#finally we can rest the discourse about his collar

[warriorstrivia]

Scourge's collar is so dirty that you can't tell what color it is

[kingofkingdom-archive]

1979

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (Read part 2 HERE)

Rating: T (Teen) - part 2 will be E

Summary: The year is 1979. You need a ride to anywhere that’s far away from where you are. When a handsome stranger in a rustbucket pickup gives you that ride, neither of you could predict any of the events that follow.

Warnings: Smoking (and lots of it), mild violence (a punch is thrown), brief harassment of reader, food, mention of a gun (one is encountered but not used), mention of homelessness, brief mention/description of war (Vietnam), child abandonment, mention of abusive/dangerous father figure, passing mention of serial killers, vague description of non-specific events leading up to reader resorting to hitchhiking, very meta mention of a certain beloved space opera

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: Whew! This one has been in the shop for a LONG while. Originally I meant for this to be a single work, but I’ve hit a bit of a slump with the last bit. I decided to post this to see how y’all feel about it! The second part will be much longer :) Also: I know there has been some discourse recently about Din’s characterization in certain fics, so I hope this does him justice for you! I’m always open to comments, and like I said I’m very interested in hearing what you think! As per usual, no use of Y/N and please heed the tags/warnings.

8:47

You lean against the streetlight, glancing down at your watch and then back up to the motel across the street. You told yourself you'd wait until 8:30 and then you'd go back and reserve a room for another night. As you watch the second hand wind its way around the small, plain face of your 2-dollar timepiece, you've convinced yourself that maybe staying out until 9 is the ticket.

Your ticket, out of this shithole town.

The summer air is hot and thick around you. It's especially unbearable both between your legs and at the band of your bra, the elastic stretched around your middle doing its best to make you feel as sweaty and uncomfortable as possible. At least you're wearing your cutoffs, giving your legs the chance to breathe. You've also got a loose tank on, which flutters in the sticky wind as cars pass you by.

8:51

Your thumb has been stuck out for passerby to see for the past three days. No one has picked you up. You suppose you should be more wary of taking lifts from complete strangers with all the murder and kidnapping that's been in the news recently, but you're more than a little headstrong with a dash of stupid to go along. That's what your mother always told you, anyway.

Some Cadillac speeds past you, blaring what you think is a Donna Summer song, and you watch as the music and taillights fade into the night.

You shouldn't be surprised, you figure, as the minutes continue to tick on by. There's a gas shortage, you reason with yourself as you bend down to pick up your bag, thumb still stuck out, elbow resting on your waist. People don't do this anymore. Afraid of getting picked up by a pervert or a killer. Afraid of picking one up, and then a streetlight just like the one you're under is the last thing they see.

8:58

You sigh, ready to head in for the night. Marvin, dude who sits at the motel's front desk, is sure to give you shit about it again.

You're preparing to cross the street when you hear the low growl of a pickup truck approach. Not looking to get creamed by some fuckin' rusted-out GMC, you step back onto the curb where you'd been posted.

Except the truck slows up, and the window rolls down as it crawls to a stop in front of you.

Your heart races. Finally.

You walk up to the passenger side window and look in, expecting some fat old putz looking to get some tail in exchange for a ride.

That's not what you see.

"Need a lift, young lady?"

The truck's driver is older than you, sure, but you were wrong about pretty much everything else. He's got short dark hair and a 'stache, with some stubble across his chin. He's wearing a leather jacket over a plain gray tee, with a pair of sunglasses hung on the collar. One hand is on the wheel while the other is laid across the back of the bench seat, a cigarette perched in between his first two fingers.

You lean forward on your tiptoes as best you can, forearms resting on the door's open window. Pretending to survey the interior, you look around and take the opportunity to check the man out. God, you think. I wouldn't mind giving him whatever he wants in exchange for this ride. Maybe another kinda ride. Ha!

"As it turns out, I do. You offering?"

You rest your chin on your arms and give him the sweetest smile you can muster. The man eyes you up and takes a drag from his cigarette. You watch with rapt attention as he inhales deeply and then exhales the smoke out through his nose.

This guy's got you all hot and bothered and you haven't even gotten in the truck.

He gestures with his hand. "Come on, kid. I gotta make the state line by midnight."

You definitely like the sound of that. Eager and supremely stoked to finally have a way out of this dump, you pull on the handle, jump in, and swing the door closed behind you. Your backpack finds its place between your feet, and the stranger starts driving again as you pull your seatbelt across your shoulders.

"Where're you headed?" the man asks, glancing over to you and then looking back at the road. The asphalt seems to stretch into infinity, flanked by trees and fields and the occasional watering hole.

"Away from here," you chuckle as you fidget with your fingers. Black nail polish decorates your trimmed nails. It's chipped and uneven in some spots; you never were great at painting your nails, especially your right hand.

"I got that," the man drawls, voice deep and smooth like honey. "Any particular destination in mind?"

You shrug. To be honest, you hadn't exactly thought that far ahead. Your first and only priority was a way out, and anything after that was a problem to be handled when it came to it.

"Nope. Just as far as you're willing to take me."

The guy nods and takes a drag. The smell of cigarettes never bothered you like it does some other people; you find it relaxing, calming, especially when it's fresh and all-consuming like it is in this guy's truck. The vehicle itself is old, maybe 10 or 15 years, and a glance into the bed behind you tells you he's traveling with a couple boxes and nothing more.

It's certainly not state-of-the-art, but that's all the better for staying under the radar.

The silence looms over you like a cloud. The stranger seems content to just listen to the engine and the tires on the road, but you're prone to fill silences unprompted.

"What's your name?" you ask, and look over at him. He glances at you and raises a brow.

He clears his throat, eyes moving back to the road. "You can call me Mando."

"Mando?" you retort before you can stop yourself. "What kinda bogus name is that? Like, what... you got a thing for mandolins or some shit?"

The man huffs. "It is what is, kid. Get used to it."

You sigh, crossing your arms. "Alright, alright... Mando."

He doesn't try to continue the conversation, so you don't either. Minutes pass, and then hours, and you find yourself drifting off not too long after the clock reads 10:00. You shake yourself awake, wanting to stave off sleep until he pulls over to rest for the night.

But the engine is like a lullaby, the soft swaying of the truck a gentle rocking motion, and your eyes fall closed despite your best efforts.

When you wake up again, the truck is no longer moving, and the clock reads 12:30. 

You must have been woken up by Mando putting the truck into park. The darkness outside does not give any clues as to where you are, but as your eyes adjust you can just make out some picnic tables, garbage cans, and signs.

A rest area. Makes sense.

Mando is fumbling with something beside you. It's a map, you realize when you look over.

"Where are we?" you ask with a yawn.

"Just over the border. Made it a bit later than I would've liked, but that's not a big deal. You can sleep here in the cab. I'll take the bed, since I sleep there anyway."

You nod, though you find it odd the way he's... not asking you for anything. He hasn't mentioned payment, monetary or otherwise. You watch as he folds the map back up, and catch his gaze as he stashes it in the glove box.

"I gotta repay you somehow, mister," you mutter. "For how nice you're bein' to me. 'Specially since I made fun of your name and all."

At your words, Mando gives you a stern look from under one of his furrowed brows. "No, you don't. Blanket's under the seat. Get some rest."

He turns away, grabs the keys, and is out the door before you can reply.

It's just so unusual for a guy to pick up a girl like you and refuse payment, much less not ask for or take it outright. It's a shame, really. Any other guy, you'd give him what he wanted sure, but with less than enthusiastic participation. The one man to whom you'd gladly deliver anything he asked... and he seems not to want it.

You suppose you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Better a prude than a murderer, that's for sure.

As you reach under the seat for the blanket, your hand brushes against some sort of canvas bag, long and zippered. You lean over to look in at it upside-down, hair brushing against the dusty floor mats.

It's a rifle bag. You reach in to feel at where the barrel would be, and sure enough, there's something distinctly rifle-shaped inside.

Huh. It's not a surprise that a guy like him's traveling armed, but it makes you wonder. A hunter, maybe? Probably. There's a lot of those around.

You spot the blanket and pull it out. It's gray, scratchy wool, but as you pull it over yourself, you find it keeps the nighttime chill away quite well.

-

You wake up to Mando swatting at your feet.

"Time to get up, sunshine. Gotta get going."

His deep voice pierces through the fog of sleep still hanging thick over your mind. You groan and push yourself up onto your elbows, drawing your feet in to give him space to slide into the drivers' seat. 

It's still dark out. You see a hint of light on the horizon, the beginning of the sunrise peeking over hills and fields.

"What time is it?" you ask, rubbing at your eyes. You're a chronic over-sleeper, so seeing the sunrise is a rarity. It seems Mando has no such problem.

"A bit after six. We'll stop at a diner for something to eat in about an hour. You're welcome to go back to sleep until then." He turns the key in the ignition and the truck rumbles to life, a blast of lukewarm air hitting you in the face. 

"No, no. I'm up," you assure him, shrugging the blanket off your shoulders. As you fold it, you look over at the man beside you. He's wearing the same faded jeans and leather jacket as yesterday, but the shirt underneath has changed. The sunglasses are still hung on the collar, but now it's some faded band tee from like 8 years ago. 

You set the folded-up blanket on the seat between you and him, watching as he puts the truck into drive and starts off. Before you know it, you're watching the early-morning world pass by outside your window. You kick off your sandals and tuck your feet up under yourself, sitting crosslegged on the seat.

About 15 minutes later, you've grown tired of watching farmhouses and cornfields fly by in the dark.

"So, uh..." you start, not really knowing where you intend to finish your sentence, "you like music?"

Stupid. That was stupid.

Mando chuckles. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" you reply, hopeful that he might have more to say.

"Yes. I do like music."

You roll your eyes. "What kind of music? Jazz? Opera? Country-western? Who's your favorite artist? Got any favorite records?"

He glances over at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "You sure do ask a lot of questions."

"Well, I figure if I'm gonna be traveling with you for a good while, I might as well know a bit about you. And vice versa."

Mando just hums. 

"I'll tell you mine, then," you inform him, grinning widely now. "My favorite record right now is Parallel Lines. By Blondie, you know? I really like them. This time last year I woulda told you my favorite album was something by Wire or the Sex Pistols - I was real into punk, if you know anything about it. Now I'm more into poppy stuff. I just think it's fun, to be honest."

You continue to ramble to Mando well into the drive. The sky grows lighter and the road grows more crowded, but he does not stop you. At the end of a tangent about Bowie, you turn to look at him, and he's sitting there like you haven't just talked his ear off for the past twenty minutes.

"Sorry. I jus-"

"Don't apologize. It's... I don't mind," he interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, looking at the sandal-shaped marks on the tops of your feet. "Don't you have any particular songs you like?"

Mando's quiet for a minute. You wait, looking up out the window. The sky is a pale pink and blue, with a hint of orange off to the east. A field of cows comes up on your left - your eyes track them as they pass by, wondering what it's like to pet one.

You bet they're soft. Soft and cuddly and so dumb they're cute.

"You have to promise not to laugh." 

