Spoiler: bluh It always unsettles her. She does not show it, of course. She prides herself on being unsettling herself. The others whisper that she has some sort of kinship with the Fields, both still and quiet and removed from the world around them. Still. To see the rough hewn path she had spent days laboriously clearing of foliage and hours still maintaining against the forest's encroachment whenever work was light and the fancy struck her, to see it spill outwards like that into a perfect square of untouched dirt, rich and black as ink, well. Even she is not immune to fear. As always she stops at the edge of the path, the toes of her boots not quite grazing the stark black divide, and clasps her hands in solemn reverence. She does not follow the patchwork religion of her fellows, nor any fragment of the old world's, but no one can deny the oppressive weight of this place. There are powerful forces at work, and she has long since given up whatever pride would have her refuse them their due reverence.
Spoiler Red. The name rises upwards from somewhere deep dark in himself. He is the motion of currents and the coolness of water. His world is black black blue grey green, red? No, no. And yet. Bodies move, wind and water and a thousand squirming feeding things slicing through him, but no, no, this is not what he knows. Things move with him, with the water, not this, this is pressing, wrong, pushing. Massive clumsy things carving out space where there is none. Anger, he names it, the heat that rises from down down down below. And then and then and then. Pressure. Movement. Against him. On him. Around him. Around him. A dim awareness spreads outwards from the touch. Foreign. Wrong. Red? No, no, maybe? Red red, a color, light, something to see, see with not the skin, the skin, the contours of himself, himself, himself, not the water, not the cool and movement, not water, he is? He is bound, rough rough rough like red, not like red, unfamiliar, wrong. A column wrapped in red red rough, edges soft and indistinct fading into water water cool and dark. But no, no, he feels it rising, this awareness, this separation between him and the cool and dark and motion. Skin, he names it, the prickling numb above and below and behind red red rough. Skin and body and self. This one is weird and stupid and I gave it up cause I'm not smart enough to make it work. Basic idea is a kid tries to drown himself, gets dredged up some years down the line perfectly alive and none too pleased with it.
Spoiler He follows the rules. Before, before he had not, had been proud of his defiance. But then before became now, and he follows the rules. She has no rules, he thinks. She has no words to tell him, but he is not yet entirely gone. He pieces it together, slowly, painfully, behind the cracks of Rules and Hunger that spiderweb across his mind like ribbons of scar tissue, twisting him into something half and half, not quite, wrong sick bad. She, she is all that, all dark, all Hunger, and his comes with it's own rules to twist and pinch, but no, not her, she is gorgeous in her lack. It is a new thought, this admiration. The rules had been clear on her importance, and the catch of her name in the back of his throat had tasted sticky sweet with a feeling he no longer has a name for. But that had been before, or its remains, and it had faded with time. This is as now as he is.
I've just been showing up here whenever I'm bummed and typing whatever random bullshit pops into my head, haha. Sorry to spam.
Ok so I had an idea for one of those choose your own adventure audience participation type and I wrote up some words for it so here's a rough draft I guess Spoiler -August 3, xxxx, 7:04 AM Your name is Ran. You’re nervous. More nervous than usual, at least. You didn’t manage to get to sleep last night. You have experience sleeping through rough nights, but somehow every buzzing mosquito burrowed straight through your forehead, and even after you kicked all the blankets off you were still stuck to yourself with sweat. You could have gotten out of bed, you suppose, but that seemed like giving up. Besides, your dad doesn't like it when you're up and about during the night. It’s a typical morning at Camp Mnemosyne. The air is thick and still, and the bugs are all screaming. You’ve spent a thousand days like this, at least. You know the dirt paths by heart, the different cabins, the mess hall, the lake. The way that the camp fills with mist some mornings, like you’re in a cloud, and how it always dissipates by midday. The weathered wood of the buildings that your parents set up themselves, years ago. The huge fire pit in the exact center of the camp, always smoking faintly, embers nestled beneath an ash cocoon. You know it well. You know it well enough you want to scream. But today, you can’t help looking at it with