#i used to be neutral evil but only if the book was worn out anyway

[butterysalt]

Fun | Sherlock x platonic!Reader

Pairing: Sherlock x platonic!gender neutral reader

Request ( @a-paper-cut​ ): 

Word Count: 2,202

Contains: Mentions of child abduction, platonic fluffiness and banter :)

A/N: AAAAAAA thank you so much, lovely! This was my first request and I was SUPER excited to write it hehe. I’ve been on a slight creative block lately and I enjoyed writing this so much. I hope this fic does justice for what you wanted and I hope that you are doing amazingly 🧡🧡

It was an early, snowy winter morning in London. You and Sherlock Holmes have been mind-boggled by a puzzling case for the past week. The detective proposed that the two of you go on a walk to allow some fresh air in the brains again. This suggested that even his extensive mind palace and composing weren’t helping the genius. Not that you were complaining about sharing a nice stroll with Sherlock. It had been years after all since you two had spent any casual time together. Like what people normally did in their free time, anyway.

The two of you stepped side by side, feet planting in the thin sheet of snow on the ground in unison. You grinned a little at the matched body language. You and Sherlock always had special ways to subtly communicate with one another. It was like a part of your minds were connected.

“Anything yet?” the tall brunette questioned. Your lip twitched upward. “Don’t rush the process, Sherlock. Just enjoy the moment. Live in it a little.” Sherlock’s long drawl could be heard next to you. His walking strides were growing longer as his patience began to thin out. You could practically hear the subtle gnawing of his teeth.

“We’ve only been walking 5 minutes,” you flouted, “Loosen up a bit.” Sherlock snickered to himself, messing with his gloved hands. “You’re already trying to read me?”

“You’re walking like you’ve got a stick up your arse. It’s clear you’re agitated,” you jested. The curly-haired detective sneered at you and kicked a clump of ice out of the way. “I can’t think, Y/n. We have potential homicide to solve and we’re here drudging in the snow.”

“Remember, this was your idea, genius. Unless you can come up with something else, this is all we’ve got.” Sherlock went silent, chewing the inside of his cheek. His mind wandered to try and come up with something snarky to throw at you. Perhaps a witty comeback that would leave you in doubt. The headache he was dealing with was enough to strike him in his train of thought. He shook it off and his focus returned to the matter of urgency. Unsolved case.

Sherlock lifted his face to the sky, blowing a hot cloud of breath into the chilly London air. He tugged his scarf a little closer to his neck, shoving his gloved hands down into his thick coat. The breath cloud was a common habit of Sherlock’s during cold weather. It mimicked the effect of blowing cigarette smoke, just without the tar and nicotine. Fortunately, the only time the detective abused drugs anymore was when cases had him horribly stumped; thanks to you and John’s efforts, his drug use was much more controlled now.

“Five missing children. All between the ages of 7 and 9. We know that the connection is tied to their private schools. Three different religious private schools within a 10 kilometer radius — so, fairly close together. The parents reported their children coming home with expensive gifts from a mysterious donor shortly before they went missing. They referred to the perpetrator as ‘Ray’. Anyone handing out shiny trinkets to naive children is either a philanthropist or a predator. I’d like to bet on the latter.”

You sighed, mentally reviewing all of the evidence from the case in your head. “But all of the children knew basic safety protocols: don’t talk to strangers, never accept anything from strangers, the whole package. Their parents are terribly traditional. They never would have let any of them see the light if they broke any of those rules. So the chances are near impossible that they would have fallen for such typical child abduction tricks.”

“Near impossible, L/n. That means there’s still a possibility and possible is all we need to screw this up,” Sherlock tutted. He blew another large cloud of air, shaking some light snow off his curls. You frowned, “The suspects. We’ve interrogated the popes, teachers, parents… who are we missing?”

Sherlock stopped walking. You turned to check up on him, finding him with his eyes shut. “Maybe we’re asking the wrong questions…”

“Of course we’re asking the wrong questions! We have all the pieces in our hands but no instructions, Sherlock. We’re running in circles with this case,” you walked over to a public railing, leaning against it and looking out across the long white blanket that stretched to the horizon.

He joined your side shortly after, bending down to pick up some rocks to toss down the snowy hill and watch as they made skinny trails in the frosty powder. Sherlock sighed out, exasperated and worn out. “We’re not getting anywhere by mulling over it, are we?”

You smiled at him and shook your head. You pulled your coat a little tighter around yourself. “That’s why I’m here to keep you in check. It’s good to get some air, you know? Christ knows when’s the last time you did that simply because you wanted to.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow perked up and he faced you with a blank expression. “How do you mean?” Your eyes widened a little, unsure of how you should pick out your next words. “Well… you know, you don’t exactly, uh…” Nervously, your eyes flicked up to his. He was watching your expression very carefully.

“You don’t spend a lot of time for yourself,” you said simply. Sherlock frowned in disagreement. “I spend a lot of time by myself. I thought you knew me better than that,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, leaning your back against the cold railing now, crossing your arms. “In your mind palace, Sherlock. I mean you don’t do things you enjoy.”

“Who said I don’t enjoy things?” he countered your query. You found yourself forming a cold sweat, debating on how to deliver your message. “Hobbies?”

“Violin.”

“Meh. Parties?”

“You disturb me.” Your best friend’s disgust made you cackle. “See, that’s my point! You don’t know how to have fun anymore. What happened to old Sherlock?”

Now this was a personal offense against Sherlock. “What? You don’t think I’m fun?” Sherlock sounded incredibly appalled by your claim. A hot cloud of air rose to the sky when you scoffed.

“Holmes, you are probably the farthest thing when it comes to the definition of fun!”

“Well, probability-wise, that’s highly improbable when Mycroft exists.”

“His poshness makes up for it. You’re just irritating.” Sherlock puffed out his red cheeks, nudging you playfully. “Oh, come on. You must admit that I’m at least an interesting character?”

You pondered in fake thought, scrunching your face together. “Interesting is debatable. Fun? That’s foreign territory, Sherlock.” The tall man grimaced deeply at your bluntness that he clearly had issues with. “What do you mean by ‘Old Sherlock’? What was good about the ‘old me’? I consider myself much more refined in the present day.”

Old memories of the two of you hanging out with one another as teenagers came back to you. A smile melted on your face from the warm feelings of nostalgia, the chilliness from the snowfall leaving your body.

“You used to prank Mycroft all the time. Everything was always a competition with you and me; we would go from racing down the neighborhood to reach my house first or rush to finish homework and claim the telly before the other could. Oh! We would always make up fake cases, too, trying to entertain a mystery that didn’t even exist,” you laughed to yourself, “Look at us now.”

Sherlock grumbled at the reminder of your old shenanigans. He wasn’t always the fondest of his younger self. But he had to admit he was reckless, even as a child. It was a simpler time and kids didn’t have much to fret or fear.

“Now you’re all enigmatic and stoic with your flipped up coat collar and scary cheekbones. The difference is so disappointing, it’s sickening,” you gagged. Sherlock slipped off his glove and jabbed his freezing hand against your neck, making you exclaim at the coldness and shove him backward. He wore a victorious smirk at your suffering. You pointed a hard finger at him, holding back your own laughter to prove a point.

“NO, that’s not being fun, Sherlock. That’s torture- sadism! You’re just an arse!” He threw his arms in the air, tossing his glove in your face. “It’s subjective! I can be fun,” he insisted.

“You’re predictable, Holmes. You don’t remember what good humor is and it shows in your actions. You pick everything up from books and telly. You can’t surprise me anymore,” you declared. Sherlock’s expression contorted into shock as he stared at you in disbelief. You had left the great Sherlock Holmes baffled. The silence was deafening — music to your ears.

When you thought you were winning this argument, a special glint quickly shone in Sherlock’s eyes. Your expression dropped and then you were pushed backward. There was no railing behind you anymore to catch you.

As you were falling, you naturally grasped for something to hold on to. In this case, Sherlock’s coat. The evil smirk on his face was immediately replaced with shock then fear as he was crashing hard into you. Gravity did the rest of the work. With the momentum you had already begun, dragging Sherlock down with you was one of the worst possible outcomes of the situation. A crude curse slipped past his lips and both of you latched onto each other because there was nothing else to brace with.

What was initially meant to be a playful fall down the snowy hill turned into a rolling battle full of frantic thrashing and screaming as both of your bodies thumped and tangled with each other. The two of you occasionally bounced a few inches off the ground and crashed back into the ground, knocking the breath out of both of you. The wild human avalanche down the hill was finally put to a stop when you rolled into a tree. With a loud OOMPH, you and Sherlock flopped into the ground, groaning and croaking in pain. Neither of you moved for the first passing moments, unable to process what just happened.

Your fall was broken when you landed on top of Sherlock, his body sprawled out in the cold snow, rasping heavily. Some snow fell off your form and your arms shook as you propped yourself up, no longer caring about the fact that you applied all the pressure in your friend’s ribs.

“You alright, mate?” you panted, checking up on Sherlock, eyes analyzing him for any serious injuries.

“You take my breath away.” You sputtered and shook your head at his ridiculous humor. “Aren’t you just romantic?” He squinted his eyes and flashed a sarcastic smile but groaned out, “No, really. Please get off my chest.”

“Oh God, sorry,” you scrambled off of him and he rolled over into the snow, gasping for air as he clutched his side in pain. You punched him in the shoulder. “You bloody twat, Sherlock Holmes! Pushing me down a hill by Jove’s sake!”

“I remember it being much more fun when we were younger,” he grunted out, pushing himself onto his forearms. And just then, his eyes burst wide open. His face slack-jawed as his brain computed at top speed. He was onto something.

“Sherlo-”

“FUN, Y/n,” he articulated, scrambling over to you and grabbing you by the shoulders. You stiffened and backed away, startled by his abrupt realization. 

“Oh, Y/n, you are brilliant! This is why we work together!”

“What?! What are you-”

“The kids were abducted because they were having fun! ‘Ray’ is Remus Stooge, another private school kid in the area. The Stooge family owns several of the land plots around this corner of London and they’re the ones funding all three schools — The Stooge’s are plenty wealthy. The children were going to Remus’s home, ditching class time to get a personal house tour of his daddy’s money. The fancy car rides, luxurious delights, shiny sneakers and tailored clothing… Who wouldn’t pass up on an opportunity like that? It only makes sense why they were lured in so easily! Their rich best pal Remus has been the one inviting them right into the trap!”

“What- Sherlock! Where is this all coming from?! How do you even-”

“Trust me, Y/n!! I have it figured out- It all makes sense!” he interjected again. The look on your faces was bizarre. You tossed a handful of snow at him as he blocked it with his hands. “NO?? It doesn’t! This is so sudden-”

Sherlock was on his feet in an instant, brushing off the powder from his coat and yanking you up. His eyes were gleaming with excitement. “We have to go tell Lestrade, now! Call John and get over to the Stooge’s place!”

“To arrest the kid?!”

“No, the butler!” He grabbed your gloved hand and dragged you up the steep white hill. You shook your head wildly, “Holmes, you better have a bloody good explanation for this in the cab or there will be hell to pay.” Sherlock smirked triumphantly and squeezed your hand.

“Come, L/n! The game is on!”

Requests are open! <3

[palidoozy-art]

The more I think about your recent post about the changes you made to Strahd, the more I wonder about those changes you made to the others mentioned (Rahadin, Van Richten, Ireena, etc). I'd absolutely love to hear what adjustments you made as you already shared some stellar ideas already. Like the Tome? -Chef kiss- Amazing.

Oh mannn I do love talking about my campaign. I changed a lot with them. Again, weirdly enough, I think Strahd wound up being the most like his original incarnation. I could talk forever about the changes I made so I'll try to be brief haha. IT STILL WON'T BE BRIEF.

Obvious CoS spoilers below

IREENA - I thought it was weird that the picture they gave her makes her look like such a badass, and then the module just kind of writes her as a damsel in distress to either get kidnapped or pulled into water or dumped somewhere. To me, she's like, the second most important character in CoS -- and the book literally gives you less direction to roleplay her than her brother. Furthermore, reading her ending actually legit made me mad.

So I said fuck all that. Ireena in my game was a 19-year old girl who grew and developed over the course of the campaign. Several of my players actually said they thought of her as "the main character," just because she experienced a lot of character growth and development, going from a sheltered meek teenager to someone who can fight and assert herself. The biggest change I made to her though was that I very specifically did not just want her to be "Tatyana with memory loss." Ireena is a unique individual who happens to be partially made out of Tatyana's soul. While she shares many similarities with Tatyana, they're separate people, and part of what Ireena has to grapple with is how to live up to that. She's in the post-campaign because of that distinction -- while Sergei offered her to join him, she declined, because she wants to experience life past her twenties. I didn't get to play it out because we were kind of rushing towards the end, but I honestly envisioned a scene where she talks to the portrait of Tatyana, apologizing to her because she knows she's being selfish remaining alive.

This also brings up a unique problem in the post campaign. If Ireena dies, she ceases to exist and may not be able to be resurrected. When her soul leaves her body, it's Tatyana's again. Ireena very much wants to live. Tatyana doesn't. A resurrection has to be made with the consent of the soul, and if Tatyana declines, Ireena's just... gone. Forever.

Related: because I wasn't sure what my players would ask, and Rahadin would absolutely know this information -- there have been 18 incarnations of Tatyana, including the original. I actually have a timeline of when they were all born and how they died. The curse manifests in that they always die or are killed before their 25th birthday. If Strahd attempts to marry them, they lose their minds and throw themselves off of the same balcony the original Tatyana jumped off of during the ceremony. Strahd can never have Tatyana. Vampyr will ensure of that.

But yeah, essentially: Ireena gained actual class levels; she wasn't just Tatyana with memory loss; she traveled with the party for 90% of the campaign and wasn't just a macguffin to be kidnapped/take to places; and I removed any of the "Sergei takes her into water/the sky and you never see her again" endings because I absolutely hated those.

VAN RICHTEN - Van Richten I tweaked a lot from his original incarnation. First, I started him off as Lawful Neutral. No, game, I know you tell me he's Lawful Good, but I'm gonna have to disagree with you that "training a racist tiger to genocide an ethnic camp" falls under the spectrum of Lawful Good. Second, I changed him from cleric to artificer (alchemist). I somehow just got the impression the dude was a godless man, and so he felt more fitting to be a man of science rather than a man of the church. Third, since I wasn't sure the other dread domains were ever going to be brought into 5e I moved him out of Darkon and into another world from the outside.

His backstory was also tied more into Strahd and the campaign in general, as well as the Dark Powers. About 30 years ago, he went into the mists with his own adventuring party (that included Escher) to try to rescue his kidnapped son, Erasmus. He found his son half-turned and begging him for death. Killing him, Van Richten hunted down the Vistani woman (Ezmerelda's mother) who sold the man, and in a rage strangled her to death. This gave him a curse. Ezmerelda witnessed it happen.

He went on a warpath against vampire spawn and vistani alike, until Strahd proposed a deal to Escher. Escher lured the group to a familiar dinner date with Strahd... only for Strahd to murder all of them, including Van Richten. Van Richten was approached by a dark power -- Vaund the Evasive, and given the option to return to life in exchange for the promise that Van Richten would eventually return to Amber Temple and free him. He took it, waking up outside of Barovia. From there he became famed vampire-hunter-book-author, until in his early 50's he decided it was time to seek vengeance and fulfill his promise. He brought in his hat of disguise, came up with an alibi, and headed into Barovia as Rictavio the Great.

He was absolutely played as a much more morally grey character at the start (the party's first encounter with him rather than Rictavio was him literally torturing a dude). He softened over the course of the campaign as he grew attached to the party, until finally reaching a point in the post-campaign where he's considered Lawful Good

Also: Ezmerelda was treated more or less as his adoptive daughter. She absolutely argued against this every single time, but he even slipped up and referred to her as his daughter on a few tense occasions.

RAHADIN - Rahadin I adjusted a lot, too. A LOOOOOOT. Strahd being comically evil makes sense -- the dude is a darklord, that kind of comes with the territory. With Rahadin, I wanted him to have more motivations to his actions, because the base game actually suggests that the dude is actually capable of caring. In the base game, you can find him at Amber Temple, trying to "petition the dark god into releasing his master from his torment." He screams in grief if he finds Strahd dead. Furthermore it felt like the game glosses over the fact that the dude was adopted as Barov's son. It doesn't bother addressing how Rahadin felt about Sergei, who would in theory be his other brother. I thought a number of things suggested in his backstory were interesting, but not expanded upon in the base game. So I took it upon myself to do so.

I changed how dusk elf society was built, which affected the three major dusk elf characters. It worked off of a pretty brutal caste system, with three kings at the top overseeing all of it. Rahadin was born in a lower caste, but actually brought into the warrior caste after a member of royalty was intrigued by his stature. Rahadin worked as a general, but grew frustrated by the inefficiencies of the caste system and its inequality. He started attempting to use his influence to petition other members of nobility into changing or loosening the strict system.

Patrina caught wind of this, and viewing it as a threat to her lifestyle + viewing it as an easy way to gain brownie points with those above her... tattled on him to the three kings, spinning what he was doing as treason. Rahadin was arrested and subsequently tortured. They attempted to execute him on a breaking wheel, breaking his bones against the spokes and leaving him in the town square as an example. He wound up escaping, crawling his way out of town until he was subsequently rescued by a group of human monks. The event pretty much broke him, morally. He went to Barov soon after and sold his people out, taking a personal hand in helping annihilate the dusk elves and conquering their land. Barov was so impressed by the man's loyalty that he adopted him as his son.

Part of this was done to make a connection as to why the hell Rahadin just absolutely fuckin' hates Patrina so much (since that definitely got played up during the campaign). When thinking of Rahadin's motivations, I tried to come at it from the angle that this man was evil... but legitimately cared deeply about Strahd, Sergei, and Tatyana. He was devestated from the events of the wedding, but saw Strahd's return as a second chance. As the lone surviving witness from the wedding, he desperately wanted to help the three of them. But his own blind loyalty to Strahd and his broken moral compass prevented him from doing so.

One of my favorite little additions was a sidequest I offered to the players (they wanted to redeem Rahadin). They were requested by him to retrieve (well, "not destroy or sell") one of his most precious belongings in his office. When they get there... it turns out it's a birthday card and a worn-out old amulet from Sergei and Tatyana that he's kept after all these years. They got Ireena to read the letter to him, to help him keep going after Strahd's death.

anyway i could ramble on about changes forever but i don't want this post to get too long haha. i have. many feelings. over this campaign. maybe at some point I'll do a separate post with some of the others.

i also kinda wanna do a comic of an event from Rahadin's backstory for my players but we'll see, I might deem it "too stupid."

[zigtheeortega]

come back to me

pairing | colt x mc

word count | 5.3k

warnings | blood, guns, bullets, wounds, and a mention of death. there’s a section of the fic where mc gets shot when a job goes awry – it’s used in a hurt/comfort scenario, but be warned that it’s in there! lmk if i need to use any other tags!

tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @senatorraines, @jaxmatsuo, @rodappreciationweek

author’s note | i’ve never written a colt fic before, so i wanted to take a crack at a slowburn colt au – this fic takes place over the span of about ten-ish years (fifteen-ish total since the events of book one). i’m not the biggest colt expert so i hope i did him justice!

•─────────────────•

“If you ever ask me to do this much ass kissing again, I’m divorcing you.”

Colt flung himself onto the bed, still fully clothed, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Oh, stop being dramatic,” Raquel laughed, reaching back to unzip herself, the soft fabric of her sundress sliding down her body and onto the floor.

He hummed from his place on the bed, neck craning to watch her as she changed into her pajamas.

“Stop distracting me from being annoyed,” he grumbled, letting his head fall back, his gaze trained on the ceiling.

“Are you actually mad at me or are you just complaining to hear yourself talk?” She asked, but before he could respond she’d climbed on top of him, wrapping him in a koala hug, nestling her head under his chin.

Naturally, he hugged her back, his arms snaking around her waist.

He shrugged. “I’m not mad at you.”

She giggled into his chest, sending tremors up his body, the warmest kind. “You’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”

 “Yeah, I don’t know why you married me,” he kissed the top of her head. “You’re too good for me.”

