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Commission Info [CLOSED]
My OCs/RP Characters
Fallout 3 Fanfic Masterpost
27/05/12 @ 01:12am
tagged as
■ sergei rachmaninoff
■ elegie
■ anatole kitain
■ writing
■ kostya
■ buck
■ sasha
■ retrospective
| Song: Morceaux de fantaisies Op. 3, No. 1, Elegie |
| Artist: Anatole Kitain |
| Album: Kitain: The Complete Columbia Recordings, 1936-1939 |
| Played 3,768 times |
|
And something came to him. Couldn’t hurt to ask, he supposed. Not much.
“Hey, while I’m here…” he volunteered - “… I was wondering something.”
“Scientific curiosity.” Banks closed the book. “This is new.”
“Well…” Asher conceded - “… not really.” He hooked his shoe on the nearest desk’s footbar. “You went here with my father, didn’t you?”
“Lucas, yes.” Banks expressed a bad taste in his mouth. “What for?”
Asher shrugged. “It’s not… relevant, really. I was just curious.” He freed his foot. “What he was like.”
The professor flattened his hands on the leather cover. “Always right, he was. Always right.” He picked it up and stashed it below. “Even when he was wrong.”
Anonymous asked you: Yellow, lime and white.
Yellow: What is your favorite style?
Something else I love to death: Creative similes/metaphors. Not the lame romantic ones. I mean the comparisons that get really out there and make all the more powerful an image. I think it’s Mark Twain that calls a body’s complexion “fish-belly white.” Not only do you get the white, you get the clammy, milky association of dead fish. Now that’s good.
Lime: What are some of the most prevalent themes in your work?
In my manuscript I hit pretty hard upon anti-intellectualism - demonizing knowledge, lauding ignorance. But there’s a lot of family drama, too. Eugenic marriage, brainwashing the offspring, infidelity as a reaction to abuse. Finally, there’s a lot of loneliness and obsession, both in 45 Fathoms and in my RPs. Most of my characters’ problems could be solved with a best friend.
White: Weirdest thing you’ve ever written.
I had to look up random words in a dictionary and write a poem involving them. I got “the blouse and the aphorism” and turned it into a creed about body image. Man, fuck high school creative writing assignments.
Anonymous asked you: black, lemon, yellow
Black: Your dreams! Be published, be a critical success? What?
I wouldn’t say no to a Pulitzer. Realistically, though, I just want to not die in my computer chair, unwashed and surrounded by great ideas that never got published. Come on. Some schmuck agreed to market Twilight. That’s the only thing giving me hope.
Lemon: Do you write fanfiction? If so, what genre? OTP?
Are you kidding? I write more fanfic than original-universe stuff these days. I pair canon characters with insufferable self-insert sues and throw chapters up on Tumblr without editing. Life is beautiful.
Yellow: What is your favorite style?
You know what else is cool? Unreliable narrators. Actually, make that well-written first person in general. If the mind telling the story doesn’t have a more interesting perspective on the situation than an impartial narrator, for Chrissake, just use the impartial narrator.
daisyloveletters asked you: Blue baby ♥
Blue: What is your favorite genre/subject on which to write?
I think I mentioned before that I like obsession, and that answer still stands. You know, there’s a common myth that pit bull jaws have locking mechanisms, and I think it’s fascinating to explore minds that work the same way. Especially if they have the genius to back it up.
Anonymous asked you: lime, white
Lime: What are some of the most prevalent themes in your work?
When I write romance - which, let’s face it, is a lot now that I’m into fanfic - I like to operate on the concept that “love is having your needs met.” It’s not a pink, aphrodisiac, Valentine’s Day definition, but of the ones I’ve heard, it makes the most sense. So when I get into the shippy stuff, I like to delve into what the characters lack - whether that’s stability, reinforcement, acceptance, anything. And sometimes - like with Boone [god, I wish fangirls would understand this] - you meet their needs by leaving them alone to heal.
White: Weirdest thing you’ve ever written.
Let’s face it, most of my smut is pretty strange.
skeletin asked you: Hey! Saw that ask and sorry if it’s a lot of colors: blue, indigo, pink, brown, rainbow, white.
Blue: What is your favorite genre/subject on which to write?
