Recent Statuses

2 mos ago
Current I complained to the dining staff that there was a hare in my coney dish, then the chef kicked me out of his restaurant.
2 mos ago
I'm not so good at letting people in or letting things out, but allow me, if you will, a moment of delusion that this be an empty void for me to bleed my stress w/o recourse: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--
4 mos ago
the shadows are always lurking. i can hear them, ass cheeks gently clapping, clapping at my chamber door. tis nothing, but cheeks dummy thicc and nothing more.
4 mos ago
Diminished cognitive ability may be a symptom of COVID-19. If you or a family member are suffering from unchecked stupidity, you may be eligible for financial compensation! Call the 9s
5 mos ago
whomst?? WHOMST????


Maybe the real plot was the friends we made along the way. [Last Updated: April 23, 2020]

I'm 24 years old and my major is in English! SGA senator rep, honors program graduate, and secretary for Social Inquiry/Social Action (SISA).

Obviously I enjoy reading and writing if I made an account on this website, and I like to think I'm not half bad at it. I first started writing and roleplaying at the start of 2010 and I've stuck with it ever since. I've had a couple of dry spells along the way, but I always seem to come back to it. I enjoy most genres, but if I had to pick a couple of favorites, they would be sci-fi and high fantasy, with the latter being preferred. Some of my favorite and best characters have come from Elder Scrolls roleplays! What can I say? It appeals to the D&D nerd in me.

Ask any of my friends and they'll tell you that the history sections of nearly all of my characters are obnoxiously long. Absurdly long. Probably too long. I probably definitely have a problem, and it's because I get so carried away with telling their story. I want my readers to know how their story influences them as a person and I love creating tragedy and watching a character overcome those tragedies and finding themselves, watching their identities shatter and coming back together. I've always been a fan of characters overcoming their weaknesses and obstacles and I try to make that show in many of my characters. You could say that I even try to write my characters in such a way so that they can inspire me, as pretentious as that might sound.

I also try to research whatever it is I'm writing about so that I'm not just pulling shit out of my ass - unless that's what my character is doing, in which case I try to make sure that's made clear in my writing. Just because I'm a melodramatic piece of shit doesn't mean I don't try to write a compelling story. I typically enjoy writing characters with a grey morality because evil is cringey and benevolence is exhausting, so anything in between I think is the sweet spot. That being said, I still like to write characters who are outgoing and friendly. Even in the characters with a "positive morality", I try my best to incorporate flaws so that they still feel human. I've written an artist who loves being alive, is a compulsive flirt, and tries to see the beauty in all things. He is also a coward, a fool, and sometimes he's accidentally a thoughtless heart-breaker. I've also written a high-school valedictorian, who was a humble and intelligent young woman who wants to do right by the world and help others as they've helped her. This came after her depression post dropping out of Yale due to a bad drug problem. She's been clean for a while now, but her past haunts her. I've written a priestess who has suffered through an immense trauma and while she is typically a soft-spoken and compassionate individual, her trauma manifests itself through her buried frustration and bitterness, which stems from her crisis of faith.

So there you have it. Hope we can write together some time!

Prime Rib Boneheads
@Luminous Beings
@Ghost Note

These Tickle My Funny Bone
You can find me in:

Hollow Moon 2240 by @SepticGentleman
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Wayrest by @Gcold
The Elder Scrolls: Days of Night by @Stormflyx

Most Recent Posts

Shy would probably go the route of option 1, since I'm assuming that is the group that will probably be retrieving the hostage and Shy can help the group reach them.
When Shy first laid her eyes on the ship, the Caelestis, she might’ve drooled a little bit. Ship maintenance wasn’t necessarily her specialty, but she could work with the best of them, and she knew salarian engineering when she saw it: she was pragmatic, sleek, frugal and optimized. Clean of wanton sentimentality but not without careful and detail-oriented craftsmanship and advanced specifications. She wondered if she had read the posting correctly, that the captain of this ship was indeed an asari, but the captain was one such creature indeed. There was a hint of disappointment that there was no salarian on board, though her face did not show it, and she eventually found her quarters post the clipped and fleeting introductions. Asari, as captivating as they are, she understood -- as bounded as her ability to understand was -- to be perennial fixtures of their communities and less likely given to flights of fancy. Shy’s own established susceptibility toward transience all but guaranteed this voyage and her membership within to be nothing short of ephemeral.

What few personal belongings she possessed such as clothes and the like were placed onto a bed, but the rest of her belongings she hauled off to the cargo bay where she suspected most of her work would be done at her leisure. She didn’t expect to last long of course, and in this respect, just gave the cargo bay and the engine room cursory glances; pulley systems to lift heavy loads, how well ventilated the room was, where the power boxes could be found, the drive core, the workbench -- she didn’t expect to do much here, maybe a couple of tasks until Naryxa decided they didn’t like her for one reason or another. That being said, she hadn’t worked for an asari before, but that didn’t mean her hopes were up. If Citadel politics were anything to go by, they were apparently stricter than humans. Not exactly the type of people she’d want to get a face full of eezo exhaust for.

Her omni-tool beeped, notifying her of Naryxa's summons -- shit, were they telepathic too? No, it was apparently a crew-wide meeting. Unless they were telepathic and wanted to chew her out in front of everybody, but that probably wasn’t likely. Probably. Regardless, Shy sighed, picked up her bag of tools and decided to head back at her leisure so that she could properly lay her eyes on the interior of the ship to take it all in. If it meant getting to fiddle around with salarian tech, then on second thought, she might actually be a little eager to be working on the Caelestis.

What she was expecting to be a little group bonding exercise that everyone hated turned out to be a little different. When she was expecting to find a bunch of chairs in a circle where they would sit and talk about their favorite colors, she found instead Naryxa facing the crew -- one of which she found was an actual vorcha that made her spine crawl -- with a guest; a woman, a hungry looking thing whose smoldering eyes sung greater sorrows than she could dare express, cast a spell on the room that weighed the air upon everyone’s shoulders but was lost on Shy. She looked around with curious glances, apparently oblivious to the threatening and looming specter which imposed itself upon the crew.

Naryxa warned them of a skirmish and civilians getting caught in the crossfire, and Shy’s recollection of her last crew’s shootout with the Blue Suns came with crystal-clear clarity. If she wasn’t there, good at fighting or not, then they likely would’ve been killed right there and then. She made an entire career of automating dangerous tasks, and received accolades for her designs. Though she didn’t necessarily want to make enemies on the station, one of the only places where she could safely hide, she also wanted to work on this ship. There weren’t many opportunities for new jobs coming through these days, and Naryxa’s profile was one of the first new faces she’s seen in a while. Shy wasn’t sure if she could afford to lose it. Besides, the way she spoke was so--

“Sure,” Shy blurted out unexpectedly. Her affect was flat and tone slightly acquiescent. Her eyes traveled the room a bit, expecting their own upon her. Being a young woman, dressed in her casual clothing and being of slight build, she did not look the part of the soldier. “I’ve worked on Omega’s systems and power grid a lot,” she explained, “electrical, security, defense, comm networks… I can get you in without a problem. I can deploy two defense and combat drones to cover our backs, too. If you’re just going in to get someone out, it should be a cakewalk. So, yeah. Sure.”

The young engineer played with the corner of her shirt absentmindedly, expecting some kind of judgement from the others as she usually did. There was no doubt in her mind or lapse in confidence that this was something she could do. Whether or not she actually wanted to was a separate matter, but her options were kind of tight at the moment. If nothing else, it might help to cement her place on the ship, and if she's lucky, it might justify a bit of future procrastination and delegation of her duties. So, she just gave the others her best forced, awkward, and pursed smile she could muster as she awaited the verdict for their plan of action.
The current time is: one_week_ago_

Fireworks of sparks erupted through the still air of the Pretoria, a hot blue welding torch sending them scattering and dancing against the cold aluminum floor of the engine room, it’s screaming heat making the metal whine in terrible and macabre harmony with the screaming of men from behind. The figure hiding behind their mask stopped their work for a moment as if to appreciate their handiwork before resuming. The screaming continued. In the med-bay there were three people, two men and a woman, trying to hold down a fourth man writhing and squirming and agonizing on a sterile bed. The racket was cacophonous as the flailing pushed over racks and tables, tools falling over, and the cries of the injured begged for the pain to stop.

“God, oh God! Please! Get it off of me!”

That voice belonged to Adam. He was one of the people acting as muscle on board the ship. Relatively new, but had been around longer than the engineer. The man’s arm was covered in residue from an incendiary round shot at him in an earlier firefight. A corrosive and self-igniting gel adhered to his skin and continued to dissolve and burn his flesh. They finally got him strapped onto the bench and the ship’s medic immediately got to work on him. One of the men, the captain of the ship, was still out of breath and panting as he stomped out to meet the engineer working on one of the control panels. He was beet red in the face and furious.

“Shy!” He shouted from around the corner before zeroing in on her. He was a large man, fit and athletic. He used to be a soldier, and it was obvious by how he kept a tight ship.“Shy, what the hell was that? What are you fucking thinking?”

The engineer behind their welding mask didn’t respond, but continued their work with the torch in large insulated gloves that went up to her elbows. The Hawaiian styled print on their button-up shirt a stark contrast from their industrial appearance. The lights flickered as the ship began taking off the ground.

“We had it! The deal went through and we could have walked away with what we needed without any problems! What the actual hell were you thinking?”

Still, the only answer he got from the engineer was them turning off the torch and prying open a panel from the wall before they buried their hands into the wiring on the other side. They grabbed their tools and began going to work.

“Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re a Goddamn selective mute.” He sneered, before his voice eventually resumed his full-throated shouting. “Well I hope you’re happy about this, starting the bloody fucking firefight that might cost one of our own his entire fucking arm! The least you could do then is learn how to pick up a gun yourself!”

The screams from the other room punctuated the captain’s shouting rant, but as the engineer silently resumed their work, his fingers were twitching for his sidearm. “God damn it Shy!” He screamed. “Give me a fucking answer before I jettison your weird, retarded ass into fucking space!”

Shy’s fingers moved deftly even in her gloves, and almost as soon as the captain shouted his threat at her, a distant voice called out from the cockpit, “Bishop, something’s wrong. We’re losing power to all systems!” Just as soon, the lights on board the ship blacked out, and the g-forces on board suddenly shifted upward. Shy hurriedly shoved the wires back into its compartment and leaped for the knife switch, using her weight to pull it down before she could fall away from it. A burst of sparks exploded from where she was working in a brilliant arc flash, and power was suddenly restored to the ship as the lights came back on and the ship’s automatic stabilizers kicked in. In the brief period of weightlessness that came with falling at terminal velocity, the much larger captain, Bishop, fell on top of Shy. The two were both groaning, Shy moreso as he rolled off of her.

“What the actual hell just happened?” He asked, wide-eyed and on edge, though he wasn’t expected an answer. This time he got one.

“They sabotaged the ship.” Shy grunted as she pushed herself onto her knees. Sitting down, she pushed the welding mask up. Soot marking the ordinarily fair tone of her face. Despite all that had happened and all that was said, her countenance appeared flat. “I could tell by the sound coming from the drive core. We should have enough power to sustain life-support and C4I services for now.”

The rage that was on her captain’s face softened, but his brows were furrowed and twitching. His eyes vibrating, not looking at any one thing in particular. Confused. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “How long have we…?”

“After we landed.” Shy answered. “Must have been after we left to meet with the Suns.”

“And the shootout?”

“Drones.” She said, lifting up her arm -- and wincing from a burning pain in her elbow -- to show off her omni-tool. “They’re tied to my omni-tool and set up to automatically respond to threats. One of them must have detected movement and an energy spike in one of their weapons while it was aimed at us, so it reacted before it could be discharged. They were also responsible for laying down the suppressive fire that let us all escape.”

“Shy, I…”

“It’s okay.” She said, her tone clipped. She looked toward her elbow where she felt a burning pain. It was from that arc flash earlier, she realized. She held her elbow in her gloved hand and turned back toward the captain. “You can just drop me off at our next stop.”

The current time is: present_

Shy always did have something of a black thumb -- she was an engineer, not a gardener -- but Bishop kept a tight ship with the same crew for a long time, about a year or two, and a week ago she was the one link in the chain that made it all fall apart after a month. Part of it was because it was such a bad job that resulted in permanent bodily damage, but a bigger part was that the rest of the crew apparently recognized that they would’ve been dead without her and she got chased off the ship anyways. Never mind her mechanical expertise or the security detail provided by her tech that they learned to appreciate, her and the captain never got along very well anyways. That was just the way things went with her, and now she was back on Omega. The dead end of the galaxy with no way out.

She sat at a table in a club, which was probably one of the safest places she could be, even if it wasn’t necessarily safe for her credit chit. Everything she owned she was either wearing or was collected in a big duffel bag on her lap. With her feet on the table and leaning back into her chair, she was staring at a screen projected from the omni-tool on her wrist, scrolling along looking for jobs. A lot of faces she recognized, some were people she worked with in the past and people who eventually got rid of her. Some faces she recognized as people who turned her down. Sometimes it was for being human. Sometimes it was for being young. Sometimes it was for being a woman. Usually it was for “being weird.” They never had to say it out loud. She could remotely access their datapads. Eventually she learned to just stop doing that.

Most of the job listings were fronts for gang activity and that wasn’t a gig that she was about to get involved with. Others were from Citadel trade stations, and she wasn’t on good terms with those people either. Eventually, though, she found a listing asking for volunteers to investigate a distress signal in the Asgard system by an asari captaining a ship called the Caelestis. She sighed and applied for the offering. It’s not like she had any other options aside from getting poorer and poorer with every minute she spent unemployed on Omega. She wondered, at least, if the captain being asari meant they’d make any more sense than the last dozen or so employers she’s had.

If there was even a drop of salarian blood in them, maybe it’d be enough.
Me trying to contain my excitement:

Shy Jung's Spotify Playlist
<Snipped quote by Spoopy Scary>

Sabinus be like

Also, he uses a bidet, because he's not a savage.

Or maybe turians poop tidy little cubes. Mysteries of the galaxy!

We all know that birds and bird people shit out fast-hardening greek yogurt.
Wow check out this height comparison chart of everyone's characters. Sorry Scrivener, had to use the average batarian height in place of Von.

Anyway, how do they all toast their bread? Drink their coffee? Cream cheese or butter their bagels? Set their toilet paper over or under? Inquiring minds want to know.
I will also be critiquing, but silently and in my head. But you will feel my eyes on you, this I swear.
Reynolds? We can only assume. Me, I'm just referring to vorcha regenerative abilities and how hilarious it would be if we had a vorcha with a wee lil baby hand attached to a stump because some dude shot it off like a week ago.

Can I make a special request?

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