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sugarmaplewings-fics · 3 years

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Baby, You’re Perfect

Pairing: BNHA Boys x reader

Warnings: Weight insecurity, negative body image/icky thoughts, body shaming from relatives, talks about skipping a meal once, general stuff like that. Kirishima’s reader is actively trying to lose weight. Cursing/language throughout (but mostly in Bakugou’s)

Characters: Bakugou, Kirishima, Kaminari

Author’s Note:

And here we have yet another request that is super old. I’m talking this has been chillin in my inbox for three good months. My sincere apologies, anon. And again, I’m sorry that that had to happen to you. Your grandma has no right to speak to you in that way. You’re making great progress and that’s amazing! Keep going strong, I believe in you. Anyhow, I had a lot of fun doing this request! We all need more chubby y/n on this website.

Yes, it says Hawks but I contacted the anon and we switched it to Denki bc I don’t write for Keigo (and we had a lovely conversation. they’re very nice :D).

Also the first two insults are things that have actually been said/done to me irl (hehe tasty self projection) and the last one in Denki’s is from an episode from Tuca and Birdie (it’s a good show).

Anyway, be nice to people. Respect others and speak to them as equals. We’re all human beings here, trying to get by. We’re also like a month away from 2021, I shouldn’t have to say that >:(

Happy Thanksgiving!

-Sugar

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Bakugou:

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were tired of their faces, tired of their words. You were headed home early, and you would not be sorry.

You didn’t hate your family. They could just be a little . . . difficult sometimes.

At first, it had gone well. You’d arrived at your aunt’s house yesterday for a family gathering and met up with everyone. They’d hugged you and asked you how you were doing. They’d even asked after your pro hero boyfriend, who you had chosen not to bring along for the purpose of spending some quality alone time with your family.

But then it happened; the thing you’d been dreading, the type of comment you’d hoped against all things you wouldn’t hear this time. But there it was.

You were nearly done preparing for lunch, helping to place dishes of food out in the backyard for your family meal. Your aunt was starting to serve people food, and you happened to glance up to see one of your cousins making herself a plate.

“Do you want any more?” your aunt asked your cousin, ready with her ladle.

“No, thank you, I’ve got enough.” Your cousin flipped her long perfect hair over a perfectly narrow shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to get fat like—” her gaze wandered over to you, meeting your eyes pointedly, “—some people.”

You faltered. Had she really just said that? About you? Well, it wasn’t impossible that it would come from her, but seriously? Today?

You swallowed a lump that had started forming in your throat, setting down the new stack of paper plates. Your aunt shot you a pitying glance. Was she even going to say something? Would she call your cousin out on her words?

No. She just moved on. Moved on like you should have. But something about it stuck with you. Your cousin’s words and implications rang through your mind, making you feel sick to your stomach. You shouldn’t let it bother you this much. You were doing better, both with your habits and your confidence. So why did it hurt so bad?

The darker thoughts you’d kept at bay began to come back; you were worthless, you were ugly, you were undeserving. Why wouldn’t they stop? Why was your stomach churning and your hand shaking? Before you knew it, hints of tears began to prick at your eyes.

No.

You weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing you this way. But you were no longer interested in staying, any sense of hunger leaving you for sick dread.

Next thing you knew, you had said an early goodbye and put your things in the car, headed back home. Maybe driving wasn’t the best idea, since now you were alone with your thoughts. But crying wasn’t worth it. It was a bad idea, especially since now was the time to focus on the road ahead.

You couldn’t have gotten home sooner, a sense of relief washing over you once you pulled into the driveway. You unlocked your front door, pulling your bags in behind you. You heard movement coming from the kitchen as you set everything down; the sound of the faucet turning off signaling to you that Katsuki had heard you come in.

Heaving a sigh, you tried to chase the negative thoughts from your head. They shouldn’t be there, and it wasn’t something to dwell on. You were home again, and you wouldn’t have to deal with your family for another few months at least.

Bakugou’s head peeked out from around the doorframe, double checking that it was you who had walked in. “What are you doing here?” he called, ducking back to whatever he’d been doing in the kitchen.

“Hello to you too.” You tried to keep the tartness out of your voice, but some of it must have crept back in. The sounds from the other room stopped again, and the house went eerily quiet. Huffing, you dragged your luggage into your shared bedroom.

You felt drained, that was the only way to describe it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hang your clothes in the closet. Giving up, you laid down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. You couldn’t help but hear your cousin’s words ringing over and over in your head, reminding you of the countless years of both internal and external torment you’d gone through regarding your weight.

The sound of footsteps in the doorway made you glance down, registering a spiky blond head of hair approaching you on the bed. You said nothing as the mattress dipped next to you, indicating that Bakugou had come up on your side.

The two of you were silent together for a long moment, and a stolen glance told you that Katsuki was mirroring you with his head resting on his arms as he stared at the blank ceiling.

“Are you going to tell me what’s got you in this mood?” he finally asked.

You sighed. “My cousin can just be a pain sometimes.”

“She the one you were telling me about or is it someone else?”

“Same girl.”

“Hmm.” Bakugou continued to keep his eyes trained solely up above. “What did she do this time?”

“Called me fat.” You tried to keep your voice even. You were simply stating a fact. It shouldn’t bother you like this, right? Even so, the tears you’d been forcing back once again rushed to your eyes, causing your tone to pitch. You swallowed them down again, blinking rapidly. This wasn’t something to spend time crying over.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Katsuki said, a little unhelpfully. “I don’t want to see you hating yourself.”

You frowned at this. “I don’t hate myself,” you said, thinking about your words for a moment before you spoke them. “I don’t hate my body. It’s just that . . . sometimes I wish it looked a little better, a little different. Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m enough as I am.”

“Don’t tell me you think you’d be happier looking like everyone else.” Bakugou’s gaze had shifted from a blank one to a glare.

“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging. “It’s just . . . hard sometimes. Being like this.”

Finally Bakugou rolled to face you, taking one of your hands in his. “I know you . . . struggle with your self-image or whatever, but you can’t let it take over your life, got it? You can’t just waste it worrying about what everyone thinks of you. You’re never going to be able to please everyone, but if they’ve got a problem with you, then they can go fuck themselves. You want to know the one person’s opinion who matters most? Yours. You have to be the one who’s taking care of yourself.” Katsuki paused for a moment, absentmindedly fiddling with your fingers as he considered his words.

“You want to know who’s opinion is the second most important?” he continued, his voice starting to get a little more mumbly. “Mine. I picked you because I love you. I love everything about you, from your shitty, annoying personality to your gorgeous body. You are so much more than just ‘enough’ for me, so don’t go worrying about that. You’re everything to me, and you know that, right? I love you no matter what, so don’t let this ruin your whole day.” He kissed your knuckles, signaling that he had said his peace.

You smiled at him, a tear or two finally sneaking past your defenses. “How—how do you do that?”

“What?”

“Sometimes you say something horribly stupid and I swear I hate you, and then next thing I know, you’re telling me everything I need to hear.”

“Tch, I can be eloquent whenever I want. It’s a choice.”

“Alright.” You rolled over so you could properly face him. “Can I have a hug?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but nevertheless held open his arms. You happily snuggled into the hard, built muscle enveloping you, offering a beautiful contrast to your own soft body.

“Do you need me to talk to your cousin?” Bakugou asked. “I’ll do it.”

“Nah, let her go.” You nuzzled your nose into his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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Kirishima:

You honestly expected your family to last longer when it came to keeping from upsetting you. Nevertheless, maybe you were being a little too optimistic. But come on, did they have to ruin everything the literal second you walked through the door?

Even after the scathing comment, followed by a half-hearted, hasty brushing off, you forced yourself to spend time with them. It wasn’t often that you got to see this half of your family, so you decided to ignore it with the rest of them.

But as you sat on the couch sipping tea, you were unable to focus on the light conversation buzzing around you. The event that happened mere minutes before played over again in your mind, causing you to wince.

You’d walked into the house, prepared to greet everyone and have a nice time, when your aunt looked up from her position on her arm chair. “Hello, (Y/N),” she’d begun. “Ah, look, you’re still fat.”

Your heart had almost literally stopped beating in your chest as you froze in the threshold. Had she just said what you thought you heard? You must have been mistaken, right?

Any positive anticipation you’d had of seeing your relatives had plummeted to your feet, and you strongly considered turning around in place and leaving without another word.

But you couldn’t do that, of course not. Then your aunt had begun to babble something about how it made you look cute like a baby, but her words had already done their damage.

You tolerated the rest of your afternoon with them, but it was a great relief to you when you were finally able to leave and go home. As soon as you pulled into your driveway, you exhaled a sigh of relief. It was over with, and it hadn’t been that bad.

Eijirou wasn’t home, but you knew he wouldn’t be long after you. You went about making dinner, knowing he’d appreciate it once he got home. He was always so tired these days.

Even so, as you stirred broth in a pot, your aunt’s words rang in your head. You vaguely remembered telling her about your weight loss a month ago. You figured you’d been making considerable progress, and you knew that no one was more proud of you than Eijirou himself. But had it really made a difference?

After a moment of fretting, you turned off the stove. You walked into your shared bedroom, flicking on the light. Your eyes caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. You frowned, going up to it. Turning your body this way and that, you tried to see if you recognized a change in your appearance. You lifted your shirt, only to wince at yourself and tug it back down. You pinched at your arms, your thighs, and your cheeks, growing almost angry at the way your fingers sunk into the flesh.

Maybe you hadn’t been making as much progress as you’d thought. Or the progress you had made wasn’t enough. Without you even realizing it, your mind began to toy with ways to speed things up. Guiltily, you found yourself wondering if Eijirou would notice if you just skipped dinner that night.

You shook your head to clear away the intrusive idea. No, that wouldn’t solve anything. Eijirou had told you that he’d help you lose weight the right way, so you’d stay healthy and be able to keep it off. It would be best to listen to him.

Still, you found your eyes glued to your reflection. You wouldn’t consider yourself vain, but there was something in the way that your eyes traced over your curves, wondering just how they might look on you if only you were a little smaller . . . .

Movement behind you in the mirror caught your eye, and you were quick to recognize a head of spiky red hair. You must not have heard Kirishima come in through the front door.

“Hello,” you said with less cheer than usual.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted you, coming up from behind to give you a hug.

You leaned back into his chest as you both stared at each other’s reflections.

“Checking out my perfect girlfriend?” he teased, referring to how your eyes continued to trace down your body. “That’s my job, you know.”

You snorted, gently rubbing at his forearm.

“So how was your family?”

“Okay,” you shrugged.

“I saw you left something on the stove. Are you doing okay?”

Oh, Kirishima. How did he do it?

You shrugged. “I guess I didn’t really have a good time there. Got a little upset is all.”

Eijirou frowned. “What happened?”

You took one of his hands in yours and began to play with his fingers, now determined to keep your eyes from catching another glimpse of yourself. “My aunt told me I was fat.”

You missed the flash of genuine anger that shot through Kirishima’s eyes. He knew this was something you’d struggled with for a long time. Your aunt had no business making comments like that about your body, especially now.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, deciding to keep himself calm for your sake.

You continued to fiddle with his large hands. “I just worry sometimes that I’m not doing enough,” you mumbled. “What if it doesn’t work? What if I’m just meant to look like this?” You sniffled, hating the sudden tears that were beginning to fill your eyes.

“Honey . . .” Eijirou spun you around and held you to his chest, running a hand down the back of your head as you finally let the tears slide down your face. You nuzzled into his shirt, appreciating the warm, familiar feeling of it. “Even if you weren’t able to lose more weight, you know I’d still love you, right?” he said in a tender voice. “I’d think you’re beautiful either way.”

He tilted your chin up so he could look into your eyes, giving you one of the most loving gazes you’d ever seen. “And besides, we’re not together because of how you look. I love you for you. I love your personality, and how you always say and do the cutest things.” He bent down for a quick kiss, caressing your cheek as he pulled away. “I love your laugh, and I love looking into your beautiful eyes . . . .” He kissed you again, beginning to gently guide your bodies to the bed at the other wall.

Eijirou laid you down in the center of the mattress, hovering over you as he went in for another kiss. “I love your body too. This body, just the way it is. I love how it feels to hold you at night—” he kissed your neck. “—I love your chest, your butt, your arms, your thighs—” he nuzzled his nose against your face and neck. “—your cute tummy.” He pushed himself up and gazed down at it with such a genuine expression of love, you almost started tearing up again. “The cutest tummy in the world. And I love it because it’s yours.”

With that, he bent down again and lifted up your shirt just enough to give it a little kiss. You couldn’t help but let a giggle slip from your lips, which only made his ruby red eyes dart up to meet yours mischievously.

“You like that? What if I did it . . . again!” He placed a second kiss in a different spot, going for another and then another. You broke out into laughter, the sensation of his lips and nose brushing over your sensitive skin making you squirm in his hold.

Soon, he was laughing himself. He nuzzled into your skin one last time and blew a raspberry against your skin.

“Eiji—!” you began to protest through a laugh.

“What?” He smirked at you, moving up and settling his chin in the valley of your chest.

You smiled right back at him, bringing up your hand to brush the backs of your fingers against his cheek. “I love you.”

Kirishima took hold of your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the backs of your knuckles as he looked into your eyes. “I love you too, baby.” He held your hand in his, getting lost for a moment simply looking at your face.

Eventually he sat up, laying down next to you and pulling you into his chest. “I’m proud of you too,” he told you, tucking your head under his chin. “I know you’re actively making a change for the better, and you’re doing really well. Results won’t happen immediately, you just have to stick with it sometimes.”

You sighed through your nose, taking his hand in yours again. “I know. I just get discouraged sometimes is all.”

“And I’ll just be here to put you back on track. You’ve got this, you know.” He hugged you tight against him, rubbing your back. “Are you hungry?” he finally asked. “I’ll help you make dinner.”

“Sure,” you said, chuckling lightly.

“What? We both have to eat, and you know me. I’m a hungry shark.”

You laughed again, leaning up to kiss his jaw.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Well, there’s always more where that came from.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m here for you, okay?”

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Kaminari:

If there was one thing Denki hated more than anything, it was seeing you upset.

He could tell something was off the moment you came through the front door. You were too quiet, and that bothered him. When you finally made it up to your shared room, Kaminari was already watching the doorway for you.

He noticed immediately that your eyes were puffy and a little red. Even your posture looked defeated and slumped over.

“Hey, Denks,” you said once you noticed him stretched out on the bed. His heart broke even further when he saw you try for a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” Kaminari got up, clearing the space between you so he could put his hands on your shoulders.

“I—I just,” you began to stammer out, feeling the flimsy dam you’d placed behind your eyes begin to falter. “I . . . don’t know if I want to talk about it right now.” You covered your burning face with your palms. “It’s stupid anyway. I shouldn’t let things like that get to me.”

Kaminari frowned, trying to figure out what might have made you so upset. But he wasn’t one to pry when it came to situations like these, and he knew you’d tell him on your own time.

Even so, he led you to where he’d once taken position on the bed, pulling you up with him. He knew that sometimes you simply wanted to be distracted from things, so he decided to do just that. Allowing you to settle in next to him, he picked his controller up from the covers again where he’d set it down.

You noticed he’d been playing Minecraft. You let yourself take a mild interest in his mining session that you caught him in the middle of. You watched him wander through a cave system; placing torches, killing the occasional zombie, and mining out various ores he happened upon.

What you didn’t see was how often he shot you glances, studying your face for any signs of you getting upset again. He saw when you finally took your eyes off his screen, frowning distantly as you twisted the material of the blanket underneath you.

Before he could ask you again what was going on, you opened your mouth to speak. “Do you think this outfit is too much?”

Denki faltered, confused. “No? What do you mean by that? I think you look really pretty.”

You pursed your lips. Clearly that wasn’t the answer you’d wanted. “I just—I don’t know.” You frowned and went back to avoiding his eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what happened today?” Denki asked. A sudden idea struck him. Before you could answer him again, he stood up on the bed and walked over to a shelf you kept just above it. He pulled down a large stuffed Pikachu he’d gotten you a few years ago, and went back to sitting next to you. “Would it be easier to tell him?”

Denki positioned the toy in his lap, grabbing hold of its little arms and letting it go through various motions, starting with a little wave at you.

You couldn’t help but snort at Kaminari’s antics, looking from the plushie to the curious but concerned expression on your boyfriend’s face.

“Your Pikachus are worried about you.” Denki lifted it up higher on his chest, continuing to fidget and wave the arms back and forth in a little dance. “You saw your family today, right? How did that go?”

Your face fell again and you shrugged. “It went well I guess. My grandma just said something dumb and it made me upset.”

Denki frowned, lifting the arms of the Pikachu so its hands were on its pink cheeks. “What did she say?”

You shrugged again. “I was messing around with my cousins and I said I looked like a snacc. And then she said that snacks were probably what made me so fat in the first place.”

Denki’s frown deepened. “That’s not very nice.”

“I don’t think she knew what I was talking about, to be fair. And maybe it’s a little funny. I mean, she’s not wrong.” You rested your chin in your hands, sighing. “It just caught me off guard. It’s a dumb thing to be upset over, like I said—”

“Hey.” Denki met your eyes. “It’s not dumb. You have every right to be upset.” He held his arms open to you. “Come here.”

You sat up, letting him embrace you.

“Do you need me to remind you how beautiful you are and how much I love you?” he asked from next to your ear. “Because I’ll do it.”

He took your shy smile as a yes, letting you settle back as he proceeded to lift up the stuffed yellow toy.

“Are you hearing this, bro?” he addressed it, throwing a serious look on his face. “The most gorgeous person on the planet is sad. We have to do something about it.”

Denki put the Pikachu’s paw on its chin, tapping it for a second before removing it again. “What’s that?” he asked it. “You have an idea?”

He lifted the toy to his ear, pretending to listen to it for a moment as he nodded along. Once he was satisfied, Denki scooched himself even closer to you. He brought Pikachu’s nose up to your cheek and made a kiss sound with his lips. Setting the toy down beside you on the bed, he motioned for you to come sit in his lap.

You obeyed, settling yourself in between his thighs and wrapping your legs around his hips.

“There you go,” he muttered, slotting his nose beside yours as he touched foreheads with you. “I love you and you’re the most important person in my life. You know that, right?” He waited for you to nod before continuing. “And I know that you can feel a little insecure sometimes with how you look. You’ve got bad days, and you have good days. It’s my job to be there for you on these bad days, and you can be there for me when I have mine. I want you to know that you’re so beautiful and I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

He connected your lips to his for a long moment, trying to convey all his feelings for you into it. “And don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re less-than. They’re not the kind of person you should be listening to. Trust me when I say that you’re perfect just being you.” Denki wiped a tear trail off your cheek with his thumb, leaning in to kiss the skin there.

“Thanks, Denki,” you said, your voice just above a whisper.

He gave you a soft, caring smile; his fingers still lingering on your cheek. “Is there anything you want to do together to make you feel better? We could watch a movie, we could snuggle, whatever you want.”

You leaned in and hugged him tight. “I love you.”

He hugged you back. “I love you too. You’re my sunshine nugget, and it would take a heck of a lot to ever change that.”

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Taglist: @basicaegyo @fourteenow @iiminibattlehero @katsugay @nabo39 @onepieceask @pyrofanatic @sendhelpimstupid @xoxopam4

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lov3nerdstuff · 3 years

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.11}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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It was that time of the year again before Robin knew. As always, christmas had approached fast and suddenly rather than steadily, but the festive spirit had been long evident throughout the entire month of December. The holidays this year looked a little different than usual though; Cas had been asked by a fifth year student to attend the new year's ball with him, upon which she spontaneously had decided to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. Robin had offered to take Jorien to the ball as her plus one, but the girl had decided to just go home as planned. So it was just Cas and Robin who would attend the ball this year.

Honestly, Robin felt weary of the boy who had asked Cas out. He seemed nice enough at the first glance, but something about him was ringing an alarm bell in the back of her mind. Cas obviously didn't care about Robin's words of warning, saying how she at least had a date for the ball, which probably should've hurt Robin more than it did. After this rather uncomfortable conversation however, she had decided to keep her concerns to herself, but an eye on Cas nonetheless. She didn't want her to get hurt, not even by something that, to her, was so ridiculously irrelevant as teenage drama. Because she knew that to Cas, it wasn't irrelevant at all.

The last day of the year came, and before long Robin thanked herself for actually bothering to invest in a dress this year. And she foremost thanked herself for having the endurance last summer to actually make an effort and not just get the first best one in Diagon Alley, which would've merely been a differently coloured version of what pretty much all of the other girls wore (with a few honorable exceptions, of course). No, Robin had made the decision to go with her own taste rather than the attempt to fit in, and she still stood behind it to the fullest.

Cas on the other hand had about five different dresses lying on her bed and was desperate to pick one, which did not even come as a surprise to Robin. The girl's love for fashion had exploded rather than faded, and while Robin had no idea why Cas had packed so many pretty dresses unaware that she would be attending the ball, it also didn't particularly surprise her.

"You should wear the dark blue one." Robin commented from her seat on her own bed, while she unsuccessfully tried to untangle her hair. "It reminds me of the nightsky. And who doesn't love the night?"

"Most people don't, actually." Cas sighed in exaggerated despair. "I was thinking about the peach coloured one with the ruffles."

"You're the fashion guru." Robin shrugged. "But I think darker colours are more classy. And the ball is very classy, most of the time. Or trying to be anyway."

"Classy or stuffy?"

"A bit of both, perhaps. Foremost, it is entirely what you make of it."

"In that case, I'll wear the peach coloured one." Cas decided with a more or less determined expression. "What about you? We're gonna be late if you don't get started at once!"

"Well, I don't have an entire wardrobe of dresses to pick between. I showered and sorted out my hair; I'll literally be done within five minutes from this point on."

"What about makeup? What about hairstyles?! What about shoes?!" Cas asked in return, incredulous about Robin's lack of enthusiasm about these things. "Seriously, aren't you gonna make any effort at all?"

"As you said, I don't have a date anyway. Nobody expects me to make an effort." Robin shrugged in return, unbothered by her roommate's comments. "And since you obviously didn't see me for the last few years, I will kindly let you know that putting on an actual dress this year IS me making an effort."

