#psychonerdette

[freebooter4ever]

LETHY FOLLOWED ME ON TWITTER

[lourher]

i'm just gonna like every photos of @psychonerdette  in china

[thedeadgayaesthetic]

when ur freind write a song inspired by u called "supervillains can be gay"

[justabarrelofmonkeys]

well whatever you decide my dashboard ships it apparently

[justabarrelofmonkeys]

we're almost finished with our Miranda marathon and we've taken a break to prepare lunch/tea/dinner (caramel pop corn and raviolis + chocolate chip cookies)

well Lethy prepared it, i just stood there eating crackers

yes we are functioning adult humans yes please thank you very much kind regards thank you please

[thedeadgayaesthetic]

i just remembered that lethy sung and played at the guitar "The Hunger" just before i went to sleep and it was super cool 

[emmi-hayes]

WIP#2: Skyrim crossover

Jensen nodded, and with a careful step approached the downed bear to remove the claws. Aisha would be pleased. “Well, thanks, Alvarez. I’d be a goner if it wasn’t for you.” The elf made no sign of acknowledgement, but that didn’t slow the blonde down at all. “What are you doing this far north? Don’t see too many of your kind around here.”

“I’m from Arenthia.” The admission startled Jensen, because he had honestly given up on getting a reply and was about to ask another question. The mage glanced up and there was something hard in the elf’s eyes. “I moved north to escape the attacks.” It was far from the whole story, but Jensen—despite what most people believed—knew when to pick his battles.

“Ah, yeah, I heard it was getting pretty bad down there. But with skills like that, man! You should be able to hold your own!” Jensen could have sworn the elf rolled his eyes but he wasn’t facing him anymore so he couldn’t be sure.   “So, what are you planning on doing with that? If you’re looking to sell it, my sister will take it off your hands, or Pooch might. Since y’know, he’d probably just buy it off Sophie anyway and he might give a better price. Yeah, I’d ask Pooch, good ol’ Linwood for ya, helping the little guys,” Jensen trailed off as he realized he was talking to himself. He tucked the claws into his pack and looked to see where the elf had gone. The pelt was lying out on the ground to dry, but the man that had cut it was disappearing through the trees.

Jensen stood there and watched him go with a frown. “Well, he was certainly an odd fellow,” he said to no one in particular. “Oh, hey, wait! You still have my dagger, I want that back!” he called and jogged after him.

Jensen broke twigs and smashed dried leaves under his booted feet as he ran, but the Bosmer slipped through the forest like a quiet breeze. He caught up to him easily and said on an exhale, “my knife,” but Alvarez didn’t feel the need to stop, or explain himself either, and Jensen followed to what could possibly be his death without much question.

It turned out it wasn’t his death they were seeking with the short walk, just a stream. Jensen stood by as Alvarez crouched by the cool water and rinsed the blade and his fingers of blood. His pulled his scarf from his neck, and wiped the blade before handing it back to the mage. He dried his hands on the faded fabric, what once had to have been a lovely maroon, as he stood.

Jensen wondered how the elf kept warm. He left his arms and stomach bare, with just an open vest to cover his torso. His pants looked thin, better suited for the fair climates of Valenwood as opposed to the approaching winter of Skyrim. His boots however were heavy duty and fairly new looking—hate to be the unlucky soul that he took those off of.

Alvarez began to wind the fabric back around his neck when a flash of white caught Jensen’s eye. He reached forward without thinking, about to grab at the thing when the elf took a startled step back, his own hand flying up to clutch at a cord that hung from his neck.  It had been hidden before but now the white of a tooth, that of a sabre cat no doubt, stood stark against the tanned skin of his chest and his hand slid down the leather cord to cover it. His glare was harsh and sharp in a way that prompted a quick “Sorry, sorry,” from the Breton—and Jensen was not going to think about the fact he was now distinguishing his glares by levels of bitter. “Can I see? Is there some epic story about this?” he asked quietly, and he felt like a child again when he would ask his mother to help him distinguish what was useful and what were weeds when he would help her harvest in the forest.

Alvarez made a noise, suspiciously close to a snarl, but a white tooth dropped out of his hand and he held the leather cord out from under his loosely wrapped scarf. “I killed a cat, it’s nothing.” But it wasn’t, it so clearly wasn’t, and Jensen loved a puzzle like the moth loves the flame. And this puzzle looked like it could kill him so maybe that was really the best metaphor in the entire world. His old professors should be proud, if they weren’t all cataract ridden bastards with complexes.

“Nothing my ass, how’d you do it? With a bow? ‘Cause that takes skill and would be extremely dangerous, but you don’t really look like the kind to go swinging some war hammer around—“

“I downed it with arrows,” Alvarez interrupted, and he turned towards the stream to finish winding the scarf around his neck like a shield. “I finished it with a knife and took its tooth. It was nothing.”

