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felswritingfire · 3 years

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April Brain Rot #11

Prompts:

74. Rome

46. "Hold me just a little longer."

15. Tackle Hug

Rook Hunt x Reader

Summery: The Gods are waging war and you wait for your God to come back patiently. But, when the war leaks into the mortal realm, will he be able to get to you in time?

TW: Blood; Violence; Threats; Religious Themes (very loose)

Word Count: 1,594

A note from Fel: This one, I've had done for over a damn week??? Like, I love Rook to death and my girlfriend really likes this one so like * high fives self * ALSO I LOW KEY WANT TO DO A SERIES WITH THIS??? IT'S JUST- I HAD SO MUCH FUN (if y'all want to send in any requests centered around this, you will own my whole H E A R T)

It had been a long time since he had waved to you, walking off into the forest, his bow slung over his shoulder with his quiver of arrows hanging from his hip. You had watched as the shadows devoured your god that night.

The seasons had changed and yet the angry clouds, rumbling with thunder lingered throughout each of them. Now, a thin frost had covered the fields, leaving you to shiver and pull your shawl closer to you. You stood at the start of the forest, the looming trees acting as a wall. You grip your basket tight in your arms, shifting the dried meat and the few fruits and cheeses you managed to save, the loaf of bread still warm. Your friends had tried to tell you not to go- told you that the gods would not be back for a long time. The war in their world was too important. You knew that. You knew that the first time a shower of red poured down on you and the fields you were tending to. You had watched as your neighbors fields faded, still hesitant to pray to lord Epel for good harvests. And, yet, you couldn’t just give up- not on your god, not on the one who so gently took your hand that night and saved you from the bandits who had burned your village to the ground; who burned your family to a crisp.

“You have no need to fear,” he had said to you, picking you up in his arms and cradling your head close to his heart. “I will protect you no matter what, for you looked up to me and asked for me to save you, Mon Clair de Lune.”

He had taken you to this village, where the gods held a special spot for the people- giving you the home closest to the forest. He had asked you if you knew how to draw a bow and you told him you did. You think that’s when the two of you truly connected.

The laughs and shrieks of joy as he would chase you around the fields and trees just to wrap his arms around your waist were memories you held dear to you everytime he went back into the forest to answer Lord Vil’s calls (no one could deny Venus his wishes).

“I will be back, Mon Clair de Lune. Je t'aime.” He whispered into your hair, running his hands along the expanse of your back.

It had made you nervous when he was hesitant to let go, like he was afraid he wasn’t going to come back. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and cheeks before turning and waving with a soft smile.

You sigh, another shiver shot through you as the wind picked up. Your eyes squeezing shut and you blow a breath of white air out from your lips. Maybe you’d see if Ace (you refused to call him Lord Ace, you were much too close for that by now) could dial down on the winds- though it might not even be him dictating these winds for once.

You sigh, turning to go back to your home when you hear a strange gurgling noise to your side. You furrow your brow- it almost sounds like a creek, you think as you turn to see where the noise was coming from. There, off in the distance, a black mass pulsated and writhed. You felt yourself go stiff as it jerked to and fro, red dots rolling around the expanse of its flesh until they finally pointed forward to look at you. The basket in your hands dropped as you turned to dash somewhere away from the village, as you hear flesh tearing and a bone rattling shriek leave from somewhere behind you.

You rush past the fruit fields and through the flower beds, praying that Jack could forgive you as you feel the delicate stems crunch beneath your foot. The sound of thundering steppes racing behind you causes a ball to form in your throat, pushing yourself to run faster and faster.

You had hit the creek, the bottoms of your wool pants and boots frigid in the rush of cold water as you slosh through it. You’re almost to the other side when you stop: yellow eyes stare at you through the leaves of the bushes. The shrieking comes to a stop behind you and you look over your shoulder to see the black mass staring past you as you turn back. The eyes had moved, now well above the branches of the tree, you can make out long arms, veins straining underneath skin, and white teeth glinting in the light of the early morning sun.

You nearly begin to rush up stream when a voice says, “I wouldn’t.”

You freeze, looking back at the pair of eyes to see a long snout peeking out from the bushes.

It’s mouth smiles, showing off sharpened fangs, as it steps further into the light. It towers over you, hunching over as it pushes branches out of the way. “You look delicious- all of the humans here do.” It hums to itself as it takes more heavy steps towards you. “Maybe it’s because you all have been blessed by the gods-” it throws its’ head back to release a wheezy laugh- “the ones that left you to fight a war they won’t win.”

“The gods will win.” You’re surprised with how much confidence you say it, but you try not to let it show as you watch it tilt it’s wolf-like head to the side.

“Not if you are all dead. Gods have nothing without their worshippers, you know?”

You shiver from the mix of the cold water and the realization, crinkling your nose at the smell of rotten meat and old blood that wafts from it’s hulking body. You look up at it, glaring. “Do-” you almost gag at the smell and it almost seems to laugh- “do not doubt the strength of the gods. They’ll come back to us and they will save us no matter what.”

“You put so much stock into them, human.” It crouched on its haunches, sliding a hand under your trembling chin. “So cute and delicate.” You can hear the other behind you shuffle, grunts and wheezes following its movements. The other in front of you laughs again as it watches your gaze begin to shift. “Do not take your eyes off of me.” Your eyes stare at it, swirling with a dread that it finds positively delectable. “I will take your head without you realizing it.”

Your vision began to grow glassy as its maw stretched wide; hot, humid breath, that smelled of rot, hitting your face as a row of giant teeth showed itself to you. You clasp your hands together, praying with all your might, with every ounce of your soul, that Rook would come and save you. That your huntsman would come and shoot down the beasts that wished to devour you.

Just like that night when he had first saved you.

"Si ma lune prie pour que je vienne, je le ferai.”

The creature screamed in pain, the sheer volume shaking your bones and piercing deep into your skull. It shoved you away, your body falling under the frigid stream of the water. You hear a muffled scream from above as you break the surface of the water. You gasp as you suck in air, dragging yourself to the side of the bank where Rook rushes to meet you.

You're leaning on your elbows as you catch your breath when Rook’s body barrels into yours, knocking you back with a loud ‘oof!’ coming from you. His face nestles into your neck and you swear you feel him tremble. “R- Rook?” You wrap your arms around him, running them along his back to see for any wounds. “Are-” you breathe out a cold breath- “are you ok?”

He’s muttering in that tongue he adores so much (French- you remember him calling it), squeezing you tighter.

“Rook?”

“Hold me just a little while longer.”

You freeze, your eyes blurring with tears at his tone: devoid of everything carefree and casual. He sounded like he was in pain. You wrap your arms tighter around him, burying your face into his neck.

“I am so sorry, Mon Clair de Lune. I should have come sooner.” He pulled away, his hands cupping your face as he pressed his forehead against yours, his green eyes glassy. “Were you afraid?”

You blink, trying to keep the tears from spilling over your bottom lashes. “I was.” You close your eyes. “But, I knew you would come for me. I knew the gods wouldn’t abandon us.”

He laughs, soft and tired. “You are too important for me to let you die so easily.”

“And I will not die so easily as long as you will it.” The quiet that settles between you two is gentle and you can’t bring yourself to want to leave his embrace despite the cold of your wet clothes seeping into your skin and making your bones ache. You open your eyes to look into his. “Is… Is this truly going to be a war?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I’ll stay by your side. No matter what.”

“And I shall protect you no matter what, Mon Clair de Lune.”

He presses his lips against yours and you let yourself melt into it, holding onto the last semblance of peace that may allow you rest for a long time.

Thank you for reading!

#Twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst rook #rook hunt #rook x reader #x reader #non bianry reader #gender nuetral reader #not a reblog #April brain rot #tw: religious themes #sfw #tw: threats #tw: blood #tw: violence

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tigerkirby215 · 3 years

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5e Olaf, the Beserker build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Phroilan Gardner. Made for Riot Games.)

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Olaf sounds like ProZD’s Archibald voice. Especially Olaf’s voice lines for using his Q it sounds exactly like ProZD’s “Huah! I think that enemy got the point!” Like I’m not crazy right? Please tell me I’m not the only one who hears this.

Anyways Olaf has been on my To Do List ever since I realized that I haven’t made a single champion whose name starts with the letter O. My desire to make Olaf was only further accentuated by the Sentinels of Light event, even if his inclusion in that event could best be summed up with...

But I won’t ignore Olaf just because the Sentinels of Light event was a flop. He’s still a compelling character that I have actually gotten some requests to make. After all: the dual-axe wielding Barbarian is an iconic image!

I mean, Olaf is probably just going to be 20 levels in Beserker Barbarian so I don’t know why you need me to make a build for that.

GOALS

C'mon, I won't hurt you - We’ll need ways to heal when we harm in the middle of combat.

Death by steel! - Swing axe, throw axe; unga bunga me play Olaf.

The might of Lokfar approaches - I didn’t manage to do so with Mundo but Olaf is going to need to have CC immunity.

RACE

Olaf is a human; feel free to pick a different race like Goliath or even Custom Lineage to justify him being Iceborn but Variant Human is still the best option. Increase your Strength by 1 as well as your Constitution, grab any skill proficiency of your choice as it honestly doesn’t matter much for Olaf (maybe you should’ve been Custom Lineage for Darkvision after all?), and the Primordial language because I’m sure you picked up on the language of the wild.

For your feat you have a choice: Dual Wielder will let you wield two d8 Battleaxes (instead of d6 Handaxes) and also increase your AC by 1 while dual-wielding, but the Fighting Initiate feat will let you grab Two-Weapon Fighting which will let you add your Strength modifier to your second axe’s swing. I persually opted for Dual Wielder as it gives you more benefits overall, and we’ll be getting ways to throw axes without having to hold onto them first.

ABILITY SCORES

15; STRENGTH - I mean, you’re a shirtless Barbarian running around with two axes. You thought this would be a DEX build?

14; CONSTITUTION - The reason you can’t die is because you’re so hardy. Sucks!

13; CHARISMA - Despite Riot’s great attempts at writing you as poorly as possible you do still have some sort of Charisma. Remember that Charisma is force of personality, not necessarily good looks or personal hygiene. Charisma is needed for Intimidation as well as multiclassing.

