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filmtv2022 · 7 months

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It's Our History

Pairing: Aziraphale x Reader x Crowley

Synopsis: After the death of your mother, you find your way to a quaint little bookstore in search of a book that had been left in the care of one Mr. A.Z. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley. But it isn't just about a book, it's about finally meeting the beautiful 'people' that had interwoven themselves in to the lives of your mother and grandmother all those years ago.

Warnings: Mentions of death

A/N. As always, I apologize for any mistakes.

Aziraphale sat perched behind his desk, glasses slung low on his nose as he scanned over the detailed manuscript in front of him. The pages were yellowed with age, and yet the intricate illuminations were still beautiful and brilliant. It had been hours since the angel had started his investigation of the newest addition to his vast collection. Pages of documentation were taken in fine handwriting noting every nick and tear. The list of books for Zirah to fix grew longer by the day, but with all of eternity on his hands, the earthly angel couldn’t care less. Crowley on the other hand was growing impatient. This morning he’d been promised a lovely meal at the Ritz… as soon as Aziraphale was finished. With the hand on the clock striking two, he’d had more than enough waiting for one day. The demon was nearly to the point of conducting some frivolous miracles to hurry the process along when the door to the shop opened. The wood creaked on its hinges begging for attention.

Lost in his work, Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice that someone new had come to visit, leaving Crowley unexpectedly in charge of dealing with this interaction. Already in a pissy mood, the demon spat a ‘greeting’, if you could even call it that, in your direction.

“Whatever you want it’ll have to wait, shop’s closed.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. The sign out front says open, so I thought…”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“Again, so sorry.” your eyes flicked to the blonde-haired man sitting across the room, “Didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll be going now.”

Looking back at the thin, dark man standing guard like a watchdog, you couldn’t help but notice how he inched closer to the desk when you glanced in their direction. It was as if he was preparing himself to pronounce, cautioning anyone against getting too close.

“Bye now.” Sarcasm and hostility dripped from him as he spoke.

“Uhh, bye then.” With a tiny wave, you turned away defeated, and started back toward the door, when a new voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Crowley, that is no way to talk to a customer. Please dear, do stay and have a look around.”

Turning back, your eyes caught on the equally beautiful man standing next to the person who you now understood to be Crowley. They were both just as you’d pictured, as if a day hadn’t passed since those photos had been taken. In awe and disbelief, your voice was quiet with the enormity of the pair, “I don’t want to be a bother, it’s just that I could really use your help.”

“Don’t be silly, you’re no bother at all. And please, forgive my friend, they're in quite the mood this morning.”

“It’s not morning anymore, Angel,” hissed Crowley grumpily.

“Don’t be dramatic dear.”

“They’re right you know? It’s past two.”

“Really? Why goodness,” slipping out his pocket watch, he studied the time briefly before returning it to its home, “Would you look at that? My how time flies when you’re having fun!”

The Crowley grumbled lowly under his breath in response, but his protestations went unnoticed (or rather ignored) by Aziraphale.

“Now, what is it that you are looking for? Oh, and forgive me, I’ve been quite rude myself. Dithering on and never introducing myself, I’m Aziraphale or Mr. Fell if you prefer.”

“Well, uh… it’s very nice to finally meet you, Mr. Fell. And I’m looking for a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Well, it’s not really Pride & Prejudice, it just looks like it.”

Ignoring the odd bit of your thought at the end, Aziraphale’s eyes lit up with unadulterated joy, “How fantastic! Tell me more about this edition you’re in search of. Is there a particular year or publishing house you’re looking for?”

“No, nothing like that,” a sadness crept in, pulling your mouth into a frown, and forcing your eyes to the ground, “It was my was my grandmother’s and then my mother’s.”

“And you think it ended up here?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You seem rather sure of it being here, may I inquire as to why?”

“She left me a note before she… it told me to come here, to talk to you. You and Mr. Crowley.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder, close enough that their knuckles brushed together, staring back at you, their minds turning a mile a minute. They scanned over your features taking note of every minute detail, but it was the look in your eyes that finally helped them understand. Their hearts raced with the sudden realization.

It was Crowley who spoke first, his voice barely more than a whisper, “You can’t be… if you’re here that means…”

“But she is here darling. And I can see it now, the resemblance, just look at her eyes.”

Standing there you found yourself mesmerized by the pair of them. You’d seen the pictures… heard the stories you’re entire life. The incredible tales of Mr. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley, and yet it seemed impossible that they were both standing before you now. Aziraphale took a few steps in your direction. Crossing the room in a few strong strides, he planted himself in front of you. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, tears pooled in your eyes as he tilted your face up to see you better.

“It’s so good to finally meet you. We’ve heard so much about you.”

Your palms came up to rest on his creamed-colored jacket, the material soft with wear beneath your touch. Your nose burned as you fought to hold back the tears that blurred your vision. You didn’t want to look away for even a second for fear they may disappear entirely, “Same goes for you, Mr. Fell. I’ve heard about you all my life. I didn’t think you were actually real, but my god am I glad you are.”

Azirphale’s strong arms, pulled you in allowing you to bury your face in his chest as the tears finally began to flow. Tenderly, he stroked your back and whispered words of comfort against your temple. Overwhelmed by emotion, you failed to hear the sound of footsteps coming in your direction. Crowley moved stealthily toward you and his Angel wanting nothing more than to comfort you both and seek that same in return. If you were here that could only mean one thing, the marvelous woman who was your mother was gone. He’d only just come to terms with the fact that both your gran and mother were mortal beings and that no matter how much he wished it away, there was an expiration date to their time on Earth. Logically, he knew it was going to happen, human life is fleeting at best, and yet he found himself growing angry that her time here was over.

Crowley’s wide palm found its way to your back in a weak attempt at grabbing your attention. He needed to see you, to look in your eyes again. Watching him silently ask for you, Aziraphale adjusted his hold on your body so that you could lift your head and look at his Demon. Relinquishing your hold on Mr. Fell, you turned just enough to look at Crowley who was staring down at you through the dark glass of his shades.

“You're lovely,” gingerly, he tucked errant strands of hair behind your ear. His fingertips brushed feather-light touches over your cheekbones. His touch was nearly imperceptible, but your breath hitched at the warmth that radiated from his skin.

Wet lines spilled from beneath his sunglasses, and the corners of his mouth turned down, “You look…” he choked out.

Reaching up, you wiped away the tears. Unwilling to let go, you found yourself toying with the bows of his glasses, “Can… can I see you…” Glancing back at Mr. Fell your breath shuddered, “Who you really are… the way they both got to see you?”

You searched their faces for any sign of an answer. You thought that reading the angel would be easier, but he remained straight-faced, the only emotion gracing his features was that of anticipation as if he too was waiting for an answer.

Crowley’s decision came without words, his hand ran the length of your arm before settling around your wrist and guiding it back to his glasses. Letting go once your hand was in place, his chest rose and fell rapidly waiting for you to move. You took your time, ghosting over the cool metal, giving yourself the space to find the courage.

“It’s all right dear, you have nothing to be afraid of.” Aziraphale’s voice was low and calm as he encouraged you to take the next step.

Shaking, you carefully removed the barrier between yourself and Crowley. His yellow eyes were on yours, never faltering, strong and terrified in equal measure. Lost in thought, you remained quiet, your fingers mapping over his features. Tracing the outline of his lips, the plane of his nose, the curve of his brow, the silky strands of hair that hung down over his forehead.

“The pictures didn’t do you justice. You’re beautiful, Crowley.” Totally in awe, you couldn’t tear your focus away from the demon in front of you. Hearing your words, his shoulders dropped, the tension starting to fall away.

Crowley looked over your shoulder at Aziraphale, the two sharing a moment. Behind you came a soft rustle and a gust of wind. Using his hands, which had found your waist, the demon turned you to face Aziraphale, and what you saw ripped the air from your lungs. The angel stood glowing, a halo of warm light surrounding him, but that wasn’t the true shock. That came from his wings. Zirah’s wings were all-consuming, their bright white feathers beckoned you closer.

Stepping toward him, your hands shot out, eager to feel and yet still hesitant. Looking up at Aziraphale, there was no need to speak as your question was obvious.

“It’s okay. You can touch them if you want.”

Slowly you found yourself outlining the shape of his feathers, paying attention to every detail. Unbeknownst to you, his head tipped back and his eyes shut tight. Feelin them soft like silk, and entirely intoxicating, you impulsively sought more. Burying your fingers in the depths of the layers, you were surprised to hear a strangled noise fall from Aziraphale’s lips.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Startling back, you worried that you’d inflicted pain, but looking up at the being in front of you a mask of pure bliss graced his angelic features. His eyes popped open at the loss of your touch.

“No, quite the opposite my dear. And It's me who should be apologizing, I forgot myself there for a moment.”

Reaching for your hand, he guided you back to his wings, encouraging you to continue. And you did until, the same sound as before, a flutter and gust of wind, caught your attention from Crowley’s direction. Keeping your hold on the angel, you turned your head to look behind you. Again, your lungs shuddered at the sight. Onyx wings now protruded from the demon’s back blocking out the world around him. Though utterly opposite, they were no less beautiful. Crowley reached for you again, his hands instantly found the curve of your waist and drew you closer. Stumbling slightly, he caught you easily, holding you to him as if he couldn’t believe you were real. Raking over your sides, the demon came to hold your face to him, much like Aziraphale had. Yet, there was something different playing over his features.

“She’s gone then?”

Unable to speak you nodded your head in affirmation. Fresh tears ran in steady streams down your cheeks, blurring the sight of the stunning creature in front of you. Crowley pulled you tight, his fingers burying themselves in your hair as you tugged at his vest, twisting the fabric in your fists. Heavy sobs wracked your body leaving you with nothing to do but cling to him.

Leaning down he whispered to you the only thing he could think of, the only truth he could be certain of, “You’re safe here with us. I promise. You're not alone.”

Leaving you and his demon to have a private moment together, Aziraphale went to find the book. It took less than a minute as it was stored in a safe location away from the prying eyes of the public. Returning to you both, he tapped Crowley’s shoulder to get his attention. Feeling him pull away slightly, you followed in turn.

“Is that it?” you asked in disbelief.

“Yes, and you were right, it isn't really a book. It’s…” Aziraphale paused as if uncertain about how to proceed.

Seeing his Angel struggle, Crowley took the book from his hands and gave it to you before speaking, “It’s the story of us. Aziraphale, myself, and your family. It’s our history.”

“You see, we’re connected, and we have been for… a very long time.” Zirah found his voice again though it was shaky as he talked.

“But I don’t understand. Why us? We’re just humans, surely we can’t be that important.”

“Ah, but see that’s where you’re wrong. That is precisely why you’re important. Your grandmother and your mother… they treated us kindly when the rest of the world couldn’t see beyond our differences, and for that… we’ll forever be in their debt. And beyond their kindness, your names… they’re written into the Ineffable Plan of the Universe. Yours in particular.”

“What? What does that even mean?” shocked you searched for a better question, something that got to the heart of your confusion, but nothing surfaced.

“It means that you… we… have grand adventures ahead. If you’ll join us that is.” Aziraphale's sweet eyes watched you closely waiting for the panic and fear to set in.

“Hold on, Ineffable Plan? You mean like ‘God’s” plan?” Zirah nodded in affirmation, “Didn’t think he was big on free will…”

Your off-hand comment brought a chuckle from the demon as he spoke, “Oh, I like her.”

“Please, Crowley, be serious.”

“All right, Angel. They’re all yours.”

Aziraphale placed a hand on your back to lead you across the room toward the chairs near their desk. Guiding you to sit, he made his way to the other. Crowley perched on the arm of Zirah’s chair and waited for him to continue.

“Now, where do we begin?” Zirah’s eye flickered up to Crowley with a smile.

“I know… let's start at the very beginning. A very good place to start.” Crowley smirked at his Angel loving his reaction to what had become a running joke after averting the Apocalypse.

“Oh for the love of all that is good, do NOT start quoting The Sound of Music.”

Aziraphale and Crowley couldn’t help, but share a quiet laugh together. Nothing like a generational dislike for The Sound of Music to bring everyone together even in the most harrowing of times.

#aziraphale x reader x crowley #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader x aziraphale #Crowley x reader #good omens

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jisuto · 5 months

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I think you've gotten a few questions about your process ( apologies! ) But I saw you use CSP to make these gifs - do you cut up the frames from your recordings to do that? Is there a particular way you go about that? I'm interested in making gifs and was a bit curious 🤧♥️ but if you cannot share such secrets I understand!

All right, this finally convinced me to make a guide and I hope this was helpful!! Feel free to send in any questions.

First off, PRO has a frame limit of 24 so your gifs will run very short. EX has no frame limit and right now there's a free trial for users until the 24th.

Make a new canvas that's an Animation. For my gifs, I use a 540 width and adjust the height later. Go to Window and turn on the Timeline so you can see all the cells.

I trim my game recordings into short clips of what I want to gif. Then I insert them like this as MP4 files:

The red line is the current frame you're looking at. The blue lines mark the gif duration at whatever starting and ending frames you choose.

Whatever is inside the blue box will appear as the gif. Personally, I don't like using this and end up fixing the canvas size later. But let's get to actually making our gif first.

I like to make my gifs 30 FPS or less and I'll be changing it to 25 FPS from here:

Click on your clip on the Timeline. For this example, I didn't trim my clip exactly where I want it to start so I'll drag it to left where the frame number turns negative and I end up going 4 frames back (or you can just move the first blue line 4 frames ahead):

Then I drag the second blue line to where I want my gif to end. Since I want to make the height shorter, I go to Change Canvas Size and fix the dimensions (you can still resize and adjust your clip around too):

The blue box is gone and we can just use the canvas itself to fit the gif. I ended up adjusting it again and now we just need to save it!

I'm already fine with everything so I won't change the numbers. Make sure the Loop Count is set to Unlimited:

Choose where to save it and wait for it to export. Let's take a look at our finished gif:

Notice how pixelated some of the areas are? That's because we didn't export it with Dithering on so let's redo it:

Look at how much better it looks! Make sure to turn this on or it can make your gifs look way worse.

And that's the basics! If you want to put a color filter, make a new layer and put it above your clip. I use the bucket tool with the color i want and change the opacity and layer type:

And here it is! If your color filter only showed up partway on the gif, that means your layer wasn't present on all your frames so go to the Timeline and drag it to cover the entire length.

If you want to add a watermark or words, start making a text above your color filter and you can also change the opacity:

You can also add images on the gif with your brushes. Make a new layer above the color filter and apply them:

If you want to fix the colors more, right click your clip layer and it'll make a new layer above with the adjusted colors:

You can also do the 3D white bar effect. I make a new folder above all my layers with a bunch of colored lines. You'll need to erase whatever shows in front of the object and I decrease the opacity to make it easier, then change the color to white. You can adjust which frames each bar will appear by dragging the ends of the Timeline length (arrows will appear). As shown below, I was able to use the same line in frames 1-33 before making a new one at frame 24.

With 2 bars:

And that's all I wanted to cover! There's many editing guides that you can also apply to CSP so don't hesitate to try them out. As I mentioned earlier, you should only use CSP to make gifs if you already have it and don't have better programs to use. I hope this guide helped you out :)

#asks #my guides #this got too long LOL

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wild-houseplant · 1 year

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Have Warden, Will Travel- Chapter 25

my GOD this was a headache of a chapter, but now things are finally starting to come together and I can FINALLY get the ball rolling with the good shit. Only took me, what, 140 000 words? Rest of the chapter is under the cut, AO3 here, and as usual, I hope you good bunch are having a fabulous day! Please drink your fluids!! They are wet and very good for your insides!!!

Leliana didn’t say a word to Zevran until the next day, but she didn’t have to even by that point. The night before, Zevran had returned to the campfire after re-equipping his poisons belt to find the Chantry Sister and the Templar remarkably engrossed in each other. Right there, in front of the leftovers. Going by the inescapable sucking noises their lip-clashing was producing, one of them was moments away from being slurped into the other like a mouthful of soup, lost to the world until the later stages of digestion freed them again.

The only person seemingly able to tolerate the display was Rhodri, who sat on another log on the opposite side of the fire, absorbed in a book. It was eminently possible that she had been reading before this nauseating spectacle had begun, and was yet to notice. The nearest one to the epicentre of it all, and yet the most unaffected. Some people didn’t know their luck.

Had Zevran managed to find a reason to sit with her, he would have. After all, that confrontation with Wynne had been unpleasant, and it was better to be close to hand if Rhodri– the Warden, damn him! – needed anything.

But these things had to be approached with finesse! Simply bustling over to ask what wishes she might have would worsen the situation. Dramatically, no doubt. And if the truth was known, Zevran didn’t quite have it in him to survive another round of the Tevinter apology hand kisses.

No, there would have to be another justification for going over. It wasn’t lying to have another reason to be there. The truth of the matter was that keeping an eye on her , in the Warden’s mind, wasn’t a good reason, and if a ‘good’ reason was the price of admission for being useful to her, Zevran would simply have to pay up.

He must have stood there for a good few minutes, twiddling his fingers and waiting for the prerequisite excuse to sail into one of his ears. Nothing came. And when Leliana and Alistair finally paused to take a breath (the noise of their parting could have been mistaken for someone ripping their stuck foot out of a bog), Leliana wiped her mouth with one finger and shot Zevran the briefest, most infuriatingly smug wink.

Zevran’s eyeroll went unnoticed as she returned to Alistair, whose head was now shamelessly buried so deeply in the crook of her neck that one might have been forgiven for thinking he was trying to dig a rabbit warren there with his nose. Perhaps that was precisely what he was doing, and Leliana was turning his attention back to her mouth before things could get medically hazardous. With a sigh, he glanced at Rhodri, who had still not looked up from her book. She seemed content enough; he admitted defeat for the night and went to his tent.

There was a nervousness to Zevran that he couldn’t quite shake the next morning as he rolled out of bed and readied himself for the day. Or perhaps it was dread. It was mostly unnecessary, whichever it was: at some point, Alistair and Leliana would resume sucking each other’s faces off, and the only thing that could be done to counter the dry retching Zevran was guaranteed to go through was to take an early breakfast, and thus ensure he had something to bring up when the time came.

The issue of Rhodri and Wynne, however, was a rather more complex and urgent matter, and one he couldn’t bring himself to put off. He had wavered on so many things regarding the Warden that it almost defied belief. Mercy, even Leliana, ditherer extraordinaire and queen of the ineffectual interactions, had given him the hurry-up with his seduction!

Zevran shook his head as he pulled on his armour. Was he losing his grip on himself? Was that what it was? Softened by foreign kindness to the point of stupefaction? If there was one thing the Crows fed on, it was indecision, and as the matter currently stood, Zevran was living life with a target painted on his back.

That wouldn’t do. Something would have to change. After all, Zevran Arainai was a man of action– considered action, certainly, but it was plain for all to see now that he was spending far more time considering than acting.

No more, though. It was time to take those ineffectual thoughts and turn them into results.

Cloaked with cotton and newfound resolve, Zevran stepped out of his tent into the cold, misty morning and swore a solemn oath to himself that two things would happen before the week was out. For a start, he would make his saucy intentions clear to Rhodri; and second, revenge of some sort would be exacted on Wynne for the crime of being who she was.

The latter of these was rather more urgent. With sessions now scheduled day and night (and Rhodri had acquiesced to this change, as Zevran could see Wynne through a wider gap in the trees, issuing instructions to Rhodri where they stood in the nearby clearing), he would need to take action today. Naturally, it would have to be a clandestine operation. Maker knew if Rhodri caught wind of Zevran’s operations, she’d die of the shame, unnecessary as it was, and Zevran would be left alone–-

He caught his face pinching into a wince and forced blankness again. How very unhelpful.

The point , he reminded himself firmly, was that an untraceable agony would befall Wynne and– ooh. Perhaps it would keep her too distracted to inconvenience the Warden any further. Something like her staff reduced to splinters in a tragic attack by a blind bear mistaking it for a snake, or a moth chewing enormous holes in her robes–

Now there was a thought. Zevran approaching Morrigan the shapeshifter with the request of a lifetime. Would her transformed insect self be conspicuously large, like her spider form? Or could she shrink herself to, say, the size of a housecat?

His step got a spring to it as he marched over the dewy grass to Morrigan’s satellite camp. Zevran had barely spoken with Morrigan, but this was looking to be quite the stellar opportunity, especially knowing as he did that Morrigan loathed Wynne. Not an inch of fellow-feeling between them, despite them both being obviously gifted mages, they hadn’t exchanged a single civil word since meeting. It was possible, in fact, that Morrigan had more venom for Wynne than she did for Alistair. She was hardly fond of Zevran, either, but if she sufficiently hated Wynne– and it certainly appeared that she did– an alliance could spring up between them in their united cause. Oh, it was perfect.

A loud crack, followed by a not-quite-stifled, suspiciously Rhodri-like yelp reached Zevran’s ears when he was halfway to Morrigan’s set-up. It was the same every training session. He didn’t bother to unclench his fist, tightened on reflex, as he turned to the source of the noise and saw the same Warden drawn into herself, clutching her hands and shaking her head. Wynne was a few paces away, notably doing nothing while observing her with a calmness that would have been more suited to a sleeping child.

A little too aware of the roiling in his guts, Zevran turned on his heel and stalked the rest of the way to Morrigan’s area. As if the Maker had understood the purpose of Zevran’s visit, Morrigan herself emerged from her tent, fully dressed and topped off with a scowl as she caught sight of him approaching.

“No,” she said before his mouth could finish opening. She folded her arms and eyed him beadily as he raised an eyebrow.

“My dear Morrigan,” Zevran chided gently. “How ever will you know what delights I bring if you turn me away before I can list them?”

Morrigan scoffed and shook her head. “I would not lie with you if you were the last male to draw breath. I have no need for your list. Keep your efforts focused on the Warden, if you please.”

Oh, not her too. He forced a smirk and tutted, “You wound me, my dear!”

“I have considered doing far more to you than that, you can be sure.”

“It may interest you to know,” he pushed on before the conversation could be ended, “that I am here for an entirely different reason.”

Morrigan arched a brow at him. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I swear on my honour,” he said, quickly speaking again before Morrigan could cut him off with what was undoubtedly a remark on the dubiousness of his honour. “I could not help wondering–”

Another crack, much louder this time, stopped him there, and upon seeing Rhodri doubled over, visibly trembling even from where he stood, he clenched a fist until his nails, short as they were, bit into the meat of his hand. Wynne, who had paused in her waiting to look over at them, began suggesting the Warden take note of her audience, and unable to bear the shamefaced look he was about to get, Zevran turned back to Morrigan again.

“Tell me, my dear witch," he purred, "can you turn into a moth?”

Zevran sat by the campfire, keeping an eye on the clearing while Morrigan set to work. When she emerged from Wynne’s tent an hour later (she had even chewed a hole in the tent through which to escape!), Zevran had a sandwich waiting for her. She took it, ate three bites, and fixed him with a smug smile.

“Good session?” Zevran asked through a grin.

“Indeed,” Morrigan purred. “The old cat has several sets of enchanted robes, and I must say, lyrium clothing makes a fine meal for a mage moth.” She gave him a nod and left for her tent without another word.

Rhodri came back shortly after, watching Zevran like he had swallowed a hundredweight of explosives. No surprise, really, and Zevran had come to breakfast prepared. With a grin, he beckoned her over and produced the last bag of peanuts.

He shook the bag a little and took out a peanut. “How well have your peanut-catching skills held up since we last practiced, hmm?”

The distressed look evaporated. Rhodri’s eyes widened as they fixated onto the sole nut– darkened, too, if Zevran wasn’t mistaken. Would he have to woo her with a bag of peanuts? …Was it really that simple?

Oh, of course it wasn’t. How would he get her to shift her lustblown gaze from the food onto him? Especially when she wasn’t one for gazing into the eyes of others. Why did he always complicate these things?

“Oh-h-h,” Rhodri breathed. “My goodness. At this time of the day, too!”

