#no it doesn’t count if eye color is the only distinguishing feature

[bardace]

proposing a new theory of character design called “the facility” where you gotta think about if your characters were put into an evil government facility and they all had to wear uniforms and all their heads were shaved, would you still be able to tell them apart?

[dailycharacteroption]

Deity Drop 6: Abhoth

Just as we did when be touched on Great Old Ones in a previous deity special, we are heading back to cosmic horror with our first Outer God.

But what exactly is an Outer God and how does it differ from a Great Old One? Well, a Great Old One is a demigod-level entity that has a body that can be noticeably affected by it’s mortal environs, and for all their defying of sane physics and geometry, it is possible for a mortal to fight back against such an entity and with a little luck “kill” it, forcing it into torpor or at least making it decide that being there is not worth the annoyance.

An Outer God, on the other hand, is a true deity, albeit an unknowable one that doesn’t even try, or perhaps is incapable of understanding why one would try and take a form comprehensible to the majority of mortals.

Like the Great Old Ones though, most of these entities cannot be bothered to even notice mortals, their cults often calling upon deaf ears, with only a rare few ever being granted power, perhaps as an afterthought or even without the deity realizing. While some may have specific malevolent designs, most seem content to stew in their own incomprehensibleness with no real plan beyond just existing in a way that mortals strain to understand, seeming to embody the belief that the universe is truly uncaring.

Abhoth himself is the “Source of Uncleaness”, a monstrous parent figure to all manner of horrors. His children ranging from just as formless as himself to ambulatory limbs, to surprisingly complex entities both fully formed and malformed. Most are immediately seized and consumed by him, but some escape to wander away, wandering the extradimensional tunnels of his realm until they find their way into the underground of other worlds. That’s right, many true-breeding aberrations in Pathfinder, including the classic gibbering mouther, are descended from this foul god!

All of this reflects his nature as patron of the misbegotten, an avatar of life gone wrong in violation of every natural order.

Abhoth himself is described as having a twisted and cynical personality, seeing no beauty in the world and seeking only to add cruelty to it.

This outer god is originally from Clark Ashton Smith’s Hyperborean Cycle of short stories, where he made the jump to the Call of Cthulhu and other such RPGs and then on to Pathfinder.

Though the original source describes him as grey in color, Abhoth’s art in Pathfinder paints him as a bright light (possibly glowing) blue. This may have been to help distinguish him from another cosmic horror staple in the game, the shoggoth. Indeed, for like many formless horrors, Abhoth’s only defining feature is his formlessness and tendency to form and reform various random body parts from his mass seemingly at random with varying degrees of recognizability.

While it is not given a name in Pathfinder, Abhoth’s grotto is connected to many different underground realms across various planets, and his realm itself is a maze of tunnels that he wanders through aimlessly as the spawn that survive his hunger.

As a god of fecundity, I can see some twisted remote culture venerating the Source of Uncleaness as a fertility deity, or perhaps warded against with the hope that children are born whole and fully formed. However, those that delve into his monstrous true nature may come to believe that his formlessness and cruelty are the truest expression of life, and get up to the usual nasty cult business of trying to summon him, or more likely, some of his children, and generally venerate all manner of unnatural life forms, often to the detriment of their health.

As a particularly cynical outer god, Abhoth counts none among his friends, not even his own children.

He also lacks servants in the traditional sense, being directly served by no one. However, he is able to see many worlds through the eyes of his spawn, and may even invade such a world through them on a lark.

Abhoth favors the domains of Chaos, Darkness, Earth, Madness, and Strength, with the subdomains of Caves, Ferocity, Insanity, Night, Nightmare, and Resolve. All of which reflects his cruel but not overtly malevolent demeanor, as well as his connection to caves, physical might and the horror of his own existence.

While a handful of Outer Gods have been written up in 2e, Abhoth has not gotten that treatment yet, so no list of his domains exist there yet.

Like all cosmic horror gods, Abhoth is too uncaring to offer any rewards of obedience.

With all sorts of horrors found in the depths of countless planets, you can bet your buns that Abhoth is definitely still out there in the far future of Starfinder, even if he hasn’t been officially mentioned yet.

That does it today, and yes, Abhoth’s story did inspire the demon lord Jubilex, but we’ll talk about how Pathfinder sometimes doubles up on certain deific concepts some other time. For now, eagerly await the final deity we’ll be covering this week, the first non-evil one we’ve had in a while!

[elvenbeard]

8 and 11 for the oc questions, please?

Thanks so much for asking!! :DD

8. How much jewelry do they wear, and do they have a favorite or distinguishing piece?

V is not much of a jewelry person. Rings and bracelets get in the way, catch onto things, or get lost. He used to have a handful of nice, sleek necklaces, a studded choker even, but lost those along with his apartment and a bunch of other stuff when Arasaka sacked him. The only necklace he owns now and will always wear when he leaves the house is the bullet necklace Viktor and Misty gave him. It's less a piece of jewelry to him, more a lucky charm. A reminder to make every day he gets count. He always has it under his shirt so it doesn’t catch on anywhere when he’s out and about, also because he does not like to be asked about its significance or where he got it from by random people. It’s something he wears solely for himself.

What’s more obvious about him are his piercings, and even though it’s just a few, most of them he’s had for a long time and wouldn’t want to get rid of (rather add a few more some time :D). His favourite is the one next to his right eye, sitting on his cheekbone. He thinks it suits him, accentuates his features nicely. He is a little bit vain definitely.

11. What color do they look strikingly good in?

Black and red is the majority of his wardrobe, but that's just a combination that looks good by default on most people. He has a few more fancy pieces that he loves though and really will catch your eye with. For example a long, very flashy turquoise coat in combination with black trousers and a white tshirt (or no shirt, becaues then the colour accentuates his tattoos) and boots that fit the colours of the coat. He also has a purple and gold leather jacket that he doesn't wear as often, also because it's quite flashy and also not suitable for his line of work, but he loves the colour combination. But yes, when you wear mostly subdued colours for your infiltration, stealing, murdering business, you want to be loud and bold on occasion - at least in your spare time.

[kaelyn-stocktonmil]

Alright people, you know the drill. Found another “oc asks” post, so you know I gotta include SkullFace and Stalks-In-Shadows. I’ll be doing SkullFace first, as most of the questions won’t be able to apply to as, he is my Warrior Cats oc. I think that speaks for itself.

Glance: For SkullFace, a LOT stands out. His pelt color, patterns and markings are not at all what you would expect from a cat. He’s a mostly black cat, however has white stripes on ONLY his legs. His tail starts out dark, and gradually fades into a light gray. That color is also connected to the singular stripe running along the length of his spine, which is a light gray. However, his distinguishing feature is, without a doubt, his white mask marking on his face. The fur over his eyelids is black, so whenever he blinks, all you see is the striking imagery of a skull staring back at you. His namesake. Face: As aforementioned, SkullFace has a white skull mask marking with black eyelids. He has protruding fangs, which isn’t too uncommon for a lot of clan cats. He rarely smiles, at least, rarely genuinely. When he does, those who care about him are reminded that they should never judge a cat by their pelt. His eyes are emerald green, however he is blind in one, due to a fight with a Rogue when he was younger, a claw scar being left across his right eye, and blinding it. The first thing a cat notices when looking at SkullFace is how intimidating he looks. Stature: SkullFace is slim but tall and strong. At least, talk in terms of ThunderClan cats. Motion: SkullFace almost habitually moves entirely silently. He’s used to having a backwards sleeping schedule, sleeping in the day and hunting at night to avoid conflicts with other more…traditional clan cats who hate him for rumors of who his biological parents are. As such, he’s adapted to the night time and it’s dangers, be it Foxes, Badgers, Owls or more. He only gets up in the day if there’s a meeting. He’s lost count of the amount of times a cat has startled from turning and suddenly seeing him sitting a few feet away, when they didn’t even hear him. He is coordinated and flexible. Stillness: SkullFace isn’t very fidgety, however if he is made to be for long periods of time, his tail is most likely to flick from time to time. He has one tic, which is kneading the ground beneath him with his claws. Canvas: His markings are always on display at all times. He also has a “sock” marking on his front right paw. It’s more of a “glove” as it doesn’t go the entire length of that leg, just his paw, which instead of black, is light grey. He wishes he didn’t have it, as it is the source of most grief he is given in the clan.

Alright, as I said, SkullFace is going first because most of these questions don’t apply to him. Stalks-In-Shadows is up next!

oc asks: character design edition

FACE & FEATURES

glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC's appearance? What's their distinguishing feature?

face: Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

stature: What's your OC's body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try to mask it?

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

CUT & CLOTHES

night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type?

day: What does your OC wear on a normal day? Why do they default to those clothes? Do they wear similar things, or do they change it up?

formal: What's your OC's formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have different looks for different occasions?

informal: What's your OC's lazy-day look? How do they like to dress when they're winding down?

outerwear: What's your OC's outerwear situation? Jacket, sweater, cloak? What sort of weather do they deal with most and how do they protect themselves?

footwear: What does your OC wear on their feet?

road: What does your OC wear while traveling? Do they have high-quality equipment, or are they making do? What does their gear look like?

armor: What kind of armor does your OC wear? Is it well kept? Bonus: where does it come from? Is there a story behind it?

arms: Does your OC have any weapons? What weapons do they carry, and how do they wear them when they're not fighting?

roots: Is your OC's look inspired by any specific style of clothing or fashion trend? What are the roots and/or inspiration for their look?

texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can't wear or don't like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

wardrobe: How big is your character's wardrobe? Do they wear things threadbare, or can they afford new clothes often? Are they any good at mending and repairing their own clothing?

ACCESSORIES & ACCENTS

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

hair: How does your OC wear their hair? Does it have some kind of meaning?

makeup: Does your OC wear makeup? How often? What kind? Why do they wear makeup, and do they like it?

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? If they're a fantasy character, what's their modern look? If they're sci-fi, what's their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themself? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

[shepherds-of-haven]

What subgroups in universe are the cast from? Like who are Western Norms vs Eastern Norms, which subgroup of Elves is Tallys from, etc?

All Norms in the main cast are of Eastern Norm descent, though there are slightly different subgroups within that general bloodline: 

Riel is originally from Leore, which is predominantly populated by a smaller subgroup called Raolin or Goldenlake Norms, who are a bit more delicate and shorter in stature

Chase is originally from Conte and has more Southern Crescent coastal blood in him, resulting in more olive undertones in his coloration

Trouble and Shery are both Eastern Guilder Norms from Haven, though it's possible that Trouble could have Western Hanish blood from his father's side. Although Eastern Guilder Norms in popular conception tend to be darker-haired, with more muscular or stout, stockier features than the taller, more fair-haired Western Hanish, this is something of a misconception, as statistics will actually show that things like hair color and eye color are fairly evenly split among Guilder Norms, with dark hair showing only a slight predominance over blonde and red hair. You see Trouble and Shery’s heritage more in their bone structure and general facial features, which makes it very obvious that they’re Guilder Norms!

Lavinet is also of predominantly hardy Eastern Guilder descent, though nobles intermarry so much with nobles from other provinces and fiefdoms that she also has Goldenlake and likely Hanish blood as well as a heavy dose of Northern Sacoridian blood from her mother's side!

Although Caine comes from the Western side of the Continent, in Kinley, I believe his mother’s family is based in... Sacor?... while he doesn’t know where his father comes from, but at a glance, he looks like he has Eastern Guilder and possibly some Northern blood

Tallys is technically a Frostwood Elf, originating from Shyrduin--these Elves are the most "inland" and are more "sylvan" than a lot of their cousins, tending to have very forest-matching features (green eyes, autumnal/ochre/auburn/brown hair and skin tones, as well as more common freckles and beauty marks): they’re the shortest among the Elvish subgroups, while Thielwood Elves tend to be taller and paler in skin tone with black or blonde hair, and Orgael Elves (who are thought to be more coastal) are a mix of both, with golden to beige skin tones, a range of hair colors, and generally blue/blue-green or gray eyes. 

Blade is from the highland province of Ygrath, being counted among the noble "mountain Ket" within Ket culture, while also being lumped in with the greater subgroup of "Thielwood Ket" (who are generally more universally dark-haired and have certain distinguishing facial features like longer noses, higher cheekbones, and more almond-shaped "fox eyes") by the rest of the world. 

Halek is obviously a Hunter of the Reach, but pretty much all Hunters can trace their ancestral origins back to there, so there aren't as many distinguishing physical features that separates them from other Hunters; it's more about differences between traditions and social customs that have evolved over time, though Hunters of the Reach are the tallest among the Hunter subgroups and can still be recognizable through their dress and general bearing/mien!

Red is a "lake district" Mage, which means his people tend to be a bit taller and tanner (with broader features like larger hands and wider shoulders/hardier bone structures) than Mages from other Eastern regions, while Ayla is from Jalis, which tends to produce people with dark skin, sharper facial features, angular, wiry builds, and who are shorter than Mages from other regions. 

Briony and Mimir are [redacted]!

[frank-a-mori-son]

“Extremely detailed character sheet template”

Character Chart

Character’s full name: Frank Daniel Morrison Reason or meaning of name: The name Frank is after his Grandmother, Francesca and Daniel is his Fathers name. Character’s nickname: Killer, Frankie, “Hey asshole!”  Reason for nickname: First for obvious reasons, second also, last one is just heard enough for it to be. Birth date: February 14th 1977

Physical appearance

Age: 19 years old How old does he/she appear: he could be confused for someone down to the age of 16. Weight: 65 kg/ 130 pounds Height: 173 cm/ 5′8′’ Body build: Lithe but athletic Shape of face: Heart Shaped Eye color: Brown Glasses or contacts: None, but he’ll need it once older Skin tone: White with neutral undertone Distinguishing marks:  2 visible facial scars, beautymark under right eye Predominant features: Large neck tattoo Hair color: Brown Type of hair: Straight Hairstyle: Currently an undercut Voice: Tenor voice Overall attractiveness: He’s got rouge-ish charms, so pretty attractive Physical disabilities:  Hypermobility in his joints, unknown condition. Usual fashion of dress: Pretty casual, borderlining grunge and punk rock Favorite outfit: band tshirt, faux leather jacket and jeans Jewelry or accessories: He’d love piercings but has none, always wears some type of gloves.