"I cannot believe you. I just cannot believe you…" Cas rolled her eyes as she muttered to herself, but then went ahead to get ready herself and leave Robin reading on her bed in peace for the next hour and a half. That's how long it took Cas to go through all of her extensive preparations and procedures, and Robin thought it was admirable how much effort she put into this indeed.

Finally, twenty minutes before the ball would begin and while Cas was still in the bathroom making 'last minute' adjustments to her colorful eye makeup, Robin got up from her bed with a sigh, put her book down and dug her dress out of her trunk at last. Like most things she bought these days, it was almost entirely black, but for the silver ornamentations and spiky flowers sewed onto the shoulders. Everything from the waist down was flowing black fabric, as was the long pieces that attached to the shoulders instead of sleeves, billowing down the arms like a backless cape. That precisely was also what made it difficult to put on, without stepping onto the piles of fabric that however barely brushed the ground once she pulled it up. The neckline came in high at the sides, almost high enough to cover up her scar, while the front was curved into a low V shape, that had always reminded Robin of spades. The solid black of the simple corset made up for the detailing on the shoulders and the heavy billowing fabrics of the skirt, and its snug fit and the thick fabric were comforting rather than confining to her. For once, Robin actually felt powerful through wearing a mere piece of clothing. And while perhaps she might not fit in with the other students, she definitely would with the professors.

"Bloody hell!" Cas suddenly exclaimed, and Robin jumped in return, twirling around to face the girl who spoke on in the meanwhile. "How dare you looking that gorgeous?!"

Robin's face heated up in an instant, and even though it was Cas she was talking to, she couldn't help being flustered. "Uh, thanks, I guess."

"I mean, I still stand with my statement that you shouldn't wear so much black, but good gracious… that dress is a piece of art. And it just screams 'Robin' to me, so you actually did pick well for once!"

"Don't sound so surprised." Robin rolled her eyes, while she had to smile nonetheless. "But thank you anyway. I wanted to look like myself tonight, and not like I dressed up as someone I'm not."

"But dressing up as someone you're not for one night is the entire point of it!" Cas replied with a grin, then dimmed it down to a smile. "But I understand you, and I think you look exactly like yourself. Just more beautiful than usual."

"Thanks…" Robin scoffed in humour, torn between sarcasm and honesty, and thus settled for both. "Again."

"So tell me, who do you wanna impress with that dress?" Cas quirked an eyebrow at Robin, smirking while she observed her closely. "And don't tell me no one, because I know you, and you wouldn't have made an effort just for yourself."

"Everyone." Robin answered instead, deeming it just as not-saying as 'no one'. Meanwhile, she tried to find a place to store her wand, which was turning out to be an actual problem now. No sleeves, no real sleeves at least, and no hemlines or pockets. Great. Then however an idea struck her, and in no time she had twisted her hair up into a bun, which she could easily fixate with her wand indeed. Two problems solved with one action, wonderful.

"I cannot believe you just did that." Cas commented on Robin's action in an instant. "And I cannot believe that it actually looks good! I spent an hour doing my hair, and you just… use your wand like a hair accessory within two bloody seconds."

Robin sighed in return, but she had to smile once again at Cas and her view of the world. "Your hair looks a million times better, believe me. I'm not trying to look good, I'm only trying to look acceptable while being functional. That's a difference."

"If you say so…" Cas sighed, and the two girls finally started making their way up to the great hall. "Coming back to my question though; who do you really want to impress? Is it that boy who's sitting next to you in Professor Morgan's class since recently?"

"Alexander? God no!" Robin snorted, shaking her head to herself while she actually enjoyed striding through the hallways quite so elegantly for once. "If you must know, I'm not trying to impress someone, but to prove a point to someone."

"Uuh!" Cas squealed quietly, skipping in her steps next to Robin in glee. "To whom? And which point?"

"You would do well to focus on your own date for now. Where did he want to meet you again?"

"Just outside the hall. You won't scare him off, Robin, will you? I know you don't like him, but he's really cool and so are his friends, and I don't wanna be the stupid third year whose big sister has to watch over her."

"You won't even notice me tonight, unless you need me. Good?"

"Yes. Thank you." Cas smiled, then took a deep breath while her smile widened even more. "I'm actually going to the ball! With a cute boy! Can you believe it?! I've waited for this moment for months!!!"

"I hope tonight is everything you dreamt of." Robin replied with a small smile, but it was tainted by concern no less. Just shortly before they reached the last crossing before the great hall, she turned to Cas once more. "Don't get into trouble, and don't do anything stupid. I don't want to find you drunk in our bathroom later or anything of that sort."

"Yes, professor." Cas rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, but gave Robin a small hug nonetheless, before she skipped ahead and towards wherever she would meet her date.

Robin decided to give Cas a little while at least, to spare her the embarrassment of arriving with her watchdog indeed. When she finally did make her way into the great hall, she was barely still on time, with two more minutes to go until the festivities would begin. The very moment she entered the hall, a few more eyes were drawn to her than in the last years, but not enough to make her feel observed. At least Robin didn't notice enough eyes on her to feel like people were actually paying attention to her. In an instant, she moved to stand off to the side and let her eyes trail over the crowds in the search for her own company.

"Looking for something?" Snape's voice was so close behind her that Robin jumped for the second time this evening, but then turned around to him with a smile. The very moment she did, she believed to see a glimpse of sincere awe flashing through his eyes, but she might as well be mistaken. She probably was, unfortunately. It might just be the candles and some wishful thinking.

"Looking for someone." She smiled up at him in amusement. "But it seems that someone found me first."

"How very fortunate for you." He replied with a not-smirk, as much of it as he would show in public at least, and his gaze flickered over her garments for just a second before returning to her eyes. "Did you have to choose black?"

"Obviously." She smirked, feeling highly amused by his difficulty to show a suitable reaction to her choice of outfit.

"It suits you."

Now, that she hadn't expected, but she appreciated it nonetheless as her smirk turned into a smile. "Thank you."

"How… came the change in your choice of attire for tonight's event?"

"You complained last year that I was wearing the same thing I wore to the conference the summer before." Robin shrugged, observing his almost uncertain expression. "Thought I'd prove to you that I can look nice too, when I actually try."

"You didn't need to." He mused, but before Robin could give a reply, both their attention was drawn to the front of the room where Dumbledore was getting started with his welcoming speech.

Robin turned towards the front to at least pretend to listen, and a few seconds later she noticed the gentle hand that came to rest on the small of her back. She had to smile in an instant, glancing up at Snape out of the corners of her eyes, but he was looking towards the front as neutrally and indifferently as always, always the contrast to his lingering touch. Oh, how she had missed this.

… … …

As soon as the possibility had come up, Snape and Robin had moved back into their usual corner and to their usual table. For a good two hours they stayed sitting there like always, in their usual habit of gossiping and teasing, until at last the inevitable happened, the one thing Robin had indeed seen coming all along.

With the saddest face in history, Cas came approaching them with an expression showing precisely that she was barely able to keep her tears from spilling over. Robin's immediate line of thought went along the path of 'told you so', but she frowned it away and out of her mind, and instead jumped to her feet in honest concern.

"I'll be back in a second." She said to Snape, who nodded in return, then she went to meet Cas a few steps further down the wall. They weren't technically out of sight, but out of earshot at least. "What happened?"

"As if that would be so hard to guess." Cas replied with a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest but making herself so small at the same time that it appeared more as a gesture of holding herself together than defiance. Robin simply went ahead and hugged her then, out of an impulse, and Cas immediately clung onto her in return. "You were right… He's an asshole."

"What did he do?" Robin asked softly, drawing reassuring circles on her friend's back, while on the inside however, she felt furious. Whatever that boy had done, he would pay for making Cas cry. Even if it was just teenage drama, Robin wasn't having it tonight. Or perhaps she just needed a deserving victim for her own annoyance at Cas for not listening to her any earlier.

"He and his two stupid friends wanted to go and hang out somewhere else, somewhere more interesting than here and 'have a little fun'. I said I didn't want to, so they just made fun of me for being such a prudish child and dreadfully boring. Then they just laughed at me and Jos said he should never have asked me to the ball." She mumbled into Robin's shoulder, and only a few seconds later she looked up at her again. "I'm not boring, am I?"

"Not at all." Robin replied with a small smile. "I'm very proud of you for not letting them drag you into something you didn't want to do."

"It's not even that I'm scared to do something forbidden… I couldn't care less, honestly, unless it's something really bad. But I just want to stay here for a while, you know… to enjoy the ball. I like the ball." Cas shrugged, still looking sad about it. "No need to insult me for that, right?"

"Nothing gives them the right to insult you at all." Robin replied pointedly, then let her eyes trail over the room for a second before turning back to Cas. "Did they leave already?"

"No… they wanted to find some other people first who would actually be willing to go with them for their private party." The girl scoffed, pushing her hair behind her ear with a bit more confidence already. "Why?"

"I should have a little talk with Jos, and with his friends as well if needed." Robin stated in a dangerous calm, then started pulling Cas along, back towards her table. Without making much fuss about it, she sat Cas down next to Snape. "Wait here, yes? I'll be right back."

"You don't have to, Robin, really, it's-..."

"Yes, I do have to." She replied calmly, ignoring both Cas' insecure look and Snape's mildly irritated one, and then turned on her heel to find the boy in question. They really needed to have a talk; no one mistreated or ridiculed her friends.

Jos really wasn't too difficult to find, his group of friends practically entertained the entire section of the room. 'Cool and popular' Cas had said… more like 'jocks and jerks'. Robin approached him without slowing down, and even though the boy was only a fifth year, he was a good head taller than her. That didn't intimidate her in the least however, and while being surrounded by so many people, so many strangers, would've made her nervous in any other situation, it did not do so now. She was on a mission, and somehow her body seemed to understand that.

"Jos?" She merely asked in a cold calm tone once she stood facing the boy.

"Uh, yeah? That would be me." He quirked an eyebrow down at her in amusement, while his pals nudged him in the sides with utterly pathetic grins. "The one and only."

"I thought so." Robin returned, then didn't waste a second to follow her impulses once again. The thing about physically strong people was that they usually spent ridiculously little time guarding their minds. Thus it was but an effortless thought on Robin's part, and she was in his mind, staring him down at the same time while he stumbled backwards against a table, then slumped down on the bench behind his legs. She felt his mind trying to lock her out, but it was a pathetic attempt at the most, and thus she went ahead to give him a very clear visual of what would happen to him should he ever dare to say a single bad word about Cas again, in her presence or not. After half a minute of this the boy was a terrified mess, half sitting and half sprawled out on the bench, looking up at Robin with teary eyes while she withdrew from his mind at last. Then she turned to his gawking friends, who hadn't even tried to help their pal.

"Would anyone else like to know what happens when you mess with the wrong people?" She asked politely, and five people shook their heads immediately. As much as she wanted to smirk at that, she kept her face neutral. "Great. Have a nice evening."

Without waiting for their reactions, she turned around once more and made her way through the hall and back towards her own table, feeling her confidence fade the moment she was out of their sight. Geez… she really shouldn't have done that. All those years she'd been doing her best to stand above such impulsive behaviour, and here she was now, mildly torturing a lower year. Letting off steam on other people. Great job, idiot. Perhaps it was the dress that gave her the illusion of too much power. Perhaps it was Snape's company.

"And? How did it go?" Cas asked the very second Robin approached them, and the girl luckily looked a lot more like herself already. Not sad and small anymore, but excited and almost happy again, and Robin found that this was what had made her own uncharacteristic behavior worth it in the end. To see her friends happy, she would gladly go against her higher standards.

"I made him cry." Robin sighed in resignation, and sat down on the bench in between Cas and Snape. "It was a very wrong thing to do though, so don't take it as an example. A negative one, perhaps."

"I don't care if it was wrong, you made him cry for me and that's awesome." Cas grinned, then almost knocked Robin off the bench with a tight hug. "Thank you! I really should have listened to you earlier…"

"It's nothing, really. But yes, you should have." Robin huffed in amusement, even though she still felt mildly concerned about the entire 'revenge leads to more revenge' thing. But she hadn't seen any speckle of that in Jos' mind, so perhaps it really wasn't an issue for once. Not when it was about something so minor, with somebody so imbecilic.

"Uhm, sorry to, uh… to interrupt…" A foreign voice drew Robin's attention to a blond curly haired boy she couldn't remember seeing before, and Cas followed suit while she let go of Robin. The boy obviously seemed unsettled either by Snape or Robin, perhaps by both of them, for he only glanced at them nervously from time to time and otherwise focused on Cas entirely. "I, uh… I couldn't help noticing what my idiot classmates said to you, and well… I just wanted to ask if you were alright?"

Cas blushed a deep crimson, and Robin had to subtly nudge her in the side eventually to remind her that she could speak. "Uh, yeah, I… Thank you. That's… very nice of you to ask."

Robin could practically feel how Snape rolled his eyes at the scene, but she was also very much aware of the fact that he was still here despite everything that had happened in the past minutes. She couldn't help nudging him in the side as well, smirking, and he gave her a glare in return. Robin smiled even more.

"Would you… uh, would you care for a dance perhaps? With me, I mean? I could try to cheer you up with my horrible dancing skills and ridiculous jokes." The blonde boy finally got out with a crooked smile, and Cas nodded immediately. Then she gave Robin a questioning look, but she just motioned for her to go ahead already. Thus, within seconds, Cas and the boy vanished in the crowd.

"I have never seen something more pathetic in my entire life." Snape finally remarked dryly, and Robin had to snort at the comment. It was absolutely only for show, and she knew that just as well as him.

"Oh come on, I think it was adorable." She replied with a smirk. "I feel a lot better about this one than that prick she came here with."

"You are aware that I missed the important bits of the conversation, yes?"

"I know." Robin sighed, then turned to him to explain. "Fifth year, straight brown hair, very tall, called Jos. Might be a nickname though. You know him?"

"Yes. I could've told you from the start that he is a complete dunderhead."

"I for my part knew that from the start as well, but Cas didn't want to believe me when I told her. Either way, he asked her to the ball, she had high hopes, but then he and his friends made fun of her, right before she came here. So much for the pre-story." Robin sighed again, her smile faltering. "Then I did something stupid and very much unlike me. I went over there and basically bashed him in the head with a few pictures strategically placed in his mind, of what I would do to him if he kept on being an arse."

"So that's what got him to shiver in fear at the mere sight of you." Snape mused with a not-smirk, and Robin was twice surprised in return.

"You saw that?" She asked first of all, frowning.

"I did indeed. Most of it, at least."

"And you're not disappointed? Not even telling me how idiotic that was? How imbecile and irresponsible and redundant?" She added the second question right on, and part of her hoped that he would do just what she'd said, and part of her hoped for the opposite. "You've been telling me since first year how stupid impulsive reactions like this are!"

"Why would I need to tell you something you are already well aware of?" He quirked an eyebrow at her, but upon her defeated expression, he finally sighed as well. "Sometimes we do a wrong thing for the right reasons. You defended someone you care about. I doubt that could even be considered wrong in the first place."

"And using legilimency on lower years? How are you going to justify that?"

"I won't, that certainly was wrong by any means. But I enjoyed watching it nonetheless." He said with another not-smirk, which finally got Robin to smile as well. "You certainly know how to intimidate people. It's quite impressive."

"I learned from the very best." She replied with a smirk, and he rolled his eyes in return, while his own smile still lingered on his lips.

They just kept on chatting for a while then, the incident soon forgotten and insignificant, and before long things returned to normal. Almost normal, for they were left sitting closer together than ever after Cas had left, shoulders almost touching now, heat brushing against the bare skin of Robin's arms when her robe sleeves moved out of the way. She knew that he must take notice of the closeness as well, of her shoulder gently brushing against his arm from time to time whenever she moved, and yet he didn't move away at all. The thought made her smile.

They had been listening to the music for a while, merely enjoying each other's company like they did so very often, when Robin caught sight of Cas dancing with the blond boy again. It had been an hour at least since they had left to dance; obviously it was going quite well, and Robin couldn't help being curious.

"Who is the boy dancing with Cas anyway?" She asked Snape, while still keeping her eyes on the couple on the dancefloor.

"Curious, are we?" He mused in return, undoubtedly humoured. "His name is Simon Durrell, fifth year. Ravenclaw. He is quite horrible at potions, but smarter and therefore less of a nuisance than his peers. Wears his heart on his sleeves quite like your friend."

"Good." Robin smiled up at Snape at last. "I would've hated having to behead him if he was a jerk to Cas. She looks happy dancing with him."

"You should be dancing as well." Snape said in a sudden feigned neutrality that made Robin's smile fade in return. "One doesn't wear a gown like that only to hide in a corner all night."

"Why not?" She shrugged, focusing on her hands in her lap. Was he trying to get rid of her? Find a polite excuse to get away? No, that wouldn't be like him at all. He would just get up and leave if he wanted to. Robin didn’t know what he wanted to hear. "Nobody's ever asked me to dance anyway."

"Oh please... You are by far better than waiting for some dunderhead to ask you for a dance. Go and ask someone first, someone who deserves your company." His tone turned from neutral to grave in a broken second, as he turned to look away along with it. "Or at least someone who knows that they never will."

There was something ineffably sad about his words, his voice, his eyes when she looked up at him once more. He wasn't trying to get rid of her… He was giving her the chance to be happier elsewhere, without him. Robbin’s heart skipped a beat, then squeezed all air out of her lungs. If only he knew; if only she could make him understand. Then again… Perhaps she could.

"You know what? I will." Robin replied determinedly, and rose to her feet with one graceful move. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed out her dress with shaking hands, standing straight after sitting for so long, and then finally turned back around to Snape. Gods, he looked so sad under all those facades. She took another deep breath, then held out her hand to him. "Would you do me the honor and dance with me?"

______________________________

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Beside The Dying Fire (part five)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word count:

TW: Blood and gore, wound descriptions

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

After finally getting away from Holm and the Death Cloud, it was a long walk before the rolling green hills that characterized the north began to flatten out. Katherine and her companions stopped occasionally to gather water from clear streams and to rest, but then they walked again. They traveled south and east, hunting small game in order to supplement their meager rations and living off of the land.

Over the course of two days, their path led them to a lower elevation into rocky, broken terrain. Though it raised Katherine’s suspicions and filled her mouth with a bad taste, she was certain that they were going in the right direction. Before them was a fissure in the earth and a slim pass through which people were meant to travel. Katherine looked up at the overcast sky and shook her head.

Navigating down to the clearest path on the lowest part of the trail leading into the ravine was treacherous, especially with Catalina. Katherine worried over her getting down the slippery slope, with its loose rocks and shifting dirt, much to Catalina’s annoyance.

“I am FINE!” The Aasimar had barked, and then promptly slipped on an unsteady stone and nearly rolled down the remainder of the slope. Katherine managed to catch and steady her before she could fall forward and impale her stomach on a jagged rock.

“You are definitely fine,” Katherine said, assisting Catalina the rest of the way down.

“Hmph. Thanks.” Catalina said.

The entrance to the ravine’s cave yawned open to them, studded with fangs of stalactites. The rocky, uneven walkway was almost manageable compared to the steep, jagged paths Katherine could expect if they had tried to cross on either side. Whatever stream cut through these rocks had long dried up, which made going through them that much easier. Katherine lit a torch on a branch with a piece of flint, then traversed into the darkness with her companions.

The ravine floor was not especially difficult to walk across. Years of hard rushing water have carved a path through the rock and smoothed the stones underneath. But there was a sort of eerie silence that crept through the shadows, slinking after them with every step they took.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Catalina muttered, looking all around the tunnel. “Not to be a nun, but this place does not feel very celestial.”

Joan nodded gravely. “But it doesn’t feel very infernal, either,” She said, and rubbed her forearms as if she were trying to press down goosebumps. “It’s weird…”

Katherine flicked her ears and looked around. It was harder for her to catch traces of strangeness because of her wood elf bloodline, but even her own hair was standing on end. She didn’t like the feeling crawling over her; it didn’t feel natural.

The shadows of the ravine deepened the further they traveled into it. The sun penetrated the craggy rock formations overhead, but offered little of its warmth. The going got rougher underfoot, and it grew colder. They seemed to be going down.

“Did you live underground?” Catalina’s voice echoed throughout the cave, making Katherine jump.

Joan blinked up at Catalina. “Huh?”

“Did you live underground?” Catalina asked again.

“No?” Joan furrowed her eyebrows.

“Oh. I thought Tieflings lived in caves.”

Joan flicked her ears back, then shrugged awkwardly. “Maybe. I dunno. My village was kinda small.”

Katherine peered at Joan curiously, only just realizing that she didn’t know that much about her. The little Tiefling had been dragged along in this journey against her will, not that she seemed to mind. She was still very quiet, though, and kept to herself, probably because she was so used to it simply because of her race; Katherine had heard about the stories calling Tieflings demons.

“My bad,” Catalina said. She squinted through the darkness ahead.

Katherine and her companions took turns pointing out particularly perilous sections of the ground where twisting an ankle would be a matter of a single step. There were grooves and dips in the stone, pressing mercilessly into the arches of their feet as they walked along.

Ahead, the path widened into a kind of clearing at the heart of the ravine. This was the deepest part of the natural formation, and the light was all but extinguished here. Dread was still hanging over Katherine’s head like a silver sword.

As they walked up through a winding tunnel, the smell of smoke waved down at them. Light was slowly starting to return as the ravine began to open up again. But the sky outside the cave was dark and grey, signaling a storm, and wetness coated everything beyond the protective rocky overhangs. The dried out river beds were beginning to fill up again; Katherine wondered if the ravine would be flooded.

It was a perilous climb out of the gorge, but the three of them make it out onto a grassy field that has been reduced to more of a lake because of the rain. They spotted a city around a mile away, smoke whirling into the air from houses beyond a tall wooden wall, and headed for it, hoping for a place to rest.

A few soldiers were huddled around struggling fires, some dressed in spiky leather armor, others in the same peasant garb they were wearing when ordered to serve, most likely because of the city being short handed on fighters. They were all slimed in so much mud and grime that not even the rain could wash it away, and they all appeared very tired, but still jumped up with their weapons when they noticed the group approaching.

“You three! Stop there!”

