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aduckwithears · 6 months

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Sharing this in its own post. See here for context - basically a scene in Job's basement "planning" what to do with the kids... like most of their plans it is lacking in details, but makes up for that with longing glances. (i guess i write fic now??)

---

I'm torn, because this conversation could have happened in the cellar, or it could have been a speed-run on the way back from seeing God talk to Job. Anyway, I ended up writing the first scenario. Feel free to fill in the blanks afterward with any, um, more physical activities you like, you degenerates (affectionate).

Aziraphale's First Magic Trick (or, how Crowley unwittingly starts the career of The Amazing Mister Fell, an act which will have Repercussions)

Aziraphale is very full. He's never been fuller. Although he has no reference point for his own stomach, he is starting to suspect that a human would never consume an entire ox. By oneself. In one sitting.

He glances over at Crawley who seems to be completely enjoying himself, lounging with head lolling back, his wine cup half raised, and eyes half closed. There is a temptation to linger on this sight, but Aziraphale remembers (after several longish moments) that he, as an angel, cannot be tempted, and rapidly readjusts his gaze. It falls upon a clay bowl and 3 multicolored shape-shifted children.

"Crawley, the children!"

"Hmmm?"

"The children! They can't stay newts!"

Crawley hoists himself up on one elbow and looks over at the bowl. "Nahh, not newts. They're a type of lizard - meant for the desert, them. They're fine."

Aziraphale levels a stern, if slightly greasy stare in the direction of the demon. "That's not what I meant. How are you planning to return them to their parents?"

Crawley looks surprised. He had been trying to think of the exact type of lizard the form of the transformation had taken. He thought it might be a grecian but that didn't seem quite right. Greco? Still not it... He tries to focus through the wine. "Back to their parents? Doesn't seem very demonic." He shakes his head. "I got rid of them - no more kids, poof, gone - seems like it would take a miracle to get them back." He waves a hand dismissively.

Aziraphale huffs out a breath. "Well, they can't stay that way forever. If we could get them back to Sitis and Job after the bet is over, maybe they could be taken as new children..." He trails off, realizing what he is saying.

Crawley is now sitting all the way up, wine goblet forgotten and dangling from his fingers as he slowly raises both eyebrows and aims a golden gaze at the angel. "Ohhhh, do go on," he drawls.

Finding it suddenly very important to look anywhere but Crawley, Aziraphale feels his shoulders hunch. The taste in his mouth is too oily and his tongue seems raw. "Ahhhh," he says eloquently, casting his eyes about the cellar and encountering bare oxen ribs in his attempt to not look at the attentive demon. He turns his gaze miserably to the floor.

Several minutes pass and the uncomfortable silence grows, until a wiggle turns into a rustle turns into a black dressed form elegantly scooting (possible if you were once a snake and your human spine is open to suggestion) a little closer to his despondent companion.

"What about a magic trick?"

Aziraphale flicks his eyes over to where Crawley sits nearby, long legs folded, gazing up at him. "A... trick,” he manages over his oily tongue.

"Look," says Crawley, "between you and me, Gabriel couldn't tell these kids from Cain and Abel. I doubt he can even count to three." Aziraphale chokes a little, halfway between a laugh and gasp, but he must hand it to the demon, Gabriel has never seemed to be the brightest angel in the choir. He thinks about his recent conversations in Heaven and Gabriel’s insistence that God will provide seven new children to Job. Via Sitis (oh that poor woman).

The red hair and beard shimmer in the low light as Crawley leans forward and catches Aziraphale's eyes with his own. "So we'll do a magic trick. Sitis's births have to start sometime, why not right away?"

"Because... uh... well, you see..." Aziraphale himself is completely at sea. He reflects that perhaps humans do not eat entire oxen because it seems to diminish the power of thought. Does he have a general working knowledge of human reproduction? Yes. (He'd been on the human planning committee after all). Could he explain it to the wide-eyed being sitting in front of him? No. This is probably due to the taste of oxen stifling his brain. No other reason. Certainly not.

Crawley sighs, points to decimated ox. "Do ya get it? Ribs!" He grins.

Aziraphale feels his mouth drift open. He looks at the ox, ribs glinting white in the flickering light. He remembers another day, a flickering morning, and a woman taking her first breaths… and more importantly, a birth process Gabriel would believe… “Eve!”

The demon’s grin, impossibly, widens. “Exactly. Even if there are a few angels hanging around it should be easy to plant a few ribs, sneak in a few lizards” (what WERE they called? Gemini? Arghh…) “…and poof! Kids!” His hands flutter in the air. A distant, anachronistic part of Aziraphale’s brain categorizes these as Jazz Hands.

“Magicians!” Aziraphale allows himself a small smile. His shoulders relax. He crinkles his eyes towards Crawley, misses the small intake of breath from his demonic cellar-mate. “That could work!” He hesitates. “As long as no one asks directly which children these are, we should be fine!”

Crawley scoots back and resumes his comfortable position from earlier, refills the forgotten goblet, raises another toast. “Angel, the archangel Gabriel wouldn't notice if his wings were on backward. You bring the ribs and gecko-kids (that was it!! Geckos! Course it was!), I’ll do the talking. We’ll be fine." He takes a deep drink of wine.

Aziraphale's smile grows and he thinks that maybe a few of those ox bones need a little more work to be truly clean. He wiggles a little at the anticipation of the rich taste. He casts a quick glance at his companion, who seems, true to his word, not particularly lonely. His magician’s assistant. They will be fine.

#please be kind its the first fic longer than like 3 lines that i've ever written #but it just kind of happened #so happy halloween i guess?#morning reblog #good omens ficlet #the job job #the job minisode #a companion to owls #that night in job's cellar #tumblr fic #good omens fic #good omens fan fiction #ineffable husbands #azriacrow #a duck writes

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writing-a-to-b · 1 year

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Title: Autumn Word Count: 3,460 Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader (with a side of platonic Ellie Williams X Reader) A/N: This work is written in collaboration between @specialagentmonkey & @bangaveragewhitewine.

We’re back! We are planning to post weekly; two more seasons, plus some ~interludes~ in between the main seasons fics.

Thanks for reading folks, any comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! Follow and turn on notifications if you would like to hear when we post the other seasons / chapters, or sign up to our taglist to be kept up to date with what we post!

We do not give permission for our work to be posted on other sites.