Raquel pushed herself up till they were nose to nose, giving him a pointed look. “I haven’t been too good for anyone since we were kids.” She pressed a quick kiss on his lips, intending to pull away, but he gripped her chin before she could, kissing her deeply.

He’d never get tired of that… and he’d never get tired of her.

For the longest time, he thought it was too far-fetched to expect he’d find someone willing to stick around through all of his bullshit, much less someone who’d legally binded herself to him.

He was still in awe with how it played out.

He’d returned to Los Angeles dangerously too soon after their run in with The Brotherhood. Incidentally enough, he was laying low on high alert for so long… but nothing came of it.

Maybe they’d been arrested, maybe they’d gotten justice, or maybe they just moved on to terrorize another city. He’d always assumed it was the latter.

Rebuilding his father’s autoshop was painful, no matter how deep he tried to shove those feelings down.

Colt’s vision for his father’s crumbling empire wasn’t one that came into focus for him for years.

Five years after The Brotherhood incident, all he had to show for it was a struggling auto shop with a few criminal employees who barely knew how to hotwire a car.

It seemed like there were no hills in sight, only cavernous valleys.

Five years after The Brotherhood incident, the death of his father, and the end of the Mercy Park Crew, she came into focus.

Raquel stepped into the garage, heels clacking against the dirty concrete, her gait determined.

He watched her from his tiny office, peering through the blinds as she glided confidently across the auto shop and up to his door.

She rapped her knuckles against it a few times, a little too heavy handedly.

There’s no way she’s really here, he thought, shaking his head. No fucking way.

He debated whether or not to let her in – the last time a Kaneko opened their doors to her, they nearly ruined her life.

He twisted the knob and yanked it open anyways, an insult bubbling up his throat. After all these years, he figured he’d be relieved to see her, but the tiny sliver of relief was easily overshadowed by his knee jerk reaction of annoyance and shock.

There was a small part of him that was excited, but not enough to warrant being nice to her.

When he came face to face with her for the first time, she spoke first. “Hi, Mr. Kaneko. I’d like to apply for a bookkeeping job.”

He blinked when she shoved a thick manila folder in his hands. “I think my qualifications speak for themselves.”

He thumbs the edges of the papers, flipping through her resume and the thick Master’s thesis. She’s too fucking smart to be back here.

Before anyone in the shop could see, he tugged her arm till she was inside, all but slamming the door behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

She ripped her arm from his grasp, brows furrowed. “I’m here to work.”

“Don’t you get how dangerous it is for you to be here or are you just stupid?” He all but spat, slapping the folder onto his desk. 

“If I’m stupid that makes you just as much of an idiot as me,” she countered, crossing her arms firmly. “I know the risks.”

“You can’t be dumb enough to think I’d take that risk, though,” he rolled his eyes, plopping into the chair at his desk.

She laughed – actually laughed – at him, covering her mouth. “Forgive me for that.”

He cocked a brow at her, waiting for her to continue.

“I went to school with pretentious male academics for five years, Colt. Whatever you’re gonna say to me has already been said, and it won’t hurt my feelings.”

He leans forward, flipping to her resume, tearing it off the top. “Let’s see, here. Langston college, yeah, I remember that. Graduated with honors? Predictable to do that three times in a row, don’t you think?”

She laughed again. “That’s a new one. I’ll have to log that under my favorite insults.”

“Well, I have loads. You’re giving me lots of material, Miss Olvera,” he mocked her, going back to skimming her resume.

Truthfully, he was trying to scare her away by being mean, and it wasn’t working. He didn’t want to dig too deep, though, because he wasn’t that evil.

He liked the girl – hell, if he didn’t like her, would he be bending over backwards to make her hate him purely for her safety?

“I can’t pay you well. I’m still rebuilding, and we’re barely breaking even. We’ve been sticking to straight work till I can manage to rebuild our reputation and relationships with buyers.”

She nodded. “I completely understand, and I don’t mind.”

“What, are you gonna ask me for a place to stay next?” He grumbled, rolling his eyes.

He was lying if he didn’t feel a little something stir in his stomach at the possibility of her staying in his apartment above the shop.

“No, I’m alright.”

“You came back to L.A. and you immediately have a place to stay? You’re lying.”

Her lips pressed into a firm line, she shook her head. “I’m back at my dad’s house.”

“What? There’s no fucking way I’m letting you work here if you’re living with a cop –”

“He passed away last year,” she chewed her lip, trying to keep her face neutral. “He had a heart attack in the middle of the night. Couldn’t get to the phone in time.

“Thankfully, he had a will set in place soon after mom died,” she shrugged. “I got the house, so I’m good.”

His fists clenched at his side. He’d already taken it too far without even meaning to.

“Sorry to hear that.”

She scoffed, a single forced laugh bursting from her lips. “You don’t have to respect him in front of me to save face or whatever. Your feelings about my dad don’t affect me.”

He nodded once, and the room descended into silence. He took the time to actually read her resume that time around, finding himself genuinely impressed with what she’d accomplished.

What he wanted to ask was “Why the fuck did you come back here?” but instead, what came out was, “You’re sure you can handle this?”

“I’m sure.”

She said those words with such conviction that he never had to ask again.

Raquel cuddled up to him, her breathing evening out. He hadn’t realized they’d gone that long without speaking.

He didn’t mind it though. He didn’t care as long as she was with him.

She stirred in her sleep, nearly rolling off of him, so he took that as his cue to tuck her in.

When she was settled under the covers, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and stepped out onto the deck.

The beach house they’d rented was a hundred feet from the shore, the waves grating against the sand creating the perfect white noise.

Perfect for sleeping, he mused, thinking about how quickly Raquel fell asleep in his arms, watching the water crash and retreat, push and pull over and over.

That same back and forth was what eventually brought him and Raquel together. They butted heads constantly, but had the same view on lots of decisions. They’d finish each other’s sentences and the crew would give each other knowing looks that he ignored.

A year in, she finally broke down. Not purposefully, and certainly not with the intent of him finding her curled into a sobbing mess outside of the garage.

“Hey what the hell, Raquel? It’s dangerous out here,” he called as he jogged up to her crumpled form.

He didn’t notice she was crying until he’d crouched down to check the injuries he thought she’d have. 

She shielded her face with one hand and used the other to wave him away. “Just go.”

“I’m not leaving until you’re safe.”

It wasn’t even meant to be romantic. He’d do it for the rest of his crew since they’d grown so close.

There wasn’t a possibility of anything happening between them, or so he thought at the time. And what she admitted to him that night sealed their fate for years.

He’d managed to help her inside to his office, pulling back his worn office chair for her to collapse into.

A short “You okay?” Was all he could manage. He was new to this wellness check stuff and it didn’t come naturally to him.

But he knew as a leader, he had to do a lot more than just telling people what to do. Even if they split without a word in a week’s time, they were still a working machine that needed a little elbow grease every once in a while.

Even in the dim lamp light he could tell her eyes were red rimmed.

“I don’t think you want to hear my explanation as to why I’m not,” she laughed humorlessly, using the sleeve of her shirt to scrub the streak of makeup under her eye.

“I’m not good at this comforting shit, but I’ve got ears and I’ve gotten pretty good at using them,” he joked, sliding into the rickety folding chair in front of the desk.

She shrugged, flinging her hands up. “You’re gonna make fun of me –”

“– I won’t –”

“– You will, Colt. I know you and you’re gonna scoff the minute I take a breath.”

He couldn’t hold back the small smile at that.

“Well, yeah, but you don’t have to take it to heart.”

She sniffled, laughing. “You’re hard to ignore.”

“So are you, hard ass. Tell me what’s wrong.”

The sigh that came from her was labored, struggled, like she was about to drop heavy weights onto the floor of the office.

“Today’s the one year anniversary since I started working for you.”

He cocked a brow. “That’s it?”

“If you’d just let me explain then you’d know,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re already sucking at being a good listener.”

He held his hands up in surrender, leaning back into his chair. “Sorry.”

“My whole game plan was to figure out how to make myself useful. It’s why I got my Masters in accounting in the first place. I wanted to have my solid place in the crew, you know? Like I earned my spot.”

He nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“I just had this stupid fairytale idea in my head about coming back to L.A. and none of that’s come true.”

“Well, what was it? Anything I can do?” He asked.

Raquel sank her teeth into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. She shook her head in response, taking a few deep breaths till she could finish.

“I wanted our old crew back. I… thought Logan would be back here by now, or looking for me at the very least,” she rubbed her temples, closing her eyes. “I waited five years to come back here and I’ve barely lasted one year in L.A. without him.”

He couldn’t help but flex his hand in and out of a fist a couple times as she spoke.

Yeah, it was true he didn’t care for Logan that much, but she liked him. Loved him, even.

If she was this dedicated to him six years later and he still hadn’t tried finding her, he didn’t deserve her.

“So it’s about Logan?” He asked with zero judgement, and she could tell.

She nodded, sniffling again. “Maybe I’ve just deluded myself into thinking we meant more to each other, but I’m still in love with him and I don’t know when that’s going to end for me.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he did what he thought was best.

He stood up, taking a couple steps till he was close enough to lay his palm on her shoulder, rubbing his thumb gently across the fabric.

She laid her hand on his thumb, holding it in place, as the sobs shook her body.

After that, he tried his hardest to keep her from crying. Which entailed leaving Logan’s name out of things.

Colt abandoned his shirt and shoes at the back door and hopped off the deck, landing softly on the sand. He took his time walking towards the water, gaze transfixed on the moon, which was at its peak in the sky.

He always thought the fact that the sea and moon were interlinked was kind of peculiar. The moon, thousands and thousands and thousands of miles away, had just enough power to pull the waves in the right direction.

He thought of Raquel like his moon far too often. The minute he was in her gravitational pull, he found himself wanting to follow her – to let her take the reins – and that was rare.

The first time he knew it was the beginning of the end with her was when a job went south.

Three years after she broke down about wanting the old crew back, they got a taste of the old violence.

One of their crew members, Isaac, had said for weeks that he had a weird gut feeling about that job in particular. Colt waved him off, reminding him that he’d value proof over superstition anyday.

In short, they were ambushed – nothing out of the ordinary in terms of their day to day risk.

What Colt wasn’t expecting, however, was for Raquel to be the one who got hurt.

They were cornered by the masked group, and before their crewmember Aly could grab her gun and shoot, one of them fired, the cracking sound of the gunshot echoing off the concrete flooring of the rundown parking garage.

Raquel’s pained groan followed immediately after.

Colt’s heart stopped when he saw the fabric of her jeans turning a deep deep maroon, the blood spreading faster than he could process what’d happened.

Her eyes fluttered and she stumbled to her knees, crying out as she knelt, bending her legs, one of which had been freshly torn through with a bullet.

“Don’t let them get away –” he shouted, flinging his arm in the direction of the fleeing criminals. He knelt down to scoop Raquel’s crumpled form into his arms. “Isaac, stay here.”

Isaac froze, nodding. “Anything you need, boss.”

“Drop me off at the shop so I can patch her up. I have to stop the bleeding.”

Colt’s voice was calm and even, but inside he was at his breaking point. He sat in the backseat of the car with Raquel strewn across his lap, the color draining from her face with each passing minute.

His palm was firmly pressed against her calf to halt the bleeding. He was thankful that the adrenaline was numbing the pain till they could make it to the shop.

She’d wince every time he adjusted his slippery grip, instinctively turning her head into the crook of his neck. That didn’t cross his mind till much later.

When she attempted talking once or twice, he furiously shushed her each time. “Save your energy. You’ll need it.”

When Isaac skidded to a stop in the garage, Colt tossed his keys Isaac’s way. “Take my car and get out of the city for a few days. Lay low. I’ll clean this one up and it’ll be good as new when you come back.”

Isaac nodded, brows furrowed. “I should’ve… I knew it was gonna go south but I should’ve tried to convince you again –”

Colt held up a hand. “You were right, and I should’ve trusted your gut instinct, and I will from now on. This is solely on me. Don’t blame yourself.”

He nodded, hopping out of the car, sliding into Colt’s convertible, and disappearing into the night.

He’d managed to get Raquel into the apartment and onto the worn leather couch in the office – she was pale and clammy, flitting in and out of being fully aware of what was going on.

“Colt… I can clean up my leg, just… just give me a second to catch my breath,” she said, her eyes drooping closed.

“Absolutely not. Give me a second. I’m trying to find the goddamn gauze but I don’t see it anywhere –”

He was glad his back was turned, because he was shaking in terror and rage in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

The first aid kit clattered out of his hands and onto the desk, and he cursed, gripping the side of the desk till his knuckles were bright white and screaming at him to let go.

“Colt…” she whispered. “I’ll be fine. I’m just hurting.”

He dragged a chair to her side, propping her ankle up against his knee before getting to work cutting a thin line up the outer seam of her jeans. The blood trickled onto his own leg, saturating the denim of his pant leg immediately.

“Are you gonna ignore me the whole time you work on my leg?” She joked, wincing. “Fuck –”

The scissors were close to the wound, and he tried his best to stretch it away from it before cutting further.

“Sorry,” he murmured, grabbing two rags and dousing it in hydrogen peroxide. He rolled up the second one, handing it to Raquel.

She sighed shakily before stuffing it into her mouth, digging her fingers into the cracked leather of the couch.

She nodded once, giving him the sign to get it over with.

The second the damp rag touched her bloodied skin, she panted through her nose, eyes screwed shut.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” He grunted, grimacing as her thigh bucked against his hand, despite him trying to hold her in place.

When he touched the wound, she screamed, devolving into choked, muffled sobs.

He’d made a vow to make sure she never cried over Logan again, and instead he’d broken his promise by putting her in direct danger over and over and over again.

There was no reason for her to accompany them on jobs – she knew the risk, and didn’t care, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t stop her from coming.

No matter how hard he tried, he was always the reason she was getting hurt.

“This is all my fault,” he said, when he’d finished cleaning her wound. “I should’ve never let you come along to our trades.”

She scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, a couple stray tears still glistening across her temples. “I wanted to be a part of this. Like you said to Isaac, you can’t blame yourself for this.”

“I don’t care what you say, alright? It was my fucking fault and you should’ve never been a part of this life.”

“Colt.”

He glanced up, barely able to meet her gaze.

“Whether you want to admit it or not, I’ve been a part of this life for nearly ten years now. I’m almost thirty. You’re closer to thirty than me. I know what I’ve gotten myself into, and I’m sticking by you regardless of the risk on my life.”

She slipped a clammy hand over his, which still held her thigh firmly in place. “If I lose my life on a job, I don’t regret it at all. I’d never regret meeting you.”

She took a labored breath, laying back against the armrest. “That took a lot out of me.”

Colt shook his head. “Stop talking. You need your energy.”

Raquel rolled her eyes. “I try being nice to you and you ignore it every time.”

“I just don’t know what the fuck to say to that. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that, huh?” He asked incredulously.

She blinked, her eyes narrowing. “I just got fucking shot, and you’re cursing at me while asking me to be your therapist? Am I hearing that right?”

He picked up his bloodied hands from her leg and threw them up in the air. “I have a lot going on in my head right now, and I’m not trying to fight you or get you to be my fuckin’ therapist, alright? I’m just confused.” He was barely below a shout, his chest heaving when he was done.

“I can’t read your mind, Colt. I’m kind of delirious with blood loss right now, so the least you can do is not yell at me and ask me politely to slate this conversation for later,” she said firmly, wincing while she shifted on the couch.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he panted, shrugging his stained black thermal off. He tossed it to the side, revealing his equally as bloodied white tee.

He slipped that shirt off, too, tearing the shirt into long strips.

Raquel watched him, her brown eyed gaze one of both confusion and something more he couldn’t place and didn’t care to think about.

Wordlessly, he plopped back down, tying the shredded strips above the wound on her calf, fingertips grazing her skin as delicately as he could manage.

He let his hands linger for a bit too long, staring at the open wound on her leg.

Daring a look her way, Colt caught her watching him with a soft gaze, one that he hadn’t earned.

“You’re not mad at me for being there tonight… you’re mad at yourself for not protecting me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded once.

“You’re hoping that this makes me want to leave, because you won’t ask me yourself. You don’t want me to leave.”

He nodded again, glancing away from her.

After a long silence and avoidance of turning her way, she spoke first.

“You’re worried I don’t feel the same.”

He froze, dropping his hands from her leg. She was right, but if he admitted to it and she still didn’t feel the same, then what was he risking all this shit for?

Why was he still clinging onto the hope that she’d feel the same if nine years of pining was seconds away from being thrown out the window?

Mustering up his remaining courage, he nodded one last time.

And when he looked at her that time, she was beaming. Through the excruciating pain, she was smiling.

He broke first, scooting to the edge of his chair to get as close as he could. “What?”

“It’s funny that you were worried we weren’t on the same page. I think we might’ve been for a long time,” she laughed, hoarse and weak, but it was still her laugh that he loved so much.

“What do you mean?”

And then she said the words that he’d desperately needed to hear for nearly a decade.

“I came for Logan but I stayed for you.”

Once Raquel admitted that to him, he was all in. Completely committed, never faltering.

Their first kiss was anything but, the sensation one of nine years of pent up feelings from Colt’s end, and years of her own. Their first kiss was more of a sealant of their future (and their fate).

Their first kiss was everything Colt had dreamed of. 

He kissed her like she was air and he was drowning and she was filling his lungs to the brim, her warmth spreading from his insides out.

She didn’t pull away after the first one, and neither did he.

For who knew how long, he was on his knees next to the bloodied couch, cupping her face with his palms, and kissing her like he had a decade of missed opportunities to make up for.

After that, they were inseparable.

And he never doubted her devotion to him again.

They fell into a routine of working at the shop together during the day and into the late hours of the night after everyone had left, before stumbling upstairs into Colt’s apartment, lips locked, hands roaming.

And she drove him to every job from then on, easily evading cops and maneuvering the underbelly of L.A. like it was second nature.

Colt waded into the warm water, barely feeling it as it lapped at his ankles, calves, thighs.

When he was waist deep, he opted to float on his back, using the opportunity to revel in the star littered sky. One he didn’t get to see too often in the heavily light polluted sky of Los Angeles. Was this really the same sky he’d lived under all these years?

He didn’t really plan on marrying Raquel.

It was never in the sleazy way where he was going to leave her the second he got what he wanted – he was content being with her. Living with her. Kissing her. Loving her.

But he didn’t think he needed to go through the motions because that’s supposedly what people in love did. He figured it was enough to spend his life with her without doing all the extra shit.

She brought it up first, nearly four years later.

At that point, he moved into her father’s house with her – they’d crash in Colt’s old apartment above the shop if they were too tired to drive home.

They were curled up on the old futon in his room, huddling under the blankets, and she was curled against his side, drawing circles through his short tuft of chest hair. 

“We should get married.”

“Hmm?” He asked, in a haze, nearly drifting off to sleep before she’d spoken.

“You heard me.”

“You really wanna?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve always wanted to get married, even when I was a little girl.”

He kissed the top of her head, squeezing her closer.

“You’ve always been a daydreamer then,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, I used to dig up my old Easter dresses and strut into the living room asking my Dad to walk me down the aisle.”

“And did he?”

She laughed, lifting her head to get a good look at him. “Yep. Walked me right down the hallway and back to my room to change me out of my clothes.”

Her face fell a bit despite the fond memory. “I think I care more about it now because I know my parents won’t be there. It feels like if I don’t get married, I’m breaking a promise, as dumb as that sounds.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t sound dumb at all, sweetheart. I don’t care what we do as long as it makes you happy.”

She smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss on his lips. “I love you.”

Wrapping her up in a hug, he kisses her back with fervor, echoing her sentiment in the form of mumbling against her lips. I love you.

Roughly a year later, they opted for a quick courthouse wedding and a honeymoon that consisted of staying in bed all day and ordering food to build back the calories they’d burned.

Around that time, Raquel reconnected with some of her only living relatives on her Dad’s side. She’d gotten close to a few of her distant cousins, and they convinced her to have a small ceremony for their family in Belize.

