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triscribeaucollection · 4 months

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@foxstronaut: #YEAH SO I DID IN FACT WANT TO SEE IT#this is so good……this au just keeps getting better……….tysm for the link to this post!!#the wider context of the time travel……the fallout of bens betrayal…..#positively eating this up#also if i can ask- what is the ‘shereshoy’ mentioned in ur tag? :0

Shereshoy is the capstone of my Vod'e An Star Wars series, which is ALL about time travel, but I keep copy-pasting the intro scene into different AUs because it is. Definitely one of my favorite bits of writing to date.

Here's the series summary:

Have you ever seen a time traveler dropped into the middle of someone else's butterfly effect? How about several dozen someones? AKA I nabbed all my fave clone troopers and sprinkled them into a much happier galaxy, with a touch of violence on top. As a treat.

Aaand just for laughs, here's the intro scene in question:

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The Force screamed in the middle of the night, and Ahsoka lurched awake with one overriding thought: not again.

Both lightsabers immediately flew to her hands as she rolled out of bed - boots and outer robes left behind in her sprint for the door. For the first time since constructing her own hab at Luke’s school, Ahsoka regretted putting herself on a neighboring ridge instead of down in the valley among the students.

Even as she ran, the Force flickered with another youngling’s death.

Beams of red light in the darkness, matched to knots of Dark power, drew her forward at even greater speed. Bounding off rocks and trees, the togruta remained nearly silent with every leap; she instinctively shielded herself with the Force to mask her approach, until the moment she burst out over the heads of three Sith acolytes, and let her own power flare.

Their helmeted heads snapped upwards. In the span of two heartbeats, her white sabers slashed, and those same heads fell to the ground, their bodies following after a brief pause.

Ahsoka landed in a battle-ready crouch, positioned defensively over a boy collapsed on the ground. When no further Sith revealed themselves, she deactivated and tucked away one lightsaber, freed hand reaching for the teenager at her feet. “Jacen?”

“I’m okay,” he rasped, heart pounding hard enough her lekku could feel the vibrations. “What- what’s happening?”

“Another Purge,” Ahsoka said, fighting hard to keep her voice level. “Can you feel Ezra?” After a moment’s pause, his face scrunched with desperate concentration, Jacen nodded. “Then let’s go. I’ll watch your back.”

The boy staggered upright, and led her around to the far side of the school buildings: student sleeping huts, a kitchen and meal hall, storage and laundry and library. Most of them bore scorch marks and other damage, while further up the valley, the actual temple where Luke handled meditation and combat training burned.

Storm clouds rumbled overhead, an echo of the fury roaring in Ahsoka’s mind. Twice, cracks of lightning revealed fallen bodies as she and Jacen ran past.

Another set of Sith attempted an ambush, only to falter when they registered her white lightsabers. Ahsoka didn’t hesitate to leap forward and deal with them swiftly, before any attention could be turned to the padawan beside her. Jacen, thankfully, didn’t attempt to join her, nor did he comment afterward - but his Force-presence shivered and pulled in even tighter on itself.

The next enemies they came across were a squad of stormtroopers, concentrating fire on a solitary figure, who deflected incoming plasma bolts and shot back his own with the same weapon. Ahsoka could sense two more younglings hidden behind Ezra’s billowed cloak, and increased her speed.

One trooper spotted her mid-charge. He and his neighbor turned to shoot at the new target, but their bolts went wild, too far off the mark to even require deflection. Ridiculous, Ahsoka could hear in her mind, as she spun and slashed, No brother would have gotten off Kamino with aim like that; do they even bother training these shinies, or just hand ‘em armor and a blaster and a new set of orders?

Faster than droids, but not nearly as fast or coordinated as clones, which meant Ahsoka carved through the stormtroopers within moments. As the last blaster fell in pieces to the ground, she saw Jacen dash past to crash against his favorite teacher with a desperate hug. Ezra wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders, the other still holding his lightsaber. “Ahsoka?”

“Get to my ship,” she ordered, as another peal of thunder rang above their heads, and the first few raindrops began to fall. “Don’t wait for anyone else, just take off and get to safety.”

Expression grim, Ezra nodded, and turned to drop into a crouch. He helped Alora get to her feet, the girl holding Grogu against her chest. “Pypey?”

The teenager shook her head, headscarf gone, face covered in tears. Ezra didn’t waste any more time before hustling her and Jacen off, towards the hidden landing pad where they kept hyper-capable craft. Ahsoka barely waited before hurrying onward again.

She passed more bodies; some students, some stormtroopers, the occasional Sith in black and red armor. The rain began coming down harder, turning the ground slick with mud, dragging visibility down to mere feet and severely impacting how much Ahsoka could sense with her hollow montrals.

But the Force didn’t falter. Every leap took her from one mostly-stable spot to another, following further death knells and surges of power, all the way up to the front steps of the old Jedi temple set into the mountainside. All the way to Luke.

Despite his much smaller stature, he moved like Anakin, and she could feel the intense emotions racing through him. One trooper after another fell, Luke refusing to let any of them put so much as a single foot on the steps into his school, his Academy. More bodies sprawled across the stones behind him; only one still flickered faintly with life.

Ahsoka took over the fight.

She landed ahead and just to one side of Luke, better positioned to defend the one student still gasping for breath. “Go! Take her and go!” Her fellow Jedi hesitated, clearly torn between multiple directions. “She’s dying, Luke, take Jaina and go, NOW!”

His Force-presence flared, then settled, decision made. Ahsoka felt the man lunge, scoop up his wounded student, and bolt into the Temple. She knew he’d follow a secret route out to the far side of the mountain, where an overhang sheltered his old X-Wing. With any luck, Artoo would be waiting, engines already fired up and ready to take off.

Even without luck, Ahsoka would buy them enough time to escape. Raindrops sizzled off her lightsabers as she swept them through the air, evaporating into steam that trailed after her every movement.

And Ahsoka moved.

#star wars #vod'e an series #ahsoka tano #time travel fixit #shereshoy #which was SUPPOSED to be the final installment #but then haat ijaa haa'it happened #and who knows when that will be finished #but that's just individual snippet chapters #the full plot of the series is Done and Dusted

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lilacwisps · 1 year

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the course of true love (never did run smooth)

Ship: Sebastian Sallow x Ravenclaw Female Player Character Rating: T Summary: When Sebastian and Ava get caught stealing potion ingredients from the greenhouses, only one way out comes to mind.

ao3 link

On a crisp yet sunny October morning, the Transfiguration Courtyard was filled with people. Sebastian leaned against the balustrade separating the courtyard from the small pond, resting his chin lazily on the palm of his hand as he looked out on the water. A myriad of tiny silver glimmers just below the water's surface drew his eye - Sebastian looked closer and saw a shoal of fish scurrying about the pond's floor.

Watching fish was not exactly Sebastian's idea of fun. Still, he had about twenty minutes to kill before meeting Ominis, who - after an extended argument - had promised to let Sebastian "borrow" his Potions assignment. Between yet another excursion to the Restricted Section and all of his detentions, Sebastian had absolutely no time to complete all of his homework- and he had told Ominis as much.

"Very well," Ominis finally relented, "But this is the last time I'm letting you copy my work."

Sebastian easily agreed, knowing all too well that it won't be the last - Ominis liked to scold Sebastian for his careless attitude, but he did not want Sebastian to fail any of the classes. Especially not right before the O.W.L.s.

"Sebastian," Ava Rosier's voice distracted him from his thoughts, "There you are. I need your help."

When Sebastian turned to Ava, he instantly knew she must have just gotten out of the Flying Class with Madam Kogawa. She was dressed in blue Ravenclaw flying robes, her long hair was windswept and tousled, and pale pink blush bloomed on her cheeks. Momentarily distracted, Sebastian smiled at Ava before catching himself.

"Skipping pleasantries and going straight to business this morning, huh?" he said, "I like that."

"You are so not the one to talk about manners," Ava leaned back against the granite column and crossed her arms before her, "And besides - I had just seen you not two hours ago. Or have you forgotten?"

Sebastian had not - Ava was the one who helped him get into the Restricted Section earlier that night. Not that he needed her - or anyone's - help - after all, very few students knew the secret passageways of Hogwarts better than him. But after the night he got Ava to the Restricted Section during the first week of school, it became almost a tradition between them to sneak into the library together. It increased the risk of getting caught, of course, but Sebastian always maintained that doing illicit things with someone was at least twice as fun as doing them alone, making the risk worth it. Simple math, really.

Besides, while he did not need her help actually getting into the Libarty, it was helpful to get some external ideas for his rule-breaking routine - such as Ava's suggestion to start all their illicit outings between three and four in the morning rather than just past midnight.

"At that hour, the librarian is most certainly gone, and all the prefects can hardly keep their eyes open, so they are much less likely to investigate anything suspicious," she told him.

Sebastian was not too fond of waking up that early, but after a few night outings, he had to admit that Ava was right.

"See, I always knew we'd make a great team," he told her, to which Ava only smiled.

A loud splash of water pulled Sebastian out of his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder only to see a group of first-years tossing rocks into the lake, each trying to prove they could make their rock leap farther than everyone else.

"No," he said, turning to Ava, "How could I forget? So then, what is it you need?"

Sebastian Sallow liked a few things better than having friends in his debt, which was why he would hear Ava out. And what else could be the reason? Most certainly not the soft half-smile that bloomed on her lips when she thanked him or the pretty blush that rose in her cheeks when they had to run from prefects or the librarian.

Ava glanced at the group of first-years on the other side of the marble pavilion. Satisfied that they were out of earshot, she turned her back to the balustrade and hopped up, settling down on the top rail. It was an odd change of perspective for Sebastian - usually, she was more than a head shorter, but now her face was almost level with his.

"Don't be so loud," she murmured softly, "It's best that no one else hears us."

"Well, now I am most certainly intrigued," Sebastian lowered his voice and shifted closer, "Let me guess - it has something to do with the Restricted Section."

"Not this time," Ava chuckled, and Sebastian raised his eyebrow - now that was surprising. Fortunately, Ava didn't leave him wondering for too long, "I need you to help me steal some Sopophorous Beans from the greenhouses."

The request surprised Sebastian - given their history together, he had expected Ava to ask him to join her on a trip to the Forbidden Forest at the very least - or, perhaps, on a detour to a goblin camp to make sure that filth didn't spread. Stealing from the greenhouses was not something he could have guessed - and that made him all the more curious.

"What do you need them for?" Sebastian asked.

Since Ava mentioned the Sopophorous Beans, he'd been trying to remember if he'd ever heard of them. The name sounded vaguely familiar, to be sure. Still, his mind kept coming up blank on the beans' magical properties - unfortunately for Sebastian, neither Herbology nor Potions were his strong subjects.

Ava tilted her head, looking Sebastian straight in the eye, "I'm trying to brew the Draught of the Living Death."

Sebastian looked at her, blinking slowly as he processed Ava's words. Potions may not have been his strong suit, but he knew just enough about the Draught of the Living Death to understand its dangers. He'd heard from some seventh-year students that this draught used to be taught in the N.E.W.T. level potions class - but after someone poured it into the cups of the entire Hufflepuff Quidditch team - no doubt as retribution for winning the Quidditch Cup - it was removed from the curriculum.

To many, that sounded like just another rumor - but Sebastian knew more than his fair share of sore losers, so he believed it.

"What can you possibly need that for?" he asked, frowning.

"I cannot tell you right now," Ava released her grip on the railing to brush her windswept hair out of her face.

"Does it have something to do with the trials you've told me about?" Sebastian leaned in closer so he could speak quietly.

Ava held his gaze, silent and still, then nodded slowly.

Sebastian was sure that he knew Ava better than anyone else at Hogwarts - and yet, so much about her remained a mystery. Still, he did not mind - the draw of the unknown has always been inexorable to him.

"It's a dangerous brew," he cautioned, "I hope you know what you are doing."

"I appreciate the warning," Ava replied, placing her hands back on the railing, "But you do not need to worry about me."

All of a sudden, Sebastian was acutely aware of how close their hands were - warmth radiated from Ava's skin, and if he shifted his fingers ever so slightly, he could brush against the back side of her palm…Which was something he most definitely was not going to do.

Shaking his head, Sebastian chased away the unwelcome thoughts and focused on Ava's request. So, how would they steal Sopophorous Beans? While Sebastian did not know the greenhouses as well as he knew the Restricted Section of the library, it did not take a genius to figure out that a plant like this would likely be in a special area accessible only to N.E.W.T-level Herbology students and Professor Garlick herself.

"Suppose I agreed to help you," Sebastian said, "But what exactly is your plan? If Sopophorous beans are grown in the special area of the greenhouses - as I suspect they would be, given their uses - it would be no easy feat to get to them. Professor Garlick keeps the corridor leading to that greenhouse under lock and key - and always seals it with an anti-Alohomora charm. We cannot exactly ask her to let us in - so what do you propose we do?"

"Well, now I know for certain you don't pay attention in Herbology," Ava chuckled as she tilted her head to the side, studying Sebastian's face. A moment later, she widened her eyes in faux shock and leaned in closer - lowering her voice to barely a whisper as though sharing the biggest secret, "Don't tell me it's because of Professor Garlick. I knew it! Ever since that first Herbology class, you were always so awfully distracted."

Sebastian rolled his eyes as warmth rose to his cheeks. Of course, she'd remember. The night before that Herbology class, Sebastian helped Ava sneak into the Restricted Section of the library for the first time. As luck would have it, they've stumbled upon Peeves, who could not wait to tell Scribner all about their little adventures, leaving Sebastian no choice but to go back to deal with the fallout, all to buy Ava time to continue her search.

He never saw her again that night - the librarian marched him straight to Headmaster Black's office, where he'd been threatened with all kinds of disciplinary actions until Ominis's interference reduced his punishment to detention.

Sebastian became exceedingly worried when he did not see Ava at breakfast the next day. She seemed capable enough to handle all the obstacles she'd faced thus far, but what if he made a mistake leaving her alone that night in the Restricted Section? What if something had happened to her?

When he later saw Ava walking down the stairs into the greenhouse, his heart thumped in his chest. And if he smiled at Ava when professor Garlick introduced her to the class, that was only because he was so relieved to see her alive and well - and not at all because of the way his heart skipped a beat when their eyes met.

Chasing the thoughts away, Sebastian shrugged.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he responded to Ava's jab, "Unfortunately for you, I'll just have to leave you wondering - after all, I can't be going around telling you all my secrets now, can I?"

"No need to say anything," Ava replied, "You aren't half as discreet as you think you are. But, if you were to pay attention in Herbology, you would notice that on Thursdays, Professor Garlick always comes out of the locked section of the greenhouse right before our class starts and doesn't properly lock the door until the class is over. All we need to do is sneak into that corridor before it's locked."

Sebastian nodded along - while this wasn't the most elaborate plan, he's heard much worse in his five years at Hogwrats.

"And it just so happens that today's a Thursday," he said slowly.

"Yes," Ava smiled, "Isn't that convenient?"

Sebastian sighed - if he were to get detention again today, Ominis would undoubtedly be extremely cross with him - all the more reason not to get caught.

"And how certain are you that everything will go as you expect?" Sebastian asked wearily.

"Unlike some people, I pay attention in Herbology," Ava said, looking Sebastian in the eye, "And Professor Garlick has been leaving the door to that corridor unlocked during our class the past three weeks."

Sebastian frowned - three weeks is far from long enough to ensure the plan is foolproof, but he has to admit that Ava certainly put some thought into it.

"So," Ava leaned back on her arms and looked at Sebastian impatiently, "Will you help me?"

"The success of your plan hinges on an awful lot of assumptions," Sebastian mused, running through all the steps in his mind.

"Says the man who almost got us caught at the Restricted Section during the first week, all because he believed that the librarian is "usually" gone after midnight," Ava chuckled.

"But we didn't get caught," Sebastian retorted.

"Technically, we did," Ava said, tilting her head and letting her hair fall to the side. Soft fall sun caught in the dark brown strands of her hair, turning it almost gold. It took a moment before Sebastian realized that he'd been staring.

"Don't start," he said, frustrated by Ava's words and his own disposition.

"If you don't want to help me, you can just say that," Ava shrugged lightly. Next thing Sebastian knew, she hopped off the balustrade and stood beside him, "I could always ask Garreth Weasley - he does still owe me for that time at Hogsmeade… I suppose I better go find him - not much time left until Herbology."

