#oc aderyn griffiths

[druidx]

So you know how a while back I was like "hm I think watching the x-files as a pre-teen had a profound effect on how I create characters"? And specifically cited Elo as maybe being inspired by Scully?

I spotted this moodboard by @konkadra for Little My from the Moomins:

And now I'm having further "hm perhaps this character has also has a profound effect on how I create characters", but specifically this time for Alexis, Aderyn and maaaaybe Asuka, who are all ebullient little trash fires, much as I recall Little My ❤️‍🔥️

(Konkadra: sorry for reposting but I wanted to talk about OCs and didn't want to derail your lovely lovely post about Moomins)

[nine-blessed-hero]

I think I've just written one of my most favorite metaphors to date 😄️

"My most pressing concern currently," the Fox said, drawing the words out like marmite from a jar

The Fox's voice is rich, cultured, with a little bit of an unusual accent. Marmite is rich, umami, with a little bit of an unusual aftertaste

Marmite is a viscous fluid, trying to get it out of the jar is the same as with honey - you get a lot at once and then it trails off, echoing how the Fox is measuring his words with care.

Marmite (like vegemite and other types of 'yeast extract') is very divisive; Aderyn is either going to love or loathe whatever he's about to say next.

[nine-blessed-hero]

Yoinked this tag because the picrew looked good. This is Aderyn from The Ruby Falls.

found this lovely picrew and wanted to start a chain! make your wip's main character using this picrew

this is rowan from nova futurum

gently tagging: @wingedcatastrophe, @intothesparrowverse, @aether-wasteland-s, @scribbling-stardust, @lucylyricism, @stesierra, @your-absent-father, @ruinmegently, @ntzsche9, @palebdot, @holdmyteaplease, @halfbit, @floweryprosegarden, @daughter-of-inklings, @fire-but-ashes-too

[druidx]

WIP Drinking Game

Yoinked from @blind-the-winds

Rules: Create a drinking game that one could theoretically play while reading your WIP, using recurring themes or writing elements.

Tagging: @wildswrites @aalinaaaaaa @thewriteflame @aquadestinyswriting @artdecosupernova-writing @autumnalwalker @blind-the-winds @eli-writes-sometimes @hannahcbrown @oh-no-another-idea @rhikasa @swordsoulwrites @winglesswriter @andromeda-grace @writingmaidenwarrior

WIP name: The Ruby Falls

Take a sip whenever:

Someone comments on Aderyn's weight, eating habits or offers her food (forcefully or otherwise)

Martin & Baurus touch, pre-revelation

Someone is referred to by a nickname (ex. Rook, Gramps, B)

Aderyn gets another scar

Take a shot whenever:

Aderyn knowingly and flagrantly breaks the law (such as impersonating a cop, B&E)

The Ruby Key is referred to as "warm from body heat"

Someone mentions Aderyn being domesticated

Down your drink whenever:

Aderyn does something Penetration Tester related

Someone mentions 'red-drink'

Martin & Baurus get together

Pour one out for the fallen when:

Martin and Baurus break up

Aderyn gets THE scar

Martin is taken to hospital

[nine-blessed-hero]

Thinking about how, at the end of The Ruby Falls, Aderyn's comms are open all through the final scene.

About how, until Jena isolates her line, every Blade hears the agonised scream she makes when Martin falls.

About what that must do to Jauffre and Steffan, bound to hold the line until the building is secure again.

About what that must do to Baurus, mere meters away from his beloved, yet unable to get in and help.

About Jena, who has to listen to the whole thing and has to compartmentalise it. Who has to unwaveringly remain calm and collected as she coaches Aderyn out of her stupor, because any crack Jena shows, Aderyn will surely fall to pieces, and then Martin will be lost.

Just - all the implications; my gods.

Struggling to remember that I wrote this, y'know? 😅️

[nine-blessed-hero]

