Tag: congratulations you found a queue

The first time Grog saw Pike, she was a circle. There was this halo around her, all golden and brighter than a bonfire. It hurt him to look at her, but she healed the rest of his hurt things pretty well so he didn’t mind. She kept being a circle, always coming back to them. He saw the wide arc of her maul in the air and the pendant around her neck. Sometimes, Grog thought she might be the little bit left over around when you went three times across. The last linking bit. (1/5)

teammompike:

The twins and Trinket, they were a triangle. The sort changed sometimes. For a while, they were obtuse. Vax and Vex worked together alright on the battlefield. Grog grew to learn he could rely on them to take the baddies down a peg before he got his hands on them, but Trinket was far off to the left, always close to Vex and never much help. Then they got tall and acute. Vex and Trinket crowding together while Vax got further and further away. Grog was sure they’d be equilateral someday. (2/5)

Keyleth was a rhombus. Solid on some ends. Certainly looked solid, but Grog was always just a little afraid she might topple over if her slant went too far. Her sizes and angles changed too much all the time. Early on, he’d worried about every animal he saw on the battlefield. There were so many shapes she could take. It made Grog’s head hurt, but he learned them one by one. Still, every squirrel was suspect. (3/5)

Scanlan started as a square, but he’d widened over time. The more songs, the more conversations, the more voices his friend brought out, the more sides Grog saw around him. He was a nonagon now, but Grog wondered sometimes if he was trying to get to a circle, same as Pike. He didn’t think it would work. Scanlan worked himself in and out of too many corners. (4/5)

Percy was a line. Straight on down from far away to whatever he chose to hit. Grog admired that in him. Sometimes he couldn’t see the beginning or the end of a line. Roads were one. Rivers were another, though he sometimes tried to put words to just what shape rivers were when they didn’t stay straight as he might prefer, but he was comforted knowing a line always landed somewhere. Pow. (5/5)

GROG AND SHAPES I’M!!!!!!

barrel of a gun. (zevran/warden # 2)

elfapostate:

prompt: “AU”.

word count:  1434

A/N: The sniper/modern!AU that no one asked for !!! I’m proud, really.

zevran/warden week post: (x)

His line of sight was clear.

The crowd below shifts about, anxious, but oblivious to everything spare for Arl Eamon’s charming words. Zevran lays in hiding, waiting for the right moment as the excitement only continued to build and the kingdom held its breath once again for the spectacle to come.

A speech was to be made and a successor’s face revealed, the near-entirety of Denerim having come out for this announcement. News helicopters floated high above them, dizzying and loud, but in Zevran’s experience, added attention only created greater confusion. Once they had found the correct window in the correct building, he’d be gone. In his wake, an empty sniper perch and a calling card:

The Antivan Crows send their regards.  

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leliaanaa:

siegfried of redwall

for day two of zevran/warden week, prompt: au

okay this one is kind of different from my usual stuff bc im trying to emulate brian jacques’ style. it should still make perfect sense if u arent familiar w/ the redwall series tho, never fear! this took ages to write & its rly late & i have work tomorrow so if there are any mistakes i’ll fix them later lmao

3,000 words

It was late summer, and Mossflower country bathed in the fading golden glow of approaching twilight, tugged gently by a peaceful breeze, steeped in the balmy warmth that heralded the advance of a dusky September eve.

Set between rolling meadows and and deep velvet of Mossflower Wood, edged with a dusty ribbon of roads, Redwall Abbey stood tall and welcoming, high brick walls spread with ivy that lingered on the cusp between tawny green and burnt red. High above, the bell tower towered over the ramparts, casting lengthening shadow over the cloisters below. As evening drew on, the great Joseph Bell struck out the hour with seven deep tolls, resonating across the surrounding countryside and echoed by the muffled chimes from St Ninian’s.

Within the high walls, warmed by the sun, myriad small creatures went about their daily tasks, unmolested by the troubles of the outside world. Here a mole, tending the abbey’s small garden; there a field mouse, herding a group of youngsters inside; and was that Brother Jowan, teetering in the branches of a plum tree? It was, and he looked like to fall.

All was surveyed by the careful eye of the Father Abbot, an old mouse by the name of Cyrion, whose whiskers were near as long as his years. Grey of fur about the ears and nose, he nevertheless wore the habit of Father Abbot well, caring for each creature beneath his watch with wisdom and patience. He shook his head at the sight of Brother Jowan perched so precariously in his pursuit of plums – what an energetic young mouse he was! Always bobbing about, eager to please and yet somehow troublesome all the same.

‘Be careful, my son!’ he called out as a warning, but he needn’t have worried. A nearby squirrel had seen the danger, and now she dashed up the tree nimbly to rescue the poor mouse. Siegfried was a familiar face at the abbey, often seen catching smaller creatures as they fell from branches or the ramparts. Abbot Cyrion knew she could be content here, if only she let herself; but he also knew unrest coiled in her bones. She was never still, her tail always twitching, always looking for signs of trouble. Peace sat uneasy on her shoulders.

He nodded his thanks to the young squirrel as she passed, but anything he had to say was cut off as the peace of growing evening was rent by a sudden hammering on the ancient gate.

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