And fifteen years after he’d met Raquel, on the cusp of spring and summer, he married her again in front of an intimate crowd and kissed her like it was their first time.

He’d complained about having to ass kiss her judgemental old relatives, but he didn’t really mind. Seeing her in a white dress, beaming like it was the best day of her life, was enough to make any issue nothing but a minor annoyance.

“Hey!”

Colt swirled his arms in the water till he was upright again, grinning when he noticed the bright red lines on her face – she’d clearly just woken up.

“Hey, sweetheart. You sleep okay?”

“Come back to bed,” she asked, pointing at the back door of their beach house.

He tipped his chin at her. “You come out here.”

She rolled her eyes, before tearing off her nightgown, running towards the water at full speed, no hesitation.

He caught her in his arms, letting her wrap her legs comfortably around his waist while he waded out to deeper waters.

“Ugh. I was having a good dream, too, until I realized the bed was empty,” she grumbled, looping her arms tighter around his neck.

“Sorry about that. I promise next time I’ll wake you up before I head out.”

She nodded, content with his answer.

They were both chest deep in the water, faces close, the soft rays from the moon the only light they had.

“Why’d you bring me out here, Colt?” She murmured, eyes flitting to his lips, which were upturned in a soft smile.

“I was just thinking. This spring makes fifteen years since I met you.”

She hugged him, pressing a kiss on his cheek. “And only, like, six years since we came to our senses.”

He laughed heartily, squeezing her tighter around the waist. “You’re right.”

“Remember when we jumped off the cliff together?” He asked.

“Yeah, of course. It was the first time I ever felt a spark with you,” she grinned. “Took a long time for it to turn into a flame, though.”

“That was the first time I knew I loved you,” he admitted. “I wanted to kiss you so badly and I kicked myself in the ass for years for not trying –”

She cut him off with a passionate kiss, her tongue slipping into his mouth almost as soon as his mouth moved in tandem with hers. It was the sloppy, unplanned kiss he’d envisioned for that day.

“I think everything worked out for the better. I’m not sure we were ready for each other back then,” she said honestly, her forehead pressed against his.

“We needed to grow a little bit before falling in love, huh? You’re so smart,” he said, voice low, pressing another kiss to her lips.

“Yeah, and now we’ve got the rest of our lives.”

She was right (like she always was), and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge in his chest like he’d felt many times before.

He’d waited that damn long for her, so he was going to savor the rest of their life together as much as he could.

[spooky-ghost-boi]

Freak Show

Evil! Tom Nook x Reader

Words: 1092

Warnings: mentions of inappropriate touching, drugging, kidnapping, Tom being sadistic, blood, torture, mentions if feederism/weight gain, mentions of smut (Idk how to write gender neutral smut-“, blood kink, Yandere! Tom Nook.

Description: some naughty villager has refused to pay his debt and Tom can’t let him off the hook so he has to show the new folk who’s the boss here. You help him of course, daddy Nook can’t do all the work on his own, eh? Slightly inspired by “Lay All Your Love On Me by ABBA but you’re in a witchcraft ritual.” And “Freak Show” by Punkinlove.

Timeline: This is more New Leaf rich daddy Tom, lmao. Also he's slightly thicker than he was in NL but only if you want to. 👁️

A/N: sorry but also not sorry, I needed to post smt and this gave me oddly much motivation to finish within a couple of hours and I'm also pretty sure that what I had to google for this put me on the NSA's watchlist. Sorry for any grammar mistakes but my native language is German 👀

._._._._._._.

You had a mission to do for your boyfriend, ‘seduce’ (more like take on a date and drug) a ugly lazy cow that refused to pay his debt and loans back. You were a bit nervous as the Kyle, cow dude, invited you to his house! Tom had dropped you off a few blocks away so it wasn’t that suspicious. You had to text him, “yes.” If you had successfully drugged Kyle and “s.o.s” in case he noticed and you failed.

You rung Kyle’s doorbell a little nervously and he opened the door.

Fuckin’ disgusting stench of alcohol and cigarette’s, at least the alcohol in his system makes him easier to drug.

Kyle smirked at you and stumbled and swayed as he struggled to keep himself up, “hey sugar! How’s it going?” He asked as he allowed you in.

“Good! But.. You look a bit unstable let me get you some water!” You said as you walked into the kitchen, you looked for glasses but couldn’t find one.. Only used, dirty plastic cups. You grumbled, took one of the cups and put the GHB in it and filled up the cup with water.

Kyle was almost already passed out on the floor and you handed him the water, a little bit slightly annoyed as you handed him the disgusting plastic cup. The house was a goddamn stall anyways. Kyle smacked your butt before drinking from the plastic cup, you were now pissed and texted Tom, “yes. Come here quick please..”

When you were certain that Kyle was totally passed out you groaned and kicked him.

Tom rung the doorbell and you opened up the door, you immediately noticed Tom gagging from the smell- poor Tom had that enhanced Tanuki smell.

“Alright, where’s he?” Tom asked, looking disgusted at all the filth in the house.

“In the living room-“ you said as you showed him.

Kyle was still passed out lying on the floor and Tom just sighed as he picked him up, struggling a little.

“Do you want to help me? You don’t have to, it’s just he seems to be quite heavier than I expected-“ Tom grunted as he struggled to carry the bull outside.

“Alright, alright.” You grabbed Kyle’s legs and just dragged him outside with Tom before throwing him into the trunk.

“I definitely shouldn’t have worn these expensive clothes for this.” Tom sighed and he brushed off some dirt of his 30.000 Bells worth jacket, he remarked as he got into the drivers seat.

“That jacket is really getting too tight lately, though. I’m pretty sure you’ll get any stains out!” You said as you got into the passenger seat.

“Yes, hm.” He said as he drove to his store.

_._._.

You had the bull pinned to a chair in the basement of Nook Inc and Tom was wearing his apron except, it almost didn’t fit him anymore and his stomach hung slightly over it which didn’t bother him. If he didn’t busy himself expanding his business he was busy expanding himself, as easy as that.

“Y/N, did he do anything inappropriate to you?” Tom asked as he gently put his paw on your shoulder.

“He sure did, filthy piece of shit.” You grumbled.

“I see, you want him to suffer for being so inappropriate with you! Yes, yes?” Tom smirked a little as he noticed that Kyle seemed to wake up.

“Where am I- what did you do to me?!” Kyle screamed as the fear and terror filled his eyes.

“First of all, your debt is overdue. Secondly, you were inappropriate with what’s mine! And don’t you go, “they asked for it” because they certainly haven’t! It seems you have to pay now! Yes, yes. And I don’t mean with money, understood, hm?” Tom looked at you, smiling gently. “Darling, what do you seem a good punishment?” He asked you.

“I think he has to lose some blood and maybe.. Limps?” You said and smiled back at him.

“Splendid, then that’s settled! Yes, yes.” Tom then proceeded to take a knife.

Kyle had a fair amount of fear in his eyes. “Oh- please, don’t. Don’t do it! I believe you’re a good guy Nook! Don’t hurt m-“

His cries were interrupted by Tom slapping him, hard. Despite being pretty chubby Tom did have some enormous strength.

“Shut up, will you? Hm?” Tom said as he grabbed a rather large and sharp knife and a hammer.

The Tanuki handed you the knife and took the hammer as he aimed for Kyle’s elbow and hit it, multiple times.

Kyle of course screamed in pain, again and again.

Tom had this sadistic gleam in his dark blue eyes, this was about money and the fact that Kyle touched you inappropriately, he didn’t care whether it was just a butt smack. It’s utterly disgusting to him how some people could be so disrespectful! They deserved to be punished. If he had to make the world a better place, so be it.

You sliced open Kyles stomach and the blood came pouring out.

By the time you were done there was blood all over the two of you.

The blood was still warm but beginning to get sticky and you sighed, leaning over to Tom and hugging him.

“Are you okay?” He asked, as he held you close.

“Just a little tired..” You said as you kissed him.

He kissed you back and pulled you closer to him, he thought you looked hot with blood all over you. While kissing you he slowly took off your shirt that was covered in blood and threw it onto the floor. “Are you too tired or no?” He asked.

You smirked sheepishly at him, “that depends on what you’re going to do!” You said.

Thank god Timmy and Tommy already were in bed.

_._._._.

You woke up the next morning hugging Tom, it seemed you held him close in your sleep because it was very comforting to you. Afterall he was built like a life sized teddy bear and as comfortable as one.

He was already awake, reading a book while wearing his reading glasses. “Good morning, Y/N. Did you sleep well?” He asked.

“Semi-well.” You said as he wrapped his arm around you pulling you closer.

“Is it because of what happened yesterday? I thought you got accustomed to it already, hm?” He said, a little worried now.

“No, no! It’s not that- just generally speaking I didn’t sleep that well..” You said and kissed him gently.

“Good to know, hm?” He said.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #10: Green Like Flowers

Words: ca. 4,000 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: No CW: mild angst

The train whistled as it left the station. A piercing scream, cutting through the dewy darkness of early morning. Birds, startled awake from their nightly slumber, took to the sky. Fleeing like their wings were on fire, up and away from branches that were all but safe a few moments before. Their small black bodies quickly lost to a sky that had not yet been kissed by an unforgiving sun.

The engine chugged, rhythmically turning large, cold steel wheels. Pulling both itself and its posy of railcars along with it. Quickly picking up speed, outside one of the windows; a dog ran alongside the tracks. His tongue hanging outside his large muzzle, flopping with each bounding leap. He ran on a well-worn path, a frequent activity. The further the train went, the more he fell behind until Elsa could no longer see him. So too did the path fade. Giving way to leaf-covered ground and sparse trees. The click-clack of the train melted into nothing, like the ocean waves when one lives by the sea.

Elsa Settled into her seat but dared not to rest. Her mind racing fasting then the landscape outside the window. The train was still mostly empty, many seats were vacant. She glanced around, taking everything in without fear of looking creepy. The floor was carpet tiles, frayed on every edge but free of at least large debris. The seats, two on each side of the aisle, were a worn blue fabric. Each headrest was adorned with stark white doctor’s table paper. Fluorescent lightbulbs of varying shades of white and yellow had been illuminating the narrow walkways, now dimmed. Allowing the high-backed seats to cast long shadows.

A few rows back an older man sat slouched in his seat, his fedora, which had seen better days, was pulled down to cover his eyes. The ghost of a beard was painted across a jaw held tight by clenched teeth. Next to him, an older woman sat, knitting with the speed of a youth long past. She was counting to herself or perhaps singing. Her thin lips moving in unison with dancing needles. So the yarn was tugged and so too the corners of her mouth.

In another row a small child was fast asleep, curled into his’s mother’s side. The woman’s head tilted back, mouth agape. She wore what looked to be a brand new hoodie, a large sports logo plastered across the chest. It wasn’t a team Elsa recognized, the child shifted slightly, and they too wore a matching hoodie.

Elsa turned back so she was facing forward once more.  She glanced out the smudged windows to see the faintest hint of light, peeking over the horizon. And she took a moment to marvel at the fact she had to travel North, then West, then South, then West again just to reach the opposite coast. All the years of human advancements and there still wasn’t a train that simply went East to West. Instead, it zig-zagged across rivers, over the plains, and through mountains.

A movement to her left caused her to turn. A man about her age sat restlessly in his seat. Large headphones completely engulfed his ears. One hand clutching a phone, the other gesturing wildly through the air - pointer finger and thumb fully extended with the remaining fingers ever so slightly curved inward. His voice was barely above a whisper, Elsa had to strain to hear the words which were choppy, loose, but forever moving forward like a rushing stream over stones.

Just then the door between cars slid open, spilling the outside in. Chains rattled, wind blew, the click-clack of the track demanded attention. And standing there, a young ember, sparking as intense eyes surveyed the nearly empty train car before settling on Elsa and finally flicking to the seat next to her. The door closed as if in agreement and the woman floated over. Two copper veins of braids framed a speckled face. She smiled and sat down without asking.

“I’m Anna,” she said, it wasn’t a comment or an introduction, it was a commanding statement. She was Anna and whoever she was, Elsa had no choice but to deal with the sudden intrusion.

“Elsa.” She replied, trying to match the other’s tone.

This earned a nod from Anna, her head tipping back, chin raised for a brief moment before landing in neutral again. Silence settled like a heavy fog. Elsa was never good at small talk. Through the defining silence, she heard the ticking of knitting needles and soft rap lyrics start again. Nothing from the mother or child, this new woman’s entrance had not been enough to wake them from slumber.

“Where are you headed?” Anna asked, keeping her voice low.

“San Francisco,” Elsa replied, trying to ignore how much the woman’s eyes stabbed right through her.

“Oh what?!?” she paused to take a breath and bring her volume back down. “I’m going there too, maybe we can be train buddies!”

And suddenly the flames that protected the young woman from the outside world parted and Elsa saw, not a commanding bitch of a woman, but an innocence - a kindness that she hadn’t seen in a person in a long time.

“Buddies,” Elsa repeated slowly as if tasting the word for the first time.

This earned another smile from Anna, who had either not noticed Elsa’s lack of enthusiasm or chose to ignore it.

“Well it’s what like, 15 days to get from here,” she pointed beyond Elsa to the series of trees whipping past the window. “Aaaall the way over to there. So I think, it would be nice to have someone to talk to, have meals with, maybe exchange playlists…”

“I mean I don’t know,” she pulled her arms in like pulling a trenchcoat closed. She dared not to let the demons out nor let any new evil in. She hated meeting new people, hated that period of time when stupid questions are asked. Hated, even more, when the friendship was temporary, formed for convenience rather than growth. Why spend all that time putting cereal in a bowl piece by price only to find out theres no milk.

Elsa was not yet old in the traditional sense, but she had lived many lifetimes. Broken enough hearts and had enough hearts be broken, both from love and friendship, to waste even more hourglass sand on the freckled book in the seat next to hers.

“No offense but I don’t really know you.”

Anna laughed, a full-bellied laugh that had her eye squeezed shut and her head tipped back against the paper covering the headrest. Elsa felt her face start to numb and fought the urge to bounce her leg. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip and she turned her head to study the trees.

“We can be train buddies while we get to know each other. Like, we might as well anyway, seeing as we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other anyways.”

Elsa didn’t turn her head, “It is a long train.”  

“Yes and no, the length? Sure. But there’s the cargo cars, the sleeper cars, the dining cars, the private cars, and THEN there’s the passenger cars like this one. Sooo I think I’m gucci when I say; we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Gucci?” Elsa turned, pulled by the odd choice of word. She was met with yet another smile from her unwanted companion and she regretted turning at all.

“Yeah you know, ‘it’s gucci’ or ‘it’s all good’ same thing.” Anna shrugged but otherwise didn’t move, oblivious to Elsa’s inner turmoil and discomfort, instead, she used this as an opening. Like a racer who finally found a way to pass the leader.

“So, let’s just get all the weird basic stuff out of the way. I’m Anna like I said. I’m from Tennessee, born there, lived there, and went to school there. My favorite color is green. I don’t have any pets or siblings. My parents are divorced but they kinda get along. And I fly drones and do photos for realtors. In my spare time, I like watching movies and pretending to read.”

Behind them, the child resting against his mother stirred, his muffed words, likely exaggerated, were somehow loud enough to be heard over everything else. When his mother didn’t respond, he yawned louder till she awoke will a start. Immediately the child leapt up and took off running towards the door Anna came through. Elsa feared he would open it but he waited, bouncing on his heels till his mother, groggy with sleep and not yet aware of the world, shuffled over. Together they disappeared through the door.

“Aaaand you?” Anna asked. Elsa sighed, the reprieve caused by the commotion had ended and she found herself backed into a corner. She had to at least give some answer or she feared the girl would never leave.

“I’m Elsa, I am from the East Coast. I have a master’s degree. I enjoy the color blue.”

  A few beats passed, the train clicking along the tracks. The sun was higher now, its warm beams reaching out at greedy fingers, casting golden whispers within the other girl’s braids.

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“I told you so much more. Are you one of the people who can’t open up and I have to ask a bunch of questions to get them to talk?”

Elsa flinched, she was one of those people. But she didn’t like being called out so directly like that.

Anna smirked, catching the flinch. “I’ll make it less of an interrogation and more of an exchange, so it’s not so scary, alright?”

Elsa nodded, it was actually a good solution to this trap she was in, as much as it pained her to admit that.

“I’m moving to San Francisco or the outskirts at least. What about you?”

“More or less, the same.”

“I have a job lined up with a big real estate firm downtown, I start at the end of the month. And you?”

“At the end of the month, I will be starting my job as well.”

Anna sighed and shifted in her seat, readying a new approach like a hunter with a spear. “So why the train?”

Elsa felt her face redden and she mumbled a quick “I just felt like it.”

And in the spear went, embedded deep within. Its jagged backwards teeth holding it in place. It wasn’t a good answer. It was a very bad answer, one that said too much without saying much at all.

“Oh come on, that’s not an answer!” Anna waited a beat for Elsa to answer before pressing further. “So I’ll ask again, why the train? And this time, no mumbling,  I need you to say it… out loud.”

Elsa exhaled through her nose. And opened her mouth to speak before closing it again. She was at the crossroads of telling a stranger a lie or speaking the truth into existence for the first time. Giving a name to the shadow of guilt that hung over her, maybe it would let go and take with it this spear. Maybe still the light that so gently clung, in a smooth loving caress to Anna’s skin would, if only for a moment, grant her one kiss of its warmth. And so she chose the path, and took a deep breath, and pushed forward.

“I left my husband at the altar. I packed as much as I could into a few pieces of luggage, and hopped on the first train headed west.”

For once, since their meeting, Anna was quiet and Elsa suddenly felt the need to fill the silence.

“I left him my car and anything I didn’t pack, like the dog and my piano. I quit my pointless job as an actuarial analyst via email right before I boarded the train.”

Anna exhaled loudly and blinked purposely a few times before speaking, “You.. wow. Just left everything behind huh?”

“I wanted to get out of town quickly. I couldn’t breathe.” Elsa tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“So you chose probably the slowest mode of transportation to go across the entire country, just because you ‘felt like it’?”

“I figured it would be a fun adventure and give me time to think.”

Anna laughed, “You mean to brood?”

“I didn’t say that”

“Come on Elsa, you weren’t seriously going to mope and look dramatically out the window for 2 weeks were you?”

“Well, when you put it like that, I guess not.”

“Meaning, yes Anna I was but you called me out on it and now I don’t know what to say. Right?”

Elsa made a face, she had known this woman for less than an hour and she was already so far in her head that Elsa might as well charge her rent. But saying her, what she now saw as reckless and impulsive plan, out loud was freeing.

She felt warmth on the back of her neck and turned back to the window to see the sunlight set fire to a field of corn. Brown wispy tops of long green stocks danced in waves, long endless rows bent and swayed. A lone tree in the middle of the field broke the pattern, the stalks that had come to worship at its feet paid the price for being in the shade. They were shorter and more sparse, yet the further from the tree, the more they grew. The further away from the city, the train went, the more Elsa felt like those corn stalks away from the tree.

  +++

The dining car was busier, packed full of life and people. All of whom were in various states of dress. Some sporting loose-fitting sweats, wiping sleep from their eyes. Others in formal business attire, already on their third cup of coffee and 7th morning briefing. The clicking of their keyboards and monotone voices of video calls faded into the conglomerate of sounds contained in the frankly small space.

“Can I get you ladies anything this morning?” a younger woman in uniform asked, she placed two small, single-page menus in front of Elsa and Anna, who each sat on opposite sides of a small booth.

“A coffee and some toast, please.” Elsa handed the menu back, she hadn’t bothered looking, it was a simple basic order that she never struggled to find anywhere she went.

“Umm,” Anna on the other hand was scanning the menu up and down, trying to decide. “Orange juice and a coffee and a bagel with butter instead of cream cheese. Please!” the woman smiled and took her menu, continuing down the row.

It wasn’t long before the food and drinks arrived. Elsa put one sugar in her coffee and sipped it slowly. Outside the large, clean, windows of the dining car, there were vast sprawling fields. It had been only a few days since Anna became her companion and nearly that entire time, the train had seemed to be continually chugging through the same boring field. So much for seeing the country.

