. For months he distrusted everyone in the Green household despite how much they loved him. He was always wary, always waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to be hurt again. He was placed into therapy when he was young and has gone off and on since.

The greens were a stereotypical homeschool family. Rowan was kid number 15, they owned their own business and baked their own bread. Mr. Green was a carpenter and Mrs. Green ran the little gift shop + bakery. There were so many siblings that the older ones had to help care for the little ones To this day the entire family is very close knit and the older siblings constantly rely on the younger ones to watch their children.

The Greens practice a form of schooling called unschooling. It is a child-led education where children get to decide what they study and when. Additionally, they’re what’s called whole-life unschoolers and the green parents take a stance on parenting where they don’t give their children orders. They talk to them and treat them as if they are capable of making their own choices and decisions, except when it is something that puts their health at risk.

Rowan thrives with that educational setting. He learned to read so he could use his brother’s computer, he learned math while cooking and found it fascinating so he learned it more in depth, he learned how to build robots and how to break into the coding of popular websites well enough that he even figured out how to monetize it when he was 12 (he tests websites for weaknesses and when he finds them he points it out and gets paid to do so). He learned how to play keyboard and guitar and began recording and publishing his music on Soundcloud and Youtube.

Within a few months of living with his new family, his new dad built him a beautiful, fully enclosed, treehouse in the large tree in their backyard. Rowan loved it so much he lived in it for almost a year only coming in to use the bathroom or on the most sweltering days when his family insisted he stay cool inside. He took his baths in the kiddie pool since he lived “outside in [his] own house now.”

Around this time he got a pirate costume and a knight costume. He changed his name to Rowan and began to trade off between wearing those two costumes. When he was in the knight costume he insisted on being called Brave Sir Rowan. When he was a pirate he insisted he was Cap’n Ro.

For a period of Rowan’s life you wouldn’t know he went through the abuse he went through. He seemed happy, healthy, well adjusted.

And then puberty hit.

With puberty came deep gender dysphoria. Suddenly his body was changing in ways he hated. He was developing curves and stopped growing. All the mental illness his family thought they had under control resurfaced along with a large new helping of self-loathing triggered by dysphoria.

Rowan began to self harm. It started small. He would lie in bed and fantasize about cutting off the parts of him that didn’t look right when he saw himself in the mirror. One night, he crawled out of bed and grabbed a kitchen knife and tried cutting his breasts just to see if it was possible. The scratch was so small it didn’t bleed. But, relief flooded through him. He was able to breathe and the crushing weight of dread had let up just a bit. He stopped crying and crawled back into bed and slept well for the first time in weeks.

Whenever he was upset he began to run to the sharp sting of a blade. He stole a pocket knife and a pack of razors and hid them in his treehouse. His family discovered the harm almost a year after he started. By then the little scratches had turned into proper injuries. He was immediately sent back to therapy and was diagnosed with gender dysphoria soon after. Rowan socially transitioned. It helped a little bit but pandora’s box was open. His brain had tasted self destruction and it was hooked.

The last several years have been a slow but steady spiral downwards. He made friends with other sad, breaking kids and they broke together. They began to experiment with alcohol and substance use young, Rowan would swear he’s fine but whenever you put alcohol in his hands he binge drinks to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. Whenever there’s a chance for him to get high off something new he takes it, barring only the most stigmatized of drugs.

Somewhere during this spiral he realized the easiest way to make people leave him alone was to scare them. So he began dressing in ways he thought would scare them and carrying himself like at any moment he could snap.

Personality:

“Sometimes I wonder what his life could have been if he had come to us as a baby and if we had known about his gender. You should have seen him when he was little. He was such a cute kid and was so passionate about, well, everything. And he’s so smart it’s intimidating. But then he hit puberty and we all lost what little stability he had. Last time I talked to mom, I heard he set a trashcan in the park on fire while he was drunk or high or both and it breaks my heart because I know he’s a good kid underneath it all. He’s just a good kid who’s really struggling right now. I hate it because I can’t even trust him to be alone with my kids anymore. What if that comes out around them and he hurts my crew?” – Clay Green, older brother.

“Rowan likes to act like he’s tough shit but he’s not. He can’t sleep unless he has his favorite stuffed animal with him and once I saw him crying over the sounds sloths make. The tough guy act is just that. An act. I mean, look at his cat. He only has the thing because he saw it was scared and got gentle with it. And now he’s the only person that cat tolerates and he has it perched in his tree house half the time so you can’t even go up there if you’re not him. Which, like, not cool when your little brother is practically sprinting to a drug addicted future and you really should be making sure he doesn’t have the worst of it in your parents house.” – Rosemary Green, older sister.

At first interaction it’s easy to think Rowan is all rough and ready to fight. And that’s exactly what he wants you to think. His fighter persona is designed to scare anyone who would hurt him away. Give him some time and a little patience and it becomes obvious that Rowan is much more complex than that. Rowan is confusing. There are so many elements to him that it’s hard for any one person to get a full picture of him.

There’s his brash fighter side – the part of him that stabbed a child for being mean to his sister once. There’s the sweet side of him that takes lost animals and lost people under his wing and cares for them when they can’t seem to care for themselves.

There’s the engineer part of him that builds useless robots constantly just because he’s bored. There’s the witch part of him that has an altar in his bedroom and that celebrates every pagan holiday he knows about so none of the gods feel left out.

There’s still a childlike part of him that hangs out in the treefort his dad made him as a kid and still holds conversations between his stuffed animals. There’s the teenage part of him that’s looking for any substance to numb the pain of becoming an adult coupled with the pain of his past.

There’s the creative part of him that comes up with bizarre ideas for robots, off the wall pranks (like leaving loaves of homemade bread all over someone’s living space) and interprets almost every song he likes into his own version. And then there’s the part of him that named his cat “Cat.”

Rowan is nothing if not complicated and confusing. He doesn’t mind that though. He’s used to being the smartest person in any room he’s in but he doesn’t make it a big deal. He just watches everyone else and works on mentally figuring out how to fix the coding of whatever website he’s working on at the moment.