Personality

Good personality traits: Resillient, loyal, brave and charismatic Bad personality traits: Bad temper, snarky, self critical Mood character is most often in: Agitated Sense of humor: Dick jokes and slap stick Character’s greatest joy in life: Making decisions for himself Character’s greatest fear: Becoming his parents Why? Due to how they ruined not only their lives, but that of an innocent child too. What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil? At this point that has already happened, making a grave mistake with unthinkable consequences...  Character is most at ease when: With people he trusts/cares about or if completely unnoticed Most ill at ease when: Overwhelmed by attention from strangers, feeling judged by peers. Enraged when: Made fun of, harrassed, hit or when someone he cares about is hurt. Depressed or sad when: Thinking of past mistakes, regrets and worrying about present/future. Priorities: Himself and those closest to him Life philosophy: Enjoy while it lasts, they or you won’t be around forever. If granted one wish, it would be: Freedom for those he cares for. Why? They do not deserve to be trapped in this realm, but he feels he does. Character’s soft spot: Quentin, Susie and dogs. Is this soft spot obvious to others? Quentin is very obvious to most Greatest strength: His will to keep fighting Greatest vulnerability or weakness: His own mental health and trauma Biggest regret: Dragging his Legion down with him Minor regret: Failing at ending himself Biggest accomplishment: Accepting his own sexuality Minor accomplishment: When he made it onto the basket ball team Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about: The one time he got himself roofied on accident Why? he was trying to impress some older kids and failed badly. Character’s darkest secret: The fact he killed someone. Does anyone else know? His Legion and Quentin knows

Goals

Drives and motivations: Motivated to keep himself and those he cares for safe in the Entity realm. Immediate goals: Spend as much time with his boyfriend as possible, get many smooches Long term goals: Somehow, find a way out of the Entity realm. How the character plans to accomplish these goals: He has no idea, but he knows he can count on Quen to help How other characters will be affected: Hopefully, it’ll be a positive effect

Past

Hometown: Calgary, Canada Type of childhood: Rough and unstable Pets: None First memory: Being locked in his bedroom, the stench of sweetened smoke coming through the door crack and loud angry shouting from below. Most important childhood memory: His Grandma coming by on Christmas morning with a gift for him Why: because it was the first time he got a gift for xmas, it was sadly also the last time he saw his Grandma. Childhood hero: He really looked up to one specific foster dad, a good man. Dream job: Veterinarian  Education: High School Dropout Religion: Christian but not practising Finances: Shaky at best, below poverty line.

Present

Current location: Ormond, Canada Currently living with: Foster dad, Clive Anderson Pets: None unless you count house flies Religion: Agnostic Occupation: Unemployed Finances: None existing. 

Family

Mother: Lorraine Beatrice Morrison Relationship with her: Strained, disconnected Father: Daniel Patrick Montgomery Relationship with him: Tense and disconnected Siblings: Step-sister, Step-brother (both Fathers side) Relationship with them: None, he doesn’t know about them. Spouse: Quentin is his boyfriend Relationship with him/her: Good! very good, they’re very much in love. Children: None Relationship with them: Nothing Other important family members: Grandparents (Mothers side) who are still alive and miss their grandson.

Favorites

Color: Red, black and green Least favorite color: Pink and yellow Music: Death metal, Rock, Punk, retro Food: He’ll eat pretty much anything, has a huge sweet tooth Literature: He’s not a fast reader, so he doesn’t read. Form of entertainment: out with friends, listening to music, exploring and sports. Expressions: “Well, fuck” and “heck!”  Mode of transportation: Other people’s cars, otherwise, his own two feet. Most prized possession: His faux leather jacket, as it’s bought with money he earned honestly. 

Habits

Hobbies: Basket ball, art and climbing Plays a musical instrument? No, but he would’ve loved to learn Plays a sport? Basket ball! How he/she would spend a rainy day: Probably at a friends house or at their usual hangouts. Spending habits: he spends very little money as he rarely has some, but he does shop lift often. Smokes: Yes Drinks: Oh yes Other drugs: Usually just weed, though he has tried a few other things once or twice. What does he/she do too much of? Getting in trouble, drinking and smoking What does he/she do too little of? Eating, sleeping, bathing, just generally taking care of himself. Extremely skilled at: Most physical activities Extremely unskilled at: Reading, writing, maths....  Nervous tics: Foot bouncing, pacing, lip biting Usual body posture: Looks relaxed, but shoulders tensed. Mannerisms: Talks with his hands a lot Peculiarities: He’s a basic bitch in secret, he likes the big ass, sugary, cllorful and extra frappes but he’ll get them in secret like they’re illegal. 

Traits

Optimist or pessimist? Pessimist, or realist as he would say. Introvert or extrovert?  Ambivert! He can go both ways, depends on situation. Daredevil or cautious? Daredevil!  Logical or emotional? A little bit of both, though most often ruled by emotion. Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? More like Disorderly neat, he doesn’t have enough stuff to make a mess and though he doesn’t enjoy it, he’s often the one to do dishes and laundry at home. Prefers working or relaxing? He really likes relaxing, but if he’d like working if he got a job he enjoyed Confident or unsure of himself/herself? He’s faux confidence most of the time. Animal lover? Yes. Very, very much so. Especially dogs.

Self-perception

How he/she feels about himself/herself: he considers himself damaged, unworthy and incabable of love. One word the character would use to describe self: Survivor One paragraph description of how the character would describe self: Out loud he’d call himself “a badass free spirit”  What does the character consider his/her best personality trait? His ability to get up even when knocked down. What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait? His insecurity What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic? He thinks he’s got a pretty nice bod, all things considered. What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic? His scarred hand, his big ears and his slight buck teeth. How does the character think others perceive him/her: As a bad boy, rebel, problem child and misfit. What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: Many things, though he really like to be taller 

Relationships with others

Opinion of other people in general: They just want something from him and they’ll leave once they’ve gotten what they wanted. Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others? Often until he trusts them, then he’ll start opening up. Person character most hates: Clive, his parents, Ghostface Best friend(s): Julie, Joey and Susie Love interest(s): Quentin Smith, but Steve is handsome too. Person character goes to for advice: Depending on what it is, Quentin or Susie Person character feels responsible for or takes care of: Susie is like a little sister to him Person character feels shy or awkward around: Jeff, it’s all very complicated Person character openly admires: Jeff, again, complicated Person character secretly admires: David. He’ll never say why. Most important person in character’s life before story starts: Nobody. After story starts: His Legion and, the light of his life, Quentin.

Snatched from here

[popatochisssp]

Aesthetics Ref - UF Bros

Nickname: Jasper (Underfell Sans)

Height: 4” taller than you (OR 5’3”)

Eye-lights: Candy-apple red (#FF0800)

Magic Specialty: Red, orange

Scars/distinguishing marks: Gold tooth (left canine), defensive scrapes and nicks on his forearms, two faint rings circling his cervical vertebrae

Preferred Style: Edgy (lazy) punk, his look is mostly crafted to make him look like more trouble to tangle with than he’s worth while also being comfortable. Tends to buy things a size or two bigger than he really needs and layer it to fit—it gives him extra bulk and if there were to be a fight, extra padding with the added benefit of maybe obscuring where exactly underneath those layers he is. Favors black and red, sometimes yellow and white; likes color-block, especially the angular kind, but only with two, at most three colors.

Outerwear: Fur-hooded bomber jacket; knit turtleneck sweaters (hand-knit, by…well that’s not important), they’re mostly just ribbed but there’s some cabled ones too

Top: T-shirts, solid colors and probably bought in a ten-pack; a few rare exceptions with color-block designs or angled lines

Bottom: Athletic shorts, a few joggers and track pants

Footwear: Basketball sneakers (please imagine the gaudiest black-red-yellow affairs you can and know that they are among his shoes somewhere, likely in the place of honor)

Trademark accessory/accessories: Almost a tie between his jacket and his gold tooth—the tooth wins by default because it never comes out, and it’s his personal favorite fashion statement by a mile anyhow

-

Nickname: Pyre (Underfell Papyrus)

Height: 1’4” taller than you (OR 6’3”)

Eye-lights: Crimson red (#990000)

Magic Specialty: Red, orange, yellow, blue

Scars/distinguishing marks: Three claw-marks over his left eye-socket, some defensive nicks on his forearms, heavy scarring on his ribs and sternum, one of his false ribs broken off halfway through

Preferred Style: Goth punk, so wholeheartedly, genuinely edgy that even if it shouldn’t, he just makes it work (…most of the time). He wants to look sleek and cool and badass at all times and fills his wardrobe with anything and everything he thinks will further that end. His closet is very full, and so is his wardrobe, and his dressers, but he culls the herd regularly and counts it as a win that he’s never at a loss for what to wear. Favors black and red, loves leather, spikes and studs, and of course, metallic foil.

Outerwear: Mostly biker jackets, some with spikes, some with studs, and a few plain just in case; does own a hoodie or two, but not the slovenly kind (look up ‘unique asymmetrical hoodie’ and the dealbola results are pretty much what he goes in for)

Top: Long-sleeved graphic shirts, the designs as Ed Hardy as you care to imagine (i.e., skulls, flames, snakes, roses, and so on); gold, silver, and red foil prints make up a large chunk, too, with a few nice button shirts (silk and satin) for special occasions

Bottom: Leather pants, of course, often with straps along the side of the leg or artfully placed buckles; some dark denim with strategic rips and tears, and a couple neatly pressed dress pants for when he might need to tone it down a little

Footwear: Almost entirely boots, ranging from shin to knee-height; buckles, studs, and skull motifs are common features, and while he has a few pairs with practical combat heels, he has a clear preference for stiletto-style

Trademark accessory/accessories: Tattered well-loved red scarf, it goes so well with most of his wardrobe that he rarely doesn’t have it on; he also has a lot of really cool belt buckles, mostly skull-themed, but he switches them out often and definitely does not have a favorite (…yes he does, and it’s the one shaped like a ram skull)

[a-dorin]

stranger

pairing: the mandalorian x medic!reader 

word count: 2.69k

warnings: cursing, canon typical violence, blood, wounds, burns, references to killing/violence, the taste of blood, sewing a wound up, yearning, pining, an idiot who wears only a beskar helmet and takes on more than he can handle 99.99% of the time

a/n: hi i wrote this in like no time at all so i hope you guys like it. (also at like 2:05 in the morning) also, this takes place during season one, and diverts a little bit  away from canon because he doesn’t have all of his new beskar armor yet (oops) also, sorry if the ending line is shitty i have a hard time with it sometimes 

“i thought this was the last time you were going to pull shit like this on me karga,” you dig your index finger into his chest, your jaw clenched, lips curled in a sneer, “you always say it’s going to be the last time shit like this happens and guess what? it doesn’t ever fucking end does it? i help you one time and--”

the leader hangs his head, raising a hand in defeat, “i am well aware of how you feel about me and the way i do my business. however, this is someone i can’t turn away. and you’re the only person i trust to fix him.”

exhaling, your eyes squeeze shut, “who is it?”

“someone who has been working with me for quite some time,” greef pauses, taking a moment to gauge your reaction, “he’s a skilled bounty hunter, one of the best, actually. typically, he fixes himself right up, but his injuries are far too severe to just ‘sew up’ and go about his business. trust me, i had to do some convincing to even bring him to you.”

through the entryway, a draft rolls in, causing you to shrink into your clothes, “it’s a little too chilly to talk out here. come in, we can discuss my payment, and then i’ll make my decision.”

greef takes a step forward, clearing his throat, “i’ll pay you, and so will he. i am well aware of how you feel about giving my men medical attention. but you do know that i will pay you well for this, right?”

you nod slightly, rubbing your temple with your fingers, “how much are we talking here, karga?” 

“i would like for you to assess his injuries first,” he counters, “then we can talk about payment.”

“fine,” you mutter, crossing over to your table, “please, just bring him in. if he bleeds out on my table, it’s your fault karga!” 

“hopefully there will be none of that,” karga shakes his head, the words so low that you could barely hear him, “i’ll bring him in. let me know when you’re finished.”

swiftly, you gather up your supplies, your hands gathering as much as you could. from the sound of it, things weren’t looking good. reaching out, you pull your cart towards you, practically tossing the supplies on the metallic surface. cursing under your breath, you search for your gloves, eyes frantically searching your surroundings, yet they’re nowhere to be found. 

guess you’d have to get a little messy with this one. 

a long-winded groan startles you from your task at hand, and your heart sinks the moment karga brings him in. he’s donned head to toe in battle armor, the hues of the metal a variety of colors. the only distinguishable piece is a beskar helmet, light reflecting off its surface. 

not once did karga mention that you would be tending to a mandalorian. 

“how bad is it?” you inquire, your voice crisp and cool as you stride over to karga, helping him carry the mandalorian to your table. 

blood seeps through his clothes, soaking the garments with a horrid scarlet. in several spots, there is singed fabric, signifying that he took a few good shots. the mandalorian reeks of burnt flesh and the stench of a battle, your nose wrinkling and bile rising in your throat. 

this was far worse than karga described, and this was no time to start panicking. 

“just a few blaster shots,” the mandalorian cuts in, his voice distorted from a modulator, “nothing that i couldn’t fix myself.”

“ah, ah, ah,” karga interjects, “there’s more to it than that. i believe he has several lacerations, perhaps a few burns from blasters.”

“that beskar couldn’t stop everything huh?” you arch a brow, in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

the mandalorian doesn’t respond, anxiety bubbling up within you, “karga, try and keep him awake as long as you can. i have a few healing stems, along with some bacta shots, but depending on how deep the wounds are, i won’t be able to treat him unless we strip him of the armor.”

“i-i can’t take that off,” the mandalorian gurgles, “i-i, m-my cr-creed.”

“what creed?” you shoot karga a curious glance, guilt plastering his features. 

“he has a creed he follows,” karga inhales sharply, “it’s his way of life.”

your lips part, forming an o. you want to scold karga for not briefing you on all of the minor details, as he normally does with his men. however, there was no time for banter or bickering. 

you had to maintain your composure. 

“how much blood has he lost, you think?” 

