A lil sketch sheet of one of my OCs. I’m pretty sure I’ve posted her before, but here is my lovely vampire lady, Tamara O’Connor aka Tammy.
I’m so in love with drawing her at the moment and I like how these came out so thought I’d share. May clean some of these up digitally at some point, will post if I do.
It’s been a while since I’ve really posted my art here, going to try to post my stuff more from now on.
Hi consider this your blessing from a certified forever GM, to please make your TTRPG characters Mary Sues.
Listen if you spend enough time in the hobby you will inevitably get people turning up their nose, saying you need to make your PCs “realistic”. These people are wrong! Especially when it comes to DnD. There’s nothing wrong with tropes but after a while all the human fighters who used to be in the army, and elf wizard trying to live up their family legacy start to blur together.
The same cannot be said for the diamond-skinned demi-goddess cleric who started her prayers with “Hey mom, it’s me”; the self-described “slutty pyromaniac” tiefling sorcerer; the ranger who wanted to domesticate an army of rats and declare herself “queen of the sewers”; or the slightly macabre mushroom druid who became a sheepgirl while trying to cast “trans your gender”.
There is literally only one hard-and-fast rule in D&D character creation, which is one of basic courtesy to the DM and others–you have to create a character who, for literally any reason at all, would join an adventuring party.
(Like I said, this is basic courtesy; nothing is worse than the player who, when the DM introduces a plot hook, responds with “but why would MY character care? why would I get involved in this monster attack? MY character would just let the town guard handle it!”
The answer to “but why would my character want to get involved?” is “Because you’re not the only player at the table, and you’re not the main character in a novel.” Pulling the session to a grinding halt around your character’s…lack of interest in the entire game….is rude and unfair. This is a team-based game, and an understood rule of conduct is that you are going to be playing a character who will–reluctantly perhaps, warily certainly, out of fear or self-interest by all means, but will nevertheless–join forces with the rest of the group and have some form of engagement with the plot)
And get this.
The vast majority of players snottily talking down to the actually interesting and engaging character concepts for not being “realistic” enough? They violate that one rule all the fucking time. A lone-wolf jaded rogue sitting by themself in the corner might be “realistic,” but if they keep no-selling plot hooks and refusing to engage with the plot because “it would be out of character”, then they’re not a good character for D&D and their players should have made a better one.
Literally the only law of character creation is to make a character who will in some way, shape, or form engage with the fucking story.
Make characters who are INTERESTING and ENGAGING and FUN TO PLAY and yes, don’t let assholes ruin your fun, but also: You are probably objectively better at this than they are and you deserve to keep that in mind.
NEVER take character criticism from people who only have one rule they’re expected to follow and still can’t figure it out.
ok ok for fic research (since you saw my post yesterday) and for the ask game:
what do you find attractive about claude and lorenz? I ask mostly in terms of physical attraction since, but you can add in stuff about their personalities too. :)
(also i'm not saying either of them is unattractive, i just want to know what someone capable of attraction thinks lol)
You can say either of them is unattractive. asdhfahjsd They're little anime men!
If I talk about how attractive a character is, it's like +90% headcanons. To start with what we see though, they both have balanced and "graceful" designs and color palettes.
I will confess that when I first saw Claude's chinstrap beard I had a negative reaction, but I got over my gut reaction and it quickly endeared itself to me. I felt it was a weak choice when he could've had a beard and usually make general references to his beard when writing fic because I can.
Still, they both have unique features, which always make a character interesting, if not attractive. There are some characters in the game which area accused of having same face syndrome, but Lorenz's long face ensures he isn't victim to that, and Claude has other features, his eyebrows, his orange lips pre timeskip, his long eyelashes on his winking eye.
.
It's hard not to talk about personality here, because Claude's earring is indicative of either cultural appreciation and / or an attention to personal appearance since he's accessorizing. Love the earring.