Seasons of Us Masterlist

Contains: domestic goodness, illusions to sexy time

—

Autumn brought rain to Jackson; steely grey skies that prepared the town for the snowy months ahead. It’s raining now. Joel knows the rain has come because your hair is damp; not because he can hear the rain behind the banging and sawing he’s been doing in the workshop, and not with the near constant ringing in his ears, that he is usually able to tune out.

Joel loses himself in his work so you made sure - as often as you could - to bring him his lunch that you packed him that morning. The lunch that he forgot to put into his pack before coming down to the workshop. You know he probably does it on purpose just so he can see you during the day. Your jobs move you around Jackson with the seasons; fruit picking and tending to the greenhouses or the animals, supervising in the schoolhouse. No matter where you were, what kept you busy from dawn until dinner time, you always made sure to go have lunch with your man.

“Mr Miller,” you greeted while pulling the workshop door closed to keep the wind and rain out. You wiped your boot-clad feet, “The lunch you forgot - again.” You fixed him with a pointed look as you held out the plastic container.

Joel rose from the stool and quickly wiped his hands on a dusty rag before closing the gap between you, kissing your cold lips with a hum. “You’re wet,” he said, scrunching up his face and lifting a hand to run over your damp hair.

You scoffed and nudged the box into his stomach, “Rain’ll do that to ya.”

Joel took the offered plastic container. “I didn’t forget it, not this time anyway,” he admitted with a sheepish smile that made you roll your eyes.

“I knew you were doing it on purpose,” you huffed and shook your head before pecking him once more, “I brought mine to eat with you.”

Joel nodded and turned back to the workbench seeing the clutter and chaos, scratching the back of his neck. “Jus’...gimme a sec,” he mumbled and moved around the bench to clear some space, brushing off the worst of the sawdust and clearing any nails out of the way.

“Ever the gentlemen,” you teased as you perched onto the second stool Joel had brought over.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it never was for you and Joel. You’d been together for so long it was just being with each other, neither of you felt the need to fill the silence with small talk. Both of you got stuck into the packed lunches only briefly interrupted by Joel when he left the bench to go into the back of the workshop, coming back with two steaming cups of the mint tea that he had grown reluctantly fond of.

After the lunches were eaten you held the cup between your hands, appreciating the warmth it brought to them.

“How’s the decoration makin’ goin’?”

“We think we’ve got most of it done, the children have loved doing it. We’re hoping that the weather holds off until after Halloween but…who knows.” You shrugged, glancing over your shoulder out the window, “I just hope the pumpkins grow…”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Last winter was awful for the ground, we’ve had so much trouble with the gardens this year in the spring,” you explained softly, “We’re all rooting for the pumpkins because it’s not Halloween without them and it’s going the first Halloween that we’ve managed to find and plant pumpkin seeds - but what if they aren’t ready in time?”

Joel seemed to ponder for a moment his mug paused resting at his chin, “Well…if they ain’t my Momma used to say that years ago- and I mean years before anythin’ went to shit, when they didn’t have pumpkins they carved turnips,” he paused seeing the slightly bemused expression on your face, “Y’got any big turnips?”

You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up at the thought, carving out turnips. It seemed ridiculous, but very plausible.

Joel deflated and huffed at your laughter, “Just an idea, you don’t gotta laugh at me-”

“No no, no, I’m not laughing at you,” you stopped yourself, put your cup down and slid off the stool to come stand beside him, leaning into his upper arm. “I wasn’t laughing at you, it was just the image of people carving out turnips, it- I found it funny,” you slid your hand up his back and over the collar of his flannel shirt to the back of his neck, “It’s a wonderful idea. Thank you for sharing that with me, about your mom.”

He raised his eyebrow and gave you a sideways glance. The teasing lilt in your voice was still there but the kiss you laid to his cheek did the trick. “Alright, now go on. I’ve got work to do.”

Grinning against the beard on his cheek, you cup his jaw to turn his face towards you, placing a slow kiss to his lips, “Are you kicking me out after I brought you food?”

Joel hummed against your lips, his free arm wrapping around your waist, “Yup,” he said once your lips separated. “‘Cause you, darlin’ are a distraction and I don’t wanna have’ta get stitches again.”

“That,” you pointed a finger at him, poking his chest, “Was not my fault.”

He hummed, unconvinced, and gave your backside a tap, “Rather be safe than sorry.”

“You’ll be home for dinner, yeah? Ellie is joining us tonight.” You told him as you started packing up the plastic containers.

“Aint she out with- uh…”

“Dina,” you supplied with a small smirk and nodded, “She is, but she’s coming home for dinner.”

“Right.”

“So,” you slipped into your coat with Joel’s help, “Make sure you’re home.”

Joel held either side of your coat, “Yes darlin’,” bringing you closer to his chest, “I promise, I’ll be home for dinner.”

—

The early Autumn rain eased over the next few weeks as the fall season brought crisp cool days and crunchy leaves to sweep and gather in piles. The younger townsfolk took great pleasure in jumping in said piles, their laughter ringing through the streets made you warm inside; they had a chance at having a real childhood in this town, far from a QZ or a regimented FEDRA upbringing, tucked behind Jackson’s safe walls.

You swapped recipes with your neighbours, making the most of the meat the hunters brought back and the vegetables from the community garden. Best of all was the pumpkins. News of their growth and readiness for harvest in time for the holiday spread through the town; you brought it right to Joel yourself, along with warm homemade soup for lunch.

“It’s not just that they’re ready to be harvested in time for Halloween, Joel. We’ll save the seeds for sewing, that’s almost a guarantee for next year…” You spoke with a childlike glee of roasted pumpkin, stews and soups and pies, and the plans for pumpkin-carving with the little ones in the schoolhouse.

Joel’s spoon hovered in mid-air as he watched you, that small smirk on his lips. Seeing you so happy made his chest tighten in the best way.

You caught him staring - no, gazing was far more accurate - and stopped, almost breathless from your happy rant. “Sorry. Eat. I just.. I never even cared much about Halloween that much… not until this year.” You shrugged as your cheeks tinted with warmth.

“Shit baby, I could listen to you all day. I’m really pleased.” Joel’s hand covered yours and he squeezed. “Hey. Least we won’t have to carve turnips,” he winked, seeing you soften again.

“Hey I still might, Miller.” You point your spoon at him, “Put it out on the porch too.”

You both continued with your lunch, swapping summaries of how your days were going, any tidbits of gossip you had heard - pumpkin-related and otherwise - until your bowls were empty and bellies full.

