#i think i was getting burnt out of eso again then

[goldshitter]

trying to get into other mmos after logging 2.6k hours in eso like

[pentacass]

finished DC.....but at what cost.

[lostinmysticfalls]

Safe to Fall - Javi x Fem!Reader

Summary: Javi made it very clear from the beginning that there would be no strings attached. He calls you up when he needs you and you’re more than happy to be of service. But when he changes his mind about sending you on a dangerous mission, you realize that perhaps he hasn’t been following his own rule as closely as he thought.

Words: 4,127

Warnings: smut, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, abandonment issues, implied violence briefly mentioned

A/N: Wow… this one took a turn. It’s a little darker and more angsty than I anticipated. Reader’s got quite a bit of emotional baggage but so does Javi so, they’re kinda perfect for each other? (title taken from lyrics of Finally // beautiful stranger by Halsey)

Javi pushed himself up on the granite counter, his denim clad legs and bare feet dangling as he poured two glasses of whiskey over ice. One for him and one for you. The smoke from his lit cigarette billowed like a gray cloud underneath the warm glow of the kitchen light.

“So you really haven’t changed your mind?” He asked.

You set your things down on the small coffee table in the living room. Replying loud enough so he could hear you. “No. I told you I want to help.”

He remembered what happened the last time he had a girl get information for him. The memories of her helpless body curled on the soiled mattress on the floor, immobile and barely breathing. The stench of decay and mold, the creaking sound of the rotting wood in the room, it still vividly haunted him years after the fact. 

She couldn't have been older than you, and she too had been brave, willing to help because she felt loyal to him. Because she had also gotten dangerously close even when he thought he was keeping his distance. Angel wings burnt like Icarus by the invisible fiery rays that radiated off of him like a death curse. 

Her light was gone after that night. No amount of time was long enough for her to heal. A life ruined forever because of something he'd wanted.

Javi had been afraid for the girl, of course he had been. What kind of man would it make him otherwise? During his time at the DEA he’d seen some of the most fucked up shit anyone could ever witness, but he wasn't a soulless monster. Not even after all that carnage and violence he’d experienced. It was something the cartels hadn't been able to take from him and it was the one thing he kept most guarded.

He’d never admit it but that brutal happening was the reason why he was always careful to the point of being paranoid nowadays.

Why he'd never allowed things to go too far with any of his girls, why he brushed off any kind of compliment and instead of building relationships with women, he built walls. Keeping things professional. All business. It was his way of protecting himself and keeping those around him safe. 

Everyone knew Javi was more than willing to share his body with any pretty little thing that gave him the time of day, but sharing his entire being? Even just a glimpse of the man underneath the hardened exterior? That was out of the question. 

Or so he thought. 

As he stared at you from atop his kitchen counter, he could feel his heart rumbling in his chest. It was yearning but also paralyzing fear, a mix of effervescent joy but also agonizing pain. A turmoil of emotions that he’d been trying to keep bottled up and locked away like a dirty secret. 

Something else had clicked in him. An unplanned tethering had formed as a result of all the time you'd spent together. Of your scheduled and unscheduled romps between his sheets—ones that had slowly transitioned from casual and meaningless fucking to sweet and tender love-making without him even realizing it. Of the sound of your velvet voice over the phone during your late night chats when he needed to vent. And of the way you leaned your head on his shoulder and sometimes fell asleep while you watched TV. 

Javi had made the same mistake yet again and he knew it. He’d been naive enough to think that you would be the exception to the rule, no matter how close he allowed you to get. He had ignored all the red flags until you gradually imprinted yourself on his skin. A permanent mark that he would carry with him forever, no matter where life took him.

He stupidly chastised himself in silence, as if doing so would sever the ties that bound you.  

You swayed your way to him, unaware of his predicament, little dress hugging your figure as you took off the leather jacket he'd gifted you for your birthday a couple months back. Your hair getting caught on the metal buttons as you slipped it off your shoulders.

"It's gonna be fine." Your voice had an air of confidence and reassurance. "I'll do exactly as you say and nobody... well, almost nobody... will get hurt." You took the glass of whiskey that was meant for you and sipped it, grimacing and sticking your tongue out when the flavor hit your tongue. "Javi. I trust you." You smiled.

Maybe that was the problem. Blind trust.

He looked down at you, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray and swirling the contents of his glass before downing it all in one gulp. His brown eyes were trained on your face, like he was getting a good look at you just in case everything went to shit that night.

"Maybe it doesn't have to be you." He said, his voice deep and laced with trepidation.

"Cómo?" You questioned his sudden change in plans after all this time. For weeks he'd been coaching you, training you for that exact mission. "Si esos hijos de puta me la deben también." You snarled, reminding him that you had scores to settle with those assholes too. He wasn't the only one who'd lost people in this war.

“I can do this, Javier." You cocked your head. Swallowing the rest of your drink as you looked up at him and smirked. After a little while, you bit down on your crimson tainted lip, asking coyly. “Am I still your favorite?”

You pushed up on your toes, your hands on his thighs as your plump limps brushed against his mouth. The taste of whiskey and cigarette infusing your tongue as his mustache scraped the delicate skin of your upper lip, tickling the tip of your nose.

“You know you are, sweetheart.” He kissed you again, his actions more fervent the second time around. “Y eres la más hermosa también.”

“Then if tonight’s plan is settled, why’d you call me? We weren’t supposed to see each other until afterwards.” You teased, kissing him and biting his lip. Pulling it with your teeth until he exhaled a little moan. 

“You know I care about you.” He growled, his hands running down your arms. 

You laughed through the shivers that his touch produced, pretending like you hadn't notice the goosebumps that formed on your skin. Trying to ignore the way your heart beat for him and your stomach twisted with excitement as a million butterflies took flight. You'd caught yourself slipping more often than not these days. 

"Sure." Deep red lips pressed against his once again, attempting to dismiss the meaning behind his words. "We'll go with that." 

"Is that so hard to believe?" He asked, one eyebrow perched.

It's not that it was hard to believe. On the contrary, you knew that Javi had a good heart, you'd seen it time and time again no matter how much he tried to downplay it.

But he knew better than to bring any kind of emotional baggage to the agreement you two had made. He had been the one to set the rules, for god's sake. The fact that you had been on the same page had actually been what earned you the coveted role of favorite girl. You were clear on the terms, believing you were smart enough not to form real relationships with clients. Up until that point, you thought he was too.

"I just don’t want you to get hurt." He said, touching the side of your face with his hand, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, stopping himself from saying more.

“Javi. Stop with the sentimental bullshit.” You said quietly, breath swirling over his parted lips as you purred. “Will you just fuck me already? I’ve missed you.”

His thumb caressed your chin ever so lightly.  Lips crashing into yours as he jumped off the counter. Both hands cupped your face, his body moving against yours. His closeness lighting a fire deep in your core and igniting the aching throb between your legs. Your breathing was growing heavy, the pulse at your neck pounding with rabid need.

You raised his buttoned shirt over his stomach, breaking from the kiss for just a short moment to take it off. You kicked off your shoes, feet stumbling as you walked backwards, his body guiding you at an unhurried pace toward the unlit room that was at the end of the hallway. 

Overzealous hands moved along your bends, trailing over the small of your back and down your ass until his fingers had hooked onto the fabric of your dress and you felt it leave your body. The cold air in the apartment hitting your exposed skin. 

You had just crossed the threshold into the bedroom when he stopped you. 

He grabbed your arms, twirling you until your back crashed against his stomach and chest. You squirmed and giggled, enjoying the way he took command and allowing him to do as he pleased. Your body whirred with arousal, the touch of his hands gliding over your breasts and pulling down the cups of your bra, making you shudder. 

You moaned. “Touch me, Javi.” Snaking your body into him wantonly, your ass rubbing up against his hardness. 

The straps of your bra fell over your shoulders, and you reached behind your back to unclip it as fast as you could. His large hands covering your supple mounds, massaging your full tits as his lips trailed over your jaw.  He felt so good, your entire body hummed, wetness pooling in your underwear as your nipples pebbled between the clutch of his fingers.

His mouth bit your chin as you cranked your head to look at him, your sensitive skin burning from the scratches of his facial hair and the gentle scrape of his teeth. 

Javi kept one hand on your breasts, playing with your stiffened peaks as his other hand slid down the length of your upper body. His back hunched over slightly as he reached inside your underwear. 

A whimper floated from your lips when his fingers made contact with your soft flesh. Your delicate flower blossoming for him as he slid between your moistened folds. 

“Oh, you’re so fucking wet already.” He muttered against your ear. “I could slip right in if I wanted to.”

He went on with his ministrations, making you writhe against his chest the more he teased your pulsing center. His fingers traveled up and down your slit, getting closer and closer to your heat each time, finally reaching your tight entrance. But he only circled his way around it for a few seconds before he retreated.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You whined, your complaint being cut short by the feel of his arms swooping you off the floor. 

He carried you the rest of the short distance to the bed and set you down atop the fluffed up comforter that had been left undone from that morning. He smiled, pulling your underwear down your silky legs until you were completely naked.

You watched him, biting down on your lip as he got out of his pants. His beautiful cock, rock hard and swaying as he got on the bed. Dark eyes transfixed on your nakedness, knowing you were all his in that moment. He climbed on top of you, hovering over your body and kissing your mouth as his eager fingers returned to the place they’d abandoned just moments prior.