Lies, lies, lies. It was something, but the conversation was over and the elf was really no more than a stranger and ever though Jensen had his dagger back he felt like he was vastly outmatched so there was no need to push his luck more than he normally did, so he settled with giving the elf a small smile and a shrug while saying, “Come on, if you won’t sell the pelt I can at least buy you a round at the Inn, best ale this side of Whiterun, and let me offer you a place for the evening.”

Alvarez thought it over, and looked way to wary for what this situation warranted, but he gave a slight nod after a moment. “I think I’ll sell the pelt. If your sister can resell it, for a higher price to this Linwood, it would be useful all around, no?”

Jensen might have stood there with a blank stare for longer than was necessary. But seriously, who was that nice? And who actually listened all the way through his rants? When it looked like the elf was going to just walk away again he broke out in a grin and slapped the man’s shoulder. “Come on, cat killer, let’s go. I am buying you a drink, Sir.”

((Ugh, I really thought I was getting to the nickname and then it didn’t happen. Now they have get drunk to get there, why Clay why? It’s cool I blame Jensen too.))

[emmi-hayes]

((Because my friend pushed me to say yes to the internet, and to throw Jensen in front of a bear.))

He was in trouble. Then again, Jensen was always in trouble, so really he was in punishment. He accidently sets one tiny fire—a fire that he immediately put out, by the way—and now he’s stuck doing the grunt work. Which is how he managed to land himself here, hunting for thistle branches in the middle of the forest.

“Because the noble Aisha could never stoop to that level, to pick her own supplies? No, never, that would be too much,” he grumbled as he tossed another dry stalk into the basket Eirid had let him borrow. His fingers were stained and his back hurt from crouching all afternoon, but his basket was nearly full and he hoped to be home in time for dinner. Aisha might be a cold bitch, but she was a marvelous cook.

It would be even better if they could have fox. Jensen glanced over his shoulder, and sure enough there was that nosy fox lurking behind a cluster of trees. It had been following him for almost two hours and Jensen was ready to make it supper. He pulled a small wedge of cheese out of his pack and broke a little off before tossing it towards to fox. It landed near the middle distance and Jensen when back to pulling up thistle. He had wasted almost a third of his cheese on the damn thing.

The slight rustle of the underbrush made Jensen hold his breath. He counted slowly to five before twisting in his crouch and lunging towards the animal. He landed roughly on his stomach, skidding across the dirt and twigs as he reached and grabbed for the fox that had been feet away from him, and was now disappearing into the brush. This did not deter the Breton, as he scrambled up for the chase. He knew he wasn’t going to just nab the thing—it would just bite him—but it was worth a try. He liked the thought of saving the pelt for Sophie, but he knew he’d have to char it.

He chased the fox through the trees, his basket forgotten for now. He’d come back for it later. The fox had the obvious advantage, and as it ducked into the underbrush Jensen raised his hand to set it aflame. He rounded the tree into a small clearing, fire already warming his fingers but the fox wasn’t there.

“Oh, shit.” A brown bear was nosing around a berry bush. It turned when Jensen crashed through the trees, and rose to stand on two legs. “Shitshitshit,” Jensen chanted—and surprise, surprise that was not any real spell—as he scrambled back while calling fire to his hand once more. He shot flames at the bear, which as it turns out is a really great way to piss bears off, and the bear retaliated by taking all of its angry growling self and charging for the young mage. The flames died and he focused on drawing more, before he was eaten thanks, as he backed into a tree. Naturally. Fire pooled in his palm once more, but before he could release it the bear staggered, letting out a pained roar, and Jensen saw the fletching of an arrow protruding from its eye. The other eye was hit, even as the bear threw its head, before an arrow sank into its chest. The heart was hit; it had to be, because the bear fell from the third arrow.

“Oh, thank Sai!” Jensen gasped as an elf, all tanned skin and lanky limbs, stepped into the clearing. He was shouldering his bow as he took a cautious step towards the bear. “Just my luck, having you show up. I’d be careful there—wanna make sure he’s really down for the count. Have a name, wood elf?”

The elf shot him a hard look with his dark eyes as he crouched near the animal. “Do you have a knife?”

“Er, yeah? I mean—here.”  Jensen pulled out his knife and handed it over. The elf studied the blade with a scowl, it was stained a yellowish green just like Jensen’s fingers. “I’ve been harvesting—for magic stuff, y’know?” The elf looked unimpressed but took the little dagger and went about skinning the bear. “What’s your name? See, I’d really like to thank you but I can’t do that until I know how to address you. My mother raised me right, and I’ll thank a man for saving my life properly.”

The elf didn’t look up from his cutting, but he did manage to introduce himself. “Alvarez.”