He doesn’t love easily but when he loves he loves deeply and unconditionally. If you find yourself lucky enough to be one of Rowan’s chosen few know you will have him on your side for life. He’s ride or die with everyone he cares about.

Hobbies: Robotics Singing (he actually has a really good voice) Collecting stuffed animals Programming Baking (he works at a bakery but he also just enjoys it) Sloths. They’re his favorite thing in this world and he is almost obsessive in his quest to see sloths, collect sloth momentos, and learn sloth facts. Trivia: Rowan has a car named Bloody Mary. It’s an old fashioned VW Beetle he spray painted black and red. He got a beetle because he “wanted to inspire violence in children.” He’s really good with anything that uses his hands. Baking, playing guitar, building robots, etc. If it’s a hands-on, kinesthetic task Rowan excels at it. He is terrified of butterflies and giraffes. He collects stuffed animals so intensely that it can be hard to walk in his bedroom because there are so many stuffed animals lying around. He sleeps with a little stuffed dinosaur every night who he’s named Kelvin and a stuffed animal of the Peanuts character Woodstock (who he has named Franklin).

Health - Rowan downplays how he’s feeling most of the time. The intense physical abuse and neglect he faced as a child left him with chronic pain. He doesn’t mention it very often. He doesn’t want to admit to any weaknesses. If you watch him closely enough you’ll notice him rubbing his joints or squirming in his seat. Those are his biggest tells with his pain. At 8 he was diagnosed with dyslexia and he still struggles to read and code (coding is worth the struggle, reading is not). At 13 he was diagnosed with gender dysphoria. Besides changing his pronouns he doesn’t seem too interested in transitioning (he’ll tell you he doesn’t see a point but in reality he’s afraid of the medical procedures involved). At 15 he was diagnosed with mood disorder not otherwise specified. He was given medication that he promptly threw out but he still attends weekly therapy sessions to try and help. He doesn’t think it’s doing anything but sometimes it’s just easier to go along with things.

wanted connections . Band members. Rowan is cool with being a singer or a guitarist but he needs music in his life. Names are open for discussion but the genre should be reminiscent of either riot grrrl or post punk. His biological dad. I love the idea that his dad has been in his life from the sidelines since he was adopted and would love to explore that relationship.

[getinthefunvee]

//how does a new writer to the roleplay community on tumblr get started? Ive sent out starters, I've replied to starters, I've answered memes, I've reblogged memes, I've made my own posts, I hardly OOC. Everyone seems so exclusive. It's not encouraging, and it seems rather cold. What advice can you give?

// Hi there, nonny! Let’s see if I can offer a little RP Ancient™ advice.

The first thing to know about the RPC is: when you start out (or reboot, or come back from a long hiatus–and boy, do I know about those) it takes a lot of time & effort before you get into a steady RP flow. It’s always been like that, so that part? Is purely about relationships, because that’s what RP is: a sort of mutual pact between two (or more) people to put in a similar amount of effort to entertain one another. Quite often, longer-term RP partners turn into IRL friends, because you spend so much time investing in one another. You help each other grow as both writers/RPers and your muses influence each others’ growth. It requires a fair amount of putting yourself out there and extroversion and, yes, rejection–just like IRL relationships.

Here are some things to consider if you’ve been at it for a couple months and still feel like you’re floundering:

1) Is your character pleasant to RP with? Okay, this isn’t an attack, but a chance to step back and consider: what would the other character(s) get out of interacting with mine? A character needs to have depth, an interesting personality, a unique voice, a fully actualised emotional range. If you write a villain, grouchy, or a superpowered person, it’s off-putting if they’re essentially a walking God-mode, all-knowing, superior, unrelentingly do nothing but maim/kill off others, or shut down every interaction with glares/bitchy comebacks. That’s no fun for anyone to interact with, so if you’ve fallen into any of those tropes, you may wish to think abound expanding on your repertoire.

2) Are you putting in as much effort as your partners or prospective partners? We’re all different. Effort is relative, and everyone looks for something a little different, but essentially when you get a reply, you want to feel as though the other person is as invested as you are. That means matching length (it never has to be line-for-line, but if someone’s written 6 paragraphs and you only have 2 lines of reply, please talk to them: they’ll want to know why their reply only stimulated 2 lines of response from your muse, or to know that you’re only comfortable writing shorter things; otherwise, you’re not likely to get another reply), driving plot forward (I can’t tell you how many RPs I’ve had fizzle because someone’s several-paragraphs-long replies only at core yield ‘and they nodded’, forcing me to consistently develop all action/development–we’re not always ‘on’ and not every post is a ‘masterpiece’, nor should it have to be, but if one person is doing 100% of the leg work on this every single time, it’s not going to end well), and developing character relationships (be they platonic or otherwise) in an engaging, satisfying way. Also, each RPC has its own conventions, so you may wish to check that you’re ‘conforming’ to those, at least broadly–ie, if the Marvel RPC convention for short replies is 100x100 or smaller static icons and you’re using 300x150 GIFs and large font, people may find it off-putting. 

3) How many muns have you spoken to? This is part of putting yourself out there. Sometimes the person is a mutual, sometimes they’re not. Do always read people’s rules (I presume everyone would already do this) just to make sure they’re comfortable being contacted by ask vs IM. Don’t leap in with ‘hi wanna plot’; do introduce yourself, say hello, tell them what you enjoy about their characterisation, and suggest that if they were open to the idea of RPing, here are a few suggestions for possible plots you’ve considered with their character in mind. Not all of that has to be in one message, but when someone approaches me like this I’m almost uniformly thrilled to play with them.

4) Are you being too limited in your focus? You’re starting out, and maybe you like to write novella plots and/or huge world-building AUs. Awesome! However, you need to develop relationships for those to take off. Many people just getting the hang of RPing do short-form threads. This does three things: 1) helps you establish your character’s voice, 2) offers content/’samples’ for people browsing your blog to view, and 3) gets your URL out there on other people’s dashes. (I meet the vast majority of my RP partners because I loved how they wrote with someone I already RP with, or they saw me on their dash and liked what I did. I cannot overstate the importance of this!)

