Insane scribbles, demented rambling, and possibly some stories.

Sylent Hyll · Jan 25, 2024

Heyo! So, this maiden post is going to be a whiteboard for me. You might see just about anything in here...random notes for character ideas or things I might want to put into characters or stories at some point, plot ideas, whatever. Each post after this will have a piece of writing and possibly a bit about it as a prelude. I’ll post links to individual posts here in case y’all wanna skip the whiteboard.

UPDATE
So I have a second "page" (read: post) as a whiteboard now (explanation therein). As such, I'll link it along with other additional posts below. All else above follows.

UPDATE #2: TRIGGER WARNING
Some posts may contain spiders or spider-like imagery and themes.

Whiteboard [page 2]
Whiteboard [page 3]
Whiteboard [page 4]
Whiteboard [page 5]
Ben & Lucas: Cupcakes
Machiavellian Mercenary Machinations [Chapters 1-???]
The Demoness

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Names (spoiler for brevity):

[m] male
[f] female
[n] neutral

S-Names
*My Creations or Preferred Variations

Sarah [f]
Sienna [f]
Savannah [f]
Sauvigne* [f]

pronounced “so-VEEN”

Svetlana [f]
Samantha [f]

Sam
Sammie

Sutreia* [f]

pronounced “suu-TRAY-uh”

Solveig [f]
Samuel [m]
Saul [m]

Other Names
*My Creations or Preferred Variations

Aerie [f]
Alexis [m/f/n]

Al
Alex
Allie
Lex
Lexa
Lexi

Brianna [f]
Chelsika* [f]

pronounced “CHEL-sik-uh”
Idea was to combine Chelsea & Jessica, both excellent names; head-canon was that her parents couldn’t decide/agree on a name, so they combined the names they liked best.

Giselle [f]
Lukretia* [f]

pronounced “luu-KREE-she-uh”

Ferdinand Fireclaw* [m]
Hodor Warrenbreaker* [m]

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Minimalist naturist born & raised in a forest.
Spoiler for brevity:

Aerie? Seems like a good name for her. Either asexual or bisexual; I’m thinking asexual…hm. Asexual biromantic? ~~Definitely queer/GNC (gender non-conforming), so she/her and/or they/them…now it just feels like I’m tacking on labels.~~

Was thinking some sort of modern fantasy but what about Pokémon? That’s super-specific but could make things interesting.

Could incorporate Celtic beliefs and western European folklore surrounding her - traditional stuff, not the more popular modern ideas. The original brownies and other similar little folk…perhaps brownies being predominant? Or just one variety of folks living in the forest. Mostly they avoid her and live their own lives, but perhaps she sometimes has interactions with them? Definitely go more traditional than popular with this. Could incorporate Grimm’s fairy tales, though…

Minimalist Naturist Notes
Literally the only clothing she owns (possibly):

Silk & Lace Trim Camisole; Silk & Lace Trim Knickers [set]
Shin-Length Sarong [skirt]
Sleeveless Ombre Sundress
Long wool coat, ushanka, scarf, knit gloves, & heavy-duty boots for winter.
Slip-On Vans [rarely worn]

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[inspired by Wednesday Addams!]
(spoiler for brevity)

Some people are uniquely sensitive to energies we have yet to learn how to detect using modern science; Penelope Durrow is one such girl. She has never slept peacefully, for her dreams are living nightmares observed through the eyes of the victims. Pen experiences everything the victims experience in their final moments, unable to do anything more than observe. Her most vivid dream, which recurs frequently, is that of a woman drowning an infant - that she has come to believe is her based on certain visual context clues within the dream sequence. And yet, she lives…or does she?

In the waking world, she is a psychometrist; places, objects, and people with extreme emotional imprints can trigger overwhelming visions of the past or future, typically in spurts of black-and-white scenes in which certain specific focal points are pictured in vibrant color.

Even stranger, she can perceive spirits and the dead - and physically interact with them. When she does, it triggers something unique. It’s not a vision, exactly…she seems to be transported to the location of the vision and is essentially a ghost herself; the world is black-and-white around her, but she remains in color - as do certain focal points, just like in her psychometric visions. But again, she’s merely an observer. When she returns, it seems that she actually vanished from the physical world much as a ghost tends to do and reappears in the same manner.

She has come to believe that she may not be alive. She breathes but that may only be out of habit; besides, air flow is required for speech. She eats and drinks, yet she’s only hungry or thirsty after a vision and she never has to…y’know. Plus, everything is tasteless to her. She bathes, washes her hair, sleeps…she can walk, talk, and do pretty much anything else a typical human can do.

Important things to note:

She does not like to be touched. If she wants to touch something, she’ll choose to touch it.
She is left-handed but not many people know this; she tends to keep her arms and hands very close to her body, rarely moves them when she speaks, and usually shrinks back from impending physical contact.
Eye contact triggers panic attacks for her, so she avoids it as much as possible.
She suffers from anxiety but therapy and pills have done nothing for it.
She never uses contractions when she speaks.
She has what is called “level 1 autism” and is mostly self-sufficient; however, it is very easy for her to become hyper-focused on a particular task and neglect personal care or other tasks or necessities. This further confuses the idea in her mind that she may not be alive (due to her not eating or drinking for long periods of time and being so focused that she’s not even sure whether she was breathing during such periods). While not precisely accurate, however, her theory is not a delusion; she exists in a state either perpetual or fluctuating between life and death - which, if learned, will bring up a whole host of questions on its own.
Her mother mostly leaves her alone; it’s unclear to Pen how her mother feels about her. She acts as caretaker to offset her frequent extreme focus, preparing meals and baths for her as well as doing her laundry, and she takes care of the house in general; Pen’s father was a freelance writer for many years but had a stroke that exacerbated issues he was already having with his heart, ultimately killing him. Money is provided both by inherited royalties from several biographical and historical novels he wrote and by military benefits on her mother’s behalf (her mother’s ex-army). Her mother owns the house, and Pen is the sole beneficiary in her will.

Possible triggering event for personal story, might/might not lead into RP: she gets tied to a chair and locked in a storage room overnight as a prank. This causes an extreme panic attack and ultimately triggers either one very powerful vision or a series of more common visions that overwhelm her, pushing her to the edge. As a defense mechanism, her mind lashes out in some manner and she ends up screaming until she’s hoarse and struggling until she eventually frees herself.

Psychokinetic burst? Telekinesis? It would be very limited and require an extreme event like this, so if she could control it somehow later, it would most likely involve tapping into trauma centering on such events as her own drowning and this particular prank - a dark give-and-take. Could possibly rip apart the room and her bonds, maybe the chair, maybe even damaging the door or ripping it off its hinges entirely? Would not go beyond the room.
This event would traumatize her.
Should I write it out? I feel like I should write this out…but I need sleep first.

Kinda wanted to name her Penny Dreadful but decided not to. Tried something like Dreddsdurrow but it didn’t sound right (although maybe I should? Word isn’t correcting it, but Word’s iffy at best with that shit). Hm. I kinda like Dreddsdurrow, actually*…she goes by Pen but I could easily see her being nicknamed Penny Dreadful.

Not sure I wanna go the high school route, that feels…squicky. I dunno. Could do college. Could also do work, but I feel like people would be less likely to pull something on her like this, especially in the current era of people not being as openly dickish and cruel? Or maybe I’m totally wrong, I dunno. I could see it happening if her coworkers don’t like her, especially if they don’t know much about autism. I’m liking the idea of coworkers being total assholes rather than a collegiate setting…

~~Maybe set it in Japan? No…too cliché, although~~ Ju-On and other Japanese horror films are amazing.

*Okay, yeah, definitely renaming her. New name: Penelope Dreddsdurrow, aka Pen (aka Penny Dreadful…if you’re a dick).

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Spoiler for brevity:

For all its long eons, the world is young. Old before it was born were the spinners, yet gone long from this plane now are they; what they left behind only vaguely resemble them, their descendants varied yet similar but not nearly as magnificent as their ancestors. There is beauty and perfection in all that they do, though this has been marred by violence and strife at the hands of those who have taken this world for their own. Fear and hatred are all they know, and pride in their own affairs, and the descendants of the spinners have been driven so deep beneath them that only their tiniesst and most helpless kin visit above.

Of course, they are not completely helpless. They have many adaptations, for they and theirs are nature's perfect hunters. Yet their kin have begun to visit the world above in secret of late, their curiosity and longing for the stars growing as their restless nature stirs once more. What dost fate have in store for them? Some secrets even they do not know...

Contrary to the superstition, paranoia, and primal fear of surface-dwellers (who typically prefer light to darkness, warmth to cold, and dry places to wet ones), humanoid forms are not tools of deceit among the spinners. Darkness is not the same as evil, nor is light always synonymous with good intentions and pure hearts. Spiders are descended through evolution progressing since before the world as they know it existed from eldritch entities originating somewhere in the endless void. The precise nature and path of their evolution is unknown but it has resulted in many variations with many similarities between them.

Considered to be the most horrifying by humanoid surface-dwellers are the driders, so named by the drow (dark elves) who first encountered variants of them that resembled their own people: slender, beautiful, ebony-skinned elves whose torsos descended into the "grotesque" forms of immense spiders. Some among the spinners, however, lack the distinctive forms of spiders and instead develop less blatant arachnid traits, such as spinnerets beneath their tongues or multiple pairs of small black eyes in addition to their more humanoid ones - or even in place of them; these are considered to be spider-kin, the most appropriate broad name for them in all their variations, rather than their drider cousins. There are also spiders of varying sizes who are highly intelligent, some even possessing the ability to physically or psychically communicate; some of these are closer to the sizes and appearances of more common spiders, while others are immense in scale and power.

Their ancestors cannot properly be described as spiders, but they were very spider-like in their apperances. They were truly gargantuan entities, easily comparable with great mountains, and their children - when they hatched them - numbered in the millions. They were always hatched with specific purposes in mind but over time, the world and their own identities influenced the development of their many generations. Event ambient magic changed them, causing many to develop latent abilities more akin to the tremendous supernatural and god-like powers of their ancestors (if not nearly so potent as those).

Spiders of all kinds descended from the ancient spinners, both those that are little more intelligent than any other "beast" or "bug" and those that are as intelligent as - or more intelligent than - any surface-dwelling humanoid. The less intelligent spiders that possess latent magic, such as teleportation or magic-dampening webs and other such abilities, are nonetheless quite intelligent among similar creatures of their ilk.

For General Reference:
DRIDERS
For simplicity, they are half-spider humanoids. Delving into their complexities is a long and tedious endeavour; while most of them possess relatively common spider-humanoid hybrid bodies, some are possessed of unique and particularly dangerous adaptations that go beyond what may be seen among more common baseline spiders. Thick armor plating and multiple limbs in a mix of humanoid and arachnid forms and functions protruding from their humanoid halves are rarer but not unheard-of sights, and some even have arachnid traits replacing their more humanoid features; some possess only vaguely humanoid bodies truly considered grotesque, and some are barely driders at all - more mutated giant spiders with the barest humanoid or non-arachnid traits. With so many spinners producing so many children in so many variations, the possible lines of development are nearly limitless; this includes sexual dimorphism as well, so it's not just all females (though they are typically extremely matriarchal, sometimes - if not often - to the point of fanaticism).

SPIDER-KIN
Humanoids with spider-like traits; often travel with many spiders as companions. Some have been known to use magic in order to give them additional abilities, though most can cling to the majority of the surfaces they touch and have spinnerets under their tongues; it is not uncommon for them to have multiple limbs, though their limbs typical match one another in form and function. They can appear to be any of a number of humanoid races and some are subtler than others in their arachnid developments.

PLANAR SPIDERS
Typically have dimly glowing markings that are much harder to see the more light there is available; these spiders are able to teleport by shifting between planes of existence, covering a lot of ground very quickly. They can also exist on multiple planes simultaneously for a short span, though only certain planes (including this one); they appear ghost-like or shadow-like when doing so and are mostly intangible, though they can spin webs or spit acid or what-not when needed.

