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Hi! These are my characters, who I have made images of. In order:

1. Amity. Amity is very stubborn and angry. She has mommy issues, is very rash, and doesn’t really show love in the conventional sense. She’s very ambitious and street-smart, although illiterate.

2. Sr. Barbara. Sr. Barbara is a dedicated nun, a member of the order of St. Benedict, who joined voluntarily after a life-altering injury when she was 10. She’s very social, naïve and loves to make friends, as well as being very intelligent.

3. Sr. Cecilia. Sr. Cecilia did not join the order voluntarily, rather being sent to the convent by her parents. She is a sceptic of religion and questions the things she is told.

4. Merle. Merle is a veteran who is deeply protective of the people she loves, and feels responsible for the ills that happen to them.

5. Albert. Albert is a registered nurse and Amity’s older brother. He takes great pride in caring for his patients and loves to knit. He is very sweet, unlike his sister, but still occaisionally explodes with anger.

6. Henry. Henry is very quiet, although very much likes seeing his friends. He does get lonely a lot, but Albert, his best friend, abates that somewhat.

7. Kyle, for whom this blog is named! Kyle is Henry’s older brother, and he is a politician and minor villain. He doesn’t know what he’s doing is evil, and he continues to act thinking that he is doing good.

8. Nadia. Nadia is a bow-hunting enthusiast and devout muslim, who lives in a remote location. She is very fun and loves having little parties in her cabin with friends, although she doesn’t have many because of her aforementioned remote location.

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Day 1 vs. Day 1448

[kyleshawaiiansuit]

My Novel Ch.1, Part 2

Please refer to the warnings in Part 1 :)

She took me by the elbow. I hated to be touched any more than is necessary, so I took a half-step to the side to shake her off and she seemed to understand. Her gait was smooth and graceful, her skirt making little rustling noises as she led me to the office.

“She’s busy a lot, but she left her schedule open today for the interviews. And you’re even the first person to come! Fancy that, eh?” The office was behind a dark wood door at the end of a hallway without any windows just off the hallway surrounding the quadrangle. The building was even larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside, and it looked big on the outside. Sister Barbara knocked on the door and waited patiently for an answer. None came, so she let go of my arm and peeked her head through a crack in the door.

“Reverend Mother?”

The head nun said something indistinct, and Sister Barbara beckoned me to come in and opened the door. Sister Barbara showed me to a seat on one of the two wooden chairs on the guest side of the Reverend Mother’s desk. She had two large windows behind her that were covered with heavy black curtains and had candles lit on the walls. Her desk was piled with papers of various ages: some new, some yellowed and aging. A pair of white archival gloves were resting on top of an inbox/ outbox paper shelf that was overflowing with piles and piles of more and more paperwork. She had at least three large books open on the desk- almost falling off the table on the edge was a nameplate reading ‘Rev. M. Scholastica.” Behind the papers, the person sitting at the desk was wearing small, brass, wire rimmed glasses. Her dark eyes were cast down over her desk, and she was typing something on a typewriter that was well-concealed behind the various papers. She had purple shadows beneath her eyes, and had a thin face with defined cheekbones. She had light brown skin and short corkscrew coils swept out of her face in a ponytail. She seemed laser-focused on whatever she was doing. She did not look up when Sister Barbara and Amity walked into the room. Sister Barbara addressed her again.

“Mother Scholastica?”

She looked up, sighed, and pushed her hand over her forehead.

“Sister, what is it that you want?” Her voice was snippy.

“Sorry, Reverend Mother, but this is the interviewee for the firewood position. This is Amity.”

Mother Scholastica looked down again.

“Good. Hand me her paperwork. She’s hired. She’s the first one to show up and she won’t bother me like that other kid did.” I was amazed that she gave me the job without even looking at my credentials. She was either desperate or apathetic.

“What room shall I put her in?” Sister Barbara complied, putting my identification on top of the inbox/ outbox.