Turning toward the voice, Katherine saw a half-elf woman striding through the murk in their direction. She wiped some rainwater from her eyes, twitching her small, pointy ears, and brandished a rake. Katherine took it as a blessing that Catalina didn’t burst out laughing.

“Chauback is under quarantine. What’s your business here?”

And then, without letting any of them say something, a smaller human guard piped up, “They’re the doctors! Look at the masks!” He had seen the animal masks buckled to their waists. “I told you they would come, Nasha!”

The half-elf, Nasha, paused, looking the three of them up and down again as she considered her next move. “Right.” She pulled her rake away. “Can’t be too careful. I need to clear this with Mayor Oron.” She glanced at them one last time, then hurried through the wooden gates.

The rain splashed around Katherine and her companions and dripped from their sleeves. They blinked at each other, clearly confused. Just as Catalina opened her mouth to say something, a human man came dashing over, almost losing his footing in the mud. He grabbed Katherine’s shoulder.

“Are you a doctor?” He gasped out. Then, not waiting for a reply, “Come with me. My friend needs medicine. Please.”

Catalina and Joan exchanged looks beside Katherine, but Katherine, sensing the man’s urgency, said, “This sounds serious. Let’s go at once.” without even really thinking it through.

“Thank you. Follow me.” He took off back through the mud. Katherine and her companions put their masks on and then struggled after him, keen not to end up with a face full of waterlogged turf. He stopped periodically to beckon them onward with an exaggerated wave.

Their short journey took them to a makeshift blacksmith’s table and extinguished forge. It appeared the smith was partway through the repair or creation of some crude pieces of chest armor when the rain cut the process short. The man ducked into a living quarter area attached to the blacksmith building, and the trio followed, vainly attempting to shake rain from their clothes before they stepped inside.

“Help him. Help Pava, please,” The human begged. “His leg… It’s not healing.”

On the small bed in the corner laid a shaky gnome man, blonde-haired and pale-faced. An unpleasant gash carved a jagged groove down his left leg. He let out a low moan.

“I’ve brought a healer, Pava. Everything will be well now.” The human moved over to Pava and took his hand, looking at the trio with nervous expectation.

Katherine moved closer to study the wound in Pava’s leg. The gash was deep, a zigzagged red tear in the man’s leg. It was inflamed dark crimson with fangs of shredded flesh and a maw that gargled creamy pus. It smelled foul, but Katherine had knowledge in healing from her life in the forest.

“I need honey,” Katherine said to the man. “And ginger.” She swung her head around to Joan. “Joan, run out and get me some old man’s beard lichen. It was out on the trees near the ravine. Do you remember what it looks like? I used it to wrap your wrists.”

Joan cast a dismayed look at the stormy weather outside, then nodded and hurried back out into the rain. The human man followed close after her, but with more urgency in his step. Catalina lingered in the room, shifting from foot to foot.

Once all the supplies were brought back to the house, Katherine began by slathering the length of the wound in honey. Pava cried out and gripped the bedsheets, but didn’t jerk away.

“What’s it for?” The human asked, glancing nervously over Katherine’s shoulder as she worked.

“Honey can flush out wounds and remove infections,” Katherine explained. “It’ll help clean the injury.”

The human nodded. “Thank you. Thank you so much. If he went in wounded, they wouldn’t let him…” He trailed off with an anxiety-ridden expression. Katherine looked back at him, but didn’t ask.

After scraping off the honey and cleaning the rest of the wound out with water, Katherine mixed ginger in with the strips of old man’s beard lichen Joan had brought. She wrapped the lichen around Pava’s leg, then dressed it in a second layer of fresh bandages to step back to admire her handiwork.

“That should keep the wound safe until it heals,” Katherine said. “Make sure to clean the bandages every few hours.”

The human nodded gratefully, vigorously shaking Katherine’s hand. “Thank you, ma’am. Thank you. Thank you.”

Katherine nodded and smiled, even if it couldn’t be seen under her mask, then walked out of the house. Catalina and Joan trailed after her quietly, saying nothing.

Nasha found them as they circled around blindly in the town square. The city was dull and packed, houses pressed together tightly, but with not many people out on the streets. There were a few wooden gates with white X’s over them, which blocked off entrances to alleyways. They were led away from those to a big stone house, where a nervous-looking firbolg was pacing around in a mess of leather strips and metal scraps.

“Mayor Oron,” Nasha dipped her head. “The doctors are here.”

The firbolg perked up, hitting his head on the low ceiling. He rubbed the top of his skull as he bustled over, gesturing for the trio to come inside.

“Come in, come in,” He said. “It’s a relief that you’re finally here. Chauback is in the grip of a pandemic we cannot explain. Hence the general summons for plague doctors. It’s running rampant and eating away at people I need.”

Katherine nodded her head. “We will do whatever we can.”

She missed the confused looks Catalina and Joan exchanged behind her back.

After speaking with the mayor, the three of them found the closest thing to an inn near the heart of the settlement, and its half-orc proprietress looked at their mask-clad selves with open disdain. She gruffly offered a place to sleep, a hot meal and a bath for free of charge because of their service in the village, but she didn’t seem very happy about the lack of payment.

The meal she offered was simple fare: vegetables boiled beyond recognition and a simple fish broth, but it was hot and therefore welcome. After they’ve eaten in a companionable enough silence, Katherine asked her about the illness in Chauback. She bristled at the question initially, but eventually answered.

The half-orc told them in clipped sentences about how the illness had been controlled at first, just peasant people at first, but then migrated into richer parts of the city. The rain and humidity didn’t help either. Chauback had become a stinking cesspool of a breeding ground for disease in less than two years.

After finishing their modest dinner they were offered a bath. The water was lukewarm at best and there was no soap to speak of, but there were some oils they all slathered themselves in. Catalina got to bathe first, then Joan, and then Katherine, and by the time she got into the bath, the water had turned murky and cold.

They were given a private room in the loft, close to the low-hanging sloped ceiling, and Katherine had to duck slightly to keep from hitting her head when she walked up the steps.

Joan was asleep by the time Katherine’s bath was finished. She was curled up on a straw cot, snuggled under a frayed wool blanket. Catalina was still awake and flipping through the spell tome Hans had given them. She squinted at Katherine when she stepped into the lantern’s glow.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” Katherine turned to her.

Catalina closed the book. “We aren’t doctors. We can’t help these people. What were you thinking?”

Katherine flicked her ears back. “I know some things. Faedi taught me how to treat wounds and what plants have healing properties.”

“But stopping an entire plague?” Catalina shook her head. “These people are going to die.”

“No, they’re not.” Katherine growled, clenching her fists. Catalina caught her mounting anger and furrowed her eyebrows. Katherine relaxed, letting her ears droop slightly. “I just--” She sighed. “I want to try and help people. Because I couldn’t help anyone in Ghent…”

“Oh,” Catalina said, understanding. “Oh, that’s what this is about?” She got up and hugged Katherine. “Kat… What happened in Ghent wasn’t your fault. You did your best.”

“I ran.” Katherine said. “I didn’t stay to help them, I didn’t make sure everyone was okay, I just ran away.”

“You stayed alive for them,” Catalina corrected. “And you’re going to be the hero for them. I just know it.”

Katherine looked into her warm dark brown eyes, then nodded. “Alright.”

Catalina bumped her head with hers. “I’ll stay and try to help here. We’ll do our best.”

“Thank you, Lina.”

“No problem, Kat. Anything for you.”

------

The next day was a mess of blood and gore.

Katherine, Catalina, and Joan saw dozens of patients, all worse than the last. One man had pus-filled boils bulging all over his body, and one woman’s leg seemed to be literally rotting while it was still attached. They had to cut that limb off, and the resulting scream was haunting, but the smell was worse.

Instead of blood, a thick, greenish-yellow liquid came pouring out of the wound. It reeked of decay and burbled endlessly from the severed leg. Joan had careened out of the tent to vomit.

But that wasn’t all. They got a patient swarmed with flies trying to lay their eggs in a gash on his leg, a patient with her skin peeling off in huge, rotting strips on her feet, a patient pox all along his belly, a patient with his face and neck bulging beyond belief.

It was awful. So awful.

When Katherine was getting some fresh air out of the rot-smelling houses, she noticed one of the wooden gates blocking off alleyways creaking open, revealing a hunched form draped in a ragged coat several sizes too big, its face mostly hidden by a matted scarf and a too-big cowl. It took her a moment, but she realized it was a high elf man.

She was not sure if he was coming for her or if he was simply moving on to a new haunt, but either way she felt an uncomfortable tightening in her stomach at the thought of facing this insane-looking person. She could barely tell what he looked like beneath all that clothing of his, but she caught glimpses of bronze skin festering with boils and disease. When he noticed her, the tips of his pointy ears peeking out of his covers perked up.

“Doctor,” He rasped, reaching out a peeling hand, and then Nasha from the day before herded him back behind the gate and locked it.

“Sorry about that,” She said.

“Who was that? Shouldn’t I help him?” Katherine asked.

Nasha shook her head. “No point. They’re too contagious and way too far gone. The best we can do is keep them away from everyone else. Come on, you need to get back to work.”

So, the day went on, and by nightfall, Katherine didn’t think her sense of smell would ever return to normal.

That night, Katherine heard whimpering in the dark. She got out of bed, and realized that Joan was crying in her sleep.

“Joan,” Katherine murmured, shaking the little Tiefling. “Joan, honey, wake up. You’re okay. Wake up.”

Joan gasped awake, her eyes popping open into wideness. She whimpered in fright when she saw Katherine looming over her and curled into a tight ball, coiling her tail in close and covering her hands with her head.

“N-no!” She squeaked. “P-please don’t hurt me!”

“Shh, shh,” Katherine stroked her frazzled white-blonde hair, and found that it was laden with sweat from her nightmare. “It’s just me, sweetheart. It’s Katherine.”

“K-Katherine?” Joan peeked out from behind her arms.

“Yes, sweet girl. It’s just me. You’re okay. Nobody is going to hurt you.”

Joan whimpered again; it was such a heartbreaking sound.

“Wanna sleep with me tonight?” Katherine asked.

Joan looked up at her, then nodded. Katherine scooped her up into her arms with ease and carried her to her cot, letting the little Tiefling curl against her.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” Katherine murmured, running her fingers through Joan’s hair. “You’re okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise. I’ll protect you.”

Katherine fell asleep that night with a strong maternal instinct bubbling inside of her.

------

“It hurts,” Moaned the half-elf man Joan was working on. The lightning bolt-shaped gash in his side wouldn’t stop belching pus and blood onto the young Tiefling’s claws. “It hurts…”

“It’s going to be okay, Erem,” Said the human woman clutching one of his hands. “They’re going to help you.”

“Alright, be gentle, Joan,” Katherine instructed. “Slather the honey on the wound. That’ll help draw out the infection.”

Joan nodded and began covering fingerfuls of honey into the wound. But along with the infection, more blood began to come out. And Erem started to whimper in distress, and then went very still and very silent.

“Erem?” The human began shaking the half-elf, but he did not wake up. “Erem?!” She whipped her head around to Joan and Katherine. “You killed him! You fucking killed him!”

“She must have accidentally cut a vessel with her claws,” Katherine said, glancing at the oozing wound. She noticed the human take out a knife and quickly put herself between her and Joan. “Woah, woah, woah! Calm down!”

“You killed Erem!” The woman screeched. “You murderer! Murderer!!”

Katherine and Joan backed up out of the house. People were starting to gather around them at the screaming, suddenly looking a lot more angry. Catalina bustled over with supplies she had run out to grab, confused.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

“You’re all murderers!” The knife-wielding woman howled, and Katherine could see that her mind was not all there anymore. Maybe it never had been. “I bet you’re not even real doctors! You’ve just been lying to us!”

The village got enraged when the trio hesitated. Whispers of curiosity turned into roars of fury and insanity. Suddenly, a lot more of them were brandishing weapons, and Katherine ordered Catalina and Joan to run.

They dashed through the city, down streets and across town squares, but couldn’t find a place to hide.

So, it was Katherine who shouted for them to go through one of the wooden gates.

The alleyway they ran into was dark and moist. Solid stone turned to mush beneath their feet, and the smell of rot that infected the rest of the city got a lot worse, so much so that Katherine could taste the decay when they breathed through her mouth.

A scant sliver of sunlight revealed a corridor of corpses and a river of rot running down the alley.

“Oh my god,” Catalina muttered.

There were so many bodies. So many pale white, limp bodies piled in the street. They were oozing, skin peeling, bubbling with disease. Flesh had burst open from illness, and liquidated organs were pouring down onto the stone below, becoming warm, moist homes for wriggling maggots.

With a jolt, Katherine realized several of the corpses were bearing the mark of Queen Jane Seymour- a white lioness.

“They’re breeding the disease,” Joan whispered. “That’s why they weren’t letting these people get help. They wanted them to get sick and die...or not die.” She cast a disturbed look over at a man who appeared to still be moving, even with his shoulders and thighs infested with larvae. “I think they want to use the disease to kill off more forces in the war.”

“This is horrible,” Catalina said. “How could someone do something like this?”

Before any of them could answer, a man yelled from behind, “They went this way!”

“Come on,” Katherine urged, and they all continued running, deeper into the depths of the disease.

“Get back here!!” Roared a voice from behind.

Joan yelped loudly when her hooves slipped in the slop below. She jolted up and dashed to the left, disappearing from Katherine’s sight. Katherine felt a wrench in her heart, but couldn’t stop to go after her.

Katherine and Catalina ran into a cathedral in a pavilion. There seemed to be an entire chunk of the city that was blocked off. They shut the door as quietly as possible and ran to the far back, hiding behind the raised dais.

“Never thought I would return to a church in these circumstances,” Catalina attempted to joke, laughing dryly.

“This is so horrible,” Katherine whispered, shuddering.

“I know, I-I know,” Catalina whispered. “We have to get out of here. They’re going to kill us.”

And then, with immaculate comedic timing, a huge, thickly-muscled blue arm burst through the nearby window and grabbed Catalina by the throat.

Katherine and Catalina both screaming as the mayor, Oron, climbed through the broken window and stepped inside the church. He held a wickedly-curved knife to Catalina’s belly, causing the Aasimar to tense.

“Don’t make another move,” Oron breathed down Catalina’s neck, “or I’ll slice her open and rip out the baby myself.”

“Don’t hurt her!” Katherine yelled.

Oron peered down at the bump. “What a stupid time to get knocked up. Do you really want the baby to grow up in a time of war?”

Katherine saw Catalina grit her teeth, trying not to move. She looked into her eyes, and they were flashing in panic.

“I would be doing you and it a favor by killing it,” Oron went on.

“You have no right!” Katherine growled.

“And you had no right to lie to me and kill my people!” Oron bellowed back.

“We helped you! We helped a lot of people!” Katherine said. “And you didn’t even deserve it! We’ve seen what you’ve done!”

Oron chuckled gruffly. “It was Henry’s idea. When he heard about our problem, he knew he could use it to his advantage in the war. Sending the infected to infect the enemy. A perfect plan.”

“You’re vile,” Catalina spat, then sucked in a sharp breath when Oron pressed the knife closer to her stomach.

“Let her go,” Katherine growled lowly. “Don’t hurt her. Please.”

Oron laughed, opened his mouth to say something, and then gagged blood when a shard of glass went through his throat.

Catalina jerked away when Oron’s arms around her went slack, and she and Katherine watched as he tottered forward, gasping and gurgling as red oozed down his chest. They turned their heads to Joan, perched in the broken window, breathing heavily.

“Come on!” Joan shouted.

Catalina couldn’t climb through the window, so Katherine escorted her out the church’s front doors. They followed Joan to a back alley against the wooden walls that surrounded the city. There was a gap between the logs, chipped away from weather and wind.

“We can get out through here,” Joan said, pointing.

“Do you REALLY think I can fit through there?” Catalina said.

“You can try!” Katherine said.

Luckily, they were all able to wiggle through the gap with just a few minor cuts and splinters. Crisp, fresh air hit them in a tidal wave and they all breathed in a sharp breath of oxygen that wasn’t tainted with disease and rot.

“Holy shit,” Catalina panted after they dashed for a tree line. “That was…”

“Eventful,” Katherine finished. “God…” She pressed a hand to her forehead and shook her head. “Lina, is there a fire spell in that book?”

Catalina glanced at her, then nodded, understanding. She opened up the tome and flipped to a specific page. She muttered an incantation, formed a fireball in her hand, and then threw it into the walls of Chauback.

The city went up in flames.

After all, not everyone could be saved.

#dnd au #six the musical #six the musical au #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #six fanfic #six fic #uk tour six #tour katherine howard #katherine howard #tour catherine of aragon #catherine of aragon #tour joan on the keys #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: wounds #beside the dying fire

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thedeeperlayer · 3 years

Text

I was fourteen when I first tasted the sweet, aromatic blend of tobacco, sugars, and ammonia compounds. It was 1998. The year of Clinton and Lewinsky. The year the guy from Die Hard was saving the Aerosmith-adjacent Earth from a Michael Bay Meteorite.

I was fourteen. Instead of navigating the intolerable 3D world of Hyrule in Ocarina of Time, I was out making an imprudent moron out of myself with an RCA Solid State Image Sensor VHS Camcorder. My idiotic entourage and myself thought we were the uproarious epitome of cool. In actuality, we were ridiculous, annoying fuckwits. I was an absolute pain in the ass.

I'm not going to cock and bull with excuses. I started smoking because I thought I was fucking cool. I had older friends that did it and I dated girls that did it. When my mum found out I was flicking the Bic on the cancer stick, she was both disappointed and somewhat content. Her contentment for my lung corruption behavior was only because it meant she now had a smoking mate.

Mum and Pops didn't always have a harmonious relationship. They would cross swords and oppose each other's views a lot. Mum would complain about Pops never being home. Pops would bewail mum's smoking habit. It was always constant repetition down the same path. Dad never knew I smoked. He would of berated mum and blamed her if he ever found out.

Because of our shared toxic pastime, my mum and I became very close. We discussed all things life. Everything from grace and elegance to the septic shithole bottom. We talked about atrocious dislikes and stupefying satisfactions. We told mindless jokes and gave deep-thought opinions.

For the sake of storytelling length, let's just say we always had each other's back.

Unfortunately, the clock ticks, and the hours pass. In a blink of an eye, things are different. I grew up. I got married. I moved. Mum was downhearted and sad. I was the first of her children to leave from beneath her roof.

I've worked lousey, shit jobs just to make ends. It is indeed accordance with fact, smoking does alleviate stress. I didn't think it was cool to smoke anymore, instead I smoked because my shitty job was an emotional mindfuck. Pounding the coffin nails down my throat made me feel better.

I didn't want to poison my saclike respiratory organs anymore. I tried quitting. I tried the gum that supposedly calms cravings. I tried the rubber band wrist snap when I had the desire. I tried the ridiculous electronic substitutes. Nothing worked. I thought, fuck it. I didn't want to grow old and become one of the dust bags that retire in Florida anyway.

It was October, 2015. I was just finishing a much needed break from my mediocre job. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was mum calling. I contentedly answered it.

She said she had a mass on her lungs. She told me not to be worried, it could be pneumonia. She said she would let me know more tomorrow.

I instantly broke down and wailed. I could feel that something was extraordinarily wrong. My heart was in excruciating pain. It was exceedingly difficult to finish my shift that night. Every time I was alone, my eyes would swell. It was a long, tedious night.

The following day, I anxiously waited for mum to call.

Haplessly, she called right before I had to go to work. She said it was stage 4 lung cancer. She told me not to worry. She said she was going to get help. I knew stage 4 was the inevitable. It's treatable, but not curable.

I was so heartsick.

I lit cigarette after cigarette.

My family was devastated. Mum is the support beam that holds my lunatic family's structure together. My brother and sister were in severe shock. Pops was completely shattered.

The following week, my wife and I picked mum up from the hospital. She was being fitted for a radiotherapy mask. Mum was spiritless. She lacked vigor and enthusiasm. She looked defeated. This was the one time I convulsively, and uncontrollably sobbed in front of her. If you knew mum, she was always resilient and enduring. She was wholehearted, and a matriarch to many. It was challenging to see her in that frail condition.

I lit cigarette after cigarette.

Mum had sort of a short fringe hairstyle with spiky bangs. She would ornament it with a decorative headband. Often she would dye it golden or honey blonde to hide the off-putting grays.

The days passed. Weeks. My wife and I made frequent visits. Mum was sitting in her recently purchased stationary style comfy chair. She was wearing a sun-style flat brim cap. Mum never wore hats. “I'm losing my hair,” she said. She lifted a grocery sac where she was accumulating a large cache of her hair.

Eventually Pops shaved her head.

My wife and I purchased her a collection of hats.

The holidays came. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Mum always took pride in cooking the meals. She couldn't anymore. She was too weak. She could hardly walk. It was now Pop's responsibility to prepare the brown sugar glazed ham. She shouted out the recipe to him in the kitchen. “Heat the honey and sugar until it dissolves!” Pops would earnestly urge her not to yell. She was always short-winded and depended on oxygen gas to breathe.

Christmas morning was grim. Mum kept saying she wanted to have a nice Christmas. “This might be my last Christmas. I want it to be nice,” she despairingly would say.

We wore smiles but they were fraudulent. Inside we were somber. Cheerless. Gift exchange was dispiriting. We were appreciative, but it was hard to express it. The only audio in the room was the pulling and shredding of novelty wrapping paper. We played unintellectual board games while Mum sat in the living room and stared at the TV. The Hallmark holiday collection was on but Mum wasn't interested. She was disconnected, absent of response.

My wife and I went home. I lit cigarette after cigarette.

January came and went. February came. Mum had gotten worse. We went to visit her on my birthday. She was without emotion. Unresponsive. Pops struggled to make her recognize my company. She was comatose-like. Pops was in a panic. We rushed her to the ICU. She now had malignant brain tumors. Her recent actions were symptoms. The drowsiness. The constant agitation.

She was given enough treatment to restore her moral senses. She asked to see me and my wife. Mum was stretched out on a hospital cot. She was buried beneath intravenous lines and hoses. She saw us and smiled. “Watch this,” she gently said. She proceeded with plucking the pulse oximeter from her finger to mortify the doctors. She still had her sense of humor.

