#resisting the urge to edit this

[warmblanketwhump]

By any chance can you do prompts on a neglected sickie?

@sicktember 2023 day 1 - hopelessly bad at self care

A's hand fumbles with the amber bottle as they try to read the medicine's handwritten instructions—does that say to take every 3 hours? or every 8?

Their vision swims, and they feel themselves sway and tilt against the pantry wall. They've been standing for too long again, the weightless feeling in their body signaling that they need to lay down immediately. But they also can't bear another minute without some measure of relief, even if they know the home remedy will only make a slight dent in their symptoms.

A coughs and pulls the blanket tighter around their shoulders with a shiver. They're not sure what hit them. Last night, they were feeling a bit off, unable to get warm by the fire and battling a scratchy throat that wouldn't go away no matter how much tea they drank. This morning, they'd awoken burning with fever, body wracked with aches and chills, and an agonizingly sore throat.

It's awful timing, since B was away on their annual trip and wouldn't be home for three weeks. Meaning that A was now solely responsible for both keeping their homestead afloat and themselves alive.

A usually relishes in the fact that they live several miles from the nearest village or neighbor—no extra noise, no nosy neighbors or intruders, sweeping vistas and tall pine trees to hide amongst. But now, the lonely days stretch out ahead of them, with no help in sight, and A can't help but whimper a little at the thought.

Come on, A thinks to themselves. You can do this. Just take things slow.

Glacial would be a better word to describe their movements. After slipping two capsules under their tongue, they move along the wall, stumbling forward until they fall back onto their bed and scramble to pull the blankets close around their body. They just needed a few minutes to try and warm up while they made a mental list of what they needed to do.

Feed the animals.

Change their straw.

Repair the barn door.

Bring in extra wood.

Sweep the floors.

Make some sort of excuse for dinner.

The thought of doing all that made A's body ache. But they had no choice. It was what they had to do.

They just needed a minute to rest...

The minutes in bed flash by, and suddenly A realizes that they've been in bed for far longer than they anticipated. A glance at their pocket watch reveals that it's mid-afternoon, and they silently curse themselves for letting the day get away from them. It would already take them ages to get everything done, and they'd lost so much precious daylight during their accidental nap.

Ignoring the pounding in their head, they stumble towards the coat rack and wrap themselves in their winter jacket and a thick scarf. It's only a mild fall day outside, the breeze crisp under a cloudy sky, but the cool air sinks through all the layers prickles goosebumps on their feverish skin and makes their teeth rattle.

A blinks and realizes they're somehow in the barn, with no memory of walking there. Before them lie the bags of feed, too heavy to lift like usual, so A's reduced to transporting feed in half-full buckets to the waiting animals, over, and over, and over, because that's all they can carry. In their feverish delirium, they swear that even the pigs are looking at them sideways, wondering what they're doing out in the barn in their state.

The outdoor chores are done in a haze, edges of A's vision blurred by their pain and fever, body shaking from head to toe. By the time they get to the last animal, the only thing A wants to do is go back inside, sit by the fire, and sleep—forget changing the hay or making repairs There's more to do, of course, always more to do, but they just can't. It's not even a matter of desire—A's calculating how much energy they've spent out here and how much they need to get back inside, and the numbers just won't add up to one that keeps them upright for longer than 10 minutes.

The last animal to feed is their beloved horse. A's feet drag as they pull the bucket toward the trough, leaning on the side of the stall as they haphazardly dump the contents in. As they attempt to stand back up, another wave of dizziness hits them, and they stumble and fall against their horse's shoulder.

The horse, to their credit, doesn't startle. In fact, they turn toward A, nuzzling their soft nose into A's shoulder. A lets their feverish forehead rest against their horse's shiny coat, trying to steady their breathing and hold themselves together, willing themselves not to cry. And the horse lets them, breath ruffling their hair, as if to say I know. I'm here. Take your time. After a few moments, A's reoriented enough to stand up. The barn door would have to wait, and so would the fresh hay—they just don't have it in them today. So they stumble out of the barn and back out into the yard.

The sky is already darkening as A makes their way back to their cabin, through the door. After shedding their coat and wrapping themselves in a flannel blanket, they collapse in the chair, the soft colors of the firelit room blurring in their vision. The chores had been too much, far too much, and now they're trembling with cold, thoroughly chilled and somehow achier than they were this morning. They hug their arms close to their body and rub at them weakly, praying that the warmth of the fire will even slightly revive them.