5) How accessible is your content? This may be just me, but is your blog at least somewhat legible? I’ll be the first to say, hey, my blog font: not super comfy to read! I use ‘read on dash’ for my own posts! I am a fucking sham!! (ie your theme means I can’t scroll to the end of your rules because the ~smoky shadows~ fully obscure the last paragraph; your text scrolls out of the box, onto your background art, rendering it unreadable; broken links!); 3) difficult/obscure navigation (if I have to wave my cursor around your page for 5min before I can find a link, I’m mad); 4) okay this is probably just me, because it’s super popular, but: autoplay, some of us get easily overwhelmed by sensory input and if I have my noise-isolating earphones on and I tab over to your blog and suddenly it’s SUPER LOUD ASSAULT, it’s really jarring.

6) Are you exploring other RPCs? Some communities are much more welcoming to new/inexperienced RPers than others. That’s definitely sad, but it’s a good thing to know. I love the Marvel RPC because of the friends I’ve met through it, but it’s one of the more clique-y and exclusive-focused RPCs I’ve ever been in. By contrast, DARP (Dragon Age, ayy) is very welcoming–and, for me, often a little *too* chipper and extroverted. I’m not saying this to call one better than another, but just to illustrate that RPCs can be very different from one another. If you’re having a hard time in one, consider expanding out to another–it doesn’t mean you have to ditch your character or your desire to be in another RPC, but it may give you the experience and confidence to tackle some of the harder-to-access RPCs on Tumblr.

I don’t want to overwhelm you, and I can only speak from my own experience, but hopefully that gives you something to start with, nonnie! If anyone wants to pitch in, please do feel free to comment.

[supernaturaldoctorpotter]

Writing: 1:00 am

((OOC:  Sirius-centric.  This whole year for him gives me feels.  Many.  Not to mention Bucky is bamf in whatever he does or whoever is named Bucky if we’re talking cross-fandom let’s be honest. ))

1AM

Merlin, he was tired.  His legs were buckling like he’d been put under a Jellylegs as he hurtled into the trees, dragging his knees through the brambles lining the forest.  He didn’t dare slow down, but he had to at least try to look where he was going now and he didn’t have the concentration to spare.  He could hear the police shouting orders at each other, words just more sounds to try and block out, and he desperately searched within himself for the dog.  He never thought he’d consider himself spoilt by the quiet.  His right flank ached from the hex wound he’d got outside Remus’, that same ankle twanging every other unsteady step.  He was light-headed now, stomach rolling at every tree he careered into, coat so thin and ripped he couldn’t tell the difference between the scrape of bark on it or flesh.  He couldn’t bloody concentrate.

He tried.  Merlin’s hairy balls but he hadn’t held his nerve through months of mandrake leaf in his mouth to be distracted by sodding trees now.  He forced his body upright, arms forward and back rather than flailing out at the side, brought his knees up to force his legs to pound at the ground, propelling him quicker through the wood.  The burst of speed sparked a tiny shot of adrenaline in his stomach and he grabbed at it, air searing through his lungs, so long out of practice for running.  He let his eyes take over, turning his mind inward and trusting his body to take care of itself whilst he strained to think of paws, freedom, joy, anything.  But it hurt to think of those things now, hurt to bring the purity of emotion so unique to dogs into his heart when he’d really rather never feel anything again.  It had been easier back there, when the pain was a punishment for himself for being so stupid, but there were new emotions now, emotions that had been some of the last to go and were always the worst for tearing a man up from the inside.  Like relief.  Faith restored.  Hope being the worst of the lot.

As he struggled, shaking his head and cursing, furious with himself, he heard distant slams of car doors and an added sound that made the man in him run faster out of instinct.  Deep shivers ran from his gut to his fingertips, terror carried on an echo of freezing wet stone and rattles underscoring every memory he’d had, fuzzy or otherwise.  Fear did that, these days.  Those clever muggle bastards had brought their dogs.  As small a chance as there was that he could outrun them as beast, there was less than no chance he could do it as a man.

He vaulted a ditch and missed, grabbing at roots and stinging nettles to scramble up the bank, and trying to claw his breath back into his chest.  Running through woods should do it perfectly, how many times had they done it?  He gritted his teeth and let himself scream into his next few steps, pushed through the backlash of trying to remember, a force of habit from when memories like these would be swooped in on and ruined.  He’d seen Moony.  Smelled him, as man and as beast.  Fought him.  Yes, there it was.  Claws and teeth and visceral, snarling simplicity.   Domination and submission and how dare he even try to challenge his Moony, but Padfoot had always been a bit of a shit, always pushed his luck and then the air is cold in his lungs and he’s running and the pain is abstract, the dogs have changed their tune and they know, somehow - big barks to scare off the humans cranked down to snarls at the pack mate gone rogue but he’s fought Moony, so much bigger and braver and he can see properly now, can see through the bushes and the brambles and he can’t think of how big the woods are like this or where he should be going but then there are sounds, sounds that he’s heard before and missed - had to leave him, too dangerous but he’s found him again, another pack mate so different from the ones before but there’s brief memories of food and sunlight there, beaches and colours and drinks, veer to the side now push and push and run, tongue hitting him in the face and he’s tired and there’s something dimly in his head about timing and needing not to fuck it up, something deep in him so angry, anger is a strange thing, a wrong thing and brings so many images he doesn’t understand - his pack where’s his pack, his proper pack why does his Moony smell so sad now, big deep hole in his chest that shouldn’t be there, too human and it aches and tears and he howls it out to the sky as he runs, too much to keep in his body - faster, paws at his heels and there’s a gap and he can see the pack mate in the sky jump jump jump….

