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oumaheroes · 7 months

Note

Congrats on 1000 followers!! If you're still taking requests, I'd go absolutely feral for some of your scotfra! I love how you write modern nationverse with where characters reminisce or philosophise about the past <33

Phi I... I strayed. Okay, I strayed way off topic because this came to me so clearly that I couldn't not write it. I hope that you like it, even though there is no nationverse philosophying ;u;

Characters: Scotland, France (ScotFra)

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Starscape

Their home hits him with unexpected force as soon as he opens the door, the brass handle cool against bare palm. The smell of their lives together, clean linen and cedar aftershave. Walls cluttered with photos, Alisdair’s large leather armchair in the corner, Francis’ collection of Vogues tucked neatly besides Alisdair’s nature books into a handmade bookcase- collected fragments of two lives turned into one. A busy, friendly, assault of the senses.

Francis is in the kitchen, warm yellow lights and background radio above the metallic clatter of their cutlery drawer.

Alisdair sloughs his coat off, drapes it over the sofa, and walks in to join him.

‘Hello there.’

Alisdair can hear Francis’ smile through the words as he hugs him tightly from behind where he is at the counter, chin to shoulder. His arms go around him to their places automatically, right hand to Francis’ left hip.

Francis tilts his head back and up to try and meet his eye, ‘Good day?’

‘It’ll do.’

Francis snorts and cups his cheek lazily with one hand, reaching to place an empty pan on the stove, ‘Better than nothing.’

‘How was yours?’ Alisdair is loath to let him go but Francis wiggles free, gently nudging him back and away to let him get on with things. Alisdair retreats to the table in the middle of the room and watches.

‘Oh, you know. Same old same old.’

‘Tell me.’

Francis gifts him with a raised eyebrow. He fills up a pot with water and sets it salted to boil. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘Do you remember that new woman from a few weeks ago?’

Alisdair casts far back in time to find the name Francis might be referring to and finds too many to filter. ‘I remember you telling me about her.’

Francis raises an eyebrow, ‘Tina.’

‘Ah. Tina.’ He had forgotten Tina.

‘I cannot understand what is driving her to-‘ Francis sighs and clicks his tongue, ‘I don’t want to judge, but-‘

Alisdair smiles, ‘Yes, you do.’

Francis waves a hand. ‘Yes, fine. I do. But still, I am aware it’s not my place to say older people can’t randomly move jobs out of nowhere, and obviously they can learn how to do something new, but it’s...’

He stops, ties his hair up, and Alisdair's smiles widens. ‘Some people are slow, and I understand. It’s irritating to train them but I understand. Everyone has their own pace, and all that. Christ, I sound like Arthur when he’s being his most pretentious.’

Alisdair wants to call his brother then and has to swallow the feeling away, eyes fixed on Francis to keep him focused.

Butter to pan, salt to onions. The smell in the air is sweet. Condensation softens the windows, fogs the dark shadows of their garden beyond the glass. Francis moves whilst he talks, stepping lightly from one task to another.

‘But she’s not just slow to train. She’s someone who keeps questioning things, rather than just learning them. “Why do it this way, that way is much better.” Or, “In my last position, we did X Y Z blah blah blah”. Horrible. Aggravating.’ Francis tips mushrooms into the pan and shakes his head, ‘Anyway. Today I found out that she didn’t just move to join the analyst team because she wanted some sort of end of career change or have a last-minute depressing existential crisis. She was asked to move down. Because she was terrible at her job.’

Francis grins at him, his smile sharp teethed and wicked, ‘No wonder she’s so picky with everything. I got the feeling that she thought that we and what we do were beneath her but now-‘

Alisdair cuts him off before he can finish. Away from the table before Francis can stop him, he presses his mouth to Francis’, then to his cheek. Cups the back of his head in his hand, kisses his neck and feels the beat of Francis’ heart jump his pulse strong against his lips.

‘Stop it.’ Francis swats at him but the gesture is half-hearted at best, ‘You’re going to make me burn dinner.’

Alisdair kisses him again, Francis’ long hair soft and undone in his hands. ‘I don’t care.’

‘I care.’