BINDER SPIDERS
So known for their high intelligence and strong telepathic abilities. They can communicate privately with one or more individuals or anyone within range of their minds and some possess minor psychic abilities that can best be described as supernatural. However, their most devastating ability by far is to completely paralyze prey and enemies by attacking their minds, and the strongest ones can completely rip someone's mind apart from within. They're considered the most formidable and terrifying of the more physically baseline magic-oriented spiders.

Malaina Elspeth
Race: Spider-Kin
Sex: Female
HT: 5' 3"

Traits & Abilities
Malaina is very pale; she's stocky and has rounded features, a button nose, solid-black eyes, and black lips. She has no eyebrows; upon her forehead, above each eye, rest a pair of perfectly round black eyes about half the size of her primary eyes. Though it's subtle, a thin split divides her jaw from the edges of her lips; when widened, it gives her the look of having a jagged sort of "grin". But behind those partings are folding segmented pincers plump with an extremely potent venom; this venom causes muscles to spasm and blood to congeal when injected into someone. The pincers have a hard exoskeleton that overlaps to protect the joints without hindering them. Beneath her tongue are a pair of spinnerets.

Tiny spines growing from Malaina's skin, too small to be seen by the naked eye, allow her to cling to solid surfaces. Her blood is black, she has no sweat glands or tear ducts, and her voice comes out as a loud whisper or sounds raspy and harsh; she has never tried to raise her voice much, so she has no idea whether she can yell or scream. She always has a varied swarm of spiders crawling upon her and hidden in her clothes, making the hooded cloak she usually wears seem to shift entirely of its own volition sometimes.

Melaina's body temperature is much lower than that of most humanoids, resting somewhere around seventy degrees Fahrenheith, but she also has extra layers of flesh and fat beneath her skin; this makes her extremely resistant to cold temperatures. Her primary eyes are well-adapted for darkness, and her additional eyes let her see heat. By drinking blood and other bodily fluids, she can bolster her stamina and heal her wounds. She can hold her breath for a very long time, though exactly how long she does not know, and her compact musculature and sturdy skeleton allow her to withstand extreme pressure. Despite this, she has a decent amount of strength but is roughly average in terms of physical ability when compared to other humanoids. It's estimated that she'll live for between two and three hundred years, though proper sustenance and excellent maintenance of her body may sustain her for many years or even decades beyond this.

The web she spews has a tensile strength roughly equivalent to that of iron and takes close to a month to commence degradation. It is susceptible to fire but resistant to cutting, breaking, and most acids. A constant stream of web-spewing will deplete her reserve after about ten minutes, and it takes about an hour to replenish that; the time required may be shortened somewhat after a meal. While she only eats meat, she does like drinking things that have strong flavors such as tomato soup and orange juice.

However, she is not a picky eater and always eats her meat raw - preferably while it's still alive.

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Inspiration
Idea Premise:
Some form of spirit or other entity either initially inhabits or manifests as a beautiful (possibly glowing) magic. Somehow, this spirit leaves the flower or is otherwise carried into someone who later gives birth to a child heavily infused with potent magic, giving him/her/them the potential for powerful innate magical abilities [D&D 5e custom sorcerer concept?].

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Ever heard of "The Secret World of Alex Mack"? Great show from the 90s. She got accidentally dosed with GC-161, a chemical that gave her some abilities: she could liquify herself, had telekinesis, and could zap things/people with energy. She was a teenager.

So my idea for someone with liquification as a power (spoiler for brevity):

Liquefying oneself creates a cohesive bond with anything they're wearing or touching, though they may have some limited control over this (such as being able to escape someone's grasp by liquifying themself or temporarily liquefying someone they're touching to help them - may not go that powerful with it in the latter case, but it's interesting).

Water somehow weakens the cohesive bond, so while they don't need to breathe (they could exist indefinitely in the void of space as a result), staying underwater for too long could potentially make it increasingly difficult to maintain one's form. They could legit die from being underwater and eventually breaking up. A few minutes here and there might not be bad, but longer than a few minutes and they risk having to put in extreme concentration and effort or begin to break up, to the point that they eventually will do so regardless of their efforts or concentration.

The liquid form would be a translucent silvery material, like mercury. Mercuria might be a cool code name for that. Also, I'm thinking it would somehow negate air resistance, which would mean they could move as fast as they need to and hit as hard as they want (within reason). It'd be like getting hit with a sledgehammer instead of a fist. There would also be no friction, which could further increase run speed but movement control would have to be practiced.

On the other hand, the liquid form could take any shape needed, so they could literally go just about anywhere or even hold some things. There would have to be a limit to cohesion much as there is a limit for how much force can be exerted when you use your muscles to hold something. Oh, and no fall damage. Ultimately, the molecular cohesion would be incredible - so if you fell off a skyscraper and slammed into the ground, you'd feel it but it wouldn't hurt and you wouldn't splater everywhere. It'd be sort of like...a semisolid jello or something. Might spread out from the impact, but it wouldn't separate. On the other hand, bullets and fists and what-not go could go right through them due to being able to mold themselves into any shape or abstract physical form, since they're liquid.

Similar things have been done before.

So, if I was to introduce another ability - say the energy emissions, like in Alex Mack - I think there would have to be some form of energy absorption and storage or redirection for this to happen. Perhaps friction could be generated much like exerting a muscle to do something? The harder you press into something, the more difficult it is to remove you from that spot and doing so generates friction that can then be expelled as raw energy? Dunno, the pseudoscience would need some serious work. Telekinesis would require even more finnicky pseudoscience.

But the liquid form is fascinating. I really like this idea.

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Svetka

Daughter of Anatoli & Nataliya
Eldest sister of twins [insert] & [insert]
Widowed wife of American husband [insert] [ex-army]

Born & raised in Yakutsk; married by US army Corporal, who was subsequently dishonorably discharged due to American-Russian tensions; marriage was confirmed in US, providing her with American citizenship. Marriage was secretly ordained by unidentified Russian military officer for purpose of intelligence gathering & possible local assassinations, acquisitions, and/or sabotage.

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So Ben & Lucas, from the story linked above…
Spoiler for brevity:

Lucas

6’ 1”, lean muscle, light brown shoulder-length hair he only ties back for work.
The bluest eyes you will ever see.
Enjoys dancing and learning new dances, and he’s very good at it. He’s also very good with his hands and has a strong eye for detail. He’s a damn fine cook and more-than-decent baker. He’s also completely gay, but not because of stereotypes. Fuck stereotypes.
Cannot sing a note. Seriously, the backpack he was trying to carry a note in ran away. In terror.
Works on an assembly line but actually has a master’s in mechanical engineering.
Tends to be much more practical than whimsical; not really the artistic type but he can break down a problem or a puzzle into its constituent pieces and sort it out with relative ease. He’s very smart, much more so than people probably give him credit for, especially considering he works on an assembly line.
”The Boyfriend”

Benjamin

Usually Ben for short.
5’ 6”, slender, has sort of an hourglass figure; green eyes.
AU [alternate universe]: maybe an amber right eye and a bright green left eye?
Extremely curly, very long red hair that he usually puts into a ponytail or braid.
Tends to be a bit scatterbrained, clumsy, and messy. Not necessarily in that order. Oddly, though, he’s like a cat - has sort of an accidental grace (or maybe just unfathomable luck?) that always helps to correct him before something terrible happens (like dropping a cupcake on the floor…or, y’know, falling flat on his ass - though he’s probably done that more than a few times, anyway).
Just an idea I’ve recently come up with on looking over the cupcake story again…I just figured he was gay, like his boyfriend, but perhaps he’s queer as well? Not necessarily gender-fluid or NB/GNC (non-binary/gender-nonconforming), but definitely queer. Likes more feminine articles of clothing, paints his nails, doesn’t mind the homemaker type of role, definitely submissive (at least where his boyfriend is concerned), perhaps even androgynous in appearance? Dunno, I’m slightly leaning that way but may not follow that through if I use the character in future stories or RPs…would still use he/him pronouns, though I’m sure people would get confused seeing a cute person who might or might not be a boy wandering about in a skirt. Technically have sequels to the story but I dunno, they seem non-canon in my head…there was a pet shop visit in one story; maybe I’ll use that idea again at some point.
I do think his voice can hit higher notes and might be higher in general than what people expect. He can sing really well - not necessarily the next Maria Diamandis but certainly enough to compensate for his boyfriend’s dulcet tones. Probably likes Enya?

Sylent Hyll · Jan 25, 2024

So I'm starting up this second post as a means by which to have a clean page handy. If the characters reach the limit or I just want to sift through a little less clutter or a few paragraphs less of my own digital chicken scratch, I'll have a second page.

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So, first up...~~notes on a character to be brainstormed after I sleep.~~

Click for larger image. Model is Stefania Ferrario.

Svetka Shvets

Russian lesbian cigar smoker who likes guns, metal (music), her car (do NOT fuck with her car), and games (the more violent, the better). May have military training and/or have fought professionally (boxer or kickboxer)?

~~Russian gal, lesbian, smokes cigars, drinks vodka, and really likes guns.~~

Professional fighter? [inspired by "Rocky" series, esp. "Rocky IV" (reference)]

Possible Playlist I
Possible Playlist II
Possible Playlist III [lol?]

Russian/Slavic things to consider:
Kvass

English alphabet: "KBAC" (on bottles/cans)

Lada Niva

It's pink. Don't like it? Fuck off.
Russian rug covers the backseat, but it was large enough that part of it was professionally cut as a dash cover as well. A thick blanket and a couple of pillows are back there for a nap on a long trip.
Yes, it has an ash tray; she empties it about once a week of cigar stubs.
Also yes, that is indeed a blank cd with no label on either side hanging by a gold chain from her rearview mirror. ~~This is why.~~ (Broken link?)
The radio is always tuned to a Russian metal or rock station.
She keeps emergency supplies behind the back seat - couple of extra blankets, couple changes of clothes, large first aid kit with a lot of necessities (including diapers for large wounds - surprisingly effective!), an extra pair of boots, an extra coat, bottled water, hand warmers, sealed trail mixes, et cetera. Basically everything that might be needed in an emergency or on a long trip without easy access to a mart of some kind. Even a suchka like you should always be prepared, and you'd be astonished how much you can pack behind the back seat of a Lada Niva.
Trash sack hanging from back of each front seat, because don't you dare fuck up her interior!

Hockey!
More hockey!
Blin! (because swearing)
Blyat! (also because swearing)
Cyka (or suka) (also also because swearing)
Pizdec (profanity! what fun!)
Suchka - don't be one of these.

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UPDATE: Combining Alexis with the modern schemes / non-modern settings idea because they're currently being combined in the above-linked story(ies).

Alexis
Born w/no muscles in her legs & very little muscle mass throughout the rest of her body; the way she describes it, she "can barely lift a cup". Can handle small things; needs rest often. Bound to a wheelchair.

Used in These Stories

IDEA:
Apply modern schemes & scenarios to non-modern settings.

Ex. 1: Office building in which a corporation governing the broad-scale recruitment, training, and assigning of mercenaries houses its grunts - the ones who do the paperwork. Parchment and ink are certainly used, information is stored in scrolls, but interoffice and external communication is accomplished via magical systems such as a ritual bowl in which a mix tied to a specific person or group is burned. Could have multiple small bowls containing multiple mixes burned like incense; mixtures are refilled as needed, ignited to either initiate or accept an invitation to a conversation, and doused to end a conversation. Other magical systems for monitoring contracted mercenaries, employees, or assets and for completing various office work?
Could include cubicle hell as well as more standard offices, interoffice politics, customer ~~dis~~service, office drama...good for both more serious as well as more lighthearted fare?
Both more traditional magic and magitech could be incorporated into the world. Some modern innovations could be incorporated as well, but perhaps given a medievalish feel, such as a wheelchair that can be "powered" by alchemy or manually controlled, water tanks with pumps that can be operated automatically via valves connected to detachable containers (containers would contain a solution that the valve would aerosolize, which would thus expand and react with water, causing it to heat and flow freely; would have small containers that would need to be refilled and attached to the pipe, and the valve could be turned to release the mix or turned back to cut it off, effectively starting or ending a shower...is this too technical for magitech?)...

