Which has been a fun and amusing experience mostly because I tend to write the notes in the character’s personal voice.
For instance: Faustin my hick esper in Wildstar
-Sucker fer muscular fellas
-“Gimme that shovel, Imma build ya a refuelin’ station!” (Architect/Contractor)
-Vegetarian, but will still grill yer rump if you piss him off. (Long fuse, explosive temper. Vegetarian.)
zelinath and I were talking tonight about people. Not specific people, just people, because she has a behavior that I picked up with greater intensity after meeting her, and after understanding her methodology. To that end, I’m going to offer something that might be very important to those who do not understand neutrality.
Because not too long ago I was told that being neutral is a cop-out. And I just sighed because I don’t have time for that bull.
But this isn’t about me, this is about people as a whole who find they prefer the middle ground for one reason or another.
Zelinath said it better than I could ever possibly fathom, but I’m going to paraphrase.
"Being neutral isn’t a cop-out, it isn’t easy. Being neutral means getting shot by both sides. No one is your friend, and no one likes you. The most they can do is respect you."
how to make friends
Anonymous said: If the protagonist is queer, and the story doesn't revolve around romance, then why is the protagonist queer in the first place if it's largely irrelevant? I'm simply curious .
Because our lives are not defined by romance and sex and we deserve better and more diverse stories than that.
If I ever feel so inclined I will re-name myself to Nemostrous, because I like the sound of that for a given name.
And if anyone asks about them, I will tell them that my parents did not name me. I named myself when I broke through the final barrier preventing me from entering this world and terrorizing its people with puns and amateur horror fiction, the achievement of which crowning me as a terror from beyond the veil finally worthy of a name!
…Good morning tumblr! :D
Eerily quiet. It was so disturbingly quiet in this place as of late. The aurin’s hand twitched, eyes unfocused though the datachron in front of him flashed with messages. Once, twice, thrice, mice! Autopilot, he skimmed the missives. Calls for him to work once more, sometimes here. Sometimes off-world.
The Pack-Rat wasn’t going anywhere. The storm raging outside had shuffled a dune against her side and dug trenches out from under one foot. Despite that, he’d learned how to make the best of things. Over the last week he’d installed a pylon to collect the electricity that built up constantly as static from the shifting sands, and it now whirred somewhere out of sight. He wasn’t going to go check on the levels yet. Too low, not enough time.
So the ship stayed dark, with only reserves powering a few low-demand lights to ensure he didn’t break his neck navigating the maze. Granted, he could probably do it in his sleep by now.
But it was too dark, and too quiet. It wasn’t a hovel or a tunnel or even a warren full of kinsmen. It was a hunk of metal without another warm body.
Okay, maybe he was going somewhere. As soon as he could convince himself to rise. Jack wouldn’t turn him away, they could do something productive, more requests from FCON or XAS or something.
Not just sit in darkness.
Raise your hand if you used to play with these things for hours and if you came across them again you would still play with them for hours.
I am convinced these started my love of symmetrical forms at aesthetics.
"Give ‘em ta me!" Faustin growled indignantly, only matched by the long furry muzzle in front of him, leaning away from his touch with a disgruntled warbling. Jax had managed to get hold of his socks while he rested, and quite refused to let them go.
"Ya damned fuzzy ‘bomination, give ‘em here! Er no fishies!"
Jax froze in place, eyes locking onto Faustin with the most pitiable whine. Oh. Oh no.
"Easy Jax, I jes’ want m’socks back." Slowly he reached forward toward the woolie’s muzzle, only to have the socks tumble out into his hand. No worse for wear -albeit slightly soggy with woolie slobber- he shoved them into his satchel as the creature slumped and began to blubber and whine, looking so betrayed that Faustin would ever withhold fishies.
"Aww don’ be like tha’, I was fibbin’, jes wanted m’socks back. C’mere ya big dumb fuzzball."
But Jax wiggled right away, strong legs carrying him a step back as his lower body dipped and knife-like ears flopped in despair.
The woolie was a master manipulator. For as soon as Faustin dug a freeze-dried chunk of fish out of his satchel, the creature was upon him, lifting him in short but strong arms and snapping the chunk past his jaws before tugging his rider against his fluffy neck and body. The esper endured this all with only an ‘oof’ to mark the discomfort, and a chuckle shortly after as he scratched through the woolie’s…well, wool, grinning. “Big dumb fuzzball.”
Jax warbled and squeaked, and proceeded with slobbery kisses, leaving Faustin gasping for air as his senses were assaulted by the woolie’s fishy breath.