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writingdevil · 1 month

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The Lonely Cottage in the Woods

(Hi!This is my first time writing a fic in a certain fandom,and it's also my first unique post on my blog,despite being on this site for ages.This fic is inspired by a piece of boatem art by @wasyago )

Somewhere,deeps within the forests of the land of Hermitcraft,a small cottage stood.Tall,quiet and proud.

The cottage served as a shop for travelers,people either needing supplies for their journey,or advice on where to go next.The cottage never had a shortage of visitors in Hermitcraft,what with all the creative and determined minds that dwelled the land.

But the cottage also served as an Inn,and was proudly stated on the sign that was nailed to the front of the house for all to see-'Scar's Spectacular Shop and Inn!'

The problem though,was that nobody ever wanted to stay the night at the cottage.They would always buy the supplies and take the information that they needed,and then leave.Leaving the owner of the cottage with a heavy heart and an even heavier silence.

The man who resided in the cottage was a cheery,happy man,who lived in an incredibly silent house.He was always willing to help people on their journeys,whether it be to help them clean their wounds,or point them in the right direction.But they never stayed.They just got what they wanted and left the lonely man,in the cottage that was beginning to feel too big for him.

The man's name was Scar Goodtimes,and he's lived in his travelers shop for years now.But as the years passed,Scar wished more and more,that some people would linger at the cottage,for just a day or two.Even though Scar was quick to get over it, some sad thoughts would worm its way to the forefront of his mind.

Like how the table looked too big with just one plate of food.

Like how the house looked too clean for his liking,no clutter to be found.

Like how there was a lack of life in the house.

Bur Scar understood.Really,he did.A lot of people wouldn't be quick to trust a lone man in a forest and stay the night.Stranger danger and all that.But then he'd hear other things when people thought he couldn't hear their whispers.

Yes,true to his name,fading scars littered across his body,not an inch to be spared.There was even a large and obvious scar that slashed across the middle of his face,which he knew people ogled at,but he didn't mind.

What he did mind,were the rumours about how he got the scars.A lot of things he overhead was that he used to be a bloodthirsty arsonist,or a shady criminal who used to run an empire,and they just got more outlandish from there.

Truthfully though,Scar just got into a lot of accidents.

(Though,sometimes,he'll hear those rumors and look down at his arms,and a quiet voice in his head will wish they weren't so visible)

But it's fine.He doesn't mind being in a cottage most of his life.He's got Jellie,his precious cat,and he knows that one day,he'll get used to seeing people not sticking around,and his heart won't twist in pain so much.

Knock knock!

The first peculiar man that he meets in a while,was named Impulse.He was large,buff,and had two horns protruding out of his head,with a long tail swishing back and forth behind him,and a sheepish grin on his face.

"Hi!Are you the innkeeper here?"

"Why yes I am!My name is Scar Goodtimes,what can I do for you,good sir?"The man rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he said "Well,I was wandering around, looking for new clients in the area for builds,but I didn't notice the time,and then i saw the sign that this place was an inn,and I'd really like to avoid the mobs,if that's okay."The implied question hung in the air between them,and Scar had to physically stop himself from trying to jump out of his wheelchair.

Someone was asking to stay at his makeshift Inn!Also,the man seemed no casual about it,not a hint of suspicion or distrust in hid voice whatsoever.This completely normal offer meant so much more than Impulse would ever know.So,with an excited grin,Scar happily said "Make yourself at home!"

Which Impulse certainly did.He was respectful of his house and of Jellie,most importantly.He got settled in,and during dinner,they talked about Impulse's plans and what his goals were after today.

Impulse was quite a hard-working demon,always looking for the next farm or building to create,for others to use.He has recently just finished working on a massive factory,that had been given to a town to use itself.He was just wandering around now,waiting for the next client to build for.

Scar was very impressed with Impulse's driven nature,but when he asked a certain question,the relaxed smile fell off his face and confusion replaced it instead.

Scar had simply asked "Have you ever built something for yourself?"

That question-hit different to Impulse.His tail flicked back and forth in agitation the longer he couldn't answer,but the silence pretty much answered for him.No.He's never build anything purely for his own benefit.

Scar was quick to brighten the mood and patted his shoulder comfortingly as he said "Hey,it's okay if you haven't.Besides,you have all the time in the world to build whatever your heart desires.Just make sure I can see it when it's done."He said that last part jokingly,not expecting it to have such a weight on Impulse's heart.

Impulse didn't leave the next day.Instead,he walked up to him that morning,fiddling with his tail nervously,the complete opposite of the cheerful man he was yesterday and asked "Is it okay if I stay here for a few more days?I...might have to make a change of plans for myself."

He didn't elaborate,but he didn't need to as Scar immediately blurted out "Yes!Of course!"feeling joy return to his heart.So just like that,the cottage in the forest wasn't lonely anymore.

Impulse was a very nice addition to Scar's life.He would talk with Scar all day long and play with Jellie,and help around the house without complaints.He sometimes even brought a fresh perspective on some of Scar's own projects,making some redstone suggestions.Hewould check up on Scar if he was feeling down (a first for him) and make sure that he was happy and laughing all day.It was such a welcome change,and it may still just be two people in a big cottage,but Scar was just happy to hear another voice through the walls from time to time.

Scar didn't comprehend the hole that Impulse had started to fill in his heart,until he saw blueprints and papers scattered about on the table one day,and at the top of the paper,was titled-Personal Build! Then he knew that he had done something right.

"Um,Scar?There's someone sleeping on the front porch."

The second odd person that Scar met,didn't even come to the cottage on purpose.

Scar rushed to the door and yanked it open,only to find a young woman,sure enough,sleeping outside the cottage,her back against the doorframe.Her head kept dropping forehead as she slept,a curtain of brown hair blocking her face.

She didn't look injured in any way,but that didn't mean she wasn't in danger.Scar bit his lip,unsure of how to go about this,but then he heard Impulse walk up behind him and softly called out "Hey,ma'am?Ma'am,are you okay?"

Thankfully,that was enough to wake her as she groaned,rubbing her eyes lazily,sitting up properly,and Scar had to force himself to be patient before launching into questions.

The woman got her bearings together pretty quickly though,yawning as she looked them both in the eye.But when she did,Scar's mouth dropped slightly in awe.Both her eyes had a background of a dark void,almost like a night sky,and within them,a twinkling star in the center of her right eye,and a crescent moon in her left.

"Good morning,gentlemen."were the first things she said,her voice holding nothing but chipper positivity,as if this was a normal occurrence."It's actually almost midnight."Impulse nervously corrected,probably not equipped for a situation like this,but Scar definitely was,used to being friendly with all types of people,and this lady was no different.

"Well,nonetheless,hello to you too.My name is Scar and this is my friend Impulse."The woman smiled brightly,sticking her hand out "It's nice to meet you both too.You can call me Pearl."Scar gladly shook her hand,and was surprised to find her hands just as calloused as his own."I hope you don't mind me asking but are you-okay?You're not hurt are you?Or in any sort of danger?"

Pearl shook her head,the bell on her sleeping hat jingling loudly in the night.She crossed her legs,still sitting on the porch,and replied "Oh,no,I am perfectly fine and safe,you don't have to worry about me."but then Impulse asked in worry and confusion "But then why were you sleeping on the porch?"

At his question,Pearl's shoulders slumped and her smile shrunk,but still appeared happy as she explained "Well,I was simply living my life,far across the land from here,building farms and being self-sufficient,but then a few days ago,I kinda started to feel-bored.There was nothing new to do and I didn't really have friends to talk to,and in those moments, I tend to just look up at the night sky."then she did exactly that,and Scar copied her, watching as the stars glistened in the sky.

There was now a fondness in Pearl's voice as she continued "I always had a bad habit of letting the moon and the stars drift me away,but this time,I felt like I was being pulled towards something,so I let myself be taken away by the night,and I guess I ended up here."Pearl then shrugged,done with her story and seemingly content with her current position.

It was certainly a story,but Scar felt like she was telling the truth,if her constant beaming smile at the moon was anything to go by.He turned to look behind him,and saw Impulse giving her a small smile back,with a glint of something familiar in his eyes.One shared look between them and they were on the same page.

"Well then Pearl,this cottage also acts as an Inn,so wouldn't you rather gaze at the night sky from inside a warm house,with nice food and fluffy blankets to accompany you?"Pearl glanced down at her lap as she muttered "That does sound nice."There was a minute of silence as Pearl contemplated the offer,and Scar was beginning to worry that she'd say no,but what was she going to do then?Keep walking aimlessly while staring at the moon,with no sense of direction whatsoever?Scar wasn't so sure why he was getting so stressed over a stranger.A part of him said that it was because he was still lonely,but that was ridiculous,he had Impulse now,so his loneliness should be fixed,right?

Maybe he was still lonely,or maybe it was something deeper,something that came from his core,like how Pearl said that the moon was guiding her towards something.Either way,Scar really hoped she would stay.

Pearl hadn't answered yet,and she now had a look of frustration on as she seemed to be arguing with herself,until Impulse spoke up and said "Pearl,we can assure you that there won't be a dull moment while you're in this cottage."

Then she was sold.

Pearl added a new layer of comfort in Scar's life that he didn't know he needed.She added her own spark of life and colour within the house,and she fit right in with the two of them.

She volunteered to help improve the inside of the cottage,making it appear more lively and appealing, making its previous arrangement look bland in comparison,and Scar didn't even realise how dim it looked.

Pearl still gazed at the moon every night,walking outside and simply staring up at the sky. Sometimes,Impulse and Scar joined her. Sometimes,Scar worried that Pearl would feel another tug and would drift away from them.

But she always came back into the house,even weeks after her arrival,and if Scar noticed that,over time,she spent less time looking at the stars and more time with them,well,that was for him to cherish.

The next bizarre event happened a few weeks after Pearl's arrival.

Throughout the day,there was a weird scratching and stomping sound coming from the roof.Impulse said that he would check it out,after he was finished helping Pearl with the redstone machine for their potato crops.

Knock knock!

"I've got it!"Scar called out to his friends in the backyard as he quickly opened the door,expecting another customer.

What he saw instead,was a very tall man,easily over six feet.He wore a clean black suit,which was unusual for travelers.But what was more unusual was the crimson red parasol he held,shielding his pale face and fancy mustache from the sun.He seemed very anxious,twisting the parasol handle, and then Scar noticed that his fingers were covered in a red powder.

When he answered the door,the man took a quick glance at him and then immediately averted his eyes.Scar had the urge to rub the marks on his arms,thinking that they were grossing the stranger out,but then the man stuttered out "U-Um,hello sir."

"Hello to you too.What can I help you with?Do you need supplies for your travels?"The man shook his head and said "Actually,I needed to ask you a question."Scar tilted his head in confusion,but let the man continue.

The stranger tightened his hold on his parasol, trying to gather up some courage,so Scar shot him a soft smile and the man looked stunned at his patience,and that seemed to make him relax enough to speak.

"Have you-um-been hearing weird noises today?" Scar nodded,becoming more curious as to who this man was.Was he an exterminator or something kind of hunter?Surely not,with the attire he had on,nor did he act like he even wanted to be having this interaction.

At his nod,the man sighed harshly,and Scar caught a flash of fangs in his mouth.A vampire,huh?Well that would certainly explain the parasol in broad daylight.

The man began to stammer,his attention much too focused on trying to peer inside his house rather than making a coherent sentence.His eyes were flickering to every corner that wasn't Scar,and when Scar opened his mouth to finally get to the bottom of this,there was suddenly a voice in his left ear yelling "BOO!"

Scar shouted in fright,jumping in his wheelchair as a new voice cackled in his ear.The other man standing before him lost all his nerves as he scolded the new figure "I knew you'd be around here,Grian!Why did you fly off without me?"

Scar panted in shock,a hand on his chest,and looked to the left,finding a man hanging upside down from the porch roof,a wide and cheeky grin on his face.He then dropped,then swooped back up into the air,bright red wings shimmering in the sun. He flew around in the air for a few seconds,circling his friend's head as he replied "Because,Mumbo Jumbo,you slept in and I was bored of waiting for you to wake up."

"I slept in because I was up all night fixing the redstone machine that you broke!"

"Well you shouldn't have left those levers and buttons all over the place!You know I'm weak to them!"

As the tall man,now known as Mumbo Jumbo, sighed tiredly,the new avian friend lowered himself and used his friend's arm as a perch, glancing at Scar curiously.

Oh,these two were trouble,and Scar liked trouble.

The guy that spooked him,Grian,was studying him closely,and Scar was beginning to feel like some sort of prey.He had messy,sandy blonde hair and brown,beady eyes that seemed to stare into his soul.He wore a thick,red jumper,almost matching the colour of his wings,and when Scar looked into his eyes,all he saw was mischief and chaos.

"Listen,I'm really sorry about giving you a fright there.I was just sitting on your roof,messing with Mumbo,and then I heard you talking and just wanted to mess with you a little bit."Grian explained,and Scar obviously forgave him,not that he was angry in the first place.He knew that he was just in the middle of two friends playful banter.

Scar waved him off "No need to apologise,just made my poor heart skip several beats and made my life flash before my eyes."the three men chuckled lightly,then fell into a comfortable silence, which was weird considering that they've only talked for a few minutes.

But then Impulse's voice called out from the back of the house "Hey Scar!Can you lend a hand with this redstone machine?"

"Redstone?"Grian said,eyes drawn to the voices of Pearl and Impulse deep in the house.He suddenly flapped his wings,almost hitting Mumbo's parasol in the process,who grumbled in annoyance and leaned away as Grian floated in the air.

"Mumbo's great at redstone,let him try!"then just straight up flew into the house without a second glance at Mumbo.Scar chuckled as he heard Grian's cheerful voice mixed in with Pearl and Impulse's surprised ones,but Mumbo's harsh sigh brought concern out.

He seemed more relaxed now,from knowing where his friend was,but still seemed stressed as he said "I'm really sorry about him,mate.He kinda just does what he wants,and trouble tends to follow him, along with me I guess.I completely understand if you want us to leave you alone.After all-"Mumbo let a bitter,low laugh out and Scar saw that his eyes were filled with muted anger and pain as he muttered "-not many people take too kindly to our antics."

Scar had already made up his mind the second Grian startled him,but now his heart was set and longed to see what these antics were.So Scar smiled and made way for Mumbo to come in and said "Make yourself at home."

Boy,did they make themselves at home.

Mumbo and Grian were like the last pieces of the puzzle that needed to fit into Scar's empty heart. Mumbo's creative spin on redstone helped the cottage out tremendously,and even when it sometimes didn't work,nobody scolded him,which Mumbo always expected.Mumbo was just as much of a trickster as Grian,poking fun at one another whenever possible,but tended to keep quieter about his hijinks,but slowly,he got louder.

Grian was a hurricane of trouble himself,and Scar,Impulse and Pearl ended up contributing to that chaos more often than not.The avian always had a prank up his sleeve,and everyone always ended up laughing by the end of it.

Grian also loved building things,with beautiful and detailed designs,but he never got around to finishing the back of,for some reason.

He would swoop and glide around in the sky,with grace and with expert precision,as he performed so many different tricks and turns in the air,as if he had been confined to the ground his whole life. Sometimes,Grian would simply perch somewhere and watch as the sun went down,wings relaxed but looking unkempt from a day of flying.