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Vamp Kid
Well, "kid". Mid-late teens, basically just wants to hang out in the arcade all day unless he's beaten all the scores there, subsisting off of mountain dew & quarters. But he gets turned - he's a vamp now. Now on top of dealing with everyone thinking he doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground, everyone pushing him around, people pressuring him to figure out what the fuck he's supposed to do with his entire life, his boss at the pizza parlor giving him shit because he's just some dumb teenager, trying to get a boyfriend - oh yeah, being gay in a world that wants to eradicate or cure him of his very existence - now, he has to deal with the existential crisis of being a blood-sucking fiend and all the politics and backstabbing and territorial disputes of the vampire community, who all want him to join their respective "sides" or they might just tear him apart (if he's lucky)...

Man, whatever happened to just vibing with a soda cup and a pocket full of quarters?

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Penelope
A beggar with unusual (subtle?) powers. Awoke with the name written in thick black ink on the inside of her right arm; it was easy to wipe off with her hand, but she remembered and adopted the name. She has no memory prior to waking up.

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Tri-Sun System
Spoiler for brevity:

Three phase stars alternating betwixt orange and red dwarf phases.

Orange dwarf phase sets average local planetary temperature at approximately five hundred degrees celsius.
Red dwarf phase emits high-energy waves that dissolve most organic matter.

System contains 6 worlds.

Twin moons Mesmer-1 and Mesmer-2 are lifeless, arid, and covered in dust.
Mesmer-4 is rich in mesmerite, an extremely abundant dark-purple rock similar to diamond but much harder; locals allow "externals" to mine it freely in return for knowledge about their cultures and species. It is used by them primarily for construction. It has a melting point of approximately four thousand degrees celsius. High-powered precision "sunspots" (plasma-based beam technology developed for mining and later for weaponry) are required for mining.
Mesmer-5 is rich in mesmeron, a metallic green rock that's extremely heavy and thick but nigh indestructible; to date, no weapon or tool has been found that can damage it. It develops and breaks off naturally but can be shaped using plasma; however, it does not break down once it has come loose and has no known melting point. Locals use it for building ships and other less permanent objects. It's rare and heavily guarded by...something.
Mesmer-3 is the industrial processing world of the system and mostly populated by behemoths.
Mesmer-6 is the residential world of the system and densely populated by shellocks.
Mesmer-3, 4, 5, and 6 are covered by a thick yellowish fog that turns orangish when the suns turn red. This fog is constantly moving and contains highly electrically charged methane and traces of other elements. It is breathable and moist, and reacting with the locals keeps them relatively cool. Mesmer-3 was industrialized to redirect this fog for energy and other purposes, much like using steam or water but carrying extreme voltage with it; the fog is recycled and quickly recharged by the environment, while the energy is harvested. Hundreds of trillions of globs are grown in the geyser fields on Mesmer-3 and distributed as needed on Mesmer-6.

Three varieties of locals exist.

Shellocks are squid-like but their heads contain a multilayered endoskeleton. The outermost armor consists of three layered plates, and a trio of interlocking plates beneath these lie beneath the outer layer; then there's the liquid buffer, and finally the brain and other innards. Shapes and sizes vary, but the basic structure is always the same. The shellocks possess anywhere from six to more than thirty tentacles and are known to have exceptionally long lifespans compared to humans, many living for at least a thousand years; exactly how long they live is unknown. Their bodies grow larger, and their tentacles grow longer and thicker, as they age.
Shellocks grow globs of yellow gelatin composed primarily of an extremely high-voltage electromethanol solution. They are silicon-based and can sink into the globs to create a livable mobile atmosphere for themselves; whether partly or fully encased, as long as they are connected, they can benefit from the globs. It's more a matter of degrees, sort of like humans and air. These globs provide them with moisture, keep them relatively cool compared to their homeworlds, allow them to breathe, and can be manipulated in order to move about (much like slimes in other settings). While not especially introverted or extroverted, they are highly intelligent and curious creatures who are friendly until the time comes to not be friendly - at which point they rely both upon their more volatile telepathic abilities and the behemoths to defend themselves.
Behemoths are a product of genetic engineering. They are massive bipedal creatures with mammoth-like legs covered in fur from the waist down; their fur may rise upon the chest, sides, and back in various places but does not reach the shoulders. Their upper bodies are much the same as the bodies of shellocks, their upper limbs consisting of thick tentacles that branch out into many smaller tentacles and their shoulders rising into squid-like heads armored in the same manner as those of the shellocks. They act as guardians and laborers. They are wary around non-locals but only become aggressive when distance between shellocks and non-locals is closed uncomfortably or when threats are perceived against shellocks.
Monoliths are unusual and extremely dangerous. Gargantuan creatures somewhat resembling shellocks, no one has ever seen the whole of their bodies; because of this, no definitive description can be given. They feast upon fields of dead shellocks and kill anything they perceive that isn't a shellock or a behemoth. The only known monoliths exist on Mesmer-5, though there may be some on Mesmer-4. One was supposedly sighted on either Mesmer-1 or Mesmer-2 but this has never been confirmed. If you detect one...run. If you can...
All locals are telempathic; they have no physical ability to speak. They can direct their telepathy privately, in small groups, or publicly. However, if threatened, shellocks can directly attack another's mind; they scramble memories and cause unfathomable pain, an experience something like having thousands of needles jammed into your brain simultaneously. Mental attacks grow in intensity the longer they continue, eventually resulting in violent destruction of the brain. While they can pick up on surface thoughts and emotions, they have no language of their own; they instead communicate via imagery, emotions, and abstract concepts. The more one communicates with them, the easier it becomes to do so due to familiarity (both in general and specifically).
While shellocks tend to be openly communicative and often willing to exchange "dialogue", behemoths rarely do and monoliths only ever attack. The larger a local, the stronger its telepathic abilities.

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Creative Parlance
Chasing Butterflies

Pursuing something that won't bear fruit.
Typically used in a more long-term sense.
Ex.: "He's been chasing butterflies for years but he can't catch 'em; he'll get more out of a sword than he will out of that damn book. Might as well give up magic altogether."

Planting Dead Seeds

Telling an untrue story or an outright lie.
Sort of a country bumpkin's turn of phrase.
Ex.: "Eh, some people say she's a witch, but they're just planting dead seeds. She's actually really nice and I can assure you, she doesn't know the first thing about magic."

Trollsnot

Basically means bullshit but can be used in place of just shit.
Ex. 1: "Trollsnot! You're trying to play me for a fool!"
Ex. 2: "Wait, what? They're on their way here? Now? Trollsnot!"

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Playlist

Name: Eun-Jeong Cressida St. James
Gender: Female

Played By: Han Hyo-joo

Tunes of Choice:

Fort Minor

Ride(s) of Choice: Chevy Camaros

Specs Pending

[initial history scrapped, short rewrite below]

No father in the pic; he ditched not long after Yoon was adopted, which was done as a "charity" stunt. Mother is a drunk, brother (Jason, 4 yrs older) is an asshole; mother calls her Cressida; Jason calls her Cress. She prefers Yoon, the American spelling of the first part of her Korean given name. She was 3 years old when she was adopted and five when the 'rents divorced.

Yoon grew up reading car mags and fell in love with the Camaro; she boosted an '84 when she was 15 and ran away. She took off the plates, debadged it, primered it black, and practiced driving it in parking lots and mostly deserted streets at night; by day, she kept its own stolen cover on it and parked it in inconspicuous places. She got a guy drunk when she was 16 and convinced him to trade his '99 Camaro for it; then she phoned in an anonymous tip to get him arrested for the stolen vehicle.

To clarify, she never did anything with the pervert - just teased him until he thought she would.

A no-tell motel hired her to clean up rooms in return for lodging some time after this, so she could stop living in her car. She was stealing food where she could and using a truck stop to shower, but the room gave her a place to shower and sleep. She stole from auto body shops to maintain her car and washed cars for the money to wash her clothes, and she went to free car shows to learn much more about cars than she could on her own. When she was eighteen, she got her license and started working for a local body shop when she wasn't cleaning for the motel.

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Random idea based on current DCUO character:

Yokohama Toshiro
aka Sutoritokuin ("Street Queen")
aka Dangan no joo ("Queen of Bullets")

Personal "bitch" for a local Yakuza boss - does what he wants, when he wants, how he wants, to whomever or whatever he wants. And yes, Toshiro was AMAB; however, the way he puts it: "Gender is fluid. Men are sexy. Now fuck off." He puts his hair into many thin braids that he ties back into tight buns on top of his head, near the back; these braided buns he dyes in pinks and purples on a regular basis. He is known for wearing purple thigh-high booots as well, and he really likes guns. Flamethrowers are his favorite weapon, however - well, anything that explodes or sets things on fire is, really...

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End of the World Ideas
Ooh, what if music could calm the undead? The sound draws the zombies, sure, but the music diminishes their aggression to the point that they won't attack. Wouldn't work for singing, perhaps, but instrumental music? Absolutely.

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A man awakes in the desert wearing naught but rags. He has no memory beyond a name. He eventually discovers that he has a minor talent for magic but, far more importantly, he has the instincts of a fine warrior well-trained with a weapon in each hand.

Unbeknownst to him, one of a few things may or may not be true:

He committed a terrible crime.
He was accused of committing a terrible crime; did he actually?
He committed no crime, but was accused of one as an excuse to punish him.
He committed a crime, but his punishment may have been much harsher than deserved.

Regardless, the punishment was that he would be stripped of all of his possessions, his memories, and his identity. Despite this, his will to remember who he was permanently imprinted his name upon his mind; this information alone survived the purge, unbeknownst to those punishing and abandoning him.

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Sylent Hyll · Feb 21, 2024

This is becoming a thing...I clearly have way too much in my head. Whiteboard post #3, commence!

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~~Painfully shy girl living in a campervan; main hobby is reading sci-fi & dystopian novels.~~ <--(mebbe/mebbe not?) Her Asimov collection:

The Compete Robot (1982) [paperback]
I, Robot (1950) [paperback]
Caves of Steel (1954) [paperback]
The Naked Sun (1957) [paperback]
The Robots of Dawn (1983) [paperback]
Robots and Empire (1985) [paperback]
The Currents of Space (1952) [paperback]
The Stars, Like Dust (1951) [paperback]
Pebble in the Sky (1950) [paperback]
Prelude to Foundation (1988) [paperback]
Forward the Foundation (1993) [posthumous paperback]
Foundation (1951) [paperback]
Foundation and Empire (1952) [paperback]
Second Foundation (1953) [paperback]
Foundation's Edge (1982) [paperback]
Foundation and Earth (1986) [paperback]

Her other books:

The Giver by Lois Lowry (1993) [paperback]
Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell (1949) [paperback]
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury (1957) [paperback]

Hm. Painfully shy, likes her dystopian/sci-fi/post-apoc novels, absolutely LOVES roller coasters - the faster and more thrilling, the better. She doesn't talk about herself much, though, and is slow to open up to people.

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Girl can turn into a Bengal tiger but has to shed her clothes, as only her body changes; influential member of an all-female gang specifically for people with unusual traits, magic, and/or abilities that separate them from humanity. Main rules to get into the gang are (1) must pass (or mostly pass) as human; (2) do what you want with men but no membership for them; (3) protect & support your sisters above all else. Additional notes:

Girl was amab but is trans (mtf).
Has nothing against guns but doesn't see the need for her to personally use them, as she is a weapon; she's conidered one of the more powerful/dangerous members but isn't necessarily the leader.
Maybe can only be harmed by wpns forged during the century in which she was born (after the year of her birth)? This assumes immortality of a sort comes into play as a character trait. If true, every other crafted weapon passes through her as though she's a ghost. She can still be physically harmed, but only by natural weapons (e.g. fists, claws, teeth).