“You want this?” He asked, his mouth trailing over your jaw and then down your neck. Tongue licking its way down your chest until his tongue was encircling one of your nipples. 

“Yes.” You cried, as his index finger penetrated your slick walls. Your tight flesh wrapping around his digit as he began moving in and out of your crevice. 

You arched your back, craving more. Even though you knew that when it came to him, it was never enough. You could never suffice. After a few moments he slipped in a second finger, his thumb moving over your clit as he started to finger fuck you more vehemently. 

“Oh my god!” Whimpers left your lips. “You’re so fucking good!”

Javi kissed your face, the feel of your skin hot against his lips. Your body began to spasm as a result of his actions. His fingers moved rapidly in and out of your opening, curling and stretching your insides now and again. His other hand paying attention to your pulsating center, circling over your clit, determined not to stop until he’d made you come.

“Just like that, mmmm… así, Javi…” You repeated the words over and over until they eventually died in your mouth, replaced instead by unabashed cries of gratification as you reached that blissful finish. 

An explosion of fireworks went off behind your closed eyes as the heat rippled through all your extremities. Your core swollen and tender from his touch and its sensitivity heightened by your triggered orgasm.

You laughed, kissing him. “You’re amazing, Javier.” With your hands on his arms, you pulled yourself up. “Come here,” you patted the bed, gesturing for him to lie on his back.

You stretched across his upper body, opening the drawer in the nightstand next to him. You’d been at his place plenty of times before to know where everything was, but it was almost like unspoken rule between you. One that if acknowledged, would give away the deep intimacy you both already shared. He slapped your ass as you reached for the box of condoms buried underneath his socks. 

Moments later, you sat astride his thighs, unrolling the rubber over his length and pumping it with your hand a few times before positioning him at your entrance. He looked up at you, his slightly opened mouth exhaling a groan as he slowly invaded your heated depths. 

He allowed you full control of the movements as he slid inside you, even though he was dying to grab your hips and ravish you without restraint. You blurted out his name as you started to move up and down his length, the thickness of his cock stretching your wet walls, instilling you with indescribable pleasure each time every inch of him filled you up.

You rocked your hips back and forth, riding his cock like you owned it, alternating your speed as the minutes ticked by. Eventually turning your movements into that undulated dance that you knew he loved so much. Your breathing became ragged and your bodies sweaty from the heated friction. Grunts and moans, fused with curses and dirty talk, permeated the air.

Javi held on to your hips, fingers gripping your skin as you bucked your hips into him harder and faster. You leaned your upper body forward, mouth nipping his neck as you bounced your ass up and down over his thighs, taking pleasure in the sound of your wet bodies clashing against each other.

Your heart was beating so fast, the exertion making your legs tired and numb from being bent in the same position for so long. Javi sensed your fatigue when you slowed down your pace. He wrapped his arms around your back, holding you close to him as he lifted his hips off the bed and slammed his cock into your core a few times, giving you a bit of a break from your movements.

He took a second to catch his breath and then rolled over with you on the bed, pinning you underneath him as he adjusted himself inside you. Taking both of your hands, he raised them over your head, binding your wrists together with one of his hands as he began fucking you again. It was the first time you could recall him doing that, but something about it made you feel absolutely comfortable and safe. It wasn’t aggressive or even forceful. No. It was like he was claiming you as his own.

“I can’t let you do this.” He said, making you mewl and flail as he hit your sweet spot with just the right amount of force.

He was breathless, but his words were gentle and full of the love you told him once he could never feel for you. 

“I care about you too much.” He said your name, repeating it one more time before he made his final confession. “I love you.” 

The rousing feelings overtook you, pleasurable sensations flowing through you as you came undone one more time. His hips banged into you over and over, the ache intensifying in your core, your walls quivering and contracting as they burst with release. 

You were still in the midst of your orgasm when you felt his body go rigid for just a second, his grunts becoming loud and incessant as he came inside you. The rapturous seconds of physical climax evaporated after a few moments but the emotional effects of it lingered long after. 

Your exhausted bodies lied next to each other, legs still entwined as you remained still for the minutes that followed. 

Even after you both had come down from your respective highs, you stayed put, afraid to move in order to delay the inevitable explanation that was coming after what Javi had just said.

* * * * *

You came out of the bathroom, trajectory set on your scattered clothes on the floor. Legs were still wobbly and heart was still beating fast but maybe this time it was from anxiousness and fear more than anything.

Javi had said those three words to you, knowing that you didn’t want to hear them.

Before then, all he’d done was toy with the idea of you leaving the trade for good. Deep down you suspected his reasons for asking but he had never really elaborated on what his intentions were for you if you did decide to quit. Not that it was a big secret. You were aware that he’d sent some girls across the border to live a life under witness protection, and others to monasteries or safe sanctuaries far away from their homeland. None of which was for you. 

You gave him the same answer every time he brought it up; you belonged to no one but yourself and you didn't need a savior to rescue you.

Javi reached for your hand as you finished getting dressed. He’d sensed the coldness you emitted. He could feel you drifting from him, shutting him out.

“So you’re just going to ruin your team’s operation because of me?” You couldn’t believe you were saying that, it didn’t sound like the Javi you knew. His job had always been his priority.

“It’s still happening. You’re just not a part of it.” He buttoned his jeans, frowning when he heard the contemptuous laugh that left your lips a second later.

"You can't save me from this, Javi." You pulled away, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Because I don't need to be saved. I thought you understood that.”

His nostrils flared, one hand running through his hair as he looked at you. Face painted with despair. “Why are you acting like this? I just told you I loved you—“

“And I warned you not to fall in love with me.” You retorted, your voice cracking from the influx of emotions he’d stirred in you. 

You wanted to cry. There was anger in you but you weren’t angry with him. How could you be? No. You were angry with yourself because you too had allowed it to get this far even though you told yourself you wouldn’t. Your carelessness had led you to grow attached.

“Well, I do love you.” He shrugged like there was nothing he could do about it. 

“Es la verdad. Te amo.”

“Estás loco, Javier.” 

He smiled, inching closer to you. “Loco for ti nadamás.” 

“Fuck.” You huffed under your breath. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I. Come on, talk to me.” He put his hands on your shoulders, tipping his head down and searching for your eyes. “Why is it so bad that I fell in love with you?”

“You wanna know how this story ends?” Your eyes narrowed, mouth twisting in disapproval. “I’ll tell you. Hell, I’ve lived it plenty of times before to know the ending never changes.”

You sighed, the twinge in your chest threatening to make you fall to pieces before you could even speak.

“You tell me that you love me and I believe you… because I want it to be true,” you said quietly. “And it’s fine for a little while. But you never truly get over it. You’re not able to forget my past. The countless men that crossed my path before you…”  

You stopped to take a breath, trying to get rid of the knot that had formed in your throat. “And then that love you said you felt for me. The love story that you made me believe in… it begins to turn into a nightmare. Chipping away at any feelings we might still have for each other. Until one day… you grow tired… and you leave. You leave and all I’m left with is bitterness and hate.” Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears.

He shook his head. “I would never do that to you.” His kind eyes displaying a glint of hopelessness as he began to realize why you’d been so put off by his declaration. 

“But you will.” Your lip trembled as you began to sob. “Because they always do. They never stay, Javi. You won’t stay.”

He took you in his arms, your composure crumbling all at once the moment you felt his warm embrace. Your head was pressed against his bare chest, your whole body enveloped in his scent.  

“You’re a good man. I know you are. And I don’t want to hate you.” You said between sharp intakes of air, feeling completely vulnerable as he held you. Knowing that now that your truth was out in the open, there was no point in denying your own feelings for him. “I love you too much to ever hate you, Javi.”

That bit of confirmation that you felt the same way was reassuring to him. He held you tightly, kissing the top of your head. “And do you trust me?”

You laughed between the tears, thinking that earlier you’d been dead set on putting your life on the line for him—he knew you did. “Of course I trust you.”

He nuzzled your temple and then spread kisses over your flushed, dewy cheeks in the most delicate and loving manner. The tender brush of his lips made you shiver in delight, like a hit of ecstasy had been shot straight into your veins.

“Then believe me when I tell you that I would never…” He gently took a hold of your chin with his fingers, wiping the tears from under your misty eyes. “I would never break your heart. I would never hurt you, amor.”

You closed your eyes, feeling his proximity close in on you. The touch of his lips on yours made your heart sputter. Hooking your arms around his neck, you kissed him again, gently sparring with his tongue as you relished in each other’s taste for a long drawn-out minute.

Breaking away slowly, you said. “I know but I’m fucking terrified to fall… to completely give myself to someone other than me.”

“So am I.” He said. “But not of falling. It’s too late for that.” He caressed your face, the tears no longer trickling down your cheeks. “What terrifies me is the thought of not being with you.”

You sighed deep enough that it made your chest hurt. “You really believe in us?”

“Yes.” He replied without hesitation. “I do.” His words drenched in sincerity.

You knew the absolute soundness you felt in that moment could only be found in his arms. Javi had always cared for you, protected you, kept you safe. He offered all the things that those who had wronged you had failed to provide.

“It’s safe to fall.” He whispered. “I’m right here.”

You knew that the deep rooted fear inside you that made you question every relationship you’d ever had wouldn’t just magically disappear overnight. But you also knew that he would help ease your mind whenever you were in need of it. 