When Scar offered to help preen his feathers and tidy them up (He's seen Mumbo do it countless times) he was surprised when a flash of fear shot through the avian's eyes for a split second,and Scar understood how big of a deal it was when Grian still held his wing out for him without a word.

Impulse.A sweet workaholic.

Pearl.A cheerful night lover.

Mumbo.An anxious genius.

Grian.A pesky prankster.

This was what Scar was missing.A family.

So when one day,months later,if Grian casually brought up needing to get a bigger house to fit all five of them,well,nobody needed to see Scar cry tears of joy,at the fact that his friends were now his home,and not the once lonely cottage that stood in the middle of the woods.

#hermitcraft #mumbo jumbo #grian #pearlescentmoon #impulsesv #goodtimeswithscar #boatem #my writing

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calisources · 5 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 all quotes and sentences are taken from sarah j. mass's throne of glass. spoilers for the book. change names, pronouns, locations and whatever else you see fit.

“Libraries were full of ideas—perhaps the most dangerous and powerful of all weapons.”

"You could do anything, if only you dared. And deep down, you know it, too. That’s what scares you most.”

“No. I can survive well enough on my own— if given the proper reading material.”

We all bear scars,... Mine just happen to be more visible than most.”

“My name is Celaena Sardothien. But it makes no difference if my name's Celaena or Lillian or Bitch, because I'd still beat you, no matter what you call me.”

“Names are not important. It's what lies inside of you that matters.”

“Still, the image haunted his dreams throughout the night: a lovely girl gazing at the stars, and the stars who gazed back.”

“Sometimes, the wicked will tell us things just to confuse us–to haunt our thoughts long after we've faced them.”

"No fair maiden should die alone,"

“We each survive in our own way.”

“As my friend, you should either bring me along, or keep me company."

“Second place is a nice title for the first loser.”

“I wasn't going to kill him, you buffoon.”

"Now you must pretend that you like me, or else everything will be ruined.”

“I'm not married,because I can't stomach the idea of marrying a woman inferior to me in mind and spirit. It would mean the death of my soul.”

“Apparently, a woman can only go so long without a sword between her hands.”

“I never intended to escape.”

“I don't quite comprehend why you'd force someone to bow when the purpose of the gesture is to display allegiance and respect.”

“What's the point in having a mind if you don't use it to make judgements?”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

“If he weren’t here, I would have said yes.”

“I mean it. Why aren’t you dancing with anyone? Aren’t there ladies whom you like?”

“You always wear that necklace”

“No one deserves to be whipped like an animal.”

“You’re remarkably judgmental.”

“Magic makes people dangerous. ”

“The fear of loss … it can destroy you as much as the loss itself.”

“There was good in people - deep down, there was always a shred of good.”

Well, 'scowling escort' is a better description. Or 'reluctant acquaintance', if you prefer.

I'm the Captain of the Guard-I'm not exactly a catch for any of them."

I want a husband to warm my bed, and my bed alone.

"I can act and talk like a lady, if it pleases me.

“If you'd like to unwrap me, we still have an hour until the temple service.”

“Perhaps you should consider your difficulty in getting past Wendlyn's naval defences to be a sign that you should stop playing at being a god."

“You deserve to be laughed at for such foolish thoughts! I spoke from my soul; you speak only from selfishness.”

“What’s the point in having a heart if you don’t use it to spare others from the harsh judgments of your mind?”

“Marriage is a legal contract -- it's not a sacred thing.”

“I hate women like that. They're so desperate for the attention of men that they'd willingly betray and harm members of their own sex.”

“I was merely observing; I have no agenda."

"If it pleases Your Magnanimous Holiness, I shall call you by your first name.”

“You look rather pretty today,”

“Shall I gag you, or are you capable of being silent without my assistance?”

“If you don’t stop feeling and start instructing, I’m going to rip out your eyes and replace them with these billiard balls.”

“Perhaps allowing them to be friends was a horrible, dangerous idea.”

“I win,” he breathed.”

“I am still your king. You will obey me, Dorian Havilliard, or you will pay. I’ll have no more of your questioning.”

“I can survive well enough on my own—if given proper reading material.”

“Beautiful. Deadly. Destined for greatness.”

“This is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn,”

“You could win the hand of a king, looking like that.Or perhaps a Crown Prince will do.”

“What a miserable state for a girl of former beauty!”

“This is Her Royal Highness the Princess Nehemia Ytger of Eyllwe.”

“The princess tires of your company.”

“You’re awfully quiet today,”

“The city on the Silver Lake?

“to face a featureless young woman with golden hair and a crown far too heavy for her to bear—”

“Stop whining. No one gives a damn about your clothes.”

“You’re immensely entertaining when you’re hopping mad.”

“You certainly have a lot of stamina,"

"While some parents hit their children, mine also punished me with dancing lessons."

“Magic calls to magic.”

I like music,because when I hear it, I … I lose myself within myself, if that makes sense. I become empty and full all at once, and I can feel the whole earth roiling around me.”

“Light and darkness. Life and death. Where do I fit in?”

“I should go to bed,”

“Winter was unforgiving when you lived in the shadow of the Ruhnn Mountains.”

“I sort of wanted to kiss him.”

“Are you going to kiss me again?”

“Cain seemed bigger and bigger.”

“Dorian is more inclined to associate with ladies of better breeding and beauty.”

“What a foolish tradition.”

“Princes are not supposed to be handsome! They’re sniveling, stupid, repulsive creatures! This one … this … How unfair of him to be royal and beautiful.”

“Something about him makes me want to beat in his face.”

“She knew that sword. Nothung was its name.”

“Damn him for being so handsome!”

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt

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sunnynwanda · 2 months

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Part 2

The shackles drag across the floor, filling the space with the clanking of the metal against marble. The hall is dark but warm enough to make the chained creature shiver from thermal shock, numbness being replaced with pain as his white fingers start growing red. He fists his hands, pressing his trembling lips into a thin line to dissociate from the sensations rushing through his body.

Once they reach the middle of the hall, the guards step back, allowing his body to sag to the cold floor. It’s nothing compared to the snow that he was buried in.

Someone enters the room - he can hear the guard speaking but fails to discern words. His brain must be shutting down. He uses the last of his strength to lift his head when one of the guards nudges his shoulder.

The man in front of him is already staring at him, his expression nothing short of austerity. He looks to be in the second half of his life, grey streaks lining his temples and forehead, but his features have not yet lost their sharpness. There is a small scar on the underside of his chin, only visible under intent observation, and a much more noticeable crown on his head. Oh, no.

“What are you?” The King’s voice is tense. His hand rests on the pommel of his sword, never leaving, even when he reaches out to tilt the creature’s head up with his other one. The captive gulps, afraid to speak or meet the King’s intense gaze. “What is your purpose in my land? Answer.”

“I-” he tries, but his throat seizes, clumping in to try and swallow himself up. He coughs, facing the floor once again, lips coated in blood from a wound no doubt inflicted by the guards trying to detain him. The guard on his side steps back, scared of the dark crimson poision dripping down his chin. “I didn’t know I shouldn’t be here... I didn't know where I was.”

The King raises an eyebrow at that, not convinced by the act. His kingdom has lived in peace for over eight years - ever since he reached an agreement and outlawed vishaps from entering his land. In return, humans were banned from crossing into Vishap territory for fear of never returning, which was the least of all evil for the safety of his people and, most importantly, his family. The King sighs, rubbing his temples in slow circles.

“He was found half-buried under the snow right by the Edge,” the guard that captured the young creature informs. “He did not shift when attacked.”

This caught the King by surprise, which was written quite obviously in his features. He glanced at the guard before returning his attention to the young creature still slumped at his feet. It looked young - perhaps nine or ten years of age. Too young to be sent after him or be capable of inflicting significant harm. Vishaps did not tend to leave their younglings alone if they couldn't shift yet. Unless his parents were not in the picture, that is. “What is your name, child?”

“Vanki,” His voice comes out weaker than he intended, so with another cough, the creature repeats. “My name is Vanki.”

“Vanki,” the King repeats with a nod. He motions for one of the guards to lift the boy from the floor. The guard practically picks him up, supporting him as he stands, bone-weary from days of running and hiding in the woods with no proper food or rest. Vanki doesn’t know where they are taking him, but an unconscious fear settles in the pits of his empty stomach. He knows he is too weak to put up any fight. Damn, he was too weak to so much as move when the snow started falling, so all he did was roll to the side and hug himself to keep whatever warmth he had left in his sinking heart.

“I didn’t know,” Vanki claims, panic flashing in the depths of his dark eyes. His eyes dart to the King’s face, who looks at him quizzically. “I wasn’t aware I was trespassing.”

The guard hisses for him to be quiet, but Vanki shakes his head no. He has no strength to struggle against his chains or captors, but he won’t go down without a fight if it’s the last thing he does.

“I was lost.” It comes more pleading than he intended, but that can be attributed to the frailty of his voice. Or so he hopes.

“No.” The King’s answer is plain and straightforward, his voice void of emotion. It sends a chill down Vanki's spine.

“Please,” he hates himself for begging, but the prospect of being executed or, worse, thrown into a dungeon to be tortured for public entertainment gnaws at his side, threatening to rip his ribcage open and wrench his heart out. As it is meant to be.

“You weren’t lost, you were running from someone," the statement catches Vanki off guard. The King’s tone is even, but there is something in his eyes that the boy fails to decipher. “Other vishaps chased you out. Isn’t that right?”

Stunned into silence, Vanki struggles to answer right away, terrified of what his reply may entail. The King approaches him again, standing so close that the boy can see the small scar under his chin again. He wonders if it’s one of his kind that gave it to him.

“Well?” The King prompts, cupping the boy's jaw with a warm hand. His fingers are rough but his touch is featherlight, careful not to hurt. Vanki can only muster a short nod, his eyes getting watery at the contact. For a moment, he envisions his misfortune retreating. The King sighs, seeming satisfied with the answer. “Take him away.”

“I didn’t harm anyone.” Whatever was left of the boy's resolve shatters in an instant. Not paying him any mind, the King waves a hand, and that movement stirs something within Vanki - something feral, something animalistic, something dangerously close to his true nature. With a desperate cry, he hauls away from his captors, yanking at the chains until the shackles loosen around his wrists. “I didn't do anything! You can’t just kill me... you can't!”

“Kill you?” The King turns around with an incredulous look adorning his face. He almost chuckles at the suggestion, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Let me go, please,” Vanki can feel his eyes watering again, and his voice is a whisper by the end of the sentence. Misfortune grips his limbs with renewed vigour, marks the skin on his forehead with a sharp kiss that makes him hiss, baring his teeth. “Please.”

“You have nowhere to go,” the King notes, correctly so. He has nowhere and no one to go to - having escaped the Vishap territory and stepped into the land that considers him nothing but an animal, a monster, a god too vicious to trust. “But you can stay here.”

Vanki isn’t sure if he heard it right, but the King looks as stern as when he first came in, albeit with less hostility in his gaze. At a loss for words, he doesn't have a chance to object when the King speaks again. “So I can keep an eye on you,” he explains before waving the boy away and departing the room.

Vanki is still processing the situation at hand as he is led across the hall and along dimly lit corridors of the castle. It’s too early in the morning for anyone to be awake yet, so they meet no one on the way to the spacious room allocated to him.

The guard walks him in, only stopping to inform the boy that a servant has filled a warm bath for him and left food on his bedside table. He then bids him a good night and locks the door, leaving Vanki alone and utterly confused. He cannot comprehend why or when all of this was arranged for him, but none of that matters when he lowers his aching body into the warmth of the bath, his head lolling back at the sheer pleasure of his element enveloping him. It takes only fifteen minutes for it to soak his bones, healing all of the cuts and bruises littering his skin.

Vanki has no way of knowing what is going to happen in the morning or what the King intends to do to him. He doesn't know if he will be allowed to stay or handed back to his kind. He can't even tell if he is a prisoner or a guest. The only thing he does know is that he is safe, warm and sated. Even if only for a night.

Part 2

Lore: Vishaps are serpent-like dragons in Armenian mythology, closely linked to water. They were seen as guardians or spirits of water sources that lived for thousands of years. They lived in the mountains or beneath lakes and had shape-shifting abilities. Vishaps' blood was believed to be deadly poisonous.

Author's note: This is based on the beautiful request by @annablogsposts.

Thank you so much for this, I enjoyed it incredibly ♡ As I've mentioned in my first reply, it corresponds greatly with my WIP novel and I took the liberty of aligning it even more. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did but even if you don't, feedback is welcomed.

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444

P.S. I know this isn't my usual content, so if you don't wanna be tagged in stories like this one, just let me know! Sunny xo

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frozenjokes · 4 days

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Idly, from the crack of his ajar bedroom door, Cub watched Scar through gentle eyes, the other sitting at the couch, ever so slightly slumped as he watched the news, or maybe watch was a strong word, because it looked a bit more like he was sleeping. An awake Scar was never so still, so relaxed, the rise and fall of his shoulders never so slow. An awake Scar typically knew when he was being watched, a strong internal sense, and he would turn around, arm draped over the back of the sofa with a lazy smile, and Cub might greet him, or he might just shut the door, the observation not nearly as fun when the other knew he was there. Cub smiled, basking in the opportunity to simply look without being known. Scar’s hair was a certified mess, more than it usually was, the funny little cowlick at the back of his head completely out of control. Not that Scar ever tried very hard to tame it anyway. But today he didn’t have to try at all, because today he was here, and there were no cameras, no scrutiny. Well, maybe there was a little scrutiny, but Grian wasn’t home right now. Just Cub. Just Cub.

Scar’s legs were in the shop today, routine maintenance and things, but instead of spending the day in town as he typically did on these types of off days, he asked to spend it here, to just hang out, relax. Take off the mask and not think at all. And who would Cub be to deny him?

There was something so deeply satisfying seeing him here, out of uniform. He had arrived in it out of necessity; very few people had no legs and wheelchairs decked out in HotGuy merchandise, but Scar had changed once inside, visibly reveling in the luxury of being Here. In a place with people he trusted. No mask. No legs. No uniform. Being.. Scar. Given the nuclear identity crises Scar had been experiencing lately, this was nothing short of the ultimate freedom. And what an honor to be able to provide that, to be trusted enough that even a man so deeply insecure of his place in the world could find it in himself to just relax around you. To be himself. To fall asleep on the sofa without the fear of sharp edges.

Cub ducked out of his room, tip-toeing over to shut off the news. He didn’t care to hear it, and didn’t think it was too good for Scar either, not today. The scene reimagined to his liking, Cub slunk back to his room then walked from it again, normally, and draped his arms around Scar’s neck, humming. Scar roused, and Cub got the pleasure of seeing him blink away sleep.

“Ello,” Scar mumbled, leaning back to hit Cub’s chest with his head, and Cub closed his eyes, a small smile forming across his lips (maybe. Sometimes when he thought he was smiling, he didn’t look any different at all, his mind’s eye only playing tricks on his physical sense of self).

“Hi. You tired?”

Scar gave the question a moment of thought, endearingly, trying to push back further into the couch, like the barrier between them was a great frustration. Cub didn’t make any move to be closer, internally amused. Scar sighed, “Not really. Just got a bit bored, closed my eyes. Was still listening.”