“i can’t give you a definite answer on that,” karga takes a step back, allowing you to survey the mandalorian, “i would say a lot, but i’m not too sure. perhaps his garments stopped some of it, or the pressure of his armor.”

“that’s not enough pressure,” you murmur, plucking a pair of shears off your cart, “hey mando, can you hear me? are you still with us?” 

a feeble hand raises from the table, his voice breathy and far away, “i-i’m here. anything but the helmet, please.”

“of course,” your voice is soft and hushed, “the helmet is off limits.”

“now that i’ve got him in here,” karga gestures his head towards the nearly unconscious mandalorian, “he has something back at his ship that i need to tend to. will you need my assistance or can you handle it?” 

“i can handle it,” your voice falters, “go do what you need to do. it may be an hour or two before he’s feeling better.”

“you know how to find me if you need me,” karga’s words trail off as he exits your home, the doors sliding shut behind him. 

“all right mando,” you take his hand, squeezing it, “i’m going to start by removing your armor okay? let me know if you can’t feel anything. that’s when we have a problem.”

“i can feel everything,” he spits out, “fuck. it hurts. it all hurts.”

“you really took a beating huh?” carefully, you start by removing his boots, hastily yet with caution. 

who knew if he took a hit to the spine, paralyzing any point of his body. 

“hey,” you place his boots on the floor, “can you wriggle your toes for me mando?”

immediately, relief ripples through you as you watch his toes move, signaling that there was no nerve damage. next, you remove the plates of armor covering his shins and thighs, placing them directly by his boots. the armor was severely damaged, almost beyond repair, as it was littered with dents and holes. 

how many run-ins did this mandalorian have in his lifetime? how many of his days had he spent fighting? 

“do you have other clothing in your ship?” you press on, slicing the fabric with your shears, “karga mentioned you had a ship.”

“mmmhmmmm,” he hums, “name is the razor crest.”

“ahh,” soaking a rag with bacta spray, you wiped down his exposed legs, assessing his wounds as you did so, “that’s a wonderful name.”

the flesh was only burned, which could be healed almost instantly with the bacta spray. luckily, there wouldn’t be much scar tissue either, only a few minor scars here and there. yet, you wondered if there was an inch of the mandalorian’s body that wasn’t scarred. 

“d-don’t worry so much bout my legs,” he stammers, “it’s my shoulder that i’m worried about. i can feel the blood soaking through.”

“i’ll have to remove the rest of your armor and your tunic,” biting your lip, your hands wrap around his chest plate, desperate to find a way to get it off. 

“hey,” his voice sounds again, this time a lot clearer, “i can get it off. you don’t have to worry about being hasty about this. i’ll make sure you get your sum.”

“i-i just,” you stutter, the taste of blood hitting your tongue as he sits up, “karga sounded so worried and i want to do a good job because the way he talked, you were his best hunter and i just can’t--”

“you won’t fuck anything up,” a hand reaches out, finding yours, “this isn’t anything i haven’t encountered before. the thing is, you’re a trained medic. i’m not. i would probably make a mistake and make my injuries worse somehow. take. your. time.” 

for a moment, your eyes flutter closed, a weary sigh flowing from your lips. you can sense the mandalorian watching you carefully, studying your features through the tinted visor. 

“o-okay,” you whisper. 

the mandalorian sits up, shedding away the remaining pieces of his armor, “would you like for me to roll over?”

you nod, gnawing at your lower lip once more as you realize that this mandalorian, this stranger, was about to be nearly undressed, half-bleeding, half-conscious, on your table. and he was so patient with you. so much kinder than previous patients in the past. 

“wait,” your brow furrows, “your helmet would make it awkward for you to lay on your stomach. how about you move over a little, to the edge of the table?”

“of course.”

he straightens his back, scooting over to give you some space. clambering onto the table, you reach up to adjust your light. taking your rag, you wipe down his back and shoulders, muscles rippling under your touch. every so often, your fingertips graze his heated skin as you lose yourself in your work. 

you catch a quiet groan as you continue to work, your heart fluttering. 

the sound wasn’t drenched with pain, nor anywhere near the noise you first encountered when he was being brought in by karga. 

this was a sound of contentment, a sound of bliss. 

“how long has it been since you’ve felt someone’s touch?”

shame burns through you the moment the question tumbles from your lips, nearly consuming you whole as he tenses. maker, did you feel so guilty. he was a stranger to you. how could you just blatantly ask that? 

the answer arrives, short and sweet. 

“too long.”

leaning over, you press a piece of cloth on his shoulder, a lengthy laceration stretching from his clavicle to his left shoulder blade, “oh, i see.”

“do you usually get this close and personal with your patients?”

“depends,” you shrug, “hey, i’m about to sew you up. it may sting.”

plunging the needle in, you press yourself to his back as you start the suture, your breath fanning against his neck. the mandalorian stiffens as he catches a whiff of your scent, and how it was so heavenly as it wafted into his nostrils. 

his jaw clenches as he chokes back a hiss of pain, remaining as still as possible. 

“you’re being so good for me,” your voice floods his ear, the praise nearly causing him to crumble completely. 

within seconds, you’re all finished, sliding off the table, “i take it that karga is coming back with a change of clothes?”

“i hope so.”

gazing over at your table, you notice the healing stems, “i have some healing stems for your travels. they’ll probably help with that dull pain you’ll have in that area for a while. it won’t be an issue unless you somehow reopen that wound. if it was any closer to any major artery in your neck, you would’ve bled out.”

“i’ll take them.”

“well,” you hand them to him, “take them before you forget them. you seem like the forgetful type.”

a low chuckle erupts from the beskar, “i don’t think i could forget a night like--”

a knock on the doors interrupts the mandalorian’s sentence, cutting it short. as you make your way over, you hear a string of curses flowing from the table. more than likely his native tongue. pressing a button, the doors slide open, revealing greef karga and a strange, little creature, swathed by a bundle of clothing in his arms. 

“you were fast,” karga remarks, cradling the creature, “how is he?”

“he’s fine,” your focus is directed away from karga, honing in on the creature, “who is this?”

“this is what i had to retrieve from his ship. he’s a very precious child. extremely important to that mandalorian over there.”

the child coos, its eyes two vast pools of obsidian. he blinks, a tiny hand flailing out. you melt, lips curling into a broad smile, “hello, little one. are you looking for your father?”

“he is,” the mandalorian echoes from across the space. 

karga enters, keeping the child against his chest as he strides over, placing the bundle next to the mandalorian. from a distance, you watch fondly as the child teeters towards the bounty hunter, an incoherent blubber sounding as his guardian pats his head, reassuring him that they would no longer be separated. 

within minutes, the mandalorian was springing to his feet, with a fresh set of a clothes, the same armor strapped to his frame. the child is in his embrace now, clinging onto his thumb. karga hovers by his side, more than likely filling him in on the next mission. the next victim to hunt. 

“how should i pay you?” his voice, one you had grown familiar over the course of the hour, fills your ears. 

“oh,” you blink, “um, don’t worry about it. you have far more important things to--”

“no,” his tone is firm, “you deserve some sort of payment.”

“she lives here after all,” karga remarks, folding his arms across his chest, “i could pay her any time.”

“how about you head out so that we can discuss this a little more privately?” he turns to karga, the query almost more of a command than a question. 

“of course,” karga dips his head, shifting towards you, “i’ll see you around. hopefully this is the last time i spring a patient on you.”

“i’m sure it won’t be the last,” you roll your eyes playfully, “see you around, karga.”

“tell me, how much do i owe you? name anything in the galaxy and it’s yours.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you snort, “you don’t owe me anything. you could’ve died and you’re worried about paying me.”

“because you deserve it,” he takes a step forward, the space between the two of you dissipating, “from the sound of it, you let this happen quite frequently. you don’t get paid enough for it either.”

“how about you pay me a visit the next time you make a pitstop in nevarro,” your eyes fall to the floor, careful to not meet his gaze, “would that be enough?”

a gloved hand grasps your chin, tilting your head up. 

“oh cyar’ika, that would be more than enough.”

the child giggles, bouncing, “maybe you should get a move on. he seems hungry. there’s a cantina not too far away from here. they serve good food, even if the locals get a bit rowdy. i bet it’s nothing you run into, though.”

“it’s probably best if i leave nevarro.”

“be safe out there mando,” you whisper.

“i will.”

just like that, he’s out the door, leaving your knees weak, heart all aflutter. 

as the mandalorian made his way to the razor crest, child in tow, his mind was reeling, all of his thoughts honing in one particular thing. 

a medic on nevarro, who mentioned briefly that he seemed to the forgetful type. yeah, he traveled near and far, to all rims and edges of the galaxy, but he was one to forget people, nor faces. he encountered so many species: human, twi’leks, wookiees, chiss, you name it.

the moment he stepped foot on the razor crest, he yearned. the desire burning through him, aching and desperate. 

stars, how he longed to go back. just for one more glimpse. one more glimpse of that stranger’s face, that beautiful face. 

he was determined though, determined to find his way back. perhaps in a few days, even. the mandalorian was relentless, especially when it came to getting what he craved. and oh, how he craved to know the name of the stranger on nevarro. 

someone who would no longer be a stranger to the mandalorian. 

he just knew it.

[fellowstrangetownappreciator]

The Strange Case of The Strangetown Metamorphosis

There is a mysterious Sim that appears in Strangetown.

That's like saying "there is a fish that appears in the ocean", I know, so I'll be a little more specific.

They are an adult whose memories show inconsistencies with those of their family members. Something is missing!

Alright. That's also not saying much, that's like half of the premades in vanilla, non-clean hoods.

They are immediately recognizable by their appearance and, dare I say it, have distinguishing features unique to them.

Well, that also kinda fits everyone...

They feature in more than one installment of the series.

Again, not that helpful. I mean, almost everybody from the base game hoods is (for better or worse) represented in TS3 or TS4.

They appear in TS2 for PSP!

Hmm...

They are a member of a wealthy family connected to science and paranormal.

And...

They are somehow connected to (possible) cloning.

I imagine that now you’re probably rolling your eyes and asking: Why didn’t I just simply say I was going to talk about Bella Goth?

Because... I’m not!

It’s Loki Beaker. In this mini-essay I’m going to speak about Loki, what is the mystery around him, what hints are there and what are some of the theories and which one do I fancy.

It’s basically a routine round of the popular game “connect EAxis’ oversights and glue them together into a headcanon”.

So without further ado, let me introduce you to:

The Mystery of Loki Beaker!

0: Preface: Loki who?

“As soon as he perfects his latest invention, Loki is sure to get the recognition he knows he deserves. In the meantime, he keeps himself busy by trying to assemble a nuclear reactor out of common household items.”

On the first glance, Loki as a Sim seems quite straightforward. He is a Knowledge Sim with a very eccentric personality. All his trait points are in the extremes, as you can see:

He is a scientist, a competent one at that, as proven by his high career level and the fun fact that some of the game’s horrible machinery you can buy for Aspiration points is attributed to his creation.

(It explains why are the Beakers the only ones who have the stuff lying around by default. It is normal for a Strangetown family to own a non-buyable reward object or two but those are career rewards, the Beakers are the only one who canonically own Aspiration points rewards.)

Even though he knows his stuff when it comes to his profession, he is very corrupt and tests his questionable projects on his captive, Nervous Subject.

To say that Loki is unpopular would be an understatement. No one but his wife Circe likes Loki, even his own sister is indifferent towards him. Yes, he has a sister. Her name is Erin and she also lives in Strangetown with a colorful collection of roommates.

Nothing mysterious about him so far. (apart from his eyebrows)

1: Characterization fallen apart

And then The Sims 3 happened. It was actually quite late into the game’s life cycle, the early 2013, when a beautiful nordic-themed world was released on TS3 Store. Its name was Aurora Skies and it featured Loki, Erin and their parents.

TS3 Loki is a child and Erin is a toddler.

Now I haven’t actually played Aurora Skies. I own (and love) TS3 but the price range for the Store worlds is too high for me, content-to-money wise. So there might be some hidden clues about the Beakers in their house or relationship panels that I haven’t been able to inspect but... not to sound cynical but I doubt it. I doubt such attention was given to detail of this family in Aurora Skies, as they don’t even have individual bios.

But... that is... fine? I mean, we have Loki’s TS2 bio...

Nope. Sure we do. And it would be fine if hair color and ambitions weren’t the only thing Loki and his younger self (from now on referred to as smol Loki) had in common.

Let’s take a look on smol Loki’s personality.

The first noticeable thing is that there is not a trace of Loki’s trademark villainy. He’s not Mean Spirited, he’s not Evil, he’s not even a No Sense of Humor Sim. His extreme neatness and hyperactivity are nowhere to be seen either. While it is true that TS3′s capabilities of defining personality are very limited as it picks “outstanding points” rather than a position of each trait on a scale, and it only has 5 slots (and tiny teeny 3 for children), it doesn’t make any sense still for the devs not to pick some more loki-esque traits for the precious slots they had.

Unless...

They didn’t care about Loki’s personality and there were no deeper intentions.

Unless the devs were trying to purposefully show us new angles of his character that either got suppressed while he was growing up, or manifest in ways that TS2′s scale system wasn’t able to show.

Could the Lucky trait in particular have had something to do with the change?

(Also, those traits of smol Loki are reason why I usually go for a Family Secondary Loki in TS2 and thus make Strangetown the purgatory of two unstable blonde Knowledge/Family sciency guys.)

We also must not omit that even though smol Loki didn’t display any of them, he still had all of Loki’s signature traits in him, as Loki in TS2 has his actual personality synced with the genetic one, meaning that there was something in there that caused him not to act so mean that got lost as he grew up. In other words, something brought up the worst in him.

And that’s not all. Smol Loki is not a regular TS3 child. You see, in TS3, premade children aren’t particularly known for being highly skilled experts. Neither are in TS2, for that matter, and it’s okay. It’s realistic.

Smol Loki has a skill maxed.

It is very rare for a premade regardless of age to already start with a maxed skill and I personally don’t know of any other premade children that do.

And it’s writing.

What does writing have to do with Loki? Does Loki write? Probably he has to, those academic papers aren’t gonna spawn out of thin air, but that’s not what the writing skill in TS3 (or the hidden writing skill in TS2) are about. They’re about creative writing only.