new eyes. If all goes to plan, this will be the last day you spend here. What will you do? >Contemplate camp >Contemplate plans >Contemplate co-conspirators >Check to see if anyone else is up >Contemplate Camp Camp Mnemosyne was started by your grandparents, technically, but it’s changed a lot. Your grandpa was super religious, and he started this camp to get kids out of the city and into nature, and into his grip, and under his sway. Your mom had horror stories about what happened in the camp when she was a girl, and with the benefit of hindsight you can safely say that reality was probably even worse. Your grandpa died of a heart attack when he was only about fifty, and your grandma didn’t want to run the camp by herself. She offered to reinherit her estranged daughter if she and her young new husband took care of the day to day and administration of the camp. Your mom and dad barely had a home at that point, and she was pregnant with you. They accepted, and rebuilt the whole rotting place with their own hands. Your dad had been a theoretical Artist and nearly had his teaching credentials. Your mom had been going for a business degree, and knew a whole bunch of small time, talented but unorthodox Artists who needed jobs. They repurposed the camp from a religious one into an Art retreat, where kids could come and get an education in the Arts that they might not get from a less personal, underfunded, ill-equipped school environment. Of course, your dad was a born disciplinarian, and the camp also functions as a half boot camp, where he attempts to shape up misbehaving kids via nature, or some bullshit like that. Quite honestly you hate this place. >Contemplate Plans It was Clio’s idea. She said she wanted to see a God. Clio says stuff like that a lot. She’s been sent here for years, and you know her fairly well. She’s the type of person who’s very good at making people think she has everything under control and that she’s calm, collected, and rational. This is true in the same way as you saying you’re an artist- technically accurate, but misleading. She loves things like fairies, goblins, and Gods, all sorts of things most people don’t want to deal with. She told you she had come up with a list of people she thinks would go with you, either to escape or to meet a God themselves, or just for the hell of it. She asked you to talk to all of them, because you can move through the camp without counselors questioning you. It took some convincing, and some favors, and some arguments that you were quite frankly ill equipped for, but you managed to do it, and your escape is planned for tonight. Tonight is a full moon. On every full moon there’s kind of a party in the mess hall, where your dad and the counselors push all the tables to the side and play tepid music. Of course, the camp is guarded really closely for runaways at this time, and full moons are when the Arts are at their weakest, meaning that you'll all have to get out the material way. But Clio has a plan, and thankfully your part is easy. >Contemplate Co-Conspirators Well. Clio is kind of a force of nature restrained in one pleasantly smiling form. Your dad likes her, except for the whole her thing, because Clio is well mannered, responsible, and an excellent Artist. Clio likes it that way, because it means people question her less. Cal is a jerk. You can’t say he used to be nice, because that would be a lie, but he at least used to try more, back before he realized he didn’t have to. When he realized that his bad attitude could be a shield, it was all over. Mel’s been coming here for years, and you’re not sure why- it certainly isn’t because of the atmosphere, because you're pretty sure she hates this place as much as you do. You still can’t get a read on her. Thalia is an amazing Artist and she and everyone else knows it. She’s confident without being arrogant, and kind of too nice to everyone. She sets you on edge- there's something almost uncanny about her. Ter is a ball of energy that you can’t quite take- half the time you just nod and smile because you don't even understand what he’s saying. There’s a nervous energy to him, underneath the wide eyes and chipper tone. Hymn is a Singer, you’ve heard, but you’ve barely ever heard him speak above a whisper. Your dad hates him, and you make it your business to like whoever your dad hates, so you spend a lot of time with him. Chore hates her name, and the world, and probably you. You’ve never asked her. She was sent here by her stepdad, who didn’t want to deal with her anymore. She's tried to escape five times since coming last month. Era has a reputation around camp for being flirtatious, and one or two counselors always have their eyes on her. That doesn’t mean she gets caught, of course. When she's not trying to butter someone up she switches to abrasive really easily.