A craves soup, or even just a hot broth to ease their throat pain and warm them up, but the entire idea of standing up to get ingredients is an impossible task. There's half a loaf of bread left in the breadbox on the table, and A settles for tearing off a corner. The cold, coarse bread is painful against their throat, and they swallow and wince. They know they need food, they know, but it just hurts. Everything hurts.

What would B do, if they were here to care for A? A pushes away the ache at the thought of how much they miss B, trying to sort through to find the essentials. Medicine, A had managed. Rest? Well, who could rest when there was work to be done? Tea? Ah, there was something they could manage. Boiling water was as passive a task as you could get. They just needed to build up the dying fire—

The fire. A's eyes flit to the empty wood box, and their heart sinks as they recall one of their chores for the day. Fill the wood box.

For the first time that day, a tear slips down A's cheek. It wasn't enough that they were aching, exhausted, wrung out. Now, unless they gathered wood, any notion of heat to help them fight through a night of feverish chills evaporated before their eyes.

No. I can't be cold all night. I can't. The thought of a sleepless night shivering in bed awakes something in A, and they stand back up almost reflexively, swaying like a great tree in a storm, stumbling towards the door, not even grabbing their coat as the fever addles their mind.

Just a few logs. Even a few will help you be warmer tonight.

But as they step out into the dark, cold night, the woodpile stretches and warps in their vision—first it's 10 paces away, then 100, then right in front of them, then 10 paces back. A blinks once, twice, and before they can even cry out, they collapse to the ground in a boneless heap, swept away into unconsciousness.

______________________________________

When A wakes, they don't realize where they are at first. They're aware of a strange heat across their midsection, and an unfamiliar ceiling above their head. As the room comes into focus, there's a stranger tending an enormous fire in a great stone fireplace, their back turned to A.

Where....where am I? Blinking twice, they stare down at the pile of quilts they're buried under. The top one is the patchwork one from their old bed, but everything else is so strange—none of this makes sense—

"Ah, good. You're awake." The shadowed figure rises from their place by the fire, a soft smile on their face as they sit on the edge of A's bed, placing a cool hand against A's forehead. Despite the cold that still clung to their bones, A relished the feeling against their burning skin. "Had me worried for a spell." The puzzle pieces click into place—this is C, their neighbor from down the road. But how...how did C know?

"Wh-what....how'd I...." A can't get the words out.

"Your horse ran up my road, nearly scared me half to death. I figured he must've jumped a pen or slipped past the gate."

The gate. In A's feverish delirium, they must've forgotten to close the gate, and the horse had gotten out.

C rises from A's bedside, walking over to a stove where a small pot bubbled. "When I came to bring him back, there wasn't any smoke coming out of your chimney. Came around back, and there you were, sprawled out in your yard like a rag doll." C shakes their head, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. "Burning up something awful, and shaking like a leaf, too."

Heat floods A's cheeks at the thought of being found in such a state. Yet they can't push away the sheer relief of being found, of no longer being paralyzed on the cold, hard dirt. But even now, they feel the deep cold in their bones, and they shudder and reflexively curl toward the heat source—a hot water bottle, they realize.

"I'd've kept you at your own house in your own bed, but I didn't know where you kept any of your goods—and I didn't want to have to leave you there all by your lonesome anyways. So I wrapped you up and brought you back here. I'll take care of your animals, of course, but you can stay here until you're better, which will be a few days out, I'm afraid."

C stops stirring and pours something into a clay mug, and brings it back over to A's bedside. "It's my mother's old broth remedy. Not sure how much it really cures, but it helps to warm the bones and ease the aches a bit."

A feels the lump in their throat rise—it was too much, needing C to take care of them. And yet they were so, so tired, and so, so grateful that they were. Despite being surrounded by comfort, they could tell their illness was worse, the chills rippling through their body like icy water was being poured over their limbs. No doubt accelerated by my multiple excursions outdoors. A eyes the mug, and feels their eyes well up again—can I even manage to hold the weight of it—

As if C can hear their feverish thoughts, they curl an arm behind A's shoulders and ease them up on the fluffy down pillows, then cradle A's head as they tilt the mug towards their lips. "Easy now. Just a couple sips to start."