Zevran waggled his eyebrows. “Peanuts for breakfast seems an excellent way to start the morning, no?” He shrugged, adding, “Of course, if this is not a suitable time for–”

“No-no-no,” she said quickly, head shaking fervently enough to dislodge a few strands from her once-tuft, now-ponytail. “We can– no, we can definitely try now.”

He sat down beside her with a pleased laugh. “Ah, good. Open wide, then, my dear Warden. We shall start off easy, yes?”

By the fifth successful peanut catch, Zevran looked over Rhodri’s shoulder and caught Wynne passing to go into her tent, surveying their antics as she went. With measurable distaste, of course.

Show time.

Unable to resist himself, Zevran caught Wynne’s eye and met her unamused look with a smile, making a point of widening his eyes enough that he knew the whites would be on full display for the shortest, shortest moment. Wynne froze; Zevran barely stifled a delighted chuckle and returned to Rhodri, who had missed the entire exchange while chewing up her sixth peanut.

The former Senior Enchanter turned on her heel and made for the lake, shaking her head as she went. Rhodri held out a hand toward the peanut bag, smiling at Zevran like she knew what he’d won for her.

“Shall I throw you a few, pretiotus?” Rhodri asked with a conspiratorial wink. Her voice was low and wicked, and oozing warmth. “Keep your skills sharp, sic?”

The top half of his belly finally settled, and the bottom half started to jitter. There was no pleasing everyone, apparently, even when everyone was localised to the one body. Zevran blamed the misbehaviour of his lower stomach on hunger, and the solution to that was about to be placed in Rhodri’s hands.

“Ooh,” he passed the peanut bag over and straddled the log they were sharing. “Please, yes.”

Zevran had never really been one for living a balanced life. He had only presumed as much up to now; balance, for all its virtues, had always struck him as a state reserved to the people who could afford to have it. Where was the balance in training and torture and murder and seduction, day in and night out? Nowhere he’d ever looked.

At this point, though, there appeared to be little option but to force balance. Four months ago, he would have laughed at himself for thinking so, but there was such a lot going on. There really was!

Ignoring Alistair and Leliana’s escalating passions was a full time job in and of itself. More, even. At least the average worker (so far as he’d heard) had the night off after a day shift.

Not so with their theatrics. The noises that came from Leliana’s tent– the good Sister refused to enter Alistair’s due to its untidiness and the lingering smell of the dog who also slept in there– could be heard, no doubt, from the other end of the country. Indeed, the moans from Alistair alone had been enough to attract the attention of bears on more nights than one. Zevran found himself praying that Rhodri, who had been a terribly good sport about offing the bears, would take Alistair firewood-chopping and use the opportunity to suggest a decrease in volume.

As if that weren’t enough, Wynne had been consistently attempting to catch Rhodri alone. In the mornings and at night were the worst times–but then, was there ever a good time? Zevran doubted it. At least through the rest of the day, he was able to plaster the Warden with conversation (questions about magic, in particular, kept them both too busy– and interested, it had to be said) so that the Senior Enchanter couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

At the start and finish of the day, however, he was forced to think on his feet. Conversation and holey clothes, as it turned out, were not quite enough to keep Wynne at bay then; he had to keep Rhodri busy. In a stroke of genius, Zevran had devised and enrolled Rhodri in his impromptu, very urgent course on knife safety, and then another on poisons and antidotes.

Predictably enough, Wynne hovered nearby, tutting with enormous displeasure as she darned the holes in her robes. If she thought that would dissuade him, though, she was out of her mind. Not least when Rhodri, whom Zevran seemed to recall admitting no interest in herbalism, was hanging off his every word about poisonous (and life-saving) plants. And engaging with questions (thoughtful ones, even!) of her own.

Most importantly of all, Rhodri considered both of Zevran’s study programmes to be of greater relevance than Wynne’s, and that meant that said hovering and displeased tutting were dismissed. In favour of him and his teachings. How sweet it was to be the preferred one, even when the competition was decidedly less-than-stiff. Zevran could have gone on teaching her forever; he certainly had enough material for it.

In fact, they had only just begun to cover one of Zevran’s favourite poisons, a paralytic that put skeletal muscles out of commission within a few breaths, when a flash of motion from behind a bush up ahead had him standing with his knives out. A shield swelled up around the party– of course– and Rhodri gently steered Zevran behind her.

“Be warned, outsiders,” a woman with a shock of long, red hair surged out from behind a tree with her bow drawn. Dark curls of vallaslin wound over her forehead, and beneath her eyes and mouth, pulled down as she surveyed the party– Zevran and his tattoo included– with a deep frown. “The Dalish have camped in this spot. I suggest you go elsewhere, and quickly.”

“We are peaceful,” Rhodri called out cautiously. “My greetings to you. We are two Grey Wardens and company, and we will not attack. We have been looking for your clan these past weeks.”

The Dalish woman raised an eyebrow. “Grey Wardens? How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Hmm,” Rhodri frowned thoughtfully. “I tend to be better at proving it when the place is crawling with darkspawn… ah, wait, I have an idea!” She patted her satchel. “I have a knife in here. If I take it out and make a cut in my arm, you’ll see that my blood is black, tainted. Will that suffice?”

Zevran bit his lip as the woman frowned deeply and then, after some deliberation, shook her head.

“If you carry the Taint, your blood is better kept inside you where it cannot pollute the forest.” She beckoned to them. “Come then, all of you. I will take you to our Keeper so he can decide for himself. Keep your hands to yourself in the camp, and remember our arrows are trained on you.”

Rhodri smiled and inclined her head. “Thank you very much. Our behaviour will be exemplary, let me assure you.”

“We will see about that. Come.”

The Dalish camp was a song’s distance away, sequestered off in the middle of an abandoned ruin. Crumbling marble columns encircled the camp like long-dead guards, all but reclaimed by the moss and vines. The camp itself, though, was replete with life. Amid the Aravels and industrious campfires, Dalish elves milled, worked, and played, and Zevran felt a foreign ache as an unnoticed breath swelled in his lungs.

Zevran left Antiva City as soon as he’d word of the clan drawing near to the outskirts, hugging the forest border as Clan Marendis travelled further south. He hadn’t prepared anything to take with him– not that he had so much as his mother’s gloves with which to present himself to the clan, or perhaps even identify himself as someone’s son. It was a bitter thought that he shelved the entire afternoon he spent creeping out of the city.

The road out of town had next to no traffic, even at the point near nightfall when he had finally reached it. Farms lay on either side of the rows, hills shaved down to their skin from where the grains were harvested the week prior. Zevran spent the stretch walking between poplar trees that occasionally breached the undulations.

He reached the forest after sunrise, not thinking twice about departing the road and marching straight into the thickets. Perhaps it was sleep deprivation; perhaps it was giddy excitement. The Antivan Dalish had a reputation for being violent; even the Crows had said it. But Zevran’s mother had been one of them, and she had only left to follow an infatuation. That had to say something to their credit.

And really, even if the Crows were right and something even less hospitable than them existed, at least Zevran’s death was guaranteed to be an interesting one.

When exhaustion finally prevented Zevran from putting one foot in front of another, he sought the shelter of a bush and curled up under it, and awoke Maker-knew-how-soon after when hot, unexpected sunlight streamed into his face.

“Put the knives down, da’len.” The voice was calm and sober, and the woman who owned it was watching him with a small, firm smile, showing him her empty palms. Her face was covered in swirling, dark tattoos, nothing like he had seen in the Crows before, and it was hard to know if she was Dalish, or from another guild altogether.

The daggers Zevran had already drawn before his eyes had finished opening were re-sheathed— what else could he do, after all? Deny her and have his throat cut? The woman gave an appreciative nod. She sat down near him.

“Why are you sleeping in a bush, child?” she asked gently. “Where is your family?”

“They are nearby,” Zevran said reflexively. “There are many of them. I sleep where I wish.”

The woman nodded. “Well, then, I should leave you to it. I am sure they would not look kindly on a Dalish talking to their child.”

His eyes widened. “You are Dalish?”

She laughed and twirled a finger in the direction of her face. “You did not recognise my tattoos?”

Zevran shook his head. The woman beckoned behind her, and several others emerged with similar curlicues and lines in dark ink over their foreheads and cheeks, watching him with sad smiles. In their dark green leathers, the breastplates adorned with stitching that reflected their tattoos, they looked like they had strolled straight out of a storybook. An excited breath swelled his lungs and climbed up his throat.

“All the adults have vallaslin,” she said with a smile. “Now, go to your family before they come looking for you.”

“I-I have none,” he said quickly. “I lied. I want to come with you.” Zevran scrambled upright and stared the chuckling woman in the eye. “Please, I want you to take me with you. I was looking for you.”

The woman’s eyes twinkled. “I thought that might be the case. Come, then, da’len. We will go home.”

“My mother was Dalish,” he said, almost at a babble now. “She died. I do not know her name, and I only had her gloves, but they were taken away.”

She laughed and nodded, took his hand and pulled him up with her, told him her name was Uthria. Didn’t ask anything more about his mother, but Zevran decided there was time for that later. The other Dalish formed a circle around him as they walked back to the camp, still watching him with that pitying look every so often. Zevran’s heart sank every time they did it, and as they approached the clearing where the ships were parked and the halla grazed and the Dalish children played and ate and weren’t being beaten, his heart climbed all the way back, light as a feather and so very ready for something better.

The party fell to a halt in front of a tallish, pale mage, no doubt the Keeper. The man was bald as the face on a sovereign and sporting vallaslin Zevran couldn’t recall having seen in the clan he had been with. Behind him lay a host of bloodspattered elves on makeshift beds. Some were coughing and writhing, others slept fitfully, and others still were suspiciously motionless. There could only have been fifteen of them there, but given the size of the camp, that was a positively enormous number of the entire clan.

The mage put his staff away. He looked at the escort, then cast his eyes over the rest of the party.

“I see we have guests,” he said in a smooth, low voice, scanning the party from top to toe all the while. He turned back to the woman who had brought them there. “Who are these people, Mithra? My time is scant, and my patience even less so for outsiders today.”

With a respectful nod, the woman named Mithra pointed at Rhodri. “This one claims to be a Grey Warden, and there is another one in the party, so she says–”

“That’s me,” Alistair piped up quickly, and gave a friendly little wave. “Hello!”

The woman raised an eyebrow, and Alistair’s hand snapped back down by his side. “They say they wish to speak with the clan,” she continued, as though Alistair had never spoken. “I thought it best to bring them to you, Keeper, so you could decide for yourself.”

“I see,” he said after a moment. “You were right to bring them to me, Mithra, ma serannas. You may return to your post.”

She nodded once, forcefully. “Ma nuvenin, Keeper.” Without another look at the party, she turned on her heel and marched back the way they had come.

The Keeper turned on them now, surveying them again with unreserved fascination. “Well, much of the introduction is already done. As our guard said, I am the Keeper of this clan.” He raised an eyebrow at Rhodri. “Do you know what a Keeper is, Grey Warden?”

Rhodri tilted her head a little. “Not in great depth, Keeper, no. But the Fereldan Circle of Magi, where I was kept, saw kidnapped Dalish children brought in from time to time. From speaking with them, I understand the Keeper is a lore-keeping mage who is responsible for guiding the clan through decisions.”

“You understood correctly,” he nodded. “Which of our children were snatched away to your Circle, then, Warden?”

“There was Elrian of Clan Sabrae, Aravas of Clan Virnehn, and Vunin of Clan Ghilain.” Rhodri sighed. “I’m sorry, Keeper, but none still live.”

The Keeper closed his eyes and shook his head. “The last two names I don��t recall, but Elrian was a cousin’s child. He should be seventeen by now. What happened to him?”

“There was an incident some months ago in the Tower,” Rhodri said, her voice a little strained now. “An internal coup, blood magic gone wrong. Demons and abominations infiltrated.” She swallowed. “My party and I were already out on Grey Warden business, and we came too late to save him, and many others.”

He looked behind her. “I do not suppose you came to return Elrian’s body to a clan? I see none with you.”

“Forgive me, I did not,” she bowed her head a little.

“Where is the body, then, if not with you?”

Rhodri winced. “The Templars refused to release any of the bodies from the Circle. I would presume Elrian’s was burned, along with everyone else who had died, and the ashes would have gone into Lake Calenhad.”

The Keeper grimaced and hissed through his teeth. “This is very much against our funeral rituals, Grey Warden. We do not burn our dead! They must be buried, given staves of oak and of cedar, and a tree is planted atop the grave.”

“Forgive me,” she said again, looking terribly remorseful now. “Had I any authority in the matter, neither Elrian nor the other two children would have been stolen from their people in the first place. They belonged with their clans and were happiest with them.”

“I have no doubt of that,” he replied shortly, and as if curating his own curtness, the draw in his brows softened. He let out a sigh. “Thank you, Grey Warden, for delivering this news, though I am sure it was not the reason you came looking for us.”

“It was not the sole reason, Keeper, but I had always planned to deliver the news of those children upon finding you.”

The Keeper frowned and studied the Warden’s face briefly. “Thank you,” he said again. “In any case, our introductions remain incomplete. I am Zathrian. And you are…?”

The introduction of Severin Rhodri Amell Callistus of Minrathous, Kirkwall, and the Fereldan Circle of Magi (placetum) made Zathrian’s eyebrows rise.

“Manners from a shemlen,” he murmured. “A Tevinter shemlen, no less. Unexpected. Well, Grey Warden, if you have come to deliver news of the Blight, I already know. I sensed the corruption in the south, and would have brought the clan further north if I could.”

An unimpressed snort came from Sten in the back. “So their first reaction to trouble is to flee from it? Curious.”

Rhodri wheeled around, pink-cheeked and eyes narrowing as she looked at Sten. “Unacceptable,” she barked at him. “You do not have the right to come onto another culture’s land and disparage them! You will speak civilly, or you won’t speak at all.”

“So be it,” Sten sealed his mouth and folded his arms, looking distinctly nonplussed all the while.

Rhodri faced front again, watching the equally-unimpressed Zathrian with an apologetic smile.

“I’m very sorry, Keeper,” she said earnestly. “You were hoping to bring your clan further north, you said?”

Zathrian smiled thinly. “I was, yes, but as you see from the suffering behind me, we are in no fit state to travel.” He rubbed his brow with his fingertips, “I imagine you wish to speak of the treaty we signed with the Wardens. Is that correct?”

Rhodri nodded. “It is, Keeper.”

“Mm. Unfortunately, it is looking like we might not be able to live up to that promise. A little explanation is in order, I think.” He gestured toward the makeshift hospital, “If you’ll follow me, please…”

Closer inspection of the people lying on the stretchers showed that they had all sustained bites and deep, long gashes that looked to have been administered by sets of sharp claws. The arms of some of them were sprouting dark, downy hair, and their eyes were turning a bright, gleaming gold that Zevran had only seen in animals.

Of course. More unknown evil. The darkspawn that ventured into the Brecilian Forest in hopes of wreaking havoc would no doubt be up against very stiff competition from hairy beasties on home turf. Zevran swallowed a weary sigh; had he not said the forest was a dreadful place to be? Being right could be an agonising thing sometimes.

The Keeper proceeded to advise the party that the clan had been living in the Brecilian Forest, as was their custom upon coming to this part of the country. A month into their stay, the clan had been– and Zathrian had paused quite suspiciously before saying it– ambushed by a pack of werewolves. Though they had managed to drive the beasts away, a great number of Dalish had been lost to their injuries or a curse imparted through werewolf bites, and more still were expected to die (or, more accurately, be slaughtered by their clan before they could complete the transformation into werewolves themselves, and gobble up all and sundry).

Zathrian barely needed any prompting from a keen-to-help Rhodri to elaborate on the curse. Somewhere in the forest, so said the Keeper, dwelled the wolf Witherfang, who was the source of all this disaster. Yet more of the clan had been sent into the forest pursuing the wolf a week prior, and they had not returned. Zevran was quite sure he had heard a children’s story once about hunting something and bringing its heart to a suspicious-looking individual, just as the Keeper was now asking Rhodri to do. By the time the name of the tale had come to Zevran, though, Rhodri had already pledged to assist the clan, and the moment for the witty remark had passed. Always the way, really.

“I must return to caring for my people,” Zathrian bowed his head slightly. “I wish you luck in the forest, Grey Warden. Creators speed your way. If you need to know anything else, please speak to my First, Lanaya, or our storyteller, Sarel, and if you have need of equipment,” he gestured at an Aravel where a grey-haired man stood shaking his head at a younger man working a piece of wood, “Master Varathorn can assist you.”

“Ah! Keeper, tell me please, before you go,” Rhodri held up a hand as Zathrian made to leave, and he paused.

“Hmm?”

“Your patients,” she gestured at the host of sickly elves behind him. “Are you using any particular magic or restoratives for their condition? Anything we might use should we encounter any afflicted clansmen in the forest?”

“I am,” the Keeper replied, “but the spellwork is nothing I can teach you within a week. Keeping them cool has helped to slow the spread of the curse, but I am the one best able to treat them.”

With a nod to the party, Zathrian left them alone and weaved his way toward a hospitalised clan member who was thrashing on his stretcher violently. He was covered in thin, dark hair everywhere but his face, and the sweat made it stick to him like a thin layer of glass. With a wave of Zathrian’s hands, the patient fell still, his skin going even whiter.

Zevran’s attention was torn away from the scene as Rhodri clucked her tongue sadly.

“We should set up camp back where we met the guard and then start looking for this Witherfang,” she said after a moment. “I need to speak to Master Varathorn before we go, though. Perhaps one of those staves he has there is for sale…”

Unable to resist himself, Zevran glanced over his shoulder and shot Wynne the filthiest smirk he could arrange on such short notice, and immeasurable joy poured into him as the Senior Enchanter’s eyes narrowed.

“Zev?”

Ah! Caught! He faced forward again, waggling his brows at the Warden who had said his name. She watched him for a moment with gentle bemusement, and beckoned him into a walk.

She bent down toward him a little as they strolled through the camp, speaking to him in a murmur, “I thought I’d check how you’re faring, now that we’re here. Are you well, pretiotus? Would you like to stay here while we look for Witherfang?”

“And leave your side, my dear Warden?” He chuckled, “Perish the thought.”

Rhodri blinked. “You can. We won’t be gone too long, I don’t think. A handful of weeks, at the very most.”

Zevran laughed again and declined the offer without thinking. The panic staggered in with sharp teeth and dangerous proclamations aplenty, and try as he might, Zevran couldn’t think why the automatic response was to decline any offer to be away from the Warden. He swallowed his stomach back down his throat and added quickly, “We are in a rather acute situation, no? All hands on deck needed, I would think. Besides, if it turns out these elves are relatives to me, surely I would make a better first impression assisting you and Alistair.”

None of this was met with any argument from the Warden; Zevran considered it sufficient, and blessed the Maker as his own body started to relax a little. Perhaps it was enough for both of them; perhaps it was simply the truth, and he could only access it when panicked. Besides, there was no need to have more people staring at him.

He waggled his brows at her. “Thank you, though,” he crooned. “You are very gallant, my Grey Warden. You know this, I hope?”

Rhodri smiled and nodded. “Yes, I do.”

Zevran smiled– not despite himself, but certainly not because of himself. “Good.”

The one Zevran presumed to be Master Varathorn looked, at first blush, to be something of a taskmaster. And then, after Zevran had caught the wince of the wiry, redheaded apprentice as the man approached, the status was all but confirmed.

The Master tsked and shook his head, and pointed at the remarkably wavy piece of wood the apprentice was holding. “I don’t know what you’re doing there, but that wood is warped completely. Did you leave it out in the rain?”

The apprentice looked at the man with wide eyes. “N-no, Master Varathorn! I… ah…” he shrugged helplessly. “I think I… used too much heat.”

“I told you about that, Ammen,” Varathorn reproached. “This is living wood! What does it require?”

The young man hung his head. “Delicate hands and patience.”

“And not…?”

“Not more heat.” He sighed. “My actions bring me sorrow, Master.”

Varathorn nodded. “And so they should. Truly, the art will be lost to us forever at this rate. Throw away your dead wood and start anew, while I speak to our guests.”

“Yes, Master,” the apprentice nodded and all but dragged himself back to the workbench, taking another piece of wood as he went.

Master Varathorn tutted quietly as he strode over to meet the party, giving them a somewhat harassed smile. His eyes went onto Zevran briefly, and then down to his cheek, where they lingered until Rhodri’s greeting tore them away again.

“Good morning,” she said pleasantly. “Are you Master Varathorn?”

The Master managed one last glance at Zevran’s cheek before fully engaging himself in the conversation. “I am. Please forgive my distraction, stranger. Was there something you needed?”

Zevran took a moment to look around him while the two spoke, not least so the Master had less of an opportunity to glue his eyes onto Zevran’s tattoo again. It shouldn’t have been a problem, being stared at. It had happened often enough, after all.

In fact, it wasn’t a problem. The only real problem, if indeed there was one, was that being stared at by this man felt like a problem. And the only cure for such irrational thinking was to prove it wrong by letting the Master stare a hole into Zevran’s face for as long as he pleased.

Something in his gut steeled as he looked back and saw Rhodri writing something down on a small piece of paper. The Master was nodding and speaking, and Rhodri scribbled more down.

“Only… when… fallen off… tree. Right. I’ll bring back whatever I find of it,” she said, looking up with a resolute smile.

“Do that,” the Master said with a nod, “and I’ll craft it into something useful to you. I excel in making blades from ironbark. Or you could have a breastplate, if there is enough wood for it.” Rhodri stiffened at that, her eyes widening. Varathorn raised an eyebrow. “... Is something the matter, Grey Warden?”

The pen and paper were left on the table as Rhodri straightened up, wringing her fingers. “I hope not,” she said after a moment. “I just… I wonder how to suggest this, Master, as I don’t know if it will be polite to you or not. I would hate to offend.”

“Speak, Warden. I will trust your intentions are well-meant.”

Rhodri gave an appreciative, if rather cautious nod. “Your wares are beautiful, Master, but my party has what it needs.” She swallowed, “I had meant to bring you ironbark to use for your own clan. Much of their equipment must have been damaged in the clashes, I presume.”

Master Varathorn’s eyebrows rose high enough to risk disappearing into his hairline. “I… had not expected such generosity from an outsider,” he said hesitantly. “That would be a great gift to my clan, if you truly mean that.”

A beat passed where Zevran half-expected Rhodri to turn to stone, and then, as she visibly relaxed, perhaps go the complete other way and turn to sand.

“Ah,” she chuckled and nodded. “I did mean it. I’ll be happy to help.”

“... I, ah–” Varathorn cleared his throat. “Thank you in advance, Grey Warden. Well, then, since my staves are no use to you, if you find a sylvan branch in the forest to your liking, consider bringing it to me and I can at least sand away the rough edges to make it comfortable to wield.”

The offer was accepted with thanks that bordered on profuse, and with a last nod to the craftsmaster, the party left.

At camp, the party members planning on joining Rhodri’s probe into the forest selected themselves with minimal trouble. Wynne and Sten were requested to stay behind; Alistair and Leliana, looking woefully underslept for reasons the entire party was painfully aware of, asked to stay and rest.

That left him, Shale, and Morrigan. And Jeppe, of course. Morrigan made a point of opting to go simply because it was the opposite of where Wynne would be, and Shale was surprisingly curious about the woods. Zevran smirked inwardly as they traipsed between the trees, silently hoping someone would happen upon them and react to the odd assembly. There had to be some compensation for being among all the revolting nature– and there was plenty of said revolting nature to be had.

That said, even if no-one showed up, it wasn’t a dead loss. Or so Zevran’s optimistic streak advised him, anyway. The midday sun filtered through gaps in the thinning canopy; the remaining foliage caught the full brunt of the light on its back and glowed down on them like adoration. Gold above, gold below, gold unlatching from the pinprick fingertips of the trees and drifting down to join the rest of the carpet beneath his feet. It was the most brazen, most utterly ineffectual display of wealth Zevran had ever seen in his life, and he shuddered to think how dark the forest got in the summer, when the canopy was at its thickest and darkest.