It's Fashion, Boss

Modern Oblivion AU, post-Crisis

"Griffiths, you're late." The Grey Fox stood outside the venue – a grand affair of gothic moulding in Portland stone – adjusting silver and topaz cufflinks which glittered in the clear September night. "And what the devil are you wearing?" "You," Aderyn wagged her finger at the Fox as she climbed out of a Black Cab, "didn't exactly give me a lot of notice about this job. So you don't get to bitch about what I managed to rustle up." "And which flea market did you 'rustle it up' from?" "Piss off," Aderyn said with a grin as she straightened the multicoloured, patchwork skirts of her dress. "You told me to get summint fashionable, so I did." The Fox's lips quirked under the grey kid-leather cowl. "In what universe is that fashionable? Perhaps a dropout student's failed project…" "'S from a proper House, meanie. By Marine Serre, innit. Right off the runway, few years back," Aderyn said as they walked towards the entrance. "I called in a big fucking favour from a dealer I know for this get-up. And it's going on expenses. Four hours – 'specially when I spent half of 'em driving – ain't nearly enough time to prep for a black tie gig. Where's 'Hels?" "Ms Kumar is inside. Be that as it may, you don't think it rather… garish for this kind of event?" Aderyn flicked an eye over the Fox's silver-grey Chinese silk suit, and the cream shirt and indigo cummerbund tucked under it. "It's a summer dress for a harvest event. No, I don't think it's too garish. Just cuz you're wedded to the aesthetic of a miserable winter's day don't mean the rest of us can't have fun at work." "A capital notion indeed," the Fox said, smiling as he handed over their invitations. "I'm glad you feel that way." The two entered the venue, into a vestibule of plush carpets and soft couches. "Now that you've finished lambasting me, it appears you're in finer humour. I think you'll need it for the job at hand," the Fox said as he swept Aderyn into a grand ballroom, filled with spangled lights and expensive tailoring.

--

The dress Aderyn is wearing is this one by Marine Serre S/S 2024 collection (photo from Vogue) (although, in my head I remembered it being more canary yellow than white)

[druidx]

Aderyn starts off as a happy-go-lucky character. She knows the world can be a dark place, but is the sort of person who combats that by dragging the light in with her. She's also fiercely independent, oftentimes to her detriment. As her story goes on, her personality shifts, becoming darker and more jaded by the intense situation she's found herself in. Conversely, she begins to learn that taking a helping hand from the right people won't impact her freedom as much as she fears. With the ending of the intense situation and away from the cause of it, she turns back into the person she was; and is perhaps the stronger for it.

[nine-blessed-hero]

Love when my subconscious makes a connection and then only deigns to tell me about it way after the fact... Anyway, sudden inspiration:

Martin thinks Aderyn can't lie for shit. He doesn't understand how she keeps her job, or if everyone she runs across is just exceedingly oblivious.

He never realises that it's because she doesn't like lying to him. She'll lie flagrantly and with impunity to everyone else, including Baurus and her own mother, but lying to Martin just feels wrong, so she'll always let him catch her in the lie.

[nine-blessed-hero]

Aderyn, to Martin after a particularly stupid security breach: Remind me to write 'OpSec' on something heavy and hit you over the head with it.

[nine-blessed-hero]

Night Exercises

Universe: TESIV: Oblivion, Modern AU (post-Crisis) Warnings: Description of a mild panic attack Words: 2,400 Context: Written for the TES Summer Fest prompt "Starlit". Or read on AO3 Taglist (ask +/-): @tes-summer-fest @mishkakagehishka @arcane-elder-scrolls​ @bread-of-death @writeblrsupport

Aderyn shivers as the night breeze brings the acerbic scent of pine down from the ridge on their right, mingling with the bog-brown smells of the heath. Behind her, Fortis slams the car door shut. "First lesson," he says, pulling a green beanie over crew-cut dark hair, "in addition to everything else I've told you to put in it, always carry a torch in your go-bag, along with a map of your locality." Aderyn hefts her bag. "Got my torch." "And here's your map." Fortis hands her a pink Ordnance Survey.

"I don't get why we're out here in the middle of the night. It's fucking brass monkeys." "Finish the test, and you get to drink cocoa in your jammies at the end." Fortis's teeth flash as he grins. "We're out here, Rookie, because there's no telling what shit you'll end up in while out with a principal. Kidnappings and assassinations don't happen much during daylight and fair weather." He turns to gesture at the road, pale skin ghostly in the moonlight. "Single-track, rural – it's easy to force someone off a road like that. We work for a corporation, Rook, and corporate bigwigs like to hobnob in fancy stately homes, most of which can only be accessed by single-track roads in the arse-end of nowhere." "That's my scenario?" Aderyn wraps her arms around herself, to stave off the chill and quell the sick feeling that rises at the thought of being out here with Martin, pursued by a faceless enemy. "Yep. You're being followed on the way back from a party. They come alongside and force you off the road." "Can't I fight 'em?" Fortis scratches the beard on his jawline, sounding amused, "You think you could take eight goons by yourself, and stop them getting to your principal?" "Being the Hero of Kvatch's gotta count for sumint." "C'mon kid, we both know you're a lousy fighter. No, that's not gonna work. What's the golden rule?" Aderyn rolls her eyes. "Get the fuck outta Dodge, ASA." "Right. Find us a place to hole up while you check where you are and where you're going."