Some part of him grimaced at how loud the squawk of outrage was as he ripped out feathers, but he was too busy trying to not slide off and grip hard with his legs once he got upright to care too much.  He was too light-headed to want to open his eyes, plunging his trembling hands into thick grey feathers and burying his face in them too, hoping against hope that if he squashed his face in them enough he could pretend it was just sweat on his face that he was rubbing off.  Damn Padfoot.  Damn him to the deep end of the ocean and back.  The howl felt like it was still clamouring to be out of him, so he kept his face buried in feathers and breathed.

He was coasting, he realized a few moments later, when the blackness round his vision had receded.  Letting Bucky take him, letting the beast be clever enough to stay under the trees like Sirius had taught him in Madagascar.  He felt the air brushing gently past his body and something felt not quite right, crystallising in meaning when he realised how hot and cradled in softness the insides of his thighs were, the disconcerting tickle of feathers over bits of him that hadn’t been sensitive to such things for years.  It appeared he was naked.  Riding on a hippogriff.  Well.

Another memory slammed into him like a full body-blow, this time of Lily’s face and James’ stuttering outrage when, after Remus had told her everything, she’d insisted on seeing them do it.

“Well go on, then.  Turn back.  I said turn JAMES POTTER WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

Job was only half done until they could transfigure their clothes through the whole experience, apparently.  Of course, that had only been mentioned once Evans had regained her ability to speak and removed her hands from her eyes.  He didn’t know why she’d been surprised, wasn’t it obvious what would happen when you run that much power through a teenage boy’s body?  James had blushed up to his roots as well and run around cupping himself trying to find his dressing gown, which was far more amusing than if he’d just stood there, Sirius had always thought.  Then again they never had transformed in front of a girl before.  He felt himself grin into Bucky’s feathers.  Been worth it for her face, though.  It had also been one of the first times Remus had grinned with them since the reason he’d told Lily everything in the first place.  When was that?  Seventh year?  Yes.  He hadn’t been so tired as to not be able to bring his clothes back since seven year.  He decided, somewhat prudently he thought, not to try and work out how long ago that was.

This did, however, leave him alone, wanted and naked with a very large and semi-feral hippogriff in the middle of the Lambourne Downs and with probably very little time to get to the nearest fire.  Clearly Padfoot’s adrenaline was still coursing through him, though.  The challenge made him grin again rather than just feel tired and he sat up, ignoring his aches for now.  He needed a house.  Quickly, he thought, as he manoeuvred Bucky higher and exposed himself, quite literally to the wind.  Damn Downs were always windy this time of year.  He braced himself against the memory and, surprisingly, held it off.  He was getting better at that, keeping them at bay until he could manage them.  The downside of having all good memories stripped from you was that they rather blind-sided a chap when they came hurtling back, no natural reminders of times gone by here.  Nope, one sniff of something slightly familiar and it was all he could do not to curl into a foetal position on the floor and laugh.  Always laugh.  Never the other.  Laughing was better for keeping the buggers confused, creepy hoods and all.

He took Bucky north, swooping upwards to avoid the muggle chopper and back down to follow the shallow valley away from the town where he, perhaps mistakenly, thought he could find some food.  He’d forgotten how bloody posh Marlborough was, how quick to report anyone not wearing sodding Ralph bloody Lauren.  As if any of them knew who Ralph Lauren was.  Polo indeed.

He was too cold to appreciate the valleys properly, but there had always been something about their gentle slopes and hidden, secret places that you could only tell were there when the winter sun slanted low and sideways over the hills, striking strange and beautiful shadows.  Lucius had showed him where all the shortcuts were when they’d both run away from a terminally long afternoon tea session at Malfoy Manor as children.  They’d roamed these Downs for years.  Until Sirius got Sorted, of course.  He scowled.  Malfoy Manor was miles to the West.  He refused to let it spoil this for him.  Which was a very Moony-like thought to have.  Which made him smile.  Which made him want to bury his face in Bucky’s feathers again because thoughts of Moony hadn’t made him smile in years.

About twelve miles north of Marlborough he drew Bucky lower down to the road as it swept over a small rise and found himself soaring over a little village.  After drawing them round in a few large circles, he touched down in the lower garden of one of the houses on the hill, Bucky immediately settling down under some trees and uncovering a pair of rather busy hedgehogs, who he proceeded to play with quietly.  Shaking his head, Sirius turned towards the house and ran up the steep hill of the garden, tip-toeing over the gravel, feeling really rather naked now.  A quick swipe of his hand and a whispered spell had him in the back door (one of the few benefits of being brought up Pureblood) and then he was in the kitchen, blissfully warm with an old fashioned range cooker at one side that he allowed himself to curl into.  Rather gingerly, of course - pressing his bits into an enamel-covered, cast-iron gas furnace was not his idea of a good time.  His nose told him there was a dog here somewhere, or would be once the muggles came home.  He’d been watching this house, though.  They wouldn’t be back for a while yet.

He took the time to dart upstairs and into the master bedroom, slipping on a pair of the man’s trousers which were far too big but held up with a belt.  The man did have a fantastically Moony-ish taste in jumpers though and bought quality - the wool on his naked skin didn’t scratch even a little.  Squirming his feet into thick socks, he padded back downstairs and checked the clock on the wall.  He wouldn’t have time to eat.  Taking in a breath, he made his way into the living room and found the matches.  The lady of the house had a thing for building fires and it was only a matter of minutes before he was sitting cross-legged in front of roaring flames, rubbing his dry hands together with a strange papery sound.  He should really put something on them.

Another check of the clock on the TV (and when had TVs got so big, anyway?) and then he took a final breath, shook his shoulders out and muttered the incantation, bony fingers drawing complicated patterns in the air.  Then he stuck his head in the fire.

He made sure to keep his eyes open to make sure no one he didn’t want to see was there, but that did mean he saw everything all at once and he could abstractly feel his hands scrabbling at the ashy hearth at the barrage of memories that came back, flooding his mind so he couldn’t distinguish one from the other.  He was more prepared this time, though.  Last year he’d been desperate, so full of rage and fear that he’d not even got to the dorm room the first time he tried to get to Peter, coming back to himself huddled up against the nearest window.  Now he let them come and let them go - he only had a few moments to collect himself and he needed to.  If not for this, then for nothing.