Javi had never failed you and never would.

You shut your eyes, breathing him in, not wanting to let go of him just yet. With each passing minute you grew more convinced that perhaps what he had said was true. Maybe it was finally safe for you to fall.

[especially-heinous-ada]

The Sun Sucks-- One Shot/HC

Have y'all ever gotten so sunburnt that your skin blisters? Well, I have! They're weird-but-cool feeling little raised pockets of skin filled with fluid. Your body's way of repairing itself from the second-degree sunburn your dumb ass allowed to damage to your skin. My dumb ass was in the sun for too long while camping over the independence day (US) weekend, and managed to get myself into that painful situation. This got me thinking of how Rafael would respond if he had a fairer-skinned SO, who got significantly sunburnt. So, I put together this HC for all my pasty friends out there.

__________________________

Rafael walked in the door to see his love, sitting on the couch. Reading a book while quietly waiting for his return home. He smiled at how you always waited up for him, even though you didn’t have to. He didn’t think anything of the fact that you were wearing a cardigan, as the air conditioning was going and it was almost a bit chilly to his skin. 

He also knew you’d gotten quite sunburnt while on a beach trip with your girlfriends the other day--he’d helpfully rubbed aloe over your red, angry skin many times since then. A small act, for which, you were exuberantly appreciative. The burn was so bad you’d called into work the next day because the thought of having to wear clothes all day made you burst into tears. Ever since the burn, you’d been very temperature sensitive. 

After leaving his shoes and briefcase by the door, Rafael crossed the room and sunk down next to you on the couch. You looked up from your book momentarily to smile at him, then returned your attention to the page.

“How was your day?” You asked. Rafael gave a non-committal response, which by now, you’d learned meant it was a rough day, but he preferred not to talk about it. Such being the case, you decided to continue your reading. Rafael had missed you especially badly today, and felt the urge to dote on you. 

“How’s your burn? Would you like me to rub some aloe on you?” He offered. You smiled again and put down your book.

“Well thank you, amor, but I don’t know if that’ll be necessary. I think my skin has got it covered” Rafael frowned in confusion.

“What do you mean?” He asked. You removed your cardigan, exposing the blistered flesh of your arms. 

“See?” You said, for emphasis. “It’s working it out on its own.”

“¿Qué es eso? What’s going on with your arm? Did you go to the doctor? You should really get that checked!” Rafael insisted, voice full of worry. You couldn’t help but laugh at his anxious expression.

“It’s blistering. That happens when you get burnt really badly. It’s a natural process. I mean I wouldn’t recommend getting burnt this badly more than once, if you can avoid it, but...You’ve never seen sun blisters before?” 

Judging by the incredulous look on Rafael’s face, he had not.

“Didn’t anyone in your family ever get burnt growing up?” You asked.

“¿En serio? We’re Cuban, amor. I’ve never been burnt in my life.” He scoffs. Now it was your turn to frown.

“Yeah, well we’re not all lucky enough to be caramel, Cuban gods.” You say, rolling your eyes. That response makes Rafael smirk. 

“Is that what you think of me?” He teased. “A caramel god?” You felt your cheeks get hot, and not because of the sunburn. Ironically, it was one of the only places that hadn’t gotten even a little pink. 

“Maybe.” You conceded, feeling a little too proud to directly admit it after he’d given you such an attitude. He leaned in and gave you a long, slow kiss. It was so sweet, it almost felt like a wordless apology for his cocky response earlier. When you separated, he confirmed your suspicions.

“Lo siento, cariño. Is there anything I can to do help you feel better?” He apologized softly, voice now free of any tone of teasing or smugness. 

“You can keep on kissing me.” You smile, appreciating his sweet attention to you. 

“Done.” He returns a lopsided smile before leaning in and reclaiming your mouth.

[deathlygristly]

Things I am thinking about:

I love the Eggshells story but it's all serious and literary and RL and all the other stories are silly fantasy, so I don't know if I should put it in the collection or not. Maybe I should start shopping it around again to magazines?

I think the other teenage!Seth short can go in, but I want to edit it a bit.

I was looking at Patreon too, but I think for now Ko-Fi works best. It's more of a casual thing. If I get to a place where I can regularly produce content again, then I'll think about Patreon.

If I am really going to do this, I am going to have to reach out and become a member of a community again. I've isolated myself and burnt all the bridges that I did not feel were perfectly safe since the Bad Times, so it's not like a lot of people are invested in me and my stuff right now.

I know how to do it. The concerns are time and energy and mental health.

Well, I learned a lot from last time. I have much better and stronger boundaries now. I know the red flags to look for. I know to not take the trolling and hate personally. Maybe I can make it work this time.

The spousal person worked this weekend so I vacuumed yesterday while he was at work, so I don't have to do that tonight. I'm going to try to work on the story collection file for at least an hour tonight, maybe more. I figure start out with small goals that I can probably accomplish and get used to that and then move up into more work.

I need to make a big official post about the Ko-Fi, explaining things and giving the impression that I am actually serious about this and that I will follow through.

It's just...like Oreo needed all those tests, and then the power line between our house and the pole broke, and we had to have an emergency electrician appointment followed by an emergency HVAC appointment because the power surge fried the furnace, and then Thursday my car started sounding louder than usual so that's scaring me and it's going to need repairs soon.

The spousal person has a plan. Something to do with our mortgage, and getting money to pay off the credit cards and get my car fixed and get him a new car? Well, used, but new to him. He says he'll start making the calls Friday when he's off work, but he's not sure how long it'll take to go through.

So you know, I can say hey, we got hit by life all at once, as you do, and we've got plans to help ourselves and take care of it but it's just going to be a bit of a stretch until then, and if you support my writing you can have an official offline copy of it and plus once we get out of this and I get peace of mind back, which we have an actionable plan for that, you'll get more new stories.

So, plan for tonight: Make the big official Ko-Fi post, work on the collection file for at least an hour, eat pizza, play ESO to de-stress. :)

Which I hope they come out with the preview of the crown store today. I want to know if I can go ahead and buy a new outfit or if I need to save my crowns.

[theysayitsonlyapapermoon-blog]

Lo Siento: 1912

Stories of Héctor and Imelda throughout their lives, and, for good measure, their deaths.  All featuring some variation of an apology.

For whatever reason, they had to apologize a lot.

(Part 1)

Héctor develops a crush.  Or gets crushed.  One of the two. 

1912

When he next spoke to her, it was in a moment of inevitable and rising panic.

Not panic for him, of course. For him it was more of a light anxiety.

He wasn't sure what compelled him to do it, a smart person would make a practice of avoiding things that caused undue anxiety, and Imelda Rivera was certainly on that list. But, as many an adult was prone to point out: for a smart kid, Héctor did a lot of stupid things.

He saw her running up and down by the train tracks while standing inside Senor Flores' shop across the street. Her dress was a bright purple color, impossible to miss against the burnt orange sunlight filtering through the mountain backdrop outside. He had learned to recognize her from a distance, the way a wise rabbit learned to recognize a coyote as a defensive strategy.

She slowed down at random and began to meander in circles, wringing her hands.

"You gonna pay for that, amigo?" Flores eyed him warily.

Héctor looked down at the brown paper package of processed sugar in his hands. The whole reason he was there in the first place was to fetch them for Señora Gutierrez. He rummaged in his pockets for the pesos she had given him and slapped them on the counter. When Flores shifted to the register for his change, two candies vanished from the front counter into Héctor's pocket. Partly out of spite.

The sun was halfway obscured by the horizon when he left the shop. He deliberated turning down the street and heading straight back through town. The last train ran fifteen minutes ago and most of the crowd had dispersed into the plaza. Gutierrez would expect him back soon and the woman wasn't exactly patient.

Imelda started yelling, just loud enough he could make out, "Óscar!" followed by, "Felipe!" into the distance. Héctor looked down at his bag and sighed. He was always late anyway.

"Señorita!" Héctor called, arriving at the tracks.

Imelda whirled around, the purple skirt actually made a swooshing sound with her turn. A few strands had escaped from her hair ribbons, getting tugged violently through the wind. A curious expression shrouded her face. He had never seen her look frightened before.

Héctor swallowed. He hadn't actually come up with anything to say and Imelda clearly wasn't going to help him out. "Is everything okay?" he finally managed.

He could palpably see the conflict draw over Imelda's face. She looked him up and down, frowning like she wanted very much to loudly and defiantly tell him off right then but she couldn't quite bring herself to.

Just as he was about to back away entirely, she confessed, "I can't find my brothers."

Héctor froze, considering.

"Well, we could split up. I could go that way and look," Héctor pointed south down the track line. "And you could go that way."

Imelda started to nod. "Alright, está bien," she turned north and started walking up the track. After five paces she suddenly turned back around. "Wait, what if you find them and I can't find you?"

"Umm," Héctor looked around. The last rays of the dying sun flashed on the metal rails. Soon it would be dark and almost impossible to find much of anything outside of town.

"Yeah, maybe we should— I'll just follow you." He trudged after her, walking through the dead grass alongside the tracks. Imelda's boots crunched over the layers of rock that made up the track bed. The purple dress actually had a darker purple pattern running through it. Maybe not expensive, but it had to cost some money.