Anna dumped several packets of sugar and a few creams into her coffee before taking a large swig and chasing the hot liquid with orange juice. She made a face and busied herself with her bagel.

This is how their mornings went, and it was a comfortable enough routine.

+++

“So listen,” Anna said. They were back in their seats in the passenger car. “The next stop is going to be a long one, apparently there’s a delay further up the tracks and they’re holding us at this next station for a few hours.”

“Yes, I know this. I heard the announcement too.” Elsa mused

“Yeah ok but listen, they said 4 plus hours right? So I googled things around there and I found this!” she handed Elsa her phone, on it was a photo of a waterfall with text below that mentioned a hiking trail.

“I don’t hike, plus I don’t think we have time anyway.” “We wouldn’t BUT! This,” she jabbed the phone screen. “Is a 10-minute walk from the station. See it’s part of a hiking trail but the station itself is a rest stop for the trail. So we’re going.”

There was that commanding presence coming out again. If the waterfall was so close to the station itself, Anna did have a point. So Elsa agreed.

An hour or so later they were stepping off the train onto a dusty brick platform. To call this a station was being generous. There was a small building, which contained two single restrooms, and one vending machine that looked like it hadn’t been serviced in years.

A soft hand grabbed Elsa’s forearm and she found herself being pulled away from the building and towards the beaten path to the waterfall.

+++

“You know, when I left home. No one checked on me. No one text or calls. Not even from my would-be husband.”

“Not text or even a Facebook message?”

“Nope.” Elsa left out a sigh. “I’m not surprised honestly. People say I’m difficult to get to know. At the wedding, the bride’s side was nearly empty. The few people over there just sat there because the groom’s side was full and they wanted a better view.”

Anna picked up a small pebble and tossed it into the stream, it made a soft plop sound before sinking below the surface. “Why did you guys want to get married then?”

“Well,” Elsa chewed on her lower lip for a moment before answering. “When you’re in business people expect things from you. It’s incredibly outdated and sexist too. But you’re expected to have a wife or a husband, expected to have children, expected to own a home, or at least rent somewhere nice. Have a good, clean car, new tech, nice clothes. All those things.”

She paused to copy Anna’s move with the pebble but missed the water completely, the small stone disappearing somewhere in the woods.

“We met at a company gathering and didn’t hate each other. Our drinks were the same, we watched the same evening news, had the same mild interest in the local sports team. It was enough to bolster a conversation. We started dating a few weeks later.”

“What about the wedding?”

Elsa laughed or at least made a sound that was like a laugh. “We had been dating for 2 years. And when I saying dating, I mean we were each other’s plus one to events, and we had dinner together at the nice restaurants. He was up for a promotion, asked if I wanted to get married and I agreed.”

“Wait what, he didn’t romantically propose?”

“No, we were never really intimate. A kiss here and there, maybe a night over to relieve stress. But if I’m honest, we spent most of our time apart and doing our own thing.”

Anna picked up a stick and picked at the bark, her brows pulled together and the ghost of a frown on her face.

“Did you love him?” she asked quietly

Elsa didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to turn her attention to the waterfall. Finally, after a few long minutes of silence, she answered. “No. No, I didn’t love him. And I would bet everything I own that he didn’t love me either.”

This time Anna sighed and scooted closer to Elsa. “You deserve to be loved, Elsa.”

“I’m not sure I even know what love is.”

Anna stood and walked in front of her field of view. Hands on her hips. “Sure you do!”

Elsa responded by standing and making a face.

“Elsa love isn’t a contract, it’s not a business proposal. It’s work and it’s hard but it also good and warm. Love is telling someone about your day and them listening and offering advice. Love is watching a movie together and laughing at the stupid parts. Love is holding someone while they’re sick and telling them dumb jokes to make them feel better. Love is a lot of things, but what love isn’t is convenient.”

“He was very convenient…”

“But was he love?”

“No.”

Anna reached out and took Elsa’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. “It’s okay, you know? You’re going to be okay. Fresh coast, fresh start.”

“Fresh coast, fresh start?” Elsa repeated, confused.

“Yeah, you’re moving to the West Coast, fresh coast, to start anew, fresh start.”

“Fresh coast, fresh start.” Elsa said again, “You know what, I like that.”

Anna beamed and that warm feeling prickled on the back of Elsa’s neck again.

+++

“So we have the colors all picked out, purple and green. And my dress is white but it’s ever so slightly green like it will catch the light, it’s so pretty.” Anna said. They were back in the dining car, having just finished dinner. About a week had passed since the waterfall adventure and train was rolling again. This time outside the window the fields were broken by large rocks and streams. Anna had her phone out, swiping through photos of her wedding prep.

“You sound excited,” Elsa commented, taking a sip of wine.

“Oh, I am! It’s going to be a lot of fun…” Anna looked up suddenly and stared right at Elsa. “You should come!”

“You don’t have to invite me.”

“Oh please, we’re like practically sisters at this point. Like I know what brand of tampon you used and I know that you snore when you sleep.”

“That’s… that’s a weird thing to know.”

“Elsa, everyone snores, pay attention, I’m forwarding you the rsvp so you can fill out what type of food you want.”

Elsa had to smile as she pulled out her phone to answer the email. “What a strange trip this has been. One day I’m running from my own wedding, and now I’m getting invited to a stranger’s.”

“Not a stranger, a friend,” Anna added, smiling warmly.

“A friend,” Elsa repeated, genuinely returning Annan’s smile.

“You know I was just sitting in the dining car, having a coffee and playing a pointless game on my phone. When I suddenly just felt this pull to leave. And I followed it blindly till I saw you. Then it’s like everything clicked. I think we were meant to find each other.”

Elsa was quiet for some time, considering this. Anna had swooped into her field of vision and hadn’t left since. And for once she didn’t mind the company. That warm feeling was back and with it, Elsa found herself agreeing. “I think we were meant to find each other too.”

+++

In the morning they would be arriving in San Francisco and would be going their separate ways. It was likely they wouldn’t see each other again. Sure, they had exchanged numbers - but in a city of 3 million people, it was easy to lose a single soul.

She didn’t want to lose Anna though. This blaze of a woman who dared to knock down Elsa’s walls with a bulldozer. She had never really had a close friend, and as Anna, asleep on her shoulder, stirred in response to a dream - Elsa couldn’t help but wonder if this is what it felt like to be loved.

Anna shifted, reaching out her hand, searching for something. Fingers moved with a purpose, slowly curling and uncurling until their ship reached the harbor. And she wrapped them around Elsa’s hand, holding firmly, as if she was once again reading Elsa’s mind and was too, afraid to let her go.

Elsa decided then and there, that this time would be different. This time she wouldn’t close the door on someone. She gave Anna’s hand a slight squeeze, causing Anna to nestle into the old woman’s neck.

Elsa turned to watch the lights from the city fade into the darkness of the desert. Her neck was warm and this time it traveled down and warmed her whole body. She ran a thumb over Anna’s hand and smiled.

[paellaplease]

Firebird | Chap.2

Summary: 105 years before the hero’s resurrection, a young woman trained under ancient knowledge once forgotten- enchants her very first weapon. For the sake of research and in search of a warrior worthy to wield it, she is sent to Rito Village, immediately clashing with the local archer, Revali, a bird too prideful for his own good.

Surviving deadly road-trips, sudden drops, and a hand bearing a Sheikah rune with a penchant for catching fire, she slowly begins to uncover the secrets behind who she once was and the old evil that lies asleep in the mountains beyond.

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 2: The Chief

Good news and bad news. Fate plots her course and laughs in her face.

*

  The enchanted dagger hung heavy from inside its decorative scabbard as she ascended the multiple wooden steps taking her near the summit of Rito Village. Along with her backpack full of notes, books and supplies, she was also unnecessarily armed to the teeth, by her standards at least. 

Teacher carries twice this many weapons to a village picnic. 

Maiya felt silly, listening to the dagger at her hip clank noisily alongside the sound of her other sheathed throwing knives. She felt more like a bag of metal than a mysterious enchanter from a land far away. The thought made her snort.

The young woman adjusted her now shoulder length hair, tucking it underneath her newly acquired bandana. She quietly mourned for its comforting weight when it used to hang long and healthy at her waist. Brushing it out in the morning was one of her few indulgences, and now with it gone she felt an uncomfortable gap in her usual routine.

The bandana was yellow and scratchy, but it was cheap and did the job in hiding her lopsided haircut. This is your punishment for not paying attention to your surroundings.

Maiya shrugged, clicking her tongue and clutching the railing at her side with a bit more force than necessary. There were more important things to worry about. 

It’s just hair.

Humming a cheerful old folk-song, she attempted to summon her final dredges of courage as the number of stairs left began to dwindle. She was nearing the top and getting closer to the Rito Chieftain’s office.

As much as she hated to admit it, the near second brush with death had rattled her enough to have cost her sleep the night before. And she found herself more of a nervous wreck this lovely morning than she usually was. Comfy and plush the bed may have been at the Rito Stable, she spent the evening tossing and turning, plagued by night terrors.

For a moment, she thought it was the same nightmare she usually saw. Skeletons on horseback, metal clashing on metal. Voices, so many voices, calling out for her to run .

However this time instead of a sword plunging into her gut as she turned away, it was an arrow, coated in blue feathers, soaring straight and true towards her, piercing her skull’s soft flesh just between her eyes.

Maiya had awoken early that morning, finding it difficult to return to sleep. She packed her things and tipped the stablemaster, setting out for the village which blurred the lines between earth and sky, and reaching the connecting bridge by early afternoon.

Anxiously, she flexed her gloved left hand, willing the aching buzz of energy emanating from the rune underneath to recede. The soft glow seemed bluer, it’s shine reminding her of the Rito she had met the day before. 

Not all travellers that passed by the forge at Akkala were sunshine and rainbows. Some were quite icy, or downright uncivil, her mentor not wasting any time to throw them out should they had overstayed their welcome. 

However…him. What was his name again? That Rito. He was rude, callous, and absolutely full of it. Which made his willingness to help her all the more suspicious and confusing. 

Maiya half expected the oversized bird to lead her towards a bokoblin camp in revenge to her interrupting his target practice. However, she was pleasantly surprised to find that his directions were indeed correct, and that she found herself back onto the Highway within hours instead of days. 

What a weird guy. 

At her thoughts, her hand glowed brighter. Surprisingly, the usual accompanying pain felt dulled. Almost…non-existent. 

She glared at her left hand, pulsing like a blue beacon underneath her glove. Hush , she thought. 

Another worrying memory gnawed at her brain as she climbed the final steps, clutching the railing to catch her breath. Back there, faced with the threat of imminent death, the rune on her hand reacted accordingly, reaching out to neutralize whatever threat was heading towards its host. 

In hindsight, the protective fire wouldn’t have made it anyway, and the arrow would have killed her instantly. But the memory of a glowing blue light and the confusion she felt at a heavily feathered something running towards her still remained. 

Maiya grimaced, looking out at the bright, blue sky to her right. ‘Helpful’ as the Rito archer may have been, she wonders how friendly he would be if he finds out she nearly burnt him to a crisp. Good riddance. I hope we never cross paths again.

Three more steps, two, then one. She reached the entrance of the Chieftain’s office. What was a light breeze from below was now a strong gust of wind at the summit, playing with the wisps of hair that had escaped her bandana and making her clutch her brown traveler’s coat tighter as she suppressed a violent shiver. 

The outside of the hut was decorated with colourful silks and cloth, all printed with a white symbol of an oddly shaped half-circle with two wing-like geometric shapes fanning out from either side. She recognised it from her history classes with her mentor, the sacred Rito sigil. An emblem that had survived centuries of history. 

Along with the banners, shells and chimes were strung up and hung along sections of the hut. They danced merrily in the wind, creating soft music which worked well in reducing some of her nervous panic. She wondered where they came from, the shells in particular, some looked to be from mostly molluscs. 

Someone to her left just cleared their throat.

“Uh…Miss? Are you alright?”

Maiya blinked, shaking her head and turning to whoever just spoke. 

It was a Rito, clad in brown leather armour. He had piercing blue eyes, which stood out like two bright stars against the coal black of his plumage. The partisan spear gripped in his right wing, and the bright red sash with the Rito emblem secured neatly to his waist indicated that he was probably some sort of guard.

One second passed. Then another.

Oh dear.

“I was staring off into space again wasn’t I?”

Surprisingly, a small, shy smile graced the guard’s severe stony face. “Perhaps,” he said, shrugging awkwardly. “You looked like you were trying very hard to set that yellow cloth on fire with your mind.”

Maiya let out a shaky laugh. Yikes, bit too close to home, birdie. 

“Sorry,” she said. Rocking back on her heels and scratching the back of her head in embarrassment. “Anxious habit, I guess I’m a bit nervous to meet your chieftain…”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about.” The guard smiled kindly. “Chief Kamori is a wise and just leader. He has been dedicating himself to our village since I was a chick." 

He quickly surveyed her appearance. Though his gaze was purely calculating, Maiya still felt a tad self-conscious as his eyes took in her worn coat and old leathers. The guard seemed to understand where some of her stress was coming from, beak quirking into a serene smile. "He worries little about formalities, Hylian guest, so do not feel concerned over not packing your finest silks and messing up your curtsey,” he winked good-naturedly.

Thank Hylia .

The guard turned his head towards the Chieftain’s hut, “I’ve watched him govern our great village for many years now. He treats all that meet him with respect and honesty.” The Rito then stood to attention, stamping his staff on the ground and making Maiya jump.

“We only ask that you do the same.”

Filled with new understanding, Maiya’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s a reasonable request to ask for,” she smiled. 

She stepped forward to the cloth door, “Oh! By the way,” she said. “My name is Maiya, what’s yours?" 

"Talako,” he said. “Protector of the Chief and Guardian to the peoples of Rito Village." 

"Thank you Talako, hope to see you around I guess?”

“I hope so too, Miss Maiya." 

And with that, she pulled the curtains back and stepped inside. 

The Chieftain’s office was small and humble. Minimally decorated save for the large oak table which sat at the corner of the room. Glass lamps strung with carefully woven rope hung from the high ceiling, swinging lightly in the breeze. 

Tall windows surrounded her from all sides, all kept wide open as the cool Tabantha air danced and whistled through the room, carrying the sweet scent of flowers and fruit. Beyond was a stunning view of the snowy Hebra mountainside, with rolling hills and white capped peaks which disappeared into the clouds. 

Finally, in the middle of the room sat the Chieftain.

The Chief’s eyes were kind. His right eye was a dark shade of green, the same colour of grass after rain in the lush fields of her hometown. It was relatively clear, unharmed, contrasting with the milky white of his left eye, a long, old scar running jagged across it.

He was a rather large Rito, widely built and towering over her by a fair margin. His brown feathers were fading to grey in his old age, with the ones that grew under his beak decorated with silver plates and beads, braided to resemble a three pointed beard. 

She’d never met a Chief before. Maiya didn’t know what she was expecting. Someone grander maybe? A throne instead of a rocking chair? But a part of her felt relieved. This Chief looked understanding, fair. He was dressed conservatively in simple cream clothes, the only splash of colour being a green scarf printed with the Rito emblem tied neatly around his neck. 

Maiya’s eyes continued to roam the room, noticing the tapestry that hung at the back wall. Shells and feathers were woven into the fabric, with splashes of beautiful colour laced into its intricate weaving and embroidery. 

It depicted a surprisingly wingless Rito, golden light surrounding them like a halo. They were dressed in a red and gold robe, which fanned out dramatically across the tapestry like a crashing wave. Flying down from the heavens to meet the flightless bird was a giant serpent like dragon. Its scales were the colour of wildfire, with outstretched claws that gripped and curled around a snow-white mountain. The Rito was reaching an arm up, as if to grab the bright star which rested in the beast’s gaping maw. 

It was beautiful.

The Chieftain held out a wing, "Hoo! Hello!” he gestured for her to step further into the room. “Come in, let me have a better look at you! These eyes aren’t the same as they used to be, more a bat than a hawk unfortunately.”

The leader of the Rito squinted his good eye at her as she approached, widening as she stepped into the light. The expression he had on his face was puzzling. Open, almost trusting. As if he recognised the person standing before him now. Which would be impossible as this was their first meeting. 

Stop overthinking. 

“Hoo,” he smiled, “Are you the young Maiya that Nisandrey has been telling me so much about?”

That caught her off-guard. It was rare that she ever heard her mentor’s name spoken out loud. Let alone so casually by someone she’s never met.

“Yes…that’s me. Do you know my Teacher well?”

“Hmm,” the Chieftain said, turning his head to the stack of letters on the oak table. One of them was still rolled open, her mentor’s signature in the bottom in her favourite red ink.

“She and I have been friends for a very long time, young one.” He breathed, voice as light as the wind around them. “She says that you are progressing well in your studies.”

Maiya felt her ears go red, biting her tongue and clasping her hands behind her back to stop her from yelling out and fist pumping in the air. HOLY SHIT! YES! Yeah! Woohoo-

Instead.

She bowed her head bashfully. “Thank you, Chieftain. That is good to hear, especially coming from her." 

The wise Rito chuckled, "No need to be so humble, young Maiya.” He then began to sit up slowly, minding his back as his talons touched the floor. “Where are my manners? I am Chief Kamori of the Rito Village. But you may just call me Kamori if you wish." 

He walked to the side of the room, pulling a chair towards his and gesturing to her with an open wing to take a seat. "It has been a long time since an Enchanter had stepped foot on this village.” She thanked him and sat gently into the plush chair. Rito furniture, there’s just nothing else like it!

“Hardly an Enchanter,” Maiya said, relieving her shoulders from the weight of her travel pack. “I was granted the title just a moment before I left.”

Kamori smiled, eyes far away. “Ancient tales say that to be called an Enchanter means to have endured years of hard-work and intense study.” Sadness seemed to mingle with his voice as he continued. “Regardless of when it was made official, you are what you are now, do not belittle the efforts which have brought you to this point.” 

She gazed down at her left hand, wondering to what extent her mentor revealed to Kamori of her abilities. Enchanting was a science as old as ancient history, but the methods she used were rather unconventional. Moreso magical even- an opinion Teacher would never agree with. If she focused hard enough, she could feel the active hum of energy running through the veins and nerves underneath the lines of her scar. The rune on her hand made everything easier, but the pain and fatigue that followed almost always trumped the allowances. 

Many evenings she wondered if it was truly her skill and knowledge aiding her, or the rune acting as a permanent crutch. She was happy with her accomplishment, she wouldn’t deny that, but making a point to constantly take credit felt wrong somehow. Like she was cheating. 

Maiya’s lips curved, bitter. Pride was never her forte anyway. 

A short pause settled between her and the Chief when she finally remembered why she was here in the first place. Business now, self-deprecating internal rant later. Quickly, she reached down to the enchanted dagger at her side, unbuckling the scabbard and presenting it to the Rito Chieftain. “It will not harm anyone while sheathed, but please still be careful not to touch it,” she said. 

“There’s a defect I still need to work through. From what I gathered, the elemental energy infused within it is still tied to mine. Teacher believes the ancient masters met this issue as well in the beginning stages.” She frowned, shaking her head. Don’t think he would appreciate a lecture . “The dagger burns all except for me, a powerful enchanter, and…"

“The warrior you deem worthy to wield it,” Kamori finished, smiling knowingly. 

Maiya’s shoulders dropped. There it is. “Yes,” she breathed. “And you probably know that’s the reason why I am here.”

“Hooo, you are correct child. Dear Nisandrey…”

Maiya shivered. Such an endearing term before such a terrifying woman’s name was so unnatural.

“…has informed me of the details. You are very lucky, we have already named the village’s most skilled archer and fighter a few years ago. During the time, Nisandrey was invited to survey our new line of lightweight armour and weaponry, but unfortunately she had to decline due to previously scheduled…appointments.” The way his voice rose and dipped at the word appointments in a rough imitation of her mentor’s own accent made her laugh in surprise. Kamori sat back in his rocking chair, pleased. 