The words come as a surprise. You look over to Mando, eyes wide and interested.

"Never. Favorite music is sacred."

He sighs. His grip tightens on the wheel, like sharing even a small part of himself causes him distress.

"Tapestry. Carole King," he says, though the words are quiet and guarded.

That wasn't the answer you were expecting. "Really?" you ask, smiling brightly.

He just nods, though he spares a glance towards you, like he's gauging your reaction. You lean back against the seat, turning towards him more fully.

"I wouldn't have guessed. Color me surprised, Mando. You have good taste." It's true. The album's a classic, though more so with girls your age, not guys who pick up hitchhikers and keep rifles in their trucks. "What do you like about it?"

Mando shifts, bringing his left arm up to rest on the door, elbow propped so his head can rest on his hand. "Not sure. She writes a good song, that's all I know."

You're not satisfied with that answer. You'll get to know Mando, even if it's like pulling teeth. "Bull-shit. Pink Floyd writes a good song. Paul Simon writes a good song. Why her? Why that record? It came out like ten years ago, there's gotta be a reason - a real reason - you still like it."

The drone of the engine and the road is like a soundtrack in itself to the silences that loom heavy before every sentence he speaks. You wonder when the last time he really got to talk to someone was - talk like this, not small conversation with the waiter or grocer. 

You're no psychiatrist, but it doesn't take a genius to spot someone who's been alone for a while.

Mando hums. "I guess I relate to her songs... in a way I didn't expect to when I first heard her music."

You smile at that, pleased as punch that he trusts you with that information. It's like cupping cool water in your hands on a hot summer's day, fleeting and precious. "What's your favorite song on the record?"

He turns his gaze to your for a moment, dark brown eyes staring at your dirty feet and day-old shirt and messy hair. You're not sure what exactly he sees as he takes you in, but you sit there and allow it regardless.

Mando looks back to the road, watching the small town approaching slowly on the horizon. "I Feel the Earth Move."

You nod. "A classic."

He just hums in response, and you expect the truck to fill with silence once again.

Except it doesn't.

Mando reaches out and presses the button to turn on the radio. Blondie's Heart of Glass flows out through the speakers - and you laugh.

-

The glowing neon sign advertising Lindy's Diner, with her promise of pancakes and eggs and bacon and coffee, gets you more excited than you care to admit. Mando pulls into a parking spot along the street, and you're out the door before the wheels have stopped turning.

Admittedly, you do also have to pee. 

You rush into the diner to take care of your business, also using the provided sinks to brush your teeth and the mirror to comb through your hair with your fingers. 

It's not much, but you do feel better. Hopefully tonight you can stay in a motel at least, maybe take a shower.

You exit the restroom and look around the diner. Mando's sitting in a booth, smoking a cigarette and looking out the window. You head over, tossing your backpack into your side first and sliding in after it.

"I'll be right back," he says, and leaves. You watch him walk over to the men's restroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

Whatever. Kinda rude. Not like you care, anyway.

You lean back in the booth and take a menu from the stand at the end of the table. The classic breakfast platter is looking particularly tempting, with its hash browns and bacon and eggs-however-you-like. You're contemplating scrambled versus over-easy when you hear a pair of footsteps walk up to your table.

Two strange men stand over you, looking at you like they know exactly how homeless you really are.

"You here alone, baby?" the shorter one asks, putting a grimy hand on the back of your booth, right behind your head. You open your mouth to say no, in fact, I am not, but the other guy speaks for you.

"It looks like you are, honey. Just our luck, a girl like you all on her -"

"Is there a problem?"

Mando's deep voice cuts through whatever it was the creep was planning to say. The low timbre of his voice, normally soft and kind, is uniquely dark - almost menacing - when it hides a threat. 

You slowly cross your legs, hoping no one notices the movement under the table.

The two guys turn, and behind them you see Mando, looking extremely pissed. He puts a hand on the back of the taller man's neck, cig still perched between his fingers, and yanks him away from where he'd been standing in front of Mando's side of the booth.

"Jesus, man! We didn't know you were -"

Mando puts his hands on his hips, eyeing them up like a lion might size up its prey. "What? You didn't know what?"

The guy gulps. "Uh..."

"Come on," Mando taunts, something dark glinting in his eyes. "Don't get nervous on me, now."

"We didn't know you were with her, man. Sorry."

Mando shakes his head. "No. Don't say that to me. Say it to her." He nods hid head towards you, subtly positioning his body in between yours and theirs.

You're frozen in your seat, torn between fear and arousal.

The tall guy glances at you. "Sorry," he mutters. The shorter one's still looking at you funny, though.

Your companion jerks his head towards the door. "It's best you both leave, now." 

You realize the diner's gone quiet, customers and employees alike watching the exchange with bated breath. The taller guy glances around and turns, heading straight for the door. His buddy hesitates, gaze shifting from Mando to you and back again. Eventually he also turns to leave, following the other one out.

Mando slides into his seat, though he won't quite meet your gaze when you look at him. Noise picks up in the diner once again and you let out a shaky breath.

You're about to say something when the two guys pass by the window. The shorter one peers in, works his jaw, and spits on the ground on the other side of the window from you. You see him mouth the word 'bitch!'.

Rolling your eyes, you turn to Mando to try and joke about it, attempting to brush off the uncomfortable encounter. But he's not there, and you realize belatedly that he's now storming outside.

Mouth agape, you watch as Mando stalks up to the short guy. Jesus, you think, if looks could kill... 

The creep whirls around, throwing a fist at Mando before he even gets a good look at him. Mando dodges it easily with a step back, looking simultaneously murderous and annoyed. He winds his arm back and sends his fist flying at the creep's face. The guy stumbles and falls, clutching at what is now a bloody and broken nose, landing on his back on the sidewalk. His friend has long run off.

Mando puts a boot on the guy's sternum, pressing down so he can't get up no matter how much he struggles.

You see him lean down, elbow on his knee, and say something. The guy's eyes widen and he nods frantically. Mando then removes his foot and, without sparing the guy a second glance, re-enters the diner.

He slides into the booth again and takes the menu from you. There's blood on the knuckles of his right hand, but he makes no move to wipe it off. He flips through the pages as if nothing happened. You stare at him.

"You didn't have to do that," you mutter, voice soft and wavering. 

Without looking from the menu, he responds. "Yes, I did."

"But, you coulda just... just let him go..."

"I could have," he replies, and turns a page. "But I didn't."

"But -"

For the first time since you both entered the diner, he looks up at you, and you're taken aback the intensity of his eyes. "He deserved worse, kid. Far worse."

He sounds so sure of it that you can't bring yourself to say otherwise. You sigh and clasp your hands together on the table, unsure of where to go from here. 

Just then, the waitress comes up to your table, notepad and pen in hand.

"You two know what ya want?" she asks as Mando puts the menu back in its place.

He gestures for you to go first.

"Uh, yeah. I'll have the classic platter with scrambled eggs and white toast. And black coffee, please."

The woman nods, writing your order on her pad. "And you, sir?"

"I'll have the blueberry flapjacks, please. And coffee, black, for me as well."

The waitress nods and turns away. As you watch her push through the silver kitchen door, you realize that maybe you should be grateful for the way things went. That they didn't get uglier.

That Mando was there at all.

"Thank you," you say softly, doing your best to convey your sincerity to the man sitting across from you.

He simply nods, observing you with a look you can't quite place.

-

After breakfast, the two of you set off down the highway again. Fleetwood Mac flows out through the speakers and you don't expect to stop until after noon, when Mando will have to refuel (both the truck and your stomachs). Until then you kick off your shoes and put your feet up on the dash, window cracked about an inch so the summer wind can flow through your hair.

Despite the rocky start to the morning, the hours pass by easily, weightlessly. Sometimes you talk with Mando, other times you simply sit and watch the world pass by. You don't think you've ever seen this much land in one go, and it thrills you. The idea that there's so much more. 

The topics vary from your time in school to movies to the truck. You're surprised to find out that Mando's never seen Star Wars, a fact nearly unheard of to you. You promise yourself that you'll make him watch it sometime, somehow.

Lunch passes without incident; you insist on paying for your ham and cheese sandwich, because Mando had covered breakfast before you could protest. It hits the spot, along with your ice-cold Coke from the little market's freezer. There's a line to get gas, as there is everywhere, but luckily it isn't too long, since you're in the middle of nowhere. Mando won't be able to fill the truck up again for a few days, meaning you'll have to stop for the night earlier tonight than you did yesterday.

You do find something interesting at the market and you decide to shell out the money for it because it intrigues you. A new style of Kodamatic camera, complete with a pack of instant film - 12 potential photos.

In your mind you see pictures of mountains, and the truck, and Mando, and you stuff the camera in your bag before your mind can wander any further down that road.

You have to admit - traveling with someone who you know can protect you if the need arises is comforting in a way that almost makes you nervous. You keep telling yourself not to get used to it, that this is just a temporary situation for as long as he sees fit to keep you around. After he decides he's had enough, he'll leave you, and you'll be on your own again. You can't get too dependent on him.

Nighttime arrives much too quickly. The sun has just dipped below the horizon when you drive into another small town, not much more than a stoplight and a few bars. You get lucky, though, because the unmistakable neon of a motel glows just ahead.

"Thank god," you groan as Mando pulls into the parking lot. "I need a shower so goddamned bad."

Mando chuckles. His arm rests with his hand out the window, flicking the ash at the end of his cigarette out onto the pavement. The orange glow at the end of it brightens as he takes a drag, and you tear your eyes away from his lips before he can catch you staring.

That's another problem. He's every inch as attractive to you now as he was before, except now you know he's nice. The mustache and the dark curls and the broad expanse of his chest are all only made hotter by the knowledge that he likes Carole King and Elton John (he knew all the words to Tiny Dancer) and blueberry pancakes.

Plus there was that whole punching a guy to defend your honor business.

The guy at the motel's front desk reminds you of Marvin. Greasy blond hair and acne on a kid not much younger than you. You give him a disgusted look when he eyes you up, but he cuts it out when Mando walks in behind you. It gives you a small sense of satisfaction to see him so meek before your companion.

"We need a double for the night," Mando drawls, counting cash on the counter, cig perched between his lips. The sign advertised a night's stay for $22. You'd tried to pay Mando your share, but he'd refused your money.

The kid shakes his head. "Only got singles available."

Mando raises his brows. "Really."

The kid, whose name is Matt according to his name tag, nods. It takes Mando a moment to think on it, and then he looks to you.

You shrug. "I'm fine with it if you are, Mando."

He nods once and pays for the room. 12. You take the key and head over to get a head start on your shower while Mando parks the truck and gets his stuff.

The hot water feels divine. Even the towel feels great, because as threadbare and shitty as it is, it's clean and warm from sitting under the vent. You finish up in the bathroom and emerge in a pair of old track shorts and a loose-fitting tee.

Mando's sitting on the bed, back against the headboard. His jacket's draped across the table and he's kicked off his boots, so he sits with the remote in hand, barefoot. It's the most casual you've seen him thus far, and it makes your heart race.

