#not me dropping a dozen OCs with no context

[girlinthetardis04]

A peculiar question, but one with weigh comes your way,

If your ocs had to make sandwiches how would they make them? And what beverages would they accompany it with?

(And by ocs I mean either all of them or whoever you are thinking of the most right now, the ones that you really want to talk about)

Ohoho what a question, friendo!

Yuu, AT!Sara and OM!Sara - egg mayonnaise + cactus tea

Estelle (my other Arcana Twilight OC I never talk about 😬) - cheese. Just straight up cheese. Not even grilled. + milk

Rory - honey + hot tea

Robin - cheese and ham + water

Envy - grilled cheese + any soda pop

Auriel - believes hot dogs are a sandwich + hot chocolate

Raegan and Virgil - some nasty Devildom stuff I can't come up with + some nasty Devildom drink I can't come up with

Eden - Nutella + orange juice

And now, this is how I introduce my other Twisted Wonderland OCs! Behold!

Bengal Raaja - any meat tbh + water

Rose Prawne - can't have sandwiches underwater :(

Otel L'Ara - potato chips + cola

Ivory Chrome - those fancy pants mini sandwiches for tea parties and stuff + tea (but fancy)

Medwyn Gorgon - tuna + energy drink

Morgan Mimosa - he's a weirdo and puts sliced fruit in his sandwiches + fruit juice

I'm feeling generous so here a few more never before seen OCs

Lily Lester - those fancy pants mini sandwiches for tea parties and stuff + tea (but british)

Miyuki Kiryuu - idk did early 1900s japan have sandwiches?

Erin - cream cheese + apple juice

Riley - bread and butter + tea

BONUS

Thalara - not sure if ancient Greece had sandwiches, but sometimes she likes to eat bread and cheese at the same time :)

[etherealperrie]

The Chart (pt. 2)

"...she is not a mirror in which you reflect, she is of material substance..."

Shane Mccutcheon x OC (Original Character) | The L Word

Word Count: 2.3k

Contains: Queer OC | Reader is a PhD Student in LA | playboy era Shane Mccutcheon | "Solid" by MUNA inspired | Mentions of secondary L Word characters |

Warnings: explicit language, references to drinking/alcohol, and explicit sexual activity

...

There’s nothing worse than a hangover. Jules has handled dozens in her time, but all when she was much younger, more agile to bounce back. Nothing could’ve stopped her the morning after a night out in college – hell, she’d taken one of the most important finals of her life hungover and damn near aced it. But now, not even Tylenol is touching the pounding in her skull. 

Sighing, she drops her head into the cradle of her hands, running her fingers through her hair. Her ‘free for the weekend’ motto hadn’t considered that her more productive self made an appointment in the library archives at seven the next morning. She mumbles some half-hearted words of encouragement to herself before shifting in her seat and taking a deep breath. On the exhale she swipes the hair from her neck up into a mangled mess away from her eyes. There’s no one else here – everyone else is home properly recovering, or, maybe waking up with that stranger from the night before in their bed. 

Jules would much prefer that to this. On the circumstance that it might be Shane. She can’t quite shake the vision of her from her mind, having tossed and turned over her all night. Not to say Jules regrets leaving her at the bar, but she can’t stop imagining what it would have been like to stay. The heat of Shane’s fingerprints are burned into the skin around her hip, the taste of Marlboro reds somehow still on her lips. 

“Juliana?” A voice interrupts her daydreams. “Did you want me to get the next box down for you?”

An older woman from the archives stands in front of Jules, her hands perched on the desk for support. Jules shakes her head, clearing her throat. Right, the research. The whole reason she’s here in the first place. The project that quite literally drove her to drinking over the weekend. 

“Please.” 

The woman nods and turns on her heel back down to the front of the room, her skirt swishing with each step. Jules looks back to the papers sprawled across her desk. There are a few photos scattered about, one catching her attention. Picking it up carefully – by the edges as she was instructed prior to entering the archives – she squints to make out the image. 

There’s a blonde woman standing in front of what looks to be a whiteboard full of markings she can’t quite make out. The woman is smiling, obnoxiously big, her pixie cut sticking up in various directions. Jules chuckles, flipping the photo over, a caption scrawled in blue ink on the back. 

Alice Piezecki showcasing ‘The Chart’. Color. 2004.

She can’t stop herself from wondering about the context of the photo. More importantly, how did something this recent make it into the archives so quickly? It’s less than five years old. And into the box she specifically requested, labeled, “A Queer History of Los Angeles County”?. Though, most importantly, how did she not recognize this woman or whatever this chart was? Jules taps her fingers against the desk. It’s maybe not surprising, though, one could study queer history all their lives and never fully experience all its aspects. And Jules’ life has, quite literally, been here – in the California University School of Arts library – since she started her program four years ago. 

Jules flips the photo back over. She stares at the glossy paper, the unintelligible writing on the whiteboard coming to life. It’s a list of names. Well, not a list but a chart, all of the names connected to one another by lines of varying color. Some of the names are emphasized, bolded or circled, somehow noting their significance over others. Most of the names are unfamiliar to her, but Jules jots them all down in her notebook, underlining where appropriate. All of these women, tied together somehow. 

She continues down the line, her handwriting devolving to scrawl, the list impossibly long. Francesca, Marina, Max, Jenny…

Shane. 

Jules stops, her eyes lifting from the paper. A name she recognizes. A name both bolded, underlined, and circled. Her heart pounds in her chest although she’s sitting firmly in her chair. For a second she swears the library has transformed into the club, Shane’s dark eyes staring directly at her. The Chart. The women outside the bathroom. 

“Tell Shane to fuck you in the men’s room next time.” 

Jules laughs to herself. She was so drunk she thought those women were genuinely upset about her and Shane preventing their access to the bathroom. She turns her attention back to the chart, shaking her head with disbelief as she follows the myriad of lines connecting Shane’s name to what appeared to be hundreds of others. She may as well add her own now. She jots it down in her notebook. 

Jules. 

Part of her is angry, her face red with embarrassment. The other part of her can’t believe the discovery she’s just made. Something like this – the chart – would be integral to her dissertation. Before she’s able to make up her mind on her true feelings, the woman from the archives is calling her name from across the room, lifting the next box. Jules listens to the swooshing of her skirt as she approaches, breathing through her cacophony of emotions. 

“Here you go, dear,” she says, setting the box down onto the desk with a thud. “Can I do anything else for ya?” 

Jules smiles, lifting the photo up. “Yeah, could I get a copy of this?” 

…

Sunday morning. Sun streams in through the window, bathing the bedroom in a wash of yellow light. Cars honk on the street outside as dozens of locals make their morning commutes. Shane wakes to the light, crossing an arm over her eyes as she yawns. It’s bright. Too bright. She flips over onto back, knocking into something – no, someone – in her bed as she adjusts to her surroundings. 

The room is familiar, her own. 

“Fuck,” she groans. She made a rule a few months ago to go anywhere but back to her own place. It made things easier, much less messy – figuratively and literally. Shane wouldn’t have to worry about women getting attached and she could disappear without consequence. She’s always been good at that. 

“Well good morning,” the woman mumbles, turning to face Shane. She’s pretty, they always are. Her eyes are brown, doe-like, her chin-length red hair splayed out on the pillows, her bangs hanging just above her long, fluttering lashes. 

Shane smiles briefly before pushing herself up and out of the bed. She can’t linger here with this woman even if she might want to. Anyway, she couldn’t really remember where they met – The Planet? No, that was Thursday night. The club, maybe? A memory washes over her, being left in the bathroom stall by that nameless blonde. She needed to get off, to soothe her bruised ego? Maybe, but Shane wouldn’t admit that to anyone out loud. Rejection is uncomfortable, it doesn’t happen to her often. 

“Yeah, good morning,” Shane replies, crossing the room to slip on a t-shirt. She checks herself in the mirror, ruffling her hair until it settles in a way she likes. She turns back to the woman, whose name she couldn’t remember, who’s now sitting up in her bed, the covers slipping down her nude chest. God, Shane could easily give it all up and dive right back into those sheets. She bites the inside of her lip, holding herself to where she stands near the window. “I, uh, forgot I have a couple of clients to get to today.” It’s a lie. She plans on keeping the shop closed today, one of the perks to owning her own salon. In all honesty Shane doesn’t have any plans. 

“Oh.” The woman sighs, nodding. She’s clearly disappointed. Shane looks away when she rolls out from under the covers, fully nude, quickly dressing in her outfit from last night. When she sees the ��Kit Porter’ branded t-shirt, it all comes flooding back. The alluring eyes that met her as she left the bathroom, the beckoning finger she gave this woman, and the way she could barely make out the road on the drive home, what with this woman all over her. Shane was shameless, she’d have fucked this woman right in the middle of the club, but she’d already been turned down once. Which is how they ended up here, in Shane’s room. 

“Do you need a ride?” Shane asks, raising an eyebrow. 

The woman shakes her head. “No, I’m good. I just, uh, here –” she bends over to pick her bag up off the floor, pulling out a pen. She pulls the cap off and closes the space between her and Shane in a few small steps. Shane chuckles, shaking her head, women never cease to amaze her. She loves them, loves this game of push and pull. I want you, but I’m going to hope you chase me. But Shane doesn’t chase, she doesn’t need to. 

She doesn’t object when the woman takes her hand and flips it over, writing a string of numbers on her palm. The woman smirks, rolling Shane’s hand into a fist and kissing it when she’s finished. “Call me, okay?” 

“Okay,” Shane replies, swerving when the woman comes in for a kiss. The woman laughs and pulls away. Shane watches as she saunters out of the room and out the front door. 

She wonders where she’ll go and if they’ll ever see each other again. Los Angeles, despite its size, is somehow incredibly small. She’d see her again, Shane knows it, and she hopes the woman won’t be upset when they run into one another months from now, when she realizes that Shane never called. 

It’s not her fault, it’s just the way Shane’s wired. 

She yawns, shrugging her shoulders, and swipes her phone from the dresser dialing a familiar number. 

“I can’t believe it!” Alice laughs, tossing her head back. 

Tina slides into the booth, her hands wrapped around a tall cappuccino. She raises an eyebrow, looking between Alice and Shane. 

“Believe what?” she asks. 

Helena leans in, reaching for an almond croissant sitting on the plate in the center of the table. The Planet is where the girls ‘break bread’, debriefing their nights and latest escapades. Though, sometimes, Shane would prefer to keep things a bit closer to her chest, especially the way they’ve blown up the incident of the night prior back at the club. 

“Shane was left high and dry at SheBar last night,” Helena says between bites.

Tina laughs. “Losing your power, Shane?” 

Shane shakes her head. “We were interrupted, she got spooked, no big deal.” She shrugs and sits back against the booth, sinking down into the leather seat. 

“Just admit it, Shane,” Alice pokes. “This girl had a moment of clarity and didn’t want to fuck you!” 

“What does it matter?” Bette interjects, lifting her arm from around Tina’s shoulders to interrupt. “It’s not like she went home alone.” A smile creeps onto Bette’s lips, feeling smug as she picks at the crumbs of a muffin. 