He jumped at the sound of a door slamming and then his breath caught in his throat as he watched Harry suddenly appear from under what had to be the Cloak, throwing it angrily on the floor and then throwing himself on the sofa in front of the fire in what was clearly a fine fit of pique.  James had never quite sulked like that though and Sirius found himself just watching, utterly and completely charmed by the furrow in-between Harry’s dark eyebrows, the slight grumpy purse of his mouth that was all Lily, the rough swipe of his sleeve under his nose at an itch.  This was the new ache, the one that wasn’t formed of dark, cold things.  The one that had the power to utterly wreck him, apparently.  The one that had brought him to the Quidditch match the year before, to Surrey, back to England this year when the whole country was swarming with things that wanted to put him back on that rock.  The one that had left him speechless when Lily had taken pity on his utter male-ness and put the baby in his arms whether he liked it or not.  The one that had dared Remus to squeeze his hand under the dinner table in mutual disbelief at their fortune, two such lost boys, at somehow being part of something so wonderful as three (two-and-a-half until he’s taller than you, Evans) people made family by choice.

He felt the earth shift slightly as Harry caught sight of him and wondered for a moment if he was still smiling, because Harry’s face lit up like a Christmas tree and he scrambled forward, getting soot in Sirius’ face but Sirius would rub his whole face in coal if it meant he could watch this boy smile.

“Sirius - how’re you doing?”

[solarwindandcosmicash]

priority: manor feictear (part 1)

absent: Kate’s player

prev | start | next

The party learns through Fawkes that the person who had funded Hiri’Nimit’s research on the Nova is currently on the garden world Watson - specifically in an expensive mansion called Manor Feictear, at which an art showcase being held. Armed with the knowledge that they are looking for someone with the letter ‘B’ in their name, Annos secures the party invitations, they pick out aliases, and they go undercover.

summary

Fawkes is a skilled cryptologist and, through the party and Annos’s strike team’s investigations on the Nova, was able to determine the source of Hiri’Nimit’s funding. He had traced the transaction to a garden world called Watson, specifically to a manor called Manor Feictear. As luck would have it, there is an art showcase there for the next few weeks, and with the Shadow Broker’s help, Annos has acquired invitations for the party. He is sending them there to find and capture the person responsible for moving the funds. The party’s only clue is that the letter B is contained in their name, so this is no easy task. Annos is able to provide a list of the guests, however, which may help narrow their search:

Motya Voski – human Zenyxamey M'Kyaius – asari Noreemlia B'Zelyt – asari Idhato Ben'fehal – batarian Bexidia Agonianus – turian Bihirn Merajii – salarian Hartaw Ix – salarian

As it stands, the party arrives on Watson a few days later, spending the time developing their aliases while undercover. Beetle chooses to go as the brilliant yet enigmatic Dr. Boubou Thulphul, a researcher who studies the historical and psychologically effects of Forta’s work; Vekar is her bodyguard, operating under the name Voetreer Orlea. Phos assumes one of her many mercenary names, Gouda Rach, a friend of Dr. Thulphul’s who is interested in purchasing some of the rare weapons that are on display at the Manor.

in discord Beetle: boubou thulphul is a scientist who studies the effects of forta's paintings and other art on the sentient psyche, and has a string of unfortunate husbands who "died" "suspiciously"

Vasir who goes by Reia’Velar, an acquaintance of Dr. Thulphul and an art collector’s employee sent to make purchases for their boss. Last is Isolde, who simply goes as herself, and Aster, who accompanies her as her friend Kirien Juons.

Upon arrival to the Manor, the party is greeted by a quarian who introduces herself as Vleera. She quickly passes them off to Bình, a quiet human who leads them to the ground floor of the manor where the party will be staying. They quickly take their leave, however, and so the party finds themselves in a large gathering room, where there are a few guests about and a human bartender behind the counter. He introduces himself as Prakash and answers their questions as he serves Phos and Beetle a drink, guides them to their rooms, and wishes them a good rest before returning to his post. Looking over the rooms reveals that they are bugged extensively to track their occupants’ movements.

The party returns to the gathering room to speak with some of the guests. Beetle in particular introduces herself to Motya Voski, a young human woman passionate about the arts, and to Idhato Ben’fehal, a batarian art historian, in a brief conversation in which she almost blows the party’s cover. Aster and Phos also speak to Bexidia Agoniaus, a surly, taciturn turian who isn’t inclined to talk. From there, they wait for the first tour of the Manor to begin.

notable lines + interactions

Advika: . . . and there’s a gala going on to showcase art by various species. Beetle: Oh, fuck yes. Vasir: Keelah. DM: Annos looks over at soon as you say that, Beetle, and just gives you a very, very deadpan look, like, do not. Beetle, OOC: [laughs] Vasir, OOC: A very stern glare. DM: Yeah. It’s not effective, I’m sure, but he does it anyway. Beetle: No, but I respect that. Like, get up and go, just keep doing that.

Vasir: We infiltrate a gala and try to locate the people and bring them in. Annos: Pretty much. Beetle, crosstalk: I’m good at infiltrating! It’s in my class name. Vasir: Anything else?

Phos: Do any of you guys have experience working under an alias? Vasir: ... Yes. Phos: Well, Vasir, with you working in Intel, I’m guessing you had plenty. That would be a little hypocritical to - Vasir: It’s fine, Phos. Phos: - but the rest of us, I’m worried about. Vasir: I’m sure Beetle will be fine by cloaking or talking. Beetle: I’m good at talking. Phos: Do you know how to work under an alias? Vekar: I understand the concept, never had the opportunity. Phos: Okay. This will be a learning - a learning moment for - Vasir, weirdly enthusiastic: A learning experience. Beetle: I have my alias all ready. Vekar: What, your real name’s not Beetle? Beetle: Um, no.

