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mosaickiwi · 2 months

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14DWY As a Drama AU

Hey remember when I said I’d post this in February oopsies!! (don’t ask me about demon!ren i will cry)

Open at your own risk this thing is LONG. Tried to give everyone at least a little something! upon putting this in my drafts i realized olivia exists i'll add her at some point uhhh. Also you can tell how much I love Elanor... hehe

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

The cult classic romantic thriller, 14 Days With You, is now a drama! Coming to all your favorite streaming platforms this summer. A whirlwind romance gone right and wrong that you DON’T want to miss.

Cast List

[REDACTED]

🖤 Quiet kid that used the after school theater program to delay returning home. Never wanted to perform, but loved doing costumes, make up, and correcting others (in his mind) on how to portray their roles.

🖤 Spent a little extra time perfecting the costumes of a certain someone who didn't even know they existed. He always traded house chores with his sister so she'd sit in the audience to solely film Tree #2's performance.

🖤 Was an apprentice special effects makeup artist after graduation at first, particularly for horror films, but it didn't exactly pay the bills when they left home.

🖤 Easily rose to the top in their acting career due to his dedication for crafting characters to perfection.

🖤 Dolly Parton/Lady Gaga-esque in their separation of work and life—completely unrecognizable in their regular civilian attire. Paparazzi have never gotten a picture of them in all their years trying.

🖤 Has zero issues getting into character, but does "method acting" on occasion to make sure people leave them alone on set. And also to fuck with directors and producers they don't like. Notoriously difficult to work with because of it + their overall attitude towards others, still gets hired somehow.

🖤 Got offered the role as the main love interest in 14DWY without an audition, thanks to a previous manipulative pink haired character he played in a film that ended up never being released. (2017 Ren because it's funny)

Angel (you!)

💜 Participated in the same after school theater program as [REDACTED] and Leon for a few semesters before you got bored of it. Curiosity for acting resurfaced later in life.

💜 Newbie actor at the recently formed talent agency of your friend. Only starred as non-speaking roles or background characters in small productions until the drama. You moved back to Corland Bay after uni for the better industry prospects.

💜 You initially auditioned for a very small role in the drama as an employee in a seaside shop at first, but somehow you wound up as the lead? (un)lucky you.

💜 Feel free to fill in the blank for any whys and hows you think of to fit your OC/self/sona as you so please <3

Elanor

💖 Normally an actress and casting director, first time as an executive producer for the drama. Dreams of bringing her own romantic screenplays to life. Hasn't quite proven herself the way she wants in the industry to feel confident enough in them.

💖 Catalyst for the drama being made. A "friend" mistakenly recommended the 14DWY book to her. She absolutely loathes all the psychological horror of it but sees the potential it has.

💖 Also the reason [REDACTED] was immediately cast, and you as well once she saw your chemistry with him while reading for a minor role. He hadn't shown a fraction of as much interest when reading lines with other potential candidates, so she decided to take the risk of an untested talent as the headliner.

💖 Refuses to use her family's name to get her stuff made. She wants her works to speak for themselves. Very picky about who she works with due to her family having hands in most of Corland's entertainment industry so she hardly gets a genuine interaction beyond ass-kissing.

💖 Always partial to working with Conan's small studio since he was the only director to give her any sort of criticism in spite of her family, as gentle and polite as it was. She still cried a little in the dressing room though.

💖 Genuine confusion when Conan wants her to act as both a producer and assist with direction. She only intended to bring it to his interest. But how could she say no to someone whose judgment and opinion she respects so much?

Conan

💖 Runs and owns a small scale studio in the Bay that seems to pick and choose its productions at random. It is in fact Alice sneaking into her dad's home office and putting scented stickers on the ones she likes. (She only reads the titles)

💖 Extremely proud of Elanor for getting so far on her own, and would take on one of her dozens of scripts no questions asked if she'd only work up the courage to show him one. So imagine his surprise when she comes to him with a romantic horror instead of one of the fairy tale romances he sees her scribbling notes on during breaks.

💖 While he’s the one with the final say, he does try to let Elanor have as much free reign as possible on the project in the hopes to boost her confidence.

Kiara

💖 A super-star actress and model that got her start in Corland’s local industry, but quickly hit it big.

💖 When she isn’t drowning in work, she’ll swing through town to check in on her sister.

💖 Desperately wants to star in one of Elanor’s productions, but respects her sister’s desire for independence. Though she does like to tease about certain casting decisions on the drama when made aware of them.

the rest of the cast are unfortunately very silly i couldn't resist

Moth

💖 Started a talent agency out of spite for the terrible castings in their favorite media. Got further invested upon realizing they could read the scripts before the movies or show adaptations were even announced.

💖 The one who pushed you to audition for a minor role in the production once the rumor about who was cast as the main love interest reaches them. They've heard all the horror stories about [REDACTED] so wanted the inside scoop. Horrified and fascinated to find out you get the lead role. It’s like watching a train wreck.

Leon

💖 Joined the theater program initially because of you, but got really into it. Moved away to attend a performing arts school until his mother got sick.

💖 Took every wacky infomercial or street performance gig he could find to pay the hospital bills until Teo found out and swooped in.

💖 Eternally grateful for the burden of financial ruin being relieved, so he always accepts the jobs Teo gets for him. He definitely won’t complain since he’s not dressed in an animal costume and shouting nonsensical slogans for cleaning products.

Teo

💖 Met Leon through a shared production and quickly bonded. Attended a different performing arts school and met Jae as a child.

💖 Almost the exact opposite of his game character purely for the funnies. Shy, introverted, can’t flirt to save his life. Still a nepo baby but he can hold his own in acting. Doesn’t like his character much, but is extremely jealous of the confidence he oozes.

💖 Leon and Jae are his only friends in the industry so he uses his sway to get them parts if they haven't already gotten a call back. Gets REALLY nervous on set for certain roles so he needs their support.

Jae

💖 Attended the same school as Teo when they were kids, and is constantly pitching intentionally bad ideas and joking on set to reassure his friend.

💖 A little bit of a thrill seeker, so does all his own small stunts if he thinks he’s capable. Stands there and gawks watching the more extreme stunts, loudest to clap when they go well.

💖 Kept bringing Maple to the shoots cause how could he even think about leaving her at home? She would occasionally break her leash and wander into a scene for head scratches and kisses. The film crew always booed when a PA came to take her off set.

Violet

💖 Completely terrible at caring for plants. Inspired by her role, she starts vlogging about her plant mom journey before shooting even begins. All her advice is completely wrong and terrible. Her personal assistant keeps her in the dark by tending to the plants themselves to fix her mistakes.

💖 Finds out she has a talent for flower arrangement, though. Does thank you vases for the cast and crew on all her future productions that last a lifetime because her PA made sure all the flowers were fake.

Exposition

(silly on set shenanigans)

🎬 Scenes get retaken quite a bit, since you’re still extremely new to it all. Most of the cast and crew expect anger out of [REDACTED] after the 4th call for a re-shoot on the first day’s library scene, but he’s surprisingly cracking jokes about his dye job and reassuring you that you’re doing great. The infamously ill-tempered actor is smiling somehow… even being patient? Not glaring down his co-star for minor slip ups? They cannot recognize this person.

🎬 Violet and [REDACTED] naturally butt heads on set. She respects their acting, not the actor. Zero hesitation to snap back if he’s getting snarky with a PA. You’re the one people have to beg to separate them, and you’re completely baffled that [REDACTED] doesn’t treat others as nicely as he treats you.

🎬 Even though Elanor is a nervous wreck about the first real thing to ultimately make or break her career, she’s scarily efficient on set—as long as no one distracts her. She does get sidetracked once in a while, only because she loves chatting and answering any questions the cast or crew might have. She even brings one of her own cats to set during a slower day to see if they can get along with Maple. Leaves Conan in charge when the horror scenes are being shot. They’re both put off by how vivid they feel, but Conan at least can grin and bear it.

🎬 You and Leon manage to catch up on set while [REDACTED] is otherwise occupied shooting said horror scenes. You tease him about a few infomercials you saw when looking up his actor reel, and Leon teases you back about your unlucky streak of being a tree or a rock in every play the theater program put on when y’all were younger. Laughs even harder once he finds out your most prominent roles until then were “unnamed zombie #5 at the bottom of the pile” and “sleeping train passenger.”

🎬 Try as he might, [REDACTED] doesn’t convince Elanor to change up a few crucial parts of the script for his benefit. His offhand threats of leaving the production fall on deaf ears, as she is all too happy to do re-shoots to make Teo the lead. His innocent hints to you about the shoddy script fly over your head for some reason! You love how it's turning out, what does he mean?

🎬 Super shy Teo prefaces and warns his co-stars before acting in every scene of his character being excessively flirty. Most of the actors have worked with him at some point or another beforehand, so they let him go through his routine without issue. Some crew members love the whiplash of him switching between overly courteous and smarmy, others vastly prefer the flirty character and mourn the loss as production comes to a close.

The Build Up

📺 The higher ups pressure Violet to start a short-lived streaming career to boost interest, since she’s hopeless with plants. She amasses a cult following for her MMO reviews, blind raids on new patches, and her wild ride of a Minecraft playthrough. In the end she winds up preferring to play games off stream, but once in a blue moon she’ll do a first time raid stream so her more dedicated fans can join and watch her alliance get wiped. Creative trolling is highly encouraged.