Shane shoots her a look. She was certain no one saw her leave with her redhead accomplice. Shane should’ve known nothing gets past Bette. She’s always been hyper observant. 

Alice scoffs, rolling her eyes in disbelief. “I’d say I’m surprised, but I should learn to expect nothing less from you, Shane.” 

Max looks up from his computer for the first time since they all gathered at the table. “Fuck, Shane, I just finished updating the site.” 

This elicits a confused look from the entire group, the taunts towards Shane finally ceasing. 

“The site?” Shane asks, thankful for the attention off of her for a few seconds. 

Alice and Max share a look. 

“I’m having Max put the chart online, you know, make it more…interactive.” 

“The chart?” Tina repeats. “The chart from your apartment?” 

“Our Chart,” Max clarifies. He flips his laptop around to showcase the website to the table. There’s a spindling web of lines connecting various names together. Everyone at the table recognizes their own names, following their own little universes of connection. Max taps on his own name to demonstrate, his cosmo filled with two lines, one to Jenny and another to a name Shane didn’t recognize. 

“Alice, this is ridiculous,” Bette says, directing Max back to the mainpage. “These are the intimate details of people’s sex lives.” 

“And they love it!” Alice defends. 

Shane leans back in her seat. It didn’t matter to her. She couldn’t really understand the obsession with the chart in the first place, when Alice first drafted it. She remembers being in her apartment the day Alice created it, snapping a photo of her. She remembers seeing her own name circled in red ink, her web taking up near half of the whiteboard. She didn’t care. Shane never makes it a point to keep track of her sexual conquests, she simply enjoys getting off when and where she can, with who she can. The human connection. The body of a woman – the way it feels, the way they taste, the warmth of skin against skin. 

“Listen, all I know is that we’ve got just over a thousand hits and the site has only been up for a couple of days.” 

“A thousand?” Helena echoes Max’s statement. He nods. 

“Well shit, Al,” Shane chuckles, taking a sip of her coffee. “To Our Chart.” She raises her glass and Alice smiles proudly, knocking their mugs together.

[spadexofxhearts]

My main DL boy Shuu

Indie. Private. Side-Blog to Tearsoftherealms. Featuring Diabolik Lovers Characters. Featuring some of my OCs. Low Activity. Not Spoiler Free. Some Canon Divergencies. Written By Kanami. She/Her. 30. Rules and additional info under read more.

Additional info and Rules!

🦇 Due to waiting on JavaScript, about pages will have to wait for all characters. However, OCs have info on my main account but only show their live action face claims. They have anime ones as well, which I can share for the time being.

🦇 Featuring, canon wise, Ayato Sakamaki, Laito Sakamaki, Subaru Sakamaki, Kou Mukami, Yūma Mukami, and Azusa Mukami.

🦇 This is a side blog attached to Tearstotherealms. Mutuals means I must be following you back from there.

🦇 18+ only. If I can't find some indication of your age, it is very unlikely I'll follow you. This includes your pen-name, if I can't find your that than I may not follow back.

🦇 If you unfollow, please soft block me. I'll do the same since it's courteous.

🦇 I rarely try to block unless I have to. This is usually the result if something that can't be fixed. Among this, I will happily block racists or people that are phobic or disrespectful to the LGBTQ+ community.

🦇 As long as there's chemistry, I am open to accepting mains and exclusives. However, the latter will require a lot more chemistry. Exclusives can also apply to shipping. I'm open to shipping with one version of a canon muse.

🦇 Threads are exclusive to mutuals. I do not expect you to match my length at all, and I should note I'm not really up for novella threads. One liners and para are fine. I do not drop threads on purpose, sometimes it's the activity hiding things from me. Plus, I can't always be on.

🦇 I am cross over and OC friendly. However, please have information for your muse somewhere or be prepared to be asked a dozen questions. Note: if your muse has some relation to one of mine, do not expect me to be on board. I'd prefer we discuss it.

🦇 I will not interact with self - insert muses. Nor will I interact with personals. I'll accept OOC asks, though. But IC is only open to roleplay accounts. And we don't have to be mutuals for this.

🦇 Please do not reblog any of my writing. Like if you're tagged it in, go right ahead. If we have a mixed verse, you can always ask me, chances are I won't care depending on what it is.

🦇 Please do not reply to an ask and make it a thread. Move it to a new post or ask me. But I don't care if you wanna send multiple asks.

🦇 I don't really practice reblog karma, but still don't really wanna be treated like a meme resource.

🦇 Character sexualities, for now, will be listed at the end of this. However, due to my own personal reasons, I am far more comfortable with M/M shipping, but am open to M/F ships as well.

🦇 Currently multi-ship, but selective. NO force shipping. If you're interested in a ship, you are more than free to message me. I am always open to discussion. This includes ships outside of romantic. If your muse is single ship, we just don't want to ship, you write a family member, or you'd prefer to have your muse mention another ship (please notify me), then I may ask to bring in my own as well. I'm a sucker for cute stuff where the muses might talk about their SOs.

🦇 I will not write smut on tumblr.

🦇 Dark themes are bound to appear. Pretty much every DL muse has trauma. Examples: Mental abuse, physical abuse, incest, CSA, to name a few. A lot of these are solely in their backstories and may be mentioned depending on comfort levels. Never will the final two examples be written out. I do my best to tag accordingly, and am open to being messaged if something isn't tagged right. I will not write rape or non-con. Eye gore, Amputation, and Animal Abuse (writing and visuals are a no go). Note: medical amputation is one thing but my issue is this in the context of abuse like the dollmaker from Welcome to the Game.

I'm sorry this was so long! But really appreciate you reading! Sexualities are bound to change as I learn more about these characters.

Ayato: Straight

Laito: Bisexual

Subaru: Bisexual

Kou: Bisexual

Yūma: Bisexual

Azusa: Bisexual

OCs (will add pics later)

Kanna

Elliot

Karasu

Misaki

Masaki

[ceiling-karasu]

I feel like content slows down once school starts back up. When I joined the fandom, it was around this time of year, and I thought it was dead with the exception of two other people. Imagine my surprise when summer came around. From my perception it is very active right now in comparison from when I joined.

I hear you on that as well. I have spent eleven years in another fandom and the rules are different there than in SaH. Much more strict, it seems, and it’s a large fandom.

I have a tendency to be oblivious to a lot of drama happening, but even I noticed that there was some issue with naming OCs in there, although I never really paid attention since it didn’t pertain to me. I just kind of assumed that was just how it was done. I’ve been told that it goes way deeper and wow did I apparently miss a ton of stuff. But I did get that the rules are about the same as yours, with the bonus issue that people could be named after Gods (and their children; Emna vs Koenma for example) instead of countries. I did see some of it before I joined Tumblr, too.

I also had to do a lot of research on my names to get them perfect. Nunsongi is perfect, but that name also belongs to a few minor celebrities and a K-pop idol, which I found out later. No one seems to be complaining? I think I would have gotten a lot of complaints if anyone was mad about me using a celebrity name, although I didn’t even know it at the time.

Yepa (snow/ice princess) could be a nice nickname for Nurse Eomin (since I want the nickname to be given because she is cold towards her patients in the Weasel Unit and there are dozens of snow related names but really hard to find a negative context name and I feel bad to not ‘researching hard enough’ too) but while it is a Korean name, it is actually Native American in origin, and I feel like it would be racist to use it. Also why would the Weasel Unit know of that name? The wolves, apparently representing America, might know of the name and give it to her. But that would require native Americans in the AU, and for the wolves to have enough knowledge on Native American languages and Korean customs and languages to name a nurse that refuses to flirt with them Yepa, and I really don’t feel like the wolves would be able to make connections like that. I am not sure it is logical to use it even if it didn’t feel awkward.

There’s another direct ice/snow/cold woman name, but that was ‘taken,’ and even though it has been dropped apparently, I still can’t and don’t want to use it.

I did mess up with Rana Roja by using a masculine conjugation (Rojo), where Rana is grammatically feminine, but luckily I had someone who could correct me on that.

I also have to do a lot of research on every plot point and dialogue choice to make sure it isn’t offensive and is something someone from the area might say or do. Especially with Soor-Hiran, since I am incorporating some customs I know nothing about, but I’ve been running plans for them past Rei.

I still feel horrible that I had Flower Hill giving presents in wrapping paper in Lily Bell. If I had wanted to do those scenes ‘properly’ I should have used the cloth bojagi (found out in an actual museum no less). There is an entire art of cloth gift wrapping in Korea (types of cloth, styles of wrapping, colors, relationships, context of the gift etc) and I’m still kicking myself over not finding out about that beforehand. It actually could have been useful.

Also, creating a random one shot village that exports sculptures, only to later find out that an organization in North Korea that exports sculptures is an actual thing, so now I have changes to make later on. So I have to be more careful about the little things there, even though I know I am taking things way too seriously. So I think you are fine! I think people are really happy to see SaH participation in general, so it doesn’t need to be perfect. We can maybe relax a little, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing to be serious about trying to be creative with names and plots.

It’s also difficult because characters in the show are xenophobic and use ableist language, so if I want to keep this as closely canon compliant as possible I have to balance that with not going too far. (Luckily it seems people think the elevator scene was funny and not offensive and I was worried about that).

My OC finally has colors :))

I am considering changing their name since I found out someone else has an OC with the same name. To be fair, we both spell the name differently in English. But the Korean characters are the same. Thus, they are still the same name with the same meaning. How I never saw or noticed is a complete mystery to me. And I don't know how to feel about it hence my consideration of his name change.

I still want to have Dal (달) in his name since it means moon. And is in contrast to his sister's name (Noeul) that has relations to the sun. And showing that they are polar opposite is important to their lore/backstory. There are two names I can consider:

Dal (달): Moon (literally one character is a name)

Dallim (달님): Miss/Mister Moon*

*This is the name that I am mostly considering.

Though, I could also consider using Wol (월), which means Moon as well but within Hanja (usage of the Chinese characters). Though, it also seems to mean Months? Which I am not too keen on using since the character seems has a double meaning to it (depending on other characters it's with).

One last option is to find a word that uses the character (달), but I like giving my OCs actual names (unlike in SaH where names are based on species or apperances). I was jokingly thinking changing his name to Wolbyeong (Mooncake). But again, I like to give my OCs actual names. And that name wouldn't match my OCs personality. I usually take a long time naming characters since I always name them based on their personality or what they represent as a character. I take days to name a character because I always want to find the right character to use. That's how serious I am with naming my OCs which is why that "joke" name doesn't sit well with me.

Also I changed the style of his eyes and am thinking of which style. I think I nailed the shape that I want him to have. The removal of the pupil was just inspired by another anime character. But I think the pupil fits him better than without? I think I got inspired by Komi-san Can't Communicate since I have been seeing a lot of discourse over the new art style of the manga (and my take is that I don't like the art now).