12; DEXTERITY - You need to be quick on your feet to run at your enemies with reckless abandon.

10; WISDOM - If you were wise you wouldn’t be trying to kill yourself.

8; INTELLIGENCE - You stopped caring about education the moment you were born. Battle is the only thing in your blood!

This build is also quite viable with Point Buy, going for a stat array like 15 / 12 / 14 / 8 / 8 / 14 if you want lower mental stats but higher combat stats.

BACKGROUND

The Uthgardt Tribe Member background from the Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide is basically the Outlander background but you actually belonged to Freljordian society once. Regardless you do get proficiency in Athletics as well as Survival (”Survival” as in finding food to eat, not as in keeping safe on the battlefield!), a musical instrument or artisan’s tool of your choice (choose whatever you fancy and make your own Olaf, as long as it’s something a warrior would do! I personally opted for Smith’s Tools to sharpen your axes), and a language of your choice (pick whatever language they spoke back in the villages.)

Your background Uthgardt Heritage is the Outlander’s Wanderer feature with extra steps: along with being able to find food and water you are also treated well by nomads and wanderers who have heard of your glorious battles!

(Artwork by Marie Magny and West Studios. Made for Riot Games.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - BARBARIAN 1

Starting off as a Barbarian because what else would we be? You get proficiency in two skills from the Barbarian list: Intimidation is an obvious must and Perception will help you find good fights to take!

As a Barbarian you get Unarmored Defense equal to your Dexterity plus your Constitution, which is currently a 13... Well Medium Armor is an option if you want to finally put on a shirt. And of course as a Barbarian you can Rage to deal more damage and resist incoming damage! You can’t cast spells while Raging, but that won’t matter, right? It’s not like I’m about to give you caster levels.

LEVEL 2 - FIGHTER 1

Quickly hopping over to Fighter to further your martial skills. You can grab a Fighting Style like Thrown Weapon Fighting to draw weapons in the same action you make to throw them, and also do +2 damage with thrown weapon attacks. See? Told you we’d be able to throw axes easily!

You also get Second Wind for some not-quite-Lifesteal to keep you in the fight to claim even more glory! Certainly not to stay alive.

LEVEL 3 - FIGHTER 2

Well another Fighter level for Action Surge is certainly worth it, as you can push yourself to destroy your foes!

LEVEL 4 - FIGHTER 3

But we need one more Fighter level to be able to get our axes back after we throw them. Eldritch Knights get Weapon Bond, allowing them to always keep two weapons on hand and never lose them. While bonded with a weapon you can’t be disarmed of them, and you can use a Bonus Action to recall a weapon if it’s not in your hands. My suggestion would be to bond to a Battleaxe and a Handaxe, so you can’t be disarmed of at least one of your main weapons and can also call your thrown axe back to throw it again!

You also get Spellcasting as an Eldritch Knight: You learn two cantrips from the Wizard list, and three spells as well. You may be thinking “wait; didn’t you dump Intelligence?” That is correct, but you don’t need Intelligence to cast Light to see with your dumb human eyes (I mean technically you need Intelligence if you want to cast Light on someone else but it’s probably easier just to light up your axe and throw it at them) or Prestidigitation, which is a better spell for creating bonfires than the actual Create Bonfire spell.

Your leveled spells have to be from either the Evocation or Abjuration schools, but thankfully Absorb Elements and Shield are both from the Abjuration school and also don’t need Intelligence. Protect yourself from damage to have a truly glorious death! Because it’s not like blocking attacks will keep you alive.

You can also learn one spell from any school and uhhhh... Pick your poison between Jump and Longstrider, to make it easier to chase your foes. Are there probably better spells? Yeah, but do they fit Olaf?

(Artwork by Xiao Guang Sun and West Studios. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 5 - PALADIN 1

Jumping over to Paladin for a few abilities, such as Divine Sense to find some things that will put up a good fight like Fiends, Undead, or... Celestials? I’m sure they hit hard! You can also find a good desecrated (or consecrated) battleground with this ability, as I’m sure there will be good enemies there! You only know of an enemy’s type however, not their name. And if they’re hiding from you this ability won’t make it any easier to find them.

You also get Lay on Hands, which is like lifesteal you can give to allies! You have a pool of hit points equal to your Paladin level times 5, and you can use it to either heal (at a rate of 1 point per hitpoint) or neutralize a poison or disease affecting a target. (5 Lay on Hands health to neutralize one poison or disease.) Dying to natural causes isn’t a glorious death, brother!

LEVEL 6 - PALADIN 2

We’ll also need second level in Paladin to get a Fighting Style, but since Wizards of the Coast hates fun you can’t can’t take Two-Weapon Fighting, and since we’re running around in our birthday suit Defense also isn’t an option. The best official Fighting Style you can take is Blind Fighting (Blessed Warrior is okay too if you want Guidance I guess) but talk to your DM about potentially letting you take Two-Weapon Fighting? It’s not like it’s OP or anything (in all honesty it’s kinda shit.)

Paladins also get... more Spellcasting?! Disgusting! Well this spellcasting is based on your Charisma modifier instead of your Intelligence, which might be why we have it at a 14. But even so you can’t prepare that many spells: Divine Favor will let you empower all your attacks with more damage for some Vicious Strikes, Cure Wounds will again be acting as life-not-quite-steal, and Shield of Faith will let you or an ally absorb more blows, not that you want to live or anything. Also remember to check the Player’s Handbook to see how many spell slots you’d have after mixing two casters together.

But I still think the best course of action for your spell slots is to use them for Divine Smite! Throw caution and magic to the wind to make a Reckless Swing that does extra Radiant damage (depending on the level of the spell slot used.) The Smite deals 2d8 of damage for a first level slot, and an additional d8 of damage for every slot above first. (The simple way to remember this is that you roll a number of d8s equal to the spell slot used plus one.) If the enemy is a Fiend or Undead the damage increases by a d8! The maximum level spell slot you can use for this is a 4th level slot (for 5d8 damage, or 6d8 against a Fiend or Undead), but I doubt we’ll get spell slots that big.

LEVEL 7 - PALADIN 3

We may as well take a third level in Paladin for a Sacred Oath, and you swore an Oath of Glory in battle! Along with Guiding Bolt and Heroism being added to your spell list (as if you can cast spells lmao) you get two Channel Divinity options: Peerless Athlete turns you into... well, a Peerless Athlete with advantage on Athletics and Acrobatics checks. You can also carry, push, drag, and lift twice as much weight as normal, and to top it off the distance of your long and high jumps increases by 10 feet. This boost lasts for 10 minutes which should be more than enough to give it your all in battle!

Alternatively for some more not-quite-lifesteal Inspiring Smite can be activated after you Smite to give yourself or nearby allies within 30 feet temporary hitpoints. The total number of temporary hit points gained by this ability equals 2d8 + your Paladin level, and you can distribute them amongst yourself and your allies however you wish. Technically the most gameplay-accurate way to split the Temp HP would be to take it all yourself but being helpful has its benefits. A battle is truly glorious if fought alongside an army of companions!

You also get Divine Health, because Glory doesn’t die on sick days!

LEVEL 8 - PALADIN 4

It’s about time to take that 4th Paladin level to finally get an Ability Score Improvement: +2 to Strength for stronger axe swings is an obvious choice!

You can also prepare another spell like Bless, which will make it easier for you and your allies to smite your foes and survive their blows! Wait, what was that about surviving?

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 9 - PALADIN 5

Since it’s so close we may as well take the 5th level of Paladin so you can finally make an Extra Attack. That means you have two attacks normally and a third attack with your Bonus Action thanks to Two-Weapon Fighting!

You can also prepare second level Paladin spells now, and the Oath of Glory gives you Enhance Ability and Magic Weapon as spells you can cast. Believe it or not these are actually useful, even with your low spellcasting modifier!

LEVEL 10 - PALADIN 6

The 6th level of Paladin is honestly too good to pass up: even though Aura of Protection is only adding +2 to all your saving throws (since your Charisma is kinda uhhh... not good?) that’s still +2 to all your saves, as well as the saves of your allies within 10 feet. That’s like, two whole Rings of Protection!

Speaking of rings: Warding Bond was added to the Paladin spell list thanks to Tasha’s and it’ll let you take damage for your allies to die in their place! As long as you don’t mind wearing some platnium rings in your beard, at least.

LEVEL 11 - PALADIN 7

What we’re really here for is the 7th level of Glory Paladin. Aura of Alacrity will increase the speed of you and your allies within 5 feet (not 10, because Wizards of the Coast are weird) by 10 feet, so you can charge at your foes with the might of Ragnarok!

LEVEL 12 - PALADIN 8

But we may as well take the 8th level of Paladin for another Ability Score Improvement: cap off your Strength for the deadliest strikes possible.

You can also prepare another spell but it would be wise to wait for...

(Artwork by JoJo So. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 13 - PALADIN 9

9th level Paladins can prepare third level spells like Crusader’s Mantle to give all your nearby allies the Divine Favor buff to rush into battle with you! But the main reason we’re dipping this deep into Paladin is for the two spells from the Oath of Glory: Protection from Energy perhaps isn’t all that fitting, but Haste is insanely useful and powerful. More attacks, more speed, more... armor? Well, it’s no matter. More glorious battle!

LEVEL 14 - PALADIN 10

10th level Paladins won’t be swayed by magic swaying their hearts! Aura of Courage will let you (and your allies within 10 feet) laugh in the face of death as you gain immunity to the Frightened condition!

You can also prepare another spell like Aura of Vitality: you can use it to heal yourself but healing your allies will lead to a far more glorious story to tell of your death.

LEVEL 15 - PALADIN 11

I promise that we’ll go back to Barbarian levels soon but 11th level Paladins get a huge boost to their damage output thanks to Improved Divine Smite. This ability affects all your attacks (not just your Smites despite the name) to give them an extra d8 of Radiant damage. This has obvious synergy with your choice to swing two axes since your Two-Weapon Fighting attack will also get that extra d8 of damage!