Later, Nurse Ratched impertinently pulled my family away from Mum. She disrespectfully spoke of Mum's unavoidable fate. Ratched told us that Mum will die. She told us to make sure we make the correct decision when the time comes.

No one in my family wanted to hear that.

The hospital discharged Mum.

My wife and I went home. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag, hardly inhaling. I breathed in a few more.

I delve into searches about the great demise on Google. I’m not one who appreciates surprises, so I wanted to be hauntingly prepared.

As the end approaches, your role is to be present, provide passionate comfort, and remove doubts from your loved one with soothing words and loving actions that help maintain their mental ease and dignity.

The entire evening I fixedly scrutinized my phone screen. It made me overwhelmed with grief. It put me in an unsettling place. It was that night that I accepted that my Mum was actually going to be gone.

Her condition continued to worsen.

It was difficult for her to digest food. She no longer could intake any solids. Pops couldn’t accept the harshness of the situation. He was in rack and ruin. Blatantly, he would hurry to the nearest fast-food establishment and order her a strawberry milkshake. In double time he would speed home to give her the malted treat. She would fiercely vacuum in the strawberry drink through a straw. Clearly she was hungry, but her gasping, pain and abnormal breathing patterns made it difficult for her to swallow.

Pops told me, the prior evening, he strenuously got Mum into the loo. He proceeded to aid her, however she immediately denied his assistance. “Let me help you,” he despairingly said. “But you're a boy and I'm a girl,” she woefully baffled.

Delirium. One of the common symptoms observed near death.

Pops was hysterical. This unforeseen responsibility was so unfamiliar to him. He was terrified. He was frightened to lose the one person he spent his entire life with.

Again he rushed her to intensive care.

My wife and I were at home. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag and quickly put it out.

Mum was denied anymore treatment. She was recommended hospice care and medically necessary equipment for at-home use.

Pops thought hospice may not only be valuable to Mum, but also beneficial to him because the workers could assist him through the inexperience and unexpected. We all knew what misery and despair would come next, but Pops was in a idiosyncratic denial.

Hospice was fucking useless, but more on that a little later.

My wife and I visited her everyday.

Each day she worsened and disintegrating.

She was often confused. She would appear asleep, but her breathing would be noisy, congested. She would appear peaceful and at rest, and within seconds she would begin screaming. She would holler agonizing cries. Dad would have to pump her with morphine to tranquilise her treacherous pain.

Day after day, her conditioned intensified. Her skin's pigment distorted to a grayish tone. Her face had depressed and sunken below her eyes. Her lips dried up and shriveled.

The drainage bag connected to the catheter began to fill with a rust color.

She had abnormal growths swell in unusual parts of her body.

Day after day we visited. She no longer would move. The congested breathing was the remaining sign of life. We attentively watched over her like this for days. She didn't want to go. She dearly loved her family. The Oncologist asked her, “what do you live for?” Her response was so straightforward and emotionally rewarding. She said, “my family”. Mum was uncomplicated. She lived to be a loving mum and caring wife. She always put her family first. That's who she was.

She died on August 22, 2016. She battled cancer for seven months. She spent nearly four weeks in hospice care. Only four short instances was Hospice workers available for aid, one of the times being immediately after death. The available nurse plucked an orange Marigold from the neighbors’ garden and lied it in my Mum's cold hands. She called the Funeral Home to coordinate arrangements for pickup and hastily left.

It was a horrifying experience for my family. Not only for us observing every nightmarish minute, but for Mum too. I can't imagine how afraid she was and how she felt. I just hope it wasn't guilt that resonated with her in her final days. She was the reason my family was so profound and passionate about things. The reason we were all there, again and again, expressing our sorrow and love together.

I haven't smoked a cigarette since her later days in hospice care.

She was a beautiful, loving person, and we watched her severely weaken and diminish largely because of a lifelong bad habit. I never want to put anyone I love through that, ever again.

#smoking #quit smoking #real life #cigarettes #death #life and death #quit #bad habits #writting #write #truth #its the truth

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glitterslag · 5 years

Text

All Night Library - A Night At The Fandom gift for @illfoandillfie

Here’s my A Night At The Fandom gift for @illfoandillfie ! I hope you enjoy bby!!! (it started off cute and turned a little angsty idk what happened :( but it has a happy ending!)

Also, please know that I’ve spent the majority of my degree actively trying to avoid the library so I’m sorry if I got anything utterly wrong!

Summary: A little drabble about an all-night library and the blond haired, salt-and-vinegar crisp eating, fingernail chewing patron who comes to be your secret crush.

Word Count: 1.5k-ish

Warnings: Sad cold Rog with no money for his heating bills :(

The library was open 24 hours.

That was why it didn’t strike you as unusual, at first, when he would appear some time after 10pm, spread his things out messily across the far table under the window (always the same one), and hit the books.

He was probably a student, you reasoned, with an essay to write or a midterm test to study for. It wasn’t unusual to see them at this hour, especially around exam season.

In fact, you’d often see him with some dog-eared text book in hand, scribbling away furiously as he tugged at his blonde mop in frustration, face set into a hard line as you watched his eyes reading back over the same passage again and again and again.

Sometimes, when he wasn’t looking, you’d peer around the shelves and take a glance at what he was reading. Biology text books, for the most part, apart from when he was taking a break and then he’d be reading sci-fi. Or horror, or comic books. Or the crossword page in the back of the paper. Or even once, when he was quite sure that no one was around to catch him, a heavily thumbed through edition of Playboy (Gala Christmas Issue).

As the weeks wore on you noticed more and more little things about your mystery boy.

There were coffee rings stained onto the front cover of every one of his exercise books. He chewed on the end of his pencil when he was concentrating. He bit his nails. Salt and vinegar crisps were his go-to study snack. He wasn’t a natural blonde.

Whether or not he noticed you, however, you couldn’t say. He never spoke to you. Never smiled. He never, during any of the countless nights you spent trying not to watch him over your card catalogues, looked up and caught your eye.

–

When you returned to work after the Christmas break to find your favourite crisp munching, biology studying, comic book reading patron still turning up on an almost nightly basis, it became clear he was going to be a permanent fixture. You began to wonder whether he was an insomniac.

He wouldn’t be the first to try to find sleep here. There is a special kind of quiet that can only be found within libraries after dark, and it was not unusual to come across someone fast asleep between the aisles when you were stacking shelves at three in the morning.

The other alternative was that he was homeless. You hoped with all of your heart that it wasn’t the truth, but it could be difficult to tell sometimes. This was London, after all. Students, hobos, people who lived in Shoreditch - they all looked the same, for Christ’s sake.

You never were one to keep up with the ridiculous trends.

One night, when he had gone into the other room to rifle through the medicine text books, you decided to go snooping through his things. It was wrong and you knew it, but the chance to find out his secrets was too tempting to pass up on.

“If he comes back, I’ll just pretend to be tidying up over here.” You thought as you crept over, sneaking a glance over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t there. You started by searching through his rucksack.

A chocolate bar, a DC comic, muddy football boots wrapped up in a Farmfoods bag. It was difficult to imagine those skinny legs, which were normally stuffed into drainpipe jeans, in a pair of mesh shorts. Difficult, but not completely un-arousing.

You put the vision into the spank-bank for later, and carried on with your search. Among the more notable items were a pair of wooden drum sticks, and what looked to be his diary.

After another nervous glance over your shoulder, you opened it eagerly, careful not to tear the pages as you flipped through. Out fell a strip of photos, taken in a booth, of him and a dark eyed boy in a fur coat. They were posing and making silly faces, just like anyone would with their friend, and you realised then that the only time you’d ever seen him smile was in these pictures.

You found doodles of lightening bolts and superheroes and cars, and crude little depictions of stick men in odd sex positions, little quotes and jokes and sayings and what you thought must be the initials of his name - RMT - over and over in various styles. Bubble writing, calligraphic script, big and spiky and coloured in in purple. You found song lyrics he’d copied down. T Rex, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones. To your surprise, there were some he seemed to have written himself.

“Sleeping very soundly on a Saturday morning

I was dreaming I was Al Capone

There’s a rumor going round

Gotta clear outta town…”

He’d decorated the page with little musical notes. He’d even gone back and critiqued his own work, crossing out words and writing little red notes in the margin, like “this needs work” or “find a better rhyme”. You were utterly stunned.

Just then, you heard a shuffle coming from the other room, so you slammed the book shut and left in a hurry.

–

About a week later, RMT (that was how you’d come to secretly refer to him) checked out some books. He’d never done that before. Sure, he’d sit and read them, for hours, sometimes, but take them home he did not. That was why you were so pleasantly surprised when he strolled up to the counter with an armful, dropping them down in front of you with a flash of a grin.

Your surge of private joy didn’t last long, however, as when you started the process of checking out his large stack of books, the boy spoke up.

“You read my diary.”

You blanched.

He said it matter-of-factly. His voice was soft and high-pitched. There was a hint of accusation there, maybe, but he certainly didn’t sound angry.

Nevertheless, you found you couldn’t speak.

“I…”

“You read my diary.”

He said it again.

“I saw you.”

You fumbled for an excuse. You didn’t have one.

“I’m really sorry.” You said finally, eyes fixed on his feet. “I just - I was just… concerned.”

You said finally, shifting your gaze up his body slowly, until you could look him in the face. His expression was unreadable.

“You’ve come here nearly every night for the past three months.” You explained quietly, glancing around to check that none of the few other patrons were within earshot. “I guess I was just a little worried you didn’t have anywhere to sleep.”

You looked at him apologetically.

He was shifting from foot to foot.

He didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry.” You said again quickly. “That was so rude of me, I was completely overstep-”

“It’s fine.” He cut in.

“Truth is,” He swallowed, glancing around, and then started again. “Truth is, my landlord cut the heating off in my place a while back.”

Your heart sank.

“I come here because it’s the only place in know that’s warm and- and free and..”

He trailed off.

Now you wished you’d never said anything at all. Looking at him now, seeming almost to shrink under your gaze - it broke your heart.

“You’re always welcome here.” You said in a small voice.

“Yeah?” He whispered.

“Of course.”

You smiled at him softly, and it seemed to perk him up a bit.

“And if you ever need a place to stay…”

You bit your lip. His eyes widened at the insinuation.

“I, uh, I’d like that.”

It was obvious it hadn’t been what he was expected, but he seemed pleased.

You stamped his copy of Physicians Desk Reference For Prescription Drugs Volume XII before writing down your phone number, along with your name and a little kiss.

“B-r-i-g-i-d.” He struggled to read upside down. You giggled. “I’m Roger.”

You closed the book and slid it across the counter to him shyly. The last one.

“Call me, Roger.”

He placed his big, warm hand over yours as he took back the book.

“I will.”

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

#a night at the fandom #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #Queen #queen band #borhap #borhap imagines #queen imagines #roger taylor headcanons #young roger taylor #70s roger taylor #aaaaa hope you like it

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ressarioth · 5 years

Note

If you're still taking requests, I'd love to see something with older!Noct and the chocobros. I really wish we got more *time* to see their updated dynamic, after ten years apart. Bonus points for an older Cindy or Iris, since the game didn't give us anything beyond a mention of them.

Thank you for your patience. It’s been a challenge and a pleasure to write this.

At some point I decided to go all out, so you’re getting bonus Cindy, Iris and even Cor. Talcott gets a couple of mentions but no actual dialogue.

There’s a lot more that could be explored with this request, but I put the focus on Noctis reuniting with his friends and preparing to head to Insomnia. I tried to stick close to canon, though I took some liberties. I hope that’s okay.

Please enjoy.

Warning for FFXV spoilers for anyone trying to avoid those. And it’s long, in case that puts anyone off. (We’re talking about almost 11k words.)

[Requests currently closed.]

Ten years. Noctis tries to let it sink in, but it doesn’t register. The world is engulfed in darkness, daemons have spread across the land, Talcott is no longer a kid — that much he can see. What he struggles with is comprehending the extent of it. To him it’s like barely any time has passed since he entered the crystal. He learnt the truth about his fate, he reflected upon his life and the people he met, yet it all felt like mere moments. Then he woke up in a body which he didn’t witness aging.

Noctis leaves most of the talking to Talcott while trying to absorb the information being given to him. It sounds like a tale of some distant world. As much as he can see the state Eos is in, he cannot grasp how all of it affects the everyday lives of people. It’s not that he cannot picture Iris as a full fledged daemon hunter, it’s that he cannot see her having grown out of the sweet teenage girl he used to know. It’s not that he cannot picture Ignis fighting blind, it’s that he doesn’t want Ignis to fight alone. In fact, all his friends seem to have split up and it worries him.

The letter Umbra delivered to Noctis said that they were all waiting for his return and it was a comforting thought as he had woken up in a world of darkness swarmed with daemons. But now he’s starting to doubt. How long ago did Gladio write the letter and have Prompto and even Ignis sign it? How long did they all wait for his return before they started to lose hope? The idea of each of his friends alone out there troubles him. If they were together they could not only support each other in battle but also remind each other to have faith in his return.

That’s not the only thing disconcerting Noctis, however. After all the journeying they did together — from Insomnia throughout the land until they eventually made it to Altissia and Gralea became their final destination — he came to think of them as a unit, a group of friends sticking to each other’s side through countless trials and adventures. Yet it seems to have fallen apart in his absence, as if it all meant nothing without him. He’d never given it much thought before, but now he wonders if he was the glue holding them together.

So what will become of them once Noctis is gone for good? He doesn’t want to think about it.

A burst of fire lightens up the night not far away from the street, the small flames lingering and licking at the ground. Noctis leans over to the window, squinting through the smoke of vanishing daemons at a dark figure standing in the middle of the mayhem. Tall and lean, they could have been anyone if he didn’t make out the familiar flicker of two daggers disappearing into nothingness. At least he thinks that’s what he saw and it’s enough of a hint to get his hopes up.

“Stop the car!” Noctis instructs Talcott who slows down the small truck as asked.

The tires barely stand still when Noctis pushes open the door and jumps out of the seat. In a half-jog he approaches the lonely hunter, expecting someone he recognises. There’s the hair, its colour hard to distinguish beneath the cover of night, sticking up less stiff and spiky than he remembers. But when he makes out the glasses on the familiar profile he knows for sure.

“Ignis!”

The man turns, his head moving around in small and quick motions as if he’s trying to determine the exact direction from which he heard his name. Noctis slows his steps, ignoring the flames still flickering on the ground, then stops barely an arm’s length away from Ignis. Seeing his childhood friend and caretaker again is the first time he feels something akin to relief since who knows how long. The joy is dulled a little by the old feelings of guilt at the thought of Ignis losing eyesight because of him.

“I’m right in front of you,” Noctis says, giving Ignis the chance to ascertain his position and face him.

“Noct?” Ignis asks, voice raspy from either lack of use or from emotion — Noctis can only speculate. “Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

Hands reach out to Noctis. They find his palms, then go up his arms until they feel the structure of his face. Though he isn’t used to the procedure he stands still and lets it happen. If it allows Ignis to recognise him, to make sure that it’s him, then he’ll gladly give Ignis the chance.

“I can’t say I’m familiar with how your face feels,” Ignis admits to the pointlessness of his inspection, although his fingers linger on Noctis’s scruffy cheeks for a moment. “Might I suggest, however, that you shave at the next possible opportunity — or is the beard part of a new look I’m not aware of?”

Noctis chuckles: “I don’t know yet, I literally woke up like this not long ago.”

“Oversleeping like always? I should be surprised if it was any other way.”

Ignis always had a dry sense of humour and Noctis considered himself familiar enough with him to easily tell when he’s joking. But right now Noctis isn’t so sure and wishes there was something in his voice to hint at a jest. It would go along with the tease about the beard yet Noctis is too aware of how much time he took to return to consider the topic as anything but loaded with difficult emotions.

“I hear it’s been ten years.” Noctis can only offer an apology. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting this long.”

“Has it been ten years?” Ignis questions as if he lost track of time himself. Then he adds quietly: “It felt longer than that.”

Something inside Noctis threatens to break like Ignis’s voice during that last sentence. In his chest rises a desire to cry, but he isn’t ready to give himself over to the feeling. Forgetting that Ignis might want a warning, Noctis pulls him into a hug. Stiff at first, he lets it happen and even returns the embrace albeit with some reservation.

“It’s good to see you again,” Noctis mutters.

“I should say the same, but…” Ignis trails off, yet there’s no trace of sorrow Noctis can detect in his voice.

A croaked laugh escapes Noctis’s throat. It’s a reflexive response to Ignis making light of his blindness, but in truth Noctis doesn’t feel like laughing at all. His chest is filled with anguish over all the things he cannot change. Why did it have to turn out like this? He holds on to Ignis letting the seconds pass, wishing to prolong the reunion. They didn’t even have a proper goodbye before he got pulled into the crystal and he feels like he has to catch up on all the time he wasn’t around.

As if sensing that Noctis is unwilling to let go just yet, Ignis is careful as he pulls out of the embrace and — albeit reluctant — Noctis complies and releases him. The flames on the ground have died down and the street is too far away for the truck’s headlights to illuminate the area around them. Noctis remembers the torch lights they used to wear while exploring at night.

Once he summoned and turned on his light, Noctis is able to get a better look at his old friend. To Ignis it must make no difference, he’s in the darkness regardless, the remaining scars of his injury from ten years ago barely faded. He never talked about how it happened and Noctis was unable to address the guilt. The feelings linger, yet Noctis remains tongue tied as Ignis pushes up the darkened glasses hiding his eyes. They make him appear more closed off than Noctis remembers him being.

“Did you…just arrive?” Ignis’s inquiry feels like an attempt to fill the silence between them with anything but the things he truly wants to say.

“Yeah. Talcott came across me outside of Galdin Quay. We were just on our way to Hammerhead.”

“I see.”

Ignis grows silent with a thought he doesn’t share. It nurtures an uneasy feeling in the pit of Noctis’s stomach. To disperse it, he proposes: “Let’s go there together. The truck might be too small for all of us, but it’s not much further. You and I can walk.”

“The roads are dangerous, daemons are unbound in the dark. You just returned, there’s no need to exhaust yourself with fighting already.”

It’s just like Ignis to be concerned and put Noctis’s wellbeing first. He gives a smile which Ignis is unable to see and puts his hand on Ignis’s shoulder. “I rested for ten years, a little fighting won’t wear me out. Besides, I’ve got you by my side.”

“Very well,” Ignis agrees and Noctis detects the hint of a smile on his lips. “Let’s go.”

It feels good to be with Ignis again, to have him watch Noctis’s back during battle like in the times before his eye injury. Noctis admires how he can move as fluently as he used to when he could see his enemy. Nothing is left of the clumsiness with which he navigated the battlefield on their journey to Gralea. It must have taken a lot of training and sharpening his other senses to achieve this. Seeing him back in control makes Noctis almost feel at ease.

They sent Talcott to drive ahead, so it’s no surprise that the people at Hammerhead are expecting them when they arrive. Noctis scans the faces turning towards him in search for his other friends. Here and there a few are familiar ones but none of them belong to whom he’s looking for. He cannot help but be a little disappointed.

“Howdy.” A voice calls out to him and though the last time Noctis heard it was before he set out for Altissia, he still remembers it well. He turns around and finds Cindy waving at him from the garage. She’s still wearing the red hat over her blonde curls, but otherwise has switched to yellow overalls with some orange stripes and dark smears and spots of dirt all over.

“Hey Cindy, nice new look,” Noctis comments as he approaches her.

Cindy wipes her hands off on a rag which appears dirtier than her outfit. “I’d like to say the same thing to you, Your Highness, but I think you could use at least a trim and a haircut.”

“And a change of clothes.” Noctis smiles, looking down on himself at the combination of leather pants and jacket over a black shirt with skulls. Even though they still fit his body it feels like he’s mentally outgrown the clothes from his early twenties.

As she stuffs the cloth into her pocket, Cindy notes in her cheerful tone: “I wasn’t gonna say it.”

Ignis steps up beside Noctis and exchanges a brief greeting with her before asking: “Is Prompto around?”

“Should be on his way with a delivery for me,” Cindy explains and heads back into the garage. Noctis has the presence of mind to put his hand on Ignis’s shoulder and prompting him to come along before following her. She is leaning over the open hood of the car standing there by the time she continues: “I tried to call him when Talcott brought the news of your return, but he didn’t pick up. Probably busy on the road, so I left him a message.”

“Thank you,” Noctis feels obligated to say.

He remembers having a cellphone of his own — the knowledge temporarily slipped his mind while he was trying to process all the new information — and starts searching his pockets. When he cannot find it he tries summoning it and indeed the device appears in his hand, the screen exhibiting some cracks. It was bound to take damage eventually, though he cannot remember when he last held it in his hand and if it was already in this state then. He tries to start it up, but it doesn’t respond. Either it’s out of battery or dead for good.

Cindy takes notice of Noctis trying to revive his phone. “I believe Talcott got in touch with Iris.”

“Then I’m sure Gladio will receive the news as well,” Ignis suggests and Noctis would agree.

“Looks like we’ll only have to wait for them to arrive.”

“Are you hungry? We could have lunch in the meantime?”

Is it noon? Since it was dark when Noctis arrived, it felt like the middle of the night to him. He realises that it’s going to be hard to get a sense of time without the sun as an indicator — or the moon and stars for that matter. There isn’t a single celestial body visible in the sky, like it’s overhung with dark black clouds that block out any light from above.

“Are you gonna whip up something nice for us?” Noctis wants to know. He would certainly be up for tasting some of Ignis’s cooking.

“I’m afraid not,” Ignis responds and Noctis feels bad for being so thoughtless. Just because he’s able to hold his own in battle doesn’t mean that he can still do everything the way he used to. “I’m fresh out of ingredients, but I’ll make sure to stock up. For now let us eat at the diner.”

As Ignis leads the way out of the garage, Noctis waves in farewell to Cindy and catches up to him with swift steps. “So you do still cook?”

“Of course,” Ignis confirms with a smile.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Outside, Ignis heads right towards the diner and though Noctis is concerned about steering him around obstacles, he seems to have developed a sixth sense for navigating the area on his own without a cane. Noctis is tempted to ask how he does it, yet hesitant to bring up his blindness. There’s not enough time for Noctis to make up his mind, however, before they get interrupted.