"I warn you enchanter, the Rito warrior is skilled, but young. He can be quite vocal of his achievements and I’ve been told this can be slightly off-putting at times,” He paused, deliberating over how he should salvage her opinion of their chosen after his quick admission. “However, he is inherently good of heart and extremely diligent. I’m sure you will both find a way to get along.”

A bell chimed in the distance, accompanied by the sound of flapping wings.

"Hoo! I believe that is him now.”

Maiya stood from her seat, sheathing the dagger and turning to face the mysterious Rito that had just entered the room. 

“Welcome back home, Revali, Pride of the Rito.”

Growing up, Maiya never really had much in the way of an extended family, or friends rather outside from the other smiths who frequented the workshop. 

Hence, she can’t say she’s ever had the honour of experiencing the specific, delicious concoction of embarrassment, anger, and surprise from being on the other end of a prank or practical joke. And for many years, she was happy to keep it that way. Till now.

This is a joke right. 

Her eyes were wide. Scanning the newcomer in disbelief.

Jade anklets, blue feathers, a familiar scowling beak. 

Haha…

I’m in danger.

The chair behind her let out a loud screech , and she belatedly realised that she was unconsciously backing away and towards the nearest exit, which in this case was a window opening up to an at least 30 story drop.

She could feel her heart galloping in her ears.

To make matters worse, in response to her panic, the rune underneath her glove started to glow once more, sizzling the leather. A trail of black smoke rose from the ruined material, making her predicament obvious even as she tried to hide her hand behind her back.

Across the room, the Rito known as Revali stood, royal blue feathers ruffling as he slowly began to process who exactly he was looking at.

“What are you doing here?”

Maiya raised her smoking hand and waved awkwardly, “Uh…hello again.”

'Idiot! You big dumbass! What the hell was that?’

I don’t know I panicked!

“Hooo,” Kamori smiled, oblivious to the heavy cloud of animosity that now hovered over the two. “It seems you both already know each other. Excellent.”

[rinaris-skyrim]

2. Tweaks

I wish I had a better category name for these. These are small changes, some of them atmospheric, some of them just nice to have. They don’t change anything terribly significant about the game, just add some flavor here, an item there, a little immersive utility yonder.

---

A Matter of Time

In-game clock widget. Useful for checking to see when shops should be open, checking the phases of the moons if you’re a werewolf, figuring out if it’ll be dark soon. Just a gem. [link]

Aime’s Craftable Lockpicks

WISOTT - What it says on the tin. One iron ingot equals five lockpicks. No more complicated than that. [link]

Alchemist’s Journal

More for roleplaying purposes than anything. A simple book, craftable at a tanning rack, that lists ingredient effects as you discover them. [link]

Atlas Map Markers - Updated

The original Atlas Map Markers is brilliant, adding map markers for most things in Skyrim you might want on your map — the smaller camps, shops, shrines out in the wilderness, interesting spots, landmarks, whatnot. Kryptopyr updated it with an mod configuration menu. You’ll need the original [here], and then install Kryptopyr’s update [here] over it (”merge” option in Mod Organizer).

Better Stealing

A somewhat controversial tweak, one I’m not sure works well for balance, especially given various perk overhauls and other mods that allow multiple ways for you to offload stolen goods. However, I always found it stupid that shopkeepers would preternaturally “know” what was stolen and what wasn’t. This makes it simple: if it’s relatively inexpensive and no one sees you take it, it won’t be marked as “stolen” in your inventory (though the owners might still send some thugs after you after the fact, once they realize it’s missing!). Simple SKSE plugin. [link]

CS Soul Fragments to Soul Gems

Finally a use for all of those “Soul Gem Fragments” you find out in ruins or in random barrels! “Polish” the fragments with a linen rag at a forge, then combine them to make empty soul gems of the size you desire. You can also “smash” soul gems to reforge one large gem into several smaller ones, if you prefer, or combine smaller ones into larger gems. Why was this not in the base game? [link]

Dark Brotherhood for Good Guys

Why do I want this mod for a group that’s all about playing a murdering edgelord? Well, basically, because not all Brotherhood members are edgy dark edgelords, and usually when people want someone murdered, it’s for a reason. This gives you a somewhat different perspective on the Brotherhood and their victims: information, backstories, the philosophy of Sithis as morally neutral chaos instead of pure evil. I tend to play on the good-ish side of things, and I love reading and lore, so I like this. Add to taste. Be sure to merge the base mod with the provided hotfix. [link]

Dragon Wall Wisdom - Readable Dragon Walls

You’re the Dragonborn, right? Learning the dragon language, right? Gifted with an understanding of the dragon tongue and preternatural knowledge, right? Then you should really be able to read these dragon wall inscriptions in the game. This offers funny, quirky, and sometimes just downright mundane translations for these ancient arcane inscriptions. SHBITBG - Should have been in the base game. [link]

EK_RingLimiter

You have ten fingers. Why only one ring? This allows you to wear more — though for balance reasons I recommend sticking with the default of two, or perhaps four. Something something about magical auras interfering if the trinkets are worn too close to one another. ;) [link]

Even Better Quest Objectives

The default in-game journal is rather pathetic. It rarely gives you your motivations, or even a text version of where you’re supposed to go next. I very much miss Morrowind’s journal, where every conversation and relevant tidbit was recorded. This helps. [link]

Farmers Sell Produce

Seriously, again, why wasn’t this in the base game? It’s close to necessary if you’re going to use a needs mod, or something that uses produce to create medicines for diseases. Assuming, of course, you’re not inclined to go rampaging across farmers’ carefully-tended fields. [link]

Faster Transform - To Werewolf and VampireLord

Just a nice tweak. Again, time is valuable, it’s nice not to have quite such a large window in which I’m being wailed on by enemies, and I like the more monstrous touch. The middle option - only half the vanilla time to transform - is recommended for realism and balance reasons. [link]

Female Vampires Have Fangs

One of the very few purely aesthetic changes here. All vampires should have fangs. (I’m gay. Fangs hot.) [link]

Harvest Overhaul

Find it stupid you only get one flower from that whole patch of mountain flowers? Yeah, me too. This fixes that. [link]

iHUD - Immersive HUD

Neatly stows away the status bars when you don’t need them (when they’re full and you’re not in combat). Also hides the compass, because how does your character preternaturally know there’s this thing that way if they can’t see it? [link]

Immersive Dragons

Just gives dragons a larger wingspan so they can maybe actually lift themselves into the air. Another aesthetics tweak, with the goal of immersion. [link]

Jaxonz Lights Please

Incredibly useful for those using magical lighting. This maps both Candlelight and Magelight to hotkeys, removing the need to constantly switch spells. It also means you can easily toggle Candlelight on and off like a lantern or torch. Works well with mods that affect lighting and darkness, which I do. [link]

Jaxonz Map Markers

The best custom map marker mod I’ve found. Want to keep track of... well, anything? Ore deposits, NPCs, followers, your horse, that little camp... This is it! Uses the game’s built-in quest and quest objective system for map markers. Super easy to use. [link]

Kryptopyr’s Clothing and Clutter Fixes

This maybe should have gone in the “Fixes” post, but it’s... not quite “just” fixes. “Hooded robes” are separated into hoods and robes for mixing and matching, some NPCs clothing is changed to be more lore-friendly, alongside some behind-the-scenes fixes like weight adjustments. Optional, officially. [link]

Kryptopyr’s Weapon and Armor Fixes Remade

This also maybe should have gone in the “Fixes” post, but again, it’s a bit more of an overhaul, adjusting weights of things and armor scaling for consistency. Required for Kryptopyr’s great crafting overhaul, CCOR, so we definitely want this. [link]

Learn Alchemy From Recipes

WISOTT. Reading a recipe “discovers” those ingredient effects for you. Again, why was this not in the original game? [link]

Living Takes Time

I’ll be honest, I deactivate most of the features of this mod, except for “training takes time” and “reading takes time” (and increases speech skill). Crafting takes time just gets onerous, especially in the early game when you need all this gear and your bandoliers and you have needs you need to fill... And blocking the inventory or magic menu during combat is just... no. Still, the mod itself adds some nice functionality, and it can be fully tweaked to taste. If you’re using an alternate spell learning mod, be sure to set the “spell learning” time to zero. [link]

Mortal Enemies - De-Aimbot Your Foes

Once an enemy has started an attack, they’re locked into that direction and attack. This makes you able to dodge or move out of range of the attack, and they can no longer hit you anyways. They move slower when aiming or channeling as well. No instant pivots, and two-handed weapons feel heavier than one-handed ones. All in all, it makes combat feel more realistic, and allows them to miss you if you’re clever. But beware! These changes apply to you, too! [link]

No Psychic Lock Knowledge

WISOTT. You don’t somehow magically know how hard a lock is going to be just by looking at it. You just try to pick it, like... you actually would if you decide to pick a lock. [link]

No Silver at Jorrvaskr

Because a group of warriors whose upper echelons are all werewolves would totally be eating off silver. Not. [link] (in the optional files section)

Non-Exploitable Crossbow Reloading

Allows you to reload crossbows on your own time, by pressing the fire button, before firing again, without messing with your equipped ammunition. Simple and lovely. [link]

People Are Strangers

You don’t somehow magically know the names of people before you talk to them! I personally favor the “race” variant, just because... less generic, and I can usually see if someone is a Wood Elf or an Argonian anyways, but you can adjust the “stranger” label to taste. [link]

Point the Way

Roads actually have more signposts to direct people to the smaller towns as well as the large cities, and have them at more junctions. Signs also point the right way. Especially helpful along some of the more windy roads. No need to puzzle things out on your map quite so much. [link]

Realistic Capacity

Without a bag, you can only carry as much as you can feasibly wear, really. It’s that simple. This mod dynamically adjusts your capacity and allows for the armor you’re wearing and a few different weapons, e.g. a bow, a one-handed weapon, a shield, a knife or two, making those effectively weightless, and assume pockets for some meager supplies, but aside from that — backpacks and bags are mandatory. Makes things harder for a packrat like me, but it does make me think. [link]

Realistic Humanoid Movement Speed

This one takes a bit of the sting out of Realistic Capacity. Movement speed is adjusted to feel more realistic overall — you walk faster, jog more slowly (when sneaking, too), and don’t sprint like a gazelle. Take the optional horse speed modifier file to also add more value to horses: they walk and gallop faster as well now, in addition to their other benefits. [link]

Realistic Nights

Wondering why torches and night eye were even added to the game? Annoyed at how, well, bright the nights are? Put an end to that! Darker nights make light sources actually useful, and provides a good reason for sneaky types to actually consider the day/night cycle. Light adjusted based on the moons, snow reflecting night, and various other factors for an even better experience. [link]

Run For Your Lives

NPCs who are not guards or warriors run inside and hide from both dragons and vampire attacks. Like anyone with any sense of self-preservation would. I mean, I guess Nords don’t exactly revere self-preservation, but... this just seems more sensible to me, especially if we’re talking little old ladies armed with a steel dagger. [link]

SCRR - Skyrim Coin Replacer Redux

“Modern” Septims have no business deep in ancient Nordic burial mounds or Dwemer ruins. The Stormcloaks aren’t too ecstatic about Imperial money, either, and are creating their own silver currency, though gold is gold. Now silver Haralds are found in barrows, and ebony Dumacs in Dwemer ruins. All can be be melted down to ingots of their respective metals, or traded with merchants for “regular” currency. This adds massively to immersion, not to mention offering a supply of useful materials for smithing. [link]

Sleep Tight

Simple change that makes NPCs change into robes or clothes for sleeping, instead of going to bed in that hard iron armor (though for balance reasons, and modesty, people still wear chest armor). Accordingly, they’ll also take more damage if you can catch them unawares. [link]

Take Notes - Journal of the Dragonborn

I love this. I love this so so much. The ability to write a custom journal from in the game, and export it if I want to, adds so much to roleplaying. It means I can create a proper backstory, examine character motivations, process events of the game through my character’s lens, and record it all for myself later. Just, magnificent. Get it. You won’t regret it. [link]

The Choice is Yours - Fewer Forced Quests - Improved Dialogue Options

WISOTT. Just talking to someone doesn’t automatically add a quest to your inventory. You can turn an offer down or defer an errand until later. Some things a character just wouldn’t want to do. Now that’s not cluttering up your journal. Again, SHBITBG - should have been in the base game. [link]

Timing is Everything - Quest Delay and Timing Control

This allows you to space out the steps of the main quest as seems realistic (e.g. NPCs taking some time for research), as well as control when (at which level) various quests will start. There are also a few other tweaks to be found, such as Meridia’s Beacon not responding to vampires, werewolves randomly attacking, and Thalmor ignoring you unless certain quest conditions are fulfilled, instead of attack squads simply triggering at a certain level. [link]

TK Dodge

Gives you the ability to quickly sideroll and dodge a blow. Makes light armors a lot more viable in close combat, and plays nicely with Mortal Enemies. [link]

Trade and Barter

A fantastic mod that adjusts prices, merchant gold, and other parameters around trading based on race, faction alliance, personal relationships, location, and more. Highly customizable, highly compatible, brilliant. [link]

TravelMounts

You need to have a horse in order to be able to fast travel. Offers more of a reason to drop that 1000 gold, and this small tweak makes it feel much more immersive (after all, a rider can outrun and avoid many things someone on foot can’t). [link]

Truly Absorb Dragon Souls

For every dragon you kill and dragon soul you absorb, you get just that little bit stronger, gain a little more magicka, health, stamina, movement speed, carry weight, shout cooldown, armor, and magic resist. Set the amount gained for each dragon soul on install; I recommend medium to low values for each gain, just to offer longevity. [link]

Understandable Draugrs

In the vein of “Dragon Wall Wisdom,” you can now understand the draugr when they yell at you in a fight. Just adds the English translation in parentheses to the end of the subtitled Dragon language dialogue. Now your Dragonborn will be able to understand what’s being constantly shouted at them, even if it isn’t anything particularly nice or uplifting. [link]

Wearable Lanterns

No need to constantly toggle between a torch and a shield, or fight blind in a dark ruin. Just hook a lantern to your belt, that can easily be toggled on and off (and also automatically put out when you sneak, if you’re That Sort™). Incredibly nifty and useful. [link]

---

...I’m sure I’ll be adding to this later. I’m sure, honestly. Maybe with an “optional tweaks” post, too, that are very much a preference thing. Or, y’know, just reblog myself. That might actually be the best option.

[cuthie]

Omru: Stuff

  The Vol’dun sun was baking the sand beneath Omru’s paws, not a cloud in the sky to grant even a sliver of reprieve. Sand, sun and danger were the three most common elements of home, so far as Om was concerned. Not that anyone ever truly became immune to their effects, regardless of how ‘used to it’ they were. Chewing on his nails, the little fox boy trotted his way through the dunes, his free hand reaching reflexively for a knapsack that wasn’t there. Those slithering scaley bois better not have taken off with his goods. He had weapons, clothes, knick knacks, trinkets and all kinds of cool stuff in his pack when he had been abducted.  Exhaling through his nose, Omru’s bright orange eyes flickered towards Pazaz. Om was used to the heat, but even the trolls of Zandalar tend to sweat buckets out here. How was the green guy in the blue hoodie not sweltering at this point?

“Does your kind sweat?”

The goblin turned to look at Omru over his shoulder, not bothering to stop walking, “Yeah, of course. Just like yous guys, we sweat through our fuggin tongues.”

“Oh. Wait, what? Through your tongues? I don’t get it.”

  The cackle that came in response sounded almost mean to Omru’s ears. It wasn’t, in intention, it was just.. A wicked laugh. He wasn’t sure if that was something unique to Paz or their species in general. “Yo, just yankin yin’s chain kid. Lil dog humor, s’all. Nah, we sweat. Hell, back home my folks is mostly made’a sweat. Sweat an motor oil. Nasty lil boogers, most of’em. They don’t clean up so good like you an me.”

“Oh. Just used to extreme temperatures, then?”

  Paz shook his head, turning his attention forward again, “Nah. Told ya, elementals friendo. My babe, Luft, is a formless elemental. Best friend I eva made. She’s keepin’ me cool. Like my own private A.C.”

“What’s an A.C.?”

“Air conditionomatic machine. Makes hot places mo’ cooler. Goblin invention, don’t let tha gnomes tell ya otherwise.”

“Gnomes?”

“Short little nosy brats who get punted out of bars for bein’ dung beetles. They build stuff that’s second rate. The Alliance engineers, kindy like what us Bilgewater is for Horde.”

“Bilgewater?”

  “Oh my wow. You really just don’t know nothin’, do yous? Bilgewater Cartel. Like one big dysfunctional family what steals from one another and is always stabbin someones in the back. Tha only goblins what joined the Horde. Plenny’a cartels out there. Mo money in remainin neutral in this war.”

“You were talking about that earlier. Your Horde is fighting the Alliance. Burned down their homes and killed their children in a fire, right?”

  It was Paz’s turn to sigh, “Yeah. It’s complicated. Horde and Alliance has been at war since forever. But we got ourselves a real asshole for a warchief. Like, she’s downright evil. Trust me, you don’t want nothin’ to do with her. Keep ya head down til this is all over.”

“If you’re so against it, why not leave?”

“Ain’t so simple. All my friends and family is Horde. Whether they’re innocent or not, Alliance gonna be out for blood, kennit? I don’t wanna hurt nobody what don’t need they’s asses kicked, but I can’t just shove my hands in my pockets and read about my friends deaths in the Obits, ya know?”

“What’s an obits?”

  Paz pivoted on his heels to turn around atop a swollen mass of sand, “This is the problem with hermits. You may as well be a fuggin Pandy. No, at least they was social. Had cities and stuff. Kid, ya gotta million questions, but even if we talk all week, ya ain’t gonna get edjamicated. Ya know? If ya really -really- wanna know about the world, ya gotta get out of Azeroth’s largest sand trap. We gotta expression where I live, it’s called, ‘Where ya been, livin under a rock.’ And for you folks, that’s literal!”

  Omru folded his hands behind his head, daring to look up at the sky as the smallest of baby clouds came out of nowhere to dip beneath the sun. Woo, that’s a good luck sign. “They’re called burrows and they’re comfy. Buut, I can’t lie. Your way of life sounds way more interesting. Why don’t you take me with you?”

  Paz shrugged his shoulders, “I mean, iffens ya want, sure. I could use the company. I gotta list of errands to run, but I can always pick ya up. Besides, yous people helped the Horde out, Horde helped you out, we made fast friends. Could prolly put you on a boat.”

“You know, it’s not exactly uncommon to hear of a vulpera who abandoned the sands for a life at sea.”

  Paz grinned, “Yeah, I know. I been to Tiragarde. Anyways, check it out, we’re five minutes from where I found yous.”

  As the goblin pointed ahead towards the mountain ridge, Omru’s gut knotted up. How long had he been enslaved? A few months, for sure. Maybe longer. Slavery wasn’t just a Setharak thing. Humans did a lot of it, Trolls even more so. As they traveled closer and closer to the slave mine, Omru went over it again for perhaps the hundredth time. He had been looking to scavenge at a small stone building, could have been the beginnings of a small temple. The sands had a way of hiding and then uncovering all kinds of lost architectures. One minute he had been eating a popkin, a sandwich of sorts, the next he had been fighting against half a dozen snakeholes. They had stripped him of all his gear and brought him here, to the mines.

  A pair of shadows crossed the sky, but as Omru looked up, there was nothing there. Whatever it was had moved fast. Or maybe this place was just putting him on edge and he was seeing things. Only thing up there was that little baby cloud.

“How’s the clothes fit, by the by?”

  Omru grinned as Paz looked back at him again. “Little loose, but I tied it all down well enough. I’ve worn baggier. Just lucky you rescued me and not some hulking Tortollan. Though, their kind only help people in exchange for stories. Not that they’re jerks or anything, they’re just ancient and nosy.”

“Everyone’s nosy, kid. Just the way of the world. You uh.. Gonna be okay in here? I could poke around for yins, if ya.. Ya know. Can’t do it.”

Omru bit at his nails again, snipping just the tiniest chip off his index fingernail and spitting it out onto a hardened tan rock. “Thanks, man. I’ll be alright.”