Francis never burns dinner. No matter how busy the day or how many tasks he’s doing at once, dinner is never something to be sacrificed as part of a greater good. No matter how hard Alisdair could have tried to force it, in their life burning dinner was not a thing that would ever have happened. Today is no different. Francis extracts himself just in time to save things and Alisdair lets him go, knowing he needs to in order for things to work as they should.

The taste, once Francis is done, is perfect- one of his best meals, in Alisdair’s opinion, a warm mushroom soup. Thick bread- not homemade, Francis laments, but good enough- lightly toasted and thickly buttered. Alisdair savours every bite, takes small spoonfuls to draw out the experience for as long as it can go.

After they’ve eaten, the cooking a perfect mixture of memory and longing, they retreat to the living room sofa to fall deadweight against the cushions.

‘That was too much food.’ Francis says where he sits against Alisdair’s chest, their legs together under blankets before them on the L-shaped bend. ‘We keep on eating portion sizes that are way more than we need.’

Alisdair disagrees entirely. He is slimmer now, of course, much slimmer, but Francis doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the meat of Francis’ thigh and then grips it tight, ‘We’re doing just fine.’

Francis rolls his eyes and tuts but Alisdair sees the smile in his eyes, ‘No, not that. I mean that it’s expensive.’

‘It’s doable.’

‘Not with the sheer amount of lamb that you’re eating.’

‘It’s my favourite.’

‘It’s the costliest of all of them.’ Francis smiles and reaches up an arm to play with the short hair at the nape of Alisdair’s neck, ‘This needs a cut.’

‘You said you wouldn’t cut my hair anymore.’ Alisdair reminds him. Francis’ hand is warm, so warm, and Alisdair closes his eyes. ‘You said I complain too much.’

‘You do.’

‘Only because you threatened to shave me.’

Francis laughs lightly, ‘It would suit you.’

‘Well. That's why I complained.’

Beep.

Alisdair opens his eyes.

‘Shall we watch something?’ Francis sits up for the remote on the coffee table.

‘Only if it’s not a period drama.’

Francis sighs, weary, ‘Emma is not just a period drama. I’m told it’s a brilliant film.’

Alisdair wrinkles his nose and then grins at the look Francis gives him, ‘I’m sure it is. But are you going to be able to sit there quietly and not bitch about the costume design?’

Francis blinks at him. ‘Yes,’ he says after a while, ‘Obviously.’

‘Fucking liar.’

‘I will! I won’t say anything.’

‘I’ll bet you a fucking tenner you won’t be able to stop yourself saying something.’

Francis glances at the TV, then back to him. ‘Fine,’ he says after a moment, ‘If it’s shit research, I won’t be able to help myself. But that doesn’t detract from it potentially being a very good film.’

‘Besides shit costuming.’

‘… So I’m told.’

‘But see, there you go.’ Alisdair leans forwards, ‘You’ll have a great time nonetheless but I won’t be able to focus on anything because-‘

Beep.

Alisdair wavers, ‘…because I’ll have you going off making comments all the time and I’ll forget what’s happening and-‘

Francis looks scandalised, ‘You don’t know the story anyway?’

‘Why the fuck would I know the story?’

‘Oh for the love of-‘ Beep. ‘We have to watch it. That’s it, I can’t have this.’ Francis clicks on the TV and scrolls to Netflix, ‘What on earth was your mother thinking. You’d think with the amount Arthur goes on-‘

‘Arthur was the weird one. I-‘

Beep.

Alisdair feels a tightness in his chest. He tries not to think of the cause.

Francis turns to him. ‘What?’

Alisdair’s tongue feels heavy, throat tight. ‘What.’

‘You were saying?’ Francis prompts. ‘Something about you and Arthur.’

His hair is tucked behind on ear but strands have fallen free. Alisdair wants to reach forward and brush them back but he can’t move. He feels hollow, belly empty.

He takes a deep, long breath in. His lungs fill, then release. Under his fingers, he feels the whorls of the sofa upholstery on the arm rest. Feels the warmth of Francis near his outstretched leg, face buttery yellow in the lamplight by the wall. It is all so real.

‘Right.’ He runs a hand over his face, ‘Arthur was the one who read all the books. I was a normal child and young man, and went outside. Made friends.’