Spoiler: Whoops I accidentally free wrote. Shit I haven't done this in forever.. But. Belief If you’re not willing to fight for your Beliefs Are they really even your beliefs to begin with? Or are they shady Grassy Empty ideas like the powdery wings of butterflies Too soon turned to Dusty memories on the horizon Yours to grasp Paint your hands with their wishes Hold their stains when they’re gone Mold your beliefs from steel Forged from sorrow and regret From hope From a thousand sunrises and sunsets Make your beliefs strong So they replace your strings and butterfly wings An iron moth rushing towards the light Unable to be slain
POETRY DUMP INCOMING YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED The first four ones are supposed to be translated songs, so the meter is all sorts of messed up and reads more like free form Spoiler: To the dead and the living Long we have traveled, long we have searched Long we have lived, and long we have fought Now my road comes to an end here The Handmaid's veil glows in the sky Its light will guide me on the last steps through the darkness A beacon in the snowy expanse Weep not for me, but travel on, don't see me off I can take the last steps of the journey myself You don't have time to spare [I/We] won't weep for you, but [I/we] will wait A bonfire for the departed will keep [me/us] warm another night A light for the dead and a light for the living The snow takes all colours as they are and makes them glow And sends them to the Handmaid's veil to look over us As long as [I/we] live [I/we] will never be alone [I/we] will not wait longer, the bonfire lights [my/our] path The Handmaid's veil lights yours and would lead [me/us] astray Wait for [me/us] a little longer, we will follow in time Spoiler: When the Handmaid takes us Of all places, the snow is the gentlest, The cruellest, the most indifferent When the Handmaid takes us she picks the rusts first Burgundy and Rust and Gold and Olive Jade and Teal and Cerulean Cobalt and Indigo and Purple and Tyrian The snow takes all and makes them still The snow takes all and makes them glow In the snow we are all the same Gentlest land, most graced of all lands Under the Veil of the Handmaid our last breath is cold No matter how lost we are, we will find our way (=to the afterlife) Cruellest land, most beautiful land The snow covers the earth and we cannot return We are like firework on a canvas Indifferent land, most old of lands Like an old lusus, but we're not her grubs Tell us, land of snow, who are you looking for? Of all places, the snow is the most liminal The most untamed, the most silent When the Handmaid takes us, not even gold can save you Burgundy and Rust and Gold and Olive Jade and Teal and Cerulean Cobalt and Indigo and Purple and Tyrian The snow takes all and makes them still The snow takes all and makes them glow In the snow we are all the same Most liminal land, land in-between all We are born from the soil and live with the white one And die to the Handmaid's Veil Most untamed of lands, untouchable wilderness What we take the snow will reclaim when we turn away The land remembers, and its memory is white Most silent of lands, land like the stars Cold and distant and keeps us from returning Only our blood, our blood seeps through the snow When the Handmaid takes us, she takes us all Spoiler: Traveller Listen, traveller, can you hear, can you hear? The wind and the leaves, swaying, swaying in the breeze Don't close your eyes, traveller, even if they hurt Listen good and listen well, there's footsteps all around Small and fast and huge and loud and all and all around us Don't close your eyes, traveller, or they'll get you Here in the north where the land has a lusus coat She lets us ride atop her back and doesn't shake us off Even though, even though no one knows what her blood is Here in the north where the air is cold Where your breath freezes in your lungs So many more things are alive than you'd think Watch, traveller, can you see, can you see? Between the snow and the trees, swaying in the breeze Don't cover your ears, traveller, even if they hurt Watch, traveller, and keep watch good, you can see them Beasts small and fast and huge and silent and all and all around us Don't cover your ears, traveller, you will need them Here in the north where the land is calm And the trees sway and the wind blows snow all over Maybe she's trying to shake us off, but we hold on tight Here in the north where the land is vast No one for perigees if you don't know where to look But in the end they will find you, if you don't hide well Feel, traveller, can you feel it, can you feel it? We live in the snow and the trees all around you Don't cover your horns, traveller, even if they hurt Feel, traveller, reach out for the hum of life There's more to this land than the canvas covering it Don't cover your horns, traveller, you will need them Here in the north where the land is eternal And this snowy lusus doesn't care for our blood We can live like in the days of old Here in the north where the land is harsh Even the shadowdroppers warm their ancient flesh at the fire And sing their songs to us and we listen Traveller, traveller, you're good to see, good to see Cover yourself in white and gray like all other creatures Or you'll be prey to us predators Traveller, traveller, you strayed far from home There are no roads up here in the north, I hope you know where to go No maps can help you if all you see is white snow Here in the north where the land is white And the Handmaid's Veil is green above us in the dark night sky We are birthed and live and die all the same Here in the north where the land is between The stories live on