Cub very much doubted that. He didn’t think Scar was lying or anything, just that he simply didn’t know how asleep he really was. No point addressing it though. “That’s good. I was thinking about you, y’know.” Cub snaked around the side of the couch, settling himself half on top of Scar, probably with far less grace than he was imagining. Whatever the case, Scar didn’t seem to care, looking more delighted than anything to have Cub so close.

“Were you now,” Scar returned the gently flirtatious tone, always one for a little bit of a game. It was intense sometimes, looking Scar in the eyes, but there was such a deep contentment there today, and Cub found himself unable to tear his eyes away. “Well, you know I can’t help myself. I have to ask.”

Cub chuckled, burrowing a bit closer to rest his head in the crook of Scar’s neck. “Was thinking about the night we were together, just walking around on the streets. Talking. That kiss, it was a nice thing. It was a good night, just what I needed, really.”

Scar glowed, the little words having more of an affect on him than they ought to have on anyone, but then again, that was just Scar. So easy to please, his joy written for all to see in the bright lines of his face. He’d probably ride the high of those words for the rest of the evening, and Cub would be lying if it didn’t make him feel a little warm. How incredible it was to have that effect on a person. Though Scar, ever greedy a man, could never help but push, “Anything else?”

“Well..” Cub trailed, knowing Scar would hang off every word, “I was thinking about what we talked about. How you wanted someone to take care of you.” Cub let a hand wander to Scar’s thigh, hoping to get the message across, but not entirely confident this would be enough.

The reaction was adorably delayed, the gears behind Scar’s eyes visibly turning before his cheeks flushed, a nervous hand brushing through his hair, “Did I say that?”

Cub shrugged, “No idea. But I remember thinking it.” Cub grinned when Scar startled in his arms, making an attempt to backpedal, but no actual words left Scar’s mouth, and Cub snickered against his shoulder. “Don’t pass out on me now.”

“You’re the one trying to kill me!”

“Oh come now, I haven’t said anything at all. I just have a lot to give tonight, if you want it. All you have to do is ask.” Cub tried to smile, but at this point looking Scar in the eye was really getting overwhelming, so he stopped, letting the silence linger. “And I think it’s funny. That you like my teeth. I think it’s cute. Wanna know how much truth there really was to that little snippet you gave me before,” Cub opened his mouth, just a little, just enough to let the blunt edges graze the base of Scar’s neck, but he failed to anticipate the jolt of Scar’s shoulders at the touch, knocking him square in the face.

“Cuuuub!” Scar wailed, missing the soft grunt of surprise as Cub reeled backwards, as well as the slight movement to adjust his glasses.

“I’ll stop, I’ll stop.”

“No!” The word dropped just like the jolt of Scar’s shoulders, perfectly involuntary, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Scar looked sheepish for a moment, and he was the one who broke eye contact this time, beautiful in his quiet, “Just.. don’t bite?”

Cub smiled, and he was sure he did this time. “I can do that.” But he didn’t get to move before Scar swallowed him in a kiss, full and happy and too excited to hold it in, so perfectly Scar. Something like love warped Cub’s heart, not quite, that would come later, a latent realization sitting alone in bed, eyes wide, heart beating faster, unequivocally, irreconcilably in love. For now though, the warmth in his chest was well enough, the joy and hope that Scar had gifted him with open arms for all these weeks.. months now, wasn’t it? It didn’t matter, really. Cub wanted to give back. To show a kind of appreciation that was a little more explicit, to let Scar know just how much he cared, since Cub knew well enough it wasn’t always easy to tell. (Cub knew that Scar knew already, he knew Cub cared, but as far as romance goes, this was his own fantasy.)

there is more of this like. A lot more. But things ramp up be much less sfw and then not at all even a little sfw and it is like. It is not about the sex really story wise the focus is very romance and silly goofy but that doesn’t go here so if you want to read 7k words of absolute Nonsense you can find that on my ao3

#suggestive #hermitcraft #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #cubfan #hermitfic #cubscar #hermitshipping

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anyasathenaeum · 1 year

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Hey there again! I wanna ask for Vash x reader who also has a ton of scars from various sources (fights, accidents, stray cats, etc.) and is a bit nervous about how he might react to them. Twist is, they actually kinda like their scars and personally think they're actually kinda pretty on a good day. They like finding little patterns in them. It's only other people's reactions they're insecure about. They also make sure Vash knows they're entirely non-judgmental about his scars and think he's absolutely beautiful. Hope this isn't too long of an ask fjfifjcusisj thank u <3

Constellations on Your Skin

Pairing: Vash x reader

A/N: As somebody who's got scars and actually thinks they're cool, I LOVE this prompt! It's not too long an ask at all, thank you for requesting!! Hopefully this is sorta what you were hoping for??

You never really understood why other people made you so nervous with respect to your scars. Sure, you had plenty of them, and you genuinely found them beautiful on the odd day, but why did the idea of other people seeing them make you wanna hide and never come out?

And Vash... Vash, of all people, made you nervous.

'But why? He's literally the nicest guy, so why does he make you nervous about your scars?' You thought to yourself, trying to piece it together.

'Maybe because he'll never look at you the same way ever again,' a little voice whispered from within, making a shiver go down your back - you didn't want to picture that.

"Hey, (Y/N)? You okay? You've been super quiet and you look troubled," Vash's voice interrupted your thoughts, causing you to look up quickly. Vash stood in front of you, looking down at you with a gently-concerned expression.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine, Vash. Thanks for checking, but I promise I'm alright," You brushed him off, offering him a smile you hope he'd buy as a distraction.

Clearly, though, Vash knew better than that. A slight frown appeared on his face and he sat down in the sand next to you, watching you carefully.

"I don't know about that. You've had an awfully serious look on your face for a little while, and it looks like something's bothering you. You know you can talk to me about anything, right, (Y/N)?"

Vash's tone was gentle, and you could see the kindness and genuine worry in his eyes as he spoke to you. You never really understood how he could continue being so kind and genuine after all the horrible things that had happened to him.

You let out a soft sigh, thinking a bit to yourself, weighing your options - would it be worth just voicing your fears out in the open? In front of Vash? Would that take away some of the weight of your fears? Or would it just confirm them and leave you feeling like you wished you could disappear?

"Y-You don't have to tell me!" Vash let out a small, nervous laugh, "I-I just wanted to make sure you knew you had somebody to talk to if you needed to!"

You just shook your head quickly, "No, no! It's not that, Vash. I-" You swallowed hard, a weak smile appearing on your lips, "I'm just trying to figure out if I'm brave enough to actually talk about what's bothering me."

Vash just smiled at you, scooching closer to you and nudging your shoulder gently with his, "Aww, don't be so hard on yourself, (Y/N). You're plenty brave, no question about that!"

You let out a soft laugh at that, and somehow, just that small action and single interaction gave you the strength to do something you didn't really ever do around others - you rolled up your sleeves.

Your skin was marked with several scars, some older and faded, some newer and more visible, and of all different origins. Vash's eyes widened as his gaze landed on your scars, and you could see them flitting from scar to scar, taking them in.

"I've got a lot of these, from all sorts of situations," You explained softly, looking down at your skin, smiling softly to yourself, "Fights, accidents, even just stray animals who didn't trust me much, they're all here. Don't get me wrong, I actually like my scars. I think they can be beautiful sometimes - telling my stories to those who see them and reminding me I've survived through a lot. The problem is... others who see them don't think the same way I do. They look at me differently once they see them."

"What do you mean?" Vash asked softly, his eyes leaving your skin to look into your eyes as he asked, "How do people see you once they've seen your scars?"

You shrugged slightly, rolling your sleeves back down, "They pity me. Or treat me like I'm made of glass and that I'll shatter if they look at me wrong. I just... am always afraid of how people will react when they see my scars."

"Constellations."

"What?" You looked at Vash, your eyebrows raising in confusion.

Vash simply smiled, before extending his hand out to you, silently asking you to give him your hand. Slowly, you extended your hand to him and before you could register what was happening, Vash gently rolled your sleeve back up and began tracing patterns across your skin, connecting scars to each other.

"See? They're constellations!" Vash just grinned at you warmly, and you couldn't help but smile at him in return as he continued to explain, "You've got constellations on your skin."

After a moment, you began to laugh softly, more to yourself than out loud, "I do that, too. I draw patterns on my skin sometimes. It... makes me happier about them. Makes me feel like they're not so bad."

"They're part of you. And that makes them beautiful."

You looked up at Vash as he said that, heat rising to your face as he smiled at you.

"D-Do you really think so?" You asked quietly, your gaze meeting his.

Vash just nodded, his smile only widening, "Of course. They're part of you, (Y/N), how could they be anything but beautiful? They're you."

You only felt the heat intensifying in your face as you replied, "Thank you, Vash... that's kind of you to say. I-I was really scared of what you would think when you saw them."

Vash's eyes widened, "You were nervous because of me? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel like-"

"No, no!" You cut him off immediately, shaking your head, "It's nothing you did, Vash, I promise! You've been wonderful about everything, and extremely sweet, it's just my own fear."

Vash just looked at you, the expression on his face telling you that he wasn't entirely convinced, so you just sighed out, "I-I guess... I just didn't want you to treat me or think of me differently. You're one of the best people I know, and it would hurt the most if you did end up treating me differently. Not that you would! I just..."

You trailed off, grasping as straws as you tried to figure out how to get across that you didn't blame Vash for your fears.

"I have a lot of scars, too."

Vash's voice was so quiet that you almost didn't hear him. You glanced over at him, your eyes wide as he continued to speak,

"I'm covered in them. I don't like people seeing them, either. It's... embarrassing. I've got a lot of scars."

"Constellations."

Now it was Vash's turn to look at you in confusion, causing you to smile gently at him just as he had at you.

"You've got a lot of constellations, Vash," You explained, smiling at him, "Just like me. We both have a lot of constellations on our skin. Your scars are distinctly part of you, Vash, and they're beautiful because they're a part of you. You're beautiful, truly. More so than I think you know or will ever let yourself believe. So, if you ever need reminding, I'll be there to do just that."

Vash just took in your words, the very same he had given you just minutes prior, suddenly seeing them in a new light. A gentle blush spread across his cheeks as Vash felt his heart fluttering in his chest, a small smile appearing on his lips. Maybe, just maybe, for once, he'd let himself believe you.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader #vash the stampede #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #anya's athenaeum

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stuckybarton · 1 year

Text

Heads Under Water XII

Summary: When he doesn't even know who he could trust anymore. Character: K'uk'ulkan/Namor x Atlantean Descendant! Filipino! Female Reader. Word Count: 1,915 Chapter Warnings: Drowning. Mention of Vomiting. Namor is an asshole here.

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Join the Library (no longer do taglist you can just turn on notif here)

Part XII

“At least the bandage are coming off.” You couldn’t help but smile as Namora was kind enough to help you out with removing said bandages. “But that means I have to show more skin now.” You joked earning a chuckle from the warrior at your expense.

“Your clothes—or what is left of it is ready for you to use should you decide to use it.” She points out, gently cutting through the bandages on your side. “But I think it is best for you to remain in this attire for the time being.”

In the silence, the sound of the blade tearing through the bandage was the only thing you could hear through the sound of splashing waters, your eyes looking anywhere else but Namora’s handy work. Instead your eyes fell back towards the murals on the wall. Memories of the instances where you would watch K'uk'ulkan paint and how you would playful ask if he would want to be a painter in his next life to which he would simply shrug and present a coy smile without confirming.

“I have heard from K'uk'ulkan that you plan to stay?” She inquired breaking you from your thoughts.

“Not on a permanent basis.” You confirmed. “I still have my obligations with Princess Shuri, but if he would need me here in Talokan for anything your people would need my expertise with.”

“Have you faced your fears of the water then?” She inquired.

“I can manage now.” You admit almost too proudly by something so simple.

But it had meant so much to you in the moment. How K'uk'ulkan had helped you in facing the fear you had dealt with for your entire life at this point. If any other circumstance you would have refused his offer of help, of even staying here in Talokan, but he helped you more than you could ever thank him for.

“You are special to him…” Namora pointed out and the proverbial blush was immediately painting your cheeks at such insight from the woman. “Broke his own rules for you.”

“I’m no one special.” You brushed off turning upon realizing the last of the bandage was removed and the biggest smile was on your face seeing now visible scarring from your wounds. “Thank you for patching me up so well, Namora.”

“It is nothing.” She brushed off standing up from the bed. “Now, the suit you have requested will be brought in the morning, before you return back to Wakanda, it would make me happy if you would visit Talokan and see everything that I pride my land has to offer.”

You smiled nodding almost ecstatic of the possibility. Initially, you had been hesitant about seeing their kingdom out of your own fear of the water, but now that it was no longer a hindrance, the curiosity now settled through you and you would want nothing more than to go and see Talokan for all of its beauty as Namora and K'uk'ulkan would constantly tell you.

Before long, the familiar sound of the disturbed waters had sounded and you turned to see the man himself in his full glory. K'uk'ulkan. But in this very moment, you were not welcomed with the familiar smile nor the familiar warmth as he held you by the arm—more painful than you would believe he would hold you so.

“What are you doing?” You questioned pulling away from his hold but he was too strong for you.

“Do. Not. Lie. To. Me!” He spat pulling you towards the water and the panic set before you could understand what was going on.

The question that escaped Namora’s lips were left in deaf ears as you were dragged to the waters—the deeper parts of it. All the panic was now settling in your system at what the man was about to do.

“K'uk'ulkan what are you doing?” You questioned trying your best to get away from his hold.

“You will answer my question and if you lie, I will be the one to drown you myself.” He threatened, ice cold was his gaze at you.

“I will, just please let go. You’re hurting me.” You attempted to escape his hold but it was inevitable. “Please, stop.” You continue to plead as he now stood you by the edge of the water.

“Who are you?” He questioned.

“What are you talking about?” You screamed at him, fear no longer giving you any rational thought but to escape from his hold.

“Are you one of them? Are you the one who attacked my people?” He screamed into your face.

“No! Why would I even do that?” You spat at him.

Before you could hear a proper answer from the man, in the blink of an eye you were thrown into the water and everything you have learned from the man had faded away as the panic and fear had consumed your entire being. You struggled to swim up, to find the control to swim, to even float. The air was replaced with water and you felt the all too familiar sting in your lungs.

The scream escaped and you struggled for your life and the man you had trusted to help you in facing your fears stood by the edge, watching you unmoved and unfazed by the sight of you drowning all over again.

This was it, this was how you would die. At the hands of the man you were not supposed to trust. By all the warnings Shuri had once given you of the man, of all the cruel things he had done for the sake of his goal. You will die at the hands of a man you had slowly but pathetically fallen in love with.

“Mama, I don’t want to die.” You found yourself sobbing. “Please Mama, I don’t want to die like this.”

At the change of his expression, it was Namora that quickly dived into the water to save you. Holding you up and back up onto the dry floor. You shivered, taking as much air as your lungs could consume before the vomit began. Everything you have eaten and of the water you had breathed and consumed was expelled for both of them to see.

A pathetic sight to see.

You struggled to stand, to get as far away from the man as possible, but your legs were giving out and it was your arms holding you up from face planting the floor as you continued to puke out the water. The cough began burning your chest so painfully you felt you were truly dying in this moment.

You heard the screams between Namora and the man, but you ignored them, trying your best to regain your breathing and your own sanity at this point. When you felt everything clear up, the sobs continue and the shivering was what came after, the betrayal and the realization that you needed to leave this place once and for all. To get away from the man for what he has put you through.