Rhodri, who seemed to have been visited by the same cheerful thought, gave a happy sigh and grinned at them. “It’s nice here, isn’t it? All these falling leaves and such, it’s very exotic.”

Morrigan snorted. “I would hardly call this exotic. ‘Tis a natural part of the cycle. The weather grows cold, the trees drop their leaves and go dormant until the weather is warm again.”

Zevran shook his head. “I do not know how you stood the winters out here, Morrigan,” he said with a small shudder. “Did you never wish to go to a warmer forest?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she tsked impatiently. “There was no room for wishes, and leaving the Korcari Wilds to march north through the flatlands would have been a death sentence. Flemeth and I dwelled where we could, and we lived well enough. Fire and cold balm make a great difference to one’s comfort levels.”

She shrugged one shoulder, and if Zevran wasn’t mistaken, a hint of self-consciousness was creeping into her tone. “Beyond that, I know the Wilds as well as any other of its natural denizens, in winter or summer. It is home to me. Is it so unthinkable a place to live well?”

“I am afraid the current winter weather is unthinkable enough to me,” Zevran confessed. “I shudder to think how it must be when it is colder.”

A soft, pitying ‘ooh’ issued from Rhodri, and Zevran’s stomach dropped. Morrigan squinted at Zevran like he had just declared his betrothal with an ogre.

“You fool,” Morrigan uttered softly. “We are nowhere near–”

A pained, exhausted groan cut the witch’s diatribe short, and the party glanced around wildly.

“Rhodri,” Zevran touched her arm and gestured at a small cluster of bushes, where a Dalish man lay, dragging himself toward them on his belly. His skin was like chalk, and he was covered in open wounds that looked to have drained most of the blood in his body.

Her eyes widened. “Mercy! Keep still a moment, let me close those gashes!”

With a wave of her hand, the fellow’s wounds were sealed, but no colour was returning to him. She bent down, extracted one of those bright-red potions from her satchel, and steadied the man’s head with a hand as she administered it to him.

Even after it had been drained, he looked half-dead. He panted as he creaked out, “Wh-where are the others?”

They looked around; Rhodri shook her head. “There are no others. You are the only one we found. Who did you come with?”

“Other– other hunters,” he gasped. “Sent to kill the wolf Witherfang… bring his heart… we were attacked…”

“... By the werewolves?” Rhodri asked. The man was slow to respond, his breaths getting shallower, but he managed a nod.

“Gone now,” he breathed. “They fled to the ruins… long time ago.”

“Right.” She straightened up. “We need to check the area for survivors, and then we’ll take you back to your camp.”

A cursory examination of the immediate surroundings revealed a handful of bodies, and by the time they had returned to the sole survivor, he was drifting in and out of consciousness.

“Zev.” Rhodri’s hand hovered near his arm, and Zevran made a point of ignoring the urge to close the gap.

He smiled smoothly. “Sí, mi sol?”

She leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Can he be saved?”

Zevran cast a glance at the man and sighed. “Mmm, I could not say either way at this point. He will be lucky if he does. We are a good three hours’ walk from the camp, and that is a long time to be so poorly.”

“I can run,” she stepped back and began unbuttoning her robes. “I’ll strap him to me with my robes and we can run back, all of us. Come.”

A not-insignificant amount of shushing and jostling began as Zevran and Shale hoisted the unfortunate man into Rhodri’s self-made sling. Her robes crossed over his back, sandwiching them front to front, and Zevran immediately shot down any notion of the delights of being pressed up against her like that. Some people didn’t know their luck. Not least because they were now largely unaware of his surroundings, but even so.

With one hand wrapped around his back and the other hand securing his head in the crook of her neck (he would not think about burying his own face in there! He would not!) Rhodri burst into a run, and the rest of them were hot on her heels. Even Morrigan was saving the breath usually reserved for complaints to use for the trip back. Hopefully that wasn’t where all of their luck had just gone.

#Have Warden Will Travel #HWWT #Rhodri Amell #at fucking last. This chapter must be like. 7000+ words at this point. Longest chapter to date it almost did me in #so many small things to weave in and I did NOT have the attention span for it #thank god now we can move on to the good shit

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swbumblebee · 2 years

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I posted 463 times in 2021

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401 posts reblogged (87%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 6.5 posts.

I added 155 tags in 2021

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#is it romantic if neither of you notices you're drinking wine and holding hands in the candle light?

My Top Posts in 2021

Plo Koon, clutching a woolly hat: "Obi-Wan, good luck on your mission. I have heard the region can be very cold for humans."

Obi-Wan, Doing His Usual: "Oh no I’ll be fine thank you Master Plo, I’m sure I’ll cope."

Plo Koon: Distressed Parent Noises

Obi-Wan, hastily taking offered hat: "But of course, it doesn’t hurt to be extra prepared. I shall be sure to take it with me."

Plo Koon: ...

Obi-Wan, trying not to panic:"...and...wear it at all times?"

Plo Koon: Visible Happiness

335 notes • Posted 2021-10-03 16:58:55 GMT

The group of Jedi Generals and senior clone officers were clustered together in the hanger, watching with keen eyes as troops from both the 212th and the 501st were suiting up and organising themselves into ground teams, ready to ship out.

Marshall Commander Cody let the usual Skywalker/Tano banter wash over him, as much background noise as the whirring of machinery and the thud of boots. Instead he focused his gaze on his own General, who was standing silently with an uncharacteristically distant look on his face.

“Sir, everything alright?” he asked in a low voice, positioning himself so the question was as private as possible.

The Jedi didn’t move for a solid twenty seconds.

Cody dithered.

“Sir?”

“Hmmm?!”

General Kenobi finally acknowledged him, seemingly quite startled to find Cody so close. “Oh ah, yes. Sorry Cody I’m just…” he trailed off, and Cody watched with a sinking feeling as the vacant look took over his face once more.

He was starting to recognise that look:

Force Oisk was going down.

“Padawan” the General cleared his throat suddenly and Cody was instantly alert.

To his amusement, both the younger Jedi looked up at the summons, stopping their horsing around immediately.

“Would you run and fetch my Shoto from my room please?” the senior Jedi asked politely, addressing Commander Tano.

Both younger people looked at him with the most confusing expressions. General Skywalker tilted his head in surprise and Commander Tano’s eyes widened in excitement as a smile formed.

“Really?” She asked in an endearingly childish tone, as if her Grand Master had just announced life day had come early. Cody half expected her to start bouncing on the balls of her feet.

General Kenobi only hummed in confirmation, tilting his head as if listening to something. If he wasn’t so used to the aforementioned Force Oisk, it would have been decidedly creepy to Cody.

“Yes…” he tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I’m not quite…but…yes” the General finally said, nodding firmly once at the end of his sentence. “Would you mind?”

“Err Sure! I’ll go get it now!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. Turning back to the group seemingly as an afterthought, halfway to the doors, “I call Master Obi-Wan’s squad!” she called as she bounded out.

General Kenobi shook his head fondly.

“Sorry, Sir…what’s a shoto?” Cody asked, hoping to jump in before it became any more of A Thing.

“Ah apologies Cody, that was rude of me” his C.O apologised. “A Shoto is a second lightsaber blade, slightly shorter than a main sabre. One uses it when performing double bladed fighting forms.”

Cody blinked.

He knew there were Jedi who had two sabers, Commander Tano for instance, but he’d never seen his own use anything other than his trademark single azure blade. Force knows he was lethal enough with it.

“Yeah, Jar’Kai” General Skywalker chimed in. “Master’s really good at it.”

Of course he was. Cody would have been surprised if his breathtakingly competent General was bad at anything.

“I don’t suppose it’s telling you why?” Skywalker asked drily.

“Unfortunately not” his Master replied flatly.

Before Cody could ask what the hell they were talking about now, Commander Tano positively skipped back over to them waving a lightsaber hilt that was slightly stubbier than the one Cody was used to seeing.

“I’ve got it!”

It would’ve been a very cold person who didn’t smile at the enthusiasm of the young Jedi, and like the sun coming out from behind the clouds Cody’s General gave a soft smile as he took the hilt in his hands, briskly clipping it to his belt.

“Thank you Ahsoka.” The senior Jedi cleared his throat “hopefully I won’t have call to use it but” he shrugged “at least I can be prepared.”

Cody had A Bad Feeling about this.

“Master please can I go with Master Obi-Wan?” Commander Tano’s excited plea cut off his next question as she bounced in front of Skywalker, who rolled his eyes.

“I hope you’re as excited to hang out with me one day” he teased.

“We’ll hardly be ‘hanging out’” General Kenobi corrected. “But, Anakin if you have no objections, Ahsoka you’re with me.”

Skywalker nodded and shook his head fondly as Commander Tano punched the air.

“Try and learn something Snips” he tugged playfully on her Padawan beads “I’ll see you later.” He looked at them all, suddenly serious “May the Force be with us.”

---

Cody had tried to prize an explanation from his mystic Jedi before they found themselves in the middle of the fray:

“General, why did you have to bring your shoto blade?”

He got a shrug in return.

“The Force told me to.”

Well. Ask a silly question.

But an hour or so later, as Cody paused (rather unprofessionally) mid-way through kicking a clanker into the other end of next week, it became apparent that the Force knew what it was doing.

Gradually the others around him, separatist and clone, were pausing and looking up as one, as on the top of a low building just up ahead their General was showing them just what this “Jar’Kai form” in the hands of a Jedi Master could do.

Once the spectacle had caught his attention Cody found he couldn’t look away; his General was moving almost faster than the eye could follow; blue and yellow blurs following him as he quite simply decimated the forces in between him and his goals; both the rusty old bastard that was Grievous, and the all-important controls for the shield generator.

Flips, turns, twists and jumps. So far away from his usual contained, tight style. Every so often the sun glinted off red hair, highlighting intense blue eyes and a determined grimace that spoke of utmost concentration, and the whole picture looked like a scene from one of the stained glass windows Cody once saw in a place of worship on some long forgotten planet.

He could’ve stared at the scene quite happily for hours.

“Still with us Commander?”

Waxer’s voice, clearly amused, in his ear brought him crashing back down to earth.

He cleared his throat, infinitely glad his helmet concealed his blush at being court staring (he did not moon, thank you very much Rex).

“Lieutenant. Keep that flank covered” he instructed, with a vicious kick to a nearby grenade bot.

Waxer, the impertinent shit, snorted in his ear.

“Don’t you worry Codes, if you ask Tano nicely she might let you borrow her recording. Maybe just tell her you also want some pointers on your Lightsaber work.”

That little-

The click of the radio signaled the dead air that met his insults.

---

There was no denying the very small voice at the back of the Commander’s mind that was seriously considering nabbing the footage, but by the end of the battle reality was sinking in. It occurred to Cody that there were now twice as many lightsabers to catch when they inevitably fell from a great and dangerous height.

Wonderfull.

344 notes • Posted 2021-02-07 20:20:28 GMT

Mace Windu found himself in a singularly unique situation, and for the first time in a very long time felt something akin to nerves. The fate of the entire galaxy depended on his ability to connect with a small boy.

He looked down at the blonde child trotting happily next to him. Worlds away from the shielded young man who, last time, used to stalk the corridors of the temple, or the angry teenager who had radiated resentment.

Ten-year-old Anakin Skywalker hadn’t seemed to know quite what to make of the Korun Jedi. There had been suspicion there, at first. Understandably. Mace and Plo had discovered very quickly the Force had spat them out around six months after Naboo, and everything was still very raw.

He felt the shame of his words in that other life creep up on him. The first order of business when he had picked Anakin up that afternoon had been an apology. Starting from a foundation of trust was the cornerstone of their plan; save Anakin Skywalker, save the galaxy.

The Master of the Order had given speeches to Kings and Emperors. He met with the Chancellor on a weekly basis and once had to improvise a poem to save a man’s life.

But this, this was the most important thing he would ever say.

He had knelt to be eye level with the boy and spoken from the heart.

“Anakin, do you remember our first meeting?”

The boy nodded silently.

“I have thought about our meeting a lot, and I would like to apologise.” Blue eyes got wider and the surprise in the Force was tangible. “I am afraid we did not live up to the ideals we should, and we did not support you – I did not support you” he corrected himself “as I should have.” He bowed his head a little before resuming eye contact. “I know you have a good heart Anakin, and I know you will be an excellent Jedi.”

This time.

He pushed sincerity into the Force and smiled a little.

“I am very glad, Padawan, that your Master is so stubborn. And you are proving us all wrong.”

After Mace’s apology had been awkwardly accepted, he moved them swiftly on to the hanger, picked up two spanners and then asked politely for Anakin’s help modifying his fighter.

And that, as they say, was that.

Three hours later and it was a completely different boy who walked back to the flat with him. He lit up the Force like a bonfire, bouncing along chattering away about droids, pod racers and all the planets he was going to see.

The Master smiled down at Anakin, who gave a heartbreakingly easy smile back at him. Blue eyes wide and trusting.

Mace thought he might need a lie down. A wave of intense sorrow threatened to overwhelm him for a moment when he thought of all that might have been, had they only paid more attention the first time around.

He shook himself out of it and sent a wave of warning to Plo as they neared the door to the Kenobi/Skywalker temple flat.

Plo had been on Kenobi Duty whilst Mace had been making a start on Phase One of the plan. Force only knows what awaited him in the flat. He half expected to find the young man wrapped up in blankets being force fed soup whilst Plo sang a lullaby.

His friend did go overboard sometimes. And he was damn near unstoppable when faced with a being in distress; Kenobi didn’t stand a chance.

Mace braced himself as Skywalker, no, he corrected himself, Anakin bounced through the doors with a joyous cry.

“Master Obi-Wan! Guess-“

“Shhh young one. Your Master is sleeping” Plo’s gentle voice cut him off.

The scene before them was sickeningly sweet and Mace rolled his eyes fondly: Plo was sitting on the sofa, propping up a fast-asleep twenty-two-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Anakin, go and change into something clean.” Mace instructed very quietly, giving the child a light push towards the refresher. As soon as they were alone he rounded on Plo.

“You were supposed to bolster and support” he said, careful to keep his voice soft despite his exasperation “Not…cuddle him!”

Plo gave a dismissive hand gesture with the claw not stroking ginger hair, and would’ve shrugged if he didn’t have Obi-Wan’s head lolling against his chest.

“I did. And then it was nap time” he explained simply.

Mace shook his head. He would be on Kenobi Duty next time, and by Force they were going to actually address issues this time around or die trying.

Anakin re-emerged in clean tunics, standing unsurely in the doorway to the cozy living room.

Well. No time like the present.

He knelt down to the small boy’s level.

“Anakin” he said seriously. “We need to be gentle with your Master for a while.” Concern flooded the round face as Mace spoke “he’s strong, but he’s dealing with a lot, and he’s very tired.”

Large blue eyes flickered over his Master’s slumbering form, and back to Mace, glinting with understanding.

“He’s really sad” the child observed quietly, and the intelligence behind the simple words drifted over to Mace in the Force.

He nodded.

“You’re a Jedi now Anakin, we look after each other. Can you look after your Master?”

Obi-Wan Kenobi is not perfect. It was one of the crucial misunderstandings that doomed them all last time; Skywalker had placed Obi-Wan on a pedestal so high he was outraged whenever his ‘perfect’ Master faltered. Kenobi was an ideal to Skywalker, instead of a real person. He believed his Master incapable of empathising with the mixed up, troubled young man Skywalker grew up to be.

Pushing him towards Sidious, and the dark.

And believing him utterly capable, nobody offered support in training Skywalker and Obi-Wan had given absolutely everything he had to raise the boy, resulting in a Jedi Master who was scarily competent but completely incapable of caring for himself.

Not this time. This time, they would do better.

Anakin gave him a serious nod, and Mace stood up solemnly. Plo was carefully untangling himself from Kenobi, gently lowering the sleeping man to lie flat on the sofa with a few clever twists of the Force. Mace rather suspected his friend was applying a sly sleep suggestion, when Obi-Wan didn’t so much as twitch at the movement.

Plo bowed to young Ani, raising a giggle from the boy.

“We will be back on Primeday Padawan.”

“May the Force be with you Master Plo and Master Mace” the Padawan in question chirped, already moving to take the discarded mugs from the coffee table as they left, giving his supine Master a gentle pat whilst he snored softly.

The time travelling Master’s grinned at each other and Mace let out a long breath.

They had a long way to go, but this was a good place to start.

---------

Hope you enjoyed this first snippet of my “Mace and Plo go back in time and fix the Kenobi/Skywalker team and save the Galaxy” AU!

354 notes • Posted 2021-01-01 19:40:37 GMT

Obi-Wan Kenobi personally knew nearly everyone in the Jedi Temple. Not only his fellow Knights and the Masters, who had observed him grow from spirited child to stalwart Jedi Knight, but circumstances and his uncanny knack for remembering names meant all corners of the Temple counted Master Kenobi as a friend. It wasn’t thanks to some kind of box ticking exercise; he had no desire to be well-known. Over the years it just kind of happened…

The Master Scholars all knew him. A thirst for knowledge and a (slightly worrying) desire to prove himself meant Padawan Kenobi seemed to be in every class, typically near the back, quietly getting his head down or focusing intense eyes on the holo-board. Later, a new generation of Jedi teachers experienced the quiet cleverness of Knight Kenobi and his ingenious ways of helping his new Padawan catch up.

The Healers all knew him. Oh, did they know him. An apprenticeship marked by the worst luck and an abysmal attitude towards his own health meant his arrival was always accompanied by a halls-wide sense of urgency. That never changed. But nearly a year of playing a depressing little game called “What’s Padawan Skywalker Allergic To?” meant he was a regular visitor, face pinched in worry (often carrying a miserable ten year old) but with a kind smile for the Padawans and an obvious gratitude for their work he quickly knew all of them by name.

The kitchen staff all knew him. Popping in with a cheerful hello to politely enquire as to the ingredients of this week’s menu, and possible substitutions, to hopefully devise a strategy to win the aforementioned game, his arrival eventually became accompanied by shouts of greeting from all corners of the massive kitchen, and a box of pastries was inevitably thrust at the skinny young Knight.

The Temple Guards knew him well. It was something of a tradition for one of them to turn up at least every few days, having intercepted Padawan Skywalker wandering off, depositing the squirming child at his Master’s door to an exasperated sigh from Knight Kenobi. It was a strong guard indeed who was able to resist the apologetic smile and the offer of reconciliatory tea. Years down the line they found themselves automatically and unquestioningly accompanying the distraught young Master into the streets of Coruscant at all hours of the night to find his wayward Senior Padawan.

The Quarter Master knew him, and whilst their relationship had at times been something slightly less than stellar (he was the first Jedi ever she had had to give a Robe Allowance to. Two a quarter, and no more) he was responsible for a whole new tailoring style and colour scheme that was now very popular with the younger set; many an evening Knight Kenobi and his small Padawan had appeared at her door with a light brown Padawan tunic singed and stained beyond belief with oil, dirt and force only knows what. The sheepish smiles were accompanied by boxes of pastries after a while until they hit on the winning formula of dark robes to hide stains and synth-leather tabards to avoid singes and fraying.

The mechanics and maintenance staff all knew him, though for a long time not by name. He was simply Ani’s Master That Ginger One, who waved from the doorway of the workshop, always so careful with their little grease monkey and seemingly so impressed with that they’d taught him. It was when Grease Monkey Ani got a little more ambitious that they got to know him better, fighting over who got to call by the Kenobi/Skywalker flat to restore something to factory settings.

The administrative staff, who didn’t know anyone, all knew him. The close team of middle-aged women, most of whom had children, instantly kicked into Mothering Mode when he became the first Knight in a decade to search them out. Pale faced and exhausted, knocking on their door asking respectfully for guidance on the monstrous amount of forms he had to submit to register a being as a citizen of the republic. It was a long and difficult process, and they were all so terribly proud when he turned up one day with a big smile and an official identity card for young Skywalker, brandishing an Alderaanian sponge cake and some paper plates.

---

Temple Wide Announcement, 7th Month, 21 Galactic Standard Calendar

It is with great pleasure that we announce Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi has answered the Order’s call to serve and will take his seat on the Jedi High Council

“Ahh, he was always such a bright boy, quite dedicated to his studies. I always rather thought he might end up in the archives you know”

“Would you look at that? Well, he’s Head Healer Che’s problem now, won’t be treated by the likes of us! It’s a shame really”

“Oh how wonderful! Let’s get some of those pastries going for dinner, he’ll like that”

“Kenobi? Nice. Solid choice. ‘Suppose he’ll have the whole order to chase after now!”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose we can’t have a High Councilor going about without a robe. Ash, let’s up his allowance to three per quarter.”

“Hey it’s Kenobi! Do you think he still has that Chrono that swears? We never did get around to fixing it.”

“Oh it’s dear Obi-Wan. We should send him a nice card, he was ever so sweet.”

416 notes • Posted 2021-01-29 18:46:23 GMT

He wasn’t hiding. Jedi Masters don’t hide. Mace Windu doesn’t hide. He just so happened to be in the furthest, quietest part of the archives where it was unlikely anybody would run into him.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the silence as he progressed. This period in time was turning out to be much more taxing than it had been the first time around. Then again, last time he wasn’t trying to formulate a plan to assassinate the Chancellor and decide the fate of a few million potential clones, at the same time as running the order and keeping an eye on two of the most unpredictable boys he had ever met.

Well, a boy and a young man.

Another reason for his journey. He could sense young Anakin’s blindingly strong presence and Obi-Wan’s steady, shielded light, getting closer and closer as he journeyed through the stacks.

What in the galaxy were they doing here?

A high-pitched giggle stopped him in his tracks.

“No Master! It’s Goodd`e da Lodia, otherwise it doesn’t make sense!”

“Alright alright, how’s this? Goodde da Loddia”

“Gooddè”

“Don’t just repeat it Padawan. Sound it out for me, like we do with Basic”

“OK, Goo-dd-è”

“Goodde”

Mace cleared his throat.

“Good day”

Both young Jedi started, Obi-Wan nearly dropped the mug of tea that seemed to be permanently attached to his hand these days.

“Master Mace!” ten year old Anakin cried happily, pushing pleasure into the Force with enthusiasm, to a wince from his Master, who was exuding just the right amount of polite welcome from behind his shields.

“Hello Master Windu” Obi-Wan nodded at him with a somewhat tired smile. He made to get up from the dusty little table squeezed into the alcove and tucked into the wall, but the Master of the Order waved a hand.

“What’s all this?” he asked, eying the various pads and pieces of flimsi littering the table and the floor.

Instead of the usual bouncy response there was an unexpected, rather pregnant, silence and young Anakin gave his teacher a (not terribly subtle) worried look.

“Anakin is teaching me Huttese” Obi-Wan answered smoothly. The boy in question nodded vigorously, and Mace watched with a small amount of amusement as he ever so slightly kicked a piece of flimsy further under the table.

“How…interesting”

“Yes, as you probably heard, it’s not going terribly well” Obi-Wan gave him a self-deprecating smile, no doubt taking note of Mace’s incredulity. He turned to his Padawan.

“Anakin, could you make sure Madam Nu doesn’t close up this section yet, and let her know we won’t be long.”

The boy looked at his Master, and they gave each other a tiny understanding nod. Anakin’s Force signature flared ever so slightly with…fear? before it was quickly soothed by Obi-Wan, Mace assumed.

“Sure Master, be right back” The child took off among the stacks with a smile at Mace.

“Walk please, don’t run!” the young Master called after him, shaking his head.

Mace took the empty seat at the table, taking in the mess once more.

“So…Huttese?” he asked mildly, looking at a nearby pad “and…The Bantha who came for Life day?” he raised his eyebrows at the simple children’s story in Basic.

“Ahh, yes.” The young man chewed on his lip a little as he gathered his thoughts. Mace waited patiently, eyeing a nearby piece of flimsi with the Galactic Basic alphabet written out half a dozen times in shaky writing.

