this is an announcement to inform all who view this blog that it will now be an archive ( all posts aside from in - character things will be deleted ) and you can find me over at FOLKSTOLD. i will no longer be logging in to check this account, and i will be in the process of deleting posts and soft - blocking all who follow me on this account. some threads will be carried over to my new blog and some might not, but i welcome plotting w/ mutuals who follow me over to the new blog. thanks y’all.
this is an announcement to inform all who view this blog that it will now be an archive ( all posts aside from in - character things will be deleted ) and you can find me over at FOLKSTOLD. i will no longer be logging in to check this account, and i will be in the process of deleting posts and soft - blocking all who follow me on this account. some threads will be carried over to my new blog and some might not, but i welcome plotting w/ mutuals who follow me over to the new blog. thanks y’all.
wren wright / hc. wren’s emotional capacity is very concerning. she is almost always on the cusp of feeling too much or feeling too little; she was raised to suppress her emotions so experiencing her emotions in a healthy way is very difficult for her. there’s a lot of pain & sadness just seeping out of her, and she either has the lid to the pot fitting perfectly or it’s wobbling and any kind of heat will cause it to bubble over. her thoughts often drift very easily to memories, which are usually wrapped in some amount of sadness. so, it’s hard to reflect on her past and do so without being somewhat uncomfortable or sad or melancholy. it is really why she doesn’t speak so openly about her past because if she were to do so, she’d likely begin to cry. streaming tears, but no wailing or sobbing . . . she’s learned to cry silently over the years.
on the other end of this spectrum, there’s so much sadness inside, that kindness really affects her. she gets teary - eyed very easily. she won’t cry or shed the tears, but they definitely well up. kind words? she’s tearing up. hug her? she’ll tear up. a hug & reassuring words? yeah, there’s probably a tear sliding down the cheek.
buttonflask· / / nott. friends are fairly hard to find, especially for one so formal as wren tends to be; hard to find, hard to make, hard to keep. and it isn’t something she’s entirely familiar with. born a half - elf in a family of humans, and born a bastard, she was nothing . . . she had no friends, she was estranged from her family but now, now she determines what she does or doesn’t deserve. no one else will, never again.
the nein have never treated her differently for her station or the situation of her birth ( granted, they’ve never asked; so they don’t know ) but she is grateful for that. she might share her story one day . . . but even fifteen years later, it still hurts. it still haunts her. the firelight illuminates her face, glinting in her green eyes as she gives nott a small smile; sorrows hidden. effort, wren reminds herself.
so, she inhales . . . eyes narrowing to inspect the button now resting between her forefinger & thumb. such a small trinket, cream in color and not a perfect circle, but polished to have a nice sheen. it’s been with her for a while, a long while; across continents and oceans. she bought a few some time ago, in a land far, far away from wildemount, in issylra. the merchant had mentioned they were made of animal horn — antler, specifically. she thought they were pretty, but they were also engraved with a symbol of protection . . . a rune, which he called yr; and she wanted the protection, she needed it; from . . . everything. so yr she has; on buttons, embroidered on her clothes . . . anything to combat her anxiety.
wren blinks, turning her attention back to the goblin girl at her side; “ it caught my eye in a shop, ” she says smoothly as she moves to hold the button out for nott to inspect, or swipe it from her hand. there’s no telling what this little goblin will do, and something about that makes her smile once again. “ like how you just caught my eye; you’re a sneaky one, aren’t you? ”
wren wright & the mighty nein. wren meets the mighty nein in uthodurn, at the broken stool tavern. she’s curious to see other adventurers, folks clad in armor and weapons ( some of which she can only assume are magical ) like she is. she is in uthodurn for her own reasons: she’s v. interested in things that involve dragons, she’s heard of / read about iceflex, and she has heard of / read about the nightmare in ivory & mythburrow. she likely read about these things, as she’s v. studious. but, she knows the way to the smeltbourne forge and offers to lead the way . . . a gut instinct telling her that something was worth pursuing, or being involved, in regards to the nein and their quest. she would then be aware of their need for iceflex, and having to either acquire it through means of trade or by finding a white dragon. something she is extremely interested in doing. so, she goes with them to the plexus post and the vellum steeple, where she too learns a little in the hour given with a book, but is kicked out along with the mighty nein when nott & caleb have a kerfuffle. to her relief, she’s not banned from the archive. but she was irritated to have been thrown out, thinking she might never have access to it again ( and later learns that their little tussle was staged, which she is unaccustomed to ).