📺 Teo, Jae, and Leon appear on a late night TV show for promotion. It was meant to be for Teo and [REDACTED] at first. (Where’s the leading lover? [REDACTED] refused all promo appearances or sit downs without you being involved in them.) The host plays a clip that Teo’s particularly embarrassed about, and he hides his face in shame when the crowd hoots and hollers praise about his portrayal.

📺 [REDACTED] comes across as doting and overprotective of you once you’re pushed into the spotlight of celebrity, and shows increasingly concerning behaviors as the premiere looms closer. Depending on your response, they’ll back off to a point or dial it up. Interviewers and consumers mistake it as the eccentric actor’s “method acting” so the red flags just slide right past.

📺 Elanor and Conan guest star in a podcast for off-the-cuff romance enthusiasts. Their strangely cagey and joking comments like “there were so many retakes we couldn’t keep track of what was meant to be the actors messing around or part of the final cuts,” and “we’ve actually sent all the reviewers 1 of 14 versions with completely different endings,” leave listeners all the more curious to see the film.

The Climax

🎉 Reception is huge, in good ways for most. The majority of the cast see a surge in popularity if they didn’t already from the hype.

🎉 Teo bemoans his endless offerings for sarcastic pretty boy jobs, Leon makes enough to get picky about his roles (and pay Teo back), Jae somehow cons a studio into an action film starring Maple—and subsequently adopts every single one of her stunt doubles.

🎉 Moth throws the agency away to start adapting anime and manga themselves. Elanor finally feels validated enough to bring one of her romantic screenplays to the big screen, starring her sister Kiara and a very enthusiastic Violet as the leading couple.

🎉 Conan’s studio is overloaded with scripts, and Alice runs out of scented stickers that much quicker. They are severely backlogged send help.

🎉 One determined conspiracy theorist sets out to prove those missing 13 versions of the ending are real, based on minor cuts and inconsistencies purposefully left in the public release.

The End, Roll Credits

choose your own ending

Bad End 💔 - A Falling Star

💔 If you respond negatively to [REDACTED]’s demeanor during shoots and promo: he plays the waiting game, uses his connections and blackmail to make sure all your roles without his name attached don’t garner nearly as much attention as the ones where you’re co-stars.

💔 Your negotiating power quickly plummets as you fall out of demand and end up begging just for the non-speaking roles you once loathed.

💔 The careers of anyone you got close to on set fall apart much faster than yours, before they’re outright blacklisted in the industry.

💔 You begrudgingly call up your last option. He can’t do much for your friends, but their offer to help you make a comeback is always open.

Neutral End 💌 - Just One More Try

💌 If you respond indifferently to [REDACTED]’s demeanor: the drama leads to you getting more offers, though a handful are for playing opposite of [REDACTED], as the on-screen chemistry was too much for studios to ignore for cash grabs.

💌 Elanor has rid herself of the drama’s subsequent rights, despite positive reception, so a sequel sprouts up in the works at a different studio. One that doesn’t mind catering to the whims of their actors when it comes to script integrity.

💌 You arrive on the set to find that not just one, but all of your cast mates except for them were written to have much smaller parts in the sequel. In fact, you rarely find a scene in the revised script where [REDACTED] isn’t alongside you.

💌 Sadly the contract is air tight, just put up with it until it’s over… What’s this clause about further sequels?

Good End 💍 - Off Into the Sunset

💍 If you respond positively to [REDACTED]’s demeanor: you’ll sadly announce at the post premiere press conference that acting was a one-and-done adventure for you. Retired effective immediately, no farewell interviews.

💍 You’re spotted around town for a few weeks in a mask with a tall, darkly dressed companion at your side before you disappear from the public eye and Corland Bay all together.

💍 A few of your friends at least have an idea of where you are, and they meet up with you whenever you're in a nearby city. None of them can recognize the man glued to your side, though. Not that he'd say anything to clue them in.

💍 After months of near inactivity, [REDACTED] mysteriously deletes their socials without a word, sparking confusion and outrage among hardcore fans still desperately hoping for a sequel.

#14 days with you #14dwy #14dwy au #momo writing #wow look i posted not requested stuff #and it's NOT only emo boy??? wild #<- i am capable of this sometimes #wrote it in like 2 days back in november from brainrot ngl #and now it's here so it can stop haunting me!!!#i do wanna write little drabbles (mostly about angel's audition) but who knows if that'll happen #if u see issues bc of having to remove discord formatting no u didn't #AND if u saw this on discord b4 no u didn't #i wanna add river once he's in da game cause i have many ideas

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macabrecabra · 2 months

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Another baby I needed to get art done for the fray!

Tember Volstrov is a Typhibis, a race that lives in the shattered, molten core of the Memory sphere and as such are 100% fireproof. Fire actually does heal damage to them! Trade-off is a crippling weakness to water. You can tell a healthy Typhibis by how bright their colors are and the length of their tail! Tember though is a "holy fire" as they were born blue which is exceedingly rare and they are said to burn hotter and have more firey passion as they are blessed by Volnagossa, their god, at birth. However, Tember did not want to be a holy guardian death paladin as their mentor completely turned them off to their "destiny" and instead he ran off, risked crossing the ocean, and became an apprentice to an elderly blacksmith.

Now Tember lives in a desert city, applying his trade as a blacksmith and part-time mercenary and doesn't once think about their "destined role" as a murder paladin. More details on Tember's past found >>HERE<<

(please DO NOT post for other fandoms, this is an OC!)

#Obscuraverse #Typhibis #Tember Volstrov #the fire boy #fire creature #My OCs #don't tag as fandom

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blimbo-buddy · 9 months

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Special history lesson of Chelford

History shall always be splattered with the blood of the innocent, there is no doubt about it. Such is the same with all Twolegplaces, all with their own levels of innocent blood that stains their past, varying levels of intensity that may or may not follow the next generation of Twolegplace cats. In this post, we will be going over Chelford specifically, and more specifically than that, an event in which the cats have dubbed "Assault on Chelford", "The Clan Onslaught" or, more commonly, "The Raids of Twolegplace".

Warnings for: Lots of violence+death and kidnapping

Relations between Kittypets and Clan Cats pre-raids

The relationship between Kittypets and Clan Cats were as we normally see them as, not very positive. The clans believed that Kittypets were pampered infidels who would never amount to anything, while the Kittypets believed that the clans were overly violent, jingoistic, and militaristic, cats who would willingly attack a kitten if they were not of clan blood.

In the months that preceded the beginning of Winter, the clans had been struck with an epidemic of starvation, illness, and lack of edible food. This was especially alarming as this era marked a "Kitten Boom" period, where the kitten population of the clans was at its highest. During a gathering, the leader of Windclan at the time had delivered news that the visiting loners had arrived earlier than expected, but, they brought some advice and input to the clan's epidemic of illness and hunger. They offered up the idea of setting up a trade relation between Twolegplace and the clans.

Within a single second of this news, cats erupted into a frenzy of disapproving yowls and screeches, the leaders of the other clans giving the Windclan leader grimaces of disgust at the thought. Riverclan's leader intervened, spitting at Windclan's leader that it's an act that only a heathen would commit, to stoop so low to the Kittypet's level, the other leaders nodded along in support of Riverclan's word. The Windclan leader was furious at the three leader's willingness to allow for their clans and future generations to die preventable deaths. Then, Shadowclan's medicine cat stood up and yowled their support of the Windclan leader's idea, and then Riverclan's medicine cat, and then Windclan's medicine cat, and Thunderclan's medicine cat, they all followed suit. The other leaders were baffled, attempting to shut down their medicine cat's yowls, but they continued. After a lot of arguments between not just the leaders+medicine cats, but also between warriors and deputies and apprentices alike, the medicine cats put their foot down, proclaiming that if they all don't want to wither away into skin and bones, then they would allow for this trade to proceed. After some back and forth, the other leaders hesitantly decided to support the trade proposition. The Windclan leader proclaimed that they and the other leaders, alongside their deputies and a medicine cat, would make their way towards Twolegplace to talk through with the Chelford cats and hopefully create a trade between the Kittypets and the Clan Cats.

And so, after preparing, they did just that. While the Kittypets were skeptical of the sudden "friendliness" of the Clan Cats, they gladly accepted, and the trade route between the two were created. The Kittypets offered up food, tools, and even medicine that was exclusive to their Housefolk's gardens, while the Clan Cats offered up their own tools and crafting items. Though, this peace could only last for so long until disaster struck.

The Inciting Incident

The incident that was the pathway to the raids wasn't just one specific event, it was multiple scattered ones that only strained relationships between Twolegplace and the clans more and more. Kittypets were having their goods stolen from them from clan cats, being brutally beaten and bloodied in the process, cats were being injured for petty trade affairs, clan cats were attacking Chelford cats for not accepting their deceptively low offers, but the straw that broke the camels back was when a Thunderclan trade patrol came back, most of them heavily injured and one of them dead.

