Your post gave me a silly idea. Would the bachelors take a goth gf, punk gf, or emo gf. This is an important question for science. And if you feel up to it, you should do the girls too sometime. No pressure though.
Anon, I am nothing if not an avid scientist.
This list is gonna be bulleted, as it's more category focused rather than scenario focused. Since it's a shorter prompt, I also have the bachelorettes included!
Prompts are for a gender-neutral builder
Let me know what y'all think! I'm eager to see what categories the rest of the community would assign to the townies. Methodology, headcanons, and some spoilers below the cut :)
Methodology: Since we are using 3 categories, I wanted to offer up how I'm defining these categories based on my own understanding of these subcultures, so I judged the choices based on a combination of the subculture's general (probably oversimplified) philosophy as well as its aesthetics.
Goth philosophy: The world is fucked up & I find beauty in that
Punk philosophy: The world is fucked up & I'm angry about it
Emo philosophy: The world is fucked up & I'm sad about it
Bachelors:
Arvio
Punk for sure; he's infatuated with the grumpiest doctor in town. He likes 'em angry
Burgess
I already said this man deserves a goth s/o, & I stand by it. Punk seems too ARC-adjacent, & emo seems like it might just bum him out.
Ernest
Goth for sure; they're writing poetry at the cemetery together
Fang
Torn between emo & goth tbh; like yes, let him despair about the darkness in the world, but I do love the idea of Fang learning to appreciate that darkness as well
Justice
Goth; Justice doesn't tend to go looking for the beauty in the darkness, but I think he'd be very receptive to the idea
Logan
Punk; He can definitely relate to lashing out with anger when things are fucked up
Miguel
"None of these words are in the bible."
Emo 100%, they can both be sad about the state of the world together
Owen
Maybe emo or goth, tho I'm leaning toward emo the more I think about the plot of the play during his proposal quest.
Pablo
Goth for sure. You know his lines after Heidi wins the architecture competition, but she's not happy about it? Yeah.
Pen
Punk; the aggressiveness of the aesthetic & worldview would pose both an interesting challenge and complement to his own "survival of the fittest" mentality
Qi
It's a fuckin toss up tbh, Qi doesn't know what any of these words mean
That being said, I lowkey love the idea of Qi being romanced by a more punk builder
This mad scientist definitely understands what it means to rage against the machine (of academic bureaucracy)
Unsuur
Goth! Unsuur also knows the world is a fucked up place but he's very much in tune with still finding the beauty in it all.
He'd spend cemetery dates studying the different kinds of rock used for the headstones
Bachelorettes:
Amirah
Goth! Look at some Victorian-era pottery & tell me that ain't it
Catori
Either punk or emo. Catori does fall into some more emo moments when she experiences setbacks, so I could see compatible philosophies, but she also responds really well when the builder kinda tells her that this isn't the time to get bogged down in sadness, but to get more aggressive & keep facing her challenges head on
Elsie
elsie's a weird little freak who 100% rages against the machine; punk
Grace
Goth, perfect aesthetic complement to grace's more girlypop kinda look
Grace has also Seen Some Shit, so a philosophy centered around finding beauty in the bad would vibe with her really well
Heidi
Gothic architecture, 'nuff said. But to add more anyway: her muse is literally her dead mother
Jane
Emo for sure. I'm seeing dramatic Hamlet-inspired monologues about how cold and sad the world is
Mi-an
Emo. Mi-an is generally a really positive person, but we do see in-game that a lot of it is really more a mask that she keeps in place by throwing herself into her work. Underneath all that, she deals with a lot of hopelessness and sadness internally.
Nia
Punk! Nia fights for what she believes in so I think the philosophies would align really well. I think she'd also enjoy the aesthetic quite a bit
Venti
Goth for sure; basically, the only character trait we get to know about her is that she's relentlessly optimistic & will always look for what's good or nice even in a terrible situation
Hey, we're mostly through June! How's that writing challenge you started going?
:o thank you for checking in! It started off pretty good, didn't get to the 7,500 weekly goal I was aiming for, but progress is progress. Aaaaaaand then I got sick, yeehaw.
In short, it's been slow going, but I'm really happy I'm doing it because it really has forced me out of my comfort zone, and I'm getting to work with so many new themes and characters of my own! I love doing fanfiction though, so I'm excited to get back to Athenas later on.
Anyway, I really do appreciate you reaching out, so please enjoy a snippet from the first chapter of my work! I don't have a name for the story, or even the world yet, but it's a decently dark fantasy story following four fugitives and adventurers on a mission to eradicate an ancient evil currently poisoning the world.