Beetle, OOC: I’m Boo Boo the Fool. Spelled ‘Boubou Thulphul’. Just call me Boo. Short for Boubou Thulphul. Vekar, OOC: Oh my god.

Phos: Beetle, call me Rach if you have to talk to me, because Gouda is my alias’s last name. Beetle: But Gouda is so fun. Phos: Yes, but it’s my last name, so please don’t. Beetle, extremely disappointed: Oh. Phos: If you refer to me by my last name, you’re trying to address my clan. Beetle: Is it formal? Phos: Well, talking to me as Gouda would technically mean you’re addressing the clan instead of me as an individual, and you’re trying to insult, challenge, or impress the clan. Beetle: Hey, Rach of clan - Gouda. Phos: Yes. That’s me. Beetle: Beetle: Okay! I can do that.

Beetle: Call me - Ms. Thulphul. [long pause] Oh wait. One minute. Call me Dr. Thulphul.

in discord Vasir: N N O DM: everyone REALLY takes her seriously

DM: Oh god. Phos: Okay. Okay, this is taking a turn for the weird. Vasir: When doesn’t it, Phos? Phos: Well. [pause] Good point. Good point, Vasir.

Beetle, OOC: I’m willing to get the mission started. Beetle’s already completed her reign of terror.

Vasir: Remember, use the alias. When we get started, I’m not Vasir or Rama. I’m Reia’Velar. Beetle: Who are you? Vasir: You heard me, Beetle. Beetle: [giggles] Vasir: Or should I say, Dr. Thulphul. Beetle, sincerely: Thank you. It’s important to me that you recognize my academic achievements. Vekar: What have you written, Dr. Thulphul? DM: Annos just sighs. Vekar, OOC: I’ve got all the aliases jotted down, so I won’t forget. Phos, OOC: Oh shit, good idea.

Vasir, OOC: I bet there’re theaters and, like - Beetle, OOC: There’s probably an entertainment center in there. Vasir, OOC: Yeah. Beetle, OOC: I’m gonna go sit in it and die.

Beetle: i have a question for all of you. Do we have any idea how we are going to interact with each other? Like, how our backstories intersect? DM, laughing: I like how you’re doing this on the tram, on the way there. Beetle, OOC and ruefully: Yeah. I’m like, uh, hey, uh. DM: Well, talk it out, if you - if you would like.

Vasir: Do we have anything to take people with us? How are we gonna do that. Beetle: Do we even have any weapons? Phos: We’ve got Space Tape. DM: Did you buy a new roll? Phos, after a pause: Yes. DM: Did you? Phos, defensively: There’s 10 meters per roll! I haven’t used up that much. DM: ... Okay, fine. I wasn’t keeping track anyway. Beetle, OOC: Never change, you big, beautiful Space Tape dispenser. Never change. I love you. Phos, OOC: Just gonna check how much it costs.

in discord Vekar: Voetreer Orlea = BODYGUARD

Beetle, OOC: I’m just imagining Vekar screaming “BODYGUARD.” Like, who are you? “BODYGUARD.”

DM: How do you all know each other? Phos, OOC: My guess is that the doctor has been betting on me and Isolde in fights. Beetle: Yes. I am a patron of the arts, even the physical ones. Phos, OOC: And thusly she has invited us to this fine establishment, and Vekar comes as her bodyguard, and I guess Aster is just an acquaintance of Dr. Thulphul? Party: [laughter at the name] Vasir, OOC: Meanwhile, I’m taking this seriously. Beetle: We are taking this seriously. Did you not see the work I put into my backstory? Vasir, OOC: [sighs]

in discord Vasir: reia knew voetreer from someone they bought art for. who voetreer was guarding. Vasir: and then maybe reia got art for rach?

Phos, OOC: Oh, yeah. That sounds dank. Vasir, OOC: Like, I just went and bought some art for you. Vekar, OOC: Or some fine, ancient swords. Or krogan warhammers. DM: That’s how Rach and Dr. Thulphul are friends: they both appreciate the arts. Phos, OOC: They both have a decorative, matching warhammer at home. Vekar, OOC: Very fancy warhammers. Vasir, OOC: How about the thing I found for Rach was a frickin’ ancient earth katana? Because - Phos, OOC: YES. Vasir, OOC: - why not go full nerd here? Whatever, this is already hell. DM: Oh my god. Vasir, OOC: Roll in a little weeaboo spice. DM, quietly: Oh my god, that’s terrible. Jesus. Vasir, OOC: You already dug your grave, [DM]. I’m just making it cozy. Phos, OOC and decisively: Sword.

DM: Is everyone happy with the current state of affairs? Vasir and Vekar, OOC: Yes. DM: Okay. Telissa drops you off at the landing pad, you’re in the tram and moving sideways, and [sees Vekar’s player post in discord] JESUS CHRIST.

in discord Vekar: clan Gouda is a clan of weeaboos

Phos and Vasir, OOC: [hysterical laughter] Beetle, OOC: [starts screaming] DM: Nooooooo. Oh gooooooood. Fuuuuuuck. Beetle, OOC: Oh. My god. Phos, OOC: I’m dying. Beetle, OOC: Oh. My god. DM: God save my soul. Okay. Phos, OOC: There ain’t no saving in this Dungeons and Dragons. DM: Oh, hush. I’m DM, I don’t have to do anything. Except all the work.

Phos, OOC: Wait, time out, time out. Can I get, like, two minutes to get some water? DM: No. - Yeah, go ahead.

Beetle, OOC: Say goodbye to the Beetle you knew and say hello - to Dr. Thulphul. Vasir, OOC: Dr. Boubou Thulphul. Beetle, OOC: Dr. Boubou Thulphul.

DM: 1v1 me in chess, [Vasir’s player]. Vasir, OOC: We’d have to find an online chess player. DM: Wait, do you want to? Vasir, OOC: I don’t know. DM: I’m like halfway decent at chess, so I may or may not win. Vasir, OOC: I’ve played it maybe five times in my life? DM, who used to play chess competitively: Oh dear, yeah, okay.