Ok, ok. How high is Loki’s Creativity skill, then? In TS2, skills are much broader, they more resemble skillsets than individual skills, and writing categorizes under Creativity. Bring out the skill panel!

Two. He has 2 points in Creativity. That is... low. That is actually very low, especially for a Sim that has supposedly been writing for fun since childhood. (and was a prodigy, while we’re at it) It is safe to say, I think, that if the player doesn’t make him do it, Loki doesn’t write anymore and he hasn’t been doing that for a long, long time.

While I would cynically admit that the dissonance in personalities might be just the lack of damns given from EAxis’ side, this seems to me too on the nose to be unintentional.

They would have no reason to bring the Beakers back without the “evil scientists” thing in mind. I mean, that’s what they’re iconic for. That’s what they’re recognizable by. (apart from their eyebrows)

So the person who was in charge of creating smol Loki probably knew they were recreating “Loki the mad scientist”.

So when they were picking the skill they use to demonstrate that this kid is gonna go far, they thought... “evil scientist = writing”...?

I would understand going for Creativity in general. I mean, Loki’s an inventor. That comes with the territory. But creativity as such isn’t really a skill in TS3. It’s divided to different activities.

Wouldn’t it make more sense just in general to pick logic, then? I mean, Loki isn’t that extremely logical by default but it is his second strongest skill and a feature unmistakably connected to being a scientist.

That’s what leads me to believe that writing plays a role in the story and it was chosen on purpose.

So how did a sweet little family-oriented boy talented with words transform into the ruthless catboy inventor we know and love?

And that, my friends, is the mystery of Loki Beaker.

2: A closer look at our environmentalist friends, the Beakers

If we want to get the full picture and come to a satisfying conclusion of some sorts, we need to inspect smol Loki’s surroundings. Maybe there is a clue to the continuous force or a traumatic event that shifted smol Loki’s direction in life?

Loki’s and Erin’s parents are named Gundrun and Bjorn. Even though their age would still allow it, they’re not present at the start of TS2′s Strangetown play, they’re long dead. Bjorn died before Erin became an adult and Gundrun died shortly before her son’s engagement to Circe. Because they died by the time Loki had (presumably) already long enrolled in his current life-path, we can safely rule out any tragic early death of parental figures scenario as a possible answer.

Gundrun is the only Beaker that canonically also writes. She has 5 points in the writing skill. She also shares some traits with Loki, namely the smarts and ambition.

But she has little to do with science and is way more business-oriented which is a trait she shares with Circe’s ancestors, for example her father. Maybe the families knew each other from business ventures even before they moved to Strangetown? It is stated in their memories that Loki and Circe first met when they were children. But I digress!

Anyway, I don’t see anything in Gundrun that would suggest any abusive behavior towards her son that might have triggered his drastic change. Possibly but not necessarily she might’ve been a bit absent but nothing out of ordinary.

And now the father, Bjorn.

Bjorn is the sciency half of the couple and works as an Aquatic Ecosystem Tweaker. Again, he has zero traits that would raise any red flags and he shares 4 out of 5 traits with either smol Loki or Loki. (I don’t know if Loki is a “natural cook” but he cooks quite well, so I think that counts.)

What’s interesting about Bjorn, though, is his speech that serves as a flavor text for the Aurora Skies store page.

(Image transcript: “Do it for science! Science is everywhere around us, but at Aurora Skies it’s not just something you learn; it’s something you do!  We need bright young minds to make the dreams of the future a reality. Even now we’re finding more uses for garbage to help the planet. Charging batteries, powering machines - the sky is the limit. Just this last year we created a modified Hot Air Baloon using garbage as fuel and turning it into pure air with a pine breeze scent.  Now you can have efficient travel and an amazing romantic adventure with no cost to the ozone (or your nose)! Every year we’re creating more and more exciting things in the world of science. Garbage-powered hearts, heart-powered cars, solar-powered cats; what will you think of next!  It’s all up to you. Do it for Science! Did you know? Hot Air Balloons are an epic form of travel based around the simple principle that hot air is lighter than cold air.  They lift in the air based on the heat system in the balloon. Increasing the temperature of the air inside the balloon makes it lighter than the air outside and the balloon begins to float.  More air is required to lift heavier things; that’s why the balloons have to be so huge! How cool (or hot!) is that?”)

From this piece of text we can see Bjorn’s passion and dedication to “green” science. Nothing in his traits suggests he fakes it, so I think it’s safe to believe that this peppy idealist is a glimpse into Loki’s father’s genuine self.

He might have encouraged his children to follow in his footsteps (”We need bright young minds to make the dreams of the future a reality.“) and smol Loki, who later in life seemed to have similar levels of enthusiasm (science is his One True Hobby), might have been receptive to that.

Now just close your eyes for a second and imagine an alternate reality in which Loki picked up where Bjorn left and instead of a energy-refilling machine that electrocutes you if you’re not happy enough, he invented “solar-powered cats”.

Still no hints on what could’ve messed Loki up, though.

Let’s take a look at the parents in TS2. Even though they’re not present and aren’t even resurrectable, they’re still coded in the game for purposes of genetics, memories and family trees, so some of their characteristics are salvageable.

And by the Watcher, they were both Romance Sims.

They were workaholic Romance Sims who cared about the environment and liked recycling (and Hot Baloons).

And they were both extremely Nice and very Sloppy, if their personalities on wiki are something to go by. Which they unfortunately aren’t, at least not completely because most ancestors don’t simply have “their own” personalities and use presets instead, so they tend to be quite similar.

The same goes for most of the Beaker clan, unfortunately. Fun fact is that there is no Knowledge Sim in sight (before Loki, of course). Maybe they weren’t a scientist family, but a bunch of Romance Sims who used to spend their free time in between woohoos saving the planet with eco-science. (3 out of 6 of Loki’s and Erin’s ancestors were Romance Sims, 2 were Fortune and 1 was Family)

But! There is one outlier. Her name is Gertrude Beaker. She is Loki’s paternal grandmother.

And similarly to her grandson, she certainly has a personality to remember.

She doesn’t use a preset, this is a personality that someone went and manually assigned (...or generated) for her. And she is Neat, Outgoing and doesn’t have a nice bone in her body. But unlike Loki, she has a sense of humor (which makes her even more dangerous, in my opinion) and is extremely Lazy.

She is a Fortune Sim and the only Beaker who shares the darker sides of Loki’s personality. (to be clear, I don’t mean their taste for cleaning but the round 0 of Nice points)

Because she doesn’t feature in TS3 at all, it is safe to say that she wasn’t in her grandchildren’s lives until the family moved to Strangetown. Could she be the corrupting influence on smol Loki?

As far as personality comparison goes, she seems to be the only possible culprit, the only one who’s personality shares the same unpleasant qualities he became infamous for. But! That’s not saying much. There is no evidence she actually did anything.

There’s not even any evidence that she ever met her grandson, given he has no memory of her dying which means she might have died before he was even born. That would be a solid evidence on the contrary and would rule her out. But I’m leaving some maneuvering space for theories here because she is the only Beaker ancestor with custom personality, after all, and that is suspicious.

That’s all the Beakers we know of if not counting Atom and Ceres, who came after Loki, so they’re not relevant to the question of his childhood. Or... are they?

3: And that’s when the trouble began

Another part of this question that might help us discern what happened to Loki is the when. All we know so far is that there is a big void of unknown between smol Loki and regular Loki and the point of transformation happened in there somewhere.

Thankfully, we have something to give us an idea. It’s this snapshot in storytelling pictures for the Beakers:

It shows smol Loki destroying a dollhouse. It seems to be in an impersonal environment of some sorts. The cheapest bed in the game is against a bare white wall, the window is hid behind blue curtains and there doesn’t really seem to be anything else but the dollhouse, a teddy bear in the background and that... very unpleasant bed.

It clearly tells us that Loki’s shift started in his pre-teen years.

And seeing that room which is definitely not in the Beaker Castle at 1 Tesla Court, it makes me think of a hotel or a cheap apartment the family was staying in while moving from Aurora Skies to Strangetown. Maybe the castle-like something the household inhabits at the start of the game wasn’t a property of the Beakers at all, maybe that was where the Salamises used to live and now it belongs to Circe?

Anyway, could it had been leaving Aurora Skies that sent smol Loki down an existential crisis and settling in the not exactly welcoming environment of Strangetown, enrolling in a local school, that sealed it?

But why all the stuff with writing? This would work with any other hobby but somehow it had to be writing and it’s our task to find out why.

4: Not your average tragedy

Now in our search we already have some ideas but it wouldn’t be thorough if we didn’t take into account smol Loki’s actual personality. I mean, we went into what traits he doesn’t have but what about those he has?

Namely Lucky and Family-Oriented.

I think Lucky is a very interesting choice. There’s nothing inherent about Loki Beaker that would make you go “that’s one lucky guy!” (if you don’t count his relationship with Circe as a stroke of luck, that is) and the same goes for smol Loki.

But... it could be a clue. His metamorphosis either couldn’t be triggered by trauma because he’s lucky and it would avoid him, or it must’ve been something tremendously horrid so he’s lucky he’s still alive.

Now we know we are searching for something that happened in his late childhood, verging on the start of his teenage years. His family was going through the turmoil of moving to a desert and he has already known his future partner Circe. Meanwhile Erin-

Oh, wait. Erin.

Smol Loki was Family-Oriented which implies he would probably have a good relationship with his little sister, as he would’ve naturally inclined to protect her and help his parents take care of her. But!

Not only do they have an amicable but distant relationship as adults but Erin seems to forget that Loki even existed in her childhood.

He has the usual set of memories of a sibling growing up well but she doesn’t, she has no Loki-related memories at all, not even of his marriage, which was a quite recent event.

Could the reason for Loki’s “downfall” be somehow related to his sister? Was there a dramatic event in which she lost a part of her memory?

5: Theories!

Ok, we’re finally here! Now I try to present some theories about what might’ve happened.

1. Burdens of the golden child

In Aurora Skies, Loki used to be the little wonder every relative was gushing about. With his father as an acclaimed scientist and a very liked person in general, there was little to no adversity his son had to face. He followed his passion and having nobody to really compare himself to, nor anybody who would terrorize him, he prospered.

But then the Beakers moved. Strangetown was... different. It was way smaller than Aurora Skies, so everybody inherently knew everybody and everybody had to interact with everybody... because the small space of a desert community didn’t leave them with any choice. And it was bleak and unfriendly. No one except for the Salamises knew the Beakers, so they found themselves under scrutiny from their new neighbors.

So Loki, who used to live thinking he was unique, was now sitting everyday in a much smaller classroom with Pascal and Vidcund Curious, whom he was immediately being compared to. But he wasn’t like the Curiouses. He was a kid of a scientist but wasn’t a science kid. He didn’t have much in common with Pascal who approached him and tried to befriend him at first but he wanted to. In Strangetown, nothing seemed to be cooler than being really, really into science. Pascal’s and Loki’s communication attempts were rather poor, though, and in the end, they never made friends. Loki slowly began to disdain the oldest Curious boy and it culminated a few years later in high school when Pascal made an attempt to woo Circe. It was even worse with Vidcund. Ever since Loki’s first day at the new school, Vidcund had been eyeing him with a disgusted look and Loki became quick to reciprocate.

In Strangetown, nothing seemed to be cooler than being really, really into science. Even Circe was on it! She was the only person his age he has know in Strangetown before his family moved in and he liked her. Not “like” liked her, yuck! But he thought she was cool. Her family used to visit the Beakers in Aurora Skies and they played together. She was a friend! Or so Loki thought. She seemed to like hanging out with the Curiouses much more.

In Strangetown, nothing seemed to be cooler than being really, really into science, yes. But not in the eyes of Buzz Grunt, the son of a general who lived in Strangetown. Their family were the self-proclaimed protectors of the hood but at the same time they weren’t shy to show a strong distaste for all that made Strangetown an important desert settlement in the first place. And little Buzz, although Loki doubted he understood the nuances, was very fond of asserting his dominance over his less sporty and hyper-masculine classmates.

Suddenly jealous of the Curious brothers, under pressure from both the adults and his peers comparing him to them and bullied by Buzz, Loki’s social life fell apart. He started having problems... and he came up with solutions. He has always liked science but from back then on he hyperfixated on it to prove everybody who picked on him for being a worthless parody of a science kid wrong.

Not only his social life and self-confidence were busted, though. Moving away from Aurora Skies to Strangetown that had much higher prices for housing because of the limited space, the living standards for the Beakers lowered. It was chaotic and uncomfortable. Plus, almost everybody in Strangetown was loaded. Why, Circe and her parents lived in a small castle! Loki felt like they’re the only “poor” family around and it played into his new-found insecurities.

And then there was Erin’s accident. She suffered a severe head injury and even though she fortunately survived, she was never... the same. She had issues with her memory. Loki tried to convince himself that he’s big enough not to cry but when they were visiting Erin in the hospital and she didn’t recognize him, he cried. It was his little sister! And... it was all his fault anyway! If he was quicker and pushed her to safety, she would’ve been fine! Or even better, he wished the car would’ve hit him instead.

Loki was becoming more and more snappy, focused on his grades and projects, unavailable. The siblings never mended their relationship, Erin, even though she recovered, never got to make new memories with her brother. Not remembering them growing up together, he was like a stranger to her. A scary mean teenage boy she didn’t know and, even though she was a very friendly child, she was too intimidated to willingly spend time with him. And Loki was always busy and moreover, he felt guilty and inexplicably angry, so he postponed approaching her, until it was too late, he was in college, she was in high school and it was too awkward.

And... there was no time to write anymore.

2. Gertrude the Neat and Mean (and Lazy)

Ok, Loki doesn’t have any memories of his grandma. But hear me out! Erin does not have any of him either and yet they met. This theory doesn't require any additional write up – he simply got under the influence of his 0 Nice points granny and she cultivated him to be just like her.

My personal take: This is maybe my least favorite theory of them all, even though it is quite straightforward. It doesn't take much into consideration and demonizes Gertrude, who as far as we know, might not done anything wrong.

3. The accident

This theory takes advantage of TS3's canon sciency machinery, namely Cerebralizing Brain Enhancing Machine 2.0.