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Bjorn assumed his usual seat toward the edge, cradling the tiny wooden bowl of watery gruel to his chest. He tried to ignore the tremble in his hands as he scooped out a small portion and laid it gently on the ground, whispering a small prayer for Forgiveness before attacking the rest.
There was only a pittance left in his bowl when the girl began to cry. She had arrived only a day earlier, and to Bjorn seemed no older than twelve or thirteen. Her long hair hung behind her in a knotted braid, a clumsy attempt to replicate the intricate style unique to the Ruby Isles. Only a child, but he could spy the Whalesong's mark already tattooed on her wrist. She held her face in her cracked, bleeding hands, and though her shoulders rocked with sobs, not a sound came out.
Cautiously, Bjorn approached her, taking care to seat himself a few feet away. His shrunken stomach growled and his fingers shook as he passed the remainder of his meager rations just to the right of her own bowl. For a moment, her silent sobs paused as she glanced between Bjorn and his offering. But it was in her eyes the second she saw him - recognition - and he quickly shrank back into his corner at the fury he found. In an instant, she was on her feet and kicking both bowls across the flimsy shelter. Gruel fell to the ground and chilled into gelatinous slop. A chipped wooden edge caught him at the temple and warm blood trickled into Bjorn's eye, but he did not fight back. She shouted words in a language he knew but did not understand, and still her meaning was clear. He knew what she shouted for, knew who she shouted for. Her anger was righteous, and he knew this must be his due.
Even though Bjorn's offenses far outclassed whatever "crime" this girl had committed, it was she who the guards grabbed roughly around the arms. It was her whom they drug off and chained to a stone pillar in full view of the entire camp. She stood against the rough basalt, all knobbled knees and gapped teeth as she watched them in silence. Even when her lips turned blue and her hands went numb from the cold, her murderous glare remained fixed on Bjorn. The minute she was free and he finally laid his head to rest, she would come for him and Bjorn would rest forever. This, he knew.
But a man's knowledge is finite, and before the prisoners could be recalled to their work, the dull thud of hooves and the creak of wooden wheels drew everything to a halt. Guards looked at one another in confusion and prisoners murmured amongst themselves as the carriage drew closer. It was stained a deep violet and gilded in gold, with handles carved from Mammothian Pearls native to the shores of Tumbover and inlaid with only the most distinctive of Hopefell's living emeralds. Banners bearing the imperial sigil dangled from the sides, and even the taciturn coachman seemed to have been plucked straight out of a painting. Bjorn's breath caught in his throat; he knew the carriage's master, but not its meaning. For an envoy to travel so far and through such difficult terrain, their mission must have been ordered by Carilla direct, and Bjorn was loathe to find out why.
The carriage came to a stop just in front of the squalid, low hut the guards used for shelter. Bjorn's bony and gnarled hands clenched into fists by his sides as he watched the envoy climb down the gilded steps. The man was tall, but slight, and moved with an air of practiced grace. His long hair was tied low with a modest ribbon, and his bespectacled gaze took quick stock of his surroundings, only narrowing slightly when it finally landed on the warden, whose chest heaved from the brief dash over. Heron, Bjorn recalled easily. Carilla's left hand.
The two men exchanged a few hushed words before the warden pointed cautiously to Bjorn. Heron's gaze followed the warden's finger, and he could not help the dramatic tilt to his brow as he finally spotted the emaciated prisoner. Where once might have stood a proud warrior with gleaming armor and red hair that blazed like fire in the sun, now there was only a hunched sack of skin and bones, barely covered by the tattered rags that seemed to serve as clothes for the prisoner. Bjorn's eyes were dull and sunken, his cheeks hollow. A shadow of a person when compared to any man, but to the hero he once was? Even a toenail from the Bjorn of days past would amount to more than the raggedy desolate figure currently answering to that name.
Heron chuckled to himself with a shake of his head as the guards dragged Bjorn forward. "Have you lost weight, old friend?" he asked with a sneer. "It suits you."
When Bjorn said nothing, Heron jerked his head toward the carriage. "Get in. And for the love of the Empress, do try to keep that stench on your side of things."
"I am abandoned, Heron," Bjorn croaked as he finally looked up to meet Heron's piercing eyes. "You see me well enough. What more could Carilla want from me?"
"Her Majesty the Empress requests your presence for a game she wishes to play," Heron explained with a stiff smile. "Let that be sufficient. It is more than you - and less than I - deserve."