Just to be different, here’s one I really hate writing on: Noncon. That’s right, the R-word. I used it as an injection of tragedy in an early RP character and it’s one of the worst writing decisions I ever made. It’s not a literary plaything - and it’s almost impossible to write with tact.
Indigo: What do you think is the greatest flaw in your writing?
I can point to a lot. I don’t get in the character’s heads enough. My description of nonverbal gestures is repetitive. But beyond that, I think my greatest flaw is that I don’t have the fire under my ass to ever finish anything. Author ADD. There are too many bad books in circulation to be afraid of not having the skill. If I don’t get published, it’s because I can never get to the end.
Pink: What attracts you to writing in general? Why do you love it?
I’m fundamentally nosy. I think everyone has a story, and I want to know it. Especially the dirty laundry. But past that, I love writing for the same reason I love video games that let you design your own protagonist. I’m not satisfied with the stock. I’m not content with someone handing me this pre-cooked food and insisting I like whatever they put in it. Nobody knows the ins and outs of what I enjoy but me, and if I want a recipe with all my favorite ingredients, I can’t expect them to do it for me. I have to create it myself.
Brown: Three favorite novels.
Much like picking three favorite authors, you just can’t. But I can recommend three that paint a picture of my tastes. I’d say One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest because it’s a punch in the gut, The Phantom Tollbooth because it’s hilarious, and A Streetcar Named Desire because mid-20th-Century writers gave us some of the snappiest dialogue around. And yes, you twit, I know it’s a play.
Rainbow: Three favorite authors.
Okay, so this is as much news to me as it is you, but I just read The Bell Jar for class and it kind of frightened me how much Plath’s inner voice sounds like mine. Self-deprecating. Self-patronizing. Don’t feel that, she says. Your feelings are inappropriate. I’m sure this gives me hipster cred, but I’m also pretty sure I don’t care. But back to the question. I like Hunter Thompson out of morbid curiosity, and you haven’t lived until you’ve heard Cole Porter spin a dirty lyric.
White: Weirdest thing you’ve ever written.
It might surprise you how much of my writing is utterly normal. I’m kind of tempted to venture into Dada or something, just to have more interesting answers to these kinds of questions. Hell, it worked wonders for Dalí’s self-esteem.
Anonymous asked you: red, blue, rainbow!
Red: When and how did you first realize you loved writing?
My love for writing has been a casual, constant thing. There wasn’t just one catalyst - it was life in general. I was a bored little kid who got told to “stop using big words” when I talked to my peers, so I withdrew and started populating my own universes. I wrote stories about a group of friends instead of making my own. I made up my own country because my family was too poor to travel. I didn’t see that at the time, though. Back then I just felt like it.
Blue: What is your favorite genre/subject on which to write?
Extraordinary things happening to ordinary people. I dunno whether it makes me a humanist or just boring, but you don’t have to leave the realm of the possible to hold my interest. If you want to explore, go ahead! It’s how we have works by geniuses like Tolkien. But you don’t need a fantasy kingdom to tell a story of power and corruption. You don’t need the paranormal to write something terrifying - and you don’t need the puppetmaster of fate to write a poignant love story.
Rainbow: Three favorite authors.
Oh come on, that’s like asking Louboutin to pick his favorite shoe color! I can give you three out of the mob though - Steinbeck, Wilde and Parker. Read her poem about suicide sometime. I’ve never laughed so hard at something so painfully accurate in my life.
grassfire asked you: Mellow yellow.
Yellow: What is your favorite style?
Minimalist. Short, efficient sentences - not so choppy they sacrifice the art, but get their point across with as little extraneous junk as possible. I don’t even mind if I never get a physical description of the characters. If I have some context, like where we are and what era it is, I can figure it out for myself. This is why I find 18th-Century work so blindingly frustrating. In an attempt to be eloquent they say something in fifteen words when you could have just fucking used one to convey the same meaning. That’s something else I like - precision. Don’t beat around the bush trying to describe something there’s a word for. Like damask. Or buttresses.
Gotta leave for class, but I got a TON of these, so I’ll answer the rest when I get home!
Papa’s lab was like Vermeer’s studio, and to watch Papa work was to watch the master paint. In the early days I didn’t understand how he could do it. The specimens were slimy, and the smell made my hair curl. But as time went on I saw it was no different from my backyard crime-solving or hunts in Daddy’s bookcase. He was solving a puzzle - the greatest puzzle of all. And that formaldehyde smell became as romantic as aftershave.