"Shower's all yours," you tell him.

Mando looks at you from the corner of his eye. It's hard to tell what he's thinking at any given moment, so you fidget with the hem of your shirt as he looks at you. 

A thought blooms unbidden in your chest. I wish I could kiss him.

You blink, taken aback at the sudden, intense nature of your desire to feel his lips against your own. Not knowing what else to do, you cross your arms and turn to the TV. Bonanza is on.

"Seen this episode before?" you ask. It's an old show, but you still like it.

Mando nods, humming. "Used to watch these every week, right when they came out. Only the first few seasons, though."

"Why'd you stop?"

He turns to sit on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the ground. He gives you a small smile, though his eyes hide something pained.

"I got drafted."

Oh. "Oh. I didn't mean -"

"It's fine," he says and gets up, brushing past you to enter the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him.

You walk over to sit on the other side of the bed from where he was. Drafted. Jesus. You feel bad for bringing it up, even if it was unintentional. The TV plays though you aren't watching, mind wandering to thoughts of Mando in Vietnam. You picture him in the jungle or in a helicopter, the deafening noise of artillery and gunfire filling the air around him.

Maybe that's where he got the nickname. It certainly explains the rifle.

You reach over for the remote and shut off the TV. The clock on the wall reads about 8:00, still early for you, but you tuck yourself under the sheets and blanket regardless. You face the door, away from where Mando will sleep.

Just as you're drifting off, the lamp on the bedside table clicks off. You feel the weight of Mando crawling in beside you, and he too curls up on his side, back turned.

You fall asleep hoping he's not too upset with you.

The next thing you know, you're awake, though the world is still dark outside. Behind you, Mando snores softly, warm breath fanning out across your neck.

Wait.

You blink a few times and realize the two of you must have shifted in the night. Mando's body is pressed right against yours, chest to your back, arm draped over your middle and hand tucked under your chin. Your legs are intertwined and against the back of your thigh you feel -

You feel him.

Sleep is a powerful drug, however, and the realization is not enough to make you move. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you think maybe this isn't so bad. Your tired brain convinces you to revel in it, to enjoy this position you've found yourself in. Before you can second guess that reasoning, you drift off.

And then you're awake again. 

This time it's thanks to a rush of cold wind in your face. You reach back to feel for Mando, but the warm pillow tells you he's not there. You open your eyes to see him standing in the doorway, looking down at something. It's still dark out, but the lights of the motel parking lot put him in silhouette before you.

"What is it?" You lean up on your elbow to get a better look. The nighttime air is cool on your face, smelling faintly of gasoline and rain.

He bends down and picks up whatever it is that's in front of him. You watch as he turns to look left, then right, seemingly in search of something. He turns around and you see what he's holding.

It's a baby's carrycot.

You immediately sit up, heart racing. "Is it -?" you whisper.

Mando nods, closing the door behind him. You get out of bed and rush over to stand next to him, peering into the carrier.

Sure enough, there's a baby asleep inside. It looks to be a boy, about a year old. You bring a hand up to your mouth.

"Why - who would - what?"

Mando shakes his head, staring at the little guy. "I don't know. I heard a knock at the door and there he was - no sign of anyone else."

"We should - what do we do, Mando?"

He brings the carrier over to rest on the table beside his jacket. The boy is out cold - his little hands grip the blue knitted blanket and his mouth is just barely open. He's got dark hair, wispy and soft atop his head. As you observe the sleeping child, you notice the corner of a small piece of paper tucked in between the blanket and the cradle. You reach out and grasp it between your thumb and forefinger, unfolding it carefully.

"What does it say?" Mando whispers. Your voices are low so as to not disturb the child.

"Grogu. Please take him far from here," you read, and feel your blood run cold as the note goes on. "Not safe in this area. His father is dangerous."

It's scrawled in blue ink on half a sheet of lined notebook paper, the fringe from being torn still attached. Your hands shake as it hits you - there's some mother out there so scared for her son that she left him in the care of strangers. That there's a man out there who legitimately threatens this boy's life.

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, rage and sadness simmering in your chest.

"We have to, Mando." Your words are shaky but certain. The man beside you rests a hand on the carrycot, still looking at the sleeping child within.

You turn your eyes to him. He nods, solemn.

"Let's let him rest. We'll leave in the morning, get as far west as we can. Might even be able to make Texas if we leave early enough. We can figure it out from there."

His other hand brushes against your back, and then he's drawing you into his chest. The embrace is soft, unhurried, and you lean your head against his shoulder, hands tucked against his chest. Letting your eyes slip closed, you think back on the previous day, how you never could have predicted this turn of events. How you've never felt so uncertain of things, even when you'd lost everything.

Together you return to bed, but neither of you gets much sleep.

[liquid-luck-00]

Queen Marinette

Queen Marinette

Here is a ~2000 word song fic that I wrote in place of working on my ongoing fics hope you guys like it.