Bjorn scoffed. "I've no interest in playing more of her games. I'll stay."
"And what makes you think your preferences matter?"
"Because you cannot harm me," Bjorn said, taking a small amount of satisfaction in the brief, irritated twitch to Heron's jaw. "If she wanted me dead, I would be. If she wanted me harmed, she wouldn't need to send you. So what task is so important to the Empress that she would dispatch her favorite aide to fetch me?"
"I'll put it this way for you," Heron gestured vaguely toward the surrounding wilderness. "You can die here, frozen and decrepit thing that you are." He paused. "Or, you can fall in honorable combat like the good dog you once were. Her Majesty might even deign to have you interred in the imperial tombs once you've served your purpose."
Bjorn's jaw worked as he considered the offer. To play by his cousin's rules would be folly; he had already learned this lesson before. But even as his heart shrank at the prospect, his empty stomach twisted itself into knots and his emaciated hands clung to his tattered rags for any reprieve from the freezing winds. Scorning his own weakness, he remembered the girl and her silent cries. Heron's foot tapped against the pebble-strewn ground impatiently. Finally, the prisoner broke his silence. "I'll go, and I'll even forgo strangling you in the carriage, on one condition."
Heron sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "And that would be?"
"The girl over there, against the pillar," Bjorn pointed to her, still standing on trembling knees, her eyes shut against the biting winds. "She's a child. Whatever her crimes, you have the power to pardon her. Do it, and I'll go as Carilla bids."
Heron's composure shattered as he broke out into a fit of barking laughter. "Free her? Have you gone blind as well to not know what she is?"
"Aye. A child."
Heron did not miss the resolute set to Bjorn's jaw, the determination in his lowered brow. He coughed a few more times before returning to his usual sneer. "Fine." He nodded once to the warden, who wasted no time in directing his men to unlock her chains.
As soon as the restraints were off, the girl crumbled to the ground in a heap. Heron barely spared her a second glance before ushering Bjorn into the carriage. He stopped a moment to murmur something else to the warden, but the prisoner couldn't make it out. An uneasy knot settled in Bjorn's stomach as Heron climbed inside and took his seat across from him, looking just a bit too pleased with himself.
"What did you do?" Bjorn demanded, ignoring the way his torn nails cut into his palms.
"Nothing for you to worry about. The girl is freed, as we agreed." Heron knocked twice on the ceiling, and slowly, the carriage began to move. "Now, let's discuss preparations for the tourney, yes?"
Bjorn offered a silent prayer for the girl as he looked down at his bleeding hands.
Day 2 of Rough Draft Month, and so far I've come up with a new region in my fantasy world called Tumbover. It's a cliffside settlement and it's called that because if you're not careful on the cliffs, it's very easy to tumble over the edge.
Is this what true power feels like? Like, is this how God felt when creating the humble platypus?
Ch. Summary: Athenas mans the turret, and a friendship is born
Content Warnings: violence and gore
Find the full fic here on Ao3
Exerpt below the cut!
Without a word, Athenas dashes to the side, leaping onto the wooden walkway. She breaks into a wide toothy grin as she approaches Yan. For his part, he only tuts slowly, but she can smell the fear rolling off of him in waves. It sets her hands to twitching as the adrenaline courses through her. The red vignette closes in as she stalks forward. She can practically taste his thin, metallic blood as he rushes to draw his own weapons with shaking hands. It's his own version of Andy's super shock shield, haphazardly attached to a wooden rod. The lines are messy, bolts misaligned, and she laughs at how ridiculous the whole thing is.
"You betray our people," she says as she lunges forward with the dagger, only narrowly missing Yan's stomach as he sidesteps. "You destroy our town." She slashes across at him, blocked by the flimsy shield. A giggle bubbles up in her throat. "Did you see how I welcomed your little procession?" Yan tries to swing back at her, but she catches the blow with her free hand. His eyes go wide as her hand twists to take hold of his wrist, bashing it against the turret until he's forced to drop the shield entirely.
Can I ask how you pronounce "Athenas"? Also, how did you come up with it? Like is it related to "Athena" or?
Ooo okay, so the answer is kinda lame, but Athena was always a super interesting figure when I was growing up. In most games I play, I usually have at least one character with some play on her name, especially if Im trying to go for a more heroic play-through.
For Sandrock specifically, I really like the odd names like Email and Unsuur, so I wanted to make a character with a name that sounds familiar enough but has a little bit more of a lore-friendly sound.
It wasn’t anything super in-depth, but I think it suits her nicely :)
