#muse / kaldar.

[spakonamoved]

kaldar eating a whole head of lettuce like an apple because eating vegetables is good for you

[spakonarchive]

@cryochronism sent: plots please for whisper and/or any capricorn muses u have lmao

CYBERPUNK. i love the idea of hancock as a fixer and v or panam as getting work from him. panam especially, something before the events of cbp 2077 when her rapport with saul is even more razor thin and the aldecaldos are desperate for some money and stability before making their way to night city.

v and viktor, where they bond over something that isn’t imminent death. they have a common ground in boxing and fighting. v’s super curious about his history, learning some techniques. who was he before a ripper?

quinn in cyberpunk would be so fun, too -- and since you asked for capricorns have my stupid angsty boy kaldar. him looking to quinn for the sake of finding someone he’s lost, too and hoping her reach in the minutemen will offer some kind of results. he’d be like the son she absolutely never ever wanted between his short temper, his love of romance novels, and his absolutely horrible lack of conversational skills.

FALLOUT. you mentioned whisper, too. theoretically something to do with her not being entirely reclusive is tricky, but some time with cvrie would just... be fucking hilarious to me. cvrie wanting to learn more about raider life from someone who lived in it, and whisper telling her stories so unabashedly it makes her cry.

or piper, needing an in because of some kind of lead into a raider camp being controlled by a synth. who better to ask than someone who knows the language and smells like them?

or if we are in the mood for some quinn and whisper bonding, that motorcycle they get up and running? time to take it for a spin. if the moth man exists, then maybe the jersey devil does, too, and that isn’t half as far. i also just like them hanging out, they have a good thing going.

and finally dima if you’d like him! cvrie talking to him about what it is to become something between man and machine, spending time at acadia where he is more than happy to have her help and curious spirit.

[womanlives]

SHE’S SEEN DEAD BODIES BEFORE. They’re nothing special. They weren’t when they were alive; they’re less so now that they’re dead. It’s part of life on this side of Hafnabor’s streets: the shady side, the side where money doesn’t normally touch. Right now, right here, it’s an alley behind Dock’s Row. And right now, right here, it’s — he’s — it’s dead and it’s fucking her up.

“Look at me.” 

Strange. She can’t take her eyes off the body. It’s no one important, just some drunken dock worker who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time with a temper to match. Is this what they call shock? Maybe. But she feels oddly calm, even though at the same time she feels like her insides are turned all the way out. Something warm seeps through the soles of her rotting sandals. She recognizes the smell. Iron and sick. Corpses shit themselves when they die. 

“Look at me.” 

Realization dawns. Maybe it’s not the body itself, but how it got there. Everything did just happen so fast — hunkering down in the secret base all day, waiting until the crack of night to sneak out, stumbling into the drunk in the mouth of this alley. Funny, she can’t remember who threw the first blow, even though it was less than a minute ago. All she can remember is the man turning, the stench of stale beer hitting her face, and something grabbing her roughly by the wrist. 

“Look at me.”

Third time’s the charm, especially when it’s accompanied by gentle, bony fingers running along the underside of her chin. The girl snaps her gaze away from the body on the ground and looks up into eyes bluer than she could ever begin to describe, and twice as blue as anyone could ever begin to describe to her. She exhales in a rush. Kaldar brings his hands to cup her cheeks. They’re empty now — where’d the shiv go? — but still wet with the aftermath. He stains her cheekbones red. 

She doesn’t care. She will later that night, when it’s almost morning and the sun threatens to crest on the coast. That’s when it’ll hit her. That’s when she’ll realize this is the first time she’s seen him kill. But right now she doesn’t care. Not about that. About other things, maybe, but not about that. 

Kaldar opens his mouth, but she beats him to it. She mirrors his pose, lifts pale fingers to his face, runs her thumbs over his cheeks. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.” Her eyes search everywhere, looking for chinks in his armor where his emotions might spill through. They should’ve never left their little haven. Everything always goes to shit up here. 

His expression twists. She doesn’t know why. He inhales, tries again.

She cuts him off. “Did he get you? Where does it hurt?” The girl looks away for a split second — that’s all she’ll give herself — and runs her hands over his shoulders and arms and torso, worriedly, hurriedly. Doesn’t see any blood, doesn’t find any gashes. Looks back up into his eyes. Her expression is pleading. “What can I do? Kaldar?” 

Pause. 

“I’m okay.” She nods frantically. Her hair bounces. “I promise. You don’t have to worry about me.”

No response.

Now it’s her turn to repeat herself, in a voice that’s high and reedy and young and weary and cracks halfway through. 

“Please just tell me you’re okay, too.” 

