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bokettochild · 1 month

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Febuwhump Day 25: (alt) "I Love You"

What's this? Day 25 when I haven't even posted previous days? Yes. Warriors was giving me brainrot and this thing sort of just spit itself out last night after a pot of coffee and rotting on my couch for hours.

Heads up, this story is set in the TBBU universe, so yes, we have an original character here: Sablya. My apologies if you hate OCs, she's actually pretty prominent in this story and yes, in a relationship with a Link, so DLDR if that bothers you at all <3

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: 4,626

Summary: Hit with a dark curse, the boys must seek out a user of shadow magic in order to help them. Luckily for them, Warriors knows someone. Unluckily for him, it's his ex-wife.

There's a particular brand of hurt that comes from words.

Simple words, words that once meant something precious, can turn into a knife that wrenches at the heart, and even when they’re meant with love, with care, with every amount of innocence, they still have the ability to plunge deep and strike a vein, severing sanity in their wake.

Warriors knows this, has known this. Since his mother’s first “I’m proud of the man you’ve become” had sounded, the very day when he most dreaded speaking to her to admit what he’d done; what he’d done for her and the girls; he’s known that words full of love can cause pain.

Words spoken in ire, somehow, cause less.

Given the choice between the two, the captain doesn’t know what he wants to receive when he enters the house. With his brothers behind him, in need, struggling under the burden of a dark curse that’s wound its way, tight, about them, he knows the need to hurry, to not linger. There’s only person in all Hyrule who can assist them at this moment, but that doesn’t make facing her any easier than all the other times he’s dared to try and do so.

The very concept of courage, when he stands at the doors of his own house, is a dart of pain to his pride, given how he, the hero, lacks it so just to walk through a door.

Does he want the screams, the pain and tears, the agonized look in warm amber eyes, or does he want something warm that will pierce and burn at a heart still in pieces from when last he faced her? He’s not sure. He’s not sure which would hurt more. He’s not sure which would be easier to survive.

“Are we almost there?” The desperation that colors words that should be annoyed, should be spoken with that signature put upon tone that’s nearly permanent from their vet, only further drives how his own hesitation is itself causing harm. The boys are all dragging, all pained, but to add the pain of their newly acquired curse to pain that already made function a struggle- he needs to get the help, and soon.

“Just a bit further, vet, I promise.” He tries to sound confident, assuring, warm, but he falls short.

Castletown really does bring out the worst in him, doesn’t it? He can’t even manage to be a comfort to the others while they’re here.

Eyes follow their weary forms curiously, although some skirt away, wary of the eaten down men and boys, armed to the teeth and clearly desperate, although for what, it’s doubtful the townsfolk know. It's a sharp contrast to their usual warmth towards him in the wake of the war, but then again, his scarf is absent.

The blue fabric hangs from Twilight’s shoulders, supporting the weight of their smithy who, for reasons none can name, has been affected the most, and thus is worst off of all of them. In the wake of the wizzrobes attack, what must have been a week ago now, the smithy has been listless, fevered, and in enough agony that walking seems entirely outside of his ability for the moment.

They need only last a bit longer though. They wander the streets at his tail, the boys leaning on each other heavily. Some had taken worse to the dark spell, others are still coping, and some, like the vet, are pushing their every limit to keep going. Goddesses, he can’t afford to hesitate, not with the like this.

Still, when the door looms ahead of him, his feet stutter and falter all the same, and though likely, he could excuse it as the curse, he knows the reason his mouth goes dry and stomach lurches has nothing to do with magic at all.

“Cap?” Sky’s looking back at him, past the blonde head resting on his shoulder, the sailor likewise struggling to keep pace having resulted in the skyloftian offering aid. Concern shines in crystal eyes, and it takes more effort than he’s got in him to try to smile back.

“I’m fine.”

He doesn’t even care that they all clearly don’t believe him. None of them have it in them to call him out though, and honestly, he’s a little thankful for that as he forces his feet to move again.

“We’re here.”

His hand stalls at the door.

Hyrule knocks, dark eyes dim as they turn up to him, worry the only thing still shining in them.

Goddesses, he needs to get over himself. These boys need him, need him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and ask his wife for help. For them. For their sakes.

The door opens with a familiar creaking, and despite his every attempt to steal himself for it, the sight of her still makes his breath catch in his throat.

Sablya is not so afflicted, and for a terrible moment, he half thinks the door will fly shut in his face, only...

Only, Hyrule’s hand has caught onto him for support. Only, Four and Wind are hanging from their older brothers’ shoulders. Only, Legend is swaying on his feet, even with the support of a cane to keep him upright. Cold though she’s turned to him, Sablya’s always had a bleeding heart, and whatever hurts he’s caused won’t stop her from seeing kids in need of help.

“What do you want?”

“Help. Please.” It’s a struggle to meet her eyes, to hold her gaze knowing full well what he’ll find. For them though, he manages. “They’re cursed, it’s-”

“Dark magic,” the words roll, accented and thick, like a cold wave over him. The door creaks again, just like it did the last time he made it inside; has she not had it fixed? “Come. Enter.”

With what strength he can muster, he scoops the traveler up and into the house, passing her by even as she darts towards the rest, offering a weak smile and steady hands to guide the rest inside. He doesn’t watch, even though he wants to, wants to see her warmth, even if it’s not turned on him. He doesn’t though, he pushes down the narrow hall and into the main room, and there he stops.

It’s almost like he never left.

There are no toys scattered on the floor, but the box still remains, tucked in one corner. Pictures, books, all the same, have only moved as much as needed for cleaning. The furniture is still in its place and muscle memory urges him to wind around it to his own chair before the fire.

He doesn’t. He settles Hyrule down on the couch, soothing curly hair absently, thoughtlessly, before dragging his aching body back towards the door. He passes her on the way, Wild curled in her arms. They don’t exchange even a look, but his heart still stutters at the ease she carries the younger hero, the familiar worried crease between her brows.

Twilight and Sky are the least effected so far, and they follow behind his wife, bringing the smallest two after. Time though is struggling, and while the weight of him is different from only a year ago, it still feels natural somehow to loop an arm over his shoulders and whisper encouragement to the man as they follow Legend’s limping figure into the house.

“Armor off,” is the order once they’ve made it in, door shut and the group of them gathered in the family room. It’s cramped, for ten people, but at least with the furniture as it is, but it doesn’t matter. “Tell me what happened.”

She’s already looking over Wind, dark hands cradling his ashen face like she used to with their son when he’d fallen and give himself a bloody nose or some other such injury.

“A curse,” Legend explains. “It was a wizzrobe. Don’t know what kind.” His breath is short, even as he’s crumpled down to sit at Hyrule’s feet, head leant against the couch arm. “None of our magic is any good and it’s- it’s affecting us physically as well.”

Amber eyes fall to stare at the lad, brows kitting together again. “How so?”

“Shortness of breath-” as though it wasn’t apparent “-pain-”

“Where?”

A shudder. “Everywhere.”

Her skirts rustle as she sinks down to be level with the scholar, hand lifted. “Where is it worst?”

Pink hair flies. “It’s not like that.”

“Explain then.” Her tone is soft, but firm.

Legend explains. He explains with words Warriors has seen in books on magic, but which he doesn’t know for himself. Sablya understands though, despite her hylian apparently still not being strong, and with prompting and feedback from the vet, she seems to get an idea of what it is that’s plaguing them. In the meantime, he leans at the couch’s back, hands mindlessly sinking to stroke curly heads and assure, as best he can, his little brothers.

“I think I understand,” the words have relief flooding over them, some of the boys even shedding a tear or two at the sound, “may I try something?”

“Go nuts.” Legend answers through a weary, pained smile.

It startles them, he supposes, to see the way darkness coalesces at her command, but when her hand rests against the vet’s chest, her voice low with the command to match his breath to her own, he sees tension bleed from the lad’s shoulders, resulting in something like a soft sob.