A dark, burning feeling uncoiled in Sebastian's chest as he thought about Ava approaching Garreth Weasley for help. It almost shocked Sebastian how much he loathed the thought - he'd never been all that possessive over his friends. But something about her felt different - ever since they went to Hogsmeade on the first day of class. Ever since she beat him in that duel during the Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

They share a special connection - of that much, Sebastian is certain. He understood her better than anyone at the school did - and most definitely better than Garreth Weasley, of all people.

Ava was almost halfway across the pavilion when he called after her.

"I'd hate to see you get caught," he said, "And if you bring someone like Weasley, that outcome is all but guaranteed. Luckily for you, I'm feeling benevolent today, so I'm willing to help."

"Oh?" Ava stopped and glanced at Sebastian over her shoulder, "And what happened to change your mind?"

"I just pictured professor Fig's disappointed face when he learns that his favorite student is in detention until the end of the semester and realized that I cannot do that to the old man," Sebastian said, approaching Ava.

She studied his face briefly, then a half-smile spread across her lips, "How kind and generous of you."

"What can I say," Sebastian replied, then added, "Now, just so I understand the scope of the problem - what exactly do you need me to do? Do you need a lookout? Or would you rather I come along and help steal the beans? Or, perhaps, you want me to distract Professor Garlick?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," Ava laughed, "But, alas, whatever designs you have on Professor Garlick will have to wait. I'm assuming you are not at all familiar with the Sopophorous Beans; otherwise, you'd know that there is no way to collect them alone - someone needs to be holding the root leaves to make the plant release the beans in the first place. So you'll need to come along."

Sebastian nodded along - holding leaves sounds easy enough. "And have you thought about how we will get out of the greenhouses?" he asked.

"Hopefully, the same way we got in," Ava replied, leaning against the marble column behind her, "If we manage to keep Professor Garlick distracted long enough."

"I could think of a few spells that could help with that," Sebastian mused. There were several strong contenders, but Sebastian always maintained that it was usually better to go with something simpler in a situation like this one.

"That's what I like to hear," Ava smiled, "Thank you, Sebastian."

"I told you I can help you, and I will," Sebastian crossed his arms before adding, "Even if your plan is a little half-baked. Fortunately for you, I am feeling charitable today."

"Lucky me," Ava chuckled lightly.

The sound of bells filled the courtyard - the clock struck ten, notifying students to hurry to their next class. Ominis must be getting out of his Arithmancy class right about now.

"Ominis will be really disappointed if he learns what we've been up to," Sebastian remarked, watching the doors to the courtyard.

"Then we'll have to make sure we don't get caught, so he won't have to find out," Ava replied calmly, "Worst comes to worst, I'm sure we could make it up to him."

Sebastian could not even begin to imagine what that would entail - any time he'd spoken to Ominis after getting into trouble with the faculty, he'd always gotten an earful from his friend. But Ava seemed to have a way with Ominis - so much so that he'd agreed to help them find Slytherin's Scriptorium after she asked him once, even though he previously refused Sebastian's pleas outright. It's good that his and Ava's interests were aligned thus far.

"I better hurry," Ava continued, "I still need to change before my next class. Thanks for the help, Sebastian - I will see you in Herbology."

Three hours before Herbology passed in a blink of an eye - Ominis came by almost as soon as Ava left, bringing with him the potions assignment Sebastian so desperately needed to copy. Without wasting a minute, Sebastian got to work - the assignment was so lengthy that even using Ominis's work as a guide, Sebastian was only finished right before it was time to head to class.

This Herbology class was dedicated to tending to aconite flowers. After setting up his workstation, Sebastian glanced at the door leading to the sealed-off part of the greenhouses to see if Ava was correct. He watched Professor Garlick appear through the door a moment before the class started - and saw that she did not lock it.

Impressive, Sebastian thought, looking over to Ava, who only shrugged.

To Sebastian's surprise, the lesson passed by with hardly any accidents. Only Everett Clopton had to leave halfway through due to aconite poisoning - somehow, he thought it would be wise to handle the leaves without gloves.

"Five minutes left," Professor Garlick announced as the lesson was drawing to a close, "Please wrap up your tasks and clean up your workstations."

Sebastian glanced over at Ava and nodded. Setting aside his trowel, Sebastian picked up the watering can and brought it to the shelves at the back of the class. Once there, he scanned the classroom to ensure no one was looking before quickly pulling out his wand.

The archway to the right of the shelves opened to a smaller greenhouse room. Looking in, Sebastian noticed six flowerpots hanging from the ceiling with dense green overgrowth spilling over the sides of the pots. Perfect.

Sebastian was already back at his workstation when a loud sound of clay shattering rang through the greenhouse.

"Oh no," Professor Garlick - who'd been checking over Natty's aconite plant - exclaimed as she looked up and saw shattered pots on the ground in the other room, "I knew they were too heavy - I should have repotted them sooner."

"Do you need help, Professor?" Samantha Dale asked.

"No, no, it's alright," Professor Garlick replied, "I would hate for any of you to be late to your next lesson - class dismissed."

With that, Professor Garlick hurried off to the smaller room, musing out loud about which pots to use for replanting. Everyone else was still packing up when Ava caught Seabstain's gaze. "Now's the time," she whispered.

Sebastian and Ava quickly made their way through the corridor leading out of the greenhouses and walked through the door on the left that Professor Garlick forgot to lock earlier instead of heading up the stairs to the exit.

Sebastian had extensively explored Hogwarts in his five years at the school - and yet, he'd never been to this part of the greenhouses. The short corridor ended, opening into a large room. Soft autumn light poured in through the roof's green and yellow glass panels. In the center of the room were three smaller greenhouses with iridescent, almost milky-white glass walls.

"Do you know what that Sopophorous Bean plant looks like?" Sebastian asked as they approached the greenhouses.

"It's a short, pale green plant with long, thin leaves," Ava responded, carefully studying the contents of the first greenhouse through the glass walls, "And the beans are small and silvery-white - they are very similar to mistletoe berries."

Sebastian nodded and turned his attention to the inside of the second greenhouse. They've gotten this far, but they needed to act quickly, or they could get caught.

"There!" Ava said suddenly, pointing inside the greenhouse on the left, "Next to the Alihosty in the corner."

With that, she walked over to the small door on the side of the greenhouse and decisively pulled it open. Sebastian followed, careful not to touch overhanging leaves bursting from various pots and flowerbeds. Though he recognized some of the plants, there were many he'd never seen before, and he did not feel like this was the right moment to try his luck.

Ava walked over to a small pale plant nested in the tiny pot next to a bigger one with green and red leaves and crouched before it.

"Careful," she said, looking at Sebastian over her shoulder, "Make sure you do not touch Alihosty - even the smallest contact can induce a bout of hysteria and uncontrollable laughter."

Wonderful.

"Thank you for the warning," Sebastian replied.

"Hold these two leaves," Ava said, pointing at the two root leaves at the bottom of the Sopophorus plant's stem, "The stronger you pull, the quicker I can collect the beans, and we can be out of here."

Sebastian nodded, then reached forward, gripping the Sopophorus leaves firmly. The leaves felt warm and almost soft to the touch, but when he tried to pull, they offered a surprising amount of resistance. It took more effort than Sebastian cared to admit to pull the leaves away from the stem.

Ava got a small satchel from her book bag and got to work collecting small white beans that resembled tiny pearls. Keeping the leaves away from the stem was not easy, but Ava worked fast - it was only a couple of minutes later that she looked up at him and said, "All done - let's get out of here."

Sebastian did not need to be asked twice. They quickly made their way out of the small greenhouse and were about to walk around it to head to the corridor leading to an exit when a clear sound of footsteps suddenly came from that direction.

"Not good," Ava whispered, "Do you think it's Professor Garlick?"

"Who else could it be?" Sebastian said, looking to the corridor, "Can't believe she's already finished with all the plants."

He'd thought that making more than a few flower pots fall would make professor Garlick too suspicious - but if he had known how little time it'd take her to replant everything, he would have cast a spell on at least a dozen.

"Should have broken more pots," Ava sighed.

"A little too late for that now," Sebastian whispered, frustrated, then looked at Ava, "So, what are we going to do?"

When sneaking around the castle at night, Sebastian relied quite heavily on the disillusionment charm. It worked well on prefects - but there was no way they could fool a professor with that one.

The steps were drawing closer. Ava looked around, no doubt in search of another exit from the greenhouse - but, to their chagrin, it seemed that the only way out was the way they came in. Finally, she turned back to Sebastian.

"Kiss me," she said.

Sebastian blinked slowly, processing Ava's words. Surely he'd misheard - surely, she did not just ask him to kiss her. His gaze dropped, unbidden, to Ava's lips and lingered far longer than it should have.

"What?" he'd asked, forcing himself to look her back in the eye.

"Kiss me," Ava repeated impatiently.

Sebastian stared at her, dumbfounded. Was it possible that she'd accidentally touched a plant she shouldn't have? Were there any plants that had properties similar to love potions?

His eyes shifted, yet again, to her lips, and his heart raced. Before Sebastian could say anything, Ava's hands clenched the lapels of his robes, and suddenly, she was pulling him forward with a strength that was utterly unexpected for her small frame. Next thing Sebastian knew - she was pressing her lips against his.

Dizzying heat rushed through his body as his heart fluttered against his ribcage, and before he'd realized what he was doing, Sebastian responded to the kiss. Her lips were warm and soft against his, her movements decisive yet teasing - skillful. Clearly, this was not a first.

A sharp, bitter feeling uncoiling in his chest at the mere thought of Ava being with someone else stunned Sebastian. That someone else would dare touch her, let alone kiss her, felt like a personal offense - one Sebastian had no intention of taking lightly if he'd ever found out who it was.

But then Ava's fingers snaked through his hair as she pulled Sebastian even closer, deepening the kiss, and suddenly, his mind was delightfully blank. The few coherent thoughts at the very edges of his consciousness finally put the puzzle pieces together, making Sebastian realize why Ava's kissing him.

Could this really work?

Even if it didn't work, Sebastian had no regrets - not when she was kissing him like that. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her closer, savoring every intoxicating second of this stolen moment. Between one heartbeat and the next, they would, no doubt, be caught, but he had no intention of stopping until there was no other choice. Not when he'd just realized what he had ached for since the day they'd met. Besides, the plan was to make this look believable, wasn't it?

"This part of the greenhouses is off-limits to students," Professor Garlick's bright voice was almost startling, "Oh my…"

Instantly, Sebastian felt Ava pull away - it took more restraint than Sebastian would like to admit to let go of her. His heart still pounded in his chest, and he could feel a deep crimson blush bloom on his face, but when he looked over at Ava, only the fadest shade of pink rose in her cheeks.

Professor Garlick stood in front of them, clearly embarrassed, almost not knowing where to look.

"I uh…My apologies," she spoke quickly, having regained some of her composure, "But as I said, these greenhouses are off-limits to students. Miss Rosier may be a new student, but you should know that by now, Mr. Sallow."

"It's my fault, Professor," Ava murmured. Between her downcast eyes and a sad smile blooming on her lips, Ava's face was the very picture of repentance, and Sebastian was thoroughly impressed. "I saw an open door in the corridor and didn't realize where it led, and then…"

"I understand," Professor Garlick's replied calmly, "But that doesn't change the fact that you went to the off-limits section of the greenhouses. Just so you know, a punishment for such an infraction is usually detention."

Sebastian could barely suppress a sigh - he'd already had more hours of detention scheduled for this semester than he could count, and now this.

"But," Professor Garlick's voice suddenly softened, "Given the…circumstances, I do not think detention would be necessary. If you both promise me never to enter this part of the greenhouses again, I think ten points off Ravenclaw and Slytherin each would be enough of a lesson."

Sebastian could hardly believe his ears - he had his ways of getting out of trouble with the faculty, but that required spinning elaborate tales. Was Professor Garlick going to let them off the hook just like that?

"Of course, Professor," Ava replied swiftly, "We are very sorry - this will not happen again."

"You have our word, Professor Garlick," Sebastian added.

Professor Garlick looked between him and Ava and smiled.

"Very well," she said, "I am glad that the two of you have learned your lesson. Now I think it's time for you to be on your way."

Neither Sebastian nor Ava needed to be told to leave twice. Sebastian was still surprised that this ridiculous plan worked - and only resulted in ten-point deductions to both their houses. As they walked into the corridor, Sebastian could have sworn that he had heard professor Garlick hum something about "young love." Instantly, Sebastian felt color rise in his cheeks.

The ghost of Ava's kiss still lingered on his lips, spreading warmth through his body and making blood rush in his veins.

"Only ten points deducted - what a bargain," Ava chuckled, walking beside him. Sebastian looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed quite unaffected by everything that transpired - and, for some reason, that thought stung.

"I'm surprised it worked," Sebastian offered, his voice a little hoarse, "Frankly, that was a ridiculous plan."

"You just need to know your audience," Ava smiled, "A trick like this had a chance of working on someone easily flustered, like Professor Garlick, but would never work on someone like Professor Sharp."

The thought of just what they'd need to do at that greenhouse to fluster Professor Sharp set Sebastian's cheeks ablaze.

They walked through the half-empty Central Hall, then up a few flights of stairs. On the third floor, Ava stopped and turned to Sebastian. "Thank you for your help," she smiled, "And I must say, I'm quite impressed: you're pretty good - that was almost believable."

"You weren't so bad yourself," Sebastian shrugged lightly as if his heart did not skip a beat.

"I owe you one for this ordeal with the beans," Ava replied, "So if there are any trolls or goblins or, I don't know…inferi you need help dealing with, just let me know."

"I told you I'd help you get those beans - and I always keep my word," Sebastian said proudly, looking Ava straight in the face, "You're lucky you decided to ask me for help first - had you brought along someone like Weasley, you would definitely have been caught and on your way to detention right now."

"Hmm, I don't know about that one," Ava mused, tilting her head to the side, "After all, that little trick we pulled on Professor Garlick was Garreth's idea."

Sebastian's stomach dropped as blood rushed in his ears, and an all too familiar burning feeling started to uncoil in his chest.

"When I was helping him sneak out to Hogsmeade, Garreth suggested we do this if his aunt catches us - perhaps, hoping she'd be too embarrassed to inflict any disciplinary consequences upon him," Ava continued, "To be honest, I thought the plan silly - Professor Weasley is hardly a blushing maiden, so something like this is unlikely to startle her. But I'd remembered his words just now at the greenhouses and thought that this might just work on Professor Garlick - and, fortunately, it did. Perhaps, I should thank him."

Sebastian hated the idea of Ava sneaking around with Garreth Weasley to his very core. Weasley was charming but a fool and sooner or later would get into trouble - and would get Ava in trouble with him.

"Anyways, the potion won't brew itself, so I'll be on my way. I should have all the ingredients now, but if I encounter an issue with it later, I might have to ask you for help again. That is, of course, if I'm fortunate enough and you are feeling generous again," Ava chuckled, "Otherwise, I suppose I'll have to settle for someone with less expertise in breaking school rules."

"I suppose I have no choice but to keep helping you," Sebastian crossed his arms, "Otherwise, if you get in trouble and get expelled, how will I ever collect on your promise about fighting trolls and goblins and - what was that - inferi?"

"I suppose you don't," Ava replied, "Truly, an unfortunate position to be in."

"Things I do for you" Sebastian shook his head, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

Ava chuckled, then took a step closer. Sebastian's gaze dropped down to her lips for a split second before he forced himself to look her back in the eye.

"You are a good friend, Sebastian," Ava smiled, "I'll see you later in the Astronomy class."

As Sebastian watched Ava leave, a conflicting whirlwind of emotions raged inside his chest. He needed some air - or, perhaps, a butterbeer or two - to gather his thoughts and clear his head. While he did not know what that encounter in the greenhouse meant for them, one thing was for certain - he had no intention of sharing Ava's affections with anyone.