“Noct!” The familiar voice calling out makes Noctis halt in his tracks. He looks around to find Prompto jogging towards him. That was faster than he could have hoped; Prompto must have been close by already.

Noctis takes a step towards Prompto, but not more because by then Prompto has reached him. The most notable change about his old school friend is the goatee. Otherwise Prompto feels much like the young man Noctis remembers. His features may have matured a little, but he still moves with a slight bounce in his step as if to expend excessive energy. As he begins circling and inspecting Noctis, Noctis turns along, feeling put on the spot.

“It’s really you,” Prompto notes and takes a step closer. He pats Noctis’s shoulder only to retreat again as if he doesn’t dare to get too close.

“That’s right, I’m back.” Noctis watches Prompto as he bounces on the balls of his feet. “Didn’t think I’d make it?”

Prompto bites his bottom lip and looks down. Noctis cannot blame him for having had doubts, the decade of uncertainty must have taken its toll on everyone. He wants to apologise for bringing it up, but even more so for how long it took him to return. Of all the trials he thought he was going to face on his way to Insomnia, he didn’t expect the reunion with his friends who remained in this world caught between hope and doubt to be one of them. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

There’s a small shake of Prompto’s head as he looks up and he blinks a few times too many. Noctis cannot stand the reservation anymore and pulls him into a hug. Prompto holds on tight, his arms draped over Noctis’s shoulders and his body swaying almost too little to notice. Noctis gives him a light pat on the back and Prompto rests his face in the crook of his arm. A small tremor runs through his body and he takes in a sharp breath followed by a few shaky attempts to exhale. Noctis isn’t sure if he’s crying or still just about able to hold it in.

Prompto cannot hide his feelings the way Ignis does and Noctis is tempted to succumb to tears as well. He pushes it all down — the sadness over how his friends must have felt without him, the dread over what’s to come. He cannot think about it, the prospect of it all more terrifying now than it seemed to him in the mystical light inside the crystal. His heart feels like it’s about to fall apart, the pieces hanging on by a few threads holding them together. He gives himself a moment to regain his composure and then pulls away.

“Good to see you,” Noctis offers, keeping his voice from sounding hoarse as much as possible. Prompto gives a smile, lips thin as he presses them together, still trying to hold his emotions in check. To take further control of the situation, Noctis invites Prompto to join in on lunch with him and Ignis. Prompto takes the cue and plays along, brushing off the feelings he was fighting.

“Maybe you’ll also want to shower,” Prompto suggests. “You look like a couple of daemons played ball with you in the dirt.”

“Well, that won’t do,” Ignis chimes in. “Had I realised you were in such a desolate state, I would have suggested the shower at once.”

Though Noctis can imagine the fighting on the way here got a little dirt on him, he wants to object to Prompto’s analogy. However, he realises that he may have been in a bit of a messy state already when he came to. Technically he spent ten whole years in the same clothes without washing, though he was in the crystal as far as he’s aware and time seemed to flow differently in there — he isn’t sure how it all works. It might be best to get the cleaning up over with, even though he’s starting to feel hungry.

Noctis complies to the request of his friends and goes through the logistics like organising a spare set of clothes. The benefit of storing most of their luggage in the same magical space as their weapons is that they can summon it wherever. The only risk is that they don’t know what would become of it were Noctis to die and the magic to fade: would everything become inaccessible or would it show up somewhere in this world, albeit maybe scattered? The thought leaves a bitter taste in Noctis’s mouth and he chases it away.

While Noctis makes himself presentable, Prompto is off to hand his delivery to Cindy. Ignis didn’t announce any plans and Noctis didn’t ask, but he’s not surprised when Ignis awaits him outside the washing facilities for the nearby caravans. It’s familiar to have Ignis around like that, keeping in the background when not needed, but always ready to be by his side when required.

“Might I ask—” Ignis wants to know after Noctis announced his return— “did you shave?”

Noctis laughs. “Did the beard feel that terrible?”

“Not necessarily, but when Cindy commented on it, I realised that my fingers may have misjudged the calamity of it.”

“Maybe I should have kept it then. If it was as disastrous as you make it sound it may have worked to scare off some daemons.”

“The price would be too high to even consider it.”

Noctis smiles and doesn’t respond, knowing fully well that his silence means his admission of defeat. The banter puts him a little more at ease, however, so he doesn’t mind the outcome. Back in the shower he was all by himself and his thoughts could wander unchecked towards the inevitable. He welcomes the distraction from it.

“I got a call from Gladio,” Ignis changes the topic. “He met up with Iris and Cor and they should arrive within minutes.”

“I guess lunch will have to wait a little longer then,” Noctis proposes and Ignis doesn’t object, though he takes the lead towards the diner. It’s where they agreed to meet up with Prompto who is already awaiting them, presumably having concluded his business with Cindy.

As Prompto catches sight of them, he calls out: “Not growing out the beard after all?”

“Maybe next time,” Noctis suggests when coming to a halt in front of Prompto, even though he’s aware it won’t come to that. It’s knowledge he wants to keep from his friends for now, he doesn’t want it to overshadow their reunion. To gloss over the gloominess that threatens to take hold of him, he questions Prompto: “So, you’re Cindy’s delivery boy now?”

“Something like that.” Prompto laughs, appearing more at ease than upon his arrival. Whether he feels as carefree as he acts, Noctis doesn’t want to guess. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal, huh?”

“Well, sometimes we have a beer together after work. I guess you could say we’re friends.”

“Friends — that’s all?”

“There’s nothing to it, buddy.” Another laugh escapes Prompto’s lips and Noctis isn’t sure if it’s nervous or incredulous. “Why are you so hung up on it?”

To Noctis it seems strange that Prompto would downplay it after all the pining. “It’s just that I remember you having a real soft spot for her.”

“I had, and then I grew out of it, that sort of thing happens over the course of a decade.”

“Oh right.” Noctis scratches his head at the reminder of how much time passed since they started their journey from Insomnia. “I keep forgetting it’s been that long.”

Prompto’s eyes grow wider. “Didn’t you realise how much time was passing?”

“No,” Noctis confirms. “Inside the crystal it felt like mere moments — or maybe that’s wrong. It was more like time didn’t exist at all.”

“Woah, really?” Prompto shifts his weight back and forth between his feet. “Then how come you’re looking older?”

Noctis gives a shrug, because there’s nothing he can say on the matter. “Beats me.”

Nearby, Ignis is keeping his thoughts to himself. He’s standing a little apart from them, face giving no indication of whether he’s following their conversation. Noctis cannot shake the thought that he’s carrying some troubles which he doesn’t share — because he never reveals those things. He wouldn’t want to be a burden to others, that’s at least how Noctis has come to understand his behaviour and Noctis struggled to break through those walls. Even now Noctis is uncertain about how to reach out to him. Maybe if they were alone…

“Well, if it isn’t the king.”

Noctis looks past Ignis to see who has spoken and his gaze falls upon Gladio, upper hair tied back and beard more prominent, but his old friend nonetheless. Following Gladio are Cor and what must be Iris and he steps forward to greet all three of them. Gladio scrutinises him from top to bottom as they meet and then notes: “You sure kept us waiting.”

“I’m sorry,” Noctis responds, feeling a little timid in front of the taller man. The apology is starting to get stale in his mouth, but there’s nothing else he can add.

Back in the day, Gladio voiced the most criticism of Noctis, putting his ability to be king in question. Even now he feels the doubts creeping back into his mind as if he was still the twenty year old prince struggling to do what is expected of him. The years he missed during which his body aged but his mind was stuck in reflection may be coming back to bite him.

Though Noctis gained insight and maturity, he didn’t get any new experiences to cement that. He doesn’t know how to be confident in himself when he didn’t get the chance to confirm his growth. He feels stuck between the person he used to be and the one he’s trying to become and it’s Gladio’s presence that makes him realise this more than anything else.

The awareness makes Noctis hesitant. Is he really able to live up to all these expectations? Will his friends believe in him? The road lying ahead isn’t an easy one and yet he’s starting to falter already as he’s looking at Gladio, unsure of how to greet him.

Noctis tries to hold the anxiety in the pit of his stomach at bay, but it continues to tell him that he doesn’t know how Gladio feels about him and the man might as well reject him again for whatever reason — maybe because it took him so long to return. He can no longer say if Gladio’s first words weren’t spoken in mockery and it’s making him paranoid even though reason tells him that he’s imagining things.

While Noctis is caught up in his own mind, Gladio closes the distance and embraces him, arms wrapping tightly around his back. For a moment he thinks it’s pressing all the air out of his lungs and keeping him from inhaling fresh one, before he realises that he has been holding his breath. He releases the pent up air, reminding himself how to breathe.

“Welcome back,” Gladio mutters in a low tone and Noctis almost misses the crack in his voice. The heart inside Noctis’s chest contracts in pain as he returns the hug.

“Yeah,” Noctis responds, just above a whisper. He doesn’t know what else to say, but he can feel the anxiety retreating as Gladio holds on to him and pats his shoulder blade.

There is something that Gladio doesn’t say and he cannot put his finger on it, but he can feel it in the firm grasp of Gladio’s hands: a devotion he had never thought about much before. Gladio was simply there — first as his fighting instructor, then as his friend. He never questioned why Gladio decided to follow him, but it occurs to him that he may have underestimated the meaning of Gladio’s choice.

They part in silence and exchange a nod before Noctis turns to Cor. The marshal comes towards him, face furrowed with more and deeper lines, and puts a hand on his shoulder. Cor’s greeting — “It’s good to see you, Your Majesty” — he acknowledges in likeness.

Last there is Iris, no longer the teenager recounting the events of Insomnia’s fall or taking him on a tour through Lestallum, but a young woman. Her brown hair is tied back in a long ponytail that reaches beyond her shoulder blades. She kept the fringe, though it’s covering her entire forehead now. Noctis cannot make out most of the details of her outfit in the scarce light, but he notices that she exchanged the skirt he remembers her wearing for a pair of dark pants.

“Look at you, all grown up,” he notes with a smile.

Iris returns the gesture and it has a sad touch — or he may be imagining things with the light from the diner casting dark shadows on everyone’s face. When they hug he notices that she has less difficulty to wrap her arms around his neck, though she’s still swaying on the tips of her toes. She must have grown a little in his absence, because he no longer has to bend down to meet her halfway.

Once they part there’s a moment in which Noctis doesn’t know what to say. So much to take in — so much that happened or changed since they last saw each other. Somehow he always wanted to keep her out of everything the most — as Gladio’s little sister she’s like family to him, too — yet now she is a daemon hunter, putting her life on the line on a daily basis. While he was inside the crystal, she watched Eos grow dark and be overrun by terror. It isn’t fair. Nothing in this world is.

Iris takes the initiative and asks: “What’s the matter with your hair?”

“Oh, it grew out a bit,” Noctis explains and runs his fingers through the dark strands he brushed back after his shower. “I’m not really sure what to do with it yet.”

“Hold on.” Iris starts searching her pockets and then presents him with what looks like a small strap to him. “Here. Try tying it together.”

“Thanks.” Noctis accepts what he now realises is a hair tie from her and tries to put her suggestion into action. It’s a bit of a clumsy process and it feels like at least half of his hair is slipping from his grip, but he manages to fixate the rest into a ponytail at the base of his head.

“Dashing,” Prompto comments and pats him on his shoulder.

“Yeah, not bad,” Iris agrees, seeming rather pleased.

“Thanks,” Noctis chuckles. Then, becoming aware that his stomach has started to feel like a black hole, he adds: “Now, who’s hungry?”

“Oh, finally!” Prompto exclaims and makes his way up the stairs of the diner. “I’m starving.”

“For someone who’s starving you seem to have a lot of energy left,” Gladio notes in good humour and heads after him. He’s followed by Iris who casts a quick glance over her shoulder but says nothing further.

Cor for his part seems less concerned with food as he notes: “Very well, we have a lot to discuss.”

Noctis gives the marshal a nod in response before he turns towards Ignis who hasn’t said a single thing since they stopped in front of the diner. Pushing his concerns about it aside, he places his hand on Ignis’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

If Noctis could have his way, he’d catch up with his friends over a good meal. He’d love to hear what everyone has been doing while he was away. Though the circumstances of his absence might give their tales an unpleasant undertone, at least he’d get to talk to them again without having to think of his duty all the time.

Yet his fate is inescapable even in the company of his trusted comrades. Noctis anticipated their interest in what happened to him, he just hopes it could wait a little longer — a sentiment that isn’t shared by anyone as he soon finds out. Until they’ve placed their orders, no one strikes up a long-lasting conversation. As soon as Takka is walking off away from their booth, however, Prompto leans across the table towards Noctis.

“So what was it like inside that crystal? You said time didn’t exist there?” The question must’ve been on his mind since Noctis mentioned the irregular way time seemed to pass inside the crystal. Maybe he was wondering for even longer what was happening to Noctis while they were apart.

“It didn’t?” Iris voice holds surprise. She took the place next to Prompto and is currently squeezed in between him and her brother. Noctis imagines it looked similar while she was riding with them in the car all those years ago. “So you couldn’t even tell how long you were inside it?”

Noctis puts away the menu. With all the information about what he missed, he shrugged off his wonder at how time functions inside the crystal. Now that the question is brought up, he doesn’t have much of a response. “Well, yeah.”

“Who cares about that.” Gladio sounds impatient as he interrupts. “More importantly, what happened while you were there?”

The curiosity in the eyes of Iris and Prompto becomes piercing as if they could extract information just by looking at Noctis. It puts him on the spot and he realises that he isn’t ready. Though he knew he would have to share what the Draconian revealed to him, he neglected to mentally prepare himself. How much can he reveal without saying too much?

“I would like to know as well,” the marshal adds in his composed voice. The pressure on Noctis is big enough, one more person showing interest doesn’t make much of a difference. Ignis alone remains silent, perched on the bench between Cor and Noctis.

“Well…” Noctis looks down at the table and takes a moment to choose his words. “I met Bahamut. He told me I was the King of Kings, chosen to deliver Eos from the darkness.”

It’s weird to say it out loud. Somehow it makes what he learned in the crystal sink in; somehow it still feels surreal. After all those years of questioning how fit he was to be king the Astral’s words left no doubt about it: It has to be Noctis, no one else can take his place.

Preoccupied with his own thoughts, it is with delay that Noctis becomes aware of the silence which has engulfed the table. When he raises his head he finds several pairs of eyes staring at him. He takes in the expressions of Prompto and Iris who look at him as if they’re seeing him in a new light. Even Gladio shows a hint of astonishment. His vision of Cor is blocked by Ignis who continues to face forward. Noctis figures that for Ignis it makes no difference in which direction he looks.

“The King of Kings…,” Iris whispers with a hint of awe. It makes Noctis uncomfortable. He never wanted to be admired.

“I knew what we got into was big,” Prompto notes, “but that it was this big…”

“Yeah,” is all that Noctis can respond and the table falls quiet again. The tension prickles on his skin and makes his hair stand on edge. The truth about the sacrifice the chosen King has to make buzzes in his head, wanting to be spilled like a glass of acid. It will etch away the joy of their reunion and overshadow the thoughts of his friends on top of his own.

Noctis doesn’t want that to happen, so he holds it in. It places him in the middle of a minefield which he has to navigate with care. One misstep — one thoughtless phrasing — and it could all blow up in his face.

“What about Ardyn?” Ignis speaks up for the first time. “Did the Draconian say anything about him?”

It breaks Noctis out of his nervous deliberations and he’s thankful for that. The sooner they get through the exposition over what he has to do, the sooner they can be done with this topic. There’s not much distraction he can hope for from now until his death, but not having to talk about his duty is easier than dodging part of the truth.

Noctis keeps his summary of what he learned about Ardyn brief. How the man became the Usurper and what Noctis has to do to stop him — he relays it without mentioning the blood price which must be paid. The self-sacrifice he has to make to obtain the power to end it all remains unspoken and threatens to choke him. He puts his hand to his mouth and feigns a cough. No one comments, busy as they must be processing the information he has shared.

“So we deal with Ardyn and this whole thing will be over?” Gladio is the first to share his conclusion and when he puts it like that it sounds simple. If you strip away all the matters of how and why then that’s what it most likely comes down to.

The hardest part is letting go the prospect of his future, a life with his friends. But Gladio doesn’t know about that, none of them do. Noctis keeps up the charade despite how it hurts. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Now that’s what I call good news.” Gladio’s tone is easy-going, as if they were talking about camping. Noctis can only speculate if part of it is a front. “How tough can dealing with one man be?”

It’s not that tough, as long as Noctis is prepared to give his life. He still struggles with the thought, puts it off. Gladio’s optimism is tainted by this knowledge that he isn’t sharing. He doesn’t comment on it. It’s best not to draw attention to the secret weighing on his chest.

“We shouldn’t underestimate him, however,” Ignis points out. His tone is unemotional as he goes over the facts. “The last time we encountered Ardyn he didn’t get scratched by our attacks. If what Bahamut told Noct is true then he may not only be a formidable foe, but we may have to leave the fighting to Noct.”

“And have him face Ardyn all by himself? No way!” Prompto sounds displeased.

Noctis appreciates the concern, but he doubts there’ll be a way around a duel between him and Ardyn. Before he can say so, however, Cor speaks up: “Let’s worry about that once we get there. First we have to get through Insomnia which is probably infested with daemons.”

They know the Crown City is where the Usurper awaits. Noctis mentioned as much, so he isn’t surprised at the marshal making plans. What he wonders about is the choice of words. “Probably infested with daemons?”

“No one has been there since its fall,” Ignis explains. “We can only assume the state the Crown City is in. It is likely, however, that the daemons have taken it over and with no one there to hunt them their numbers might be higher than anywhere else.”

“I see.” It makes sense, of course. Noctis isn’t sure what he expected. Ten years is a lot of time to try to reclaim the city, but then why would anyone have bothered? It didn’t have relevance to people surviving their everyday lives. Until now.

“I will organise the remains of the Crowns Guard and the Hunters.” Cor sounds prepared for a full operation. Maybe he’s been thinking about strategies even before Noctis’s return. “We’ll sweep the place, clear it out so you can make it to the Citadel with ease.”

“No!”

His objection earns Noctis a few shocked gazes and everyone seems stunned silent. Gladio frowns and even Cor takes a minute before managing a “Beg your pardon?” in his bafflement.

The truth is that Noctis wants as few people involved as possible. Death lies ahead, he knows that better than anyone, but he wants his life to be the last and only sacrifice in this fight. Too many people have suffered the consequences of Ardyn’s grudge. If he gets a say in just one thing as he’s headed towards his predetermined fate, then he’s going to make sure that no one else dies with him.

Noctis could try to explain that while dodging around the full extent of what he’s shouldering. Maybe his friends would accept his wishes, maybe Cor would relent — or they could question him and argue against his decision. He hasn’t been back with them for long enough to make an accurate prediction. He’s not going to take his chances though. As much as he wants to meet them on eye level as a friend, he rises to the role of king.

“I only have to face Ardyn at the Citadel and I trust Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto to get me there.” When Noctis speaks it is with composure and confidence. “Taking care of all the daemons can wait till after Ardyn’s defeat.”

“What?!” Iris looks at him with wide eyes. “You’re setting out alone again?”

Her protest comes unexpected. A decade ago she waved them off at Cape Caem with a smile on her face. Though Noctis could tell she didn’t like parting ways, she let them go without arguing. But back then she was a teenage girl and now she’s a young woman. It seems he has to get used to what that means.

Noctis keeps up the calm facade he thinks befitting of his position. His face remains blank while he debates what would be the best response. Part of him wishes for her to relent if he holds her gaze long enough without budging. He doubts that’s going to work, though.

“And you’re okay with this?” Iris turns to the rest of the group for support. Her gaze wanders clockwise around the table, starting with her brother and ending with Prompto where she lingers.

Under the pressure of her attention, Prompto bites his lips. Noctis catches a glimpse of him wringing his hands before hiding them in his lap. His discomfort is palpable, though Noctis isn’t sure if it’s the plan itself that bothers him or that Iris is fixated on him.

Noctis cannot blame Iris for projecting her hope for support on Prompto. He appears to be the only one besides her who displays a degree of displeasure at the current conversation. The rest of the party at the table is masking their feelings. Though a faint shadow has entered Gladio’s gaze, his expression is resolute. Cor remains quiet outside of Noctis’s field of vision and Ignis’s face is as neutral as it has been since entering the diner. None of them share what they’re thinking, but if they disagree with anything that Noctis said they’re holding it in.

Eventually Gladio breaks the sinister silence. He puts a hand on the shoulder of his sister and offers a confident smile. The cheer in his voice just about matches his expression. “Leave it to us. We’ll get Noct there and back again. You’ll see.”

She’ll see that no matter how big of an army marches into Insomnia, for Noctis it is always going to be a one-way trip. The thought rises up like bile in Noctis’s throat. He swallows it down with the bitterness that threatens to engulf his tongue. If he wants to keep the truth about his fate to himself, he cannot let his feelings coat his words. It won’t change anything about the facts either way. The battle ahead isn’t one of numbers and can only be decided by him — that is the burden he must bear.

Realising that she’s overruled, Iris presses her lips into a thin line and lets herself slump into her seat. Gladio’s hand slips of her hanging shoulder and Noctis feels another crack in his heart. He has to avert his eyes from the sight, tells himself that he wasn’t going to plead with her. He cannot afford to be swayed by her disappointment. His closest companions are falling in line with his decision, whatever doubts they might hide in the back of their minds. The only one left he has to make sure to convince is the marshal.

Noctis leans forward to get a view of the man who has folded his hands on the table and seems to be contemplating what has been proposed. Ten years ago he sent Noctis on a quest to retrieve the Armiger and reclaim the throne — a quest that Noctis is about to complete. Cor demanded that Noctis step up to the heritage of his father and was willing to leave the rest to him. Now is the time to see if the man still stands by that.

“Very well.” When Cor speaks he meets Noctis’s gaze, the years of his experience reflected in his eyes. “As the king decrees.”

The words sting. They remind Noctis that he’s forcing his will upon his friends, even if that wasn’t the marshal’s intention. He tries not to let the displeasure show on his face. It doesn’t befit the king he’s trying to be. He’s getting his wish, he cannot worry about the price.

