cn: maren

Nirala is a Naiad, a water spirit similar to Dryads, but her heritage is a little unique, as she, like her parents, have draconic heritage. She was even born from an egg laid while her mother was in her own draconic form, leading to her true form having a unusual appearance for an elemental spirit. Her soul attuned to the constantly flowing energy of river waters, she has the ability to disperse her body seamlessly with fresh water and travel as a current, but in salt water it pains her to use that same natural magic and so she reverts to her true-born form when she wishes to play and chase her girlfriend, Parul- who can effortlessly take Maren form and enjoys taking Nirala out into the Sea just off the coast of the Plateaus.

@avalonianrising @diveremblem

anonymous asked:

I have this scenario in my head where Shizuo befriends a kind and sympathetic store clerk who ends up having a secret identity as a complete badass. How do you think Shizuo would respond to finding out about the identity? (It can be romantic or not, whichever you prefer~)

I had a lot of fun with this one! Trying to think of Shizuo’s thought process was interesting. Thank you for the request!


I push the door open, bells chiming in time with my entrance, and
the store’s cold air hits my face. The city is waking up, and I’m on my way to wherever Tom needs me, but as I do every day, I stop by the store. It’s is just a daily routine, as monotonous as putting clothes on in the morning. I typically step in, glance around the aisles, and then stroll over to the cashier. She seems like a nice lady, but I wouldn’t know, as I’ve only ever exchanged the phrase “I’ll take my usual pack” with her. Her demeanor is nice and she speaks sweetly, but I don’t know much more about her.

Inside the store, I’m tied to my routine. Nothing has changed, from my movements to our words—that is, until she breaks the silence.

“Did you hear about what happened this weekend?” I shake my head, “A man was attacked just down the street.”

That isn’t the best topic for starting a conversation with a distant acquaintance, but I appreciate her skipping pointless small talk.

“Really? Were you here when it happened?” I’m not sure how to lead the conversation.

“Oh, no,” she waves her hand gracefully, “I was in bed by then, but it is scary how close it happened.”

I don’t know much, but I do know how gracious she is. Her appearance isn’t striking, but rather plain, though she carries herself elegantly. I would take her as the type to never swear and say “thank you” often, but nothing more than an average young woman.

“Well, that’s how the city is. You never know what’s going to happen.”

She nods as I speak to show her attention, how polite.

“Of course, but I always know you’ll be here every morning,” She says with a smile.

I nod in return, giving her a smile as well. Hearing her speak does warm my heart a bit.

“Of course,” I respond.

Our daily exchange of a carton and cash leads to another routine: my walk to meet Tom. I thank the cashier and wish her a good day on my way out, then the Summer heat bursts onto me as I open to door.

———

After a long day of “persuasion”, my limbs are aching and I’m longing to crash in my apartment. The walk home is dark, with shops’ lights leaking onto streets, along with fading lamps dotting sidewalks. My palms light up as I flick a lighter on, bringing the flame to my cigarette. I breathe in, and as I exhale the smoke dances in front of familiar storefronts. Few people are walking around in this part of town, aside from those I see every day: the men and women walking home from work who know me only by my face and word of mouth. I’ve walked this road so many times before, but I don’t know anything about the people I see along the way.

The corner store is in the distance, its light still shining in the night. I’ve rarely been there after work, so I wonder if that woman is still there. She is probably reading with a cup of tea at this hour, not working. Some thoughts run through my mind, and I wonder what her life is like. Who is she, other than the woman behind the counter?

A shadow emerges from an alleyway, and I slow my pace a bit. I have no reason to fear for myself, but I’m just acting upon instinct. The figure is dark, and I can’t make out a face, merely a vaguely human shape. It looks at me, hunches over, and slowly, eerily, creeps toward me. The convenience store’s neon lights buzz a few feet from me, as they cast a faint light on the figure. My eyes lead down its arm, to its pants pocket. Slowly, a glimmer of light flashes, and I realize what I’m up against. The person whips a knife from his pocket, pointing it in my face. My limps freeze, but my mind rushes. Self-defense goes straight to my mind. Next to me, there is a bench that I could pick up. A few feet behind, I can grab a stop sign. Step by step, I move backward, gradually removing my hands from my pockets. My attacker follows my movements, mirroring me. One arm reaches behind me, inching toward the sign. My fingertips graze the metal bar when a door swings open.