Blurry eyes finally rose to see Namora shoving K'uk'ulkan away, her spear was now pointed at the man. You know the punishment that would come for Namora for her actions but you could do nothing at this point, out of fear of being placed upon the same predicament all over again.

K'uk'ulkan simply stared at you at this point and the single tear had fallen from his eyes before he had retreated back to the waters.

“I’m sorry.” Namora had slowly approached you, you accepted her hug as it was something you needed right now. “I don’t know what had gotten into him.”

“Please…” You whispered. “Please bring the suit as soon as possible and help me go back to Wakanda before he comes back.” You pleaded.

You no longer felt safe within his chambers. What would stop him from doing the same thing when you were all on your own? The thought only brought the fear to consume you even further at such a possibility.

He should have felt nothing. He was simply doing what was best for his people. If it meant killing anyone along the way he should never hesitate. But he did, as he sat on his throne after his own blood had pointed her weapon at him, the doubt slowly washed over him. The guilt come following after like a hit to the stomach.

He would never be able to sleep at night seeing the heartbreak so evident in your features for what he has done. It had been hours now since he had thrown you onto the very same water he had once warned you not to go with how deep the waters were at that area. But still it felt like he was still in the moment, of his body and his heart fighting to come for you and to save you from the predicament he had placed upon you.

‘Mama, I don’t want to die.’

Those words would haunt him forever. Like a dagger repeatedly stabbing against his heart. It was the same, to place someone he was slowly but surely placing up on a pedestal for.

“In ajawo',”

He broke from his despair at the sight of Namora. He was prepared for what she was about to say. Prepared to forgive her for her actions against him as they were without malice on her part.

"Bix u beel leti'? (How is she?)" He could not help but ask. His heart winning over anything else at this point.

"Leti' ts'o'ok partido suut le superficie (She has departed back to the surface world)." She announced.

His heart dropped.

"Ma' a ordené ti' le dejaras bin (I did not order you to let her leave)." He growled.

“Ka ma' in ordenaste le xu'ulbes je'elel (And you did not order for me to let her stay)." She quipped unfazed by the anger slowly coming.

He was left silent. His people, they were not ordered to do anything rash as he had done and you were free to leave if you so choose to, if you were to be ready to leave. So you did, but at the cause of his actions against you. He was too late, too late to even try to fix things.

"Leti' ts'o'ok confiado ti' teech, ba'ale' elegiste jaatik le ka' tuláakal le progreso u ts'o'ok u meentik tak u llegada. (She has trusted you, but you chose to break her after all the progress she has made since her arrival)."

She was right. No one else was to blame but him.

"Yéetel máax yaan leti'? (Who is she with?)" He slowly resigned to the choices he has made.

"Ma' u confiar ti' mixmáak asab u tu Attuma utia'al u taasik le u paache' ti' le yóok'ol kaaba' le superficie u kin tuukul segura. (I could trust no one else but Attuma to bring her back to the surface world safetly)."

All he could do was nod. Accepting that this would be the last time that he would ever see you again. He no longer had the galls to face you for what he had done. But it was the guilt that now rests upon his shoulders for as long as he was alive.

"Bejla'e', wáaj in dirás Ba'axten ta meentaj ti' le ba'ala'? (Now, will you tell me why you had done this to her?)" She had demanded and he knew he had no other choice but to do so.

#k'uk'ulkan x reader #K'uk'ulkan x filipino!reader #K'uk'ulkan smut #K'uk'ulkan series #K'uk'ulkan oneshot #K'uk'ulkan oneshots #K'uk'ulkan angst #K'uk'ulkan fluff #K'uk'ulkan imagines #K'uk'ulkan imagine #namor x reader #namor x filipino!reader #namor smut #namor series #namor oneshot #namor oneshots #namor angst #namor fluff #namor imagines

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jonjaydami · 14 days

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OK. Within the Princess/Knight/Dragon dynamic (damsel, rescuer of damsel, guardian of damsel). I know the automatic assumption is Princess Jay, Dragon Dami, and Knight Jon. But I think it's actually Princess Jon (golden retriever, denial ain't just a river in Egypt if you ask him about his mental health, would pretty much provably canonically rather die than admit he's not okay and needs time off but I think that'll get better once he admits he has trauma), Dragon Jay (firmly believe he can and will throw down with anyone who tries to hit Jon while he's down, does not give a shit if they're actual deities or Lex Luthor's latest pet project, Jon is polite and helpful whether he's capable of being helpful without hurting himself or not so SOMEONE has to tell everyone asking him to do things to fuck off, and Dami can and does but Jay is more vicious and personal about it because he gives fewer fucks about Nightwing using the disappointed mom voice), and Knight Dami (these two can't stay out of trouble to save their actual lives and if they won't stop fistfighting dictators they're going to need someone with infinite bail money who isn't above quietly removing many of the dictators key pawns before they can be used against his boyfriends). Propaganda for this theory includes the mental image of Suffering From Kryptonite Exposure Jon being protected by a visibly unhinged Jay who is worried but not terrified because his job is to hold down the fort till Damian can rescue them (it's about them relying on each other it's about Jon letting himself be hurt and Jay letting himself be scared and Damian letting himself be in love), and the idea of YouTube compilations existing titled 'Gossamer and Superman getting bailed out by Robin for forty two minutes and eighteen seconds'

I literally love this so much. I love the analysis you were going for and its literally what I've been trying to say all along.

I love the way your broke it down and talked about it cause I agree Jonathan may be perceived as invincible but he's not. He may have superhuman abilities but other then that he is basically just a human. Like he has trauma that needs to be desperately talked about but he doesn't want to cause he thinks he would be a burden and useless (which he could never)

Jay is sassy and will literally go crazy mode for his boyfriends. Literally no questions asked he would throw down. People think Damian is the demon who is unhinged but really it's because he had a really scarred past of being an assassin. Hurting people is what he thought was right and thats how you took put targets but then he learned to be better and that there are ways to handling things that don't need violence.

He also is very emotionally constipated (thats literally 90% of the bat fam tho) and has a hard time expressing himself and talking and it always comes out like he's mad or angry when in reality being angry and defensive just feels like the best way to deflect. This is why I think Jay is a very good rendition to Jonathan and Damian. He is like a balance to a scale they didn't even know they needed.

Also is it weird that I've been thinking about making a fantasy fic for them? Like you beat me to the punch but it's weird how you read my mind. In all honesty if you ever wanna debate hit me up cause I have so much stuff we could discuss about this.

#jay nakamura #jonathan kent #jonathan x jay #jondami #jonjaydami #batfam #batman #damain wayne #they are so silly #dc comics #hope this is okay!#supersons

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theurgic-necromancer · 2 months

Text

Rest has not come easily to you for years now, and this night proves to be no different. Whether it's your persistent insomnia or something else that causes you to break your restless trance, you may never know.

All you do know is that you open your eyes to find Astarion leaning over you, fangs glinting in the dying light of the campfire. His red eyes widen as he realizes you're awake, and he quickly sits back, uttering a quiet "shit" under his breath.

You bolt upright, a grin crossing your face. Astarion hastily springs to his feet, holding his hands up defensively. He still bears the bruises from the unexpectedly difficult fight with the mother spider. But you know now exactly what he is.

"I knew it!" you exclaim excitedly. "I knew you were a vampire!"

"It's not what it looks like, I swear—" Astarion says, backing up a little further.

"You were trying to bite me," you counter. There's no malice in your tone, more amusement.

"I wasn't going to hurt you!" Astarion claims. "I just needed—well, blood."

You raise an eyebrow, not that it's immediately visible with the way your hair falls over your face. "And you couldn't have asked when we were making camp, or any other time before the middle of the night?"

"At best, I was sure you'd say no," Astarion says with a shrug. "More likely, you'd ram a stake through my ribs."

You give him a look.

"All right, maybe not you specifically," Astarion admits, "but the group at large likely wouldn't. Especially given last night's... incident."

Zia's blackout murder, he means. You rub the scars on your neck distractedly.

"I needed you to trust me," Astarion continues. "And you can trust me."

"I do," you assure him. There's a momentary flicker of surprise across his face, so quick you're not sure you even saw it. "Considering you're one of about three vampires—"

"Vampire spawn, technically," Astarion corrects you.

"—I've ever met that weren't gunning for me... yeah, I do."

"Thank you." You're not entirely sure how genuine Astarion's smile is. "Do you think you could trust me just a little further?"

You raise an eyebrow again, fairly certain you know where this is going. Astarion's eyes flick to your neck ever so briefly, confirming your suspicion.

"I only need a taste, I swear," he assures you. "I normally feed on animals—boars, deer, kobolds—whatever I can get."

"Like the boar we saw earlier," you say. Astarion nods.

"Well spotted, by the way. Even I almost didn't see the puncture wounds, and I'm the one who left them."

You shrug. "Once I realized it had been exsanguinated, all I needed to do was look for any wounds on the neck."

"Look at you, breaking out the fancy terms," Astarion teases. You feel your face grow hot. You idly wonder if your face is turning red, or if your blushing shows up differently.

"How much is 'a taste,' anyway?" you ask.

"Oh, you know," Astarion says, waving a hand. "Not enough to harm you."

"So you're not planning on draining me dry like that boar?" you say. "How reassuring."

"I won't," he insists.

You consider how to respond. Even after all this time, the skin around your scars feels rough. You remember what it was like to have your blood taken, used by people who saw you as nothing more than a tool. A convenient repository of divine power. A walking spell component.

But so far, none of the others have made any indication of knowing what you are. And reading between the lines, you're fairly certain Astarion targeted you because your necromancy is a poorly-guarded secret, and not because he's figured out what you are. You wonder if divine blood like yours and Zia's would taste differently than anyone else's.

"Fine," you say, "but only a little."

"Really?" Astarion looks pleasantly surprised. "I—of course. Not one drop more."

"And," you continue, holding up a hand, "if it tastes... odd... you'll stop, got it?"

Astarion raises an eyebrow. "Why would you think your blood would taste odd? It certainly doesn't smell strange from where I'm standing."

That catches you off-guard. "It... doesn't?"

Astarion shrugs. "No, it smells about the same as anyone else's."

You wonder if he's even noticed that your blood looks different. But if he hasn't noticed a difference in scent, then maybe...

"Just don't drain me dry, then," you say.

"I promise you I won't," Astarion says. He then gestures for you to lie back down. "Let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we?"

You lie down again and get comfortable. Astarion leans over you, and you catch a glimpse of his pearly white fangs before they plunge into your neck. It feels like two sharp shards of ice jabbing into your neck, before the pain quickly fades. The sensation is less unpleasant than you remember it being. But then again, all the other times you've been bitten were during battle, which is not exactly the most relaxing of times. You're willing to tolerate the discomfort for now, at the very least.

As you feel the dizziness set in and become more aware of your racing heart, however, unpleasant memories start drifting to the surface of your mind. You need this to stop. Now.

"That's enough," you gasp. You press your hands against his chest and feebly push against him. "Stop."

"Mm?" It takes a moment for Astarion to register the request, but he sits up quickly. "Oh, of course."

You breathe a sigh of relief, reaching for the puncture wound in your neck. You remove your hand to see your black blood smeared across your fingers, as you expect.

"That," Astarion says breathlessly, "that was amazing."

You glance over to see him wiping a trickle of your blood from his mouth, the darkness a stark contrast to his pale skin. You can already see some of his bruises fading as the blood rejuvenates him.

"My mind is finally clear," he remarks. "I feel strong. I feel... happy!"

"Happy, huh," you murmur. He does certainly look a bit more chipper than before, though. You manage to sit up, ignoring the way your head swims for a moment.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Astarion says, "you're invigorating, but I need something more filling."

You wonder how your blood could possibly fail to be filling. Then again, considering the source of your divinity...

"This is a gift, you know," Astarion calls over his shoulder. He's paused in his stalking off into the forest for one last parting remark. "I won't forget it."

Maybe it's from the blood loss, but you feel your heart skip a beat. You shake it off, before dragging yourself to your feet so you can go clean the blood off before it soaks into your shirt.

#notes from the journal (drabbles)

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codename-mom · 9 months

Text

Scars

Summary: Jessica offered Aaron to come at the beach with Jack and her. But there is something she doesn't know about her ex-brother-in-law that prevent him to say yes.

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Jessica Brooks, Jack Hotchner and David Rossi

Contents: this text is all about living with deep and visible scars, and to overcome (or not) the trauma of an assault like the one Hotch endured with Foyet. So, it's not funny at all (even if the end is supposed to be cute).

This is a text written for the CM Summer-Sunshine challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins. The prompt chosen was: "it's getting hot outside and Character is self-conscious about their scars", mixed-up with "It's like Hotch at the beach". :D

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

PPS: Sorry for the dialogues, but the new posting system doesn't seem to know what a conversation is (well, Tumblr is clearly not the better place to post arts of any kind lately...).

___

Night had fallen on the U.S. East Coast by the time Hotch walked up the corridor to his apartment. Absorbed in a report he had to reread before transmitting to the Committee, he hadn’t seen the hour go by and had looked up from his desk when his entire team had already deserted the premises. As he closed the door of his office, he saw a message left by Jessica on his phone. Logically, she was asking when he’d be back. He mentally slapped his forehead before replying that he was on his way, and his insides knotted together.

He hadn’t had to beg Haley’s younger sister for help to get her to agree to take Jack into her care, but he couldn’t help feeling guilty when he left his son in her hands. The boy was risking absolutely nothing – perhaps even less than with him – but in Aaron’s mind, it wasn’t his ex-sister-in-law’s role to ensure his offspring’s education. But he couldn’t give up his job to devote himself fully to his role as a single father. Lives were at stake and, even if he doubted it some days, his team needed him.

Unable to make a choice at this hour, he repressed his galloping anxiety and entered his home. Jessica immediately turned her head in his direction. Busy in the kitchen, she took the few steps that separated her from the living room, wiping her hands on a tea towel, a warm smile lighting up her round face. She greeted him without making the slightest remark, and he put on a brave face as best he could. From where he stood, he could hear Jack’s voice and lapping from the open bathroom door.

“How did it go?”

“Good, no worries. As ever,” she added teasingly.

Hotch had always had a special relationship with Jessica. He’d met her before he’d met Haley, even though they hadn’t been in the same classes, and he’d quickly leaned on her to approach this teenager he believed to be an angel fallen from the heavens. Unable to articulate a proper sentence when she was less than a meter away from him, he had benefited from the providential help of this curly-haired blonde to act as a go-between. At the time, he thought the two girls were friends. It was only several months later that he learned they were in fact related by blood. A discovery he had taken badly at first, before realizing that there had been no malice behind their stratagem: he had never really asked what was behind their relationship.

Besides, all he had to do was pay more attention. Regularly, people worried about him being so close to a woman who looked so much like the one he’d lost, and he always retorted that they weren’t that similar. He sincerely thought so, but he wasn’t blind either, and still noticed the common traits the two sisters shared. Except for the blondness of their hair, they had the same nose, the same smile, and the same stature – not to mention the similar expressions and mannerisms. But Jessica wasn’t Haley. He had never felt for the former what he had felt for the latter, though he couldn’t quite explain it. And his feelings remained identical beyond the disappearance of Jack’s mother.

“Thanks again,” he said, embarrassed but grateful.

“You know what I’m going to say.”