Let's take a step back and go a little more in detail with Thunderclan's leader, OakStar. His rule was questioned and laughed at by the other clan leaders. They felt that his old age was slowly turning him more mellowed out and senile, his own cats started to believe that the fierce title that they held was slowly slipping out of their grasp. So, when one of his clan's patrols comes back from their trade run with many injured and one dead, this was his moment to prove his violent fury.

The Raids

OakStar spent many days and many weeks preparing his warriors and apprentices for this moment, and when the time came, they set out to Chelford in the dead of night, when Twolegplace was at it's most vulnerable. The crusade ravaged every corner of Chelford, screeches filled the air of the once calm streets, the first raid was the bloodiest, meant to weaken Chelford's forces, Kittypets and Strays alike. However, these cats did not go down without a vicious fight, some Thundeclan cats began to become overwhelmed by the sheer number and strength of them all. OakStar called out to his cats, claiming victory and calling for them to fall back.

The first raid mentioned was on cats who were out on the street, Strays looking for a nice spot to settle in for the night to Kittypets who wanted to sleep out in the fresh air. It was a slaughter. What used to be information that was unknown to Chelford Cats was that in the following raids… It wasn't only Thunderclan cats. The second large raid was conducted with the intention of now making Kittypets or Strays feel unsafe within their homes or structures. Clan cats would find any entry to wriggle through, a cracked open window, a hole in the wall that led to the inside, a door that wasn't closed all the way, anything. Attacking Kittypets in their homes was risky, as the noise would immediately alert their Housefolk, clan cats also found ways to sneak into animal rescue shelters and attack the cats living in there too, causing a massive calamity as cats scattered to avoid attack and dogs nearly ripping their way through their metal gates in the halls. This caused a panic among Housefolk/Twolegs in Chelford, many keeping their cats safe inside in hopes that they don't wake up to find their precious cat dead or injured. This made the third and final raid the most difficult of all.

The third raid is what some cats consider to be the most devastating, all of the blood shed, all of the death, some believed it never amounted to the surge of pain that many felt when their own kittens were taken from them by the clans. Kittypets were often used to having their kittens adopted away, but the Housefolk never tossed them to the side, they never snatched their screaming kittens with blood soaked paws, but the clan cats did. Many kittens who were stolen that day either died from preventable causes in the wild or grew up into xenophobic husks of what they used to be. And so, the clans ceased their raids, OakStar was praised for his "call to action" and battle strategy, but, Chelford was never the same.

Crystal and Pine

During these raids, many cats rose up as figureheads of hope and resilience, one such cat being an orange and white Kittypet named Crystal. Her husband was killed in the first raid which fueled her disliking towards clan cats. She was renowned for her strength and selflessness, going on record to have carried heavily injured cats on her back from the battle and into safer areas where they could rest and heal, all while she was pregnant herself. The cats of Chelford grew to know her as Crystal, the Glimmering Solider.

PineStar was a friend of Crystal, the two met when he was an apprentice, where she had saved him from a fox attacking him. PineStar, in his older years, arrived to Chelford to spend the rest of his days after leaving the clans. It was thanks to PineStar that many cats of Chelford were able to gain more knowledge of what predated the raids. His name was now Pine and he would be formally referred to as Pine, the Hopeful Escapee.

The Aftermath, aka, The Husk Era

Chelford was a disaster for the cats, many had horribly died, been taken away, or left homeless due to the unsafe feeling they grew of being in their own homes, terrified of a clan cat slithering their way through their window to kill them. This era was dubbed "The Husk Era" as Chelford was now but a bloody, hollow husk of what once was. Aggression rose during this era, cats were barely getting by with their scraps of rotting food, many were left to fend for themselves. All was lost to the cats of Chelford, hopes were low, Chelford was once a paradise to these cats, but now, it was a husk. Pine died before he could see significant change in Chelford, and Crystal grew too old and senile to be let out past her nest, two of the greatest cats that gave Twolegplace a glimmer of hope, gone. However, word spread of something that captivated the minds and ears of many…

A young, puny black cat who claimed to have defeated a dog.

#blimbo rambles #blimbo's twolegplace culture #massive post #warrior cats #this is it... the biggest fucking post I've made by far #tw kidnapping #cw kidnapping #alright I'm gonna go eat now

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ladamedusoif · 8 months

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Tempered in the Fire - Part One

See the Series Masterlist for complete content warnings, historical event information, and series notes.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F! Reader

Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

Word Count: 3.3k

Rating: Mature (chapter); Explicit 18+ (series)

Content (chapter specific): Blacksmith!Din AU; historical setting; references to violence; references to spousal abandonment; strong language; almost certainly inaccurate depictions of blacksmithing; slightly wonky history; likely slightly wonky renderings of Irish language (technically my third language!).

A/N: Translations for any dialogue in Irish are provided at the end of the chapter. The Irish language was one of the casualties of the colonisation of the island, as it became associated with a lack of education (though the tide turned somewhat in the late nineteenth/early twentieth centuries) and has never recovered. (Go and listen to ‘Butchered Tongue’ on Hozier’s latest album for a musical reflection on this, it even includes references to 1798)

Tagging interested parties and my usual taglist people - sign up via my taglist if you want to be added (or let me know if you’d rather not be tagged!): @gracie7209, @yourcoolauntie, @tessa-quayle, @lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @trulybetty, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @katareyoudrilling, @perennialdoll247, @joeldjarin, @sunnywithachanceofjavi, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @javierisms, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @rhoorl, @red-red-rogue, @survivingandenduring, @khindahra, @love-the-abyss, @fictionismyreality, @imaswellkid

This is a quiet place, a landscape rendered in greens, greys, and whites, the simple rural dwellings peppering the good agricultural land that stretches across the county.

Appearances can be deceiving, though. What seems to the outsider as a long-established peace is the result of a more recent and more violent pacification. The fields where young men lost their lives in the pursuit of a dream of freedom give nothing away today, almost a decade after the rebellion was brutally crushed. They didn’t stand a chance against the arrayed ranks of muskets, being armed only with tall, sharp pikes, hammered for them on the anvils of sympathetic blacksmiths around the country.

The people who live and work here bear the scars - some literal, some psychological, but all livid, fresh, and painful.

In this idyll where trauma and anger simmers beneath the surface, his forge is a long, low, whitewashed stone building roofed in thatch. It’s a little outside the nearest village, sitting just off the main road on the way to the next big town. Like most of those who ply this trade, the blacksmith here lives alongside his place of work: one half of the building is the forge, the other is the neat, simple home he shares with the little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

He’s an essential figure: he makes all manner of metal goods and repairs them, too, in a world where nothing is disposable. He shoes horses, too, and his gentle care for the elegant beasts is well-known around the county.

Still, he’s not the most obvious candidate for a ‘pillar of the community’. Unlike other smiths in the area he’s not known for holding court while he works, regaling his customers with yarns and stories. He keeps himself to himself, mostly, though he comes into the village with the boy to buy supplies, collect items for repair, and return what he’s mended to their owners.

He’s been at his anvil for twenty years, or thereabouts. As is the way of a small community, all manner of stories circulate about where he came from and why there was no obvious family of origin. Most assume he comes from travelling people, who are known for their skill with metalworking.

Such is his reputation for consistently good work, fairness, and decency, though, that no one would ever dream of pushing him to say more about himself. This man of few words, who wears his apron like his armour and sometimes wraps a band of grey cloth around his mouth and nose when he works, to protect his lungs from the soot and smoke, is both insider and outsider in a place where such binaries are normally strictly enforced.

“You’ll be living high on the hog soon enough, then, Din? What with all the work that’s coming your way now.”

He looks up from the horseshoe he’s hammering into shape, dark eyes staring at the silhouette of the local priest, framed by the light of the forge’s small front window. Father Carthy has come to have his horse shod - and, it seems, to discuss the blacksmith’s fortunes.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The priest steps closer to the anvil, a look of surprise on his face when he realises the blacksmith hasn’t heard. “Bad accident over in the forge at Donapatrick. He’ll be alright, but their smith is out for the next few months, at least. He’s lucky to be alive.”

Din dips the shoe into a tub of cold water, sending a hiss and a plume of steam into the air.

“So they’re coming to me?”

“Most of them. Your reputation precedes you.”

He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Not sure I can take on all that extra work.”

Father Carthy scoffs. “Don’t turn it down, Din. Lean times are always waiting round the corner, just when you least expect them.” He peers around the stone forge at the centre of the room, trying to spot the little figure who’s been hiding in the shadows.

“Sure you have an apprentice to help you, don’t you?”

The little boy stares silently, intently with his huge, dark eyes at the man clad in clerical black.

“Well, he’s inherited your gift of the gab, Din, anyway. Look, you’ll be glad of the few extra shillings. I know it’s not always easy making ends meet, between looking after yourself and the lad.”

Din pulls himself up to his full height, cutting an imposing, broad figure in his soot-marked shirt, leather apron, simple brown woollen breeches, and boots.

“We manage. Gró?” The boy appears at the blacksmith’s side. “Tabhair dom na tairní, maith an bhuachaill.”

He swiftly locates a box of horseshoe nails, each made by hand at Din’s anvil. The priest raises an eyebrow.

“He’ll need English, Din, or he’ll get nowhere. I’d be glad to teach him if-“

Din cuts him off with a pointed sigh. “He understands every word. But this is how we talk to each other.”

Behind him, the sandy-haired boy narrows his eyes and scowls at Father Carthy.

You know it’s not usual for a woman of your age and station to ride alone, but then you’re not usual for a woman of your age and station. And your washtub is leaking, and your horse needs to be shod. Needs must.

You saddle up the horse, strapping the tub on one side, and wrap yourself up in your shawl, securing it at the waist with a well-worn leather belt. You mount the little brown horse and turn her in the direction of Donapatrick and the local forge.

“How did you not hear?” Seán, the blacksmith’s apprentice, stares up at you in astonishment. “Everyone heard!”

You feel like kicking him in the ribs for talking to you like that. He’s no more than thirteen, and yet here he is talking to a woman who could comfortably be his mother (and then some) like she came down in the last shower.

“I didn’t hear because I wasn’t told, and because I have better things to be doing than gossiping around the village.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, regardless. You’ll have to go over to the other forge - the fella over the bridge, about twenty minutes away. You know it?”

You do know it, though you’ve never had reason to go inside. Why would you, when Peter’s forge is so much closer? You don’t even know the other blacksmith’s name, and in this part of the world that’s a strange situation indeed.

“Right, so.” You gently dig your heels into the horse’s sides, she starts to walk, and you make your way to the road that leads down to the river, the stone bridge, and, eventually, the whitewashed forge beyond.

Just as Father Carthy had predicted, Din was snowed under with extra work since Peter’s accident a week or so before. He is exceptionally well-organised by nature, managing his own accounts and records with great attention to detail, and he has extended the system to help him cope with the new demand. With Gró’s help, he organises the items for repair into separate sections, labelled according to whether they belong to existing or temporary customers. He sets up a new ledger to take account of custom orders from people who normally go to the other smith, and takes note of new faces who come to have their horse shod.

Din is cross-checking his records at the table in the main room of his home when he hears the sound of hooves approaching. He asks Gró to peek out, to see if it’s a familiar face or another new customer.

The boy climbs up on the deep windowsill to look out through one of the small cottage windows.

“Is bean ar chapall í - ’s stráinséir í.”

Din stands up and goes to the door, reaching for his apron as he does so.

He cuts an unusual figure, this blacksmith. There aren’t many people around here who look like him. You notice the penetrating dark eyes first, taking you in as you slow and pull up the horse. His dark hair is wavy, curling in places, and you are surprised to see that he’s bearded - if you can call the patchy scruff around his mouth and jaw a beard.

He’s younger than you’d expected, maybe forty, and well-built - broad shoulders, strong, muscular forearms marked with scars from his work, his shirt loose and open to expose a stretch of his tanned chest. He ties on a leather apron as you dismount, and walks out to greet you.

“Good day. I was hoping you could help with a repair? And my horse needs to be shod, too. I’m sorry, I usually go to Peter up in Donap -“

He cuts you off with a nod. “I know. Yes. That’s fine. The tub, is that the repair?”

You raise your eyebrows at how direct he is. Curt, almost. Rude, some would say.

“It is. It’s leaking at the side, here.” You undo the strap and he takes the washtub down. It looks strangely tiny against his substantial form.

He turns and gesticulates with his head in the direction of the open door. From the dark interior, a striking boy emerges, clutching a piece of paper, some string, and a stubby pencil.

The blacksmith gives him instructions and he diligently scrawls a number on the paper, before attaching it to the tub with the string and carrying it into the forge.

“Do you only speak in Irish to him?”

The smith has turned his attention to your horse, examining each of her hooves in turn. He looks at you quizzically.

“It’s what he prefers. What we prefer. He understands English perfectly.”

“Unusual that he’s fair and you’re dark. Is his mother fair? I suppose she must be.”

He sighs.

“I don’t know.”

You can’t stop yourself from letting out a little gasp. He looks up at you, dark eyes frustrated at your constant chatter. But he knows this needs explanation.

“He’s my apprentice. He’s a foundling. I’ve taken him as my own.”

You feel your face heat, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

He strokes the horse’s muzzle, not looking directly at you. “You didn’t know. I can shoe the horse now, though you’ll need to wait. The tub will take a day or two.”

You nod in agreement.

“What’s her name?”

His voice is softer. He’s still looking at your little horse, who’s loving the attention from this new person.

“Réaltín.” She has a perfect little splash of white between her eyes, in the shape of a little star. You couldn’t have named her anything else.

He repeats the animal’s name, and you see the tiniest hint of a smile cross his lips before his serious expression returns.

It turns cold, and you wait it out on a stool just inside the door of the forge, glad of the warmth.

You watch as the blacksmith heats up and works the metal shoes at his anvil, so they’ll fit Réaltín’s smaller hooves perfectly. The light from the fire illuminates his features as he works, highlighting the beads of sweat on his brow and picking out the various shades of brown in his eyes. He has pulled a band of grey cloth over his nose and mouth, which draws your attention all the more to his dark gaze.

The little boy stares at you while the man works, occasionally helping him by fetching an implement or helping work the bellows. You give him a little wave and a smile, hoping he’ll respond. He doesn’t come any closer, but you see him grin for a moment before he disappears behind the broad figure of his master - well, his adoptive father, if what the blacksmith said is correct.

Peter’s forge is always full of chat and song and gossip, a kind of social hub as much as a vital service. In contrast, the only music here is the singing of the anvil as the silent, stoic smith works, interspersed with the whoosh of the bellows and the hiss of the cooling tub. He doesn’t look at you, eyes always trained on the task at hand or at his little apprentice. He doesn’t speak, except to the little boy.

After a few exchanges, you realise something. “Is he called Gró?”

The smith keeps working. “That is what I call him, yes.”

“Funny to call a little thing like that after a poker.”

He turns his attention to the fire for a moment before he answers you. “He kept trying to stoke the fire on his own when I first took him in. I said the word so much it became his name. He likes it.”

Silence. Singing metal. Hissing steam.

He makes sure Gró watches him at every step as he removes the old horseshoes, cleans Réaltín’s hooves, files them carefully, and attaches the new shoes. Throughout, he quietly explains to the boy what he’s doing, and why.

Your stomach is rumbling, and you remember the supplies you brought with you (and had forgotten about).

When they’ve finished the last hoof, you speak up. “I - I brought a cake of fresh bread with me, in case it took longer. And I have butter, too, and a little crab apple jam. I’d be glad to share it with the little lad.”

Gró’s enormous eyes widen with excitement and he grins. (He really does understand English perfectly, you think.)

“We have enough food for ourselves, thank you.”

The boy’s face falls.

“I just meant as a little treat. A thank you, for taking the job when you’ve so much to be doing.”

He sighs, again. “Well… ach. Yes. Come in.”

Their home is neat and simply furnished, and he evidently knows how to look after a household as well as a business. You sit at the wooden table in the main room, which serves as kitchen, living area, and office for the blacksmith’s records. Out of the corner of your eye you spy a ladder going up to the attic, which you presume must be used as a sleeping space. A door leads off the main part of the house to what looks to be a smaller room.

Gró is already on his third piece of bread, butter, and apple jam, a shiny orange smear on the tip of his little nose.

“I hope this tastes okay. It’s always so hard to know when you churn butter, isn’t it?” You sip some of the cool water he’d poured into an earthenware mug for you.

“I don’t know. I’ve never churned butter.”

His reply is so deadpan that you wonder for a moment if he’s joking. You decide he isn’t.

“It’s not that hard,” you continue. “And I have the cow and the milk so why not?” You chew on a bit of bread, appraising your handiwork. “Actually, not bad at all, this time.”

He grunts in agreement. “You have a farm?”

“A very small smallholding. Tenant to the lord, like most of us.”

“Your husband works the land, then.”

You stare at the crust of bread in front of you, and clear your throat.

“He doesn’t. He’s…not here. He’s gone.”

The blacksmith’s eyes soften. “I’m very sorry for your troubles. Sickness, or was it in the fighting -”

You look at him directly. “That bastard wouldn’t fight for anything, not even his wife. He’s not dead. Or at least, I don’t think he’s dead. But I wish he was, because then I’d really be free.”

For a moment it looks like the stoic blacksmith is going to choke. He reaches for his own mug and drinks deeply.

“Well, now, I -“

“He upped and went. A few years back. God knows where he is now. He’s not around here, anyway. I’d say he’s skipped to Belfast or London.” You finish your bread. “Lucky the smallholding had come through my father, so I wasn’t out on the road.”

He’s flushed, and evidently a little uncomfortable. Well, he started it, you think.

“How do you survive - do you have children, too?”

You shake your head. “No, a blessing not to have them. And I do what I did before I married - I sew. Mostly alterations and refashioning and repairing, now, but at least I have a trade.”

The smith nods to himself. “A useful one.”

“Not as useful as yours.”

He gives you a tiny, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile.

You stand up and start to clear the dishes. “Keep the rest of the bread and the butter and jam. I’ll collect the jars when I come back for the tub.”

He starts as if to speak, standing up from his chair, and seems nervous.

“Could I - we - ask you to do something for us?”

“It depends, but…”

“Clothes. Gró’s clothes are in need of mending. Badly. Would you be able to help?”

You smile and nod. “I’d be delighted to. Lord, has the poor lad been going without mending for this long?”