#sebastian sallow x mc #OC: Ava Rosier

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kotaerukoto · 2 months

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Playing CCC is making me think about the Extraverse Makoto I wrote. He's an NPC-turned-Master (because the Moon's Grail War is opt-in and Makoto wouldn't join it from the outside) in the same vein as Hakuno and Twice, and his original purpose was as a background mob to fill out the preliminary Tsukumihara, make it seem more "lively". The original Makoto was already sometimes seen as so normal it was abnormal, after all. Anyway, because he was just a mob character, he wasn't given any information about the HGW, SE.RA.PH, or anything. He is just a copy/paste of the original Makoto at the time he was a senior in high school, and so only has memories up until there. Think Simon from SOMA-- that's the key difference between him and say Hakuno, Makoto never had Amnesia Syndrome so, to him, it was like he suddenly realized that he was in a completely different place and school than the one he remembered being in. That's one of the things that caused him to gain true sentience, along with his intrinsic desire to keep going. The repetition of the prelims would put that part of him into gear-- his particular brand of personal/spiritual immutability is what I drew on for this!

Also, depending on what cycle of the Grail War he ends up in, he'd either be the victor of his War who went on to fight Twice and then die against him (so his vanishing digital corpse would be in one of the coffins around the battlefield when Hakuno fights Twice, lol) or a possible opponent on the final week for Hakuno as another "weakest Master".

#ooc ramblings.#god I love the Extra setting and everything it explores so much. Hakuno as an MC carries the themes of Extra so damn well #the comparison between the nature of most summoned Servants and NPCs (as both are copies of an original) will always drive me NUTS

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elainapendragon · 16 days

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An Eternal Hope: Practice at Sea

Summary: With the blessing of their mother, the triplets are on their way to Izana so that they may depart for the Worldtree, where Gryphyn-Baskets shall await them; but first, their grandfather believes they need a bit of training...

Rating: 18+

Trigger warnings: Mentions of death, blood, gore, descriptions of a hand wound, slavery, mentions of past trauma, fear of capture/torture

All rights reserved. This work has been copyrighted. No part of this book may be copied or used in any form. [Don't mind my crappy attempt at quoting my copyright page. I don't think I'm allowed to actually use it here. I don't mind reblogs or anything like that, but please don't repost without my permission and especially without credits to me. Thank you! <3 ]

Refer to the pronunciation guide or send me a message if you have any questions!

The next morning, we set out for Izana as though we were just going back to work, but there was an enormous sense of change aboard. None of us could bring ourselves to speak, so the only noise was the sound of the ship’s bow breaking the waves, which seemed too loud for the first time since we’ve been on the sea. We could only hope that Byardölf kept his word about the sandcrawler, and we wouldn’t have to use all of the two hundred coin bonus he’d given us before we even got to the Worldtree.

Other than the silence, I expected the trip to Izana to go as it always did; using Alf and Jarl’s combined genius of a rope-and-pulley system that allowed just one person (Jarl, at the moment) to work the sails alone, while a different system they had installed within the very walls of the ship allowed one person to work all six oars at once with a fair amount of ease. That left one person for the rudder, which I stayed well away from, after nearly wrecking us in a storm– twice. Otherwise, we’d take turns working these ingenious contraptions, while resting in-between.

But instead of my expectations, I was yanked out of reading when Grandpapa suddenly took the book out of my hands and snapped it closed. He proceeded to nonchalantly take Alf’s paper and pencil (which she was using to either design something new, or to write down a new song she’d thought up), and put both of our items in the chest beside the one that held all of our coin after work. He turned to Jarl, who worked the rudder. “Up. Hildegardr, you’ll have to take the rudder.”

“Uh…” Jarl warily stood, eyes darting to each of us in a silent question. He didn’t let go of the rudder until Nana had a good hold of it. Grandpapa looked down at Alf and I expectantly in turn. When neither of us moved, he said impatiently, “Up, both of you.”

“...Why…?” Alf asked slowly, though we were standing anyway.

“Because I said so,” Grandpapa replied plainly. He waited until the three of us were standing side-by-side in front of him, then continued. “We won’t be able to come with you on the Gryphyn-Baskets, I’m sure you realize.” I tried not to show any form of reaction, because no, I hadn’t realized. Suddenly, the trip to Vanaheimr seemed a lot less fun. “We’ll be at Izana in three days, where the three of you alone will set off for the Svartl Worldtree. Going into the competition knowing nothing about swordsmanship is foolish and reckless. These few days are all I’ll have to teach you the basics.”

Grandpapa drew our iron sword from its tattered frog at his hip. “We won’t use this. There’s only one, and even if there wasn’t, we don’t need to accidentally chop each other’s heads off.” He passed the sword to Jarnir for safekeeping; he seemed just as confused as we were, but only shrugged helplessly and went along without any questions. Grandpapa then reached into our chest of belongings and withdrew two well-carved wooden practice swords– we’d had them forever, but had never thought of using them; we’d never had the time, nor the energy, to practice. He hefted each of them, testing their weight I suppose, before tossing one to Jarl, who impressively caught it with one hand and no effort.

“Jarl,” Grandpapa pointed the tip of his sword at him in challenge. “You first, grandson. We need to work on your grip. No offense, but… it’s awful.” Jarl laughed, then waved his practice blade around a few times, testing its weight. “Let’s start with teaching you how to parry a basic downward swipe. Swing downward at me, slowly.”

My brother hesitated, then hacked downward in slow motion. Grandpapa lifted his sword and held it horizontally, palm on the flat of the mock blade, blocking Jarl’s harmless blow. “See how I’m holding my sword? I’m going to swing downward at you now, and I want you to raise your sword how I just showed you.”

Grandpapa and Jarl lowered their swords, then repeated the move in reverse. Jarl quickly raised his sword like Grandpapa had shown him, and Grandpapa smiled. “Well done. Now, let’s try it faster.” They did the move again, but Jarl was too slow. Both Grandpapa’s sword and his own slammed into his chest with a dull crack, knocking him backward. He fell to one knee, his eyes wide with shock as he struggled to breathe.

“Jarl!” Ma nearly leapt off of her seat.

Grandpapa raised a hand to stop her without taking his eyes off Jarl. “I only knocked the breath out of him. He’ll be fine.”

Ma pressed her lips into a firm line and watched with worry until Jarl shook his head clear of dizziness and stood, staggering slightly. “Wow, Grandpapa. You’ve got a hard hit…” He coughed, wincing as he massaged his sore chest. “Really hard...”

“Again,” Grandpapa ordered without hesitation. The two of them continued to repeat the move until Jarl could effectively block Grandpapa’s attacks, then they tried it even faster. When Jarl could block Grandpapa’s downward strike at full speed, it was Alf’s turn. Jarl, breathing heavily, slouched down beside me and closed his eyes.

Grandpapa faced Alf with his sword ready. “You saw what I did with Jarl.” Alf nodded in response, eyeing Grandpapa’s sword nervously. “We’re going to do the very same thing. I won’t go easy on you because you are my granddaughter.” His blue eyes narrowed meaningfully, and Alf nodded.

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” she said, and they began.

Alf and Grandpapa started the move in slow motion, just as he had done with Jarl, before repeating it until Alf had almost mastered it; she was quicker in learning, having watched Jarl’s lesson closely. By the time they were done, Alf was panting and dragging her sword behind her, and Ma was very concerned. “Don’t give me that look,” Grandpapa told her firmly with a stern glance. Alf sat down beside Jarl, huffing with exhaustion. “It’ll be a lot worse for them if they get no training.” Grandpapa whipped around and jabbed his sword in my direction. “Your turn.”

I slowly lifted up the wooden sword (which was, sadly, very heavy for me) and held it in front of my face vertically, as best as I could. “I’m not here.”

“Bjalla!” snapped Grandpapa in a warning tone, making me jump to my feet immediately. “We don’t have much time.” I mumbled an apology, face burning with embarrassment.

We faced one another; slowly, he brought his sword down at my face. I lifted my sword to block it, just like I’d watched Jarl, then Alf do– but I wasn’t strong enough to even try and block him. Grandpapa frowned when he realized that he was able to push my sword down, despite the fact that I was straining to keep my sword still– with both hands.

“Again,” Grandpapa ordered, and we did it a second time; but this time, he was able to knock my sword away entirely before swinging the tip of his own up to meet my throat.

Jarl burst out laughing. “You-You can’t even–” He started laughing even harder and fell onto his side, joined by Alf; she covered her face, wheezing hard. Ma glared at them.

“Both of you, stop it.”

Dejectedly, I slumped over. “Well, Drakonsson’s gonna take one look at me and send me home...” The possibility was serious enough to make me worry. If Alf and Jarl can’t compete because of my weakness, what will happen? How will they react?

“That’s nonsense,” Grandpapa said firmly. “There are plenty of people, I’m sure, who will have trouble lifting swords high, or even lifting them at all, in the competition. You have to remember, most of them were rogues, criminals, and thralls, like us, who may never have learnt any skills either. And there are dozens of other weapons to work with. Bows, for example.”

I scoffed. Byardölf once had a bow in his smithy that needed a new nocking point and grip, and Byardölf had tested it after we’d fixed it to ensure the quality of the weapon hadn’t been tampered with by repairing it. I wanted to try, and could hardly pull the string back to nock an arrow. And when I’d loosed it, the arrow didn’t even hit near the target. It fell harmlessly to the ground and the string smacked into my fingers so hard it had left cuts to the bone. “You obviously forget the time I tried one at Byardölf’s smithy...”

Grandpapa huffed, irritated, and when he began speaking with his hands, started flinging his mock-sword around dangerously without even thinking about it. “Well, maces, daggers, axes, scimitars, crossbows; there’s a number of weapons out there. If you’re not good with swords, even after a few weeks of training, try something else.” He held up his sword in front of his chest, the flat of the blade facing me. He held his free hand up against the side of the sword facing his chest. “Strengthen your stance, plant your feet firmly, and remember to hold it like this; you won’t cut your hand, and you’ll have extra strength to push back with. You saw my example earlier, didnt you? Pay attention. Of course, don’t do it without thinking, because you could accidentally grab the sharp part of the blade, and risk cutting your hand in two.”

I visibly flinched at the mental image that gave me. Alf and Jarl, on the other hand... “Do it, do it, do it,” They chanted in perfect sync with broad smiles; I scowled at them, but that only made them want to do it more, until Ma silenced them with a harsh command.

“Lets try the move I just showed you,” Grandpapa ordered, more gently this time, “Try and keep your sword up, no matter how hard I push.” He slowly swung his sword downward, and I brought my own up, holding it like Grandpapa had showed me.

It was only after he started pushing again, all the pressure on my sore hand, that I remembered the gash on my left palm. I almost let go of the sword, then forced myself not to; of all the injuries I could get in the arenas that I’d have to keep fighting with–stabs, gashes, severed limbs– a cut on the hand didn’t seem so bad.

Grandpapa pushed on my sword even harder, and as I pushed back, the cut on my hand split back open. I bit my lip to silence my yelps, and kept my stance, refusing to be weak. I cannot enter this competition weak. I cannot enter this competition weak. Grandpapa and I stood like that for several moments, until he finally smiled and stepped back. “Well done.”

I staggered forward. When I steadied myself, I held up my shaking, bandaged hand. The bandage and the sleeve of my jacket were soaked through with blood, freely dripping down my hand and arm and leaving a good-sized splat on the deck. My vision swam and my stomach churned. Better learn to get that under control...

“Bjalla!” Nana yelped.

Grandpapa blinked at me a few times, dumbfounded, before looking at the wooden sword he held accusingly. “...Did... Did you cut your hand on the practice sword? ...On wood?”

Ma practically bowled me over in checking my “wound,” making me chuckle a little despite the sheer throbbing pain pulsing up my arm. “Oh, I didn’t mention this? Yeah, I cut myself on Byardölf’s new dagger the other day.”

Ma scowled at me, but it was quickly replaced with worry. She grabbed my wrist and dragged me off to one end of the ship, out of everyone else’s way. “Come over here. We need to rebandage it.”

Grandpapa swatted me upside the head. “I completely forgot about that. You shouldn’t have pushed back so hard with an injured hand.” After Ma had rebandaged my cut, Grandpapa and I continued to repeat the move until I could do it... Somewhat easily. I never came close to Alf or Jarl’s level of strength or resilience.

For the rest of the day, Grandpapa taught us the basics of parrying, dodging, and attacking, only giving us breaks when we needed to eat, rest, or, in my case, rebandage my damn cut, which happened too many times for me to count. By sunset, I felt more worn out than I had in years. My legs felt like lead, my back hurt, my head hurt, my chest hurt, and my sword arm was throbbing painfully. Every bone in my body felt like it was going to splinter– and from the way Alf and Jarl were wincing and hobbling to their bedrolls, they felt the same way I did.

By the time Izana was in our sights, I felt twice as badly, and we were covered in welts and bruises. Eventually, Grandpapa told Alf and Jarl to practice on one another under his supervision, leaving me to spar with him.

“You won’t be able to practice on the Gryphyn-Baskets,” Grandpapa muttered quietly to us as we readied ourselves for bed. “And I’m guessing the rest stops for the passengers will be short, since you can eat and sleep in the baskets themselves. Be sure to use every break you do get for practice.”

Without much else to say, us triplets collapsed onto our bedrolls, falling into heavy, deep sleep.

If you'd like to be added to my taglist, send me a message! If you'd like to read the full novel, you can find the link to it on the bottom of my masterlist.

#dragons #romantasy #aneternalhope #bookblr #drakablodsogur #elainapendragon #fantasy #dragonriders #norse mythology #vikings

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jackwatters · 1 month

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Graphic Images in Illustrator: Doing a little extra.

Graphic one: Making a silhouette

Here I've created the outline for a silhouette with each point I need to make marked by an X.

Opening a new illustrator project, and pasting the image in.

Purely following my markers here, making an outline based on them. Now, I probably should've added some handles as well when drawing this out, because it's definitely not all lining up. I also created two layers, one for the body, and one for the other bits so I can separate the two.

Fixing the tail here, just using the Pen tool, then pressing + to add a point at this apex. In retrospect, I should've put a marker here. I pulled the point out and adjusted it so it aligned up.

Here's me going in and adjusting some of the handlebars just to algin everything.

For this ear, it was looking a little less pointy than the other one. So I went in, and turns out I had forgot to make that tip of the ear point a broken one, so I just went and broke it up. Then, I reduced some of the handlebar length for the points that connect the left segment to straighten it up a little.

Here's the semi-complete linework.

All I did was fill the body with black, and the face with white so you get that feeling of the black silhouette with holes it in as if it were cut out.

Here I'm going in with the direct select tool and flattening the head a little by moving the handle bars for those two points down (as seen by the rotating red arrows). I also adjusted the right ear to fit the left ear a little more, importantly by using the round tool to round out the tip of the ear.

Now, I'm going in and moving these two points around the cat's neck up to match each other, this makes it so the cat's face doesn't look uneven. I've also moved the inner ear parts to line up with eachother.

Here's the result.

Here's the direction handles and wireframe. It's definitely a mess, and was rushed a bit.

Reflection: This definitely took a lot less time than I thought it would've, but in my haste to initially hammer down linework, I definitely overlooked some issues that I had to fix later on down the line.

Graphic 2: Full colour

Here's the image, with bits of shade and all. I was feeling a little confident, so I went with a more complex image. I drew out this zen cat, and added some shading and light direction.

Not to make the same mistake twice, I decided to go into photoshop and mark out all the points and handlebars, and only now am I realizing how hard this is going to be.

Adding an elliptical in the shape of it's head, just trying to get a something to base the rest of the outline on.

Here I made an ear shape corresponding to my handlebars and point locations/lengths. Afterwards I copy and pasted it, (ctrl+c then ctrl+v), and pressed O which allowed me to flip the copy to adjust it to the left side. This saves a lot of time.

I've made the body now, following the guidelines, even so I had to make some new points just to balance everything out, those points are circled. The outline is definitely helping though, it makes the process a lot quicker.

Here are some things I'm gonna quickly fix.

Here's the fixed outline, now to add some of the missing details.

Doing the head first. The nose required me to do a hybrid point to get that curved top, and straight sides.

I've just cloned and flipped the right sides of the mouth and the right eye.

went in and added some extra details, this time using basic curves and lines.

Now I just need to go in and algin the body again, because I'm going to be adding the body details now.

Here's all the details I made, including the body and ears, robe and all. Just using the pen tool, and some copy/flipping, pretty much what I've been doing the whole time.

Now, going in to fill the base colours of the zen cat. I made some new layers, then dragged the corresponding parts to these new layers while holding OPT to copy them rather than move them out of their original layers. I went with a nice, calm blue for the fur colour.