She'd last seen the boys by the train station. The twins were fascinated with machinery, especially ones with moving wheels, and liked to watch the engines come in. She had been talking to one of her school friends at the shop next door when the 5:15 train arrived. After her friend left, she turned around and they were gone. She'd figured they'd be somewhere within eye-shot of the train but after combing the station there was still no sign of them.

"Maybe we should go back and check again," Héctor suggested.

"I already looked."

"But they might've gone back, that's where you were last, sí?"

"Ay! It's getting dark," Imelda twisted her fingers inside the palm of her opposite hand.

"Don't worry, we'll find them," he said, half sure she wasn't listening to him at all. She looked back down the tracks. The brick and adobe station building was a mere dot in the distance, practically invisible in the twilight. Lamps were starting to turn on inside Santa Cecilia.

"Maybe we should go back to the church. Get a search party," Héctor offered.

Imelda cupped her hands and yelled, "Óscar! Felipe!" She sighed, nervous. "Maybe we should go back—" she started.

A tiny noise, something high and faint in the distance, perked up in Héctor's ear. He stopped her. "Do you hear that?"

Imelda stared, first at him, then off into the landscape. The noise came up again, a little louder and then repeated. He saw in her face that she'd heard it too.

"Up there," she pointed to a black, rather square shape, sitting far off in the short grass, just to the left of the tracks. Imelda raced ahead, her skirt hiked up practically to her knees.

The shape turned out to be an old box car, turned onto its side, completely black and ashen. The underbelly of the thing hanging open and vulnerable. The metal looked gnarled and melted in places, one wheel was utterly missing. From inside they could hear the boys shouting for Imelda.

"¡Qué demonios! What are you doing in there?" Imelda shouted at the monolithic black undercarriage of the boxcar.

"We found a cool hideout!" one of the boys replied.

"But now we can't get out!" the other finished.

"It's dark in here."

"And it smells!"

"I swear, I'm gonna bury you two in Veracruz with Santa Anna's leg," Imelda threatened. She climbed onto the car's connection box, careful to avoid the shattered metal piece that was once supposed to latch onto another boxcar. The ladder that had once ran from the bottom of the car to the roof was now turned sideways, parallel to the ground. Imelda set one foot against the long, connecting rod that held the ladder together and used the rungs to boost herself up to the top. Slowly she rose into a standing position, balancing carefully on the sideways ladder. "How did you boys get up here?" she wondered aloud.

"We climbed!"

"On the ladder!"

"Get us out!"

"Just a second," Imelda sat on the front of the boxcar and swung her legs over, standing at last on top of the huge car.

No one asked Héctor to follow her up, but he did so anyway. It was still hot out despite the nightfall, and the cold metal actually felt like a break. It was slippery, though. Hard to balance. Imelda had made the climb almost without thinking. He had to squint in the fading light for the next hand hold, curl his toes on the metal to keep from slipping. By the time he'd made it to the top, Imelda was sitting at the edge of the boxcar's sliding door, mercilessly kicking at it with both boots.

There was a small, pitch black opening in the boxcar, like someone had cracked the huge sliding door open and left it to rust that way. The metal made a loud, painful squeak each time she kicked it, but it obviously wasn't opening any further.

"Um, Imelda—?" he approached cautiously.

"What?"

"I don't think it's going to budge."

She kept kicking, eliciting nothing more than a loud metallic noise that mingled with the voices screaming below.

Héctor sat down, letting his feet dangle into the dark void inside the boxcar. The bag of sugar he sat beside him. The gap was small, about half as wide as the rungs on the ladder had been spaced. But if the boys could fit through it shouldn't be too difficult—

He let both legs vanish into the gap. The door was just far enough to let him slip through without scraping his nose. He held onto the top of the boxcar with both hands and lowered himself down. The metal stopped shaking as Imelda finally noticed what he was doing.

"Héctor, wait!" She shouted just as he let himself drop. The boys yelped.

He landed on what felt like a pile of dried grass or leaves. A ton of the stuff got kicked up into the stifling air inside the boxcar and forced the three of them to cough violently. It smelled like ash.

"What did you do that for?" Imelda yelled down at him. If he squinted just right he could see the outline of her face against the violet sky outside.

"I'm alright," he coughed once, batting flakes away from his face. He looked around. The only available light was coming from the crack in the ceiling but he could just make out a dark silhouette about as tall as his chest with two round, head like features on top. "¿Están ustedes dos bien?" he asked.

"We want to go home!" They said in perfect unison.

"I don't think they're hurt or anything," he shouted back to Imelda.

"Eso es genial," she responded, less enthused than he expected, "now how are you going to get back up?"

He hadn't thought of that.

The distance he'd fallen wasn't exactly far, but the space up to the door was at least twice as tall as he was and there was nothing on the smooth metal walls to climb onto. Compounding that was the surrounding utter darkness. If there was anything around to use for climbing he'd be hard pressed to find it.

"You don't have a match or anything?" he asked Imelda.

"Afraid not."

"I guess— go back and get help?"

"Don't leave us!" one of the boys screamed.

"We're scared!" They scrambled into the available light, two perfectly identical bowl-cut hair little boys, staring up at Imelda with dark, pleading eyes.

"Hey, no, it's alright—" he reached out, kneeling a little so he'd be at their height. The boys just stared at him.

Imelda was less comforting. "Boys, this is Héctor. Since he has literally no choice but to sit with you until I come back, I want you to treat him nicely, comprendes?"

"Sí," they groaned.

"Héctor—" she trailed off. "Just— don't do anything, por favor."

"Sí," he said flatly.

She disappeared from the opening, leaving nothing but sky and a few metallic scraping noises as she made the climb down.

The boxcar was eerily silent for about two seconds.

"Who are you again?" one of the boys asked.

"I'm— Héctor."

"Why is your name Héctor?" the other asked.

"Uhh, it just always has been, I guess."

"I'm named after our grandfather."

"So am I."

"Oh. That's nice."

"He's dead now."

"So is mine."

Héctor didn't know quite what to do with that. "I'm sorry about that. Which of you is—"

"That's Óscar," the one on the left pointed to his brother.

"That's Felipe," the one on the right did the same thing.

"But it's okay if you don't remember."

"Most people don't."

"I'll try, I guess." It could've just been the light, or lack thereof, but there was nothing whatsoever to distinguish one from the other. They were about six years-old. Both dressed in black pants and the button down white shirts Sor Josefina made for all the church kids.

"Can you whistle?"

"Imelda can whistle but we can't."

Héctor tried, only coming up with dry air. "Guess not. I know a magic trick, though." He fished one of the round candy pieces out of his pocket and held it up the dim light. He shut his hand, twisted his wrist and slowly opened each finger in succession to reveal an empty palm. He reached behind one of the boy's ears and pretended to pull the candy out of it.

"Ta da—" the twins just looked confused. Maybe the trick needed more light. He gave them the candy anyway.

"It's too hot in here." Óscar, he thought it was Óscar, pulled at the front of his shirt.

"It smells like something died."

Héctor took a knee and motioned for the kid's arm. He folded over the cuff of the shirt sleeve, creasing it till the fold stayed.

He lost count of the questions after that.

"What is all this stuff?"

"I think it's ash."

"Why does the train carry ash?

"What is ash?"

"It's like the stuff left over after a fire. Try not to breathe too much of it in, huh?" He finished rolling Óscar's sleeve up to his elbow, tucking the fabric in on itself so it wouldn't come undone. Whatever Josefina used on those shirts made them sturdy and thick. He'd roll his up to the shoulder some days, especially in the summer. Óscar looked down curious at Héctor's work and then gave him the other arm.

"Have you ever ridden a train?" Felipe leaned on Héctor's knee.

"Once." He'd gotten as far as San Gerolamo before he got caught and sent back, but he didn't want to give the twins any ideas so he left those details out. "How about you two?"

"We've been on three trains."

"One in Mexico City."

"That was the biggest one."

"And then one in Veracruz."

"And then one to come here. Me next." Héctor finished with Óscar's shirt sleeves and started on the cuff eagerly thrust out in front of his face.

"They let us ride in the engine room for part of it."

"Imelda was muy enojado—"

"She said we were lost."

"She yelled."

"Hmmm—" Héctor glanced meaningfully at the boys. "This happens a lot, then?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Imelda yells all the time."

"She probably wouldn't if you didn't run off." He gave Felipe's sleeve one last tug to make sure everything held. The boxcar was still stuffy and reeked of burnt dust but at least it was something. "You should apologize to your hermana, okay? She yells because you made her worried."

"That's dumb."

"Are you Imelda's boyfriend?"

"Alright, forget I said anything."

He was saved by light scraping noises of someone climbing back onto the ceiling.

When he craned his head up towards the sky, all he saw was dark. The scraping noises had gotten louder and erratic. An animalistic grunting sounded. Metal clacked. There was a loud, violent rip and tiny, near invisible white particles rained from the ceiling.

"What is that—ay!"

Héctor grabbed each child by the back of the collar and yanked them away from the open door. He pushed them back into the far corner, one behind each arm. They huddled behind him. Something flat and cold and blunt poked him in the back, preventing him from pressing any further into the wall.

"Silencio, silencio, it's okay, just be quiet." He fixed his eyes on the band of dim light for the slightest movement, the slightest warning that whatever was up there was trying to enter inside.

The growling noise turned deep and terrifying. He was pretty sure the thing was clawing at the doorway. If they could fit through then—

He lost control of the boys and one started to scream, followed quickly by the other.