LEVEL 16 - PALADIN 12

Okay but let’s quickly grab the 12th level of Paladin first. You can either increase your Constitution for more health and AC, or your Charisma for better saving throws and spellcasting. I personally opted for Charisma but if you value health and AC then Constitution is good too!

Oh and yeah you can prepare more spells, but there aren’t really that many other third level spells I want.

(Artwork by Alvin Lee. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 17 - PALADIN 13

That’s because 13th level Paladins finally get 4th spells which most importantly means Freedom of Movement! There you go you finally have Ragnarok’s CC immunity! You also get Compulsion which sure would be a good spell if you had any Charisma to actually cast it.

But you can also prepare more spells like Aura of Purity so you and your allies can shrug off whatever your foes might throw at you to stop you from reaching them, or Death Ward which you ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT USE ON YOURSELF.

LEVEL 18 - PALADIN 14

Okay but the 14th level of Paladin gives you Cleansing Touch, letting you cleanse spells without spell slots to cast Freedom of Movement. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier and regain all expended uses at the end of a Long Rest.

You could also perhaps prepare another spell like... Aid? I don’t know really by this point the magic is secondary. We’ll be going back to Barbarian soon anyways.

LEVEL 19 - PALADIN 15

But 15th level Glory Paladins get Glorious Defense, and we can’t pass that up! When you or another creature you can see (technically an enemy if you so desire!) within 10 feet of you is hit by an attack roll, you can use your reaction to grant a bonus to the target’s AC against that attack equal to your Charisma modifier. If the attack misses you can make one weapon attack against the attacker as part of this reaction, provided the attacker is within your weapon’s range. You can do this a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier, and regain all uses at the end of a Long Rest.

LEVEL 20 - PALADIN 16

But since it’s so close one final level in Paladin would be good for one final ASI: again more Constitution means more health and AC, but more Charisma will boost all your Paladin abilities!

Speaking of Paladin abilities you can prepare one more spell before we start taking more Barbarian levels... honestly you can pick your poison as it won’t matter much when your Raging!

...Wait.

WHY NO BARBARIAN LEVELS?

There’s a lot of things that I can’t do as a Barbarian. The most notable option that would be restricted if I went pure Barbarian would be Freedom of Movement, and while crowd control is somewhat rare in D&D being able to ignore it is far more important to Olaf as a character.

There’s also no Barbarian that has lifesteal besides Path of the Beast, and the only Barbarian that can throw its axe easily is Path of Wild Magic. Obviously neither of these fit Olaf.

Ultimately Paladin gave us more of Olaf’s abilities. The only ability that Barbarians have which fit Olaf other than Unarmored Defense and I guess Unarmored Movement would be Feral Instinct. But even the Barbarian subclasses don’t fit Olaf with the only ones which make any sense being maybe Totem Warrior? (Despite Olaf’s title Berserker wouldn’t fit him well, mostly because Berserker is a bad subclass.) But we miss out on so many of Olaf’s actual abilities by making him a Barbarian.

tl;dr Barbarians can’t do magic and Olaf has a ton of abilities that can only be recreated in D&D with magic

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Urge to kill rising... - Two-Weapon Fighting really doesn’t get the respect it deserves by the D&D community. You wouldn’t be able to get three attacks as a level 11 Paladin in any other way, meaning that you can truly capitalize on Improved Divine Smite. Not to mention the general increased DPS of 3 attacks and 3 chances to Smite!

Faster to battle! - It was not my intention but Glory Paladins are surprisingly good team players with a variety of spells and abilities that can keep your team alive and increase their strength in battle.

Obliteration! - You’re fairly hard to kill... oops. But between decently high health, spells to defend yourself, and damn high saving throws no matter how you increase your Charisma you’ll be quite a challenge to eventually take down! Sure your AC might suck... we should probably talk about that.

CONS

The worth of a man can be measured by the length of his beard, and the girth of his belt buckle - Hey remember that one Barbarian level I took pretty much entirely so you could have Unarmored Defense? Yeah honestly it’s gimping you hard, to the point that even Mage Armor would give you more AC. Honestly playing this build as Fighter 4 / Paladin 16 would be far better as you’d get one more ASI at the cost of actually having to wear armor. Hell going full Paladin 20 would give you the Living Legend capstone which is crazy strong, and while the loss of Action Surge would hurt you can grab the Thrown Weapon Fighting Style with a feat. (Or just take Two-Weapon Fighting style with your Variant Human Feat and run around with Hand Axes.)

If you’re really dead-set on going unarmored beg your DM for a Barrier Tattoo: either a Rare one (you’ll still need 14 DEX for something something legally-not-Medium Armor) or a Very Rare one (so you don’t even have to worry about Dexterity.) You can even go the Tahm Kench route and grab Eldritch Adept for Disguise Self to look unarmored if it’s really that important to you.

Well that was a pretty long con to say “Barbarian Olaf bad.” What else is there?

Chop chop! - Who would’ve guessed that dumping both mental stats would make you a dummy? While Aura of Protection saves you to some extent the party won’t be turning to you for any History checks.

Finally, some fun! - You have a rather silly amount of spells relative to your spell slots, and a good number of them are Concentration as well. Throwing all your slots to the wind to Divine Smite with reckless abandon sounds fun but managing both your Concentration and your spell slots will take some effort.

But your choice to go in without armor is just a self-handicap after all: you really want to die, and prove yourself in death! Fight the toughest fights and take down the strongest foes until you finally prove your prophecy wrong and fall before the blade of the mightiest foe! But perhaps you should instead sit down and have a muffin, and think about why you truly want to die die die.

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

#dnd #dnd 5e #dnd build #dnd guide #dnd barbarian #definitely a Barbarian #not any other class #dnd paladin #League of Legends #League of Legends Olaf #Sentinels of Light #was bad #As if on cue Olaf releases gas from every bodily orifice #Youtube

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stampiearts · 2 years

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Animal Crossing Sona OC!

I've used the name "King" in every animal crossing save file ever since I got my hands on my own town- so I finally made a OC based on him! He's a lion + leopard mix because... well I couldn't quite choose one over the other, i'm a huge big cat fan!

That's not all for this post though, I'm still in a drawing mood and I'm not sure of what to draw... so I'm taking Animal Crossing requests! Just send me an ask and your favorite character, I'll try to do them all! I'll even take OC requests, as long as they're an animal! I'm not comfortable drawing humans quite yet, I'm still practicing. I am not doing NSFW, Ships, or anything complex. These are just messy sketches that may or may not be colored!

More info on my AC experiences and pictures under the cut!

I've been an animal crossing fan since the game cube, I was playing that when I was very young and living in Nevada! Of course... I was very young, so the town has the charming name of... "nvdu". Yeah, good try there little me, not quite on the mark

I've now become a huge animal crossing fan, I have every main line game! And I still have that charming old town of nvdu... and the nightmare fuel Chow is STILL living in it!! PLEASE HE GAVE ME SO MANY NIGHTMARES AS A KID AND HES STILL THERE AND CREEPY AS EVER BHBDHAJBFADJH (But... i'm kinda sad they closed his mouth in newer games, even if he's creepy they took away a piece of him >:(!! )

I'm very glad for the DLC in new horizons, I'm seriously a HUGE designer and that game is so pretty! Wardell and Niko are so charming, I love the little pointless interactions! It's a shame the actual villagers are so bland though :( Here's an incredibly peaceful home I designed for Juilan, having K.K. Dub on low while space noises play in the background is very peaceful, try it!

To end off this post, here's that picture I took of Sherb, as well as a few other pictures!

Stay strong, take a relaxing walk; or a relaxing bath; take care of yourself, you are wonderful and a treasure in this world. You can do it, it might not be much, but I believe in you! Please eat something, even if it's a small snack, and get some sleep tonight. If you need someone to listen to you, my asks and dms are always open. I may not be great at advice, but i'm a great listener. We're helping each other here, you get someone to listen to you, no matter how bad, and I get experience to become a therapist. Please get help if you need it, please stay strong, and please keep going, even if it seems like there's no point!

#animal crossing #animal crossing fanart #animal crossing oc #art #digital art #requests open #send requests #ask me stuff #send asks #animal crossing new horizons #new horizons #happy home paradise #happy home dlc #furry art #stay strong

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freshneverfrozen · 3 years

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Tincture - Chapter One

Or, the one where your author lets us do what Ubisoft wouldn’t. Also, the tropey one.

When her home is burned by a mad Dane, a healer must decide if her fate lies with forgiveness or revenge.

I’m back from the dead to inflict on you all an AC Vahalla Reader fic literally no one is asking for. Is it Reader/Ivarr? Reader/Basim? Reader/Hytham? Who knows? No, like seriously, I don’t know.

Multi-chapter Fic

Pairing: Reader +...uh, Ivarr? You expect me to choose?

Rating: M for mmm, slow burn erotica.

On AO3:

Part One, Two

........................

CHAPTER ONE:

Snow burns. No one had ever told you. It is a scalding cold that stiffens your bones and cracks your teeth, and you are glad the moment the last flurries are behind you.

The people whose company you learn to keep are never as bothered by the snow as you. Their eyes shine like ice and their faces are shadowed and grim. They had not taken to you easily, a foreigner like them, but unlike them, you did not earn your place through rended flesh and broken bones.

You mend their flesh. You set their bones.

Eventually, they began to call you something other than ‘troll’ and ‘witch’. Eventually, your hut is traded for a slant-framed house at the edge of a village that survives both Saxons and Danes.

‘Healer’ they call you, and it’s just as well. You left your name behind in a faraway place.

You count a spring with them and then a summer. But just as the north-country snow melts, time changes all things.

One gray morning, when the mists are heavy over the moors, something besides the creeping cold wakes you. Wood creaks under a layer of furs as you sit up in your bed, rubbing sleep from your eyes and straining to hear again what drew you from sleep.

There is only yawning silence. It stretches past the walls of your house and over the hills. Beyond your walls, the wind is still, the farm animals not yet restless, and the corner fire is long dead past the comfort of crackling embers.

No, you realize. It has not been noise that has awoken you.

A feeling swirls in your gut. That’s it. A pack-and-run instinct that you have trusted before. And just that simply, it occurs to you that life here is over. You can rebuild. But you must first survive.

‘Witch,’ they once called you. ‘Uncanny’ would be closer to the truth.