“Got it.” She moves to Wind next, although she orders, again, for the rest to remove their armor. “I cannot help you if there is a barrier. Take off the armor, I will help the children.”

It’s a struggle, in their weakened state, to get it off. Getting it on had been the same, but the risk of going without was too high considering the condition they’ve been in. It takes them all helping, or at least, those who wear it help each other, the vet’s hands joining after he sees to catch a breath.

Wind sags in relief when dark hands lift from him, and the vet moves to his side, gathering the younger up and waiting until Sablya has finished with Hyrule as well before pullng the traveler close as well. Both lads sink into him, nestling together, no longer in pain but fully drained from it’s effects.

Four is next, and then, because it is Twilight beside him, she quickly attends the rancher, although it’s only a second before she’s done. For reasons they can’t be certain of, but which the scholar had speculated might be in relation to magic exposure, the ranch hand had been least affected. While there’s still a sag to his shoulders as the hands of the captain’s wife lift from him, it’s not so much as to stop him pulling Four close with a soft hum, supporting the weight of the slumbering hero while their savior moves on to Wild next.

He tries not to watch, he does. He can’t help it though. He's missed her, even if thoughts of returning here have left him ill at ease and fumbling for ages. He can almost pretend, as he watches her drift between his brothers, that nothing happened. He’s home, she’s there, and save the lacking presence of a small child running about at their feet or tucked onto a hip or against a chest, it’s almost like nothing ever happened.

When all eight of the other heroes have been tended, she pauses. He sees her eyes drift to him, has to drop his gaze when it does, but she doesn’t step his way with that brisk step, with the determination that was turned on the rest. No, she lingers a moment.

“There are rooms upstairs. You are welcome to rest there.”

“Are you sure?” Twilight’s the only one with it left in him to speak, but the wide eyed stares of the rest convey their doubt and wariness.

Red hair swings free with her nod, drifting from where she’d hurriedly tucked it back while tending them. “You are guests, and you need rest. The children need to sleep, you all do, if you want to recover.”

“Thank you.”

“It is nothing.” Her smile is tight. “Please, make yourselves at home.”

Eyes turn to him, but he nods. He motions them along and, while the weight of magic still hangs from his shoulders, wrapping tight and making everything a pain, he just motions towards the doorway. “Stairs are at the end of the hall. Take any room that isn’t the first one on the right.”

The rancher’s brows raise, and the stares of the rest turn confused, but neither he nor his wife give answer. No, instead, she scoops Wind into her arms and, with a warning look nobody would dare disobey, not even Mask, she orders the rest of the younger boys to stay put.

“No straining yourself. I will get you.”

Such orders are not turned to Twilight and Sky, and the two men follow her out of the room, Four and Hyrule in their arms to be settled down. Usually, he’d demand they eat something before turning in for the night, but between the nausea and the exhaustion, he sees no reason to even try and suggest it. They need their sleep. They can eat when they don’t feel near ready to drop.

His wife is back a minute or so later, sweeping past him to gather Legend, only to be redirected to their champion. “I can last,” the teen vet assures, “get him first.”

She tuts at that, but listens. She doesn’t fight it, likely because she’s learned through experience with him that it’s pointless. It's only a short while later though that she’s back for the vet, and by then Time has mustered the strength to stand and follow.

Briefly, on his way out, their leader’s good eye falls on him, silent question hanging heavy, but he just grips the shoulder of the other in assurance. “I’ll be fine, just go rest.”

“Who is-”

“Someone we can trust,” and they are words that, from him at least, the others have all learned are never spoken lightly, can themselves be trusted. “Just go, sap. She and I need to talk anyway.”

There’s lingering curiosity there, but Time obeys. The man is too worn down, too tired from the last week, to likely even last through the long mess that would be answering all his questions. Time heads from the room, and while the house is a sturdy one, steps are heard overhead soon enough, signifying the motions of the boys to the rooms kept ready, at least while this house was still his home, for the presence of sisters, friends, and visiting family.

It leaves him alone.

Alone in a familiar room that’s his, but which feels wrong to linger in. The urge to wander, to stare, to take in the husk of the past, battles with the intense guilt of intrusion that he feels, even in his own home. Does he stay, waiting about for her to return? Does he wander freely, go where he will? He’s not been back since his first day returned from the war, and even then, he never made it past the hall. Is he okay to go to the kitchen and brew some tea for what will, no doubt, end up being a very tense night? Is he even allowed upstairs into their bedroom? Is he sleeping down here? With one of the boys?

He drags a hand through his hair and, for lack of anything better to do with himself, sits on the couch. Here, he’s least likely to cross the boundaries he can’t see, and here is where she’s most likely to look for him once she’s satisfied that young heroes are safely abed and no longer suffering.

Briefly, he hears steps pass. Briefly, he hears the familiar clatter in the kitchen. For a moment, the steps creak, skirts swishing up them with the brisque pace she always sets when worried or tense. It’s a moment later when the same sounds return again, getting louder as she returns to the main floor. She’s stalling, he thinks. Tending her guests by providing medicine for pain, blankets for warmth, and no doubt water for drinking and washing both. He’s glad the boys will have it, but every time her feet pass by the door, he finds himself tensing, panicking for a moment that now is the time he has to face her, and now he won’t have them here to act as a distraction for either of them. She just heads back up though, and he’s breathing in relief only to sigh it all out again in frustration with himself.

He needs to man up. She’s his wife for the love of Hylia! Yet even so, facing her is as daunting as walking up to face Cia, although his reasons are different. Against Cia, he was afraid for himself, afraid of her. Against Sablya, he’s afraid to shatter further what’s already so broken, afraid that somehow, he will cross the line of no return. It's not about failing with her, it’s the fact that he already has, and the question of how much worse he’ll make it.

“Your breath is bad enough, do not make it worse with a panic.”

Despite her words, his breath catches in his throat at the sound of her voice.

Her feet tap on the floor as she walks, but there’s a certain hesitance to each step. There's not the usual confidence in her pace, even if she crosses the room at the same speed as she would any other time, as she did just moments before when tending their guests. He risks a glance when the steps stop, and she’s standing in the middle of the room, facing him. He can’t manage to meet her eyes though.

“Armor off, I said. How do I fix the curse if you have it on?” She clucks her tongue, hands settling on her hips and, no doubt, golden eyes are staring down at him. He can feel their weight, but he can’t meet them. “Tch, come now, will you make this hard?”

The urge to remind her that the phrase in Hylian is “being difficult” rises in his mind, but he doesn’t say it. If anything, her attempts at the language are still endearing, even if her tongue is sharp as she says them.

He shifts, moving to shed the offensive attire. He’d forgotten, in the midst of aiding Time with removing his plate, that the mail he wears like a second skin these days was still on him. It’s heavy, yes, but it’s also familiar and grounding after so long wearing it for every waking moment. It’s almost a part of him these days, and shedding it is strange.

It’s strange to be without.

It’s strange having her eyes on him while he does so, even despite the fact that they’re married, that she’s seen him with much, much less. It’s different now though. They’re different. They haven’t been the young, happy couple- the one that stares back from pictures around the room; that smiles, arms around each other- in a very long time. Not since the war started.

He fumbles. Between the uncertainty and the curse that still lingers over him, his hands struggle with the buckles, the straps, never mind getting at the chain mail beneath it all. His hands tremble worse than normal, and even when he stops to master his breath, to try and calm himself, it only makes it worse.

Sablya clucks her tongue at him, and he can hear her hair swish over her shoulders with the shaking of her head, even as her feet tap across the distance between them. She’s moving closer, but that doesn’t change the fact that when she reaches out, hands brushing his arm, he still surges back.

She’s not Cia, she’s not, she’s nothing like. Still, he didn’t expect the contact, the hands, and all over again he must fight to re-steady his breath.