[homeformyheart]

Hi I already love Nora with my entire heart and am requesting from dialogue prompts:

#19 “I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me”

- ❤️ PD

from these dialogue prompts (always accepting)

ahhh thank you PD for indulging me <3

author’s note: thank you so much @wayhavenots for requesting this and for indulging my Nick x Nora headcanons. More of the backstory and context will be written up in a separate fic, so this fic takes place about six months of these two agreeing to give each other a real chance. I hope you all enjoy! *fyi, Nora is Nick’s LI in all of my MB universes, and Nick’s features will vary based on that, so feel free to self-insert or use one of my Nicks’ below :)

copyright: all characters, except the oc and oc button, are owned by jo o’connor @mindblindbard. series/pairing: mind blind – nick wiseman x f!oc (nora mcconnell) rating/warnings: 14+; swearing, minor angst, fluff based on/prompt: dialogue prompts // 19. “I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me.” (in bold) word count: 1.7k summary: six months into their relationship, nora freaks out when she finds out nick is falling in love with her.

permission

nick’s hand brushed nora’s as they walked side-by-side toward his house. he held his fingers near hers and looked at her imploringly, making sure that she knew he was giving her permission while giving her the space to set boundaries.

nora smiled and closed the gap between their hands, intertwining her fingers with his and inching closer. the instant their hands were flush, a simmering warmth bloomed from their joined fingers up her arm and passed through her chest.

happiness. joy. peace.

even below the surface.

she was getting better at recognizing and reading the emotions of others without skin contact. eight months working for unity gave her the opportunity to hone her skills and she could read surface-level emotions from up to two feet away and read deeper, repressed emotions with prolonged touching. she was reluctant at first, but rosy and adsila had demanded insisted that she be trained properly lest it distract her on the job.

throwing open the floodgates to all the emotions around her had been excruciatingly overwhelming. nick had ended up being a supportive presence throughout it all, helping her learn how to narrow her focus and practice differentiating between her emotions and his. they set boundaries, but he offered to be a lifeboat whenever she felt like she was drowning.

it still took her a long time to be convinced that he wanted something serious with her – that his playboy days were over.

he yanked her gently out of her reverie by pulling her close, his other hand coming up to her waist to hold her against him.

“what are you doing?” she asked, a laugh escaping her as she brought a hand to his chest and looked up at him.

“i’m just happy,” he said, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. “permission to kiss you?”

she nodded and nick leaned in to capture her lips with his.

nora didn’t think she’d ever get tired of the way nick kissed. each time was unique – sometimes soft and featherlight that made her want to chase, and other times so deep and consuming that she wanted to drown.

and these were perfectly in-between. his soft lips pressed lightly against hers in rapid succession, the pressure deepening incrementally once she matched his tempo in return. she started to smile into the kiss as she felt his hand tighten at her waist.

after a few moments, nick pulled back slightly to rest his forehead against hers. she could feel his emotions pulsing under her hands, a warm leggero of affection, happiness, and lo—no. not that.

anything but that.

panic started rising in her throat and she clenched her fingers where they rested on his chest, scrunching the fabric of his shirt. she needed to stop him from saying it anytime soon. it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but she had gotten comfortable with the idea that he’d never fall in love with her.

love came in a package deal with hurt and she refused to subscribe.

she didn’t need her powers to recognize that she was starting to spiral inwardly. but then she noticed that nick hadn’t moved or said anything.

maybe she was in the clear. she started to let out the breath she was holding, relief beginning to settle into her lungs.

“i think i’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me,” nick said quietly.

her body froze, the breath in her lungs trapping the relief that had started to seep in before, holding it hostage against her ribcage. she didn’t know how to process what he just said so she pulled her head back to look at him.

nora blinked rapidly to keep the tears in her eyes at bay. “i can’t—i mean, we can’t—”

“hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” nick murmured, trying to pull her back into his arms. “i’m not expecting you to say you feel the same.”

she took a deep breath and forced herself to look up at him, pushing his arms away from her. the goosebumps on her arms punctuated how much she already missed his warmth. his eyes swirled with hurt, and she could feel his confusion.

“no, you don’t understand, nick. you can’t fall in love with me. i’m not—” she bit her lip. “i’m not someone who can love you the way you deserve. i’m sorry.”

nora turned and walked away as briskly as she could, wiping away the stray tears that slipped down her face. she headed toward the nearest metro station, digging around in her purse for her card. her fingers brushed against the off-brand kirby trinket hanging off her keychain and she pulled it out to look at it.

the features on the trinket did not look anything like the famous video game character. its eyes were too far apart, and its smile was definitely creepy. but nick found it hilarious and insisted on pretending it was kirby, attaching it to her keychain and checking for weeks afterward to make sure she kept it.

it was from one of their first dates and possibly, her favorite – he absolutely surprised her by not taking her to some fancy restaurant. and when she tried to call him out for the lack of originality in a navy pier date (since anyone who’s grown up in and lived in chicago for some time has been to navy pier at least a half dozen times), he simply responded that he wanted to show her more of who he was outside of being a ment and ucrt’s leader.

it was the most fun she’d had in a long time – and seeing nick genuinely enjoy himself brought out a side to her that she had long forgotten about. the side of her that wanted to let loose and be child-like for once. it helped that his ment abilities were useless against rigged carnival games – the great equalizer, she had teased him at the time as he tried (and failed) to win her a big prize.

off-brand kirby was the consolation prize and a perfect reminder of that night.

nick made her want to bring down her carefully and rigidly designed walls that she clung to after her dad abandoned her family. she had grown too comfortable behind the walls – they protected her time and again from getting hurt. after all, if she didn’t let anyone in, then they couldn’t leave her behind.

but she didn’t consider the fact that nick willingly let her in, and she may have just done more damage to him than he deserved by leaving things the way she did.

she clutched the keychain in her hand and walked right back to his house. she knew that he’d see her coming, but she still hoped that he’d answer the door. she steeled her nerves and knocked with three, quick raps on the door, nearly tapping nick’s chest as the door swung open after her third knock.

“what do you want?” nora cringed at the harsh tone of nick’s voice.

“you don’t have to forgive me. but you deserve an explanation,” she replied, fiddling with the keychain.

nick just stared at her for what felt like minutes, eyes darting to the keychain in her hands and back up to her face. nora wondered if she should just walk away. maybe it was too late to explain. after a few awkward moments, he turned and walked back toward the living room, leaving the door open.

nora took a deep breath and followed him, closing the door behind her and joining him on the opposite end of the couch.

“please know that the way i reacted didn’t have anything to do with you. i have a lot of baggage and you deserve to be with someone who doesn’t scare you. someone who is worth it in the end.”

“you don’t scare me, nora,” nick said quietly.

“but you said being in love with me scares you?”

“i’ve never been in love before. and i’m scared you’ll decide one day you need someone more mature or interesting or—” he took a deep breath. “i’m just so goddamn happy with you that i don’t want to lose that.”

the distance between them felt stifling. nora couldn’t read him beyond surface-level from this distance but it didn’t matter, the hurt and longing in his eyes said everything. she wanted to reach out to him so badly that her chest ached. but his arms remained folded over his chest, a visible signal that she needed to stay where she was.

he wasn’t giving her permission to come closer.

tears welled in nora’s eyes. “i’m terrified of losing you, nick. you run headfirst into dangerous situations and have this—this self-sacrificing nature that might get you killed one day. and then you’d be another person who’s left me behind.”

her voice dropped to a whisper as she stood up to leave. “i can’t go through that again. i’m sorry.”

nick finally looked up and made eye contact with her as he stood from the couch. “i won’t leave you and i’ll be more careful, i promise. i don’t want to lose you.”

he held out his arms toward her, eyes vulnerable and open. “permission to fall in love with you, nori?”

she almost chuckled at the nickname, reminiscent of a date night where they dissolved into giggles while attempting to make sushi. her heart leapt toward him before her body could react, but she followed the instinct and moved into his arms. she nodded against his forehead resting on hers, his arms wrapping around her lower back.

“only if you give me permission too, nicky,” she said softly, daring herself to look into his eyes.

she can tell he’s trying hard to be serious and not break out into an ear-to-ear grin, but a smile escaped him anyway. “yes, please.”

from these dialogue prompts (always accepting)

* * * * * taglist: @pearlsandsteel; @anotherbeingsworld; @sosolenoo; @mevnraels; @wayhavenots; (if you don’t want to be tagged for nick x oc, let me know!)

[ahumansvoid]

Construction

Go read The Plan to fully understand this (and the Interviews AU to understand that.)

It’s really just a little ficlet following Obi-wan’s brother Owen and Ronan and the start of the construction on the Clone Village on Stewjon.

Also, I think I’m incapable of writing romance.

Characters:  Owen - OC, Ronan -OC, unnamed OCs

Words:  2360~

Warnings: None I can think of.

Notes: I mentioned in the Plan that the Stewjon Royal family has ruling names (which the twins share). You can probably get them from context, but just to be clear, list!

Ivy & Illia -> Amara

Ronan & Ryszard -> Audric

Owen -> Alai

Story under the cut

Ronan and Owen had figured out a good place for a village of 3 million, and had set out with the royal construction crew to start building.

While there, Ronan and Owen couldn’t do more than stand around and occasionally give orders. Royal Attire was not suited for construction. And neither prince could stip out of any of the layers. That’d be improper. And they’d be indecent. According to Kierce at least.

Also, according to Kierce, if Kierce has to suffer through wearing 100 pounds of clothing, every other royal has to too.

‘He’s such an asshole.’ Owen thought privately. He’d never say it. Not in front of other people at least. Definitely to Kierce’s face in private.

“I’m… going to go see if the Deldri will kidnap me.” Ronan says, walking off towards the forest. Owen, doesn’t really care. He’s pretty sure the two of them were sent off purely so Kierce didn’t have to deal with them. So if Owen doesn’t have to deal with Ronan, well, he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“What’re you constructing over here?” Owen turns to face the newcomer, a physically dominating man, who gave off a vibe indicating he wouldn’t hurt a bunny. 

“A new village.” Owen states with the bored monotone any Royal in makeup was supposed to use. He gets not showing emotion. He also thinks it’s stupid. And has said so many times.

“Oh? Why?”

Well, Kierce didn’t say he couldn’t tell anyone. “New immigrants. Three million of them.”

The newcomer whistles, “They all passed the immigrant test?” Owen fought a smile. Immigration to Stewjon was easy, on paper. The test was easy, the qualifications were easy, the only hard part was the physical test people were put through. To see if they’d be on level with Stewjoni people. About 1% passed. If that.

“They’re Mandalorians.” Technically, at least.

“Oh? There are three million Mandalorians out there?” Owen is really glad he’s been trained to not react to the most ridiculous of situations, because he really wants to laugh. It’s not funny, but it is. 

“They’re all identical.”  Now, Owen could get into trouble for telling citizens about taking in the clones. But, Kierce would tell them anyways.

“Really?” The man draws, before walking away.

Owen should probably tell Kierce word would spread about the Clones. Owen hears a low rumble and looks up. Rain. ’A storm’ he realizes. Great.