I had to go in and create a whole different shape over the lines I initially created for my details, because none of the lines connected up properly, not a mistake I want to make again cause that was frustrating (contrary to the peacefulness of the cat).

Added the tail and stripes. Next, it's time to add shading.

I've just powered through these shading layers, just constantly adding little shadows and highlights were I can using a mixture of the pen tool to create shading shapes, and the transparency tool to keep the highlights and shadows at 31% transparency. I also made all the lines coloured corresponding to what part of the body they are.

The final image here.

Reflection: This task was much like the Tentcruel I'd made before, but this time I used some different skills, along with better organization of my layers. I can feel the improvement.

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animelover20 · 3 months

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Oh cool!! 🤩🤩😯😯Can you please show me some art?? What your fav desserts??

My is bisoff chessecake, cinnamon rolls, chocolate chip cookies with oreos.

I cannot necessarily show you some art, I'm not being rude I'm just really fucking comfy and I typically doodle in books.. tho I do trace digitally(I only do it to improve my line work) which I have posted about once or twice but only cause it looked funny not to claim as my own.

So I'm a bit too comfy to show you my doodles but I can show you something I worked on with a lot of copy and paste but is completely original and initially made cause of a joke between me and a fellow mutual who gave me an idea that I later drew.

With that out of the way favourite desert? Hmm.. damn that's tough. There all so good.

Probably mochi but if we're getting specific, at my local store there was passionfruit and mango and by god were they delicious.. either than that probably cheesecake

#the fucker answers #sorry if this is shit in some places #thank you for the ask #you are literally curing my boredom

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jacobfiel · 1 year

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Children's booklet (part 5)

I started once again by putting in my reference image and then 'dimming' the image. I drew the sheep using curves and handles and followed this up using fills. Key tactics I used to speed up these processes was using the option key to copy the thing I had drawn and then reuse assets i'd already drawn rather than drawing them twice. For example with the pupils of the sheep's eyes I knew I was going to use identical sized circles so rather than drawing the circle twice I drew one and then 'option key copied' the first circle and just placed my copied version where the second circle needed to go. I also sped up my process by using layers to my advantage. To use the eyes as an example again the pupils were half covered by the eyelid. Yet I still wanted to have perfect circles for the pupils and the easiest way to do this was to use the ellipse tool. So I used the ellipse tool to draw the circles still and just put the eyelid layer above the pupils one so when I filled the eyelids layer it covered the pupils perfectly.

I then worked on the cap which was a very simple shape. The key to this steep was once the cap was done, to line up the edges of the hat perfectly with the 'hair' on the sheep's head. Making these aspects line up perfectly meant the the hat looked like it was part of the image and actually sitting on the sheep's head rather than being 2 seperate assets layered on top of each other.

I then started on the glasses. I started this by picking out a pair I wanted to use out f my reference image. To keep me from being distracted by the other glasses I decided that once I picked a pair I liked I cropped the image so only that pair were visible. I then drew the glasses using curves and handles followed by fills. Key aspects I used to make the glasses work was by added some shapes across the front of the glasses acting as light glares as if the image of the sheep was a photo being taken outside, (reflecting sunlight). I also made the lens part of the glasses have a 50% opacity value meaning the lens part of the glasses were half transparent. This meant similar to some real glasses you could slightly see through the lens parts and at the eyes of the sheep but could still see there was a layer there covering them. The last thing I did was remove the lightning bolt handle from the left side a repositioned the glasses on the sheep's face. This is because the left lightning bolt looked out of place. So by taking this bolt away it was portraying that the other bolt was tucked in behind the ear of the sheep which would be more realistic.

Lastly for this image I went and got another popular skate brands logo and redrew this asset in Adobe Illustrator (AI). While making this shape I delt with cutting out the tree type shape in the logo out of a circle. To do this I used the pathfinder tool. I also used copy and pasting drawings and then holding down SHIFT whilst rotating them so the snapped into the a perfectly symmetrical angle. Once I finished the logo I placed it on the hat and messed around with the colours till I settled on one I liked. I then saved this vector file into my 'assets' folder and then moved onto the next step.

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myherowritings · 3 years

Text

PART 3. ACCIDENTAL SUGAR DADDY?

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. happy new year y’all! :3 i hope you have a good 2021 and here is some flirty ceo!shouto for u to enjoy as we enter the new year hehe ;) thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

“I heard you dropped by this weekend,” you said as a greeting, a playful smile on your lips. “Looking for me?”

If the tips of his ears didn’t tinge pink, you would have guessed Shouto was completely unaffected by your words.

“Mn.” He drew his attention away from your gaze and pointedly adjusted his cufflinks. “Good morning to you too.”

You laughed, accepting you wouldn’t get anything out of your attempt at teasing. “Morning, Shouto. How was your weekend?”

The cafe was quite busy this hour, but Miyazaki took over the other register to alleviate the stress (though, what she really said was so you and pretty boy—who happened to be rich rich—could talk). Whatever the reason, you were glad for a small break whenever you could get it.

“You could say it was busy,” he replied, sounding a bit tired. For the first time since you met him, you actually noticed how exhausted he looked. You wanted to put cucumbers on his eyes and lay his head down on your lap to coax him to sleep. Nonetheless, he smiled softly at you. “And yours? I hope you were able to have time to rest and relax.”

You nodded. “I just slept a lot and caught up on the shows I missed throughout the week.”

“The real way a weekend should be spent.”

His voice was teasing but he didn’t sound mocking. Just...somewhat playful. There was something about his tone that made you want to hear it again.

“Something tells me you need a weekend away where you could just relax and do nothing,” you commented, tapping the back of your pen to your chin. “Do you not have any days off at work?”

He considered this. “Depends what you mean by day off.”

“If you have to ask that, that probably means you don’t have a day off, huh?” you said with a frown, holding your hand over your chest as you sighed dramatically. “You poor thing. Overworked and tired. Maybe I should steal you away one weekend and get you to just relax.”

You were only half-serious.

“Maybe you should,” agreed Shouto, sounding full-serious.

“Maybe I will,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. Maybe you could if you actually had his number… Then, feeling shameful you said, “But, ah, anyway, what can I get for you today? We actually have cheese danishes again!”

His face brightened. “You do? I’ll take five dozen.”

With a laugh you took down his order. You really weren’t sure where all these pastries were going when he bought it, but judging from his expression, you figured it must be somewhere good.

“And for your drink?”

“This time I’ll have a large green tea with almond milk, please.”

You nodded but tilted your head to the side in question. “No coffee with extra shots of espresso today?”

“I add too much sugar and creamer to my coffee,” he admitted sheepishly. “And with all the baked goods I’ve been eating I realized I may have had an excess amount of sweets lately.”

With an understanding laugh you patted his hand that was resting on the counter woefully. “I can definitely relate to that. If too many sweets are bad for you they shouldn’t have made it taste so good.”

Shouto glanced down at where your hands touched, an expression you couldn’t quite discern on his face. Averting your gaze, you quickly pulled your hand back. Was that inappropriate of you? Did he find it too pushy?

“Oh— Sorry about that,” you said, rubbing your elbow with your opposite hand. “Got a bit ahead of myself there.”

“No, it’s fine.” He blinked once. “I didn’t mind.”

Unsure if he meant anything by that and unsure if you were reading too much into things, you simply brushed the topic off and moved on to getting his order in telling him the price.

“Paying by card again, I’m assuming?” you asked before hitting the appropriate button on the screen.

“Correct.”

By now the sight of the sleek and pretty credit card was one you grew rather fond of as he scanned over the payment terminal and signed his name. Was it weird you wanted to examine his signature more closely? Shouto seemed like the type of person who would have a fancy signature that somehow looked like art.

As per routine, you told him his order would be ready for pick up at his right and, before he left the register, he thanked you and gave you another $100.

Did it feel any less strange than the first time he tipped you? Not really, no. But you still weren’t going to complain about a generous tip from a willing customer.

Before he left with his cheese danishes and cup of tea in hand, he stopped by next to you with a small smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You grinned back. “Can’t wait, Shouto!”

— ✩ —

This went on for a whole other week. By this point, he had given you over $1,000 in tip and you were starting to feel like you should give him something in return despite him assuring you he didn’t expect anything.

When you told your friends about the nice guy you met while you were working and they asked for the details, the first thing they said in response to your situation was, “Sugar daddy?”

Before they planted that thought into your head, you just took it as a rich businessman who hated the rich and believed in redistribution of wealth—you couldn’t complain about that. That made him even more appealing, if you must say. But once Kaminari and Ashido whispered those two words, you couldn’t help but see the comparisons.

You had no issues with sugar daddies or sugar babies; as long as they were two consenting adults, what did it matter to you? It just wasn’t something you were looking for at the time and you didn’t want Shouto to get the wrong impression or involve yourself in something you weren’t ready to.

As you commuted to work for your next morning shift, you told yourself today was the day you’d thank him one final time for the tips, but tell him you couldn’t accept anymore. You were sure he’d be understanding but you also hoped it wouldn’t deter him from coming to see you. That was the last thing you’d want.

“Mrs. Miyazaki,” you said between customers. “When Shouto comes in, do you think I can step away from the register to talk to him for a little? I promise it’ll be brief!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That’s not a problem. Are you finally going to ask him out or something?”

You scratched the back of your neck. “Or something, yeah.”

Thankfully, by the time Shouto arrived today, it was later than he normally came, meaning rush hour was almost dying down.

“Good morning! Someone’s a little late today,” you teased. “Overslept?”

“I wish,” he sighed wistfully. “I had a meeting early this morning and it just ended. Didn’t have a chance to pick up some coffee or pastries beforehand.”

You frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope whoever was hosting the meeting at least provided you guys drinks and snacks!”

He paused. “He did, but… I just thought yours were better.”

Smiling at the compliment, you preened. “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised. And I’m glad you were able to drop by still. Would’ve missed you too much otherwise.”

Again, you were only half-serious.

“Hm. I would’ve missed you too.”

And again, he seemed full-serious. Not that you minded.

After taking his order and watching him pay, you pulled him to the side, looking over at your boss so she knew what was going on. She gave you a brief nod as you turned your attention to Shouto.

A lapse of silence went by and he spoke up, “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

“Yeah, actually.” You wrung your fingers nervously, hoping you wouldn’t say anything to offend him since you knew his actions were coming from a kind place. “I just wanted to say… I’m not really looking for a sugar daddy right now.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “Pardon?”

You stared at him, unsure what to say.

“I— Sorry. I wasn’t… It’s not my intention to be a...sugar daddy either.” Shouto’s face flushed a bright pink that made your own cheeks warm up in response.

“But the—the money? I just… I guess I thought…” You winced.

So he wasn’t trying to pick up a sugar baby… Well, this was awkward. But regardless, you think you’ve gotten close enough to him to the point where it would feel weird accepting money from him.

“I’m sorry if I was unclear. It really is just a tip to show appreciation for your service here.”

You shook your head. “No! Sorry, that makes sense! My friends just said… And then I…” you trailed off, feeling a million times more flustered than when you started. “Sorry about that. The sugar daddy mishap aside, I still wanted to say that I really appreciate the tips you gave, but I don’t think I can accept them anymore.”

Slowly, he nodded, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. “I understand. Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened!” you were quick to assure. “I really am thankful, but… I think we’ve gotten too close for me to be comfortable accepting that much money, you know?”

Shouto tilted his head to the side, listening intently.

“Like,” you tried to explain, fiddling with your apron, “over the past few weeks I just think we’ve gotten to know each other more and I think of you as a friend of sorts now.” You peered at him through your lashes, hoping your words were making sense. “I think as a relationship develops—for me, at least—adding money into the mix can cause weird power imbalances if not communicated properly. And I just don’t want that for us.”

He thought through your words for a while before agreeing. “I get what you mean. I wouldn’t want to unintentionally make you feel like you owe me anything, so if you’re not comfortable with it, I can stop.”

“Thanks, Shouto,” you said with a beam, glad he was so receptive. Really though, what else did you expect? From your interactions with him you took him to be kindhearted and open. Of course he wouldn’t be upset over this. “But just to be clear, this doesn’t mean you should stop coming! Right? I don’t want to stop being your friend or anything!”

With a small laugh, he nodded. “Sure. I wouldn’t want to part with my favorite cafe. And I’d like to keep being friends as well.”

Those words warmed your heart. You really were nervous about this confrontation earlier; you didn’t want voicing your opinion to mean ending your friendship. (Although, if you sharing what you were comfortable with was enough to end a relationship, then you supposed it was bound to be a toxic and stifling one in the long run and it was good to know in the beginning to end it before it could grow.) Turns out, however, that you didn’t even need to worry about that. He was understanding and sweet and you were glad to have gotten this out of the way.

“Well, as new friends,” you said, gently nudging his side, “maybe we should get to know each other more? Exchange numbers… Hang out outside of this cafe…” You ran through some suggestions, almost bouncing on your feet in excitement. “I mean, I know you’re always so busy and might not have much free time to hang out. But— If you’re ever free one weekend…”

“I’d enjoy that,” he cut in, saving you from blabbering your mouth off and accidentally embarrassing yourself. “Didn’t you say you’d steal me away from work to relax? I’m still holding you to that.”

The beginnings of a smirk formed on his face as he looked at your flustered expression. Was he teasing you?

You huffed, pretending to be insulted by his playful mocking. “Guess I’ll really have to do it then.”

“Guess so.”

“Maybe you should give me your number first so we could plan it.”

“Okay.”

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours, both of your adding your numbers to the contact list. Smiling, you held the phone in front of the two of you to take a contact picture of yourself for Shouto’s phone. To your complete surprise, he laughed before promptly following suit and taking a selfie for his contact image.

“Cute,” you said when he handed you back your phone.

“You too.”

Placing your device back in your pocket, you looked at him, hand on hip. “Since when did you become such a smooth-talker? Am I going to have to guard my heart now?”

His only response was a shrug, but you could see hints of a smile playing on his face. The two of you seemed to be smiling a lot lately, you couldn’t help but notice.

“I should probably let you go to work now—and I should go back to mine.” You gestured to the growing line at the front of the store. Your manager looked like she had things under control, but you didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness. “You should text me later though. If you want.”

“I’ll do that,” Shouto promised, picking up his drink and pastry boxes from the side counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. And… I’ll message you soon.”

As you watched him leave the store, you were certain you had a silly look on your face as you stared in a trance.

“I’ll turn my phone off silent just for you!” you said to his back, hoping he understood what a momentous occasion this was. Your phone was always on silent (unless you were playing a game, of course). But for Shouto, you could handle hearing the obnoxious ringtone and text tone.

With an amused expression he nodded before waving goodbye.

Later on that day, at the end of your shift, you noticed a new message from a certain someone that made your stomach flutter.

Shouto: Hi there. It’s Shouto :)

You never knew those four simple words would be enough to keep the grin plastered on your face up until the moment your head hit your pillow to fall asleep. But, damn— Were you glad that happened to be the case.

a/n: whY WAS SHOUTO AND Y/N EXCHANGING NUMBERS SO CUTE idk that scene got me all blushy and :DDD HFJDKSF like taking a selfie with shouto and getting his number? only goal in life BFHFGF,, also y/n said no more tips how we feeling? ;o

what to expect in the next part:

an unwanted visitor ಥ_ಥ

shouto has a...proposition for y/n

FLIRTING FLUFF SO MUCH CUTENESS U MIGHT CRY

y/n struggles with their fEeLiNGs~

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

Text

weatherman

at first, you loved the words on your body that connected you to your soulmate, your one and only. but the older you got, the more annoying and mocking they became. what weirdo sings rhianna when they first meet their soulmate, anyway?

steve rogers x fem!reader

soulmate au!

word count: 1.7k, she’s a baby :,)

warnings: none besides the fact that this was written in an hour and a half, flufff!

By the time you were old enough to read, the song wasn’t out yet. At the time, you had no idea it was a song, of course, and the words were still cute. It sounded like you had a sweet soulmate. You thought of your soulmate coming to you in a million different ways in your imaginative little brain every single time it rained.

But when you were eight years old, the song came out. And then, you were teased for your words relentlessly. They started to hum the song when you walked by. Someone drew you a picture of a raindrop. One kid was even bold enough to laugh right in your face and tell you that Rihanna herself was your soulmate.

And every morning, you would turn on your side, lift your arm up, and look at the words inscribed in semi-neat cursive, your soulmate’s writing.