“You will not do this. You are weak; struggling.” He needs help, he hears, and his heart bleeds for it. Despite all, this woman will still stand there and offer aid, after everything he’s put her through, made her lose, all the hurt he’s brought to her life. “Let me.” She sighs.

So, he does. He drops his hands and only moves as she tells him, lifting his arm to let her get at the buckles beneath. In the back of his mind, a memory of her strapping those buckles herself, helping him gird himself for departure, for the war, plays in his head. Then, as now, her eyes had held a certain determination, one mixing with a sadness she refused to speak aloud.

“How you do these things to yourself, I do not know.” She murmurs. It’s not addressed to him specifically as far as he can tell, but he can’t help wincing at it anyway.

Does he answer? Apologize? Does he laugh it off as he might once have done to try and earn one of those wry smiles she would turn on him when they were young? Gods, he speaks like a man long aged, but the years spent courting, teasing, laughing and cheerful, they seem a lifetime ago.

Her hands are steady as they work the buckles, pulling belts free and finally lifting his pauldron away. He doesn’t need the help with his vambraces as badly, but she still moves on to them; his arm rested on her knees as she settles beside him, knee brushing his own and skirts folding over to drape over his legs as well as her own. She doesn’t move, he’s not sure if she notices, but he does. He can’t help but notice.

“Thank you.” He still can’t meet her eyes, and he doubts they will lift from where they work at leather straps. His own linger on her hands, moving deftly through their work. “For helping them.”

“It is the right thing.” She states simply, pulling free the vambrace and reaching for his other hand. She catches him by the wrist, grip fleeting, gone the moment he is where she wants him. “They do not deserve to suffer.”

He, who still sits with the curse heavy on him, perhaps does.

“They are heroes?”

He nods. She would know. He’s not sure how, but this woman isn’t the sort he could hide anything from, not ever. “Across time, yes.”

A nod, sharp. Her eyes remain lowered, but long hair falls over them. The urge to push it back, tuck it behind her ear, wells up within, but he stomps it down again. Chances are, she would welcome his touch as freely as he had hers just moments before, and the risk of it, of her potential rejection... he’s too much a coward to face it.

Silence hangs heavy between them as she removes the vambrace, setting it aside before moving, without stuttering, for his belt. It makes him pause, but he allows it. Lets her work the buckle of the baldric, his great belt, pulling them free and lying them aside. She’s methodic as she moves to aid him with his over tunic, and he lets her pull it free, shifting as he must to accommodate.

The mail is so much harder. He has to stand for that, and she follows after, both working to lift it free in an awkward tangle that would, at one time, have made them laugh together, at each other, at themselves. He would, maybe, have joked something, he can’t remember what, but he can’t. Words catch in his throat with her standing oh so close, determined stare fixed on him, on getting him free from the heavy shirt, and despite all else changing, the way she makes him breathless has not. At last though, it is free, and he’s standing there, defenseless, unarmed, unguarded, before piercing eyes that linger for a moment, hands that, by habit, smooth the shoulders of his shirt before starting away.

He wants to say something. Wants a word to come to him, to pierce the silence that hangs heavy between them. Nothing comes to mind though, only the urge to apologize, again, and again after, for everything. For himself, for his failures, for...until she tells him to stop.

“Sit.” She huffs, pushing back against him with the hand not holding his shed armor. “I will put it away.”

He obeys, sinking back onto the couch, now without the weight the mail brings to weigh him down. Somehow, he feels heavier without it.

She doesn’t take long with the armor. Really, it’s a matter of moving across the room to set it down beside everyone else’s; a mess for the morning once they’ve got the energy and strength to tackle it, or, more likely, do it again to depart and return to their work. He can’t imagine them being welcome past what’s necessary for them to recover, and his house or no, it’s hers as well. He doesn’t want her stuck with them just because they need somewhere to rest, not when the castle isn’t far at all, and he has rooms there already.

Her steps are slow this time as she returns, motions more hesitant as she reclaims the seat at his side. She’s more conscious, he thinks, of how she settles herself, and there is no brushing against each other save as is necessary; only her hand settling over his chest. Her breath is slow, controlled, but it trembles slightly. “Match me.”

It’s hard. It’s so hard. She’s leaning so close, all dark eyes and long lashes and fine features he could look at for an eternity. The slope of her nose, her cheeks, the way red hair curls so softly at the ends to caress dappled skin, the spots of pale flesh interspersed over the dark, it’s got his full focus, and his breath catches repeatedly for it.

“Focus.” She hisses, wincing the words, hand lifting for a moment from where it presses, warm, against his chest.

He tries.

Her chest swells, shoulders tensing, and he draws breath in. Her hair flutters, drawn lines loosening, and he exhales. In and out, matching to her and feeling the familiar weight of her magic ease around him, slipping beneath the curse’s bonds and lifting free, like a small blade cutting away awry stitching, working slowly, pulling, lifting and prying until the weight of it is gone and he’s left sagging back into the cushions, breath heavy despite no effort being required on his part.

Her hands slips away, dragging slightly over fabric.

He should say something.

“You are fixed. Rest now.” She doesn’t say his name. She won’t, he thinks, and golden eyes dart away as she stands, brushing hands down her skirt and moving for the stairs.

He should say something.

“Goodnight.” She says to the darkness in the hall, tone clipped, yet hesitant before she slips away.

His gaze is trapped on the walls, unable to turn to follow her. He needs to answer.

Her feet tap away.

“I love you.”

A stumble, a hitching of breath and then- the creak of the steps, the swish of a skirt, hands that fall heavy on the banister and then a shutting door.

Blonde hair hits the old couch, worn hands dragging through. The weight of the curse was almost better than that of the silence that answers his treacherous words. Words hurt, those that love, but silence pierces ever sharper in answer to them, and devested of his armor, he is but a man before it’s blow.

#sablya #lu warriors #linked universe #linkeduniverse #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump #don't come for me #writing this was a fever dream #they are in control #i cannot control the warriors #or apparently sablya #link x oc

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giddlygoat · 2 years

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oc stuff!! lee mack and bean (boston basher) are siblings! i’m in the process of writing the epic backstory for them rn. and of course i drew lots of wesley and valerian content because they have given me permanent brainrot. trust me guys i’m normal

#lee mackerel #holy mackerel #bean towne #(yes that’s their name)#boston basher #actually to clear it up. lee mack’s full name is Leroy Towne but people call him Lee Mack because it derives from his nickname Mackerel #i have put a normal amount of thought into this for sure.#wesley winger #valerian ubersaw #the winger #ubersaw #gunsonas #gosh this is a pain to tag #engel’s art #and yes that is a leyendecker study because i am INSANE and i cannot help myself

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skyrim-forever · 10 months

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A Master Wizard and His Feelings

Hey everyone, because of I've got Neloth brainrot (a subset of my normal Dunmer brainrot) I've written another piece about my oc Rochelle of Evermore and Master Neloth <3 Because who doesn't love two awkward bookworm mages trying to talk about their feelings.

Tagging: @thana-topsy come deal with the consequences of your actions (your Neloth art has given me life and already inspired two other fics <3)

Summary: Master Neloth has had trouble focusing, ever since him and Rochelle pretended to be married, he's been looking at her differently and is forced to concede that he may need to confess his feelings. Rochelle has some past stuff to open up to Neloth about as well.

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Discussions of past trauma, discussions of grooming, discussions of unhealthy relationships, no flashbacks but could very well be triggering so feel free to skip! No hard feelings if you don't read :)

Deep inside the mushroom towers of Tel Mithryn, Master Neloth was having trouble concentrating. In order to get to the level of Neloth’s skill, one requires great focus and discipline in studying the Arcane; lately, however, he found himself distracted by the Breton woman who had become a permanent fixture of his life.