The smith opens a wooden chest and takes out a small bundle of tiny items of clothing. “Not quite. Peigí normally does it, but she’s been so busy with the work in her yard lately that I didn’t want to ask.”

Peigí is something of a legend in the area, a fiery woman who stubbornly insisted on taking over her father’s trade in repairing carts and wagons - and succeeded. You smile wryly to yourself at the vision of her wielding a needle and thread.

He hands you the clothes, wrapped in a faded piece of red and white cloth. “Oh, hold on.” He reaches back into the chest and retrieves a dark grey knitted sweater that has seen better days. “I don’t know if you darn, too, but he’ll need this in the colder weather, and -“

You take the sweater, handling it with care, and clutch the little bundle to your chest. “It’s no bother at all.”

He smiles, genuinely smiles, at you for the first time. You marvel at how such a stern, hardy man can reveal himself to be quite so soft - eyes crinkling, expression warm and friendly, teeth white in that tanned face streaked with grime from the forge.

“Thank you…?” He pauses, waiting for you to introduce yourself. You tell him your name.

“And you’re…”

“Din.”

“Din. And Gró.” The little boy swivels in his seat at the sound of his name, and sends the sneaky spoonful of apple jam that he’s been enjoying flying to the flagstone floor.

Din accompanies you as you strap the bundle of clothes to the saddle, and mount Réaltín for the journey home.

“I’ll be back in two days for the tub. I’ll bring his things then.”

Din gives the horse an affectionate pat, and nods as you turn and head back up the narrow road.

Gró has come to the door of the house.

“’s bean deas í, a dhaid.”

Translations:

Tabhair dom na tairní, maith an bhuachaill.

Give me the nails, there’s a good boy.

Is bean ar chapall í - ’s stráinséir í

It’s a woman on a horse, she’s a stranger.

’s bean deas í, a dhaid

She’s a nice lady, daddy. (Can also mean ‘pretty lady’).

And yes, ‘gró’ in Irish can mean crow-bar - or, in older dialect, a poker.

#tempered in the fire fic #din djarin au #blacksmith!din djarin #blacksmith!din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #historical AU #the mandalorian AU #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrostories

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nothorses · 8 days

Note

i am a trans man who has been transitioning with top surgery for years, but still only like 50/50 passing. still legally female.

i joined a trade union on a social media post asking for women to recruit, as they have a goal of 10% women, and currently are at less then 1%. i know that certain government based jobs require a certain amount of women working on them, so sometimes i have a bit of an advantage being dispatched to a new company over a cis man apprentice.

ive had some people say its wrong to take advantage of this, because if i want to be a man, i shouldn't use these spaces that were made for trying to get more women to join the trade. but i don't think im really taking space from women, because theyre still not even close to their goal, and most women don't even consider this trade a viable option anyways (hence the extremely low numbers, despite the fact they are actively trying to reach out and recuit women)

I think that's the right call. I mean, consider why they have that ratio requirement in the first place; you are not Taking Up Women's Space As A Privileged Man. They are trying to create space for people who are marginalized for their gender and may struggle to find space in the field otherwise, and you fall under that umbrella as a trans person.

Also, like, as someone who works in education: it's still more common for trans men and transmascs generally to be working in education than it is for trans women, even though cis women are vastly more represented in the field than cis men are. [source] (I would not be super surprised if the reverse was true for tech, but I can't find stats on it.)

I think it's a lot more complex than just "AGAB socialization" or whatever, but it's silly to pretend that the possibilities you were raised to see for yourself based on the gender other people thought you were are like, completely irrelevant just because you're trans.

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haggishlyhagging · 4 months

Text

It would take Diane Joyce nearly ten years of battles to become the first female skilled crafts worker ever in Santa Clara County history. It would take another seven years of court litigation, pursued all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court, before she could actually start work. And then, the real fight would begin.

For blue-collar women, there was no honeymoon period on the job; the backlash began the first day they reported to work—and only intensified as the Reagan economy put more than a million blue-collar men out of work, reduced wages, and spread mounting fear. While the white-collar world seemed capable of absorbing countless lawyers and bankers in the 80s, the trades and crafts had no room for expansion. "Women are far more economically threatening in blue-collar work, because there are a finite number of jobs from which to choose," Mary Ellen Boyd, executive director of Non-Traditional Employment for Women, observes. "An MBA can do anything. But a plumber is only a plumber." While women never represented more than a few percentage points of the blue-collar work force, in this powder-keg situation it only took a few female faces to trigger a violent explosion.

Diane Joyce arrived in California in 1970, a thirty-three-year-old widow with four children, born and raised in Chicago. Her father was a tool-and-die maker, her mother a returned-goods clerk at a Walgreen's warehouse. At eighteen, she married Donald Joyce, a tool-and-die maker's apprentice at her father's plant. Fifteen years later, after working knee-deep in PCBs for years, he died suddenly of a rare form of liver cancer.

After her husband's death, Joyce taught herself to drive, packed her children in a 1966 Chrysler station wagon and headed west to San Jose, California, where a lone relative lived. Joyce was an experienced bookkeeper and she soon found work as a clerk in the county Office of Education, at $506 a month. A year later, she heard that the county's transportation department had a senior account clerk job vacant that paid $50 more a month. She applied in March 1972.

"You know, we wanted a man," the interviewer told her as soon as she walked through the door. But the account clerk jobs had all taken a pay cut recently, and sixteen women and no men had applied for the job. So he sent her on to the second interview. "This guy was a little politer," Joyce recalls. "First, he said, 'Nice day, isn't it?' before he tells me, 'You know, we wanted a man.' I wanted to say, 'Yeah, and where's my man? I am the man in my house.' But I'm sitting there with four kids to feed and all I can see is dollar signs, so I kept my mouth shut."

She got the job. Three months later, Joyce saw a posting for a "road maintenance man." An eighth-grade education and one year's work experience was all that was required, and the pay was $723 a month. Her current job required a high-school education, bookkeeping skills, and four years' experience— and paid $150 less a month. "I saw that flier and I said, ‘Oh wow, I can do that.’ Everyone in the office laughed. They thought it was a riot. . . . I let it drop."

But later that same year, every county worker got a 2 to 5 percent raise except for the 70 female account clerks. "Oh now, what do you girls need a raise for?" the director of personnel told Joyce and some other women who went before the board of supervisors to object. "All you'd do is spend the money on trips to Europe." Joyce was shocked. "Every account clerk I knew was supporting a family through death or divorce. I'd never seen Mexico, let alone Europe." Joyce decided to apply for the next better-paying "male" job that opened. In the meantime, she became active in the union; a skillful writer and one of the best-educated representatives there, Joyce wound up composing the safety language in the master contract and negotiating what became the most powerful county agreement protecting seniority rights.

In 1974, a road dispatcher retired, and both Joyce and a man named Paul Johnson, a former oil-fields roustabout, applied for the post. The supervisors told Joyce she needed to work on the road crew first and handed back her application. Johnson didn't have any road crew experience either, but his application was accepted. In the end, the job went to another man.

Joyce set out to get road crew experience. As she was filling out her application for the next road crew job that opened, in 1975, her supervisor walked in, asked what she was doing, and turned red. "You're taking a man's job away!" he shouted. Joyce sat silently for a minute, thinking. Then she said, "No, I'm not. Because a man can sit right here where I'm sitting."

In the evenings, she took courses in road maintenance and truck and light equipment operation. She came in third out of 87 applicants on the job test; there were ten openings on the road crew, and she got one of them.

For the next four years, Joyce carried tar pots on her shoulder, pulled trash from the median strip, and maneuvered trucks up the mountains to clear mud slides. "Working outdoors was great," she says. "You know, women pay fifty dollars a month to join a health club, and here I was getting paid to get in shape." The road men didn't exactly welcome her arrival. When they trained her to drive the bobtail trucks, she says, they kept changing instructions; one gave her driving tips that nearly blew up the engine. Her supervisor wouldn't issue her a pair of coveralls; she had to file a formal grievance to get them. In the yard, the men kept the ladies' room locked, and on the road they wouldn't stop to let her use the bathroom. "You wanted a man's job, you learn to pee like a man," her supervisor told her.

Obscene graffiti about Joyce appeared on the sides of trucks. Men threw darts at union notices she posted on the bulletin board. One day, the stockroom storekeeper, Tony Laramie, who says later he liked to call her "the piglet," called a general meeting in the depot's Ready Room. "I hate the day you came here," Laramie started screaming at Joyce as the other men looked on, many nodding. "We don't want you here. You don't belong here. Why don't you go the hell away?"

Joyce's experience was typical of the forthright and often violent backlash within the blue-collar work force, an assault undisguised by decorous homages to women's "difference." At a construction site in New York, for example, where only a few female hard-hats had found work, the men took a woman's work boots and hacked them into bits. Another woman was injured by a male co-worker; he hit her on the head with a two-by-four. In Santa Clara County, where Joyce worked, the county's equal opportunity office files were stuffed with reports of ostracism, hazing, sexual harassment, threats, verbal and physical abuse. "It's pervasive in some of the shops," says John Longabaugh, the county's equal employment officer at the time. "They mess up their tools, leave pornography on their desks. Safety equipment is made difficult to get, or unavailable." A maintenance worker greeted the first woman in his department with these words: "I know someone who would break your arm or leg for a price." Another new woman was ordered to clean a transit bus by her supervisor—only to find when she climbed aboard that the men had left a little gift for her: feces smeared across the seats.