because they can never die And the land remembers forever and forever and forever Spoiler: The shadowdropper at the campfire I sat by the fire before dawn About to go into my tent and sleep through the day When an old shadowdropper came to the site and sat down I had drawn my steel and prepared to strike, But the Shadowdropper raised a hand and said, "Halt, traveller, would you listen to my story?" I sheathed my blade and said to it "Speak, dead one, what is your story? What is it that makes you move longer after you died?" A faint line on the horizon, dawn was not yet here So I sat by fire and tossed in more branches And listened to the shadowdropper A thousand sweeps ago or more my tale begins I was a warrior, a thinker, a speaker And one day a wondrous story came to my ears A thousand sweeps ago this land was much the same Like the Empire still is, it will never change And the words were whispered for a reason A thousand sweeps ago, just like now I will not tell you the words, they are not safe They were grand dreams now forever unfulfillable A silver line on the horizon, dawn was approaching So I sat by fire and tossed in more branches And listened to the shadowdropper There was a woman, white like snow With burning green eyes, and a mad smile Who hunted in these lands, and nothing could escape her There was a woman, and they said she had no lusus A jade so terrible all lusii rejected her And she crawled out of the caverns alone There was a woman, and a howlbeast pack found her They were as terrible as she was and adopted her into their pack Raised more beast than troll A purple gleam on the horizon, dawn was coming So I sat by fire and tossed in more branches And listened to the shadowdropper I thought I would be safe here, in this land It's vast and empty and hostile and beautiful I wished to disappear and dream and tell the stories I thought I would be safe here, but no one was My friends disappeared one after another Torn apart with bolts and teeth I thought I would be safe here, but she hunted me When I heard the howlbeasts call, I knew she had found me And I would not see another night A light on the horizon, dawn was here So I sat by the fire and tossed in more branches And spoke to the shadowdropper I know the story, I told it They say she still hunts out there Even after more than a thousand sweeps I know the story, it's still told But it's an old fairy tale, and she's long dead No matter how terrible she was, the Handmaid was more terrible I know the story, and the sun is rising I must go now, or it will take me Unlike you, it still burns me Bright purple horizon, dawn was passing But I still sat by the fire and tossed in more branches So the Shadowdropper could finish its story It's not long, I did not live another night She found me like she found everyone else No matter how deep they had hidden It's not long, but so few of us remain Who still remember who they were And can tell their stories to the living It's not long, I can barely remember the time A thousand sweeps ago or more I lived My bones are weary, but I can't rest yet A burning on the horizon, I shielded my eyes We both rose from the fire and I waited Until the shadowdropper had disappeared into the day (Is it obvious I'm Homestuck trash yet those are all Alternia-inspired songs) The following ones are gonna be in the game I'm writing. Spoiler: The Vagrant's reason Choo-Choo, Choo-Choo A train drives by the forest Sleep through, sleep through Mother says, and she knows best Tick-tock, tick-tock The clock goes round and round and round Wake up, wake up A child is nowhere to be found Pitter-patter, pitter-pat Outside the Night Forest, white, unveiled And again it came to that It seems that this one's guard has failed Spoiler: Borealis Up in the sky, way far on high There where only the white swans fly White as snow but they care for no young They carry the souls of the fallen unsung Watch out for the light, burning so bright Humming curtains in the cold winter night Knot the sheets and carry on up Climb and climb and don't ever stop Fray at your dreams, unravel the seams Reality is not as it seems Then travel high and travel far Lok to the sky, and follow my star Spoiler: Denizens of the Night Forest Night falls on weary bones Red-baked clay and warm hewn stones Slumber, mortals, slumber deep This open world is yours to keep But no sun falls between our leaves And still you dare to call us thieves When all we ever did and do Was take some very few of you Spoiler: Snowfang Morning falls, beware Even our sun's bright glare Stinging wind and burning snow Will not grant protection now Corpses rise with dawn's first ray And the cold silence leads astray You can fell only what you see Here is no good place to be Go on and hope, child, if you dare You will light up just like a flare She will find you, dogs in tow And nothing can protect you now Spoiler: Spirit of the reeds Stand still and calm, of sound bereft At the shore of this meander And hold onto your sense of wonder As the spirit rises from its depths Beneath the waces and amidst the reeds Where the river gives way to the land And no one knows where either might end And the spirit's water reflects your deeds They will warn you of a monster nesting there But Reed is patient and kind Gnardled and old with a benevolent mind And all its wisdom to share Spoiler: Oak Tree Oak tree, oak tree, what is your name? When the wind rustles your leaves and tangles my hair When the river's currents sound through the air Oak tree, do they call you the same? Oak tree, oak tree, what do you seek? From the sun and the rain and the earth Crafted with care from sunrise to hearth Oh oak tree, if only you