“Oh shoot. Did Tommy tell you? Doreen found a stash of old movies in her attic - they’re gonna show The Addams Family for the kids at Halloween, after the costume pageant - ain’t that sweet?” You smile over your shoulder as you pack up the bowls and thermos to take home. You made a note to tell Ellie, she was settling into the life you three had carved out for yourselves in Jackson.

Joel nodded, approving of the film choice sidled up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder with his hands on your hips. “If it means we might have the house to ourselves I’m all for it.” You could hear his smile, feel it in the way he squeezed you gently.

“Oh you mean so you can go out to your little ‘man cave’ and work on whatever it is you got going on there without being interrupted?” You asked with a raised eyebrow, your head leaning to the side to give him a sceptical look, “Or maybe do some work on the front porch for the umpteenth time.”

Joel’s ears tinted pink, “I do not- it’s not a mancave…it's just a shed I work in. And the porch actually needed work doing to it, thank you very much. Those boards wouldn’ta lasted the winter, the way Ellie thunders down ‘em. But hey, if you wanted to fall on your a-”

You turned in his arms, reaching around his neck to cut him off with a peck. You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from you, “Yeah, yeah, Miller. Thank you for looking out for my ass.”

—

Your chance to tell Ellie about the Halloween plans came sooner than later, as you bumped into her on your way home after she had been visiting Shimmer, sneaking her extra apples as always. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” you said, as she linked your arms as you both walked home. She had been quiet lately, especially when you had brought up Halloween - you were going to get to the bottom of it.

“So, The Addam’s Family. Y’heard?” you asked, smiling down at her with the assumption that she already made her own plans with Dina. You clicked your fingers, hoping the reference wasn’t lost on her.

“Weird.” That answered your question. “I heard about it… Never really got to ‘do’ Halloween before this. Obviously.” Ellie shrugged, leaving you both in a loaded silence. You gave her the space to decide if she wanted to continue.

You let the silence melt into the chilly Autumn air around you, mixing with the sounds of Jackson as you strolled toward home. She stayed uncharacteristically silent until you were back in your house, washing up after lunch while Ellie lingered near the door, ready to continue.

“I guess I like the idea of it… Halloween, spooky shit. Going to this stupid movie. I - I just have some shitty shitty memories surrounded by Halloween decorations. It’s stupid.”

Fragments of the girl's past slotted together in your mind - the mall, the bite, Riley…

You turned around from the sink, wiping your hands before leaning against the counter. Ellie stared hard at the floor, not meeting your eyes as you spoke.

“It’s not stupid. How you feel and your memories aren’t stupid, babygirl. You can still make new memories and still remember the good parts of those shitty ones..” You let your words sit with her before Ellie finally looked up. You give her a sad little smile, “I think she’d want you to be happy.”

You barely had time to brace for impact before Ellie wrapped her arms around you for a tight hug, which you gratefully returned. Pressing a fierce, loving kiss to her head, you held each other until Ellie complained she couldn’t breathe with your squeezing.

After loosening your hold, she tilted her head back to look at you as you spoke again. “Go see the movie. If you’re not having a good time, you can come home anytime. Tommy or Maria would walk you back.” You cup her face, smushing her cheek with your thumb playfully. “Orrr.. you could stay in with us old folks. Joel’ll probably fall asleep on the couch, I’ll be reading my book… Super fun Halloween, right?”

Ellie rolled her eyes before squeezing you so tightly again and then sighed, “Fiiiine I’ll go.”

—

By the morning of Halloween the pumpkins had been harvested and split between the schoolhouse and the community kitchen and food bank, ready to be carved and cooked. There was a buzz of excitement around the town, especially with the children; most of them didn’t know what Halloween was until they got the school up and running. There was a general consensus with the adults to keep it light, not too scary - the real world was scary enough for these kids. Laughter rang from the schoolhouse as goofy and jagged faces were carved into the hollowed pumpkins, the flesh saved for the kitchens of Jackson.

Once they were finished, the kids proud of their handiwork, the pumpkins were loaded into a trailer and brought to the middle of the town, the same area that the Christmas tree was displayed every year. The decorations and lights surrounding the town centre really made it all come together, and the costume pageant in the town hall was a huge hit. You had never seen so many giggling bed-sheet ghosts.

A few hours later, when the sun began to set behind the mountains that overlooked Jackson, everyone came outside to admire the lit pumpkins. Maria and the townspeople on cooking-duty surprised everyone with mugs of steaming roasted pumpkin soup and slices of pumpkin pie for after - another hit with the children, and the adults.

The evening got cooler and everyone began to disperse, most heading into the hall for the movie screening. “Are you sure you guys don’t wanna come?,” Ellie offered, Dina waiting a few steps behind her - the other girl was still warming up to you and Joel.

Joel shook his head, taking one last look at the pumpkin display before throwing his arm over your shoulders, “I think we’ve seen enough horrors. You enjoy yourself kiddo. Remember-”

“-yep, I know, be home by eleven.” She looked at you as you gave her a confident little smile and wink. Ellie waved you off and jogged to catch up with Dina.

The two of you turned and started walking slowly towards home. You tilted your head back looking at the clear evening sky and twinkling town lights. Leaning your head to the side you peered up at Joel, admiring his features. You pressed a kiss to his cheek before slipping your hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

Joel looked down at you, brows lifting. “Ma’am, you do realise we’re in public? Out here groping my old ass.” His tone is light as he tries to keep his smile off his face, shaking his head in false disapproval. “Town Council sure will have something to say about that, s’indecent.”

“It’s a perfectly decent ass, Joel. You got a licence for this thing?” You gave him a pointed squeeze and almost snorted as he choked on his own laughter.

—

You had a late supper and a couple of whiskeys out on the back porch to look forward to when you both got home that evening. It didn’t take long until the very real scenario of Joel and yourself having an empty home for the evening became too enticing and you found yourself making your way upstairs with Joel hot on your heels - his hands palming over your denim-clad behind now, leaving his overshirt and belt and your sweater in your wake. That was almost two hours ago.

Joel was propped up against the pillows, one arm bent behind his head and the thin sheet pooled at his waist, leaving little to the imagination. He watched as you came back from the bathroom wearing nothing but his t-shirt- one of his favourite sights. You made the shirt look ten times better than he ever could and he never let you forget it.