It can, among other things, change a Sim's personality. There is (quite unfortunately, in my opinion) no chance of consequential failure in the actual game, the most it can do is to (non-fatally) electrocute your Sim. But...

Imagine smol Loki sneaking into his dad's laboratory, most probably at his workplace.

He was curious. Ever since his father showed him all the equipment in there, all he could think of was the machine that made people smarter.

Maybe it could make him smarter?

I mean, Loki knew he was already quite smart. At least, he's been told he was and he had no reason not to believe it.

But he could be even smarter.

He could be like his dad. Or his mom. Or Erin. Everyone was talking about how clever young Erin seemed. Loki was proud of her but part of him just wanted that, too.

So what if... he went to dad's laboratory, just for a little while, and made himself smarter?

He made all the necessary preparations. It meant to memorize dad’s schedule, so he knew just the time when he could sneak into the laboratory. It also meant to get a good costume so he won’t be recognizable on the security footage!

And then finally, he was ready. To infiltrate the laboratory was easy enough but it only made Loki more nervous. He was on the edge but determined. He wanted to make it big in the world. He needed to seize the opportunity. And fear... fear was there to be ignored! Hands, stop trembling!

His confidence grew a bit once he got to the machine itself. He knew how to run it thanks to his dad and it made him feel competent and ready.

Little did he know that there was a huge oversight. Although Loki could operate the technology on a very basic level, his knowledge went nowhere near deep enough for him to detect that the machine has yet another set of settings and those currently expect an adult user. It wasn’t configured for a child patient.

But unaware of that, the boy in his patchy dinosaur costume climbed on top of the machine and with his eyes wide open and his heart racing he connected the Brain Enhancer to his system. Then, with his hand sweating, he pushed a button on a remote he was clutching to.

When Bjorn, alerted by Loki’s screams, rushed into the laboratory, it was way too late.

As his terrified father was calling the ambulance, the child was alive and even still awake. He was too weak to cry. He just watched Bjorn, wishing for death and looking for signs of wrath in father’s eyes.

There were none. Only fear.

Physically, Loki Beaker managed to recover just fine. With the power of advanced medicine and plastic surgery, the burns he suffered were reduced to nothing but almost invisible scars.

But inside, he was never the same. Literally. Even though the procedure backfired horribly, it still worked to some extend - but even that extend was warped. Loki succeeded in giving himself the Genius trait but several of his traits were replaced also, including the Lucky trait that probably saved his life.

6: Conclusion!

I like Loki very much. (no sh*t, who would’ve guessed) He’s a very controversial and over-the-top character who tends to be rather unpredictable in the actual gameplay. I started writing this giant thing to find an answer to his backstory that would satisfy me and hopefully also some of you.

With a heavy heart I conclude I’m not successful.

First I have to admit I originally planned to present 5 theories instead of 3 but I scrapped 2 of them.

First was about Atom time traveling and replacing Loki, creating himself again and again in a time loop (would explain the huge personality difference between smol Loki and Loki-Atom) and it was very far-fetched but fun, alas I realized it was out of character for Atom, since he seems to love his sister and his Plumbot so much he would hardly leave them behind to pull that off.

The second was about Nervous and the corrupting power of Death he has inside that would slowly drive Loki and Circe “evil” even though it’s unclear whether they first adopted him with being a lab-rat in mind. But it would not make sense since a change like that would be visible on their personality panels. That’s not that important, though. What made me not include this theory is that it feels uncomfortably victim blame-y. It’s not directly since it wouldn’t be Nervous’ fault anyway but any attempt to shift the blame from Loki and Circe in this situation feels uncomfortable.

(To be clear, I don’t think the Beakers deserve demonization. In my opinion, the best way to treat them narrative-wise is like eccentric people capable of feeling love and doing good things sometimes, yet irredeemably self-centered, morally bankrupt and deserving a lifetime in jail for child abuse they have done on Nervous. Not one-dimensional but still villains and still objectively bad people.)

And those 3 theories above? They could’ve been better.

I think I like the first the most, even though I still feel like something is missing. I just tend to like relatively grounded explanations and this one doesn’t feature the supernatural nor any deus ex machina gadget.

What about you? And do you have any other theories? Sky’s the limit! It’ll make my day to hear them!

Whatever your takes are, they’re all valid.

[inb4belphienaps]

serein

warnings: dialogue and musings, lots of introspection idk word count: 1132

“Why won’t you kiss me like you do in your dreams?”, he asks.

I stare at him then, trying to turn the words over in my head before looking away. My gaze instead lingers on the wall, on the patterns and textures of the paint, and how dull they appear.

“What do you mean?”

The question itself is meaningless. Just a way to keep the conversation going so that the air isn’t stilted.

“You haven’t kissed me once in person.”

He takes my hand in his and brings it to his face, splaying my palm against his cheek. When he speaks again I feel his voice reverberate in my very bones. He sounds sad. And curious too, as if the solution was only a whisper away.

“Truthfully?”

I caress him, tracing his jaw and I watch his eyes close as he nods.

“I’m afraid.”

Those eyes open once more, and I gaze down at him. They glow with reverence in the darkness of the night, illuminating his features that much more. Those colors paint the scene and meet me with intrigue. Pure violet and magenta, electric purple and something tinted in fuscia. Gorgeous. They blended so wonderfully into one another, so completely that it was hard to tell which color predominated.

“What are you afraid of?”

His voice is soft, uncannily calm and steady. Perhaps it merely seemed that way because I was anticipating his reaction. Still, it gives me comfort – to hear that familiar tone and to see him evidently unreserved. And by doing so, he becomes the antithesis to how I feel in this moment.

“Of me?”

I shake my head as he continues to hold my gaze, getting lost in the warmth and softness of his skin, how it feels underneath my fingertips.

“Humans are funny creatures. We’re easily overwhelmed by our emotions.”

He remains quiet, opting to kiss the tip of my thumb. Even that sends a shiver through me. I can picture myself walking along the ledge of a tall building with the way my heart is racing. One wrong step and it would all be over.

“I’m afraid that if I kiss you, I’ll continue to fall deeper and harder for you.”

He smiles, and his teeth shine in the low light. Suddenly, I can’t find the strength to look away.

“Is that it? Is that why you’ve been trying to avoid me?”

“That’s the gist of it, I think…”

I feel him press his lips against the inside of my wrist and memories of times we’d shared through our dreams come filtering into my peripheral like droplets of rain. Things I’d done. Things I’d said. My self-control hangs by a thread, and like a cat with a toy dangling in front of it, he tosses it around.

There’s a thin sheet of glass separating the two of us, so thin in fact that I can almost touch him.

“What else is there?”

“You tempt me.”

His grin widens, and I feel the familiar flutter of butterflies in my stomach. His presence pulls me. It turns me into a puppet whose only purpose is to be strung along and made to dance.

“Far too often and without a second thought. I don’t think you realize just how much of an effect you have on me.”

“What do you expect? I am a demon after all.”

“But you’re not always using your powers, are you?”

There’s a pause, a silent acknowledgement of the weight my words hold. He is beautiful. A mirage bathed in bewilderment. His scent intoxicating. A sweet poison, invisible and lethal and irresistible. He is a creature of sin. A concept I cannot fathom and yet I know that I am a part of the problem. If I had the strength to cut off these strings, would I be able to stand on my own?

“I don’t have to”, he whispers. “Even now, I can hear your heart racing.”

I can feel it quicken the very moment he mentions this. How he knows and listens. He wraps his arms around me, resting his chin against my stomach. How every fiber of my being sets aflame with his touch.

“So you must know, where this fear stems from, I mean.”

“I can take a guess.”

He takes a deep breath and I find myself mirroring him. He’s cool to the touch, as he preferred to be to spite the nature of demons. Except…the only one melting in the other’s embrace is me.

“But I want to hear you say it.”

The heat of embarrassment creeps its way up my neck and I realize that my fear is a little unfounded. Based solely on my own preconceived notions and it all seems so silly, so trivial. This was reality.

“I’m afraid of hurting you.”

He laughs. It was expected and yet it startles me because it’s genuine. He’s amused. As if he can’t believe what he’s hearing despite my confession.

“And I’m the one with the horns.”

“What does that matter?”

I find myself becoming indignant. There were too many things to consider, weren’t there? Did he truly understand? I’d been certain before we’d had this conversation. Doubt begins to set in as I try to recall which of my thoughts he’d been privy to come nightfall. When the quiet linger of sleep would keep us tied.

“I suppose to you it doesn’t.”

“That’s true”, I murmur. “It doesn’t matter.”

He sighs. His breath tickles. I see the concern on his face, the way he debates his answer and like a ripple on the surface, the clarity that flickers across it.

“You won’t hurt me. I won’t let you.”

My hand moves on its own, stroking his hair. Soft locks that shine with an aegean hue and those tinted ends that reflect the light. Picturesque and timeless. It’s odd. How vividly in detail I can recall his features. How they seemed to have seared themselves into my mind.

“Likewise, you won’t let me hurt you. We’re the same, you and I.”

Perhaps we’d shared too much during those twilight hours. Perhaps we’d become all the more entwined by doing so, unable to distinguish our own entities as separate, as individuals.

Perhaps, we’d become one. No longer would we have to be wary of tipping the scales when we were perfectly capable of maintaining an innate balance.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

I take his hand and rest my finger on the center of his palm.

“This. This is where you have me.”

He pulls me in for a kiss. I almost hesitate. Then I feel his lips on mine – familiar and foreign, like something from a distant dream finally rooting itself in the present.

“And this is where you’ll stay.”

“Yes”, I concede. “Always.”

[tothejedi]

chapter one: learning and knowing

summary: working as a barista in dc, you meet a man named javier peña, closed off and grumpy, and decide that you want to know him in any way he'll let you.

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

warnings: none for this chapter! but soon it will be 18+ so take that as a warning i guess?

word count: 1.4k and not even read through- lmk if you see any typos lol

notes: i really just pulled this out of my ass y'all i got so excited about these characters! let me know what y'all think and my messages are always open for feedback and ideas, just remember my main is @journeystofearless :) this chapter is really just me trying to flesh out these characters a bit more- action really begins in the next one !

series masterlist

--

you meet javi on a sweltering day in june. while his body moves hurriedly, his face appears calm, save for the eyebrows halfway up his forehead. you are behind the cash register, walking an older gentleman through his coffee order when he catches your eye.

he has sat down by the corner window, his leather jacket pulled tight over his broad shoulders as he leans into the table. the jacket pulls your attention first, because who wears a jacket in dc in june? but as he leans back further into his corner to let the shadows play over his dark face, you realize he is there to watch, to blend into his surroundings.

"want to take his order?" your co-barista, Alisha, asked. "pretty handsome guy, maybe you can score a date," she laughs.

you haven't been going out much, your history with dating not a path that you want to continue. too much manipulation, commitment, and attachment- it all leads to pain in the end, doesn't it?

"i'll take his order- but only because you're too afraid to," you shoot back, smirking at your friend as you dance your way out from behind the counter, avoiding her slapping hand.

you make your way across the bustling and loud cafe, smiling and waving at regulars that you recognize on the way to his table. "good morning, hon. what can i get started for you today?"

his gaze doesn't raise to meet yours.

"just coffee. black."

of course, just black coffee. but as his brow furrows, you suddenly find yourself wishing you had more to offer him than just coffee and pastries.

"yes, sir! coming right up!"

you smile as you scribble his order down, but suddenly one of those big hands comes and rests on your quickly-moving hand. as you glance back down, you see his eyes are finally on yours, the intensity of their gaze overwhelming.

"anything else, sir?" you ask tentatively. "maybe a pastry, a danish? fresh baked this morning."

and as you come to find out each day, the answer is always: "nada, hermosa."

-

it takes you a while to realize that javier peña doesn't wholeheartedly dislike you. for a while there, it seems that way- either he refuses to meet your eyes, or he stares back at you with such an intensity that it feels hostile. however, over time, you get to know him, bit by bit. he becomes one of your regulars- your favorite regular.

you take it slow. he seems to be a man of few words, and you want to be sure he won't dart back out of your life as quickly as he had entered it, like a scared animal. one day, his name. the next, his coffee order- why just black coffee? after that, you move on to his hometown, his family, any pets? but he never seems to want to discuss what he does for work, so you just never ask. eventually, he even lets you recommend different drinks for him to order each morning-

"the brown sugar espresso is very good- we even offer it with oatmilk if you want!"

"why would i want oatmilk? what's wrong with normal milk?"

after taking one look at your ever-patient smile, waiting for his answer, he relents.

"fine, fine. you know best, right?"

and so it continues. each morning, you come up with crazier and crazier drinks to keep him on his toes, and he drinks each one, even if some of them make his face draw up tight and his lips purse. you start to do those on purpose, loving the animated features that it draws from this closed-up, seemingly emotionless man.

you learn that he likes cream and sugar in his coffee- doesn't love it, but he can tolerate it.

"it just makes it easier, hermosa. now, nobody has to do anything else for me- they just pour it in the mug and walk away."

you smile, toying with the edge of your apron around your waist. "javier, maybe some people want to do things for you. maybe i want you to enjoy your coffee in the morning, rather than just chugging black coffee for the caffeine."

that stumps him for a bit, but never for long.

eventually, on one rainy, slow day you sit down across from him while he drinks his coffee and scans an open newspaper- the words are in spanish, hard to distinguish, much like javier.

he turns his gaze to you, speaking first and quick, like the words were escaping his mouth without his consent. "i want to know you."

"know me, javier?" you laugh. "what is there to know that you don't know already?"

he rubs the back of his neck, his head lowered. "not sure, hermosa. i kind of meant- i'm not sure how to do this, i don't meet many people- can i take you to dinner?"

you sit back in your chair, stunned. of course you were attracted to this mystery man named javier who came out of nowhere and spoke in spanish sometimes and never smiled and was so worried about other people. but if he felt the same way for you, why did he wait so long to ask?

"or not. it's okay too-"

"no, javier. let's do it." you stand, reaching over to clasp his mug in your now-trembling hand. "i'm free tomorrow night."

a grin stretches across his face, nearly blinding you in its brilliance. you want to take a photo, a mental picture, even a drawingif it would help you remember this moment, the moment that you made javier freaking peña smile, just by agreeing to go to dinner.

it was a feeling you would carry with you for a while, one that he would never fail to refresh in you.