“Anakin is a bright boy” Obi-Wan began slowly. “He has an incredible knowledge of mechanics and electronics, and mathematics comes very easily to him.” He said, unable to keep a proud smile off his face, until he turned serious eyes on Mace again. “There are some areas, however, where he has a lot of catching up to do. He isn’t quite at his age level yet with his literacy.”

Mace frowned.

“Not quite at his age level?” he clarified, with a sinking feeling.

“Ah, no.” Obi-Wan paused again. “Obviously there wasn’t much cause for reading and writing in his previous…position” Both of them scowled at the euphemism “and whilst he can obviously speak it fluently” Obi-Wan sighed. “Anakin never learned to read and write in Basic.” he finished, rather apprehensively.

Mace blinked.

“He…can’t read or write?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. He crossed his arms in front of himself, wrists aligning with elbows. Mace recognised the nervous tick even if it was usually under his robe sleeves.

“He is getting there though” the young man implored “we’re working on it, and he’s a fast learner. I assure you he’ll be up to standard in the next few months.”

Mace breathed out, shaking his head. He could’ve kicked himself.

One more way they had all let Anakin Skywalker down. Of course he wouldn’t be able to study at the level of core-educated temple younglings. He was a slave, the very idea was preposterous.

“But…how has he got on with his classes so far? He’s been here nine months already” Mace asked, deliberately keeping his voice light. He wasn’t going to admonish the only being in the temple who had actually been helping the boy. And it looked like, spending all his free time doing it.

Obi-Wan nodded.

“We work on assignments together, Anakin records his comprehension and writing class and we go through it afterwards.”

Mace took a moment to marvel at the kindness of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Obi-Wan” he said gently. “You have your own teaching and advanced training to work on, not to mention the Master level courses.”

He instantly knew he’d said the wrong thing when fierce blue eyes turned on him and the younger Jedi straightened his posture.

“I am perfectly capable of teaching him Master, he is my Padawan.” He paused, looking down at the table “I won’t put him in a class with the younglings. I won’t allow him to feel like he is less than the other Padawans, like he’s unintelligent.” He said firmly.

For a moment Mace was transported to council meetings with his friend, Master Kenobi arguing his point with words as strong as durasteel and a determination that could move planets. He felt a sudden pang of loss, looking at his friend’s twenty-two-year-old face.

“Of course not” Mace assured, pushing apology into the Force around them. He looked at the table. “But this isn’t sustainable Obi-Wan. You don’t need to do this alone.” He said quietly

The Knight blinked in surprise. Mace nearly rolled his eyes. Had asking for help really never crossed his mind? He made a mental note to focus more of his and Plo’s energy on Kenobi Support Duty.

“Yes.” He repeated firmly. “I will take him for an hour a week” he winced inwardly when he thought of his already busting schedule. Save Skywalker, save the Galaxy he reminded himself. “As, I’m sure, will Master Plo.”

Obi-Wan was giving him a look that was very difficult to decipher, halfway between wary and relieved.

“I…thank you Master” he bowed a little in his seat “that’s very kind of you and I…appreciate it.”

Mace smiled again, satisfied. He couldn’t sense the ball of energy that was Anakin Skywalker yet, obviously still on his quest.

“So you’re teaching Anakin Basic, and he’s teaching you Huttese…?” Mace raised his eyebrows in question again.

Obi-Wan’s ears started to turn ever so slightly pink.

“Ah yes” he cleared his throat. “I just thought…if Anakin considers the way a language is formed and taught, it might help with his own practice. And this way we’re learning together; it might boost his self-esteem a little.” The young Knight paused thoughtfully. “I want to emphasise that learning happens at any age and stage” He explained slowly, and then gave a sheepish smile. “And it’s quite fun” he admitted shyly.

Mace regarded the wise young man across from him. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been wasted in a war, in that other time.

Nerd. He thought fondly.

As Anakin practically skipped back over to them, attempting to sit on his Master in lieu of a third chair, he observed the two Jedi (bickering happily) who could have existed that first time around, if only they’d had more than each other.

Well, this time they had Mace, and Plo. And they’d be dammed if either of their boys ended up carrying the weight of the Galaxy, this time around.

500 notes • Posted 2021-02-28 21:51:40 GMT

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Note

Amy on a Santiago Family Skype Meeting and Jake wanting a kiss before he has to leave hc

Amy is trying not to let her fatigue show - she loves her family, she really does, but anyone would start cracking after literally two hours of a Skype Meeting with seven brothers and a set of parents (okay, her dad was mostly there for tech support while her mom chattered, but he still counted).

Her eyes are slightly glazing over while one of the boys starts talking about his son - who's interrupted the call several times to say hello to all the tios and one tia anyway - when she notices the door to her bedroom opening, even if it's not entirely visible on the screen.

"Hey babe, I'm gonna- oh sh- sorry I didn't know you were still on the call-"

Jake seems to be scrambling through all five stages of grief after realising what he just interrupted and that he almost swore in front of her mom, who is very much not on board with that ever, even as all of her children are adults now. He calms slightly when there is a chorus of "Jake! YO! How's it going? HI JAKE! Hey bro! What's up? Jake my maaan!" from the seven little tiles of faces excited to see him (meanwhile Julian, the second youngest, teasingly imitates his "hey baaabe" in a singsong voice).

"Hi", he waves into the tiny camera after walking over to her desk, making sure to say a specific hello to her parents and yep, she picked good. "Sorry, just wanted to say I'll be leaving for that stake-out now."

"Oh right!" Amy looks at him while the chorus turns into a collected "Byyye Mr. Big Policeman" and other stupid nicknames while Benedict, the youngest still in college and very undecided, mumbles a quiet "so cool". He's probably heading for the academy soon.

"I put dinner in the fridge for you. Guess this is gonna take a while." He grins with a quick look to the laptop, graciously omitting that 'dinner' was another box of takeout they'd ordered before David had called the impromptu Santiago Meeting. She realises, then, that she's ditched her boyfriend for two hours at her own place, letting him dither around before a somewhat risky stakeout he was definitely not to happy about, and feels an appropriate amount of guilt. She knows Jake can entertain himself well enough when he's at her apartment and she's busy with something, but he'd probably definitely planned to spend the evening a bit closer to her than it had turned out.

She puts a unspoken apology into her smile, only to notice he's clearly waiting for something, and cringes a little when she realises for what.

They've always made sure to kiss goodbye when leaving each other, especially if one of them is heading out for work. Even with something as well-practiced as a stake-out, with their profession there is always the slightest chance that they might not make it home for a while, or.... never. A proper kiss and I love you before the other goes is the least they can leave each other with, and they've adhered to it strictly, even after a fight or when one of them was still half-asleep.

But they're center-stage in front of her entire family now, and she can feel all nine sets of eyes (ten if you count Jake) bore into her. It's different when they're all together for real, at some family party, and she can stand aside a bit with Jake's arm around her waist to peck a kiss on his cheek or even on his lips, but even then at least one of the Santiabros (ugh she hates that group chat name) will notice and tease them about it.

To have them all sitting front row for it? She's probably going to die from both embarassment and little-sister-rage if they start up.

Jake seems to notice her unease, or maybe he just realises that the usual lean-for-a-kiss is definitely not happening, and with a quick side-eye to the screen and its waiting faces, he decides to do what he does best.

Tease her.

"So goodbye babeee~" His voice is in an exaggerated sing-song now while he presses a loud, smacking kiss to her cheek, cradling the other with his hand like some overbearing auntie. "Love youuu~" He continues with yet another noisy smooch before she pushes him away, trying hard to ignore the laughs and shouts from her speakers. He joins in with the laughter while actually pinching her cheek before standing upright to leave, but his face turns far more somber as soon as it is out of range of her camera.

"Just a second." She growls towards her family, still hooting. "Gotta kill my boyfriend."

He's already at her door again when she reaches him, and she was planning to give him a little punch at least, but his smile as he turns back to her is so soft and his eyes are so shining and there is no way she can't not give him their proper goodbye.

So she places her hands around his neck instead, fingertips behind his ears, and smiles back.

"Bye, cariño", she whispers (the Spanish always sneaks into her speech more after time with her family), and it was meant to be just a short peck to his lips, but then his hand is soft between her shoulderblades like it is so so often, and she forgets all about the seven brothers and parents in the room - kind of.

She's quickly reminded of them when she can hear David's "You know we can still see you, right?" between Whoohoos and whistling. "Get a room!" she recognises from Alonso, with a quick "They are in their room" from Julian. She won't let them get to her this time, though, simply removing one hand from Jake's face to stretch behind her with a middle finger pointed in the direction of her laptop while she kisses her boyfriend (her love) again, and only her mom's gasped "Amelia!" makes her finally break away and shoo him out the door with a smile.

#b99 #brooklyn 99 #peraltiago #jake peralta #amy santiago #the santiabros #they looove Jake #but they love embarassing their little sister even more #ficlet #my writing

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confusednarcissistwrites · 4 years

Text

Teenage Dirtbag Pt.5 (K.S.)

strap in babies: this is rough one. love you all and hope you are staying safe 💛 enjoy

(cancer, v sad)

The minute the door slammed behind Kyle, you sunk the floor, pulling your knees to your chest and letting out a heavy sigh. No one else made you quite so ferocious in only a matter of moments. Yet, even so, you felt that obnoxious pang of guilt in your stomach for raising your voice at him. You often left confrontational situations feeling guilty; it was merely circumstance that most of the confrontation in your life was with him at that time. At least that’s what you told yourself.

You stood abruptly with a growl, frustrated with yourself. As much as you’d like to sit and rationalize with yourself forever, you knew in the end that the nagging feeling rarely left entirely. Perhaps he was right; you had very consensually slept with him twice with little to no complaint before blowing up on him. You could understand how he might be confused. You came to the conclusion that you had just been set off by his abrupt arrival, and that you’d apologize next time you saw him.

However, the next day, Kyle was absent from the class you shared with him. This was incredibly unusual as it was a criminal justice class he practically led most days, and he rarely missed classes in general. You struggled to pay attention, the guilt in your belly growing and gnawing at you. Was he okay? Had your words affected him more than you realized? What if he did something stupid? Something unthinkable? You were nauseous by the end of class, thinking yourself into a dither. Rationally, you knew he would never, but he’d done more than a few things you’d seen as out of character as of late. As soon as class ended, you spotted one of the boys from his band. Taking a deep breath, you approached him.

“Hey, Tony. Have you seen Kyle today?” you asked, hoping he wouldn’t pry.

Half baked, he shook his shaggy hair. “Nah, weird huh? Wonder what the little guy’s up to..”

“Mm, thank you,” you replied distractedly, not entirely convinced he was a reliable source. However, you had little else to go off of. You knew you had to make sure he was okay.

Your feet carried you swiftly to your car. Once in your driver’s seat, you found yourself unable to catch your breath. Were you being rational about all this? You really had no reason to be this concerned. Heaven knows he wouldn’t be if the shoe was on the other foot. You let out a long breath, pressing your palms against the steering wheel. Your conscience refused to let you just drop it and drive home.

The drive to his house felt oddly automatic despite how long it had been. Everything looked the same. White picket fences, square, manicured lawns, and housewives sprawled out in lawn chairs drinking sweet tea in the sun: The American Dream. But you knew better. The Scheible home had taught you much about how deceiving the appearance of a home could be. Bright white smiles sometimes hide the most bitter sadness.

You parked next to the curb, noticing an unfamiliar utility van sat in his driveway. Curiosity sparked, you hurried up the steps to the front door and knocked, suddenly feeling a little silly for being there. Too late to turn back now.

Mrs. Scheible answered the door. She flashed you a shiny smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Y/N, sweetie, what a surprise! Is there something I can do for you?” she asked. You could instantly see things were not good. She wore dark, puffy circles under her bloodshot eyes, and her normally manicured hands dry and the polish chipped. She normally invited everyone in without a second thought. Fear clenched your stomach.

“Hi, Darlene,” you smiled. “Is Kyle home?”

“Yes, he is. I’ll go get him for you, okay?”

You nodded, trying to convey as much sympathy for her as you could without saying anything. As she closed the door, your eyes found the van in the driveway again, and it all suddenly clicked into place.

Nurses. For his father.

You felt a bit queasy, feeling even more ridiculous for thinking he could possibly be upset over a squabble with you when he had much more pressing matters going on at home. Your thoughts were interrupted when the door was pulled open again, Kyle stepping out onto the doormat and closing the door behind him. It was as if the family was afraid the tragedy living inside their home would escape through the front door if it was held open too long.

You felt a pang in your chest as you took in the sight of him. It had been less than 24 hours since you’d seen him last, but he looked thinner, a shell of the boy you knew. His eyes looked like his mom’s.

“Hey.” His voice was weak.

“Hi,” you responded dumbly. “I-I, uh- you weren’t until class today. I was just… making sure you were okay?” It came out as more of a question than a statement. You weren’t sure why you were there anymore.

“Ah,” he replied, his arms wrapping around his middle. The silence hung heavy between you, his lack of a response speaking volumes.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, picking at your fingers. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you yesterday.”

He blinked at you as if he didn’t remember for a moment. “You had every right to react the way you did,” he responded, shaking his head.

“No, I didn’t,” you sighed, hating how defeated he sounded. “You were right; I was giving you mixed signals and I just can’t expect you to read my mind. I think we… both have some uncertainty about what we’re feeling.” You met his eyes finally, seeing him give you a little nod of agreement. “And I can see you definitely have a lot more serious matters on your plate right now.”

He audibly swallowed, his eyes blinking rapidly for a moment. “Yeah,” he choked.

Overcome, you acted on pure instinct, wrapping your arms around his middle and pulling him into a tight hug. He tensed at first, but slowly relaxed, reciprocating your tight grip. You felt a shuddery breath leave his thin frame and could hear him physically fighting not to break down. “It’s okay,” you assured, feeling a knot in your own throat now.

He abruptly pulled back, hands wiping at his eyes harshly. “Thank you,” he breathed, giving you a tight-lipped smile as he stepped back toward the door. You wanted nothing more than to resist him pushing you away, but there was nothing you could do. You couldn’t rescue him from the realities waiting for him inside. You couldn’t ease the pain of losing a father one day at a time. So you just stood there helplessly, watching as he stepped back into his home and closed the door behind him. You weren’t sure how long it was before you finally came back to yourself and returned to your car.

++++++

You didn’t remember much of the drive when you arrived back at your dorm. You felt completely disconnected from everything around you. Walking into your empty dorm felt almost like a relief. You knew exactly what you needed.

You numbly pulled your phone from your pocket, selecting your mom’s contact. She answered after just a few rings.

“Hi, baby! How are you?” she greeted cheerfully.

You felt your throat tighten, tears welling up in your eyes. You couldn’t help but feel so grateful to have her there and healthy and available.

“I, um.. I’m kind of a mess, actually,” you replied, letting out a little sad laugh.

“What’s going on?” she asked, worry filling her voice.

You told her everything. She’d known about Kyle and everything that had happened during the breakup, but everything since then was new. You poured out every anxiety and doubt until you had nothing left to say, and she listened carefully to every word. By the end you were a blubbering mess.

“I just… I don’t know how I’m feeling. I don’t trust that I’m not just wanting to take care of him through this trauma he’s going through,” you sniffled, wiping your eyes with yet another tissue. You had a pretty impressive pile growing beside you at this point.

Your mother was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Honey, you have a big heart. I think that your desire to help Kyle is what drew you two together in the first place. You always wanted to teach him vulnerability.” You listened carefully, her words becoming your gospel as always. “But, I think you know that it’s more than that to you now.”

You felt stupid for not seeing it sooner. All the turmoil and heartache; how could you not have seen how much you still cared for him? You had never stopped caring for him. “I’m just scared he doesn’t feel the same. What if he just thinks he needs me right now so he can get through this?”

“Well, you’re going to have to decide if that’s a risk you’re willing to take or not, sweetheart.” Her tone was calm and resolute, convincing you it was really just that simple.

“Okay,” you replied finally, a shaky sigh leaving your tense body.

“I love you bunches. I know you’ll make the right decision, hon.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

You both said your goodbyes and hung up, leaving you a ball of snot and tears. Gathering up your tissues, you thought about all the things she had told you. Though your mind fought to keep up, your heart had really already made its decision. You just prayed you’d make it out in one piece on the other end of all this.

+++++

A few days passed. You found yourself thinking of him almost always. You texted him occasionally to check in, but it was never more. He needed space to be with his family, and you respected that. You just wanted him to know that you were never far if he needed you. It was draining to worry so much about something so far removed from you, but you remembered your mom’s words and prayed you were doing the right thing.

It was very early Sunday morning when he finally called. You quickly sat up, knowing it could only be him calling you at this time.

“Hello?”

His ragged breaths came from the other end of the line.

“Y-N... he’s gone.”

TAGLIST: @londonmademedoit @cathyoliveros10 @chclcmet @isthataladybag @not-ready-to-lose @lilttletimmy @madschalamet @cali4niagirl @kissessforharryyy

#kyle scheible #kyle scheible imagine #kyle scheible x reader #ladybird #ladybird fanfiction #timothée chalamet #timothée chalamet imagine #timothée chalamet blurb #timothée chalamet series #timotheé chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet blurb #timothee chalamet series #timothee chalamet x reader #teenage dirtbag #confusednarcissistwrites

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wildlittlefoxsworld · 4 years

Text

I couldn't live without you | The Old Guard | Booker x Reader

I couldn't any other pictures of Booker. If someone has some, feel free to send them ne, please ;)

Summary: A routine job, you got hurt by a knife and died from the injury. But it took you too long to wake up and Booker got scared that you wouldn't come back to life. When you finally did Booker is a crying mess and you gonna comfort him. You end up confessing your feelings...

Warnings: angst, reader's death (but comes back to life), fluff, confession of feelings

Author's note: My first story with my sweetheart Booker, my second story in this fandom. Thank you for the likes there ;) I hope you have fun!

The Promise (Nicky and Joe)

***

It was a routine job, nothing special, there was a bank robbery and they were kepting hostages, the bank stuff and a few clients, including three children. Problem was the local police were overstrained and the criminals already killed two of the people. Nicky insisted to take the job, because they would doing the right thing and he has a soft spot for kids.

Andy and her team infiltrated the bank without noticed by the criminals. Booker took the first man with a precise shot down and aimed for another one, when he realized that they were more men than expected. One of them freaked out and fired uncontrolled around him. You were right behind Booker and a man came from your left. You shot three times in his abdomen and he fall to the ground.

Andy and Nile took the freaked out madman down and Nicky and Joe helped the hostages to exit the building without being harmed.

You heard Nile screamed “Clear” from behind you, which meant they catched all evil men. You went with Booker to search for more possible targets.

“Be careful,” Booker whispered and you didn't mind his words. You were always careful and he was always worried. You knew he hated you getting hurt, but it was part of your work.

“Watch out!” you shouted and Booker turned around. He fired his gun, but the man had still enough strenght to throw a knife. It didn't go in Booker's direction, but in yours and a second later the knife stuck out of your chest. It went right in your heart.

“No,” you heard Booker scream agonizingly and you felt two strong arms that catched you before you hit the ground, but then everything went black.

“No, no, no,” he repeated quietly and breathless.

You were dead, of course, your eyes wasn't focus on anything and you stopped breathing at all. Booker grabbed the sheft of the knife and pulled it out with a squishing noise. He searched in pathetic hope for a pulse on your throat, but he couldn't find one.

“What happenend?” Andy shouted when she ran towards Booker and you. She looked at your dead body and groaned. “No one is harmed, but her. Fuck.”

Booker stroked a hair strain out of your face and waited impatiently for you to wake up. Usually it didn't take you long, even if you were the second youngest of the group of immortals.

“Come on, little one, wake up,” Booker begged with a broken voice, but you just stared back with cold eyes.

“We need to leave. Come on,” Andy hustled everyone and Booker scooped you up in his arms.

Nile, Nicky and Joe waited on the back door and Joe frowned when he saw that Booker carried your body.

“What happened?”

“A man throw a knife and killed her,” Andy explained flatly and left the building at first.

“She hasn't healed yet?” Nicky asked confused with a worried expression. But Booker didn't respond and followed Andy outside where two cars waited for them. He went for the car with Andy sitting behind the steering wheel.

Andy watched him laying your body on the back side and he sat down next to you. He bedded your head in his lab and caressed your cheek.

Booker didn't understand why you were still lifeless, it had been minutes since he removed the knife. Carefully he took the collar of your shirt between his fingers and raised the material, the wound was still open. Maybe you were healing from the inside and there was more damage than he could see.

“Nothing?” Andy inquired and Booker shook his head with tears collecting in his eyes.

“She can't be dead, right?” Booker insisted weary.

“No, she is too young,” Andy assured him.

The car ride to the safehouse took half an hour and after seven minutes your chest started rising slightly and a few seconds later you came with a deep inhale back to life.

Your hands searched for something and Booker grabbed your right. “It's okay, Y/N. You're alright, you're safe,” he laughed relieved and tears streamed down his face.

You took a few breaths and inspected your surroundings. “Sebastien,” you whispered and laid your hand on his cheek to wipe the tears with your thumb away. “Don't cry, I'm here.”

“I know… it's just…,” he tried to say, but couldn't find words. You frowned meditatively. You never saw Booker crying and you were shocked that you were the cause for his condition.

“You really thought I was dead?” you asked him softly and both of your eyes were locked. “You thought I wouldn't wake up?”

Booker closed his eyes and nodded slowly, a few tears found their way down his cheeks again and he exhaled shakily.

“I can't stand when someone hurt you…,” he whispered only for your ears to hear.

“Shhh, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere,” you tried to soothe him and he nestled his cheek against your hand. Booker looked again in your eyes and to your surprise you saw something like deep adoration or fondness in his.

“Come here,” he mumbled and pulled you in a sitting position on his lap and burried his face in the crook of your neck, you felt him taking a deep breath and snuggle you closer.

You were a little bit thrown of your guard, because you weren't used to this kind of affection from Booker, but you wrapped your arms around his trembling shoulders. He was usually reserved and you never got more than a short hugging. But this situation was new to you and you were sure that it was new to him, too.

Andy parked the car in front of your currently safehouse, well, it was an old church in Goussainville. But you hoped that it wouldn't for too long, you didn't like the lack of privacy, even if all of them felt like family to you.

Andy turned around and watched the two of you curiously and still a little worried. “Are you alright?”

“We're fine,” you answered with a slight smile and Andy nodded relieved.

“Do you come inside? Or…,” she asked uncertain and opened the car door.

“Give us a moment.”

She didn't respond and got out of the vehicle. The others waited for you and all of them with a worried expression. Andy told them to gave Booker and you some alone time. You watched them enter the church and sighed heavily.

You began to stroke through Booker's hair and you were glad that he calmed down.

“Are you still with me?” you giggled and tried to lighten the mood.

“Yeah,” he just said and didn't move an inch. You felt comfortable with him in your arms, you had to admit. He was warm and you savoured the feeling for a moment longer. But you knew that the two of you needed to talk.

“Do you want to tell me what… okay, that's stupid, you know… you didn't seem to me like you were a cuddler.”

“I'm sorry, I can let you go if you're uncomfortable. I think I got carried away at some point…,” he apologized and started to move away from you.

“I kinda like it,” you confessed and shoved a hand in his neck to stop him from pulling away. Booker frowned, but nodded slowly in understanding. His hand caressed your back and leaned his forehead against your temple.

“I like it, too.” You felt his warm breath in your face and closed your eyes again.

“Can we do this again sometime?” you asked carefully with hope in your voice. You wished for a long time that the two of you would share moments like this. Since you joined the group a year before you met Nile, you felt attracted to the handsome blonde man. But Booker never showed anything else towards you, he always acted like a friend to you. You were sure he didn't notice your crush on him, but others did, Nicky at first. Nicky tried to encourage you to tell Booker about your feelings, but you were scared that it could destroy your friendship and the dynamic of the group.

“You doesn’t know what you do to me, do you?” Booker observed and you inclined your head.

“What do you mean?”

He surprised you so many times with his actions and words today that you made so confused, you weren't sure if you should believe him or he was simply kidding you.