I saw a post a while ago where Damian would call Mari Queen/Your Majesty as she was a princess, but i cant find the post anymore but the idea stuck so here we are.

~~~~~~~~~~

The League of Assassins also known as the League of Shadows is one of the Earth's best kept secret society second to Themiscyra home of the Amazons and Atlantis of the Atlantans. However there is one that only a handful know and whispers of their existence are mythical in the cosmos. Only known to the head families, or rulers, of Themiscyra, Atlantis, and the League of Assassins.

That would be the Kingdom at Miraculi.

Marinette is anything but a normal girl. She is the crowned princess of Miraculi as well as being the reincarnation of the goddess Tikki. She is creation herself, but on top of that she was blessed by the other gods as well, meaning she is able to wield their gifts as well. She is Princess Marinette Dawntreader of Miraculi.

But right now she wants to be anywhere but the palace. At the age of eight she just met her betrothed and let's just say he did not make a good first impression.

In front of her stood Damian Al Ghul the heir of Demons and next head of the league of shadows. The league is the guard of Miraculi, ensuring that the existence of the Kingdom remains peaceful and in turn the Kingdom of Miraculi supplies the magic of the Lazarus Pit. The concealment of Themiscyra and Atlantans able to survive under water are other blessings provided by Miraculi. But back to the pain on hand, Damian Al Ghul.

"Tt. you really do look the part of a princess" she was in a long flowing dress with long sleeves as she had finished her classes for the day. "Fragile and helpless."

"Yes and you appear as a demon" she shot back. "self-absorbed and arrogant" she turned on her heel "keep up little Prince" she called over her shoulder.

They got to know each other better but he was always so cold and distant. But they grew to love each other. Damian left to be with his father when they were 10, but they still stayed in contact. Then when they were 13 she got news that broke her heart, Damian was dead.

She couldn't stay in the Kingdom without remembering him. She needed distance and new scenery wouldn’t hurt. So she brought it up to her parents, and they were reluctant, but Diana Princess of Themiscyra brought up the solution Marinette would be staying with Sabine Cheng, an Amazon who was granted leave of Themiscyra , and her husband Tom Dupain.

That was how she found herself in Paris as an 8th year introducing herself as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

That was how she also met Adrien Agreste. He was kind and sweet. He was new to school life just as she was new to life outside of Miraculi.

But not long afterwards did Lila Rossi enroll at Du Ponte.

With a quick search on google revealed most of her tales to be just that, fiction.

Adrien and Mari dated for two years before he ended the relationship. It was because she

wouldn't stop trying to reveal Lila's lies. That it was hurting his image that he was seen with her. That if only they knew the truth it would be enough. Well, fine, goodbye Adrien was her only thought. Her head held high.

Cross my heart and hope to die

I don't need another guy

To fight my battles, to overshadow me

Don't ya know I'm dangerous?

Fire burnin' in my blood

I got this handled, I don't need rescuin'

Unfortunately for him she didn't stop trying to get her class to see the truth.

A side effect of the liar's influence was that she was ostracized from the rest of the class.

But that wasn't a priority. Miraculi was going to become public. So she had a revealing ceremony to prepare for.

But before that she was asked to join as a joint member of the Teen Titians and Young Justice.

She was to meet with the two teams at Mt. Justice so she was looking for Kaldur, Aqualad, as she exited the building.

She was making her way towards him when she heard it.

"Princess" Adrien called and pulled her to look at him.

You can call me a princess all you like

'Cause you love to keep me helpless by your side

But that ain't what I want, I'ma show you

"Can I do something for you Agreste?" she asked as calmly as she could. "Because if not I am meeting a friend I haven't seen in ages."

"Just make up with Lila" he started "she isn't hurting anyone. And when you do everyone will be your friend again."

She smiled and noticed Kaldur closer than before. "Kaldur good to see you again how was your flight?" Adrien turned to see who she was talking to, and Kaldur after a second of shock responded.

"Uneventful, is everything set?" he asked giving her a way out.

"Yes" Mari answered "Sorry Adrien, another time"

"B- 02 Aqualad, B- 34 Omni"

She was in a black formfitting sleeveless top that rose to form a mask covering her face to her nose. Dark red combat boots that were tucked into black motorbike pants. A red belt with a forest green sash that faintly resembled a skirt just under it. Her gloves and arm guards were black and grey, and all over were golden accents. Her hair was cut short and was pitch black and her eyes were a golden color with flecks of green. (Outfit)

After quick introductions she noticed him, Robin of the Teen Titians, was standoffish but was familiar oh so familiar. Then she saw his hand twitch towards his sword and tapped the butt of the hilt twice before dropping his hand.

That was all the confirmation she needed. As everything fell into place.

That little jerk.

Batman asked for her to spar, to assess her combat skills. As she predicted Robin stepped in to be her partner.

She pulled two red batons from the small of her back and they began. Yes they were evenly matched but then she decided to mess with him. She turned back time to feign a right but ducked and swept his legs from under him. With him distracted she created a Mirage of herself and another to make herself invisible. She snuck up behind him used venom to freeze him and flip his cape over his head while her Mirage took his sword.

"Tt. unfreeze me" he practically growled she noticed almost everyone flinch and took a step back.

"You sure that's what you want, while I have your sword?" she taunted. She noticed a few shot her looks of sympathy. Odd. As Robin stayed quiet. "Fine" she dropped venom and he charged "Have it your way little Prince."

She jumped and he seemed to freeze mid charge but she didn't. She created a shell-ter around him.

Which he crashed into. He stood up and was gaping at her.

She dropped shell-ter and was making a few final decisions with Batman, while Robin still hadn't moved 30 minutes later and his mouth still agape. By this time Nightwing had come over.

"I think you broke little wing" he chuckled.

"You think so." she responded with a slight question. "Close your mouth your going to catch flies Al Ghul."

"Yes, Your Majesty" he finally snapped out of his stupor.

She saw Nightwing and Batman share a look and then look between the two of them.

I'ma show you

How to treat me like a queen (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Boy, you better bow down on your knees

Can I get a "Yes, your majesty?"

So treat me like a queen (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Boy, you better bow down on your knees

Can I get a "Yes, your majesty?"

They explained the role of Miraculi in the world. How they had met and knew one another. Their engagement and finally the reopening of the Kingdom to the world. By now she dropped her transformation, meaning her eyes were back to bluebell and her hair was a midnight blue, and the bats had taken off their masks.

Then an idea hit.

"Your plotting something" Damian snapped her out of her planning.

"Plotting makes it seem malicious" she paused "I'm planning."

"I'll bite, what are you planning?" Nightwing, Dick as he introduced, asked.

"How would you like to come to my coronation and be some of the first outsiders in Miraculi?" she responded.

Eyes on me like I'm a prize

But you better recognize

I'm not your angel 'cause I belong to me

You can call me a princess all you like

'Cause you love to keep me helpless by your side

But that ain't what I want, I'ma show you

As she guessed the news of Miraculi opening up was all the news was covering. The hidden Kingdom known only by the Amazons and Atlantans, officially, was all everyone was talking about.

The fact that the opening was set for the coronation of the princess added to the suspense.

About a month before our teacher had news. "Due to a special invitation our class has been invited to attend the Princess’ coronation in Miraculi" that was when the class erupted.

In a week Lila convinced everyone she personally asked the Princess to invite the class as a favor to her. That she grew up in the castle with her and was made a lady in waiting. Two weeks until the coronation, she asked Damian to tweet that 'he can't wait to see his best friend again in Miraculi.’ Which caused a small discourse with a boy called Jon Kent of how he was Damian's best friend. Where he answered with 'female best friend. Better Kent' That Lila used to say it was her, and that he only used best friend instead of girlfriend.

I'ma show you

How to treat me like a queen (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Boy, you better bow down on your knees

Can I get a "Yes, your majesty?"

So treat me like a queen (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Boy, you better bow down on your knees

Can I get a "Yes, your majesty?"

The week before they left to Miraculi, in order to show them around. Before landing Mari changed into an emerald green dress with a mandarin collar. A jacket and belt with a duster in a dark silver trimmed with gold and matching gloves. Her hair was in a side braid and a thin golden circlet on her brow. A few of her classmates glared at her but she didn't pay them any attention. (Outfit)

She was the last out of the airport and you could feel the tension in the air. Lila was spouting some nonsense to the guards that were sent to retrieve them. Then they noticed her, every guard formed a straight line to the captain as they dropped onto one knee and bowed their heads. As she passed them they stood up.

"Captain Chase it is good to see you again” she smiled as he also rose.

"The honor is mine Princess" he bowed again.

You can call me a princess all you like

'Cause you love to keep me helpless by your side

But that ain't what I want,

She turned back to face the class. "Welcome to Miraculi, I am Princess Marinette Dawntreader. I hope you enjoy your stay. The guards will escort you in these carriages to the castle for your stay." she mounted Yin (Silver), who Captain Chase brought for her. "I will ride ahead, as they are in capable hands." She smiled and rode off towards home.

The next week was amazing. Between tours of the Kingdom her classmates were part of an honorary court, to glimpse into the Royal life.

Damian almost cut off Lila's head the first time they met. Most of the class realized that if Lila lied about knowing Marinette, well the Princess but Lila hated Mari, and dating Damian, what else had she lied about. Turns out they can use google and Mari received several apologies and offers to be friends. She accepted the apologies but not their offers.

"Why?" was a consensus of the group.

"You realize that you were deceived, but that does not excuse your actions. As I am also assuming you wish to be friends because of my status." That seemed to force them to think, thank Kwami.

I'ma show you

How to treat me like a queen (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Boy, you better bow down on your knees

Can I get a "Yes, your majesty?"

So treat me like a queen (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

(Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

Boy, you better bow down on your knees

Can I get a "Yes, your majesty?"

But the best part of this week was after the apologies was hearing them all, Lila included, only address her with 'Your Majesty’.

[wing-ed-thing]

Fraternizing and Spineless (Kabuto x Reader, Part IV)

Synopsis: Kabuto has a fixation and you sometimes apologize to inanimate objects. Ever since one fateful day, you’ve been drawn to each other from opposite sides of the battlefield.

Word Count: 3,429

Warnings/Tags: @tiktoktheclockisticking​ Bullying, Language, ANGST CITY, Alcohol, Side Iruka x Reader, Fem!Reader

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Finale

Notes: I’m fully expecting to get messages in my inbox that range drastically in forcefulness. Perhaps a “how dare you” or two. 

You stood outside of Shushu-ya, almost as if you expected to be told to come in. A silly notion. With a heavy sigh, you clenched the warped gift in your hands, starting to regret the shoes you wore among other things. But you know you couldn’t back out now. You couldn’t miss Iruka’s birthday. Your reluctant hand grasped the door and before you could chicken out, you heaved it open.

The group was easy to spot, even in Shushu-ya’s dim lighting. Everyone gathered around the bar. A few people sat in a large, open booth. The crowd made you nervous, but you couldn’t help but feel a semblance of relief. You weren’t the first one there. Iruka spotted you immediately and waved you over. You took a sharp inhale before forcing yourself across the restaurant with a smile. You were, at the very least, glad to see him.

Iruka got up from his spot at the end of the extensive, circular seating and greeted you warmly. Knowing him, he sat at the end just to see people come in the door. He extended his arms to you in a hug. You happily embraced him. It had been quite some time since you got to spend any quality time with your friend. You handed him his present.

“As usual, you’re always so thoughtful.” Iruka pursed his lips, a sentimental expression coming upon him. Even still, the corners of his lips turned upward into that classic Iruka grin. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s your birthday, Iruka. Of course I’m going to get you something nice.”

Iruka motioned for you to sit down and carefully placed your gift in the pile he had accumulated. You took a seat among two ninjas who you only knew by name. Iruka sat down next to who you were fairly sure you recognized as Kakashi of the Sharingan. The mask made it difficult to tell. You took your place next to Might Guy, the Leaf’s Green, Taijutsu Beast. You looked over to Iruka and wondered how he made such powerful friends. You supposed it was hard to not be acquainted with any famous shinobi in Konoha. Perhaps that’s what happened when you weren’t afraid to talk to people. You spied a few more of your colleagues around the bar, including your teammates from the last mission you took. They didn’t seem particularly pleased about your presence, but no one was going to impulsively make a fuss in front of Iruka.