The broth is just short of heaven—simple, yet with hints of lemon and herbs and some other spice they can't identify. And so, so warm.

A manages to drink nearly the entire mug's worth, but the effort saps all their remaining strength, and they slump back into the pillows, eyes too heavy to stay open.

They should say thank you. They should say anything to communicate their gratitude to what C's done for them, how scared they were. They force their eyes open to try and express everything that's swirling around in their head, but all that comes out is a whimper—and hot tears that suddenly pour down their cheeks, unchecked.

"Hey, hey now. You're alright. Just rest now, you're in good hands."

A feels a hand course through their damp curls, and it's as if all the tension melted out of their body, and they sink down, deep into the sleep of someone who knows in their soul, that they're safe.

[dawnbreakersgaze]

I love that this series of shots looks like Zayne is so freaking done with MC he doesn't even know what to do with himself

Like this poor man has suffered a million lifetimes for her and she's over here eating all his fucking cookies. The audacity 🍪

[gothicmatter]

just two eepy guys

[lyculuscaelus]

Well I’m not wrong…

[jackwhiteprophetic]

Sorry about this one

[theabbyknight]

“Will this little adventure of ours be over?”

“What, will you miss me?”

“Ha! Why not.”

…

they’re in love your honor 🥹❤️‍🔥

✨all of these clips are modded✨

[nixies-creations]

For @redfurrycat, who asked for Sterek, crochet and extreme softness!

Stiles blinks as he drops the basket of blankets he'd been carrying into the spare bedroom as he stares at the five new plastic tote bins sitting neatly stacked along the wall near the closet and sighs. Tilting his head back out enough, he calls quietly, "Derek?" It's no more than a few moments before he feels his husband standing behind him, shift on his feet as he clears his throat. "I know I said I wouldn't buy anymore until I went through a few tote bags but... well." Snorting, Stiles bends enough to grab the basket again and moves towards the closet to put the spare blankets back in it until the next time they get visitors. "And I see you took advantage of the emissary trip I had to take to help Erica and Body out with their pack." "I have plans for it," Derek defend himself, though it was more of a weak one, then anything else. "I'm sure, sweetheart," Stiles teases, turning to give Derek a fond look as he puts the blankets up.

[lucrezianoin]

Astarion, who believes in power, and that power guarantees freedom, and the strong manipulate the weak, would never give up the ritual for the sake of "morality". it's unnatural for his personality. I do not know for what reason he could have changed except for the "good hero Tav", who "showed him the opposite". what is really typical and banal? boring. at least for me.

EDIT: I completely misread the start of this ask, wait. You said "I do not know for what reason he could have changed except for the good hero Tav who showed him the opposite". My previous answer was about thinking you considered Tav too moralistic, but I missed that except word in there, so this is not about Tav themselves or Durge, it is just about how you see videogames.

The thing is... what about Shadowheart? What about Lae'zel? All the companions change because of Tav/Durge and their actions and words. That is literally LITERALLY what rpgs are.

Have you ever played other rpgs?

You will always encounter some characters you can influence. That is because this is a roleplaying experience, it is a staple of rpgs since - way way back.

Also... "showed him the opposite" is also not correct given that you can literally play as evil and still convince him to ascend. Astarion does not become an "all moral character" out of a sudden. He is still himself, just because you have less occasions to see him reacting as himself post his quest (because the game is almost over) it does not mean that you changed him completely.

What you are validating is the way he SEES himself. He sees the other spawns as himself, he saw himself as weak, he was basically victim blaming himself for being Cazador's victim. You are validating the fact that he does feel guilt and responsability. Validating being the key word.

In general regarding the whole spawn romance:

I'm sad honestly that something written so obvious is flying over your head. You think Astarion is and has always be a toxic abuser? Yikes.

Edit: adding this because I wrote this too quickly. Dark urge for the anon because they seem to find a good tav showing the way to Astarion paternalistic/unreciprocated.

[tideswept]

Sunday Snippet

:) :) :) :) :) i do not apologize for this. the shelter obikin AU I threatened is happening.

---

Obi-Wan discovers the world is going to end eleven months before 99.8% of humanity does.

He stares at his neighbor—the boy he’s watched grow into a man—who’s been walking around for a while now with dark bags under his eyes and a slouch to his once-proud back. He’d assumed it was about Padmé, a relapse of grief, and figured the best remedy was patience, especially since Anakin had been leaving for long work trips and pleading, in an exhausted voice, if Obi-Wan could just please watch Leia and Luke for a couple of days. Please, I can’t trust anyone else with them.