You approached the end of the bed, lifted a bent knee onto it and crawled into the space between his legs. You placed gentle kisses to his chest as you let yourself melt into the safe embrace Joel created.

It wasn’t often you got this sort of alone time - between work and making sure Ellie was keeping out of trouble - but when you got to spend time with Joel alone, intimately, you definitely made the most of it.

After a while of simply holding each other, sharing small touches and kisses, you settled back under the covers with him. Your nose pressed into the side of Joel’s neck, breathing him in for a few blissful moments as his lips pressed to your hair, beginning to speak.

“What’d you dress up as- when you were a kid I mean?” he asked, smoothing a hand up and down your side before settling on your hip.

“For Halloween?” you reply, tilting your head back to peer up at him. The buzz about town over the last few weeks brought back memories for everyone.

Ever the asshole that Ellie never let him forget he was, Joel fixed you with a deadpan look, “No for Saint Patrick’s Day.”

You scrunched up your nose and dug your fingers into the softness around his waist. “Alright, shut up,” you tutted, but couldn’t help the smile when you heard Joel’s rumbling laugh. “Let’s see,” you hummed while moving your hand over his hip to his ribs, “The first one I remember, my Mom dressed me as Alice in Wonderland but I’ve been so many- my favourite one was dressing up as Princess Leia.”

Joel nodded with approval -like every man his age, he had it bad for Carrie Fisher growing up. “Star Wars, huh? Space buns too?” Joel saves that tidbit from your old life, stores it away in the increasingly large space you inhabit in his mind.

“Duh, you’re not Leia without the buns, hon. I loved to watch it with my Mom…” The ghost of a sad smile crosses your face before looking up at him. “Your turn. Lemme guess.. Cowboy?”

“I have you know that I made a mean John Wayne,” he said lifting his nose in the air, “My Momma made all the costumes from old bits of clothing so…it looked a bit mismatched but it worked, got me plenty of candy. Tommy was always covered in camo paint and running around like some army man,” he waved his hand in the air dismissively.

You sigh happily. “Now that I’d love to see. Little Joel Miller running around in cowboy boots, a stetson. Plastic revolver twirling around your finger…”

Joel huffed a short laugh, “You ain’t too far off.”

“No Johnny Cash?” You asked, your eyebrows lifting as you smiled, knowing how much Joel loved to sing old country music songs.

“Him too,” he smirked and pressed his lips gently to your forehead, “and Hank Williams.”

You swapped memories of the best candy you got while out trick or treating and the first horror movies you had seen. After so long together, you were still learning about each other.

A little later, as your fingers stroked through Joel’s hair, his head against your chest, you remembered the time. “Ellie should be back soon, we should make ourselves decent.”

“She’ll just go into her room and stay there until she smells breakfast, as usual.” Joel’s voice was almost dreamy as he felt close to sleep, curled up with you.

Before you could move, you heard the front door open and slam shut, making both of you wince. No matter how many times you and Joel had told Ellie about slamming the doors, she still managed to shake the house.

“She’s gonna bust that door off the hinges soon,” he grumbled and rubbed his forehead, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Another damn thing to fix.”

“What the fuck?!” Her muffled voice drifted up the stairs, “Ew! Guys!” There was a beat of silence before you both broke out into quiet laughter. You shook your head and pushed yourself to kneel, taking Joel’s head in your hands to peck his lips a few times. “I’ll go collect our clothes before she really starts to freak out.”

You look back at Joel as you open the door. “Well, if Halloween didn’t spook her, we sure just did.” Your straight-face crumbles as Joel groans in frustration behind you, burying his face into the pillows. “You been readin’ that stupid pun book again? Jesus lord..”

Despite Ellie’s utter disgust awaiting you downstairs, you think this might just be the best Halloween you have ever had.

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woelfin-sheeps-clothing · 1 year

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I'm a huge fan of giving things that don't have tails tails, especially if it gives them a cute run in a video game. I love watching Ratchet's little tail bounce back and forth as he's running around, something about it is just too adorable. I love how they work mood indicators as well.

Part II of the work on progress on this piece. The sketch where it started is so rough in comparison to the line art. I'm still debating if I want to do screen tones like on manga or full color. Their clothes are still not beat up enough for my tastes, especially for two people who likely wouldn't have much income at the start and clothes that are likely borrowed. Where on earth did Daxter even get clothes for Jak?

#jak and daxter 2 #jak and daxter series #jak 2 #jak ii #jak and daxter #dark jak #jak x daxter #jaxter #wip fanart #wip #work in progress fanart #fan art #2000s nostalgia #time zone reblog #morning reblog

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chacerider · 2 years

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out of memory

#tokusatsu #kamen rider #kamen rider revice #igarashi ikki #art #fanart #artwork #:)#honestly him losing memories every time he transforms #has been such a strong background horror this whole time #and i finally had to break down and Do Art For It #i've been enjoying revice just #quietly #because #*waves hand*#yeah #morning reblog

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brynnmclean · 1 year

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fell in love with the fire long ago

or, a little round up of my surprise Uncorrupted Mairon Madness yesterday [AO3 link, relevant notes/rough drafts tag] in case anyone missed it

chapter 1 - Mairon visits Ossë [tumblr, AO3]

In this life, in this timeline, Mairon realizes that he would be shattered beneath Melkor's hammer. He realizes he might not like who he would become after forging himself anew. Alone.

chapter 2 - Mairon makes A Certain Dagger [tumblr, AO3]

Mairon likes sharp things. He does not like wielding weapons himself.

chapter 3 - Mairon has Friends (and a Crush) [tumblr, AO3]

All his projects would have gone awry if he had stayed. He cannot stop his hands from shaking.

#an uncorrupted mairon au #fic masterpost #i can't remember what my tags were #my fic #charlie vickers answer for your crimes upon my heart #i was not a mairon girl until he stood on that raft #rings of power #silmarillion #mostly silmarillion i guess? but i cannot emphasize this enough: this is charlie vickers mairon #how dare he be SO GOOD #this fic is all may's fault thank you #morning reblog #technically #mairon #i'm trying to figure out how to get artanis to call him halbrand #i am THINKING VERY HARD about all of this

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archesa · 1 year

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From the past, with all my love - 1335 AE

Dust had gathered in the study, a thin silver lining veiling the furniture and golden specks twirling like snow in the sun filtering through the frosted windows.