Aderyn looks around. She's lucky Fortis has chosen a clear night with a nearly-full moon – the landscape is painted in tones of silvery-blue and dark shadows. Mounds of gorse and stunted birch rise and fall away like a tide, rabbit-paths of fine ash-coloured sand lit up like quicksilver. Aderyn points towards a clump of gorse, close by and angled such they're obscured from the road. "There." She ushers Fortis ahead of her – in this scenario, he's her principal – and hopes to whoever is listening that she can remember enough survival craft so there aren't any accidents.

"Alright. This is a good choice," Fortis says, looking around the hollow Aderyn has led them to. "You've got about five minutes of breathing space here. Time to call it in, then figure out where you're going next. What code are you sending?" Aderyn takes a breath. "Code gold, cuz it's Martin. Uh. It's not 'actual', cuz no one's directly tried to harm us yet… Shit, what's the word…? Impending. Then I give the location: Northbound B6721. And a description: forced off road, fleeing on foot." She looks at Fortis who nods. "And all together?" "Code gold, impending. Forced off road, Northbound B6721, fleeing on foot." "Good. Now, where are we going?" Aderyn unfolds the map, pointing with the penlight to a grid square. "We're here? Ish?" "That's fine. You can give a 6-figure reference when you're more certain." "There's a," she squints at the map, "Scout hut here. That's where we're aiming for." "Okay. What direction?"

Aderyn folds the map down to just that page, puts the penlight in her teeth and pulls out her phone. Fortis plucks it from her grip. She spits out the penlight. "What the fuck?" "Phone broke in the crash. There's no GPS." "Then how did I send the SMS to call it in?" Fortis rubs the back of his neck. "C'mon, Rook. I need to know you can do without." "Fine." Aderyn rummages in her bag and pulls out a compass. Fortis blinks. "It's good to see you're prepared, but…" "You're really gonna tell me my compass is bust too?" "No," Fortis sighs, "but the point of this is to check you can navigate by starlight."

Aderyn gives him a long look and, with a small huff, clicks the torch off, turning her attention upwards. Her gaze rakes the heavens, spangled with glittering points like specks of feldspar in the polished basalt firmament. "There's the Plough," she tracks the constellation with her finger, "and the Little Bear, so that's Polaris. That means…" Aderyn flicks her gaze from the map to the sky, orientating herself and the map, then points towards the open heath, "…we're going that way? I think?" "Little tip, Rook – always sound certain, even if you're not. Your principal is likely scared, they're trusting you to look after them. Don't make them doubt your capabilities." "Right." Aderyn takes a breath, slides the map into her pocket and turns on the charm. "Yeah, we're all good. We're going this way."

–

They tromp across the heath, Aderyn steering Forti's path from behind with one eye on the knotted ground and one on the north star, all the while he's quizzing her on procedure. "What's the code colour for both Mr Septim and Baurus?" Aderyn grins. "Electrum." "Another Blade?" "Black." "Top five things for your go-bag?" "Water, medkit, torch, penknife, lockpicks." "Wrong go-bag." "Lockpicks are always useful." Fortis huffs out a laugh. "You planning on taking your principal on an infil job?" Aderyn starts to laugh but cuts off, a hand clamping on Fortis's shoulder. "Stop!" He freezes. "What's wrong?" "Back up."

Fortis backs up the path they've trod and turns to find Aderyn pulling out the map and torch. "I know the pink ones are broader," she says of the map, "but right now the orange one would have been better." "Talk to me, Rook." "See that fluffy shit?" Fortis looks. From around them have started to sprout what looks like cotton wool tufted on a stick, as bright against the dark heath as the stars above. "Yeah?" "That's bog cotton. If we keep going that way, we're going to end up in a drink. Or down to our hips in mud, if we're unlucky. The orange map would have shown boggy ground." Aderyn shines the torch around her and takes a moment to orientate herself again. "If we go that way, we should be able to skirt it." Fortis cants his head. "That's a good catch, Griffiths."

They fall silent then, navigating the tussocks and gullies. If she squints, Aderyn thinks she can see the lights of the Scout hut through the trees in the distance. They're tantalisingly, frustratingly close. If only it wasn't for the bog between it and them, they'd be home-free by now. They've come dressed for the hike – walking boots, waterproofs and technical gear – but it doesn't stop her feet from soaking through as the water rises calf-level in places. The cold water saps her heat, makes her shiver and ache. Leaping the tussocks, keeping her balance, plotting the route – it all takes effort and concentration, draining even her high energy reserves.