‘I read those same books.’ Francis presses a hand to his chest, ‘And I feel I came out quite normal from the experience.’

‘I wouldn’t quite say that.’

Francis nods, sagely, and tilts his head to one side. ‘You’re not entirely wrong. I’m with you, after all.’

Alisdair nudges him with his foot, in the softness of his stomach, and Francis laughs.

Beep. Oxygen levels critically low. Warning.

Alisdair should have turned the alarms off.

Francis settles back against him and Alisdair leans back against the sofa, tucking them back in as he goes and wraps his arms around Francis, hold him tight. Here, like this, it would be so easy to forget. To think that this was happening, and was still something he could have and return to. Francis is so solid, so real.

Beep.

But Alisdair cannot forget. Thousands of miles above earth, his body free from gravity, he watched as without warning mushroom clouds peppered through the skies below him. Rushes of clouds shot across oceans to collide with another wave, and then another, until the planet fell still.

The silence was loud. Space pressed in against the glass, a thick, dark nothingness that stretched on and outwards around him. Endless stars dull when there is no one waiting to share them with, Alisdair has found.

He still has no idea what happened. Whether it was planned, who started it, who could be left. He waited weeks for something, endless days on a knife’s edge by the comms system, unable to leave in case something came through or his planned replacement arrive to relieve him. Sleep in broken chunks, too tired to stay away any longer.

He doesn’t know now how long it has been. He stopped checking the days. There was nothing that could be done for him, anyhow. What good is it to know details of his final days, when the grand fact was that no one was coming. He lived because he was too scared to die, and that was that.

And now, here it is.

Warning.

Alisdair had remembered to override the auto-safety control that diverted power to essential systems, at least. That was the important part.

Warning.

It could warn him all it wanted; he wasn’t going to change anything.

Oxygen levels critically low.

A few more days with the bare essentials to sustain life, or this. One last go at the hollo-systems, one last story to play.

Warning. Oxygen levels critically low.

Alisdair had been holding back on playing this one. Eking out the power left on his ship for as long as he could, everything non-essential closed off to- why? To live? To remember?

Just in case, maybe. Just in case.

In his arms, the programmed memory of Francis shifts under the blankets and sighs through his nose. The film has started, Alisdair hadn’t noticed. The colours and sounds all curl and bleed together, flashes of something distinct stand out before falling away like a motion blur. Francis breathes in Alisdair’s arms, his face calm and easy, and Alisdair watches.

Beep.

This is how he wants to go.

Beep.

To go home to a life that only he can remember. Kept safe here in memories and code, a final goodbye.

‘I love you,’ he says. His voice cracks, ‘So, so much.’

Francis turns his head. He reads something in Alisdair’s face; Alisdair sees the flicker in his expression as he notes that something is wrong. But memory and code can only go so far, the real Francis would never have seen him like this before. Alisdair doesn’t know how he would have reacted. Whatever his husband’s virtual echo sees in Alisdair’s drawn, wasted face, it is not something that he was designed to see.

So, he smiles. Sees him as whole. ‘I love you too.’

The living room darkens, shadows fill the edges. Alisdair closes his eyes and buries his face in Francis’ shoulder. ‘I’ll be home soon.’

Francis turns slightly and wraps and arm around and under Alisdair’s back, ‘I’ll be waiting.’

#aph france #hws france #hws scotland #aph scotland #scotfra #hetalia #hws #aph #heroes writes

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godesssiri · 5 months

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10 Thrifting Tips – Part ? I lost count just check my thrifting tag

1) Make friends with the staff. If you go into a particular thrift store frequently it’s well worth it to get friendly with the staff. Ask them about their day, chat with them about what you’re buying, infodump if you’ve found something exciting and unusual. When the staff get to know you and know what you buy they’ll start pointing out things in the store that have come in since the last time you were there, that fit your interests. They may even start putting things aside for you. Recently I walked into my favorite thrift store and had 2 separate staff members say ‘Oh I’ve got something for you’. Plus having the staff greet you by name and having little inside jokes with them just makes the whole experience more fun.