Booker sighed and looked at you. Your beautiful eyes studied him for an answer. He knew he had to tell you the truth about his feelings. Little did he know that you were feeling the same way.

“I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You are so important to me, you are such a big part of my life, that I just…I can’t imagine you aren't here.”

Now you were speechless and starred at him in a dither. “That was very specific,” you determined. You weren't aware that you meant so much to him.

Booker took your face in both hands and you touched his wrist with one hand.

“I don't want lose you. I was so scared… I need and want you by my side, every day, I didn't realize it until now,” he explained and you heard the desperation in his voice. “Is there any chance you feel the same as I do?”

You smiled happily. “I like you for a while now and I'm happy about your words.”

Booker chuckled and stroked your cheeks. “Back in the 19th century I would ask you to marry me, but for now it's enough… well, do you want to be my girlfriend?”

You loved his homour and laughed along with him.

“Yes, I want to be your girlfriend,” you declared.

Booker grinned happily like a little boy who got the biggest lollipop ever.

You needn't more words for explanation. The fear and sadness from the past hour were forgotten, you pressed your foreheads together and lingered in peaceful and quietly atmosphere. This moment was owned by the both of you and it marked the beginning of your future as a couple and the growing of a love that will be stronger than everything you expierenced before.

“Is it okay if I'm gonna kiss my girlfriend now?” Booker asked gently and his right hand wandered in your neck. Your eyes flickered to his lips and you were curious if they were as soft as they looked.

You nodded one time, it was enough as an answer for him. Slowly he pulled you towards him, again you felt his warm breath on your skin and then was his mouth pressed softly on yours. He started with placing little kisses from time to time to your lips, but you wanted more.

Your body shivered when your mouths found a pleasant rhythym and you shifted yourself that you stradled his lap.

Your upper body were so pressed to close together that not even a paper would fit between you.

You imagined many time what it would feel like to kiss him, it was marvelous. When his tongue traced your lower lip and asked for entrance you opened your mouth a little. With a grin he licked past your lips and you moaned when he began a playful battle for dominance.

“I could get used to that,” Booker mumbled against your lips and kissed you again with all of his passion for you.

***

What do you think?

#the old guard #the old guard fanfic #the old guard booker #booker x reader #sebastien le livre #sebastien le livre x reader #andromache the scythian #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #nile freeman #the old guard x reader

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

7. Leshen Indruck your choice of rating!

Here you go! I went with SFW

It’s old wisdom that humans fear that which they do not understand.

Indrid really hoped he would never learn the truth of that wisdom the hard way, but here he is. One misplaced attempt at aiding someone using his foresight and he’s been caught, blindfolded, and dumped in the middle of the vast Monongahela Forest.

He just wanted to help.

His foresight renders him less fearful than he’d otherwise be; he’ll be able to see threats coming and locate the resources he needs. If he takes his time, he might be able to use his visions to locate the nearest (friendly) village. And, like anyone who grew up near the woods, he knows how to hunt, fish, and forage. For someone who’s been left to die, he’s rather confident.

Still, it sting a little.

After a few moments of rightfully-earned self-pity, he buttons up his coat and starts the slow, halting journey towards safety.

Two days later, he’s pushing his way through branches and miserably pointing out to himself again and again that a town where everyone grew up with basic forest survival skills would exile one of their own somewhere that required high-level survival skills.

The topography and scenery is so disorienting that he may have better luck if he covered his eyes, spun around ten times, and chose his path from there. It’s a dense landscape of deep greens and browns with splashes of bright color that he’d no doubt enjoy were he not constantly snagging on branches or catching his toes on roots.

Worse, he’s had no luck catching food, and cannot for the life of him locate water. The fact it rained last night is the only reason he’s not dangerously dehydrated.

A sharp, high chirp draws his eye to the foot of a tree. Flapping sparsely feathered wings, a baby bird hops through the mud, her nest visible but unreachable. A meager meal, but a meal nonetheless.

Indrid scoops her into his palms, clambers into the lowest crook of the tree, and sets her back among her siblings.

His stomach chastises him the rest of the day, though the rest of his body rejoices when he finds a hollow in the base of a tree large enough for him to shelter within. From within the trunk, he spies vine sprawling across the ground, berries glinting in the light rain. Deep purple, meaning they’re Brambleberries.

The handful he shoves into his mouth brings tears to his eyes, even though they’re not the ripest. How else do you explain the bitterness chasing the sweetness down his throat.

Wait. Brambleberries don’t go purple until mid-summer. This is early spring. Which means those were-

“Chokeberries.” He curses himself, darting outside the tree once more, finger down his throat until his meal comes back up. Maybe he was fast enough.

His throat tightens in a prelude to closing. Sinking to his knees, gasping for air, he swears the ground vibrates with heavy steps. His eyes flutter close as he falls forward. As darkness slips over his eyes, he thinks it’s taking him a long time to hit the ground.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Bitter metal on his tongue.

“Nnnnf” Eyes still shut, he pushes at whatever is holding the spoon and it’s vile contents in his mouth.

“None of that. You’re gonna need two more doses of this before that Chokeberry is outta your system, and they were hard enough to get into you when you were passed out. Swallow.”

He swallows.

A large hand pats his head, “There we go. I know, shit’s gross, but if you were fool enough to eat those berries, might stun some sense into you.”

Indrid sits up, rubbing his eyes, “I was delirious with hunger, forgive me for not remembering the exact seasons of fruits. Did you heal me only to insult me or-” his visions flicker back full force, revealing his host before he opens his eyes. He scrambles back, but instead of a wall or an edge he just finds a vast expanse of bed.

Watching him with an amused set to his lips is a man three heads taller and much bulkier than Indrid, dark hair streaked with grey-green moss, eyes the dark green of pine needles, and nails like treebark. He crosses arms tattooed with green, gold, and bronze swirls, waiting for Indrid to collect himself.

“A Leshen.”

“Yep.”

“Are...are you going to eat me?”

“What? No, I’m not gonna fuckin eat you. I don’t know which of my kind chowed down on humans but if I ever find out I’m gonna give ‘im a piece of my mind. Ain’t great to have people thinkin I’m a man-eater when the worst I done is throw a tree at someone.”

“That is still very alarming.”

The Leshen shrugs “I’m a forest guardian; I’m gonna guard.”

Indrid studies him, wary, drawing the covers up his chest without noticing.

“Look” the Leshen sighs, “I ain’t tryin to scare you. Hell, made myself the smallest I can so I could be all comfortin. Noticed you in the woods earlier today and kept an eye on you, since humans-”

“Don’t often come here, yes, I am aware. I was extremely, forcibly exiled into your part of the woods.”

Green eyes blink, “Huh. Well, point is it didn’t seem right to leave you there to die, so I brought you here. Chokeberry is real easy to undo, assumin you got the right herbs.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say. His foresight tells him the Leshens promise of no harm is true, but there are so many timelines for what he could say and how his host could respond that he freezes.

“You’re welcome. You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“You oughta rest up more, Indrid. I’ll be back with the next dose in a bit.” His host steps out to the hall.

“Wait, do I, ah, get to know your name?”

“Duck.”

He snickers, replies to the raised eyebrow with, “Apologies, I expected something tree-related.”

Duck smiles, “It’s a nickname.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What’s your plan?” Duck asks from across the breakfast table. The morning found Indrid well enough to walk and to eat without feeling ill, so he’s been perching awkwardly on a chair that’s too big for him as the Leshen makes plates of toast and eggs that don't come from any bird Indrid is familiar with.

“I, ah, I don’t really have one other than ‘avoid going home’.”

“You were just gonna wander around until you found a village? I hate to tell you this, but there ain’t one for at least fifty miles, and I’m guessin that’s the one you came from. They must’ve used and enter to navigate here, because this part of the woods is hostile to travel by design.”

“Yours?” Indrid sips his tea, face to hide his distaste for its bitterness.

“Yep.” Duck slides a jar over to him, it’s copper lid revealing sugar cubes within, “Don’t much feel like runnin into humans every damn day, and it means that even as y’all sprawl out more and more, there are parts of this wood that stay wild.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it does little to improve my situation. Unless…” he bites his lip.

“Unless?”

“Unless I could stay here. I’m not bad company, and I have some skills which could-”

“No” Duck shakes his head, “savin you is one thing, takin you on as a roommate is all whole other kettle of fish.”

“Ah. Right. Of course.” He sips his tea, reflection crestfallen. Maybe he’ll just finish this and then go back to sleep.

Duck sighs, expression one of someone who already regrets the offer he’s about to make, “You can stay here for a month. After that, I’ll get you as close to a safe village as I can, and you’re on your own. Deal?”

Indrid grins, appetite returning in full, “Deal.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Duck has a good guess as to what’s making all the scratching and clanging in his kitchen, but it’s still a surprise to see Indrid moving from counters to chairs doubling as stools to tend a pot that he can barely peer into.

The human’s gotten nimble over the last week and a half, thanks to his routine attempts to help Duck around the house. Everything is scaled to Duck’s smallest possible form, but that still leaves Indrid at a disadvantage.

He’d be more inclined to help him if it wasn’t so obvious that his help is a ploy to convince Duck to let him stay. Look, he feels bad for the guy, but humans don’t have a great track record with his kind and he generally likes his peace and quiet out in the woods. He also notices that, left to his own devices, Indrid is messy. The area around the couch he uses as a bed is strewn drawings and unfolded clothes that Duck conjured up. Which means this is about Ducks favor, not a commitment to household cleanliness.

That’s not to say having Indrid around has been unpleasant; the human is good company but also understands Ducks' need for space. He’s odd, and even though the foresight was the given reason, Duck suspects his fellow villagers would have found reason to exile him regardless. Indrid even said that living with Duck was the happiest he’d felt in some time. That wasn’t a ploy; Indrid is prone to saying unnerving statements without registering them. Thorns pricked Duck’s heart when he heard it and, that night, when Indrid fell asleep on the bed during their conversation about deer, he didn’t move him. Just brushed the white hair from his eyes and laid down a respectful distance away.

“Oh! We’re in the timeline when you’re early.” Indrid waves distractedly as he wrestles open a jar, “I checked on you during the day through my visions and it looked as though you got drenched, so I thought something warm was in order.”

He’s smiling, and Duck’s gaze lingers long enough to see there’s no trickery in it. Yeah, being a forest spirit means storms are refreshing more than freezing, but the one today was so relentless he felt like it was eroding him away.

“Thanks, Indrid. I’ll join you in a sec.”

The next morning, before he leaves he forms some nearby stumps into a proper step-stool, and transmogrifies the minerals of the earth into a solid set of human sized pots and pans.

-------------------------------------------

“I know you’re there, Duck. I may not have eyes in the trees, but I do have visions that tell me when someone is dithering about coming to speak with me.” Indrid smiles, checking the fishing pole he’s dug into the shore. He feels rather than hears Duck approach; in spite of his size, the Leshen moves through the woods more softly than a butterfly.

“Guess those visions do make you harder to spy on than the average human.”

“A not at all creepy statement.” Indrid teases, then tips over when Duck playfully shoves him.

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright” he brushes off his arm, “the sand is nice and warm.” He picks up his sketchbook (stray pieces of paper sewn together) and pens (Duck turned flowers, fruit, leaves, and wood into them until Indrid had every color) and continues drawing. Half the reason he likes fishing is that he can draw futures (and for his own pleasure) while he does it. The other half is that he doesn’t want Duck to view him as a parasite in his home. Yes, for the first week, he did everything he could to demonstrate that he would make an excellent addition to the house made of twisting trunks and mossy floors.

Now, though, he just wants to enjoy his time with Duck, even if that means not tidying constantly or cooking every meal. He hopes Duck enjoys it too, regardless of whether he lets Indrid stay. The Leshen is lonely, even if it only comes through on those days when his voice is like the wind through a weather-beaten log. Indrid wishes he knew how to assuage it, but a month is not long enough to learn such things.

He’s slept in Duck’s bed these last three nights. It’s not purposeful, Duck is just so interesting to talk with and Indrid will lose sight of the time, will slump sideways and mumble that he ought to turn in, and then wake up in the early hours atop his host. It didn’t occur to him until this morning that Duck does that to keep Indrid from being uncomfortably squashed by his larger bedmate. And that Duck chooses to do that rather than carry Indrid to his own bed.

“Hey, uh, ‘Drid?” Duck’s voice brings him back to the riverside, “would you, uh, wanna come with me on my rounds sometimes? Might be some nice things to draw, and that foresight of yours could be real helpful with some of the stuff I need to keep an eye on.”

His host looks nervous until Indrid nods, “I would be honored.”

--------------------------------------------

Never has the folding of clothes made him so miserable. Yet still he tucks the garments into the large-but-manageable rucksack Duck gave him, placing his sketchpad safely between the layers of fabric.

“Weather oughta be good tomorrow.” His visions show Duck behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s going to miss that voice, the way leaves rustle underneath the drawl.

“That’s good.” He pulls the ties on his rucksack, sets at the end of the couch but doesn’t turn around.

“I’d, uh, say you’re welcome to visit but, uh, well, you know how fuckin hard this place is to find.”

“Mmmm.” Indrid wants him to go, wants him to be brusque or happy, not awkwardly fond in a way that gives false hope of shared affection.

“‘Drid there’s, there’s somethin I wanna, that is I’m thinkin...aw, fuck it.”

Indrid yelps as arms nearly as big around as he is scoop him up. Duck’s lifted him to examine flowers or see over trees, but the hugging is new.

“Duck?” Carefully, he drapes his arms over his shoulders.

“Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to.” Duck always smells faintly of pine needles and green wood, and Indrid buries his face in his neck, inhaling in hopes of remembering it forever.

“Then stay. I changed my mind, ‘Drid, life is so much better with you around.”

“Okay” Indrid can’t get his voice above a whisper; this wasn’t in the timelines, which means Duck changed his mind at the literal last moment.

“Really? You wanna stay?” Duck shifts him back, Indrid functionally sitting on his forearm with his legs half wrapped around his chest.

The seer summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so closes his eyes before going in for a kiss. His lips find Duck’s cheek until a firm hand cups the back of his head, guiding their mouths together. At this size, their mouths are compatible even as Indrid remains pleasantly dwarfed. Duck breaks the kiss first but Indrid, hell-bent on making up for lost time, continues kissing his face until they’re both laughing.

Duck kisses his forehead, “I’m gonna take that as a yes.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #monster march #reader requests #leshen

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langwrites · 2 years

Text

I posted 1,830 times in 2021

7 posts created (0%)

1823 posts reblogged (100%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 260.4 posts.

I added 2,181 tags in 2021

#critical role - 315 posts

#the untamed - 304 posts

#mo dao zu shi - 295 posts

#grandmaster of demonic cultivation - 295 posts

#the mighty nein - 271 posts

#pokemon - 211 posts

#essek thelyss - 150 posts

#fire emblem - 135 posts

#caleb widogast - 104 posts

#fire emblem three houses - 101 posts

Longest Tag: 35 characters

#grand master of demonic cultivation

My Top Posts in 2021

Okay so IV been dithering over this because there is no right way to ask this w/o it sounding wrong and I’m promise this isn’t me being weird and anyways I can only write this while my eyes r dilated (4 courage) so I apologize for any misspelling s anyways I needed to ask u the size of Kei’s chest and I swear I’m not being weird I am but a poor hobby artist... also on that note any distinctive scars/characteristics, specifically on arms, ankles, back, stomach, and face? Hair color undertones? I know Tomo-chan has some nice blues I like to add to hers’, what do u think about Kei’s hair?? While I’m at it fav colors, 👁 color, moles, muscles, etc.? I’m going for a honu theme but I’m game to try and add cranes or bubbles or smth if I can

On that note I don’t like need specifically her three sizes or even an A/B/C/D # like no need to be specific just like I need a ballpark here cause I was starting flat but then I started panicking because I’m like oh yeah she’s a girl- not that she never came across as one! I just always imagine her in Ninja vests and gear so the whole chest thing has never came up not that there’s anything wrong about being flat I just don’t actually know if she is and I don’t want to get it wrong and there is just really no polite/non-weird way of asking someone about the breast size of their character and I’m really trying super hard not to be sound weird about this please don’t think I’m a weirdo QAQ *dogeza* (srry I cant actually search for emoji rn oh hey gifs r an option? Sorry if this comes as weird I’m trying really super hard not to make it so and I just really want to draw Kei as Kei and bodies r important to me and I’m just gonna stop digging my hole deeper

Uh. Okay, let’s go for the full breakdown.

Height (adult): 5′8″, is generally the tallest of her team until the boys shoot past her around fourteen.

Build: Athletic with a small bust, relatively wide hips and wide shoulders.

Hair: Black, but with either a brown (in CYB) or blue undertone (in Dig Two Graves and OSF art, mostly).

Eyes: Extremely dark brown, taken as black at first glance. She has noticeable shadows under her eyes starting from age eight.

Kei has a mole under the outer corner of her left eye, which shows up in any piece of art with her face.

She has several major scars:

The scar on her face, which runs diagonally from her right eyebrow and over her nose and terminates in the middle of her left cheek.

She has nicks and shallow scars along her hands, mostly from sword practice. They’re mostly invisible by adulthood.

Post-Sorayama arc, Kei has a scar just to the right side of her heart, which has a matching exit wound on her back where Kusanagi impaled her.

She has notable tattoos from age 18 onward:

Her left arm has a full sleeve tattoo depicting an artistic render of Tsuruya flying above Isobu.

She has a Flying Thunder God Seal on her left collarbone, which allows Minato to teleport directly to her in an emergency.

When she uses Isobu’s chakra, her jinchūriki seal is visible in the middle of her chest.

As for the rest, here are some art pieces. You can color-sample the ones that I drew (which are #art by author) for a palette, probably. And possibly this photo.

I hope that helps! (In general, I’d recommend the art tag for more help, or you could just ask another question.)

7 notes • Posted 2021-02-09 00:41:05 GMT

hihi! very random question, but i was wondering if you played genshin impact considering some of the art on your blog, and if yes, which of the current regions/characters are your favourites?

At the time I got this question, I was running back and forth across Liyue and Mondstadt killing mutant flowers for their loot drops. So, yes, you could say I play. XD

I won't go as far as to say that I'm *good* at the game, but I haven't had a full party wipe since the first time I fought the Snow Boar King.

Favorite Region: Liyue, especially around Jueyun Karst.

Favorite Characters: I mean, anyone on my team! My main team has a rotating roster (like in my Pokemon games), mostly of level 60 characters at this point. It's not especially efficient, but I like to keep my options open.

Except for archers. I am garbage at archery.

Main (level 60-70): Diluc, Bennett, Rosaria, Kaeya, Beidou, Sucrose

Secondaries (level 40-50): Ningguang, Noelle, Barbara, Tartaglia (juuuust barely)

I think if I was to have to point out who I main, it'd be Diluc or Rosaria. Diluc for being able to spam his elemental skill, and Rosaria for hit-and-run skills and also being two constellations in.

8 notes • Posted 2021-10-18 00:22:17 GMT

Like most terrible ideas, it started with alcohol and with Wei Wuxian.

—

“Welcome to another episode of Nailed It! I’m your host, Nie Huaisang—”

“Nie-xiong, who are you talking to? There’s no crew!” Wei Wuxian tilted his head sideways, and then his entire body, as though trying to find sneaky ninja camera operators somewhere.

Or: In a modern AU where Nie Huaisang is the host of Nailed It!, it's time to settle once and for all who'd actually survive this show.

(Collab with @owlsofstarlight, who remains awesome and also happens to be the one who got both of us sucked into this fandom.)

15 notes • Posted 2021-06-21 03:43:21 GMT

[description: a flat color digital drawing of a water genasi boy with light green skin and white hair, lounging on a bench with a neutral look on his face. the second image is a zoomed-in shot of his face and shows the braids in his hair, the amulet around his neck, and the mint-green marks on his face. end description]

Decided to make the whites of his eyes dark to fit the aesthetic better, as well as changing the tone of his skin from orc-green to a lighter and more blueish tone, and I changed up the orientation of the fins on his ears to fit the designs of marids in 5e. Oceanus also has slightly nerfed version of a marid’s teeth, with one fang showing here.

The braids are a result of being taken in by Alena’s family, and the painted nails specifically happened because of her and her younger sister. The clothes in general are more like something Khalil would dig out of his closet, if in duller tones. The pants are short, the sleeves are split, and the sandals exist because Oceanus has fins on all four limbs and his head, all of which don’t fit super well into more restrictive wardrobe choices.

Despite his very skinny build and lack of armor, I slapped the symbol of Kord (the D&D deity) on the amulet, because this edition of Oceanus is a Tempest Cleric. He’s actually got a capped Constitution and Wisdom score, and his Charisma is a whopping 7.

(I also swapped acid resistance out for cold resistance because frankly I don’t care for the former and being resistant to freezing to death suits him better.)

18 notes • Posted 2021-06-20 00:32:19 GMT

cadriona said:

Hell yeah flight rising guardian!kei!! I’m just internally laughing because among the familiars, there are legit turtles that drop from boss monsters in coliseum so they’re like boss familiars and just XD, love the colors and genes you chose for her!

Like these familiars?

Also, I found Kei’s general nature to be most suited to the Guardian breed, since they have a very real hoarding instinct...which applies an instinct to protect whatever the subject of their “search (for a purpose in life)” turns out to be.

Very Kei.

24 notes • Posted 2021-02-24 04:09:14 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 11: Halloween

The shattered porcelain stank of dripping water still leaking onto the cracked tiles, and burnt out candles leaving the windowless room in virtual shadows made it hard to even identify for a moment they were still in Hogwarts, let alone in a girls bathroom.

"Is this Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?" Alice asked, staying crouched where she'd landed underneath the loan intact sink that was still cracked as if something heavy had impacted it anyways.

"More importantly, what is that smell?" Remus grumbled, plugging his nose as it lingered and intensified rather than dulled in the room around them. He wanted to go over and blast the door open simply for a breath of air now more than just getting out for once.

He was ignored, though all of them had scrunched up faces for this fact as well.

"No, even that place isn't this destroyed," Lily disagreed in return to Alice, having to wade out of a particularly deep pool of water that had drowned her shoes and most of her lower half on impact. She had to nudge a broken pipe out of the way as she stepped out.

"Anyone else having the fear that crazy three headed dog somehow did this?" Frank asked, having to heave himself off of a toilet that he hoped was just filled with dirty water, though he couldn't blame someone otherwise if they'd witnessed this mess while being in here.

"I don't see that," Remus disagreed, prodding an obliterated bathroom stall with his wand and inspecting how it was clearly smashed apart, judging by all the splintered wood around yet no marks, from teeth or claws, in sight. He was also still breathing through his mouth more than anything, looking like he was panting slightly but only accomplishing at having his mouth be dry now and still tasting the air and somehow increasing the rank around him.

"Dumbledore's had that thing pinned up for a good few months before Harry found it," Sirius agreed. "Though I'm sure if something did change, I'm getting the feeling Harry's going to be involved in finding out what."

"Thank you for that encouraging statement," James sighed, his reflection in a shattered mirror showed how pale he'd been pretending he wasn't seeing all this.

Regulus had landed in half a cracked basin and shattered the rest of it beneath him, but he also didn't have the inclination to move away and towards the center of the room like the others did. He wasn't entirely sure that whatever had done this wouldn't be back any second to finish the job, and he'd rather not be in a crowd when that happened.

Peter finally found the book wedged into the wall that had the largest hole in it, and he stepped away from it just as fast back over to James to start reading rather than imagine what could make such an impact.

"Yes, Halloween!" Sirius whooped. "The one day a year we're all encouraged to eat candy!"

He bellowed this loudest of all in Prongs' ear, having noticed full well his eyes flipping to Lily in a panic. No one had forgotten the date earmarked for their deaths, but Sirius refused to linger on that and he was loath to let anyone else.

Remus gave him a sympathetic look, but thankfully attention was easily caught for all of them as the main portion of this chapter seemed to hold more chat of Quidditch.