“A storm is rolling in!” Owen calls to the workers, who all stop and look up to verify his words. Or just on instinct. “You do not have to keep working if you do not wish to.” The workers look to eachother before continuing with their work. The message clear, they were not going to stop working because of a little rain and EM. Fair enough. Owen heads to their transport and grabs an umbrella, opening it up and holding it overhead before returning to his previous position. The makeup wasn’t water-soluble, but most people don’t know that and he’d prefer to not be soaking wet when wearing a hundred pounds of clothing. That’s just impractical. Well. Everything about them was impractical. But getting them wet was doubly so.

The rain was just getting started, a low drizzle, when the man returns. Owen doesn’t greet him, if he wishes to speak he will.

“Your workers need any help?”

“They shouldn’t. But you are welcome to ask them. However, if you assist it will be volunteer work. You will not be paid.” They weren’t given a timeline on how soon the houses would need to be finished, but the Royal Construction Crew should be able to get it done by themselves within eight months, barring any extenuating circumstances that’d make their jobs harder.

The man laughs and slaps Owen on the back, causing him to lurch forward minutely as he hadn’t been expecting it. “Buy me a drink and you can call me Toots.” The man says and moves to talk to the Foreman of the Construction Crew. Leaving Owen very confused.

What. The. Fuck?

The only part of his confusion visible would be his blinking, as he was keeping his face as neutral as possible. Because that. That made no sense.

How does someone get that from Owen telling them to talk to the construction crew and he wouldn’t be paid? 

To reiterate. What the fuck?

Owen was so confused, he didn’t notice Ronan had returned, until he was standing right next to Owen, a Deldri umbrella held above his head.

“How’s construction going?” Ronan asks, sounding bored and monotone. As he should.

“Fine.” Owen might not have been as bored and monotone as he should have been. He was really confused.

Ronan looks over, and down because he just had to be taller than Owen, “Are you okay?” 

Owen didn’t answer until the man left the area, heading back into the nearby village. “No. That man confuses me.”

“He offered to help?” 

“No. Well, he did but that’s not confusing,” that was just typical of Stewjoni people really, “He said ‘Buy me a drink and you can call me Toots,’ after I told him that if he helped he’d be a volunteer and not paid.” Now, having been raised to not react to things, Owen could identify when his family was holding back a reaction. The reaction Ronan was holding back right now? Laughter. The fucker. He wasn’t even doing a good job! His shoulders were shaking and his mouth kept twitching up into a smile. “Cover your mouth if you’re going to fail at keeping your face neutral.” Owen scolds, and Ronan does as he says, covering his mouth.

By the time Ronan has his face under control, the man and a few dozen other people have returned, all going to help the construction crew. “Alai, I believe what you encountered, is flirting.” Ronan put the barest of inflection on ‘flirting’ but he did.

The arsehole. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Y- Aren’t you supposed to be the mature one?” Owen really wanted to laugh, Ronan barely managed to make that sound monotone.

“Says who.”

“You’re five years older.”

“Age means nothing.” It really doesn’t. Ace was by far the least mature of them all and he was the second eldest.

“Mm, Amara.” Which was also a good point. Illia was wonderful. Ivy would drop kick someone off the roof without any prompting.

“Yes. Age truly means nothing. And that was not flirting.”

“It was.”

“Flirting is refined.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Audric.”

Ronan gets the message through the Monotone and says something other than ‘no’.“Normal people flirting is not refined. It’s offering someone a drink and calling them toots.”

“If anything, that was a sex invitation.” For some reason, Ronan was trying not to laugh again. He was succeeding far better now, but his shoulders were still shaking slightly.

“Probably. But a,” Ronan clears his throat, “sex invitation is still flirting.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Do you really want to start that again?”

“No.”

“It was flirting. Now you can either go buy him a drink or say no.”

“You cannot honestly think I’d buy him a drink. It goes against everything we’ve been taught. Every protocol.” Owen was keeping his voice as monotone and bored as possible, putting the barest of inflection on certain words. No matter how much he wanted to go for a drink, it was not the way.

Ronan scoffs, barely, before speaking, “Like you’ve never fucked someone in Royal robes.” Owen looked to his brother, looked him up and down, and took a step away.

“You had those dry cleaned after, right?”

Ronan rolls his eyes, and ‘Wow, isn’t he breaking rules today?’Owen thinks blithely. “I did not have sex in the robes. I flirted in them and had sex out of them. There’s no harm in it.”

“There’s a lot of harm in it. And I’m telling Atlas when we get back so he can lecture you on it. Just because dad’s dead doesn’t mean you can escape lectures on propriety.” 

“You’re a terrible brother.”

“Yes.”

The delve into silence for a while, watching their people work as rain poured. Owen turned his attention to the EM rods that kept them safe. They did nothing for their electronics, they didn’t even stop the EM from reaching the people, but they kept the Gravopir from attacking the people in the settlements. And during a storm they looked so pretty. Electricity dancing from one pole to the other. Kierce had tried to explain how they worked to him once, Owen couldn’t really bring himself to care. 

“You could ask him to a drink out of the royal robes.” Ronan suggests, breaking their nice silence.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re still thinking about him.”

“And how would you know that?” Owen wasn’t. He was looking at the EM rods. Which were not anywhere near that man. He was on the ground shirtless working on the bones of a house. Looking stupidly hot and wet and-

Oh.

“Because you are looking as far from him as possible. Despite the EM rods by him giving a far prettier show than the ones you’re looking at.” 

Which. Wasn’t incorrect. The ones by the man were prettier. 

“I don’t even know him.” He doesn’t! He is enamoured purely based on the man’s physique. It’s a wonderful physique but still. That’s not right.

“That’s what the drink is for.”

“I wouldn’t know where he would be for a drink.”

“Velvet Grass on Mirkrow. That’s where almost everyone here hangs out.” That. That gives Owen pause. He slowly turns to look at Ronan.

“How do you know that?”

“... Look I hang out in some places. And I’m not saying anymore until I can run away.”

“Okay.” Owen wouldn’t push. Not now.

“Do we really need to oversee construction? This seems pointless.” Owen agreed. They weren’t really doing anything.

But, “It’s about propriety. Or something. Atlas wants us overseeing.” Owen almost sighed. But he didn’t. Them being here really was pointless. Neither made anymore comments as the Foreman came over.

“I don’t want to disagree with the King, but you two don’t have to stay out here. You’re more likely to get a cold than us, given your clothing.” 

Which, was not how colds work. But it was a nice offer. And before Owen could decline as they were to, Ronan accepted it, “Thank you, Foreman Jenning. We’ll return to the Palace.” 

Fucker. Owen didn’t let his displeasure be known until the Foreman had left and Ronan was half dragging him to their horses. “Atlas-”

“It is wet. We are wearing a ridiculous amount of clothing. I want to get dry and warm.” Which were all fair points, and Ronan was already on his horse. Owen sighs and mounts his own. 

“You’re explaining everything to Atlas.”

“Fine.”

----

Atlas had been moderately unhappy. He was more unhappy they had ridden home in a storm than leaving the construction early.  Then he became annoyed and royally pissed when Owen told him about Ronan flirting and having sex as a public prince. And then Ronan told on Ryszard having sex in the robes which had led to those two being dragged off for a propriety lecture.And Bard calling Ronan a traitor. And Ronan calling Bard an oversharer.

After that, Owen had returned to his own room and pulled off his many layers and gotten half dressed in sleep wear when someone knocked on his door. He glanced through the peephole to see it was Ace, and let him and surprisingly Illia and Ivy into his room.

“Can I help you?”

“Ronan said you were going on a date.” Ivy states, sitting down on his bed.

“I’m not.” And even if he was it didn’t explain the girls being in his room. Ace? Sure, he gets way too involved in everyone’s love lives. Ivy? She doesn’t have a romantic bone in her body. Illia? Romantic, but honestly doesn’t care about their love lives.

“Ronan said a guy asked you out to drinks.” Ace states, going through Owen’s closet. Which was not good.

“He said ‘Buy me a drink and you can call me toots.’” Owen informs, sighing as Illia starts removing his makeup. “Why are you involved in this?”

“Ace asked nicely. And Ivy is going with you.” Which meant Illia got some peace and Owen would be responsible for making sure she didn’t kill anyone. Valid reason for Illia to be helping out.

“Of course.” Owen mutters as Illia finishes up removing the heavy make up. 

“Put these on.” Ace says, thrusting a couple articles of clothing into Owens arms.

“This isn’t a date.” Owen protests, but starts getting dressed. Everyone here had seen him naked, and they invaded his room. If they don’t like it, they could leave. They didn’t.

“It’s drinks. At the very least, you can relax.” Ace states, before shaking his head and going back into Owen’s closet.  He pulls out a new shirt and hands it over, “Switch.” Owen does and hands the old shirt back to Ace who nods. 

Owen looks at himself in the mirror and sighs. He looks so… not himself. He didn’t even know he owned these clothes. Everything he wore was normally so layered. To have something so thin and fitted was, weird. Illia comes up behind him and starts to comb through his hair, slowly turning it brown with every run through. Eventually, his ginger hair was brown, with a reddish tint in some places.

Ivy gets off his bed and stretches, “Alright! To the Velvet Grass Pub on Mirkrow!”

Owen pulls on a pair of boots Ace hands him. Not his royal ones. And follows Ivy out a servant’s entrance that wasn’t actually a servant’s entrance as the servants didn’t have access to it. Owen sighs, this was a bad idea. But he really can’t argue with his older siblings. He’s tried. It fails 100% of the time.

So, awkwardly getting drunk and keeping Ivy from getting into fights it is.

What a fun way to spend the night.

[themauvesoul]

Day 4: ambush

thanks to @oc-growth-and-development for the prompts!!!

context: yall already know.  These r all taking place in a gay retelling of the athena and pallas myth etc. etc.  This one in particular takes place right after athena goes down to the underworld and literally carries pallas out.  athena is the “i” and pallas is the “you”!!

I did not expect to recognize the surface, when we first stumbled back under the sun.  We walked beneath the earth so long the time above felt like a half-forgotten dream. But this grass, this river and its aura of quiet dread is intimately familiar to me.  This is the Acheron, the river of pain and woe.  It is one of the six great rivers of the Underworld, and crests above the earth in a handful of places.  We are near Ephyra, I think.  I passed this way, when I journeyed below the earth to beg Hades for your soul.  

You said we were going to return to your father’s lake, but I do not know how we will get there.  It is across the sea, and we have no ship, or means to secure passage.  And by land… We will have to go north, through Thrace, and walk the shore of the sea; as far east as Egypt, then back again, once we have crossed the Nile.  It will be a journey that spans years.

Were I in possession of my full glory, I could have us there in a blink.  But my strength has already waned.  Before, when I was one of the great gods, a broken bone healed in an hour.  But I have bargained away that power, and I still cannot walk.  It has been days, and yet the pain in my foot lingers, the way it does for mortal men.     