Note: The gang as a whole doesn't necessarily hate men; it was instead formed as a means by which to protect women in the area who kept being victimized by other local gangs and harassed by the system.

Playlist

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Idea: Fallout meets Harry Potter. Year is 2299. Details to follow.

Post-apoc Potterverse
Well, muggles finally did it: they nuked the fucking planet. Or maybe it was the less mundane side of the world that was responsible...magic seems to have folded in on itself, like a poison turning blood cells against one another in vile sabotage...to be honest, no one's really sure who actually did what. It's all a bit muddled now, nearly three centuries into the third millennium anno domini. And does it really matter who did what? The result is the same.

The earth is mostly a barren wasteland, its oceans toxic where they can be reached by mankind and the soil scorched beyond reckoning. Magic is all but nonexistent beyond its older, more primal forms. It has become raw once more, almost entirely immune to the manipulations that have allowed the invention of so many modern magical conveniences over the last...well, it's been well over a thousand years since we really started twisting magic to suit us, hasn't it? Used to be we'd just figure out the secrets to wielding it, often through ritual and sometims trough sacrifice...what all we'd invented was solidified by various schools and protected by the isolation enforced upon magical folk, their division from the muggles all but absolute. But in the end, it looks like Grindelwald might have been right.

Magic is slowly pushing back against the radiation that the constant storms are spreading, not enough to get rid of it but enough that it seems to be protecting its practitioners. It's a survival tactic, instinctively warding off that which would eradicate magic entirely. In places of power, metamorphmagic is becoming more prevalent; animagic is now considered the ultimate form of personal magic, difficult as it is to achieve; and the hunt for the now-lost formula to create the sorcerer's stone has never been a more pressing goal in the eyes of some.

Potions and elixirs seem to have the greatest chance of success, though they can still go horribly wrong. Even the slightest mistake now exponentially increases the chance of catastrophic failure. Wands are nigh useless, making those who can actually develop the skill necessary for wandless magic essential to carrying on the knowledge that was once so common as to be taken for granted by the magical masses.

It is only the oldest magics that are truly powerful now, and people have had to adapt. What's more, those muggles who remain - less than a solid billion worldwide - are slowly becoming aware of the communites once so heavily warded against intrusion. Perhaps a quarter-billion or fewer magical folk remain, and the more that gather in one place of power or another, the stronger ancient magic becomes therein.

Stonehenge has become sacred once more. It's not the only such place, of course, but it seems to hold the largest community. Amesbury might be a ruin at best, but the handful of muggle survivors have come to rely upon the local "coven" and their uncanny ability to grow things when no one else can. Perhaps there is yet hope for the world; perhaps this is simply a new beginning. Or perhaps...

...perhaps magic is soon to dominate the world once more.

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Mutant/Metahuman/Other Idea
Can imbue non-living (i.e. neither dead nor alive) objects/materials with unique properties, altering them to react/behave in a manner(s) typically physically impossible [pseudocreation?].

Examples:

Can take an ordinary rubber tire and harden it to the point that nothing can burn, melt, slice, pierce, break, or otherwise damage it while allowing it to retain its relative flexibility and resilience.
Can alter water to become horribly abrasive despite otherwise appearing and acting just as any other water in the same state and condition would.
Can make rigid metal as soft and pliable as silk without reducing its durability.
Can make non-flammable objects flammable or vice versa.
Can alter freezing and boiling or melting points.
Can make something stretchy or prevent it from stretching without affecting any other properties.

Cannot affect organic tissues, be they alive or dead, even down to things like blood, plasma, bone, hair, scales, plant matter, et cetera; can only affect subjects that are inorganic. Animation or lack thereof is irrelevant, so could affect a robot just as easily as a LEGO brick; could alter a piece of plastic fruit but not a real banana or apple; could horribly disfigure a mannequin but couldn't invert someone's skin or make their hairs cut them open when they move. Et cetera.

Abilities would be tactile. Chromakinesis (the ability to psionically alter the way light passes through an object or the perception thereof, thereby alterig its color/hue/etc) might be part of this set of abilities but again, it couldn't affect organic tissues.

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Undead Ice Girl Idea:

Former and late gold medalist figure and speed skater misjudges the ice on a frozen lake while practicing one day; she falls through and drowns/freezes. When next she becomes aware of herself, she's perpetually frozen in a horribly painful physical contortion in what she later comes to realize is the literal "fourth ring of the ninth circle of hell" (as depicted in Dante's Inferno) - the pit reserved for betrayers.

She is there for a very long time, though exactly how long is at first unknown to her. Eventually, she slowly realizes that she can move her eyes; and then her fingers; and then her neck...ultimately, she breaks free and crawls out of that pit. Astonished that no one is paying her any mind, she makes her way through the other eight circles to emerge into a cave network exited via a many-miles-high vertical shaft that becomes increasingly frigid and frozen. The final exit leads out to an empty, barren, frozen wasteland far from any form of civilization - in the middle of Antarctica.

She discovers her immunity to the cold and her ability to manipulate wind, snow, and ice before finally discovering a research outpost. Given the locale, it is days and nights before she reaches it but these all blend together into a seamless world of gray and white. Nude, she sneaks into the outpost and steals some clothing; when several people board a chopper bound for warmer climes, she mingles with them and manages to escape before they realize they have one too many people in the group.

How was she warmed enough to escape literal hell? She can survive temps of down to around 400* F, but even she succumbs to absolute zero - a terrifying prospect for her, as she vows never to be imprisoned again, especially in ice, yet she is ironically the ultimate beacon of winter. So what happens next?

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Name: Kamon Star Wattana
Gender: Female
Age: 30
Nationality: Thailand

Sexuality: Lesbian?

PB: Pattie Sirapatsakmetha

Physical Training & Career(s):

Started ballet @ 4.
Started gymnastics @ 5.
Stopped performing (but still practiced) ballet at 12, at which point she won her first bronze medal in floor gymnastics in the Olympics.
Mixed ballet into her gymnastics routines and won her second bronze medal for floor gymnastics in the Olympics at 16.
Stopped competing in gymnastics but continued to mix ballet and gymnastics for personal physical training; added long-distance running for endurance and leg strength as well as Muay Thai for self-defense.
Began fighting in the SE Asian Muay Thai circuit at 20, gaining the nickname "Frog" due to her ability to leap incredibly high despite her height; became known for side-somersaults and overhead roundhouse cross-kicks in her fighting despite these not being typical of her opponents, as Muay Thai was the primary mode of fighting, but was never disqualified for them; it was, however, strongly reccommended that she move on to international MMA rather than sticking to the Muay Thai circuit.
Began fighting in the MMA on the world stage at 21 and has done that for the last 9 years.
She's currently considering moving on to other things while she's still healthy but will continue to run and mix ballet and gymnastics for her personal health and fitness regardless.

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Profile Notes:

Name at Birth: Raphaela
Name Chosen Later: Ripley (aka Rip)

Sex: Intersex
Gender: Queer
Pronouns: They/Them

Hair: Red, Usually Short(ish)
Eyes: Blue or Green (haven't decided, maybe another color? not heterochromic, though, fun as that is)

Bit of History:

2nd-born of twins; younger "sister" of Raphael. Father wanted a son and considered Raphaela a "side effect". Mother died a week after giving birth due to illness brought on by a difficult birth; father could have dealt with this, considering his son a bittersweet sort of miracle, but his son also died a fortnight thereafter due to health issues of indeterminate cause. This, of course, left him with the unwanted child to deal with in addition to the grief of losing his wife and his desired child in a short span of time.

Raphaela was not loved but they were provided for. They were born nearly blind, and it was soon discovered that they were extremely near-sighted; they began wearing corrective lenses as soon as it was safe to do so. They discovered the terms queer and intersex via the internet during their early teen years; eventually, they asked people to use they/them/their pronouns and call them Ripley or Rip. The name was inspired by the "Aliens" series with Sigourney Weaver, their favorite films and actress. It's not legally registered as their father refused to do so; in fact, their father refuses to acknowledge their gender identity at all and considers them a "freak daughter" in all respects.

Ripley has social anxiety and occasionally suffers from panic attacks when stressed, such as being alone in a crowd or finding themself in an awkward situation they can't or don't know how to escape from. They have an inhaler they use specifically for such circumstances but don't need it at any other time. They are allergic to chocolate, though they can touch it just fine; ingesting it causes hives, breathing trouble, and abdominal cramps for several hours unless treated.

Rip is androgynous and tends to don clothes that further confuse their gender to others (e.g. hoodies, baggy shirts, jeans, tights with or without skirts). Often as not, people will misidentify them as a boy only to then think them merely tomboyish. They don't make friends easily, though, and most people tend to forget about them quickly; they're quiet more often than not. They actually do like to climb trees and spend time outside, but they also have a laptop with them quite often.

The following is personal biological information whose relevance depends heavily upon the RP or story.

A visual inspection initially identified Raphaela as a girl, hence the name. They do possess a vulva and their hormone levels are sufficient for lactation but they have no visibly significant breasts. Internally, their biology and physiology appears to be masculine; however, there is greater production of estrogen than there is of testosterone. Routine post-natal tests revealed a mixture of chromosomes resulting in a reidentification as intersex but the birth certificate had been signed at that point and Raphaela's father refused to sign a new one for his "freak of a daughter".

On the plus side, they've never experienced menstruation and have astonishingly little body hair.

Personality & Related:

Sexuality is...confusing. Are they asexual? They're curious about girls, though. Maybe also guys? But probably not. But maybe? Definitely leans more toward girls. Are they a lesbian? Except they're not a "real girl", so does that even apply? Could just be biromantic? Or maybe not. Probably not...also there's this thing, demi, maybe they're that? IT'S CONFUSING, OKAY?!*

*Written in 3rd-person but from Rip's perspective.

Lifestyle:

Lives in a TINY apartment that they rent. Has a monotub setup for growing edible mushrooms and hanging edibles as well, some of them perennials; sells the mushrooms and some of the edibles at a local farmer's market to get extra cash. Works at...?

Music Playlist
Lifestyle Relevance Playlist

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Power Idea

A unique form of organic ink exists in place of the character's blood. This ink also fills sacs that can secret it through glands in the character's flesh throughout their body. The ink's color and consistency can be altered as it's secreted. As a liquid, it's extremely sticky and burns like acid on contact with organic tissue; as an aerosol, it clings to organic tissue and clogs it. The aerosol's acidity is greatly reduced but it still stings with prolonged exposure.

The aerosolized ink's density can be adjusted as it's released as well, allowing tremendous clouds of colorful ink fog to hang around for hours in a given area. The fog can be manipulated psionically, typically as a weapon or a deterrent (or both), or it can be left as a passive barrier that makes breathing difficult and reduces visibility to zero. Someone caught in the fog for long enough will eventually be slowed as the aerosol clings to their flesh, their hair, their clothes, et cetera; due to its nature, it will also gunk up anything enough of it clings to that requires a power source or vent, as a significant quantity will clog such things.

The character is immune to the ink's stickiness and acidity, as their body actively repels the substance. This can be used to great effect, allowing them to pass through an obstructed area or even create slicks along which they can slide at incredible speeds for parkour or simply for escaping pursuit. The character is also known to be skilled at parkour but has never shown their face well enough to be identified.

The character's flesh is coated with a thin layer of the substance, too thin to be sticky or cause any harm but enough to render her basically fireproof. Obviously, if her skin goes completely dry somehow, that goes away. her hair is coated with the same substance. This can be washed off by a shower, of course, but will soon return as the skin & hair dry.