-

he picks you up at 7 on the dot, the bell ringing before you can even finish pulling on your heels. you curse on your way to the buzzer, pressing the button to let him up before stumbling back to your other shoe.

javier lets himself into your apartment moments later, his lips quirking up as he watches you dart back and forth across the floor, tossing miscellaneous clothing and blankets out of the way to look more presentable. he clears his throat, chuckling a bit under his breath as your head snaps to him.

"i am so sorry! i'm ready, i am- i'm ready," you declare breathlessly. you feel your eyes widen, taking in the tight jeans and the teal button down, the suit jacket that hugs his broad frame, all the way down to the slightly heeled boots on his feet. how does this man look so incredible in everything that he does?

javier lets his eyes trail down the length of you, the deep red satin dress contrasting with your skin, the chunky heels raising you up slightly closer to his height.

"you are- so beautiful." he gazes at you for another moment while you blush, shifting your weight from side to side, and one hand raises to cup the side of your face in his palm. he sighs at the feel of your skin, and you lean into his warm touch. he smiles slightly again, taking his other hand out from behind his back.

"these are for you," he says, holding out a mix of beautiful wildflowers, the quick splashes of color against the shades of green almost like fireworks. "i wasn't sure what you'd like, so she decided to go with every possible color apparently."

giggling at the frustrated look on his face, you take the bouquet and move toward the cabinet to retrieve a vase. "well, we are doing this to learn more about each other, right?"

after you arrange the flowers to your liking, you turn back to the handsome man waiting for you by the door, the mysterious man that you knew so much about yet so little. taking him in one last time before you leave for the night, you decide that you will get to know all that there is to know about javier peña- even what he might not realize himself.

taglist:

@hellovanessax

[mortedeveles]

Cherry Blossom Confessions.

SUMMARY:  Tenya Iida has had good days, bad days, and okay days throughout his entire life. But none of them were quite like the evening he spent with you under the cherry blossom trees.

PAIRING: Iida Tenya x gn!reader

THEMES: fluff, comfort, just a lot sweet cheesy shit lmao. some minor/background kiribaku. [ONE SHOT]

WORD COUNT: 1.9K- 2K words

TW: none? fluffff

A/N: hi guys! i’m back with another one-shot with the lost glasses trope hehe. you can find my one-shot with the same trope, but with tokoyami fumkage HERE! hope you guys are doing well: :) i’ve mentioned this before, but i’ll mention it again. since school is in session, i’m constantly busy and will not post content very often. i hope you guys will understand and continue to support my content, it means so much to me :)

as always, please leave a reblog, like, follow and/or comment if you enjoyed! REBLOG > LIKE! 

[banner is made by ME. do NOT REPOST or use without my permission :)]

Iida Tenya starts his morning with a smile. He woke up early, fresh and motivated, and surprisingly; all of his classmates listened to him during class time, even Bakugou. The spiky blonde was scowling, but there was a blush on his face as he held Kirishima's hand. Iida figured that the redhead was keeping him calm and distracted for now.

Then there was you. You walked into the classroom with the rest, and just like every day, you stole his breath. He felt his eyes slightly widen and his heart pounded impossibly loud in his ribcage as you smiled at him. Iida managed to smile back awkwardly.

Even though he refused to mention it to anyone, he had been romantically attracted to you for a few months now. Iida doesn't know when it started, but he knows that he's never stopped feeling butterflies in his stomach ever since then. 

He wanted to leave his seat and talk to you- but the moment he tenses up to rise, Eraserhead steps into the classroom. A slight frown takes over his features but he quickly shakes it off. 

The class begins as usual, with Aizawa-sensei's tired and flat voice carrying around the classroom. As the studious student he is, Iida is furiously writing down what he deems important. When the Pro-Hero pauses and excuses himself for a moment, Iida's eyes drift to you, sitting next to him. He frowns when he notices your expression. Fear and stress are written all over your face, fists clenched in your lap as you stare ahead, without any particular focus. 

''L/N?'' he asks softly. You slightly flinch and he frowns. Your eyes dart around as if you’re not sure where he is.

''...Iida?'' Your voice is impossibly small, and he finds himself leaning closer to you.

''Yes, L/N?'' He straightens his glasses and swallows nervously when he notices how close you are. From this short distance, he can see every flutter of your eyelashes, every tug or crease of concern in your eyebrows and when he inhales softly, he catches a whiff of your intoxicating perfume. 

Oh god, he feels his face warm. Why can't he think properly? Why was your face so close to his? And why is something different about you today? Not in a bad way, of course, he chides himself. But there's something different about your face...

''I forgot my glasses.''

Oh.

Oh! He feels the pieces click together in his head and nearly facepalms himself for not figuring it out earlier.

''I left them at my dorm... but we're nearly half a class in, and I don't want to anger Aizawa-sensei...'' you murmur, fiddling with your hands in your lap.

''Do you think you can um,'' the glint of hope in your eyes makes his heart flip. ''Can you help me with my notes... at least until I can get my glasses back? I don't mean to impose!'' you continue to stammer apologies but they fall upon deaf ears. 

''Of course!'' he nearly yells but manages to lower his voice at the end of his sentence. ''I'd be honored to help you,'' the passion and intensity in his sentence make your face warm, but you smile in response.

                                         ❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The day is unlike any other. Instead of having your glasses on and feeling in control, you're dependent on Iida. He understands how it feels, as a fellow glasses wearer. Instead of switching between staring at the board and your notebook, Iida is writing the notes for both of you. Your eyesight is so poor you can barely distinguish the lines of your notebook, much less write in an organized manner on them.

And then there's hero training. When you explain the situation to Aizawa-sensei, he's only mildly irritated. This comes as a surprise, but you're not complaining. 

You sit on a bench as you hear the others train ruthlessly; Bakugou's shouts and explosions, Midoriya's muttering, Kaminari's electricity, and many others. Once in a while, you hear Iida shout and his engines boosting, which makes you smile. All you see are blurs of rapid movements and quirks clashing against each other.

After training, it's time for lunch. You walk next to Iida, who has allowed you to grab his forearm to walk in the same direction. Even though it's not particularly intimate, it stills makes both of you flustered. Iida's glad that you can't see the soft blush on his cheeks, or how his palms have begun sweating. 

You usually sit with Ojiro, Tokoyami, and Koda, but today's an exception. The two of you arrive at the table, where Midoriya, Tsuyu, Uraraka, and Todoroki are already seated.

''L/N will be sitting with us today if that's fine with you all,'' Iida states as the two of you slide into the benches. Everyone nods in agreement. 

''We're glad to have you here!" Uraraka says cheerfully and you smile softly. Iida doesn't miss the look she sends his way and once again, he's thankful you don't perceive it. 

''Why is L/N sitting with us?'' Todoroki is blunt as ever and Midoriya's eyes go wide, mouth open to chide the bi-colored boy.

You grin at Todoroki's question as you begin to dig into your lunch- one of the few tasks you can manage to do on your own. 

 ''I forgot my glasses,'' you laugh quietly, feeling your confidence return to your words. ''I left the dorms without putting them on.

''Oh,'' is all Todoroki replies before returning to his cold soba. 

The once tense atmosphere quickly eases away and within a few minutes, you're chatting with Iida, Midoriya, and Uraraka. As Iida watches your eyes crinkle at the corners, your lips quirk upwards and your gleeful laughter, he finds himself falling deeper and deeper; the fondness and love he has for you are growing by the minute. And he's not sure how much he'll be able to hold it. It's growing like a balloon- tighter and tighter until it'll eventually pop and open from the pressure. 

After class-  thankfully, you’ve retrieved your glasses- you find yourself sitting on fresh grass, next to Iida. He'd offer to stay a while back with you to give you a quick recap on the notes. 

Cherry blossom trees draped over the two of you like a heavy, sleep-inducing blanket. Now and then, petals would fall and land at your feet, and even sometimes on your shoulders. The two of you are sitting under one of the many trees on the U.A. campus, in front of the buildings. The rest of your classmates had left to their homes for the weekend or stayed in the dorms.

As your fingers squeezed the grass and you were nearly lulled to sleep with Iida's voice, something told you that you didn't ask him to stay back just for scholastic purposes. You had only voiced this aloud to Ojiro- he was quite good at keeping secrets,- but you had harbored a crush on the class president for a few months now.

This moment felt like a dream; the trees were swaying softly, Iida was so close to you and you could smell hints of perfume on him. His body warmth spread towards yours. One of your hands laid limp, only inches away from his. The scene was peaceful and comforting. And before you knew it, your head lolled towards Iida and a warm feeling of drowsiness overflowed in your body. 

''L/N?'' you hadn't noticed your eyes had fluttered closed until Iida was nudging you awake. 

''Mmmm?'' you frowned and opened your eyes. Wide blue eyes stared back at you. When you took in your surroundings and realized the compromising position you were in, a quiet yelp of surprise escaped your lips as you sat up and inched away from Iida's lap.

''Oh my god...I'm so sorry Iida-kun!'' you began to blabber and waved your hands around frantically, feeling deeply ashamed and flustered. But before you could continue your word vomit, Iida raises a hand. You bit back another string of words as you looked at him expectantly with a warm face. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you watch him clear his throat, adjust his tie, and swallow visibly before looking at you.

''No-no worries, L/N,'' his voice is surprisingly shaky and low. ''I...'' he looks away for a second. ''I didn't mind.'' 

His response nearly made you fall backward from the shock. You clench your fists.

''You...you don't?'' shock was evident in your voice. The class president smiled nervously in response and adjusted his glasses. 

''Well-well,'' he continued stuttering for a second or two, ''Ahem.'' he cleared his throat and you laughed softly. 

''If I am being truthful, I have... harbored romantic feelings for you, Y/N.'' You noticed how his face went slightly red at using your first name. ''That is why... I did not mind having you rest your head in my lap.'' 

You were silent. His confession was like a splash of cold water; the first second, you didn't react and the next, you're freezing and gasping for air. 

Iida takes your tense silence as rejection. He swallows nervously before his mouth opens and another bucket of word-vomit is dumped on you.

''I apologize!'' his voice is increasing by the moment, slowly snapping you out of shock.'' As cl-class president, that was highly inappropriate of me! I understand if you do not reciprocate my feelings and would like to forget about this conversation. Oh dear, I am tru-truly apologetic. I-,'' you interrupt him with your lips, soft lips dancing in unison. 

Iida begins to lower himself to the ground as you straddle his abdomen, cupping his face as you kiss him. Both of you lose focus on your previous worries. All you can think about are his soft lips, his warm breath, and the slight hints of perfume on him. The experience is exhilarating and frankly, new. But it's amazing; kissing Iida makes energy surge through your body as fireworks ignite in your heart. You don't want to ever stop. 

When the two of you pull away, you're both breathing heavily. Iida's hands are gripping the sides of your thighs and your fingers are splayed on his chest. With wide eyes, the two of you stare at each other in silence for a couple of moments.

''Um...'' you panted. ''That was...''

''Lovely,'' Iida's face is red- he looks like he's about to explode. 

''Oh my god!"' you slip off his lap and cup his face. ''Iida, you're so red, are you okay?!" He murmurs and nods in agreement, sitting up slowly.

''I apologize,'' his tone is rather bashful. ''I am not accustomed to having such displays of.... romantic affection in public.'' 

You smile and link your hand with his, interlacing fingers.

''That makes two of us, then.'' He smiles at your response. 

''So...'' you rub your thumb over his knuckles. ''Does this mean... we're dating now?'' you decide to test how much you can reach. Iida’s eyes widen as he nearly chokes on air.

‘’What- ah!” you shout in surprise. You’re at his side in a second, patting his back and trying your best to comfort him.

''Oh god! I'm so sorry,'' your heart drops. ''How are you feeling?'' 

Iida clears his throat before grabbing your hands and tugging you upwards. You frown in confusion but follow his lead, wondering why he hasn't replied.

''L-Y/N...'' his tone is shaky but when you meet his eyes, you see nothing but determination and affection. ''Would you do me the honor of being my partner?''

His gesture makes your heart warm and a smile stretches across your face.

‘’Of course,’’ and all your inhibitions fly out the window as you lean closer and press your lips against his. He’s hesitant at first, but eventually matches your pace. Warmth envelopes your heart; the type of warmth you only experience with Tenya Iida. Sweet, comforting and ever-lasting.

[strikercannon-archive]

ᴀ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ᴅɪᴠᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ : ꜱᴛʀɪᴋᴇʀ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏɴ  .

i wanna be great like elvis without the tassels , hire eight bodyguards that love to beat up assholes , sign a couple autographs so i can eat my meals for free . i'm gonna dress my ass with the latest fashion , get a front door key to the playboy mansion , gonna date a centerfold that loves to blow my money for me .  i’m gonna trade this life for fortune and fame , i'd even cut my hair and change my name . i'm gonna sing those songs that offend the censors , gonna pop my pills from a pez dispenser . get washed-up singers writing all my songs , lip sync 'em every night so i don't get 'em wrong .

( @rocketfm )

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Full Name: Stephen Cannon Jr.

Reason for name: Stephen is his father’s name and, unluckily for Striker, the family name was passed down to their first born son.

Nickname(s): Striker, Strikes, Cannon

Date of Birth: 22nd April, 1982

Age: 40

Gender + Pronouns: Male + He/Him

Place of Birth: Clarksville, Tennessee 

Parents: Georgia Marie Cannon (née O’Reilly) + Stephen Ray Cannon

Siblings: Two younger brothers, upcoming WC.

Relationship with family (Close? Estranged?): The most estranged you can get. His mother left the boys when Striker was ten years old in the incapable hands of their father, which only led to a barrage of bad treatment and abuse. As soon as he was old enough to fend for himself he left the family trailer, too, and has been riding solo ever since. Contrarily, though, he is extremely close to his siblings, and would do anything for them.

Pets: N/A, although he does seem to have a penchant for the bulls at the ranch.

PHYSICAL 

Height: 6’1”

Build: Slim, lean.

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: White

Distinguishing Facial Features: Dark, heavy-rimmed eyes, stubble, dimples.