You can stand under my umbrella

Who even said that? It was so… cheesy. As the years went by, you doubted that it was rain at all that made the words come out of your soulmate’s mouth. By the time you were in high school, you were certain that it was a pick up line. You no longer longingly stared at every rain shower that happened.

Even though you had a certain, tiny disdain for whoever was behind the words, you knew that you missed them in a way that you didn’t understand fully yet. Perhaps the reason was that everyone else around you was happy with their other halves, living perfect lives with the person destined for them, but you knew that wasn’t their fault that you didn’t have yours. By the end of high school, most people already met their soulmates. You didn’t have yours yet, and it was your second year of college. Naturally, you started to worry.

What if they didn’t exist at all?

The possibility of not having a soulmate and just having filler words in the form of a Rihanna song plagued you every day, and the thought only got stronger when it rained. When you were younger, rain meant good luck, and it was your comfort weather. Now, all it brought was the cold and negative thoughts.

§§

It was your lucky day, because it was quite literally pouring while you served the drenched customer her coffee. You watched her yank the door open and rush towards her car through the glass windows, and you swore under your breath when you remembered something.

Your car was in the shop, and you were supposed to be walking home from work. That meant walking home in the torrential downpour.

You sighed and shook your head, leaning over the counter and already anticipating getting ultimately drenched on your short walk home.

Your boss let you go home early and started closing shop, and you didn’t know if you wanted to thank her or send her the bird for not letting you wait out the storm. She had never let you go home early before, not once in the entire history of you working there. It was unusual. You had full intentions of asking her if she had a hot date, but she started to turn off the lights before you could ask her what made her want to do something nice for once.

You shook your head again as you realized that you didn’t even have a hood or jacket or even worse, and umbrella. You sighed and braced for the cold, yanking the door open and folding your arms, pushing through the uncomfortable feeling of the cold, wet rain with your head down.

You got caught at a crosswalk and had to watch cars fly by. Of course you did. There were footsteps behind you, and you sighed and regretted the second that you stomped your foot, looking up to the sky and letting the rain hit you right in the face. “This is the worst fucking day of my life.”

There was a gasp from beside you and you didn’t even open your eyes. You assumed that whoever it was, was offended by your language. “Sorry,” you said, but you didn’t sound apologetic at all.

Someone cleared their throat from beside you, and you turned your head to the side to see a handsome blonde man with a dark blue umbrella and a pink flush on his face smiling at you, already moving the umbrella your way. Your heart raced. This couldn’t be it. Was it? Your hands were suddenly shaky as you waited for the man to say something, anything. No, not anything, you were waiting to hear the predestined offer (or pickup line) that you now loved again.

“Here,” the man said, and the sound of rain hitting the roof of the umbrella was almost as empty as you felt in the moment. You mustered up a smile at him and said a small thank you, trying to mask the disappointment that came with being so close meeting your soulmate after all.

The man held the umbrella for as long as he walked in the same direction as you, and then he apologized for not being able to hold it for you any longer. “It’s alright, thank you” you said, and hoped that the sound of the pounding rain was enough to hide the tremor in your voice. You were not about to cry.

You went to stand under the roof of a building on the side of it, hoping that the wave of rain would be over in a few minutes. It was better than running for two minutes, you supposed. You saw another blonde man with large strides walk past, with an even darker blue umbrella in his hand, and he was dry.

You groaned. “How am I the only one who didn’t know about the rain?”

The man stopped in his tracks and turned around, looking at you with wide, blue eyes as you stood nonchalantly under the roof, arms crossed and still a little hurt after the universe teasing you with the first umbrella man. When all he did was stare at you, you have him a harsh look and looked away. Staring men always meant trouble, and the meaner you were, the faster they would leave you alone.

“You can stand under my umbrella,” the handsome man said, and slowly, your head turned back his way. Your eyes locked again, and it was your turn to stare like an idiot. “I-I mean, if you want to.”

You leaned off of the wall of the building and took a step towards him. “Did you really just say that?”

A grin lit up on his beautiful face, and you already decided that his smile was your favorite thing on earth. Screw churros from the fair. “Depends, did you just say something about being the only one who didn’t know about the rain?”

You threw yourself into his arms, and he nearly dropped the umbrella just to hold you. His embrace was warm and strong, and he used just enough pressure for you to feel he was there. “I didn’t think you were real.”

It truly did felt surreal. You were in your soulmate’s arms after all that time wondering, worrying, and losing sleep, and now it all felt like it was going to be alright. You could see the happiness in you near future coming your way, the questions and the subtle and uncontrollable bitterness towards others fading away quickly. You already held this man high in your mind, and just like that, he was a priority. And you didn’t even know his name yet.

Instead of asking him for the name that you so desperately wanted to know or saying any of the cheesy words swirling around in your mind, you decided to talk about the words. “Because, who quotes Rihanna?”

“Who doesn’t look at the weather before leaving the house?” He retorted, pulling back a bit to study your face. You were glad that he was able to do it, because you discovered that his face was just as comforting as the warmth of his arms.

“Shut up, weatherman.”

He smiled down at you, blue eyes giving you a fond look that only soulmates could give each other after meeting so suddenly. He poked you right on your nose, a fluttering touch that made your heart skip a few beats.

“I can walk you wherever you need to go.” Your heart warmed at his kindness. It turned out the younger you that hoped that your soulmate was a sweetheart was right, after all.

“No, it’s okay, it’s probably out of your way,” you said anyway, disregarding the way the inner you was screaming at the part of you that had control over your mouth.

“I’m not even supposed to be all the way over here right now, and I think I already missed my appointment.”

“Where are you supposed to be?”

“The barbershop.”

You frowned at him. The barbershop was all the way on the other side of town, and he didn’t seem like he was lost. “How’d you find yourself over here?”

He paused for a second, like he was debating on whether or not to tell the truth. “Something told me to walk this way.”

You could have fallen apart, and you believed that without even knowing you, he would have known how to put you back together again. “Looks like you listened,” you breathed out, in awe of the man before you, who was staring at you with the same look of bewilderment.

“How could I not?” He took one of your hands in his after asking for permission with his eyes, and you felt the tingling build up at the connection. “I’m Steve.”

You told him your name, and he repeated it once, and then twice, and then a smile was on his face, like that was the one word he needed to hear. You resisted the urge to touch his face now that you could see the subtle stubble growing in. “Don’t wear it out, weatherman.”

You took a step forward, and his long legs only took half of his normal stride to match up with you. He walked you home while you talked about anything and everything with him, every now and again talking about the words on your respective wrists and how glad you were that you found each other.

It felt so right.

You met him the next day at the park, and it was as sunny as it could be. He was carrying a tackily designed gift bag that he put red tissue paper in, and from then on, you knew he was a big goof. He handed you the bag with a huge, dopey smile on his face, and you cackled when you opened it.

It was an umbrella, an poncho, and a copy of Weather for Dummies.

******

omg omg not my first soulmate au lmao and many more to come in different shapes and sizes bc-

i’m obsessed

hope y’all liked it!!! <3

#steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers soulmate #steve rogers soulmate au #soulmate au #marvel fanfic #my fics

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songbirdsingingthings · 3 years

Text

Ice Skating - Shouto Todoroki x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS, THEY BELONG TO KOHEI HORIKOSHI

DAY SIX OF 25 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS - 25 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST - MAIN MASTERLIST

A/N: This is my favorite that I’ve written so far, also I don’t know a ton about ice skating so there might be some inconsistencies with the sport irl <3

Maybe a class 1A trip to the local ice skating rink wasn’t the best idea but it certainly wasn’t a boring one. With each student bundled up and topped off with hats, earmuffs, and insulated headbands, you were all seated and tugging on your skates. Two benches away from yours, you already see trouble stirring.

“Oi, dunce face, watch your waddling!” Bakugou exclaimed, standing up. In the process he wobbles slightly, but is stabilized by grabbing onto Kirishima’s arm.

“Haha, sorry Bakugou!” A sheepish Denki replies. You smile at the silly interaction and return your focus to lacing up your skates. You’ve always loved skating, ever since you were little, and you did it often enough that your parents had bought you your own pair of skates. You never went super far into the sport but you do know how to do a few jumps and tricks.

“Wow, Y/N, your skates are so pretty!” Uraraka complimented. You flush a bit, looking at what's on your feet compared to the others. The pretty ivory white did look quite stunning next to all the boot-like skates the rest of your classmates were wearing.

“Oh, thank you! They were a Christmas gift a while back.” You stand up with ease and stretch a bit.

“Have you skated before?” Poking out from behind Uraraka, you see Midoriya's face with a curious expression plastered on it.

“Yeah, I got lessons when I was a kid but I didn’t compete or anything. I knew when I got my quirk that I wanted to become a hero but it didn’t hurt to have a hobby.” You say, smiling as Uraraka helped the green haired boy to his feet, red faces exchanged between the two.

“I wonder if Todoroki has ever been ice skating. I mean he does have an ice quirk.” Uraraka wonders. You’re sure that she doesn’t realize that her hand was still holding Midoriya’s, but you make note of it to tell her later.

“Hmm?” A smooth voice questioned from behind you. Speak of the devil, you remark, turning around to see the boy the three of you had been talking about. Wearing a white, loose turtleneck and a soft pair of black pants, he looked great. You get lost in thought for a second but shake your mind from its grasp, flashing him a nice smile.

“We were wondering if you’ve ever been ice skating,” You say, reiterating Uraraka’s previous question. A small smile and... wait was that a blush? flashes across his face.

“I haven’t, actually. This would be a first for me.” He says, looking at the rink through the plastic barriers.

“Well then,” Uraraka starts to say, making her way - as best she could with skates on - over to you. Oh no, I know that tone, you think as she links an arm through yours. “You should ask Y/N to give you some pointers! She was just telling us how she used to skate when she was younger.” You panic a bit on the inside but show no fear on your outward expression. When Uraraka had told you about her crush on Izuku Midoriya a couple months ago, you had shared your small crush on Shouto Todoroki with her. You might be regretting that a little bit now.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Are you okay with that?” He asks you. You see something flicker in his eyes, but not being able to a finger on what it actually was, you let it go.

“Yeah! That’s cool with me!” Mentally facepalming for acting so weirdly casual, you make your way over to the gate. However, everything seems to calm as soon as you step onto the ice. The glossy surface beneath the blades of your skates felt so comforting, melting all of your previous worries. You take a few glides across the ice to get a good feel and turn back to wait for Todoroki. The rest of the class piles onto the ice in an… unorganized fashion, but they all look to be having a good time. You even spot Uraraka and Midoriya skate past you, very discreetly holding hands. This causes a giddy smile to break out over your face.

“They seem close.” Todoroki comments as he starts to shakily enter the rink. This causes a laugh to erupt from you. The red-and-white haired raised an eyebrow and you shake your hands in front of you.

“Sorry, that just caught me off guard. Are you ready to start?” You ask, looking over his stance. While he did stumble a bit as he entered, he seemed to be doing fine now.

“Yeah, uh, how do I move forward?” He asks you, heterochromatic eyes meeting your Y/E/C ones. You smile and skate so that you're parallel to him, granting him a better angle at looking at your movements.

“To start, I usually push off of my dominant foot like this,” you say, directing his gaze to your preferred foot, stepping forward in a somewhat diagonal angle. You step a few more times and turn back to Todoroki. He nods, his eyes on the ice beneath his skates as he tries to copy your movements and immediately succeeds. He looks up to find your eyes but is graced with a beaming smile. “Wow Todoroki! That was amazing, it took me ages to do it that well,” you praise, skating over to be next to him. The both of you start to glide in a synchronous manner, matching your steps exactly.

“So Uraraka was saying that you did this when you were younger?” He inquires as you make your second round around the perimeter. You nod and smile, effortlessly gliding across the ice. “Did you ever go into competitions?” His second question surprised you a bit. Of course, you had several conversations with each other about non school or hero related things, but him asking about what your younger self liked to do made you blush a bit.

“Oh, uh, I didn’t, no. At the age I was, I wouldn’t be able to compete properly with the other girls.” He nodded but you see that same flicker in his eyes as you did before.

“I used to watch skating competitions with my mother when I was younger. I, um, always thought they were quite beautiful.” You grin at him as you pause at the gate.

“That’s what drew me to the hobby originally. The intricate moves and spins always seemed to capture my attention.” Todoroki immediately agrees with you, leaning against the wall.

“Can you do some of them?” He asks, a small smile gracing your face. You nod, bashfully.

“None of the super cool ones but I can pull off a few doubles.”

“Could you show me?” Your eyes go wide at his request and only get bigger when, from behind you, Uraraka cheers.

“Everyone clear the ice! Y/N is gonna show us her moves!” Red rushes across your face which causes Todoroki to immediately start apologizing.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to put you on the spot-”

“It’s fine, Todoroki. I’d be happy to show you.” Before you step out and glide to the center of the ice, a hand wraps softly around your wrist.

“Shouto.” He says simply, causing an eyebrow of yours to raise in confusion. “Um, call me Shouto.” If you weren’t already grinning then you were definitely beaming at him.

“Then I would like you to call me Y/N.” You swear you see a blush creep up onto his cheeks, but you skate to the center of the ice. That’s when you see that the entire class had stopped to watch what you were doing. A little stage fright, you glance around until your eyes fall back onto Shouto’s. Just his eyes meeting yours results in immediate solace. You start to skate around the middle, gaining speed as you prepare your first jump - a double toe loop. You prep, spin your leg, and jump off of the ice, turning twice in the air before landing. You were honestly proud of yourself - it had been a little while since you practiced these kinds of jumps but you were able to execute them and land almost perfectly. You do a few more jumps, one double axel and one double salchow, before you skate back into the middle and stand there, awaiting your class’ response. You don’t expect the class to erupt in cheers but that’s exactly what happened. You laugh a bit before you scamper off the ice, donning guards to protect your blades.

“Y/N, that was incredible! If I had roses I would throw them all on there!” Uraraka exclaims, her arms thrown around you in a hug. You thank her and give her a grin as you walk towards the water fountain, gaining several pats on the back while the class clambered back onto the ice. All of the class, except for one person.

“I don’t know much about ice skating but I know enough to say that what you did was quite beautiful.” Shouto says, leaning against the wall next to you. A happy expression broke out across your face.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“I was also wondering if…” his sentence trailed off, your happy expression replaced with an eager one now.

“Yes, Shouto?” You urge him, hoping and praying that what he was about to say matched what you had in mind.

“I was wondering if you would like to study with me later tonight, in my dorm.” Now, normally this wouldn’t have been the greatest step for a regular relationship, but for Shouto it was leaps and bounds.

“I would love to.” You respond with a sweet look in your eyes. As the two of you step back out onto the ice, he takes your hand in his - subtly, like what Uraraka and Midoriya had displayed earlier - and starts to skate around with you. A few beats of silence passes which you are happy to break. “Would I be safe to assume that this study session would count as a first date?” You inquire cheekily, looking between him and what was in front of you. Shouto says nothing for a bit but you feel a squeeze in your hand.

“...yes, you would be safe in assuming that.” Oh, what ice skating does to bring out a boy’s courage.

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rubecso · 3 years

Text

I liveblogged that Greg Ellis video and now you can suffer with me

So I did not intend to watch the whole of Greg Ellis’ rant, but I guess I’m a masochist. I ended up liveblogging it so here, you can get the highlights without having to sit through 37:55 like I did. ETA: Holy shit, it got privated in the time it took me to copy this out. I might be one of the last people to watch it. What did I do to deserve this honour.

holy shit I'm on the video that Greg Ellis did in Cullen's voice and the like-dislike ratio is 124:1.4k

What the fuck this is 37:55 long?????

How did he bitch for 37:55??????????

HOLY SHIT 56 seconds in and he's talking about a 'mob of social justice warriors' wtf????

guys my soul has left my body

"Integrity is earned in turmoil, not simply asserted in comfort" what the fuck is this hasfdk;lsfdajlksfda;lksfda;sfda

HE IS TALKING ABOUT TWITTER DRAMA LIKE ITS A FANTASY WAR I CAN'T

"Join us on this most magnificent morality quest" WHAT

"Help us banish the reputation savages ((savagers?)) and cancel culture hedonists"

sfdsajklsfda this keeps getting weirder what the fuck

"Intellectual glitterati" he can't keep doing this

he can't keep making it weirder

i can't take it

i just can't

he's literally reading an Intellectual Dark Web manifesto in the voice of his character with Dragon Age background music and a bunch of hamfisted references to the dragon age world and general fantasy tropes

HE'S TALKING ABOUT THE CHIVALRIC CODE

"How can men and woman, who are profoundly different from one another, be equals? ~~Chivalry~~~"

I can't he's still voice acting he's acting this like he's actually voicing an emotional scene in the game i fucking can't

THE FUCKING MUSIC RAMPING UP UNDER HIS DRIVELLING BULLSHIT

"Join me, for this new adventure. Like. Follow. Subscribe."