Looking up from the tome he had been reading, or rather trying to read but needing to reread each paragraph multiple times to understand it, he eyes her. She’s hunched over all the floor by her bedroll, book open, deep in focus. Whatever he was reading is now long forgotten as he studies her face; she has the front pieces of her short white hair tied back out of her face, as she often did while working, her face scrunched intently reading whatever it was. I shall pick it up after to see what it is he thought. There was always the option of asking her what she was reading but then she would know he was looking at her, or at least paid attention to her long enough to know she was so entranced by something.

And this was precisely Neloth’s problem, ever since their fake marriage ploy for her sister, he had found himself paying more attention to Rochelle. Much more than he paid to the other members of his house. He noticed how her tea went cold because she was busy reading or listening to him, how she began rubbing off on him; even being able to convince him to start doing stretches for his health. But most of all, he noticed how much he was aware of her absence when she went to Raven Rock on a supply run. He snapped himself out of it, fearing if he stared at her too long he’d never look away.

Initially he reacted negatively to these feelings, he thought of kicking her out but he didn’t want to go back to how it was with just Talvas and the staff. Avoiding her was out of the question, considering she lived there. Everything boiled down to what he was most afraid of, he’d have to act on these feelings. Though he may be an expert on destruction magic, enchanting and a host of other topics, he was quite clueless on romantic emotions. Shutting the book promptly, he leaves to find Talvas the blasted boy is probably still outside struggling with that spell.

“Talvas! Talvas” he shouts outside the tower, causing Talvas to fumble the spell he was in the middle of.

“Master Neloth, I’m sorry I will get the handle of this spell soon I just need-”

“I’m not here to see the spell you fool.” Neloth lowers his voice to say the next part, looking around to make sure no one is within earshot. “I need your opinion on a serious matter.” Likewise Talvas also lowers his voice.

“What’s going on? Is there a plot against you? Should we raise the defenses?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” Rubbing his temples for a moment and taking a very deep breath, he says it “I have developed feelings, romantic feelings, for Rochelle and I am unsure how to proceed.” A smile beams from Talvas’s face and already Neloth is regretting coming to him for help. Beginning to feel embarrassed, he turns to walk away, muttering “this was a mistake I’ll just kick her out.”

“No no no wait Master Neloth, I, um, I’m not making fun of you. I’m happy for you, Rochelle would be the perfect match for you.” He tries to ignore the comment, but a small part of Neloth’s heart twinges when Talvas says that.

“How do I proceed?”

“If I were you, I would try to spend some alone time with her, maybe outside of research. Spend some time together and let her know how you feel.” Talvas pauses for a moment, when an idea occurs to him. “She is heading to Raven Rock tomorrow right? I normally accompany her, perhaps you could go with her this time? As a way to spend some time together outside of here.” Neloth had a puzzled look on his face.

“And leave you alone here? Absolutely not, we’d come back and the place would be in flames!”

“Master Neloth, do you truly think I would accidentally destroy Tel Mithryn?” Without hesitation he answers.

“Yes” Talvas goes to sigh but stops himself, fearing it would be yet another thing he would be chewed out for. Instead he thinks Geez, he really makes it difficult to help him and offers a solution instead.

“Here I’ll agree to stay out all day that way nothing bad happens so you can spend some time with Rochelle. That work fine for you?”

“Hmmm, very well. If you believe this is the best way to proceed.” Talvas offers him a smile to which Master Neloth just rolls his eyes. He’ll thank me someday.

It is at dinner later that night that Neloth tells Rochelle he will be joining her instead of Talvas.

“Talvas has that stack of books to get through so he will not be able to accompany you tomorrow. Instead I will be.” Rochelle finishes the bite of ash yam she was chewing before answering. “That is fine by me. I was planning to spend the night at the Retching Netch, is that suitable or would you prefer to head back immediately after obtaining the supplies?”

“Staying overnight is fine, you know I don’t sleep. I shall bring some work with me.” Rochelle nods in agreement and they finish dinner. After their meal, Talvas stops Neloth, making sure he is out of reach of Rochelle.

“I don’t suppose that ‘stack of books’ you mentioned was just a ruse?” Talvas smiles weakly at him. Neloth says nothing. “I’ll get right to it, Master Neloth.”

“Make sure you read them outside, as per our prior agreement.”

“Yes Master Neloth”

It is a rare clear morning, or at least as clear as it can get in Solstheim. Looking up at the sky Rochelle could almost make out the sun amidst the thick ash. Neloth was giving Talvas some last minute reminders. In the year and a half Rochelle had been there, she had never seen Neloth leave the grounds of Tel Mithryn. She was impressed he was leaving to accompany her, she intended to pick his brain on the journal she was reading yesterday. It was a journal she found long ago, although after her training with Neloth; she had new insights on what she originally thought were just the ravings of a madman.

They bid Talvas farewell and started the journey to Raven Rock which would take them until midday to get to. The trip was thankfully uneventful. Ever since she cleared out Fort Frostmoth for Captain Veleth, the rate of ash spawn had gone down significantly. Her arrival in Solstheim was exclusively because she heard there was a Telvanni Wizard there and she was hoping to work in some part with him, primarily because she knew the Telvanni were more.. tolerant of taboo practices then the College of Winterhold, where she was at previously. However, she spent her first few months in Raven Rock proving her value to the citizens. Naturally, being as down on their luck as they were, the people were quite distrusting of outsiders. This led to a long series of events that involved her taking down an undead Imperial Commander, ousting a traitorous family and getting the Ebony Mine up and running again.

Finally, after all that she was free to go to Tel Mithryn, where she had the pleasure of proving she was worthy of working with Master Neloth. I’ve been on this island for nearly two years, she thought. The climate was harsh, life was dangerous but she had spent her childhood with her Forsworn witch mother and later her noble father in High Rock; so Morrowind was merely a combination of the harsh life of the Reach and the complex politics of High Rock.

On the journey Master Neloth explained to her the differences between most widely available staffs and Azra Nightwielder staffs, which apparently differed not just in their materials, but also craftsmanship. She liked listening to Neloth, she liked it a lot. Many had warned her about going to Tel Mithryn, saying the wizard there was crazy and reckless. But for Rochelle, she wanted that. She sought ancient and secret knowledge, where others saw recklessness, Rochelle saw genius. You do not uncover the secrets of the universe without going a bit mad, besides she was a bit mad herself.

They arrived at Raven Rock a bit before midday, thanks to the lack of excitement on the journey. She tells Neloth the list of things to do in town.

“There is a package of new kitchen utensils and I’ve got to stop by the Blacksmith to pick up some jewelry I ordered.”

“For enchanting?” Is all he says. She nods in return. They stop by the shipyard and obtain the package, the package is not large so it can fit in the satchel Rochelle brought. While walking throughout town, they received many confused glances. At first, Rochelle assumed it was her, but after realizing everyone staring at them were people she knew, such as Aphia Velothi. It was then that it dawned on her, they were staring at Neloth. It made sense, as far as she knew he had not been here since he arrived in Solstheim. That had to be decades ago.

Master Neloth noticed the stares too, it did not bother him, he couldn’t even remember the names of these people, as far as he was concerned they were in awe of him. As they should be, he was likely one of the few individuals in Tamriel who earned his sizable ego. He noticed that when they approached the Blacksmith, he shuddered and avoided looking at Neloth. Even better, he thought. It was better to be feared and respected than loved, or so he had thought. But when he saw the jewelry Rochelle bought, several plain silver rings, he felt compelled to buy her something nicer. She was a member of his house after all, she should be able to wear nice things.

By the time they are done with their errands, plus the time Rochelle took to talk with the Second Councilor’s wife, it was already dark.

“Sorry about that, I normally grab tea with Cindiri when I’m in town, I’m not a great conversationalist but she seems to find some comfort in my presence.” Neloth was hungry, he hadn’t eaten nor had so much as a tea since they left. He may be able to go without sleep but food was an entirely different matter. Yet he managed to silence his internal complaining enough, saying only “No matter.”