Aderyn's mind wanders, body running on autopilot as it settles into the rhythm of the hike. She thinks about having to do this for real. Martin in his dress shoes and tux, tired already from a party. Thinks about how he'd struggle to jump, tussock to tussock; about how he'd soon be shivering with the cold water and night air, maybe going hypothermic. Thinks about having to do all this with antagonistic gunmen on their tail. Even though he's not even there, her chest constricts. It's only a test, Aderyn reminds herself. But it doesn't stop her legs from wobbling as she leaps. She stumbles, lands knee-deep in the mire, vision spinning. "Anson!" It comes out as a breathless squeak, too soft to carry. Her breathing is laboured, heart racing, fast even for the exercise. The grass is coarse under her hand, the rattle of reeds sinister as they move in the wind. "Rookie?" Fortis is back. Shadows enfold his face, turning his brown eyes to wool-black and highlighting his pinched brow. "Listen to me. If you're injured, I can have med-evac here in twenty." "No. I- Just need a moment," Aderyn says around the pressure on her chest. His fingers find the pulse point on her neck, and his lips move soundlessly as he counts the beats. "I need you to take a nice deep breath for me. Can you do that?" Aderyn nods, heaves in a breath. "Good. Another." The pressure binding her chest lifts, the fog that had settled over her thoughts scattering like a cloud of midges in a strong breeze. A bird trills somewhere. Aderyn tastes salt and sediment on her lips, becoming acutely aware of how uncomfortable her position is, of the water creeping up her thigh. "Ready to carry on?" Fortis asks. Aderyn nods, and he helps her stand on legs that tremble still. "Okay?" "I'm good."

–

Finally, they reach firmer ground. A small rise peppered with some kind of sparse, deciduous tree snakes along the edge of the damp lowlands. They stop, taking a drink of water. From here, Aderyn can definitely see the Scout hut. At its back is a boardwalk over the bog, chicken wire grip rimmed by starlight. Aderyn puts her water away. "Not much further. We follow this ridge, then we'll be home free."

The boardwalk is rickety when they get there. The water below is still and black and fathomless as only a heathland pond can be, an obsidian mirror showing only the speckled night above. "It's alright," Aderyn says, as much for her own confidence as anything, and steps gingerly onto the dark planks. They sag but don't give way. She takes a few more steps, then beckons Fortis out. "Just stay to the sides, yeah?" "Quick question, Rook – you do know how to swim, right?" "Yeah, I'm good," she replies, heart in her throat.

When the creaking boards finally give way to solid ground again, Aderyn's relief is palpable. A quick glance at Fortis shows he feels the same, head tipped back, snatching some deep breaths, hand wrapped around his shark tooth necklace. He grins when he realises she's watching him. "I think we need to talk to Mr Septim about a donation to the Scouts here, eh, Rook?" Aderyn grins back, as they start walking towards the gate at the back of the property. "Also about some decent security," she adds, popping the padlock with a shim and a quick flex of the wrist.

–

Ferrum meets them at the door of the hut. He looks them over in the blasting white lights of the security spots, and says, "Wait there." When he returns, it's with two black bin bags. "You're not coming in like that. Clothes," he says, holding the bin bags out. They stand on the concrete porch and strip to their undies, every sopping item going in the bags to be washed later. Which is fair, Aderyn thinks as she peels off her trousers and drops them, thudding wetly, into the bag.

There're clean sweats in the bathroom, and mugs of hot chocolate in the kitchen. "That one is yours, Rook," Ferrum says, pointing to the one with a mountain of whipped cream. Aderyn pulls out the chair and sits. "Sprinkles. You fucking serious?" "I'll swap you," Fortis says, making grabby hands. Aderyn baps him with the spoon. Ferrum leans against the counter. "It's a reward for a job well done. I assume," he looks at Fortis, "she did well?" Fortis kicks his bare feet up onto the table. "There was a little wobble. But yeah, our Little Bird did good." "Wobble?" Ferrum loosens his crossed arms, shoulders tilting towards Aderyn. "Panic attack. Just a baby one-" "Can we not?" Aderyn interrupts, shoulders hunched.