If you aren't listening to this please please just imagine all this said with the upmost sincerity. Like, if you've done Cullen's romance picture it as the voice he used for the really emotional scenes.

Oh fuck I'm gonna listen to this whole thing, aren't I?

He's... he's talking about Johnny Depp and Pirates of the Caribbean

In Cullen's voice

Why is Cullen talking to me about Johnny Depp

He's talking about some time when him and another voice actor tried to hold an event where I guess they could try and launder their image after supporting JK Rowling?

Anyway this leads to him saying: "None of the mob showed up. Why..... WHY???"

THE PREGNANT PAUSES

THE INTERSECTIONAL MOB

OH god another "WHY???"

His voice quavering with OTT emotion

Fuck he really does want to be JBP, huh?

He's literally just bitching about people not showing up to his events now

“THE CANCELLATION OF CULLEN RUTHERFORD”

I CAN'T THIS IS JUST TOO FUNNY

OKay now he's just playing a propaganda film he made about the BLM protests??

Okay back to the cringe now

"In response to one angry mobster, Greg stated that every life has value~~~~~~..."

Okay I have now heard Cullen Rutherford say "All lives matter" with 100% sincerity

"We are living in an era of woke capitalism, in which companies pretend to care about social justice to sell products to people who pretend to hate capitalism."

Okay but like... you know that the 'capitalism' part of that is the problem and not the 'social justice' part right?

"Vile and LIBELOUS messages followed. They were posted online by a SELECT FEW..."

ooooooooh he's on to bitchiing about Mark Darrah this ought to be good

"Not to defend Greg or Cullen from the libelous and ridiculous aspersions...."

DUDE YOUR CHARACTER DIDN'T NEED DEFENDING WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON ABOUT????

Okay my chances of ever not hating Cullen have dissolved now, sorry this is all I'll hear when I hear his voice now

"And giving these negative nnnnnnincompoops exactly what they demanded..."

He literally drew out the 'n' in 'nincompoops'

"This post... had 6 likes. One of two comments.... was posted...." *dramatic reveal voice* ".... by MARK DARRAH"

"Mark Darrah... is the worst kind... of corporate coward. He has :’( no code..... of honour :’("

there are 10 minutes left i'm going to die

OKAY i have now heard Cullen Rutherford, commander of the inqusition, say the words "Go woke, go broke"

"One doesn't challenge The Maker.... without consequences"

I think the Maker here is Bioware?????

"Greg and Cullen were summarily lumped together.... and generalised!!!"

DUDE CULLEN IS NOT REAL

YOU CANNOT LUMP HIM IN WITH ANYONE

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

HE DID IT AGAIN

HE PUT "THE CANCELLATION OF CULLEN RUTHERFORD" TWICE

"The racist trolls came out of the woodwork to cancel Cullen, once... and for ALL!"

"I stand... for HUMAN... RIGHTS :’’’’’’’’’’’’(“ IT'S A VIDEO GAME CHARACTER

"BLACK.... LIVES... MATTER.” *long pause* “AND THEY DON'T MATTER MORE..... THAN ANYONE.... ELSE’S."

Yes. Correct. You are correct. Well done.

*insert the ‘You’re Correct Horse’ video*

"I love.... I ~~~~~love~~~~~~.... everyone "

"So yes.... alll... LIVES... DO... INDEED.... MATTER.... TO MEEEEEEE~~~~~~”

"This moment of history is harsh and merciless.... and in this moment.... I'm choosing.... LOVE"

HE'S LITERALLY JUST REPEATED THE 'WOKE CAPITALISM' LINE FROM EARLIER WORD-FOR-WORD

"Mobbing.... is social murder!"

"And by definition.... people cannot survive their own murder!"

(Again, just imagine his voice breaking with ~~~~~~~emotion~~~~~~~ on that line)

"How do we move from hateful to grateful????"

(The worst part is I know that this shit is going to be convincing to some people and that makes me actually sad)

"Exercise from the neck-up, during this.... PANIC-DEMIC!"

HE'S QUOTING CULLEN I FUCKING CAN'T

"As fans eagerly and patiently await the release of Dragon Age 4, and hope for the inclusion of their ~~~~beloved~~~~~~ Cullen"

*vomit*

okay now he's just telling Cullen's backstory?

I'm guessing this is going to lead somehow into the whole "DON'T BE MEAN TO ME FOR THE SHITTY THINGS I DID IN THE PAST!!!!" thing?

Okay no he just... said it and then moved on?

"Only time.... and the Maker... will tell”

THAT’S IT

what the fuck i am going mad help

this video should come with a warning I got sucked in and trapped for half an hour

#dragon age #greg ellis #fandom drama #anti cullen #I know this isn't really about Cullen as a character but I want people who have that tag blacklisted to be able to avoid this #cullen fans please don't hate me for saying I hate cullen #I promise I don't hate people who like him #I just never liked the character #it's not like a moral stance or anything #anyway I think Greg Ellis owes me reparations for the psychic damage I took watching that video

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rein-ette · 3 years

Note

If you still fancy a drabble prompt, I've always seen Canada and England having a very warm and comfortable relationship- if it interests you, maybe a prompt could be one going to the other for advice about something?

It does indeed interest me, thank you for the prompt! I've had a bunch of Mattie-Arthur scenarios swimming around in my mind for a long time, so I'm glad to have a chance to put one of them down on paper. As always, this was supposed to be a "drabble" but magically lengthened itself the more I thought about it -- I don't think drabbles are supposed to have historical notes.

"Come in."

Matthew shifted his pile of papers to his other arm and pushed through the door of Arthur's office. Inside, the fading afternoon light illuminated the rich mahogony floor and danced on the spines of the hundreds of books that lined each wall. Remembering the excitement he felt when he was first allowed to peruse these shelves, Matthew couldn't help but smile softly to himself.

Arthur himself sat at his desk, one ankle propped up on his knee as he stared idly out the window. Matthew could just barely see a white trim of bandages that peeked out from underneath his collar. That dimmed his smile. It had been more than two years now since the war had ended in Europe, but Arthur still looked as gaunt as he did during the days when engines still roared over London and — though Matthew had not thought it possible — even more exhausted. The worn smile Arthur offered him said as much, and Matthew pushed away a twinge of guilt.

Arthur jerked his chin at the seat in front of his desk and Matthew sat, stacking his documents in a neat pile in front of him. Instead of immediately going through them, however, he gazed worriedly at his old guardian.

"How are you feeling?"

Arthur sighed and shifted in his seat, dropping his leg and turning to face Matthew. He stared at the ancient, ink-stained wood of his desk for a while, and Matthew could almost see the warring emotions on Arthur's face as his desire to be honest fought with his lingering instinct to conceal and protect Matthew from the worries that plagued him. But because they were past such pretenses, he finally murmured, "Tired."

Matthew hummed sympathetically in response. There wasn't much he could do or say to change that, and he expected the reports he brought would only exhaust Arthur further. So he merely asked, "Are you remembering to apply the salve twice a day?"

Matthew flushed a little when Arthur rolled his eyes at him good-naturedly, realizing he was fussing like Arthur was his child, instead of the other way around. Thankfully, Arthur spared him further embarrasment by only answering a tad dryly that yes, he was actually capable of following simple instructions. Matthew mumbled out a reply before deciding that he might as well get on with what he was actually here for, knowing Arthur had never been one for small talk. Clearing his throat, he slid the top half of his stack of papers across the desk.

"They sent you a copy of Lord Mountbatten's plan, I think with annotations, though I haven't gone through the whole thing. And this part is the proposal for the national flag. Also," he pulled a cream letter from the pile and passed that over as well, "India asked that you be there personally, in August," he finished.

Arthur hummed and rifled through the papers. Matthew couldn't quite read his expression. After a few moments, he stacked them again and placed them to the side, with the letter on top. "Thanks. I'll go through them later."

Matthew nodded. "And here I just summarized the letters and stuff from the others. I've left them back in the box, in case you wanted to read them yourself. There's not too much going on really. That you don't already know."

"Yes. Thank you. This is a great help, Matthew, truly."

"You're welcome," Matthew murmured, and watched Arthur scan the notes before setting them aside as well. His eyes traced the shadows underneath the other nation's eyes, before dropping back down to the cotton bandages around his neck. He wondered if Arthur was sleeping at all.

"Is there anything else I can do? I'm heading back to Ottawa next week, but if you need me to take over some stuff for a bit, I can stay longer —"

"No, no, it's fine," Arthur cut him off. "Like I said, I'm just a little tired, that's all. But all this," he waved a hand at the documents , "isn't anything new."

Matthew frowned. "Isn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, I know the paperwork isn't new, but, these," he drew a breath, "reforms, and the war, of course. That's — I mean. No one's, you know, had to deal with that, before."

Arthur frowned, and traced a finger along the edge of his desk, before sighing, "No, I guess not." He turned again to look out the window behind him. After several long moments, he said, quietly, "But it's not entirely unexpected, either. I just—" The corner of his lips jerked down, and for a moment it seemed as if he was almost in pain. He drew in a breath, and said, "It's just. Difficult. That's all. To—but." He stopped again, grimaced, as if at his own ineloquence. Finally, he said, slowly, as carefully as if he was embroidering the words onto the air between them, "The world is changing. Let us not stand in the way, lest they make us out to be fools."

Watching him struggle, Matthew found himself at a loss as well. Never had he imagined that Arthur — sharp-tongued, quick-witted Arthur, who could neither be bullied nor silenced, who could quote from more books than Matthew had ever read — would be scrambling for words. But then, as he watched Arthur's shoulders curve in towards himself like Matthew had seen a thousand times before in another stubborn, sandy-haired nation who also seemed to have endless words but never quite the right ones, he knew what he needed to do.

Smiling again, Matthew stood, drawing on Arthur's arm so he would turn to face him and said, "I think you need a hug."

Unnecessarily Long Notes are Unnecessarily Long

I didn't state the specific setting of this scene, but the timing of the historical events mentioned means it has to have been sometime between June and August of 1947. Despite the fact that Mattie says "not much is going on", my lord, a lot was going on in 1947; hence why Artie is doing his best impression of the walking dead. Besides the Indian and Pakistan independence movement, officially achieved in August 1947 which is alluded to (Mountbatten, or 3 June Plan, was the precursor to the Indian Independence Act of 1947), Europe was also going through complete social upheaval. To mention just a couple highlights: Germany was in such ruin it was said to have returned to the Roman ages, Britain was rationing harder than ever despite the war having ended, and of course Mr. Truman and Mr. Stalin were gearing up for the Great Showdown. A quote I like which captures the feeling of the time is from H.G. Wells: "[where] other civilizations rolled and crumbled down, the European civilization was, as it were, blown up." [quoted by Tony Judt, Postwar]. Also directly concerning Arthur was the issue of Palestine, which as we all know was and is contentious, to say the very least.

Arthur's attitude to decolonisation is...complicated. Clearly I went with a softer view here, but certainly not all (or even many) British held the view in 1947 that the Empire should be decolonized at all. Hence Arthur during this time was probably a raging hypocrite and, if he wasn't already, at least 50% psychologically unstable. However, I allowed Arthur a little dignity here, in part because he's 2000 years old and as such should have a tiny more perspective than us humans, and also because the weakness of the Empire was much more evident to those in government and the army. Even if it wasn't popular opinion yet, anyone with half a braincell could see that every day Britian didn't decolonize was costing them more than they could afford. Additionally, Britain did decolonise much, much faster than all the other powers and in a relatively peaceful and orderly manner, though what ensued in the countries they left behind was neither. I should also add that Matthew is not the most objective of narrators either -- Canada, despite being a former colony, was still strongly Anglophilic, especially right after WWII. Still, I hope ya'll won't begrudge Arthur a hug.

#hws england #hws canada #fic #ask #rainbowfruitpastilles #needcake i'm working on urs next #ngl urs is kinda hard #but thats what practice is about #in the meantime send more asks :D #this is fun #fun times with the commonwealth

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out-of-jams · 3 years

Text

Denial | myg

↠meet-cute ↞ noun. (in a film or television show) an amusing or charming first encounter between two characters that leads to the development of a romantic relationship between them.

All works here are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission. That is illegal and you are stealing no matter if you give credit or not.

→ Meet-Cute Drabble Collection!

When Min Yoongi heard that Big Hit was staffing a new producer to help with the workload of managing – now two – groups, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Nor did he particularly care, if he were being completely honest. He’d seen the staff carrying equipment into the empty studio across from his and didn’t blink twice.

Sure, there was going to be another pair of ears for his and Namjoon’s proposed songs to pass through. But with their current level of fame, Big Hit pretty much gave them free reign on the music they wanted to produce anyway. So, it wasn’t like he needed the approval of whatever fresh out of college producer (at least from what he’d heard through the grapevine) was being employed.

Though your name did come with quite a long list of accomplishments. Apparently, you hadn’t even really needed to finish getting your degree with how many companies actively sought out your employment. But you’d turned them all down to work under Big Hit. But frankly, Yoongi didn’t care what piece of paper you came with. As long as you could make music.

And no, he hadn’t searched you up on Naver prior to you even moving into your studio across the hall. And no, you definitely had not piqued his interest with the many song credits were listed underneath a photo of your cute, dimpled smile.

And no, Yoongi certainly did not offer to help you move your things into your new workspace on your first day. He was simply gauging whether or not you would get along well enough to be able to work together.

And for the last time, no, Min Yoongi absolutely did not want to get to know you more. Nor did he accept your invitation to buy him coffee to thank him for helping you settle in. Neither did he accept said offer.

Or well, that’s what he told people anyway.

The ice in your coffee was beginning to melt and turn the plastic cup into a sweating mess of condensation. But you paid it no mind. Didn’t even notice the fact that it was dripping all over the desk. Because you were too busy paying attention to the way Min Yoongi’s slim fingers danced across the piano keys. And the beautiful notes that filled the comfortable silence in the room with a heat that warmed your soul.

Yoongi’s eyes were closed, body swaying to the beat and dark lashes brushing his pale cheeks. The effortless way he played drew your eyes like a moth to a flame in a lightless dark.

God, why were you being so pathetically poetic?

When he’d stopped you in the hall of Producer’s Row earlier that morning and asked you to give your opinion on a song he was working on, well, how could you say no? Especially with the way he’d pretended like he didn’t care either way what your choice was. But you knew better, if judging by the way he held the normally locked door to his studio open invitingly. Hell, you’d only known the guy for a few weeks, ever since you started working at Big Hit as a producer. And while Min Yoongi tended to be a heavily guarded man, you were starting to see past the walls he put up.

Which was why when his fingers stopped their dance and his feline-like eyes peered over at you to silently ask your opinion, you answered him with complete sincerity.

“Beautiful,” you stated and crossed your legs tighter underneath your thighs, socked feet bare from shoes. He’d politely given up his desk chair for you to sit in and took the spare (and less comfortable one) for himself.

“But?” Yoongi prodded before you could finish what you were saying, and you shot him a playful eye roll.

“But what about changing it to F-minor instead of A-minor?”

He hummed; head tilted to the side in thought before he plucked across the piano keys without looking. When the music filled the room, a tiny smile teased around his mouth.

“I see.” And he did. If the way that he continued to play spoke of anything.

#bts #bts fic #yoongi #Yoongi fic #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #magicshopnet #ficswithluv #btsbookclub

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inkformyblood · 3 years

Text

To Love Is To Learn

Jangobi Week 2021 Prompt #6 Fix-It AU (Canon Divergence mid-Kamino)

“Decommissioned?” Jango stopped, his boots ringing on the metal floor. The spindly Kaminoan, Lino Bivui, turned back towards him, twisting a stylus round their pale fingers. Their cheeks were flushed a pale grey, something that resembled excitement sparking in their dark eyes. It sent a cold shiver of unease running down Jango’s spine, and he tucked his thumbs into the hip pockets of his blacks to stop himself from reaching for the blaster on his hip.