Their tag signature is...?

Their alias or code name is Ink Slinger.

The character is a known tagger but their actual identity is a mystery.

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So a recap of "Henry's Crime" (2010 film w/Keanu Reeves) gave me a weird - and dark - idea:

A woman speeding through an intersection during a red light slams into a man, shattering his hip; she's eventually arrested for drunk driving but somehow never tied to the hit-and-run. He now has a titanium hip and walks with a cane. The medical bills cause him to take out a loan, which leads to debt that forces him to foreclose on the house he inherited from his dead father. Unable to get to work on time after getting a small apartment near a convenience store, he loses his job and starts working at the convenience store instead. Night shift is the only schedule he can get and on his way to his first night of work, he's arrested for being near the store just after it was robbed. He's sentenced to five years for armed robbery; his first appeal knocks it down to three years, and his second appeal brings in camera footage that's finally been cleaned up to prove he wasn't involved, thus clearing him.

Despite this, he's now an ex-con and has half a mind to commit the crime he was accused of in the first place - but he decides not to, because his luck's bad enough as it is. He gets a job instead doing data entry for some boring company he can't recall the actual function of. He keeps to himself but is swept up in a sexual harassment lawsuit he had nothing to do with and inevitably fired. So then he gets a job typing up business letters for some kind of management firm. His name is mistaken for someone with a very similar name in a kidnapping case, and he's arrested after work one evening.

His name is ultimately cleared but he's fired due to not showing up for work. He is out looking for another job when a man tries to rob him only to realize he has no money and nothing of value; but because he hits the knife-wielding thug when he looks away just as a cop comes around the corner, he's arrested and the would-be thief gets away. He's convicted of assault and attempted robbery when the man suddenly comes to court and accuses him of doing the thing he was trying to do.

He gets probation, though, and has to wear an ankle monitor for a year. He manages to get a job at a gas station that he eventually gets fired from because it's robbed four times in the next year. Then he gets the ankle monitor off and is subsequently kicked out of his latest roach-filled hovel because he can't pay the rent. So he winds up on the streets. One day, he finds a .38 that washes up from the river and pockets it before going to sit on his usual corner to...well, not beg, but just sit there with his hat turned upside-down next to him. He's a bit too proud to beg, but if people give him money thinking he's doing so, he won't turn it down.

Considering his luck and lot in life, he decides to play a game of Russian roulette each day with the single bullet chambered in the revolver. Each day, he'll spin the cylinder without looking at it and take a shot at his temple. But no matter how many times he does this, the gun never goes off. This lasts for several years.

Enter stage right:

Depressed homeless guy who apparently can't die, can't be hired due to his record, and can't get a break due to his luck.

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Bo (spoiler for brevity):

Name: Bosephus
Pronunciation: "bo-SEE-fuss"
Nickname: Bo
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him/His
Sexuality: Straight

Yes. He was indeed named for Hank Williams, Jr. No, he is not related; neither does he have any connection to or interest in ventriloquism. He can't sing worth a damn or play the banjo or the guitar, either, though he plays a pretty mean harmonica. He's Reba's older brother and likes to tell her that.

She prefers to ignore him when he does.

Fish (spoiler for brevity):

Name: Reba
Pronunciation: "REE-buh"
Nickname: Fish, Gatorbait*
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/Her
Sexuality: Gay

Yes. She was indeed named for Reba McEntire. No, she's not a redhead - though she does like redheads (but honestly, who doesn't?). She owns exactly one pair of boots and hates wearing them - or anything else on her feet, for that matter. But she does when she has to. She ain't modest and would rather strip than get her clothes we diving into the swamp; that said, she spends most of her time on a boat and it's a coin flip whether she's dressed when people see her.

She's been called a swamp witch, a hag, and a devil woman by more than few people but folks in the deep south...they get it. She just wants to be left the fuck alone. She doesn't deal with people well on account of anxiety, which she manages by sticking to the parts of the swamp nobody else wants to go. Her brother's about the only one she'll see these days, and they don't always get on well. Sometimes they do.

She's Bo's "baby" sister but you'd best not let her catch you saying that. She likes her guns. A lot.

*Oh, and Bo's the only one that can call her Gatorbait. She barely tolerates him saying it; she sure as shit ain't taking it from anyone else. You don't like it, piss off or she'll get Molly (Molly's her favorite sawed-off).

Playlist

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Sylent Hyll · Mar 5, 2024

Since I currently seem to be on a Star Wars kick...
I'll just collect these here, I think.

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Spoiler for brevity.

Click for larger image.

Homeworld: Tattooine
Species: Jawa
Clan: Tojoth
Name: Chubol
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him/His
Age: 32

He has a slight obsession with bantha milk.

Possessions
Bandolier

Pair of straps crossing his chest that bear several pouches, his PES, and a holster for his ion blaster (kept within easy reach on his left). The pouches contain small items such as his droid caller, restraining bolts, various coins, and other miscellaneous items.

Female Dewback

Name: Rupp
Eggs are sold individually or in groups not long after they're lain each year, which earns him a lot of truguts, going for about two and eight wupiupi per egg; he's never held a peggat, but he's certainly earned enough to exchange the truguts for them after his egg sales. However, he usually just spends them stocking up on various things like squill meat and gorgs for his wife to cook, womp rats to feed to the dewback, small pieces of useful tech or parts needed or wanted for various purposes, and seats for him and his wife at the annual Boonta Eve podrace.

Ion Blaster
Droid Caller
Numerous Restraining Bolts
PES (Personal Energy Shield)

Though it was sporadically functional at best (it usually didn't work at all) when he first bought it for 80 truguts at a shop in Mos Espa, he brought it home and fixed it with spare parts. He wears this alongside the pouches on his bandolier. It projects a yellow-hued aura that surrounds him when activated, set three inches away from his body. The shield can be overwhelmed and thus shorted for a few minutes but can be reactivated once the device has cooled enough; the shield protects him from energy-based weapons but unfortunately not physical projectiles, such as slugs from a slug thrower or the sticks wielded by Tusken Raiders.
His wife wears an identical PES but it projects an orange shield, possibly due to a slight differentiation in the parts used to initially repair it; it was completely non-functional when he bought it for her from the same shop at the same price as his own.

Several Colors of Robes
Several Masks

Wife: Wofina
Wife's Age: 26

Wife's Possessions: Several colors of robes, several masks, bandolier w/pouches & PES, and ion blaster; pouches contain spare droid caller & restraining bolts as well as coins and miscellaneous small items.
Wife does the cooking and mostly takes care of the dewback while husband does most of the trading (though not all of it). She also tends to the supplies, equipment, cookware, and the like carried by the dewback. Her husband, on the other hand, does most of the scavenging; she helps sometimes, though.

Frequented Locales
Tichi Moisture Farm
Chaka Market
Sandcrawler

Holds a wealth of spare parts, supplies, equipment, droids in various states of disrepair & function, and several "monster" droids (droids cobbled together from parts of other droids) that are used to operate and maintain the sandcrawler as well as help with various tasks.

Canceled ~~Notes~~ Ideas:

Lightsaber Bearing an Orange Crystal*

After the Great Drought (betwixt about 9 and 8 BBY), during which many of his clan members perished from dehydration, his clan scattered but mostly ended up working for various Hutts. His wife got sick after that, and she died not long ago. The Tusken Raiders desecrated her grave but he can't do anything about it, and now he has only his droids for company and his scavenging to keep him busy. He keeps himself busy a lot. What else is a lone jawa to do on Tattooine, after all, but survive?

*Obtained from the body of its fallen wielder after a battle in Mos Espa (naturally, he stayed well out of it until the fighting was done and he could safely scavenge & scurry). He's operated it, taken it apart, studied it, and put it back together but mostly uses it to melt, burn, or cut through things. Like most jawas, he's very practical and mostly a pacifist. He won't hesitate to defend himself but he also knows when he's outmatched and isn't stupid enough to stick around when he is; besides, what can he do to something that isn't a droid with just an ion blaster and a fancy laser sword he doesn't even know how to properly use? Well, except for cutting and things. He can use it for that.

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Homeworld: ???
Species: Morellian-Theelin
Name: Fera Setal
Pronunciation: "FAIR-uh see-TAL"
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/Her
Age: 36

Boyfriend: Geldiss the Hutt

"Wait...he's your boyfriend?!"
"Yes."
"A HUTT?"
"Yes."
"But...WHY?!" *visible disgust*
"You have no idea what he can do with his tongue."

Spoiler for brevity:

If you haven't heard the name Fera Setal, you clearly know nothing about art. She's done a little of everything over the years, both as hobbies and as experimental projects - painting, sculpting, metalwork, et cetera. Her only stipulation for her art is that she must be able to work with her hands in some manner. The way she puts it, her mind has the form and her hands have the talent. She's most famous, however, for creating extremely lifelike heat-resistant carbonite sculptures, busts, and friezes - and no, she doesn't actually have living subjects (read: victims) for these, contrary to (unpopular) belief. Her process is one she keeps to herself, though there are a handful of people throughout the galaxy who could probably figure it out (or something similar).

Her father was Morellian, a long-lived human species that's almost extinct; that's a good match for her Theelin mother, considering there aren't (to her knowledge, at least) any pure Theelin left due to genetic mutations that prevent proper natural childbirth for them. And yes, her boyfriend is a Hutt - not her master, not her owner, not just her lover (though he is also that), but her actual boyfriend. He's based out of a large and well-protected domicile of simplistic design on the outskirts of Mos Espa on Tattooine. The place is filled with artwork, some of it produced by a long string of artist lovers and girlfriends and some of it...well, obtained in less legitimate ways. The current centrepiece of his common room is a large heat-resistant carbonite statue of of Fera nude and in a...sensual position.

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Homeworld: Lowick
Species: Pa'lowick
Skin: Blue/Teal
Name: Trilla Luin
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/Her
Age: 23

Personal Vessel: Modified Suwantek Freighter E Chu Ta

Yes, it's named specifically to insult people. Trilla's cheeky like that.

Employed By: ???
Position: Secretary
Duration: 6 yrs

Spoiler for brevity:

Trilla calls everyone honey, honey; don't get your tentacles in a twist or she just might cut them off with your own lightsaber. She might not own a lightsaber herself, having never built one or even sought out kyber crystals, but she is force-sensitive and has learned a lot on her own; what she's learned has been turned inward, fortifying her strength and speed where needed and heightening her reflexes to a seemingly unnatural degree.

While she has some limited telekinetic ability with the force, it's not her forte. She is able to study the force through meditation and has a battle sense that enhances her already impressive reflexes, but the former requires environmental serenity for her to sink deep into the force and the latter only alerts her to immediate or near-immediate danger. On the other hand, it's impossible to lie to her and mind tricks don't work on her; she's too "sharp" for that poodoo.

When she's able to sink into a deep meditative state, it's almost impossible to rouse her. While in this state, however, the force itself seems to protect her in unusual ways; objects nearby might hurl themselves at an attacker or move to block an attack, or even conceal her, and the environment itself might shift to defend her. This is the only manner in which she is presently able to overtly utilize the force outside of bolstering herself.

Trilla can heal herself with the force but this requires meditation.

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Darth Ignotus
aka Joro Gumo

Species: Harch
Gender: Female
Pronouns: She/Her
Age: 23

Spoiler for brevity:

Equipment
Custom Ship (Egg Sac)
Lightsaber (Red) x6
Thermal Detonators (several)
DetPaks (typically 2 per loadout)
Utility Remote (various functions)

Her favorite method of assassination is to use the force to squeeze someone's heart in such a way that it is unable to receive or pump blood; she has been known to cause massive ruptures in the heart when doing this, although she can use a somewhat gentler touch to torture someone rather than kill them outright. Few people are ever considered to be murdered if they've had a "heart attack".