“Yes, he admitted, placing his suit jacket on the back of the sofa. Anything of note?”

“Yeah. There’s a parents’ meeting next Thursday.”

“Again?” he frowned, confused.

“It’s one every quarter, Jessica pointed out with a sneer at the corner of her lips. The headmistress would love you to be there this time.”

In his memory, the previous meeting had taken place just a few weeks earlier. But clearly, time had passed much more quickly than he’d thought. And yes, due to business that had propelled him to Nevada and Wisconsin respectively on the day in question, he’d missed the first two sessions and Jessica had once again dedicated herself to doing his job. As to whether he would be present at this one…

“Okay. I’ll send a message to all the sociopaths.”

Jack’s aunt smiled briefly, then instantly turned serious again. A reaction that didn’t escape his profiler’s instincts, although he made a point of not reading his relatives.

“Is there a problem?”

“Er… no. It’s just… she hesitated, dodging his gaze before jumping in. I would have liked to take Jack to the beach this weekend.”

“Sounds like a good idea, he reacted, reassured. He’ll love it. Have you talked to him about it?”

“Not yet. I wanted to check with you first.”

“I have no problem with that. It will do him good to see something other than the city.”

With the sun in the sky for several weeks already, his son was running around like a caged lion in this narrow, dark apartment. He demanded to go outside regularly and clung to the playground where his father and aunt took him until the last second. But he also talked to them a lot about what he saw in picture books or on TV, calling out to them to go and wander in more natural spaces than Arlington, Washington D.C.’s highly urbanized neighborhood.

“In fact, I was thinking of offering it to you too.”

Aaron flinched at the suggestion.

“What do you mean?” he asked, hoping he’d misheard.

“Come with us.”

A vise tightened around the BAU director’s torso, preventing him from breathing normally and panicking his heart rate.

“Uh… no,” he said, lowering his eyes.

“Why? You don’t have a case. What’s stopping you from coming?”

“I… I can’t,” Hotch stammered, leaning back on the couch to counter the vertigo that threatened to make him wobble.

“What? Can’t you swim?”

“Of course, I can. It’s just…”

Several spikes of pain shot through his chest simultaneously, forcing him to grit his teeth for a moment. It had never occurred to him that one day he’d have to tell what he’d been through to someone else than an FBI agent. Not this soon, at least. It was too recent. The memories were so vivid inside him, he could still hear his breath in his ear, he could still feel the metal puncturing his skin, tearing his clothes in the process. A metallic aftertaste even rose in his throat, as it had that night.

“Daddy!”

A pajama-clad rocket rushed toward him, his pale hair barely dry. Aaron’s smile automatically spread across his face, and he knelt down to take his son in his arms.

“Hey! Hi, buddy.”

He kissed him on the forehead and Jack pecked him on the cheek in return, his little arms firmly clasped around his neck. Even crouched, he was still immense to the five-year-old who was forced to stand on tiptoe.

“How did it go to school?”

“Great, asserted the boy, settling back to his heels. We learned the states.”

“So you know where you live now.”

“Virginia. But I already knew,” he added with a certain pride.

“Well done, son,” congratuled his father, kissing him again.

Hotch rose to his feet, lifting his descendant to the sofa. Standing on the cushion, the little boy questioned the two adults at once.

“What were you saying?”

“I was telling your father that I wanted to take you to the beach this weekend.”

“Oh, so good! He exclaimed promptly, his head swiveling in the direction of his progenitor. Are you coming with us?”

It was a logical question, but one that still embarrassed him. Even more so now that his audience had reached a single-digit age.

“Uh… I was just telling your aunt that it was going to be complicated for me to accompany you.”

“Why?”

Jack had entered that phase of childhood when every thought called for a question, the answer to which called for a new question.

“I… I can’t really go to the beach like you two.”

“Why is that? Is it because you’re an FBI agent?”

His son was very proud to have a father officiating for the Bureau, but the exact role he played there, as well as the ins and outs of the position, completely escaped him. Aaron had already tried to explain, without going into detail, but it was clear that his fertile imagination still greatly distorted the child’s image of him. Having seen so many cartoon series about superheroes forced to keep their identities secret, he must surely have thought that the man who raised him led the same double life.

“No, it has nothing to do with that.”

“So, why? I want you to come with us.”

Hotch turned his attention to Jessica, who simply returned his gaze. He realized she wasn’t going to help him out of this situation and wondered if she hadn’t deliberately brought it up in front of Jack to force him to talk. For if there was one thing he failed at more than anything else, it was communication. Many people had criticized him – and still did – for not expressing himself sufficiently and precisely. Haley had finally rejected him, tired of living next door to a safe that no longer told the story of his daily life. His employees scolded him for all the information he kept to himself, which often put his life in danger. His own mother never failed to point out that he didn’t give enough news. In short, he had to learn to talk.

“… Jack, can you go to your bedroom for a minute? We’ll… we’ll call you when you can come back.”

Jack pouted, disappointed to be dismissed.

“… Okay”, he relented, getting off the couch.

The profiler saw his son, head down, shuffle into his bedroom and heard the door slam shut. Jessica said nothing throughout, but her attention was immediately focused on her ex-brother-in-law as soon as the boy was out of earshot.

“What’s up?”

Where should he start? She, like Jack’s mother, knew what his real duties were withing the FBI. She knew that he tracked down serial killers and sociopaths of all stripes, and that his job wasn’t without its risks. She knew that her sister had been the victim of one of them, just as she knew that Aaron was not exempt of responsibility for this tragic end. But she was unaware of many of the details of the case, which were known only to his team members, his superiors and himself. Classified as confidential, it was logical that she should not be privy to them, but given the situation, he had no option but to lift the veil on some of them.

“Do you remember the day… - a knot formed in his throat – the day Haley and Jack went into protective custody?”

“Hard to forget.”

He guessed that she would have liked to add something, but the mere thought of those few words was surely too painful.

“That day, I was in hospital.”

“In hospital?”

“Yes. That’s why you didn’t hear it from me.”

The task had to be performed by a Witness Protection agent, more experienced in this kind of procedure than the BAU profilers.

“But… what were you doing there?” worried the young woman, confused.

“The guy who killed your sister, he began, giving up the idea of pronouncing his name; he broke into my flat the night before. And he stabbed me. In the chest. Nine times.”

Shocked, Jessica stumbled to the sofa, where she sat down heavily. Hotch remained motionless for a moment. He’d chosen not to go out of his way to make it clear what had happened, so that there could be no misinterpretation, but he was belatedly realizing that this kind of announcement – which was practically part of his daily routine – must be the equivalent of an uppercut for her. So, he took a seat beside her and continued, in a softer tone:

“I survived because he deliberately avoided vital organs, but the scars are there and… they’re clearly visible.”

When he had left the hospital, his mother had come to stay with him, to give him the care he needed to heal his wounds, and to make sure he was eating and hydrating properly. Despite his protests, he had no choice but to bow, exposing his mutilated torso to the woman who had given him life. But once she’d gone, it had been difficult for him to look at himself in the mirror again. Foyet had used a hunting knife with a serrated blade and hadn’t been too delicate. The cuts were deep, and muscle and skin had been torn indelibly. These marks, darker than his natural skin tone, had repulsed him violently. And later, when he had decided to face this disfigured body, tragedy had struck, and he was now unable to face his own reflection.

“I… I didn’t know,” Jessica murmured, suddenly terribly embarrassed by her insistence.

“I’ve never told you about it either,” he pointed out with a shy smile.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings or make her feel guilty about anything. The number of people who knew that side of the story could be counted on the fingers of one hand, and he didn’t blame her for wanting so much to know why her proposal put him off so much.

“O… okay, she finally said. I understand that you can’t go shirtless, but… there are solutions. You… you could wear one of those swim shirts they put on kids to protect them from the sun.”

He could see what she was talking about, but at this hour, it still seemed an insurmountable challenge.

“Jessica…”

“It must exist for adults, she cut him off before he could argue further. Or, if you don’t want to swim, there’s nothing to stop you coming with us and staying in your t-shirt. You can play beach games with Jack.”

“Jess, you don’t understand…”

“No, it’s you who doesn’t understand that I just want you to spend time with your son. Because that’s what he wants.”

The next morning, David Rossi entered his neighbor’s office and the latter, staring into space, didn’t react to his arrival. The former pensioner held back a remark and, with a smile on his lips, walked over to the chair facing Hotch, sat down quietly, folded his hands over his stomach and said:

“Hello, moon? Earth here.”

“What? Gasped the manager, coming back to the present moment. Dave?”

“Hello, Aaron.”

“Well… Hello, he stammered, lost. Have you been here long?”

“An hour and a half.”

“Really?”

Aaron felt dizzy as he glanced at his watch and discovered that two hours had disappeared from his memory. He remembered arriving at dawn, passing the night shift ready for a well-deserved rest and settling down behind his screen. He then logged on, skimmed through the e-mails he’d received since leaving the previous day, and turned his attention to the agency’s accounts. His mind must have drifted off before he realized it, and now he found his mentor sitting across from him.

“No, I just sat down,” he admitted, smiling.

“Oh. Okay, he punctuated, somewhat relieved. Sorry, but Jack tells me that sometimes he calls me for fifteen minutes and I don’t react.”

“Children always exaggerate.”

“I’m not that sure, I taught him to tell the time.”

The child couldn’t exactly do calculations based on hours, minutes, and seconds, but he was already able to visualize, on watch with hands, what fifteen, twenty, thirty or forty-five minutes represented. And fussy as he could be on certain subjects, his father doubted he could have lied about it. He could even imagine him checking the clock in the living room to see how much time had elapsed between his first call and the reaction of the man who was supposed to be taking care of him.

“Anyway, I’m really just settling in, Dave quipped. What’s on your mind?”

Hotch sat back in his chair and sighed. He hadn’t necessarily intended to talk about his private life with the members of his team, but the man facing him was surely the one who knew him best and who, moreover, was aware of the latest events.

“Jessica would like to take Jack to the beach this weekend.”

“She’s right. It’s sunny, it’s going to be warm, and it’ll do him good to see something else than the four walls of the apartment.”

“I think so too.”

“But?” he bounced back, raising an inquisitive eyebrow, a mocking gleam in his eye.

The co-founder of the BAU had always had a very detached view of the world around him and, while he knew how to be serious when it was really necessary, he often sprinkled situations with sarcastic and ironic comments. Not born yesterday, he’d been through enough adventures to be able to take a step back from the misfortunes that befell his loved ones or himself and defuse the surrounding stagnation with a touch of humor that wasn’t always appropriate. An attitude that might exasperate some, but to which Aaron was accustomed.

“She wants me to come with them.”

“That’s a good idea too, he said, smiling frankly. It’ll do you good to get some fresh air.”

“I can’t go to the beach, Dave.”

“Why not? You can swim.”

The agency manager felt the nape of his neck tingle with annoyance. His interlocutor wasn’t an idiot, he knew exactly what the real problem was, but he was playing the fool in order to force him to verbalize what was on his mind. A tried-and-tested tactic, which worked all the more since Hotch had no objection to talking openly with him. More so than with any other agent on the floor or even in the building.

“That’s not the point. I remind you that I was stabbed in the torso.”

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” he pretended to remember.

“I can see it’s made an impression on you…” grumbled his superior, glaring at him.

Rossi let the eye attack slide over him and continued, still serene:

“Did you tell Jessica?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She said that didn’t stop me from coming. All I had to do was put on a swim shirt, or anything else, and stay on the beach.”

“But?”

“That’s ridiculous! Erupted Aaron, irritated by the placidity of his interlocutor. I’m going to be the only guy dressed on the beach who won’t put a toe in the water.”

He could really see himself sitting on the sand, his top on his back, in front of a crowd of bathers merrily frolicking in the waves. He could even see the puzzled glances of his neighbors and hear the whispers of the low masses debating the strangeness of his behavior. Because, honestly, who bothered to make the trip to the coast to enjoy neither the sun nor the sea? Dave must have had a very different reasoning, for he rolled his eyes and, abandoning his snide expression, retorted in a more serious tone:

“First, no. I don’t think you’ll be the only one with something on your back. And secondly, she’s right. There are plenty of people who go to the sea without setting foot in it. Either because they can’t swim, or because they find the water too cold, or because they’re just there to sunbath. So nobody’s going to notice one more guy standing on the beach, staring at the horizon. Even less so if the guy in question is making sandcastles with his son or playing ball with him.”

Hotch didn’t reply, trying to conjure up memories of those rare trips to the ocean he’d made as a child. With his family scattered all over the country, he did indeed have cousins of his own generation with whom he’d spent a few summers breathing in the sea spray. But his childish mind had only retained the activities he’d shared with them, not the scenery that had hosted them. Were there really that many people dodging the tide? For him, the beach was the place of all complexes. The site by excellence where all humans had to face their fellow’s gaze on what seemed to them to be atrocious deformities. The place where all those who didn’t fit into the shackles of the beauty of the moment were not welcome. Like him.

“Aaron, you say yourself that you don’t spend enough time with Jack and that one day he’s going to hate you for that, Rossi pursued. Jessica is offering you an opportunity to do just that. Don’t turn it down because you’re afraid someone will inadvertently lift your shirt.”

Jack would be turning six in the next few months, and, at that moment, he still saw his father as an unbeatable hero who would capture villains and save lives. Reason enough for him to accept all his absences, but in four or five years, it wouldn’t be worth much.

“The time to spend with him is now. Not when he’ll be fifteen and won’t talk to you because you didn’t take care of him.”

Two days later, on a beach on the East Coast of the United States, Aaron was watching his son from a distance, sitting on the sand. He had put on swim shorts, sandals, and a t-shirt and, sunglasses on, waited near Jessica and Jack’s belongings, his gaze fixed on the latter. The little boy was wading next to his aunt, his arms and legs lapping in the cold water. Very much at ease despite the waves, he smiled and laughed happily, splashing his mother’s sister every chance he got. A discreet smile stretched the lips of his father, who felt a gently warmth invaded him at the sight of his offspring’s happiness. If it had been hard for him to get back on his feet, it was clear that Jack had bounced back and adapted to his new, rather peculiar life. However, Hotch doubted he had anything to do with it, given the obvious closeness between the nephew and his aunt.

Concentrating on his son’s exploits, he tried as best he could to ignore the people gravitating around him, coming and going from the sea to their towels, chatting about anything and everything in skimpy clothing, their skin exposed to all eyes. He could count on the fingers of one hand the people who were as scantily clad as he was, and he’d already come across a few frowns from his closest neighbors. Most of them were parents, probably worried about their children. If some were a few aware of the danger, others were perhaps a little too aware. Nevertheless, as long as he didn’t pretend to go near children, he was pretty sure no one would call the police to have him arrested.

“Crowded today.”

Surprised, Aaron looked up to discover a man standing next to him, wearing shorts and a mid-sleeves top, a cap screwed on his head. He must have been about the same age as him, despite his already graying hair. Without warning, the stranger sat down next to him, not in the least embarrassed to approach him in this way.

“Which one’s yours? he asked, without giving him time to answer. Mine’s the two little ones over there. In yellow and orange bathing suits. With their mother.”

He presented a trio of girls having fun some fifty yards away. If the girls weren’t twins, they must be barely a year apart, maybe even less. Older than Jack, they looked very much alike: the same chestnut hair cascading over their shoulders, the same morphology, and the same energy. Their mother held them by the hand, tensing every time the swell slammed its icy foam against her belly.