Going down the stairs to the main area of the Retching Netch, Neloth is pleased to find they missed the dinner rush. Grabbing a table as far from anyone else as he can, Neloth sits as Rochelle goes up to the bar to order them food. Neloth spies the barkeep talking with Rochelle, talking to her much longer than it would take to simply order food. The barkeep says something that makes Rochelle chuckle, covering her mouth to hide her laughter. He’s not sure what he’s experiencing, it has been centuries since he felt anything like this. She comes to Raven Rock once a week and presumably she stays here each time. Surely he’s not… before he can finish that thought, she returns with two bowls of horker stew, placing one in front of Neloth.

“Unfortunately the only thing left after the dinner rush is horker stew, I hope that is sufficient.”

“It should be adequate, it is only for one night.” They begin eating their stew when the barkeep stops by their table, holding a tray with sujamma on it.

“Care to try my special sujamma blend?” Neloth goes to scoff, wondering what his angle is, until he sees Rochelle grab a jar, thanking him. Likewise he takes a jar, taking a swig. By the three, how did he manage to screw up something as fundamental as sujaama?

Rochelle on the other hand, takes a swig and proclaims it is well-crafted.

“It’s got a pleasant aftertaste, a slight snowberry taste.”

“Ah you caught that, always perspective Rochelle. That’s why you’re the best at what you do.” A tint of redness appears on her face, clearly not used to praise.

“That’s um, quite kind of you Geldis.” The barkeep, Geldis he supposes, takes his leave and Rochelle chugs the rest of her drink. Much to Neloth’s astonishment. He clears his throat.

“You have managed to adapt well to Dunmer culture, not many outlanders fare well here.”

“Thank you” she says “It’s nothing new for me.” He cocks an eyebrow at her, intrigued. He knew a bit of her past, she had left what passes as a College in Skyrim, to seek more serious instruction with him; and of course he had met her sister, an ordeal that was. But he realized at that moment that he did not know much about her past.

“Explain” he states. She looks down, fiddling with her soup spoon.

“I fear you may think less of me if I tell you.”

“I doubt that will be the case.” Rochelle pauses for a moment then elaborates.

“I grew up in the Reach, in Southwestern Skyrim.” She looks back up at him. “When I was about 10 or so, I moved to my father’s estate in High Rock. It was quite the culture shock but I was forced to quickly adapt to the customs of high society.”

“I did not know you were from the Reach, then why were you known as Rochelle of Evermore?”

She laughs a bit and Neloth realizes he likes the sound of her laugh. Normally trivial jokes and amusement annoy him to know end. Foolish drivel to entertain the common folk; but when the laughter is coming from her it is different. It’s different because he is the one causing it, albeit inadvertently.

“Would you believe Rochelle is not my real name?” Face contorting slightly, he asks.

“What is your real name then?”

She takes a moment to answer, clearly deciding if she should share this secret.

“Mochveda, it’s an old family name. I was born Mochveda of the Reach, but my father changed mine and Colette’s names when we moved in with him. Partly to help us assimilate and partly to cover up the fact we were ‘his wild bastards’ from the Reach.” He’s not proud of it, but a part of him is shocked that someone from the Reach could possess such an affinity for magic, magic in humans was already rare let alone in someone from such a primitive place. Not that I should let her know that he thought. He may not be the best with feelings but even he could tell it would be ill-advised to let someone you had feelings know you thought they were from a primitive place. Remembering how she responded to Geldis’s praise, he decided to attempt it himself.

“Not only are you a great mind but you are culturally savvy.” The redness appears on her face, deeper this time and she averts her gaze from him but smiles widely.

“Thank you Neloth, you’re too kind.” No I am not, he thinks.

They sit in a comfortable silence as they finish their meal, before Rochelle retires to her room. “You really should sleep occasionally”

“And why is that?”

“Sleep promotes brain health, also, my mother taught me that dreams are keys to other worlds.” He just looks at her. “Say what you will about the Reach, there is ancient powerful magic there.”

“Perhaps one day I will get to meet your mother.” He attempts to humour her again but receives the opposite reaction, a mortified look on her face.

“For your sake I hope not.”

They bid each other good night and Neloth cracks open one of the books he brought. It takes him only a few moments before his mind starts to get distracted. His mind races with conflicting thoughts of knocking on her room door and confessing versus pushing his feelings down and repressing them. In a rare moment, in a day full of them, his heart wins and he finds himself knocking on her door before he can fully process what is happening.

“Yes Master Neloth, I mean Neloth” Apologies for using his title after he told her it was fine to use first names when they were alone. She had changed out of her black robes into a red cotton dress. He had seen her in sleepwear before but it felt different this time. Perhaps it was the intimacy of being at her door or what he was about to say.

“Rochelle, may I have come in? I have a private matter to discuss.” She nods and closes the door behind him and the confined space makes Neloth feel like he is going to suffocate. His gaze falters a bit, before settling on her, deciding it is most important to address her directly in order to increase odds of success. Clearing his throat first, he lets it out.

“Since you have become a fixture in my life and at Tel Mithryn, I have developed feelings for you. Romantic feelings, specifically and I would like to pursue some form of companionship, if you are inclined.” The redness creeps back up to Rochelle’s face, which causes a wave of relief to wash over Neloth.

“I would like that, I would very much like that.” She continues “but if we are going to have a relationship there is something you must know first.” He gives her space to keep going. “I’ve only had one prior relationship, and it deeply scarred me, so much that I haven’t considered romance an option up until several weeks ago, thanks to you.”

“Do you want to tell me about your last relationship?”

“It was not right, and I understand that now, I should have told someone what was going on but I was too ashamed.”

“What were you ashamed of?” His voice has an unusual gentleness to it, a gentleness that causes Rochelle to choke up a bit.

“He was my last mentor, my father hired him when it was clear I had progressed beyond self study. I thought he cared for me but once he got… what he was after he turned cold on me. Telling me I had seduced him, caught him in a moment of weakness and that no one would believe me. I really thought he cared for me.”

“Then he is a fool, simply not worthy of your attention.”

“I know that but he looked at me the way every woman wants to be looked at. Like I was the most breathtaking woman in the world. He nurtured my talent, praised me and called me beautiful; no one has ever called me beautiful before. Colette is the beautiful one, I am the smart one. I prefer to be valued for my mind but there’s a part of me, a part which I loathe, that wants to be beautiful.” She sighs before continuing “I know it wasn’t right, what he did, I was far too young for that kind of relationship, and even so he was an authority figure, but it felt good to be wanted.” There is a moment of pause between them, not an unpleasant one, until Rochelle spoke again “my apologies, you must think I’m a mess, so emotionally broken. But I say all this to let you know where I’m coming from when it comes to relationships and… I want to try something with you; but I need to know it will be different this time.” Tears begin to form in her eyes “I can’t go through that again.” Confessing was already more emotional than he was used to but Rochelle was being vulnerable with him; and he knew how difficult that was for people like them.

“No need to apologize, going through such a relationship, to be used at a young age, will certainly leave a mark.” Neloth takes her hand in his and gives it a slight squeeze, “to ease your mind I will make my intentions clear. I want nothing more than to spend time with you, in any capacity.” Her eyes have found their way to the ground, so he takes his other hand and tilts her chin up. “And when I return to Vvardenfell I would like you to accompany me.”

“I would like that.” Finding the courage he moves in to kiss her, half-expecting her to move away, but she doesn’t. A thought starts to form, something about how he should thank Talvas when they return. But when their lips connect, any thoughts either of them had disappears.