could speak Oak tree, oak tree, what did we do? The fields are barren and all we have sown Everything withered and nothing has grown What did we do to offend you? Spoiler: The Night Forest Of faraway places, the strangest certainly Is where past and present evenly Entwine, and the lines disappear In a far land, many moons travel from here The locals say the land remembers its face Countenance of old, now gone without trace Watch your step, lest it swallows you whole You would not be the first or the last one it stole And so they weave magic into the stone It permeates all down to blood and bone Old runes and symbols and lines To ward where the land won't follow the times Spoiler: Twins from the sands Far in deepest sands Almost buried, a tower stands The people only see its old stone No crystal glass, and no bleached bone Two places alike in image and soul One child of each, one half and one whole The half one seeks, but does not find The half that would complete their mind Connected by this void between Of untold tales and realms unseen The whole one offers a gentle hand Brings the half one's suffering to an end Spoiler: A cart of masks Come and see, take a look I travelled many lands Traded, listened, bartered, took For these designs to reach my hands Each of these comes with a fable A legend, myth or story Compiled as good as I was able Some of loss, and some of glory Some of these are of my own Of untold dreams, one of a kind And on all festivals at home I wonder which one you will find
Put out my first oneshot fic after ages of not having writey brain aside from for RPing. Casual reason to write some johndave and dick suckin' so there's nothing deep to it. But I had a -lot- of fun writing the banter. Spoiler: banter excerpt from fic
8I Working on a fic for a friend, and I -know- there has to be a term but the one i think it is just means really liking music reproductions. Is there a term for being aroused by hearing a voice? Like. Certain tones of voices and auto-boner and chills, like a sexual version of ASMR?
Spoiler: blathering She's just playing, you think. Roots slither over your skin, fragile little fingers twining round the hairs of your legs, hauling tender green shoots up the length of your calves. You try not to flinch at the sensation. The vines could be heavier. The roots anchored in your bones. She could peel you apart, layer by layer, if she wanted. You try not to imagine roots slipping almost gently through your pores. Your skin prickles and you hope that you have only failed. She wants you to flinch. She likes it, you think. Knowing how much stronger that you she is, in every possible way. God, to think you had once imagined her weak. I always liked the idea of a plantmancer type super or magic user or whatever being all frantic and savage and junk. They always seem so tame, and it's like. Man, you think plants are peaceful and dainty or whatever? Gotta compete for resources and ward off predators too. This isn't that, but.
Narratophilia, kinda? It's dirty words and stories specifically, I think, but that's about as close as I could find.
Spoiler: i write till it stops being fun, and it ends up being dumb but fuck it who cares She tightens her jaw and grinds her teeth hard enough that they melt into each other, forming a curved black beak under her lips. She spins enamel outwards aimlessly and flips through the journal on her lap. It's an old thing, its leather binding worn thin and gray round the spine and its pages yellowed and soft as cloth. It bulges out with photographs glued and stapled on every few pages, each one surrounded by meticulous notes in small, blocky handwriting. The girl fingers the fraying edge of one picture. remember to enlarge the heart, reads the text to its left. like making two fists in your chest. lack of circulation is a problem, you dunderfuck. youre gonna let the whole team down
Spoiler: undertale junk It dies like nothing you've ever seen before. The switch in your hand slices through its head with a jolt of something like static up your arm and pulsing through your nervous system, with only the barest hint of physical resistance. It leaves a bare strip of nothing between bisected halves, and peering into the hollow where skull and tongue and meat should be, all there is is twisting flat white. It looks, looks like nothing, flat, shadowless, undefined, something that can not, should not be. Your head aches and your eyes pulse, hot and heavy. It fizzles and pops, all soft noise and shuddering frantic motion, before dissolving, pieces turning over like the glass panes in the wind chime that hung on the corner of your dad's porch last time you saw him, squares segmenting again and again and again until nothing is left but wide flat flakes of white. Dust. The Ruins are chilly, but you are sweating, cold and clammy, and white settles against your arms and clings to your cheeks, pure as snow, brilliant against the dark of your skin. You are still for a long while. You are a curious child, an outdoorsy child, the kind of child who cannot escape knowing of death. You remember, days ago, just days ago, pulling frogs apart, the meaty tearing of flesh, the sound of a dull broken stick squishing wetly through a body, the purples and greys and yellows of its organs, a shocking array of color in death. You feel faintly ill. It had talked, you recall. Had made a noise unlike words that seemed to seep through your skin, a gentle pressure building up behind your eyes till suddenly, suddenly, hello. Hello it had said, with force and not noise, hello, like the woman twice your mother's size but so much warmer, hello, like the thing that tried to kill you. Hello, like a person.