"Joro" prefers large, complex structures in which she can hide; this helps to confuse her opponents and trap them. Her ship is actually a hollowed-out ultrachrome structure that once bore a mix of granite and chromium as well; mining the rock allowed her to seal it with the harvested chromium and affix tech to it such as engines and weapons. She fitted a life support system, hyperdrive and backup hyperdrive, shields, and other necessary tech within to make it livable and mobile. The inside of the ship is a maze of crisscrossing tunnels and alcoves that are almost impossible to navigate for someone unfamiliar with the ship. Joro, of course, is intimately familiar with it.

The ship is also fitted with numerous hidden compartments and chambers as well as sensor and communication jamming equipment. A small cloaking device helps to conceal the ship but will not function while the weapons or either of the hyperdrives is active; the cloak is intermittent when the engines are active, and the shield energy is canceled out by the cloaking device. If the shields are not shut off while the cloaking device is active, the generator will eventually burn out and require replacement.

In case you're wondering, yes - she likes her meat raw, and preferably still alive.

Joro raises a spider called an albino wyyyschokk in great numbers aboard her vessel, using the force to pacify and control them; they hide in many smaller alcoves and holes within the confines of the Egg Sac, and she feeds them by tricking people into being hired on as crew for her ship. They never leave the ship alive, resulting in a high turnover. She does keep several droids on hand for when she doesn't have a crew ready-to-hand but claims that the droids are only there as a reserve when asked about them.

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Sylent Hyll · Mar 30, 2024

This post will be specifically for ideas relating to the worlds into which I'll be placing characters.
So things like alchemy and potioneering ideas, magic ideas, tech ideas, et cetera.
Those entries inspired by certain sources will have them listed below the entry.

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BEVERAGES

Salty Kelp Latte
"...a popular sea-based item..."
Key ingredients (in order of drink preparation):

A dash of seawater.
A pinch of sugar.
Salty kelp leaves crushed into a fine powder.
Steamed milk.

Mix as you go and enjoy when it's done! For a special flare, write or draw on it with caramel. Best served in a tea cup of fine China.

SOURCE: "A Pinch of Magic" (visual novel from Steam)

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POTIONEERING

Warrior's Weave
Spoiler for brevity.

Rather than drinking this potion, you soak an article of clothing in it; it doesn't work on a weapon ~~unless you're wearing that weapon~~. The potion, through the article of clothing, contextually bonds with the wearer over time. Sofor example:

If you're soaking boots in it and then doing a lot of running, you'll find yourself running faster and spending less energy doing so the longer you wear the boots.
If you're doing a lot of climbing, you'll find your footing more easily and get almost unnatural grips with the boots the more you climb while wearing them.
If you're doing a lot of jumping, you'll find yourself jumping farther and higher and with less energy; you might even land more softly and smoothly, to the point that you barely feel it when you land.

The potion is relatively simple but its ingredients are expensive, and it takes time to brew the potion as well as for the potion to fully soak into whatever you're soaking in it. Moreover, you need to make sure an item is completely covered in it and all related articles are soaked (e.g. both gloves, both boots) in order for the potion's effects to take hold when they dry. The bond can wane without use but can be reestablished once you begin utilizing the item again, as the potion's effects do not deteriorate over time; this can be a problem, however, if someone else acquires the item(s) in question. It can also be a problem if, for example, you only acquire one glove or boot soaked in this potion rather than both of them; this can easily happen if glove or boot pairs get mixed up. Each new person to begin wearing the article(s) begin to slowly build that bond over time, and a bond built up with one person diminishes the bond with another person.

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SPELLCRAFTING & SPELLCASTING

Necromancy
Spoiler for brevity.

This is a difficult practice requiring a very strong will, though you need only focus when you are first performing a necromantic ritual. The list of components varies (some examples are listed below) but it is ultimately the purpose of a necromancer to animate - not raise - the dead. When speaking of raising the dead, one is referencing resurrection; when simply animating the dead, you are infusing your will into a corpse and animating it to serve your purpose. Therefore, you must have a strong will lest the animated corpse develop a will of its own and either escape from your control or overpower your will, thereby controlling you.

A ritual - this is absolutely required. There are far too many rituals in existence and far too many variations of each to list them all here but a ritual enforces your will upon the corpse and binds it to your will, creating a bond between you and the corpse. This is why it is possible for an animated corpse to develop a will of its own; you are essentially imprinting your own will upon it. While you don't need to concentrate on the corpse once it is animated in order to maintain your bond, a weakened mind can lead to losing control of it and possibly even submitting to the corpse's own control if it managed to develop a will (and subsequently, a mind) of its own.
A piece of yourself or something of deep personal significance to you bound in some manner to the corpse - a locket containing pictures of your parents worn about the corpse's neck on a chain, for example; you could also use a lock of your hair wrapped about its wrist; or perhaps several drops of your blood dripped into its mouth or eyes or some of your blood smeared upon its forehead, arm, chest, et cetera.
A catalyst - either a potion or a spell, or possibly an enchanted object.
While not necessarily required, a symbol upon the corpse can strengthen the bond if that symbol is considered significant to you. For example, smearing a representation of your family crest on the corpse's head using your own blood can be a powerful binding component of your ritual.
A sacrifice - this must be something that is alive at the time it is sacrificed, and it is absolutely essential for necromancy to work. You are sacrificing a life in order to animate the dead. This could be an animal or a person, but a plant will not work (for some inexplicable reason).
There may be other components but they are typically part of your ritual, which may be derived from your culture or some other source.

Puppetry
Spoiler for brevity.

Also called puppeterring, it differs from telekinesis in that it requires several components; telekinesis requires only mental focus and the strength of one's mind. It doesn't necessarily have to be a person or animal that is controlled; in fact, these are more difficult to control because they can resist. It also differs from necromancy primarily in the list of components, but also in that necromancy requires merely the strength of one's mind once a ritual is complete; in addition to the components, one must be focused on one's task when puppeteering something. The components of puppetry are as follows:

Something representing what you wish to control - a doll for a person is the most common example by far, but it could also be a cube of wood to represent a crate or a toy car to represent a vehicle.
A piece of yourself or something with deep personal significance to you - for example, a strand or a lock of your hair, or perhaps a few drops of your blood; or even a locket bearing pictures of your parents that happens to be your most prized possession, as another example.
A piece of what you intend to control, or (in the case of something alive, either an animal or a person) something with deep personal significance to it (see the above point).
A catalyst - this can be either a spell or a potion. You cold use some form of enchanted object as well, or another method not listed here if such is available (good lucking finding a catalyst not listed here).

A common example of puppetry is to make a doll by hand - it cannot be manufactured; there must be a willful intent and understanding of what you're using - wrapped with a lock of your hair and one of your target. The doll is soaked completely in an animating solution and allowed to dry. Manipulating the doll then becomes a means by which to manipulate your target. There are other methods hinted at above but they are typically few in variety. Note that this does not control the mind or emotions of a living target; it only controls their body. And again, you can do this with just about anything, so long as the above requirements are met.

Spiritry
Spoiler for brevity.

This has gone by many names - mediumship and shamanism being the two most common by far - but the principle remains the same regardless of naming conventions: you are contacting, and possibly manipulating or controlling (yes, those are two substantially different things), spirits. This doesn't necessarily mean the spirits of the deceased, though those are included under the umbrella term; there are a great many kinds of spirits, souls, ghosts, ghouls, specters, apparitions, poltergheists, yokai, demons...all entities again placed under the umbrella term. Of course, that doesn't mean you're using spiritry for all of them, either; demons in particular require an entirely different set of disciplines to work with, and souls often take both necromancy and spiritry principles and practices into account.

Like necromancy and puppetry, spiritry is ritualistic in nature. Rituals are even more numerous in variety than those of puppetry and unlike the classic ideas of necromancy and puppetry perpetuated by plebians, spiritry is not universally held to be evil in the common mind. Shamans, for example, are highly spiritual (no pun intended, I swear) folk with deep-seated religious beliefs who support their communities and preserve the legacies of their ancestors and those of their people. Mediums were once highly respected as well, being intermediaries between the spirits of the deceased and their living relatives and descendants; mediumship has its roots in shamanism but isn't wholly beholden to it. Seances are the most well-known type of ritual but even these vary by type and method, and they are the closest historical and cultural link to shamanism that exists.

Here are some common ritual tools and components necessary for spiritry, though this isn't an exhaustive list:

A catalyst is essential to many rituals. As in necromancy and puppetry, this is often a potion or an enchanted object of some kind. It absolutely must have deep personal significance to the ritual performer in the case of an object, as their will is channeled through the object and the strength thereof almost always determines the success and potency of their attempt. Catholic priests have often used prayer beads and the Holy Bible as a symbol of their faith and a tool with which to expel demons, respectively; for someone practicing spiritry, something of similar importance must be used regardless of the ritual and the purpose thereof.
In the case of contacting the spirits of the deceased with whom you were familiar when they were alive, something with deep personal significance to the deceased and to you is essential; these do not have to be the same thing but often are. A necklace passed from generation to generation, mother to daughter, is an excellent example of this and might be used by a woman trying to contact her maternal ancestors.
A mirror is essential to many forms of spirit communication and manipulation, though it is used in rituals of control only with exceptional rarity. One such rare instance is the trapping of a spirit within a mirror, a ritual which often (though not always) results in the mirror being shattered in order to prevent the spirit from escaping (there are other methods). Mirrors have been used to summon spirits, to contact them, to see into other worlds in which spirits dwell, and for other purposes as well. They've also been used as a means by which to see the truth of something, such as whether a creature has a soul or is a spirit; the most well-known example of this is as a means by which to detect vampires, who are unique undead dispossessed of a soul and whose supernatural physical state distorts light in such a subtle way that reflections of them do not form - which is why you can't see them in mirrors.
Though not always necessary, a place of consecration is quite useful and powerful in spiritry. The best place to perform an exorcism is in an old and well-maintained Roman Catholic church, as it is a seat of power and authority both for the Church and under the eyes of the Catcholic God; many native American tribes have burial grounds that are considered sacred and not to be trifled with or tread upon lightly; and Stonehenge, regardless of its current location, was once a sacred and secret meeting and ritual site of the Celtic druids.

It should be noted that while exorcism and the Roman Catholic Church are mentioned above more than once, they fall more under the demonology umbrella term than they do under spiritry. However, the two often cross paths due to a multitude of similarities between the practices and principles of the disciplines.

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Sylent Hyll · Apr 19, 2024

The following is a story I did for a contest on another site (I'm no longer there); the contest was focused on cupcakes but I...cannot bake. I sure as shit can't draw, especially in Paint or some such. And I haven't manipped a photo since Photoshop CS3 became outdated. Sooooo...I wrote a story. About cupcakes. Sort of...the cupcakes were in the story, okay?

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His hair was a mess. His hair was always a mess. The sunlight slanting through the blinds made it look more red than the light brown it usually was, and the locks falling across his placid features made him seem almost mysterious and adorable at the same time. Those pale red lips of his were so inviting, their natural pout just begging to be kissed. And his hands…his hands were so soft, but his arms were strong and firm. Maybe it was the lotion. Probably. He still smelled faintly of lilac, his bath last night having been almost overwhelming with the scent, but in a good way.

Benjamin gently slipped his fingers under his boyfriend’s bangs and swept them behind his ear; they still fell a little, but at least he could look on the man’s face more clearly now. A smile was on his own pink lips, lips often cracked and needing constant conditioner; not Lucas, though. His lips were perfect. He scooted a little closer, the sheets rustling as he did so, and draped his boyfriend’s arm around him. He was always the first to awaken, but that was fine by Ben; it meant he could admire the man he’d been waking up next to for almost a month now. He knew why he’d moved out, too - one of the big reasons, anyway - but he pushed that thought away and filled his mind instead with all the wonderful things about Lucas that he could.