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #tes #fanfic #skyrim fanfic #fanficition #skyrim fanfiction #skyrim ocs #oc: rochelle #master neloth #neloth #neloth/oc #I hope you enjoy #I really like these two awkward wizards #neloth has a heart

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medtech-mara · 10 months

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Hi hello it’s me the cyberpunk TTRPG brainrot

I’ve been talking a lot about my lore, and I always love to open things up to the community. Last time, some of you donated your OC’s to be NPC’s in the story. While some have found permanence in the story (Yay for Ethan! I forgot the official name of him by the time we implemented him, so he got to be Ethan. )

Does anyone want to give song suggestions for Michiko Arasaka’s radio station? Please keep it to pop music from Asian countries. Any time period is accepted as She plays classic Japanese city pop and K-pop (just because that’s what I listen to a lot, but I’m always open for more suggestions.) remember, Michiko does this to bring a piece of home to those not from Night City.

This is a playlist I would actually love to make and have available to all of you!! If you want a piece of LoNC that is.

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk red Campaign #legends of Night city #LoNC #Michiko Arasaka #Danger Gal

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bellmo15-blog · 6 months

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The Genie Of The Lamp And Funny Puns

So, my sona’s stumbled upon a magic lamp. And you know what that means? Three wishes from a genie! Or at least, that’s what SHOULD of happened. What actually happened is that the smoke that came out of the lamp just enveloped them and once it dissipated instead of being met with a genie, it’s turned them into a genie. Ehh, at least they are enjoying it! And hey, infinite comic power right? At least until one of his friends wishes him back to normal.

As I’m sure some of you know based of one of my recent status posts, I’ve had Genification/Genie TF/Dijinfication/Whatever you want to call it on my mind a lot lately. And I mean A LOT! As in, it’s pretty much been the main transformation scenario I’ve been thinking about the most recently. Weather that’s because of who my main comfort waifu is being Half Genie herself, the fact that I’ve actually considered playing Sonic and the Secret Rings recently after playing Black Knight earlier this year and liking it a lot (yes, you heard me Sonic Storybook Game detractors) or how I’ve been rewatching a lot of old movies from my childhood this year one of them being Aladdin or because of this one Genie TF comic someone once shared on a Discord server a few years ago that I’ve been thinking about a lot more I’ve just had genies on my mind a lot. And I have a transformation kink.

So of course, it was inevitable I was going to get a commission of my sona transformed into a genie. Because why settle for finding a genie and only being able to make three wishes while also running the risk of that genie adding some twist to it when you can instead BECOME a Genie and get all the power in the world for yourself.

Thayla: Because actually being a genie means that you can’t leave your lamp, will be permanently bound to it forever and even if you do get found by someone there’s a good chance your master could be the worst person in the world! Honestly, stuff like that is why I’m actually glad you made me only half genie!

You do realize that as my OC I could re-write your backstory so that you are a full genie right? Would you like that smartass?

Thayla: … I’m… I’m just gonna go back to playing Mario Kart now…

So yeah, got this pic because Genie TF Brainrot! And if your wondering why I had my self-insert dressed in the Gerudo Vai outfit from Breath of the Wild (but not Tears of the Kingdom) for this one, well I’ve pretty much made that outfit there cannon dancer outfit and most genies especially the feminine ones wear some kind of bedlah anyway so yeah.

Artist is Daisy-Pink71.

#Genie #Genie Transformation #OC

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nehswritesstuffs · 1 year

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TTOU Big Finish Snippet: Workplace Security

GREETINGS AND SALUTATIONS, THE THICK OF UNIT FANS

A lot’s been going on since I last updated this series. For posterity’s context, I posted chapter fifty-seven almost twenty-one(!) months ago. Since then (while not suffering a relapse in manga brainrot) I’ve been trying to light a fire under the ass of my beta reader to actually get caught up to date so I can start throwing things around. We’re a little over halfway right now. PLUS, there is a certain individual, @fajrbismuth who has been writing me fic, and since I need to get back to writing this anyhow, I feel like gifting some fic is a great way to do it.

1878 words; another audio-only script fic like Inspections and Prototypes was, because I don’t write enough scripts; let us all pretend I would ever know what the inside of the Mecca Wishaw looks like, which will likely never happen even if I lived in Wishaw (oh and there is a bit about how shit of a name it is so yeah); oops sorry new OC just dropped; takes place in some nebulous time in 2016, around chapter 51/52; just kinda ends like the other one does, which is why it’s a snippet lol

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Footsteps in an office building—it’s the general ringing of phones and shuffling of papers and indistinct chatter that only middle-management and pencil-pushers can accurately replicate. A door opens up and SAM chuckles.

SAM: Now what do we have here?

JAMIE: Don’t you say it, Sammy—don’t you fucking say it.

SAM: It’s good to see you haven’t changed.

JAMIE: You wound me… and after I got you in here, gave your lad an opportunity to grow up in a fucking sane environment?

SAM: There are worse places than Aylsham.

JAMIE: You had the commute of a bloody American.

SAM: My uncle’s had worse.

JAMIE: My point proven.

A knock on the door.

JAMIE: Fuck in or fuck off!

The door opens.

JAMIE: Oh, Bismuth, great timing! Nothing in this bloody place is fucking set up right.

BISMUTH: That is… sort of why I’m here. At least you know what Wi-Fi is.

JAMIE: You sound troubled, pet. Who do I need to have a fucking shout at?

A beat.

BISMUTH: I’m… not a… pet…? What…?

SAM sighs, exasperated.

SAM: You don’t have someone like Jamie in your department, do you?

BISMUTH: I’ve been told it’s a blessing.

JAMIE: Ha! I’m sure Malc’s been talking me up like I’m the Third Coming, with him as the Second.

BISMUTH: Actually, no. We are here to secure your new offices, as well as your homes. You are going to be allotted two members of Security and one member of IT. Until we can get your permanent setup, some of us from the Mainframe shall be here to configure everything.

JAMIE: Huh. Sounds like a lot of fucking trouble to go through. Can’t the shits you hire for this joint set it all up?

BISMUTH: You require what I understand to be a “litany” of upgrades that need to be done, and none of them should be done by new hires. It’s no different than needing to inspect Kernow when they integrate new technology.

JAMIE: …and yeh can’t just, I dunno, delegate? Just inspect the job later?

BISMUTH: Protocol is protocol and this is what happens when we set up a new office branch, due to expansion or renovation.

A mobile pings. Keys on the screen are tapped.

SAM: That’s not a good look.

BISMUTH: What’s not a good look?

JAMIE: Your face, pet. Human expressions give away a lot, you know.

BISMUTH sighs.

BISMUTH: What is a Mecca Bingo?

JAMIE: M’neighbor’s only real reason for not offing herself once her husband kicked it. They don’t open for three more hours… though I don’t think you’re gonna get a game in with fancy lads until later in the evening…

BISMUTH: We still have to go there. Now.

JAMIE: And why’s that?

BISMUTH: This is why.

There is a pause, during which both JAMIE and SAM audibly cringe.

JAMIE: Thought I told Malc I had enough of playing Scotsomer Shitesteries for the rest of the decade.

BISMUTH: We don’t get to decide that. Now are you the one in charge here or are you going to let what I’ve heard described as a “circus” occur?

JAMIE groans.

JAMIE (grumbling): Ah, feck.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The soft rumbling sound of being in a moving car now can be heard. There is also the shuffling around of clutter.

SAM: Don’t worry; it’s not that far now.

BISMUTH: Thank you again for the lift.

SAM: Any time.

She pauses.

SAM: You alright back there?

JAMIE: Why is this your bairn’s fecking garbage dump? I feel like we’re going to get there and I’ll pop out the Toxic Avenger.

SAM: You’re just a big baby. (She puts the turn signal on.) I’ve seen your office, you know.

JAMIE: That’s organized! It makes sense!

SAM: Mmmhmm… oh… shit…

SAM puts the car in park and kills the engine. Soon as the doors open, there is a large commotion of sirens idly warning people to stay back and said people talking. The three shut the doors and make their way through the crowd.

JAMIE: Oi, we need to get through!

OLD WOMAN 1: Keep your fucking shirt on, lad. Not like we can get through.

JAMIE: Except that’s our job. We need to get through.