It is not surprising, when we are beset upon the road. Piracy is tradition in this place, and banditry its landward cousin.  We are easy marks; you support me as I walk, my arm across your shoulders and your hand pressed tight to my ribs.  It was only a matter of time before we ran into something like this, but my stomach still drops when we round a bend and find it blocked by a half-dozen men.  

One steps forwards.  He is slightly better dressed than his counterparts; instead of a spear, he carries the sword and shield of a hoplite.  A deserter from some petty squabble, then.  The cities of Greece have fought one another as long as there have been cities.  He squints at us for a handful of moments.  Assessing how much wealth we have, I am sure.  “Well,” he says, ”No valuables to be seen, but you look healthy enough, and kings always need more labor.  I am sure you will fetch us a decent price in Aetolia.”

“Athena,” you whisper, leant in close so no one else will hear. “Do something!”

“I—”  My godhood has gone from me, but I try.  I reach for the divine part of me, but it slips from my grasp like iridescent soap-lather. “I cannot.”

“Why not?”  The men are moving closer.  More are behind us; a dozen remain half-hidden in the trees.  Their spears are old, their bows rough and shoddy, but then, it will not take much to kill you.  Perhaps they will kill me as well.  Can a god die, in this diminished state?

I laugh, low and dark.  “Do you not remember?  I bargained it away.”  Foolish of me, to think that fate could be kind.  I have paid my uncle, but I have yet to pay the Fates.  This will be their punishment, I think.  Knowing that you live, but will live to be a slave.

“I suppose it falls to me then,” you whisper, and then raise your voice to address the man with the sword and shield.  “At least give me a spear, if you mean to take us by force.  Or are you a coward?”

“A clever manipulation.  You mean to challenge my standing with my men, yes?  Force me to give you a spear, afraid my men will turn upon me if I do not?  Unfortunately, I have heard it many times before.”  He whistles, then.  I pull arm from where it lay across your shoulders, and shift myself into a fighting stance.  It is agony, standing on broken bones, but I do not mind the pain.  It is familiar, after the long trek up those dark and narrow stairs.  

You sigh and square your shoulders.  When the first man moves towards you, you do not hesitate.  When he thrusts his spear, you sidestep and rip it from his hands.  It is easy, after that.  You have danced with gods and won more than you have lost.

I do not have to do anything at all.  No one can touch me; you are too fast, too ruthless.  I feel like Patroclus, when he ventured forth beside Achilles.  Every time someone reaches for me, you are there.  Every time I move to fight, the man I move to slumps over dead before I am close.  

When it is done, you look like a monster, drenched in arterial spray.  I stare up at you, bloodied savior, and I wonder.  When did I forget what you were?  We always matched one another, beat for beat, blow for blow.  I have spent so long decrying my own viciousness, claiming every sort of darkness for my own, but you were not a perfect thing either.  I may be vicious, but then, you are too.  It is—it was part of why I began to love you.

[likesomekindofcheese]

I Put A Spell On You- Roger Taylor x fem! OC

A/N: Hello @benders-diamond-earring​ ! It is I!!! Your Secret Santa revealed!!!

This is my HalloQueen gift (plus a smol moodoboard!) for @dtfrogertaylor​ Halloween celebration. It is a gift for @benders-diamond-earring​ AKA Cora! In her honor, I’ve made Cora my muse and namesake for the OC. Read and enjoy Cora (and everyone!)

Words: 3245

Some angst and lots of fluff!

Context: Cora is in love with her friend Roger, but he’s constantly flirting with other girls and totes not interested or is he??????? So Cora enlists some...supernatural help.

London, 1976

“I’m a freelance, love, I don’t do cheap. But there’s a two-for-one sale with potions so pick what you want.” The witch explained over her counter.

Cora scowled a little at the prices, then shrugged. Witch shops of high quality took effort to find, even in a big city.  

It was a medieval building with a low ceiling and grey stone walls held up by wooden beams. Books and potion bottled filled up the bookshelves. A black cat hopped up to the small table full of cauldrons and bowls of snake skins. It eyed her carefully, still as a statue. Several larger cauldrons bubbled in each corner as if someone was boiling water for four pots of tea.

Mentally blocking the price tags of the potion jars, she studied the labels of each potion bottle she saw. If she was going to go through with this, she had to find the perfect one.

What other choice did she have at this point?

Just the other night at that bar she noticed how Roger was flirting with what seemed any gorgeous woman clicking by in heels and swinging purses by their side. Not that he didn’t have a knack for it. But it felt different that night.  

They laughed intensely. They batted their eyes and hooked onto him like koala cubs. It was just a simple band gathering. Cora could have talked to one of the other members or do some flirting of her own. But envy shut her throat tight. She clutched onto her glass, gulping it down and ordering another. Just wanting to forget.

Only she hadn’t forgotten at all.

If she didn’t act, at least one girl would stay for longer than just one drink. That girl had to be her. No matter what means.

“Are your potions…effective?” Cora asked. Peering into a cauldron of green stuff, she almost heard a voice singing from it.

A bit of Cora’s ashy blonde hair got a little too close to some purple liquid bubbling on a shelf under a little heater and the witch bolted from her counter to brush the strand out of the way.

“It’s magic, love, of course it’s effective. Everything you read on there will happen. But be cautious, it will happen!” the witch boasted. She gestured with long, pale hands with soft, clean nails.

Cora squinted at the witch as she walked back to the counter. She had black hair cut into a pageboy bob and brown eyes. She was older than Cora, but not too much older from the light in her eyes and lightness of her steps. If the flowy, black, maxi dress she was wearing was a different color, one would mistake her for a hippy.

None of the potions on the counters were exactly what Cora needed. She let out a little huff and drove straight to it.

“Where are the love potions?” she asked, her eyes directly into the witches.

“I thought so! That’s what at least a hundred girls come in for!” the witch giggled. She pulled open a squeaking door from behind her counter.

“Well, now it’s a hundred and one,” Cora replied.

She rolled her ball into fists and curled her toe impatiently. She just wanted to be in and out as soon as possible. Especially if someone noticed.

The witch turned under the counter and brought out a small pink jar. One might think strawberry flavored tea was inside it.

“If you whisper the name into the jar and press it to your heart and then have the person take a sip of it, they will kiss the ground you walk on. I hear it tastes like lemonade. More than you can say for some of the others.” she explained with a wink.

“That’s perfect! I’ll have that” Cora answered. She grabbed the jar and cradled it on the crook of her arm.

The witch looked around at the other jars along with her shop lining up on bookshelves.

“Alright, want to pick another one?” she offered with a winning smile. “Buy one, get one, you know.”

Hesitantly, Cora looked at each one. There was another jar that was in a rather large bottle with a long neck and glowed like honey. Its liquid was the color of honey, too, and ran like water when she swirled it around. It had one mere word in cursive, purple ink on its label.

“Confidence” Cora read softly.

She dropped the love potion on the counter and moved the confidence potion next to it.

“I’ll take that one too, please!” Cora insisted.

“I hope you like the smell of cinnamon, it’ll waft up the place” the witch added with a small nod.

She began to add up the price and tax on feather pen on a sheet of crinkly paper.

“I must warn you. My love spells are powerful but…they are just a spell, at the end of the day. Not a real feeling. It’s like you’re giving your victim lines to read and play, but it’s just the spell talking.” She warned grimly as she handed over the sheet with the price.”

“Thanks for your concern, but I’ve made my decision,” Cora answered, looking into the witch’s eyes.

“Fifty pounds, then.”

 Cora shuffled through to her little flat. It was small, with yellow walls and a red, raggedy carpet. She saw her flatmates gathered around the television engrossed in a comedy with its garish colors and ghostly laughter. She prayed they would be too hypnotized to crave a snack.

She tiptoed over to the kitchen and dropped her heavy brown paper bag on the counter facing as far away from the hubbub as possible. Immediately she lifted the pink jar and set it down with a clump.  

Cora unscrewed the top quietly, clutching it in her free hand. She bent down, inhaled it’s maple tinted perfume and whispered the softest, tenderest, most desperate whisper of a name into the jar. She quickly reattached the lid as if she had opened a firing canon. She hugged it tightly to her racing heart for almost a minute,

What was she even doing? Was this a mistake?

Well, too late to go back now. I’ve started this and I’ll finish it!

She almost wanted to kiss the top for luck. Shaking her head from such an adolescent idea, she pushed the potion aside and crept to the black telephone on the wall. She made some calls to her intended victim and his friends. It would be on the Friday before Halloween and she wanted to have a little get-together for the holiday. Her flatmates would be out of town or out. Of course, drinking would welcome.

She put the love potion on the fridge and pushed the confidence potion to the corner of the counter to hide it among the other jam jars and beer bottles.

Deaky arrived first, as usual, with Freddie and Brian rushing after. Cora stuffed her gripping fists into her pocket to pull off an air of a relaxed hostess. Until there were five unmistakable knocks on the door and she nearly leaped into the ceiling.

Roger arrived last, dressed in his denim blue jacket and his blonde hair a little windswept.

“Cora, love! How are you! Not too late, am I? The tube took it’s bloody time!” he greeted with a small hug.

Cora laughed a little and shook her head once he started to release.

“Oh no, we just started- make yourself at home!” she said.

She could still feel his arms around her still pressed lightly on her arm like that of a ghost once he let go.

Roger strutted over to the couch and plopped himself down on the couch next to Freddie. The two began talking about some ridiculous fashion choices the neighbor had made and were cackling.

With a friend like Cora, the band always felt like it was a tiny haven. No press. No managers. No pressure to top. Only relaxation and each other.

“God, I’m starving! Can I help myself?” he asked Cora. She nodded her yellow head.

Brian wandered to the kitchen, filled with pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies on platters. He smiled- not the usual “Skull” meatballs on platters like the typical Halloween party he had been invited to. He helped himself to one and opened the fridge for drinks.

Of course, the good stuff was on the very bottom. Near his calves.

“All the beers are at my feet! I swear, Cora, you’re a pixie!” he complained, crouching down.

“My flat, my rules!” Cora retorted from the corner of the kitchen. She kept one eye on the top of the fridge, just in case.  

Brian closed his eyes, shot up his eyebrows in admittance of defeat, and nodded his head. He did not see the pink jar or if he did he wasn’t interested. He got the chilled wine and set it on the table, near the other cookies, caramel apples, and orange buckets of popcorn.

The television buzzed with noise as Deaky fiddled with the knobs, flipping through channels. The knobs were so small his mammoth-sized hands almost crushed them.

“There has to be some Halloween program somewhere” he muttered.

Roger meanwhile stretched out his legs and looked up at the decorations of orange streamers hanging from the ceiling. His sapphire eyes turned to the beige walls where black cats curled over pumpkins with triangle eyes and toothy grins. The small balcony of the place had glass windows looking out to London amid another dark, autumnal evening. White paper ghosts with pointy hands and small, delicate facial features roamed over the glass, held on by tape. Far too detailed to be any of the dime-a-dozen plastic cats and witches at shops.

“Those are gorgeous!” Roger praised, his head turning to Cora.

Cora sucked in a bit of breath and wiped her sweaty hands.