2) Brita jugs turn up at the thrift store frequently. If tap water in your area is safe but has A Taste, keep an eye out at the thrift store.

3) Coffee making equipment. Capsule coffee makers, the wire racks that hold the capsules, French presses, these all get donated frequently. The occasional espresso machine comes in – and goes out very quickly. Now and then you’ll find pour-over coffee equipment. If you like your bean juice you can get the equipment you need to make fancy bean juice at the thrift store.

4) Handmade pottery mugs. Story time: About 6 or 7 years ago I went into a thrift store and someone had obviously just cleaned out their mug cupboard and donated a pile of handmade pottery. I bought 4 because I thought they were cool, very tactile, nice to hold. This AWOKE something in me. Humans have used handmade pottery for thousands of years and there’s something about holding a handmade mug that sparks a genetic memory of warmth and comfort. Pottery also has much better thermal properties than mass produced ceramic, hot stays hot longer and vice versa with cold. Build up a little collection of handmade pottery mugs from the thrift store, each one has its own personality and it brings joy using them.

5) In the same vein: teaspoons. Build up a collection of fun teaspoons and take joy from using different ones depending on your mood. I have one with an owl on the end and another with a rose, a brass one with a wiggly handle in the shape of a snake, one that has the branding of an airline that now only uses wooden stirrers - probably because people kept pocketing the stainless-steel teaspoons (I always wanted to steal one as a child but never had the nerve). Whenever I need a teaspoon it’s always a little endorphin boost to open the drawer and select the perfect one for today.

6) If you need something to do a specific job, be patient, you will find the perfect thing eventually. I switched to solid shampoo and my old soap dish wasn’t big enough to hold my shampoo bar and my regular soap, so I waited and watched and found the perfect little glass tray that was exactly the right size and fits perfectly on the shelf in my shower. I could have bought a brand new made-for-that-purpose multi soap holder, but it wouldn’t have been as cool looking and when I’m done with it, it wouldn’t necessarily get another life.

7) Gift supplies. Thrift stores often have a selection of unused gift wrap, bags, bows, cards. It’s worth it to sift through what they’ve got and buy any you think you might use – even if you don’t have an immediate use for it. That stuff can get expensive so if you can create a small stash then, when you need it, you won’t have to shell out $$.

8) Look for things that can be made over – or thrift flipped as the DIY content creators like to say. There’s so much satisfaction from looking at something that was plain ugly when you bought it and you’ve turned it into something pretty. It doesn’t need to be a major transformation that requires 5 different power-tools and 100 bucks worth of supplies. It can be as simple as a lick of paint, but every time you look at you will feel good about it.

9) Sometimes it’s worth buying something that’s just really cool and figuring out a use for it later. I bought the coolest little silver plated mustard pot; it has 3 legs and at the top of each leg is a lion head. Do I eat mustard much? No. Did I know what the heck I would use it for? No. I get bad indigestion and keep antacids on hand, I hate how once you tear open the roll, they tend to spill everywhere so I like to put them in something. Guess what holds exactly one roll of antacids? If something is just freaking awesome but you don’t know what you’d use it for, you will find a use (and it will be so much cooler than anything else you might have bought for that purpose).

10) Use the fancy stuff. Don’t ever look at something in a thrift store and think: that’s too fancy, I’ll never use it. If it’s not bought and used it ends up in landfill. Save it from the landfill and use it. Today I bought the most OTT fancy silver pepper shaker to sit next to my stove and hold ground pepper for cooking with, one of my housemates never puts the damn pepper back in the cupboard when he’s finished with it, so now we have this ostentatious silver shaker next to the stove top. One of my dogs can be relied upon to get half of his food on the floor before he hoovers it up, I could have got a plastic mat to feed him on but I had a spare thrifted marble cutting/serving board (I have a problem, I own 3, I have so much trouble resisting them), and another plus - he can’t destroy it like he would a plastic mat. I keep my toothbrush in a crystal bud vase. I decant my micellar water into a bottle shaped like a seahorse. I eat off pretty vintage pink glass plates. Using the fancy stuff from thrift stores both helps you romanticize your own life and it gives these items another life. Do be sensible though, some items made before the early 1970s including glassware and dinnerware contain lead in the decoration so do your due diligence and be safe.