Meanwhile, Lorenz has his height, posture and mannerisms. When he first leans down to Byleth at the window when he's introducing himself before you pick a class, I feel even that lean is polite and formal. He maintains his respectful distance and looks like he's sharing a secret — even if he's not, one can imagine him behaving the same way if he were. And then there's his animation with the raised hand. I know you like that for Yuri and I love it for Lorenz also. I think he looks like he's stimming. Like he's always on the verge of holding his heart and finding a fainting couch, like he's going to roll his hand around and extend his fingers forward while he says something that's more awkward than he intended asdjhfgasj. I love hands in general, they're expressive, they're reflective of discipline and personality and personal hygiene, and he's flaunting his fingers for our attention.
Now to move (further) away from what's strictly canon.
Claude's post timeskip outfit is very puffy. I've seen many people use it to make trans headcanons. I've seen people use his barbarossa outfit to support headcanons of him being lithe or muscled. And I love all those headcanons and art. But My Headcanon is that he's got a layer of fat that is complimented by the billowy upper part of his canon beige coat, and that his figure is further exaggerated by the wide belt at his waist. Clothing worn fashionably.
I headcanon him as having full lips and a large nose. That his beard is indicative of further body hair, which I find attractive. I've even put hair on his knuckles when I've drawn him up close (all of twice). While I headcanon Lorenz's fingers to be slender from knuckle to fingertip, I imagine Claude's hands as being thick near the knuckle and thinner and rounded at his finger tips (callused in canonverse because of archery). Because of the weight I headcanon with, I headcanon him to be a human heater.
And in short. I think he's hot. asjdfghajks
I love when people headcanon Lorenz to have thick thighs from riding, but I generally don't. I imagine he has wide shoulders and a bit of muscle on his chest and arms for the sake of supporting lances, but that at heart and in practice he's a mage. With long, bony limbs that are slender and flexible. I headcanon him to have a more hooked nose than in canon, but that it is still large and pointed. I headcanon him to be as much visibly biracial as Claude is, though I headcanon his ancestry to be japanese and german/english? I'm mixed race, and I'm allowed.
Anyway. Lorenz is, in my window into the fandom, not as well loved as many other characters. I think I translate this into my visual headcanons of him, where I imagine some people might find him boring or ugly (as many fans seem to), while I see his thin lips and shy smiles as charming, his eye liner and plucked eyebrows as sweet, and his purple eyes and chic post timeskip hair as beguiling. (Though I do give him long hair, often tied in a braid, in my visions of him in post canon.)
But I mean, I could wax poetic about most of the fe3h cast, and other favorite characters. I like these two men especially because of their kind hearts. Lorenz as he becomes more comfortable with being vulnerable and righting his mistakes, and Claude as he tries to balance sowing good will in his fellows while remaining true to his own heart.
Marianas Trench Breakup/Rough Patch Lyric Prompt 16. I will love you like goodbye, I will love you like you died for either Estoc or Angie being dramatic about their Fraldari
seeing this prompt instantly filled me with inspiration so i wrote estoc's pov of the events of eh-u chapter 64:
It was the dawn of the second morning, and Estoc knew that her precious human would never return. She woke with the first sparrow's song, her huge round eyes opening a sliver in the dark bedroom, and uncoiled from where she was curled on Felix's pillow.
He was gone. Dead. Never to return.
Stretching, Estoc could tell that the house was still completely empty of all life except for herself (and the Other Cat). She was isolated and cut off from everyone, with no food and no treats and no one to wiggle her feather toy when the urge to kill that lay dormant in her beautiful claws became too much for her to bear.
How had it happened? Estoc would never know.
Was that the worst part? Or was the worst part the loneliness? Perhaps she would find it to be the slow pain of starvation once the unreliable human courting her handsome prince discovered that he was not to return. Then, the shallow attention-seeking human would leave in search of a new prince (none could compare to Estoc's, though) and forget her responsibility to feeding Estoc, the only cat in this small awful house.
Oh, Estoc had known that coming here had been a mistake, and that it would end in death! She had assumed it would be her own--she'd never dreamt that it would be Felix's, too. Oh, if only he had listened to her when she'd said this place was their doom! If only she had convinced him!