In 1980, another dispatcher job opened up. Joyce and Johnson both applied. They both got similarly high scores on the written exam. Joyce now had four years' experience on the road crew; Paul Johnson only had a year and a half. The three interviewers, one of whom later referred to Joyce in court as "rabble-rousing" and "not a lady," gave the job to Johnson. Joyce decided to complain to the county athrmative action office.

The decision fell to James Graebner, the new director of the transportation department, an engineer who believed that it was about time the county hired its first woman for its 238 skilled-crafts jobs. Graebner confronted the roads director, Ron Shields. "What's wrong with the woman?" Graebner asked. “I hate her," Shields said, according to other people in the room. "I just said I thought Johnson was more qualified," is how Shields remembers it. "She didn't have the proficiency with heavy equipment." Neither, of course, did Johnson. Not that it was relevant anyway: dispatch is an office job that doesn't require lifting anything heavier than a microphone.

Graebner told Shields he was being overruled; Joyce had the job. Later that day, Joyce recalls, her supervisor called her into the conference room. "Well, you got the job," he told her. "But you're not qualified." Johnson, meanwhile, sat by the phone, dialing up the chain of command. "I felt like tearing something up," he recalls later. He demanded a meeting with the affirmative action office. "The affirmative action man walks in," Johnson says, "and he's this big black guy. He can't tell me anything. He brings in this minority who can barely speak English . . . I told them, 'You haven't heard the last of me.'" Within days, he had hired a lawyer and set his reverse discrimination suit in motion, contending that the county had given the job to a "less qualified" woman.

In 1987, the Supreme Court ruled against Johnson. The decision was hailed by women's and civil rights groups. But victory in Washington was not the same as triumph in the transportation yard. For Joyce and the road men, the backlash was just warming up. "Something like this is going to hurt me one day," Gerald Pourroy, a foreman in Joyce's office, says of the court's ruling, his voice low and bitter. He stares at the concrete wall above his desk. "I look down the tracks and I see the train coming toward me."

The day after the Supreme Court decision, a woman in the county office sent Joyce a congratulatory bouquet, two dozen carnations. Joyce arranged the flowers in a vase on her desk. The next day they were gone. She found them finally, crushed in a garbage bin. A road foreman told her, "I drop-kicked them across the yard."

-Susan Faludi, Backlash: the Undeclared War Against American Women

#susan faludi #female oppression #male entitlement #male violence #blue collar #women’s work #pay gap #sexism #misogyny #womens history #us history #amerika

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dailyadventureprompts · 1 year

Note

Any opinions/ideas about the Nagpa? They’re basically just Skeksis so I like ‘em

You hit the nail on the head friend, Nagpa are Skeksis with the serial numbers filed off, along with some extra details that we can use for some delightful adventure hooks. Here's some Nagpa lore, with some of my own revisions:

Originally a coven of thirteen wicked mages, The Nagpa sought power above all things, eventually getting it into their heads that if they devoured the flesh of a god, they could ascend to a state of semi-divinity. This led them to attempt to summon, bind, and slay a god/throw their lot in with a divine civil war/whatever blasphemous action works with the backstory of your campaign

For this action, they were cursed so that their appearance befitted their monstrous character (withered vultures) and forced to wander eternally, abandoning their fine holdings and preventing them from easily congregating in one place. Still in possession of their great magic however, it's not unusual to find a Nagpa in possession of a number of lairs, a portable fortress, or flying domicile, skirting the rules of the curse while allowing them to maintain their opulence.

Because of their secretive dealings pre-curse, all Nagpa have an ability to detect when anyone within 100 miles speaks of them or any of their conspirators. They usualy hunt and kill those who are loose lipped about their existence, allowing them to remain secret for centuries and making them amazing narrative boogymen.

Maintaining schemes that last for generations at a time, it's not uncommon for a down-on-their-luck Nagpa to attach itself to some group using its lifetimes of knowledge and magical ability to bargin for what it desires.

Before We get into the adventure hooks, I wanted to share this amazing youtube comment that I found while doing research for this post:

Phileas Liebmann:

This is such a great scene. In just a few shots we learn everything we need to know about the Skeksis: they're decadent, they're cruel, they hold themselves higher than all other life, they despise each other, but are obligated to dine together nonetheless, hinting that they are traditional folk. Show, don't tell at its finest!

Hooks:

The locals speak of a withered figure who stalks about the badlands, trading treasures for secrets and enacting powerful magic at terrible prices. After dealing with one or two knockon effects of this entities dealings, the party end up meeting it through dumb luck or desperate need, at which point the vulture headed man introduces himself with humble modesty as "Your humble Grandfather Greatest". Grandfather can pay in rare treasures if they're willing to do him some favours, each a small step towards his return to true power.

A beloved sage is dead, murdered by magic, and his young apprentice is on the run. The bounty is steep, but when the party catch up to their quarry they hear a very different tale from her recounting: She and her teacher had spent years delving into a trove of lore from a fallen elven kingdom, but were attacked by some kind of vulture-witch after finishing their latest translation. Apparently the creature is still after her, and by telling them she's put them in danger as well.

Finding that a rover's life quite suits her, one of the nagpa has set herself up as advisor to a clan of travelling marauders, making herself indispensable by using her sorcery to aid their raids on various settlements. Convinced that the initial nagpa ritual still could have worked, she steers these brigands towards temples and other holysites looking to strip the meat off demigods and knaw the marrow of saintly relics.

Art

#Nagpa #footnotes on foes #bounty #low level #mid level #bandits #villain #patron #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #5e #monsters reimagined

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maulfucker · 6 months

Text

Ok some thoughts about senator Maul AU because I keep thinking about it

Palpatine never finds an apprentice in this AU, so he ends up not being such a huge threat

The events of Phantom Menace only kinda happened - Naboo was attacked by the Trade Federation, but there was no Sith to pursue them and kill Qui-Gon, so things got resolved much more easily

Qui-Gon lives, so he gets to train Anakin, and Dooku doesn't get tempted by the dark side

I think Dooku still quits the Jedi Order, but this time it's because he feels like he could do more good as a politician than as a jedi. He keeps a good relationship with the Jedi Order and the Republic and doesn't become a separatist

Every time he's in Coruscant he visits Qui-Gon and Anakin (and Obi-Wan) and chats with them over a nice lunch, which is good because it gives Anakin a politician role model that isn't Palpatine, and a better perspective of his options - he can leave the Order if he finds a new purpose, it's not a betrayal or a failure

Maul was raised in Dathomir so he's not a sith murder machine, but since he's such a powerful Force-senstitive he was raised closer to his mother and the Nightsisters than to his brothers and the Nightbrothers

(Savage and Feral are alive and happy btw. They visit Maul in Coruscant sometimes. I think he might also have one or two sisters because why not)

He still doesn't like Jedi but it's like. He doesn't want to kill them, he just thinks they're way too limiting and self-righteous. Like how Obi-Wan doesn't like politicians

He rarely makes speeches on the senate, so hearing him speak is a rare treat

Picture holonet social media hornyposting under every clip of him speaking because he has a very sexy voice

His outfits are also pretty daring (read: sexy) compared to most (male) senators. The entire Dathomir delegation dresses pretty similarly, but he gets the most attention

Maul vs Padmé who wore it better type posts

He and Padmé have this weird kinda-rivalry because they're very opposite in a lot of ways, but they still vote on the same side in a lot of topics since they both have a very "I am doing this for my people" mentality

He also absolutely hates Palpatine because he gets extremely rotten vibes from him (he's more attuned to the dark side than the Jedi so he probably Feels Palpatine's dark side vibes better than the Jedi. He Feels Palpatine is Bad)

When/if the Jedi Order ever finds out Palpatine is a sith he will be very unsurprised

Ventress is a representative and Maul's "apprentice", learning the Senate life from him

I'm making her younger than her "canon" age here (by about 10ish years) because it makes more sense to me and because giving Maul a government-assigned baby sister is funny

From what we see in the movies each world seems to only have one senator but I want the Dathomir delegation to have at least two because I think it's more fitting (and realistic, every world needs more than one senator what the fuck)

I think it would be funny if Maul swears he's gonna quit soon and Ventress will take his place in the senate but then the other senator retires first and makes Ventress her successor so Maul has to stay a senator for longer. He just wants to get out of this fucking planet

On the Jedi side of this AU I think Anakin grows into a much more disciplined jedi because Qui-Gon the rules bender would definitely stay in contact with Shmi so Anakin's anxieties regarding his mom will be more controlled, and they would be contacted immediately when she gets kidnapped by the tuskens so they save her faster and she doesn't die and neither do the tuskens and everything is fine

Plus Anakin gets to know his new family better and have a brother and add a new dad to his collection <3

Maybe Obi-Wan gets Ahsoka as a padawan this time, so she can have a master who actually wants to teach, and also be kinda-siblings with Anakin and cause chaos with him while Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan aren't looking

The Separatists never really take off, so the clone wars never happen, but I think the attacks on senators that were happening at the start of AotC still happen because I think it's fun to have drama and have Jedi escorts assigned to senators (read: good excuse to set up an obimaul and allow the anidala plot to happen)

I want Maul to be miserable wet cats with Obi-Wan on Kamino so I am allowing the clones to exist. Purely for comedic plot opportunity. And because I love clones so I want them to exist

But I think this time they only made a single batch of like 10-100 clones and were waiting for the Jedi to get back to them with approval to make more

Maul sees this and goes "Absolutely the fuck NOT" so no more clones are made after those. Sad!