#thrifting #thrift shopping #solarpunk #solarpunk tag #eco home #fuck capitalism #reduce reuse recycle #sustainability

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primordialsteel · 1 year

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mysticstarlightduck · 4 months

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OC Bag Game!

Thanks for the tag, @kaylinalexanderbooks (here)!

Rules: Name five things your OC would have in a backpack or any bag at school.

I'll go with some of the cast from Supernova Initiative and Enchanted Illusions.

(Since my characters live in a either fantasy or sci-fi world and are not school-aged, Imma just go with the contents of their regular bags to make this easier)

(Supernova Initiative)

Jack Tithus

Mint bubblegum

Ammo and chargers for his guns

A miniature first aid pack/painkillers

A holo-picture of him and Cassie

Sweet and crunchy energy bars

A to-go bottle of chocolate milk

Cassie Tithus

Extra parts for her projects and robots

Scrunchies for her hair + hair dye packets

A pocket knife/box cutter

An old, skrunkly plushie

An extra tablet

Inflatable neck pillow

Aleks Keldora

The "face-changer" (his high tech mask that can turn him into anyone's lookalike)

Dozens of stolen IDs, documents and government papers

A handmade drawing of his mothers

Tiny explosives and big explosives

A bottle of nail polish

Vesper Foxx

Self-repair kit for her cyborg implants

A bunch of extra parts in case she needs to replace something

The bracelet her little sister gave her for her birthday

Knives. So many knives. And guns. Don't forget the guns, and poison gas grenades.

A list of the names of each member of the mercenary crew she is hunting down

Artemis Zreeth

Leather gloves and old goggles

Cheesy snacks

His father's old scarf

Star-dust cigarettes

Eyeliner

A foldable speeder bike that becomes a tiny disk when deactivated

Pax Stellaryn

Void Program study material

Crumpled notes, messy journals and glitter pens

His diary

A picture of his cat riding a floating skateboard (don't ask lol)

Sour candy, and lollipops

Ethean Mirannir

Extra uniform

Pilot gear and an emergency kit for his spaceship

A holo-picture of his whole family and him during his graduation day seven year ago

Neon markers and a drawing sketchbook

Fidget toy for anxiety relief

(Enchanted Illusions)

Augustus Grimmure

Bloodstained handkerchief

A small dagger

Necromancy tome of spells and his journal

Recipe for instant magical coffee

An engagement ring he has yet to give Harriet

A bag of cookies from his grandma

Harriet Sharppe

Dainty silk gloves

Extra painkillers in case her cousin forgets

Pocket knife

The latest book she is reading

Lip balm

Chocolate bar

Agatha Greenwoods

Her overflowing journal, containing clues of the case she's trying to solve

A crumpled but well loved picture of her father

Sleep medicine

Switchblade

An extra change of clothes

Cailean Telkerly

His late brother's broken pocketwatch

Worn out brass knuckles and a pocket pistol

Multiple kinds of currency, all stolen

A bottle of cologne

Crumpled candy papers

Falsified documents for any given occasion

Sam Delaways

Snacks and extra food

A dusty old jacket

Very little spare change/copper coins, on good days

A bunch of useless knickknacks he proudly collects

His brothers' plushies when they don't want to carry them

Evangeline Daemitya

Her drawing sketchbook and a travel case for her pens and pencils

A locket with a picture of her and her father

Her intricate coinpurse

An enchanted rapier that becomes a tiny ring when not being used

Poison bottles and a botany guide

Tagging: @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab, @little-peril-stories

@the-ellia-west, @winterandwords, @cowboybrunch, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites

@leave-her-a-tome, @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

#wip supernova initiative #wip enchanted illusions #writers on tumblr #writerblr #my wips #character writing #writers #writing #writeblr #my characters #my writing

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fluidstatick · 24 days

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I'm amped about this so I'm not putting it behind a cut.

Went into the thrift store across the street at about 1:30, thinking I'd pick up maybe one (1) item for five or ten dollars. I got back at 4, did a bunch of research and mental math, and realized I spent $99 on ALMOST NINE HUNDRED DOLLARS worth of stuff. including an out of print tarot deck I've been pining over for more than a decade.