The floor is chilly beneath your bare feet as you slip from your bed. You grab nothing, not food, nor tincture. With a hand to the cord that holds the small draw-string pouch around your neck, you know you will have only a few pieces of silver. That, and your life, will be enough.

You have felt this feeling before. This knowing.

You take only your dark woolen cloak from the back of a chair and, wrapping it around your shoulders, you peek past the hung sail-cloth that serves as a door and out into the foggy blue of early morn.

Quiet. Still. A calm before a storm.

Yes. You know this feeling.

You melt from the shadows of your home, around the side and between the stables and granary. You know the families. Saxons on one side, Danes on the other. One has children. The other an elderly mother. She had been the first in this place to call you ‘healer’ when you eased the ache in her old bones.

Silently, you move on swift steps until cold mud from the cart path gives way to tall grass that stings your feet. There, you crouch. You move a little further and listen for nothing. The further you go, the more guilt turns your stomach. So many are still asleep in their beds. You are their healer.

But you cannot save them.

Near the edge of the field stands an ancient oak, out of place and far from its brethren in the forests to the east. It stands among the high grass, a field’s width from the village. You lower yourself against the gnarled base, settling down until all can see of the village are the plumes of smoke from the hearth fires drifting into the sky. Your feet are chilled to numbness, caked in mud and grit, but your hands shake too badly to massage the feeling back into them.

Instead, you wait, and you exhale your breath between your knees so that it does not rise above the grass.

And you do not flinch when the first of the battle cries pierce the air. You had known they were coming. Danes. Different from the peaceful breed settled here.

Screams follow smoke, and then follows the wafting scent of blood and shit on the wind.

You had known.

You sink lower against the tree and in an awful moment, wish that you might freeze. When the wishing is unanswered, you try not to listen as the screams grow fewer and farther between. The terror of the butchered turns to gleeful cries from the invaders. How long has it taken? The sun has yet to clear the sky. Another sacking done in England. Danes killing Danes, killing Saxons, killing all. But not you. Not yet.

And then you hear it.

A sound separates itself from the victory din. It begins as a rustling through the grass, not soft as your steps had been, but moving quickly and toward you. A wayward Dane? A survivor?

Lie still, you demand of yourself as your muscles seize on instinct. You press yourself deeper into the dirt. A fool would run. A dead fool. Whatever comes, it cannot know you have hidden yourself here, tucked yourself away amid the roots and reeds.

A set of shoulders and a dark head above them glade over the tall grass. He is a Dane. You can smell the blood on him, see the gleam of it against the shaved side of his scalp. At his nearness, your heart pounds until it rattles your teeth, but you do not take your eyes from him. If he spots you, and only then, you will run. It will be the death of you.

But he cannot see you. Not here. But even as you think them, those thoughts sound like lies.

The Dane curses, and it is then that you hear the slosh of liquid against clay walls. His steps are burdened. Carrying something. He shakes the bulk in his arms and you hear the splatter of something wet over grass and smell the cloying scent of oil and pitch.

They mean to burn the fields.

And you with them.

Why harvest, when you can ransack? Why spare lives, when it is easier to take gold from a corpse?

You are a healer, but you would kill them all if you could.

The Dane moves off, his back to you now. His shoulders are slim, his body lightly armored. If you run, there is every likelihood this one will overtake you. But you cannot wait, not as you hear him call out in his rough language for fire. A torch. You will have to slip away or face certain death in this snare.

You shift, quiet as a hare in the underbrush, and begin to move eastward. Wet ground seeps into the thin fabric of the under-dress you had escaped in, but you ignore the spreading damp against your chest as you crawl. The sound of a horse’s braying and the noise of hooves through grass drives you forward. You know without looking that someone has brought the Dane his torch.

The crack of a mad laugh sets your teeth to grinding. The Dane shouts, “Let the ravens pick their fill through the smoke!”

“Careful that you do not burn with the fields, Ivarr,” says another voice, too full of reason to earn anything other than ridicule.

The Dane laughs again and soon, the rush of fire catching fuel overtakes the sound of him. It spreads and crackles at your back, wind carrying the heat, carrying the flame. Toward you.

You’ve no choice but to run now.

You’re going to die after all. By fire or the swing of an axe, it doesn’t matter. Dead is dead. Perhaps, this is punishment for leaving the others unwarned. If that is so, you are cut by the bitter thought that the divine has been swift in retribution.

Heat licks at your calves sooner than you expect and you push to your feet. The forest is a league away, over crag and hill and the sludge of the moors. You will never outrun them. But perhaps the flame and smoke will hide you --

“Aha! Look there! One last sheep left to gut!” The bark of the Dane drives the breath from you. “Give me your horse!”

“But Ivarr -- “

A snarl from the Dane is all you hear before the noise of your bare feet beating over grass drowns out the rest. The moors. You need only make it to the moors and then the muck and hollows will slow him.

With a gasp of relief, you clear the field, legs burning and catching beneath a skirt heavy with mud. Another small hill lies ahead, this one rocky with moss-covered stones. You dart up the first slope, casting yourself over one rock just as you hear the thundering of hooves nearing.

The Dane laughs, a hollow, delirious sound that you have heard before from madmen you could not cure. You glance back, your eyes drawn to the sheen of teeth. His is a gruesome smile, crooked and jagged like a jack o’ lantern on Samhain. Fear boils away the cold as you register just how near he is, and you spot a hand sweeping at you from the back of a dappled horse.

“Where will you go, foxling?” he jeers. “Run! Run faster! This is no chase!”

A protesting snort from the horse ruffles your hair as you near the top of the hill. The beast proves a blessing, and you throw yourself from its path just as the Dane reaches for you again. With curse, he flails at the air, and before he can turn his mount, you are struck with an idea.

Instinct has always served you well and as it beckons, you listen. Leaping with a snarled cry, you catch hold of the Dane’s outstretched arm. Your weight and the momentum of the horse unseats him and for a moment, a very brief one, your eyes lock with his. They widen, surprise sparking behind the wild blue of them, and in the instant before he falls, you think you see a grin turn his lips.

He strikes the ground with a thud, crying out as the horse’s hooves catch his legs. You leap over his body as it rolls, your fingers twisting into the mane of the horse. One bound and then another, and you find your purchase, swinging yourself up into the saddle. You look back over your shoulder, eyes narrowing in focus on the Dane as the horse rocks beneath you. He staggers to his feet, yards away now, and he laughs.

“Well done, little fox! Run, while I catch my breath!”

His laughs grow louder, wilder, and when you turn from him, you dare not look back again.

………………………………………

There might as well be snow.

English nights are cold when spent in nothing but a damp shift and cloak. The horse, at least, makes good company. The village is three nights behind you now, three nights that you feel in your empty belly. On the first, you had not slept, fearing the mad Dane would appear from the shadows. The second had passed in the cradle of old ruins. The third, you had found an abandoned home.

Now, with morning blooming outside, you saddle the horse, a mare whose name you do not know. You had spent the night considering names for her, to replace whatever the Danes called her, if it had been anything at all, but in the end, you decided on nothing. You’ve little fondness for all the names given to you, so you will not do the same to her.

She is simply the mare, as anonymous as her rider.

A starving rider, you think grimly as you swing into the saddle, with your stomach growling to remind you that wild raspberries do not take the place of bread and mutton.

“Will you share your grass?” you ask the mare as you lean forward to scratch between her ears. “You do not seem as starved as I.”

She snorts as though to say too late, and with a glance at the earth below, you see that she has eaten the greenery to nothing.

Muttering through a smile, you say, “Ah, payment for saving my hide. I understand.”

A half-day’s ride brings rain. You pull your cloak tighter around yourself and take solace in knowing bad weather means fewer travelers, and fewer travelers mean less likelihood of bandits. It is by that reasoning alone that you are surprised to see two figures crest the hilltop ahead. Both ride horses of their own and as they near, you cannot make out their faces for the sodden white hoods they wear.

Better unfriendly than dead, you adjust your own hood, and hunker lower over the saddle. You guide the mare off the path to make way for the riders. Monks? They look like men of the Cloth, perhaps on their way to one of the Saxon holdings. If so, they are riding into Dane territory.

But that is their problem, not yours.

Your teeth grit as one slows his horse as they pass.

“Traveler,” he says, his accent strange, as foreign as yours. “Is it this way to Fremdeleigh?”

Fremdeleigh is ash and ember now.

In your hesitation to speak, you cut your eyes upward beneath the edge of your hood. Looking at the man, a length of curling dark hair falls about a dark, trimmed beard. More than that, you cannot see. The other rider, slightly smaller, hunched as though the ride has pained him, turns his face away. Of him, you can see nothing.

The man is waiting, and should you hesitate longer, you risk more questions. “Fremdeleigh was that way, yes.”

The man is quiet for a stretch.

“Was?” His voice...such a simple questions gives you chills. It is a dangerous voice, one that has you wishing for highwaymen rather than priests. If they are priests. The knives and daggers strapped about the men are not lost on you.

“Perhaps it is, if it still stands. Danes took it three days past.”

The men share a look, though you doubt they can see one another’s eyes. You make to move the mare forward.

“A moment,” says the man. “Do you come from Fremdeleigh?”

“Why do you ask this? What is left of it lies down this road. Brave the Danes, if you must go there.”

“Perhaps I make a habit of braving Danes?” Charm settles in the man’s voice too late. It does little soothe your wariness. “And I ask to know what sort of Danes they were.”

Needling man. You should not let his prying bother you, but Fremdeleigh is not so far behind you that the question’s answer is easy to face.

“The wicked sort,” you reply, and at this, you think you catch a snort of agreement from the second man. “Now, safe travels to you both, strangers.” A rolling growl from your stomach accompanies your words, and you quickly turn your face away.

You have just set your heels into the mare’s sides when the first man calls out, “You’ve a hungry look about you. Perhaps you would trade answers for a meal?”

Another dinnerless night feels more than you can stand. But a part of you would sooner starve than risk a camp alone with these men, who are perhaps not as godly as their robes would claim.

The man seems to read your thoughts. Surely, he has figured you to be a woman by now. An easy target, if he wishes it. “We will not harm you, this we swear. We want only your time and to ask a few questions.”