“D’you make these?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I did, she asked me to” Freddie burst in.

He had already grabbed a bottle of the cheap champagne from the kitchen that had been out for him and a black ceramic cat with a witch’s hat. He set the bottle down on the coffee table and waltzed back to the kitchen for five glasses, the ceramic cat still under his arm.

Cora’s eyes darted back to the fridge. They had to stop doing this if her blood pressure would last the night. The pink jar was still untouched.

“Don’t you know my designs by now, Rog?” he said. He stroked the cats back as if it was real fur.

“Shut up!” Rog teased with a little pout.

Cora snuck a look and bit of a smile.

“Or shut in!” she added, throwing an in-joke.

Roger looked at her with gleaming eyes. Since she learned about the infamous cupboard incident, she labeled him a shut-in. He hated it at first, but it grew on him secretly. Now he allowed relentless teasings from Cora.

“You shut in!” he added. The others just stared blankly until it stopped.

Deaky kept turning until he found a channel showing the original Dracula film right as it was starting. Freddie practically hopped in his seat and begged him to let them watch it and Deaky relented, laying on the floor and watching.

The black and white movie continued and the three began their commentary over it. Brian was discussing how the crew pulled off the effects, and how the script compared with the book. Freddie was cooing over the capes and how amazing Bella Lugosi was. Roger was busy telling the victims in the box that they were obviously with a vampire and should flee instead of conversing with him “like dumb gits!”. Deaky quietly watched, mesmerized. Cora was secretly wishing it was something a little more current. And scarier.

“Is there any whiskey to drink? I want something strong” he asked Cora.  

“Let me make you some whiskey with lemonade!” Cora insisted. Her pulse was starting to pick up as she eyed the potion on top of her fridge and smiled as it still seemed invisible to everyone else.

“A bit too sweet for my taste, but it’ll do!” Roger said, giving her a smile that could have melted a glacier.

She shot up and walked to the kitchen. As Cora pulled out her stool stood on the top and reached for the jar her mind was half blank. It was when she got the glass from her cabinet that shivers hit her stomach.

This was it. One drink, one small drink, and all her fantasies would come alive. Roger would be at her heels. Glamourous dates, erotic midnights, and the warmth of his hands on her would all come true. He just had to take a sip.

She swallowed her fear and unscrewed the lid, ready to tip it over.

But she couldn’t pour it in.

One pour, one pour, a sip, and he’ll be all mine…and I’ll have a reason not to worry at night or cry…or feel angry inside when some girl or groupie hangs around him…

She tried again, but couldn’t pour it in. The witch’s words came again, clearly to her brain.

“I must warn you. My love spells are powerful but…they are just a spell, at the end of the day. Not a real feeling. It’s like you’re giving your victim lines to read and play, but it’s just the spell talking.”

She thought of him after the drink. Eyes glazed. Words that while romantic were severely robotic. She could practically feel his hands. But they weren’t warm. They were cold and tense as a stone.

She sighed and re-capped the bottle. She shoved the love potion to the back of the fridge with the leftovers.

“Flatmates drank it all, so how about Southern Comfort- I’ve smuggled it from them” she suggested. A plastic smile smudged her face and hurt her cheeks.

“Not a problem at all! I need to walk anyways” Roger answered, he hopped out of his seat to grab it himself.

Cora stopped him with her hand and retrieved a glass of Southern Comfort from inside the fridge’s back corner, pouring out two small glasses.

She watched the movie with them covering the commentary with sarcastic remarks and other light conversations while sipping drinks and eating. Close to the end of the film, she noticed Roger get up from his seat and walk over to the kitchen.

“I need another shot of that stuff…” he mumbled.

His shoes trotted over the kitchen floor and stopped right at the counter where the bottles stood.

“What’s it doing in the corner? Untouched? Whatever!” he commented, opening the bottle with a pop.

Cora’s memory jolted.

The confidence potion was still out.

And it looked exactly like the Southern Comfort bottle-glass, and all.

Cora got up and ran, but it was too late.

“Aw! Is it a new bottle for me, Cora? Hiding a gift, eh? Thank you!” Roger said as he swigged from the bottle in a millisecond before he could be stopped.

His face changed from pale to red to purple. Then he charged up at Fred, tackling him with open fists.

“MY SONG IS STRONG ENOUGH YOU BASTARD!!! FIGHT ME!!” he screamed.

Freddie’s boxing origins kicked in and he dodged each punch gracefully, preparing his fists for a jab-cross-hook at Roger’s chiseled jaw.

Brian and Roger at once fled over and began to protect Freddie and push Roger away. Cora pulled Roger back by the shoulders.

“Roger…Roger of course it is! You need some air, let’s go outside!” Cora demanded, practically dragging him there.

They went out to the balcony. Cars could barely be heard skimming the streets. More stars stretched over the sky, not threatened by the cities blaring, yellow lights.

“Roger, calm down!” she ordered.

Roger blinked at her for a moment.

“Cora, I’m calm…I’ve never felt this calm in ages!” he insisted. He began to lick his lips a little.

Cora cursed herself for immediately feeling woozy. Maybe it was the whiskey. She folded her arms and continued her reasoning.

“Roger, you love Fred more than anything and you know it! And the song’s already on the B-side…everything’s worked out” she insisted.

“Not everything” Roger answered. He sat down on the green, steel chair placed outside, cold with nothing but the constant chill around it.

“What do you mean?” Cora asked. She placed her hands on her hips to look even taller than him now.

 “You have everything you could ever want right now! Two years ago, you could barely afford beans and now you’re getting to be a rock star with hit songs, money, and girls at your feet.”

“Well, I don’t want those girls. They don’t matter if they aren’t you” Roger confessed, the cinnamon scent of the potion still wafting from his breath.

Cora felt as if she was dropped from the sky and plummeted to earth. She got dizzy and almost felt like she would teeter off the building but caught herself on the railing of the balcony.

“You’re joking!” she said.

“No, I’m not!”

“Did you have any of that pink stuff I had?”

“What pink stuff?” Roger asked.

He looked down, took a deep breath, and then took her hands. Cora felt them sweat slightly. He pulled her a little closer, so despite how short she was, she stood over his sitting frame. Roger looked up, his face soft with reverence and his eyes getting wide and his smile gentle.

“It’s that I just…I’m normally so nervous around you. I feel my heart picking up and I start sweating” he said quietly.

“What about those girls?”

“I used to devour them but lately… I like to use them as a warmup so I could be ready to ask you out sometime but…none of them were anything like you. They want my talent or that I’m a drummer in a band or something…they didn’t care about me…like you do” he said.

Winds picking up, the clouds above in the night sky moved further away. More stars dotted the sky like freckles on a face.

“But now, I feel…at peace. And I fancy you. And I’m not afraid anymore to say I fancy you...and…”

He bit his lower lip and Cora felt her body get hot.

“I always had a soft spot for blonde girls.” He added cheekily. Cora had to look down at the floor for a second to regain herself another time.

“There, I said it.” Roger finished, he tossed him arms and slumped back in the chair for a release.

She smiled coquettishly and went up to embrace him. He almost jumped from surprise. How could someone so strong, so radiantly beautiful, so brave, so confident, and awe-inspiring like obnoxious old him?

She sat on his lap from the hug and touched his face with both hands. Both of their eyes seemed to get a little misty.

“I fancy you too.” She answered. “I’ve fancied you for a while.”

“Do you…d’you wanna go out with me? Like, not as friends, but you know…”

“I will if you kiss me first!” Cora teased, biting her lip.

His lips were tender, and his breath had the sting of the southern comfort still on it, but it was a passionate kiss. One only witnessed by the stars in the sky.

That and three curious bandmates quietly staring through the glass. Brian cursed and slipped Deaky five pounds.

“Told you they’d be together” Deaky hissed.

[holocron-inthe-restrictedsection]

Okay it's a lot but: 1, 2, 11, 12, 13, and 19 for Lethaa and Naras? (Feel free to substitute/add any questions you'd like to answer!) 🌺💕

Yesssssss I was so excited to get this! Thanks, Mercedes! 💛

So, this got reeaaaally long and rambly. My bad. I just have a lot of thoughts about these two, and I’m excited to share. Click “keep reading” to see my response! 

(also, sorry if it formats weirdly - I copy-pasted from a word doc, and tumblr mobile doesn’t like that for some reason)

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Ask me questions about creating my OCs!

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 1.      What was the first element of your OC that you remember considering (name, appearance, backstory, etc.)? 

For Lethaa, it was her name and position. For Naras, it was the descriptor “the Togruta senator’s wife” 

They popped into my head at about the same time. I created them to be throwaway characters in a short story I wrote called “Shall We Dance” (I may someday go back to it and add a few chapters. No promises). There was some dialogue between Anakin and Obi-Wan about different controversial viewpoints in the Senate, and I just needed a senator or two to mention in passing. – 

“But these are some of the most outspoken public figures in the Republic. Take Senator Lethaa Daal.” [Obi-Wan] flashed a smile in the direction of the Togruta senator and her wife as they passed. The women returned the smile and made their way arm-in-arm into the grand hall. “She has been very scornful regarding the Senate’s tendency to dedicate resources to systems that are strategic to military movements, as opposed to who needs it most.” 

It might have ended there, but I received feedback from a few different readers saying how they appreciated the mention of Senator Daal’s wife. There seemed to be an interest, so I sat on the idea of them for a while. 

 2.      Did you design them with any other characters/OCs from their universe in mind? 

Since Lethaa was fully fleshed out first, I made Naras with Lethaa in mind. I knew I wanted her to have her own objectives and life – she couldn’t continue to just be “Lethaa’s wife”. So I tried to give her a profession that was critical in its own way, which is why I went with healing, so that their “importance” (for lack of a better word) was equal to each other.

I guess Lethaa was partially created in response the frustrating politics of the galactic senators. They all make their alliances, play the game to get the upper hand, all while gaining very little ground. I wanted to make a character that found the subtly of politics maddening, and wasn’t afraid to get in someone’s face and tell them exactly why their policies or views were dumb or harmful. I wanted to make someone who could be aggressive without calling into question their moral alignment. 

And while it’s not a character, I really really wanted to design or add to a culture that doesn’t get explored much in the Star Wars universe. I took what elements I could find about Togruta culture from Wookipedia, but it was rather lacking, so I made up the rest. I already loved Togruta designs, and wanted characters that could interact within their own culture.

 3.      How did you choose their name?  (Added this because it was Relevant)

If my memory is right, Lethaa Daal’s name came from combining a few names I found on the Togruta name generator (which I HIGHLY recommend btw). I decided to keep it after I finished her design because the first name reminded me of “lethal”, and by that point I knew that was a good descriptor of her. ‘Daal’ came about because I tend to put way too many A’s in my togruta names, and I was for some reason thinking about Roald Dahl at that time, but I also found that I liked how it could be mispronounced as “doll”. I was highly amused by the idea of a “lethal doll” – woe unto anyone who looked at Lethaa and only acknowledged her for her beauty.