though exasperated in some situations, she continues to adventure with the mighty nein, including their encounter with gelidon and everything that comes afterward; later becoming a more permanent part of the group as time passes by. she grows very fond of them, and they become her family . . . whether they return that sentiment or not. wren’s first appearance is in episode 73.
yinseal / / sakura. grin only grows as her friend tries to guess and a chuckle escapes her, it tickles her that she’s so close. there are countless dreams, with days & days to think them through. “ well, those too, of course. but i’ll be making all the best weaponry too. i want to be the best weaponsmith around. ”
@faeblyd / / thorin. requisitions, a grim reminder of the war running rampant through their homeland; and while she’s grateful for his wellness, it worries her that he is so close to the conflict. but then again, so is she. there are many encampments . . . stormcloak & imperial alike. she’s stumbled upon some unintentionally, barely managing to slip away without incident; and she’s learned of a few areas to avoid, thanks to learning of those locations from locals. she even recalls healing an injured soldier or two along the roads during her travels . . . she can’t let them suffer, she won’t. and so war reaches even those who do not fight for one side or the other.
she scoops the ingredients up, pile by pile, and drops each gingerly into the cauldron. the half - elf smiles ( it will be a lovely stew ), “ it makes me happy to know you’re doing well, thorin. ” but, there is a pause, a consideration of what should be spoken aloud . . . what she should truly worry him with, and what she shouldn’t. the woman won’t tell him of how curious she’s grown about dragons, and why they’re returning after years of being thought to be extinct. she won’t tell him of the walls within tombs & on mountain tops, all over the world. walls that speak to her . . . whispering and chanting, beckoning her to come closer; or how she listens. “ well, ” she begins — shifting slightly in her seat, “ it is hard to stay out of trouble in our world, so much is happening. ” she sprinkles the dust of blue & purple mountain flowers into the pot and starts to stir with a wooden spoon. “ there are soldiers everywhere, i’ve healed a few who were a bit worse for wear; and i’ve seen some dragons. ”
@widaugast sent a meme : ❛❛ i am not a stranger to the dark. ❜❜
wren’s demeanor doesn’t change greatly ‘pon his comment . . . pale green eyes continuing to evaluate him, her eye contact unwavering. but, there is an ever so slight curl to the corners of her lips . . . an acknowledgement of understanding perhaps. the half - elf is unsure, still she’s curious. she doesn’t know the particulars of the darkness caleb speaks of, but she knows hers. she blinks once, and caleb is no longer there; she is alone . . . and she’s in the woods. the dark ( its shapes & sounds, its presence & proximity ), it’s different for everyone.
her eyes shift as she takes two steps forward, looking ‘cross the landscape; left and then right . . . it’s fairly familiar to her, a forest ( of birch and pine ) blanketed in a near blinding snow as it catches the light. issylra. then she looks up, towards the sky, where the sun shines between dreary, dark clouds; and then down at her feet, and she notices there’s no trace of her physical presence . . . no footprints, nothing. huh. but, it is when she attempts to look behind her that she’s frozen, unable to turn around, and she feels it just there . . . jaws only inches from the back of her head. toothy & terrible, the bane of her existence. goosebumps ripple ‘cross her skin as the chill creeps ever so slowly through her and tears began to well; but it’s . . . funny . . . as fearful as she is of it, it has been her only true friend. the one who kept her company through years of neglect. “ we do not look behind, little one; never behind, ” it breathes — cold & careful, hoarding her memories.
she blinks and caleb is there once again; all to see was a brief glint of blue, a glint of aggression, in her eyes ( of which are normally sage or asparagus in color ). the curl of her lips is gone, the softest smile eradicated; expression now tainted with tension as she blinks away the tears & the uncertainty. she begins to regain the mask, the poise . . . emotion pushed beneath ice, and she is stone once more. “ unfortunately, neither am i. ”
To reconnect myself a little with my portrayal of LUNA LOVEGOOD, I’m summarizing some of my headcanons, thoughts, etc.