Ben took in the lilac scent, closing his eyes to really experience it. He inhaled deeply and was flooded with memories of this beautiful man’s touch, his casual sarcasm, the way a stare from him could make Ben start adjusting his clothes nervously; he’d spent a year trying to catch the man’s piercing blue-eyed gaze, so he could hardly complain when the man undressed him with those eyes. Actually, though, he liked it. Of course, something like that could easily become uncomfortable if someone else did it, but Lucas…Lucas was special. And Lucas was his.

Snuggling even closer, he brushed Lucas’ cheek softly with his fingers; they strolled down toward his chin and stayed there for a moment. He pulled them away only as he put his lips up to Lucas’, a light kiss that made the sleeping man’s own lips twitch. He wasn’t quite awake, but that had almost been a smile. It made Ben smile even more. He wanted to do something for Lucas, but what could he do? Lucas was the artistic one; he had made those earrings for him, little metal pandas that he claimed he hadn’t been able to get right but somehow managed to shape almost perfectly and paint completely perfectly anyway. And Lucas could cook; his stir fries were amazing. He couldn’t sing worth a damn, though. Ben could, but he’d had lessons when he was younger.

Actually, Lucas always cited Ben’s voice as the reason he’d noticed him in the first place. He’d heard him humming and singing to himself, and his curiosity piqued, he’d decided to find out what else Ben could do. It turned out that he couldn’t do much - not like Lucas; Lucas could do almost anything, it seemed. He was passionate and kind, an incredible listener…he loved cupcakes. How could anyone who loved cupcakes be a horrible person?

Bingo. Cupcakes. Oh, this was going to be a complete disaster. Did they even have everything? Flour, sugar, milk…yes, he’d bake some cupcakes. He was just deciding on chocolate or vanilla when his boyfriend’s arm slipped around him a little more snugly. He grinned, reveling in it. It was wonderful to wake up next to someone, especially someone this amazing. It really was. He kissed him again, cupping his cheek this time, and Lucas kissed back. When their lips parted, Lucas’ curled into a small smile.

“Hi, beautiful,” he whispered.

Ben didn’t say anything. He just lay there, enjoying the man’s warmth and his scent. The sun rose a little higher as they lay there, neither quite deciding whether they wanted to get up just yet. But if he was going to make a feeble attempt at baking something for Lucas, Ben had to regretfully leave Lucas’ loving embrace. He kissed him one last time before rising a little to whisper in his ear.

“Don’t get up, sleepyhead.”

A kiss on the cheek as an afterthought, and Ben slowly slid out of the bed. He shivered a little; it had been raining and snowing in equal measure for several days, though nothing had stuck except the wind that kept getting worse. He pulled a long pink t-shirt bearing an outline of the Rolling Stones icon from the back of a chair and threw it over his head. It slipped to one shoulder as he headed into the bathroom to do something with his ridiculously stubborn red hair, which was so damn curly that it was nearly impossible to manage. He managed well enough, though, and ultimately pulled it into a high ponytail that hung almost to the middle of his back.

Padding into the kitchen, he started rummaging around for things. When he had what he needed, he did the only thing he could to get started: he opened up a cookbook. He threw the dry ingredients together and started on the not-dry ones. He shook his head and rolled his eyes as he heard a door closing down the hall; so much for a surprise. When he got to the point of mixing everything all together, it got a little messy. He was never good at stirring or mixing, and the bowl looked more like something had exploded in it than anything else, but he kept trying to smooth it out regardless. It took a while.

He lined the cups with paper but didn’t have enough. Of course he didn’t have enough. Wait, yes he did. He grabbed a paper towel and caught his reflection in the silver metal fridge; how the hell did he get flour on his forehead? He tried to brush it away and instead just spread it into his hair a little. He shook his head. He didn’t have time to worry about it.

The hall closet had what he needed, so he grabbed that and started stuffing more cups. Then came the pouring. Well…he managed to get ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the batter into the cups, at least. Time to get baking. He was just closing the door and setting the timer when he heard the soft padding of his boyfriend’s feet behind him. He didn’t even have time to react as Lucas’ arms encircled him and pulled him close. The man nuzzled his neck, and he closed his eyes as he enjoyed the kisses.

“I told you to stay in bed,” Ben told him, though without any real conviction.

Lucas, of course, completely ignored him. So he just turned around in his arms and rose onto his toes to kiss him. He wasn’t exactly short, but neither was he very tall, and Lucas was a solid but lean six-foot-one. He wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, and Lucas pulled his own arms a little tighter. His hands wandered, and Ben let them. When the beeping came, it took a minute to figure out what it was. He hastily pulled away and turned to grab some potholders.

Lucas just leaned against the sink and watched as Ben knelt to get the produce out of the oven and put the second tray in. He set the timer again and closed the door. When he turned around, he leaned against his boyfriend. Lucas put an arm around him, and he lay his head on his shoulder. It was Lucas’ turn to shake his head.

“How did you get flour in your hair?”

Lucas tried to pick it out but just ended up making more of a mess of Ben’s hair than it already was. Ben swatted his hand only to have it wind up in Lucas’, and the two just caressed one another’s hands as they waited for the cupcakes to finish.

The sun was in full view now, illuminating the kitchen and silhouetting the lovers as they stood there in silence. It was a blissful quiet, perfect for two people just holding one another and enjoying each other’s company. The world outside could have ended at that very moment, and they would not have cared. And then it was ruined by the beeping of the timer again, and once more Ben had to leave Lucas’ embrace. He pulled out the cupcakes and shut the oven off.

As Ben dropped the potholders onto the counter, Lucas took him in his arms and started dancing. Ben grinned. Lucas had taught Benjamin how to dance, something he’d only flailed about in the attempt of in the past. Taking Ben’s hand in his own, Lucas twirled the redhead until he fell right back into his embrace. There didn’t need to be music for Lucas to dance; he just did things regardless of the world around him. Lucas was absolutely perfect. Except for singing. But other than that.

After the second twirling, Lucas pulled Ben close and kissed him again. Finally, he pushed him away, somewhat breathless, and started getting one of the cupcakes.

“This isn’t how breakfast works, you know,” Lucas told him.

“Oh, yeah? How does it work?”

“Well…there’s milk and cereal…toast…hash browns…bacon and eggs…no mention of cupcakes.”

“You love cupcakes.”

“I do.”

Ben almost dropped the cupcake he was trying to free from the pan, but not because his fingers were useless for things like this. Well, that wasn’t the only reason. At that moment, he’d just been wondering if they would have cupcakes instead of a cake if they ever got married. Now Lucas had him thinking about actually marrying him. Him, married! Hell, he already felt way too domestic as it was. He’d never pictured himself as the housewife type, but he did seem to spend an inordinate amount of time being exactly that. It was weird, really. He couldn’t help but think of all the times he’d heard jokes about how he looked like a girl sometimes or even acted like one, or how he’d be better off dancing on a pole than watching someone else do so. It was bad enough the one man who actually supported him was…somewhere else.

If they did get married, who would even come? Lucas might have people in his family that would be there, but it would be very difficult to scrape the money together to get his one supporter there. He didn’t even have friends, except for Lucas. And Lucas was his boyfriend. Besides, how could they even afford a wedding? Well, if nothing else, at least he could bake cupcakes. Maybe. They had yet to be proven Lucas-worthy.

Ben turned around and presented the cupcake like one of those girls on a gameshow presenting a fabulous prize. This definitely was not helping his case any.

“Taste.”

Lucas made a show of being hesitant and concerned, which just earned him a stubborn narrowing of Ben’s eyes as though to tell him to taste the cupcake or he’d shove it down his throat. It wasn’t really that serious, of course, but it felt almost that serious. Lucas took a nibble as Ben watched. Then he took another. And another.

“Not bad,” he said. “Could use a little frosting, though.”

“Oh, shit!”

Ben KNEW he had forgotten something. Of course…frosting! Gods, now the whole thing was ruined. Well, not ruined, but there should have been frosting! He hadn’t even thought to mix it up. He darted over to a cupboard and started getting the ingredients. He didn’t have them, and he swore under his breath. There was one lone container of frosting in the back, though, and he snatched it out. Lucas watched as he frantically opened it up and started spreading it on the cupcakes. It was anything but neat, and he got as much on his fingers as he did on the cupcakes.

He finally finished only to realize he’d taken the last paper towel. Great. Now what was he doing to do? The sink, dummy. He turned to it and tried to edge around his boyfriend, holding his hands up so as not to get the frosting on anything, but Lucas just grabbed his wrists and looked at him. He slowly licked and sucked the frosting off of Ben’s fingers, staring into his eyes the whole time. Ben swallowed. It was that piercing gaze again, the one that held you in place with those stunning blue eyes and made you feel like you couldn’t hide something no matter how good you were.

Then Lucas gave his usual cheeky smirk and picked up one of the cupcakes. He practically inhaled the thing and then made a show of thinking hard about it. Ben found himself shifting from one foot to the other. He’d already said they were “not bad”, so why? But Lucas had that effect on him. Finally, he slipped his fingers into the waistband of the faded jeans Lucas had donned out of habit and pulled him close. He stood on his toes again and came close enough for a kiss, but their lips didn’t touch. Ben gave his boyfriend a hard, narrow-eyed stare and whispered as though angry with him. He wasn’t really.

“How. Was. It?” he asked, carefully pronouncing the words.

Lucas stared at him for a moment, making his skin tingle.

“Delicious,” he finally said before kissing Ben passionately.

Ben completely forgot about the cupcakes then.

Sylent Hyll · Jun 17, 2024

This was written as a kind of experiment. My intent was to incorporate modern ideas and themes into a less modern setting, such as a medieval or ancient world sort of setting, with magic and what-not being a loose bridge between them. Each chapter here will posted as a spoiler and labeled within the spoiler.

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CHAPTER ONE

The building loomed before her like a living monolith, its white columns enshrouded by sellswords and couriers and other such busybodies coming and going without so much as glancing at one another or taking in the world around them. But the tall, broad exterior staircase of polished marble was not for her. Even if it had been, there was no way she could ascend. No, instead, she wheeled around the long way to a side path that led into a rear entrance that was thankfully situated on the ground floor rather than requiring a ramp. There was a freight elevator run by a gnome during the day and a goblin during the night shifts situated next to the door she needed, but she never had to deal with that; she was glad, as the gnome was terrible at conversation - a true stoic most of the time - and the goblin was just downright nasty.

Not all goblins were like that, of course, but a good many were: rude, disrespectful, barely civilized idiots who only did manual labor and menial jobs because they were too stupid or too lazy to actually put the work in to do something worthwhile. Not that maintenance and ferrying were worthless jobs, of course, but the attitude was definitely there.

Three other people were standing around smoking pipes and cigars near the entrance. They didn't seem to notice her as she wheeled past them, meaning - as usual - she had to wheel around to reach for the heavy iron handle and lift herself up a bit to use her weight to pull the thing down; then she had to hold it down long enough to get the door open, all the while trying to manipulate her chair so that it didn't block the outward-opening door. The alchemy wheelers were far too expensive for her to afford but at least she'd finally managed to get hold of some enchanted bracers; they gave her wrists just enough force that she could actually do this herself rather than having to constantly annoy people by asking them to open the damn door they were so callously standing in front of. Instead of watching her sit there like a lump, now they could sit there watching her struggle. At least they couldn't hold it over her head that she needed help sometimes now.

Once she had the door opened, she hastily wheeled her chair into position so that she could block it from closing; the handle snapped back into place with the whine of iron that hadn't been oiled in several years, and the springs pulled the door closed behind her as she made her way into the long hallway of Machiavellian Mercenary Machinations - or 3M, as she called it.

Most probably thought the name was just fancy and didn't have the intellectual capacity to realize what it actually meant, but the interoffice politics that went on behind mostly closed doors were supposedly what kept the sellsword management and recruitment company going. She didn't participate in it, of course, but her coworkers did and usually assumed that she did as well, and they acted accordingly. She was just trying to earn enough crowns to get by, not make herself seem more important than she actually was by airing someone else's dirty laundry as a strategy to get them fired and herself promoted. She certainly didn't care who got the largest commissions, who was employee of the month, or which waste of space - that is, which golf course - was in vogue this week.

As she rolled up to the coffee stall and got in line, she began counting the coins in the pouches hanging from the inside of her left armrest: twelve copper shunts, sixteen silver marks, and eight gold crowns. Finally getting up there, she ordered her usual: black mint espresso with a splash of milk and a dash of ginseng, no sugar, and she presented the twenty-ounce thermos she always carried to fill up. It was a total cost of one crown and three marks; ginseng was getting expensive these days and mint was always expensive, but it was well worth the cost. She screwed the lid onto her thermos, set it into the chair's cup holder, and wheeled away.

The path to the central cubicle nightmare was a maze to say the least, but she had to roll past the cubicles once she reached them to speak with a rather large and imposing tiefling. His red skin and muscles were actually quite...alluring...and he was always polished and very well-dressed. He was way out of her league, of course, but she couldn't help thinking about how hard she would hold onto those curved horns of his while...ahem. Business before fantasy.

"Morning, Faustus."

"Mister Faustus, remember," he chastised her, though not unkindly.

"Sorry, Mr. Faustus. I was wondering..."

"Just a moment. You'll be training someone new today."

He held up his hand, the manicured black nails gleaming in the light of his large managerial office's burning brass chandelier, to ward off protests or comments or questions.

"Svetka hails from the northern provinces, so she's not used to this warmer climate, but she has shown promising managerial potential and I want you to treat her well. And please don't sleep with her."

That last was offered with a sneer that quietly offended her almost as much as the insinuation. That had happened one time - just once! And really, it hadn't even been her who'd initiated it. So she had a thing for redheads...who didn't, honestly? And that particular redhead had been extremely aggressive. She honestly liked that, but she hadn't known at the time that the woman was the daughter of a prominent client who'd gotten her employed at 3M as part of a major deal. It caused all sorts of rumors and gossip after it happened, and that was how she'd found out who the woman really was.

Being bisexual was a bitch sometimes.

"As to your own duties," he continued before she could interject, "they'll be handled by Samantha Silvereyes today."

Okay, if she'd been annoyed before, she was pissed now.

"Sam Silvereyes couldn't organize an ant colony!" she protested.

"I'm aware of that," he said dryly, another sneer on his lips, "but it's who's available. Saul's on vacation and Samuel has been promoted; he's now under Whitmore's jurisdiction. I've already had him replaced."

"But that creates a lot more work for me when I get done training."

"Yes, it does...so you'd best do it quickly."

His voice was almost cooing, and she knew there was no kindness in it now. He positively oozed arrogance. It was probably mixed in with the "natural" musk he wore. Seriously, that stuff was intoxicating...she shook her head and sighed. Deciding to distract herself, she moved on to another topic.

"Any word on the accommodation?"

Mister Faustus shook his head.

"No, I'm sorry. You'll have to continue to eat your lunch elsewhere. At least you have an hour now instead of a half-hour. That's certainly better than a raise, isn't it?"

She hated that smile of his. He knew damn well it took her twenty minutes to get out of the building, over to the market, and back on a good day - that was assuming there weren't long lines (there always were) and it was good weather that day. It gave her maybe ten minutes to eat, if she was lucky, before she had to get back to work. She wasn't allowed to eat once work began, but he'd offered her a solution: an extended lunch in lieu of her promised annual raises for the first three years. Of course, he was in charge of reviews and had rejected her application for a raise for the next five years beyond that term on trollsnot reasoning. Given that she earned one mark per day - it was easier to pay that out than to count out a hundred shunts for every employee, despite them being so common that people usually had far more on hand than they knew what to do with - he knew damn well that a raise would have made this place almost bearable.

She hadn't had much of a choice, though: an insufferable wage with plenty of time to get lunch, eat it, and relax for a bit, or more pay that would be docked anyway every time she was late getting back from the market - which she would be every time on a half-hour lunch, of course. The bracers she wore enhanced the strength of her arms and protected her wrists, and they'd taken a long time to save up for; she could barely afford rent, and this spider-kisser wanted to shunt-and-mark her instead of actually paying her what was promised.

"That will be all, Alexis."

Well, that was it, then. The conversation was over. She wheeled herself out and headed for the interns' cubicles. It didn't take her long to find the one labeled Svetka Shvets. The woman was about six feet tall, pale as could be with hair she thought at first was a perfect match for it; really it was just a very light blonde. It was cut short to expose electric-blue eyes. She had a nice form, some good curves, Nine Hells of an ass...ahem.

"Svetka?"

She turned to look at the woman who'd addressed her and smiled, taking in everything about her. Alexis was only five-foot-three if she were to stand, but she had no muscles in her legs and the rest of her body had very little muscle mass, meaning she could barely pick up a cup without the bracers she wore. She was mostly petite with a pear-shaped physique, light olive skin, soft brown eyes, and ash-brown hair in a shoulder-lenth wavy bob. Egg-shaped spectacles made her eyes seem slightly larger than they were, and those eyes were taking in Svetka just as Svetka was taking in Alexis.

"Oh, another cripple? Rochester valks vith a cane. But no matter. You must be here to train me, da?"

Okay, she immediately disliked the woman. It wasn't the word "cripple" that was so bad, but rather the manner in which it was used. The way Svetka said it made it seem like Alexis was someone to be pitied, and then there was the implication that she'd had some accident or incurred some injury that had put her in a wheelchair. No, she'd been born this way. Rochester was a former sellsword who'd taken several arrows to his knee and had other wounds that necessitated him using a cane. It was completely different. He loved to talk about his injuries and scars like he was some kind of great war hero, though.

"Yes," she said mildly, controlling her tone so she appeared as friendly as possible, "I'm here to train you. Shall we begin?"

Sylent Hyll · Friday at 1:07 PM

Prelude to a character. Enjoy.

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"Cover yourself," he said with disgust.

As though he had anything to be disgusted about. He was the one who had wanted this, and he had reversed the roles. Now he was disgusted? Of course, it had nothing to do with what either of them looked like or the equipment they were working with. She knew that all too well. This had to do with politics, pure and simple. He was of the high nobility; she served the low-born scum, crud, and riff-raff he scraped off of his hooves when slumming it with the slave-watchers.

At least she was no slave. Anyone could see that by looking at her blood-red skin or the relatively short, curved black horns twisting up and backward from her temples. Even the multitude of backward-curving spikes barely an inch long that covered her skull were evident of her free status; it was a stylistic choice that slaves didn't have. What hung between her legs was irrelevant, as was her apparently mediocre bosom. She pushed herself onto her hooves with hands bearing three clawed fingers, the two thumbs on each one popping as she pushed them up. She swung her arms a bit to pop the shoulders and rolled her neck before cracking her knuckles.

He'd given the five-foot-three demon quite a workout, to be honest. Diving into the lava, she soaked up the heat and flexed all her muscles and joints as she recovered from it. Popping her head back up, she let her solid black eyes fall upon his powerful form. He was already garbed once more in his royal attire, of course. He couldn't be seen out-of-fashion, after all. The hoof-licking bastard was lowly among his class, and yet he was still respected.

She ducked beneath the lava once more to enjoy the closeness and warmth of the molten rock that pressed in on her from all directions. After several long moments, she emerged to find him gone. Good. Stepping back out onto the jagged black rock, she strode over to the large chest under the overhang. Her rope-like tail, a full six feet in length extending from her tailbone, opened it by the latch using the spade-like tip at the end. Reaching inside, she pulled out a pair of tight dragon-hide britches as black as her eyes and slid them on, careful to adjust what needed adjusting as she dressed. A black brassiere from the same dragon bore overlapping scales, and she slipped that on. Following it was a dragonhide bandolier hanging left-to-right, allowing her to draw her sword with her left hand; the ruby pommel and the much smaller rubies adorning the hilt glowed like the lava she'd just climbed out of.

She was just about ready to go. She had one or two things to do before she was ousted today - and it was definitely an ousting, not just some random observational mission to another world. A much colder world, from the sound of it. She did not look forward to leaving behind the warmth of her home.

She drew her sword and admired it for a moment, sighing as she relished the black bone from which it had been carved. The blade was not particularly long, as it was an arming sword, but it was jagged and sharp enough to make a dragon wary. Sadly, the dragons were dying out in this world. Too much attention from hunters like herself, she supposed. The rubies were infused with her innate power, of course, a ritual to harden and shape her blood having produced them. They would melt the flesh and scorch the bone of anyone who tried to grasp her sword that wasn't her, and that included those of her bloodline. But more importantly, the blade would drink the blood of whomever it cut - and leave behind a dread burning that brought only excruciating pain; it did not consume what it burned.

Kharlzamburl, she called it - an older name, but a suitable one. It was a nasty weapon to mortals.

Sighing again, her smile fading into a grimace, she resheathed it. The bandolier had a belt attached and she fastened it on the left side, securing it so that it wouldn't swing about. She pulled out the last piece she still had from her most recent kill: a dragonhide cloak, its deep crimson and black so dark that mortal eyes probably wouldn't know the difference. Though it fit over her shoulders, the strap for it actually fastened under her arms and above her breasts. The large hood would conceal her horns well enough but her skin...might be a bit more obvious.

She fortunately knew a little magic. Not all of her kind did, and hers was a well-kept secret. That was partly due to her knowing when and how to keep her mouth shut - metaphorically speaking - and partly due to most not giving a wyvern's tail what she knew. The fae used words to fog a mortal's mind, clouding their thoughts and obscuring that which they did not wish for mortals to know or perceive. Demonic magic was far more obvious more often than not, meant to impress and terrify. A healthy dose of fear kept mortals from places they did not belong and put them in their place.

But where the summer court sought only to keep mortals' minds intact and themselves safe, the winter court was far more malicious. They delved into practices that connected them with many worlds, and it was thus from them that she had learned what she knew. While she would be effectively locked out of this plane of existence soon, her knowledge of liminal space meant that it would be very difficult to keep her out of anywhere else.

She pulled out a pouch and perused its contents, the ruby set into it keeping it locked to anyone but her: a small key of black dragon bone etched with demonic runes; a thick, heavy ring of pure gold reinforced by a ritual involving coating it in her own blood, giving it a reddish tinge; a monocle, also of dragon bone with a lens of clear diamond; and a very tiny pouch filled with sparkling black powder. She had several of those in another pouch as well, but this one she'd prepared for a very specific purpose. Alchemy and potioneering had their benefits.

She attached the pouch, along with two others, to her belt. Finally, she pulled a chain bracelet made from adamantium out and donned it on her left arm, the ring resting upon the middle finger and the bracelet bearing a mirror seemingly filled with living darkness. Those in power believed it was a trinket that merely connected her to others on this plane; they believed it would not work outside this place. Little did they know, this was actually her connection to certain contacts upon this plane once she was banished.

She was ready, and she was feeling the pull. They were calling her. She looked longingly toward the lava once more, admiring the hellscape in which she dwelt: the black, jagged rock and endless flows, the ever-smoking mountains, the screams echoing in the distance...she closed her eyes, took a deep whiff of the brimstone, and let it out slowly as she let it all sink in one last time.

She wondered how long she'd be gone this time? A century? A millennium? Hopefully not forever. She couldn't stand being kicked out forever. That she would not tolerate...fuck them all if that was their decision. Fuck them all and may they all rot in a plebian's dungeon, shackled to the mortal whores they liked so much. Fucking bastards, the lot of them.

Hm. She'd need a new name as well...wouldn't do to use her actual name. That held power when she said it, and it held power over her when others said it. Concealing it wasn't something she had learned from the winter court but it was good advice nevertheless. But that was a matter for later.

Well. One last sigh and one last look around. She supposed it was time to go.