A shroud of salt and rust stained the glass and the cascade of fire orchids falling from the heights of the greenhouse onto the side of the fort had rained a storm of withering petals on their courtyard where Trahearne had summoned minions to help him beat the rugs and pillows – a flesh and vines golem repeatedly charging a carpet hanging on the low branches of a plum tree.

In the meantime Anwen dusted the furniture Trahearne had omitted to cover before his hasty departure for Cantha – most of them, really, but how could she blame him – and used this opportunity to declutter and reorganise their quarters.

Their desks in particular required some attention. A pile of heavy leather-bound volumes on magical theory and the dragon cycle were stranded there – vestiges from a time just passed – in the midst of Trahearne's own research on the quaggan and largos' exile from the depths – recently proved not to be owed to the elder dragon of the abyss.

She scoured the notes and slipped them in the escritoire, the familiar scent of parchment and ink filling her lungs and welcoming her with a sense of belonging. Under the canopy of glass and metal, in the shade of orchids and wisteria, lulled by the sound of waves breaking on the fort, she was home.

The stationary barely fit the cylinder desk. Her curiosity piqued, she pulled the escritoire from the drawer, a bundle of letters neatly wrapped with a gold and sapphire blue ribbon, falling on her lap, from the depths of the secretary.

She stared, awestruck, as her own writing spread endlessly on the page – deep blue ink and never sealed messages she had long thought lost and regretted she never sent.

And here they were. Every single one of them – most unfinished, as she had left them, dated from 1325 to 1327.

Dearest friend,

An eternity it seems passed since we last met.

I hope life in Orr is treating you well, and that your duties to Pact allow you some respite.

I am writing from Lion's Arch, on my way to the Black Citadel at Tribune Brimstone's request. Assistance with the constant afflux of refugees from northern Ascalon.

The city is the same as ever but the sight of Claw Island, in the distance, beyond the bay, gives perspective to these last months. So much happened in so little time that neither of us really took the time to process.

I expect our business in the Citadel will conclude shortly – after Zhaïtan, what threat could be so hard to dispose of – and if you so agree, I shall bring you my transfer request for Caer Aval in person within a fortnight.

Yours truly,

Anwen Evergreen

PS : Meryw sends her love!

Dearest friend,

Our business in the Citadel it seems will require my attention longer than I originally planned.

The Dredges and the Flame Legion have formed an alliance and they harass these people endlessly. The Imperators seem helpless to deal with their guerilla – hit and run, scorched land – methods.

I took the liberty to offer the Pact's assistance – even if said assistance was then limited to Meryw and I – and assumed coordination of the agents and vigils already mustered there.

Dearest friend,

My sincerest apologies for not writing sooner.

Since Wintersday the days have grown, and yet they're still too short.

I hope you know you are on my mind-

A celebration of the Pact's victory is to be held in Lion's Arch in a fortnight. I dare hope our paths will meet there. I have so much to tell you. I realise now that you probably received a good dozen reports on the events that kept me in Central Tyria but–

Dearest friend,

I must once again delay my coming to Orr.

Captain Theo Ashford, who was killed during the attack, was a close friend of Logan Thackeray's. He asked me as a personal favour to assist the investigators – a detective of the Reach by the name Marjory Delaqua.

I am to meet her and her assistant – a friend of my brother, from the Academy, it's a small world! - in Lion's Arch today for further investigation of the crime scene.

I hope we can find the culprit shortly and I will then be free to officially file my transfer request to Orr.

I long to see Caer Aval again, and I cannot wait to offer my meager gardening talents to the restoration of the isles.

Yours truly,

Your friend, Anwen Evergreen

Dearest friend,

I wish to reiterate my family's thanks for your kind words and well wishes.

My brother is, I believe, on the verge of recovery as this misadventure did not even harm the most prominent part of his person : his ego is unfortunately unscathed. He seems more concerned by the ladies who witnessed his heroism than the healer's orders. And I worry for Meryw who must now endure him for the fortnight – and who definitely does not seem as annoyed as I had expected at the prospect of spending two weeks at the manor with Faren. I dread to think of the influence he might have on her! For all the love I have for my brother, I fear the world cannot endure another like him!

As for Scarlet Briar – or Ceara as she was once called – her motivations are still elusive... Chaos? Perhaps. But I fear there is more to her assault in the Reach – on the Queen's Jubilee – than most would deem.

The Shining Blade and the Seraph see no further than the immediate threat on the crown and Kryta. And the Arcane Council envoy dismissed her actions as a madwoman errance. But I have rarely met such a conflated ego – even for an asura! – and never seen Meryw have such a strong immediate dislike for someone, and though she remains tight-lipped on her reasons, I trust her judgement. Emissary Vorpp might be a brilliant dynamist but his expertise on the intricacies of the mind seem shallow at best.

But I digress.

These recent developments, I fear, will keep me in Kryta yet again.

Until we meet again, I remain yours truly,

Your friend, Anwen Evergreen

I killed you. Scarlet made me see this, made me do this. I know it was just a hallucination – just a nightmare but I see you every time I close my eyes, I feel your blood on my hands and your head on my shoulder as you breath your last.

Meryw saw Sieran.

Scarlet... This toxin showed us a glimpse of our subconscious, a place I hope my darkest nightmares will never wander back to... Every one of us peered into our deepest fear.

Mine is a world without you.

Dearest friend,

I hope this letter finds you well. I can barely believe it has been a year since last we met. I never expected

Caer Aval must be quite tranquil with the arrival of winter. If your duty allows, I would be honoured happy delighted honoured to have you as my guest for Wintersday.

The winter fêtes of the Faren house are famed for the brightness of their illuminations and the sweetness of their spirits.

If it so pleases you, we could avoid the crowds together.

Merry Wintersday, dear friend.

Letter after letter, she revisited this distant past – two or three lifetimes ago, it seemed – until the familiar sound of footsteps interrupted her.

Trahearne froze on the threshold, seeing her sat on the floor, the letters scattered around her and on her lap.

"You had them... I never sent them, and I thought they were lost forever, how...?"

"Meryw."

She stifled a breathless laugh.

Of course!

If there were anyone she could trust had innocent – or at least unequivocally good – intentions sending her correspondence, it was her shield-maiden.

"She wrote a few words with every unsent message, telling me of the unlikely places she had found the letters – blaming your distraction, your forgetfulness."

"I was busy...", Anwen smiled apologetically.