She is Luna Cybele Lovegood.
She is half - blood, and pure - blood? Her parents and grandparents were all magical ( witches & wizards ), but her paternal great - grandfather was a muggle.
She sleepwalks and has since she was a small child.
She’s very skilled in non - magical skills as well, such as sewing and baking; she does use magic to help her though, like stirring utensils w/o her hands, etc.
She is pescetarian.
She has a cat companion named Nox. He’s a black Sphinx cat; and she often knits or crochets little sweaters for him.
She has an animagus form, learned in 2001, and it’s that of a snowshoe hare.
She travels around parts of Europe from 2000 to 2008 as a budding magizoologist.
She’s not v. religious, rather she follows what she believes to be right, but her belief system could be considered neo - paganism and / or eclectic paganism.
She was home - schooled by her mother until she began attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry in 1992.
Her mother is Birgitte Pandora Lovegood nee Bruun, and she was born in Denmark, but moved with her parents ( as a small child ) to England.
She opens an international museum for magical creatures in 2008, it is the Lovegood Museum of Magical Creatures and it is located in wizarding London. The cleaning staff is comprised of house - elves who are paid ( if they’ll take it ), but she gives them room & board too.
She loves sushi.
She collects enamel / lapel pins. Each one represents something to her, there are memories or people tied to the meaning of each one.
She is v. into fashion and experimentation of fashion. She does wear vibrant, very eye - catching outfits and has v. interesting accessories. But, she has casual outfits too but her outfits range from all kinds of styles and colors.
Being an artist, she is pretty good at face - paint and makeup too. A few days a week at the museum, Luna has a face - painting booth set up for children ( and adults ) to just come and have some fun.
She is naturally predisposed for multiple pregnancies due to hyperovulation.
She makes many kinds of crafts and knickknacks and even clothing accessories like mittens, scarves, etc. and she sells them. She later sets up an Etsy account.
She reads things upside down because it’s fun and she likes to mess with people a little. Mischief she likely inherited from her many friendships within the Weasley family.
She hums and sings, and she can perform a lovely kulning.
She’s v. tactile and she relies a lot on smell, olfactory stimulation. She’s big on aromatherapy/
She does become an author sometime after her museum opens.
@buttonflask / / nott. a pearlescent button rolls ‘cross porcelain knuckles as she flips, lazily, through the pages of a book. a book she has devoured a hundred times over and soon a hundred times again. the poise known to her is still somewhat there, but it lacks the usual unyielding presence of formality; wren’s shoulders are lax and she is at ease . . . a feeling that is unfamiliar when in company, but it is not unwelcome. it is trust she’s choosing to place in her new friends — the mighty nein, so she must bridle fight or flight. she must; no longer will she kowtow to the fears in her heart, in her mind. but, that isn’t as easy as it sounds. no, it takes effort . . . though, it’s becoming easier with each passing day, and that comes as a surprise — a pleasant one. she chuckles softly to herself, inhaling with the softest shake of her head; it is then that she feels a presence suddenly near her and she turns her head to find nott standing there. withdrawn from her thoughts, a brown brow arches and there is a soft curl to one corner of her lips; “ oh, hej nott, ” she speaks smoothly, turning her torso towards the goblin girl . . . wren wouldn’t lie, she’s been curious about this one. very curious. “ what can i do for you, nott? ”
the tea : tenten’s skill with weaponry isn’t her only thing. she was on a team, with a sensei who was a TAIJUTSU MASTER. she was on a team with a kid who would become a TAIJUTSU MASTER. she was on a team with a kid who was a prodigy, smart, skilled, and his style of hand - to - hand? taijutsu. so you can’t fucking tell me that tenten is JuSt A MiD - rAnGeD FiGhTeR. fuck that shit, fuck :clap: that :clap: shit. she is a weapon master, she is a master in her own right of taijutsu; lee, of course, is in his own little league because wow, his skills in taijutsu are outstanding. neji too, but i’m so tired of seeing the women of the series disrespected to praise or elevate the men. tenten had to keep up with her sensei and her team - mates and she met the challenge head fucking on. head. fucking. on. she is more than just a stepping stone to elevate the boys / men of her team. she is a force to be reckoned with and she’d kick your ass into tomorrow so don’t play no fuckin’ games unless you’re ready to play. oh, and she and all the kunoichi could conquer the fucking world, gtfo. men who? bye.