Now, Obi-Wan swallows hard. Anakin’s gaze is unblinking, red-stained as if he's been crying.

“You…” Obi-Wan has to cough. “I’m sorry, but—”

Anakin pushes a piece of paper across the patio table. “Five months ago I was hired to work on the Lazarus Prototype-IV—a multi-cargo specimen carrier. But that wasn’t soon enough. It never could have been. The clock ticked to midnight before they even discovered it.”

It.

Despite his urge to deny it, Obi-Wan’s eyes drop to the sheet of paper already under his palm, now sweaty. Cataclysmic collisions, planetary orbit disruption, extreme biotic crisis... The report is riddled with language that hurts to comprehend—not only in jargon but in what it implies.

It. A dwarf planet barreling at full speed toward Earth. An extinction-level event. 

“Please tell me they didn’t name it Nibiru.”

Anakin’s lips twitch in the ghost of a smile.

[apuff]

thinking about love in danger days

this is part of my conspiracy theory that that album is aroallo, but i've always gotten the sense that romance and romantic attatchment is much less important to danger days than any other mcr record. with bullets&revenge it's quite obvious as the demolition lovers take up like, everything, and the black parade has a heavy focus on a romantic relationship as well. 

while i do think there are lines in it that are romantically coded, there is a definitive lack of emphasis on it- like it's nowhere in the plot at all. 

i do think danger days represents a very familial type of love though. while other albums visit a sense of "i want you, i need you, i miss you, i hate you,", this is more like…"i love you, i want to protect you, i'm sorry"

i find this especially strongly in s/c/a/r/e/c/r/o/w:

"Nevermind about the shape i'm in, I'll keep you safe tonight"

"love, love, love won't stop this bomb"

"run, run, bunny, run"

and other songs: 

"i'll find you when the sun goes black"

"just save yourself and i'll hold them back tonight"

"how long until we find our way in the dark and out of harm"

relevant things i can't cover with just quotes are planetary go, oft-theorized to be about party poison and kobra kid, as brothers, leaving battery city together; sing, about the killjoys' last message to the girl while saving her; goodnite dr. death, phrased as him saying goodnight to children; and summertime, which i can't discern the meaning of but seems more like a family type of love. 

i think it makes sense that danger days is like this, seeing as it features main characters that take care of a child main character as opposed to main characters that love other main characters of the same age/ability. 

another thing i noticed while re-listening to the more sentimental songs for this essay is that there's just a distinctly different vibe to it. So much of it is focused around wanting to protect people, keep them safe and out of danger (<- ha that's the name of the album) and loved. i think this also makes sense, because the killjoys live a very, well, dangerous life without much security, and they'd want to provide what they lack the most. another semi-related thing i noticed is just how much of an emphasis there is on childhood in this album. i feel like there's a vibe of youth or teen-hood throughout the earlier ones, but this is just VERY strongly about kids. again this makes sense cause not only are the killjoys teenagers (a type of kid!) they also have a proper little kid to watch. 

also, i wonder how much of this stuff was due to gerard becoming a parent. just something to think about 

[deimcs]

SEN'KA BHAALSPAWN ☙ THE HAUNTED ONE — a torn page of a diary, smeared in blood

I knew it! The Society of Brilliance will have to listen to me now that I'm on the brink of this incredible discovery. I wasn't able to secure an egg, those wretched monsters just wouldn't part with it for any amount of coin but just as I thought all hope was lost, I found one of them on the road. An adult specimen, mind you, but a gith nonetheless. And when I tell you the look in her eyes was nothing like I've ever seen before. This was not simple contempt but a hunger deep within that rattled me to the core. She made an offputting comment about the smell of my blood and the look of my flesh, I had the distinct impression the only thing preventing her from tearing me apart here and there was the presence of her companions. When I asked her which chrèce she belong to she smiled a wicked smiled and told me she didn't grow up around other gith. I can't explain it but this was a definite turning point in my research, I'm sure this could be the way to prove that if the githyanki's violent nature cannot be overwritten by their surrounding, it can surely be made worse. I need to collect more data, I know it's going to be risky but if I could just find her again...