The Haul:

a pair of black linen pants

a pair of purple plaid flannel pants

a nice table runner in white and gold, handmade.

two t shirts and three dress shirts

two cookbooks that were mainstays in my mom's kitchen, both first editions, 30 and 50 years old.

a very clean copy of Alison Bechdel's Fun Home.

Mirrors of the Soul by Kahlil Gibran, 1965 hardcover

a huge hand blown glass vase in metallic turquoise and gold glaze

a plant mister, two basil growing kits, and two sunflower growing kits.

A gallon glass drink jug with spigot, so i can keep track of how much water I'm drinking without letting an impossible-to-clean plastic water bottle get all grimy.

An 11x14 picture frame, still shrink wrapped.

a handsome bamboo cookbook stand, for my growing cookbook collection.

a singing bowl, sans mallet, yellow enamel on brass, with the third chakra etched on three sides and the bottom. Plays a clean E5 over A2 when tapped with a fingernail. Found one just like it on Etsy for $50, paid $4.

a slightly broken electronic cat toy that waves a butterfly around on a wire. USB rechargeable, easy to fix. Both cats agree this thing is The Fucking Best, which has never happened before. (Hazel poked at it for a few minutes straight, which is unusual for her, and Phoebe has been quietly playing with it for two solid hours at this point.)

My pride and joy, the best thing I've ever thrifted: Ed Buryn's first edition William Blake Tarot, 1995, SIGNED. The guidebook alone, unsigned, has been out of print for years, and it's worth a cool $100 on its own. Signed, with a full deck of the original cards, even with considerable wear and tear on the box, it's probably worth at least $200. Fucking SCORE.

Bonus: I ran into Bill Cypher among the picture frames. I said aloud "Hello, sir. I don't go here, so I'll leave you to jumpscare another local nerd. Have a nice day."

#thrifting #book haul #tarot #kitty #gravity falls

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hamethyst · 5 months

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OC Meme: 5 Character Associations - Aurivyan

Tagged forever and a day ago by @razrogue! Sorry for the delay and thank you thank you thank you!! This was so much fun!

emotions

Mischief

Compassion

Audacity

Curiosity

Determination

colors

Turquoise blue

Amethyst purple

Petal pink

Jade green

Warm brass

scents

Freshly-steeped floral tea

Sun-warmed paper

Salt-scented wind tinged with perfume and ozone

Summer rain

A savory, citrus vinaigrette, fragrant with herbs

objects

A rather pricey tome, shamelessly dog-eared and filled with thoughtful critiques, playful comments, and the occasional snide remark

An airy gown, feather-light and nearly transparent

An old captain’s compass

A handmade collection of scented bath salts and soaps

A lovingly-crafted griffin figurine, its white feathers made from crushed pearls

body language

Fingers gently untangling water-logged strands of hair

A clenched fist, claws digging bloody furrows into soft-skinned palms

A wide smile, bright and seemingly heedless of the fangs on full display

A playful zap of static between nearly-touching hands

The broad, sweeping motion of a pair of arms, a welcoming gesture to the coming storm

aesthetics

A multicolored aurora glimmering across a starry sky

The tide breaking upon a sandy shore, frothing with sea foam

Storm clouds gathering on a sunlit horizon

Gauzy curtains tossed by a stiff breeze

A nude humanoid figure, swimming amidst the life of a rich coral reef

As I said above I’m very late to this lol so I’ll stick to forwarding an open invitation: if you see this, consider yourself tagged! Tag me if you do it!

#aurivyan likirum #bg3 oc #bg3 tav #i love memes like this i really do #make you think about your character in ways you might not normally #also forgive me for the over-the-top imagery #i haven’t written anything in forever #and wasn’t anticipating how good it would feel #to stretch the muscles lol

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clean-bubbles-aka-bubbles · 12 days

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Cabin Inn

As the car rumbled along the road, the only sound was the crunch of gravel under the tires and the occasional soft groan from Bubbles in the backseat. Mark drove with a palpable tension, his eyes scanning the dark woods for any sign of trouble. Cesar sat beside him, his worried expression deepening with each passing moment.