"Don't—" he paused, he was never going to get them quiet at this rate.

But if pretending they weren't there wasn't an option then maybe they could pretend to be something worse than what was out there.

"Make it loud!" he changed his mind. "Roar, yell— try to sound scary—"

He pulled on the metal bar at his back and found from the rusty creak it made that it was actually some sort of shelf sticking out of the wall. He boosted himself up and crawled on it. He raised a fist over his head and punched the ceiling as hard as he could, creating a loud, vibrating, metal racket. He yelled.

The twins started to shout along with him. Instead of crying, soon they were roaring. Héctor banged on the door. They blocked out the noise of whatever animal was there. They yelled until their throats scraped.

Something heavy dropped straight down into the boxcar and they all jumped. The shelving unit he was kneeling on groaned and swayed.

"Knock it off, idiotas! It's me!" Imelda shouted at them.

"Imelda!" The twins ran to her. She had dropped a wooden ladder into the boxcar, which explained the large banging noise from that direction. Héctor leaned to get up and the shelf jolted under him. He heard a loud screech and before he could properly react the shelf dropped out and he was thrown forward.

He landed so hard his ears started to ring. His face felt white hot, his nose swollen and running. His mouth stung all over. His lower lip cracked. He tasted blood. There was a spot on his forehead that collided with something sharp, it felt like a nail between his eyes.

Something lifted him up under his arms into a sitting position. Light pierced sensitive eyes and he turned away. When his ears stopped screaming he could make out the echo of Imelda yelling "I'm so sorry, Héctor! I'm so, so sorry," over and over.

She pressed some light fabric into his hand and then guided his hand to his face, holding it there. Her other hand she used to lean his head back a little. She had a lantern on the floor between them, the flickering warm light hit under her chin and nose and brow in manner more eerie than anything. The effect put her eyes all in shadow.

"He's dead! Is he dead?!" one of the twins exclaimed in fascination.

"Look at all the blood!" the other one cried.

"¡Dios mío! Give him some space, you vultures!" Imelda shouted at them. "You've caused enough trouble today." She pushed down a little too hard at the area over his nose and pain flared all the way up through his skull. He tried to get up but she held him in place.

"Mmmp- ppurrts—" he mumbled.

"What?" Imelda leaned in.

"It hurts. Your hand—"

"OH! Oh," she let his hand go, mumbling another apology.

He groaned, tipping his head back. Everything neck up still felt like a bonfire. "You should keep pressure on it," she suggested. "Stop the blood." He reinforced his hold on the light rag she'd given him.

"We thought you were a jaguar," Felipe told her.

"Héctor was trying to save us," Óscar added.

"I think you heard a coyote," Imelda said, "I saw it run off."

"Where'd you get the ladder?" Héctor mumbled with his nose pressed closed.

"I sort of— borrowed it."

"Borrowed?"

"We'll give it back. How's your nose? Let me see."

He pulled the cloth away and tried sitting up. His whole face felt like a giant bruise. One of his nostrils swelled and started to run and he clamped the cloth back on.

"Lo siento mucho. Boys, tell Héctor you're sorry, he got hurt trying to help you."

The boys chorused an apology in unison.

"It's really my fault, I shouldn't have climbed on that thing."

"Oh, I know that," Imelda stood up, knocking ash off her skirt. "But I still feel awful about it. You didn't have to help me with them." She picked up the lantern in one hand and extended the other towards him.

It took a second for Héctor to put it together that she was offering to help him stand. He felt dizzy.

It took awhile to get back into town. Getting the ladder out of the boxcar took a bit of effort, especially since Imelda kept waving off Héctor's assistance on the grounds that he was injured. She finally managed to pull it up and just tossed it over the side of the boxcar so she wouldn't have to bother with it on the climb down.

The boxcar door was littered on the outside with crunchy white particles and the occasional bit of ripped paper. So much for his errand.

They stopped once to return the ladder and the lantern to the side of a small adobe hut on the way back into town. From there they had just enough street light to make their way without fear of getting lost any further. His wounds had stopped actively bleeding, but he was pretty sure he looked like a mess. There were blood droplets on his shirt and his pant legs were covered in dust and grime from kneeling in that boxcar so long.

The twins each held one of Imelda's hands as they walked, monotonously informing her how tired they were every dozen paces or so. At one corner they accidentally bumped as Héctor tried to move left and Imelda tried to lead the boys right.

"Where are you going? The church is—" Imelda pointed right towards the building at the end of the winding cobblestone road, bell tower standing conspicuously over all the low standing red and white houses.

"I know, I just have to take care of something," Héctor passed her.

"Are you kidding? You're still all bloody—"

"I'm already crazy late," Héctor started down the fork's left hand side. "You go home. I'll be fine."

Imelda looked to the church and then back to Héctor. "With your luck, that coyote is going to track you down and devour you in the dark." She marched after him, pulling her brothers along by the hand.

"Imelda!" They whined in unison.

"Hush, consider this penance for your behavior earlier," she scolded them.

"You really don't have to—" Héctor started.

"We don't mind at all," Imelda strode confidently despite the little protests coming from Óscar and Felipe.

Héctor's destination was a little restaurant on the northside of town, only a few blocks from the church. The swinging door out front was painted a very bright green, but it was harder to tell at night. Every window on the first floor was plastered with a sign, too dark to read. A banner reading Gutierrez in bright red script hung over the doorway. Music could faintly be heard from inside and Héctor realized he'd been missing mariachi night.

Instead of walking through the front, Héctor led them behind the building to a plain door in the back. He rapped loudly on it to be heard over the music.

The door flew open. A familiar face in a white dinner jacket and apron stood silhouetted in the active kitchen light.

He took one look at Héctor and crossed himself. "Tía!" His voice boomed over his shoulder.

"Gracias, Ernesto," Héctor said.

The young man chuckled, shaking his head. "I can't wait to see how messed up the other guy is, eh chamaco?" One of Ernesto's large hands came down to affectionately tousle Héctor's hair.

"It wasn't a fight," Héctor said.

"Ay dios, Héctor!" Señora Gutierrez elbowed Ernesto to get out the doorway. "I've had Jorge and Carlos out looking for an hour, ¿Dónde has estado?" She knelt down, hand under Héctor's chin, turning his head this way and that to survey the damage. Her normally round, cheery face was pulled tight and creased, thick eyebrows pulled down. "What happened?"

"He was helping me find them," Imelda explained. "They were hiding in an abandoned boxcar and, well, there was an accident and he fell."

Tía clicked her tongue. "Doesn't always pay to do right, huh, muchacho? Does this hurt?" She touched her index finger to the tip of his nose. He felt a dull ache.

"A little."

"I don't think it's broken." She glanced around at Imelda and the twins, as if noticing them for the first time.

"They ran off?" Tía asked. Imelda nodded. Tía sized them up quickly. "You gemelos should stick closer to your hermana. La Llorona comes at night and steals wandering children to replace the ones she lost," her eyes took on a mischievous glaze. The boys looked at each other, uncomfortable.

"Let's get you cleaned up." She rose on aching knees, gently pushed Héctor by his shoulders into the restaurant. "Ernesto, have José make a few extra plates."

"Sí, Señora."

He took a deep breath. The air stung the little cut on his lip. "Tía, I lost the sugar," Héctor told her.

"I know. It's alright, mijo."

"I didn't know you had a tía," Imelda said.

"Huh? Oh, we're not— she's sort of everyone's tía. We all call her that."

"Oh," Imelda pulled one of her brothers to her side. His head was starting to loll on the back of his chair, eyes lazy and closing. They sat at a small table in the front of the kitchen, just clear of the high traffic of waitstaff heading back and forth over the barrier between the cooking and dining area. Ernesto was taking frequent breaks, the first to give Héctor a spare shirt, and the others to bring them more food and hear the day's story over again.

"Pretty resilient for such a chaparrito," he clapped Héctor's back proudly. Héctor winced. He felt much better now that he was free of bloodstains and Tía only had to bandage the cut on his forehead, but everything above the collar was still awfuly sore.

Imelda watched Ernesto head into the dining area with a tray full of food. "Do you live here or something? Everybody here knows you."

"No, I lived at the church my whole life," he explained. "But Tía lets me eat here whenever I want and I'll do little jobs for her. We've been friends since I was, well, them," he pointed at the twin nodding off on Imelda's shoulder. The other was sprawled out over another chair, head resting on his sister's lap, already fast asleep.

"I used to sneak in to listen to the music, there's a bad lock on the second floor— it's unimportant. Anyway, she caught me once and told me if I swept out the kitchen in the morning I could stay for as long as I wanted and it sort of took off from there."

Imelda nodded in understanding. "So, the guitar—"

"Technically is hers."

Imelda didn't reply, turning instead to look out the kitchen and into the dining room where the band was beginning another set.

Héctor looked down at his hands, still holding onto the torn up bloody rag Imelda had given him. He hadn't noticed it in the dark, but here in the properly lit kitchen he could plainly see, in between the bloodstains, the rich shade of purple in the original fabric. His fingers closed around it.

A/N:

- I'm pretty sure that Oscar and Felipe were younger than Imelda. There is a reason she's functionally parenting them here more than just the expectation of the time period, but we'll get into that later.