"Hey." Fortis drops his legs and twists in his chair, leaning in. "Aderyn, look at me. Everyone has a moment they go off-axis." Aderyn makes a noise of disbelief. "It's true, Rook," Ferrum rumbles out. "I panicked during an exercise and shot my SO. Blanks, but still." "Caroline was so nervous when she met Ariella Septim, she forgot every English word she knew," Fortis says. "They carried their conversations in French, if I recall," Ferrum says. Aderyn uncurls, easing back in her chair. "What about you?" Fortis rubs the back of his neck. "Me? Ah, can I tell you Pel's instead? Or Baurus?" Ferrum laughs, a low rolling thing. "Christ, was it that bad?" Aderyn asks. "He fainted," Ferrum says. "During little Kintyra's wedding to that milk-water sop, Amiel." Aderyn grins, lopsided. "Wow." "Ah, hush – it was emotional. My point, Rook," Fortis says, "is that compared to some, a little panic attack is nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed by. You were with me, during basic training in a somewhat controlled environment. Not on your own, in a far more dangerous situation, like the Crisis. Quite frankly, I'm impressed it's taken until now." Aderyn plays with a loose threat on her jumper. "Crisis was easy. Well, I mean – y'know. I only had me to worry about. Not B or Gramps. Or Martin." Ferrum murmurs in understanding. Fortis lifts his chin. "Ah." "I don't think I'm cut out for a Blade," Aderyn says, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Hey, it's late." Fortis squeezes her shoulder. "Drink your cocoa, get some sleep, and you can think about this later when you've got a fresh brain. Okay?" "Yeah, alright." Aderyn picks up the spoon, rescuing melted cream dribbling down the side of the mug.

Fortis watches her a moment longer, then glances at Ferrum. "You got any more squirty cream and sprinkles?" Ferrum huffs out a laugh. "What have you done to deserve sprinkles?" "Being my awesome self." "That's not enough for sprinkles." "So rude. Jena'd give me sprinkles." "Jena isn't here." Aderyn relaxes into her seat as the two men bicker. Fortis is right – now is not the time to contemplate such matters. Outside, the wheel of stars is fading into the advance of dawn. She's warm and drowsy from the hot chocolate, secure in the hut. Ruminations on her future as a Blade can be saved for later.

[nine-blessed-hero]

K'Rin is very firmly in 1950s style suits. Crisp leg creases, trilby, starched button-down, wingtips and pencil necktie. Think Peggy Carter from the MCU.

Rowan is sloppy late 90s/early 00s. Slogan t-shirts, varsity jackets, bootcut blue jeans with turn-ups. Xe thinks sleeveless turtlenecks and black jeans with heavy necklaces and blingy belts is the height of fashion.

Aderyn, being in a Modern AU from 2015, doesn't count for this question. She's either wearing tac gear or whatever she found in a charity shop bargain bin.

Talis the Baker is probably Victorian-esque. We're talking fancy chefs' whites, starched to perfection.

Kicks would fit a smart-casual suit that were all the rage in 2010. Plain t-shirts, slacks and blazers with blisteringly white training or canvas shoes. We're talking dotcom silicon valley types before the bust.

everyone. tell me what vintage fashion era your TES OCs belong in. i need to know this for science

[nine-blessed-hero]

WIP Wed~$%/%/ Thursday

Thanks for the tag @dirty-bosmer!

Tagging back (Please note, this is @druidx's fandom sideblog not some rando. Just trying to keep my works in their correct places): @aalinaaaaaa @thewriteflame @wildswrites @aquadestinyswriting @artdecosupernova-writing @autumnalwalker @blind-the-winds @eli-writes-sometimes @hannahcbrown @oh-no-another-idea @rhikasa @swordsoulwrites @winglesswriter @andromeda-grace @writingmaidenwarrior @wispstalk

This is from For Love and Honour, a Modern Oblivion AU fic I'm writing for TESFest.

NB: Lena Drakosdottir is Caroline's girlfriend.

"How come I don't get a sword?" Aderyn said as the group moved away from the entrance marquee, and into the festival. "Do you know how to use a sword, cariad?" Caroline replied. "I know how to use a staff. Can't be that hard?" Caroline chuckled, as Achille snorted. "At least Ms Drakosdottir got me an épée – something I know how to use – instead of that barbarous meat cleaver," he said, then plucked at the puffy split sleeves on his doublet. "Though I am still not sure about this froufrou." "My apologies, Monsieur Legrand," said Lena, the gold knotwork on the hem of her dress skating through the grass. "I had assumed you would prefer the courtly style of your countrymen." "It is at least lighter than these two walking tanks," Achille said, grinning as he gestured to Caroline and Baurus. "I think I look rather dashing." Caroline grinned. Lena said something in Old Norse, and Caroline grinned wider.

[nine-blessed-hero]

A Little Something-Something

Universe: TESIV: Oblivion, Modern AU (post-Crisis) Warnings: Poverty, cigarette smoking Words: 1,460 Context: Written for the TES Summer Prompt "Ritual" Taglist (ask +/-): @tes-summer-fest @mishkakagehishka @arcane-elder-scrolls​ @bread-of-death @writeblrsupport Or read on AO3

Grubby, weed-filled concrete below, and grubby overcast skies overhead. The little plaza teemed with people – women with their hair pulled back and thick concealer hiding dark eyes, dragging grizzling children from shop to shop; bent-over old men shuffling along with zimmers and heavily darned cardigans; teenagers in identical colours and styles crowded seven onto one bench, hollering and laughing.