Lily seemed the only one in protest of this, as she went down to the first and only undestroyed stall and leaned against the post, glaring at anything but Potter as he enthused over what he was calling a prodigy in the air. She wasn't sure how long it had been since all this mess had started, it already felt like days though she was sure it couldn't have been but a few hours. Yet clearly they weren't even passing in any normal amount of time frame anymore than locations, so who knew, maybe it had been years since she'd been out of his company already.

She wondered, if she'd somehow been forewarned this was going to happen, if she still would have bailed out of the experience though. As maddening as the boy was, and as goading as the news continued how much a future kid of his seemed to resemble him even without Potter being around, this was quite honestly the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen happen in her life.

While still unable to fathom why Sev was acting in such a detestable way in this future, she was now clinging to the idea there had to be a reason for this, something the school just didn't know but Dumbledore did for this behavior.

It didn't help the situation that Harry continued in a way she abhorred, her incredulity growing more by the paragraph someone had claimed her attachment to this kid. So far all Harry had done was follow Ron along in breaking school rules, and the moment he was done spending all his time thinking about Quidditch, he did nothing to deter his friend from making that little girl cry!

Harry had her sympathy while being oppressed at those horrid Dursleys, and he'd been perfectly polite but more quiet than anything around Hagrid while learning about this new world. Now though, there was no excuse but a child not wanting to deal with his problems he'd created just like his father as Hermione was just shooed from his mind as the Halloween feast was started. If he'd realized Hermione didn't have any friends than the very least he could have done after making her cry over it was offered an apology!

Of course, the arrival of the troll changed things just a bit.

"In the dungeon? In the dungeon!"

"I don't care what part of the castle it's in," Frank yelped to Alice, "it shouldn't be in the castle at all!"

"Wow," Black drew the word out far longer than it needed to be. "Wonder who on earth was stupid enough to try and get away with that!"

"Well it certainly wasn't Peeves," Remus rolled his eyes at the ludicrous suggestion.

Lily watched them all, growing paler by the second and wondering why there weren't screams in the background to echo the one going through her head for the fate of the student who knew nothing of this, but it was clear now Hermione hadn't lingered in their minds anymore than Harry-

"Oh my gosh, Hermione!" James yelled so loud he nearly startled Peter's ear right off.

"Crap, the little crying girl," Sirius agreed, dithering on the spot for a moment before making as if to go to the door right now, then he froze. They all did, as they looked around once again at the destruction around them, in a girls bathroom...

Alice said something quite to Frank's surprise, never having heard his girlfriend curse like that, but no one else really noticed as suddenly Peter was reading faster than ever. For once, James and Lily found themselves on the exact same page, standing on the tips of their toes and wanting to cheer Harry and Ron on as they went after her. Admittedly in a different method than she would have liked, Lily acknowledged, she didn't at all understand their need to avoid authority in their strive to get help, but she couldn't find it in herself to argue either.

The arrival of the troll on the same path as the boys did not come as much to the surprise as it should have considering what they'd realized, and any confusion or questions over the matter would just have to wait. It didn't matter how it had gotten up there, the opposite end of the school it had been reported. Who cared how it got in so long as it got right back out without killing a couple of first years!

Harry and Ron's harrowing pass through this place was like no experience they'd ever felt before. Each swing of the trolls club, every broken plaster around them seemed as if echoing anew, they could practically hear the kids screaming and were all wanting to duck down as well, as far away from this debris as they could.

Worst of all turned out to be Harry's impromptu plan to save Ron's life.

James had to fight the urge to tackle Peter to the ground and wrestle the book away from him. The news was too vivid, he could all to easily picture the little first year hanging off the neck, a wand being shoved up those nostrils. His friends could as well, Harry just too resembled his father in their mind and none of them would have idly stood by with that happening to him, so they all couldn't help the massive sigh of relief when Ron's spell worked out.

Peter could still feel his heart racing at the excitements end, Harry merely wiping his wands boogies away like it was nothing would have had him on the floor laughing any other time in his life, even the arrival of the teachers just couldn't mean as much.

The others were all so relieved in fact, and then more over shocked at Hermione's turn on all of this, Regulus felt he was the only one frowning in confusion at Quirrell's part in all this. He'd been acting pretty suspicious through this whole thing, declaring the troll was in the wrong part of the castle, and then arriving only to collapse at the sight of it.

The warning of this almost being over came, in hindsight, of not that much use, considering none of them actually had a way to brace themselves. Instead Regulus turned his attention to the thought he wouldn't deny that those kids were lucky to be alive, though the fact that Harry had made a new friend through the event felt honestly ridiculous. This kid sure had an odd track record, sharing sweets with one and saving the life of another.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #Wolfstar #Regulus Black #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #James Potter #Peter Pettigrew #Lily Evans #Alice Smith #Frank Longbottom #reading the books

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delimeful · 5 years

Text

a place we could escape sometime (5)

Day 5: Rat

warnings: panic attack, captivity, bargaining, reference to dissection and keeping someone as a pet, fear

Logan sighed deeply as he sat up, turning to look at his desk. “Must you really make noise this late-?”

He paused, noticing a flicker of movement in the faint light. Had the tiny gotten out somehow? Alarmed, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, reaching the desk in a few short steps.

The tiny creature was still in the cage, and for once he wasn’t cowering away, instead coming forwards to rattle the bars aggressively with his uninjured hand. Normally, Logan would be taking notes on this, since it was such atypical behavior, but he was sure he’d seen movement outside the cage.

He reached over and fumbled with the lamp for a second before finding the switch and flicking it on, illuminating the room. Instantly, motion caught his eye, the clanging of the metal bars fading into background noise.

Another tiny human, sliding down the cord of the lamp as though his life depended on it. Logan jolted, startled by the sight, and lunged for the creature. A fall from that height could kill him!

There was a startled yelp as his fingers closed around the tiny form, and Logan had to take a moment to delicately pry the little struggling limbs off the cord. He lifted the little person up to the light, and noted the little bag and handcrafted clothes.

“There’s more of you?” He muttered to himself, trying to pull the bag off the little creature’s back.

“Let him go!”

Logan froze, and so did the tiny in his hand. He turned to the cage slowly, staring at the tiny figure standing behind the bars.

Despite his bold words, the tiny person was shaking, eyes wide. He swallowed visibly before speaking again, voice distinctly wobbly.

“Please… let him go. Roman hasn’t done anything wrong, please! I- I can talk, I’ll tell you anything, we’re borrowers, we live in the walls-”

“Virgil, stop-” The other tried, pushing against Logan’s numb fingers.

“No, listen, please! I’ll do anything, I’ll be a good lab rat, I’ll let you do anything! Test, samples, dissection, I don’t care just let Roman go!”

Logan’s mind, for once, blanked. They talked. They talked. He gaped, and then shook his head, trying to formulate a response to Virgil’s pleas. Wait, dissection?

“I wouldn’t- Dissecting a specimen preemptively when you only have one would be incredibly counterproductive to learning more about a species.” He recited automatically, trying to convey how ridiculous the idea was.

“No… No no no, please!” Virgil’s small voice cracked, and Logan winced, glancing down at Roman’s pale face. Clearly, that had not been as comforting as he had meant it to be.

“I’m not- I don’t mean...” He trailed off as he noticed the tears running down Virgil’s face. Oh no, feelings. He needed to get Patton.

He dithered for a moment, looking from his hand to the cage. He really didn’t want to put Roman in it, now that he knew the truth. If he set him down though, he might run off thinking his friend was going to be used for experiments or something else ridiculous like that.

He’d have to hold onto him for a moment longer, then.

Mind made up, he turned and went to retrieve Patton with Roman still in his curled fingers, ignoring Virgil’s desperate cries and panicked questions. Surprisingly, the other borrower was lax in his hand, occasionally trembling slightly but no longer struggling. The walk down the hall was silent for only a moment.

“I’m much better than him, you know.” Roman said, voice unnaturally casual. Logan glanced down at him.

“Sorry?”

“At being o-obedient.” Roman’s voice cut off slightly as Logan stumbled, but the small man wasn’t done. “I’m great at singing, too, and you won’t find anyone as perfect a specimen of borrowerkind as me. Virgil- Er, the other one is just too dreary to even think about keeping, and he’s all skin and bones, ludicrously stubborn, I mean really-”

“Stop.” Logan choked out, and Roman’s mouth shut with an audible click. Logan sped up his pace without saying anything more, biting the inside of his cheek. They’d really messed up, this time.

He rapped on Patton’s door sharply, and winced at his roommate’s tired face when he opened the door. “Lo?”

“Patton, I need your help urgently. Please follow me.” Logan said stiffly, before turning and walking back towards his room. He could feel Roman’s chest rising and falling rapidly against his fingertips.

“Wha- Logan?” Despite his confusion, Patton trailed behind him, Kitty at his heels. “What’s going on?”

“I require your assistance placating our guests. We have made a miscalculation, a grave one.”

“Guests?” Patton followed Logan’s gaze down to his hand, where Roman sat. “Oh my goodness, there’s another one?”

“Hello there!” Roman said brightly, only a hint of strain in his voice, and Patton’s eyebrows flew up. Logan pushed his door open with his free hand, careful not to let Kitty in, and led them into the room and back to the cage.

Virgil was on his knees, chest rising and falling shallowly. He hadn’t even seemed to register their presence, which was very unlike him. Logan frowned, turning to Roman, who was glancing between him and the other borrower frantically. His desire to continue his ‘perfect pet’ act seemed to lose out, and he leaned out towards the other tiny person.

“Virgil! Virgil, it’s okay, I’m here! You have to breathe, take a deep breath.”

Virgil’s head jerked up, eyes locking on Roman, and Logan shook his head. Enough was enough.

He set Roman down on the desk carefully, and the borrower sprinted directly to the cage, where he met Virgil at the wall of the cage and reached through to grab his uninjured hand, pulling it through the bars to rest it on his chest.

“Roman?” Virgil asked between shallow breaths, head jerking with the force of his panic. His gaze flitted over to the humans, his pupils shrunk. “You’re free? You’re- Roman, run, you have to run-”

“Shhh, shh, shut up, I’m not leaving.” Roman pressed Virgil’s hand against him harder. “Deep breaths, with me. In and out on my count. C’mon.”

Logan turned to Patton, who looked like the horror of the situation was slowly dawning on him, and pulled him back a few steps to give the two some space. Patton covered his mouth with a hand.

“They talk… They… Oh, Logan, they’re people! We’ve been...”

“I know.” Logan said grimly. “We have to let them go.”

“Of course, goodness, we have to apologize!” Patton looked over to where the two were whispering. “I’m going to get him out of that cage.”

Without another word, he approached, and popped the cage door open with a squeal that made both borrowers wince. Roman snapped his head between Virgil and Patton rapidly, and then jumped forwards when the latter started reaching his hand into the cage. “No! Stop!”

Patton faltered, looking down at him and then to Virgil, who was hunched over, shying away from the oversized hand. “Oh no, I’m sorry…” He said softly, retracting his hand. Something in his heart ached at the surprise the two expressed at his apology. “I only meant to get him out of the cage, I swear.”

Roman perked up. “You’re… you’re letting him go?”

“Of course!” Patton said, and Logan narrowed his eyes at the phrasing. Sure enough, Roman stepped forward shakily.

“Thank you, thank you so much.” Roman said, voice trembly but not insincere. “I promise I’ll be good, I swear-”

Logan saw the confusion bleed into Patton’s contrite expression, and cut in. “Please don’t misinterpret Patton’s intentions. We don’t intend on… ‘keeping’ either of you.”

“What?” Roman responded, dumbstruck. Patton’s face crumpled at the implication, withdrawing his hands completely from the cage.

“Perhaps, like this?” Logan said, moving up next to him and unlatching the walls of the cage where they connected to the bottom. From there, it was easy to lift the wire bars away, removing the barrier between the two.

Virgil hesitated, staring at them with wide, terrified eyes, but Roman was quick to grab his arm and pull him over, immediately shoving him behind himself protectively. The four of them stared at each other for a moment as Logan set the cage aside.

“You’re serious?” Virgil asked, disbelieving.

“Always.” Logan said, gesturing to the tie. “We never should have kept you captive in the first place.”

“We’re sorry. We didn’t know… It doesn’t matter, what we did was still wrong.” Patton added, wringing his hands. “Please, if there’s anything we can do to make it up to you…”

The two didn’t answer, and Logan set a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “We should leave.” He turned to look at them. “You said you live in the walls? How long will you need us out of the room? Ten minutes?”

They stared, and for a second Logan thought they still wouldn’t answer, but then- “Yeah.” Roman said, nodding rapidly. “Ten minutes is- That’s fine.”

“Very well.” Logan walked towards the door, Patton in tow.

“Wait!” Virgil slapped a hand over his mouth as though he hadn’t meant to speak. They waited patiently, still at the door. “You… You’re letting us leave? Just like that? I thought… I thought you wanted to know more about us.”

Roman elbowed him, but Patton stepped forward slightly to answer, and their eyes locked on his movement immediately.

“It would be nice to learn more about you guys, but it should be your choice to talk with us.” He said, earnestly. Logan dipped his head in agreement.

“You’re as sentient as we are, it would be wrong to keep you here against your will. If there’s ever anything we can do to make it up to you… you know where to find us.”

Patton nodded firmly, and they finally walked out of the room unimpeded.

When they returned, the two were gone.

#g/t #giant/tiny #borrowers #sanders sides #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #writing #my writing #hiddendreamer67 prompts #tada!#surprise :P #a place we could escape sometime #apwces

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wintersongstress · 4 years

Note

So 👀 you have inspired me to think about making gifs and/or edits 👀 and I don’t know shit about either. Care to throw some tips at ya girl? 👀 I ain’t even know what the first gah damn step is

I’m really flattered that I’ve inspired you 🥺 I’d be happy to help you get started!

HOW I MAKE A GIF 101:

1. The first step is acquiring the software needed to create gifs—which means you need Photoshop. I use Photoshop CC and it costs $10 a month with the plan I have. There’s also cracked versions available, but from what I hear they might not be as reliable at times and can be buggier. It’s up to you if you want the cracked or legitimate version. Either way I’m not judging you 😂

2. Gifs are made from video footage, so to begin the process you’ll need footage on your computer. The higher the quality the better. Since I make gaming edits, I record from my PS4 using the share button. I privately upload onto youtube and download them onto my computer. I can also plug a flashdrive into my PS4, but I don’t have a decent one. If the footage is captured on my computer then I don’t have to go through the hassle. You might a screen recording software. I have a PC and with windows 10 I can record by pressing the windows key, alt, and R.

When you have those two things, you’re ready to make a gif! Here are the actual steps to my process. (please note, this is just a tutorial on how to make a basic gif. I’m not going in-depth on my coloring processes and what filters I use and such.)

(I apologize for my screenshots being the best 😖)

The first thing you do once you open PS is to go to File, and then from the drop-down menu click Import, and from there Video Frames to Layers. So what we’re doing here is opening up the footage in PS and loading it into frames. Next, a file explorer window will pop up.

(Yes laugh. I have a folder for heart memes and Arthur. Mind your own business 😂)

So since I download my uploads off of youtube, they are stored in my downloads folder, so I go there to find them and select the clip I want. For today’s example I’ll do a clip from Ghost of Tsushima. Click open.

This will be your next screen. Here it’s asking to select a range from which to make layers. You’ll notice two beginning and ending slider bars you can use to crop between what part of the video you want to gif. Also note the setting I have of limiting to every 2 frames. Click OK.

Once that loads, your screen should look like this. If it doesn’t, go to the Window tab in the header bar above and make sure Adjustments, History, Layers, and Timeline are checked off. You can customize your workspace layout however you wish.

So now you have a timeline bar that let’s you play through the frames. Make sure on the bottom left you change Once to Forever. This controls how much the timeline will loop. During my process I play through it and look for where I actually want my gif to start and end, so I do delete frames as needed. When I’m satisfied with the range, I select all of my frames (there’s a short cut in the hamburger menu ≡ up to the right of the timeline bar, click it and find select all frames) and I select all of my layers in the layers window on the right (click first frame and hold the shift key until you select the last frame).

With everything selected, I now change the frame delay. If you notice on the bottom on each individual frame there’s a decimal number and a downwards arrow. This is the time that elapses before the next frame plays and so on and so forth. I click that arrow and a menu will pop up. Typically, most gifs have a frame delay of 0.05, but I personally find that too fast for game gifs so I set mine to 0.07. Again, everyone is different, you use what works for you. Anyways if you want to set the delay to 0.05 click Other... from that menu.

Then just type in the amount you want and click OK.

Now it’s time for the real work to begin. On the bottom left of your timeline panel, click square with the icon of a stack of bars with a slider. This will convert the gif into a video timeline.

Shit’s gonna look like this now ^

Next, go to the Filter menu from the header bar and select Covert to Smart Filters

Once it’s converted, go back to the Filter menu and go to Sharpen.

Select Smart Sharpen.

A new window will pop up.

Everyone uses different settings, but I typically go with Amount at 500% and Radius at 0.3. This is something you can experiment with, each gif may require different levels of sharpening. I know 150% is another popular option for the amount. Choose whatever you think looks best and makes the image clearer. Sharpening is a very important step.

Now, you’re free to experiment with coloring using the adjustments panel. I’ll typically tinker around with Brightness/Contrast, Levels, Curves, Vibrance, Color Balance, Photo Filter, and Selective Color. I do all of my colorings from scratch and just go by what I think looks good, trusting my eye. Once you’re satisfied with how everything turned out, here’s the next step:

Go to the File menu, choose Export, and then Save for Web (Legacy).

Now comes the waiting. You can resize the gif before this step by going to the Image menu on top, and then Image size, and type in the dimensions you want. I personally don’t do this because it creates a transparent border around the gif? and it fucks with the specific filters I frequently use and makes it turn out ugly? So that’s why this step takes time for it load.

In the Image Size box here I type in the dimensions I want. Usually I always do a width of 540, your typical rectangular gif. Hit enter and it will start to resize again. Please note that the Animation box I have the Looping Option set to Forever. That’s very important. Again, everyone is gonna use different settings here based on what they think looks best. I use Quality: Bicubic, Selective coloring and Diffusion dithering. Some people using Pattern dithering and Adaptive coloring.

Once your gif is all ready you can click save. This window will also tell you the size of the gif in that left corner. And that’s it. That’s how you make a gif.

It’s a trial and error process and it takes so much practice. You’re gonna get frustrated, it’s gonna take awhile to learn your way around photoshop, and you’re gonna have to look things up sometimes. There’s many great resource blogs on tumblr for this as well, but for the most part I learned by doing and experimenting.

I know this was long but I hope I explained the process well? Feel free to shoot me more questions if not, I’m always down to help out with this.

Good luck! ♥

#xii-twelve #asks #gif tutorial #ps ask #if this has typos i'm sorry...i'm just sleepy 😂

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taephorian · 4 years

Text

Selfish

park jimin x reader x kim seokjin

oneshot

5.7k words

"I like you."

If Jin had not spilled these three words, maybe, just maybe; he would have felt better. He could not cease the sense of selfishness that overwhelmed him greatly. Who was he to like someone who already had a boyfriend? Who was he to want the girl who brightened his everyday all to himself? Jin deserved it — the hatred from the person who trusted him the most; the person whom he considered his younger brother.

He was left alone in this dully-painted room, sitting on the edge of the bed. Jin felt numb. He could not bring himself to lift his frozen body off the bedside. All he could do was stare into nowhere with guilty tears streaming down his wet cheeks. The ability to control his feelings was long gone, and the results were undesirable. What on earth did he do?

Lingering outside the door to your boyfriend's room, Jin seized vast amounts of oxygen before releasing them repeatedly — a frail attempt to eliminate the uneasiness that had settled at the pit of his stomach. His palms that grew moist from anxiety were truly an unfamiliar sight; Jin never had sweaty palms. He gave them a tight squeeze as he trudged towards Jimin's door.

The pumping of his heart against his chest was loud and hurried, Jin thought that it would definitely be audible to someone if they stood close enough. He was then reminded of you. Various scenes of you and him together from different timings played over rapidly in his mind. There was merriment, satisfaction and dejection. It was like a sea of waves that came crashing against the rocks, causing realisation to dawn on him. The both of you were best friends.

It was no longer the same anymore. His heart never listened to him. Jin had fallen for you, and your boyfriend surely would not be happy about it.

He had never felt more uncomfortable whenever Jimin touched you. Every time he hugged you, kissed you, or laid his hands on the small of your back, Jin always had the urge to snatch you out of Jimin's arms and claim you as his. However, that moment never came. The most he could ever do was hold back; deal with it. He did not have them — courage, and fearlessness.

He had always been mindful about spilling out his feelings due to his wariness about the relationship between the both of you. No matter how much he liked you and how much he loved you, he cherished every friendship he had. He was afraid that you would have additional stress from choosing between him and Jimin. He cared for you so much he had rather stay as friends with you than give up whatever relationship the both of you have shared.

Jin had decided that he had to come clean with himself and with everyone. It was time he should gather his bravery and throw aside the cowardice part of him. Perhaps, he had already made it obvious; and perhaps, Jimin already knew, but he was going to admit his feelings for you to your boyfriend.

It had been 6 months. 6 agonising months. Finally, Jin was about to let it all out. Facing the wooden door, he gathered a deep breath as he offered himself a small encouraging nod. You can do it. He raised his arm to knock on the door, but it opened even before his fist could come into contact. The face that he found young but prepossessing stood right in front of him.

Your spirit lightened up when you faintly discerned the features on Jin's face. You had your eyes half closed with your head tilted slightly to the side in confusion as to why he was just standing there. The sight drove Jin crazy. From what he could observe, you must have been napping with Jimin and wanted to get a cup of water from the kitchen. He had no idea you had come over to visit your boyfriend.

"Jin oppa?" You called out. "Why are you just standing here?" When your alluring eyes met his wide ones, Jin's pupil could not help but dart around nervously. The smooth locks of hair that reached further down your shoulders had taken his breath away and almost swept himself off his feet. Suffocated — the only accurate word to describe him at that moment.

"Y/N-ah…" Jin helplessly squeezed your name out of his throat. "I—"

"Jagi-ya, who is it?" A man reluctantly tumbled out of the bed, sauntering towards the door while struggling to fight back a yawn. He had his brown hair a little too dishevelled as he reached up to straighten them out. His arms eventually found its way around your waist, embracing you tightly from the back. Only when he caught sight of Jin, a wide smile stretched across his rosy lips. "Oh hey hyung."

Jin's gaze travelled to the hands on your waist, the blood that had begun to boil inside his vessels was soon replaced by perturbation. Espying how close the two of you were, he tensed physically, afraid that he would not have the guts to spill his feelings at the risk of negatively affecting the relationship between you and your boyfriend.

He opened his mouth to speak again when the both of you stared intently at him. Massaging his nape restlessly, he spoke. "Actually… I wanted to have a word with Jimin… privately."

The two boys glanced at your direction. When you peered over at Jimin and saw him offer you a nod with a small smile, you acknowledged the prompt and stepped out of the room. Your lips conformed into a straight line. Judging from Jin's expression, you were aware that whatever he was about to tell your boyfriend would not be anything good. Sorry and apology were all you could decipher from his look.

Jimin stepped aside for Jin to enter the room as the both of them settled on the fluffy white comforter of his bed. "So what did you want to talk to me about so privately?" He teasingly wriggled his eyebrows at Jin, a mischievous smirk finding its way across his face. However, his playful behaviour dissipated almost instantly when he noticed the elder stiffened visibly.

"Hyung, relax. Why do you look so on edge?" Jimin chuckled apprehensively. His hyung's unreadable expression only made him more uneasy and curious as to what this was all about. "Jimin-ah, I know what I'm going to say next is unacceptable, but please don't get too upset."

The shorter of the two narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the other who had his head hung down like a 5-year old that had just stolen a candy. No, it can't be. It can't be, right? He had been noticing the way Jin's gaze lingered on you longer than the others, and how he had been stealing quick glances of you every few seconds. Heck, he even saw the way he looked at you lovingly just like how he always did.