Naras Tyn came about because lots of my female ocs tend to have names that end in A or E (IE/I/Y, etc), and I didn’t want to do it again. I wanted a short last name, and I just liked how “Tyn” sounded – it was concise and melodic. ‘Naras’ I think also came from the name generator. I remember being bummed when I realized it sounded so similar to Barriss and Maris (already existing characters), but by that time I was attached. Her first name just sounds calming, and it just sounded right imagining Lethaa calling for her.

 11.  Did you know what the OC’s sexuality would be at the time of their creation? 

       Heck yes I did. There really wasn’t any hesitation. The thought process went: Senator –> Togruta Senator –> female Togruta Senator –> has a spouse –> a wife, cuz why not. And that was that.

 12.   What have you found to be most difficult about creating art for your OC (any form of art: writing, drawing, edits, etc.)? 

       Everything.

Lol, jk. I mean, as much fun as I have with all the colors and markings of the two, my own drawing ability is kinda limited in terms of body positions. So some things I’d love to draw (Lethaa vs. the rancor, Naras on a medical mercy mission during the Clone Wars, etc.) are taking a long time for me to sketch out. It can be frustrating, but it’s a work in progress.

       And writing is hard too. The story ideas in my head play out as nice little movies. Getting it all down on paper while conveying emotion without overloading, describing setting, and making it engaging – that’s all trickier. 

But overall, the most difficult thing is trying to figure out what exactly I’m going to do! I have other OCs I want content for, and canon characters I want to explore – and then I have to decide between drawing and writing. There’s not enough hours in the day for me to draw and write everything I want, so I have to pick and choose.

 13.   How far past the canon events that take place in their world have you extended their story, if at all? 

       Still a work in progress. I jump from one event to the next without writing it in chronological order. I’ve started their story before the start of the Clone Wars, sometime between episodes I and II. Might write some earlier snippets about their childhoods (though they didn’t meet until they were adults).

I’ve got some ideas for what they do during the Empire era (some of which was influenced by one of the Star Wars D&D games I play), but I haven’t written any of that out yet. I do know they live to see the fall of the Empire, and the emergence of the New Republic. They pass away peacefully of old age on Shili.

 19. What is your favorite fact a fun fact about your OC?

I had to change this from “favorite” to “fun” because I like everything about them and I’m still developing them. So I thought I might drop a little trivia that I haven’t managed to work into any stories or art yet.

Lethaa was on a hunting trip with her father – Barin – and a few others in her twenties. After her cousin killed their prey, Barin asked her to prepare the meat for dinner. She did her best with it but waaaaaaay overcooked it, and when Barin asked about it, she said, “I… never actually learned how to cook meat.”

Bewildered, Barin said, “But we’ve been on dozens of hunting trips! How could I have never taught you??”

And Lethaa’s just like, “I was the one to kill the prey on most of those trips.”

And Barin and the others can’t help but laugh, because according to tradition, the one who kills the prey while hunting in a group is served the first piece, but never is the one to prepare it. So it makes complete sense that she never had to cook it, because she was always served the first dish. Her cousin actually liked his meat overdone, though, so he was perfectly fine with his meal.

Also, I just came up with this so I have no idea of the context, but there is a 100% chance that there was an instance or two where Lethaa – tall Amazonian though she is – couldn’t reach something. Unable to climb to retrieve it and without a stepstool, muttering darkly, she would disconnected her prosthetic arm and used it as an extender to pull it towards her.

 *

Naras can fall asleep anywhere. Even before she became a physician/healer, she had the uncanny ability to close her eyes and be asleep within minutes. Lying down, standing while braced against something, sitting, lounging between skyfaring silks (she’d gotten bored waiting for her Gatalentian friend to come back from the holocall he’d had to take). No nap is too short – she wakes feeling rested even if it’s only been five minutes. She wakes easily, fully alert.

 Naras sings and hums to her plants and patients. It’s not uncommon to walk into her clinic and hear her singing a folk song or a current hit. She definitely encourages sing-alongs anytime nervous children are brought in, and at night broadcasts spiritual songs important to Togruta culture over the PA system – at a very quiet volume, of course. Naras has a garden at home – a singfruit tree surrounded by flowers and bushes, some of which are not native to Shili – and the plants routinely get hummed and sung at as she tends to them. Lethaa loves waking up in the morning to hear her wife’s singing voice drifting in from an open window. 

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Thank you again so much for the ask!! This was a lot of fun!Also, I really do appreciate your interest in my OCs (especially these two). It means a lot to me 🌺🌷

[kikisfics]

New Fic: Chained in Servility

This is an off-schedule post, but I have my reasons for doing this. There’s one chapter in the Divide arc that touches on a few of the concepts and characters introduced in this fic. Without this context, much of that chapter is extremely confusing. This will not impact posting of the Divide arc. I’ll just be posting two updates on Fridays until both that and this are concluded.

Links: [AO3][FFN][Wattpad] Or read below the cut

Rating: T

Characters: Raven Branwen, Qrow Branwen, OCs

Content Warning(s): Implied/referenced child abuse in later chapters

Summary:

All your faith in ancient ways, Leaves you trapped inside a maze Chained in servility and made to see The world Without a way to see the truth

Preview:

It looks like the village of Shiro’s under attack from Grimm. Can’t say I’m surprised. The village had fallen on hard times over the past several active seasons, so the Grimm attack was inevitable. Even so, it didn’t stop a rock from dropping into the pit of her stomach.

We need to get over there as quickly as possible. It’ll be our last raid for the active season. Get down here now. She returned her father’s whistle with an affirmative response before she slashed her sword in the air and opened a portal below her. She dropped through and appeared next to Fallon, getting a curse of surprise from her brother. She just grinned at him and he swatted her upside the head, getting Fallon to clear his throat. Raven straightened up and nodded as she gathered the reins in her hands, pulling herself into the saddle. With a small click, Dena took off at a trot while she followed behind her father, Qrow to her right.

This is a quick but very special thank you to @timetravelingshark. They made a post about the Branwen tribe and its culture and they graciously allowed me to use it as the basis for my take on the tribe. There will be alterations and expansions since I do have my own ideas. Even so, I truly am grateful for the agreement!

The first couple of chapters will just be middling around to show some of the cultural concepts so the stuff with Beacon won’t be immediate. I’m a worldbuilder, so showing off this sort of stuff is what I love. Plus, if anybody reads anything else with Raven, this will give some pretty big insight as to why she acts the way she does. I hope y’all can bear with me while I plod around for a couple of chapters. Needless to say, since this is a coherent culture and not just “hurr we b thugz,” there will be little resembling canon here.

There will also be a lot to unpack due to how dense this is. You’ll be able to find a short glossary at the end of the chapter of some of the specific terms that’ll be used consistently.

There is a really lame action scene in here which I’ll apologise for now. I am terrible at them. I’m a character/worldbuilding writer, not an action one, so hopefully, those aspects will make up for it.

Also, things showcased in this fic and Die are not meant to excuse any of Raven’s canon actions; her behaviors are beyond problematic. These fics just drop hints to explain why she made the choices she did.

By the way, if you think you can figure out what I think Raven’s Semblance means symbolically in regards to her personality, feel free to give your thoughts in the comments.

Anyway, onto the fic!

Raven shielded her eyes with her hand, squinting a bit as she saw the smoke in the distance. The cold air carried the acrid scent to her throat and she shivered a bit before glancing at the ground, letting off a series of whistles.

It looks like the village of Shiro’s under attack from Grimm. Can’t say I’m surprised. The village had fallen on hard times over the past several active seasons, so the Grimm attack was inevitable. Even so, it didn’t stop a rock from dropping into the pit of her stomach.

We need to get over there as quickly as possible. It’ll be our last raid for the active season. Get down here now. She returned her father’s whistle with an affirmative response before she slashed her sword in the air and opened a portal below her. She dropped through and appeared next to Fallon, getting a curse of surprise from her brother. She just grinned at him and he swatted her upside the head, getting Fallon to clear his throat. Raven straightened up and nodded as she gathered the reins in her hands, pulling herself into the saddle. With a small click, Dena took off at a trot while she followed behind her father, Qrow to her right.

Silence hung over the combat party and Fallon nodded Raven to the left a little further and she sucked in a breath. Head of the rescue party. Third time this season. But she was glad her father was trusting her. With her now of age and as the next chief, she needed to take on more responsibility during the active seasons. She wasn’t about to let him down. Thankfully, she hadn’t screwed up yet…

She looked at her half of the party and they nodded while Fallon took the other half through the forest. The village was still a quarter hour’s ride away, so the raiding party had to be ready in case any Grimm were still in the area. Given how bad things had to be, she wouldn’t be surprised if the Nuckelavee had made its presence known. She could only shiver at the thought and sent a prayer skyward that the despair hadn’t been that bad. Even parties of eighty tribesmen had trouble with the hellish demon.

Over the next quarter hour, Raven maintained contact with her father through whistling and pulled in one last breath as she heard the sound of screams. Loud trumpets rang through the forest and she flinched, pulling her simple sword from its sheath. She turned toward the group and nodded. “Two Goliaths, probably around a hundred years old. It’ll be tough, but we can take them. The hunting party should arrive in twenty minutes or so.” SHe was thankful the two parties had split just a day prior. If she’d seen the smoke, then they would have too. THe last raid of the season would be too tempting to avoid.

“Robin, Luna, take your parties to the west. Finn and I will meet up with you on the eastern Goliath.” The two women and man nodded and she spurred Dena forward.

Two Goliaths raised in the village square. The distinct sound of dust cartridges rang in her ears and she smiled, relieved that a number of Hunters were in the area and like on the Grimms’ tails. She saw any number of bodies strewn around but she ignored it and squeezed Dena’s sides as she charged past the dozen Hunters and slid into the Goliath’s path.

The massive Grimm let out a trumpeting cry, shouts of confusion from the Hunters mingling with them. She ignored it and Finn wound the rope between the Goliath’s legs. Luna’s black mare narrowly missed clipping Dena, but Raven pulled out a moment later. The Goliath crashed to the ground, followed shortly by the second one.

She dismounted and joined the attacking parties, driving her sword into the massive Grimm until it dissipated into black smoke. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned to her tribemates, giving a warm smile and nod of approval. Goliaths were awful to take down, so the fact they’d managed two in tandem was nothing short of a miracle.

With that done, she turned her attention back to the ruined village. Her heart sank as the devastation finally hit her. The once-beautiful village lay in ruin and the majority of the townsfolk lay dead. Luna, Robin, and Finna gazed at her, making her steel herself. She was their leader; she’d have time for mourning later. “Luna, southeast quadrant. Finn, take the southwest. Robin, northwest. My party will take the northeast.” The party leaders nodded and headed for their respective areas.