You kept your head down and that’s where it stayed. The conversation went, for the most part, without you. You ordered a water quietly. You weren’t the type to drink, especially when you were as on edge as you were in this particular setting. The waiter set down your glass, making a sort of a sour face. You stared at the clear liquid, supposing that not many ordered water from a bar.

“That’s all you’re going to get?” You looked up into Kakashi’s intense eye. “You know you’re not on the clock, right?” He chuckled and you nervously laughed with him.

“Don’t listen to him.” Iruka rolled his eyes before taking a sip of his own drink. His kind gaze found yours. “You can do whatever you want, just know that the tab is already taken care of.” He looked past you and waved towards the bar. The bartender waved back.

“No, no. I completely understand!” Guy wrapped an arm around you, holding you a bit too close for the volume of his voice. You immediately let go of your drink. Your eyes went wide as he shook you with every word. “You gotta watch out for that hangover! Very smart! I commend you!” Kakashi tsked, tilting his head towards Iruka.

“Such a bad host, letting her sit next to Guy like that.” Iruka laughed sheepishly.

“Sorry,” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I guess the seat was open for a reason.” Guy pouted at the discourse across the table, arm still wrapped around your shoulder.

“Nonsense! Tease me all you like but I just know that… uh…” He turned to you with an outstretched hand and as much embarrassment as Might Guy was capable of. “What was your name again?” You took his much larger hand in yours and spoke your name, realizing that you hadn’t prior. He immediately shouted your name as if to commit it to memory, shaking you even harder than before. His shout got the attention of the rest of the booth and you suddenly your self consciousness skyrocketed. “—and we’re going to be best friends by the time the night is over! What do you think? You down for a party?” And suddenly you were expected to respond. You glanced around nervously.

“Um, yeah. Sure thing… I just think it’s really nice how everyone’s together.” Despite your response, you still felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. Sweat began to bead on your brow and your palms. You crossed your legs. “I feel like everyone’s always on missions so it’s nice to be among friends. And um, I can drink to that.” You glanced around the table once more, to Guy, to Kakashi, and then Iruka. Iruka’s eyes fluttered shut.

“I couldn’t say it better myself.” You raised your water weakly.

“Happy Birthday, Iruka.” Iruka raised his glass of sake and a roar went around the booth and extended to the bar. Someone hastily ordered a round of shots for the whole group. They came quickly, likely due to whatever likely large tip Iruka gave to the bartender.

One slid across the hard surface over to you. You gripped it between your fingers. The alcohol went down your throat with a steady burn. You let out a gasp with a bat of your eyes. The aftertaste of the ethanol burned your nasal cavity. Kakashi let out a deep laugh. Guy patted you hard on the back causing you to cough. Iruka smiled, ordering another round. You took another shot. People filtered in the door. And as the night went on, the three of you took to greeting Iruka’s guests along with him. The party crew quickly overtook the bar. A dull roar overtook Shushu-ya.

More words spilled from your mouth than you thought ever would in one sitting. Your three colleagues listened to you intently, jovially, and exchanged stories of their own. A small crowd gathered around your booth, members flitting from the bar and back. And for once in your life, people actually listened to you. You told your stories animatedly, waving your hands in emphasis. You took in the smiles around you, tales of missions and edgy impressions flying from your lips. Distracted, you hardly noticed the looks exchanged by your old teammates as they leaned against the low back of the booth.

“And I said, ‘You don’t need a rag, you need a towel’!” All those gathered around you burst out in hysterics. You felt the low rumble of Guy next to you. Iruka couldn’t pick his head up from the table. Kakashi yanked him up by his collar, revealing Iruka’s red, cackling expression. Kakashi snorted, dropping the cloth under his hand to cover his own face as he mocked his longtime friend. Joyful tears were still welled in your eyes when a slender hand clamped onto your shoulder.

You looked behind you only to become face to face with the kunoichi from your team. Her ever prevalent scowl remained plastered to her lips but they swiftly upturned into a sickly sweet smile.

“Hey, why don’t you tell everyone about our last mission? Or should I say, your last mission.” Your eyes widened and a chill coursed down your spine, remembering her unforgiving grasp on your hair following your meeting with the Hokage. You clenched your fists underneath the table, balling up the fabric of your clothing. What did she want from you? She crinkled her nose at you smugly. “Shy all of the sudden? That’s okay, I can tell it.” You heard Kakashi clap his hands together. You jumped.

“I’m always down for a good mission story,” He admitted eagerly. You shook your head vigorously.

“No, this one’s not very interest—” Another hard slap on your shoulder. Her nails dug into your shoulder.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. I think they’ll all find this very interesting.” The kunoichi settled into her spot behind you, shifting her weight as she leaned forward. With a finger, she pointed out your two other team members. “See we were assigned with this one to find a scroll in a territory suspected of being owned by Orochimaru. ‘Cause she’s a wonder at blending in, right? That’s what we were told. And of course you know how these things go. Of course we find someone. Some bitch of Orochimaru—”

And as she described it, you could remember the scene vividly. Your teammates were reckless in their fighting and overall poor choices for a stealth mission. Flashy jutsu corrupted the frame of the underground system. The walls began to crack and shake. Your enemy had been caught off guard and outnumbered. Seeming to be already injured, there was only so much he could do to fight back. That was how you met Kabuto Yakushi.

“And so she doesn’t even warn us that the tunnel is, like, about to collapse. Some freak earthquake or something. So the enemy is knocked out cold and we’re running and running to try to find a way out and—”

You dove towards him. You didn’t know what drew you towards him in the first place but that’s what you did. As your team left without you, you tried your best to save the young ninja who had to only be as old as you. You tried to drag him but either you were too frail or he was too heavy. Your second option. Your hands ignited in healing jutsu, flickering on and off. You were by no means a healer, but your only thought in your panic was to get him awake. And as the maze of tunnels imploded around you, your world went black.

“So we don’t see her for days. You know, we think she’s dead. So in the meantime, we check out the other places on our list. Nada. We’re about to completely give up and then, wouldn’t you know, this one shows up having spent almost a week in enemy territory holding the exact thing we were looking for. Zero scratches and she apparently ‘doesn’t remember’ anything about it. Don’t you think that’s funny?” The kunoichi motions to your other teammates.

“I remember it being very funny,” One huffs, arms crossed. The small surrounding crown had gone silent. You dared to look across the table. Kakashi sat with his arms on the table, wordless. Iruka pursed his lips, equally expressionless. He cleared his throat. An awkward overtone laced the atmosphere.

“Well I think that’s enough of that—”

“Well, I wasn’t done. Almost there, though, I promise.” The kunoichi held up her hand. “‘Cause wouldn’t you know it? When we got back to the village, we found out that the scroll was a fake.”

“Well,” You squeaked, “Later we did find out that it was authentic after all—”

“But that was later,” She snapped. She ruffled your hair roughly, giving your head a slight push as she finally took her hands off of you. “Still doesn’t explain where you got it from.” She leaned in towards your ear. “Traitor.”

“Okay that’s enough.” Iruka stood from his seat. He extended his arm towards the door. “You three have clearly had too much to drink. I think it’s time for you to go home.” The kunoichi scoffed.

“We haven’t had too much of anything,” She snorted with a roll of her eyes and opened her mouth to say more. Guy turned with the most serious expression you had seen from him all night.

“He’s giving you an out. I suggest you take it.” He told her and apparently, that’s all it took for them to leave.

Iruka apologized for your team’s behavior but said nothing more about it for the rest of your time present. Most of the partygoers stuck to the bar now. Everything was off and you knew it would be as long as you were there. Your friends could hardly look you in the eye properly. You remained for a little while longer, starting to feel dreadfully sober. And when you thought you wouldn’t draw too much attention, you announced that you were leaving.

“Let me walk you out.” Guilt rattled around in your chest. It was Iruka’s birthday and you ruined it, just like you thought you would. And yet, he still offered to walk you out.

You allowed it, suddenly finding yourself standing outside of Shushu-ya, Iruka by your side. Even as the door closed behind you, you could hear the sound of Konoha’s nightlife. You waited for Iruka to speak, but the weight on your shoulders became unbearable.

“I’m not leaving because of you, you know. I had a good time. I really did, so go back in there and know that, okay?” You tried to read his face. He looked conflicted and the pounding of your heart only increased.

“I just want you to know that you have a friend. Eh, friends. No matter what.” You blinked at him a few times. You didn’t like how he said that last part.

“No matter what?” You let out a nervous laugh for the umpteenth time that night. Your eyes wandered erratically. “What do you mean by that?” You were expecting some reassurance, but none came. Your mind filled in the blanks. You took a step back. He took a step forward. “No matter if I sold out the Leaf? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I-I didn’t say that.” He stammered. Suddenly frantic. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, you’re not denying it.” You gripped onto your strap bag. Another step back. Another step forward.

“I don’t think you sold out the Leaf. Not on purpose.” The tail end of that sentence stung. You began to tremble. Another person who thought that you were a traitor. “Listen, I had a student once. He’s out of the Academy now but he was in your shoes once.” You couldn’t look at him. You focused on your shoes, the shoes you’ve regretted wearing. “I know how guys like that are. I know how manipulative they can be, how they can convince you into doing something that you know you don’t want to do.” Your head snapped up.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I wasn’t convinced to do anything wrong by anyone.”

“I know how kind you are. I know that you had a good heart. No one’s going to blame you if someone took advantage of that. I don’t care what happened. We’ve known each other forever. I’ll always be here for you.” Iruka gently placed his hands on your shoulders and his forehead against yours. You became cognisant of how violently you quaked. You didn’t even register his confession. The sharp burning between your eyes threatened to spill over into tears.

“Iruka, please stop. Just tell me that you believe me.” You gripped onto his forearm, wanting to feel a semblance of comfort. “I’m not a traitor.”

“I do believe you.” Unconvincing. You looked into his eyes, salty droplets now silently streaming down your cheeks.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Iruka nodded against you without a word. A beat. You gulped. “And Kabuto didn’t either.”

He pulled away, trying to fight a frown from crossing his face. You could see it. The realization morphing his features. Iruka tried his best not to show any of his mixed emotions, but he was always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Who? The bingo book ninja?” He shoved a hand in his pocket. He always did that when he was nervous. “No, I’m sure he didn’t. D-didn't do anything wrong.” Once again, unconvincing.

“I’m sorry, I don’t feel well. Please, uh, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” You didn’t look back. You ran home.

***

When you got to your apartment, you dropped to the floor. You scrambled for a kunai to pry open the floorboard. Throwing the plank aside, you plucked out the scroll. Unraveling it, you bit your finger, smearing your blood across the summoning symbol.

You were already starting to scurry off when Kabuto appeared. You walked right through the white cloud of smoke. He felt troubled, but that wasn’t something you picked up on. Kabuto immediately pulled out a scalpel in defense, ready for an emergency fight. You didn’t even tell him to lower his weapon. You didn’t blink twice. You stormed straight to your wardrobe, yanking out a large travel bag.

“What’s going on? I thought you were going out tonight.” Kabuto asked, but you ignored him, stuffing belongings inside the bag. You skittered frantically around the room, pulling sentimental belongings from your drawers and off your shelves. Kabuto looked on helplessly as you muttered to yourself. He could hardly catch you with how erratically you darted around your small living space. With enough calculation, he caught you, grabbing you by your wrists. You struggled against him. “Hey, hey, hey slow down. Tell me what happened.”

You looked up at him, rivulets still flowing from your eyes.

“Please, Kabuto,” You begged. “Let’s run away together.”

His immediate response was to let go of you, stumbling a bit backwards.

“What?” His mouth went dry.