The isolation of the drive gave Bubbles time to reflect. The physical pain was one thing—a constant, throbbing reminder of the night’s events—but it was the emotional and mental strain that weighed heaviest on her. The secret she guarded so fiercely, the identity of the Celestial Artisan, felt like a growing burden, one that threatened to expose itself with every encounter with the Alternates.

When they finally arrived at the cabin, the first hints of dawn were creeping over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of soft pink and blue. Mark’s Hispanic friend quickly unlocked the door, and the three stepped in.

The decor embodies the quintessence of rustic charm blended with touches of '90s flair. The trio were greeted by a warm and inviting atmosphere, illuminated by the soft glow of a wood-burning stove in the corner, crackling gently.

The living area features a comfortable, slightly worn sofa adorned with plaid throws and mismatched cushions that add a homely touch. Nearby, a large, hand-knotted wool rug in earth tones anchors the space, inviting anyone to relax by the hearth. The walls, paneled in knotty pine, are adorned with framed landscape paintings and vintage skiing posters reminiscent of the era.

A heavy, wooden coffee table sits in the middle of the room, its surface bearing the patina of years of use, perhaps scattered with a few magazines from the '90s, like issues of "National Geographic" or "Outdoor Life." Nearby, a bookshelf overflows with a mix of classic literature and popular novels from the decade, along with board games and a cassette tape collection featuring grunge and pop hits.

The kitchen is simple yet functional, with aged copper pots hanging from a handcrafted pot rack. The countertops, perhaps a bit dated, are covered in laminate that mimics the look of natural stone. They show signs of wear but are clean and well-maintained. The pine cabinets match the wall paneling, and an old, chunky microwave sits next to a spice rack filled with dried herbs and spices.

A small dining area features a round wooden table and chairs, each chair cushion covered in a floral fabric that was trendy at the time. Overhead, a wrought iron chandelier provides soft lighting, enhancing the cabin's rustic ambiance.

The bedrooms continue the theme down a narrow hallway with cozy plaid-patterned flannel bedding, handmade quilts, and thick woolen blankets. The furniture is sturdy and wood-made, with vintage brass lamps on the nightstands casting a warm glow.

The cabin's windows are covered in handmade curtains, perhaps a bit faded but clean. These curtains offer views of the surrounding woods and let in natural light that plays across the cabin's nostalgic interior.

"Wow... DAMN! I didn't know your guys' cabin you two own was nice!" Bubbles’s eyes sparkled in awe. “So much for living in 2024. It looks really nice to live in here.” She thought. “Ack–!” She winced again, feeling sharp pain shooting on her side.

Mark immediately went to the bathroom to gather medical supplies while Cesar filled a basin with warm water and grabbed some towels. They returned to Bubbles’ side and cleaned her wounds with gentle, efficient movements.

"You're good at this," Bubbles commented, trying to mask her pain with a weak smile as she observed her Hispanic friend handle the cloth.

"I've had some practice," the Hispanic male replied in a low voice. “I used to help my mom with her garden injuries while tending to our roses. I never thought I'd be doing this under such different circumstances."

The brown-haired teen rummaged through a first aid kit they found in a cabinet, pulling out some antiseptic and bandages. "This might sting a bit," Mark warned before carefully applying the antiseptic.

Bubbles tensed, her breath hitching as the solution touched her wound, but she bit her lip and bore it. "Thanks," she breathed out once Cesar began to bandage her up more professionally than she would have expected.

As they tended to her, the silence was heavy with unspoken questions and concerns. Finally, Mark broke it, his voice filled with unwavering support.

"Bubbles, you know you can trust us, right?" he asked, his voice gentle but firm. "Whatever is going on, whatever you're hiding... we're here for you, no matter what."

Bubbles looked up at them, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and fear. She took a deep breath, considering her following words carefully.

"I know," she replied softly. "And I appreciate it more than you can know. It's just... complicated."

Cesar nodded, dabbing at a particularly nasty cut. "We get it. But seeing you out there tonight and the way you handled everything... You’ve almost got yourself killed!"

Bubbles chuckled weakly. "Understatement of the year."