“Men have done worse to women with smaller promises than that one,” you reply.

The rain is coming harder now. The mare throws her head. If you do not get her beneath the shelter of trees, she may take herself. Your stomach growls again. The pain of emptiness is setting in. You consider your choices for a moment -- a hungry, endless ride through this weather or hooded men, armed to the teeth. Before the man can refute this -- indeed, it seems he’s rather reluctant to argue this at all -- you make up your mind.

“Remove your hood,” you say, “I would know your eyes.”

The twitch of a smile appears beneath the beard. “As you wish.”

He raises his hand and pulls down the hood, revealing a head of thick, black hair to the elements. He is a foreigner, and farther from home than the Danes had been. His skin has the dark cast of men from the east, his eyes darker still.

They are a killer’s eyes. You know it the moment they meet yours and a prickling begins at your neck. But this one is not rabid like the men from whom you had fled. He is a killer, but something tells you he hunts more dangerous prey than you.

“Very well,” you say when you can stand to hold his gaze no longer. “Answers for a meal.”

“You are no longer worried we will kill you?” he asks. You do not think he is as surprised as he feigns.

“No,” you reply simply.

The other man, smaller and quieter, shakes his head beneath his hood. This one thinks you stupid or mad, but he winces before he decides to protest, and just as silently, he settles over his saddle and looks away.

……………………..

The thick trees are shelter enough for the three of you. Several times, as you watch the men set about tying off their horses and building a small fire beneath an outcropping of rocks and a fallen log, you reconsider your foolishness. But when one of the men, the quiet one, retrieves bread from his satchel and places it before the fire, you are finally coaxed down from the mare.

“Here,” he says, handing you the bread and a helping of...dried fish, you realize as you unwrap the parcel. “It is fish.”

You know fish when you smell it. This one does think you stupid, after all. Perhaps he is right. But obvious though the words are, you are surprised to hear that his voice is softer than that of his compatriot. It is better suited to a poet than a man strapped to the teeth in blades. As he pulls away, you get a glimpse of his face, still hidden beneath the hood, and find it younger than the other man’s.

“A Dane’s meal,” you reply, glad your eyes are shielded by your own hood.

“A Dane’s meal is still a meal.” He turns away and sulks over to the far side of the fire. His movements are hitched, a hand going to his side as he lowers himself down. You see no blood on the white of his robes, so perhaps his is an old wound. The healer in you nearly as what ails him, but you hold your tongue and take a bite of bread.

The other man moves more quietly than you would like, crouching beside the fire, his eyes and expression hardly warmed by its flames. He tries to smile at you, but seems to know that will not earn him any faith, and after a moment, his expression slips back into something cold and unreadable.

“I am Basim,” he says, “This is my...friend. You may call him Hytham, if you wish, though I cannot promise he will hear you over his groaning.”

“I am fine,” says the other man, but you know a lie when you hear it.

You swallow your mouthful. “Strange names to hear in England.”

“Strange times,” mutters Hytham.

Basim’s eyes run from your feet -- still bare -- to your face, and you fight the urge to draw in on yourself. The urge passes as you realize there is nothing lecherous in the look; it is...appraising. It sees more than you care to reveal, and you make up your mind to eat quickly.

“You have the look of someone who is running. Can I assume it is from Danes?”

“You knew that when you offered this meal. What is it you really wish to know, Basim?”

His lips twitch again. Is it an uncontrolled tick, you wonder? A man like this strikes you as one who has very little outside his control, so perhaps the smiles, if that is what they can be called, are intended to put you at ease.

“We are looking for our friend. We have news for her.”

Looking for a Dane.

You frown at the dried fish and cast a wary-eyed look at Hytham. “A Dane’s meal, after all. You should have just said so.”

“Would you have taken the first bite?” asks Hytham.

You make a face and it is then that you learn that Hytham does not hide his smiles so easily as Basim. You look back to the other man. “I saw little, I’m afraid. One Dane chased me. That is his horse.”

“You stole his horse?” Basim raises a brow.

“He deserved worse. He was scarred. A bigger man than he looked. Another called him Ivarr. That is the only name I heard.”

“That is name enough,” says Basim. He sits back on his heels and gestures to you. “Please, eat.”

As you take another bite, you’ve half a mind to ask if they are friends of this Ivarr, but doing so will open the door to more questions and both these men seem the sort to prefer asking them. You have made it this far; you’ll not have your throat cut for nosiness. As you eat, the skies darken, until midday could be mistaken for night, and thunder rolls overhead.

Hytham’s voice draws your glance. You had thought the man dozing as the conversation waned, but he is awake, though his mouth is set in a bitter line. “That’ll be Thor, or so I’m told.”

“You should have stayed in Ravensthorpe,” Basim says, but his scolding is gentle.

“I tire of four walls. I am fine.”

Liar.

He stretches out his legs, but the motion seems to pain him. He catches you looking. “It has been a long ride.”

“A long ride on an injury, even an old one, can do a man more harm than the change of scenery will do him good.” You shove the last bite of bread into your mouth and swallow. Hytham -- and Basim, too, you notice -- eyes you cautiously as you stand. Or you think he does. He tilts his head, hood slipping until you can see a little more of his cheek. You kneel beside him and ask, “What is bothering you?”

“Not an old injury,” says Basim, “but not a new one, either.”

“Let me look. It will be my thanks to you both for sharing your food, and it will pass time in this rain.”

“Are you a healer?”

“I was. Before Fremdeleigh burned. I will be one again once I am settled.”

“I am fine.” Hytham’s jaw takes on the proud jutt of someone determined to let their pride outweigh their sense. At last, he has enough of the hood, and sweeps it back so that he can glare at you properly. You had been right. He is younger than Basim, perhaps younger than you, though the handsomeness of his features is weighed down by a pain you had only glimpsed beneath the hood.

Despite Hytham’s potent scowl, you shake your head. “That’s the third time you have said so and each time, your whining gets louder.”

A rich crack of laughter from Basim startles you both. “Perhaps I should leave you to her and I shall ride to Fremdeleigh?”

“I should think he has learned this whining from someone,” you reply, and this quiets Basim. “Best you stay and hold him down. In case any bones need re-setting.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Hytham tells you quickly.

“How would I know? You will not let me look.”

“I am -- “

“Fine! You are ‘fine!’” you snap. “Pass the time in pain, then. Have your raider friends look after you. Three days ride from now.”

This pales him. His eyes -- you could not name their color if you tried -- flick to Basim. “Three days? You said it was two.”

“I thought it was.” Basim holds out his hands, but somewhere in the dark of his eyes, you think he knows better. “A simple mistake.”

“You do not make mistakes,” grouses the younger man. He looks back to you. “Have a look if you wish. Or spare me the slow death and kill me now.”

You smile. “I can do either.”

“A healer and a horse-thief. Strange company to find on the road.” Basim stands, drawing his hood over his head. “Swear to me you will not kill Hytham...” He pauses, his eyes flicking to you, and you realize that he has neither asked your name, nor have you given it.

“You are leaving?” asks Hytham, voice rising above the patter of rain. “Leaving me with this stranger?”

“I am riding ahead. Something tells me I leave you in capable hands.”

“No,” protests Hytham. “I can ride.” He gets to his feet. You watch as he grits his teeth through whatever pain plagues him. He holds his ground, even as you stand to reach for him should that change.

“Follow when you can. And you,” Basim looks to you, “If our paths do not cross again, go well. I would be careful returning to Fremdeleigh, were I you. If what I know of Ivarr is true, he will care less for his horse, and more about the woman who dared take it from him.”

Return to Fremdeleigh? The possibility had not occurred to you. Fremdeleigh is gone.

Hytham’s protests cease as Basim reaches his horse, lifting himself into the saddle with a grace you’ve only seen in woodland creatures. He waves once and is soon vanished beneath the forest boughs. Hytham spins on his heel, brushing past you, and drops back down by the fire with less swiftness than which he had stood. You know the sight of a man wounded in more ways than one, and some wounds, even you cannot heal.

Instead, you set to business. “Off with this,” you say, tugging at his tunic. He scowls, but the fight has gone out of him. When the tunic is removed, bared skin is revealed to you. The man is, without doubt, not a priest. His chest and arms are wiry with muscle, a few faint scars marring the skin here and there. It is only a happenstance glance that you notice one of his fingers is missing, cut cleanly at the knuckle.

“You move like a man with broken ribs,” you say, “How long ago did this happen?”

“Months.”

“And it still pains you so?”

“It is the cold.”

At this, you smile. “Foul stuff, the cold. Breeds barbarians.”

Hytham tries not to smile, but that, too, strains him. His friend’s departure -- if that is what Basim truly is to him -- has left him sullen, but he withstands your prodding well enough. Only when your hands run down his sides does he shy.

“I am --”

“Do not say ‘fine.’”

Instead, he says nothing.

His skin is warm to the touch, a good sign for the circulation, and you notice that your roving fingers leave gooseflesh in their wake.

“The bones have set.” You sit back, drawing your feet under you. “Unless you would like me to break them again, this pain will revisit you. If I had my stores, I could make something to ease the burden, but those burned with Fremdeleigh. For now…” You cast your eyes about, at last coming to rest on the sash that had been removed with Hytham’s tunic. “Give me a moment.”

A moment turns into a few minutes. Hytham eyes you warily when you ask for his sash, but agrees, only to panic when you near the fire with the fabric in hand. He is quieted when he sees what you are doing. You wrap a few cooling coals in the material, testing their heat against your wrist, and returning to his side when you are finished.

“Press this here,” you tell him, “It will soothe the ache.”

“For a time?”

“For a time.”

Bitterness clouds his expression, but it is short lived, disappearing with a nod. “Thank you, healer.”

Your fingers flex at the word. You had not thought to hear it again so soon. Last time, it had taken a year, maybe two, after you had lost everything to find yourself again. As Hytham’s eyes meet yours, you wonder if, perhaps, the Danes were not as thorough in their destruction as they had hoped.

Hytham’s eyes study your face; they are keener than you had given him credit for, and you feel them pulling at the edges of what you wish to hide.

“What will you do?” he asks. “Could there be anything left of your home?”