“I—” You couldn’t even get your thoughts straight. You just spoke, everything spilling out of you. —“Please take me away from here.” Ever-suave, Kabuto found himself panicked.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve killed a lot of people for one thing—” You met his eyes, but in your haze you missed all that they told. You saw complete and utter rejection.

“Aren’t you the one who always tells me that you’re not my enemy? You’re all I have.” Betrayal. If Kabuto could name the expression that washed over your face that would be it. You wiped the wetness from your skin with your sleeve. “Please, you know I would be quiet. You could have any of my books. I don’t even care about shoes on my bed. I don’t even need a bed just please let’s go right now!”

And for all of his big talk, Kabuto was at a loss. He wanted to. More than anything he wanted to scoop you off of your feet then and there, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t an option. He couldn’t bring you to Orochimaru. You were supposed to be here in the Leaf. You belonged here in the Leaf. This was where you could be happiest, not on the run with him. He’s caused enough damage to your life.

“I can’t.” That was all he managed to make out without his voice cracking. And as he looked into your large, wet eyes, his heart shattered.

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I-I can’t. I—” He kicked himself. —“You’ll be happier here.”

“I’ll be happier with you,” You pleaded. You balled up your hands in the front of his shirt. “Please, I love you.” Kabuto diverted his eyes from yours, clenching them shut.

“No, you don’t.” He placed his hands over yours, gingerly trying to remove you from him but you stood firm. “You’re drunk. I’m sure that if you go to bed you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I’m not drunk!” You argued, getting even more desperate than you already were. “You told me to gather up some nerve so here it is! I love you! Please let’s go, just you and me. We can start over—” And with a few quick hand signs, you fell asleep.

Kabuto’s hand hovered over your forehead. He could see your fear, feel it too. He caught you as you began to collapse and brought you over to the bed. Knowing your recovery speed, the jutsu wouldn’t last for long. Perhaps it would last a half hour, maybe less. Anyone else and he would have expected them to be out for the rest of the night. He covered you with your blanket and sat at the edge of the bed, ready to recast his spell when you began to come to for the rest of the night. He knew that if you kept talking, he would have done exactly what you asked. Kabuto buried his head in his hands and uncharacteristically, for the first time in years, began to sob.

Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, and followed. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[the-moon-prince]

The Last Of us~Kurapika x Reader ~Chapter I

AN: Hi my lovely fellows! I’m making a Kurapika x reader! This will be the first chapter. Overall I’m trying my best for you to insert yourself in the story as good as you can. However, some point who are going to be relevant in the plot a little further, like (Y/n)’s age, Profession and first language have been modified.This is my debut as a fanfiction writer here on tumblr! 

As now, I wish you a pleasant read, and I hope you’ll enjoy the first chapter of my story. (Second coming soon!)

Paring: Kurapika Kurta x GN! Reader

Word count: 2 783

TW: None!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5 am The buzzing sound of the alarm loaded Kurapika's ears. The same noise as every morning. Another day to go on. He woke up with this peculiar feeling, but so familiar to him. That unnamed pain hit him again as his senses started to stir. The bed beneath him felt cold and foreign. The morning was dull to him. Seeking to shake the feeling away, he sat up and stretched. His limbs felt heavy, his eyes burned. Just another morn after a terrible night with limited sleep and disagreeable dreams. That tiredness was omnipresent in his life for the last months.  He immediately saw the space that wrapped him. Empty, just the drawer, nightstand, a lamp, and blank white walls. Finally, getting up from the bed and arranging the also white sheets. Going to the drawer and pulling out his work uniform; a white shirt, black trousers, black tie, and a black jacket. Taking his loose pajama pants and shirt off and starting to button the white shirt. Thinking annoyed at how he had to abide another day Neon dramatically said how sad, miserable, and lonely she felt. The fairly frustrating attitude she had been insisting on the last weeks. What did she know about misery and solitude? Once dressed, he left his bedroom to the tiny hall of his apartment. Leading to the small room alongside his. The big black door remained in front of him. He stared at it for a moment. A certain doubt in his mind made its presence. Lastly, he opened the door, glancing at the scarlet eyes floating on the jars displayed in the room, and closed the door. The emptiness seemed greater than the last morning. He wondered one more time while putting his shoes on, what did he yearn? What did he lack to feel once more this abyss? He stepped outside his home and took a deep breath, the swampy air feeling his lungs. And head straight to the Nostrade mansion. He passed the big entrance gate, the security of the Nostrade's residence, and arrived at the main room. Unlike what Kurapika might have thought moments ago, there was something new that morning. An unknown person was sitting on one of the multiple couches, apparently waiting. Wich piqued his curiosity. Their guise was quite formal and unique, white cigarette bottoms and a moss-green long-sleeved sweater with a white dress shirt underneath. However, the shirt's collar was embroidered with a peculiar decoration. A botanic motif of tiny red, yellow and blue flowers plus green leaves was along the tip of the collar. Naturally, Kurapika carefully observed the intruder to determine if it was a possible menace. The individual had (long/short/medium/ with bangs) (curly/straight/wavy)(hair color) hair; it was loose and a bit messy. Some strands were framing their face. Their body had a juvenile apparent, around one or two years younger than him however their face looked more childlike. Their gaze was lowered into the book, so Kurapika was unable to see the eyes. He just saw the (long/short) eyelashes moving with the occasional blinks the person gave and some eye bags from fatigue.   They were sitting with their legs crossed, one hand was holding the book, and the other was rubbing the green fabric of the sweater between the index and the thumb. They gave an overall serene aura. It wasn't long before a butler came near Kurapika. -"Mr.Kurapika, Sir. Nostrade requested to have the young guest to his office. For security reasons Sir. Nostrade wants one of the bodyguards to watch over the guest. Please take them there." Kurapika agreed with a quick "understood" and made his way towards the outsider. Kurapika stopped in front of the sitting figure. "Excuse me, Mx"- The person reading gave a slight quiver in surprise to immediately put the book down and look up at him with a subtle and soft smile. Despite looking up at him, they didn't look directly into his eyes, fixing more in his mouth.- "Mr.Nostrade charged me to take you to his office, please accompany me." he addressed the outsider with a secure tone. "Hello, and thank you" was the quiet response the stranger gave him. Getting up and ranging the book in a black side bag. "This way." The person quietly followed behind him through the hallway, examining the distinct decorations and pieces of furniture all over the mansion. Once the both of them arrived at the office's door, Kurapika gave a knock, letting their attendance be known, followed by a grave "Come in" from Light Nostrade. Kurapika rapidly opened the door and entered the room. At the center of the room was Light Nostrade, sitting at his big wooden desk. Accompanying the desk, a coffee table and matching sofas were placed over a luxurious carpet. In one of the sofas, Neon was sitting playing with one of her stuffed toys. Mr. Nostrade without a word gave the guest sign with his hand to sit down in one of the chairs in front of his desk, as the foreigner obliged. "Neon, this is (Y/n), they're your new companion and therapist. As you have let me know lately, you've been feeling bored and alone. As your dad, your welfare concerns me. So I searched for one of the best professionals to improve your state." -The man addressed the young girl next to him, to take the phone to his desk right away and address it to someone on the other line-"Let the rest of Neon's bodyguards in" -In an instant, the rest of the bodyguards entered the room- "Mx. (Y/n) present yourself to the rest" Mr.Nostrade finally ordered. (Y/n) got up in a unique move from the chair, and facing the rest of the company in the chamber, with their hands clasped in front of their body, they declared "Hello, I'm (Y/n) it's a pleasure to meet and work along with you."-(Y/n) presented themselves with a small politeness reverence, then they turned to faced Neon-"Neon, I am a Doctor with a specialization in psychiatry medicine. I, moreover, am a certified Hunter and I'm here to take care of your psychological and physical integrity. If required I can protect you in case of aggression. Besides I'm here to treat your loneliness and improve your mental health. I honestly hope my faculties will help develop several health skills!" they finally finished, all the discourse was made with the same quiet and kind voice tone, with the subtitle smile never leaving their face.  After the quick initiation, Neon's face went from attentive to a worried grimace to shout "DAD!!! AM I SICK?!?" (Y/n) tilted their head and stepped to Neon softly reassuring her "No Neon, don't worry, you're not sick. I am here just to prevent you from being sick. I'll take good care of your mental and physical state and keep you amity so you remain as happy and healthy as always! In other words, I'm your private psychotherapist." Following those words of reassurance Neon's face lights up in a smile "YAY, So you're my new companion! Finally, I won't be so bored around here! I'm Neon, but you seem to already know my name. You look strangely young, you know? Plus you have a weird accent when you talk!" Of course, Neon added lacking discretion as always. (Y/n) just tilted their head once more, without changing their friendly air they responded "Of course I have an accent, Neon, all chic and elegant people have one, like David Bowie or Kate Bush. And regarding my age, It's judged preferable to have someone closer to your age to establish a more organic cooperative relationship." -The response to the rude observations of Neon was devoid of any malice, it was rather merry and kind, giving Neon the sensation of friendship and calm -"If you'd prefer to consider me your "companion" is fine. As planned with your father, I will be with you every Tuesday, Thursday from 11:00 am to 8:00 pm and Saturdays from 2:30 pm to 7:30 pm. But today as being our first day, I'll be entire with you!" The grin on Neon's face just became wider "YOU'LL SEE, I AM GONNA HAVE SO MUCH FUN FROM NOW ON!''-Neon called once more, grabbing (Y/n) from their arm and dragging them somewhere. The (hair colored) didn't protest, just flinched to the sudden touche-"COME TO MY ROOM, WE HAVE SO MUCH TO DO!" The stranger's identity and intentions finally became clear for Kurapika, letting him discard (Y/n) as a hazard. We followed them into Neon's room to guard the Nostrade's teenager. Hours passed by. Neon talked about all the nonsense she could think of, as (Y/n) seemed to pay special attention to every word the girl spitted out. Sometimes making some comments and writing down in a little (fav color) notebook with a little cat they took off their said bag. Kurapika was just sitting on one of the couches, some sort of relieved to have someone else to take care of Neon's heavy personality and tantrums. "She even seems calmer today, having some entertainment will be profitable to her. " he thought. Even if Neon was, in fact, calmer that day, you could still hear her from across the room. "Your notebook is really cute, you know? Where did you get it? Cats are SOOOOO cute! I want one like that!" "Thank you Neon! I got it at the novelty store in the Mall that's in the center of the town. I go near there quite often, I can get you one if you'll like. Also, I think I'm going to take my break now if you don't mind. I will go make some tea, would you wish some, Neon?" (Y/n) actively added to the chat, even if it's their first day, they seemed to fuse nicely with Neon, rather odd due to Neon's personality. "Nah, I don't like tea" the teen finally responded, getting a soft nod in agreement as an answer. (Y/n) got up from the chair they were sitting on and headed to the employee's kitchen. Not much time later, they came back with a cup of tea and a bottle full of tea. To Kurapika's surprise, (Y/n) handed him the cup of tea with the soft smile of always.  They simply added an "I made you some tea, you appeared a touch worn, I hope it's okay".  