Hair Color: Dark brown (grey underneath - don’t tell anybody!)

Usual Hair Style: Slicked at the sides, gelled into a messy quiff.

Complexion: Often blemished from cuts or scrapes, earned through the total disregard he has for his body.

Disabilities: N/A

What do they consider their best feature?: I don’t think you want to know the answer to this question.

Worst they’ve ever been injured (what, how did it happen)?: Striker has been injured so many times that he can’t quite recall which was the ‘worst’. They were all the worst in different ways — being hit by his father was traumatic emotionally, however he’d have to list one of the bull encounters as the worst physical hits of his wrangling career.

APPEARANCE

Favorite outfit: Red plaid shirt, blue jeans and either tattered converse or tan cowboy boots. Sometimes his shirt might be unbuttoned to reveal a worn graphic t-shirt.

Glasses? Contacts?: Striker needs glasses, although refuses to wear them. 

Personal Hygiene: It’s best not to ask. Let’s just say there’s a certain musk that Striker brings with him when he enters a room.

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: No piercings or jewelry, however he has multiple tattoos over his hands, arms and torso. Most of them are illegible as his skin has aged and stretched, or where ink has fallen from his skin. None of them have been done professionally. 

What does their voice sound like?: Husky & deep.

Style of speech: Often slurred, due to intoxication or concussions.

Accent?: A rather unique deep-South drawl.

Unique mannerisms/physical habits: Over-exaggerated expressions & gestures, nail-biting.

Left handed or right?: Left

Do they work out/exercise?: If you count trying to play buckaroo with a donkey, then yes. Striker doesn’t ‘conventionally’ work out, though, and doesn’t have a gym membership.

BELIEFS & INTELLECT 

Known languages: English

Zodiac: Taurus

Gifts/Talents: Striker can drink anybody under the table, and is like Dr Doolittle when it comes to speaking to animals, or at least trying to get them from one place to another. It helps when it comes to his profession, where the majority of his day is spent redirecting livestock beneath a blazing sun. 

Religious Stance: Atheist

Political Stance: Left-leaning - he doesn’t watch television nor engage with social media, so is wildly unaware of any affairs happening outside of Roswell. 

Pet peeves: Diligent safety precautions.

Optimist or Pessimist: Pessimist 

Extrovert or Introvert: Extrovert

INTIMACY & RELATIONSHPS:

Relationship status: Single

Sexual orientation: Bisexual

Ideal mate/qualities they look for in mate: When looking for a mate, Striker needs somebody that can balance him out. He’s impulsive, dangerous, like a whirlwind, and so he needs somebody who is the opposite to keep him tethered to reality. In return, he could be the one to show them how to live their lives a little closer to the edge.

Ever been in love?: Yes

What’s their love language?: Physical touch, and Striker shows love through acts of service/protection. 

Most important person in their life?: His brothers.

Level of education: High school level, barely.

Profession: Ranch Hand at Puhlman’s Ranch

Past occupations: Small-time drug dealer, petty criminal, gas station clerk, employee at Fornax Hardware.

Dream occupation: To get paid for doing absolutely nothing. 

Passions: Dangerous animals, whiskey.

Attitude towards current job: It does the job, in the way that he can afford essentials and a hot meal at the end of a long day. Of course, Striker would much rather be doing nothing, but if he has to spend his time working himself to the bone he would pick the ranch over anywhere else. 

Spender or Saver? Why?: He doesn’t have enough money to save it, so the cash is often spent the same day (or night)  he earns it.

Which is more important - money or doing something they love?: Doing something he loves, that’s why he’s very rarely present at work. There’s nobody else willing to throw themselves, quite literally, into the ring, and so the ranch owners can’t feasibly fire him.

SECRETS:

Phobias: His father, rats. 

Life goals: To make a life for himself that he enjoys, away from the pressures of society or the trauma his father left him with.

Most embarrassing thing ever to happen to them: Hooking up with some of the less-favorable Wild Pony patrons after having one too many to drink. 

Something they’ve never told anyone: Striker has never confided in anybody about his real name outside of his family. It’s his biggest embarrassment but, although he knows he has the power to change it, there’s always an excuse or a reason for why he hasn’t yet. Often it’s lack of money, or at least he claims that’s the reason, but perhaps he doesn’t want to get rid of it, not really.

Biggest regret: Not standing up for himself, or his brothers, sooner than he did. Striker moved away when he was seventeen, but he wishes every day that he grabbed their belongings and dragged his brothers out of that trailer the second he was old enough to walk on his own two feet. 

Police/Criminal/Legal Record: Messy, and as long as a grocery receipt. Striker has spent many an evening in the Sheriff’s department for drunk and disorderly behavior, trespassing and public indecency, to name a few crimes beneath his belt.

Vices: Drinking to excess, indirect bodily harm.

PREFERENCES:

Hobbies: Bull riding, drinking, illegal shenanigans. 

Favorite color: Red

Favorite smell: Freshly mown grass, motor oil, whiskey. 

Favorite food: Anything greasy.

Favorite book: Striker doesn’t read - I’m not sure he’s ever actually indulged in a book. 

Favorite movie: Big Trouble in Little China

Favorite song: I walk the line - Johnny Cash

Coffee or tea?: Coffee

Favorite type of weather: Warm humidity - it’s best for the animals.

Most prized possession: A horseshoe necklace, left behind by his mother. It’s all Striker has of her now.

Most used word or phrase?: “Yeehaw.”

[duskydestra]

Stems of Anise

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Nishimiya Momo/Zenin Mai, Background Kugisaki Nobara/Zenin Maki

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Established Relationship, Very Brief Passive Suicidal Ideation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Nishimiya Momo is a Witch

Word Count: 2,604

Summary: Mai, Momo, and the battles they fight together.

If you'd rather read on AO3 (with slightly better formatting), click here.

~~

Mai distinguished herself from Maki in every way possible. From the way they looked to the way they thought to the way they felt.

But it was only on the days when she was most honest with herself—when no one was around but Momo—that Mai acknowledged the thin undercurrent of jealousy.

When they were younger, she could pretend it was admiration. Those times have long since passed. There is only one way she wants to be similar to Maki.

Out of everything, Mai has come to realize she is most envious of Maki’s hands.

For their whole lives, Maki’s hands have reached out, held fast, and protected whatever she considered dear. They have even dragged Mai into this new, more painful world.

Mai’s hands have failed to do anything of the sort.

~~~

“Mai Zenin?” Confusion colored Megumi’s voice despite the monotone. “I’m surprised to see you. What are you doing here?”

Orange eyes roamed over Mai’s features. “Oh, another one? They do look alike. Are they sisters?”

“Yes, they’re twins.”

They are twins. A matched set. Bound to the same station in life. Nothing pissed Mai off more than that fact; but that doesn’t mean she has to accept it aloud.

“Don’t call me a twin, Fushiguro. You make it sound as if Maki were my equal. Call me Mai.”

The wink was extra. She knew that. But sometimes, people are quicker to follow orders that come with a smile.

Working with Todo is always a drag, but it was worth it to see him send Megumi flying.

“Fushiguro!” The girl turned, no doubt in an attempt to help her friend, but Mai held her back.

Time to do what they came here for.

“Oh, well. There goes poor Fushiguro.” Mai’s voice dripped with cattiness. “Even a talented first-grade jujutsu sorcerer is nothing more than a first-year when he’s up against the top-grade Aoi Todo. I’ll have to go and comfort him later.”

She would do no such thing, but facts are irrelevant right now. Her smug grin was met with a steely glare.

“I thought you and Maki were identical, but you’re not. Maki’s a hundred times prettier than you are.”

Mai’s eyes opened. Bringing her up again?

“Trouble sleeping? You’ve got open pores.”

Mai jabbed her revolver against the sorcerer’s stomach, leaving wrinkles in this girl's fresh tracksuit. “I’ll teach you how to speak to others.”

She’d heard whispers here and there about the wily first-year at the Tokyo school. That the girl with orange hair wasn’t the type to go down without a fight. Even so, she couldn’t withstand six rubber bullets at close range.

Mai reloaded, fully prepared to continue the attack. “If you wanna continue as a jujutsu sorcerer, you better watch who you pick a fight with.” The following laugh was interrupted by Maki’s staff lifting the gun away from her target.

Mai wasn't even surprised. Who else would show up just in time to spoil her fun?

Maki scowled. “What do you think you’re doing to our errand runner, Mai?”

Mai ignored the question. Since Maki’s clearly forgotten that they’re lowly even among the sorcerers, she’s due for a reminder. No matter how many times Mai says it, her sister never learns.

Fed up, Maki yanked the subject back on track. She turned to the girl on the floor.

“Nobara, can you stand?”

Mai found the concern in Maki’s tone incredibly obnoxious. “No way. She won’t be getting up for a while. I hurt her pretty go-”

The staff came to a stop right in front of her face. Mai jolted back an inch. It doesn’t take much to get under Maki’s skin, but this took even less time than usual.

How interesting.

Errand runner? Your lies are getting worse. She's more than that to you.

Mai glared. “What? You want to fight?”

Right before Mai could lift the gun again, Nobara pinned her arms back and dragged them both to the ground. She couldn't believe how quickly the girl had recovered.

"Nice support, Maki!"

A team effort, then.

Mai looked up, seeing Maki prepare to reach out. Her eyes narrowed.

You can't be serious. Like hell I’d let you pull me any deeper.

~~~

Overhead, Momo surveilled the skies.

Even with an execution and tournament to be concerned about, Mai sought out a branch high enough to give her a nice view of her girlfriend. Priorities.

Momo dove down among the trees, no doubt coming upon something of interest. As Mai polished her revolver, the familiar blasting sounds wrested her attention.

A fight.

But something's off. Some of these new impacts were different. Heavier. There's no way they were coming from Momo.

She scanned the forest and focused on any movement. With all the falling trees and rising dust, she had her work cut out for her.

Heart pounding, Mai clutched at her chest. Her hands shook. The prickle of tears threatened to well up, but she blinked them away. Now was not the time.

She took a deep breath in through her mouth, held it, then let it out. The grip on her revolver steadied. Her eyes refocused.

A flash of orange hair.

Maki's "errand runner."

Mai had never saved anyone before. But for Momo, everything within her screamed to make an exception. Spite flooded into Mai's hands as she pulled the trigger.

The bullet found its mark, flung Nobara away from Momo. Relief left Mai slumped back onto the tree.

"One hell of a shot."

When it was clear Nobara wasn’t getting up, Mai unlocked her phone and hit the speed dial.

“Hello? Momo?” In the brief silence that followed, she could sense Momo’s worry from a mile away. “Don’t worry, it was a rubber bullet.”

Momo’s attention was drifting, so Mai followed up with status updates to help her forget about the body lying next to her.

“You should leave that spot and support everyone from the air. We’re all in trouble without you.”

"Yeah. Mai, I..." Her tone was distant.

It coaxed a certain tenderness out of Mai. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. "It’s all right, Momo. I know."

“Thanks.”

“What, not going to call your friends?” Maki taunted from a neighboring tree branch.

Mai's heart sank. She put her phone away, hoping Momo didn’t hear that. She’s got enough to worry about.

“I don’t mind going two-on-one.” Maki continued with a proud smirk.

“There are many ways to enjoy this, right?" Mai got to her feet. "Sure, I could have everyone beat you together, but I’m going to enjoy beating you by myself.” She aimed the revolver at her sister’s heart.

“You ought to call me ‘big sis,’ little sister.” Maki pointed back at her with Miwa’s sword.

The moment dragged on, tense as the air between them. That is, until Maki cracked a smile.

"What are you smiling about?!" Mai shouted as she let off her first shot.

Maki has a talent I don’t.

It’s a thought Mai constantly circles back to. As Maki slams the blunt end of the sword down onto Mai’s collarbone, the pain making her seize up, she can’t help but wonder.

If I’d been born with the Heavenly Restriction instead, would I be able to live in this world?

She had managed that kind of strength once—for Momo’s sake—but in the world of curses, that wouldn't be enough.

Sometimes, when faced with the life of a sorcerer, she felt that was for the best.

~~~

A bruise was forming on Momo's cheek.

Since the group battles, she'd kept the right side of her face angled away from everyone. Even now in the locker room, she tilted the bill of her baseball cap so it would cast a shadow on it.

"Let me put something on that." Mai rubbed a thumb over Momo's cheek, noting the swell.

A groan. "It might be too late."

"Don't be so dramatic."

Momo raised her eyebrows, as if to say This, coming from you?

Mai rolled her eyes and returned a brow lift of her own. Yes, from me.

She rummaged around the empty infirmary, coming back with an ice pack and a large bandage. There was no cut, but she knew Momo wanted it covered anyway.

Momo's shoulders sagged. "It'll just make things harder. If I keep taking hits like this, I'm gonna look like Uta-"

"Stop. You won't."

She tossed a firm look at Momo, denying both statements. The sentiment was true, but neither of them wanted it to be.

Momo opened her mouth, ready to disagree, before letting out a single huff. She swallowed any other complaints as Mai smoothed the bandage onto her face.

But a bit of fire lingered in her eyes.

Mai glanced toward the door. Still closed, and she didn't hear anyone outside of it. So she ran her index knuckle along Momo's smooth jaw, then lifted her chin. A silent request for honesty.

Momo pressed the ice to her cheek. She made a point not to wince at the cold.

"I was just trying to help her, and this is the thanks I get." It was exhausted frustration, not anger, in her voice.

"Mm." Mai recalled countless similar conversations she'd tried to have with Maki, and sighed. "They'll learn the hard way. Everyone does."

"Ugh, how annoying. You know what that means." Momo scrunched her nose. "Those two were made for each other."

Mai gagged.

~~~

The trip back to Kyoto was bound to be dreadful, made all the more unpleasant with defeats like this year’s hanging over the students.

After only a little begging, Utahime granted Mai permission to share Momo’s broomstick so long as they stayed within sight of the train windows.

Momo's eyes held gratitude and a hint of sorrow as she watched Utahime board the train, but the latter evaporated once Mai returned to her.

Momo slid forward to make room for Mai. Right before she lifted off, Mai wrapped both arms around her tiny waist.