Jena, in her smart trouser suit and neatly coiffed hair, stood uncomfortably next to Aderyn, as the latter perched on a wall topped with scraggly bushes and litter, puffing away on a cigarette. "When I said I wanted to get to know your friends in GreyFox Securities, this wasn't quite what I had in mind," Jena said. "Relax." Aderyn grinned from behind loose auburn locks. "They're gonna love you." "It's not them I'm worried about. I thought we'd be meeting at your offices. Or in a waterfront bar." "Yeah? Little Miss Middle-Class don't like the view of London on the dole?" Jena crossed and recrossed her arms. "It's not that. I'm… a little overdressed." "Eh. It might work in your favour. See, there's a very special reason we're down here." Jena raised a querying eyebrow. "You'll find out. Oh, hey, there's Isleif now." Aderyn jumped down from the wall and ran up to a tall man with skin like Purple Trillium, the tight coils of his hair corralled by a bandana. He picked her up, laughing as he swung her around like she weighed nothing. "Isleif Etienam," Aderyn said, breathless as he set her down, "this is my friend Jena Simons, of the Blades." Jena held out her hand. "A pleasure to meet-urk!" She squeaked as Isleif pulled her into a hug. "Wonderful to meet you!" he cried, voice carrying the lilt of the Caribbean. "Our Little Bird has told us much about you and your fellows. It is good to see the woman behind the fuss, yes?" "Oh. Ha. Yes, of course," Jena said as she stepped back.

Two women – both with skin the umber of joss sticks – approached the party. More hugs were exchanged, as were introductions to Methredhel and Carwen. They gathered in a loose circle, and Isleif handed out gift vouchers to the local supermarket. "As everybody is here now," Isleif said, "I call to order this month's Unprosperous Alleviation meeting. Everyone knows the meeting objectives-" "Actually, d'you mind running over the rules," Aderyn said, with a nod towards Jena, "for the sake of our newbie." "No problem." Isleif grinned. "The name of the game is 'Put-Pocket', and the rules are simple. Pick a target – someone you think looks deserving of an extra £10 in their life – then reverse pick-pocket the gift card to them. We will meet up at the King's Head for lunch at 1300 hours. That gives you plenty of time to complete the mission objective." Jena raised a hand. "What if I can't pickpocket at all?" Isleif ran a hand over his jaw. "Well, other methods are available. But you cannot just give the money away. People are surprisingly suspicious of free items. Any further questions?" Carwen raised her hand. "Are we doing the same as usual – last to the pub buys the first round?" "If our guest is agreeable?" Isleif said, looking at Jena. Jena nodded. "Fine by me."

As the group drifted apart, Jena followed Aderyn. "Maybe I'm being dim," she said, "but I'm not sure I understand the point of this. I mean, the charity aspect, yes. But why go through all this rigmarole – why not just donate the money?" "It's the Fox's way of keeping us sharp, making sure we're practising our skills but keeping it positive-like. It's become a bit of a thing since Isleif joined GFS. He calls it a meeting, but it's more like a monthly friendly between the front-line personnel.

"As for why the money ain't just donated, there's only so much charity organisations and lobbying the government can do, yeah? People fall between the cracks all the time – not quite poor enough, not quite disabled enough. The Fox thinks a little direct action is better than nuffin. A little summint-summint to push through the end of the month." Jena glanced around. "How do you pick though? Everyone here looks like they could do with that extra something-something." "You gotta pay attention to the details." Aderyn lifted her chin. "See the kids on that bench, yeah? The girl right on the end." "I see her." "Look at her shoes. The other kids all got newish trainers, right? But not her. She's used duct tape on the hole at the front and coloured it over with Tipp-Ex she probably chaved from school. I'll bet anything she ain't that fashionably skinny by choice." Aderyn turned. "See that bloke with the pushchair coming out of Poundland? That's, like, a third-generation hand-me-down pushchair. See how patched over his polo is, and how it hangs off him? He's skimping on his own stuff so he can buy baby formula and nappies." She looked back at Jena. "You see? Devil's in the details." "Yeah, I think I'm getting it." "Good." Aderyn turned back to the bench of teens. "I've got my target. Good luck with your pick."