She had not even seen her other human in years (it had been under a month)! The benevolent king with the face designed for her to scritch her cheeks against, who fed her delicious pieces of meat and pasta from the magic beeping box that provided warm succulent enchanted food--he was gone, too. Estoc had decided months ago (weeks ago) that he had to have died, and that this was the reason her prince had taken them Away. Clearly, the family was in exile due to the fact that the king was dying. Estoc did not see why she had to be punished as well, but she supposed that she would have chosen to go with Felix. Probably. Depending on who the usurper was.
She suspected that it had something to do with Felix's courting of the strange new human. All of this had begun when she had first appeared at the fresh-smelling lake fort. It was her plotting that had lead to the arrival of the Other Cat, after all. Estoc Knew. Estoc Saw. Her senses were sharp, yet Felix never consulted her.
He had been so good, but also a little stupid.
There was nothing to be done. Estoc stretched out on his pillow, knowing that soon his scent would fade and she would feel the loneliness even stronger and maybe that would be what killed her.
Yawning, Estoc blinked at the drawn curtains and listened to the sparrow chirping loudly. She imagined hunting in order to sustain herself, eating raw meat-flesh like the animals on the magic box Felix set in front of her with moving creatures living behind its ethereal and impenetrable barrier. Estoc could do it. She could hunt, and kill. It was beneath her, but without her wonderful human to provide she would simply have to resign herself to it, to an existence as lowly and barren as that of the lions inhabiting the magic box.
As the light of day began to filter into the room, the Other Cat trotted stupidly into the bedroom, leaping onto the bed and immediately raising a leg to lick himself. Estoc glared at him.
He flicked his ear to say 'soon it is breakfast'. He did not Know. He wasn't aware that there would be no breakfast, ever. He didn't appreciate the absence of their human.
Eventually, Estoc thought, I shall have to eat you to survive.
She would regret it, certainly, but that was what happened when tragedy struck and worlds were overturned in the worst most awful ways possible. Estoc weighed the facts. Waiting for the Other Cat to starve would mean that valuable nutrients were wasted. Eating him now, though...
Estoc could not bring herself to. He approached her and they touched noses. Some of the aching loneliness in her heart eased. At least there was someone else who knew how beautiful she was when she was sad.
Slowly, gently, the Other Cat batted at Estoc, but she was in no mood for a pre-breakfast wrestling match. She swatted him, ears flattened back. The Other Cat bumbled away, chirping. Estoc could hear his footyprints on the floor of the hall, and then the sound of him scratching at the tower.
Estoc lay back down again, miserable, and closed her eyes. Her tail flicked absently while she thought about all the things that could have happened to her human.
It was a long, tortuous morning before the driveway sound of a human arriving signalled that there might, in fact, be breakfast today. The Other Cat watched from the front window while Estoc rubbed sadly up against the walls of their ramshackle hovel. The Other Cat raced past her in a swoosh of fluff--but Estoc knew that getting her hopes up was foolish. They would never see Felix again.
She was proven right when they heard the voice of the scheming human.
"Hey guys, it's me again."
The Other Cat demanded to be fed. Estoc was not so sure that the human was here for that, or if she only wanted to ransack the place of all of Felix's treasures.
"Yes, yes, I'm on it, let me get my shoes off first."
Estoc peered around the corner. At the bottom of the steps leading to dangerous outside, the human looked up at them with a show of teeth.
"Sorry, just me."
Estoc thought she was not possibly as sorry as she should be, considering her prince had been murdered or perhaps eaten by a lion, or stabbed by one of the sword-users he so often watched inside the magic box. Perhaps one had managed to escape, and he had not studied their movements well enough to defend himself from their attacks. If only they lived in a simple world, one with no such thing as curses and evil magic, where knights and swords were a thing of the distant past--
The human made her way to the kitchen and fed them. Estoc growled ferociously to let her and the Other Cat know that she was not going to let them take her meal, and that if they tried it, they would be her next one.
After that, the human left. Possibly she was going to die, as well. Estoc supposed that it meant no one would ever feed them again, and that this made her sad. She reclined on the sofa, half-slipping off of it, and waited for her demise. After watching the street for some time, the Other Cat hopped to the floor from the window and then leapt to the sofa to join her in misery.
He licked at Estoc's ears and she was sad enough to let him. It's only us, she said with a lick to his cheek. We must be so strong.