Paz nodded, then lit up a torch and stepped inside.

  Omru had spent three nights recuperating with Paz. He had been reduced to fur and bones by the time the goblin had saved him, but the rejuvenation magicks from the water totem had been no joke. Over that time, the two had shared plenty of tales, including Om’s capture. How he had been working the mines here with a dozen other vulpera. How he had rebelled time and time again, perhaps once a month for half a year or so? He managed to kill one of the guards on his last attempt. Then, as he had finally found his necklace and put it on, everything had went black. He had woken up in chains, stretched out and unable to activate the wooden totem.  If they were smart, they would have killed him, especially considering the magic he had used against their sorcerers back at the maybe-a-temple. However, when push came to shove, their magick was simply stronger than his had been. Bunch of dicks.

--

“Is you sure at’s all yours? Seems like a lot, s’all I’m sayin’.”

  Omru patted himself down, smoothing out the leather armor, adjusting his belt, feeling his pouches, his weapon hilts and the heft of his knapsack. He had found everything in just a few short hours. In a sing song voice, he piped up, “Got my grappling hook, check. Got my swords, my daggers. Got that acidic bug juice, got a naked troll woman carving. Never know when ya might need to bribe a perv. Got a few books that I know the Tortollan will wanna barter for. I gotta pistol that fires golden bullets.”

“Wait, golden bullets? Where did ya get that?”

“Humans down south. They’re mining down there and making really interesting weapons.”

“Ugh, Ashvane. Sorry, keep goin, I know ya proud and whatnot. Just, do me a favor and walk n talk, kay?”

  The two continued out the mines as Omru listed two or three dozen more items, “And this shovel has a shorter handle than most. Somehow that makes it easier to dig holes? I can’t remember the whole story. Oh and these marbles make fart sounds when you smash them open. I thought it was hilarious, traded a chicken for them. Don’t ask me where I found the chicken. A real desert delicacy. Oh and I got this--”

  On and on he blabbed. Stuff he had. Stuff he used to have. Stuff he wanted. Stuff he heard of. Stuff he saw one time. Stuff he dreamt up that didn’t exist yet. Each item held his curious eye at one time or another. Clearly there was an emotional attachment to his ‘stuff’, and by having found it all, his spirits had been lifted incredibly high. From the mines all the way back to their little hidey hole hours away he chatted about his things, his friends, his family. Where he found the totem necklace, what he had actually been -looking- for when he went scavenging that day.

  As the sun was going down and Paz was starting up a small fire in their home away from home, he couldn’t help but grin at the kid. The boy loved his stuff. It was more than garbage, more than things. They were memories. It probably made nomadic life in the desert a little less lonely.  “Yo, Ommie. I did ya another solid, helpin you find ya things today. Tomorrow, you take me to Keyi, okie?”

  Om plugged a thumb’s up, paired with a wink, “You got it, dude.”

[gundamthey17]

Klancetober Day 7

I’m a couple days behind, and this one took a long time.  Partly because I was so tired it was hard to focus, and partly because I’m pretty sure this is the longest one to date.  But I’m pretty excited about this au.  We’ll see where it goes...

Witch

Keith glanced up from his phone as the shop’s bell chimed.  A lanky young Hispanic man walked in, looking around the shop with wide eyes and undisguised awe.  Keith fought the urge to roll his eyes.  It never failed; at least once a week he would have to deal with some random non-magic stranger wandering into the shop wanting to have their fortune told, or to buy crystals, or instructions for brewing a love potion. The magical community had various names for non-magic people, depending on regional dialect and desired level of rudeness. Normals, Normies, Mundanes, or heaven forbid, Muggles.  Keith had his own name for them.  He liked to call them tourists.  Not inherently bad, but generally not good.

This particular tourist appeared innocent enough, but Keith knew that looks could be deceiving.  He cleared his throat and, with considerable annoyance, asked, “Can I help you?”  He’d never been one for hospitality, and he wasn’t about to change that now.

“Oh!” the man exclaimed, as if noticing Keith for the first time. Maybe he had.  Tourists were generally oblivious.  “Hi,” he said brightly.  “Is this your shop?”

Keith shrugged.  “I work here,” he replied.

“Cool.”

“So… are you looking for something in particular?”

“No.  I was told this was a neat shop and that I should check it out.  I had some free time, so I figured I would stop in.  Do you mind if I browse for a bit?”

“Uh… I guess not.”

“Thanks!”

“Just don’t touch anything.”

“Oh, right.  Probably a bunch of dangerous magical artifacts, right?”

“No, I just don’t want you messing up the displays.”

“Oh.”

“I keep all the dangerous stuff locked up in the back.  I’m not an idiot.”

“Of course!  Makes sense. Don’t mess up your displays, got it!” He gave a casual salute and began a slow circuit of the shop.

Keith was baffled.  Tourists he understood; they were a necessary evil when running a magic shop.  But he didn’t get many looky-loos in his line of work. Pretty much everyone who came to the shop knew what they wanted, or what they thought they wanted.  He watched the stranger out of the corner of his eye, but it seemed as though the young man was genuinely taking a look around.  Keith didn’t sense anything off about his aura – if anything it was quite positive – and Kosmo hadn’t moved from his perch on top of the tallest bookshelf, so nothing was amiss.  It was just… odd.  He had just relaxed enough to go back to his phone when the man spoke up from across the room.

“So.  You’re really a witch?  Er, warlock? Wizard?”

This time Keith did roll his eyes.  “Witch is gender neutral.  Warlock is outdated.  Wizard is an old guy with a staff who shouts ‘you shall not pass’.”

The man snorted.  “So you are a witch.”

“Yep.”

“That’s awesome.  Do you like it?”

“It’s fine.”

The man’s smile finally dimmed.  “Are you always this chatty?” he asked sarcastically.

“Only with obnoxious strangers,” Keith retorted.

“You must not get much business if you treat your customers this way.”

“I don’t treat my customers this way.  You’re not a customer.  You’re a tourist.”

“I live here!”

“A tourist to magic, I mean.  You know, a mundane?  A normal?”

“You mean like a M-“

Keith made a slicing gesture in the air.  “Do not use the M word.  It’s ridiculous.”

“Sorry.  But that’s what you meant, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, can you blame me?  This place is fascinating!”

Despite Keith’s best efforts, this young man’s sincerity was making it hard to stay annoyed with him.  Which didn’t mean that he was going to stop trying.  “Are you going to buy anything?”

“I don’t know.  Is there anything here that would be useful to me, a ‘tourist’?”  He made air quotes around the word.

Keith huffed.  “I’ve got some charms.  Potions. That sort of thing.”

The man gave him a cockeyed grin.  “Got any luck potions?”

Rather than respond, Keith waved a hand toward a handwritten sign on the counter.  In large block letters it read:

ABSOLUTELY NO

-          HOROSCOPES

-          MIND READING

-          PALM READING

-          LUCK POTIONS

-          LOVE POTIONS

“That’s okay.  Who needs luck when you’ve got skill, am I right?”

Keith said nothing.

“Right.  Okay, no luck potion.  Well… Actually, there might be something.  This might be a stupid question, but do you have anything for allergies?  Mine have been killing me lately, and allergy meds just aren’t doing the trick.”

Keith blinked, surprised by such a simple request.  “Yeah.  That’s really easy, actually.  I can have a potion ready for you in ten minutes.”

“Great!  Thanks!”

Keith rummaged around gathering tools and ingredients.  The tourist went back to the displays, doing a terrible job of acting like he wasn’t watching Keith’s every move out of the corner of his eye.  Keith set his smallest cauldron out on its stand and started the fire with a flick of his fingers.  Well, if the tourist was going to watch him, there was no harm in showing off a little. By the time Keith started chopping ingredients, consulting a pocket-sized book every once in a while to make sure he got the ratios right, the tourist had drifted back over to the counter.

“Do you, uh, mind if I watch you?” he asked, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.  “I’ve never seen anyone make a potion before.”

“I guess not,” Keith replied, with a shrug that was far more nonchalant than he felt.  He busied himself chopping herbs, hoping the stranger didn’t see the flush creeping up his neck.  After a minute or so, the silence got awkward, and Keith cleared his throat.  “So who told you about this shop anyway?”

“One of my flight instructors.  He highly recommended coming in to take a look.”

“Flight instructor.  You’re a pilot?”

“Gonna be.  I haven’t graduated yet.  Not to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty good.  They call me the tailor because of how I thread the needle.”

Keith frowned.  “What does sewing have to do with flying?”

“What?  Nothing. Thread the needle is a type of maneuver. You know, where you fly through a really skinny opening without hitting the sides?”  Keith still looked blank.  “Really?  You’ll make a Lord of the Rings reference, but you don’t know the saying ‘thread the needle’?” Keith bristled, but the man was already moving on.  “Whatever, it’s no big deal.  I’m Lance, by the way.  I just realized I never really introduced myself.”

“Keith.”

“Nice to meet you, Keith!”

“Likewise.”

Lance surveyed the ingredients that Keith had arrayed in front of him.  “Is that ragweed?” he asked incredulously.  “I thought this potion was to cure allergies, not cause them.”

“It is a cure, and that is ragweed.  Hair of the dog.  Just trust me, it’s gonna work.”

“Wait, wait, wait.”  Lance waved his hands dramatically.  “You know the idiom ‘hair of the dog’, but not ‘thread the needle’?”

“It’s not an idiom, it’s a spell,” Keith replied impatiently.  “DNA from something that bit you can often be used to cure the wound.  Not like, vampires and werewolves, but most animals.  The spell needs the essence of the thing it’s fighting against.  Hence the ragweed.”

Lance snickered.

“What?” Keith demanded.

“You used the word ‘hence’.  You must be a witch.”

Keith rolled his eyes and went back to the potion.  “Whatever.”

“Still, it’s kinda cool to think that we – tourists, as you say – got the idiom from witches.”

“Tourists do that with a bunch of stuff.”

“Now that I believe.”

Keith finished the potion and used a ladle to pour it into a glass jar with a cork stopper.  “Here it is, one anti-allergy potion.”

“Great!  How much do I owe you?”

“Well, normally I’d mark up the price for a tourist, but…”  Keith rummaged around behind the counter and came up with a small book.  It was a brand new version of the well-worn tome he had consulted earlier.  The cover read Easy Potions You Can Make At Home! in bright yellow lettering.  “If you buy this book, you get a free potion with it anyway.”

Lance frowned.  “Is that really going to be useful to me?  As a tourist?”  There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but no disbelief.

“Yeah, actually.  Most potion-making is more like cooking than magic.  If you can follow the instructions and use the right ingredients, you’ll be fine.  And there’s nothing in here that can seriously hurt you if you screw up.”

“Oh, that’s comforting.”

“Trust me, it’s way cheaper to just make them yourself.”

“Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal!”  Lance paid for the book, collected the potion, and headed for the door.

“Hang on!” Keith called.  He hurried up to Lance and, refusing to look him in the eye, held out a business card.  “This has my contact info on it.  In case you need help with the potions,” he added quickly.  “Or, you know, you can just come by the shop again.”

“Thank you,” Lance replied brightly.  He gently tucked the business card into the book.  “And thanks for this.  Seriously.  ‘Teach a man to fish’, and all that.”

Keith’s brow wrinkled with confusion.  “I don’t know what that means.”

“You know what, never mind.  It was nice to meet you!” Lance called.  Then he was out the door, the shop’s bells jangling behind him.

[streiknine-blog]

Task 001.

BUT RED WAS WHAT YOU WRAPPED AROUND YOU. BLOOD RED.

—Ted Hughes

BASIC INFORMATION.

Full Name: Vincent James Ouellet Nickname(s): Vin, Vinny, Strychnine, Striker; Strike Age: 28 Date of Birth: 13 February 1990 Hometown: Québec, Québec, Canada Current Location: Dertosa, California Ethnicity: white Nationality: Vincent is Canadian, but his mother was American, so he’s got dual citizenship Gender: cis male Pronouns: he/him Orientation: Vincent is bisexual — but also fun fact he’s never had sex Religion: agnostic — he doesn’t think too hard about it, but I could see him going for something like Roman Reconstructionalist if he actually put thought into it. Political Affiliation: (I don’t know stateside politics and neither does Vincent) Occupation: full-time Poison babey — see also: hitman Living Arrangements: he’s got a small apartment with sparse decorations — really what he was looking for when he got it was somewhere that he’d be able to relax and cook.

The kitchen is the most put-together part of the one-bedroom place, with well-loved pots, pans, and bakeware. A couple nice dishtowels in a white with navy stripes pattern hang from the handle of the oven, and a much more ragged bleach-worn dishtowel is usually seen on the counter (used for wiping up messes as they happen). Little (fake bullet) shell casing salt and pepper shakers sit on the back of the stove, along with a little porcelain rooster — “You have to have a rooster in the kitchen.” Vincent would say, “It’s good luck.” — which its paint is chipping from how old it is.

The living/eating area has a navy and grey rug that looks like he’s had it since he was in his early twenties (and, honestly, he has) and a dark-stained wooden table with four chairs — the insert to make it into a six person table for if he ever had the Poisons over sitting against the far wall, in plain sight — and just a single placemat, that is pastel and multi-coloured and looks like he stole it from a sixty year old’s kitchen décor, sitting on the table at all times.

He’s got a small, grey, apartment-sized couch that he likes to curl up an nap on, so there’s a throw blanket and a single pillow always on it.

Language(s) Spoken: English; French Accent: Light buzzing on ‘TH’, ‘Z’, and ’S’ sounds — a holdover from his Québécois upbringing; for the most part has a fairly neutral “Seattle accent” that he’s taught himself as a consequence of being around Americans and wanting to sound less ‘different’. Still has a light Québécois accent tinging his words.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

Face Claim: Zane Holtz Hair Colour: dark brown Eye Colour: blue Height: 6’1” Weight: 220ish lbs Build: lorge Tattoos: n/a Piercings: n/a Clothing Style: Simple, dark sweaters (navy, forest green, maroon, black), white dress shirts (buttoned to the top), dark sports coats, charcoal or black slacks are the standard, but he’ll wear dark wash jeans occasionally. Usually the jeans are paired with a crisp dress shirt (in any of the sweater colours) that may be rolled to to the elbows. If he’s doing the sweater + dress shirt + jeans outfit, his favourite combination is his maroon sweater with a navy dress shirt. He thinks he looks fancy in it. He’s not opposed to wearing light, airy colours (like powder blue, or dusty pink) but he gets a bit self-conscious when he wears them — thinking that they don’t suit him well enough for him to pull it off. So he sticks to dark colours and neutrals. They’re easier to hide bloodstains anyway, and the white shirts can be bleached.

Fan of French cuffs but never wears them because cufflinks are easy to lose at a scene. When he’s not on the job he’s totally breaking out the French cuffs and his silver cufflinks. There’s the occasional t-shirt + sweatpants combo but usually reserved for when he isn’t going out anywhere/not seeing anyone but the other poisons or the flower he’s booked.

For accessories, he’s got a dark grey tungsten carbide band that he wears on his left ring finger.

Usual Expression: neutral, vaguely aggressive leaning. His eyebrows make him look mad when he’s not holding them up in some form of expression. Distinguishing Characteristics: I’d say his biggest distinguishing characteristic is that he is tall and wide — like not only is this kid over six feet tall, he’s jacked as shit too.

HEALTH.

Physical Ailments: needs glasses, and he’s nearsighted — it’s partly why he prefers knives to guns. Neurological Conditions: nothing I can peg but I’m sure there’s Something. Allergies: n/a Sleeping Habits: king of the cat nap, and honestly whenever he can knock out he’s gonna. He snores too. Eating Habits: he eats a Lot and he’s decently healthy… please see his favourite food section for a more detailed food thing. Exercise Habits: Boy loves to workout — gotta keep fit for murder, y’know? He’s fond of free weights, and bars… boy loves a heavy deadlift, and he’s gotta bench press his friends at least once. He’s also one to do sprints for his cardio, especially resistance sprints. Gotta go fast.

He works until it burns and he’s comfortably sore. Totally one to have a protein shake with oats added after a hard workout.

Emotional Stability: Vincent isn’t necessarily the most emotionally competent but he’s also not especially volatile. He’s got his moments — blind fury or just enjoyment of a kill can cause him to go a lil overboard. When he laughs it’s a whole body laughs — boy’s gonna feel things all at once if he’s going to feel them at all. Sociability: He likes to be with other people but he is just so painfully awkward. He doesn’t quite realize sometimes that he’s making jokes that aren’t funny and that he should stop making poisoning jokes to the flower that is eating the meal he prepped himself but, hey, we can’t be perfect and Vinny certainly isn’t. Body Temperature: I’d say he’s a slight onto the warm side — summer is hell for him. Addictions: can I say the high of a kill? But nah he ain’t a straight up murder-obsessed guy, he just really loves that feeling. In all honesty, he loves sweet things. Drug Use: Never Alcohol Use: Rarely drinks — he doesn’t like the feeling of being drunk/tipsy, but he will go for a lite beer or two, or a mixed drink that is “light on the alcohol, heavy on the mix, please.”

PERSONALITY.

Label: the aggressor; the cold-blooded; the loyalist Positive Traits: Fearless, determined, willing Negative Traits: Ruthless, detached Goals/Desires: his biggest thing is having a balance to things, it’s a driving force behind his actions. Fears: spiders — too many legs they creep him out. Hobbies: cooking, reading, watching movies Habits: absently rotates his wrists/cracks his fingers when he’s focused on something. Mutters in French under his breath if he’s trying to figure something out.

FAVOURITES.

Weather: cold, crisp winter day with large snowflakes floating down lazily — not a flurry, just pleasant and relaxing. Probably around -15C / 5f. Colour: navy and light blue Music: top 40 hits — 22 year old Vincent was the type to sing along to ‘Call Me Maybe’ in his car by himself. Movies: comedies, supernatural themes, French and Québécois cinema. Sport: Lacrosse; hockey (fan of the Canadiens and the Maple Leafs) Beverage: Hot chocolate!

He’s one to pick the drink up from a coffee shop on the way to an appointment, or to make himself a fresh one after he’s back home. He has several different kinds of it — from those hot chocolate wands, to tins of powdered mix, to single-serve portions of it for a on-demand coffee machine — and he’s not picky. He likes the sweetness of it, and, if he’s getting one from a coffee shop, makes sure to ask for extra chocolate sauce. At home it depends how tired he is. It’ll either be basic, with just hot milk and melted chocolate or fancier on his days off with tiny marshmallows or peppermint syrup. He especially likes to make hot chocolate for those he considers friends.

Food: He’ll give most things a try, honestly.

He’s definitely fallen back on the ‘pan seared broccoli with wild rice and baked chicken breast (with smoked paprika, thyme, and black pepper)’ as a basic dinner meal for when he’s feeling lazy. If he’s not feeling lazy the sky is the fucking limit. He’ll make everything from a whole chicken or a roast with accompanying veggies, to stir-frying tofu and veggies. For lunch he’s usually eating something he’s packed — quinoa, lemon-dill salmon, asparagus; rare steak, sweet potatoes, broccolini; Cobb salad with an extra hardboiled egg or two; homemade “instant” ramen in a jar — and for breakfast he’ll either just straight up have a protein shake with oats and fruit, or some of the egg muffins he makes every few days (mushroom, cheese, ham,, quinoa) or he’ll really go all out and have French Toast or waffles.

Homemade stovetop mac n cheese is a comfort food he likes if he wants something quick (25 minutes, start to finish), but if he’s gonna make a comforting meal to distract himself he’s totally the type to go with a braised lamb sort of deal.

Animal: dogs

FAMILY.

Father: Étienne Jean Ouellet (53); president of an insurance brokerage Mother: Lillian Grace Ouellet née Richardson (51); homemaker Sibling(s): none Children: n/a Pet(s): n/a Family’s Financial Status: solidly upper-middle class. Don’t you know the insurance business is practically a license to print money?

EXTRA.