“Name’s Kurt. What’s yours?”

“… Aaron,” he answered after too long a hesitation.

“To tell you the truth, the beach isn’t my thing, Kurt continued. I was a jerk when I was a teenager and had a car accident. I went through the windshield. Miraculously, my face escaped the massacre, but from there to here – he pointed to his collarbone and down to his pelvis – it’s scar fair – front, back and arms with it. My wife doesn’t mind, she’s used to it; but you can imagine that getting half-naked in front of everyone isn’t the first thing that comes to mind. But my kids love to splash around, so I’m in.”

The BAU director hadn’t dared interrupt him, but the man had told his story with surprising casualness.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all this, right?”

“Yes,” he confessed, confused.

“Because you’ve got the same face I had when I came back to sit on my ass on a beach afterwards, Kurt declared, more seriously. You’re scared. You’re scared everyone’s going to find out it’s Vietnam under there, and it’s going to scare the kids away.”

An ice cube fell into the pit of his stomach.

“I know, I thought the same thing. And then, one day, I was forced to take my top off. And you know what I discovered?”

“… No,” Hotch hesitated, nauseous.

“That my wife was right. Nobody cares. People are so focused on their navels that they don’t pay attention to their neighbors.”

Kurt stared at him for a moment, smirking, then went on:

“I know what you’re thinking: it’s all a bunch of hooey. The second you take your top off, all the girls are going to pass out – and not because of your charm. But I can assure you they won’t. Maybe two or three people will frown, then the teens will go back to taking their stupid selfies and the parents will remember that they forgot to put sunscreen on their kids.”

By reflex, Aaron observed the surroundings out of the corner of his eye and noted that those who had been distrusted by his behavior had indeed moved on. In appearance, at least.

“Mind you, I’m not saying it’s a simple process, admitted the man, it takes a little time. But one day, you’ll get there. You’ll forget what’s bothering you so much and go swimming with your son.”

“How…?”

“You can’t stop looking at the blonde with the curls and the kid.”

He showed with his chin at Jessica and Jack, who were carrying on unsuspecting with their ablutions. Without realizing it, he must have continued to watch his son at regular intervals, his paternal instinct more alert than ever.

“Daddy!”

“Ah, duty calls! Kurt joked as one of the little girls waved her hand in his direction. Have a good day, Aaron, and don’t forget to forget.”

Without further ado, the guy got to his feet and removed his top, which he kept in his hand. As he’d announced, his entire chest was lined with white scars, as were his arms from shoulders to elbows. With his skin already in the process of tanning, the net of scarred veins stood out even more. Several people wrinkled their noses at the sight of him, but Kurt ignored them completely, his attention focused on his daughters, whom he joined in a few strides. Hotch suddenly felt ridiculous with the small dark marks scattered here and there across his torso.

“Dad!” exclaimed a familiar voice nearby.

A kid was rushing towards him, throwing water and sand at the people in his path. He landed right on top of him, almost collapsing due to the unstable terrain.

“Take it easy, Jack,” advised his father, reaching out to catch him.

“What did the man want?”

“Information,” Aaron lied, spotting Kurt in the distance, playing with his daughters.

“Oh, commented his son, before abruptly changing the subject. Hey! Look what I found. It’s moving inside.”

He opened his clenched fist to reveal a shell whose operculum had been replaced by a cluster of pearly legs, tightly packed together.

“Yes, that’s normal. It’s a hermit crab.”

“Oh! What’s this?” shouted Jack, ecstatic, staring at the animal with a look more eager than ever.

“It’s a kind of crab without a carapace. That’s why he hides in a shell, explained his father, amused by his curious expression. You should put him back in the water. He’s probably scared, so he might leaved his shard, and then he’ll be in danger.”

“No! I don’t want him to die!” the boy suddenly panicked, closing his hand.

“Come on, let’s put it back in the water then.”

Hotch, who was more concerned about his son getting pinched like he had been years earlier, stood up and took Jack by the hand. They walked to the foreshore and, with their feet in the water, he instructed his offspring to place the crustacean on the sand. The boy obeyed, and the hermit crab quickly stood up on its claws and bolted out to sea.

“Funny!”

“Yes, nodded his sire with a smile. Do you want to go swimming with Aunt Jessica again?”

“No. I want to play with you.”

“You want to build a castle?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. So go tell your aunt you’re staying with me. I’ll take the shovel and bucket.”

“Cool!”

Jack ran towards Jessica at once, who had been watching them the whole time. Aaron climbed back into the bag he’d left behind and retrieved all the beach mason’s essentials. He then went back down to an area not far from the water, but still dry, which would be a more solid base for the construction to come. His son reappeared beside him, breathless, his hair a mess.

“Put your armbands in the bag.”

“Okay.”

Obediently, he galloped over to the towels, threw away his loose buoys and returned to him with an ear-to-ear grin. His father was tempted to send him back to actually put his things in the tote before a gust of wind blew them away, but his son’s spirit dissuaded him.

“Jessica stays in the water?”

“Yes. She said she was going for a swim.”

“Okay. Ready to make the biggest castle on the beach?”

“Yeah!”

He presented his left fist and Jack rapidly slammed his right fist into it. The duo then set to work, digging, shoveling, piling, and consolidating buckets and buckets of sand to build the most remarkable edifice in the area. All without a care in the world.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #agent hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #code name mom #jack hotchner #jessica brooks #david rossi #writing challenge

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theminecraftbee · 2 years

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Like. I’m thinking again. That can be dangerous. But. We’ve talked about merch. We’ve talked about movies of the au. I’m just. Thinking. Of cosplays. Of team scar and Grian and people just… maybe making their own spirits to either cope that they were possessed or because they think it’s cool and wanna look dubiously elderitch. Cosplays of varying qualities too. Like store brand cosplays. Like. Like cosplays you’d order from Amazon. Then flippin homemade cosplays from people who know how to sew. And casual cosplays as well. Also props. Imagine prop making. Also. I’m soft for the idea of little kids in wheelchairs cosplaying Scar’s magickal persona. Or really any folks who are physically impaired. Who do you think would have the most cosplays of themself? Also, on the social media, the Twitter I think it was, do they ever like, like, fan art or fan works or cosplays? Or deep dive analysises? I have another thought but it’s a bit more to the side so I’ll send that in a separate ask. Also I’m hoping to high heavens that tumblr isn’t eating my asks cause I got really excited when talking about the possibilities of spirits the other day and I’m just. A ball of anxiety.

i think scar saw a cosplay of him in magical girl form one time on a like twelve-year-old girl and almost burst into tears, is what i think happens.

i think scar probably has the most cosplays by virtue of being A) the most visible magical girl who is B) not a supervillain - like, grian probably gets people dressing up as him, but it's like, you know there are people who are "fans" of criminals in real life, but they get weird looks, right? and over time blackbird fans get... somewhat less weird looks as she gets less blatantly a supervillain and starts to appear to be helping more often. BIG social media fights on what "villain" even means. and then with the other two - cub mostly sticks to the background except when he does big dramatic chaotic things (and also has not nearly as much of a costume as scar for a while he'd be less fun) and bdubs... bdubs gets a pretty dedicated set of fans too i think but less than just scar.

i think we've made the jokes about fanfiction already (bdubs has it saved on his phone to blackmail scar with as needed lol) but also yeah, that definitely exists. fanart also definitely exists and i think after bdubs joins the team he shows scar and cub how to properly find fanart that isn't being sold as merch when he gets their in-persona social media in order.

as for analysis... i think the local newspaper eventually has to ban op-eds on the local magical girls for like two weeks because they got NOTHING BUT OP-EDS ABOUT THE LOCAL MAGICAL GIRLS and they're like. okay. we need to publish op-eds about other social issues guys. there are probably SO MANY video essays and thinkpieces about "are they good" and "what could they be doing better" and you know, all the stuff i said got talked about, haha. as i said, basically the only taboo here is people who try to do analysis to dig up their real identities, mostly because that gets you cancelled off the internet. which is good for scar, right up until he outright reveals his own identity to the world.

i think a good thing to keep in mind is that they’re basically like... a cross between celebrities and political figures and also sort of fantastical action stars, all at once. they’ve got some weird stuff going on with public relations you know

#answered #magical girl scar

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r-2-peepoo · 1 year

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Obviously for Codywan: 6 and its cousin 17 🥹

These ones were more challenging than the last ones but still a lot of fun to think about

(Link to the OTP Relationship Asks)

6. When did they realize they loved each other?

I wish I was familiar enough with all the arcs in Clone Wars to be exact but here is my best answer.

I will say Cody needed much longer to figure it out but I think he would’ve first opened up to the possibility of something deeper when he got his scar. This is obviously a complete headcanon, but I believe Obi Wan would’ve checked up on him to make sure he was okay after he received medical attention. I don’t believe there’s a canon explanation for his scar (maybe there’s something in Legends) but it had to be early in the war. Head wounds bleed a lot and Cody’s scar is pretty big, meaning something really bad would’ve had to happen. It really throws Obi Wan off, way more than he expects it to. When he saw the injury, even though he could still feel Cody in the force, he thought he was close to death because there was so much blood. Since he doesn’t have much time for friends who aren’t Jedi (and the ones he has he barely gets to see), Cody represents something very unique and important in his life because he speaks to him nearly every day. He goes to see Cody and they have a genuine, off-duty conversation and Obi Wan is visibly shaken, which catches Cody's attention even with all the painkillers he's on. If this was a video game, this would be the time when Obi Wan levels up and unlocks the path toward real friendship (and maybe something deeper) with Cody. The genuine care he has shown him, not just for him as a soldier but as a person causes Cody to reevaluate some things. He already genuinely liked Obi Wan. The Jedi has more than earned his trust. But now he’s like “Okay, this guy took time out of his day to come and see if I was alright because he wanted to. It wasn’t a matter of duty. He, personally, was worried so to soothe that worry, he went out of his way to come and check on me.” Cody figures out he really means something to Obi Wan and that’s a weird sort of feeling since he has only ever had his brothers to look out for him. He sees the man behind the titles and that man looks way more vulnerable than he expected him to and it really makes Cody begin to feel something new for him. It's a feeling he doesn't quite understand yet though.

As for when Cody actually realises, I think it would be after an arc like the Battle of Umbara. A moment in the war where there are a lot of clone casualties. Cody comes off as a very serious, stoic person but it doesn’t mean he actually is. That’s just how he presents himself. But even if he was, one person can only take so much. He would take all the casualties much harder than normal. It would’ve been building up for a while and then this latest tragedy in a long line would finally cause him to snap (of course Cody snapping is vastly different from most people because he still largely has his shit together).

Of course, Obi Wan is no stranger to loss. He doesn’t want to risk comparing their experiences, but he does come to see Cody. They don’t talk immediately. He just sits with him so he isn’t alone.

After a while, Cody tells him he’s not sure how much more of it he can take. Obi Wan has no idea how he manages it. Losing Qui Gon was bad enough for him. He can’t imagine what it would be like for him to lose more of the Jedi. Don’t worry dude you’ll find out pretty soon.

Instead, he starts to tell Cody about what the Jedi believe about loss. It isn’t a lesson. He isn’t preaching at him. He’s just trying to share part of his life with a man he deeply cares about. Cody knows that. Obi Wan tells him that from the very beginning of their training, the Jedi masters reiterate over and over that the force flows through everything. It’s the foundation of the entire Jedi religion. The force is the only constant in the universe. To the Jedi, there is no death. You can’t ever really die, you just become one with the force. Cody asks him if he really believes that, or if it actually makes him feel better. Obi Wan answers that he knows it’s the truth. If he closes his eyes and focuses hard enough, sometimes he thinks he can still feel Qui Gon’s presence in the force. He’s not entirely sure how much of it is real and how much of it’s in his head though. On bad days, it doesn’t make him feel better. It still hurts that he’s gone, but when he’s able to think more rationally, it can be quite reassuring. He just tries to live his life in a way that he hopes honours Qui Gon and he tells Cody that’s what he does every day. There’s a reason why his brothers look up to him so much. There’s a reason why he was made commander so quickly. They listen to him and they trust him to look out for them, so just by being himself, he honours their memory. He also says he knows Cody can’t feel the force, but when he first came to Kamino, he was struck by just how brightly he and all his brothers shine in the force. It’s proof they’re alive, no matter what anyone in the senate says, and the force has a place for them too. They aren’t an exception and they won’t be left behind.

I know Mando’a is used a lot in fics, but realistically I don’t think Jango would’ve cared to spend enough time with the clones for them to pick up some of his language. I love the fics that do it, but going with the idea that they don’t understand Mando’a, I think Obi Wan would go on to talk about what he knows about Mandalorian culture because he truly believes its relevant to the clones and that they should be allowed to have some sort of connection to it because they came from a Mandalorian. Over the years, he’s learned a lot and has picked up different pieces of the language but there’s one phrase that stuck with him. It’s a phrase you’ve probably seen used in fanfiction before.

"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la "

"Not gone, merely marching far away"

He tells Cody he secretly likes this idea more than the idea of becoming one with the force, although he definitely shouldn’t. It feels somewhat like a betrayal of his ideals but the idea that all the people they lost aren’t gone forever, but are just marching ahead of them, brings him a lot more comfort. Maybe they can catch up with them eventually. He also points out that these two concepts are different but both go with the idea that death isn’t the end. With so many different cultures and religions across the Galaxy sharing this idea of there being something more than just this one life, they can’t all be wrong. It stands to reason that, one day, maybe they’ll meet again.

Cody can read between the lines. Obi Wan isn’t saying this to convince him to get over his grief, he’s sharing the weight of it with him. He’s letting him know that even Jedi struggle with this and that he isn’t alone. That to grieve is to be alive and that in order to feel grief, you have to have felt love first.

He also knows his Jedi well enough to see a little undercurrent of anger in Obi Wan’s words. Cody know what Obi Wan thinks of the clones and how they're treated. He knows he’s angry because the clones aren’t given the time or the resources to mourn their brothers. The Jedi have elaborate funerals and the clones gets nothing. Obi Wan needs Cody to know he’s not alone because he recognises that the rest of the galaxy is trying to make him feel like he is. He wishes he could give Cody some kind of justice. Cody knows he can’t and he doesn’t blame him. The Jedi had almost as little choice in being part of the war as the clones did.

It’s during this conversation that Cody realises he loves him. How could he not? It’s sort of his “fuck it” moment where he stops suppressing the feelings he obviously has because Obi Wan is trying so hard to be there for him. It’s a little overwhelming, if he’s being honest, because people do not take the time to say things like this to him. Obi Wan isn’t saying the things he’s saying to do anything other than reach out to him and hold onto him so he doesn’t get lost in his feelings (something that very nearly happened to him when he lost Qui Gon) and Cody loves him. After that point, there’s nothing he can do to avoid thinking about it. He loves him so much and he’s never loved anyone like this before in his entire life and he isn’t sure what to do with all that love. He loves Obi Wan because he earned his love so many times. Cody just hopes the Jedi can't feel how strong his feelings are. (Spoiler alert: he can.)

As for when Obi Wan realises, it would be something so small. Something really trivial that would make him realise.