---
Very extremely late in the evening (shortly after five), Estoc heard a sound that made her beautiful little heart race. It was familiar, and dear, and she doubted that it was truly what she thought it was.
The sound of her human's portal of dimension-altering.
She knew the rumble of its organs, which slept when not in use--this was very efficient, or so Estoc had always thought--and she would recognize it anywhere.
It was followed by a grumble in the driveway.
Estoc leapt from where she was moping in the room of blades, and careened to see if this could possibly be true. Surely it was someone else, simply using Felix's portal. He could not have survived murder by a thousand sword-wielding cursed enemies from all of her nightmares. It was impossible.
And yet, hope filled her tiny, elegant frame.
There was the sound of scratching at the door, and then it opened.
Estoc leapt down the steps and tried to climb up Felix's leg to get to him. He was alive! He was alive! He was alive!
There would be dinner.
"Okay, okay!" Felix laughed, shutting the inner door and then scooping her up in his strong soft good kind arms. Estoc rubbed her cheeks all over his face, to be sure that it was really him and to make sure that he knew how afraid she'd been for him. He could not do that again!
"Did Mia take good care of you? Did you behave like I asked you to?"
Estoc purred, because she was always so good, and it didn't matter how poorly she'd been taken care of, because her prince was back, now. Even life in this miserable hole was worth living with her precious human. Oh, and to think that he might have died out there!
At Felix's feet, the Other Cat swivelled his ears, saying that Estoc had not behaved properly.
"No? Estoc--what a bad girl," Felix said, which meant that he was so proud of her. Well, she was proud of him, for fending off the forces of evil, or slipping away, or perhaps leading them off course so that they would not know to find them, here. Whatever the case, Estoc was happy. She purred and purred, unable to contain the love she felt.
Inspired by our being tucked in tags. @recurringwriter and @riddlelikesfe
Some Blaiddyd bastard bullshit. (:
.
Almanzor's mother was missing. He'd slept poorly since Fhirdiad was retaken, asking about where the minor nobles from her district might have evacuated to and when. He had some leads, but little hope.
Dimitri had no need to entertain his family, and little composure for it, as far as Al was concerned, but still they found themselves welcomed back into his company and his service, with reward and reason compelling them towards ending Edelgard's halted campaign in a more permanent way. They stayed with the soldiers, knights and mercenaries, and took their supper outside of the company of the ranking nobles and old friends of the academy.
Still, they weren't turned away in a way they had come to expect. While Lucanus took solace in the cathedral, Caelan shared quiet conversation in the courtyard — signing with Lady Varley, and laughter rose from the marketplace where Ludy was helping a handful of new arrivals separate Balthus from his coin with games of chance.
Lucanus found Almanzor in the monastery graveyard, where many of the long dead had been properly tended and laid to rest, a thought that weighed heavy on those who'd seen the crowds in Gronder Field and Fhirdiad. He frowned a moment before hurrying towards his half brother, falling into conversation without a greeting.
"It was good to see Dimitri in the cathedral. He took only an hour or so in prayer. I was worried stepping back into it might have hurt him. Reverted him to his addled self."
"An invasive worry," Almanzor criticized with a raised brow. "He is still the same man now as he was then. Recovery is not swift. Many and more will judge him. Do not let him think that you do. Nor me."
Lucanus let his gaze waver from across the gravestones, confirming their seclusion. "You're defensive. You know I only meant that I want his good days to outnumber his bad."
"And I want to be clear that whether his days are filled with joy or grief, will not dictate his reign or his worth. Your Goddess' hope can be thorned flower, one I am sure he is familiar with."
"Sure how?" asked Lucanus, more teasing than judgmental. He snickered. "My Goddess? As if you weren't raised a minor noble in the most devout country in the continent."
"My mother wasn't always a noble, you know. My Crest earned her a manor house. No lands, nothing to keep," Al elaborated, pausing for a moment as he scuffed his boot upon the ground, starting them to walking, "and no respect. But enough for me to apprentice as a soldier, for her to do the only fitting thing with such a gift from a man with our father's reputation."