Jena watched Aderyn wander away towards the benches, placing an unlit cigarette in her mouth. At the end of the benches she stopped, patting her pockets, then nudged the girl they'd been talking about, asking her something. The girl turned away, calling to a boy at the other end. As she did so, Aderyn dropped something – a balled-up receipt perhaps – from her pocket. As she stooped to pick it up, Aderyn nudged the girl's bag. There was a flicker of red as the gift card slipped inside. Aderyn rose just as a lighter was passed to the girl, who offered it to Aderyn. Aderyn lit her cigarette, passed the lighter back, and with a nod to the teens, carried on her way through the plaza towards where the pub's sign swung at the entrance to an alleyway.

Jena glanced around. Of the GFS crew, only Carwen was still visible, leaning against the wall between WH Smiths and some local dry cleaner, eyes scanning the crowd rather than on the phone in her hand. Jena turned her attention back to finding a deserving mark. Picking out the details was a lot harder than Aderyn had implied. As she watched the crowd, a woman with a grizzling toddler passed beside her. The toddler seemed to be whining about some toy, while the woman explained – with impressive patience – that she didn't have enough pennies for it today. Jena watched as they moved away. The woman wore a skirt and plimsoll shoes which had both seen better days, while the child was in an outfit with the hems and cuffs turned up several times.

"Excuse me! Marm?" Jena called out, dipping as if picking the gift card from the floor. "I think you dropped this? Marm?" The woman stopped, looking back with a frown. "Me?" she asked, pointing at herself. "Yes. Did you drop this?" Jena walked up to show her the gift card. "No. That's not mine." "Oh." Jena looked around as if to see who else might have dropped it. "Well, I guess whoever dropped it is long gone now." She flipped it over as if reading the details. "Do you want it? It looks like it's for Iceland." "No. That's okay. Thank you though," the woman said, turning away. "Are you sure? It'll be wasted otherwise." The woman's expression darkened as she took into Jena's suit, one arm snaking across her chest, even as the other hand gripped the child's. "Too good for Iceland, huh." "No, I didn't mean it like that." Jena let her accent broaden, dropping from Received Pronunciation to her native Essex. "It's just we ain't got any Icelands down my way. It's all Aldi and Lidl, innit?" Jena laughed. "Don't let the fancy togs fool ya – I'm just a receptionist." The woman's arm dropped, her shoulders uncurling. She glanced around, as if expecting to see a camera pointed at her. "Positive you don't want it?" Jena said, making to set it on a wall. "I guess I'll just leave it here for someone else…" The woman watched her movements with wanting eyes. "Well, I mean, as long as you're sure…" "It's all yours, luvvy." Jena held it out. The woman took it slowly, eyes still darting as if suspecting a trap, and carefully folded it into her purse. Jena smiled. "Have a good day, Marm." "Cheers." Jena watched the woman hurry away, clutching the perplexed toddler's hand.

With a glance at the wall by WH Smith, checking Carwen was still there, she headed towards the sign of the King's Head.

[nine-blessed-hero]

Me: This is a very serious fic about fighting for the one you love. Also me: *puts in a classic medieval fantasy-esque comedy street chase scene*

[nine-blessed-hero]

Oh, my. What a damned good question.

K'Rin - Loath. Despise. She wouldn't even touch Instagram or Twitter with a 10-ft barge pole if you gave her the option. That said, she would do it if you told her it was her duty to Martin/ the Empire/ the Divines (delete as appropriate), but she would hate it the whole time (she wouldn't even complain, just silently stew and suffer).

Rowan - Xe might have a bit of fun with it at first, but it would quickly lose the novelty and xe would eventually just ghost the account. Satellite accounts would spring up, reporting on xir whereabouts with increasing weirdness of location and activity, until it's obvious that xe's fucking with everyone for xir own amusement.

Talis - Talis is like Amaury Guichon, aka The Chocolate Guy. As long as he doesn't need to talk and someone else deals with ~everything else~, it might be fun. He just wants to share his passion for patisserie. Rindir would make so much money, and eventually, there'd be a whole thing about how Rindir is taking advantage of the sweet little baker boi. Rindir would be cancelled/ doxxed etc, Talis and Ysbth would need new jobs... It would be a mess.

Aderyn - It's really hard to be a sneaky little sneaker if everyone knows your face, but the free stuff does have its appeal... Ultimately though, no.

Arianrhod - Yes. She would be all over that. She'd be quite happy with the MLM schemes, she's got the whole suburban housewife vibe. Not only would she enjoy it and be good at it, I think she'd be reasonably popular too.