With Maul there to help the Jango fight is much more successful (and 50% less humiliating on Obi-Wan's side) so they capture him and no one has to die

Sidious had to hire Jango this time since I am not letting him have an apprentice, so Jango is like "I was hired by some old weirdo in a cloak who called himself Darth Sidious who sounded and looked a lot like the chancellor from Naboo" and Maul feels so fucking vindicated that YES the bad vibes he gets from Palpatine were correct can we PLEASE kill him now

Jango gets arrested and maybe he makes a deal to work under the Jedi instead of staying in jail so he can take care of Boba instead of leaving him to his own luck

Boba being raised with Jedi younglings while Jango is busy offworld....

The clones also become part of the Jedi Order so they can help Jedi with peacekeeping and defense and stuff

Palpatine gets found out and arrested and/or killed by the Jedi and everyone else gets to live happily ever after. Eventually.

... this is. Way longer than planned. I'm having fun

#hm i should make an original post tag #senator maul au #long post #maul #darth maul #ventress #padmé #palpatine #obi-wan #ahsoka #anakin #qui-gon #count dooku #... ok that's enough tagging characters. find this if you will. don't find this if you willn't.#this post spent so many days in my drafts because there's just so many thoughts to write down #and this isn't even every thought #i want maul to take obi-wan to dathomir expecting mother talzin to get rid of kenobi for him but she actually welcomes him #because he's dooku's grandpadawan and dooku is an old friend. and maul is mega pissed. like. how dare you get along with my mom.#also. live ahsoka (and ventress) reaction every time obi-wan flirty-banters with maul #and delayed obi-wan reaction when he remembers maul is a senator and this is highly inappropriate behavior #maul does not react he just glares at obi-wan #also imagining maul using magic and fighting with a magic-infused staff. sexy.#i need to post this already or else it will remain forever in my drafts #so let it be known this is not a complete solid idea this is an idea in progress #have fun thinking about it with me

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brandogenius · 3 months

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i’m desperate need of masc!grumpy!reader and julien hc😩

omg anon!! this AHHh!!! i love this sm!! i hope i did it justice id love to turn this into a au 👀 maybe

‼️RPF‼️

(not proofread)

HC - Masc! Grumpy! Reader x Julien!

- sun and moon dynamic? sun - julien, moon- you

- being taller in this duo you always wrap your arms around julien, hugging her from behind, resting your chin on the crown of her head.

- she’s also the little spoon in this scenario. and she doesn’t mind tbh. she likes to cuddle in your arms

- you like to pay for her coffee / food when you go out just to see her shock flustered face

- both of you go shopping through the small alleyway markets, buying and looking at the rings

- silver is your go to jewellery, you love silver rings and chains.

- your favourite piece of jewellery is a silver chain julien bought for your birthday

- both of you get matching tattoos together. you draw some tattoos for julien.

- youre a tattoo apprentice! julien lets you work on her sometimes.

- always holding onto julien. hands in her belt buckles or around her waist. you’re dubbed as her guard dog. always glaring at anyone who dares look at her the wrong way.

- hair ruffles. your favourite thing is to run your hands through her hair

- when julien and the boys go to the club, you happily hang out at the bar drinking water. an arm wrapped around juliens waist.

- your favourite thing is grabbing julien and plopping her onto your lap.

- you get quite grumpy until you’ve had your daily iced coffee

- you like to go to one specific cafe where they know you by name and order at this point

- some people say you’re a black cat and julien is the golden retriever

- one core memory is going to the theme park on your fourth date and julien wanted this big stuffed bear so you won it for her

- seeing julien grin to herself holding the bear nearly as big as her was adorable you had to admit

- you like to hold the bags. whenever you go shopping you’ll take the bags off her and hold them, walking behind her.

- you get agitated pretty quickly. when a design isn’t working out the way you wanted it to be you’ll get pretty frustrated.

- you’re someone who has a bad time expressing your emotions. small acts of kindness such as cooking dinner or paying for coffee is how you role.

- at this point you have your own way of saying i love you.

- you get grumpy too when julien has to work. wrapping yourself around julien when she’s song writing. pouting like a child whilst you wait for her to finish.

- both of you trade jewellery, swapping rings and chains

- you don’t use social media that much. fans see you and julien from her instagram posts and fans eat it up.

- you’re considering getting an eyebrow and lip piercing but unsure

- julien thinks it would be so hot.

#pom writes #julien baker x reader #julien baker au #julien baker one shot #julien baker fanfic #julien baker fluff #boygenius au #boygenius fanfic #boygenius one shot #boygenius x reader #julien baker x masc!reader

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ghouljams · 7 months

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what is fae!ghosts backstory? (going through older posts one from august 2nd mentioned price saving him)

Ooh I've been wanting to write his backstory out for a while, but never really had a good reason to. It's not a very nice backstory, I feel bad putting him through it, but who is Ghost if he hasn't been completely tattered by the wounds of his past?

tw: mentions of sexual assault, abuse, torture, familial abuse, references to Ghost's canon backstory

So let's go back to the very beginning of Ghost's story, back to his childhood. In this AU Ghost probably would've been born some time in the 14-1500s. When the fae were better known and traded with. Some time in the old days before people started explaining away magic. His family didn't exist in a city, they were up in the northern country, in a little village where people kept to themselves. Where people minded their business lest it be minded for them.

Simon's father was as awful and abusive as he is in the canon lore. His mother couldn't raise a hand to help, and his brother was too young to really understand what was happening. The only real difference was that his father owed some serious debts to a local creditor. Despite all of that Simon does his best to grow up, but by the time he's reached teenage status the debts his father have racked up aren't going to be paid off so easily. What does a good father do when he has nothing to pay off the fae? Sell his son of course.

Simon Riley is taken from his home by a fae named Manuel Roba, who really didn't have a need for a child so much as he had need for a dog. Simon is strong, a butcher's apprentice, but he's stubborn and he's smart. He knows the stories, he knows how to deal with the fae, knows the rules they follow. Or he thinks he does. The problem is that Roba has his own rules, ones that Simon is punished for when he doesn't follow them exactly. All in the hopes of breaking that stubborn spirit and shaping Simon into the dog he needs.

Roba is a summer fae, so he takes Simon out to Winter(the worst season he can think of) and works on him there. Breaks his bones, rapes him, buries him alive in the snow and forces him to claw his way out. For years. Breaking Simon down little by little, and threatening to do the same to Tommy or his mother if he doesn't learn. When he's in a good mood Simon can stay in the house, if he pays his way, works off some of the debts he's accrued with Roba since he's been taking care of him.

Despite everything Simon doesn't break, there's something in his blood, the tapping doesn't work, and ten years of torture just make him resent Roba. Just make him more violent towards the man, more animal than human, but also more uncontrollable.

It's the last torture Roba has to take him out of the Wild and back to the human world, where hundreds of years have passed without Simon. Everyone he ever knew or loved long dead and buried. And his skin doesn't fit right anymore. There's too much wild magic in him, he's remade himself too many times, been buried in the wild too often to be human anymore. It's the early 1800s when Roba drops him in the middle of the city. Everything too loud and bright and overstimulating. Nothing smells right. Except the blood.

Roba wanted a hunter, kept Ghost on a slim be diet of viscera, and he has one. The way Ghost's mouth waters at all the weak little humans that scurry past him. And he can see their tethers, see their hearts pumping blood through their veins, can smell how to lure them where he wants. It's intoxicating in a way he's never experienced before. Then it's ripped away from him, he's hung from his ribs at the edge of the forest and left there.

Except when Roba hears that a creditor he owes is coming for a visit. Now, the trick here is that Roba is breaking rules. Breaking Ghost is breaking rules. He has to hide him, has to bury him again. Easy enough, Ghost's half dead, mostly starved, he won't be climbing out any time soon. So Price comes to collect payment, and he's seen Ghost in the city, he knows what's been done to him. He can smell the last lingering shred of proof at what once was human.

Ghost doesn't know what happens above ground. He knows that he pulled a jaw from another corpse's skull, he knows that he didn't survive this burial, and he knows that he smells smoke. He knows that when he's pulled from the grave there's blood to gorge himself on, and that someone has started a fire. He knows that Price tells him he's sorry, and even though he doesn't really understand what that means it hooks something dark in his chest.

Price stabilizes him, fills in the cracks with smoke, makes a tidy banshee/wraith out of what was once human, and offers him a proper job. Offers him a name that could be his, if he wanted it. And it's easy work. All he has to do is follow Price around, and he gets three square meals, good meals; he gets someone to hold onto when everything is too much, Ghost gets stitched together, the holes patched with gentle hands. He doesn't have to think, doesn't have to be. Price is safe, Price teaches him to control his new magic, shows him how the rules should work(how they keep everyone safe, including Ghost), teaches him how to hunt.