Lucanus smiled, his brow low in curiosity. "What did she do with it?"
"She ran a parlor house."
"And they let her keep the title?" Lucanus balked.
"Other merchants buy their way into the nobility."
"They do," Lucanus agreed, considerate and confused.
"I sometimes wondered if it was this way that she operated that kept Rufus in my life. It didn't feel like my achievements mattered, even with the Crest, but it was hard to tell whether he resented my mother for what she'd done with his charity, a backhanded compliment to be sure. I have no doubts that he partook of the brothel's services, to spite her or goad her or to show he didn't care — or that he did. Maybe all were true."
They came upon the courtyard, where Caelan lay upon one of the benches in the grass. The brothers shared a look of understanding, before separating.
Lucanus walked around to the front of the bench and squatted, while Almanzor leaned over with a hand on the back of the wood.
"They're sleeping," Lucanus confirmed softly.
"I wonder what kept them here," Al said, no small measure of worry in his hushed tone as he unclasped the cloak about his neck.
"The air is nice," Luc suggested.
"The camp isn't safe," Al countered, tucking the cloak around Caelan's side. "Secure, I'm certain of. But not safe."
Caelan woke with a start, their brothers not half as quiet as they should have been. They gasped and shuffled towards the edge of the bench, reaching for the security of a weapon, feeling only awoken by the restrictions of bindings around them, in the shadows of strange figures.
"Apologies," Luc said quickly, signing that he was sorry. "We didn't mean to disturb you."
Caelan rolled their eyes and reached up to the fabric on their chest, seemingly prepared to discard it until they realized what was in their hand. They looked up at Al and tilted their head with an exhale, and he wasn't sure if it was in thanks or ridicule.
Caelan rose to their feet, cradling the cloak closer to themselves, and Al nodded towards them, hoping it conveyed reassurance that they should take the garment.
They signed a quick goodnight, and nodded to excuse themself, rushing off towards a more appropriate bed.
"That was your fault," Luc said, bite and humor in his voice as he rose to his feet.
"The risk of kindness," Al mourned with a shrug. "That it will be done wrong, or unrewarded."
"Please," Luc exaggerated. "Do you talk to your soldiers like that, or am I special for being family?"
"My mother is missing," Al blurted. "And I don't know if she lives, or what others will say of her acts during or before the war. What was kindness. It's just on my mind."
"I'm sorry," Luc said quietly, averting his gaze.
"I ... appreciate your sympathy."
Luc could tell this wasn't true, but that only meant his apology coincided with Almanzor's previous lesson.
"I will pray for her tomorrow."
"Thank you."
This was more sincere, and so Luc smiled and clapped a hand upon Almanzor's shoulder, forcing them onward.
They found the barracks, where tents spilled out everywhere, accommodating the mercenaries that outnumbered the battalions able to be managed by the nobility and their allies. Ludmilla pushed past her brothers without even noting who they were.
"Out! Get out of my way. I've won gold through gambling, but I will fight you for yours if you don't let me get to my bed."
"Ludy," Luc groaned.
"Ugh! Maybe I'll fight you anyway," she remarked, at the sight of her brother. "Fuck off, Luc."
She was drunk and loud, and a few voices raised from various tents to bemoan her volume, before a number of other mercenaries flooded the alley, laughing and shouting, so that Ludmilla's disturbance was all but forgotten.
Clenching a hand over her left breast, feeling the leather pouch where she kept her winnings, Ludy let herself be swooped into the tide of mercenaries until she found her place. The tents were long and wide and open, with near nothing for privacy or modesty, and so Luc saw as Ludy made to throw herself into her bedroll and cracked her head upon the stone, dizzy and disoriented with drink as she was.
Luc looked to Almanzor, who shrugged and nodded him towards Ludy.
"Don't fucking heal me," she said, losing her bite and her volume. "I'm fine."
"I won't heal you," Luc promised. "Can I look at it?"
"Can you look at it?" Ludy repeated, and Luc couldn't tell whether he was being mocked or not.
"Yes," he answered.
"No."
"No, I—? Are... Are you saying no, I can't look at it?"