Jimin had been consistently heedful of Jin's intentions but he never actually raised this topic to anyone. His hyungs were the only few people he trusted whole-heartedly including you and it made no sense for him to scream at Jin for simply looking at his girlfriend. As much as he desired to inform his hyung about how much his actions bothered him, Jimin knew that you did not fancy it whenever he got too jealous and possessive, so he could only shrug it off.

The staring, however, was getting a little too out of hand when Jin's eyes started to travel to your lips instead of your eyes each time. He decided that if those were to happen again, he would not hesitate to take matters into his own hands. Although Jimin could have guessed it, he genuinely hoped that Jin was not about to confess. Nonetheless, the look on his hyung’s face had done nothing but confirmed his suspicions.

“Y/N she— she is a really charming and amiable girl. She is the definition of perfect; pretty, lovable, good-natured. Whenever I see her, I can’t breathe properly. The sight of you and Y/N being so close to each other just makes me so enraged and it’s literally driving me crazy.” Jin blurted out, his heart beating against his chest rapidly. “What I’m trying to say is that—"

"Hyung." Jimin warned firmly through gritted teeth. His stare was practically burning holes inside Jin, very much similar to laser beams. Despite the warning, the latter had not dithered to resume what he was saying.

"Y/N… I like her, a lot."

His voice was soft and mellow, but his words were undoubtedly audible to the younger boy. The most your boyfriend could do was to go rigid. He felt that his movements were extremely restricted, much like being paralysed. When a reply was not proffered, Jin repeated his admission of guilt; this time louder, with more confidence.

"I said, I like—"

"She's my fucking girlfriend!"

Everyone knew. Everyone knew that Jimin was the most daunting person in this household whenever he was provoked, but no one actually witnessed how bad it could be. The moment he snapped, Jin could discern the vexation and resentment he held in his eyes.

Jimin had his hands curled up into fists as they clutched tightly on the white sheets. Lifting his arms up, his fists made contact with the bed once again with a jolting and clamorous sound, as he pushed himself off the mattress. In a heartbeat, his figure was hovered over his hyung's frame that now seemed so tiny compared to him.

"How could you be so selfish, hyung? Out of all the other guys, I trusted you the most! Just because you were the oldest and the most matured, I thought I could depend on you! Now you're telling me you've fallen for the girl I love the most? How much more selfish could you be? Do you not consider my feelings anymore?"

The tone of Jimin's voice was serious and irreverent, completely disregarding the fact that he was shouting at a man 3 years older than him. Jin was beyond shocked since Jimin was nowhere near the type that would disrespect anyone. He must have felt tremendously disconcerted and offended. After all, the two boys have been living under the same roof for at least 7 years.

Jimin missed you already. He wanted to see you. He just wished to get out of that room and have you in his arms. There was absolutely no way he was about to let you go. He would never. Not even for his closest hyung. The love and connection that you and him had established together were too strong to be fragmented this easily.

Jin knew that. He knew that he would never have you as his girlfriend, nor would he be able to call you his, but he still tried. He prayed for it to happen, he worked hard for it to happen, and yet, it all came down to this — unnecessary arguments and splintered friendships.

"I-I'm sorry…" Jin lowered his head as he hid his head in his sleeves. Maybe it was time he should let you go, but he did not want to. Jimin took notice of the trembling figure in front of him, the sleeve muffling the desperate and dejected cries of the man. He ought to go forward and give his hyung a warm embrace, but his anger got the better of him.

The salty tears that escaped from Jin's eyes spilled forth like a broken dam, leaving wet stains on the sleeve of his black t-shirt. He remained in that position for a long while as he made his best attempt to stop his sobbing. By the time he put an end to his shedding tears and lifted his head, his eyes were blood-shot and he had a tear-stained face.

Jimin had a feeble heart, but he was not going to give in so easily this time.

Bored.

You were seated alone in the living room, the 3 metres leather grey sofa occupied by you, and only you. The black television screen stared blankly at you as if begging for you to switch it on. You refused, recognising that that was probably not a great time to enjoy any television series. Leaving your phone in the room was the biggest mistake you have made.

From the fluorescent lights that hung from the white ceiling and the silver blades of the turning fan to the paintings displayed on the walls of the corridors and the specks of dust on the tiles, you scanned it all. The question "what am I supposed to do" spinned around your head for what seemed like an eternity.

You were definitely more than just bored.

Curious.

Your eyes wandered to the wooden door of your boyfriend's room, infinite numbers of questions crossing your mind. What were they up to? What exactly did Jin want to talk to Jimin about? What was happening?

You were sure that the boys never kept secrets from you, but what did they want to talk about so privately that they could not just do it in front of you? Doubt was overwhelming you as every second passed. You trusted them and believed that they would tell you everything, but you could not stop thinking about the worst.

You simply hoped they would come out soon, because you could barely hold back your curiosity. They all said that curiosity killed the cat.

Fear.

Maybe it was the harshed sounds of the clock going tick-tock, or maybe it was the strident shouts of your boyfriend, but you were getting restless. Scared and restless.

Whatever that was taking place in that room across the empty corridor was not something you were looking forward to getting involved in. Only if you knew at that moment, you would have mockingly said to yourself that you already were involved.

Pray was the most you could do in hopes that the argument between the boys would abate as soon as possible. If it was not for the sweaty palms that held onto the edge of the sofa and supported you, your fragile body would have plummeted to the ground, completely drained of energy.

You were unable to hold back any further. You had to find out. They would not mind if you interrupted them, right?

Housting your body up, you put pressure on your feet as you took hesitant steps along the ceramic tiles of the corridor. You halted in front of the door, breathed in heavily, before lifting your hand to turn the metal knob. Perhaps you should have knocked, because the sight of the room was entirely different from what you had expected to see.

Everything was knocked down; books, stationary, figurines. Heck, even the mini Mario puppet that Jimin absolutely treasured laid on the ground pathetically. Jin had bought it for his birthday a few years back, and he never allowed anyone to touch it — not even you. You stopped dead at the door, motionlessly scoping the traumatising scene.

In the middle of the room stood the two boys, eyes meeting with those of yours. One of them had rage and betrayal in his eyes, his once icy gaze softened when it fell upon your figure. The other had eyes that were red in parts that should have been white. His cheeks were marked with dry tears that had streamed down uncontrollably a few moments ago.

The intense ambience of the room was downright different from before you had left — Fierce and severe, yet woeful and cold.

"Oppa…" You called out to none of them in particular. "What happened?"

Warily, your legs took a few steps forward so that you were right in front of them, and their gazes followed your every movement. Jin was dubious about the whole idea of him confessing to you. Either way, you would still find out sooner or later, and he would rather be the one who told you face to face. He did not want to be the weakling who consents someone else to do it for him. He was better than that; he knew.

"Y/N-ah, there's something I need to tell you."

His words only prompted Jimin to snap his head towards his direction. Seriously? After all that crying and apologies, was he back to making things worse? Jimin had really desired to forgive the elder, but that one sentence basically pulled him way apart from saying the words "I forgive you." If he ever did, it would not be wrong to call himself a psychopath.

The second Jin lifted his arm to grab yours gently, Jimin slapped it away with his wittiness, preventing any contact between you and Jin. He was barely coping with the boiling anger within him and he could only snarl. You could swear you saw white fumes emerging from your boyfriend.

"Stop it. If you're trying to provoke me further, then you better fucking stop." The warning from Jimin was contained by obvious venom, and you were taken-aback by the danger in his voice that you had never heard before. Jin, on the other side, did not flinch the slightest as if he was expecting that attitude from the younger.

"She would find out sometime or the other, so I'll prefer to tell it to her, now."

There was no answer from Jimin. All he did was stare back at his hyung with a frosty and disdainful glare. The features on Jin's face manifested the look of genuine vulnerability. Although you had the minimal idea of the whole situation, your heart ached at the sight of Jin whom you had regarded as an amazing older brother — shattered and impotent.

Nudging Jimin's hand lightly, you offered him a smile, hoping he would grant the permission to Jin. You knew that this method always worked, and it did. No matter how much your boyfriend did not want it to get to him; it always did, and it made him relax in a way. He displayed a weak smile for you before it vanished as fast as it appeared.

"Jimin, please."

And all it took was one last persuasion from Jin.

Jimin and Jin had scooted over to leave some space on the bed for you. You sat down, lips between your teeth, as you fidgeted with your fingers nervously. Head hung low, you dare not make eye contact with any of them, helplessly wishing to get over this moment as soon as possible.

"Y/N-ah, please look at me."

Jin's voice was firm and stern. You ought to take note that this was no joking matter, because it most definitely was not. Lifting your gaze so that they met with Jin's, you gasped internally at how much seriousness clouded his features. You have never seen him like that for the past years you have been friends with him. He was always the bubbly and cheerful type.

The hammering in Jin's chest was getting too severe and he could not bring himself to say the words out. Too much blood was rushing up directly to his ears; it was unstoppable. Come on Jin, let's just get it done and over with.

"I like you."

Perhaps he said it too quickly. Did you hear it? He really hoped you did.

Of course, you did. The expression on your face was a shocked one as you stared blankly into nowhere, trying to absorb what Jin said to you. It could only be three words, but they possessed much more meaning than you thought they could. He… liked me?

You had always been by his side, the both of you have witnessed each other's happiness and misery. Sure, you were not wrong when you regarded him as a lovely big brother, but you guess he had been looking at you from a completely different angle this whole time.

The second your gaze fell on your boyfriend, you knew that he was about to break within seconds. His brown hair was tousled messily from running his fingers through his locks out of pent up frustration. Exasperation was boiling in his veins, making his face red as his stare burned through the back of Jin's head. His fists were firmly clenched onto the sheets of the bed while he tried to calm himself down.

Your heart broke instantly at the sight of him, hoping that he would be able to cope with whatever Jin had said. The latter watched your reaction with a worried look, as he reached out to envelope your hands in his larger and warmer ones. You made no effort to pull back, knowing that it would only add fuel to the flame; his precious soul ripped into more sections.

"Y-You don't have to return those feelings, Y/N — I would never force you to. I just wanted you to be aware of how I feel about you. I know that you are the happiest when together with Jimin, but if you ever give me a chance, I would want to show you that I can do that as well, not just from the perspective of a friend. If you say no, I understand and I hope that whatever happened today would not affect our friendship."

Curse you and your tender heart. The sincerity that laced in Jin's tone made you hesitant to tell him that the place in your heart belonged only to your boyfriend whom you love unconditionally. You knew that his emotions would definitely be hurt, and you did not have the guts to add salt to the wound. You peered over to Jimin who was glaring at Jin's hands which were holding onto yours with all his might.

Let go of her hand, you jerk. That one sentence did not fail to run through his mind on repeat like a broken recorder as he listened to the conversation between both of you intently. He should not have insisted on remaining behind when Jin wanted to have a word with you. Jimin could not handle the way his hyung was looking at you, neither could he ignore the way someone else was touching you — his girlfriend.

Tears of his own threatened to spill from anger and he tried to blink them away. However, he could no longer hold them back. He rarely cried angry tears, especially ever since he started dating you. You were the main source of happiness for him, and one of the reasons he looked forward to waking up to the next day. Fuck, he loved you so much.

"I-I'm sorry… I already have a boyfriend that I love so much… I don't think it's fair to break his heart like that. I've always regarded you as an older brother who is always there when I need you. Jin, please trust me, you're an amazing person and I love you as a friend. You'll definitely be able to find someone who would be able to love you as much as you do…"

Jimin knew he could trust you. He knew you had always been reliable and truthful to yourself. He loved that a lot about you — presumably what made you an amazing girlfriend. Nevertheless, salty liquids have already made its way to his cheeks, staining his skin. He hated that he had to have you come face to face with the vulnerable side of him. He had been with you long enough to recognise that you loathed seeing him so broken.

And that was why he got up and left.

Storming across the corridor to the empty living room, Jimin made his way towards the front door. Right when he landed his palm on the slightly rusty doorknob, the wooden door swung inwards violently, almost slamming him right in the middle of the face. "I'm home!"

A loud and bright voice reverberated through the air of the house, signalling that the one and only Jung Hoseok was home. Jimin pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He squeezed his burning eyes, opening them once again only to meet those of Hoseok's surprised ones. The original cheerfulness in them dissipated into shock and worry.

He took note of Jimin's tear-stained face, his cheeks red with fury. His eyes travelled to the younger's jaw that was shaking from clenching it too tightly. It felt as if there were invisible dark clouds formed above Jimin's head, raindrops struggling to hold back from pouring down. "Jimin-ah, what—"

"Move."

Pushing past his hyung and colliding their shoulders together in the process, Jimin swiftly put his shoes on before he disappeared down the cold streets of night Seoul. Hoseok barely refrained from calling the man's name again, knowing better to leave him alone than bothering him even more. He should've at least worn a mask. He sighed.

You sat on the edge of the white mattress, eyes never disconnecting from the door where your boyfriend had left both you and Jin alone. He was never one to leave like that, you thought. Pondering on whether to follow Jimin out or not, you turned to the other man in the room who was simply staring into space. You knew he was overthinking again.

Deciding that all three of you needed space to think, you scooted closer to Jin. With a hand placed on his back reassuringly, all you could do was to yield a forced smile as you looked at his unpleasant state. "It'll be fine. I figured you'll need some time alone… If you ever need me, I'll be in the living room…"

There was not a response from Jin, but you headed out either way, shutting the door silently.

Then all of a sudden Jin felt everything weigh down on him. His shoulders felt the heaviest for the first time in forever. And then it all just crashed down in him. Heartbreak, broken friendship, selfishness. He could pretty much sum up all the happenings with these three words. They were all strong, forceful words, but he had finally found the right moment to use them — now.

Yes, at least he knew the throbbing of his heart that came in waves after waves, stronger and more intense, could only be blamed on him. The tearing of his soul, ripping of his body; the responsibility was his. Because no one else was selfish. Jimin only wanted to protect what was rightfully his, but he desired for something way out of his range.

So Jin could only lie there — on the bed where you and your boyfriend slept — and mark its sheets with tears that never seemed to stop flowing.

And for the first time in a while, Jin cried.

Taking a careful step into the living room, you were not surprised to see Hoseok on the sofa with his legs propped onto the coffee table as he closed his eyes in concentration. However, when the man unlatched an eye and scanned your tired figure, his reaction was the opposite.

He brought down his legs in a second, and he was standing right in front of you in the next. Concern and curiosity was written all over his face as he searched your eyes for answers. The emotions in yours though, were unreadable. He saw you coming from the direction of your boyfriend's room, so does that mean that both of you—

"Jin confessed."

Oh.

Hoseok's face contorted into somewhat of a realisation. That explained why Jimin basically strided out the front door, seething with anger. His lips quickly formed a straight line, feeling a pinch of sorry as he watched you take a seat on the sofa and shut your eyes in exhaustion.

Taking a seat beside you, Hoseok did not know what to do or say. The little ball of sunshine in him was long gone, while a tiny frown set on his face. He had known about Jin's liking towards you ever since his hyung kept bugging him about advice that had to do with you. Considering how Jin was almost too open about his feelings, Hoseok was surprised how you did not take any notice of the signs he was giving. He would have guessed it even if the elder had not told him.

"Will Jimin be okay? It doesn't seem like he took it in well."

Hoseok's gaze shifted to your form. You still had your eyes closed, unable to peel them open. He chuckled at the sight, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "He'll be fine. I've been living with that guy for years, you know. Every time he steps out of the house after an argument is to get some fresh air," he reassured, "Don't worry, it's all gonna be okay."

After nodding at him thankfully, the both of you sat in comfortable silence, waiting for Jimin to return before it got too dark outside. Only until he noticed the changes in your breathing patterns, signalling that you fell asleep, Hoseok got up quietly to check up on Jin. Knowing his hyung like the back of his hand, Jin never went easy on himself for things like that. The younger was worried whether he was coping with it properly.

"...Hyung?"

Hoseok pushed the door open, allowing himself to scan the room for Jin. It revealed the man, elbows digging into his knees, leaving red marks as his palms held his face. He looked terrible; miserable even. His fingers were still slightly moistened from the amount of tears he cried earlier. It seemed like he was in that same position ever since you left him alone.

The man standing at the door broke at the scene in front of him. It was like a movie — every piece of transportable furniture overturned to the ground in anger. It was known to Jin that someone was in the room with him but he did not acknowledge it. He just hoped that whoever the person was witnessing him in this state would just leave silently.

When Hoseok did not budge a bit, Jin sniffed. "Please go away. I want to be alone now."

He did not bother lifting his head to find out who it was, as he went back to weeping quietly in his hands.

Hoseok could only drop his head, before closing the door, leaving Jin alone in the room again, for the second time that day.

By the time your eyelids flutter open after a much deserved rest, it was already three in the morning. It most definitely did not feel like you have been sleeping for so many hours straight. The first thing you were met with was a chest, covered with a plain black cotton t-shirt.

Your legs were tangled with someone else's, your body wrapped in a pair of strong familiar arms. You were no longer on the grey sofa outside in the living room. Facing up, you see Jimin with his eyes shut, sleeping peacefully. He's finally back, you smiled.

Propping your body with an elbow, you examined the room around you. Although almost everything was pitch black, you could still see that the books and furniture were back to its original positions. Even all the figurines were arranged neatly on the shelves, looking as fresh as ever.

Jimin must have carried you in here after cleaning up. You were more than glad that your boyfriend had returned back home, but another part of you was worried about how Jin was doing. He should be fine, right?

"Jagi?"

The voice was sleepy. It sounded deep and slightly croak from not speaking for a prolonged amount of time. Turning your head back, you saw your boyfriend peering up at you with half-opened eyes. You flashed him a smile, lying back down, melting yourself in his embrace.

For a while, the both of you cuddled, arms entangled around one another's body. It was as if neither of you were willing to let go, holding on to each other with dear might. Time passed, and you desperately needed to tell Jimin something important. Something you have wanted to tell him ever since you saw him leave the house.

"Oppa, you asleep yet?" You called out in a small voice, afraid to raise your voice any louder, in case he really was asleep. However, a reply came quicker than expected.

There was a short and soft hum, and you could feel his chest vibrate as he did. It made you feel warm and cozy, just like home.

"I have something important to tell you…" Your voice was barely a whisper, but it was still audible to your boyfriend.

"Can it wait till tomorrow?" The words that erupted from his throat were slurred in a lazy manner, you were sure he was about to fall asleep anytime soon. "Fine…"

Despite the disappointment of not being able to say it to him right then, you understood that he was probably worn out from the intense argument that took place earlier. Moreover, it was way past midnight and the whole neighbourhood was probably asleep.

"Sorry…" Jimin apologised, rubbing tiny circles on your back, knowing that you loved it whenever he did that. It soothed you and calmed you down in the best way possible. "It's alright. Go to sleep."

Pressing a light kiss on the bottom of his jaw, you went back to snuggling your head in his chest — the favourite thing he loved you to do.

Please don't be mad at Jin anymore. None of this was his fault. I really hate it when friendships are broken because of me. Jin had always been a good friend to me and I hope that things will continue this way. You're my boyfriend and no one can replace you, so please don't worry about anything. You're perfect in any way possible, and you'll always be the one in my heart. Park Jimin, I love you.

You genuinely hoped that you would be able to tell it to Jimin the next day.

END

#jimin x reader #jin x reader #bts oneshot #jimin oneshot #jin oneshot #bts scenarios #bts reaction #bts #bts imagines

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breakingsomething · 4 years

Text

the fall part twelve - i can't think of a clever name for this one

basic summary: marvin visits naomi, and henrik decides to look for anti.

trigger warnings: extreme distress, destructive behaviours, talk of medication, brief seizure, implied suicidal ideation

just an extra warning - this chapter contains an extreme, destructive breakdown of a character that might be upsetting if you're triggered by that. i just figured i'd stress that just in case.

the next week passed surprisingly normally, considering.

hecate was still pretty much on lockdown. kazuki and several other magicians, some even from other branches around the country, had added some new, reinforced spells all around the entire place. almost no one but some of the higher ups were allowed in, and the damage control from one little break in was taking a long time. marvin was even involved, for some reason; kazuki had wanted him personally, most likely to do with jackie being his brother. he hadn't been happy about it, but he had always felt obligated to clean up other people's messes, including whatever the fuck jackie had gotten himself into this time.

speaking of messes, no one knew where anti was. he had disappeared not long after their trip to the music shop, going god knows where... the thought of him being free again was admittedly very annoying. but marvin comforted himself with the fact that anti was still very sick and there were wards around the flat, even stronger ones that kazuki herself had come round to install. they weren't sure what had happened to the original wards, either. kazuki said it was most likely caused by the breaking of the veil (which he and chase had filled henrik in on) and that it was nothing to be worried about anymore.

and speaking of that, marvin had started to notice more and more of the strangeness now happening around the city. people walking by like they were invisible, people repeating dialogue when faced with anything even remotely odd. "i suppose that explains why ellie and parker acted so strange when i visited," henrik mused after the whole thing had been explained to him. then he told them about that problem in turn, including the glitched out car, and they all agreed it was a very fucked up situation. apparently, the problem was "being managed" (kazuki's words), and marvin honestly was too done to look too far into it.

it was early one afternoon that marvin was in the kitchen with henrik, somehow managing to talk completely normally with him. their relationship had definitely been pretty stiff for a while, considering all the anti stuff, but for the time being, they had reached a silent, temporary truce. that was good enough for marvin. "how'd you sleep?" he asked, as way of greeting.

"same as usual," henrik mumbled, face practically in his cup of coffee and glasses slipping off his face. maybe that had been a dumb question. "as well as i probably could have, given…" he sat up slightly, waving his hand in a clumsy circle.

marvin nodded, setting about making toast. he was never hungry for much lately. "try and relax or something. you always work too hard."

"well, someone has to," henrik snapped. then he blinked, letting out a shuddering sigh. "i didn't mean that."

"i know," marvin said quietly.

they didn't say a lot after that until someone knocked on the door.

"are you expecting anyone?" marvin asked, to which henrik shook his head and set down his cup, suddenly looking nervous. with anti's location unknown and jackie having managed to break through even hecate's defenses, his paranoia has been at an all time high, and his eyes widened upon seeing marvin stand to go see who it was.

"wait, what are you -" he started, breath catching as he shrank back. his hand that he'd held up in a "stop" gesture hung in the air uselessly. "i - is it -"

marvin smiled softly. he used to get so frustrated with henrik's constant fears and worries, but he knew now to be more patient about them, especially as of late. "it's fine, hen. see?" he peeked through the small rectangular window on the door and blinked when he saw who it was. "uh. it's not anti."

he pulled open the door. "lucas?" he said questioningly, smiling despite his confusion. "how did you get our address?"

the blonde on the doorstep grinned back and laughed awkwardly. "oh, naomi told me a while ago. just in case i ever had to go save your asses in an emergency." then his smile slipped, and his gaze fell to the ground. "actually, that's… kinda what i came here to talk about. if that's ok."

"no, no, that's fine," marvin insisted, stepping aside to let lucas in. the man smiled at henrik, who grinned weakly, silently moving his hands under the table to hide how they shook. marvin raised an eyebrow at him as lucas went by. "do you want coffee or tea?" he asked, to which he responded "tea" and marvin set about making it. lucas stood awkwardly for a second before marvin offered him a chair and he sank down next to henrik, who quietly shuffled his chair an inch or so away. everyone noticed. no one commented.

"so… what's up?" marvin asked, drumming the table with his fingertips. lucas hesitated, blowing the air out of his cheeks.