That was the first of many little acts of kindness (Y/n) had with him. They would make him some tea regularly in the day or ask about his day during the breaks. During the following weeks in which (Y/n) was going to give therapy to Neon, a lot of things could be perceived. The first was the improvement in Neon's attitude. Being gradually more used to friendly human interaction, and having a better understanding of her frustrations. The second was about (Y/n), they were a rather nice person, gaining some sort of  (or what was the most resembled) sympathy from Neon, which was a feat considering the lack of empathy of Neon. They were polite to everyone in the Nostrade's mansion, and their job as Neon's special doctor was their 4th job. Melody, during a casual chat, learned that (Y/n) worked Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturday mornings as a Psychoanalyst between a Psychiatric ward and a Private Doctor's Cabinet, and the mornings of the days she came to assist the Nostrade's daughter as an intermediary liaison psychiatrist (basically someone who gives psychiatric supportive treatment in non-specialized unities) in the YorkNew General Hospital Center. This explains largely the eyebags and exhaustion for which (Y/n) has earned comments from Neon such as "You know you have eyebags?". Also, that (Y/n) has 18 years of age (sorry dear readers if it's not your age, but this will be relevant for the plot, so please let me this one pass), remarkably young to be an accredited doctor. And they were "precocious" on their own words- as Melody said- And the third and last thing, noticed essentially by Kurapika was about (Y/n) comportment and personality. Even if (Y/n) was kind and polite to everyone, they were incredibly discreet. They acted with prudence in virtually all aspects, from their appearance to their very presence. Like if (Y/n) was hiding and acting from the shadow (Melody also commented about this borderline anxiety). Additionally, all the movements (Y/n) made were prudent and meticulously planned, which made Kurapika realize the intelligence (Y/n) had. He also could tell English was not (Y/n)'s first language. They had a peculiar pronunciation and spoke with a large and fancy vocabulary. Those things greatly aroused Kurapika's curiosity, but the part of (Y/n) that triggered that curiosity the most was related to (Y/n)'s eyes. They were very careful with the subject. So careful indeed that they were even subtle with the care they treated the subject. Were tiny and nearly unimportant actions from (Y/n) that made Kurapika realize the importance of their eyes. (Y/n) never looked anyone in the eyes. Sometimes, during the break, when feeling exhausted or overwhelmed, (Y/n) would close their eyes and cover them with one hand. The biggest event of all was one time he listened to Neon through the door curiously ask  "Hey (Y/n), what happens with your eyes?" and, when he opened the door to see if everything was correct, (Y/n)'s eyes were normal. As if nothing had happened. Kurapika had for sure some inquiries regarding (Y/n). However, all of his suspicions became more prominent with a precise action from (Y/n). One day, Neon decided to show (Y/n) her body part collection. "(Y/n) You're a doctor, I'm sure you're going to love this! You know about these things, You'll be able to appreciate my glorious collection!" Neon was bragging about how happy she was with her various articles. "I have hearts, livers, fetuses, all the parts of the brain, some left and right lungs, and a pancreas. And my favorite of them all! A pair of beautiful scarlet eyes!" Neon made a special address on how rare the scarlet orbs were and how proud she was of them, she even played with them a little. And for the first time, (Y/n) didn't say a thing. Their perpetual smile even faded a little. During the whole episode, Kurapika remained sitting on a chair. Hearing that kind of discourse about his clan's eyes was hurtful and infuriating. How could she talk in such a manner of his fellow Kurtas? With no compassion, like if they were a mear object. It was sickening. A dull and hurt expression plastered on Kurapika's face. He was so immersed in his thoughts, he didn't notice it already was break time. If it wasn't for (Y/n) who came to sit beside him in an attempt to comfort his sorrow. (Y/n) had their gaze lowered and, for the first time, wasn't smiling. It wasn't a gloomy face, more like a flat expression. They didn't say a word and just stayed near him. Similar as if they seemed to comprehend. It wasn't until Kurapika looked at (Y/n) that they gave him a tiny smile. Nevertheless, this smile wasn't like the usual one. It was more caring, full of empathy and kindness, but also pain. None of them said a single word. And even if he never stated a thing about the subject, Kurapika felt a little comforted. At the end of that day, where everyone was heading to their own houses after such a hard working-day, (Y/n) came to Kurapika. He deduced they would just wish him a nice night. Except it wasn't the case. "Kurapika, pardon me, may I speak to you for a bit, pretty please?" (Y/n) mumbled to him, with the identical smile as always. A bit confused by their request, Kurapika responded, "Sure (Y/n), how may I help you?"  forthwith to its answer (Y/n) made him follow them to a more private place behind the Nostrade's mansion. (Y/n) looked down as they had their hands in front of their chest, similar to the pose of a meerkat, and was fidgeting with their fingers. "Kurapika"- then they looked up to him-"I know I'm putting my life on the line. Yet, what I'm about to do is an act of desperation wholly motivated by my conclusion. Are you somehow related to the scarlet eyes?" 

[ikemenvmpire]

Forget-me-not | Leonardo x Comte x Vlad

a/n: Hello beautiful ppl !!! It’s my first time writing a fic about this troublesome trio. Just to let you know there is no spoilers from Vlad’s route in this two-part series (could be three, you’ll never know). I wanted to showcase my fanon approach to their personal relationships and how they both psychologically and physically get affected by them. It’s quite rushed because of my finals and not proof-read I’m not satisfied with my writing, so please forgive me for possible grammar mistakes. Anyways, if you enjoy the content please interact! Let me know what you think, feedback means a lot to me.

Also my requests are open, I accept nsfw/sfw hcs and one-shots with any suitor you’d like

warning: angst, slight violence, true friends that stab you in the front, couple of sexual innuendos here and there.

word count: 2.1k

The good, the bad and the ugly. The subtle whisper inside of his head reminded him of a broken vinyl that kept dragging the notes of an unwanted invite from his memories.

His memories that lived inside his head as vivid as an Evening Primrose that blooms at night.

Upon hearing the silence that bled into the atmosphere surrounding them, Leonardo slowly settled the empty wine glass onto the glass table beside him.

“You’re too loud for your own good, Comte.”

Snapping out of his thoughts, Comte turned towards the man that now deliberately searched for a match as he continued with his words that caused nothing but confusion.

“The violin stopped but you did not.”

Comte’s gaze dropped on the floor, meeting with the bow of his instrument laying on the polished floor of his quarters.

Still not pleased with Leonardo’s discourse he locked his eyes with his, demanding clarity.

“I can no longer hear anything other than the wheels that are turning in your head” Leonardo concluded, finishing his words with a light chuckle.

“Him-“ Comte’s words cut short by the lump that disturbed his throat and the heavyweight of the regrets he held in, for god knows how long, creating an immense pressure in his chest.

“I thought so” Leonardo continued, observing as the smoke that he held captive between his plush lips now slowly blurred his vision.

The blond leaned his back against the wall, the soft breeze of the midnight made the curtain beside him caress his hand.

“How long do you plan on keeping this up ?” the tone of his voice was stone cold nevertheless the look in his eyes warmed them up as they echoed in the silent room.

“I don’t know.” Comte murmured, he truly had no idea how to get rid of this troublesome burden. If he did, they would be enjoying their wine instead of Comte’s whining.

“Come” the man said as he placed the cigarillo on the ashtray and got up from his comfortable seat.

“Where to-“ the clicking of his shoes stopped as Leonardo turned his head to the side, not bothering to fully face the man that was intently watching him.

“Follow me and don’t worry about the rest.”

Comte, with a swift movement of his head, urged the fallen strand of his hair move to the side as he lowered himself down to the brightly lit candle.

Following his own reflection on the wax as the drop gently slid down to the remaining pile of melted wax, drowning his reflection in the hot liquid.

He softly blew on the fire to put it out. The smoke mixed with the comforting scent of vanilla danced in the air across the smoke of Leonardo’s cigarette, that suffered the same faith as Comte.

The more he missed him, the more his thoughts invaded his mind, burning through his skull. The reminiscences of the memories that were surrounded by his partner with moonlit hair and even brighter smile, turned Comte into ashes. The consequences of his thought train left him hanging like a dark cloud of smoke.

He grabbed his coat from the hanger near him as he directed his steps towards Leonardo’s spot. Pushing himself to leave his room and his worries as he reaches out to the handle of the door to exit.

“Lead the way, Leo.”

The silence brought serenity as the two of them kept walking in the beautiful forest. The sound of the autumn leaves that tremors under the vigorous darkness of the night filled the air, Leonardo held the careless man that wasn’t watching where he was heading to by the arm.

“Here we are.”

Comte turned towards the tall tree that Leonardo leaned his back against, questioning the unfamiliar feeling that had his head turning.

Leonardo lifted his fist up as he slammed it down againts the tree. His unexpected harsh movement caused Comte to wear a dumbfounded expression. It also urged the nightingales that were previously settled on the branches of the same tree to bat their wings away as they sung a song through the night.

“Hide and seek.” Comte uttered, breathlessly as the rest of the memories poured into his subconscious.

“Ah, there we go. Vlad used to pull this stunt each time.”

Comte laughed, taking a couple of steps back as he fell onto the soft surface of the grass. His childish behavior made Leonardo lose his composure, making two purebloods roar with laughter.

“...and yet you fell for it. Each time.” Upon his shameless accusation, Leonardo frowned and kicked the pile of leaves ahead of him, making them rain on the man that laughed like a maniac.

Comte seeked shelter from his own arms as he let his back fall completely flat on the moist grass. Staining every piece of clothing item he had on.

“No matter my loss, you bought the beers. Sounds like victory to me.” Leonardo responded nonchalantly.

“I am still curious to know why would you hide behind a tree again and again, it’s ridiculously obvious.” Comte continued to laugh as he seemingly couldn’t stop himself even if he tried.

“Because it’s easier to hide behind it than to climb it” said Leonardo as a matter of fact.

Comte knew that his response could be interpreted with a single word rather than a whole phrase.

Lazy.

“It’s good to see you smile” he continued as he stared at the horizon.

Comte felt so close yet so far for the past couple of dawns this week. Leonardo surprised himself by being this worrisome of his friend, it was unexpected of him to act or feel this way.

“It hurts.” The painful hue of his tone caught Leonardo off guard.

He directed his gaze towards his feet as he tried to force out the appropriate words to describe how much he was hurting from within. Hoping that him spilling his guts to the only one he trusts, somehow would help lifting some of it’s weight off of his shoulders.

“Comte-“

“What did I do to make him push me away like he did back then ?”

Leonardo decided to seal his parted lips as he followed Comte’s soliloquy with absolute attention.

“I gave him all I had and all I was. My trust, respect and loyalty for him was indubitable.”

He continued, closing his eyes shut. The tension bled from his fingertips, through his soft locks. He clinged on his hair as he concentrated on the darkness behind his fluttering eyelids.

“It wasn’t enough” Leonardo added, carelessly kicking the rock in front of his feet. He knew that greed was more than welcome in Vlad’s vocabulary.

His world wasn’t tainted by useless distractions. He was either black or white, whereas those who considered him a friend lived under a gray sky.

“I wasn’t enough” Comte whispered, his words fell from his lips lighter than a feather.

Leonardo lowered himself to his level as he suddenly grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. Easily picking him up and capturing him between his strong hold and the tree.

Comte’s pulse quickened thanks to the adrenaline of the moment. His warm but fast breathing felt warm against Leonardo’s cheek.

“You.”

“Look at me and listen to me carefully because I will say this only once.”

“...and I will not see you whimper about shit that you can’t fix ever again.”

Comte, nervous as he was, found comfort in his vulgar action. The harsh friction against his back and even harsher words that tickled his ears made him come back to his senses.

“What would I do without you ?” Leonardo’s brows furrowed in response to Comte’s utterly sappy words.

“Presumably, what you do without me.”

Unanticipated voice that traveled through the depths of the forest made both of them turn their heads slowly as Leonardo’s hands abandoned Comte’s collar.

“Vlad.”

His soft chuckle concealed the suspense of unsolved matters. The air that Comte inhaled now felt sharper than a blade. Vlad’s presence left a bittersweet taste on his tongue. The type he didn’t want to get rid of but also the one he didn’t want to recall.

“Long time no see” Leonardo added, emotionlessly.

“You sound overjoyed Leonardo” Vlad responded, not disturbing his calm and collected aura, not even the slightest.

Comte huffed as he patted on the expensive material of his coat, trying to look more presentable.

“Why are you here ?” He hissed, avoiding possible eye contact in any way he could.

Vlad placed his hand on the inner side of his coat and dragged out a thin velvet envelope. Nearing towards his position, Comte fixed his posture, standing tall with overpowering feeling of manifactured confidence.

Vlad offered him a delightful smile as he raised the blood red envelope between his fingers and brushed the fallen strand of hair in front of Comte’s face with it.

The sharp edge of the envelope traced the delicate skin of his face, the sensation left him almost nervous. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, covering the his body with goosebumps.

Vlad, at last, pressed the envelope on Comte’s chest, where the palm of his hand found his heartbeat.

Comte’s words deceived his true intentions, he couldn’t comprehend how everything felt like the way it did in the past.

The pain felt fresh but what tore his heart apart was the agonizing disappointment.

“Care to explain ?” He said, ignoring the dark cloud of regret that struck thunders above him as he glued his eyes on Vlad’s.

“There’s not much to say when you can just see the things the way they are.”

Leonardo threw his head back as he let out a condescending laugh, letting his tongue wander on his bottom lip.

“Are you still hanging out with Shakespeare ? Where does this literacy come from ?”

“Depends on how you interpret ‘hanging out’.” Vlad lowered his gaze towards his hands with an unreadable smirk, the hands that earlier this encounter found their way up on playwright’s neck.