[skyward-floored]

“Hero, what ails you?” - Chapter 1

I wrote this fic after finishing twilight princess over a year ago, since I was full-on captivated by the Hero’s Shade and his whole deal. I’m so attached to the Hero of Time, and that hasn’t changed a bit over the years, and I love making him a dad hehe

Anyways this has been posted on ao3 but due to some recent events I don’t feel like explaining again, I’m crossposting it here. Please enjoy tp Link getting sick and the Hero’s Shade being a Dad while attempting to deny it the entire time <3

First (you’re here) | Chapter Two

————————————————————

The Hero’s Shade sat and waited patiently in wolf form for his young successor to arrive.

As he waited, a few flakes of shimmering snow wafted past his muzzle and he breathed out with a huff, watching them drift past. The snow wasn’t cold, nor was it really snow, but it was the closest thing the Shade could compare it to.

It was calming to watch, and kept him occupied while he waited.

He’d already initiated contact with the boy. He merely had to wake up and accept, but he seemed to be taking his time today. It had already been several minutes longer then it usually took him to arrive and he was starting to grow concerned.

But a few moments later, the boy appeared on the ground, lying prone as always. It always took him a moment to get accustomed to this realm, which was understandable. This was not a land for living flesh.

The boy took several moments longer then he typically did to stand, but once he did he met his gaze as usual, giving the wolf a determined look.

The Shade nodded then howled, changing seamlessly from a wolf into his more human form.

“We meet again,” he rumbled, not bothering to obscure the fond note he knew was there. The boy gave him a small smile and returned the greeting, though his face wasn’t as eager as it usually was when he arrived here to learn a new skill. The Shade frowned to himself, but perhaps the boy was merely feeling the stress of his journey more harshly now that the castle was blocked off.

“Before I teach you my next hidden skill, prove to me you still recall the technique of the last lesson,” he continued. “Show me the Helm Splitter!”

He drew his sword and allowed the boy to do the same, then advanced on him. The boy watched him carefully, studying his movement, then leveled his shield and thrust it forwards once the Shade was close enough. Then he bent his knees and jumped, trying to land a hit on his head.

Except he fumbled the blade and nearly tripped over his own two feet when he attempted the move.

The Shade stopped, disappointment flowing through him. He was certain the boy had mastered this skill, yet here he was acting as if he hadn’t even learned it in the first place.

“What ails you? Do you require a reminder of the technique?” he asked.

The boy stumbled a bit as he regained his balance, then jerked his head in an apologetic bow. “N-no, I remember how to do it, I apologize. I’ll try again.”

The Shade paused, hearing something in his voice. Was that a faint rasp?

He took a small step forward and studied his protégé’s face. Now that he was closer he wasn’t sure how he’d missed it. The boy was concerningly pale, though his cheeks were bright and rosy compared to the pallor of the rest of his skin. He seemed to be fighting to remain upright if the trembling of his limbs were any indication, and a thin sheen of sweat shone on his face despite the fact they’d barely even begun the session.

He obviously was not in fighting condition.

The boy raised his sword and started for the Shade again, but he held out a gloved hand to stop him.

“Hero... you are not well,” he said in a softer voice then he usually used on him.

The boy blinked a few times then shook his head, gripping his sword more tightly.

“No, I’m f-fine. It’s just a bit of a cold.”

The Shade narrowed his eye. “A “bit of a cold” would not leave you shaking like a newborn foal, young one.”

The hero gritted his teeth and managed to get the shaking in his legs under control. “I said I’m fine. Allow me to show you I’ve mastered the previous skill.”

The Shade sighed. The boy obviously would not be swayed, to his own detriment.

“Very well. Come at me.”

He raised his sword and slowly advanced on the boy again, and Link darted forward, shield raised and sword ready.

The Shade eyed him carefully, even more so than usual, watching how it seemed to take him more effort to raise his shield and the way he moved much more slowly. The boy, seemingly oblivious of his enhanced watchfulness, ran forwards and repeated the action of bashing his shield against the Shade, then tried to leap into the air.

This time instead of jumping up he lurched to the side, clutching his forehead and looking dizzy.

He started to fall over backwards, and would’ve hit the ground if the Shade hadn’t jumped forward and caught him. He lowered him gently to the floor and gave the boy a stern look, and Link seemed to shrink in his hold, eyes downcast.