Sometimes I’d play in the corner. Sometimes he’d let me observe. It was in these amateur operating theaters that he’d chat in dark, ugly words. Smotri, milaya, he beckoned. Eto mozg. I took to it, as young minds do. Before long I could tell him the stories of my toys and count to a hundred. The weathered old table and looming displays became my college - and every day I emerged feeling genius.
24/05/12 @ 08:06pm
tagged as
■ askbox fic
■ character challenge
■ fallout: new vegas
■ fanfic
■ fanfiction
■ private sexton
■ the king
■ writing
| Your challenge characters are Private Sexton and The King. | ◤ |  cannibaljambox |
“You mean to tell me they sent you waaaay out here…” the King’s eyebrows rose like balloons - “… about the relief effort?”
“That’s it.”
The King tucked his chin and gave him a look.
Sexton fluffed his hair. Nerves. “Guess the brass got sick of my jokes.”
“Well now. Shame you came all this way for nothin’.” The King unfolded his frame, keeping his feet apart. “Anything The Kings can do for you, it’s yours…” he offered his hands like a statue of a saint - “… Long as you tell ‘the brass’ we treated you right.”
“I guess…” Sexton thought - “… maybe one thing.”
The King’s smile quirked. “Hit it.”
“You fellas don’t see much o’ the Legion, do you?”
The King re-crossed his legs, indignant. “Are you kiddin’?!”
“Damn!” Sexton interjected, swiping at the air.
“What?!”
“Just…” Sexton glanced away - “… wanted some ears.”
20/05/12 @ 04:20pm
tagged as
■ drabble
■ writing
■ irina
■ kaidan alenko
■ shenko
■ femshep
■ commander shepard
■ mass effect
■ people requested wedding stuff
■ and i delivered
She sat on the bench by the Presidium fountain and waited.
Her mind ran over the procedure like strategy before battle. Go to the office off of the Council Chambers. Sign the license. Receive a blessing from the new asari consort. A matriarch, she’d heard - good woman.
Dress whites. One witness. Simple. Undemonstrative. Low-profile.
Out to dinner afterward? Why not?
A pair of feet entered her view and interrupted her.
“You look good, Commander.” He beamed down at her and held out a gloved hand.
She hooked her elbow in his as they crossed the bridge.
“You look good, Major.”
19/05/12 @ 02:23pm
tagged as
■ nancy
■ butch deloria
■ fallout
■ fallout 3
■ good libations
■ fanfic
■ fanfiction
■ writing
■ fawkes
For a while there I felt like I was losing my groove with this story. Vaults aren’t fun places to write, especially not when you’re trying to bend a universally-mocked canon plot to a protagonist of your own creation.
There’s something in this chapter, though, that makes me think it’s coming back. This one’s heavy on Butch - if you’re reading for him, read on!
Papa had a mind to be taciturn the way he had blood, but some days - even at six - I knew something was wrong. He wouldn’t work. He wouldn’t shave. It was like looking at a lantern on the last legs of a battery. The light in his eyes just went out.
Nobody talked about what it was back then. Least of all to me. It wasn’t until I was past twenty that I started hearing words here, cases there, names like Lili Elbe. At home Daddy and I knew them as Papa’s bad days - and the only thing that gave him any peace was to sit in the drawing room, by the big French doors in the sun.
Sometimes, if I was feeling brave, I took it upon myself to cheer him up. I’d wander into the room and bother him, prescribing distraction as the best medicine. One spring Saturday I crawled into his lap - and decided I felt like talking.
“Papa?” I asked him. “Why aren’t you happy?”
“It’s complicated, milaya,” he deflected with practiced grace. But I couldn’t treat complicated, I insisted. If I had to be specific in describing my scrapes and stomachaches, so did he.
“Sometimes…” he began - “… the world just seems wrong.” He stroked my hair, I think to calm himself. “You are cold in the sun - you’re exhausted when you wake. You look in the mirror, and the person that stares back… it feels like someone else.”
I didn’t make the train of associations that would’ve led me to the truth. If he thought I would, I doubt he would’ve said it.
“But it is you,” I reassured him. “Your name’s Kostya. You live with me and Daddy, and you study brains all day in your smelly old lab.”