“Yes.”

Jango fought the urge to roll his eyes, the gesture no longer hidden behind the safety of his helmet. Muscles he didn’t know he had ached from training the new batch of troopers, and exhaustion had been a constant companion for the past two years. But he was still here, roaming the halls with the Kaminoan, rather than curling into his bed for a few hours before the training began again.

“What,” Jango let some of his irritation gather in his voice like an oncoming storm, “exactly do you mean by the decommissioning of the clone troopers?” The words ‘of my sons’ went unspoken, bitten back at the last second, because how could he not love them? It would be as impossible as trying to pluck every star from the sky with his bare hands. He was Mando’a, regardless of what people tried to say to him, and some instincts were harder to shake than others.

Lino Bivui drew themselves up higher, confused and affronted and Jango didn’t care. He wasn’t about to ask twice, letting himself finally wrap his fingers around the handle of his blaster. Their eyes dropped to it the movement, as dark and liquid as the sea on this infernal planet, and they sighed.

Telling Jango what it meant may not have been the last thing they ever did, but they sealed their fate when they finished with ‘After all, they’re not human.’

Green blood covered the walls, dripping from Jango’s hands as he worked methodically through the floors, enacting his own brand of justice. When the day dawned on Kamino, the facility was empty and Jango Fett, along with his sons and storage vats, was nowhere to be found.

⁂

Jango didn’t know exactly what time it was — the instinct had slowly eroded with every year of peace that passed — but he knew it was too damn early.

An exploratory press of his hand sideways came away tangled in a cold nest of blankets, some softer than he was used even now, revealing Obi-Wan was already awake and up with their sons. The thought still sent a twisted curl of warmth through his chest, Jango’s heart beating slightly faster whenever he remembered that Obi-Wan had chosen him, and let Jango love him in return.

His train of thought was derailed as the crushing weight firmly settled on top of his chest shifted, one tiny hand pressing into his cheek. “Bui’?”

Jango fought back the reflexive groan, knowing his previous plans last night — of being able to luxuriate in bed with his riduur on one of Obi-Wan’s rare mornings free — were now impossible and half-opened an eye. A blurry face stared back at him, impossibly close and Jango did groan this time, eyes snapping shut again to try and dissuade the eager toddler sitting on him.

It didn’t work.

“Bui’!” Jango flinched away from the resounding squeal, the noise sending a blaster bolt of pain through his head. He hooked his arm under the wriggling toddler and twisted them both so they were lying on the blankets, side by side, hoping beyond hope that his restless son would settle.

“Bui’, up!”

Jango resigned himself to wakefulness, navigating by touch — making the child next to him giggle in delight and try to grab at his fingers — to press his forehead to his son’s, breathing in the gentle scent of floral shampoo and the faint tinge of engine oil.

Clearly, the Alpha batch had gotten distracted while watching their younger siblings already.

The group was so similar to Jango already that on previous occasions, he had found Jaster’s admonishments falling from his lips, an echo that made him turn pale with looks of teenage defiance turning to worry in a second.

“Good morning, ad’ika,” Jango groaned, pressing his shoulder back as far as he could, hearing the bone crack with the motion. He squinted down at the boy, a growing sense of confusion washing through him. Which child was this?

The decision to decant the remaining batches from the storage tanks had been a long argued over one. The battle raged until the early hours of the morning, only to resume at first light, proving to be ultimately pointless when they all discovered that the children would die otherwise.

Plo Koon and Shaak Ti had deliberately not looked at the other before they crept from the meeting room towards the tanks to begin the process as soon as they heard. Jango suspected they were the key driving forces — except Jango and Obi-Wan himself — in annulling the previous agreement between the Kaminoans and the Senate and granting all of his sons their freedom.

Jango sat up, the child copying his actions clumsily, a wide grin on their face and eyes fixed on him. A quick check of his outfit: the steel blue of the batch marked to be the 501st Legion originally, helped somewhat, but not enough. He couldn’t be Echo or Fives — those two were never far apart from each other — and he lacked the careful braids of Tup. Jango sighed, roughly kicking his legs free of the blanket and standing up, the child already rising to his feet — wobbling slightly on the uneven mattress and raising his arms to be picked up.

“Kix?” Jango asked as he obliged. The delighted peal of laughter as he settled the boy on his hip let him know he was wrong once again.

The tiles were warm beneath his feet, and Jango smiled to himself as the memory of Obi-Wan collapsing into the bed beside him — his skin sun-warmed and smelling faintly of honey — rose unbidden as he walked towards the door. For all Jango treasured his memories of Obi-Wan, nothing could compare to the man himself.

Obi-Wan sat crossed-legged in a pool of dappled sunlight, a gently steaming cup of tea next to his knee with one child sat in his lap with a look of such intense concentration on his face Jango couldn’t help but grin.

“Cody has been such a good help this morning,” Obi-Wan said, his eyes still closed but his face inclined towards Jango regardless. Cody opened one eye — the other slowly opening despite his best efforts — and nodded enthusiastically.

“Have the rest been behaving for your buir?” Jango asked Cody who, even at the age of approximately seven, carried the self-inflicted responsibility of the other children on his shoulders.

Cody paused, clearly trying to think of a half-truth as he spotted the child held on Jango’s hip.

“Seventeen said they’d only be a few minutes,” he reported finally. “And that Jesse wanted to find Kix so he wouldn’t be any bother, and Kix is still asleep.”

“Cyar’ika, we need better colour-coding for our children.” Jesse was already squirming to be put down as Jango lowered him to the floor, trying to run towards the sleeping Kix — sprawled on the floor next to Obi-Wan — even before his feet made contact.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan did look at him then, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled, hair shot through with gold in the sunlight.

Cody sighed a far too world-weary sound, and wriggled free of Obi-Wan’s lap, crossing the room to scramble into the playpen with Boba and Rex instead.

Jango laughed, leaning down to kiss Obi-Wan as he had been wanting to do since he first woke up. The other man laughed against his lips — laughter prompted by the disapproving sigh that echoed from the teenager passing by their open door, one child clinging to his back — and reached up to wrap his arms around Jango’s neck, fingers tugging at the curls at the base of his neck.

“I love you,” Jango whispered, trying to fit years worth of gratitude and love into those three simple words.

“I know.” Obi-Wan’s voice was soft and so full of love that he could have plucked Jango’s heart from his chest and he wouldn’t have protested.

A wail made them break apart, Boba noticing that Jango was in the room and reaching for him demandingly as Cody held Rex balanced on his hip, smoothing one hand over his younger brother’s blonde curls.

Jango kissed Obi-Wan again, quick, gone before the other man could do much more than blink and moved towards Boba. The morning was golden, and his family was safe. It was everything he never imagined he would have on that day when he fled from Kamino, blood on his hands and a sobbing child on his lap while the rest sat silent and scared in the hold. And Jango was so grateful that he had made that choice, as it brought him his family.

#jangobiweek #jangobiweek2021 #jangobi #jango fett #jangowan #obi wan kenobi #star wars

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

put her together again (02)

word count; 6241

summary; mitch realises just how literal your instructions an be taken, and teh extent of your trauma, before helping you get over a major breakthrough.

notes; pretty major stuff in this part, so I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing about it. I know we’re moving quiet fast through the time spaces right now, but that’s kinda’ just the way it has to go.

warnings; reference to abuse, reference to brainwashing, reference to injury.

Following a rocky introduction to his life, the ripples you caused seemed to smooth out fairly easily after that. Mitch found himself acting less and less like you were a baby in need of protection, and instead, you had become more like a simple accessory to his life. You reminded him of a cat, you didn’t really talk to him, but you simply coexisted, moving around the shared space and living together without ever having to talk.

You no longer sat in silence and sulked in your room, though, because he’d managed to coax you out. Simple tasks and basic chores meant you were pulling your weight around the house, and he definitely notice that you’d occasionally things would be in slightly different places, objects cleaned an inspected while he wasn’t looking, as you learned your whereabouts. Books to read, paper and pencils to draw with, anything he could think of to try and get a little information of you, because talking never worked.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying, this wasn’t exactly his ideal assignment, a year out of action as he babysat a moody assassin wasn’t something he thought he’d be spending his life doing, and so he was determined to try and make breakthroughs with you and learn as much about you as he possibly could, because the sooner you started talking and making progress, the sooner you’d be off of his hands. He just had to ensure you were stable and functional enough to undergo whatever therapy and rigorous interviewing it was that Irene had lined up for you.

You’d had a few conversations with him, which were mostly one-sided as he spoke and you stared at him with that same blank look, and over what had been almost a month now, Mitch had flittered through a range of emotion. Confusion, concern, anger, irritation, helplessness, and now back to confusion. This confusion, however, was mixed with some form of sadness and pity for you, the broken-toy vibe that you gave off made him permanently feel depressed and exhausted himself, and he was grateful for the reprieve when you seemed to perk up - even just a little bit - while reading of drawing.

The books were mostly just everything that he had around at the time, and you must’ve read everything on his shelves at least twice right now, even the ones written in Arabic that he’d forgotten he’d ever owned, which had lead to an interesting discovery that you apparently knew five languages fluently, and had a reasonable understanding of a further three. You were still icy and cold with him, and so he gave up on trying to ask you what the drawings meant, encouraging you to just draw whatever came to your mind when you picked up a pencil, most of your doodles and scribbles meaning nothing to him, but he faxed copies of them all over to Irene, and saved them in a folder when you were done with them.

The most startling thing he had learned, though, was just how young you’d been when you were taken.

A simple series of questions he’d asked you one day over dinner, stemming from his desperate attempt to find out more about you at the beginning o week two, an answer that had shaken him to his very core and sent his insides twisting in disgust and sadness for you, and his appetite had quickly drained after hearing your response. All he had asked was how old you were, how long you’d been doing this, and you had seemed entirely unaffected when you’d answered.

“Unit eight has been active for twenty years, six months and eight days - and has been in service for eleven years, three months and seventeen days.”

He remembered Irene saying that the agents were taken young, but that was younger than anybody could even remember, your life was based entirely on the way you’d been raised, on being grown and shaped into a weapon for a company that would use you until you died. You had no childhood, no young adulthood, you had nothing but the memories of a cell and an abuser, and even he had a childhood he could look back on before his own parents had passed away.

You weren’t a puzzle, you were like a broken glass, shattered on the floor and chipped, but it was his job to put you back together again. You’d never be whole, never the way you were before, you’d be splintered and cracked, but you’d no longer be shattered, and he was determined to achieve that for you.

Setting your mind up to do something productive seemed to be the best way to make progress with you, and he began to notice a steady pattern of what made you seem like you were on the verge of a breakthrough, and what made you seem like you were closing back in on yourself.

When you used shades of blue in your artwork, you seemed to be denoting happier scenes, things like snow and food, or simple sketches of what you were seeing around his home, and Mitch had decided that blue must be your favourite colour, even if you didn’t know it yourself, because you gravitated towards blue things. You liked to sit at the end of the couch with the blue cushion, and you favourite the deep navy hoodie he’d given to you, and the blue body wash in the bathroom seemed to be used up far more quickly than the yellow or red one, even though it had no scent other than sea salt, and the other two had a fruit essence that he’d originally thought you’d enjoy upon purchase.

Reds and purples seemed to donate darker times, the tips of the pencils often broken and in need of sharpening, and he had to buy those far more often than any others, because you pressed down harder into the paper, scribbling aggressively as you drew cages and corridors, until dark images with barely any white paper left revealed were created, and these must’ve been colours associated with things that hurt you in the past. Blue brought you calmness and serenity, and even made you more open to answering his questions or listening to him talk at dinner, but red and purples made your mood turn sour, and on those nights a palpable tension shrouding in darkness would often hang over the room.

You liked it when you were able to read sci-fi books, he’d noticed because his one copy of that genre on the bookshelf had never been put back after it had been picked up, always seeming to follow you around the house, even if you were on other books at the time. Mitch figured you liked to escape into another world, that you just wanted to get away from the life that you actually lived to find a better one, and he wasn’t entirely sure he blamed you. He was taking notes, jotting it down, the way you favoured certain things over another, and the way you scowled when he turned the vacuum on, but liked to sit in the laundry room when the washer was on, even though it was a little broken and rattled. The clock that clicked loudly with every second that passed was something he often found you sitting near on the bad days, your fingers twitching in time with the clicks, and he’d be damned if he said he didn’t find it at least the littlest bit endearing that you were able to search and find comfort in somewhere that was probably unfamiliar and rather scary to you.

The weeks passed on and on, your walls crumbling bit by bit as you seemed to grow more comfortable around him, choosing to sit with him on the couch when you ate dinner in the living room instead of at the table, and you had even begun to mimic some of his actions, taking on basic responsibilities around the house. You washed up, and unpacked the shopping when he brought things back, and he knew you tidied your room, because while you kept the door shut to him, he would occasionally catch a glimpse inside, and it was always spotless.

Luckily for Mitch, he’d managed to wrangle himself a few moments free at the end of each week. He set you off with a few hours worth of tasks each Friday, before slipping out to the coffee shop to get himself a well deserved hot drink and moment of quiet, before doing stopping by at the gym, and then going on to do some shopping.

From midday until five PM every Friday afternoon, Mitch got a little bit of freedom to himself, but as of two days ago, that had gone too, Irene telling him he was to come in and start giving her actual reports on how you were doing.

He wasn’t ready for the earlier rise this morning, and apparently, it had been a bad day. You’d spent the night screaming as you dreamt until the early hours, and so he’d only had a few moments of sleep, barely scraping himself out of bed in the morning. You’d been a challenge, to say the least, unwilling to leave your room after the awful dreams you’d had, until he’d shouted at you to come out and eat, a thing he was feeling guilty for now as you’d trudged from the room with your head hung low, and refused to meet his eye as he rushed around to get ready.

He felt guilty about a lot of things that had happened this morning, the most important of which being the fact that he had completely forgotten to go through the list of tasks with you, which he had spent an hour and a half making for you last night as he sat in the home office, his face popped up on his hand as he leaned over the desk and started at the sheet of paper, while trying to think of ways to help you without seeming like he was taking advantage of you to do household jobs, or patronising you by treating you like an incompetent child. He had rushed out before giving you the list, the paper sitting on his desk still, the office in which you never entered, the door closed from his exit last night, and he was genuinely convened that he would come home and find you still sitting at the kitchen table, legs numb and body aching from holding yourself upright for almost five hours, a dish still sitting in front of you and hours wasted once again.

He had realised this about thirty minutes into a meeting with Irene, one that had gone on for a further two hours, and then Stan had caught him in the corridor to discuss the upkeep on his training, before demanding a sparring session, which had taken up another hour of his time, and despite how much he knew he needed to get home to you, the two of you were rapidly running out of food, and so he was certain he needed to make at least a bare minimum shopping trip.

And so over four hours later, with shopping bags in hand a twisting feeling in his gut, Mitch was trudging his way back up the stairs to his apartment and rifling through his pockets to find his keys, only to remember after five whole minutes, that they were clasped between his teeth. It had been a long fuckin’ day.

Muscles aching, stomach rumbling, and silence meeting him when he opened the door, Mitch let out a deep sigh as he saw you.

It was out of relief, his lips flicking up at the sides as he realised at least one thing had gone right today. Your hair was still a little wet and your clothes were changed, clearly, you had showered, and you were peering at him over the edge of your book, face stoic and blank as you looked at him, and he kicked the door shut, moving around the room to place the bags down on the kitchen counter.

Your pencil set was out on the coffee table too, a new drawing facing upwards, this one decorated with splotches of greens and blues, a house in the foreground and a sunny day, signs along the road and toys in the garden, and it was possibly the most detailed drawing you’d done yet, similar to the line sketch you’d done a few weeks ago, the comparison in his mind flashing up as a green flag.

“I was worried that you’d stay in that chair all day, I’m glad to see that you haven’t.”

It had almost seemed like you’d shrugged, closing the book you were reading and sitting up to look at him over the edge of the couch as he put away all the food and supplies he’d bought for you both. “Based on previous assignments, it was logical that the handler would be satisfied with the unit’s task choices.”

He stilled, mulling it all over in his mind.

On the one hand, he was incredibly happy to see that you were gaining your ability to come up with ideas for yourself, even if you were doing it to please other people. It was the first time you’d gained a little individuality, choosing what you wanted to do from a list of ‘approved’ tasks, and just like that, he realised you’d made a pretty impressive breakthrough.