Preparations shouldn’t take long — for the most part they have to check their weapons and stock up on supplies. Noctis is the only one who bothers going through his utilities since he hasn’t used most of them in a decade. Ignis advised against rushing things and enforced that they would take some time to rest as well. They agreed to camp at the haven closest to the border of Insomnia which leaves them with the shortest distance to cover in the morning.

To Noctis it doesn’t matter at what hour they set out. It’s dark whether it’s noon or midnight. He would even travel at night and work his way towards the Citadel in one go, though Ignis might be right that he shouldn’t needlessly push himself. The confrontation with Ardyn won’t be easy and they’ll have to fight their way through daemons to get there. Besides, it gives him a little more time with his friends before the end.

Noctis disliked packing for the journey ten years ago, but it was also coupled with clearing out his apartment and moving all his things back to the Citadel. In this case he just has to go through his luggage and see if anything needs to be replaced. He decides not to bother getting new razor blades, because his beard is taken care of for the rest of his life. It’s a strange thought, grim.

“Wow, that’s a lot of stuff.” Noctis looks up from his luggage to see who has spoken and finds Iris approaching him with slow steps. “Makes it look like you’re going on another big journey.”

“It’s just everything from the last trip, I doubt I’ll need all of it.” Noctis gives a small smile to ease her worries, trying not to think of the what awaits him at the end of the road. “The way home will be much shorter.”

Iris stops beside him, still having an air of hesitation about her. It’s likely that she has lingering feelings about the plan, but tries not to bring the topic up again. “The last time we parted ways I didn’t get to see you for a whole decade.”

“Yeah, and I’m sorry about that,” Noctis replies, understanding that it must have been hard on her. He wishes he could offer more, because with each apology he utters the words feel less meaningful. “But I think I’m repeating myself.”

A gentle chuckle escapes Iris’s lips before she notes: “It’s fine.”

There’s a pause where neither of them speaks and Noctis zips close the bag he was checking. With this everything is set and the dread of making his goodbyes is creeping up on him. What do you say before you’re heading off to your death? He’s been pushing the thought away, but he’s running out of time. His fingers feel fidgety on the zipper of his bag, tempted to pull it back open just to have something to do.

“Let me come with you.”

The request stuns Noctis into silence. His fingers freeze up before they slip off the zipper. When he turns to look at Iris he finds that a fierceness has flared up in her eyes which matches her resolute tone. It overwhelms him.

“Whatever it is that you have to do,” she continues, “I want to be there. I want to help in any way I can.”

Noctis’s first instinct is to say no. He cannot get the young girl out of his mind who ran into his arms with tears in her eyes after getting lost. A girl he wanted to protect since that day — not only because her older brother is his friend and was always resolute about keeping her out of harm’s way. Yet here she is in front of him, a young woman who has learned to fend for herself. The youthful features from the last time he saw her have matured and speak of more experience.

The desire to keep Iris away from the upcoming battle is not about her age or capability. Just looking at her, Noctis realises that he cannot use that as a pretence. It’s his selfishness that makes him want to get as few people involved as possible. It would just mean one more person to keep in the dark as he’s preparing for his end…

“There you are.” Gladio’s voice drowns out Noctis’s speechlessness. He turns to find his friend approaching and his guilt is pushed aside by a brief glimpse of relief. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, I made sure I have everything I need.” Noctis feels terrible using this as a way out of the conversation. The other options he can think of, he likes even less.

Gladio stops next to Noctis and pats him on the shoulder. “Time to say goodbye then and hit the road.” His gaze falls upon Iris and as Noctis follows it he can see her pressing her lips together like she did in the diner. “It won’t be for long. We’ll be back before you know it, so don’t worry.”

Fo a moment Noctis thinks he was mistaken and Iris will swallow her objections and bow out. Yet when she crosses her arms in front of her chest he gets a strong sense of defiance from her that culminates in a one word: “No.”

It’s the word Noctis was unable articulate before and here Iris is, saying it loud and clear. He wouldn’t even need her to add what she says next. “I’m not staying behind this time.”

The cheerful look on Gladio’s face fades as he scrutinises his sister. It might be that he’s not used to her talking back like this or simply that he likes the idea of her accompanying them even less than Noctis. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m coming along,” Iris declares, unperturbed. “This is no longer a request—” she gives Noctis a determined look— “I’ve decided and nothing you say can change that, so you better not waste time on trying to talk me out of it and just accept it.”

Noctis can feel his heart sink and Gladio tense up beside him. He thought the topic was over and done with, yet here it’s unfolding again. The only relief is that this time around he might not have to be the one to argue.

“Absolutely not!” Gladio’s response is along the lines of what Noctis expected. It would be easy to take his side and shut Iris down. Yet something about it feels wrong.

“Don’t treat me like I’m still a little kid!” Iris shoots back.

It’s what Noctis concluded by himself yet isn’t willing to admit. He has no counter argument except that he doesn’t want her to join and he doubts she would let that stand. Leaving it up to Gladio might be his best bet, yet he’s torn between hoping that as her brother Gladio will get his way and feeling guilty about wanting to exclude Iris.

“This isn’t just some random daemon hunting.” Gladio sounds surprisingly calm as if he’s trying to rub off on his sister. “No one has been in Insomnia for a decade and we don’t know what’ll await us there. I owe it to our parents to keep you safe—”

“Don’t make this about our parents, don’t you dare!” Iris cuts him off. An angry glint has entered her eyes as she’s staring her brother down.

Noctis is growing uncomfortable. With the mention of the Amicitia siblings’ parents a line was crossed where he turned from silent bystander to involuntary intruder. This feels like it’s become too much of a family matter for him to have any say in the outcome. He wants to retreat and leave it to them to work out between each other. The worry that such a thing would be more rude than listening in keeps him in place.

Gladio gives a sigh and then turns around. “You say something, too, Noct.”

“Me?” Noctis is caught off guard. Just as he considered how out of place he is, he’s getting dragged in.

“Yeah,” Gladio confirms. “You’re the king and it’s your quest, so it should be your decision.”

A reasonable argument pushing Noctis into unreasonable territory. He feels thrown back into his early twenties when he was expected to take up the mantle of king and reclaim his kingdom. By now he thought he’d moved beyond that and accepted his duty when reflecting in the crystal. Yet one part of ascending the throne to die is the knowledge that he won’t have to rule. He realises that despite what he thought he’s not prepared for this. Using a hint of his status earlier to get his way was meant to be a one-off thing.

Noctis never learned how to make decisions as a ruler. What makes them fair or the best for everyone? How can he choose the side of one of his loved ones over the other and decree it to be so without question? It’s one thing to weigh in as a friend — and he already felt weird about that. He doesn’t think he can make the final call on this — not without second-guessing himself till the very end. The authority of a king weighs on his shoulders in a situation where he doesn’t want it.

Gladio’s gaze is expectant. When Noctis looks over to Iris her eyes share a similar expression. She seems willing to wait on his input at least, despite her earlier insistence that she wasn’t going to change her mind. Or maybe she would even budge if he told her no at this point. The thought alone is enough to feed his guilt.

If only Ignis were here. Noctis finds himself wishing for his advisor’s council. His gaze wanders across the parking lot in hopes of catching sight of the man, but Ignis is nowhere to be found. He closes his eyes to give himself some time to think. If no one is there to tell him he has to figure out how to handle this decision by himself. There’s one thing he knows for sure: he doesn’t want to make this call as a king. So if he were to resolve this as their friend, what would he do?

Noctis takes a calming breath and meets the waiting gazes of the two siblings. Gladio has crossed his arms and furrows his brow with a curious look. Iris is the opposite, having lost the air of determination as her hands are shoved into her pockets and her face is touched by uncertainty. He still remembers the smile she put on when she saw them off at Cape Caem, hiding her sadness underneath. Who knows what her face looked like when she learnt that he hadn’t returned with his friends from Gralea. He cannot put her through that again.

“I’m not saying this as your king, I’m saying this as your friend.” Noctis keeps his gaze on Iris but braces himself for Gladio’s disappointment. “If you really want to come along, then I won’t stop you even if I’d rather keep you out of it.”

Iris’s face lightens up in pleasant surprise. Noctis swallows down the unease as she hurries towards him and wraps her arms around his neck. His body sways from momentum with which she presses against him as he loosely puts his hands on her back. He pushes aside the prospect of her watching him die. It’s a thought that haunts him with all of his friends. Not even filling them in might keep the it at bay. Compared to that Gladio’s expected protest seems easy to bear.

“Are you sure about this?” Gladio wants to know with less force than Noctis would’ve predicted. His posture is unchanged, yet his expression has become skeptical.

Iris pulls away at the sound of her brother’s voice and Noctis gives a shrug. It’s a lacklustre gesture, he knows. “Did Talcott lie to me about Iris hunting daemons together with the marshal?”

Confusion enters Gladio’s eyes. “No, he didn’t. So what?”

“So you’re fine with her doing that but don’t think she’s up to coming along with us? Seems kinda unreasonable, don’t you think?”

“He’s just being Gladdy,” Iris comments with a sigh and waves it off. Now that she has her way it seems she wants this discussion to be over. Ignoring her brother’s displeasure, she puts on a soft smile. “I’m going to get my stuff. Don’t cop out on me now.”

“I won’t,” Noctis promises. He knew he’d have to commit to this choice the moment he made it. There’s no taking it back.

Noctis watches Iris walk off towards the diner before he turns back to Gladio and gives him a questioning look. “Still trying to keep your sister out of the fighting?”

Gladio gives a sigh and looks away. His demeanour is less vehement than what Noctis is used to from him. There’s not much of his “I know better than you” attitude which he displayed during their past disagreements. Instead Noctis thinks he catches a hint of resignation in his friend’s hanging shoulders.

“It’s not the fighting itself that worries me.” Gladio’s tone is thoughtful. His gaze is getting lost in the dark outside of Hammerhead. “It’s because we’re headed to Insomnia…”

While Noctis remains silent he’s not without wonder at what Gladio is thinking of. Among the four friends Gladio is the one who values action the most. With how little he reveals of what’s on his mind, Noctis got the impression there was nothing he couldn’t handle. It’s rare for him to share a glimpse of his worries. Noctis tends to forget he has any.

“Many people died that day, not just our fathers,” Gladio continues and returns his attention to Noctis. “And Iris was there for it all. Going there could bring back a lot of memories.”

Noctis nods. Though Gladio doesn’t specify it, he seems to include all of them even while Iris is his biggest concern. The prospect of his fate keeping Noctis preoccupied, he hadn’t even thought of that. He wants to assure Gladio that Iris is fit to handle it, but he cannot muster the confidence. Most of that he needs to hold up the front while it’s getting harder to block out the thoughts of his certain death.

“And just between you and me—” Gladio steps closer and lowers his voice— “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Everything inside Noctis’s torso contracts as if it wants to shrivel up with him and disappear from sight. His vision blurs and he blinks a few times too many. Gladio doesn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t like the fact that you turned down the support of the entire Crowns Guard and won’t even accept the marshal’s help,” Gladio admits.

Noctis wouldn’t be surprised to hear that from Prompto, maybe even from Ignis. Gladio bringing it up is unexpected. “That sounded different at the diner.”

“Because I didn’t want Iris to worry.” Gladio scratches his head. “But now you’re allowing her to come along, so I gotta wonder why you refused the closest thing we have to an army.”

They hold each other’s gaze as Noctis considers his reply. It’s understandable for Gladio to want to know his reasoning. It’s not backtracking on his decision if he gives Gladio an answer. Still, he keeps it brief. “The fewer people the better. I want to avoid casualties.”

The frown returns to Gladio’s face. At first he says nothing, just regards Noctis with that expression. It isn’t easy to endure when the secret Noctis is trying to keep slips closer and closer to his tongue.

“You want to avoid casualties,” Gladio reiterates as if processing the words. It almost seems understanding until he fixates Noctis with a glare that makes Noctis’s throat feel tighter. “Then how come my sister is the one person you’re making an exception for?”

Noctis is almost glad about the reproachful tone. It makes him defiant, too proud to beg for understanding. “It’s her choice, I’m not making it for her.”

“But you were fine making it for everyone else.”

Gladio is right and it stings. If Noctis wanted to make Gladio see where he’s coming from he’d have to reveal the truth. It’s tempting but he isn’t ready. He cannot say if he’s ever going to be ready. If he has to tell his friends about the sacrifice he will have to make, however, he at least wants them all to be present for it.

“I know,” Noctis agrees. There’s no point in arguing, so he decides to cut this short. “I suppose I don’t have a reasonable justification for it.”

Another pause before Gladio inhales audibly and looks away. Noctis cannot guess the thoughts running through his head but he seems conflicted. They have that in common for once, even if it’s for different reasons. While Gladio is dealing with what upsets him, Noctis is struggling not to fall apart. He didn’t think his secret would follow him at every turn.

To drown out the thoughts as best as he can, Noctis keeps his on Gladio. It’s rare to witness him work through his emotions. He rubs his brow with his index finger and then strokes over the top of his head as if to push back his hair. It’s an absent-minded gesture, as if he’d forgotten he tied it together. Then his eyes refocus and lock with those of Noctis.

“Noct…” Gladio puts a hand on Noctis’s shoulder and there’s a solemn look in his expression. “Promise me you know what you’re doing.”

Gladio’s grip is loose and yet it feels like he’s pushing Noctis down with all the might of his request. It’s less filled with expectation and more like a plea. Noctis deliberates how much it would cost to assure Gladio that he does know what he’s doing. He thinks he does — to an extent — but will it be enough? The confidence he holds isn’t sufficient to assure his friend. He considers feigning it, but that doesn’t feel right.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t have my doubts.” The admission is quiet but steadfast. Noctis wants to commit to his duty and he wants to convey that to Gladio. “But I have to look ahead and move forward. I owe it to everyone, not just the people who got me here.”

His words are spoken in memory of his father and Luna who prepared the path for him. Their deaths still weigh on him, the thought of them reminds him of what he must do. It’s like Bahamut said: they sacrificed their lives for him and now it’s his turn. He won’t let it be in vain.

Noctis puts all the determination he can muster into his gaze. He squares his shoulders, just a bit, to invoke the trust of his friend. Gladio nods and squeezes him in acknowledgement.

“Then I won’t ask for more.”

It might be a compromise on Gladio’s part, just how Noctis feels like the shoes he’s trying to fill are just a bit too big for him. But Gladio is going to trust in him even if he cannot warrant the outcome. And he is going to live up to his destiny, regardless of how it troubles him.

“Thank you.” Noctis puts as much sincerity into his voice as he can muster without breaking. “I promise I will see this through till the end.”

“Right there with you.” Gladio moves his hand from the shoulder and pats Noctis’s cheek. Then he breaks away and moves past Noctis. As if he flipped a switch inside his head, he’s back to business, leaving behind no traces of the conflict he went through. “Looks like Ignis and Prompto are done stocking up on supplies. You comin’?”

“Yeah.” Noctis doesn’t mind moving on. It won’t help him defeat Ardyn to make endless deliberations. He reflected on his life inside the crystal, now it’s time to act. He sends away his packed bags and follows Galdio to meet up with Prompto and Ignis who are lingering near the store.

There aren’t many people around that Noctis interacted enough with to warrant a few parting words. With Iris coming along, his list has gone down from four to three. Gladio and Prompto wonder why he’s bothering when they can be back with daylight. He doesn’t explain, so they follow Ignis’s example and remain quiet for the most part as they accompany Noctis on making the rounds.

First Noctis checks in on Cindy one last time and asks her to give his regards to Cid. When she comments that he can visit the man in Lestallum himself once this is over, he laughs it off. He doesn’t want to make claims he knows he cannot keep.

Iris is in the process of giving Talcott a hug when Noctis walks up. As brief as most of their interactions where, Noctis feels like he at least owes a goodbye to the young man. Talcott’s offer to drive them to Insomnia he turns down. He already decided that they’ll go by foot, though he doesn’t disclose his reasons.

The marshal awaits them by the gate to see them off. His gaze lingers on Noctis as he tells them to fight well. Noctis cannot pinpoint what about the moment does it, but it reminds him of when his father bid him farewell. Back then he didn’t get why his father prolonged the departure and spoke with concern. After Insomnia’s fall he discovered hidden meaning in his father’s last words to him. In the light of his own death, he finally understands.

“Take care of things in my absence,” Noctis requests of Cor, leaving the phrasing vague. With him the line of the Lucii will die, but someone will have to take charge. He has confidence in the marshal to handle it for as long as people are adapting to yet another drastic change. Besides, he wouldn’t know who else to ask here.

Noctis can imagine Cor will begrudge him soon for knowingly walking off to his death without saying anything. His friends will, too, if he doesn’t tell them before the end.

#toporcelainivoryandsteel #final fantasy xv #noctis lucis caelum #ignis scientia #prompto argentum #gladiolus amicitia #iris amicitia #cindy aurum #cor leonis #final fantasy 15 #fanfiction #writing requests #writing tag #text heavy #-i lost count of how many times i changed the ending-#-really there were quite some additions and changes in the whole thing-

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myroleplayacademia · 3 years

Text

Acccepted! Touya Todoroki/Dabi

 Character name: Touya Todoroki / Dabi (Doobi)

Why do you want to play them?: I feel as though there’s much more to his story than has been explored. I’d like to see how he adapts to life outside the league and what reconnecting with society does for him.

What is their quirk?: Cremation

What powers and limitations do they have: Touya has the ability to generate destructive flames (even more destructive than Endeavors) from his body. Over time, he’s developed his quirk so that he can control the projection and amount of fire he produces. He has to be careful though, if his flames go over a certain temperature he can damage himself, resulting in deep scarring.

Describe the character’s personality: Touya’s personality is more relaxed now than it had been in previous years (thanks therapy). Now that he’s medicated and in the process of rehabilitating, Touya is the standard older brother that blares punk rock, writes poetry, and smokes cigarettes. Oftentimes you can find him hiding throughout campus jotting down his thoughts into a worn out leather bound journal. If you ask him what he’s writing, he’ll tell you “my new book titled Daddy Issues”.

As far as friends, Touya keeps most people at arms length until he’s sure he can trust you (THANKS HAWKS). This doesn’t mean he’s an asshole to strangers though! He’s friendly, in his own way, and will respond if someone initiates conversation.

Touya is heavily dedicated to his rehabilitation and regaining his siblings' trust and love back. After three years of intense therapy, Touya doesn’t resent Enji or Rei anymore for the part they played in his mental break. Sure he wishes that things had been different, but he’s learning to accept the past and *not* let it define his future.

Preferred relationships (friendships, rivalries, ships, etc):

Friendships LOV ofc.

Family: All of the Todoroki family including Enji

Rivalries: Honks

Chemistry is preferred for the rest.

Please list your goal(s) for the character (This can be a long term plan for the character’s progression, or an aspect of the character you’d like to explore!):

- As I’ve said before, I’d like to see how he adapts to life outside the league and what reconnecting with his siblings is like.

- I’d also like to see how reconnecting with his parents would go. Though he has forgiven them both, there’s still a lot that he won’t forget. ~~IM LOOKING AT YOU ENJI~~

- Working through the rehab program and really digging into *why* he thought turning to a life of crime was the move.

Try and reconcile with Hawks? If not, at least get to a stage where they’re amicable

For your character:  What do you think about UA University’s Villain Rehabilitation Program:

I didn’t believe in rehab until I got locked up. Truth be told, a lot of us shouldn’t have this opportunity.. We’re murderers. Convicts who, for years, terrorized heroes and civilians for a false prophet. All I know is that that I’ve put in the time and effort to repent for my sins and I’m busting my ass everyday to be a better person than I was before. If there are other rehab patients doing the same, then I think they deserve a shot in the program.

Pick two of the following prompts and write out how you would behave in that scenario. Minimum 100 words each:

1). “A friend is going through a difficult time, how do you comfort them?“ Editor's Note: I know Dabi has enhanced stamina despite him being a smoker. Just dream with me here.

Touya had been jotting down today’s thoughts and lessons in his journal when `Y/N` went whizzing by in tears. In all honesty, he wouldn’t have been able to tell who it was had her high pitched sobs not stolen his attention. He calmly places his pen inside of his journal and exhaled deeply.

Guess I’m not writing today…

“Oi,” he calls out, jogging to catch up with her. God. It’d been a while since he had to do anything at *this* pace. The woman slows down and waits for Touya to approach her. When he does he’s mildly out of breath, hands on his knees.

“Don’t. Make. Me. Jog.. Again.. Please.. I… Smoke… Will.. Keel over..” He says through his heaving. “What… Is wrong? Why…. Crying?”

As ’Y/N’ explains what happened, the other is processing her words. The woman explains that her asshole of a boyfriend dumped her via text. A breakup? That’s tough. Touya didn’t know what that was like… He’d never been in a serious relationship with anyone for this exact reason.. Emotions.. Well.. That and the whole blindly following someone who wanted him to murder innocent people to further their own agenda. ANYWAYS! After about 10 minutes of explaining, ‘Y/N’ asks for his opinion.

A clearly unqualified Touya, runs a hand through his spiky hair and rests it on his neck. “Tch.. Sounds like a case of That-Guy’s-A-Dick-itus. Think of it this way though, you’re no longer stuck spending time with someone you’re going to hate in a year.” At least that’s how he felt. Though, to be fair, he hadn’t been around the most healthy or stable relationships. ‘Y/N’ smiles, and wipes a few tears away from her eyes.

The arm sitting behind his neck, finds itself wrapped around his friend's shoulder. “You know what doesn’t disappoint? Ice Cream. It’s delicious every time. Let’s go to the caf and grab some. You can rant some more about the jackass.”

‘Y/N’ chuckles, and agrees to go with her friend. The pain wasn’t gone, but it had subsided a bit with the help of her friend.

2). “You just received a thoughtful gift from a close friend. What is it and how do you react?”

Christmas. The one holiday that, deep down, Touya couldn’t stand. Everyone rushing to grab gifts.. Having to pre-order your chicken for the week.. And don’t even get him started on how the holiday has been commercialized to the point it has lost most of its meaning. But what made it worth it to him was to see the smiles on his friends' faces.

As per usual with the present open ceremony, Touya opted to go last. Not for the attention… But because he was hoping that by the time his turn came, he could sneak out of there. Much to his displeasure, this didn’t happen. All eyes were on him as each friend handed him a gift to open. They were all great! Money, clothes, candy cigarettes (to replace his real ones). The final gift was one that took him by surprise.