Soaring above everything, Mai observed all the rail lines snaking their way through the city. She always did prefer the view at night.

“Hey, Mai?”

“Hm?”

“How’re you holding up?”

“Ha! Next question.”

“Fine. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be better when we get to the cabin.”

“Inviting yourself again, are you?” Momo grinned.

“You invited me first. Shouldn’t have done that if you didn’t want me hanging around.” She planted a kiss on the back of Momo’s neck. “I’ll make you work to get rid of me.”

Momo shivered. Whether from the cold or the kiss was anyone’s guess. Mai bet it was the kiss.

Momo let out a sigh. “Come on. You say that every day. By now, you should know I’d never do that to you.”

Okay, but I still shouldn't get my hopes up. “Whatever you say.”

“I mean it.” Momo said earnestly, turning her head to catch Mai's eye. “If I didn’t, why are you the only one who knows I even have a cabin in the first place?”

Mai blinked. “I...”

“Thought so.” Momo proudly lifted her nose toward the sky. “You can stop doubting me now.”

Mai rested her chin on Momo's shoulder, and chuckled.

So, no one would ever expect the inside to be so full of life.

Deep in the woods, far deeper than anyone would choose to trek on foot, was the cabin. The outside still looked abandoned, as worn down as the day Momo found it. With its missing shingles, weathered paint job, and splintered, creaky stairs, it didn't get any less inviting than this.

Most of the interior included some shade of green, gold, silver, or black. It made the small home feel all the larger. There was hardly room for anything but the essentials. Everything fit into two spaces that could loosely be referred to as a living room and kitchen.

In terms of furniture, there was a plush gray couch, fireplace, and wooden table. A second chair was the most recent addition.

Just past that, glass jars kept the shelves stocked with all kinds of ingredients and spices. Various bottles lined the windowsills, each growing a different herb. There was a gas stove with skillets and pots hanging above it. Sitting on the largest burner was a medium-sized cauldron.

Mai left her shoes at the door and flopped onto the couch. This was the most exhausting weekend she’d had in a while. It brought on a familiar migraine. Rolling over, she reached up to rub her temples.

In the kitchen, Momo hummed a melody to herself. Delighted, Mai watched her as she worked. Momo flew up to the top shelf, uncorked a few jars, and dropped the herbs into a mortar and pestle. Mai didn’t know all the ingredients by heart, but she recognized some of them by smell.

Anise, horehound, mullein.

Momo hands mixed, strained, brewed. Mai’s eyes slipped closed, the movement and song working their magic.

Before long, there was a poke to her forehead. She cracked an eye open to see Momo holding two drinks, a lopsided smile on her lips. Mai lifted herself up to make room, resting her shoulder on Momo’s once she sat down.

“For the headache.” Momo handed a cup to Mai.

“Thanks.” Mai's heart swelled at the gesture.

Peering into the mug, the potion was thick, brown, and had a gold luster to it. It tasted of licorice and tart fruit. She found the warmth immediately soothing.

After washing and leaving the mugs on the drying rack, Mai got to do one her favorite things: lay her head on Momo’s lap.

Momo ran her fingertips along Mai's hair, the gentle scalp massage relaxing her further. "If you don't wanna tell me what’s wrong, you can go yell in the woods. That's what I do."

Mai looked up. "Is that okay?"

Momo shrugged. "If there's no one around to tell you it's wrong, it's okay. And we can say it's fine."

“Maybe some other time.”

Momo nodded, and went back to stroking Mai's hair.

She'd never felt more grateful to not be rushed. Mai has told Momo a great many things in confidence, but what weighed on her now would take time. If it ever made it past her lips, it'd either be a miracle or a final bout of willfulness.

Everything she's come to enjoy about being with Momo is utterly new to her. The patience, the care, the concern.

There was no love or mercy among the Zenin clan. Even so, Mai had spent two years wanting to go back. It wasn't safe, only familiar. There, she knew where everyone stood.

According to them, all she can do is hold others back or serve them.

And yet, here in this secret home, hands tracing along the flared black skirt of Momo's dress, the thought of bringing Momo back with her nearly brought her to tears. Sacrificing what Momo had built for herself—what she was generous enough to share with Mai—is a betrayal she's unwilling to commit.

There was no way around it. If Mai was going to stay by her side, she'd have to become more than what she is now.

With the buzz of determination in her chest, she realized she'd do it. She'd endure the curses, the pain, the judgment. All of it.

Love always comes with a price, and this is what it costs to be with Momo.

For her whole life, she'd watched as Maki's hands have reached out, held fast, and protected whatever she considered dear.

For the first time, fingers intertwining with Momo's, Mai believed hers could do the same.

[double-knots-archive]

Character Development

BASICS

Full Name:  Jinx Ward

Alias:  Jinx Wraith

Nicknames:  Golden Guard’s lackey, The Cuckoo 

Sex / Gender: Nonbinary, afab (they/them/she/her)

Right or Left:   Ambidextrous 

Age:  16

Height:   5′4

Eye Color:   One red, one dark red-brown

Hair Color:   Half black, Half white

Distinguishing Marks:  Two large triangle-type marks & two small circle marks under eyes

Paragraph Of Physical Traits:   Soft facial features with a pointed chin and perky nose. Two triangle markings from under their eyes towards their jaw, along with two small circles on their cheeks. one white eyebrow, and one black. pointed ears with multiple earrings. 

FAMILY / RELIGION

Parents / Guardians:   Deceased

Siblings: None

Marital Status: Single    

Significant Other(s):  Hunter 

Children: None

Other Relatives: None    

Pets:   Tuuli (palisman)

Friends:   N/A

Enemies:  Belos (technically)

Ethnicity:  White

Religion:    N/A

Beliefs:  N/A

Superstitions: N/A   

Languages:  English, Ancient Glyphs, Ancient Languages of the Boiling Isles

Diction / Accent:   Tends to be deadpan, unreadable. tends to speak in short sentences, and with a neutral tone. 

SCHOOL / WORK / HOME

Education: Hexside

Degree(s):   N/A

Occupation:    Guard, Empire’s Coven Recruiter 

Own or Rent:   N/A

Living Space:   Minimal. Appears tidy, and lacks personal touches for most things. Seems very basic and tends to be dull in color. The only personal effects are things given to them by Hunter.

Work Space:  Clean, orderly, you would never even know someone ever used the space except the fact that there’s no dust.

Main Mode of Transport: Staff, walking

PSYCHOLOGY

Fears:      Losing Hunter

Secrets:   Too many to count

Intelligence: High. Above average.

Eating Habits:   Tends to eat the exact amounts needed. 

Food Preferences:    Doesn’t have preferences that aren’t related to Hunter (until much later in life)

Sleeping Habits:    Gets exactly 8 hours a night, and can fall asleep 

Book Preferences:    Doesn’t have preferences that aren’t related to Hunter (until much later in life)

Music Preferences:   Doesn’t have preferences that aren’t related to Hunter (until much later in life)

Leader or Follower: Neither, Lone Wolf

Planner or Spontaneous:   Planner. In it for the long haul. 

Journal: Doesn’t keep one. any notes they do have are in their own coded language.

Hobbies:  Revolution. 

What Excites Them:   Revolution, Hunter 

What Stresses Them:     Revolution, Hunter

Pet Peeves:     When people make assumptions about them, underestimate them

Prejudices:     empereror’s cousin sucks

Attitudes:     tends to be a bit snarky when comfortable

Obsessions:     hunter revolution, power. Jinx is obsessed with the idea of being above consequences 

Addictions:   hunter none

Ambitions:    to gain power, to not be below others

ASTROLOGY / PHISIOLOGY

Birth Date:    Unknown

Sign:    Unknown

Traits Associated with Western Sign:     Unknown

Chinese Zodiac Sign:    Unknown

Traits Associated with Chinese Sign:      Unknown

Handwriting:     Never cursive, but tends to slope to the right

Sexual History:   N/A

General Health:      Healthy physically. Has borderline with aspd

Mental Disabilities:     N/A

Allergies:  N/A

OBJECTS KEPT IN

Purse / Bag:   N/A

Wallet:    N/A

Fridge:     Typically empty, or with something leftover from Hunter

Medicine Cabinet:     Collecting Dust, everything’s expired

Glove Compartment:    N/A

Junk Drawer: n/a      

Backpack:   n/a

Desk:   n/a

Clothes Pockets:    Palisman, a pocket knife, jewelry from hunter

OTHER

Halloween Costumes:  None, has never celebrated Halloween

Talents:     Magical Excellency 

Politics: Anti-Belos

Flaws:    blunt, callous, fixated, overambitious, overconfident, pride, rebellious, manipulative, violent, stubborn, 

Strengths:  Ambitious, Assertive, confident, loyal, logical, 

Drugs / Alcohol:   None

Passwords:   N/A

Prized Possessions:    The jewelry that Hunter gave them 

Time and Place:      n/a

Special Places:      Hunter’s room

Special Memories:    Kissing Hunter for the first time.

Tagged by:    Stole it from @witchesborn

Tagging:   be gay do crime

[jadenlapointe]

ᴀ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ᴅɪᴠᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ : ᴊᴀᴅᴇɴ ʟᴀᴘᴏɪɴᴛᴇ

( @rocketfm )

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Full Name: Jaden Jace Lapointe

Reason for name: His mother loved the name Jaden, and ‘Jace’ is similar to his father’s middle name of ‘Ace’ — it seemed the Lapointe’s were a fan of alliteration.

Nickname(s): JJ, Jay, Jeej, J-dog

Date of Birth: July 23rd , 1991

Age: 30 years

Gender + Pronouns: Male + He/Him

Place of birth: LaFayette, Alabama

Parents: Ashwin Lapointe + Hilary Lapointe (née Pollock)

Siblings: None

Relationship with family: Jaden is very close with his family. They only live down the street from one another but him and his father are best friends and they call each other once a week, if not more, just to catch up.

Pets: Buffy Lapointe (pitbull), Legs Lapointe (frog).

PHYSICAL:

Height: 6’0”

Build: Broad, Athletic

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: English, Welsh, Czech, Swedish.

Distinguishing Facial Features: Inch long scar across his forehead, high cheekbones, strong eyebrows.

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Usual Hair Style: Messy, unkempt, impossible time style so he doesn’t bother.

Eye Color: Brown/Hazel

Complexion: Freckles when it’s sunny, tanned skin tone, no birthmarks, scar on his forehead, scars on his leg.  

Disabilities: Transtibial amputation of right leg, PTSD

What do they consider their best feature?: Cheekbones or his butt

Worst they’ve ever been injured?: Jaden was a victim of a car accident just over a year ago now. The car flipped when he was trying to avoid an animal in the road and rolled down a bank alongside the highway, crushing the lower half of his right leg to the point where he needed an amputation. Following this he was in hospital for the best part of a month, and has a pretty severe case of PTSD to go alongside it.

APPEARANCE:

Favorite outfit: More often than not Jaden wears an open plaid shirt with a graphic t-shirt beneath, blue or black turned-up jeans and either Doc Martens or Converse sneakers.

Glasses? Contacts?: Jaden needs glasses, although he rarely wears them.

Personal Hygiene: It’s best not to comment on this. Let’s just say he tries his best, okay?

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: For piercings he has a hoop in one ear, and three tattoos - a roman numeral of ‘12′ on his wrist, a skateboard on the other wrist, and the initial ‘J’ on the inside of his wrist which was stick ‘n’ poked by his girlfriend before they were together.

What does their voice sound like?: Deep, soft and kind, a little more rugged and raspy in the mornings.

Style of speech: Loud & rambling.

Accent?: A slight Southern twang which gets more pronounced when he’s angry, or turned on.

Unique mannerisms/physical habits: Nail-biting.

Left handed or right?: Right handed.

Do they work out/exercise?: He tries to work out as much as he can but his couch (and video games) continue to call his name.

BELIEFS & INTELLECT:

Known Languages: English

Zodiac: Leo

Gifts/talents: Basketball, surfing, skateboarding, technological know-how. 

Religious stance: Atheist.

Political stance: Left-wing.

Pet peeves: Arrogance.

Optimist or pessimist: Optimist

Extrovert or introvert: Extrovert

INTIMACY & RELATIONSHPS:

Relationship status: Taken by @junigreen

Sexual orientation: Bisexual

Ideal mate/qualities they look for in mate: Petite, feisty, good sense of humour.

Ever been in love?: Yes

What’s their love language?: Cuddling, affirmation.

Most important person in their life?: Buffy Lapointe (yes, she counts).

VOCATION:

Level of education: High school level

Profession: Self Employed as an IT Tech

Past occupations: Delivery driver, Surf instructor, Convenience store worker, cashier at the UFO emporium.

Dream occupation: Professional basketball player.

Passions: Sports, video games, movies.

Attitude towards current job: Apathetic

Spender or Saver? Why?: Saver, they have to be. Jaden still has huge hospital bills to pay off which leaves little wiggle room for treats.

Which is more important – money or doing something they love?: Doing something they love.

SECRETS:

Phobias: Cars, clowns, isolation.

Life goals: To follow in the footsteps of his parents and live a nomadic lifestyle with his future kids, to learn to drive again.

Greatest fears: Being in another accident, losing a loved one.

Most embarrassing thing ever to happen to him: Jaden peed on a nurse during his extended hospital stay, a mishap with a replaced catheter.

Something they’ve never told anyone: Some of his stranger kinks remain a close-guarded secret.

Biggest regret: Not travelling more when he had the chance.

Compulsions: Exploration.

Police/Criminal/Legal record: Jaden has comitted a few petty crimes (trespassing, vandalism etc) although nothing to warrant a sentence. 

Vices: Casual marijuana use.

PREFERENCES:

Hobbies: Basketball, skateboarding, video games, paint-balling, movie marathons, urban exploration.

Favorite color: Blue.

Favorite smell: Citrus, rainfall, clean sheets.

Favorite food: Pizza, pasta, french fries, candy – anything unhealthy.

Favorite book: Jaws - Peter Benchley.

Favorite movie: Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure

Favorite song: The Queen Is Dead - The Smiths.

Coffee or tea?: Coffee.

Favorite type of weather: Sunny, warm weather.

Most prized possession: His slushie machine.

Most used word or phrase?: Totally, for sure.