I got a real nice idea for a horror story during dinner prep, and churned this out. I'm explicitly taking concrit for this, btw, because my knowledge of the american school system is rudimentary at its best and I don't know if I made any errors that could've been prevented with research. Spoiler: Got a classmate I can't remember Person from my high school grade I can't remember? So, uhm, hi? I'm addressing you guys now because in the last month I just about exhausted every other resource trying to find some answers and all came up either blank or not quite fitting. So a couple of weeks ago, our old high school grade held a big reunion. Old pals meeting up again, exchanging stories, comparing where they've come in life, stuff like that. I was a bit late, long work day, you know the drill, so I was one of the latter arrivals, well into the reunion. It was kinda surreal, all these people who went from hormone-addled, confused, and overworked to fully-grown adults, slightly better adjusted, and still overworked. Like Chris, who can throw chairs and tables and yell down pretty much anyone but Anne - who was in all performance art clubs our school had offered and was lead singer in a band now - laughing at a joke our resident shy computer nerd John told, but this time on room noise level. But th reason I'm telling this is... Well, of course most people brought their spouses so there were a bunch of new faces, but, yknow, they usually stuck to their spouses and got introduced? So I didn't really think anything of that one lady I didn't recognize sipping a drink all alone, I just figured her husband or wife was on the loo. Spotted her all throughout the evening in changing company, so I pulled over my bestie Vanessa and was like, "You see that lady talking to Daniel and Matt? I swear I saw her before somewhere, but I just can't place it - who's she with?" Now you gotta know, Vanessa has been my bestie since kindergarten. The kind that stays with you through all hardships of growing up, does stupid shit with you, and doesn't ever betray you. People you're dating change, but besties of that kind? Never. Vanessa just stared at me. "You're kidding, right?", she choked out after a bit, but relented when she saw my confused face. "That's Kate. Catherine. I... guess you didn't have much chance to interact with her, she did take different classes, but, man, how could you have forgotten senior prank? She was, like, a driving force behind it." Senior prank was... blurry, to bee honest. Corridors filled to the brim with balloons containing confetti, glitter, cleaning slime, plastic spiders, and a variety of other things. Tripping Hazards in between. The song "My heart will go on" on repeat and the key to the broadcasting room hidden in one of the balloons. I nodded. "I'll ask around some, maybe the others can jog my memory a bit?" Vanessa grinned. "Do that!" So I went to ask around some. Carol was first, still wrapped up all in black, but now the cut complemented her figure instead. She was a good first bet, because Kate had been one of the quieter and weird ones, and those tended to be friends with Carol. She greeted me with an almost out-of-character "Oh, hey, I haven't seen you in ages!" and an offered hug, which I took. "Hey Carol. How close were you with Kate, back in High School?" "Oh, regular friends, you know, why? She had big trouble making friends, what with what her junior high classmates did to her, but she really bloomed when she came to us.", Carol beamed. "Yeah, that's what I wanted to ask about, because I have vague memories of her, but can't really place her, and I figured you'd be the best bet.", I grinned. Carol seemed to be pondering something about that, and replied: "Well, you're at the right address for that. She came to us halfways through sophomore year, right when you were at math camp, remember? So all the ruckus about the new kid had died down by the day you returned." Huh. So that was it? By the time I'd been back from math camp, the quiet new kid had already faded into the background. Huh. By then another good pal, Sam, had arrived. Greeted 'em, and asked what they remembered of Kate. "Who?", Sam asked. "Kate! Man, don't mess with me. Didn't you two use to hang out on the roof all the time?" "Huh", Sam replied. "There were a couple of people who used to come along. Guess she was one of them?" Then Sam frowned, and asked, "I remember most faces from prom night, maybe if I knew what her act was?" That was when