On the other hand, though, you saw him as your new handler, and that made him feel like yous aw him as a possible threat and someone who might hurt you, and he certainly never wanted you to feel like that. He wanted you to be safe with him, he wanted you to trust him and open up, not see him as someone who’d hurt you.

He finished tidying away, leaving out some pasta and basic ingredients for mac and cheese on the counter, and you were still sitting on the couch, watching him move around and waiting to be told what to do now that he was back.

“I think we should have a schedule, y’know? We can make a routine, then you don’t have to wait for me to tell you what to do.”

“Differing to the current routine?”

If he wasn’t mistaken, there was almost a hint of judgement and sass in your voice, spoken to him like he was just supposed to know that, and he placed his hands flat on the counter, raising his brows at you. “We already have a routine?”

You fixed him with a look that he couldn't quite decipher, before getting up and walking past him, disappearing into your room for only a moment, before re-emerging, a sheet of paper clasped in your hands.

Handwritten in the pencils you had scattered around, a pang shot through his chest as he got a glimpse of your writing, something that was unique to you, and so, in turn, felt so personal and special in a way that he couldn't quite place, but deeply appreciated. Taking a seat at the table, you pushed it towards him, head bowed down to look at the slightly stained wood, and he didn’t like standing above you, forcing you to see him as a superior, so he sat down opposite you.

Picking it up, his eyes scanned along it, taking in each and every note you had written, timeframes jotted down alongside tasks and notes, and a lot of things suddenly began to come to light about the way you acted, and when you wouldn't inevitably emerge from your bedroom, before retreating back into it. You stuck to this timetable like your life depended on it, and he was certain that at a time it had, but not anymore, and so making a routine wasn’t the direction to go in. He didn’t need to reinforce that behaviour, he needed to break you out of it.

Your entire life up until now had been based on punishments and time frames, and so what you needed were reward and spontaneity, to show you that you still had an entire life to live, if you could just let him free you from the box you’d been forced into. Mealtimes, work out schedules, study breaks, there was no free time, your day was filled with waiting on handler tasks and basic upkeep from the moment you got up to the moment you went to bed, and he shook his head in distaste, turning it back to you.

“Do you want to go for a walk? It’s a little late, but it’s not too cold tonight.”

“Exercise is scheduled between 10 AM and 3 PM every day.” He felt his head tip to the side a little as he studied you, licking over his lower lip and bringing it to sit clenched between his teeth as he nodded.

“I saw that, but I was thinking we could make an exception.”

“Is this an assignment?” You were pulling the paper closer to yourself, but looking up at him now, meeting his eye as you waited for an answer.

“No, it’s not an assignment, it’s fun.”

“Fun?” You echoed him, and he grinned a little as he watched you, and there was no doubt that there was judgement in your tone this time, a slight underlay of confused mocking, and while it wasn’t quite the emotions he wanted you t greet him with, it was more than the monotone and clipped sentences that he’d been awarded so far.

“Okay, so that’s a no on the walk then, but we will come back to that.” You raised a single brow at him, and the entirety of his bad day seemed to pale into insignificance as the first semblance of a personality from you dripped in, and it turns out, you were rather sassy. “You did good today, and everyone loves pasta, so how about you let me set us off some mac and cheese, and then we can rework this routine a bit, okay?”

“Command understood.”

You sat back in the chair, giving him a curt nod and crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. “Not a command, okay? Just a suggestion, something to be done, but I’m not commanding you.”

Your mouth opened, before you paused for a second, and he watched carefully, before you swallowed, bringing your gaze up to his own boldly. “Understood.”

“Progress.”

That statement was more for himself than for you, and he pulled out an oven dish and the jar of sauce he had, beginning to measure up pasta quantities as he prepared the meal for you both to share. During that time, he’d heard you get up, anew piece of paper being fetched and your pencil case, bringing them both back to your seat and spilling the wooden sticks out over the surface.

He had watched on in interest as he poured you both a glass of water while you arranged the colours to your liking, perfect rows in colour order, and you seemed satisfied with your job, folding your hands into your lap as you waited on him to join you. Pulling out a chair beside you instead of opposite you, your body stiffened slightly beside his own, but you didn’t flinch away or move, and so he decided to take that as a good sign. The original schedule sat by it for comparison, one you’d work through every day, and he hovered his hands over the lines of pencils, waiting for your approval on the act, and you offered him a curt nod to allow him to pick one up.

The first action he took was to write times along the side, knowing that he couldn't snap you out of it too much, he didn’t want to startle you or make you panic and curl back in n yourself, not when you were taking so many steps forward now, and so he wrote the times from morning to evening all the way along the side, and drew lines to match each one, before picking up two new colours of pencils.

“I’ll be green, and you’ll be blue, okay?”

You nodded, leaning in a little as you watched him transfer some of the events and items across onto the new sheet, using the blue pencil first as you changed some things around. Breakfast was at ten o’clock instead of eight, and you would only work out for one hour a day instead of a killer five hours every day. Dinner would be at five, and you had no commitments after that, but you had household jobs scheduled at four just before you ate.

Then, he moved onto himself, adding in green in the filler hours, such as his office work and his own workout, and he made a mental note to show you his home gym, so that you didn’t feel like you had to be locked away in your room. He also put in the time for showers and personal grooming, which was optional depending on the day, before he let out a proud sound, and presented it to you for approval.

“There are empty spaces. Units must not be left without tasks.”

“You won’t be left without things to do.” He turned, tapping the tip of your nose with a pencil and your face screwed up at the ticklish touch, before resetting to the blank expression he was oh-so-familiar with. “Those are called free time, or downtime. Time to relax, and do whatever you want to do. Like read, or draw, or whatever.”

You only nodded, seeming suspicious of the idea, but you didn’t argue and so he was happy with that, because he had the chance to help you discover who you wanted to be, and who you were when you weren’t under anybody’s control except your own.

“How about we say that once a week, we’ll go for a walk after dark? Just around the block, but it’ll do you good to get some fresh air.” You gave him your confirmation, and he felt like tonight you’d taken more steps in the last hour that you had in the previous six weeks of living together. Pushing his chair back, you flinched a little at the wood on the tiles, and with a mumbled apology under his breath, before he was rearranging the things pinned up on the fridge to make space for the sheet. “How about we keep this out here, where we can both see it, yeah?”

Your response game after a moment’s deliberation, but you were tucking your hands into the sleeves of the sweater in a way that made you look adorable as you let a little of you defences down again, seemingly without realising you’d done it, using his clothing like a suit of armour as you shielded yourself within them; “That would be acceptable.”

“Great. Now, it’s pasta time.”

You didn’t fight him on that, but he did hear you sniff the air as he opened the oven, and Mitch smirked to himself as he pulled the tray out and up onto the surface, bubbling cheese sauce and steaming pasta, and he fished around for two dishes and a serving spoon with which to sort the meal with.

Grabbing at forks and covering up the leftovers but leaving it out in case you wanted more, he placed the dish down before you, taking a seat beside you and while you didn’t say the words ‘thank you’, he saw what was most definitely a grateful look in your eyes, and he ducked his head, stirring his food around and stabbing at his pasta, shoving hot food into his mouth. He was slightly startled, to say the least, when you started a conversation, never having optionally chosen to be the first to talk before, and he looked up at you expectantly as soon as he heard your intake of breath;

“What are the recommended ‘free time’ activities?”

The routine seemed to work for you, it opened you up a little more to him and made it easier for the two of you to bond, but he quickly realised that having you sound when you had no idea what to do was slightly less functional.

You now seemed to follow him around like a lost puppy, and you still didn’t talk as much, so he didn’t mind having you around, but he felt sorry for you. You would sit and just keep him company silently as he did his office work, for hours at a time, or slink away to workout and take a shower before returning. Every book he had was now rearranged on the shelves, and you were running out of paper, beginning to sketch the same things over and over again because you had nothing else to do, and he quickly realised that his apartment was nowhere near as entertaining as he thought it was.

Sometimes, the two of you would watch a movie in the evening, but the television gave you headaches after too long, not that you ever voiced the pain but he could tell from the way you’d squint and rub at your eyes, getting a little cranky before going to bed and rubbing your temples. That meant you still needed an adjustment period to screens, not to mention that you had no idea how to operate much technology, and so he was left to occupy you with more basic forms of entertainment.

Your personality had been developing, though, coming through in dribs and drabs. You had favourites in the books now, a stack that you would go back over every day, whereas certain genres had been delegated back to the shoves to never again be touched, and he flicked through them one day before you got up, smiling to himself a little at the idea that science-fiction and fantasy were your favourites.

Following that discovery, he’d got a library card, making room on one of his Friday afternoons out to go to the building and browse the aisles, checking out ten new books following those genres to surprise you with, and you’d all but bounced in your spot as you stood before him, eyes wide and slightly sparkling as he handed them over to you. That day you did thank him, looking him in the eye as you said those words, and the locked eyes felt almost too intense for him to handle, you didn’t shy away or duck your head in respect of authority when he didn’t turn away either, heat crawling along his cheeks before you’d chosen to look down at the new books he’d given you.

He found in meals that you would eat anything you were given, despite his insistence that if you particularly liked something or didn’t like something, then you should speak up so he knew what to get, but you ate anything he gave you.

He picked up on the fact that you ate chicken at twice the speed you ate lamb, and that you’d had seconds of the beef stew and mashed potato he’d made one night, and you always pushed broccoli onto a fork with other food to eat it, but were happy to eat carrots and peas without having to accompany them with something else. Cheesecake was nice for dessert, but only if it had the lemon swirls, not the strawberry ones, and you preferred brownies to cookies.

Despite all his studying of you, he knew you were studying and learning him just as much in response. When he did the laundry, you’d fold it so he didn’t have to, and when he was cooking, you’d set the table. He’d watched you go around the entire apartment with a fine-tooth comb one day, checking everything and learning their places, memorising where it would all go and the positioning of things, finally accepting the environment as your own. You knew which side of the table he liked to sit on and which was his favourite chair, never sitting in it or disturbing his routine, and you’d grown to knocking on the office door before entering to sit with him quietly instead of just barging in and starling him if the world had slipped away around him as he drowned in mission reports and debriefing statements.

It was odd, to learn someone so well, to become so in tune with another person when they hardly spoke to you, and to know someone so well when they barely knew themselves. It was hard to talk to you, you didn’t even know your name, but he knew of your childhood trauma at the hands of kidnappers, and you lived with him but couldn't remember your own house while growing up. Having another person in his life was something that Mitch had expected to hate, but as the ‘end of your third-month’ marker of slightly uneasy but otherwise reasonably acceptable cohabitation came around, he found that he rather enjoyed having your presence.

The large space felt more welcoming now, and knowing he had someone to come home to and sit with as he ate his meals or watched his movies made the long days feel a little shorter, and the stressful workload feel a little more bearable, even if it was only a temporary fixture, but Mitch was making the most of it while it lasted.

“I’m home!” Mitch had to resist the urge to add the word ‘honey’ onto the beginning there, his eyes rolling at himself as he grinned at the joke in his mind, waiting expectantly with the bags at the door as he tried to kick off his shoes, but you didn’t come to greet him.

Lately, he’d been able to trust you alone enough to go out more, and so he was given a little more freedom, the alone time seeming to give you a chance to develop your own mind a little more too, making more and more little breakthroughs each day. You normally came to find him after he arrived home, padding through the house to greet him at the door, even if you didn’t say anything, you’d offer him a nod of the head and take some of the bags from his hands if he had any.

You didn't come to find him though, concern and fear racing through his veins as he listened to the eerie silence in the house, and he left the bags abandoned on the kitchen table as he checked through the house, ensuring security and safety. He found you in your bed, curled up under your covers with the blanket lifted over your head, despite the fact that the chart you’d made to give you a routine stated that you’d be reading one of the more informative books you owned right now.

He knocked on the door, your body not moving out from under the blanket, but you shuffled a little, and he chuckled, making his way across the room. Peeling the blanket back from over your head, the teasing smile on his face dropping as he took in red puffy eyes and wet cheeks, a distressed look on your face as you curled into your pillow a little more, backing away from him across the bed as your body closed in on yourself.

“What happened?”

You didn't reply, barely moving, and he settled down on the floor, kneeling before you as his knees brushed the carpet, placing his forearms flat on the edge of the mattress and balancing his chin on top of them. You peeked up at him a little, and his heart broke a little bit as you brought up one sweater covered hand to wipe at your face. It was the first real emotion he’d seen from you, he expected things like a smile or an angry outburst, but he’d never expected to see tears, and right now you looked like you were walking the line between distressed and utterly terrified.

“Wanna’ tell me what’s wrong?”

You took a deep breath, sniffling a little before pushing yourself to sit up, smoothing your hair back out of your face and crossing your legs, trying to gain a little bit of composure again, before taking a deep and raspy breath, coughing to clear your throat before you spoke. “Unit eight has another title.”

His brows furrowed, your voice barely above a whisper and cracking at the end, and he echoed the words back to you in confusion. “Another title?”

“(Y/N).”

He mulled the name over a little, letting it rattle around inside his head before realising exactly what it meant, and he felt his own face light up as you continued to stare at him with a cross of horror and despair. “That’s amazing! Why do you look so sad? That’s your name.”

You just played with your hands in your lap, taking your gaze away from his as your head dropped down, and he let out a low sigh. Lifting his body up from the floor, he was soon to find his seat on the mattress instead, back pressing to the wall as he sat beside you, keeping his gaze fixed on you.

“Can I call you that? (Y/N)?”

“It would be acceptable.” The words were hardly audible, but you were at least accepting your name now, and he was psyched just to have something to refer to you as, because up until now, it had been extremely difficult just to get your attention.

He never wanted to call you ‘unit eight’ and he didn’t want to startle you by touching you out of the blue, knowing that you were still jumpy and stiff even when he just got a little too close without warning, but this was major progress. Your arm brushed against his as you shuffled, and you moved in a little closer to him, not quite leaning your head on his shoulder but your cheek brushed the curve of his arm, seeking out comfort as you cleared your skin of tears, and he remained still, allowing you to do so.

He knew it would take you a while to actually settle into the name, to get used to hearing it and remembering that it was you, in order to reply to the name and become familiar with it. He dared to reach out a hand, placing it over your clothed knee and squeezing comfortingly as you settled into the realisation that you weren't just a unit, you were a person with a name, and he couldn't really imagine how you were feeling, but he could empathise.

“Well, for the record, I think it’s a lovely name, and I think it suits you.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded his head, tipping it to the side to rest on your own, and he could feel the slight tension of your body, freezing up for a moment, before you accepted the physical touch, and it was all symbols of how well you were settling into your new life. “How about we make some dinner? Do you want to come and cook with me? I bet you’re starving, right now. You made a pretty big breakthrough.”

You merely nodded, letting him guide you up from the bed slowly as you stretched out muscles and joints that must've been locked up for a while. He waited as you straightened out the sheets, wandering away to the kitchen to give you that moment of space, and you joined him only a few minutes later, opening up the fridge and having a look through, before pulling out a packet of chicken breasts and looking up at him hopefully.

“Chicken and potatoes? I have that broccoli you like.”

“That would be nice.”

The two of you worked in harmony, side by side as he stood over the hob, creating a seasoning for the chicken and frying it up, and you expertly chopped potatoes and vegetables with a kind of precision and speed that he knew was a skill gained from your years in captivity, but it was still incredible to watch, dicing everything up small and making it look so easy. You had ended up choosing mashed potatoes over boiled, and he worked carefully to ensure there were no lumps and that it was smooth, while you set the table, and he plates up two dishes of hot and delicious food for you both, humming to a song under his breath.

You had poured drinks, laying them out too, before going to take a stand beside him, staring at both of the plates, and leaning in a little as he practically watched the cogs work in your mind, and he waited patiently, brows raised, for whatever it was you were thinking about and trying to work out how to say. “Is this one.. um, this one is mine?”

He paused, lifted up the spoon he’s dished out the mash with to lick it clean, but couldn't help the large grin that plastered across his face. Mine.

Your name made you acknowledge yourself as something other than another person’s plaything and machine, and he nodded, letting out a breathy laugh as you claimed something as your own, as a person capable of having possessions.

“Yeah. Yeah, that one is yours.”

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