-The first rail line in Mexico went up in 1873 from Veracruz to Mexico City after a ton of starts and stops in construction for political reasons. After that most of the rail transport were built by foreign companies, British, French, and American. In 1909 the government created a company to bring the main rail lines under national control, Ferrocarriles Nacionales de México (FNM). Throughout the revolution trains were obviously a valuable target for revolutionaries and for bandits, they made transportation cheaper and the land more valuable. A lot were either neglected or damaged or co-opted by revolutionaries.

-General Santa Anna (yes, the Alamo guy) famously held a funeral with full military honors for his amputated leg after losing it to French grapeshot during the Pastry War (not making this up). The leg was buried in Santa Anna's hacienda in Veracruz in 1838, however he had it dug up and brought to Mexico City in a lavish parade when he assumed the presidency in 1842, after which it was reburied. And then dug up again by angry rioters. His prosthetic leg was captured in 1847 by the 4th Illinois Infantry during the Mexican-American war and brought back to the state where it remains to this very day. Technically the leg was no where near Veracruz in 1912, but "I'm going to bury you in Veracruz then rebury you in Mexico City and then protesters will dig you up and drag you through the streets" doesn't roll off the tongue.

-San Gerolamo is a place I completely made up. Named for Gerolamo Emiliani, the patron saint of orphans.

-I originally started this as a sort of origin story for Héctor's gold tooth (the tooth was the first clue I picked up on in the movie--) but after watching it again, I'm pretty sure Héctor didn't actually have a gold tooth in life. I think his skeleton form has one just because the guitar has one and not the other way around. But I liked everything else happening between Héctor and Imelda and the twins so I kept it and just made it a general face-meet-metal accident.

[elddansurin]

found another fun OC prompt and nabbed that shit up for myself. i’ve said it before but i’ll say it again, i’m a very big proponent of filling these questionaires out completely and on my own time, just like we all used to do back in the livejournal days. let’s bring that back. be the master of your own destiny.

today i filled it out for my current golden boy, gavriil. because of course i did! also that was a fun joke, see, because he is an altmer. they’re yellow, or at least they are in my heart (looking at you, ESO)

anyway. this is long. info dump inbound:

A. Psychology

1. What of the Meyers-Briggs personality types they most fit into? INFP, ENFT, et cetera…  Lord I know so little about this shit. Let's go with... ISFJ? I had to look at a chart to type that.  2. What alignment are they? Chaotic neutral, lawful evil, et cetera…  I'm swinging between Lawful Good and Lawful Neutral. He very much has established morals, but whether he's good or just acting in his own self interest really depends on the circumstances.

3. Do they have any emotional or psychological conditions? Are they aware of it? Do they try to treat it? Very yes, and also very yes. Gav's got no name for what's going on with his head, and that alone is just killing him, because he's spent his life trying to quantify, trying to verbalize what he's feeling, but he's coming up short. And that fucks with a guy who's usually pretty good with words. That much aside, his coping mechanisms vary throughout his life, but he has some consistent phases: getting into relationships with dudes who take advantage of his vulnerability and low self esteem, turning hardcore to religion to feel some semblence of emotional connection to another entity, and/or drinking frequently enough that the people in his life begin to Notice. It goes without saying that his timeline is pockmarked by some rather extreme nervous breakdowns, and the only solution he has is "move somewhere new and start over." That's what got him into Skyrim, and all through the main quest storyline, all he can think about is going to Morrowind to try again. 4. Are they a pessimist or an optimist? He's a pessimist who dearly tries to be an optimist. It just doesn’t come naturally to him! 5. Are they good at handling change in their life? Generally, yes. He's gone through a lot of very radical changes, so if nothing else he knows that he'll be able to adapt. 6. Does your OC tend to assume their interpretation of events and reality is correct, or do they question it? I.e., “I’m sure that’s what you said” versus “It’s possible I misheard you.” One of the reasons Gavriil loved being a scholar, loved learning about the arcane, is that concrete facts were very comforting to him. He brought a lot of stability into his life when he was able to dig through texts and see plain truths written out. He doubts a lot of his reality, and that lack of stability gets really close to the root of what's completely wrong with him. 7. Is your OC confident in their reactions to life in general, or do they get embarrassed or easily shamed for it? I.e., if something startles them, do they insist it WAS scary? When they cry, do they feel like they overreacted? When he was younger, he did a LOT of justifying for his reactions. Now that he's older and way more burnt out, he feels a lot more confident in his emotions. That, or he'll chalk it up to "yeah, I'm just fucked up." 8. Is your OC a martyr? I don't really see him as one, no. I feel like one needs a broader sort of cause to be a martyr. Gavriil can barely stop dissociating for long enough to figure out what’s going on. 9. Does your OC make a lot of excuses? For themselves? Others? He excuses other people far more often than himself. He's extremely self-critical, but his gut reaction is that someone else's actions are probably justified. There's a reason he winds up in the kind of relationships he does. 10. Does your OC compromise easily? Too easily? A bit too easily. He bends, and he's not always even sure why he does it. You want him to do some outrageously intensive task for no apparent reason? He'll be all indignant about it, but he'll do it. He won't know why, but he'll do it. 11. Does your OC put others’ needs before their own? He thinks of himself as an extremely self-absorbed, self-serving person, but the truth of the matter is he prioritizes others well past the point of his own detriment. 12. Does your OC have any addictions? If so and problematic, have they admitted it to themselves? Oh yes. In his heart of hearts, he knows he has issues with drinking, because he's been self-medicating with alcohol on and off through the vast majority of his adult life. He's even been called out on it in very plain terms, but he uhhhhh relapses from time to time. Never when his life is stable and happy, imagine that. 13. Does your OC have any phobias? If so, where did they come from? In his own words, he has a handful of "powerful aversions" with no particular cause. Horses, for one. Raccoons are a newer thing. 14. Is your character empathetic? Rather so, yes. 15. Is your character observant? To a point. Gav has a bad habit of getting stuck on minute details and thus missing the larger, often blatantly obvious picture. 16. Does your OC have to go through their own trials to learn a lesson, or do they listen and learn from observation and lecture? I.e., does your OC listen when someone tries to tell them the importance of budgeting, or do they have to go experience what happens if you don’t budget first?  He's largely a trial-and-error kind of guy. Doesn't always learn from the errors of his ways, though.

17. What’s one of your OC’s proudest moments of themselves? Those academic accomplishments are kind of a double-edged blade for Gavriil, as he feels a (justified) sense of pride in having learned as much as he has, but at the same time that comes with a very intense feeling of incompetence, because of course it does. He takes that feeling of "the more I learn, the less I know" to mean that his grasp of a particular field is insufficient, or that he's actually learned it wrong and is completely misunderstanding the material. He ends up feeling like a genuine fraud, like he's tricked people into thinking he's knowledgable. Dude can bust out master-level shock spells and brush it off as "basic knowledge," because if he's able to learn it, then it must be something anyone could pick up, right? This got off topic so fast but the gist of what I'm saying here is he's a very smart guy who feels very stupid, but he occasionally gets glimpses into his own level of genius and feels pretty okay about it. 18. Do they get jealous easily? Do they feel bad if they do? He does go through a lot of "god I wish that were me" moods when getting to know anyone who has their shit together, but never to the point of feeling anger or contempt toward the person in question. He's happy for them, but also wants what they have for himself. Romantically, he's not jealous at all. Kind of ties in with what I was saying about him forgiving people who don't deserve forgiving. Cheat on him, and he'll almost certainly look the other way and ask himself how he could have prevented it. 19. What instantly irritates them or puts them in a bad mood? Anyone who expects him to follow orders without actually getting to know him. As much as he bends over backward to please the people in his life, some rando asking him for favors is going to sour his mood pretty quickly. He'll... probably still do it, though. He'll just have an attitude about it. 20. Are they harsh on themselves? Oh god yes. 21. Is your OC intended to be found generally attractive? Unattractive? Average? Is there a reason why? Gavriil's look, the way I designed it, is supposed to resonate "could arguably be attractive in close to or approaching the traditional sense, but he's tired and haggard and has stopped taking care of himself, and therefore looks pretty slovenly." It's kind of reflective of his character in general: there's potential in him, but Circumstances haven't treated him well. 22. Does your OC place much importance on their appearance? Do they feel confident in it? Not at all. By the time the story takes place, he's completely stopped taking care of himself because he feels ugly and dirty, and he doesn't care if that's what he reflects. I wouldn't say he's confident in his mess, so much as he just doesn't care. He's tired, nothing feels good, and he doesn't care if his hair is growing in unevenly or he smells like an armpit. Which it is, and he does. 23. What are some of your OC’s biggest personal obstacles? This could be emotional, physical, social… Are they aware of it? Are they trying to overcome it? His paaaaaaaast. His past! He knows it, but he doesn't know what to do about it! He keeps hoping that time will heal him, but surprise: it super fucking hasn’t.