Matt dropped into the convo. "She wasn't at prom night. Sorry, heard you talking 'bout Kate, and figured you'd want to know. She was scheduled for a singing act, but after that class trip? Yeah, no chance. Kinda a shame, she'd have been a big hit." The problem was, I didn't remember anything about that class trip. Not even where we went. So it was getting late, I was getting nowhere with my inquiries, and had to work the next day, so I said my collective farewells and drove home. I know what you're probably thinking. Kate's a ghost, risen from the grave to settle some grudge or pass on some message, and some grade A fucked up shit happened during that class trip and our collective brains edited our memories to not remember what happened, because I sure as hell didn't, and Sam didn't, either. Thing is, that can't be. For the simple reason that ghosts don't have bodies. Kate does, I shook her hand when she accosted me halfways through the evening with a grin and a "Heard you've been asking around". Normal temperature, too. Breathes, dynamic face movement, fluid overall motions, not transparent. The whole works. Just her hands were maybe a little bit rougher than I remembered them from when we played together in grade school? But that could come from whatever she does for a living or hobby. So she can't be a ghost. Facebook page checks out as well, no newspaper articles about a girl from our high school dying, either. About halfways through the last month, I got around to replying to Alex' email. Alex couldn't come to the reunion and asked for pics and stories, and I was happy to obliege, but the reply was really strange. "You mentioned who everyone is, but who's this?", and enclosed, a conversation shot, and a circle around Kate. How could Alex not remember Kate? I'd been hanging around him for ages, which is why he asked me for the pics, and he somehow doesn't remember my Bestie? Who used to spectacularily lose against us in Mario Kart? (Like, honestly. She'd just find the most hilarious ways to shoot herself off track. Many laughs were had.) So I told him that. No response since, for some reason, not even a "Wait that's Kate? Wow, I didn't even recognize her." Just... silence. The others say the same, Alex asked them about Kate, they told him who she was, and then... nothing. Honestly, I'm a bit worried about him. Alex was one of the quiet ones. Dabbled in the occult, had the weirdest shit at home, beyond ouija board and tarot cards. Salt on windowsills and doorways and in front of vents. Symbols carved into the door to his room. Chalk marks. But hey, other than that he was supremely chill and always up for fun stuff. He kept that stuff to himself. Not like those guys at the religious summer camp Kate's parents always sent her to. Pray and spread the word, Dungeons & Dragons is evil, and video games are sin. That kind of deal. Kate always told me about how she'd troll the others and be a beacon of common sense. Good times. Damn. I don't even really know where I was going with all of this? Maybe you can make more sense of it. Gotta go now, got a date with Kate, it's our one year anniversary. Can't leave a girl like that hanging!
So, I'm trying to get a mental image of a character - the setting is modern-day fantasy taking place in real places and (hopefully) a vague horror vibe. (North-East US gothic, maybe?) The main character is partially supernatural herself and is being chased by a supernatural nasty. For one arc, she travels with this character who I've been calling Atheist. A ceirtain zone around Atheist is always 100% free of the supernatural and fate, which makes for a nice excuse to temporarily reframe the main themes by way of glorified coffeeshop AU. I'd like to hint that Atheist themself is a supernatural entity*, but am having trouble figuring out a good path to that. (Also @whimsicalobservant love the horror story seed!) Spoiler: Footnote Atheist is actually my author avatar, so it's really me trying to decide how meta is too meta. Edit: I could make it a rozencratz and guildenstern are dead reference, couldn't I...
Popping in to ask if anyone in here likes Mass Effect fic, particularly Shakarian (or doesn't mind it) and would like to read my (three years in the making ahem) longfic and poke me to work on it over the summer...? (link to fic)
If anyone's into Persona 4, here's a fic I need to get back to. Also, if you haven't finished the game, be warned, there ARE spoilers! You like vampires and disappointment?