“Don’t wave it off!” The Hispanic friend scolded her. “You’re always putting yourself in a situation that scares us when you almost die every time! It’s not funny! ¿¡Lo entiendes!?”

"Sí, lo sé." She rolled her eyes slightly.

Mark placed a reassuring hand on Bubbles' shoulder, his expression serious. "We care about you, Bubbles. We don't want to lose you. So please, promise us you'll be more careful next time."

Bubbles nodded, her gaze meeting Mark's with sincerity. "I promise. I'll do everything in my power to keep us safe. But you have to promise me something, too."

Cesar and Mark exchanged a glance, their expressions curious. "What's that?" Mark asked.

Bubbles took a deep breath, steeling herself in case she had to do a reveal. "Promise me that you'll trust me no matter what happens. Even if things seem impossible or I make decisions you don't understand. Promise me you'll trust that I'm doing what's best for all of us."

There was a moment of silence as her words hung in the air, the weight of their implications sinking in. Mark and Cesar shared a look before turning back to Bubbles, determination shining in their eyes.

"We promise,"

they said in unison, their voices filled with conviction.

With that assurance, Bubbles felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She knew she couldn't do this alone, and having her friends' trust and support meant everything to her.

“Let’s rest for the night,” Cesar said, rising from his sofa seat. “We can worry about the sigil cards later. Bubbles can explain it to us in the morning since she knows how it works.” He nodded.

Mark nodded in agreement, his gaze softening as he looked at Bubbles. "Yeah, rest is what you need right now. We'll figure out the rest tomorrow." He helped her to her feet, supporting her as they walked towards one of the bedrooms.

The cabin, with its warm wooden walls and the comforting crackle of the fire, felt like a sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world. Bubbles felt the tension start to ease from her shoulders as they entered the cozy bedroom, its rustic charm underscored by the soft glow of a bedside lamp.

Cesar pulled back the covers on the bed, fluffing the pillows before turning to Bubbles. "Get some sleep. We'll be right here if you need anything," he assured her, his tone protective.

Bubbles managed a small smile, grateful for their care and concern. "Thank you, both of you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

As she settled into the bed, the soft mattress comforting against her bruised body, she felt a sense of peace envelop her. The weight of her secrets and the burden of her responsibilities were still there, but for now, she allowed herself the luxury of rest, surrounded by the quiet strength of her friends.

Mark lingered for a moment, watching her with a thoughtful expression. "Goodnight, Bubbles," he said softly before leaving the room with Cesar.

Once they were back in the living area, Cesar looked at Mark, a concerned frown creasing his brow. "Do you think she's telling us everything?" he asked quietly.

Mark sighed, sinking into an armchair by the fire. "I don't know, man. But I do know she's under a lot of pressure. Whatever she's holding back, I'm sure she has her reasons. We just need to be there for her, no matter what."

Cesar nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. "Yeah. We stick together. That's how we'll get through this."

They sat silently for a moment, the crackle of the fire filling the space between them. Both were lost in their thoughts, pondering the complexities of their situation and the mysterious entity known as the Celestial Artisan. The night deepened around them, and the dark woods outside the cabin whispered their own secrets.

Back in the bedroom, Bubbles drifted into a restless sleep, her dreams a whirlwind of shadowy figures and echoing voices. She was haunted by the Perpetrator's words, the implications of her own power, and the unknown challenges that lay ahead. Yet, amidst the tumult of her subconscious, a steadfast resolve formed. She would protect her friends, come what may. She was the Celestial Artisan, whether acknowledged or hidden, and she bore the weight of that mantle with a fierce determination.

Morning would come, bringing with it the need for decisions and actions. But for now, in the heart of the night, Bubbles and her friends found a semblance of peace in the solidarity of their bond, the quiet strength of their unity offering a shield against the darkness outside.

#original character #anon {mandela catalogue x oc!reader}#Anon {Mandela Catalogue x OC!Reader}#mark heathcliff #cesar torres #tmc oc #tmc x reader #tmc #tmc mark #tmc the perpetrator #tmc alt cesar #alt cesar #the mandela catalogue #the mandela catalog #mandela catalogue #mandela catalogue mark #mandela catalogue oc #mandela catalogue cesar

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