Kicks - As the walking embodiment of "he a little confused, but he got the spirit", he would enjoy it. But only because he's getting free stuff and he doesn't actually know what's going on (someone else would be managing him).

some thoughts on TES OC development. i'm a big believer that people who crave fame are generally assholes. take it as a given that there are degrees to this and that "asshole" is a liquid term and not some inherent moral cateogry.

the elder scrolls protagonists become famous over the course of their quests: the eternal champion, nerevar reincarnate, the hero of kvatch, the dragonborn. legendary titles that become part of the lore even if the names and faces are lost. they begin as prisoners, the fame is not really a choice. one two skip a few, we all get the symbolism here, but if you're trying to understand the core of your character, ask yourself:

would they, in any way, enjoy being an instagram influencer?

[nine-blessed-hero]

A Floral Surprise

Universe: TESIV: Oblivion, Modern AU (post-Crisis) Warnings: Swearing (if you speak Bulgarian) Words: 730 Context: Written for the TES Summer Fest prompt "In Bloom". Taglist (ask +/-): @tes-summer-fest @mishkakagehishka @arcane-elder-scrolls @bread-of-death @writeblrsupport Or read on AO3

Dawn crept along the streets of London as if chasing the shadowed heels of the lean figure as it lept a fence and scaled a wall, delicately prising open a second-floor window. Special attention was paid to a small black plastic nub, a silvery cap placed over it, before the figure slithered through the window, landing with the lightest of thuds.

The figure padded down the corridor, deftly dancing over pockets of worn wood and ducking to avoid the occasional camera, to pause at the top of the stairs. A large hard case was removed from their back, and from within was withdrawn a bag. Onto the balustrade's finial was hooked a garland of yellow gerbera daisies, and down the stairs were scattered the wide, yellow petals of a rose. Sweetness filled the stairwell as the rose's gentle perfume osmosed through the space.

The figure paused a few steps away from the bottom of the stair, wary of the black-suited guard posted there. The guard made no move indicating that they had noticed the figure's presence, save for a light sniffing of the air. A small pebble was sent flying over the guard's head, to rattle somewhere in the dining room. The guard twisted towards the sound, hand hovering on his comms. The figure sent another pebble chiming to join the first. When the guard moved to investigate, the figure trotted down the stairs, and, on light feet, slipped through the door to the kitchen.

There, the figure hurried. From a cabinet came two vases, their bottoms filled with water, and a bouquet of black-eyed susans, yellow roses, pale carnations and emerald foliage was arranged in each. From the very bottom of the hard case came a cast iron pan, yellow ribbon arranged on the handle as it was placed between the vases on the kitchen's island counter. The figure stood back, taking a moment to admire the arrangement. A bird sang outside, the dawn reaching golden fingers to peak over the back fence at it. With a tip of the head, the figure turned towards the kitchen door. In the hallway, the guard was nowhere to be seen. The figure slipped from the kitchen, across the hall, and into the lounge.

As they closed the door, there came a noise from behind. The figure turned. A hulking man bore down upon them. The figure hissed as they were scooped up, one meaty hand around their neck, the other reaching for a radio "Isaryo!" The figure yanked up their balaclava, revealing a pale, freckled face, cobalt-bright blue eyes and wisps of auburn hair. "It's me!" "Čort vaźmi!" Belisarius hissed back, lowering his hands. "Rook. What are you doing?" "Anniversary business. Plus a little light PEN test. What're you doing?" Belisarius grinned. "Same," he said, jutting his head towards a stack of books sitting on the coffee table, surrounded by a spray of red roses, purple irises, miniature sunflowers and pink poppies. "You planned egress through patio? "'S easier to pick than the back door, yeah?" "Ne." Belisarius nodded his head, scratching at his collarbone, over which spidered a traditional embroidery pattern, rendered in red ink. "If you are PEN test, I have caught you, da? Egress through the front door." Aderyn sucked on her teeth. "I coulda tased ya. Carry on through the patio, over the fence and down next-door's side wall?" He cocked an eyebrow. "I am big man. I make a loud noise when I fall." "Aww, c'mon Isaryo. I go back out there, Maborel Junior's gonna pitch a fit and ruin the surprise for both of 'em." Belisarius shook his head. "Da, is true." He clicked his tongue with a hint of a smile. "My mother tells me – do not argue with the red-haired woman. Fine. We do it your way. Come come." Carefully they passed the display and Belisarius keyed open the patio door. "I see you at 6:30, da? For dinner." Aderyn frowned as she slipped out. "I thought they was going to some fancy schmoozy place?" "Da. But I have permission to use the kitchen. Is much bigger than my place, eh? I make you, Jena and some of the boys traditional dinner from home." "Oh. Cheers. Want me to bring anything?" Belisarius huffed out a chuckle. "A bottle of red and your appetite." "Gotcha." Aderyn grinned. "Later then." "Later."