Cody and Obi Wan get into an habit of doing paperwork together. They don’t need to talk to each other, it’s just to have the company. At one point, probably quite late at night, Cody started grumbling about how illegible Rex’s reports from the latest mission they were on together are. Rex is a fantastic soldier but his ability at filling in forms is catastrophic. Obi Wan just watches him get more and more frustrated and that’s when he realises that he could fill out boring paperwork with this man forever. In fact, he hopes he gets to, even after the war is over. Doing dull things with him is the part of his day he looks forward to the most. It’s grounding. Cody balances him out perfectly. They are just similar enough and just different enough that, when they have time together where they aren’t being shot at by droids or attacked by Separatists, Obi Wan feels so calm. He rarely gets to feel like that in his life. Cody is the only one who can evoke the feeling. The beauty of their relationship is in the little moments and that's when he knows.

17. Who fell in love first?

Definitely Obi Wan. I think Cody had feelings way earlier than most people think he did, but he needed longer to figure out what it was he was feeling. Obi Wan knew almost immediately though because it’s not the first time he’s felt this way. I will never ever downplay Satine’s importance in Obi Wan’s life and what Obi felt for her and what he feels for Cody are equally important but very different. Satine was his first love and so it was very strong feelings combined with a lot of guilt. He was still coming to terms with his identity and his place in the Jedi order. With Cody, he’s had time to grow up and learn to process these things better and also not be so hard on himself. There’s something quieter about their love too. It's just as strong, but there’s simultaneously something much calmer about it. I also wholeheartedly believe this man is a hopeless romantic, he just can’t act on his feelings because he’s a Jedi so they’re like stories in his head he can use to escape from reality for a while if he needs to. It’s like his happy place. He imagines all the things he’d do with Cody if there wasn’t a stupid war in the way and he didn’t have any responsibilities. And they aren’t impossible fantasies or anything. The feelings between them are mutual. There’s a chance one day when the war is over, maybe just maybe they could find a way to make it work. If anyone could do it, it would be them. It's an idea Obi Wan holds very close to his heart when he feels run down or lost. The hope there is for the future, a future that Cody definitely has a place in if it's what he wants. The war has changed the Jedi order permanently anyway. Obi Wan wonders what else could change and what possibilities it could lead to.

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #clone wars

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mothicality · 1 month

Text

post discusses selfharm a lot, though no details beyond it being selfharm and having scars. also mentions suicide attempts (no details)

guy with anxiety experiences anxiety, what a shocker!

did. big anxieties today. wishing two people would adopt me (host of nerd club (be my dad please) + dm for my d&d group at the nerd club (be my big brother please))

earlier today i decided to go to the pharmacy on my own for the first time ever. which is very scary. i cannot go shopping on my own but pharmacy is like a middle step since less options and you can get the clerk to help you super easy. still really scary, biggest shopping ive done alone before that was mcdonalds ;-;

but i bought gauze-ish stuff and disinfectant wipes. had to ask about it and i feel like the clerk was guessing it was selfharm related but she didnt ask. she was sorta tense and cautious with her answers but she was still nice and wasnt invasive or anything, so still good experience and i got the stuff

and then. so i go to the nerd club once a week, been there four times now, and i am a very warm person and it is fairly warm there so i get Hot. so i would like to wear shortsleeves to be less hot. but i am visibly Quite Scarred, which, well. i have no experience with people who arent familiar with selfharm, so going somewhere like that with my scars visible is scary

so i messaged the host a few days ago on messenger, no answer so i asked about how to contact him personally outside nerd club and he gave me his phone number (privilege!he wants to keep his work and personal life separate so not many get access to it), so i messaged him again when i got home 4ish hours ago

and. he just replied. and im too anxious to open it but he has guessed it is selfharm. i dont really know why i didnt outright say it, it's just. difficult i guess

since i was 12, pretty much all my interaction with other people irl has been within mental health contexts

i moved into my first grouphome then. the people there were familiar with selfharm since everyone there is mentally unwell, and one of the other residents had visible selfharm scars and sometimes wounds

my second group home was for kids with more severe issues, so theyre definitely also experienced with it, and they knew i was moved to that group home because of two suicide attempts

and then outside that i'm only really ever at appointments at the psych facility or the government - all people who have read about me before meeting me, who knows lots about me and my issues and whatnot

oh and with my family, all of us are mentally ill so theyre familiar with mental issues, and my mom used to selfharm a lot and has had several suicide attempts, so theyre familiar with it through her too

but now. ive joined three clubs, two of which are in person. these clubs have nothing to do with mental health and such, the nerd club is actually just a regular school club thats been opened up to people outside the school. so...it's different here. i don't know how to...be, i guess. i don't know what is or isn't okay. it's hard

i struggle socially there - they're really kind and welcoming and understanding, but...i don't know, maybe it's just anxiety, but i feel like i mess up more than they do, even though they don't get upset with me. i'm almost constantly anxious about missing social rules and what is and isn't okay to do

bleh. so yeah. big anxiety today. but it's...a good kind, in a way, i guess. it's because i'm doing difficult things that i previously couldn't. it's...progress, development.

dont know where i was going with this. just to vent out my anxiety i guess . . . i'm glad it's getting better

#mothicaws #about us

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indecisive-v · 9 months

Text

some writing since my drawing brain cells don't wanna cooperate

making the move from world of magic to arcane odyssey in the perspective of my second save file character

His entire world, swallowed by a light more blinding than what he could ever try to conjure. All of it, gone in a literal flash, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

He was devastated enough when he was just a trainee watching his home city get nearly laid to waste by magical explosions. He could only imagine how anyone else with their eyes open was feeling.

Noel Marshall, knight of Summer Hold, couldn't do anything to protect it then, and couldn't do anything to protect it now. The boy didn't even have a chance to get back at those explosion mages before it all ended.

...

Well, that's that, he supposes. Not much he can do about it now. How pathetic of him.

The world's over. Noel's life is over.

So why...

Why is he still even conscious?

Noel shifts. His movements are met with the coarse feeling of sand. The sounds of thunder and shoreline waves reach his ears. He's on a beach. A beach that he's fairly sure should have just been vaporized.

He lifts himself up from the sand and rubs his eyes to get a better look around. It seems he's on some island in the middle of nowhere, and the rain surrounding it has drenched him. Is the afterlife supposed to be a wet, rainy island? If so, he's not sure what part of the afterlife this is. Purgatory, maybe. It's too merciful for hell, and too lacking for heaven. Still, he was expecting the middle place to just be an empty, emotionless void of boredom or something. Perhaps it's personalized.

He turns to the sea behind him, just to be completely sure there isn't by any chance a boat there to pick him up. There is indeed no boat in sight, save for some little rowboats on the shore.

No way is he going to try rowing out in this weather.

Noel almost turns back to the island, wanting to still do something, but his barely-visible reflection in the water manages to catch his eye.

At least, he's pretty sure that's supposed to be his reflection.

It doesn't look quite like him. His hair is as stringy-looking as always, tied in its usual ponytail, but its copper brown color has been replaced with black. At first, he assumes it's just the lighting, but then he sees the rest of himself. His eyes have gone from moonlit blue to sunny gold- ironic, given his gift of Sunlight Magic- and there's a large scar now stretching across his face. His clothes are in tatters, but that part isn't nearly as much of a surprise compared to everything else. Then again, he was supposed to be wearing armor, so...

What in the...?

"Rael, you're awake.... I thought you'd be out for a few more days."

Who-

Noel whirls around. Facing him is a pale, dark-haired man in similar ragged clothes. The knight looks around- there isn't anyone else the man could be referring to when he says "Rael". It's just the two of them on this island. Perhaps the man simply misheard for forgot part of Noel's name. It's only two letters off, after all.

"It's Noel," he corrects him. The man raises an eyebrow. Must be awfully confident in what he thought Noel's name was.

"Did the experiments mess with your brain, or are you just joking around?" the man asks.

Experiments?

"What experiments? Am I supposed to know you?"

"Huh, are you serious?" the man's confusion evolves into genuine shock. "The two of us barely got out of there alive, and now you have memory loss... I can't believe it."

Memory loss? Noel's sure his memories are perfectly in tact. You don't just forget your tragic backstory or the sight of the world ending overnight. You don't forget those things ever, for that matter. He racks his brain for this man's name. M... Mor... Morden. That's it. Where would they have met before, though? Morden's name is all Noel can recall about him.

"We were being held captive in a remote location," Morden explains, "and they performed magic experiments on us. We saw people die every day... but I guess you don't remember that."

Ah. So much for not forgetting one's tragic backstory. Still, the events in his head weren't connecting. The world was engulfed in pure white, and then... he got captured and experimented on? How? And by who...?

Noel simply lowers his head. He failed so hard at protecting others that he even forgot they existed, huh. "I'm... sorry," he says. As if his pride isn't damaged enough.

Morden shakes his head. "It's not your fault..." But it feels like it is- "...we did the best we could." But it wasn't enough- "It's a shame that Tucker couldn't make it," He even forgot the names of the deceased- "but at least he's had a proper burial."

Noel shakes under the guilt, but remains silent. He doesn't remember what happened, so what right does he have to talk about it as if he did?

"Anyway, we're free now. You still remember how to use magic, right?" Noel nods at that. Morden continues. "Since we're magic-users, we'll make it far in this world. We just need to meet the right people. You can take one of the rowboats and go wherever you want. I'm going to go back to Tucker's grave for a bit-" he gestures towards a grassy part of the island; must be where the grave is- "I need to think some things over."

Noel looks around, then back at Morden. "Where do I even go?" he asks.

"I don't know..." Morden responds. "You're hungry, aren't you? Maybe you should go to Redwake, it's a port to the east of here. They might have food for you, and being there may help you remember some things from your past as well. Maybe we'll see each other again, Rael." He didn't correct himself. "Until then, farewe-"

"I told you, it's Noel."

Morden pauses. "Could've sworn it was always Rael, but sure. Farewell, Noel, and I wish you good fortune."

Morden turns back towards Tucker's grave, leaving Noel (Rael?) on the shore. He goes back to looking at himself in the water.

A new (but similar) face. A new (but similar) name. Morden even said he was still a magic user, but for all Noel knows he could have a completely different magic type now. Only one way to find out.

He holds his hand out, trying to summon the familiar, magical light he had always used. Sure enough, light steadily pours forth from his hand, forming into a little ball. At least that part's the same. He's relieved that he doesn't have to learn to use an entirely new element. There's just one problem.

The light he's holding isn't golden sunlight.

It's soft, blue moonlight.

What happened? Did the magic experiments or that end-of-the-world light give Noel some kind of color blindness? That wouldn't explain why Morden had called him Rael. It was so close to his name, like how his appearance had the same outline but the colors were all wrong. He had the same magic, but a different variant. It was like he was Noel Marshall, but slightly to the left. Is that what magic experiments do to you? Morden didn't seem to be having the same problems.

Was Marshall even his last name anymore? It was his family's pride- proof of their descension from a powerful warrior of Summer Hold's history.

Noel turns away from the water and runs towards where Morden went. The man is still contemplating, and Noel can see the grave he stands by now. He slows down and gives the grave an apologetic nod before looking at Morden.

"You haven't left yet?" Morden asks him.

"I just want to know one more thing," Noel answers.

"I don't know everything about what happened, but... alright. Ask away."

"My name. If it isn't Noel, what is it? My full name, I mean. First and last."

Morden hesitates. Forgetting your own name is stupid, I know. Just answer already... please.

"Rael Ordius. That's what you introduced yourself as when we first met."

Ordius. He wonders what that name could mean. Maybe it's the obvious answer- "order". Maybe it didn't matter and "Rael Ordius" was just some cover name he came up with only for his stupid, amnesiac self to blow it. What did matter, though, was the fact that he apparently had a whole new name that others in this life knew him by.

This life.

A new life.

With a different name and face.

Had he been reincarnated? Had he forgotten the entirety of his current life while retaining the memories of his previous one?

If so, then this world knew of no Noel Marshall, knight of Summer Hold. It only knew Rael Ordius, a subject and escapee of deadly magic experiments. Noel had died long ago in the blast of some sort of massive magic bomb.

He couldn't protect himself, he couldn't protect his old home, and he couldn't protect his old world. But he was in the middle of trying to gain the power to do so before that world was destroyed. Maybe this was his second chance. Granted, he was already failing, considering Morden told him he had already seen so many die in this life too, but surely now...

...The only thing he can do is light the path ahead of him.

in-universe explanation for what happened: world of magic being shut down and turned into arcane odyssey was perceived as the world getting erased and recreated; noel marshall died in the erasure and was reincarnated as rael ordius. so he's sort of right but if we put the events on a chronological timeline there's some jeremy bearimy shit going on there

real life explanation: i made noel on a whim bc i just wanted to try light magic but then i got attached but i still didn't like the name he got or his half-assed design so i changed them when ao released 👍

i like to think that although his name, legally speaking, is now rael ordius, he still introduces himself as noel for the sake of not getting attention from anyone who might have been involved in the magic experiments (and also because of course he's just more used to it)

noel's "tragic backstory" with the explosion mages was a thing that happened to me while playing world of magic; i was chilling in summer hold when some negative rep explosion mage players came in and blew the place up, killing multiple npcs whose last names were marshall in the process, and since i was still low level i couldn't really do anything unless i wanted to get my ass blown up. so yes noel's family died while he helplessly watched and some random players out there are part of my oc lore

rael also has his own history with his locked-away memories but that's for another time

#roblox #arcane odyssey #world of magic #writing #forgive me if any part of this seems a little messy i kinda just wanted to get the brain juices flowing

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prianya · 2 years

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hey! can u write anything with etho? i’m starved of etho content 😭 thank you!!

Off-course and Unmapped

Ethoslab x Reader ▪︎ Platonic

Word Count ▪︎ 1k+

Summary ▪︎ You and Etho hadn't always been such good friends, and let's just say your first meeting was a bit unusual.

You and Etho were total opposites. You were always more withdrawn, choosing a day inside your base rather than an outing with any of the other hermits. With you being so withdrawn, you were naturally quiet, and Hermitcraft had been a large change from your quiet home server, where the majority of people preferred to stay inside and not brave the arctic weather. Etho, on the other hand, was your Antithesis. He was outgoing and spent a lot of time around his fellow hermits, whether building or just hanging around and causing trouble. He was louder too, cracking jokes constantly and generally livening up the room every time he entered.

He was the warm sun to your cold moon and the last person you expected to grow this close to. The other hermits have barely seen you, and even when they spotted you in their vicinity, you were never without your mask. Because of this, many of the hermits have named you a recluse. That's why it was so surprising that Etho had gotten to know you so well, let alone well enough for you to share the location of your base with him.

Yours and Etho’s meeting was quite sudden and went a lot along the lines of you accidentally terrifying Etho because he had managed to stumble upon you while you were foraging, and then helping him get un-lost.

At the time, you hadn’t known but he had been convinced you were some type of witch when you had turned to him, a bundle of mushrooms in one hand and a sharp knife in the other, various potions hanging off your hip by ropes.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you,” He says nervously, raising his hands as he took a tentative step back.

“Huh?” had been your ever-intelligent reply, as you stared at the grey-haired man who you were sure you had seen somewhere before.

“Um, I’m sorry I bothered you,” He says again, and cards his hand through his hair nervously, “but I’m actually quite sure I’m lost.”

“Oh. Well, if you'd like, I have a map at my base that has where it is marked, so you could use that?” you offer, still slightly confused at why he looked so familiar.

