how would the ROs react if someone asked if they and the MC were together and the MC responded with “no i’m not their type”?
S: Selby smiles at the question. The idea that someone saw you by their side and believed it could be possible made their heart flutter. They open their mouth, primed to offer up a quip or suggestion they hadn’t even yet formed the punchline for when you speak.
“No, there’s no way. I’m not their type,” you scoff, and Selby is floored.
It’s true that Selby was never one to play the field. Even during their rebellious phase, that part of their life was always the least adventurous. For work, they often had to turn on the charm and had become much more practised in the years since. The people they worked for were temperamental, prone to unpredictable moods. Selby had learned long ago all the wrong ways to be genuine and how to flip them. So, it surprises them that every one of their, what they believed to be, quite obvious come-ons had fallen completely and utterly flat.
“It’s a work in progress,” they say instead—openly, proudly. Then, they focus on you, smile wide and honest. “Care for dinner? My treat.”
Rain: The question makes Rain choke on their drink. They had been enjoying a nice cold strawberry milkshake through a straw when the server bent over, a twinkle in her eye. “You two together?” All the blood rushes to Rain’s head, cheeks burning in embarrassment.
Had they truly been so obvious? Rain glances at you nervously, concerned you might have already figured out their intentions. They didn’t want the first time you heard it to be from any mouth but theirs. When life was a little more forgiving—when the ghosts of their past stopped haunting them. But you don’t even blink. “Oh, no. I’m not their type.”
Rain wants to laugh. It’s only their mortification that stops them. “I don’t have a type,” they say quickly—a little too quickly. “Well, I mean, not any type in particular. I’m up for anyone, to be honest. Wait, no, not like that. Not anyone. They have to be special. Like you. Well, not like you. Just you; I’m not looking elsewhere—!”
They pray the ground swallows them whole.
Taj: They hold onto their hood a little tighter; their ears have been dying to break free from beneath it since your nosy neighbour dared to utter the question. Their first thought is “who the fuck are you to ask this?” The second is “don’t be ridiculous; as if they could ever be interested in a human.”
But then, they hear the words leave your mouth. “Oh, no. I’m not their type.”
Taj scowls. Who said you get to decide that? Shouldn’t they have a say? Fine, your easy denial could have been ripped straight from their mind, but hearing it spoken aloud—instinctively, as if you hadn’t even needed to think about it—fills them with dread. The words grate inside their mind like claws shredding skin.
“Exactly,” they say, out of pride. They swallow down the bile burning their throat. “There isn’t a single hope of me lookin’ twice at a koel.”
They force themselves to believe it.
N: It might surprise the others, but casual touch didn’t come as easily to N as they pretended it did. It was an easy enough game to play; N memorised the rules a long time ago. Except, it didn’t feel much like playing when it was with you. Throwing an arm across your shoulder, letting a hand drift across your back, leaning closer to whisper in your ear as if they were sharing a secret—N did these things because they wanted to. How long had it been since they truly wanted to?
So, the question truly wasn’t a surprise. Naturally, people would assume you were a couple—a rather handsome one at that.
“Oh, no! We’re not together. I’m not their type.”
Ouch. N feels it deep in their gut. Winded—wounded—like someone had just slammed a fist into it. Their smile diminishes, almost imperceptibly. Unnoticeable to anyone who refuses to look past their thin veneer. N’s heart tightens in a way that reminds them it still beats.
They bury it down. The charming demon comes out to play once again.
“I have all kinds of types,” they say, a tempting lilt to their voice. “A dark-haired beauty, a light-haired menace, dim-witted, sharp-witted… I’m not all that fussy. There’s room for you on my schedule, I’m sure.”
Every word tastes like tears.
Umbra: Being with you was easy. Too easy. As easy as Umbra imagines it is for you to breathe. Breathing isn’t so easy for them.
There is a side of them that comes out when they are with you. The demon makes fun of it—says they go soft. Umbra doesn’t care. Being with you feels a lot like breathing.
And when something comes that easily, it isn’t the kind of thing you second-guess. So, when someone questions the relationship, asking if they were with you, well—“yes” was the obvious answer. That question only required eyes. Umbra is sitting right next to you.
“No, Umbra—they mean together together. Anyway, no, we’re not together. I’m not their type.”
“Yes, you are,” they say. Another question that didn’t require thought. “My type is you. Only you.”
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Diddy Kong Racing was my first video game and fundamentally altered my brain chemistry, unironically. This piece was made as part of a collage collab with dozens of other artists to celebrate it's release almost three decades ago.
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Taj having an Australian accent is so funny and interesting, is that how Aunt Merla speaks or is it how you interpret drow being “down under”? Either way I find halfling adopted drow to be a really cool backstory and I really want to know how Taj sees herself since she’s an amnesiac
Ahhhh! My first ask! Thankyou @wyfyoyo! Thankyou!
So most of my OCs have an Aussie twist, as we don’t have a lot of representation that isn’t stereotypical, and I say that with the thickest, expletive laden occa “strine" accent even after ten years in Canada.
So after random-rolling Drow as species, I was delighted to find that ‘drow are Aussie’s’ meme, however, I do think their aristocratic British accent suits them better….. Duergar on the other hand…. Grymforge felt like hanging out on the farm.
So Taj was raised by Merla, the sweet, soft halfling, and Bydelle, the rough and ready duergar. If it helps, imagine Paul Hogan with more swearing and Emma Thompson inviting you to tea.
As a result Taj’s accent is a cultivated Australian accent, like Nicole Kidman or Cate Blanchett.
I’ve also been playing around with speech bubbles (inspired by @arrivasama ‘s amazing webcomic and have been trying to figure out how to convey Taj’s soft, breathless voice which comes or goes depending on how nervous she is. Transparency might be it, depending on readability…. We’ll see.
Also… this was meant to be a quick sketch!! *weeps* I’ll never get anything done!
Diddy Kong Racing is one of those games where you love it dearly for its gameplay and nostalgic aesthetic but never completed cause of really unfriendly stipulations put on the player. Collect them coins fast and win the race!