@hvadeina sent : [ direct ] your muse taking mine by the chin and telling them to look yours in the eye . / kaldar

[spakonamoved]

things i think abt regarding my muses that make me go :3

- kaldar is very good a pull ups and will always jump to hit a doorframe when he’s in an okay mood. - ma’am always has candies with her in her pocket and it’s the one luxury she affords herself - imogen always sews a little pocket on her clothing so ernie her magical familiar has a place he can cuddle in and rest. - brigid tenenbaum exists and i love her but for a not cop out she is a hard working scientist who forgets to take care of herself at the expense of persuing knowledge and before rapture’s decline she had a whole bunch of sea slugs and keeps a vial of adam in her pocket because she likes the glow - zoey hoards sharpies so she can draw on her guns and it’s usually shit from horror movies like g.hostface’s mask or m.ichael m.eyer’s knife. it fades off a lot because of use so she always has a marker ready for the next moment of peace to draw again. - shepard throws pots post war as a hobby and when she’s not doing spectre things she is actively working in support of children orphaned and displaced by the war. she is absolutely a foster mom.

[spakonamoved]

circilly winds up her arm to give kaldar's ass an open-handed SMACK

It's a sound that reverberates down the alley that they walk through. Kaldar doesn't drink -- never has, never will. He wants to be alert in case of danger. Unfortunately he doesn't realize the true danger is beside him.

The slap stings, the motion and impact enough to make him gasp. Kaldar lets out a yelp and he jumps forward as Circilly's hand flies back. Ever stoic, the knot in his brow, seemingly permanent, is gone entirely. He looks young without the shadow on his face and anger steeped in his expression.

Kaldar looks at Circilly with an look betrayed, akin to kicked puppy out in the rain.

[spakonamoved]

reminder that u should objectify him

[spakonarchive]

14 & 16!

MULTIMUSE ASK GAME          /          accepting.

which of your muses is the most friendly to strangers? which is the least friendly?

least: kaldar, agni, maeve, shepard, rogue, helma

most: courier six, parvati, tali’zorah, nana komatsu

who’s your default muse for new interactions?

it depends on the fandom! if i have a muse that is like SUPER active (six, ciri, shepard in the past) i will try and default to them, but it really just depends on what my partner’s fandoms are. i don’t wanna give someone a character they don’t know or don’t want, so the default muse i choose varies to who is requested or they are chosen by fandom.

[spakonarchive]

talk about kaldar? 👀

OOC. HOOOOOOOOOO bless u eli my soul for u

- kaldar was born to a woman in a brothel. his father is a nobleman, though he hasn’t any clue and tbh if he found out he’d just wanna beat his dad up so like!!! probably better that he doesn’t know.

- in his r.ed d.ead verse, he is the bastard child of a railroad tycoon, though once again he has absolutely no idea at all and also still would wanna beat him the fuck up.

- kaldar is someone who believes deeply in the power of identity, but he is also someone who, after a certain point of being unable to break the cycle, finds himself going under a new alias, asp.

- he is literally just like so hot headed and cares so deeply about shit that like??? he lives with a death wish and also doesn’t mind being the one to gets his hands dirty so long as it keeps the people who he cares about conscious clean and clear

- super super well read. when the bandits he is stuck with steal shit they usually leave the books behind, so he takes those and hides them. he finds them a nice escape and help him maintain a thin belief in humanity. love and happy endings are nice. he might not deserve one, but he’s nice.

MUSES HE COULD GET ALONG/HAVE FUN DYNAMICS WITH: saskia, letho, bogdan, ecaterina.

saskia: a stupid boy hiding in the forest avoiding people because he’s scared his bandit leader would take him back like :’) and then helping saskia out not realizing she’s a whole ass dragon? yeppers

letho: hear me out. tasty tasty narrative juice being a viper witcher and kaldar having the moniker asp in some verses? thank u BUT, consider au where letho does the law of surprise and lmao he gets stupid ass kaldar :’)

bogdan/ecaterina: idk i’m just vibing hard in cowboy town and while kaldar kind of exists in a liminal space in that verse i’m sure we could iron something out with him!!

multimuse ask meme          /          accepting. @sunbentsky

[spakonarchive]

beenpole asked: Do you prefer writing male muses or female more? Why?

I think I am more used to writing fem muses because I am a femme nonbinary and grew up with mostly that understanding, but usually when I make an OC or whatever I don’t think about gender or appearance or anything like that until I feel comfortable enough that they are fleshed out enough to be written. Generally I just love women more so... like I’d rather write a femme / woman muse?

I used to be forced to larp as men primarily and only recently have felt comfortable writing them again. To be honest though, I don’t really care what gender a character is, what I care about is if their story resonates with me and I can see their motivations clearly and understand their thought process. A lot of my muses have like... inherent objective looks at society and how it molds them, like Six, Kaldar, Nate, and Shepard, but that sort of thing happens different than me having a concept for a character. Usually it’s one of those things that a canon exists and I’m filling in personality for the MC.

be honest meme     /      accepting.