OLD WOMAN 2: Well, so’s that for us, but it’s not like we’re getting in any time soon.

JAMIE: Aye, you’ll get there; now just let us pass.

BISMUTH: Ma’am, the sooner we can get our jobs done, the sooner you can get to yours.

OLD WOMAN 2: Mmm, right, but you’re not going to get told off because the toilet’s not cleaned.

OLD WOMAN 1: At this rate, we won’t get in there until half-twelve, and…

SAM: Don’t worry! We’ll have it all under control! Our colleagues are taking care of things as we speak!

OLD WOMAN 1: They better!

The three make their way through the crowd. A siren whoops and there is plenty of murmuring.

BISMUTH: Ketja! Think we can get through?

There is now a new voice, deep and masculine and vaguely Slavic.

KETJA: Oh! A pleasant surprise, Director! Oi, look alive; we’ve got Mainframe brass!

The crowd gets fainter as KETJA brings them towards the building.

KETJA: What brings you up this way, ma’am?

BISMUTH: I’m here to set up the new communications hub, but when I got a text from Arwell about the situation…

KETJA: Understood. Are you the new local Communications Director?

SAM: I’m flattered, but…

JAMIE: That’s me; now who are you and what sort of fucking mess am I explaining away?

KETJA: I’m Major Ketja, the military liaison for the Glasburgh Auxiliary. That must mean you are Jamie and you are Sam. Apologies, but I’ve been a bit busy to hang around the base and meet people.

BISMUTH: Ketja has taken over a series of cases from the local authorities, which is why UNIT has responded to the scene.

JAMIE: …and why I gotta be here if all I need is some photos and details passed my way? So that there’s someone on-site to handle the fucking cunts that come sniffing about?

KETJA: It would be nice.

They go through an automatic door, the noise from outside fully being left behind them as they enter the casino. Idle slot machines on the far side of the room chirp cheerfully their wee slogans while UNIT members mill about.

JAMIE: Sweet Mary, what the fuck is that?!

KETJA: It used to be a Silurian who worked on the machines and cleaned overnight. As you can see, can’t really say its such anymore.

JAMIE: That wasn’t the photo you fucking showed me!

BISMUTH: I needed to make sure you’d come.

JAMIE growls in irritation.

SAM: …and you said this is the latest in a series?

KETJA: Correct. Arwell’s been doing a decent job of keeping it under wraps for us, but this is the most public one to-date. I believe you were there at the first one, were you not?

JAMIE: That time Malc stole m’car and took off to fucking Sterling with me still inside? Thought that was a Zygon, not a Silurian.

A beat.

JAMIE: Should that bit be that color?

BISMUTH (deadpan): Yes.

JAMIE: Fuck. I gave up smoking for this?

KETJA clears his throat.

KETJA: Victims have all been non-Human Tripartite, all who were occupying spaces they normally would alone, all having been viciously and repeatedly stabbed and mutilated. Ma’am, I’m going to need you to assist with authorizing and initiating security protocols, as this might require getting the Tripartite fully involved.

BISMUTH: All while MacDonald runs damage control?

KETJA: Precisely.

JAMIE: I’m on it, pet.

BISMUTH: You willingly let him recruit you, knowing he’s like this?

SAM: Pays well and doesn’t treat me like garbage. What can I say?

BISMUTH sighs and we hear her and KETJA walk away, their footfalls heavy with their boots on tile. JAMIE harrumphs.

JAMIE: I thought His Malcness said she was one of the more normal ones. Oh… yeah… that’s right… we can grab a wee bite here when the place opens…

SAM: Focus… we need to figure out what we’re going to tell the paps outside, as well as the Mecca corporates.

JAMIE: As far as they’re concerned, any publicity is good publicity, especially since the poor bloke didn’t die during business hours.

He hums thoughtfully.

JAMIE (shouts): Oi! Was this a bloke?

FORENSICS YUTZ (far off, bored): Signs point to “yes”.

JAMIE: Okay, so, the bloke wasn’t vivisected during business hours, so they won’t give a fuck in the end. They probably wouldn’t even give a fuck if he was, since he looks like he was the overnight caretaker, despite the fact those are some of the ones they need to give a fuck about the most…

SAM: Do you think we can spin this as an anti-immigrant attack if the paperwork’s right? Make it look like some arse got a bit carried away?

JAMIE: For now… bloody fucking Tories wouldn’t blink twice calling it an isolated incident. We can run with that as the prevailing theory. Oi, you; yeah, I’m talking to you, Brown Eyes. You got a report for me to run off?

BROWN EYES: Uh… yeah…

JAMIE: Thanks—you’re a peach.

Papers rustle.

JAMIE: Oh, good; Kate’s lot had him down as being a recent immigrant from Hyderabad with no family. This makes my life a piece of fucking cake. Might even be able to get this out of the news cycle by teatime AND not terrorize the Desis, since they have enough to fucking deal with.

SAM: Shit… yeah… anything else we can pull instead?

JAMIE: That’s what we got—might not be completely ethical, but it’s the best we got to work with. The fact he worked here might keep any nosy fucks from poking around too much.

A pause.

SAM: Okay, you actually lost me this time.

JAMIE: When was the last time you saw a headscarf in a Mecca?

A much longer pause.

SAM: Do we need to go over how many layers of stupid that was?

JAMIE: Well, do yeh?

SAM: It’s got it’s own orogeny named for it, Jamie! There’s striations! Should I go on?

JAMIE: Well, it’s not my fucking fault that the cunts couldn’t name the business for the life of them!

SAM groans loudly.

SAM (quietly): I gave up Broadland for this for fuck’s sake…

JAMIE: You’re playing Motherwell Rules now, mate.

SAM: I bet if we looked up “Motherwell Rules”, there’d be nothing about acting like a knob.

JAMIE: Look at me, Samantha… I’m a wee fucking cunt. If I don’t play the part, then I’ll be considered to be scheming, and that’s at-best. You really think I want to put ideas in their fucking heads?

SAM: Well, what would worst-case be?

JAMIE: That I’ve gone fucking soft. I plan on making this gig where I turn into the fucking bogeyman, and what sort of bogeyman’s softer than a geriatric tit?

SAM: Still, I want you to be careful, because you have the ability to insult hijabi and Irish grans who protect their permanents at the same fucking time. Jesus Christ.

JAMIE (smugly): I’m just that talented—you know that.

SAM (groaning): I guess.

She pats his shoulder.

SAM (strained): Go get ‘em. Yeah.

#fajrbismuth #The Thick of UNIT #The Thick of It #Doctor Who #fan fiction #Jamie MacDonald #Sam Cassidy #Fajr Bismuth #it still blows my mind that someone's using one of my OCs as a username lol #Major Ketja #I literally know nothing about him yet congrats #I also only know Mecca Bingo thanks to a Soothouse bit so congrats on that too #Jamie means well but he's also a feral wee gremlin

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nebula-starlight · 1 year

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15 Questions 15 Tags

Rules: Answer these 15 questions as yourself or as an OC, then tag 15 mutuals.

Thanks for the tag @angsty-prompt-hole and in return I give you content about your mans.

So yeah… Tren gets to answer these because I’m spiteful sometimes and want to inflict brainrot on my friends.

Are you named after anyone?

To my knowledge, no. I did take my “public” name of Derek from my last host however.

When was the last time you cried?

Ehhh... Honestly I don’t remember.

Do you have kids?

Three adopted. One human, one an undead phoenix, and the third one is a werephoenix. They’re siblings and their mother entrusted them to me and my wife.

Do you use sarcasm?

I used to mislead people into erasing themselves, what do you think?

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Typically their eyes. Windows to the soul and all that nonsense.

What’s your eye color?

Permanent brown but will glow blue when I use my abilities.

Scary movies or happy endings?

Honestly I prefer scary movies, thanks to my wife (character played by @angsty-prompt-hole herself) for rekindling my horror fascination.