"naomi's definitely been acting strange lately," he started. "i've tried talking to her a few times, texting and on calls, and she always sounds so off."

marvin frowned. "off how?"

lucas touched the side of his neck, scrunching up his face. "well, she's texting differently. usually just, like, one word answers. and i… this sounds so dumb, but she never usually makes so many typos as she does now." he laughs awkwardly. "i didn't think you could make that many, uh, typos in one word. but, yeah. and she sounds different on call too, when she answers. she gets pissed off if i ask why, though. has anything happened to her recently?"

something banged down the hall, and they could hear someone padding towards the kitchen. "morning, assholes," came a loud, cheery voice, and chase popped round the doorway. his hair was down for once, a curly blonde mess around his shoulders, and he was wearing an oversized black t-shirt over his boxers. he froze when he saw lucas, his grin immediately morphing into an expression of horror.

lucas had gone very red. "afternoon, chase," he said in a slightly higher pitched tone than usual. he glanced down at his tea again, not making eye contact.

chase didn't even say a word. he just darted from the room again, face on fire.

"well, that was fun," henrik said drily after a moment.

"sorry about chase," marvin said, holding back a giggle at lucas's face. "he's just like that."

"oh - oh, yeah, ok," lucas stammered, seeming just slightly flustered. he cleared his throat, smoothing his hair back before he continued. "anyway, what was i saying?"

"naomi acting weird," marvin said. he tossed his head to get hair out of his face while he thought. he suddenly wondered why lucas had come round to talk to him about this instead of texting or something. "yeah, she did say she was feeling off. i don't know, we've not been speaking as much as usual."

henrik suddenly got up and went to wash his mug. lucas watched him go before turning back to marvin. "what has she said to you? sorry if it seems like i'm being nosy or something, i just - i care about her a lot. she's always been really sweet to me, i guess."

something hot and unpleasant panged in marvin's chest. he didn't pause to think about what it could mean. "she said some more - some personal stuff. i don't know how much you know, but - yeah. i'm gonna go visit her today, maybe."

lucas nodded, grimacing. "sounds like a plan. i really hope she's ok. tell her much love from lucas, ha."

marvin chose to ignore the tight clenching of his chest and gripped his mug with white fingers, nodding like a bobblehead and resisting the urge to bite his lip again.

henrik made a small noise of surprise as he fumbled in the sink and nearly dropped his mug again. "sorry, sorry," he said when he realised lucas was looking at him again. "i'm a bit clumsy this morning, i think."

marvin could see how his hands were shaking. "i'll dry," he offered, and henrik smiled gratefully. lucas dithered at the table, folding and unfolding his hands.

"so how goes the search for anti, marvin?" he asked, and they made small talk for about ten minutes while marvin and henrik did the rest of the dishes. it seemed henrik was adjusting a bit more to having someone new in the house, and even chatted with lucas a bit himself. marvin mentally thanked lucas for being so incredibly sweet and patient. he was the perfect person to help henrik get used to talking to other people again.

a door crashed open somewhere, and there was a pause before a bright red chase entered the room, grinning nervously. he had brushed his hair and pulled it back into a ponytail extending from the back of his cap, and he was now wearing a bright yellow hoodie and black jeans. "morning, my wonderful brothers and also lucas, who i didn't know was here today and i apologize greatly for calling an asshole earlier," he announced, giving an embarrassed giggle at the end. henrik rolled his eyes.

"oh, so you're not sorry for calling us assholes?" he said jokingly. he and marvin laughed as chase flipped them off and planted himself at the table, just across from lucas.

"apology accepted, chase," lucas grinned. "i like your hoodie."

chase's shoulders shot to his ears and his face somehow went redder. "thank you, thank you. got it at… primark." the two of them made eye contact for a moment, and there was a second of awkward silence as marvin felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out to look at it.

"naomi's texting me. i'll probably go round to hers today," he said, already deciding what to send back. "will you guys be ok here? hen?" he looked up at his younger brother, and henrik blinked, surprised, before a small grin broke across his face.

"we will be fine, yes," he said quietly, not looking right at marvin. "thank you for asking. i might go out later too, actually. something i have to do. though -" he turned to look at chase. "i'm sure this one will be fine here, won't he?"

chase stuck out his tongue, face flushing, and marvin went to ruffle his hair as he went by before realizing he might not want to take off his hat with lucas here and instead smacked the top of his head. "yeah, be good. lucas, you can vibe here for a bit if chase and henrik are cool with it. see you."

"say hi to naomi for me," lucas smiled. and that's when marvin couldn't just not say anything anymore.

"couldn't you just tell her yourself?" he said without thinking twice. "i was under the impression that you guys were maybe… together, or - or something."

lucas blinked, then laughed loudly, tossing back his head. "oh no, i - marvin, i'm gay," he explained, giggling. henrik snorted into his coffee, ducking his head. chase made a strange sound that marvin had never heard him make before. and marvin just stood for a moment, taking that in.

"you're - oh! oh, shit!" he said. then he laughed too, out of surprise. "oh, i'm a dumbass!"

"marvin, i am begging you to just go before you make an even bigger fool of yourself, you oblivious asshole," henrik giggled. he was shaking with laughter, head on the table and holding his coffee in front of him. "please. i cannot take this so early in the fucking day."

"ok, fuck you, whatever," marvin spluttered as he put on his coat at the door. "i hate all of you. bastards."

they were still laughing as he left.

naomi wasn't in the shop. she did, however, leave the door unlocked, texting marvin to go right in. he had done this before, but it felt different somehow. colder. the door to naomi's flat was open too, and he went inside, shivering slightly.

"nai?" he called. her flat looked even messier than usual; an immediate bad sign. "hey, i'm here."

he heard a grunt from her bedroom. he knocked hesitantly, making a face that she couldn't see. "hey there. are you alright? should i… come in?"

a pause. "mm," she hummed quietly. "if you want to."

marvin took that as a yes. he slowly opened the door before stepping inside, leaving it open behind him. her room was a mess. vines growing unattended on the pale green walls, clothes thrown around without care, books torn up and ruined, a lamp knocked over on the floor. it looked like someone had tried to destroy the place. his heart dropped when he saw naomi sprawled across her bed in leggings and a baggy pink hoodie, eyes closed. "oh, hjärtat, what's wrong?"

"i don't know," she mumbled. she had clearly been crying; her face was red and splotchy, and the carpeted floor was scattered with used tissues. "everything, maybe."

marvin gave a small sigh and sat down gingerly on the end of the bed, hands folded in front of him. naomi didn't move to accommodate him, and just stared at him with half lidded eyes. "have you taken your medication?" he asked tentatively.

"no point," she said softly. she turned her head away, pressing her cheek to a tear stained pillow. "it never helped me anyway."

"yes it did," marvin protested. "you haven't had an episode in years."

"hadn't," naomi corrected. "it was only a fucking matter of time."

marvin was silent for a moment. what could he say? "nai, i'm - i'm sorry."

"don't be," she said. she suddenly sounded more cheerful, a false warmth that marvin immediately didn't like. "not your fault."

he clicked his tongue, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "if you go back to the doctor's, they can try and prescribe you new meds -"

"i'm sick of meds!" without warning, she leapt from her bed to her feet, causing marvin to yelp and fall back. naomi twirled round and round, leaves blooming on her fingertips and flying into the air. "i'm fucking sick of it, sick of being loopy, sick of being sad, sick of being mad! fuck this shit! fuck it, fuck it!"

marvin breathed deeply. he'd handled naomi in this state before, he could do it again. "listen a second," he tried, standing so she could hear him better. "naomi, sit down a second, k? i want to -"

"don't treat me like a kid!" she stopped spinning, rage suddenly alight in her eyes as her gaze burned into marvin. "i get that maybe i act like one sometimes, maybe i'm immature, but i am a grown woman! why is it that people always forget that? just because i'm fucked in the head doesn't mean i'm incapable!"

"naomi!" marvin cried, shocked. he held up both hands to the sides of his head, trying to keep his expression and voice calm. "naomi, i'm not infantilizing you. i know you, ok? you're not normally like this -"

"what, insane, you mean? go on, you can say it!" she whooped, twirling towards the window and throwing open the curtains. bright light screamed through and lit up the room in daylight. "i'm always like this! always an asshole, a bitch - just ask kai! i hurt him when i was like this! just that stupid medication, thinks it can control me! nothing can control me anymore!"

"is that - is that why you stopped talking them?" marvin tried. fuck, but he couldn't remember who kai was either. "you thought they were controlling you?"

"they were!" she shouted. she blinked rapidly, rubbing her eyes and breathing heavily. "they've always been controlling me, the fucking things. making me all "ooh, sweet little naomi gudmundson who does flower magic and owns a flower shop and dates good magician boys and never cries and sings like snow white and makes fucking birds flock to her window!" well, well, could a lovely disney princess do this?"

marvin realised what she was going to do right before she did it. "nai, no!" he cried, but naomi shoved him away and curled out an arm, gritting her teeth and tearing her hand towards the ceiling. an enormous dragon tree suddenly began to crack through the floorboards, twisting into shape, branches and leaves sprouting and extending larger and farther out, hitting the sides of the room. marvin was very quickly running out of places to stand clear of the plantlife. "naomi, stop it!" he yelled, trying to get to her, but he couldn't even see her at this point. "you're going to hurt yourself!"

"like i care!" she snarled, and the tree shook, still growing rapidly and scraping the ceiling. "i don't give a shit about anything anymore! i'm tired, i'm tired, i'm so tired, i'm…"

she trailed off. the tree's growth slowed until it stopped completely, standing tall in the middle of the room. marvin quickly clambered over the roots to get to her, avoiding branches that swung at his face. "naomi," he said quietly as she came into view. her eyes were wide and unfocused, breathing heavily, hands hanging in the air in front of her. marvin gently took her arm and, when she didn't react, turned her from her tree and helped her sink to a part of the floor not covered in roots. "hey, hey, uh… lyssna på mig, listen to me, naomi."

"i ruined my bedroom," she whispered. staring at the floor with wet eyes. "i did that. it was my fault."

marvin stroked her hair back from her face. "hey. it's not your fault. your illness isn't your fault. you just - you have to take your medication, naomi."

she sniffled and dropped her head forwards into marvin's arms. "i'm sorry. so sorry. i'm - a skitstövel. i'm tired. i'm sorry."

she seemed to be coming down from the sudden mania rather quickly. marvin glanced up at the tree, wondering if there was a way he could fix it. he sighed shakily. "not your fault. not your fault, nai. don't say such things about yourself, we can fix this, we can fix this, ok? jag älskar dig, i love you and we can fix all this. listen to me. listen to my voice, naomi."

neither of them were sure how long they stayed they. but it was a long time before either person let go of the other.

henrik knew this had been a mistake the second he arrived at the metal gates.

first off, he wasn't sure how to get in. he assumed anti glitched through when he needed to, but henrik was clearly going to have no choice but to climb the fence. fuck, he was grateful that he'd been working out a bit more lately. even then, his arms screamed at him the whole time and he practically fell off down to the other side.

"anti!" he yelled, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling to the empty stone doorway of the abandoned waterworks. "i know you're here, asshole!"

no response. henrik obviously hadn't expected one. instead, he stepped inside, his footsteps echoing through the enormous, dim grey room. marvin had told him that hecate had already looked for anti here, but henrik knew the man far better than marvin did, whether he liked it or not. anti was here. and henrik was going to find him.

"anti!" he called again. the stairway was very narrow, the steps made of thin stone with gaps at the edges. henrik's legs felt like jelly as he climbed them, wishing there was a bannister to hold onto. "it's me, henrik. you know me. fucking unfortunately." he added this part on slightly quieter before raising his voice again. "i want to talk to you."

anti was in the first room on the top floor.

he was sitting on the ground cross legged with a silver laptop on his legs, rapidly typing one handed and leaning against the wall. his hair was pulled back in a small ponytail, a dirty yellow scarf wrapped around his neck. he barely looked up as henrik came in and stared at him, cold ice filling his veins at the sight of the man who'd kidnapped and tortured him for two whole months.

"anti," henrik said, much quieter. he winced at how his voice shook with sudden fear. he clenched his fists and tried to look more intimidating. "you're - you're not supposed to be here."

anti just kept typing. henrik frowned. "where the hell did you - where did you get that computer? are you even getting wifi up here?"

"stole it, and yeah," anti signed. one handed, again. "you forget what i am. i can do anything. or i used to be able to. i had to steal this the old fashioned way. it's funny that the only apparent aspect of my power that the red spandex bastard left me was the ability to be a walking hotspot."

henrik really didn't know what to say to that. anti finally looked up, his brown eyes dull and face ashen. "are you just going to stand there? what do you want?"

henrik's mouth opened and closed, and he took shaking breaths to try and calm himself. "i - i don't… know." his shoulders slumped, and his gaze fell to the floor. "i don't know. maybe i wanted to turn you in to hecate, maybe i wanted to kill you. i don't know."

"kill me then," anti shrugged. "i wouldn't mind. i mean, you'd be completely justified -"

"i'm not gonna stoop to your level," henrik snapped. "and - and why are you only using one hand? didn't your cast get taken off?"

anti breathed out sharply through his nose. "it did, yes. are you staying here? i'm busy."

henrik titled his head. "with what? what the hell do you do up here?"

anti's gaze bore into henrik, scrutinizing him. "you're still afraid of me, aren't you, doctor? even now. even when i'm like this, you're still genuinely afraid of me."

"i am not," henrik lied. he straightened, trying to ignore how he was trembling. the knife he still kept in his trouser cuffs felt heavy. "i could fucking kill you if i wanted. i could've killed you the day you left jack and i held the knife that you planned to use on him. you're the pathetic one here."

anti shrugged again, smirking. "sure, sure. like you -"

without warning, his body jerked, and anti's face screwed up in pain. he made several strangled noises, trying to wrap his arms around himself, but they were suddenly shaking and twitching too hard for him to. henrik stepped back as anti shoved himself away from the wall, computer falling off his lap, and pulled his knees to his chest to bury his face in.

it only lasted a moment. once it had passed, anti gave several trembling breaths, sitting up again shakily and checking his laptop to see if it had been broken. he didn't look at henrik, just tried to go back to what he was doing. henrik swallowed, considering what to say.

"how long has that been happening?" he asked. he hated how he instantly had his professional doctor voice on, gentler for dealing with patients. he shook it off and went back to his normal tone. "the seizures, i mean."

anti rolled his eyes. "my whole life? you know this already, doctor."

"i meant -" henrik groaned frustratedly and didn't finish. "whatever. if you want to be an asshole, fine by me. i'm going."

"sure you don't want to take up the offer of killing me?" anti signed. "it'd be fun, i swear."

"go to therapy, you sick fuck," henrik called as he left. he didn't bother waiting to see if anti would say anything in retaliation. he just left the building, fuming and trembling with rage. why had he even bothered to come here? what had he accomplished apart from scaring himself? maybe he should have taken anti up on his offer after all. honestly, who would miss anti or care if he died? would henrik feel guilty afterwards? why was he thinking about this?

fuck, maybe he was just tired.

marvin didn't get home until late that night.

naomi was staying with one of her sisters while a few magicians from hecate fixed her shop. the tree had, apparently been "easy enough to get rid of," according to the plant specialist who had been sent to help out, but the entire room itself had been destroyed. alice - naomi's sister - had been very kind about it all. "i'll keep a good eye on her, and let you know if anything changes," she'd said quietly when marvin had pulled her aside to see if naomi would be ok. "and i'm sorry you, uh, had to see her melt down like that. i don't think she's had an episode that bad since she was a teenager."

marvin had smiled at her reassuringly. "hey, it's cool. i've dealt with things like this before. and i care about naomi a lot, so i'm willing to do whatever i can to help her."

now, the house was dark. "hel-lo?" marvin called as he stepped inside. not a single light on anywhere that he could see. "chase? henrik?"

his mind suddenly flashed back to just a couple months prior, to coming home and finding his brothers gone, house upturned, the stench of black magic thick in the air. his heart skipped suddenly, and he tore through the kitchen to the living room to try and find them. "shit, shit - guys! chase, henrik, where are -"

then he noticed. through the living room window, he could see into the back garden, and the two people sitting on the bottom step. chase and lucas, deep in conversation. no wonder they hadn't heard him. marvin sighed, relieved, and was about to turn away when he thought wait a second and looked through one more time.

chase and lucas were very close. hands practically on top of each others. marvin couldn't hear them, but he could see them laughing warmly, huge grins on their faces. oh, ohh. the realization struck marvin.

this definitely did explain a lot. no wonder henrik had called him oblivious. marvin laughed to himself and closed the curtains again, turning on the living room light to let them know someone was home. he could worry about where henrik was later. right now, he thought he just needed to sleep.

#jacksepticeye #boop writes #marvin the magnificent #chase brody #henrik von schneeplestein #antisepticeye #lucas ross #naomi gudmundson #the fall

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edelgardlesbians · 4 years

Text

a (less than) perfect proposal

a ferdibert commission that was honestly such a joy to write! my writing commissions are still open, check out the details here!

fic is on ao3 here!

Ferdinand paces back and forth in the Empress’s private rose garden, the small box in his pocket weighing him down so much so that he feels it may rip through the lining of his jacket. For what must be the tenth time in the last few minutes, he reaches into his pocket, touching the wooden box to ensure that it’s still there. He sighs heavily and sits down at the table he’s prepared with coffee and biscuits and adjusts the place settings yet again.

It’s all going to be fine.

He sits for a moment, his fingers tapping out a staccatoed rhythm on the table. Ferdinand smooths over the place mats, checks the position of the pastries on their tray one more time, then resolves to sit and wait for Hubert in silence.

That resolution lasts for scarcely a minute before Ferdinand can’t take it anymore. He jumps to his feet and resumes his pacing, hooking his hands together behind his back. Hubert is four minutes late, which is both out of character and completely inexcusable of him.

Four minutes turns to ten, and then fifteen, and Ferdinand is starting to wonder if he’s been stood up when Hubert emerges from the bushes around the garden, looking slightly disheveled but there nonetheless.

“I apologize for the delay,” Hubert says. He kisses Ferdinand on the cheek, then sits down at the table. “I was caught in a useless meeting about the price of grain, of all things. Why that merchant assumed it was worth my time, I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Ferdinand nods, for once at a loss for words. The magnitude of what he is about to do is starting to sink in, and, although he’s sure of this decision, possibly more sure than he has ever been of anything, the act of dropping down on one knee feels almost insurmountably difficult.

He can do this. Him and Hubert have discussed marriage before, and Edelgard had seemed confident that Hubert would like the ring Ferdinand picked out, and even helped him practice his proposal. With her blessing in his favor, he can surely do this.

Ferdinand stands, ready to ask what will surely be the most important question of his life. Ferdinand takes a deep breath and looks at Hubert, calmly pouring himself a cup of coffee, and promptly catches his foot on one of the legs of the table and goes crashing to the ground.

He lets out a strangled cry as he falls, the whole table following him down onto the grass. It’s all ruined: the place settings he’d spent ages dithering over, the perfectly arranged cutlery, the thoughtfully selected pastries, and his storybook proposal.

As if to add insult to injury, the coffee pot falls as well, landing on Ferdinand and upending piping hot coffee all over his jacket. He winces, grimacing at the delicate embroidery that is surely going to be irreparably stained.

“Ferdinand!” Hubert jumps out of his chair and kneels on the ground beside him. “Are you alright?”

The coffee is going to ruin his entire outfit and possibly his whole day as well. He yanks the jacket off before the coffee can burn him, failing to notice the box tumble out of his pocket and into the grass. “I am perfectly fine,” he says, feeling very much not fine. His proposal seems impossible now, in the wake of his destruction of what had been supposed to be a wonderful date. All he really wants now is to fold himself into Hubert’s arms and take comfort there, although that would be most unbecoming.

Hubert frowns, “Of course. Come, let’s head back inside. You need a change of clothes, and I,” he kisses the top of Ferdinand’s head, “need a new cup of coffee.”

“Of course,” Ferdinand echoes, his voice cracking pitifully.

“Darling?” Hubert smooths down Ferdinand’s hair. “You look as if you might cry.”

Ferdinand swallows, “It is of no concern.”

Hubert’s eyes dart away from his face, settling on the box sitting next to his jacket. “Ferdinand? Is that-”

“No!” Ferdinand cries, “That is nothing!” He snatches the box up off of the ground and, in lieu of his jacket pocket, shoving it down his shirt.

Hubert rocks back on his heels, a smug smile tugging at his mouth. “Ferdinand von Aegir,” he says, “were you going to propose?”

“It was meant to be a surprise,” Ferdinand says, somewhat pitifully. He feels positively wretched. This was supposed to be perfect, and he’s ruined it. “I was going to sweep you off your feet.”

Hubert frowns and moves his hand to Ferdinand’s cheek, stroking a thumb over his cheekbone, “My dear, you’ve been doing that for years.” Ferdinand doesn’t respond, and Hubert sighs.

“Very well,” Hubert stands and sits at the now-upended tea table. “Woo me.”

Ferdinand swallows and fishes the box out of his shirt, walking over to stand in front of Hubert. He looks down at him, weighing what is to come. Hubert catches his eye, and Ferdinand smiles without thining. Hubert looks dispassionately back at him, but Ferdinand knows that man that he’s in love with well enough to see the fondness in his eyes. That’s all the encouragement Ferdinand needs, and he drops down onto one knee. “Hubert von Vestra,” he begins. There’s a lump in his throat and his heart is beating so loudly he wonders if he’ll be able to hear Hubert even if he says yes. “Loving you has been my most important responsibility. Everything else pales in comparison. When I was young, I thought my most important duty would be to someday take my place as Prime Minister in following with my position as the rightful heir to the von Aegir family.” His hands are shaking slightly, but he smiles up at Hubert nonetheless, “I was wrong. When measured against loving you, there is nothing that matters more.”

“Ferdinand,” Hubert’s voice trembles.

“Let me finish,” Ferdinand insists, ignoring the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “I love you, and I can only hope that I have adequately expressed my affections over the course of the last three years. I cannot imagine my life without you. You must know that every day I spend with you only causes my love to grow. In the wake of this, there is only one thing left to be done,” he takes a deep breath and opens the box, revealing the golden-orange spessartite garnet he’d painstakingly picked out at the jeweler’s. “Hubert von Vestra, will you marry me?”

Hubert makes a hapless noise that’s almost a laugh, “I did tell you to woo me.” He extends a hand down, towards Ferdinand.

Ferdinand doesn’t move, “You have not said yes.” His face is wet with tears, and the hot coffee has seeped through his shirt and really is quite hot, but there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Hubert makes that same noise, “Yes. Yes, you’re right.” He smiles, a small secret thing that’s just for Ferdinand, “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.” Ferdinand stands and takes Hubert’s hand, pulling his glove off of his left hand and slipping the ring onto his finger. Hubert touches it with his right hand, his small smile growing, “I don’t have a ring for you, I’m afraid. Some suitor I am.”

Ferdinand laughs, “Hubert! Don’t say such things.” He laces their fingers together and kisses Hubert’s bare knuckles, a gesture that still feels almost unbearably intimate. “I intended to get you a chain for it, so you would not have to wear it under your gloves.”

“Be quiet,” Hubert says, pulling his other glove off with his teeth and letting it fall to the ground. He wipes Ferdinand’s tears away with his free hand, the gesture clumsy but still tender nonetheless. “It’s perfect.”

“You are perfect,” Ferdinand replies, pulling his fiance in for a kiss.

Hubert wraps his arms around him and when they finally separate, he’s smiling as well. He brings both his hands up to Ferdinand’s cheeks, cupping his face in his hand. Ferdinand beams up at him, the cold metal of the ring a new - but not unwelcome! - sensation against his skin. His tears are finally starting to slow, and his anxiety has been replaced by a kind of burning happiness that threatens to consume him entirely. “I think,” Hubert says, “we should get you a change of clothes. You smell like coffee.”

Ferdinand laughs and kisses Hubert again. “Yes,” he replies, somewhat breathlessly. “I suppose I do.”

Hubert brings his hands away from Ferdinand’s face, resting one on the small of Ferdinand’s back and guiding him away from the remnants of their ruined tea date. “And Ferdinand, dear,” he smiles slightly, “That was an exemplary proposal. I daresay there will never be another so fine.”

Ferdinand laughs, a breathless little noise, and throws his arms around Hubert’s neck. There is no other way to respond to such a thing except to kiss his future husband, and so he does exactly that.

#fe3h #ferdibert #commissions

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