Despite his frustration, his hands were gentle as he pressed them to either side of her head, searching her hair for blood.
"You'll just have a goose egg," he determined. He took a breath, and then administered a healing spell. Ludy groaned and shook her head in protest. "Sorry," Luc lied, "I slipped."
"Fucking priests."
"I'm not a priest."
"Give it a year," Ludy said with malice, laying still on her back, closing her eyes. "You'll either be a man, or a priest; instead of this," she waved her hand back and forth, "some religious errand boy."
"You don't have to pretend you don't like me—"
"I don't like you."
"—just because you were supporting the Empire."
"I was not— I'm a mercenary. I was paid."
"And I'm your healer. Not with your mercenary band, but in your army. So accept a bit of Faith when it comes your way. It could be easier on both of us."
"You know that being family means nothing, right?" Ludy said, skeptic and soft.
"I know that having family means more than blood," Luc reassured her, reaching across her shoulders to grab her bedroll, helping orient one side of it across her as she rolled onto her side. "And I know it will mean nothing, soon, but since we may die together crashed against the gates of Enbarr..."
A silence passed. Two. When Luc opened his mouth to speak again, Ludmilla said, tired and exasperated, "Find your own tent. Bastard."
"Goodnight," Luc agreed, the wind knocked out of him as sure as if he'd cracked his head upon the stones.
good evening friends and familyyy! do u like art? do u like fluffy bunnies? well i have good news for u!! i am currently opening my comms in order to pay for my baby boys surgery
and am opening as many slots as it takes to pay for it!
TERMS-
- all payment MUST be upfront and through paypal, (i will send a paypal invoice to protect you and me)
- WILL draw humanoid. furries and animals are conditional, dm for more info
- i will draw existing and original characters, as well as character interactions. OCs requests must come with references or very very thorough descriptions. see here
- complicated work will incur a higher fee, dm for a quote
- i WILL do nsfw/nudity/explicit for a much higher rate. dm for info
- i reserve the right to refuse any artworks that make me uncomfortable
- if you want a specific pose, you MUST provide references
CONTACT-
here on my tumblr, or my email [email protected], or my twitter @dast4rd
sorry for rb again 😭😭 for anyone who didnt see, the surgery went great and baba is all recovered
unfortunately i am living off commissions at the moment and i am getting dangerously close to running out. would appreciate any reblogs or commissions 😫💪
[Count Dracula was 412 when he moved to England in search of new blood. Sauron was 54,000 when he forged The One Ring. Cthulu had seen galaxies flare into life and fade into darkness before he put madness into the minds of men. It's never too late to follow your dreams!]
Dimitri felt as though he were remembering what it meant to be human. Crying by the stables those few weeks ago ... was a different kind of broken than how he'd felt the past few years. The smile Dedue's presence had tricked out of his body before even then, had terrified him in the night. His ghosts had led him to believe that his goals could not be achieved by a man, and so he'd felt he'd given up his humanity — not something lost, but rather cast aside, shattered like bones and glass.
Now people wanted him to speak, to lead, to allow himself to heal — and it was unthinkable.
And so he did not think, at times. He ate, quietly, unaware of taste or sound or the presence of others, as he sat at a table in the dining hall, surrounded by people who wanted him to call them friends.
Annette slipped while cutting a particularly tough cut of meat, and her knife slid into her thumb. A drop of blood caught Dimitri's eye, and he reacted too slowly as those around the little woman fret and Mercedes led her aside to clean the wound before healing it closed.
Someone at the table remarked how unlucky that was, and the meal continued. Dimitri could not find that measure of injury to be unlucky, as he recalled worse gore and suffering, of people screaming beneath him, or beyond him; people he'd hurt, and people he couldn't save.
"Your Highness."
A small, dainty squeak sounded at his side.
Marianne reached out, wrapping a soft, graceful hand around his wide scarred palm, bringing Dimitri's attention to how he'd been holding his knife, thumb pressed into the base of the blade, as if mimicking what he'd seen of Annette. He instantly let go, gasping in surprise when a line of red curled over Marianne's clean fingers.