“In Fremdeleigh? I doubt it. If I returned, I would likely only find Danes.”

“The Danes are not all so bad.” His smile is wry one, a little more honest than you would like. Either it or the fire has given a pretty flush to his cheeks. “You were unlucky to cross Ivarr. He is a menace.”

“You know him?”

“I know of him.”

“Will you go to Fremdeleigh? To find Basim?”

Hytham nods. “He is testing me. To see if I will return to Ravensthorpe, or follow him. I am good for more than reading scrolls and maps.”

“You look as though you are good in a fight.” You tap a finger to one scar that runs over his shoulder, paler than the rest of his skin. He glances away when you say this, like a maid who has been she is pretty. “It would be a risk to return there. Not when I’ve no promise that there is anything left to salvage.”

“A shame,” says Hytham with a smile, glancing at you, only to look away again. “All this bread and...fish,” his nose wrinkles, “is going with me.”

“Speak plainly, priest.” Your teasing is less pleasing to him than the idea of dried fish, and he waves you off with a flutter of a four-fingered hand. “If you’ve an idea, let’s hear it.”

“Return to Fremdeleigh. Recover your stores if you can. And if you can, come with us to Ravensthorpe. A healer is always welcome, especially one who is not empty-handed.”

“Healer?” You raise your brows with a laugh. “In Fremdeleigh, I am a horse-thief. What if this Ivarr recognizes me?”

“He cannot recognize you if he does not see you.”

“Spoken like a man who watches the world from beneath a hood.”

Perhaps it is the firelight, but you think you see Hytham’s ears flush a deep red. “Do as you wish,” he says after a moment. “I ride when this rain stops.”

So it is that when the rain stops, you go with him.

#Assassin's Creed Valhalla #Reader #Ivarr #Hytham #Basim #Reader-Insert #ac valhalla #fremedeleigh is made up #i wanted to see how many e's i could fit in one word

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ultraclops · 3 years

Text

Day 3: Be True To Yourself

Aka me literally just infodumping about my Ocs because I love them ♡

Brought to you by Colorvision! Yep, I decided to get off my lazy butt and color traditionally today :)

First off, Tiara Depurrnaire (She/Her)! A Sweetypie cat who's partially related to the Snugglemagne family and, in my timeskip AU, Adorabat's future girlfriend. Like Adorabat, she lost her leg to a monster while wandering the King's dungeons. She aspires to be just as brave as Adorabat but lacks the gall, being content to watch and learn from the sidelines. As they both get older Tiara realizes that she is a lesbian, and develops a mutual crush on Adorabat that turns into a relationship. As she ages, Tiara' aspirations to become a hero fade, and she settles for becoming a ballet teacher. She learns to be brave in her own way and unconditionally supports her monster-slaying adventuring partner, no matter how their paths diverge.

T H E Y (Also I need to post my full adult Adorabat design sometime)

Next up is Sherbet (They/Them), a Sweetypie rabbit who makes ice cream for a living! I don't really have a backstory for them but I believe they realized they were nonbinary in their younger years (around early middle school age) and have fully embraced their identity! They don't let anything get them down and are eager to cheer up the citizens of Pure Heart Valley, one ice cream cone at a time. They're also good acquaintances with Badgerclops and Adorabat, for obvious reasons. Their eyes function similarly to Badgerclops', as they only open when they feel strong emotions.

Next (and honestly one of my favorites) is Moa Nola (Xe/Xem), an agender Oriental Shorthair cat who, surprisingly, isn't related to the Mao clan. Xe originally started off as a joke character based on the misspelling of Mao Mao's name in "I'm Mao Mao", but I eventually grew attached to xem and gave xem a full-fledged backstory. Xe comes from a family of fishermen, but after xyr father was killed in a monster attack, xe decided that xe wanted to become a legendary monster hunter. Xe created xyr cloak after xyr first successful monster fight. After being mistaken for the son of Shin Mao too many times, xe used it to xyr advantage and began going under Mao Mao's title for a while. However, after being stopped by Mao Mao himself, xe dropped the act and began looking for a new sense of purpose. Ironically, xe starts collecting antique ventriloquist dummies similar to Mr. Din Danalin.

Following up on the "based on a misspelling" theme is Rhapsody (She/They), a femme-aligned nonbinary Sweetypie vampire bat inspired by Adorabat's name being mistranslated as "doorbat" in YouTube autocaptions. She is Adorabat maternal cousin, as their mother is Sonara's sister. Rhapsody was heavily impacted by Sonara's death, but rather than becoming tough like Adorabat or overprotective like Eugene, she became more reserved out of fear that they could be next. In other words, she became a doorbat (haha funny). With the arrival of Mao Mao and Badgerclops, plus the defeat of the monster that killed their aunt, Rhapsody begins to come out of her shell and indulges in their biggest passion - music. Like Adorabat she learns to use their voice as a weapon, but hers is more of a siren's song than a sonic screech. In my timeskip AU, they leave Pure Heart Valley to become a popstar, writing songs inspired by her childhood memories and their home. It's obscured by the flag but the marking on her chest is a bleeding heart, emphasizing her passionate drive.

(Rhapsody's kid and adult forms [kinda old])

+ OCs of mine I didn't feel like making alternate drawings for:

Buzz-Buzz (Zhe/Ze/Zhey), a demigender Sweetypie bumblebee bat who protects the bees of Pure Heart Valley! Despite zer small stature, zhe is actually an adult, just naturally small. Zhe also grows herbs on the side and volunteers at the Pure Heart Valley hospital. Primarily because zhe has a crush on the head doctor there... (I did not make zer to selfship with Cuddlestein. Nope. Not at all.)

My Badgermao "fankid", Sai (They/He/It)! I say "fankid" in air quotes because they're from an AU where Badgerclops' spare arm became corrupt and gained a conscience. Their robot arm is actually their body - the rest of their body is a projection of light, similar to the gems from Steven Universe! They have masculine programming (as their AI was made using Badgerclops's DNA a la Cortana from Halo), but identify as agender and use they/he/it pronouns. Originally they began as a blank slate with no personality aside from the programmed personality Badgerclops gave them, but they eventually grow their own personality and moral compass as they analyze the Sheriff's Department's work. Just like Badgerclops, they have a passion for building robots and weapons, and can even modify themselves to fit the situation! Most of their creations are usually for fun, though.

Anf the last one I have a reference for but not the least, Karma Vesper (She/They)! This one is actually my self-insert, lol. She is a biro-ace demigirl Javanese Cream-Point Cat! Her necklace was a gift from her family, and her hood was a gift from her mentor. After her village was ambushed by criminals, she became a wandering hero, and accidentally stumbled upon Pure Heart Valley while following a report of increased monster activity. At some point during her adventures alone she realized that she was biro-ace, since she felt no sexual attraction but still felt romantic attraction. Around the time she came to Pure Heart Valley she realized that she never really felt, like, 100% a GIRL girl (if that makes sense) and began identifying as a demigirl. (Yes this is my hidden self-actualization story :>) She enjoys researching gemstones and ancient artifacts, and the Ruby Pure Heart immediately caught her attention once she laid eyes on it. While she is still a wandering hero, she has a temporary residence in Pure Heart Valley, where she stays to research the Heart's powers as well as assist the townspeople. Her and the Sheriff's Department didn't start out on the best terms since Mao was worried she was trying to replace them, but they tolerate each other now.

+ the OCs I don't have references for:

I did have a reference for these guys but idk where it is rn ;-;. Anywway, my most recent OCs and also some of my favorite OCs are Bernard and Pierre, a black bear and polar bear respectively (both use He/Him)! They are both gay and in a healthy relationship & live in a cabin in the forest together. They are just. Two old gay granddads and I love them. Anyway! They both met after an accident which caused Bernard to blow out his left knee and Pierre to lose his left hand; they had been best friends since, and boyfriends later on! Bernard is a baker while Pierre is a wood carver, although they indulge in each other's interests as well. For the most part they just stay in their cabin in the forest, but they leave to buy groceries and sell their products.

And the final OC I'm gonna talk about is Storm Mao (They/Them)! They're from an AU where Mao was born in a litter of five, like his sisters. Ever since Storm were young, they felt like weren't "normal" compared to their siblings. They didn't feel like a girl or a boy. After Mao came out as a trans boy, they began questioning themselves further. Eventually they decided to ask Contacts Sister for help, as she was among the smartest of the Mao children. Contacts explained to Storm that there are people who don't identify as a boy or a girl, and Storm realized they weren't alone. Since then, they started identifying as nonbinary and began using they/them pronouns, and their family supported their decision. Aside from them and Mao, their litter siblings are also LGBTQ+ - Mamoru (He/Him) is AroAce, Bernadette (She/Her) is bi and Zhijun (He/Him) is gay. I'd talk about the AU more in a separate post, if anyone wants me too^ ^;;

If I remember any other LGBTQ+ OCs I have, I'll reblog with them ✌

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mmupaa · 4 years

Photo

🍃 Hello!

I’m opening Animal Crossing Art Commissions!

I would like to raise some money for my partner, but since he is staying with me and my family during the quarantine, he is able to save more money and is NOT in danger of staying without it atm! I think other people and organisations around the world need the money way more urgently!

As such I would like to propose:

half of the commission money is donated to a fund or org by your choosing! Preferably a BLM and or LGBTIQ+ org.

For example: if what you commission costs 10 eur, 5 goes to the fund and 5 goes to us.

If you’re able to send me proof that you donated specifically for this commission, donate it yourself, otherwise you can paypal me the whole amount and I will donate from half to two thirds to the org (and can send you the proof).

If you don’t have any specific organisations to donate to, i suggest Marsha P. Johnson Institue, TGI Justice Project, Black Trans Femmes In the Arts or maybe the trans org I volunteer at: TransAkcija. Pls, recommend me orgs that need our help, I’d love to hear!

🍃 Commissioning and pricing info:

As shown above, you can pick between:

- official AC style or my own style

and

- pained or lineart

You can mix and match those 4 options as you want. There is no set difference in price between styles.