“You’re right, milaya.” He pulled me into a hug. “You’re right.”
I hadn’t changed the tone in his voice or the expression on his face. But when he gave me a kiss and his moustache tickled my cheek, I felt I’d done something worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize.
@ 12:01am
tagged as
■ drabble
■ writing
■ irina
■ kaidan alenko
■ shenko
■ femshep
■ commander shepard
■ mass effect
That night she heard a knock in the doorway.
“You awake?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah.” He stepped inside. “Me too.” He dragged the chair up to the bed and sank into it.
“I put it back in the drawer,” he whispered. “Where it belongs.” His head rested on the mattress beside her stomach. “I just… I’m just so scared.” His throat caught. “Of what you might do…”
“Don’t be.”
He sighed and folded his hand over her fingers.
“I’m sorry.”
And after a long beat he added - “… for everything.”
She spent an eternity in silence before she squeezed his knuckles.
“Thank you.”
17/05/12 @ 02:45pm
tagged as
■ asher
■ 45 fathoms
■ writing
■ novel bullshit
■ stuff that draws a little too much on experience
“… You have my eyes,” the man noted. “You know that?”
“Doctor?” Asher scrunched them. “What is this?”
“Don’t call me Doctor, Asher…” The man shifted to an angle in his armchair - “… I’m your father.” He tapped the back of his timepiece.
Asher’s head swiveled with disbelief. “Where the hell have you…” His speech faculties abandoned him. “You’re… y’r… you’re dead!”
“And yet here I am.” Dr. Carentin spoke to the watch. “And so are you…” he noted, picking at the lever and pulling it out - “… which means someone has a lot of explaining to do.”
“Yeah!” Asher spat. “You’d better have a fine reason why my mother thinks she’s a widow!”
“Ah yes… your mother.” The word oozed forth with grim distaste. “Well, I won’t speak ill of your mother. But there are some things…” his tone cooled as he wound the watch - “… she just wouldn’t understand.”
“I dunno about you…” Asher settled into quiet, simmering anger - “… but when someone abandons their family, I think they ought to tell them why.”
“Reductio ad absurdum, Asher.” Dr. Carentin breathed a laugh out his nose. “Come on. You’re better than that.”
@ 01:43am
tagged as
■ drabble
■ writing
■ irina
■ kaidan alenko
■ shenko
■ femshep
■ commander shepard
■ mass effect
■ sadfic
“I…” His face contorted in disgust. “… what the hell?”
“Sweetheart’s sad! Sweetheart’s having nightmares!” She exploded. “But no, sweetheart just needs a good fuck!” Her eyes flashed neon. “Well maybe I want to be left alone!”
“Sweetheart—” Oh god no not the—
“I said leave me alone!!”
The last word ripped the air between them. The sculpture beside him hurtled to the wall and smashed.
His own spine tingled. The hair stood up on his arms. No no no he tried to reel it back stop it, simmer down—
“… I can’t.”
He shook his head and backed out.
“Not now.”
@ 12:50am
tagged as
■ irina
■ kaidan alenko
■ drabble
■ writing
■ shenko
■ femshep
■ commander shepard
■ mass effect
■ sadfic
“You what?”
“That’s right.” His nostrils flared. “Guns? Nightmares?” His eye twitched. “Trips to Omega?!” He flung out his arms. “You’ve been hiding more and more from me for months now…” He shook with as much fear as anger - “… and for once I’d like you to tell me why!”
She held herself. “Can’t I get any fucking privacy?”
“Privacy?!” He started. “How could you be any harder to crack?!”
“Oh!” She exclaimed. “Are we going there?!”
He snarled. “You bet we are!”
“Well for once I’d like to have a bad day…” she roared - “… without you sticking your cock in it!”
14/05/12 @ 01:44am
tagged as
■ commander shepard
■ femshep
■ irina
■ kaidan alenko
■ mass effect
■ shenko
■ writing
“Commander?”
“For now.” Irina stared down at the lamp on her round table. “The Alliance has to catch me before they can strip my rank.”
“That’s assuming this doesn’t work.” Kaidan almost broke a sweat trying to sound optimistic. “And if I know you like I think I do, you wouldn’t settle for anything but success.”
“It’s assuming a lot.”