"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry," Dimitri said, startled. Unthinking, he pulled away and pushed at the table as if to push out his seat, but being a bench, separated several others from their meals, their strain on his arms hardly noticeable due to his marked strength. He apologized to them next, and then to the people on the opposite side of the table, who he felt watched him with concern and annoyance. "My apologies. So sorry." He lifted a large leg over the bench, so that he could leave. "I'll just—"
"Will you let me help?" Marianne asked, standing from her place at the end of the bench.
Dimitri looked from her soft brown eyes, to the skeptic frowns and wary pouts of his growing list of babysitters. They expected him to refuse, or to accept and then to have an outburst — and while he might not be able to control the latter, he needed to believe that he could control some measure of his recovery. He nodded to Marianne.
"That's very kind of you."
She followed him out into the courtyard. Dimitri didn't know where he was going, only that he'd rather be farther from prying eyes.
"It's nothing," she promised, skipping to keep up with his longer strides.
Dimitri slowed, finding a table among the gardens.
"Could you not feel it from before?" Marianne asked, her concern clear in her dry, wispy voice. "I think it would be important to know if there was damage that—"
"No," Dimitri insisted, moving a chair to be out beside another at the table, and seating himself in it. He then wondered whether he should have waited for her to sit first, and what other courtly manners Gilbert would have for him to remember. "I was just distracted ... and there are deeper pains."
Marianne sat by his side again, but it wasn't like the dining hall. Dimitri knew she was there, knew she was close. He remembered short conversations from their youth, and wondered if they'd had even shorter conversations since her return to Garreg Mach ... some days he could hardly remember. He had been living in a fog for so long, and pain had simply been a part of it.
"I understand," she said, and he wondered whether she did, as she took his crooked fingers in her careful, narrow hands.
A glow following one thumb, and then the other, as she sealed and mended the injury.
"Good as new," Marianne tried to say encouragingly, running her thumbs over Dimitri's a few more times, and he wondered whether she was seeking further injury, or doing so in massage, eyes focused on the digit in her care.
Dimitri retreated his hand towards himself. He didn't want to be facetious, but he hardly felt that any part of him would feel like new ever again. Instead he worried.
"Have I stained your dress?"
Red curled under her palm and down her wrist, and he knew he surely had. However, rather than a reaction he may have expected, she smiled at him, and Dimitri frowned deeper in confusion.
"Unfortunately, it's become rather customary to wash out blood."
She pulled a handkerchief from her opposite sleeve as she said so, and ruffled the fabric between her hands to catch most of what remained before offering it to him.
Dimitri wondering why and whether his patience truly ran so thin, because the act was enough to tempt him with malice and sarcasm. He felt like she saw it, with how she tilted back her head and her lips pinched together. Although he worried that she hadn't, and her impatience with him was simply a natural reaction to the state of him. He must be healing, as he managed to hold his tongue, even if he accepted her gift with too much force, and winced as he dried his hands; in effect, feeling as though he were staining her, just as everyone around him.
"Thank you," Marianne said quietly, as she accepted back her handkerchief.
Dimitri folded his hands around themselves, cracking a knuckle and turning his face away from how she secured it in a pocket at her waist.
"I would not have stolen it," Dimitri said, soft and sad, thinking about the things people feared of him, and what they should fear.
"No, I mean ... I mean for trying," she clarified, eyes flickering across his face when he looked at her in surprise. "It's been good to ... been good for morale, to see your growth. Like some prayers can be answered, even if not all at once."
"I would think I'm seen as more burden than blessing," Dimitri confessed. "But I appreciate you saying so." He sighed. "You should return to dinner."
"Come back with me," Marianne requested with an outstretched hand.
"I—"
"Please? Dimitri."
He softened at the use of his name, and nodded as he stood, unwilling to touch her again. "Yes. You're right, of course."
Marianne let her hand fall to her side, and nodded in turn.
Dimitri felt less humiliated then, as they washed their hands together and returned to their table. He even found it in himself to ask Annette about her injury and to joke about his own. He could see that some at the table were bitter about his composure and how he was dependent upon the group, but not all, and that was enough for him to realize that he didn't have to be bitter with himself either. He could hope to feel worthy of calling them friends again too.
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