ICON in any style: 8 eur (4 eur to charity, 4 eur to us)

FULL BODY in any style: 15 eur (8 eur to charity, 7 eur to us)

GROUP PHOTO / TOWN PAINTING in any style: 25 eur (14 eur to charity, 11 eur to us)

+ whatever else you think of. Message me here, or I can send you my email!

You can send me pics of your town and i can paint it, send your fav neighbours in cute clothes, send me a selfie and i can draw you in the AC style, describe a scene of your character interacting with the villager in a specific way, i can give them different body types so they don’t all look the same or draw them faithfuly as in the game,.... whatever you’d like!

It can also be non animal crossing related if it’s simple enough, just send me a message and we can talk.

🍃 Hope you have a safe day!

#animal crossing #ac #animal crossing new horizons #artists on tumblr #comission info #animal crossing art #animal crossing fanart #original #commission #commission info #mmupaa #art commissions #nintendo fanart #ahhhhhh hope i get some!!!#im exited to draw ur characters and i hope you ask me to characterise your fave villagers!

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celosiaa · 4 years

Text

the truth is like blood underneath your fingernails (chapter 1)

Summary: Love, Hunger, pain, anxiety.

Jon feels it all at once in the wake of statement withdrawal, and can hardly bear it.

CW: use of exercise as a form of self injury, fighting, self-hatred, alcohol use, language

this is for a prompt sent in by the lovely @transcendentalbf, who requested a statement withdrawal fic. I'm not going to lie, this one got pretty heavy, even for me--and I don't usually skimp on the angst. be mindful of the tags and the content warnings! there will also be a second chapter!

Faster. Faster. Faster.

Heart pounding, pulse racing, Jon flies through the Highland countryside, hair streaming behind him from where his ponytail has come undone. There is no feeling quite like this—the shaking of effort in every corner of his body, every nerve alight, lungs heaving and overburdened. No matter the hurt, no matter the discomfort, Jon has yet to find anything so wonderfully distracting as running.

Even so, the constant static of Hunger still hums in the background, buzzing somewhere between his skull and his spine. He’s learned over the weeks of refusing it statements that he cannot run into town, cannot risk looking anyone in the eyes without being overcome by Want. The Beholding is not pleased with him, and Jon knows it—feels it in the way that his every action has been poisoned by the relentless desire to Eat and to Know.

Martin has undoubtedly gotten the worst of it. When Jon had first announced that he was going to be running in the afternoons, he was elated—chuffed at the idea of doing something together other than their routine of cooking, eating, sleeping day in and day out. Jon had even let him come on his run that day, and knows that he would have loved it, were he not prevented from applying his usual method of quite literally running himself into the ground. Their average pace was not nearly enough to distract him, or even to burn out the anxiety that’s taken hold of his chest, and so Jon had told Martin he’d prefer to be alone.

Poor choice of words.

This had caused somewhat of a row, with Jon’s sudden inability to articulate exactly what he meant providing most of the fodder. Martin was upset, thought that he had done something wrong, thought that Jon didn’t want to be with him anymore—all things that Jon knows are the fragments of the Lonely still residing in him, still marked by the faded white of his naturally dark curls. With difficulty, Jon had managed to break through, explaining that he had always liked to have some time alone. That he needed a few moments just to think and process and enjoy the peacefulness on his own.

This wasn’t entirely a lie—but it wasn’t the truth either, and it left a foul taste in his mouth all the same.

Martin had believed him, of course. He’d even apologized the next day by going down to the village and buying him a phone holster he could strap onto his arm while he runs. With a plastered-on smile, Jon had accepted the gift. He will never tell Martin that he can’t bear the way it sticks to his skin, or that playing music is completely out of the question. He will never tell him that none of this is about health or exercise—it’s about the hurt, it’s about the distraction, it’s about the punishment that Jon knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he deserves.

He’s thirty minutes into the run now, and he’s reached the point at which singular thoughts can no longer filter across his mind. Pushing constantly further, faster, harder strips all of this away, and he’s left with the blessed silence of a clear mind.

That is, until his foot lands a bit funny on a rock, and it sends shooting pains through his knee—old injury reignited in an instant.

Fuck.

He stumbles, hands reaching forward as he begins to lose his balance. Through luck, or skill, or perhaps sheer determination, he manages to stay upright and moving forward, knee throbbing in protest at every step. But he cannot afford to stop now—refuses to give in to the building static.

Breathe through it. Just breathe through it, a kind teacher had once told him in the wake of losing his parents. He does his best to follow that advice now, the pain at least giving him something to focus on, pushing the Hunger to the back of his mind. Even so, the incessant pulling at his injury is enough to plant a permanent wince on his face.

Martin is not going to be pleased with me.

---

Upon entering their little home, Jon’s senses are immediately overcome with powerful-smelling spices, floating through each and every dust-laden corner. From where he stands, he can see just a bit of Martin standing at the kitchen counter, carefully chopping an onion using the knife skills Jon had so recently taught him. In spite of himself, Jon’s chest swells with pride, pulling the corners of his mouth into a small smile, before the reality of his situation overtakes him again.

Perhaps I can sneak past, get in the shower before he notices.

Setting out to do just that, Jon silently pulls of his trainers and begins to cross the room—heel-toe, heel-toe, ever so careful of the creaking floorboards of their kitchen. But of course, Martin would choose to glance over his shoulder at this very moment.

Of course.

“Oh there you are! How was it?” he asks, voice light and jovial as he stirs something in a large pot.

“Good, good,” Jon replies hurriedly, trying to take advantage of Martin’s distraction and hobble as quickly as he can toward the shower.

“Wait, wait, before you go—come taste this and see what you think.”

Damn it.

With steps as measured and careful as he can manage, Jon walks toward him, keeping a smile firmly plastered on his face. Of course, his efforts are in vain—the second Jon begins crossing the room, Martin’s face falls.

“You’re limping. Why are you limping?” he asks, brows knitting together in concern.

“Erm—got a little carried away. I’m fine, it’ll loosen up in the shower,” Jon assures, dropping his eyes, and attempting to walk away.

Martin grabs him by his forearm—with no real force, but the pressure on his overly-sensitive skin is enough to send lightning bolts of agitation through him. Static begins to rise.

“That doesn’t look fine. Here, why don’t you sit down—”

“I’m fine, Martin—”

“Just put some ice on it for a bit—”

“I said, I’m FINE, for god’s sake!”

Jon’s words bend and twist into a seething shout as he yanks his forearm from Martin’s gentle grasp, the static flaring from him like a beacon. The eyes that meet his are no longer the loving concern of a just a few moments ago—turning hard and angry at this undeserved outburst. Staring at him coldly for a moment, Martin simply pivots on his heel and begins heatedly stirring at the large pot, head bowed.

Seeing Martin this way dissolves the fire of anger in Jon’s belly at once, replaced instead with the cold bitterness of shame.

God, what is wrong with me?

“I-I’m sorry, Martin, you didn’t…you didn’t deserve that,” he mumbles, running a hand over his wan face.

“No, I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

Martin does not turn around, continuing to stir agitatedly at his pot, and Jon can hear him taking deep breaths in through his nose, out through his mouth. He hates that he’s the cause of this; hates that Martin has to resort to these things just to deal with the frustration he brings to the table.

And the Eye drinks it all in.

…I can’t let it.

Resolved to at least try to make things better, Jon moves slowly around the kitchen table and to the freezer, taking Martin’s advice and grabbing a bag of frozen vegetables. Sinking down painfully into a chair, he undoes the Velcro straps of his brace and plops the pack down onto the swollen wreckage of his knee. Admittedly, Martin had been right—the coolness immediately begins to pull some of the pulsing, swelling ache from his limb, drawing a long sigh from somewhere deep in his chest.

“You need to prop it up too, here—”

Martin has turned back to him at last, reaching around behind Jon to grab a pillow from the sofa and set it on the chair in front of him. As Jon begins to lift his leg up and onto it, he cannot quite bite back a groan of pain, nor hide the wince that floods his face. Concernedly, Martin watches him, hands on his hips in consternation.

“You really did a number on yourself, didn’t you?” he mutters softly, brows knitting together.

Jon cannot bring himself to answer, too ashamed even to look up.

Don’t worry about me, he wants desperately to say. I’m not worth it.

I’m not worth the hurt that I cause.

When Martin turns away again without a word, Jon’s chest aches in a way it hasn’t in quite some time. Certainly not since he heard those devastating words in the Lonely, from Martin’s own mouth—

“I really loved you, you know?”

Perhaps the same is true now.

“Loved.”

Jon squeezes his eyes shut against the rising tide of emotions, threatening to burst from him when—

Martin kneels in front of him, placing a second frozen bag beneath his knee before carefully wrapping an ace bandage around both, holding them together around the joint with a wonderfully relieving pressure. At once, Jon’s eyes begin to sting.

I don’t deserve this.

“Thank you,” he whispers, full of shame. “I’m sorry.”

From where he kneels in front of him, Martin lifts his head to search Jon’s eyes for a moment, worrying at his bottom lip in consideration. At last, he stands to his full height, taking a deep breath before removing the dish towel from where he’s draped it across one broad shoulder. He swipes it gently over the beads of sweat that are still rolling down Jon’s face, and to his utter surprise—kisses him tenderly over the temple.

Jon’s cheeks flare with heat at this, warmth immediately pooling in his stomach.

He is utterly, hopelessly smitten with the man in front of him.

God help him.

“It’s alright, Jon,” Martin says at last, voice returning to something approaching his normal volume.

“Look, I’m really proud of you for running, alright? It’s good for you. But not when your hurt yourself like this,” he continues, tapping lightly at the packs encasing Jon’s knee, forcing Jon to meet his eyes with the intensity of his stare.

“It’s not worth that. Okay?” he ends in a whisper.

Jon merely nods, overwhelmed and embarrassed by the entire situation. Martin, gentle as always, reaches a hand up toward his hair, pushing down the frizzled locks that had been blown wild by the Highland winds.

“Alright, then,” he adds simply, turning back to their dinner with a lopsided smile.

---

The next day, Jon finds himself scarcely able to bear this particular combination of pain and Hunger.