Phos, OOC: I’m back. DM: Wow, look at that. Vasir, OOC: We - and the party - are listening to elevatorstuck because we’re on this frickin’ tram. DM: This is incorrect. I am not doing this because I’m not on this frickin’ tram. Vasir, OOC: You’re the DM. Beetle, OOC: I’m not listening to it, either. Vasir, OOC: Oh. DM: Yeah, I’m the DM. Bite me. Vekar, OOC: You’re listening to it through osmosis, [DM]. DM: Wow. Thanks.

DM: I’ve got to consult my shitty map. - You guys are never going to see these shitty maps, I’m just telling you that right now. Phos, OOC: When I come visit, I’m going to hack into your computer to see these shitty maps. DM: Good fuckin’ luck.

DM: Who was next...? Vekar, right. Vekar, what were you even looking for? Vekar, who had rolled a nat20, OOC: I don’t know! DM: Just save it for another perception roll.

Phos, OOC: I drag Isolde with me, like, I put an arm around her shoulders and say, “Let’s get something to drink.” DM: Isolde gives you a look and says out of the corner of her mouth - Isolde: I’m gonna fucking kill you, don’t just touch me like that - DM: - as she goes along with you.

Phos, OOC: I’m getting a Vodka Infusion. DM, laughing: Is that a legit thing? Is it just a bunch of vodka? Just a bunch of different kinds of vodka? Phos, OOC: Yes. Vekar, OOC: Weed vodka! Potato vodka! Phos, OOC: Cinnamon vodka!

Vasir, OOC: Does Aster even have an alias? DM: I think I might’ve just forgotten to tell you. Let me go look it up. [pause] Oh, shit. Okay, so I have Aster’s name listed here, but the value where I’d put the name in is blank, so - let me just make something up really quick. Vasir, OOC and laughing: Let’s just call him Wasabi Rage! DM: No, fuck that! Beetle, OOC: Starboy. Vasir, OOC, still laughing: We already have Dr. Thulphul! Beetle, OOC: We have such a long talk about background and then Aster shows up and does fuckall. DM: That’s my fault, though. Beetle, OOC: [laughter] DM: Can someone just give me a randomly generated name? Bear, OOC: Yeet. DM: Thanks.

DM: Annos offered you the guest list and none of you took him up on it. Beetle, OOC: Yep, we’re just all fools - Vasir, OOC: Wait, no, I thought we did. Vekar, OOC: I’m pretty sure we did, actually. DM: Hmm. Really? Beetle, OOC: Oh, yeah, we absolutely did. DM: Ha. I’ll listen back in the recording later and we’ll see.

[As it turns out, Annos had only mentioned the guest list but made no move to otherwise offer it to the party, so we were all wrong.]

Phos, OOC: And I take a deep, deep drink of my vodka - Prakash: Oh, god, don’t do that, you don’t want to do that. Phos: I’m a krogan, hon, it’s fine. Prakash: Don’t call me that, please.

in discord Vekar: Narrator: it was not fine

Beetle, in a very weird accent: If I may ask, is there some sort of itinerary I could look at? DM: What the fuck is your accent right now? Beetle, OOC: I don’t fuckin’ know.  You think I know what my accent is? Beetle: I’ve been to so many places, I don’t even know what my accent is anymore.

Prakash: [details everything to do in town] Beetle: That sounds quite hella, boy, thank you - DM, interrupting as Vasir and Phos’s player lose it: What did you just say?

in discord Vasir: KLJGKJF Vasir: "that sounds quite hella, boy, thank you" Vasir: FJLSKFJ

Beetle, OOC and laughing: Thank you for giving me recommendations to do around town - DM, in hysterics: Okay, okay, I’m sorry, you have to repeat that, I just lost it all. Say again? Beetle: That sounds quite lovely -

Prakash: You’re welcome, Doctor. If there’s anything else? Beetle: Dr. Thulphul, if you please. Party: [laughter] Prakash: Of course, Dr. Thulphul. Anything else I can do for you? Beetle: No, that will be all. I’ll be retiring to my quarters. Prakash: Would you like me to show you the way? Beetle: Please, if you will. DM, in hysterics: Oh my god. I’m just - I’m just thinking of how much pleasure Beetle is taking in this, how much fun she’s having. Beetle, OOC: She’s having so much fun. Vasir, OOC: This is almost painful.

Prakash: Now, Voetreer, I understand that you are the bodyguard of the good d - of Dr. Thulphul here. I have you in separate rooms, but if you would prefer to stay together, I’m sure we can make accommodations. Vekar: I suppose I’ll leave it up to the doctor. Beetle: Yes, I would like the security of my bodyguard.

in discord Vasir: voetreer Vasir: HE SOUNDS SO DEAD Vasir: INSIDE Phos: Tsæadhjakad THAT VOICE Beetle: IM WEEPING Beetle: THERE ARE TEARS Phos: IM DYINGdf Phos: ds Phos: fdsnamdnsaldsnad Vasir: ............. Vasir: THAT............................. Vasir: UH Vasir: GOD Vasir: lkSAKFHE Vasir: IM.........I FEEL........................... Vasir: SLKFHJGEfjk Phos: He just inwardly goes: I DONT WANT TO BE INVOLVED IN THIS Vekar: This is vekar inside

DM, laughing: Goddamn. Just let him live. Beetle: Voetreer, of course I will be paying you for this service. Phos, OOC: No, no, [Beetle’s palyer], never say that again, don’t, don’t - DM, in hysterics: Uh, Prakash is giving you a weird look, and he says, um - Prakash: I will get Volutia to help you with the bed, Dr. thulphul. Let me show you to your room. DM: And you can kind of tell he’s like, “uh, okay.” Beetle: What presumptions are you making about me? Prakash: Nothing, nothing, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.

Prakash: I’ll call Volutia about helping you with the bed, Dr. Thulphul. If you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my post - Beetle: Make it post-haste. Prakash: ... Okay.