“Whichever one’s available. It doesn’t matter. She won’t need a uniform, she can wear her own clothes. She’ll have pay every month on the tenth.”

There was silence for a second.

“Goodbye, Sister.”

Sister Barbara led me quickly out of the office, closing the door tightly behind her.

[kyleshawaiiansuit]

My Novel, Ch. 1

This chapter is not particularly exhilirating, but I think it's alright for a first draft. I don't think there's anything within that needs a content warning, apart from perhaps mild body issues/ considering oneself as ugly, as well as descriptions and the appearance of nuns and religion, but if there is further content that I missed feel free to let me know and I will warn as such! For some reason tumblr is cutting me off? So this will be posted in two parts. The cut is included so as not to overwhelm your dashboard :)

God gave me no gifts, other than an ambitious mind and a sturdy body. Today, I intended to capitalize fully on both of those strengths. I’d heard through the grapevine that the local convent was offering a job for a hardworking woman to haul firewood- apparently none of the nuns were robust enough to do it themselves and the person who had done it for them before had died, or something. It would be a major advancement to just toiling away in construction for the nearby military fort. I shared a shitty, cramped wooden cabin with five roommates not far off from the construction site at which I worked, and every single one of them was repulsive to live with. I was fidgeting with my fingers as I looked myself in the mirror. Not too shabby, although I had a bit of a split lip from a fight I’d been in the other week. I was anxious for the interview: I had already packed away my things from the house and effectively moved out. If I didn’t get the job, I’d be hurled to homelessness, but that wasn’t new. I put on my best clothes; an orange wool skirt, my best white blouse that I’d spent the time to iron, and a sky blue cardigan. I wore my red hair in a bun at the back of my head to keep it out of the way, and made every attempt to hide the fact that I have a missing tooth and that I’m altogether not that attractive in the face. I wanted this job, and I was going to do everything within my power to get it. I left after lunch, with the rest of my belongings fit in my large and well-worn beige backpack. I’d gotten it at the military surplus store, more accurately the military thrift store: it had a name emblazoned on it and looked altogether on its last legs. The convent building was intimidating- built in grey stone rather than cinderblocks, with a large clock tower and a quadrangle in the center and multiple floors. It was almost too tall to perceive, and the intricacy of it certainly indicated that it was not new construction. The doorbell was a knob that pulled a bell-cord. I had to look down to see who answered the door. She was tiny. Almost comically tiny. She couldn’t have been more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, and estimating her height as five feet is generous. She had a kind little smile on her face and was wearing the veil of a fully professed nun. She had a fancy knitted dishcloth and a clunky and homemade-looking wooden rosary hanging off of a leather nun’s cincture. She has dark brown skin, with a smattering of acne on her forehead, a delicate, wide, short nose, and soft brown eyes. Her hair was firmly tucked under her veil. Altogether, she’s kindly and cute in appearance. “Are you here for the interview?” “Yes.” I cleared my throat. “I’m Amity-May Yowell. I go by Amity.” She shook my hand. I shifted around, adjusting my sweater- even though it was the beginning of March I was sweating from nerves to the point of discomfort. “Well, I’m Sister Barbara. Some people call me Barbie, but I don’t really like it. But it’s growing on me, you know?” She spoke with a clear, soft, but punchy and enthusiastic voice. She seemed a little uncomfortable and didn’t make much eye contact, but it was immediately obvious that this girl had a zest and energy for life that I had never achieved in my eighteen-year life. Sister Barbara seemed to be inspecting me; looking me over. People gawk at me a lot, probably because I have a prominent broken nose. It came courtesy of the absurdly vindictive Bo Sawyer in a fight I won. I still hate him and his stupid smug face for that. I have loads of freckles and rosacea, so that kind of obfuscates it a little bit, but obviously it doesn’t cover it up entirely. However, her eyes seemed to be focused on the little curved scar on my right temple, where somebody’s knuckle cut me open and gave me a concussion. It was probably immediately obvious to her that I punched the shit out of people (and certainly got the favor returned to me) in my spare time. There was awkward silence for another moment.