B. Social

1. Do they believe you have to give respect to get it, or get respect to give it? I can't figure out what this question means, much less what Gavriil's take would be, so I'm skipping it. 2. Do they get frustrated when lines at places like pharmacies, check-outs, delis, banks, et cetera, are moving slowly? Dude's got all the time in the world. He's old as shit. A long line doesn't mean dick to him. Fucker is completely unfazed. 3. Under what situations would they get angry at servers, staff, customer service, et cetera? These days, they'd have to talk shit directly in front of him to get much of a reaction. He's mostly happy he's not being chased off the porch with a broom (which... has happened). Different story when he was younger and was still kinda coming off his upper class upbringing. 4. Do they tip well? How easily can they be moved to not leave a tip? You know, I don't think there's much for tipping culture in Tamriel, but assuming there was one, he'd be pretty generous. He doesn't have much to give, but he also doesn't have much to lose, so he's pretty easy about spreading around whatever wealth he has (which isn't much) 5. Do they hold doors open for people? Yes, but in the "walks in first then holds it open for you" way. 6. Would your OC let someone ahead of them in line if your OC had a big cart and the person behind them had very few items? Yeah, probably. 7. How do they respond to babies crying in public? He doesn't react much outwardly, but it's a very "nails on a chalkboard" reaction internally. Gav isn't great with kids. Doesn't necessarily dislike them, but he has no idea what to do around em and dreads interacting with them. It's like when you never know what to do with your own hands, so you take up smoking. 8. Is your OC considered funny? Do they believe they’re funny? Most people come off with the impression that he's pretty dour, but he does have a deadpan sense of humor that a lot of people mistake for genuinity. 9. What kind of humor does your OC like the most? Slapstick, ironic, funny sounds, scare pranks, xD sO rAnDoM…   The quiet, subtle kind. 10. Does your OC find any “bad” or “mean” humor funny? Do they wish they didn’t? Most of the time he thinks it's just incredibly mean spirited and ends up feeling bad, because 'they're probably a really nice person,' and all that. If ever he does find it funny, he immediately feels awful about it. 11. Your OC is running late to meeting someone: Do they let the other person know? Do they lie about why they’re late? He'd never lie about why he was late unless he was hiding something ("no, I haven't been crying, why do you ask"), but whether he'd be apologetic about it or just say "I'm late because I don't want to be here" depends on his mental state. 12. Your OC orders something to eat and gets their order done in a pretty wrong way, something they can’t just pick off or whatnot to correct, or something major is missing. What do they do? Eat the food he didn't want, feel extremely disappointed about the entire situation, pay the bill in full, then go sulk somewhere else. 13. Do they have a large or small group of friends? At best, he has a small group of friends who he knows very intimately. At worst, he's completely socially isolated. 14. Do they have people they are genuinely honest with about themselves? Serras is the only person he's ever really spoken to in depth about his emotional issues, and that's only because it has legitimately taken him that long to find someone else like him. Doesn't matter how nice someone is, how much he trusts them, he'd at best be vague about what he's going through. Doesn't help that for most of his life, he assumed he was the only one Like That. If he ever actually met up with someone else who goes through dissociative episodes, he'd have the world's biggest Same Hat moment. 15. Does your OC enjoy social events, such as parties, clubs, et cetera..? He's fine, as long as they're in moderation and in such an environment that he can stand off to the side when he needs to. He doesn't necessarily mind socializing or being around people, but it can get draining. 16. Does your OC like to be the center of attention or more in the mix? He's happiest when he's flying under the radar. Sure would suck if he turned out to be some kind of a mythological figure, wouldn't it?

C. Morality

1. Does your OC have a moral code? If not, how do they base their actions? If so, where does it come from, and how seriously do they take it? He has a pretty strong set of morals that generally fall under the classical "good" umbrella. More than anything, he is extremely against hurting other people, and he is very much not willing to budge on that. That aside, he does see the necessity of grays when the situation calls for it. Eg stealing is generally wrong, but stealing to survive is an exception. That sort of thing. 2. Would your OC feel bad if they acted against their morals? If not, would they find a way to excuse themselves for it? He'll break his own code from time to time, and that's the sort of thing that tends to stick with him. You know, the shit that keeps you up at night. 3. Is it important for them to be with people (socially, intimately, whatever) whose major ideological tenets align with their own? For the most part, but there are things that he's willing to budge on. For instance, he's extremely over the idea of Altmeri superiority, and he's not going to mix well with anyone who thinks like that, because it's unnecessary and unjustified hate, which kind of goes against his religious beliefs and whatnot. But if he's dating a greasy klepto then, well, pobody's nerfect. 4. Do they consider themselves superior or more important than anyone else? Lesser? If you asked him this, he'd say he doesn't feel superior to anyone. Subconsciously, though, he still kind of holds a subtle disdain for non-elves, even though he doesn't realize that's what's going on. He'll look at the Skyrim locals and think they're superstitious rubes and feel pity, because that kind of thought process is so deeply socialized and ingrained him in that he doesn't even realize he has that kind of prejudice. And while he has very good impressions of Khajiit (largely thanks to Yanni and his fam), he's very uncomfortable around Argonians. Gav's a ultimately still a product of his environment, and unfortunately, his environment was not a good one. 5. Do your OC’s morals and rules of common decency go out the window when it comes to those they don’t like, or when it’s inconvenient? Aka, are their morals situational? For the most part, no! He's very firm in his moral code. Someone could be attacking him, and he'd feel terrible for fighting back. 6. What do they do when they see someone asking for money or food? If they ignore them, why? If they help, how so? He'd absolutely help, even if he didn't have much to help with. He's been in some extremely dire financial straits (including during the story), so he can empathise very much with other people who are down on their luck. 7. Do they believe people change over time? If so, is it a natural process or does it take effort? He believes that ultimately, people are good, and that those who don't act good have the potential for it. That love and compassion can ultimately overcome hatred. This is probably the most optimistic aspect of his personality. This is due in no small part to his particular religious affiliations. 8. Is your OC more practical or ideal morally? I.e., do they hold people to high expectations of behavior even if it’s not realistic for the situation, or do they have a more realistic approach and adapt their morality to be more practical? He's fairly practical. For as much good as he believes is in the world, he knows that it's a lofty ideal that he's got in his head. And, well, he's seen enough cruelty to know that not everyone is willing to tap into that potential.

D. Religion and Life and Death

1. How religious is your OC? What do they practice, if anything? If they don’t associate with any religion, what do they think of religion in general? He's very devoted to the cult (sect? church?) of Mara, as interpreted in the Aldmeri pantheon. He does pay lip service to some of the other aedra, but at the end of the day, Maran tenets are where he's at. He's also a little averse to other Altmer who talk a big game about Auri-El, due to Circumstances. That all said, the intensity of his belief comes and goes in phases. Sometimes he feels very jaded about his beliefs, and other times he's like "hey I should become a priest for five years." 2. Do they believe in an afterlife? Yes, but he has a lot of issues with the concept of dying, so the entire subject makes him nervous. 3. How comfortable are they with the idea of death? Not very! 4. Would they like to be immortal? Why, why not? If they are immortal, would they rather not be? He'd honestly feel very torn on this. Life is suffering, natch, so an eternity of suffering is a tall order. But he is also lowkey fucking terrified of dying, so he's pretty torn. 5. Do they believe in ghosts? If not, why? If so, do they think they’re magical/tie into their religion, or are they scientifically plausible? I feel like he's probably met at least one ghost by now.

E. Education and Intelligence

1. Would you say that your OC is intelligent? In what ways? Would your OC agree? He's ridiculously, like viciously educated. He's smart in the classical sense of being a booksmart academic, and he knows way, way more than most about the arts of destruction and alteratation magic. He acknowledges that he is educated, thinks that the only thing going for him is his intelligence, but he feels pretty dumb. 2. Which of the nine types of intelligence is your OC strongest in? Weakest? (Linguistic, existential, naturalist, et cetera) I had to fucking look this up, but whatever. He'd be strongest in linguistic and logical-mathematical types of intelligence, and very lacking in intrapersonal and existential intelligence. He has no idea what's going on with his life or who the fuck he is, and philosophical debates make his eyes roll back in his skull. But the dude has a pretty firm understanding on the general workings of physics and mathematics, because you can't break laws you don't understand. This bastard loves the levitate, so you better believe he's familiar with the laws of gravity. 3. How many languages do they speak? Just the one. When I said he had linguistic smarts, I didn't mean that would extend to other languages. Just the one he knows. He's very good at that one. Not so much anything else. 4. Did they enjoy school if they went to it? Oh he absolutely thrived in any academic setting. 5. What’s their highest education level? Do they want to continue their education? Gav would have the wizard equivalent of a PhD, and he's the kind of guy who'd have worked on his thesis indefinitely if the University hadn't more or less begged him to please, please graduate. Either start teaching or hit the road, you've been a student for too goddamn long. 6. Do they enjoy learning? Do they actively seek out sources of self-education? After he left the University, more or less the first thing he did (after hitting the ground pretty hard, natch) was immediately pick up a new area of study- alchemy. At that point, he had no idea what else to do with himself! 7. Are they a good note-taker? Are they a good test-taker? Do exams make them nervous? He takes meticulous, fucking METICULOUS notes, probably way more than necessary. He has testing anxiety, so he's a chronic over-studier. Not the healthiest behavior, but it worked to his benefit, because he was always overprepared for exams and almost always the first to finish. It's a little hard to trip up the guy who obsessively prepares. 8. What’s one of your OC’s biggest regrets? Not getting leaving home sooner.