Any special talents?

Does temporarily dissolving my limbs into code count?

Where were you born?

“Born” huh? Technically I guess you could say Hell since Zevdie are demonic creatures who glitch.

What are your hobbies?

Being a chronic instigator of chaos… Er- I mean I guess I’m a bit of a technology nerd.

Have you any pets?

Sadly no. But there’s enough chaos with the kids.

What sports do you play/have played?

None at all. Body hopping never left time for such trivial things as personal enrichment.

How tall are you?

6’ 1” and proud of it.

Favorite subject in school?

Never had school. But if I had of I think science or math would have been neat.

Dream job?

Librarian…? Cheesy as it sounds it’d be cool to be a noisy little bookworm who brings smiles to children. Or working a ranch. Either one sounds rather nice.

#ask game #not tagging anyone #if you want to play you can

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occasionallyish--archive · 3 years

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Whenever I'm getting tired of a maladaptive daydream series that's been going on in my head for a while, I either kill my character off or kill somebody important to them off or make them fall into obscurity– Except I literally cannot do that with yesterday's daydream so I decided why not write it all down?

In this current daydream, I'm the elusive leader of some underground organization literally called The Underground. Set 5-6 years after the current ongoins of BNHA, we essentially help people disappear from the eyes of the public(and the government!)– Whether they be ex-villains or ex-felons or civilians that just want a new life, we're happy to help. We host these huge, monthly, elaborate charity parties so that we can get funds and also donate some of those funds to other organizations dedicated to the homeless and the hungry! Also, I'm Dabi's best friend and he's my right hand man. After establishing all of this, I kinda of hit a roadblock as to where I wanted to turn, so I had my villainous ex-lover invade one of these parties and hold me at gunpoint.

Except... This was getting interesting! I decided I didn't wanna die just yet. So we go back, do a bit of rewriting– And decide that various heroes (MindJack, FreezerBurn, Cellophane, 30-y/o Hawks for some reason) were getting these threatening letters all about "dispose of him or I will" sharing things like the time and place of the party that dearest ex-lover invades. They come in just to see what's up with the place– Maybe provide some protection for this random guy that's getting death threats– and everything goes as it did originally, except with added pressure because these hero guys are there for my protection! So anyway that goes on and like a month or some other semi-short while goes by and I've been established as friends with the heroes and now I've decided "let's just have a semi-flirty friendship with Hawks and call it a day!"

Except, well, I decided with all the ideas flooding my brain I should just put a stop to em and turn to another daydream. And so, why not kill off Dabi and make me disappear off the face of the earth??? Yeahhhhh,,,, So Dabi goes missing for a while and somehow my guy Hawks get intel on where we may be able to find him so I tag along with a couple of heroes on what could be a rescue mission. And just as I say something stupid like, "Oh yeah, he can hold his own! He'll be fine :)" we slide open the doors to this werehouse and there he is... On the ground...... Heavily bleeding and Very Well Dying :(. I go to him and sob and he's on the brink of death when he tells me to just keep on talking to him. So I tell him how he's my closest friend in the history of ever. And I tell him I love him. And I tell him stories from my life before I became immersed in The Underground, and his last words to me before he stops breathing are a little laugh and an amused little, "You're such a dumbass." The ambulance gets there but it's too late. A week later, I'm hit with the press asking about my relationship with the former villain, and how I feel regarding his death... I respond "He was my best friend. And I loved him. And I'm sad. Is that enough for the tabloids?" And then after that interview I announce I'm taking a sabbatical from life, leave The Underground in the hands of a trusted friend (either Mustard or an oc of mine called Akira), and disappear off the face of the Earth

Except, ohoho, this was truly getting interesting! So I decided, 6 months later, I'd reappear from nowhere. And how do I make my entrance? A surprise, truly. I'm taller, I'm bolder, I'm happier than I've been in a long time– And I walk right into a party as hosted by whomever currently runs The Underground. A number of my hero friends are there. I walk right up to the host, get a hug from him, dismissively explain that I was just "far away" and that I'd be happy to reposses the responsibilities of The Underground in a month or so– Because I want another little while to live a little bit less stressfully, but surrounded by all my people. After a talk with the host, I find Hawks– We exchange snarky comments and he tells me he thought I was joking when I said I'd be taking a break from life. I tell him "Well, now ya know" and then he teases me about how a certain someone is staring. I laugh and raise a brow– Then he tells me how one Hanta Sero has been calling him every other week, asking if there's been any updates on my status. How Sero's been antsy to see me again. How he's worried. I laugh and roll my eyes like he's just teasing, but then he tells me to look to my left or smth and I do and... I lock eyes with tape man. He chokes on whatever he's drinking. I go to him and we get to talking and maybe a bit of flirting– I can't not tease him mercilessly. I go a little bit more in detail about my whereabouts– "Exploring my roots, and all that. Going 'round the world in 6 months." He calls me pretty and I ask if he's flirting, to which he confirms. I laugh and explain, "Well, pretty boy, a lifetime ago, I told myself I'd never get with anybody whose job had 'potential death' in the description– Heroes included." He pouts, but he understands. "Except, maybe let me get to know you more. I'd be willing to rewrite my rules, if you can show me it's worth it." An outing and a couple dates later, Sero unexpectedly ends up in the hospital

But I didn't wanna kill him off lol, I love him too much! So, I say that, in the line of duty, he fractures his knee or smth. But thanks to quirks and modern technology, they can fix it! I rush in and I'm worried but I'm assured it's all good. By the time he's cleared to go home, he's looped up on painkillers and his hero friends are conveniently back on the job and since he probably shouldn't be left alone, I'm left to take him! I take him home and we sleep and when we wake up, we're cuddlin or something cliche like that. He looks at me and all he sees is beauty, and he just.. Stares, for a while. But then I wake up, and I feel that spark, and I cup his cheeks in my hands. We stare at eachother, and after a second, we share a kiss to remember. Later I tell him that I want to kiss and I want to hold hands, but I don't want to put a full committment into it– Not until I have my full job back and we figure out if we can both handle the stress of that. And he understands. So, soon I've got full ownership of The Underground again. I host a party and people can see me n tape man are unusually close, this time. In the next party, we hold hands– He gets all nervous and I tell him, "At this point, darling, if you wanted to, I wouldn't mind if you shouted our relarionship out to this whole room." The party after that, he has to come in late because he was away at a convention or smth and his flight was delayed. He makes a big show of running up to me and scooping me in his arms and finally, officially announcing our relationship with another kiss to remember. We're together for years, after that. He moves in with me, we get a cat, he regularly even helps with managing The Underground. Life is good. And then for some reason I get shot.

Then, we're in the hospital room– I wake up to him at my bedside, hair messy and eyebags prominent and worry-lines creased in his face. He's kind of rambling, talking about whatever comes to mind. I move to grab his hand, sending a smile his way. He smiles back and takes a deep breath, before lifting my hand up to kiss my knuckles. We greet eachother with loving little "Hey."s. He tells me the guy that shot me is locked up and won't hurt me again. He tells me he knew I'd pull through, but that he was worried I'd be permanently hurt. I told him I probably would be. The mood gets heavy, but then I kind of tug on his hand and give him a goofy smile, "By the way..." He raises a brow and suddenly the mood is lightened, when I hum out a lighthearted yet serious "Let's get married, Hanta"

Anyway this is the only daydream in which I haven't been able to die... So I decided I'd just write it down and say that we ended on a good note! Because I can't really juggle multiple daydreams, and ideas tend to come daily so I always have something different to work with. Never get bored, ykyk? And no way am I letting this kinda awesome Sero brainrot burn me outta good content for myself

Or I'll just get sniped during the wedding ceremony lol I don't know if my character is op enough to come back from that–

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #the great big book of ideas #death #guns #tw death #tw guns #death tw #guns tw #swearing #tw swearing #long post #big text #tw big text #big text tw

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