“The… journal…” A leather bound, quirk proof, 400 page journal. Turquoise eyes look across to his friend who’d given him the gift. One thing that Touya was always running out of was journals. He’d kept one on him since he left home.. He needed someone to talk to.. Someone that wouldn’t judge him for his sins. Due to his personal financial situation, he’d been unable to invest in the high quality journal he’d been eying for almost a year.

He recalls telling his friend, “I could finally stop using those shitty ones that campus gives out. And this one won’t get all burnt when I’m pissed because it’s quirk proof.”

Not many people knew how special this journal would be… But this friend did… His friend listened… Touya struggles to hold back tears, but manages to muster out a very heartfelt “Thank you…”.

#submission #mha roleplay #mha rp promo #mha rp discord #mha rp group #application #mha rp server #mha rp blog #my her academia anime rp #my hero academia rp promo #my hero rp #my hero academia roleplay #my hero academia rp #my hero academia

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the-domestication-of-the-dog · 5 years

Text

The 9th Annual L.A.O.K Awards

I’m no artist, but I did love art class growing up, and let’s just say I’ve won a few coloring contests in my day (God did I live for coloring contests). Let’s also say that in high school I did a watercolor of one of my stepmom’s nature photographs, and let’s say that it ended up in the yearbook. That watercolor was the crowning achievement of my many classes with Ms. Warren, our high school art teacher. Let me paint a picture of Ms. Warren for you: short spiky blonde hair, this pattern Gap button down every day, long denim skirt, and the unfaltering attitude of someone who was born to be an artist but instead ended up teaching ungrateful teenagers who called things “gay” around you even though you were clearly a lesbian.

Months after completing that watercolor, I began work on acrylic painting I’ll admit was uninspired, but I still gave it my best. The composition featured a bird on a branch in narrow focus, so that everything in the background was blurry, and I had planned on giving it to my mom as a Mother’s Day present. The problem was that I had no idea how to paint something out of focus, and instead of doing any research or asking my teacher how to do that, I just dove right in and painted from memory and tried to make the lines really soft. Here is that painting, which still hangs in my mother’s bedroom to my everlasting shame.

If you look closely, you might recognize that I cut my losses on this one. That’s because it was at this point in my progress when I fully realized I was in over my head and decided to ask Ms. Warren for some tips. She came over to my desk, looked at the painting for a good 10 seconds, and finally uttered two sentences I’ll never forget: “Garrett, sometimes in art you hit, and sometimes you miss. Your watercolor was a hit.” And she was off to the next student.

That said, sometimes a year in movies is a hit, and sometimes it’s a miss. 2017 was a hit. Now on to the next desk:

Best Film Eighth Grade The Favourite First Man Mary Queen of Scots Sicario: Day of the Soldado

First off, anyone who didn’t like Mary Queen of Scots can meet me in a laundry cottage halfway between England and Scotland in negative 460 years for another asskicking. What is there not to like about this movie? According to Ben Friday, extreme historical inaccuracy. Okay, if anyone comes up with any non-nerd reasons, please let me know. The second film in my top five that you’re going “Guh, what?” to: Sicario: Day of the Soldado, was actually very good, and it turns out everyone is wrong for thinking it’s not. Wow, definitive proof here (https://letterboxd.com/g_baby9000/film/sicario-day-of-the-soldado/). I also loved First Man’s slow burn. La La Land was a misstep for me from Damien Chazelle, but now I’m right back on the Chazelle train. Bravo for making an unconventional, understated historical biopic, which drives through its seeming monotony with an ever building tension that keeps it compelling from start to finish. Then there’s The Favourite, which continues Yorgos Lanthimos’s reign over this annual list. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when the dictum came down to the Fox marketing department that they were going to go wide with this movie.

And the Layokie goes to… Eighth Grade

In the lead up to Eighth Grade I thought two things: 1) I hope it’s not that good because Bo Burnham’s age and career make me feel inadequate, and 2) It probably isn’t that good because everyone’s talking about how good it is. In LA, if you don’t see a movie until after its release date you are a total loser, and I went even a few weeks after that, so it was already sufficiently hyped. I honestly didn’t expect much from it, and it totally blew me away with it’s humor and heartwarmingness in a way that no other film matched in 2018. I’ll talk more about this great film below.

Next Five The Ballad of Buster Scruggs Cold War First Reformed Roma Shoplifters

Also Great Avengers: Infinity War Beautiful Boy Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far on Foot. Outlaw King The Rider A Star is Born Vice (Why does everyone hate Vice? My thoughts on Vice.)

Best Original Screenplay The Ballad of Buster Scruggs - Joel Coen & Ethan Coen (1/6 adapted) Shoplifters - Hirokazu Koreeda Eighth Grade - Bo Burnham The Favourite - Deborah Davis and Tony McNamara First Reformed - Paul Schrader

And the Layokie goes to… Eighth Grade

Not to retread the obvious, but I think about Eighth Grade and its screenplay in much the same way as Avatar. Predictability and the use of stock plotting does not equate to bad writing, and even if you know exactly what’s going to happen (Kayla must end up with Gabe) it can be done in such a satisfying way that the story still sings (which is the reason why the same story lines continue to be retread). From early on, we can guess pretty much what Kayla’s arc will be, but the fact that it plays out in just the right way, so that you can’t really imagine it had the potential to be anything else, is what makes it such a high mark in screenwriting. Getting to this point in a screenplay is very difficult, because it’s usually only after figuring out the 50 paths not to go down that you realize the obviously correct one. When it finally clicks which Scene B should follow Scene A, the screenwriter too realizes that it couldn’t have been any other way, it just takes a lot of work to get there. I put Eighth Grade on for my second viewing while building an IKEA dresser a week or two ago, and it filled me with such glee. I was doubled over with laughter more than once and had to watch some scenes five times before I could move on.

Best Adapted Screenplay Annihilation - Alex Garland Beautiful Boy - Luke Davies and Felix van Groeningen Leave No Trace - Debra Granik & Anne Rosellini Mary Queen of Scots - Beau Willimon Sicario: Day of the Soldado - Taylor Sheridan

And the Layokie goes to… Mary Queen of Scots

Like I said above, I don’t really know anything about the historicity of this movie. Apparently the rabble-rousing preacher that everyone was supposed to hate actually was cool and founded my own church’s denomination? Anyway, I loved the way this was paced, only parsing out the information you absolutely needed and trusting you to catch up through its many jumps in time, expertly illustrated via cutbacks to Queen Elizabeth. The characters were complex (especially Elizabeth) and the dialogue was snappy. There’s nothing better than seeing someone in an authority position take someone’s shit just long enough before thoroughly dressing them down at the exact appropriate time, and Mary gets many such chances to shine thusly.

Best Director Damien Chazelle - First Man Alfonso Cuarón - Roma Yorgos Lanthimos - The Favourite Pawel Pawlikowski - Cold War Josie Rourke - Mary Queen of Scots

And the Layokie goes to… Alfonso Cuarón

Was tempted after another viewing to switch this to Damien Chazelle, but I had already written the following paragraph, and I’m too lazy to redo it. From the opening shot of Roma, two things are clear: you’re in the hands of a great director, and it’s a damn good thing you’re in a theater because it’s gonna be a long, slow ride. If you watched this on Netflix from start to finish without looking at your phone, I salute you (and I’ll say the same for The Ballad of Buster Scruggs). If you haven’t seen it on the big screen and live in LA, it’s currently playing at the Landmark and Vista, so check it out. Also how insane is it that Cuaron will likely win the Oscar in this category this year, making Mexican directors winners in this category 5 out of the last 6 years? Specifically, Cuaron, Alejandro González Iñárritu, and Guillermo del Toro, who were already known as the Three Amigos long before going on this stretch?

Honorable Mention Ari Aster - Hereditary Alex Garland - Annihilation Paul Schrader - First Reformed Stefano Sollima - Sicario: Day of the Soldado

Best Actress Emily Blunt - Mary Poppins Returns Lady Gaga - A Star is Born Joanna Kulig - Cold War Thomasin McKenzie - Leave No Trace Soarise Ronan - Mary Queen of Scots

And the Layokie goes to… Soarise Ronan

I’ve talked about this before, but it seems so many years I struggle to come up with a good list of best actresses (while supporting actress overflows with abundance). I had wondered if I was just a misogynist, but it became clear to me over time that there just weren’t nearly as many films with females in starring roles, let along female protagonists. However, not only did I have trouble paring down my favorites to five this year, there were many more female-driven films I could have drawn from. I really felt like this was a year for women in film, and it was great. The idea that women/minority leads can’t drive box office success seems finally to be a thing of the past, and it’s about damn time. This all probably comes across as liberal posturing, but if you know me well you’ll understand it’s really born from my own selfishness. First, I don’t want special treatment over anyone because I highly value fairness, and the reason highly value fairness is mainly because I don’t want anyone else to get special treatment over me. Second, I don’t care if a story is about women, black people, Asian people, aliens, some fish, or a fuckin’ toaster, a good story is a good story, and I don’t want to miss out one because some marketing executive wants to save his ass. Not once have I ever been not able to get into a film because the protagonist was a different age/race/gender than me. Even though some of them aren’t on this list, Annihilation, Ocean’s 8, Thoroughbreds, Suspiria, Roma, The Favourite, Widows, and Mary Queen of Scots not only had female leads, but fully female-centric casts, and all were either da bomb, fairly da bomb, or da bomb-ish.

Honorable Mention Yalitza Aparicio - Roma Claire Foy - Unsane Claire Foy - The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Best Supporting Actress Olivia Colman - The Favourite Tyne Daly - The Ballad of Buster Scruggs Cynthia Erivo - Bad Times at the El Royale Nicole Kidman - Boy Erased Regina King - If Beale Street Could Talk

And the Layokie goes to… Tyne Daly

Pretty thrilled TBoBS is on Netflix, because I recently went back just to watch my favorite two segments: “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” and “The Mortal Remains.” Still not really sure what “The Mortal Remains” is all about ‘cause I’m not that smart about that kind of stuff, but damn did all five of them chew up the scenery, and none more so than Tyne Daly.

Honorable Mention Zoe Kazan - The Ballad of Buster Scruggs Marina de Tavira - Roma Rachel Weisz - The Favourite

Best Actor Ethan Hawke - First Reformed Nicolas Cage - Mandy Ryan Gosling - First Man Viggo Mortenson - Green Book Christian Bale - Vice

And the Layokie goes to… Christian Bale

I didn’t hate Vice, but it seems like everyone else did. I also didn’t love The Big Short, but it also seems like everyone else did, somehow causing the people who loved The Big Short to hate the Vice. But I don’t think you can deny Christian Bale on this one, or at least I don’t think you can triumph Gary Oldman in The Final Hour or whatever it was called, but deny Christian Bale in Vice. (Scroll down to see that I didn’t triumph Gary Oldman last year, even though he might have deserved it.)

Honorable Mention Mahershala Ali - Green Book Bradley Cooper - A Star is Born Joaquin Phoenix - Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far on Foot

Best Supporting Actor Robert Pattinson - Damsel Linus Roache - Mandy Timothée Chalamet - Beautiful Boy Harry Melling - The Ballad of Buster Scruggs John Malkovich - Bird Box

And the Layokie goes to… Timothée Chalamet

It’s about this time that I get tired of trying to come up with something to write for everyone of these, so I’ll take my comments of the air. Timothée Chalamet was great!

Honorable Mention Jake Ryan - Eighth Grade

Best Documentary The Dawn Wall Minding the Gap RBG Three Identical Strangers Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Syeeeke. Did I say I was done coming up with things to write? ‘Cause I got lots to say about this. First let’s get it out of the way. Free Solo is a mediocre documentary about some excellent subject matter. Jimmy Chin made another one of my favorite documentaries, Meru, that definitely did not get the acclaim it deserved, so if he finds that acclaim with Free Solo, then super. And if it wins the Oscar, I won’t be sad about it. What I will be sad about, is that another documentary, also about climbing El Capitan, The Dawn Wall, got totally overshadowed be Free Solo. I watched The Dawn Wall first, and I think that may have something to do with shaping how I felt about Free Solo, but The Dawn Wall had a better, more interesting, more likable protagonist, with a more interesting story to tell about himself and his climbing attempt and way better climbing material! Now, there’s no denying that climbing the full height of El Capitan without a rope is riveting, awe-inspiring, and completely insane, and the 5-10 minutes of Free Solo that actually cover that feat are impossible to top, but if for the other 90 minutes (both films are exactly 1:40) you’d like to watch a doc about climbing El Capitan, it has to be The Dawn Wall. If you’d like those 90 minutes to instead be about a whiny guy who lives in van, then by all means, champion Free Solo. I don’t want to say too much more about why I think it’s better, because I want people to see it and experience it. Hopefully it starts streaming soon. (And if you did see and like Free Solo, please check out Meru, which is currently streaming on Netflix.) The other docs were also great, and what a shame that Won’t You Be My Neighbor? didn’t get nominated for an Oscar, which made me cry evertim.

And the Layokie goes to… Duh, The Dawn Wall -- (See how the wall below makes Alex Honnold’s Free Rider route look like the freaking Aggro Crag from Nickelodeon’s GUTS?)

Best Foreign Film I only saw: Border Capernaum Cold War Roma Shoplifters

And the Layokie goes to… Shoplifters

Now, as always, on to the fun stuff:

Refuse to Watch Any more Clint Eastwood Movies

The 15:17 to Paris was truly a straw-that-broke-the-camel’s-back-breakingly bad movie. Literally worse acting and writing than some student films I’ve seen. And I’m not talking about the Student Academy Awards, I’m talking about the ones I watched from my own peers in my own undergrad film classes. And I’m not talking about some USC or UCLA film classes, I’m talking about University of Oklahoma film classes, where they actively did not give us film equipment to use, because we were a studies program and not a production program, even though no one there wanted to do anything but be writer/directors, and they seemed to resent us all for that fact so we had an edit bay in like an old closet or something and it was on one of the original iMacs with the hockey puck mouse and everything. The last tolerable Clint Eastwood move was Mystic River don’t @ me.

Great in Everything Award Joaquin Phoenix - You Were Never Really Here, Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far on Foot, The Sisters Brothers, (and when do we get to see Mary Magdalene??) Cynthia Erivo - Bad Times at the El Royale, Widows

Best Lesbian Rachel Weisz

Deserves Discussion Damsel

Hmm, a New Wave Anit-Western starring Robert Pattinson with folk dancing and real-life weirdo non-actors, an obvious grand slam slam dunk, right? Wrong. Boy do I wish I had known the Zellner Brothers were also the ones behind Kumiko the Treasure Hunter before going into this. I could have at least prepared myself for all the meandering. I don’t really mind meandering if it serves a story/theme, say like in another seminal film in the genre, Meek’s Cutoff, but you can miss me wit dat meandering for meandering’s sake. The script for Damsel is a great example of an antithesis for what made Eighth Grade so great. The meandering here is not only in the physical sense, but also in the story sense, where no scene absolutely had to happen, and nothing in particular means anything. You would think that a character strapping dynamite to themselves and walking a few miles would fill a theater with Hitchcockian dread and similarly provide a Hitchcockian catharsis when that character eventually blows up. Instead, it’s just one more in a long line of things happening that never add up to what we would call a “story.” Like in Kumiko the Treasure Hunter, the interesting parts that never make up a whole are in themselves still interesting, and I’ll forever be grateful for that film’s gift of the discovery of the Yamasuki Singers. In the same way, I’ll forever be grateful to Damsel’s opening credits sequence, the chance for another stellar character performance from R Patt, the incredible mise-en-scène, and for giving Mia Wasikowska another opportunity to put a mediocre film on her back and carry it to the finish line (what if some day she starred in a good movie??). Perhaps my harshest criticism of Damsel is also one of my proudest film-watching moments. The film’s true lead isn’t even featured on the poster; it’s a character named Parson Henry, portrayed by David Zellner. About 3/4 of the way in, I thought to myself, this actor is so absolutely lacking of anything you could call charisma, I bet it’s the director and he cast himself in the lead role, and you know what? It was. *sunglasses emoji*

Best Song All of the Stars

youtube

Best Score Tie: First Man and Isle of Dogs

Many LOLs Avengers: Infinity War Eighth Grade The Favourite Mandy

Most Surreal Movie-Watching Moment When me and Becca and Joe and Natalie went to see Rampage kind of as a joke when we had our Moviepasses so it was like whatev, and the theater was PACKED even though it was a week or two after it came out, and at one point The Rock is going in for a pound with the big white gorilla that he trained, and the gorilla fakes the pound, then flips off The Rock and starts gorilla-laughing at its gorilla antics, and the audience went. fucking. NUTS. Like it was the purest moment of comedy that ever existed. It was a Sullivan’s Travels-level eye-opener for me. Give the dumb galoots what they want, and what they want, is to see a gorilla give The Rock the finger.

Most Non-Fun Fun Movie Ready Player One

Please Stop Giving Melissa McCarthy’s husband bit parts in Melissa McCarthy movies (didn’t hate The Happytime Murders btw)

The Something Award Sorry to Bother You

The Nothing Award Crazy Rich Asians

Best Scenes Annihilation - Watching the camcorder footage Aquaman - Escaping the trench creatures Bad Times at the El Royale - Any time Darlene sings The Ballad of Buster Scruggs - All of “The Mortal Remains,” which was basically a single-scene segment Eighth Grade - Chicken nugget dinner The Favourite - The dance (putting my fingertips to my mouth then and then giving it a chef’s kiss: “MWAH”) First Man - the m-er f-ing moon landing (damn that was good, had me on the edge of my seat in both viewings) Free Solo - Despite what I said above, for a stand-alone scene, you cannot beat the final climb Incredibles 2 - Jack Jack/racoon fight The Girl in the Spider’s Web - the motorcycle escape Mandy - So many, but it has to be the Cheddar Goblin Mission Impossible: Fallout - The bathroom fight The Old Man & the Gun - When John and Forrest meet Outlaw King - When they finally(!) had sex A Quiet Place - The very beginning when the whole theater went silent Roma - Fermin’s naked martial arts, Fermin’s denial (so sad!), and the fire A Star is Born - v basic of me, but you cannot deny the first “Shallow” performance The Strangers: Prey at Night - The pool scene Upgrade - The first upgraded fight Won’t You Be My Neighbor? - A lot of them, but it has to be “It’s You I Like” at the end

Best Visuals Annihilation Cold War Mary Poppins Returns The Ritual

Worst Movie of the Year

The 15:17 to Paris (turnoff)

A Wrinkle in Time (walkout)

The Nun

Fireworks

The Meg

Winchester

Rampage

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

Hold the Dark

Fahrenheit 451

Sadly Missed/Haven't’ Watched Yet At Eternity’s Gate Blaze Burning Destroyer The Kindergarten Teacher Lean on Pete Madeline’s Madeline Mid90s Never Look Away Private Life Support the Girls We the Animals The Wife

Absent on Purpose BlacKkKlansman Black Panther Blindspotting Bohemian Rhapsody

#layokies #movies #oscars

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not-close-to-straight · 7 years

Text

5x Bruce Told Tony to Shut Up and 1x He Didn't

“Say Bruce.”

“What is it Tony?” Bruce didn't even look up from his desk, staring at the lay out for the weapons systems for the new QuinnJet. The Team had requested some pretty intense upgrades and he was struggling with the final plans. He just didn't know how it would be possible to fit all of the tech on board without compromising--

“Say, Bruce.” Tony repeated louder. “Bruce!”

“Yes.” Bruce sighed and sat back, rubbing his eyes. “Yes, Tony what is it?”

“So does, you know, being big and green make it difficult to date? Or do ladies really go for that?”

“Tony.”

“No I'm really asking here. You know, for science.” Tony's eyes were sparking playfully even as he tried to keep a straight face. “Do you start the date all Hulked out, or pull out the big guns after she's back at your place?”

“Tony. I live here. The Tower is ‘my place’. And I'm sure everyone can vouch for me when I say I've never brought a woman back here.”

“Well, we have a Hulk-safe containment room. Nobody REALLY knows what you do in there.”

“That's enough.” Bruce turned away to go back to working, and Tony frowned at his back.

“For a scientist, you sure aren't open to discussing theories.

“ENOUGH Tony.”

Tony shut his mouth.

***********************

“So have you figured out how to get the bigger guns on without causing a balance and weight issue?” Tony was bouncing a rubber ball off the wall of the lab.

Bruce shook his head. “No.”

“Have you fixed the loading ramp problem?”

“No.”

“Have you decided to quit being a baby and just ask me for help?”

“No, Tony.”

“Are you into women?”

“No Tony.” Bruce relied automatically, then froze. “Um--”

The ball rolled away, forgotten, and Tony couldn’t seem to pick his jaw up off the floor. “Uh, Bruce I didn't-- Are you- can we--”

“No. Tony. No.”

“You don't even know what I was going to ask!”

“Just… no. Be quiet so I can think.”

Tony made a zipping motion across his lips.

**********************

“Is it Steve? Is he your type? Because I have to say, I thought you and Spider Girl had something for a while.”

“Don't call her that.” Bruce set aside one set of plans with a satisfied smile. Balance issue solved. Loading ramp fixed. Pulling a different chart in front of him, he started working on the weapons issue.

“Ok, so you’re sensitive about Natasha but not in a way where you want to get in her pants. Was that a yes or no on Steve?”

“Captain Rogers is very nice.”

“But not your type. Okay.” Tony cocked his head and studied the scientist. “Is it Hawk? I like the way he looks in those pants too but-”

“Are we really doing this, Tony? I'm actually trying to work here.”

“So no then. Not Hawkeye. Which is too bad. I feel like he could give you a sense of humour.”

“Thanks for that.” Bruce pushed his glass up on his forehead. “Now let me concentrate.”

“Wilson? A little jungle fever?”

“That's really offensive, Tony.”

“Ok. No you’re right. That was in bad taste. I'm sorry. SORRY!” Tony yelled louder, in case anyone else was listening. “I just feel like I got to know man. It's making me crazy.”

“It's not your business.”

“Technically I could argue that since I own the building you work in, everything that happens here is my business.”