oh, and on a similar note. i don’t tolerate the fanon or canon bullshit where tenten ( and neji even ) never received any attention from gai. it’s always assumed that gai only gave attention to lee, because that’s all we’re really ever shown, aside from the select few filler episodes of team building, which bless, but gai :clap: paid :clap: attention :clap: to tenten too. she was an orphan, she needed guidance and support and love too. and in my mind, he did his best for all of them. and he is like a father to tenten.
mythstold· / / nadia. the tavern atmosphere is as one would expect . . . teeming with sounds — overlapping, aggravating; the chatter, wheezy woodwinds, cups that clink together, & the tuning of strings. it is too much noise. too. much. noise. with a twitch of an eye, she seeks some form of escape and slowly makes her way towards a booth in the back. wren is rather aware of her friend who follows behind — clop, clop, clop, clop; a rhythmic beat of hooves. and, she focuses on the sound, and in the world’s weirdest sense of irony, it soothes her . . . muffling all else ( the racing thoughts, the noises ) in wren’s mind. there is the slightest hint of relief in her fair features as they sit and scoot into the booth; answering as they settle, “ i don’t think they’ll be too long, ” so she hopes . . . this is where they all agreed to meet after splitting to run some errands. “ we could get some drinks or some food, i don’t think they’d mind, ” she suggests with a slight shrug. though, the racket of their surroundings begins to seep into her head once again . . . and she recoils; sighing as her shoulders tense and brow furrows. “ this is going to sound very strange, but could you keep tapping your hooves? ”
foreaft / ind. prv. multi - muse ft. WREN WRIGHT ♢ she is lost . . . who is she, who is she, who is she . . . who is it that she sees in the mirror, for she sees both beauty and beast ( shut it out, shut it out, SHUT IT OUT ). who is she meant to be? a dungeons & dragons oc, written by beryl.
Sh’kee, my grung tempest cleric, just used calm emotions to soothe a treant that was starting to become hostile after her group was trying to peacefully get past it to go back up in the elevator lol. She spent like 20 minutes prior to this talking to the treant and asking yes or no questions to discern if they were a ) hostile and going to harm her, b ) happy or content, c ) being commanded . . . after climbing a building, leaping 45+ ft, going through a window, and using a fantasy elevator to get to the lobby where it was sitting in the fountain.
After this though, she and her party got stuck in the elevator and these hostile vines were chasing up ( not related to the treant ) and she used thunderwave . . . which hit every single one of her party members, and all the vines too, but all her party failed and took damage lols. My friends are not pleased but oh well.
wren wright. half - elf. sorcerer ( draconic ). a commission done by my friend celeste @ celestial_scribbler of my d&d oc. her commissions are currently open and her prices are listed on the ko-fi link on her insta! go give her some love & support.
faeblyd / / aodhan. mirielle’s lips curl softly, and for a moment, she is staring at him — tenderly — as he speaks; it is a split second of deep, unguarded emotion . . . a brief glimpse of love, gone in the blink of an eye. but, she notices such and averts her gaze, a bit of embarrassment coloring her cheeks; so her eyes follow his to settle upon the faint embers of a once spirited fire and then she glances about the nearby landscape.
he’s hit the nail on the head; there are trees everywhere, nooks & crannies made by thick roots, low boughs, or branches that droop and sag a little. a plethora of places to hide . . . for the pair and for any potentially hostile creatures who’d come to investigate. it is a tad unnerving; if not for their darkvision, they’d be blind . . . a couple of sitting ducks in the dark. the hairs on the nape of her neck stand up at the thought of things lurking and almost instinctively her hand shifts, palm now facing upward as ( fwump! — she casts dancing lights ) a globule of light ascends a few feet in the air above them. and she nods, eyes still scanning their surroundings . . . “ unfortunately, i think it makes us a bit of a target as well; ” the half - elf inhales sharply, and then exhales, “ that may just be a risk we’ll have to take. ”