"I had noticed.", Trahearne chuckled. "These letters offered me a glimpse of you – stories I dared hope you would one day share with me."

"And... did I live up to your expectations?"

He laughed and knelt by her side, considering a moment everything they had been through these past ten years, the promise of tranquility after a decade – a lifetime in his case – of constant crisis almost too painfully sweet to believe.

"Our life together surpasses everything I could have imagined."

She leaned in his embrace, a content hum rumbling in her chest as she rested her head against him.

"Rereading those...", she sighed, "I realise how far we've come... and how close I have been from seeing my nightmare come true."

"A second Faren!", Trahearne breathed, in exaggerated horror. "Meryw is immune, but I believe Canach is a good contender..."

Her laughter filled the room with light and his heart with joy.

With the secondborn returned to Tyria to flaunt his success around the most elitists salons – and incidentally find more patrons to finance the Friends' Detective Agency – and Meryw recently recruited for the preparation of the wedding – and as such not-so-reluctantly entangled in the procession of bridesmaids counting in their ranks the oldest friend of Kasmeer, it seemed their orchard had succumbed to the gravitational attraction of Anwen's brother. And, most alarmingly, did not seem to complain!

He felt rather than heard her breath catch, a tremor in the quiet rise and fall of her chest against his.

“Dearheart?”

He reluctantly broke their embrace, a sinking feeling settling in his chest when he noticed her eyes glistening in the faint light. She blinked rapidly, a broken sob shattering on her lips.

"Anwen, what troubles you?"

“Sorry, I– I'm fine. Don't worry, I– I don't know why–...”

“It's alright.”, he murmured, tenderly holding her while she cried and leaned in his touch when he dried her tears.

“I'm so tired, Trahearne..."

It was a simple admission, but it was a relief.

"I... I think it's the first time since these letters that I cannot see further than the next step."

After they defeated Zhaïtan, she had naively believed there would be peace. They had defeated a dragon awakened for over a century and Trahearne had shattered its hold on the land it corrupted. Hopefully, the others wouldn't wake for a few centuries. And if she knew they would eventually bring the fight to Kralkatorrikk she had secretly hoped, since it was as good as dormant since Glint's death, that it would have taken years - time enough for the Pact to gather intel and reform an army to instill fear in the heart of an Elder Dragon. She had hoped...

"I... wanted nothing more than to spend all my time here, with you. And now we're finally there, now we can finally rest, I'm... ruining it."

"You're not ruining anything...", he breathed, tightening his embrace and resting his forehead against hers.

He knew this feeling. After the completion of his wyld-hunt he had felt… Bereft. Helpless. Forlorn. The great purpose of his life was complete and in its absence only remained emptiness and aching.

"Anwen, you're allowed to be tired. You're allowed to be sad because this chapter of our lives is over and relieved there is not battles left to fight. You're allowed to be unsure about the future and elated by what's to come. You're allowed to regret, to be proud of what you have accomplished."

"I'm– I just want to rest... with you."

"We rest, then.", he said softly.

She nodded feebly, a yelp stuck in her throat when he lifted her off the floor and carried her to the sofa nearby. A breathless chuckle broke on her lips, dispelling the shadow looming over them.

"I shall brew us some tea.", he offered, leaning forth to grab the nearest bundle of letters and laying it on the cushion beside her. "The one we brought from Seitung Province?"

"Would be perfect.", she smiled, the bitterness of nostalgia fading at the mere memory of the scent and aroma of white tea and sweet summer peaches.

Trahearne tenderly replaced a stray lock behind her ear and leaned in to lay a kiss on her cheek.

"Rest easy, Anwen. I'll take it from here."

(special thanks to @your-toxic-cat-universe for this beautiful piece! )

#anwen evergreen #trammander #trahearne x anwen evergreen #meryw #trahearne #trahearne lives au #fluff and a little bit of angst #but mainly fluff #as always comment / feedback / reviews / discussion is always very appreciated! ^^#(i read somewhere that people did not dare leave comments unless explicitly requested by the author so...)#(here's my permission if you needed any)#set post EoD but pre 'What lies beneath'#post eod #eod spoilers #(slight)#my first real try with the epistolary genre!#morning reblog

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jediofbooksandsnacks · 2 years

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In Time: A Psycho-Pass 10th Anniversary Zine

“Heavy cold grayness had settled around Tokyo that morning, and over by the windows someone laughed with their co-workers as they took their hand away from the glass and left behind an icy outline of their handprint.

Another hand, laying lifeless on the floor, shot through [Sho’s] memory. He closed his eyes for a second, and then took a drink from his warming soda as he focused on the autopsy report, received earlier that day by Shimotsuki.”

--Excerpt from What We Become

______________________________________________________

I was included in this awesome zine, starring many amazing and cool people from the Psycho-Pass fandom. This fic stars the introverted MVP of Psycho-Pass, Sho Hinakawa, as he grapples with his sister’s death.

Where can you read more? You’re in luck, friend, cuz this fic is currently live on this link:

https://www.pp10thtribute.com/

There are wonderful fics, plus! the incredible art will floor you. If you’re wondering if it costs anything, it doesn’t! It’s totally free! This zine was inspired by our love for this fantastic dystopian series.

So, why are you still here? Go check it out!

#psycho-pass #psycho-pass 10th anniversary #sho hinakawa #akane tsunemori #ginoza nobuchika #mika shimotsuki #sugo teppei #it's real #it's live #it'll be up for a few months #morning reblog

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twistmusings · 11 months

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Since it's pride month, I put together a poll to see what sort of ships and genderqueer headcanons the Twst fandom enjoys seeing content for the most. The poll will be ongoing throughout the rest of the day! Feel free to drop your votes!

#not writing;;#twisted wonderland #twst #psa;;#morning reblog

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tllgrrl · 2 years

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Giving Sarah some much-needed Mom Time, Sam and Bucky take Cass and AJ on a beach vacation.

One day they’re taking in the sights when the unthinkable happens to Bucky, in the least likely of all places: He thinks he sees someone from his past life.

Someone from Winter.