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[kyleshawaiiansuit]

friendly reminder that you didn’t waste your year. any moments of happiness or comfort, any small accomplishments, they all matter. this has been a really hard year, and simply surviving is something to be proud of. 

[kyleshawaiiansuit]

reblog this to have a Happy Wildcat New Year™

[kyleshawaiiansuit]

Today in writing hell, the question is, “How the fuck am I meant to describe someone with a medium sized nose with a bump in it???????”

[kyleshawaiiansuit]

This is the reason why it is my favorite movie musical, ever, in the world

I finally watched The Sound of Music and like I get it now, I get it. 

It’s a beautiful two hour love story of a strict man finally opening his heart again and then a fifty minute public service announcement to hate the nazis. Brilliant.

[kyleshawaiiansuit]

I have decided to add a new minor character to my novel named Paul Jacobs. He’s a celebrity on billboards everywhere and people like him- the government uses him for propaganda- but he’s an ass and is based off Jake Paul hence his name

[kyleshawaiiansuit]

absolutely incredible how tumblr is arguably one of the most tolerable social media sites right now

[kyleshawaiiansuit]

This is one of my favorite short stories I’ve ever done!

I can’t think of any overarching relevant content warnings, but plagues, wars, famine and death are mentioned and described in vague detail.

So, without further ado:

A Business Meeting

Evening of 12/31/2019

The three of them sit around a table.

“God, must we have this meeting today? This is boring! It’s flu season! I’m busy!”

“Damn, plague. You’re lucky, bro. We barely get any action these days. Not nearly as many famines as there used to be, eh?”

“I mean, I guess there’s plenty of wars. But they don’t have that melee fighting like they used to. Now people push a button and Death is busy for three weeks.”

Death appeared then, her shadow crawling across the wall. She plopped down into the fourth chair at the table. She was dressed in a white burial shroud with a crown of dead flowers on her head. Death had big, dark circles under her eyes and was imbibing in a Monster energy.

“You guys really gotta lay off.”

“Why?” asked Plague, his dark gown making an rustle.

Death pinched the bridge of her nose.

“The longer we let people live, the more people they make. That makes more net deaths in the long run. Maybe you guys could chill for a little while? Give the humans a break?”

“No way!” said Famine. “You ever heard of climate change? Plague and I are gonna get sooooo much action! It’s gonna be epic!”

“No. No. You are not getting it.”

“The three of you are laid off. Just for now. Maybe… one or two human years. The more you guys stick around, the less humans there are for me to take. And I can’t even do it by deathbeds like I want to.”

War stood up, as if preparing for a fight.

“We’re what?”

“Relax,” said Death. “Take a vacation. You guys can’t love your jobs that much.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” said Plague. “We love our jobs. Sorry we can’t say the same for you.”

“Come on, guys. It’s been fifty thousand years of human civilization and non-stop strife. Give them a break for a few years. Please.”

“You know what,” said Plague, cracking his knuckles. “That’s a great idea, Death. Why don’t you take a break if you hate your job so much? Let us control the dying for…. A year, or so. Maybe a little more. Get some sleep.”

Death wearily looked up at the three men in front of her.

“Can I trust you guys?”

“Of course you can trust us!” said War. “As everyone knows, combat is very honorable!”

“Ok. C’mere, guys. Put your hands on my shoulders.”

Famine put a withered hand on her shoulder, War went second with his giant, muscly one, and Plague went last, a cold, clammy hand joining the others.

Death hugged herself, her body warming up with with golden light. It invigorated the other three with a jolt of energy, although Plague wasn’t sure it was from her powers or the Monster energy she’d been drinking.

“Be careful.”

“We will!” said Plague, leading the others out of the room to a long stairwell. The sign on the wall pointed down the stairs and read EARTH THIS WAY!

Plague smiled.

“Let’s go wild.”

War started running down the stairs first. Plague went second, then checked his watch.

“Happy New Year, boys.”

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