F. Domestic Habits, Work, and Hobbies

1. What sort of home do they live in now, if at all? How did they end up there? Dude sleeps on the ground, because he is in a very gradual recovery period from an extreme breakdown. He left his home and possessions and just ghosted his entire social network, and he's still too unstable to stop moving. You ever get way, way too hot and you just start pacing, as if that's going to make anything better? But you just can't stop yourself, because your discomfort is making you so restless that you can't stay still? I think that's a good analogy for what Gavriil's going through right now. 2. What’s their ideal home look like? Where is it? Shit, can I quote Tom Petty here? I'm going for it: "So I've started out / For God knows where / I guess I'll know / When I get there" 3. Could they ever live in a “tiny home”? He's living out of a tent right now, so anything with solid walls is already an improvement. 4. How clean are they overall with home upkeep? Not very. He's a hybrid of "stereotypical academic who leaves his notes strewn all over the place" and "just depressed," so environmental cleanliness is never at the forefront of his mind. 5. How handy are they? Can they fix appliances, cars, cabinets, et cetera? Oh, he's not handy at all. If something breaks, it's broken. Poor bastard barely even learned how to sew, so he's walking around with tears and holes in his clothes more often than not. 6. How much do they work? What do they do? Do they enjoy it? He currently has no fucking idea what to do with his life. Not that he doesn't have prospects, but he has such little self worth and he tends to get paralyzed with fear when faced with the potential to fail, on account of Circumstances. 7. What’s their “dream career” or job situation? He would actually do very, very well as a teacher. Explaining the things he knows is probably the one time he kind of wakes up to "holy shit, maybe I am retaining this stuff a bit better than I thought." 8. How often are they home? Ideally, quite frequently. He's at his best when he can unwind in the comfort of his own space. 9. Are they homebodies and enjoy being home? This seems like a nearly identical question, so yes. 10. Do they engage in any of the arts? How good do you intend them to be? Would they agree they are? He frequently makes botanical/biological sketches for alchemical record keeping purposes, but I imagine those to be a bit closer to the equivalent of a geologist's field sketches than actual art. He's pretty stunted in regards to the arts, actually. That’s more of Serras’s thing. 11. What are some of their favorite things to do for recreation? How did they get into it? What part of it do they like the most? He loves to read, particularily academic texts. He feels the most valuable when he's learning! He also likes smoking anything that'll get him high, and even some shit that doesn't.  12. Would they enjoy a theme park? Not at all. Too loud, too many people, too much stimulation in general. He'd just want to sit down in the shade.

G. Family and Growing Up

1. Is your OC close to their family? No. 2. Who makes up your OC’s family, at least the more important members to them? His father, mother, and little brother. He does have extended family, but none of them were every particularily close. 3. Does your OC find their family supportive? If not, what would be an example why not? Gavriil hasn't been in communication with his family in a timespan best described as "centuries."  I'm TRYING not to get into spoilers here, so I really gotta be vague here. 4. What kind of childhood did your OC have? Bad.  5. Did they go through any typical phases growing up? He was a very shy, sheltered kid, right up until his first year at the University. Before that, he was more or less in his larval stage, if I may. 6. Do they have any favorite childhood memories? Most of them involve his childhood pets (he's had a few colorful birds and whatnot) 7. Do they have any childhood memories they’d rather forget or be less affected by? He's repressed most of his younger years at this point. Yes, he is aware of that, and no, he doesn’t want to remember.

H. Romance and Intimacy

1. What is your OC’s orientation, romantic and/or sexual? Has it ever been a source of stress for them? Have they always been pretty sure of their orientation? He's a big gay, and it took him getting out into the world to let that click into place. Afterward, I'd imagine he'd have a lot of "this makes so much sense now" type of revelations. I don't think he'd have considered being gay as an option prior to going to college. But once it fell into place, he kind of went ham on the identity. To make up for lost time, if you will. 2. Is your OC a thoughtful partner, in whatever aspect of that you want to cover?  Definitely. He puts a lot of himself into his relationships, puts a lot of effort into making things work. Lets the small stuff slide. Lets some pretty big stuff slide, actually. He'd be a fantastic boyfriend to someone who actually respected him. Hmmm. 3. Does your OC believe there’s only one ideal partner (or multiple ideal if not monogamous) for everyone, or that there are many people who could be right?  He's never really bought into any of that soulmate type of stuff, instead believing that effort is the key component in making a relationship work. I feel like a lot of this might have come from his recent stint as a priest of Mara. Those guys perform marriage ceremonies in Skyrim, and I can’t help but feel like they’d inevitably end up as the Tamriellic equivalent of marriage counseling. So Gavriil’s probably at least a little wise to the notion of “we love each other just because.” Now that I’m thinking about it, I feel like Gav would be the kind of guy who gives amazing relationship advice, and takes absolutely none of it to heart. That actually sounds pretty damn consistent to his character... 4. Does your OC believe in love in first sight? Perhaps. He's never actually felt something like that, however. It always takes him a bit to warm up to someone enough to start feeling anything beyond basic infatuation. 5. Does your OC believe in marriage (or their culture’s equivalent)? Dude was a priest of Mara, of course he's game for marriage. Thinks that shit fucking rules. Almost got married at one point, even! Didn't work out. 6. Has your OC ever cheated on anyone or been cheated on? Never the former, as he is extremely, extremely morally opposed to that kind of thing. He has been cheated on, though. A lot. 7. What do they look for in partners? (Emotionally, mentally, physically..) His standards are low. Like, low. Read also: he has a laundry list of terrible, terrible boyfriends. That all said, his track record is comprised almost exclusively of Bosmer and Dunmer. He kind of has a type, as far as looks go. 8. What’s your OC’s idea of a perfect date? It's changed a lot over time, but now he's old and tired. He just wants something quiet and intimate, probably fairly low-key. He's not really one for sweeping romantic gestures, at least in most circumstances. 9. What are some things that your OC finds to be an instant turn-off in potential partners? Seeing a potential suitor treating someone else like shit will have him turning tail on the spot. He can and will put up with being treated like a dog, but the second it happens to someone else, that makes it real, that makes it harder to justify.

I. Food

1. What are their favorite kinds of flavors– Sweet, salty, sour, spicy, creamy, et cetera? He really likes spicy foods. If nothing else, at least well seasoned. He can roll with a lot, but bland food takes an emotional toll on him. 2. Do they have any eating requirements or preferences? Allergies, vegetarian, organic-only, religious restrictions… He licks ants off of rocks for sustenance. Picky, he ain’t. 3. Are they vegan/vegetarian (if their overall culture/species generally aren’t)? If so, why? Do they think animal products are wrong in all circumstances? He's probably not as empathetic toward animals as he could be. He's far from cruel, but he just doesn't really feel bad about slaughtering an animal to keep himself fed. 4. How often do they cook? Do they order out a lot? He cooks more often than not. He's a decent enough cook in a home setting, when he has access to things like utensils and counter space. As far as camping food, which makes up 99% of his diet right now, that's kind of Serras's job. I would refer back to the “eating bugs” statement above. 5. Are they a good cook? He's decent. He's probably not going to fuck up a dish he's making, but his recipe pool is probably pretty shallow. 6. Could they eat the same thing they enjoy over and over and not get bored of it quickly? Yes, it's a survival technique you need to develop when you're poor enough. So says the writer, a man who can eat chili for two solid weeks because it's CHEAP and LOW EFFORT. Gav is no different.

J. Politics, Current Events, Environmental Aspects

1. Where does your OC stand most politically? What would they align with most?   For an Altmer, he's fairly progressive. At least, considering the current political climate, he’s progressive. 2. How politically aware are they? Gavriil on the Stormcloaks: "Who?" Gavriil on the Mede Empire: "Oh, how are those guys doing these days?" Gavriil on the Thalmor presence in Skyrim: “Wait, what are those guys doing up here?” 3. How politically active are they? He keeps his head down. The political environment post-Oblivion Crisis is a bit overwhelming to him, so he's kind of maybe stuck his head in the sand. 4. Is your OC the sort to fall for fake news? If not, do they ignore it or make a point to clarify that it’s wrong? His reaction is kind of along the lines of "Sounds fake, but I don't know enough about [SUBJECT] to debate this." He’d probably be looking for the next available out to just completely bail. 5. Are they or would they protest for a cause they’re passionate about? Depends on what sort of consequences he'd face for doing so. If it'd make a political target of himself, then fuck no. 6. How do they react to people whose political viewpoints are very opposite of theirs? Quiet disdain and the desire to vacate. 7. How much interest in environmental health do they have? Fairly decent, I guess? If for no other reason than superficial; he'd want to keep pretty locales pretty. That sort of thing. 8. In reality-based or applicable worlds, do they believe in global warming? Do they recycle? He would, he's a pretty facts-based sort of guy. I feel like in a different setting (ie Earth-based), he'd be a lot more environmentally conscious.

K. didn't apply to Gav at all, so I skipped it

L. For the Writer/Owner

1. How have your characters changed since you created them? Honestly, he hasn't changed very much! I made his ears bigger, if nothing else. 2. What do you consider the biggest themes in your character, if any? Doubt, self-sabotage, and painfully unaddressed emotional traumas. 3. Did you create the character to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you? I didn't set out to project as much of myself onto Gavriil as I did, but here we are. He's not a perfect self-insert, but there is an awful lot of me in this elf. 4.Would you hang out with your OC if you could? I'd smoke with him, tbh.

There were more questions, but they started arbitrarily going off into 'which of your OCs' territory, and I'm kind of keeping this to Gav for now, so let's just stop here.