#bucky barnes #sam wilson #cass & aj wilson #mobius m mobius #tva #bucky barnes fanfic #sarah wilson #fanfic rec #morning reblog #fave fics thursday #reblog your fave fics thirsday #coffee and fanfic #bucky barnes x sarah wilson #sarahbucky fanfiction #by sixes and sevens

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edupunkn00b · 2 years

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Variations on a Sin, Ch. 6: Sloth

Prev - Sloth - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Written for @intrulogicalweek's Seven Deadly Sins creative week

Logan’s hands shook as he turned the deadbolt and slid the chain lock into place. He looked down at his phone and locked the screen, reaching to slip it back in his pocket, but then he took it out again. Remus was out there, bleeding and impaired. He didn’t feel safe with him in his home, but he didn’t want to just leave him to the wolves. Logan pushed aside just a sliver of the curtain by the door and peered outside.

Remus stood on the sidewalk, facing away from the house, his shoulders hunched. He shoved one arm, then the other into his long coat. He didn’t bother tying the belt or buttoning it, instead he let the coat hang open, whipping around his legs when a sudden wind picked up off the lake.

He stayed like that, unmoving, for a long time. No rhythmic bouncing to the tune of some earworm, no little finger trills from playing the piano in his mind. It was the longest Logan had ever seen him be still. Logan’s hand was on the top lock of his door, considering turning it and going out to see if he needed assistance when Remus broke out of his statue’s pose, patted his pockets and pulled out his phone.

Logan waited ten more minutes, spying through the window as Remus pulled on a pair of black leather gloves he’d produced from some other pocket in his coat. He stood still again, waiting, until finally, a Lyft drove down the quiet street and Remus stumbled into the car. He watched it move down the street until he couldn’t see it anymore, then picked up the coat rack and assessed the rest of the damage to his home.

~~~

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. In one blisteringly stupid hour, Remus had managed to set fire to the beacon of his days. Of course he knew Logan was just his teacher, that they didn’t have some sort of personal relationship, but Remus had come to rely on his seriousness and his focus. On that little smile he would get when Remus got something right, the little quirk in his brow when Remus surprised him. His belief that Remus wasn’t crazy or strange or wrong to create the way he did. Remus liked who he was when he was with Logan.

Or at least he fucking had until today. What the fuck had he been thinking? Why did he show up drunk at his house and then why did he just fucking go apeshit on the person least deserving of it? All Logan had tried to do was to try to get Remus to stop fucking bleeding all over his piano and he’d acted like the man was pulling out his fingernails. Why hadn’t he just fucking stayed home?

Remus slumped down in the back seat of the Lyft, eyes falling on his gloves. He knew why he didn’t stay home. He knew why he’d kept drinking even after getting sick, even after getting kicked out of the first cab he’d caught after his gig last night. Even after he’d woken up this morning in the bathtub, another Norelco cartridge half-busted open next to him on the toilet lid.

The booze wasn’t liquid courage. It was his mute button. It shut off the ideas he knew were bad, the slimy, inky plans and the quiet whispers that promised just how easy it would be to finally fucking let go of it all. But it didn’t last. The burn down his throat, that flash of flushed dizziness that brought back a smile, the dulled, numbed edges after another glass. And then another. It would never last. Nothing lasted but him.

“Sir? Sir, I said ‘Is this it?’” The driver’d turned around, one hand on the seat next to him like he was gonna back up. Remus squinted out the window. Fucking sun. Did he have his sunglasses? He fished through his coat, finally finding them in his breast pocket and slipped them on, nodding.

“Yeah, this is me,” he mumbled. He imagined asking him to drive him back to Logan’s. He could go and knock on his door and beg for forgiveness, plead with him to let him stay for a little while until he could stop thinking about it. But he'd seen Logan’s shaking hand, the fear in his eyes. He couldn’t hurt him again.

“Sir?” This driver was nice. Trying to be so polite but even from the back seat, his double vision could see he had another fare to pick up.

Remus nodded and opened the door, slowly stepping out and pulling up to his feet. “Thanks,” he mumbled and slowly closed the door. He stood on the curb and watched the car disappear down the street. It drove straight for a long time, finally turning when the only part Remus could make out were its red tail lights in the darkness. He blinked and looked around, tugging off his sunglasses. It was dark.

He found his phone in another pocket and pulled it out, sleeve catching on the flap. Finally he got it out and squinted down on the screen. The saccharine sweet ‘how was your ride?’ notification was three hours old.. Remus stabbed at the phone, tipped a hundred percent and gave the poor schmuck five stars.

His house was dark. The sun had spilled in through the front windows when he’d left, all that fucking ‘southern exposure’ the realtor had crowed about. All he’d cared was the place had double doors and a no-step porch so he could get his Wurlitzer inside. He sighed, his breath leaving behind a little puffy cloud. The neighbors would probably call the fucking cops if they saw some guy sleeping on the porch, so he walked up to the door, slid in his key, and turned it.

The door was heavy and Remus had to push with both hands to get it to budge. He finally opened it enough to slip through and it slammed shut when he leaned against it. He stood there in the dark until the faint orange glow of a power strip behind the t.v. and the green LED of the microwave clock was bright enough to see a difference when the time changed. Hands shaking, he peeled off his gloves and coat and left them where they fell.

He yanked at his laces and worked off his boots, leaving one in the hall and the other just outside the kitchen. He stood in the doorway and watched the clock change. Everything was in the kitchen. So that was where he couldn’t be.

His bedroom was no safer. The guest bathroom downstairs was okay and he walked just past it to the music room. A glint of light peeked through the drapes, spilling over the key cover and making it glow. He lifted the cover with scabbed fingers and revealed the black and off-white keys underneath.

Remus sat down on the bench, a trickle of a melody falling from his hands. He played softly, barely pressing down on the keys. Eventually, the dim glow of the streetlights bleeding through the drapes shifted into glaring sunlight and Remus laid down under his piano and slept.

~~~

Logan stood by the front window, curtain pulled all the way back to give him an unobstructed view of the street. Each time a car approached, he watched and waited to see if it would slow and stop, Remus’ thick-soled Doc Martens emerging from within.

The cars never stopped.

This would be the third lesson Remus had missed, not counting the disastrous last one. It had been nearly a week since Logan had last seen him. Nearly a week since he’d heard anything at all from the frenetic musician.

After the first missed lesson, Logan had called to leave his standard ‘missed you, see you next time,’ call but had frozen at the gentle resonance of Remus’ voice on the greeting. He hadn't sounded like that since his first lesson. Logan fumbled through the message, certain the only coherent part was, ‘Please call me when you get this.’

Remus didn’t call. And he didn’t appear for his lesson the next day. And—Logan checked his watch. It was now forty-seven minutes past the allotted time for today’s lesson. He was not going to show. Even if Remus was too angry or embarrassed to continue lessons with him, he would’ve thought he’d at least return for his bag.