“How long has your condition been like this?” he questioned, cutting to the chase.

Link didn’t meet his eye. “Only a day or so,” he whispered, rasp more noticeable now.

“Where were you last?”

“Snowpeak... the temperatures there were a lot, but I-I had to keep going... I need to keep going. If Zant isn’t stopped—”

“You are in no condition to do anything at the moment,” Shade said sternly. “If you faced the usurper as you are now, he would kill you without a second thought, no less any other enemies. You need to rest.”

He removed his glove and brushed a ghostly hand over Link’s forehead as he spoke. It was hot, much hotter than it should be, and the boy sneezed as he checked, trembling in his hold.

“Did you wear proper equipment at Snowpeak?” he questioned, already knowing the answer.

Link swallowed. “Spent most of the time as a wolf... b-but I didn’t have any thicker clothes as a human. I just... made d-do.”

The Shade sighed. This irresponsibility was what got people killed.

“It was foolish of you to believe your wolf form would fully protect you,” he said sternly, “but that is water under the bridge. You need to focus now on healing. Not more fighting.”

Link made to speak but broke into a coughing fit instead, great wheezing things that wracked his chest and made him curl in on himself.

The Shade watched him, feeling a thread of worry lace itself through him as he listened to his successor cough. It had been a long time since he himself had a body that could get sick, but he knew a sound like that was not healthy.

His successor was strong, so strong despite everything the goddesses kept throwing at him, and seeing him laid low by something so normally inconsequential as a sickness scared the Shade more then he’d care to admit.

“I’m going to send you out of my realm,” he said, coming to a decision. “This place is likely aggravating your condition.”

Link’s face fell. “But you didn’t teach me—”

“That can wait until you are healed,” he cut off, and Link lowered his head. “I will wait for you. Focus on healing.”

Then he closed his eye and pushed at the edges of his realm, magic lightly fizzing through him. The Shade huffed, and in an instant brought his successor back to the waking world, and in turn, changed back into a golden wolf.

He let the magic wash through him, then opened his eye, looking around for the boy. He spotted him a moment later, a few feet away. Link lay on the ground as usual, but he didn’t stir, not even when the Shade padded over and nuzzled him.

A bolt of fear shot through him. Was removing him from his realm really the correct choice of action? What if he had worsened his condition merely by pulling him between dimensions?

“Hero, wake up,” he said, a thin thread of panic in his voice.

Link finally let out a wheezy cough and blinked his eyes open, looking miserable as he stared at him. The Shade couldn’t help his sigh of relief. He was alright, for now at least.

“You need somewhere safe to rest,” he rumbled. “Where would be suitable?”

Link shivered again, and the Shade cursed the fact that he couldn’t hold him in this form.

“K-Kakariko...” the boy rasped, another painful-sounding cough escaping him. “East... there’s a man there...”

The Shade nodded, taking a steady breath.

He hadn’t planned on helping the boy further then getting him out of his realm, but it seemed he wouldn’t be going anywhere by himself. It looked like he was going to have to get him to Kakariko somehow.

How was he supposed to do that?

A shadow split from his successor’s own, and a small imp creature with fiery orange hair appeared. She didn’t seem to notice him, and opened her mouth to speak to Link, but cut herself off when she saw him lying on the ground.

“Oh you stupid wolf I told you to wait—!” the imp rushed to his side, prodding him with a sharp sort of worry, only pulling back when he gave her a weak smile.

“‘S fine Midna, I’m okay,” he murmured, but contradicted his statement moments later by breaking into another coughing fit.

Midna crossed her arms and poked him again, and the Shade could see the thinly disguised worry on her face. She obviously cared for him despite her demeanor.

“You are not okay, and you weren’t okay yesterday either when you insisted on galavanting off and learning a new skill while you could barely walk!” she yelled, and Link didn’t reply, merely sighing tiredly.

“Sorry...” he croaked, and the anger immediately deflated out of Midna, the imp hovering worriedly by his shoulder.

The Shade decided to intervene then, padding forward and breathing out heavily to make his presence known. Who he knew to be the twilit princess startled and whipped around, staring at him with a wide look in her visible eye.

“Whoa!” she exclaimed, carefully moving herself to stand between him and the boy. Then realization landed on her face. “...oh it’s you. Skeleton-wolf-teacher-guy right?”