It was hard to believe she’d been trading in the village marketplace just two active seasons ago. The tribe had sent some of their surplus crops to help try to ease the pestilence that had struck. She’d been there for the better part of the spring and summer, so she’d gotten to know the people well. She bit back tears as too many familiar faces stared back with glassy eyes. Yuri, Chiako, Kome, Ryo, Keita, Naoya, Kafu… They weren’t much older than her, yet she was about to give them their last rites…

She bowed her head and covered her mouth, letting a few tears escape. She fanned out the fingers on her free hand, placing it over each face she recognised. “May you soar free in the sky.” Unfortunately, this and the funeral were all she could do for her now-fallen friends.

A groan from a nearby rubble pile made Raven jump and she hurried over, starting to move the debris out of the way. She winced when she heard coughing and looked around. “Wren, help! There’s somebody trapped! I need your Semblance now!” The boy nodded and flicked a finger, the rubble shooting up into the air. Raven’s eyes widened when she saw Jia underneath, blood dribbling over her lip. Her leg stuck out at an odd angle, making Raven wince, but she settled next to the other girl who stare at her owlishly.

“R-Raven…? Y-You…c-came…” She coughed again and Raven squeezed her shoulder as she nodded.

“Yeah, I’m here, Jia. How badly are you hurt?” Her crimson eyes sparked as her friend leaned against her, coughing her lungs out. She didn’t need to know about her leg since that much was evident. It was the internal injuries that worried her.

“Not sure how much longer I’ll make it…” Raven’s heart froze. Oh ancestors no. She couldn’t lose her!

“I’ll get you back to the village; our healer can—” Jia coughed again and her whole body shuddered, her eyes fluttering. She was in severe shock and bleeding internally. She couldn’t just sit around any longer. She pulled the girl onto her back, ignoring the sharp intake of break as she grabbed her dagger and swung it through the air, focusing on her grandmother’s aura. The old woman’s head snapped up, eyes round, but she nodded. With that, Raven returned and set herself back to work.

By time the sun set, they’d sorted through the bodies and Raven bowed her head. Out of about a thousand people, only ten had survived. She’d had to run back to the village three other times with critical cases like Jia. She felt bad for draining so much of her grandmother’s dwindling magic, but they were strong warriors. If they stayed with the tribe, it’d be all the stronger for it. The dozen or so Hunters that had protected the town had already gone, leaving the Branwen tribe to clean up as usual.

Fallon looked to Raven and she nodded, stepping forward to the numerous pyres. Her lips trembled as she summoned forth the words she’d heard her father use numerous times before. “People of the world, we honor you tonight. Though you weren’t of the tribe, many of you fought and died bravely, trying to protect what you cared about so dearly. Your sacrifices still did little to stop the Grimm, but you fought with great heart and determination. In the name of our ancestors and your families, we send you to the sky. May this final rite soothe your spirits so they may soar free.”

She clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. Fires lit in the night and tossed onto the large pyres. She wrinkled her nose and held back the gag reflex. No matter how many times she’d experience this, she doubted the scent of burning flesh would ever settle with her. At the very least, the dead got their final rites…

Active season: Beings mid to late spring, lasts until mid fall. This is the time members of the tribe go out from their permanent village, broken into two parties: combat and trading.

The combat group tends to raid villages that have fallen or are falling to Grimm attacks. They don’t always see good seasons, so they often take out Grimm that are causing serious issues that Hunters would have trouble with. They’ll also raid villages if they are extremely low on supplies themselves, but this is a last resort. When not battling, they tend to gather resources like seasonal foods and meat from animals to eventually give to the trading group.

The trading group tends to spend more time among outsiders while actively trading for supplies. They get many from the combat group as they meet up every 4-8 weeks to exchange supplies. About half of this group tends to be dedicated specifically to acting as go betweens for any excess the permanent village has that they can trade and sell.

Inactive season: Beings mid fall and lasts until mid to late spring. The tribe lives nestled deep in the mountains of Anima which means snow is a huge issue. It’s just not worth risking leaving the village, so they cozy up and all stay there.

The tribe does know how the solar year works, but they tend to just tell time by the standard seasons and active/inactive seasons. They live a mostly simple agrarian lifestyle with some aspects of hunter/gatherer, so they don’t feel the need to use specific months and days.

Also the whistling! For those of you that don’t know, whistle languages are a real thing that exist. They’re just generally isolated in mountainous regions. The languages also have to be tonal for it to work (something like Chinese). If you want to see an example, just put “piraha whistle” into YouTube. I find them fascinating and love them, hehe.

[pagesoflauren]

Without You (Fionn Whitehead x OC) - Chapter 3 “Red Roses”

Summary: Arlene sees Fionn off at the train station and Fionn isn’t great with names.

Previous Chapter Masterlist

Song Inspo: “Red Roses” by AJ Rafael

After breakfast, I piled into the car with Fionn and his family, Fionn “graciously” giving me the window seat. We pulled into the train station and unloaded his luggage, him slinging his backpack onto his shoulders as we walked.

As we waited on the platform for his train to arrive, I spotted a flower stand next to a Starbucks kiosk further down the platform.

“I’ll be right back,” I quickly told Fionn, ready to take off before he grabbed my hand. “Where you going? Need me to come with you?” “No, I’ll be alright.”

I walked toward the counter, rubbing away the tingly feeling his grip had left on my right hand. I surveyed the blossoms, spying the brightest red roses in a bucket near the back corner, hidden away so that other customers would go for the older bunches in the front. I picked up the bouquet of a dozen and turned to the elderly man sat behind the cash register.

“I’ll take these, please.” “He’s a lucky lad,” the man muttered, tapping the screen before showing me the total. “Oh, I guess,” I shrugged, handing him my debit card, making a mental note to pay my mum back before the end of the week. “Not everyone’s girlfriend buys them a dozen red roses before they go off somewhere.” “Oh, he’s not…I’m not—“

He laughed. “Well, you should be.”

He handed me my receipt and smiled as I thanked him. I heard the train horn blare as it pulled into the station and ran to catch him before he boarded.

“Fionn!”

All heads snapped to look at me, sprinting down the platform as if I were racing against the train. I was, in a way. I skidded to a stop in front of him and caught my breath.

“What are these?” “I got…I got you these. Because you’ve always had one for me after my recitals, and I know you’ll have a lot of amazing performances that I won’t see. So I wanted to give you these in advance.” “Leenie, you didn’t have to, these are expensive.” “We’re friends, that’s what we do,” I explained, handing him the bouquet. “Thank you,” he smiled, hugging me tightly. “I’ll miss you.” “I’ll miss you, too.”

“Here,” he said, prying one of the roses free from the ribbon that was tied around the plastic wrapping, “take this. I might miss some great performances from you, too.”

He handed it to me, looking at me in a way he never had before.

“Thank you,” I managed. “Don’t know what I’m gonna do without you.” “Wither away until I get back,” he chided, bringing me in for another hug. “You’re my best friend, Leenie. Love you.”

Those words were nice to hear, but not the context in which they were said.

“Love you, too, Fionny.”

He gave my hand one more squeeze, kissed his mother and hugged his siblings. His father helped him load his luggage onto the train, which I assume he did just to squeeze in more time with his youngest. When Tito Tim came back, he stood next to his wife, embracing each other as the reality that their baby was leaving for a few months sunk in.

We waved eagerly when we saw Fionn pull down the window, sticking his arm out as the train began pulling away from the platform.

When Tito Tim dropped me off, I finally let the sinking feeling of missing Fionn become visible, which my mum responded to with a tight hug and some words of reassurance. I allowed myself time to settle into this new feeling before diving into schoolwork, cracking open the nearest textbook and vigorously taking notes.

I carefully put the bouquet of eleven roses in my backpack, closing it only part way to prevent the petals from getting caught in the zipper. I hauled down my luggage before stepping onto the platform and spying a smartly dressed man holding a laminated piece of paper with two names. One of them was mine, the other I recognized from the table read when everyone first met, though I couldn’t remember the face. I walked up to him and showed him my passport as identification when he asked for it.

The other boy, whose face I committed to memory as belonging to the name Tom Glynn-Carney, approached us and showed his passport as identification.

“Hey, Fionn,” he smiled, shaking my hand. “Hi Tom,” I replied, thanking God I read the name before I saw him. “How was the ride for you?” “Alright. Slept for most of it. You?”

“Same. Nervous?” he asked as we approached the car. The driver popped the trunk and took our luggages, loading them into the trunk as we climbed into the backseat.

“A bit, yeah. Dunno what to expect.”

The car ride was spent asking about costume fittings and getting to know each other more, though from his accent I knew he was from Manchester.

“Are you on the boat the whole time? I can’t remember.” “I am, yeah. You’re gonna have to do some swimming, right?” “Yeah. That uniform was not made for swimming though so I don’t know how I’m going to pull it off.”

My phone chirped to life as I got a few messages, some from my parents, others from my friends and one from Arlene.

Hey! Hope your train ride went well. Miss you already. Get some rest, I reckon you’ll need it :)

I smiled, choosing to respond to her text last because, knowing her, it’ll turn into a conversation. I sent many responses of gratitude to those who wished me luck, as well as promises to go out for drinks once I got back. I updated my family on where I was going and who I was with, to which they replied with smiley faces and emojis.

I was typing out my message to Arlene when we pulled up in front of the hotel. Tom and I scrambled out to prevent the car from blocking traffic and mustered up enough bills to tip the driver who waited impatiently with his hand out.

The hotel wasn’t grand, but it wasn’t some dingy joint either. Simple, red carpeted floors and a dark wooden desk with a few couches and tables littered around the floor. Tom and I approached the receptionist, who spoke broken English with a very heavy French accent. She gave us our keys and we headed into the tiny elevator, fumbling with our suitcases before pressing the button to the third floor.

We flinched rather dramatically when the elevator jerked before slowly ascending, laughing at each other.

“Guess we should’ve gone one at a time,” Tom said, still sounding a bit uneasy from the rocky start we had. “Yeah—SHIT!”

The elevator stopped suddenly, bouncing up and down on the cable. We grabbed for each other, bracing ourselves against the walls as the elevator stilled. The door rattled open to reveal a pair of other men, people I assumed to be in the cast as well.

“Elevator got you shaken up, too, yeah?” one of them, who I slowly recognized as Barry, asked, gesturing to the vehicle.

“You could say that,” Tom replied, patting my shoulder before rushing out of the car with his luggage. I followed quickly and jumped into more introductions that should’ve been reunions, meeting Aneurin, who’s supposed to be connected at my hip for the majority of filming and Barry, who will be on the boat with Tom.

“Ni and I were just heading out to dinner, you boys wanna come?” Barry asked, gesturing to the elevator.

“I’m sure the elevator won’t be so rickety with just people in it,” Aneurin—Ni—said, giving a gentle, reassuring smile.

“Sure,” I nodded, “I’ll just set my stuff down and be right out.”

“Yeah, me too,” Tom said.

We walked down the hall, located our rooms and unlocked them. The bedside lamp was already turned on, casting a buttery glow into the room with pale green wallpaper on all four walls. There was a desk with some stationary, the chair of which I put my backpack on before carefully setting the roses down on the desk. I propped my luggage against the foot of my bed, patting myself down to make sure I had everything. With that, I locked my room and headed out to dinner.

Tagging: @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff