#calivia

Heeere's Livia Post-Scott, my first Lancer PC! For real now, as a proper introduction ref sheet! She's a handful of newspaper and bird wordplay combined with math/compsci references (if you get them, I'm sorry). Background decorations are screenshots taken from her COMP/CON character sheet.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CUTIE HAVE THIS LIL DRABBLE

send me a ship for a song fic

calivia + seventeen by troye sivan

Olivia stumbles a little on her feet. She’s kind of woozy--woozy? Is that the right word? She thinks it is. It’s all a little hazy right now.

She can’t hear Caitlin anymore, and turns to see if she can find her only to find a masse of sweaty strangers. At this point in the night, she can’t even remember how she got dragged out here, but her fake I.D. is burning a hole in her pocket and the glass she got when she got here is long since emptied, as are the two that followed in its wake.

As she tries to push past the guy on her right, a wiry thing with a beard and a cross around his neck, her heel breaks underneath her. She can feel the fall coming before it actually happens; it feels a lot like when you fall in a dream. Like you can’t help it, but you’re painfully aware of it.

Just as she’s about to go down, a hand pulls gently on her wrist until she’s standing now on the side of the dance floor. The world is still spinning from her near fall, and she looks up to see-- “Caleb,” she blurts, blinking the spots out of her eyes. He looks pissed. Not more than she’s ever seen him, because he’s always kind of pissed, but definitely annoyed. “What are you doing here?” Just because she can’t help herself, she adds, “This doesn’t seem like your scene.”

His glare turns into an eye roll almost instantly, and Olivia kind of relishes it. “I came to come pick you up.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You following me now?” As she says it, she’s kind of impressed with herself that she can keep up with the banter seeing as how, well, fucked up she is. She also realizes, abruptly and dauntingly, that this feels dangerously comfortable. The club and the people and the alcohol have been banging on the walls she put up around herself for hours now, but Caleb, as always, walks right in.

“Caitlin told me where you were,” he says, frowning. His forehead lines peak out from beneath his hair. They always do when he frowns. Just as she’s about to quip back at him again, he adds, “And I was worried about you.”

Her stomach flips. “You were?”

He looks confused. Like he doesn’t understand why she’s asking. “Of course I was. I always am.” He shakes his head, and holds out his arm. “Caitlin’s already in the car. Come on.”

She allows him to put his arm around her waist and slings her own arm over his shoulder, supporting her as she slowly limps out of the club.

It's kinda sad how little polished illsutrations I made this year (in my heart, it's just Aug, Sep, and maybe Dec) because of how busy school + my internship was. I also had a huge commission (April) that took up a lot of my time. But oh well!

This also marks 10 years of art summaries! I guess I'll show them here under the cut (ugh) (cringe) (what teaching yourself art for a decade does to a mf) (characters in July belong to @/psygull-arts!)

@katastrofish's been chatting about reworking their Lancer pilot Calcifer back to his original concept, and also about him flirting with my streamer-pilot Livia. So here's the calico fuckboy!

I have never seen it, no, but I’m not actually sure why I’ve never written a political fic. I always intended to, but I think the difficulty was that I could never decide who was the more natural politician. The closest I came was Res Publica, which is obviously more about depravity than politics, though I have always intended to flesh it out. I just haven’t been in the mood for it, I think? Almost all of my fics do have a political element, like How to Win, though the more political they are the more they are very AU, like Commoner’s Guide or Nobility or even Lady Vengeance, in order to keep a certain stomacheable distance between reality and fantasy