Martin had made him promise the previous evening that he would take the day off from running, allowing his knee at least the chance to heal up a bit before he began abusing it again. While he knows Martin is right, knows he’s trying to look after him—Jon cannot bear the roiling anxiety of inactivity, his body screaming at him to run run run just to escape his own mind.

Once again, Martin bears the brunt of it all.

He knows he’s being impossible; knows that Martin is nearly at his wits end, yet the relentless static fuzzes out whatever words he’s snapping at him now—and for what reason, Jon is no longer sure. The anger tumbles out of him like ink over parchment, pulling all his pain, frustration, and Hunger from his shaking form and placing it on Martin’s shoulders.

And Martin is beyond overwrought.

Turning toward him sharply, Martin bears down on him with cold gaze.

“You know what? I’ve had enough! I’ve had enough,” he shouts, voice melting into a laugh that holds no humor.

Jon’s mouth snaps shut at once, the static fading to nothing now that it’s work has been done.

“I consider myself a patient person, Jon, I really do—but this has pushed me quite to my limit, so congratulations,” he spits, grabbing his keys from the table.

No no no no no

“I’m going to the village. Don’t wait up,” he mutters with finality, striding across the room and out the door with a BANG.

Oh god oh god oh god

Left alone now in the quiet emptiness of their—of Daisy’s house, Jon stumbles backwards, burying his face in his hands.

Why did you do this why did you do this why did you do this

He begs the Eye to answer him, beating his palm into his own chest, and cannot hold back the flood of Knowledge seeping across his mind.

His love, leaning against the side of the cottage, chest heaving with sobs.

His love, striding angrily down toward the pub, tears still streaming down his face as it begins to rain.

His love, getting sloppy-drunk alone, all alone—with no one to walk him home, to make sure he’s safe—

Please.

I can’t bear it.

Please.

Jon folds forward over his legs, sick at the thought that he caused this, that he’s the one who so severely hurt him—and promptly falls to the floor in a wave of dizziness.

God, Martin.

I’m so sorry, my love.

Even now, he cannot bring his tears to the surface, simply lying on the floor until his chest no longer feels as though it’s been pinned to the earth’s core. At last, he forces himself to get up, to move forward—shirking the thought of dinner and moving directly up the stairs toward their bed.

Daisy’s bed, he corrects himself internally.

God knows if he’ll ever come back to make it ours.

---

Jon cannot bring himself to any semblance of sleep until he knows Martin has returned.

The Eye constantly pulls at him to look, to see where he’s gone and what he’s doing now, but Jon refuses. He will not invade Martin’s privacy like that—not if he can ever help it.

Please come home.

Please.

Lying silent and still beneath the covers, the room around him is illuminated only by the light of the moon peeking in through the window. Even in the stillness there remains the static, though pushed down considerably now by the weight of Jon’s own sadness. Of his regret.

Drink it. Drink it all, if that will satisfy you, Jon thinks bitterly, wishing to god that it would be enough.

At last, he hears the unlocking of the front door below—a bit clumsy and heavy-handed, telling Jon immediately that he’s still a bit drunk. Relief floods him at the sound all the same, and he turns away from the bedroom door to feign sleep, wanting to give Martin some privacy.

Though his movements are somewhat sloppy with alcohol, Martin does his best to tiptoe quietly around the room, undressing to his boxers and replacing his jumper and binder with a t-shirt. Slowly, ever so slowly, he crawls into bed, making every effort not to disturb Jon at the other side. Jon feels as though he could cry with the obvious love he pours into every gentle motion, before—

He can sense Martin’s arms reaching for him, hovering over his back to pull him close, as always—before dropping them.

God.

He settles instead for pulling the blanket further over Jon’s shoulders, muttering as he does so, words slurring—

“Don’ understand. Jus’ don’ understand.”

Oh, Martin.

Jon’s heart crumbles to pieces.

He cannot bear to leave this the way things are—not tonight, nor any other. Flipping around at once to face him, Martin’s eyes snap back open—wide with concern and anxiety.

“I know you don’t, Martin. I know, and I’m so sorry,” Jon whispers, cupping his cheek with one scarred hand, tears still burning painfully in his throat.

Martin’s tears seem to have no trouble reaching the surface, spilling over at once in rivulets down his face and off the tip of his nose.

“I don’t understand, Jon, I don’t understand,” he sobs, clapping a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stem the flow, inhaling shakily behind it.

Look what you’ve done look what you’ve done

“I’m so sorry, darling, none of this is your fault, I’m so sorry” Jon murmurs over and over, pulling Martin into his chest—an invitation for him to let go of all his anger and sadness in the crook of his shoulder.

Martin does so, clutching at Jon’s back until the drink-induced drowsiness pulls him under at last.

Jon lies awake—still in the silence, still in the rising static.

I’m sorry, my love.

I’m so sorry.

(chapter 2 here)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonmartin #hurt/comfort #angst #whump #injury #alcohol #fighting #unhealthy coping mechanisms #trans martin

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1166

survey by ecpjll

What year were you born? 1998.

Are you female or male or don't classify yourself as either? Appreciate this question. Am female.

Do you have a pet? If so, what is it? Yes, I have two dogs.

Are you closer to your mom or dad? I would say I am closer to my dad, but our relationship is still very casual. Like I’ve said in other surveys, my parents aren’t people I would confide with or even hug. We just weren’t able to build such a relationship.

Do you have any siblings? Yup, I also have two.

What continent do you live on? Asia.

What country do you call home? It is barely a home at this point so to speak, but the Philippines. I rarely say it proudly though lol.

Have you finished your education yet? Yes.

Have you ever been to a school dance? I’ve been to my own school prom and have been invited to a dance of another school as well. Not my favorite event, but I did enjoy the food for both hahaha.

Do you have an account on YouTube? I do have a channel, but I never comment or post videos of my own. I just use it to be able to tailor my homepage to my interests, to like videos, and subscribe.

Do you like to read? I do, but as I grew older I’ve since gravitated to mostly non-fiction. I like reading essays and memoirs, and will take forever (assuming I do progress) with fictional works.

Are you any good at Math? To an extent. I’m fairly comfortable with advanced algebra, statistics, and geometry; but I draw the line at trig and calc lol.

Do you enjoy watching cartoon Disney movies? Some, not all of them.

Do you think Johnny Depp is talented? I haven’t watched much of his filmography since his reportoire admittedly doesn’t fall under my taste in movies, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think he is talented. If anything, his wide range of roles over the last few decades speaks for itself.

Have you ever tried beer? Yeah. It’s not my favorite and I am already saying that nicely; but I will still drink it in a social setting. I’ve never gotten over the burps that you can get out of it though. Absolutely nasty.

On a scale of 1-10, how attractive do u think you are? Like 8 on a good day, 5 if I’m feeling blah.

Have you ever tried a new food, and threw it up right away? What was it? I have never done that with any dish. The most I would do is wince if I really don’t like it, then work my way through chewing until I can swallow it and just choose not to take a second bite.

Did you ever fall off the top of a slide as a kid? I don’t think so. I never had any nasty bumps or falls as a kid, and most of my wounds and cuts were gotten from me running and tripping.

How about falling off monkey bars? No. I was actually scared of monkey bars so I rarely flocked to them.

Fallen off a swing? Never happened.

Were you ever beaten up when you were younger than 10 years old? No. My eldest cousin and I liked getting into horseplay as kids, but he always stopped once I asked him to. I was never beaten up in school either but that is also because that’s not the culture here, at least in all-girls schools.

Are your grandparents still alive? I have three grandparents still alive and fortunately still very much healthy.

Do you know how to skip (jump rope)? Yes, I jump roped a lot as a kid and the skill didn’t get lost over the years.

Did you play outside A LOT as a kid? Yes, nearly every afternoon. My neighbors were kids of the same age so we always got together. I wonder where they are now...

Did you like where you grew up? Yes, I found it to be a quiet and peaceful place for a kid to grow up in. But since I’ve lived in residential villages all my life, it’s also about time I spread my wings a little bit so I can’t wait to be able to move to a big city.

Did you have friends in your neighborhood to play with? Yes, I just mentioned that.

Did any of your friends have a pool you swam in? Just one of them, Raegan; but she was also filthy rich, so. Hahahaha. Her house also had a huge garden, a bar, and a theater. I’m also pretty sure we weren’t even shown the entire house.

Is it called "junior high" where you live? (before high school) Now they do. During my time as a student, Grade 1 to Grade 7 was just called grade school, then it was followed by high school. Now that we’ve adjusted our school curriculum to be more similar to Western standards, we’ve also started to adopt junior high as a term.

Or is called "middle school"? No one calls it middle school here.

Can you NOT start your day without a cup of coffee? I would preferably start it with coffee because it helps me feel energized to do my tasks in the morning; but I have days where I go without it. I can go both ways.

You love: men or women? (sexually) Eh, mostly ace here.

Have you ever read an Archie comic? A few.

Did you grow up in the 1990s? I was barely conscious during the 90s, so I really don’t think I get to say yes.

Did you have a cup of tea with breakfast growing up? No, I had my breakfasts with Milo instead.

Was your family ever on social assistance/welfare? Nope.

Was anyone in your family ever physically abusive? I wouldn’t say so, because that implies it’s a habit. I can think of family members who had the occasional tendency to resort to violence when drunk, though.

How about verbally or emotionally abusive? I can definitely think of one from my immediate family alone.

Can you run as fast as you can for more than 5 minutes at a time? No.

Do you have a favorite singer or a fave band? I have one for both.

Was it different when you were a kid? (your taste in music) I didn’t have much of a taste as a kid, tbh. The ones that have lasted with me to this day are Paramore and Beyoncé, but I was already 10/11 when I got into them.

Your 1st crush was...on who? How old were you? I would say it was Andi. I was around 12 when I started feeling all fuzzy around her, but not long after she migrated to New Zealand so I was never able to do anything about it.

Are you currently working/have a job? Yes.

Are you trying to lose weight? Nope. If anything I’m trying to gain some; I’m too light.

Whose side of the family you prefer? Mom's or dad's? Mom’s. I don’t know most of my dad’s side outside of his immediate family, and I remember our family reunion three years ago barely feeling like one because I couldn’t recognize a lot of the people there.

Do you consider yourself a good kisser? Sure.

#survey #surveys

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