Price pulls him from the mental grave Ghost dug for himself, helps him sort through his memories, doesn't mention the heavy tether between them. I don't think Simon survived that last burial, I think the wild finally broke into him, finally staked its full claim on him. I don't think Ghost talked for a long time, after Price took him in.

Then Gaz showed up, brought Soap along for the ride. Then it wasn't "I'm his dog" it was "we're a team" and that helped a lot. Gaz and Soap brought enough sunshine to bring a bit of the old Simon back, to get him making jokes and being charming in bars. With the hopes of hunting better, of course. And he finally go to live alongside the human world again, got to watch it grow and change, carved out a space for himself and started to feel whole again. Bounced between the 141's home bases before he was talked into getting his own.

A very successful period of being Ghost for a long time. He was well cared for, maybe even loved, but none of the 141 was his. So he indulged in his prey, trapping hearts in tidy little fantasies. Playing house until he thought they were sweet enough to eat. Tap, tap, tapping until he found you. Just for him, always for him. In every universe, in every iteration, in every soft whisper of his name.

Of course you're the one to pull Simon from the grave, to bring his humanity back and fit the last piece into his puzzle. So that when the 141 sees him smile at his drink they all can see the full picture of him.

#ghoul speaks #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #fae!ghost #1fae1 #I think that first time Ghost smiles in the bar Gaz and Soap both kiss him #just so excited to see it #Price is a little more restrained but just barely #happy october everyone

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mythowolf2-blog · 18 days

Text

I did an art trade with @yellow-tsuyosa and we had such a fun time together! Their prompt was Crowley (Good Omens) and Halt (Ranger's Apprentice) visit Hot Topic together. They nailed it! And they even added in Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) for me too! Its the mashup I didn't know I wanted but now absolutely need it.

My prompt was to draw Gideon (The Locked Tomb) and I couldn't help but notice some parallels between Azi and Crowley and Gideon and Harrow so I had to make a little comic of that. My poses are based off of guides from Naomi Lord's new book Cute Creature Art Class.

Hope you all enjoy!

Originally posted on Reddit for @goodomensafterdark

#good omens #fanart #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel #good omens fanart #the locked tomb #rangers apprentice #hot topic #crowley

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player1064 · 30 days

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for the carraville prompts: jamie’s pov of your fic it’s just not what’s done, and him doing/saying increasingly gay things that fluster gary who thought he’d never have a chance with the straight boy

honestly I could write a full length fic of this I LOVE this idea but I am exercising restraint (read: i am too sleepy to keep writing but want to post it anyway) and cutting it off at 1.3k words. Jamie is so so annoying in this god bless xx

---

1996.

There’s a weird buzz in the air when Jamie arrives at Melwood in the morning, and not the usual frustration he’d expect the morning after the first team have lost a game. Everyone’s grouped in little huddles, hushed whispers that cut out when anyone else walks by, but the weirdest part by far is that everyone is holding a fucking newspaper.

He walks into the apprentice’s dressing room and snatches a paper out of one of the other lads’ hands. He turns straight to the back page, but there’s nothing particularly noteworthy there – United won the league, big fucking whoop – so he frowns and flips the paper back to the front page.

Jamie would normally dismiss anything The Sun prints as garbage, but a quick glance around the dressing room shows a few other papers scattered around, all with similar headlines. All with the same photo, printed to take up most of the page, full colour even on a weekday.

The Sun’s headline is not a particularly creative one, but is does get the point across quite succinctly: there, right above the grainy, dimly lit photograph, are the words GAY NEVILLE?

“Oh my fucking God,” he hears Michael whisper from behind him.

Gary Neville, right-back, Jamie’s brain helpfully supplies. Manchester United, 21 years old and already eight caps for England.

His next thought is: what a fucking idiot.

He doesn’t give a shit about the gay thing, not really – he did spend two years at boarding school, he knows what some of the boys got up to there. No, his issue is more that United have just won the league, and everyone knows in a few days they’ll be getting the double when they win the FA cup too. 21 years old, a starter for a team that’s about to make footballing history, a spot in the squad for this summer’s Euros, and the stupid prick’s just thrown it all away because he felt like getting off with someone at a club where anyone could see him.

Maybe he should ask his coaches about practicing in right-back. He has a funny feeling a spot’s about to open up on the England team.

2004.

“Not so brave now that yer boyfriend’s fucked off to Spain, are ye?”

Neville gives him a disinterested look from across the tunnel.

“Not my boyfriend,” he says flatly, rolling his eyes like he’s recited that line a thousand times before.

He probably has, actually. Jamie needs to come up with better insults, something more original. He’ll workshop some for next time.

Still, better to dig in on this one. “No, I s’pose he’s not now that he’s traded you in fer better things. Yer not exactly a Galactico.”

Neville’s expression is still blank but there’s a hint of fire behind his eyes, which tells Jamie that he’s on the right track, that if he pushes just a little bit more he’ll be able to tip him over the edge.

He sees Keane step out from his place at the front of the line, turn to Neville and mutter “d’you need me to –”

“Couldn’t give a fuck, he’s not worth worryin’ over,” Neville replies, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

There’s no time to say anything back, because the referee walks to the front of the tunnel and then it’s time to go start the game.

2006.

“How’s it work, then?”

Neville looks up from the bowl of Weetabix he’d been intently focused on and glances around the room, like he doesn’t believe it’s him Jamie’s talking to.

He shrugs. “How’s what work?”

“The gay thing. Did yous get to bring a WAG over too, or is that only for the normal lads?”

“Wouldn’t be a WAG, would it?” Neville mutters snobbishly.

He’s right, Jamie supposes. But that’s obviously not something he can admit, so he decides to lean in to the ‘stupid Scouser’ bit. “Why not?”

Neville squints at him suspiciously. “’cause he wouldn’t be a wife or girlfriend, would he?” He clears his throat, looks back down at his bowl. “If he existed, that is. Only brought my dad over for this tournament, does that answer your question?”

“Hmm,” Jamie says, ignoring the obvious cue to leave and taking a seat opposite Neville instead. “What would they call ‘im, if you weren’t a sad lonely old spinster… husbands and boyfriends… HABs? Doesn’t ‘ave quite the same ring to it, does it?”

2013.

“Why’d you never get married?”

Neville – Gary – looks up from his iPad to give Jamie his familiar ‘I can’t tell if you’re having me on or if you’re actually just stupid’ squint. “’s only been legal a few months, give us a break.”

“Civil partnered then, whatever. I don’t get it. You’re rich, you were a footballer. I know you’re ugly but looks don’t really factor into it, if your brother’s marriage is anythin’ to go by.”

Gary scowls at him. “Different measures of attractive when you’re gay. I’ll ‘ave you know men find me quite good looking, actually.”

“Do they fuck,” Jamie snorts, because he’s willing to bet that there isn’t a single man on Earth, gay or otherwise, who finds Gary Neville in his current state attractive. Maybe in his playing days, when he was all lean muscle and intense glares, but not now. “They’re just queuin’ up to get a piece a’yous, are they?”

“Maybe they are. Not that it’s any of your business, but I actually ‘ave a date tonight.”

“And that’s after he’s had a look at you?”

2015.

“Don’t go.”

Gary looks exhausted, pale skin and dark shadows under his eyes. His hair needs a trim, his stubble needs a shave, and he needs to not move to fucking Spain.

“Don’t look so stroppy, Carra. You’re about to become Sky’s number one pundit.”

“Don’t want it. C’mon, Gaz, what’m I gonna do for my Monday mornin’ entertainment without tales of your endless bad dates.”

“Most people just read the news.”

“What’re you gonna do, you’re bad enough at pullin’ as it is without a language barrier makin’ things harder. It’s like you want to spend the next five months celibate.”

“Yer awfully concerned about my personal life, James, for someone who not two weeks ago was tellin’ me that I needed to, and I quote, ‘spend less time thinkin’ about fit men and more on thinkin’ about fit footballers instead.’”

“And I stand by that.”

2016.

Jamie’s changing out of his gym clothes when his conversation with Gary earlier in the week echoes in his mind, the dreamy way Gary had said his arms…

The guy probably doesn’t even train as much as Jamie does, probably just exaggerates because for some reason he’s trying to impress Gary. As if Gary is someone you’d want to impress.

He stands in front of the changing room’s mirror and flexes his bicep, notes with pride the bulging vein that leads up from his elbow. It’s a shame, really, that he has to wear suits when he’s on Sky. He’s sure viewing figures would go up if he was allowed to wear something a little more form fitting, maybe he should pitch it to the wardrobe people.

Gary would probably have a fit, his tends to get in a tizz at the suggestion of any change to the strict set of rules he’s got in his head. Jamie had once tried to wear his suit without a tie (because he’d spilled coffee on the one he’d brought, not that he’d told Gary that), and Gary had screeched at him for a good half an hour about professionalism until he relented and went to wardrobe to find a spare tie he could use.

Imagine if he wore a t-shirt. Gary’s head would probably explode.

All the more reason to do it, really.

#jamie's love language is bullying. obviously.#carraville #drabbles #thanks for the prompt! sorry it took me so long to get to but I am slowly working my way through my inbox again

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