The Shade huffed and would have rolled his eyes if he could. “Not exactly, but close enough. The hero is in need of healing.”

Midna snorted, though it was layered with worry. “I hadn’t noticed,” she snipped, placing a hand on Link’s cheek. He leaned into the touch and let out a small sigh, and her frown deepened. “Can you heal him?”

The Shade shook his head. “Healing magic is far out of my ability. And sickness is difficult, much trickier then a physical wound.”

The imp sighed. “Well then thanks for nothing, nice to see you, we really should be going now.”

She raised the cursed shard the Master Sword had purged from his successor, and began to direct the magic towards Link, shadows coalescing around him. But the Shade barked and pushed it back into where it came from, and Midna teetered in the air.

“What’s the big idea?!” she snapped, turning on him. “Link needs to get a move on and here you are stopping me from tele—”

“Do not teleport him,” the Shade interrupted, “or turn him to a beast. Moving him between my realm and this already caused his condition to worsen; I do not believe his body would be able to handle that much while he’s this ill.”

Midna lowered the shard, and real worry cracked through the uncaring face she’d put on.

“Then how will we move him?” she asked, floating around in a pacing motion. “There’s a man in Kakariko who could help him, but I can’t carry him there right now and his stupid horse is all the way across Hyrule, and if teleporting is bad then dragging him around on your back wouldn’t be good for him either, and they won’t let a stalfos wolf guy in anywhere!” she snapped, and the Shade patiently waited for her to finish.

“Calm yourself,” he said, despite probably being more worried then she was. “I have a solution.”

This would take a fair bit of magic, but in order for him to not terrify the locals and for Link to be comfortable, the Shade needed arms, and not skeletal or ghostly ones. It had been a while since he’d done this, as it was difficult to maintain these days, but this was a bit of a special circumstance.

Taking a deep breath, the Shade pulled on his magic, going seamlessly from a wolf to a skeleton. But once he’d finished he kept pushing, forcing his form to change further. Bones were covered by less-ghostly flesh, and he could feel bangs brush over his forehead, the sensation one he’d realized he’d missed. He suddenly felt heavier somehow, despite still being a spirit.

When he opened his eye the twilit princess was staring at him in astonishment, and he gave her a small smirk.

“Do I look alive enough?” he questioned, going to his knees and putting a hand on Link’s forehead. He seemed hotter, and the Shade wasn’t even sure he was awake anymore, though he did make a small noise as his hand landed on his skin.

Midna blinked then nodded, albeit hesitantly.

“You... yeah you do, you look alive. And like... you look like Link,” she said, continuing to stare. “Who are you?”

The Shade gathered his descendant into his arms, ignoring the question for the moment as he stood. Link’s head lolled against his shoulder, and he could hear his breath rasping more thickly in his chest. It sounded even worse then it had before, and an icy hand of fear clutched around his heart.

“Someone who cares for his wellbeing,” he answered simply, and began to walk, keeping a tight grip on his descendant.

Midna snapped out of her reverie and quickly moved in front of him, an arm held out. “You’re going the wrong way, moron.”

The Shade blinked, confused. He’d visited Kakariko many times and thought for sure he knew where to go.

Then again... it had been several hundred years.

“...perhaps you should lead.” he admitted, and Midna sniffed.

“Perhaps I should.”

And they set off without another word.

[maybe-i-will-fandom]

Does anyone know how they recorded Ryan reynold's lines in the Deadpool movies? Like. He is wearing what seems like a real mask most of the time. Is it actually all just CGI, so they can mic him normally? Do they have him record all his lines later and do a voice over like they do for fight scene grunts? Do they actually have some fancy way to mic him while he's in the suit like that and it ends up sounding as crisp as it does? If it is the last one I NEED to know how they do that.

I've been trying to find interviews about how it works but to no success. Anyone know how?

[all-too-unwell-13]

the voices are telling me to rewatch young royals but idk if i can handle that emotional stress again 😃😃

[omppupiiras]

käsh | bubblegum bitch

THE GREATEST VIDEO I HAVE EVER MADE IN MY HUMBLE OPINION

[theabbyknight]

my headcanon Astarion reaction to Faeryn (temporarily) dying - falling to his knees, sobbing, holding her body close to him (not pictured), precious moments of their time together flashing through his mind 🥺😭

billie eilish/hans zimmer music mashup by @mashbitmusic on instagram