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius; 13 February 1990 MBTI: ISTJ Enneagram: type 8 — the challenger Temperament: melancholic Moral Alignment: totally pegged him as a Lawful Evil — uses murder to get his ends tidy, but has a strong sense of needing balance for things. Not one to just willy-nilly McMurder. Primary Vice: Wrath Primary Virtue: Charity Element: Earth

[dirrtymercy]

RITA SKEETER is A NEUTRAL in the war, even though HER official job is as A REPORTER FOR WITCH WEEKLY & THE DAILY PROPHET. the TWENTY ONE year old HALFBLOOD is known to be SILVER TONGUED and CREATIVE but also VICIOUS and DECEPTIVE. some might label them as THE SIREN. fc: emeraude toubia  

I also have a pinterest board for Rita, which you can find here!

ANTHEMS.

I DON’T CARE - ARIANA GRANDE // SNAKE SONG - ISOBEL CAMPBELL // FOREVER DRUNK - MISS LI // FAR FROM ANY ROAD - THE HANDSOME FAMILY // COOL FOR THE SUMMER - DEMI LOVATO // BUBBLEGUM BITCH - MARINA & THE DIAMONDS // IF U SEEK AMY - BRITNEY SPEARS // NO TEARS LEFT TO CRY - ARIANA GRANDE.

BACKGROUND / FAMILY.

Rita is the youngest of four daughters, and she grew up in a highly competitive household, with a strong focus on success. She was under constant pressure from herself, her sisters and her parents.

Which have led to all of her sisters becoming incredibly successful. All have flourishing careers ( the oldest is a Wizengamot member, the second oldest runs a successful company, and the third oldest is a book publisher ). Since Rita is the youngest, she feels that she has big shoes to fill --- but she also wants to take the Skeeter name for herself, and make it mean something.

The Skeeters fought a lot while growing up. Drama was a daily occurrence ( something often instigated by Rita ). There was absolutely no privacy either, and everyone always knew everything about everyone. But at least they all care deeply about each other .... and Rita’s sisters are her ride or dies. They push each other to their breaking points, but they also drive each other to be better, stronger. 

Their home was deeply influenced by religion, since her (muggle born) father is a priest within the Catholic Church. This also ensured that the Skeeters faced some backlash from certain wizards, who considered it shameful that her father would choose to work in the muggle church.

Rita is not very religious herself, but does believe in a higher power. 

She started ballet and gymnastics at the age of six, and she still does it as a hobby. When she was younger, she wanted to become a famous ballerina... before her focus shifted towards investigative journalism. Her affinity for those sports have made her graceful, and she moves softly, quietly. She also has a bad habit of sneaking up on people.

Has always been highly creative in general tbh. Rita also loves art, and paints whenever she has some downtime.

HOGWARTS YEARS.

Rita is a Slytherin alumni, and she thrived in the house. She’s ambitious, cut throat, shrewd and two faced. Rita does whatever is best for her, and puts herself first. Always.

During her time at the school, Rita was known as a party girl who just wanted to have a good time. She always attended the best parties, where she acted drunker than she was ( with the intention of always remaining sharper than her targets ), and made people tell her things that they normally wouldn’t share. For Rita, secrets is a currency ( and she’s not above blackmail ).

Went to the same year as the Marauders --- her birthday is on New Year’s eve.

At Hogwarts, Rita wrote for the school paper under two different names. Tamer ( and more serious ) stories were published under her real name, but she also used a pseudonym for the juicier stories ( in true xoxo gossip girl style ). Who the fuck is Bridget Higgins?

She was fairly popular, and moved among different social circles, shedding her personality as a snake sheds its skin, to fit in with the different crowds.

AFTER HOGWARTS.

Rita, known for her hustle, got a job lined up at Witch Weekly before she graduated from Hogwarts. She also interned at the Daily Prophet during the summers. At Witch Weekly, Rita worked her way up the ladder fast (sharp tongues will imply that she slept her way up to the top), and at the age of eighteen, she was already writing gossip columns and stories on wizard celebrities. As time went on, she started gaining more freedom with what she could write, and today, Rita writes whatever she feels like writing. Kind of. Everything doesn’t get published.

At the age of twenty, Rita also started working for the Daily Prophet. She puts a more serious tone on her pieces published there. Though she has a keen ear for gossip, investigative journalism and writing exposes is what she’s really interested in. And she is ambitious enough to do both.

Rita lives in a shoebox sized apartment in London, which she shares with her dog. They don’t spend a lot of time there, since Rita spends most of her time at work or out investigating / interviewing people.

AS A PERSON.

Likes to pretend that she cares about ‘getting the truth’. Which she does, to some extent. But mostly, what she cares about is the STORY --- if the truth has to be bent to make the story better, that’s not a problem.

Cares about one thing, and one thing only, tbh. HER CAREER.

Has a definite mean streak, but can also be very charming. She’ll say anything to get people to tell her things, and has over the years become very skilled at wrapping people around her little finger. So she’s kinda slimy. And fake. Probably best not to trust her.

Currently, Rita is a neutral in the war, because that’s what serves her best --- remaining neutral keeps her out of harms way, for the most part. It also allows her to talk to people on both sides ( always pretending to be aligned with the person she’s talking to ), which ultimately serves the story.

Though her words are usually sugary sweet, she still has a sharp tongue, and will bite back. Though she’s also not above biting her tongue and folding, if that is more beneficiary for her in the long run. Rita will swallow her pride whenever necessary.

Lives for attention --- and can literally create drama out of thin air. It’s a hobby and a talent. 

Once the war ends, Rita will align herself with the winning side and somehow figure out how to profit from it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Doesn’t seem that ambitious to other people, but she is. While she presents herself as someone who is easy going and ‘just there for a good time’, she wants to go places. She is currently working on her goal to become an acclaimed journalist, and she’ll gladly throw anyone who gets in her way under the bus without a second thought. To her credit, she works her ass off, at least.

NEUTRAL EVIL THX.

Rita is always working an angle.

I mean, she decided to become an illegal animagus on the off chance that it would further her career or benefit her in some other way.

So, sidenote, she can turn herself into a royal blue beetle. 

Also does not care about ethics in the slightest when it comes to advancing, and is often involved in backdoor politics and shady affairs.

Though Rita lies a lot, she’s not a compulsive liar. When she does lie, it’s almost always rooted in truth -- she just puts a crazy spin on it. She also only lies if it benefits her or the story, otherwise she doesn’t really care enough to make something up.

She’s very observant, and though some/a lot of people are suspicious of her and her intentions ( and thus probably watch their words around her ), she usually figures out bits and pieces of what’s going on anyways, from reading their body language. Or by just playing dirty by transforming into a beetle and listening in on their conversations. Both work.

Definitively not brave, but she hides her fear. Death Eaters lowkey intimidate her ( probably because she is mortified by Voldemort ), but she is stubborn enough to ignore that, and will challenge any Death Eater if it means that she gets what she wants ( she’s crying on the inside though while doing it ).

Can usually be found with a glass of white wine in her hand, but she doesn’t drink a lot. It’s a front, to make people more relaxed around her.

Rita is just.... incredibly stubborn and determined? Will go to the ends of the world to get what she wants. Usually plays the long game too.

Definitively a villain, but likes to pretend that she isn’t!!!! She doesn’t! Know!

STYLE ( FASHION / APPEARANCE ).

Rita has a soft spot for the colors of her former house, and usually wears black and green clothing. 

Her sense of style is feminine, and she can usually be found wearing dresses and skirts, as well as button up shirts ( usually white ). She always wear high heels. 

Never goes outside without lipstick. Usually it’s red, but she has an affinity for soft mauves and pinks too. Depends on what vibe she’s going for.

Her nails are long, sharp and filed to perfection. She wears them a bold shade of red. Most of the time.

She cares about her appearance a lot, and wants to look perfect 110% of the time? It’s really important to her that she presents herself to the world like she sees herself ( aka as ‘that bitch’ ).

Her hair is usually worn in soft curls, falling off her shoulders effortlessly ( but of course, it’s very controlled, like everything that she does ). She’ll wear it in a slick pony tail or a soft braid when she wants to seem more innocent.

FAVORITE CHARACTER TROPES.

THE DARK CHICK - good at reading emotions, resolving fights and weaponizing her strengths --- all the while keeping an eye on what she considers to be the bigger picture.

FEMME FATALE - ‘first she turns you on, then she turns on you.’

INTREPID REPORTER - a troublemaker sort of journalist.

THEN LET ME BE EVIL - any sense of good reporting and morals gets broken down by being treated like crap by presumptuous forces of good for too long.

CONSUMMATE LIAR - a liar so good you never want to play poker with them because you’d go home without your underwear and short next week’s paycheck. 

BITCH IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING - wears a thousand masks to hide her true colors.

THE POWER OF ACTING - a character who acts her way through life.

NO FACE UNDER THE MASK - does the real rita skeeter even exist? who is she? can she remember her true personality? probably not.

THE EVIL PRINCE - a character that knows they’re meant for greatness, but there are a lot of other... less great characters in their way. if only these characters could be “persuaded” to move, then nothing would stand in their way to the throne. ;)

CHRONIC BACKSTABBING DISORDER - someone who constantly and successfully betrays their allegiances. switches sides as frequently as she switches clothes. what is loyalty?

AMBIGUOUSLY EVIL - it’s never quite made clear what side she is truly on? sike, she’s playing for both teams !!!

HEEL / FACE REVOLVING DOOR - morality is grey, and this character switches sides so often that in the long run, they end up... just not having one.

THE CORRUPTER - the metaphorical devil on your shoulder.

THE CON ARTIST - selling lies so outrageous they can’t possibly be true, but still getting away with it.

CHARACTER INFLUENCES.

KELLY KAPOOR ( the office )- the narcissism, the many layers, the gossip, the jealousy, the drama, the lies, ‘i don’t talk trash, i talk smack. they’re totally different’.

CONNOR WALSH ( htgawm ) - wow i can’t believe rita skeeter is connor walsh?? either way. so sly, bit of a slut, utterly shameless, lies a lot, doesn’t care too much about other people, very confident, bit over emotional at times. gets whatever the fuck they set their mind on. the ends justify the means, always.

CAROLINE FORBES ( the vampire diaries )- bit shallow. lots of self control. kinda vain. also cries a lot but takes no shit.

MARGAERY TYRELL ( game of thrones ) - the cleverness, the manipulation, the scheming.

CORDELIA CHASE ( btvs ) - the arrogance, the vapidness, the cruelty.

HERA ( the goddess )- the vengeance, the viciousness, the jealousy.

DEBBIE EAGAN ( glow ) - lowkey thinks the world revolves around her. bit manipulative. really ambitious. kinda cut throat. ready to throw anyone under the bus to get places.

ALLISON ARGENT ( teen wolf ) - so independent, charming and strong willed. also the perfect hair. and the search for power and control.

JESSICA HAMBY ( true blood ) - the strict religious upbringing, the rebellion, the occasional softness.

ALISON DILAURENTIS ( pretty little liars ) - the bitchiness, the cruelty, the constantly shifting personas, the lies.

CHANEL OBERLIN ( scream queens ) - really ruthless, can be quite mean, bit narcissistic.

JO WILSON ( greys anatomy ) - the determination, the fear of going backwards, the strong will, the commitment issues.

LIRA ( to kill a kingdom ) - the siren!!!! singing (aka writing) people to their undoings!!!! with little to no remorse!!! hell yeah

LAUREL CASTILLO ( htgawm ) - a snake that is good at hiding under the radar, kind of shady, highly manipulative, bounces back and forth between allegiances.

JACKIE BURKHART ( thats 70s show ) - the STYLE!!!!!!!! the narcissism! the manipulation! the greed! they’re almost the same person!

[oddityofspecs]

This took awhile but It’s done. I filled in the apprentice ask meme from @gooddoctorjules. It was fun and I got to talk more about my arcana apprentice Peregrine (sorry sweetpie). I actually need to draw her more -_-);; anyway I’ll put it on read more cuz it’s long and wordy.

1. What is their full name? What does it mean? Do they go by any nicknames/aliases?

It’s Neliah Peregrine Hall. Neliah means “strong willed and a vigorous spirit with a leveled mind”. It’s a name her dad picked out as he wanted her to grow up like that. Peregrine means “traveller or wanderer”, her mom liked it. Everyone back home called her by her first name, not a lot knew her second so after she runs away from home she never revealed her surname and used her second name to hide herself from her parents (dumb idea because they found her quickly but let her continue doing her thing).

Her closest friends call her “Perry” and she takes it gleefully. She feels that Peregrine suits her better than Neliah so now it’s a name she uses all the time.

2. Do they have a familiar? What is it?

(Idk what type they were so I went with fictional fantasy cockatoos. Moluccans are nice though)

She has two familiars, they’re both cockatoos. Their names are August and Sully.  

She had them as eggs as a gift from a dear friend. In truth, their mother is gone so they figured they’d give the eggs to Peregrine to keep her company on her travels. Peregrine raised and spoiled them a little. They follow her orders and act like little kids playing around whenever a customer comes in and if they’re outside. They’re quite hostile to anyone who’s a threat to their master(mother) but they trust Peregrine to fight and protect herself so unless it’s a foe who she can’t handle, they attack. Somehow Peregrine can understand them. The conversation would either be about food or what they should do today.

3. What type/s of magic do they specialize in?

Other then tarot reading, Peregrine knows how to do Astrology/Astromancy. She spends most of her nights looking at the stars, watching and learning. She’s been stargazing since she was a kid, who knew it could be useful for something. Peregrine is specialized in air magic. It’s the first type of magic she knew and she’s quite proud of it. She can use it for defense and attack, also blowing out candles you don’t wanna bother doing it yourself, it’s kinda funny doing it in a dark room and scaring people while telling a horror story. Whoever says that it’s useless gets blown away quickly. She’s also good at electricity magic but she’ll have to be careful not to use it when she’s in the water, it happened before and it was nasty.

Peregrine is currently learning about tea leaf reading, palm reading and healing magic. The healing magic is in the works and so far she can heal minor wounds. Inscriptive magic also, she hasn’t learned it yet but she’s reading books about it.

4. Which of the major arcana best represents them?

The Hermit  - Wisdom, Humility, Solitude, Searching, Detachment, Deliberate, Observation

(might change later on)

5. What animal best represents them?

A dog: loyal, brave, curious, fierce or friendly

(this was a hard one)

6. Describe their grimoire profile.

Peregrine

The nonchalant apprentice who’s eager to learn and follows her heart. ♌

Favorite Food: Pudding

Favorite Drink: Mixed Juice

Favorite Flower: Heliotrope 

7. What is their Myers-Briggs type?

ENFP-A  

8. What is their natural alignment (lawful/neutral/chaotic good/neutral/evil)?

Neutral Good or Chaotic Good

(it all really depends on what happens in the game)

9. Which Hogwarts house would they be in?

So I took a test from here . I think she’d pick Hufflepuff since it looks like a nice place to chill. If she choose Gryffindor, she’d be ok for a while but regret it because of all the “rowdy” students in it, it’s not her thing.

10. Of the nine intelligences (logical-mathematical, existential, interpersonal, intrapersonal, kinesthetic, spatial, naturalist, musical, linguistic), which is their greatest strength? Their greatest weakness?

Greatest Strength: Interpersonal, Musical, and Kinesthetic 

Greatest Weakness:  logical-mathematical

11. What did they think of Asra leaving? Of his gift? 

“Damn it not again”

Peregrine is always worried about him, she wonders where he goes or if he’s eaten anything yet or found a safe place to take a nap. She packs food for him whenever she gets a chance because the guy leaves all too sudden sometimes. Peregrine feels like Asra doesn’t trust her, he doesn’t answer her questions, keeping secrets, he leaves and not say where. It makes her.... honestly scared about what’s going on with him. And somehow she ends up believing, like him, that the tarot cards might have the answers she needs. 

Now about his “gift”, she was surprised of course. Perry always found the cards to be interesting, but she never thought she’d claim possession of it. It kinda feels like an honor since Asra used them, she’ll be sure to take care of it. (being very careful this time because Nadia)

12. What do they think of Nadia’s request that they go to the palace?

After hearing about this “event” happening from the tarot reading and from Nadia, Peregrine got really curious. Honestly she didn’t really want to go but if she didn’t, god knows what the Countess could do to her or her business. It’s a hassle but she can’t say no. She just wishes it could be over soon so she could go back home to her shop. ((slightly wrong but it ain’t over yet))

13. What do they think of the various animals they encounter at the palace?

Peregrine loved the dogs, but she knew better than to come near, much less pet them. Looking at them was enough to give her bad vibes. She knows not to mess with guard dogs but she will admire their beauty from afar. Honestly, being around them feels strange.

The moment Peregrine saw the vampire eel she immediately wanted to know where it came from and if you could at least touch or tame it. Also if they’re edible in case of survival. 

14. What is their day-to-day outfit? What do they wear when the dress up (such as for the masquerade)?

Day-to-day: Peregrine just wears tank-tops or sleeveless tops. With her arms and belly exposed. A shawl or a scarf too and her coat. She loves her coat. Skirts are an occasional for her since she doesn’t own that many (she doesn’t even realize this herself). 

Dress up/masquerade: Peregrine wears a blue and yellow or purple long dress with a flower crown. For the masquerade, she’ll wear a red, maybe not a dress since she can’t run in it so a suit would be better. 

15. What is their favorite type of weather/environment?

Rainy and snowy days. It’s the cold that gives her a feeling of calmness and home. She used to live in a cold area. Storms are fine too, when she sees a thunder coming she gets excited and it motivates her to do stuff. It’s odd.

16. Do they have any prized possessions?

She has an old, worn-out frog doll and her old tarot deck. The doll was a hand-made gift from her dad, despite being kinda distant with her parents it’s all she’s got to remember them by. It stays in her room on her bed, just waiting and staring at the door. Her tarot deck was a gift from her relative when Peregrine first started doing fortune-telling. She still keeps it with her and uses it to entertain herself. It’s a reminder of where she started out and how rough it was back then.

17. Do they collect anything?

Candles, Scented Candles that help uneasy or nervous customers relax once they enter the shop. She also collects candles with unique designs and scent. Course for herself, though it is fun to try and experiment and see people’s reactions. She also collects old, ancient or foreign coins, she keeps them in jars. Her favorite coin has an owl on it.

18. What sort of first impression do they make?

Peregrine has a lot of different impressions on her from people. Some think she’s a carefree fortune-teller with no responsibilities and not a care in the world, others think she’s cold and intimidating. It’s her mood that changes everyday or in some days that give her those impressions. She doesn’t interact with people outside her shop but wouldn’t mind chatting for a bit, just not when she’s busy. She’s talkative to new people unless they don’t want to be bothered.  

19. How do they deal with conflict?

Peregrine hates violence so she tries her best to avoid it or talk her way through. If a feeling of hostility arises she’d try her best to either move the person away or change the subject entirely. If a fight happens, it depends on what’s going on. if she started it then she can either escape from it or knock down the person. if it’s someone else, she’d have to let them finish if it helps or interfere if it’s something trivial. Peregrine has a lot of patience and understands if conflict is the only unavoidable choice they have. 

20. What are their principal goals?

To learn about the magical arts, both lore and practice and see if she can use it to help people. Finding a comfortable place for her to settle down is a nice idea but first she needs to know if her friends are safe.

[imherebecausemymomdoesntloveme]

Chaotic Neutral (1/?)

Summary: When a mysterious new comer arrives in town, the heroes of Storybrooke decide not to take any chances. After discovering much about this new character they don’t know what to do. 

Word Count: 1585

Warnings: A few spoilers?? Lotta exposition im so sorry. 

Part 1

The door bell chimed as the customer entered the diner, Granny’s Diner. This little town had been just bustling with new crime and adventure for The Savior and her little gang. Aside from their usual havoc, things could not have been more normal for the residents of Storybrooke. To be truthful, unless you played a major role in Ms. Swans life, there was a little chance that you’d personally get caught up in a fight and only a slightly larger chance that you’d get stuck in the collateral damage. Not to mention, its the end of season six and apparently everyone got their happy beginning.