[womanlives]

A GIRL STANDS IN A BURNED SHELL OF A BUILDING. It’s ruined beyond recognition, but that doesn’t matter. She’d know it anywhere. She died here, once. In this very temple. In this very spot, in fact. She looks down. That’s when she notices the blood. She’s not sure where it’s coming from. Then she notices the pain. It starts on her back in sharp, ripped lashes — then ricochets up between her shoulder blades, snaps ‘round her neck, dives straight down her lungs and ribs to her knees, and breaks them straight through. There’s no injuries, though. Not that she can see anyway. Her mothers used to call them phantom pains, which she’d always laughed at. There’s nothing phantom about them. It’s just that they’re buried on the inside, now, instead of the out.

And this whole place? This ruined temple to a silent god? This whole crime-filled city with its warlords and its politicians and its gangpins? It’s nothing but phantom pains. 

Something burns warm and gentle in her left palm. She brings her hand up. Opens it. Stares down at the match that flickers weakly against the grime of her fingers. Right — that’s what this room is missing. She remembers now. A baptism by fire. She can burn this whole city down to the fucking ground.

The girl lifts the match.

And hears a boy call a name. 

That’s when she knows this is a dream. She’s had it before — loads of times. She remembers now. She always thinks of the things she’d rather she just forget. It varies (sometimes the fire’s already started, sometimes she’s already let the match go, sometimes her legs are broken again and all she can do is watch it fall in slow motion as the world screams around her), sure, but this is the first time it’s ever had him. 

She hates it. The idea of him in this city, in this hell? Seeing what it made her? She hates it.

“Go away, Kaldar.” She doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s him. Her blood hums, reminds her that he’s in it, in it deep. Has been since the day they met, will be ‘til the day she dies again. 

The boy calls a name again. Her bones sing in response. That’s me! they say. That’s me!

But it isn’t. Not really. Not anymore.

“I go by a different name now.” The girl’s tone is flat. Between the humming in her blood and the singing in her bones, she has nothing left for her voice. She keeps her eyes on the match.

“Hundreds of thousands will die,” he says. 

“I don’t care.” Sharp, angry.

“Yes you do.” Just as sharp, just as angry. It cuts her to the core. 

She glares at the match. It eats her anger, and swells. It will become an inferno.

The boy behind her waits. “What do you go by now?” 

She hesitates.

“What do you go by now?” 

 “Mercy.” 

She doesn’t need to be facing him to know he’s staring at her, with those eyes that are bluer than the sky and the ocean and everything combined. Finally, he clears his throat. “Are you?” 

Mercy closes her eyes, bites her lower lip. Her hands loosen around the match. 

“I don’t know.” 

She drops it.

The last thing she remembers before Dunny shakes her violently awake is this: the regret, the dive, the catch, the match, the save, the smoke, the shame. And him. Turning to face him. Being too late. Only managing to get out the first of the three words she wanted so desperately to say.

“ — miss you.” It’s hoarse and ragged and altogether too late, whispered into the rags of Dunny’s robe as he rocks her back and forth from her nightmare. “I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.” 

@hvadeina sent : [ dream ] for my muse to share dream with yours / kaldar and mercie

[spakonarchive]

@womanlives​ sent: Send 🍺 for my muses drunk reaction around yours. for mercy and kaldar >:^)

Every song that sailors sing are about easy women and one left behind every port they pass, but none of them ever speak about staying true. He found that weird on the nights he lurked in taverns to cut off coin purses or steal a bite from the kitchen. Kaldar asks about it once when he finally gets the opportunity, grown and old and tired even though he’s barely hit twenty.

“How come there are no songs like that?” He asks, and he sinks in his seat as the sailors around him howl with laughter. A stupid question, he supposes -- just as well it comes from a stupid boy. He throws the question from his mind and forgets about it for as long as he’s able. It doesn’t come back until he sees her again.

The Patron has a wide selection of drinks in his estate. For collection purposes or because perhaps one day they’re meant to host a party, he isn’t rightly sure. What he does know is that it’s meant for them all to enjoy. A night for forgetting, unwinding, coping -- of seeing how much they can put away without it coming back up. He’s never drank this much. He’s only doing it because he wants to impress her, beautiful and worldly as she is.

He can’t stop staring at her. He’s too drunk to find embarrassment in it, admiring her lips and the slope of her nose. He’s grinning and he doesn’t even realize it. When she looks back at him he answers the question in her eyes with a raise of his glass, and he’s toasting to her. Compelled by the spirit of Theoda or his own fancy. A stupid boy, but a stupid boy in love.

“But you’re everywhere, yes you are,” He sings, and it’s not bad, warm and low, “In every melody and in every little scar...”