DM: Every time I hear “Doctor Thulphul,” my brain has a moment of staring into the void and I can’t hear the rest of whatever’s being said.

Beetle, OOC: Is there any way to communicate with each other? Because omni-tools are bugged, so - Vasir, OOC: You know what? It’s called pen and paper. Old-fashioned spy stuff. Beetle, OOC: Oh, yeet. Beetle has a lot of extra paper. Vasir, OOC: And we burn it when we’re done. DM: That’s so fucking terrible.

DM: Roll dex, Vekar. Beetle, OOC: Oh, god. Vekar, OOC: Well, it’s dex. It can’t be that bad. Beetle, OOC: This is going to be so embarrassing. I’m preemptively hurt. DM: I’m glad you’re covering your bases. Beetle, OOC: Like I’m already in pain. Vekar, OOC: Worry not, Doctor, it’s fine. Beetle, OOC: Is it? Vekar, OOC: [rolls an 18] DM: Okay, yeah. Beetle, OOC: Oh, fuck yes.

Beetle: All the voice coaches in the world and none of them can get rid of this accent.

Phos, OOC: I just wanted to hit the intercom and ask whoever’s on the other side, “What happens if we break something in here?” DM: Well, the person on the other end is Prakash, of course. Prakash: If you happen to do that, just let us know, and we’ll get it sorted out. Phos: ... Okay. Prakash: That doesn’t mean you should go breaking things willy-nilly, okay? I just want to make that clear. Phos: It’s just a ‘just in case’ thing, because even with my inventory, I doubt I’d be able to replace something if I broke it. Prakash: No. You would not be able to.

Beetle: I should go inform - inform the person I’m sp - Vasir, OOC: Rach. Beetle: The person I brought with - Vasir, OOC: Rach. Beetle, decisively: The krogan.

Beetle: Vekar, would you mind checking up on Rach for me?

in discord Phos: TAHT IS NOT HIS NAME Phos: beetle said "vekar"

Beetle, OOC: Oh, fuck! Beetle: Voetreer, sometimes I fucking forget your name!

in discord Vekar: say that its one of your dead husbands Vasir: HOLY SHIT Vasir: [Vekar’s player] youre amazing

Beetle: God! You just look like one of my husbands! He passed away tragically from knife-in-the-sternum syndrome.

Phos: That's why there's a need for 'services' Vekar: quick on my feet fast for the memes Beetle: NAT20

Everyone: [laughing] Beetle, OOC, sounding like he’s dying: I’m weeping. DM: Okay, you say this to Vekar. Vekar, what do you do? Vekar: It’s alright, Doctor. I understand the nature of your work. Everyone: [in hysterics] Beetle: Don’t worry, Voetreer, I - you know, sometimes it’s hard. You know, like, um, the voice coach has been working with me on the name thing, too. It just hasn’t taken.

DM: I assume you go find Phos? Vekar, OOC: I go find Rach, yes. DM: Alright, cool. I - I don’t - I don’t know you interact with each other, like, do you knock on the door? Do you just barge in? Do you kick it down? Do you break the door off its hinges? What do you do? Vekar, OOC: I knock on the - Vasir, OOC and laughing: He cryo blasts the door. Vekar, OOC: That’s going to go excellently.

in discord Beetle: beetle still in her room, on the monitor: Space Google Search - earth birds. Big earth birds. Bigger please. What is the biggest earth bird you can find

in discord Vekar: also [Beetle's player] i love boubou but also did you consider "Pithy" Beetle: SDFKJHDFSJHJFHDFD Phos: a good night for brewing vintage memes

Phos, OOC: I’m gonna go to town. Beetle, OOC: Uh... fuck.

Beetle, OOC: Beetle looks at herself at herself in the mirror - and then goes to find Aster. DM: I like that you have to go to the mirror - Beetle, OOC: But like, it’s a really dramatic mirror look, like, she’s doing it, she’s voguing. She’s like, pre-gaming. DM: Pre-gaming what?

drinks (from here)

Potato Blizzard Tonic Snake Noxious Torrent Whipped Orb Spearmint Roar Wasabi Rage Garlic Java Black Parody Sherry Thunder Incredible Tornado Vodka Infusion Oblivious Bull Hushed Eye Blue Velvet Perfect Brew Boiled Petal Spirit Lotus Flower Barrage Cloudy Grog Whiskey Score Wonderful Smash

technical notes

The party examines the foyer. Perception roll. 1d20 + perception modifier.

Vekar → 20 - 4 → 16 Phos → 18 + 1 → 19 Vasir → 17 + 0 → 17 Beetle → 16 + 1 → 17 Aster → 13 + 3 → 16 Isolde → 4 + 3 → 7

Vekar and Vasir check security; Beetle checks to see if there’s anything to loot; Phos looks for weaponry.

Beetle and Phos order a drink. Beetle gets a Black Parody while Phos orders a Vodka Infusion.

The party looks over their respective rooms. Perception roll. 1d20 + perception modifier.

Vekar → 20 - 4 → 16 Vasir → 19 + 0 → 19 Beetle → 3 + 1 → 4

"This room is quite lovely,” Beetle’s player says.

Vekar explains the security systems to Beetle using pen and paper, keeping it out of view of the cameras. Dexterity roll. 1d20 + dexterity modifier → 16 + 2 → 18 He does so.

Beetle covers up her mention of Vekar’s name. Persuasion roll. 1d20 + knowledge modifier → 20 + 1 → 21 She does so beautifully.

Prakash spots Vekar handing Phos the paper detailing security in the rooms. Perception check. 1d20 + perception modifier → 5 + 0 → 5 He doesn’t notice a thing.

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[angstandhappiness]

DUDE

[Image ID in alt text]

retrospective

I think sometimes that shadow thinks back about his time on the ark with maria, and with gerald. and that some of his memories of gerald aren't great. and that now, with the knowledge of what gerald did to him after maria's death, some of those memories may mean something different with that new context. he doesn't like thinking about it