The door chimed once more, this time acting as a warning to everyone within the small, quiet diner. Emma and her posse had entered the premise and with her came an energy of panic and confusion that certainly always loomed around her. Despite the fact that she almost dies on a regular Tuesday, patrons of Granny’s Diner can’t help but furrow their eyebrows. The closer in proximity you are to Emma, the faster your order is taken, the faster you get your food. Of course, this phenomena probably doesn’t compensate for having your baby daddy killed right after you reunited with him, but hey, the girl who walked into the diner at the beginning of this story still hasn’t gotten her order taken.

Mary Margaret, still fresh with baby anxiety, glanced across the facility. Glad to see a crowd of very familiar faces. She glances once more and, to her surprise, sees a person who was completely unfamiliar. A young girl, gazing out the window, waiting to get her order taken.

Snow was certain that the girl meant no harm but there was something slightly off about the child. She looked like a person who had lived in Storybrooke her whole life, well accommodated and comfortable. She didn’t trust it.

“Guys, do you recognize that girl over there, the one in the corner booth,” Mary Margaret whispered to the group. Regina and Emma nonchalantly glanced over whereas the other had not so subtly turned to look. By their expressions, none had recognized the girl.

“Snow, It’s probably nothing. There are loads of people in this town, we can’t possibly recognize them all.” David tried to soothe his worried wife.

“What about Greg and Tamara, those weren’t some very kind strangers and honestly, I don’t want to take my chances with this lass,” Hook muttered, taking a sip of his rum infused coffee.

“Hook and Snow are right, we can’t take our chances,” Emma concluded, “Henry, are you sure that you don’t recognize her from the story book?”

“I haven’t seen her in the book, but I think I have seen her around. Maybe I could talk to her?” he suggested. His two mothers looked nervous, but allowed him to go and chat anyways. This girl seemed about his age and his family would be close. Plus, this allowed time to discuss matters they’d prefer Henry not hear.

As if it was the third coming of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, the moment Henry sat at the booth with the young girl Ruby came over to take her order.

“Hey, I’m Henry,” he said as the waitress left the two.

“Carter, Bandit Carter. My friends call me Bird,” she replied, an interest in her voice, “What brings you to this lovely booth?”

“You looked familiar. I think I’ve seen you before… apparently no one else has?”

“And your family thinks I’m dangerous, don’t they,” she chuckled, “I take it this town doesn’t like strangers do they.”

“Well, it’s just that we’ve sorta had a bad history with visitors in this town. It’s nothing on you. Where are you from?”

“I see,” she said, taking a sip from her choccy milkshake that had arrived sooner than it ever had, “your family sent you over here to interrogate me to make sure I didn’t pose a threat.”

“So you are from a story…” Henry smiled, glad that he could investigate on his own without his mothers looking over his shoulder.

“Well, I’m aware of the story book and have been into the enchanted forest, yes,” she replied, succin that straw a bit too fast. She quickly curled up in pain from freezing her brain. She began to giggle from the silly feeling as Henry worriedly stood up, jostling the table enough to send his cup of hot cocoa sailing across the table, straight towards the girl. In a flash, the girl held her hands up, the liquids levitating in midair.

“You’ve gotta be more careful dude,” she laughed out, subconsciously beginning to return the cup and cocoa into their original state only for them to fall on the table as she was knocked unconscious.

“Henry are you okay?” Emma asked while his other mom put a magic neutralizing bracelet on the sleeping girl.

“I-I’m fine. Why’d you do that? I was doing a good job getting information!”

“Henry, that girl had magic. She could have hurt you” Regina replied, “as much as I’d hate to say it, this kid gives me bad vibes.”

“Look,” David said, attempting to be comforting once more, “I think we’re all just a little bit tense. If you’d all like, we can take her down to the sheriff's office and find her files if it makes you feel better.”

Two hours late and the poppy had finally worn off. The child woke in a cell, the whole gang of heroes longingly awaiting her to begin explaining a few things. They had done their research but many of the questions they wished to ask, remained unanswered.

“Ms. Carter, sorry about this situation but we’d like to ask you a few questions,” Snow began.

“Don’t interrogations usually take place in an interrogation room?” the child replied. You could hear the smirk in her words.

“We’ll be the ones asking questions.” David sternly said, defending his wife, “We’ve searched through every database and file on Storybrooke’s residents and have found nothing on a ‘Bandit Carter.’... Is that because it’s not your real name or because you’re not from here.”

“If I’m to be perfectly candid, I’d just like to mention that your registration office does an awful job of accounting for every new arrival in Storybrooke.”

“Answer the question kid.” Emma stated, “Look, we know you have magic. We just want to know who you are.”

“Henry knows who I am.” Bandit smiled, encouraging her friend to speak his mind, “He said it earlier, he’s seen me before.”

“Henry is that true?” Mr. Gold asked, eagerly waiting a response like everyone else in the room.

“Yeah… I’ve definitely… It’s sorta blurry but.. I think I’ve seen you in my dreams.” The room was silent aside from his voice and the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall. “They started a while ago, after we had to fix the stories. I began to have these dreams. Sometimes I can see you. Sometimes it’s just your voice. Other than that I’ve never encountered you.”

“Would you care to explain why you’ve been plaguing my son’s dreams?” Emma threatened questioned, pulling the girl flesh against the bars of the cell.

“Hey,,, chill,, it’s sorta hard to say coherent sentences when you’re being actively threatened,” Carter said, being gently put down, “Henry has been having dreams with me in them because he’s the author. I’m what the Sorcerer liked to call a bookworm, the only member of the Happily Ever After Repair Troops. Unlike being the Author, it’s a permanent job.”

“What do you do? Why are you and Henry Linked?” Snow asked, confusion evident on everyone's faces.

“Well, I’m supposed to clean up after a story has played out. Restore the land to its original prosperity. Tie up loose ends. Give happy endings if possible. Henry and I are linked because, well, our jobs tie into each other. He writes the story and I figure out how to heal the collateral. His dreamscape is where he most often writes and so it’s where we’re linked together strongest.”

“How about why we couldn’t find you in the book? Why is your job permanent? Whats the extent of your abilities?” Mr. Gold asked, with a bit of venom in his words.

“I’ve only been in the book once, when I was written into existence. The Sorcerer had the first author write me and almost immediately after my page was removed and burned. Like how the author can never write his happy ending, I can never be seen on the pages… which makes sense. It would be kinda weird to see the same character appear in every story. I get to work behind the scenes. When the non-important things are happening. I was written to be immortal which is why it’s a permanent job. They gave me any power I could possibly want. My abilities have no extent. In fact, this little cuff you put on me has no effect. I’m immune to your magic. The only reason your little sleeping spell worked on me was because, well, I needed a nap.

“My only guides are to never be seen on the pages and that I must always remain neutral.”

“ ‘Neutral,’ What is that supposed to mean?” Hook asked. Geez these people are paranoid.

“I might have all this power but I can’t use it to tip the balance of good and evil, so if you’re thinking I’m an enemy or wanting me to become your ally, you might as well just leave.”

[braincoins]

30 Day OC Challenge - Day 4

art by @explodingcrenelation who is awesome

Seiko Deinn was an RP character I made for a (medieval fantasy) forum RP site. (I’m not sure if it’s still active; if I find out it is, I’ll link it for y’all.) And, because I found her character sheet, get ready for some copy-pasta (below the cut):

Name: Seiko Dienn (dee-ENN)

Aliases: none

Age: 180. yes, years.

Race: Elven

Language: Elven (obviously), relatively fluent in everyday Common though technical terms/slang sometimes throw her; can curse in both Common and Dreaden as well as her native Elven.

Gender: Female

Occupation: Book/scroll merchant; has her own little shop in Sakaide Port.

Orientation: Bisexual

Physical Description: 5'7", 150 lbs., marathoner's build (so not curvy). Chin length dark brown hair, usually left loose but tucked behind her only slightly pointed ears; gray eyes; [url=http://sockschan.info/cafeole.jpg]cafe ole skin[/url]. She has scars that are usually not visible, but the ones seen most often are a couple of thin white lines on the upper palm/fingers of her left hand. She typically wears bright, pastel tunics with long sleeves and black or gray loose cloth slacks. Under her slacks are black leather boots - scuffed up, worn in, but still in excellent condition, with good soles. They're a tad incongruous with her otherwise loose and not-entirely-pragmatic clothing. She has a silver fur-lined black leather hooded cloak - another oddity for the otherwise simple bookseller - but she has a cheerfully rainbow-dyed soft wool scarf.

Personality Description: Typically smiling and upbeat, sunny & optimistic (even if she has to work at it sometimes). She comes off as an idealistic woman approaching her middle years; she speaks in a soft tone and uses gentle, tactful words...most of the time. Sometimes, when she gets riled, her tone completely changes, as if you're dealing with a totally different person: her words become short, her tone clipped and brusque, and her face hardens. When this happens, she usually clears her throat, takes a moment to compose herself and then apologizes for her behavior.

Likes:

Sunny days

Rainy nights (nice to fall asleep to)

Rainbows

Fresh-baked bread

Reading (especially history & folklore)

Writing

Traveling (though she doesn't do much of it anymore)

Learning

Children

Small animals

Butterflies

Dislikes:

Rainy days (keeps business away)

Old coffee

Death of innocent life

History: Seiko was born in Rakuen, Seijou, to a poor architect and a teacher. Education was important and money was tight (there's not much point in being an architect in what's already a beautifully-designed and well-built city). When her mother got design jobs, times were good, presents were many and food was rich & flavorful. When they were subsisting on her father's teaching salary, times were dark, presents were non-existent and food barely so.

Seiko signed up with a mercenary group as soon as she was old enough, much to her parents' dismay. She was a bright girl, and they'd hoped she'd go on to bigger and better things, but Seiko knew as well as they did that they didn't have the money to send her into apprenticeship or private tutoring. Her initial plan was to earn money with the mercenary group and then use it to fulfill her parents' dream of a brighter future for her.

But weeks became months became years and Seiko grew inured to mercenary life. She became quite good with her sword, and was a valued member of the team. She traveled the world with them, seeing a few sights she'd always wanted to see and a great many she'd rather not have. The world seemed a harsh and cruel place, and the only bulwark she had against it was the camaraderie of her group, the Blacktalon Blades. They stood beside you, had your back, never left one of their own behind. In this way, they were noble; in a great many other ways, they were not. Make your money however you can, and use it to enjoy life while you can, because it's over all too soon, and usually when you least suspect it.

This all changed when she got separated from her group during a pitched fight. It had started as a bar brawl between the Blacktalon and another group - maybe they were mercs, maybe just a group of hooligans - and had spilled out into the street. When the other guys fled, the Blacktalon went into pursuit. Their prey split up and they followed suit, but she must've taken a wrong turn... she could've sworn Djerin was right in front of her, chasing down that no-account son of a- but here she was, alone in an alley. An old man huddled in his filthy blanket next to some decomposing trash.

She asked him where her friend was, where her prey was. He turned his head to look at her. She barked questions, demanded answers. He just looked at her and then asked her, "Why?" "Why what?" "Why are you doing this?" She explained about the fight, the insult to honor, the... "No. Why are you doing this?" he asked, in the same inflection, the same emphasis. No matter what she said, how she said it, the old man asked the same question. She gave up and headed back to the hotel, that question flittering around in her head.

At first, she mocked the old man and his question; then she grew to hate him for asking it, this question that wouldn't leave her alone. Eventually, she decided to turn and stand and face the question rather than run from it: Why Am I Doing This?

She told the Blacktalon she needed a few days; she'd catch up to them. They left her there, in the small Tytosian town they were in at the time, and she thought about the life she'd left behind for her mercenary life. She thought about the life she was supposedly saving for. She hadn't spent all her money - some of it she'd sent home, and some of it she [i]had[/i] saved. She spent days thinking about her life and what she truly [i]wanted[/i]. She'd gotten caught up in an odd sort of inertia, and it was time for that to change.

She wrote ahead to the Blacktalon's next stop, to let them know she was quitting. She wrote her parents to let them know she was coming home. She took the next ship home, to Seijou. When she got to Sakaide Port, a letter was waiting for her, from her mom's best friend; her mother had died some years ago, from illness, and her father had died not long after. It'd been years since she'd actually [i]written[/i] home; she'd just sent money along. The letter came with several years' worth of accumulated coin - everything she'd sent since her father had died.

She mourned a few days; she had nothing better to do, as most of the guides were out at the moment or on their way back. She couldn't cross to Rakuen just now anyway, and she was filled with regret and loss and despair.

In the end, she decided to stay in Sakaide Port. It had a great influx of strange and interesting people, and Rakuen just had too many memories for her. She used her money to buy a storefront and stock it with books and writing supplies; she sleeps in the back of the store.

She sold off her armor to help further fund the business in the lean 'Just Opened' times, but she still has her sword. She took a vow never to draw it except in defense of another's life (not her own), and she's taken up morning and evening meditations. After 10 years of being just a bookseller, she's happier now... most of the time.

Alignment: Currently? Lawful Good. Apparently back in her merc days she was Neutral Evil, according to this test (which is where I got the Lawful Good result from as well, though, frankly, I could've pinned her as that regardless.

Weapons: A katana-style sword, nothing fancy, but well-maintained and in good shape. The plain, black leather scabbard has been enchanted so that the sword can only be drawn a couple of inches; to fully draw the sword, the blade must "taste blood" - that is, she has to cut herself on it to draw it out. This was initially put on to help her keep her self-made vow and to underscore the point (to herself) that she must be willing to shed her own blood to help others or else she shouldn't be drawing the sword in the first place.

Armor: None

Magick: None, unless you count the scabbard, but that was an enchantment she paid to have someone else put on. She has no other magickal trinkets/artifacts/enchantments.

Powers: None

Strengths:

Arm strength, certainly - she can still swing that sword about

Finding the bright side in a situation (that was a hard skill to learn though)

Well-read and educated; very knowledgeable especially about history & folklore - her two favorite things to read

Forgiving of minor crimes (like pickpocketing)

Not terribly materialistic (any longer)

Harder to anger than she used to be

Protective/of a heroic bent - wiling to charge into danger to protect people (not that it's been necessary lately)

Weaknesses:

Protective/of a heroic bent - willing to charge into danger to protect people

IF you can get her angry, she tends to lash out (with words more than with actions, but she can be very scary), which is something she’s still trying to improve upon.

Easily distracted by books/scrolls/anything she doesn’t yet know

Forgiving of minor crimes (like pickpocketing)

Stubborn

Still cries when she thinks of her parents (so she doesn’t think of them often)

Other: She's fond of the neighborhood children, and they of her. She encourages them to keep up with their schooling and helps tutor those who need help. None of them suspect she used to be a relatively heartless merc, which is just fine by her. And while she's willing to let thieves pick her pocket, anyone stealing from her bookstore is going to get a thump on the head before being tossed out in the street (she can't [i]draw her sword[/i] to protect herself or her belongings, but she can certainly still throw a punch).

She tries to give advice in the enigmatic manner of Wise Old Sages; sometimes this works and sometimes not... often to comedic effect.

[niedolia]

About the temple rings. #5 is beautiful but I'm curious. On the sides of the rings there are loops. They seem like something we would have for thread or string. I looked at pictures on google and never saw those used. Also they don't exist in all temple rings, even others with similar shapes. That's probably not news to you. My question is, were they only decorative? Was there a use to them? Like adding strings and decorations dangling from them? Or something else?

It’s a good idea but no, temple rings don’t seem to have had any real functional use. Functionally anyway, any changes in their designs were completely stylistic and according to the trends of the time and area, there were no such ulterior motives.

I’m reluctant to say they were only decorative, though. Temple rings are a feature mostly found within Slavdom (those found outside the area are typically attributed to Slavic brides and slaves) so unlike other common jewelry that seemed pretty much only used for the aesthetic, I would imagine there would have to be some motive for them. As a matter of fact, there does seem to be, it’s just that we don’t know the full story. A lot is missing. I’ll just quote:

… from at least the ninth century were ornamented by metal rings and plates — often of silver. These were presumably an expression of status, and were perhaps not an element of everyday dress, but maybe worn on special occasions… There was clearly an elaborate code attached…   (The Early Slavs by PM Barford)

The book is from 2001 & while I trust the source as a whole (it’s a remarkable work) the passage is vague and clearly guess work. I’ll just divide this in 2 parts:

Not everyday dress:  it’s a nice explanation for why they had these ornaments but I have doubt over them not being everyday dress. We’re talking about a culture that didn’t wear anything special during weddings traditionally and put a pretty heavy focus on symbolism and beauty. Symbolism because of the prophetic embroidery they would wear on a daily basis plus they chose red dyes over yellow (both common) due to their connecting red with the sun, blood, life, etc. So if something is symbolic I doubt a normal day would stop them. Beauty because, well this has always been a thing in Slavic culture, even married women would wear headdresses and jewerly on a daily basis. Why would the temple rings by any different? Plus, modern reenactments and art from Eastern Europeans depict temple rings as everyday wear more often than not. So yeah, I doubt they were for special occasions.

Expression of status: Status implies marital status, motherhood, wealth, and familial or regional ties, but this is actually disputed. I have a couple of reasons why this was disputed, so I’ll start with the linked source getting familial/regional ties out of the way:

Different types can be found at one place and time. Their distribution may be evidence of localized traditions of manufacture with some trading of trinkets over considerable distances, rather than strict tribal partitioning, apparently with some relocation of tribeswomen to other areas.    (source)

As for marital status, motherhood, and wealth…  Marriage wasn’t as important to the Slavs before Christianization (which didn’t happen until after temple rings came into use). We do know that married women wore headdresses whereas unmarried women didn’t but both wore temple rings. Motherhood is the same: both mothers and single women would wear them. The symbolism might have appeared in the details of the rings, but it doesn’t explain their origins. We do know that wealthier women had more elaborate temple rings made of better materials such as gold,etc. since they could afford to hire better craftsmen, but peasant women were found with them too, just in silver (which a majority of recovered temple rings are). So, while wealth is known to be an indicator in the temple ring forms, it’s not an origin story either.

While his book is great overall, Barford seems to have glossed over the temple rings. So damn, now what? Here’s a few reasons from Russian sources specifically:

1. Slavic women have pretty much always decorated their hair with flowers. When headdresses started being worn by married women, they began making temple rings to mimic flowers. Doesn’t really explain the other variations or why younger and unmarried women traded in flowers for temple rings, though.  (source)

2. They were symbols of beauty. Try not to mix this up with objectification; culturally women were treated with a lot of respect by the Slavs before Christianization. They were educated and said to be magical in a good sense, more so than men which anthropologically speaking is against the “men are shamans/etc.” grain. The beauty aspect of women was more engrained into their being wise and magical, and there’s obviously still pride in this. (source)

3. They were used for ritual / religion. Which, makes a lot more sense than as a status symbol for marriage  (see above link on ‘education’). It’s not the best source but the article is pretty neutral & I’ve heard this before so I’ll just quote it: “Another symbolic meaning of the rings was protection from evil spirits. It was believed that clinking of metal rings and other jewelry could keep them away” (source). Seriously, they even had this basic idea for distant things such as the costumes for the Polish Winged Hussars, so I can’t find much fault in this reasoning; also, the source generally gets the myths correct, I tend to trust them for neutral cultural features. Some Russian sources also confirm this (I’ll just source this one), they list temple rings as being amulets and protection against evil spirits/charms. The ancient Slavs believed that evil spirits could affect people so they would ward them off through their clothing. Their red embroidery was designed to protect the wearer and red was traditionally said to be a protective color, they wore red ribbons/bracelets/etc. on their wrists and red necklaces for protection, etc. There is so much meaning in their clothing for protection, I wouldn’t doubt that it was applied to temple rings as well, especially with the symbols on them.

4. There have been temple rings found in other places such as Troy centuries before the Slavs began wearing them. But since the time periods don’t align and the forms were so different from each other, this tends to be ignored & the Slavs thought of developing them independently.

So basically, there are your 3-4 reasons for temple rings. I’d say to put more emphasis on beauty and magic as the primary reasons based on the other features of early Slavic fashion. From there, the designs of temple rings would show someone’s wealth and more ritual symbols, and maybe social status/motherhood but I question that.

Also, here’s some more diagrams of temple rings from The Early Slavs:1,  2,  3 (bottom right). Also you can find more on this blog.