“Drop the knife!” A female voice yells, and I almost don’t recognize it.

The woman bolts in my direction, and my jaw drops. Her flowing hair and uniform are all too familiar. That sweet, genteel lady from the store is now racing toward the assailant. Her arm whips around his neck, putting him in a chokehold, and she slams her knee into his groin, effectively making him drop his knife. In turn, the man falls to his knees, with another kick to the ribs tearing him to the ground.

“I already called the police. Are you okay?”

Her chest is heaving and her voice is weak, but I’ve never seen her so strong. My eyes dart in disbelief, from the man cowering below us to the woman across from me. She still smiles at me like she always does: sweetly, but no longer demure. I’m so lost in thoughts of her that I forget her question.

“Oh… I’m fine.”

Her arm extends to my shoulder, and she guides me into her store. I feel the familiar gust of air, see the same bland aisles, but it’s different this time. In the mornings there are no police cars outside the window. In the mornings I’m never threatened with a weapon. In the mornings, she is so different.

“I saw you in the window. When you started walking back, I saw that guy,” she looked toward the man outside, now being handcuffed, “and I thought you might want some help.”

“Well, thank you for that.”

Still bewildered, I lean against the counter, glancing around the store.

“Do you want a drink? Or your usual pack? It’s on me.”

“You don’t have to do that, I’m alright.”

She’s still as polite as always. It’s as if she switched to a whole other persona at the sight of danger.

“I insist, you’re the one who just went through that.”

She steps behind the counter, reaching to pick up my usual pack of cigarettes, I might have looked at her for a moment too long, but I’ll amount that to my still-present shock.

“Don’t get yourself into too much trouble,” She says, sliding the box over the counter.
“I’ll try not to,” I say with a smile.

I think I said this earlier, that danger is just the way of the city. Perhaps routine is part of that, too. That’s how my life has always been: various intrusions changing my routine, day-by-day. I have a feeling that this was a good intrusion, though. After all, I don’t know much about the woman behind the counter, other than that I want to know more.


- Maren

anonymous asked:

Hi! I was wondering if u could make a scenario with shizuo and his s/o at a carnival, with him playing the high striker game to win a prize for his s/o :)

Warm lights lined the city streets as you and Shizuo strolled along, hand in hand, taking in the sights of the festival. Tents sheltered enthusiastic salespeople, inviting passersby to try their street food, buy a trinket, or play a game. Young and old, couples and friends laughed together under the stars; it really was magical. The bright lights and happy people brought warmth to your heart, leading you to hold Shizuo’s arm, bringing him in closer. A soft smile brushed across his face.

“You did a good job of convincing me to come here.” He said in a playful tone.

He wasn’t the type to go out to parties or events, but after plenty of persuasion, he agreed to come to the festival. Then, you stumbled upon something wonderful.

“Take a shot to win a prize!” A man shouted nearby.

Turning his way, a wall of plush animals caught your eye. The game that the man was running was perfect for Shizuo: a high striker game.

“Shizuo! Look! Do you want to play that?” You said, eagerly pointing to the game.

“Y/N, it’s probably rigged. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

In response, you turned his face to yours, pouting in an effort to convince him.

“Please! I want one of the stuffed animals.”

He always caved into you when you wanted something, and this time was no different. With a sigh, he reluctantly agreed and strolled over to the man by the machine. There was nothing noticeable about the operator, except that he didn’t recognize Shizuo. Most people would have recognized the local celebrity, especially someone running a game based on strength.

Shizuo picked up the hammer, sizing it up and giving the machine a glance up and down. After a glance at you, making sure you know that you owed him for this, and a roll of his shoulders, his arms swung up then slammed down. The bang resounded down the streets, leading crowds of people to turn in Shizuo’s direction. Their attention then shifted to the bar shooting up and hitting the bell on the game, triggering a tune and flashing lights. Shizuo relaxed his body, dropping the hammer. His “I can’t believe I’m doing this” expression turned to one of pride as he sent a smirk your way. You bolted toward him, catching him in your embrace.

“Thank you Shizuo!”

“Of course. Oh, the things I do for you.”

You look up at him, beaming.

“Now go choose a prize.” He said, leaving you with a kiss on the cheek.


- Maren