“That would be amazing!”

With that, you begin leading him towards your base, pondering where you could know the man from. Soon enough, you make it to your base, the homey cottage standing at the edge of a small pond. Behind you, you hear the man, whose name you still don't know, gasp.

“Your base is wonderful, and it looks so cosy!” he gushes, turning in a circle as he looks around the small clearing.

You blush, replying with a mumbled thank you. Leading him inside, you stop in your living room, telling him to wait right there while you went to grab the map from your chest room. Coming back to the room after grabbing the map, you realize he was gone from where you left him. Great job! You just had to decide to let some random dude in your house and now he could be gone robbing you! You huff, quickly searching the living room, before looking into your kitchen. There he stood, looking at your spice rack.

“What are all these spices?” He asks you when you come up to him, picking up a jar of saffron and looking at it curiously. You panic, snatching the jar out of his hand, and gently placing it back on its rack.

“Please don't touch anything,” you chide, “a lot of these spices are hard to grow and gather, and Scar’s prices are outrageous for most of them”

He visibly brightens as he hears you say Scar’s name, “You know Scar? Scar and I are pretty good friends!” You just look up at him blankly and then push the map you had found into his hands. He looks down, somehow managing to brighten even more when he realizes what you handed him.

“Thank you so much!” he exclaims, pulling you into a hug. You straighten up, startled by the sudden contact.

“You’re… Welcome?”

He pulls away just as suddenly as he had hugged you, and quickly picks up the small bag he had dropped in your living room. With a short farewell, he was off, disappearing into the treeline at the edge of your property. You closed the door after he was out of sight, making your way into your kitchen to make yourself a cup of saffron tea. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a piece of paper sitting under your spice rack. You cross the kitchen and pick up the paper, unfolding it.

Dear host witch(?),

Thank you for lending me a map! I’ll make sure to come by at some point and return it. I also thank you for helping me instead of leaving me there. Void knows that if you had been Grian or Scar that you would have left me lost. As repayment, I’ll buy you some more spices. You looked like you were almost out of a few, and I thought you might like them.

Thank you for your Hospitality, Ethoslab

(You can call me Etho :D)

You smiled at the note, folding it back up and leaving it on the counter. As you went back to making your tea, you realize where you had met the man, Etho, before. He had been talking to Xisuma the day you had gone to ask for permission to go off-server for a visit. He had said hello to you before taking off in a burst of color, flying away with his elytra. At least you managed to remember that, you muse while you take your whistling kettle off the stove. When the two of you ‘met’ for the first time, you had seen him talking animatedly to the admin, and had thought he was too loud. Now, you were reconsidering your opinion.

After meeting him this time, you decided that he was just loud enough.

I hope you like this, anon! It was my first try at anything based on Etho, so it was a bit hard. If you're unhappy with anything, then feel free to request another one and I'll try to do a bit better! I also wrote this in about 2 hours, so there may be some typos!

#hermitcraft x reader #platonic x reader #ethoslab #etho x reader #ethoslab x reader

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ubersatzofficial · 8 months

Text

A Dire Warning

“I am the only person who remembers my father” the young Human began to speak into our recording device, after a brief introduction and an exchange of pleasantries over Zetwian coffee and yinrons. “I mean- his actions are written in Kodoporian history books, I-I’m sure, but.. How name, his face? Well.. That’s all lost, now” Her voice rose barely above a raspy, stuttering whisper, the gaze of her one-functioning eye carefully examining the nonexistent patterns in the carpet below our feet. We set ease to our guest, and assure her that her comfort is our primary intent, and if she does not wish to share her story, there is no shame. But, with a curt shake of her head, lips pursed and eye shut, she dispels the notion as though shooing away a buzzing insect. “I.. I need to- j-just so everyone knows what we’re dealing with”

The beast for which she mourns is one I know well- or, as well as anyone can know the mysterious figure. A brutal despot, a warlord responsible for the now infamous Week of Thorns and Glass for the now thriving planet of Kodopor. Though Kodopor now stands as a rare beacon of freedom and independence within the Galaxy, such peace was only ever achieved after the mysterious disappearance of the individual who brought upon this brief, yet apocalyptic reign of terror. However, one problem persists; despite innumerable witness and records to the invasion, as well as undeniable evidence of the actions and destruction hitherto taken place during that nightmarish week.. There are none alive who are able to remember who this warlord was. So severe is this collective psychogenic amnesia, that even the president of Kodopor, a man held within the jaws of the beast which ravaged his world, sees only fog, and hears only murmurs when recalling the man who did it. The reason for this lost memory remained unknown, impossible to discover, as the very nature of the affliction made understanding it’s cause impossible. That was, until the arrival of our subject. A woman who claims to remember the Warlord of Kodopor; his daughter. Stranger still, the subject presented to us today, should our knowledge of human lifespans hold true, must be no older than twenty-three, though, with scars befitting a seasoned adventurer. Yet, she presses on, regaling the Omniversed with her tale.

“It was… a nightmare. I-I grew up with him, he loved me! He treated me well, I.. I knew he could be.. He could get angry.. But never at me, never towards the people he cared about! Mom.. always knew how to calm him down..” Our subject produces a dejected chuckle, the corner of her lips curling upwards, inversely to the angle of her unburnt eyebrow. “She would hold his chin in her hand, and turn his gaze up into her eyes.. And that would be enough.. He’d just.. Kiss her, and purr.. Sometimes I wonder now how much of that was just for me”

Another pause, and a long drink of coffee.

“It happened after I left, after i’d already started to discover what sort of people they were.” The word is artificial, almost languid in it’s effort. “But this was something else” she continues, “Overnight- just.. Gods, before anyone could even think to stop him! He took.. Everyone loyal to him, and he descended upon that poor planet like a pack of dogs” Unlike before, this word, bubbling up like poison in her throat, feels much more genuine. “I.. I know even mom didn’t want him to do it, she’s.. Cruel, but nothing like that! Never like that! He.. he slaughtered so many, he burned the city to the ground, a-and sat himself at the peak of the rubble like- l-like!”

Her voice hits a brick wall, erected to hold back a flood of tears welling behind her eye, collapsing into stammered pants and shaking hands. A moment of quiet is taken, the weight of her father’s actions weigh visibly upon her, and we begin to question where she acquired those scars. After regaining her composure, looking not unlike someone had cranked a large key affixed to her back, she began to speak again”

“I don’t know why he did it” she admits “Maybe.. Maybe he was jealous? Felt inadequate? Maybe.. Maybe he just wanted to feel powerful.. I don’t know why, he had everything he could ever want! Mom provided for us, nobody could even think to challenge her, a-and he reaped the rewards of that more than anyone else! …but I guess that wasn’t good enough” she speaks in bitter tones, grip tightening around the handle of the hot red coffee mug. It is not the anger of a good woman speaking upon a severe injustice, but rather the trembling, hot-wet venom of a daughter now speaking words she’d never thought utterable about a father once beloved. The furious, annihilated pain of a shattered heart.

“He had to be stopped” the words slip quickly past her lips, her gaze now drawn to the curtains, “I knew I was the only one.. He’d never hurt me, but he’d never give up without a fight, a-and who was I?? J-just some, two-bit magician with a wand and a couple freebie spells! No.. I couldn’t beat him… but I knew someone who could” Her tone now shifts, solidifying, freezing into an ice-cold recollection.

“I stormed his office- not his, but the one he stole, a-and sat in like s-some fat, greasy king! Nobody stopped me. His guards all knew me, I-I think probably they were as shocked to see me as I was to be there. I don’t remember what was going through my head, felt like.. Screaming, but silent all at once- white noise? I-I dunno, sorry” she inhales. “I remember.. The smell, there was broken glass all around me, and, everything smelled like ash and cigar smoke, wine, gunpowder.. I knew there was crackling and big bangs somewhere off in the distance, and, everytime I caught a look out the window, it was just.. Pale grey smoke, blackened skeletons of buildings sat against an ashy sky. I had a gun-”

She chokes, her words suddenly becoming cold and pallid. “..i-it.. It was a plasma gun, I probably found it on the floor.. Peeled it out of the cold hands of a dead Kodopor soldier. I.. remember thinking about him, h-hoping he’d find some peace, knowing his gun would be the one to save his home. I don’t even think I processed the moment I kicked the door in. I found him.. Lounging, lavished over a swivel chair, with the president beaten to a bloody pulp at his feet. He was.. Distorted, worse than i’d ever seen him. His body was covered in thick tufts of black fur, a-all his limbs stretched out, h-his neck twisted around like a cobra to look at me, that.. Awful mouth filled with grotesque, bloody teeth.. I remember the look so well. That.. prideful, sickening, sadistic smirk he had- a gluttonous cat with the feathers of a canary still poking out the sides of his cheeks. It barely faltered when he saw me.”

She holds herself, the subject rejecting the offer of our hand, as the bitter remembrance of this ashen memory enveloping her wholly and totally like the wicked stinging winds of a blizzard. She regales us; “I kept the gun down, I was panting, stuttering, but I demanded- as loud as I could muster! I said ‘Dad! This has to stop! You need to end this and leave this planet!’ …i’m sure it wasn’t so grand, I stuttered a lot.. He used to say I had the voice of a kitten” Like a knife into soft wood the punctual word sticks, such a sharpness reserved only for names once spoken softly. “I told him if he didn’t put a stop to this all then i’d make him stop! And i’ll never forget what he did next.. He smiled, that.. Sick fuck smiled at me, he laughed, and he walked towards me. He grabbed my wrist, and put the gun against his heart… he told me to pull the trigger, said the bullet wouldn’t even pierce his hide.. And he was right”

A wave of cold numbness washes over her face, reducing her expression to that of a mannequin, as for the first time, her bifurcated gaze meets our own. It is as though we can feel the silent anguish, no pain is more intense as that which shows itself in silence. “But I wasn’t there to shoot him..” She reveals, pantomiming two fingers placed under her chin. “I wrenched my hand from his, lurched back, and I told him no.. I wasn’t going to shoot him.. and put the gun under my chin.. I told him.. If you don’t stop, i’m going to pull this trigger… and you know what mom will do to you..”

To those aptly familiar with the bizarre, erratic, and most esoteric edges of this ever eccentric Galaxy, the name Olivia Yarin holds much weight- the Arbiter of the Arcane, Master of Darkness, She for whom the Gods bow.. The Headmaster of the University. She is a figure shrouded so thickly in fear and mystery, her very form is not but grim silhouette against pale mist in silver moonlight. All who know this being shudder at the mere utterance of her name- the syllables bile to the lips, rising like pitch from within their trembling throats. And yet, our subject, while trepidatious, speaks of her with a tone cavalier to the frightened few who know upon which oath of severity such words are best spoken. For while her father’s name and face is wholly unknown, the name of her Mother.. Is relayed in nightmare.

It was only now that the weight of the situation wholly descended upon us- the missing dots, the stringless points upon our conspiracy boards suddenly intertwining, as though our vision was suddenly shifted a degree to the left. But before we could fully process the implications of such a statement, our subject continued..

A sickly, nervous smile creeps upon her face, as she places a trembling hand to the red, fleshy, years-old scars upon her eye, burning across her cheek. “I don’t wanna say it felt good to see his smile drop like a sack of bricks.. But, i-it is an image I keep very close to my heart. Because he knew, I fucking got him. His tone changed in an instant, he spoke calmly and carefully, he called me things like sweetheart and babygirl.. Begged me to put down the gun. I know he didn’t wanna lose me… but he really didn’t wanna face mom. I told him again, I said he had to leave, and if he took one step loser-! ..it was over for both of us” “He.. lept at me”

Our subject pauses, closing her eye, and holding her arms tightly across her middle. Her pale skin thin enough to show the veins beneath- coal-black hair trailing down the sides of her face in small, frizzy curls, covering the worst parts of her scars.

“I squeezed the trigger just as his clawed hands pressed against my chest, and.. I felt a seering, scorching pain like fire and electricity burning my face. I-I knew something was wrong. I was on the floor, I-I couldn’t see! All I remember were his hands reaching down, human hands… he tried to pick me up, but I wouldn’t let him! I just remember repeating; monster.. monster.. monster.. She showed up after that.. And, I don’t remember too much. Her obsidian skin melted away, the glow in her eyes faded back to the soft brown I remember from my youth, her soft hands, free of shadow, wrapping around my body, cradling my head in that cool embrace.. They were.. Shaking. I felt peaceful. She held me in her arms, and she kept my head soft against her chest. I don’t remember if she cried.”

“By the time I woke up, he was already gone. My mom was by my bedside on Kigal. I wanna say that I had the strength to reject her there and then.. But I cried. Those.. Hot tears burned my face worse than any plasma, each breath I could feel a painful throbbing in my scorched, mutilated eye.. And yet held tight in those familiar arms of hers, my face buried in the silky black fabric of her dress, as her hands gently stroked my back and fixed my hair… it was love, the same pure, genuine, unyielding love i’d known my entire life. I stayed far too long..”

The words she spoke appeared on the screen of our datapad, beholding them with our eyes and ears alike, and yet, we could not believe what she was saying. Our subject spoke of Olivia Yarin, the most powerful, frightening monster to ever scourge the stars of Übersatz- a creature so openly above her rejected humanity that she has only ever appeared in shadow and onyx- It was and remains surreal. And yet, we pressed on, asking our young subject what it is that had happened to her father, what punishment her mother beset upon him, and why nobody could so much as remember his face or name. A man as powerful and feared as he must be understood, so we could, in her own words, know what we’re dealing with. But this proposal was, at least in part, rejected. “I didn’t come here to warn you about him” She speaks in choppy severity. “My mom did to him what she does with everyone that wrongs her.. He was obliterated. A Hex she sets upon her enemies, which she calls a fate worse than death. My mother believes we die twice- once when our hearts stop beating, and once again when nobody remembers we even existed… For someone like my dad? No punishment was greater. She erased him, deleted him, carved his name and face out of the minds of everyone who knew him. When they look back upon those memories, they’ll only recall that someone once filled the place where the dense fog now sits.. But so thick is the ink she has used to blot out his memory, that even the emotions he once instilled within people are now muted and cold. Worse than dead, he never was. And as for what she did to him? I don’t know.. She’s a practical woman, she could have just killed him.. But few things make her as vindictive as someone who harms her family. He could be alive, cursed with immortality and a mangled mind, wrapped in barbed wire and locked within an obsidian coffin, starving, thirsty, undying, choked and freezing as he spins endlessly through the void of deep space, speeding out towards the black void of cosmic infinity between the galaxies, far away from the people who no longer know he was ever there.. Whatever happened.. He’s no longer a problem.”

But the question remained- what was it she wished to warn us about? The answer seemed obvious, but when pressed, she had only this to say.

“You don’t need to be warned about my mom- everyone’s terrified of her for good reason. No.. i’m not warning you about her. She never hurt me, she never once made me cry, or feel in any way unloved. She supported me, cared for me, she didn’t even stop me when I found out who she really was, and left in disgust.. No, i’m warning you, because when she held me that day, stroked my hair, and let me cry into her shoulder, she told me what she had done to my dad for what he did.. And it made me feel good” “I’m not warning you about my mom or my dad.. I’m warning you about me. If I ever become like her, I want you to stop me” -Erin Yarin, Daughter of the Nightmare.

#sci fi #writing #worldbuilding #übersatz #creative writing #science fiction

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