“Nothing has happened here.” Bruce said calmly. “At least not yet.”

“Wait what? Has something- who- where…? Where do you go for this? Are you PLANNING on something happening here?” Tony actually laughed. “I mean oh MY Brucie! You have this whole other thing going on that I don't know about!”

“Stop talking.” Bruce started making notes on the blueprints.

Tony stopped.

*************************

“Okay, I've been quiet for like two hours now.” Tony popped his head around the corner, startling Bruce so badly that he spilt coffee down the front of his shirt.

“Damn Tony.”

“Even when you swear you are quiet. It's just zero or a hundred with you isn't it?” Bruce just sighed and started pulling his shirt off. Tony raised an eyebrow and watched unabashedly. “Wow, you are just surprisingly fit under that ugly shirt. You're like the mousy librarian who takes her glasses off and is all the sudden Stacy's Mom. A little dad-boddy but hey, I can dig it.”

“I don't understand any of those references.” Bruce said, wiping the hot coffee off his chest. “Who’s Stacy?”

“What you never listened to emo kid music? It's an old song but the idea is for forever. Stacy's mom will always be the epitome of-”

“Tony if you keep talking I'm going to reprogram JARVIS to sound like an angry woman.”

“That's rude. JARVIS would never turn his back on me.”

“JARVIS.” Bruce called.

“Yes, Doctor Banner?” The AIs perfectly cultured voice came through the ceiling. “How may I be of assistance.”

“Would you please reroute your voice software? I am thinking--”

“Stop stop stop.” Tony held his hands up in surrender. “All I'm saying is that maybe you should borrow some of the Captains Under Armour and flaunt a little bit. Might get that mysterious man to notice-”

“JARVIS, angry woman voice. Perhaps Russian.”

“Yes sir.”

“Damnit I'm shutting up! JARVIS, you're grounded. Bruce. Low blow.” Tony slammed the door on his way out.

***********************

“Are you still mad at me?” The lights were low in the lab as Bruce started shutting down the computers, straightening his notes and started getting ready to leave.

“Hey Tony.”

“I know I drove you crazy today.” Tony sat on the desk, legs dangling close to Bruce's chair. “And maybe pushed a little too far. But this was... huge!! I had no idea you even thought about relationships. And I'm-I'm sorry for bugging you like that.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Yeah. Well that's pretty much the only time I'll ever apologize. So how long before we can look back on this and laugh?”

“You have jokes lined up?”

Tony grinned. “You have no idea. Like a movie in my head. So many great things just… WAITING to be tossed at you.”

“I'll let you know.” Bruce kept stacking paperwork. “Plans for tonight?”

“Oh you know, same old. Some charity ball full of rich people to go to. Maybe designing something to help save the world. Maybe starting a foundation to change people's lives. Perhaps flying to Europe to find a handful of hot girls to-”

“Tony.” Bruce dropped his head in his hands. “You talk SO much.”

“I have an image to uphold. Philanthropist. Playboy. Super rich. Iron man. I got a lot on my plate. In fact you're lucky all you have to worry about is turning that lovely shade of green when someone attacks you, and possibly where to take whatever lucky guy you are into for dinner.”

“Whatever lucky guy--?” Bruce looked up, surprised.

“Well yeah.” Tony shrugged. “Even if the guy DOESN'T know you get all green and beautiful? I'm sure he really enjoys everything else about you. Your cute messy hair, dorky glasses, all that intelligence, you know some guys really go for brainiacs, that whole hot genius thing is so much sexier than--”

“Tony.”

“Right. I'll be quiet. I just feel like sometimes if you'd let me say what I'm trying to say--mmph!!!!”

Bruce grabbed two fistfuls of Tony's shirt and yanked hard, tumbling the billionaire into his lap and sealing their lips together.

“For the record.” He broke the kiss just barely, lips still brushing against Tony's as he spoke. “Arrogant play boy types with great labs and spiky hair are my type.”

“I-I would have stopped talking like, THIS MORNING, if you would have just kissed me first.” Tony replied, eyes wide. “I could have avoided all the questions and--”

Bruce silenced him with another hard kiss.

************************

“You didn't tell me to be quiet once.” Tony said thoughtfully, propped up one elbow, drawing patterns onto Bruce's chest.

“Yeah well, I like what you had to say this time.” Bruce was smiling, tugging Tony back down to lay against him.

“You also didn't go big and green.”

“Only when I'm angry Tony. And you know, you shouldn't joke about that. When I… Hulk out. When the other guy comes forward, people really get hurt. It's not a ga--”

“Stop talking Bruce.” Tony clapped a hand over his mouth. “Or I will give you something else to do with your mouth.” Bruce raised his eyebrows, and Tony grinned, moving up to straddle him, kicking blankets out of the way. “Actually, I love that idea. Keep talking Brucie.”

#bruce banner #tony stark #Bruce banner/tony stark #science husbands #science bros #5+1 things

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mesdea · 7 years

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Oh boy. Where to even start, this is a dark chapter. I woke up at 4am and started writing. I struggled for a different direction but sometimes you just have to go the way your muse tells you. After struggling with it for several hours, I almost pressed delete and decided not to update this week. However, the more I thought about it, I feel I have to be real to how I want the story to go. I still promise a happy ending, it's just much a much darker story than I anticipated when I wrote the first chapter.

With that said, I really do thank you all for staying with me. Comments fuel writers, no matter what we say :)

Two years. Two years of investigating between missions. Two years of visions, of nightmares, that were laced with the sinful golden eyes of a man he craved to call beloved. It all seemed long ago when he had collided with the oversized Master in the refectory, and had felt the force push them together. Obi-Wan Kenobi, no, Knight Kenobi had been on mission after mission after his return from Naboo. He had constructed quite a name for himself as a negotiator, even if they were of the aggressive sort. The mission’s appeared to get more difficult as the cycles moved on. It was as if the galaxy itself was starting to suffocate with the shadows.

His latest mission had seen him coming face to face with mortality, once again. He was sent to discuss reconciliation between the two factions on Mandalore. The Jedi council had been approached by the new Duchess, Satine Kryze; she wanted to see the war on their planet come to a conclusion. Obi-Wan was sent to attempt to broker that peace between the two factions, yeah it sounded easy enough at the briefing.

He had made the mistake of misjudging the Duchess’ passion for complete nonaggression. She demanded no violence at all, even in defense of her people or to defend her rightful place as their leader. She would participate but she would brook no interference that came at the hands of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. It left the knight at the mercy of a young man by the name of Pre Vizsla. He wielded an odd black saber. Obi-Wan sensed the wrongness in the force as the saber’s blade was held inches from his throat. His body was heaving from exertion, the mission had offered little time for sleep, food and meditation.

Obi-Wan recalled the moment vividly; he had shut his eyes and sank himself into the force, feeling for the man that hadn’t answered him in two years. ‘Qui-Gon, I will wait for you in the force.’ After what felt like ages, he opened his eyes to find Vizsla on the ground in front of him, neck broken, eyes hauntingly open and soulless. He had heard nobody, no words, no steps, nothing but a slight wind at his back before he opened his eyes to this scene. It had been this way now for two years, when things seemed impossible; they were suddenly under control. When death seemed at his door, he was suddenly pulled back and safe once more. He felt as if the shadows themselves would keep him safe, perhaps he was starting to feel paranoid.

At long last it was time to return home, it was time to find ease in the hands of the Jedi Temple yet again. That is where he stood now, on the ramp of a transport that had landed near the massive compound that he called home. The planet felt, out of the ordinary. Coruscant had always felt buzzing with the massive life force of the people, being overcrowded as it was. However, it now felt, dismal. It was hard to pinpoint, but maybe it was because he had been gone for so long that he was just imagining things. He appeared to be stuck in this spot, not knowing truly how to begin again. He was grateful that he might have more time to search for Qui-Gon, more research into what had happened, but after so long; he had little hope of finding the same man.

“Bite you, the temple will not.” He heard the amused laugh, pulling him from his deep thoughts.

“That is not true, Master Yoda. Master Windu once thought blowing on my stomach as a young boy and then nipping at my skin was the epitome of comedy.” Yoda beamed a wide smile that hadn’t appeared in ages.

“Impudent you still are. Devil we were speaking….” Yoda focused in the direction of the hallway, Obi-Wan’s former master dashing toward them, with a winded youngling in tow.

“Padawan!” This was not the stoic Jedi before him; this was the man that nurtured him. He snorted as he was encompassed within the well-built arms, the warmth of familiarity embracing him tightly.

“My master.” It was such a soft murmur that Mace barely heard it, but grinned wider. He had missed this presence in his life. Not that he wasn’t kept busy with a new padawan, but there was only one Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Obi.” The timid voice behind Mace seemed almost shy. Mace released the knight, but kept his hand clasped in the others for connection. Anakin Skywalker stood before him, sporting an adorable spiky crew cut, with a short padawan braid on the left side. His master had taken another padawan.

“Padawan Skywalker, I see that I’ve missed quite a bit of gossip while I was out in the stars. Congratulations, my brother padawan.” Obi-Wan kneeled to the ground, winking at the young boy that seemed unsure about his presence. Anakin’s face all of a sudden lit up, the adolescent boy he had first met appeared and Obi-Wan suddenly had an arm full of happy padawan. “Remind me later to give you some tips on handling our Master.” He whispered loud enough for both Mace and Yoda to hear, the cackling warmed his heart. It had been so long since he had felt warmth; in fact he had felt nothing but cold since that day two years ago in the office of Chancellor Palpatine. It felt like the very universe had turned on its axis in those few minutes that he had spent with the man. It was an uncomfortable meeting; he didn’t want congratulations when so many had died, so many were still missing. He needed to be out there looking for Qui-Gon. Instead he got lip service from the politician, but the council insisted he stay on the Chancellor’s good side.

Mace turned to Anakin, his master face composed once again, “You got to greet Obi-Wan, but it’s time to get to your classes young one. Perhaps we can convince Obi-Wan to dine at our table this evening. Then you can plot your treason against me.” Mace ruffled Anakin’s hair affectionately. “Be sure to stop by and ask your Mother and Master Ezak to join us, please Ani.”

“Yes, Master.” The young boy bowed to all three of them and shot off once again. It made Obi-Wan chuckle at the bundle of energy.

“Are you sure you are young enough to keep up with that?” Obi-Wan squeezed the hand still embraced his. “Was I ever full of that much energy?”

Yoda just tapped his gimmer stick beside them and nodded. “Sometimes I wondered if good for you, Mace was. He once fed you so much frozen pallies, that bouncing off the training walls you were. Never sleep again he thought.”

Mace drew the young Knight back into his arms, giving him a tight squeeze. “I have missed you, Obi. I was wondering if we would ever see each other again. The council has kept you so busy, but that last mission.” The words sounded as if they were filled with emotion, which meant that Mace had already read his mission briefing. “Please, be more careful. I may have a new padawan, but I still adore his predecessor.”

Obi-Wan just held on tighter for a moment, yet again wondering why he always looked to have an avenging angel on his missions. “It wasn’t something I planned for Mace. If I’m honest, I just don’t understand how I keep…” The words trailed off, as he didn’t want to give voice to his thoughts.

“There is still no word of Qui-Gon, Obi. I know you think you see him from time to time, but we both know that he’s no longer within our reach.” Mace hated to bring up the subject when this was to be a joyous reunion. “You have always seen the best in people, my gentle knight. We might never know why, or how, but Qui-Gon Jinn is lost to us. The reports we have heard from the outer rim, have talked of a tall figure, with long greying hair. They describe darkness that swoops in, causing chaos. Once you go down the path of darkness, there is no coming back. You know this Obi-Wan and I hate to watch you hide yourself away from those that love you because of that hope.”

He didn’t realize he had done it, but Obi-Wan ripped his hand forcefully away from his old Master. His emotions worn on his sleeve as he turned around to gather his thoughts together. “Hope is sometimes all we have, Mace. Don’t take that hope from me. I refuse to believe that people can’t change. The code may say that there is no coming back, but the force keeps telling me there is hope.”

Mace heaved a sigh and Yoda nodded his consent. “I didn’t want to do this here, but I can’t conceal this from you, my Padawan.” Obi-wan turned back to them, his eyes threatening tears. His master very seldom used the words ‘My Padawan’ anymore. He would call him his former padawan, padawan mine, but these were words that showed his honesty and openness as no other could. “We have reports of knights disappearing. For the last two years, we have lost about forty in total. Most statements have witnesses that say they saw a dark figure fighting with them before they vanished. Those descriptions talk of a tall man, brown-silvered hair, with eyes of yellow, red lightsaber ignited. Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon has killed over a forty of our brethren. There is no saving his soul, there is no hope.”

Obi-Wan felt the bile threatening to burst from his mouth as the words started to sink in. He would not lose his cool in front of his masters. He would behave like he had earned his knighthood. “I…” The words died on his lips as he centered himself in the force; however, the force had another idea. His eyes closed as he was swept up into a vision, a planet on fire, a dark figure huddled in the corner, his eyes opening quickly to show the amber pupils before flashing back to an incredible shade of indigo. “I understand, Masters. I think I need time to meditate.”

Mace glanced at Yoda, knowing that his padawan would not accept that Qui-Gon was lost until he saw it with his own two eyes, but he couldn’t blame him. It took report after report for Mace to accept that his friend was dead, replaced by a viscous man that resembled him. “Please come for dinner this evening, Obi. Anakin, Shmi and her new husband would love to see you.”

“Husband?” This pulled Obi-Wan from his thoughts of Qui-Gon. “When? Who?”

Mace just chuckled. “About six cycles ago and Creche Master Ezak.” He let that sink in for a moment before continuing. “I won’t spoil their story; I will let them tell you over dinner. You will come, right?” Mace worried that the tired knight would refuse, but was thrilled at the small nod.

“I will see you at evening meal, Master.” Yoda just watched the by-play, as Mace walked away, leaving Obi-Wan alone with ancient master once more.

“Hope you still have.” It wasn’t a question.

“While he still breathes, I have faith. I know that it isn’t the Jedi way, but no one is beyond salvation if the force wills it.” The knight turned to leave, only to look back once more. “I may look weak and pathetic for my faith in one man, but I can’t help what my heart and the force accepts as true. He’s not lost to us yet, Master.”

Yoda observed the worn Knight leave after those brief words. He had a hard time seeing the future recently; it was clouded with darkness and deceit.

Booted feet connected on the solid floor that led into a barely lit chamber, the towering form quickly moving in front of the figure seated in an elegant chair. “You called for me, Master.” The rumbling voice of Darth Acheros began as he kneeled obediently before Sidious.

“I never dreamed you would be so beautiful in your darkness, Acheros. My striking river of sorrow has wrought havoc on the Jedi. They have no idea what is happening right under their noses, the many death’s that have been wrought by your hand have made us stronger.” Sidious rose from his chair to tower over his apprentice. “You’ve earned your rest. I set up your old chamber, I thought it…fitting.”

Darth Acheros finally stood, looming over the elder man, wondering if he could squish him like the creepy crawling bug he was. ‘Not time.’ The force echoed. No, not the force, the force had forsaken him. It made him betray those he cared for and loved. “Thank you my master. I shall retire to the quarters you provided. How long will I be here?” It was a cold, even speech.

“For as long as I will it. I can feel your thoughts; do not misunderstand my approval of your skills as license to rebel, my APPRENTICE.” The words were spat out.

“No, Master. I do thy bidding, and only your bidding.” It sounded like a haunted recording of a man who once was so full of life. This was a shell, a walking shadow of what once was.

Sidious approached him, forcing himself deep into his mind. The involuntary presence sent his body to his knees in agony. He no longer screamed out in pain, he no longer gave into those urges. Even though he had surrendered to the dark, he was still a maverick, a rebel and he would not give the monster before him the pleasure of his cries. His master’s presence made him shake with fear, anger and pain as he probed his thoughts. Nothing was off limits; nothing was a secret from his dark lord.

“You were supposed to deliver Mandalore to the Separatists, yet you slew Vizsla and left that young twit in place! Perhaps it’s time to violate my promise and get rid of that meddling red-headed Jedi!” The loathing was spat at the kneeling man. He knew that he had messed up, but even through the darkness he could not bring himself to sacrifice the dear man that had been everything to him, since day one. He had lost all his chances at a life with Obi-Wan Kenobi, but he would make sure Obi lived to have his own chance at happiness. Acheros knew he would take a brutal punishment, but he also knew that Sidious could not afford to kill him, at least not yet. His plans weren’t complete. He still had the boy to win over. Anakin had to be his before he could be rid of his current apprentice.

“Speak! Scream, you fucking shell of a human!” The silence only infuriated his master all the more, and it made him want to smile for the first time in two years. It was a balm to his soul that little else could provide. He peered up into the yellow eyes of his master, a smirk on his face as he was held by the neck, an invisible hand wrapped tightly around his flesh as the air started to thin. “I thought we were beyond this rebellion, but perhaps you need another lesson. Perhaps, Obi-Wan needs a new lesson.” Sidious knew that beating Acheros would not help; the man would just use the pain to strengthen himself. However, he knew all the soft spots. “Ventress, The Jedi is all yours. Finish what this pathetic creature cannot.” He spoke the words into a comm attached to his chair.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” Acheros was instantaneously on his feet, his saber ignited and aimed at the dark lord before him.

“Yes, Yes. You are finally letting your hatred fuel you. You could strike me down, but then what would hold you in check. What would prevent you from doing all the evil that you now fear?” Sidious brought himself closer to the blade. “Do it.”

Qui-Gon, no he couldn’t think of himself like that anymore. Acheros closed his eyes and gathered himself. “Please, call her off. I will do anything you wish.” This was the moment he had dreaded for two years. He had given up everything. He had given up the light, the Jedi, he even gave up the living force as he didn’t deserve its comfort. He knew the salacious desires that his master had for him, and knew that this one act would finally break him completely, but it was just his body. His heart would never be there, he would never love this hideous creature.

“Your new quarters will have to wait a bit longer. Tonight you will grace my chambers.” Acheros’ saber was extinguished as his master came closer. His fingers lightly dragged over his cheek in some masquerade of caring, making his skin crawl at the touch. ‘Forgive me, it’s only my body.’ He thought to no one in particular as he followed his master to his sleeping chamber.

Obi-Wan had again found himself in front of the towering tree in the middle of the island in the gardens. Its branches a bit withered since the last time he had been here. The aura that he had once sought was barely a whisper in the force. Could it be that the tree drooped and wept for the aura that was fading? “Perhaps you are just going mad.” Obi-Wan spoke to no one in particular, just into the humid warmth of the garden. “I miss him as much as you do. It’s been three years since I met that stubborn man with the brooding attitude. How do I keep moving forward, how do I keep my hope alive when everyone is telling me it’s all lost?” He knew that he would find no answers here, but it felt good to be in the same place that Qui-Gon had once been.

It had felt like an eon since he had time to meditate. Obi-Wan sunk to his knees, feeling the soft grass under his knees. The sun focused on his body, warming him up. How long had he been cold? Had it been so long since he felt anything but coldness? The force enveloped him suddenly, whirling around him anew. This didn’t feel like a vision, no it wasn’t a warning in the force, but it was calling to him all the same. He let it guide him as it desired. He sensed Qui-Gon, the loneliness and the feelings of shame as he was overcome with pleasure. No, please no. He didn’t want these feelings, it was wrong. Wrong, WRONG, WRONG! The force seemed to shout for him to stop it.

“Obi-Wan!” The words were wretched from Qui-Gon’s lips as he felt a sharp pain.

“How dare you scream his name in pleasure? You are mine, mine to love!” The words were sharp and viscous as he felt Qui shout in pain, until the connection was broken.

“Qui-Gon…” He gulped as he regarded the gardens again. The darkness started to swirl around Obi-Wan as he thought about someone taking what was his, what was meant for him. How dare that THING try to take his place? He was supposed to possess that heart, that body.

“Obi?” It was a small timid voice that came closer and closer.

“Mine!” It was low growl that would frighten most anyone.

“Obi-Wan, please…” Obi-Wan wrapped his hand tightly around Anakin’s upper arms. His body tense from the vision. What was he doing? His arms quickly let go of the child, falling back on his ass in shock.

“Ani, I. I’m so sorry.” The boy just rubbed at his probably bruised arms and shook his head.

“I shouldn’t have interrupted, but I felt.” He struggled for the right words. “I felt something black, something muddled. I don’t know the right words. I was scared for you.” Obi-Wan shook his head, still unhinged from the experience.

“You did nothing wrong Anakin. Do you understand? I was, caught up in something and you helped me break that.” Anakin looked to his feet, still unsure of himself. It was a look that Obi-Wan often wore before Mace had taken him as padawan. That need for an adult to provide guidance and reassurance.

“He loves you.”

Obi-Wan pushed the boy away just slightly to look into his eyes. “Ani?”

“I felt, some of what was happening, but I could feel his love and it wasn’t for the other.” Anakin felt uncomfortable with what he felt, but he wanted to comfort his brother.

“Thank you Ani. Can we keep this between us?” He hated keeping secrets from Mace, or asking Ani to, but he wasn’t ready to speak of this yet. He had no idea how he felt. He never wanted to possess someone so entirely in his life. These feelings were not of the light, they were not the Jedi way.

“I won’t tell, Obi.” The young boy looked suddenly shy and awkward. “Master sent me to get you for dinner. He thought you might have gotten sidetracked.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t even noticed that the sun no longer shown, what had felt like minutes to him had been hours. “I guess I did. Lead the way Ani.”

“Did I tell you that I might get to learn to fly? Master Mace said you have a friend that would show me around some of the transport and fighters.” Obi-Wan was still lost in his thoughts when he finally caught up.

“Garen?”

“I think so, I haven’t met him yet, but Master said I had to ask him about you. He said you would fill me on all the embarrassing things.” The boy giggled, no longer phased by the scene before. It was amazing, how quickly his brother padawan could forgive. He was blessed with that forgiveness and promised to not take it for granted.

“Hmm, I might have to have a talk with Garen and remind him that there are secrets I too can share.” He winked at the boy and motioned ahead of him. “Lead the way, let’s not leave your Master and Mother waiting.”

#quiobi #Qui Gon Jinn #obi wan kenobi #the philosophy of lost chaces #jinnobi #Darth Acheros #Sith Qui Gon

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