A cold ache had poked at Logan’s chest when he’d found Remus’ satchel tucked neatly between the umbrella stand and the credenza in the entryway and he’d immediately pulled out his phone, staring down at the screen. He did call right away, instead he’d ruminated, weighing the pros and cons of hearing for himself that Remus was, if not happy with him, at least safe. Or to have him prod a wound that hadn’t yet closed up.

Before he really noticed, it was well after eleven by the time he'd finally decided to call. With a shake of his head, Logan locked his phone and set it back on the charger. Entirely too late to call. It was just as well, Remus had another lesson tomorrow. He was sure to see him then and he could return his bag.

That had been nearly a week ago. Logan had called a half-dozen times since Remus’ first no-show, ending each message the same way. ‘Please call me when you get this.’ But he never did. Finally, on the seventh call, it didn’t even ring and instead went straight to voicemail, the phone turned off. Or Remus had dismissed his call immediately.

Logan turned around, leaning against the window frame. His eyes fell on Remus’ bag. If he hadn’t left it behind, or if he’d shown up and demanded the bag and never returned for another lesson, Logan could accept that. Twisting worry pulled at him every time he looked at that bag, though. He briefly considered calling the police and filing a missing persons report, but dismissed the idea. He hadn’t even considered calling for police the day Remus had gone off on him, only EMTs for a medical emergency.

He tried Remus’ phone one last time then hung up when the greeting ended. Blowing out a quick breath, he picked up Remus’ bag and checked for an ‘If lost, return to,’ label that might include his address. If he'd shown, Remus would have been his last student of the day. If Logan could find his address, he could return his bag and assuage some of his concerns.

There was no label. Worry propelled him forward and Logan opened the flap and winced as he prodded the contents, hoping for a piece of mail or notebook or something that might show where Remus lived. Finally, he found a crumpled envelope from Brown Paper Tickets, postmarked one week ago. He flattened it on the table and entered the address into his phone before tucking the envelope back inside the bag and heading out the door.

~~~

Remus lived only a few miles south of Logan’s place and he parked outside the dark house, double checking the street address. There was no car in the driveway, and the porch light was off. Logan wasn’t even sure Remus drove at all, guilt twisting in his side when he realized he’d never wondered why. He sat for a moment, hand on the door lock, deciding.

Finally, he pushed open the door and stepped outside. He’d already violated the man's privacy by going through his bag. He might as well make sure it mattered. He marched up to the door and rang the bell. The sound faintly reverberated through the otherwise quiet house. No voices, no television. No music. Counting the seconds, he tried again after two minutes. And then again. Obliterating the fine line between concerned teacher and borderline stalker, Logan rang the bell a fourth time, peeking through the sheer curtains covering the windows on either side of the wide, double doors.

His throat went dry when the last afternoon’s light peeked through the very edge of the curtain, illuminating one bright green boot on the floor. No. Clinging to desperate hope, Logan lifted the door mat, poked at the lip of the porch lamp, and traced his fingers along the top of the door frame, feeling for a spare key. He checked the small planter near the window for any sort of hideakey shaped like a rock or a gnome or some other silly gimmick.

Nothing. One step from going around to the back and breaking a window, Logan tried the doorknob. It clicked right open.

“Remus?” Logan called into the house. He pushed at the door and it caught on something. “Remus!?” he cried, and peered around the edge of the door. He feared he’d see his body, but it was only his coat and a boot. Two fingers of a leather glove stuck out from under the heap. He slipped inside, closed and locked the door, then picked up Remus’ coat and hung it on the first of a row of hooks next to the door. A small mud mat sat on the other side of the entry and he placed each boot on it, then turned on the hallway light.

“Remus?” he called a third time to no response. He continued down the hall, following the sound of a ventilation fan and checking each room that he passed. The only light he’d found on was a heat lamp in a tiny bathroom. He clicked it and the little fan off. Silence fell. Near silence.

There was a sound coming from the next room and Logan crept closer, then peeked inside. The walls of the room were lined with posters from concerts, in several different languages. An electric keyboard sat in one corner, near a soundboard with digital recording equipment. The center of the room was consumed by a baby grand piano.

And Remus, curled on his side underneath, hands over his head.

“Remus!” Logan dropped to his knees and reached for him. “Remus, can you hear me?”

Slowly, Remus pulled his hands away from his head and looked up. The room was getting dark, the last bit of afternoon sun valiantly fighting a losing battle against the dusk. “Remus, I am going to turn on a light. Close your eyes, it may be uncomfortable at first.”

Logan hurried to the doorway, fumbling around until he found a light switch. A warm golden light flooded down from the ceiling and Logan returned to the piano. Remus’ hair was stringy and there were bits of dried blood along his hairline. Logan watched as he twisted his fingers through his hair, thick scabs scraping against his skin. Everything about him was pale, lips and cheeks, even his eyes seemed drained of their usual green.

“Remus,” Logan spoke quietly and offered his hand. “Can you come out from there?”

After what seemed like an interminable wait, Remus finally mumbled, “Don’t know.”

“Let’s try, shall we?” He reached for Remus’ hands, gently brushing their backs, being extra mindful of his scabbed fingertips. With more coaxing, Remus slowly emerged from under the piano and sat on the floor, leaning against the leg of it. His shirt and pants were the same he'd had on when he was last at Logan's house. One foot covered in a sock, the other bare.

Neither spoke for a long time. Eventually, Remus turned to him as though just now realizing he was there. “What are you doing here, Logan?”

“You left your bag at my house and weren’t returning calls. I… I violated your privacy and looked inside, found an envelope with your address.” He shrugged. “Your door was unlocked.”

“But why are you here?” he asked slowly.

Remus’ hand was still resting in his own. Logan looked down at his thin, pale skin. Dark blue veins criss-crossed his tendons. He looked into broken, sunken eyes, ringed with purple shadows. “I was worried,” he admitted. “Come,” he murmured after a moment. “You look like you could use some tea, maybe some soup?”

“I can’t go in the kitchen.” He shook his head, shrinking back. “I don’t wanna… I can’t…” He sighed, shoulders drooping as though his breath was the only thing keeping him upright. “I can’t be alone in there.”

Logan wrapped his arm around Remus’ waist and helped him to his feet. “Don’t worry, Remus. You won’t be alone anymore.”

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