Comte distracted by the mysterious item that he held, ripped the envelope as the velvet paper revealed a flower with soft purple pedals stained with crimson blood.

The sharp scent got the honey tint of his eyes leaving it’s place to the darkness of his fully dilated pupils under the shock of realization.

The same scent belonged to none other than the new resident of his mansion.

Then the realization hit him, not faster than he hit the devil in disguise.

Vlad landed on his back as his heels dug on the fresh soil with the force of Comte’s blow.

“What did you do to them ?” He spat, the pressure of his clenched teeth visible upon his sharp jaw.

Not amused by his response, that consisted of silence and arrogance, Leonardo held him by his long locks and yanked his head back with the sole purpose of looking down on him.

“He asked you a question, didn’t he ?”

Vlad hissed at his gesture, nevertheless entertained by the burst of untamed hatred.

“I’ve heard.”

He let his eyes stray on his sharp features, a flash of remembrance struck him.

“I don’t think that you would be pleased to hear what I have to say.” His smirked widened, so did Comte’s eyes.

Running out of patience and will power, Comte rushed towards him to wipe the amusement out of his face.

Unbeknownst to him, Vlad was more than ready to wrap his hand around the slender wrist that was aiming to hit him square on the face.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves shall we ?” He muttered as he pulled Comte towards him with a strong grip.

Leonardo watched the scene unfold right in front of his eyes, taking a step forward only to back down afterwards. He decided that letting Comte get trashed would help him come to terms with his unsolved inner matters.

Unsolved matters, unanswered questions that constantly fed his break-point.

Comte struggled to get out of his grip. His nails dug into his flesh, the sweet pain drove his senses wild.

“Tomorrow at 12 a.m., sharp.” He said, placing his warm lips closer to Comte’s ear.

Vlad let his wrist free and stood up, for a short instant none of them seemed to move or speak.

There was a lot to talk about but their emotions lacked words, their questions lacked answers and their actions lacked sincerity.

Vlad turned his back against Comte and directed his gaze towards the bloody flower on the floor. Recalling his memento for one last time.

“Don’t make me wait” was his last command. Cold and ruthless, no sign of mercy or compassion.

Then the farewell of his footsteps followed.

Trust is as safe as a gun afterall.

It doesn’t kill unless it’s in the hands of those who know how to pull the trigger.

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be tagged): @leonardoism @hotanekooo @ranhanabi777 @chaotic-coyote @thedollarstoresatan @justsomepersons @stardust-dreamer13 @nishtharya

Part 2 is coming

[musicnoots]

Maybe Today, Maybe Forever

Joe Toye/Reader

Prompt “God, your eyes are gorgeous” and “Why are you embarassed? You’re beautiful. Don’t you see that?”

A/N: joe toye deserves all the love send tweet

Synopsis: Ten minutes before an Easy Company reunion is scheduled to begin, Joe suddenly doesn’t want to go.

Tags: @gottapenny @floydtab @those-dusty-jump-wings @yeahcurrahee @dumpofdumblings @bandofmarvels @medievalfangirl @junojelli @curraheev @wexhappyxfew @evelyn-shelby @alienoresimagines @majwinters @inglourious-imagines @david-weepster @not-john-watsons-blog @meteora-fc @rayleighshughes @dustyjjumpwings

When you pull up to the venue, you find him staring out of the passenger side window. 

You and Joe made the trip down to Philly for an Easy Company reunion. The invitation came in the mail on a rainy Sunday afternoon, scribbled in black ink, you read him the contents of the letter as he laid his head to rest on your shoulder. Of course, Joe couldn’t say no after seeing it from Bill Guarnere himself. 

In the years after the war had ended, you and Joe had married, built a home, and found love that didn’t involve changing anything but realizing that you loved him just as much as when you were both miserable in a hole in the dirt, but he never reached out to any of his brothers of war. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, it was that he didn’t know how to. 

He’s been waiting for this moment since he’d been carted off to the aid station—he spent all week gushing about how great everyone’s gonna look, how the boys are gonna shit biscuits when they find out that you two actually ended up together, he even went to go pick out a new tie at the department store. Every evening, he’ll ask you what you think Don or George have been up to, or sometimes he’ll ponder with you, making up post-war scenarios for his friends because they deserved only the best that life has to offer.

He spent at least forty minutes getting himself ready in front of the mirror. Cold shower, combing his hair again and again, he asked you to fix his tie maybe three times before taking your hand and leading out the door to the car where he smiled brighter than the gold material of your wedding ring.

But when you finally arrive, ten minutes before it’s set to begin, he’s a completely different person.

“Joe?”

Your eyebrows knitted, and your hands slowly slipped off of the steering wheel.

Your husband, previously jumping around like a jelly bean, fell as silent as the ghosts do. He fiddles with his fingers in his lap, he doesn’t look at you. You think you’ve done something wrong, said something wrong that you didn’t realize that just...killed the happiness inside of him. 

You try again. “Joe, baby—“ your voice is as soft as when he wakes up in cold sweat in the quiet hours of the night, “we’re here. Look,” you point at the open doors of the venue, “they’re in there.”

“I know.”

The tone of his voice is familiar, you hadn’t heard it as the years passed by and the demons hiding behind the flower vases left without a proper goodbye, but you’re cautious. 

“You okay?” You reach over to touch his arm, and he flinches.

You retract your hand. You know how to care for him in a situation like this, you just didn’t expect it to happen right before an Easy Company reunion. The pieces just don’t add up—Joe had been excited the entire week, he sang the songs he and Don used to sing back in Toccoa, he spent money on a nice tie and jacket to look nice for the boys, but all of the sudden, the spark is gone. 

Joe notices when you pull your hand away, he sees the disquiet take over your features, and it’s Christmas morning, 1945 all over again. “I’m sorry,” he says. He moves away from the window and avoids eye contact with you, instead, staring down his hands. “I...I was just wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“W-What are they gonna think when they see...this?” He gestures up and down his body like he was referring to an object rather than a breathing human being, you furrow your eyebrows when you watch the way he motions towards his body like that—it makes you upset not because how dare he throw away years of learning to love his skin but it makes you upset knowing that he thinks people will think of him differently for the way he looks. “I only have one leg, Y/N. I walk with crutches, I don’t have a job, they’re gonna look at me all weird and shit, and I’m gonna have to explain everything that happened…I shoulda stayed home.”

Ah. You’re beginning to understand what he’s feeling. “No, Joe. No, no, no, the people waiting for us inside, the boys we trained and fought with side-by-side in another continent, they could never look at you differently.”

“But my leg—“ his hand runs over the stump, “don’t I look weird without it?”

Joe is insecure. You know that, but it doesn’t impact the way you love him because you’ll happily tell him everyday about how much you love him for him, not his leg. “No, all I see is the handsomest man in all of Pennsylvania.”

“Y/N,” he whines because it’s not the answer he’s looking for, “I do look weird! You already know the weird stares I get when we go out, so how am I supposed to explain to them—how am I supposed to look at them in the eyes like I didn’t get my leg blown off in Belgium? Hm?” He raises his voice, but you know he’s not angry at you. He’s angry at himself.

The answer is simple. “You don’t have to. You’re not obliged to explain yourself to anyone if you don’t want to.”

“What am I gonna say to Bill?”

“You didn’t do anything to him, Joe. He saved your life because you’re his friend. He doesn’t hate you, he could never.”

“But...what am I supposed to do when they look at me, and they look at me like they’ve never even seen me before?”

“You sure that’s gonna happen?”

“Well,” he scratches the back of his neck, “yeah. I don’t got no leg—I look weird, they probably don’t recognize me anymore.” His shoulders roll back, and he looks defeated in a battle he never even saw coming in the first place. “I don’t think I’m the same man they liked back in Georgia, England, even.”

It astounds you to hear that Joe doesn’t think that he’s loved.

He is loved. So, so much by not only you but the people that surround his life with good memories he’ll remember to the ripe old age of seventy.

He acts like you don’t repeatedly ask the angels if you can bring him when you go to heaven. He acts like he doesn’t hear you tell him how beautiful he is every morning over the bathroom sink, how grateful that you’re living in a world where he is your sun. He acts like you didn’t marry him two weeks after you came home, in a wedding that the both of you could barely afford, blue hydrangeas pinned on his jacket and the smell still lingers in your home years after.

“Hell, Joe,” you whisper, “I didn’t fall in love with your legs, I fell in love with you. We all did.”

He tries to put forth a rebuttal, but when his finger grazes the wedding band on your finger, he remembers the wedding—when you spoke the words of angels that evicted the demons in his head for good.

Joe cried when you showed up on his doorstep the day you came home because, in the weeks and months after Belgium, he firmly believed that you didn’t want him anymore. He didn’t think you wanted a man who’s missing a piece of himself literally, but the moment you showed up and crashed into his open arms, he no longer questions your love for him but cherishes it as much as the tattoo of your name he got on his bicep all those years ago in Aldbourne.

In the end, Joe doesn’t hate himself, but he’s ashamed for creating such discourse with you about his leg of all things.

“I...I’m just embarrassed.” 

“Why are you embarrassed?” You take his hands in yours. “You’re beautiful. Don’t you see that?”

He shakes his head, and it hurts a little to see him so blind of his beauty. He isn’t his wounds, he is so much more than that, and however many times you have to tell him, you’ll do it without a question.

Joe tries to avoid your gaze by trying to fix his tie, undoing it, and staggering movements as his fingers struggle to put it back together.

You’ve learned to wait until he realizes he can't do it on his own. Patience is something the both of you have been working on, and it’s times like these where it comes in handy whether it comes to helping him with his ties or helping him see the beauty that resides somewhere beneath his skin.

“Can you...can you help me?” It’s soft and saccharine, shy. 

“Of course, anything for the handsomest man in Pennsylvania.” You smile and lean across the glovebox to get a better angle. You can feel him loom over you, fingertips holding onto your waist—he’s staring. “You know, you have beautiful eyes.”

“I do?”

“Yes,” you breathe, flipping the collar down and coming up to meet his eyes, hand on his cheek. “God, you have gorgeous eyes.”

He smiles back, only growing bigger when you kiss his forehead and then his cheek. Joe is just as gorgeous as he was back then—his coffee brown eyes, those cheekbones, and the gravity defying grip of his hands holding you close, though, you’d like to be closer. Nothing about his leg changes anything because he’s always been the Joe Toye who fell hard for you back when you crawled through pig guts and had you acting foolish like you seventeen. He has always been the man you loved and will love for a million years more.

And you know he’s grateful to have you by his side everyday, beyond the years he’s guaranteed on this Earth. “Thank you,” he says, and he captures your hand in his and gives it a little squeeze. “Can we go in now?”

You nodded. “Let’s go.”

[thestarkerisobvious]

    this amazing art is by @von--gelmini   aka @starker-stories inspired by the divine art of @starker-sorbet.

                                      Chapter Two:  Fifteen

3.  The Dream

But when Tony sat upon the bed Peter pulled back a little, startled by a shiver of fear.  He hadn’t noticed, up until that moment, what his friend had been wearing, and found himself unnerved at the sight.  There was nothing frightening about the shirt itself, it was ivory white, the same color as the roses (the same color as the bedcover) with billowing sleeves and a frilly collar that was currently open, exposing his pale white chest.  Peter couldn’t say why he was suddenly afraid. Only that Tony had reminded him of something just now, something that had made him very nervous…

“They all have one motion; all jointly move from east to west in twenty-four hours upon the poles of the world.  Or so the wise men said.  But the wisest of men spoke in freshmen’s suppositions -- none were so wise as Master Peter.  Lie beside me and tell me more.  Hath every sphere a dominion?  An intelligentia?”  

Peter stood, silently. This was a bad dream, only Peter couldn’t remember exactly why.  Something about the shirt that Tony was wearing.  Something about the windows in the stone wall that looked out onto the nightsky, because this castle was on a terrible precipice, and if he were to look out of those windows he’d be looking down at a sea of green tree tops with silver threads where the rivers ran through the forest… they ran across the forest… it was across the forest that was the problem, he was sure of it.

“Be brave, Peter.” Tony was whispered again.  And when Peter looked into Tony’s dark eyes, he knew that he could.

Or at least he would try.

He wasn’t sure he would succeed, but when he looked into Tony’s eyes, he also knew he couldn’t say ‘no.’

But it didn’t comfort him at all to find, as he toed off his shoes before climbing onto the bed, that he was wearing the exact same outfit as Tony; tight black pants and a billowing white shirt and a collar that was opening up, exposing his throat, his shoulder, his chest.   He was trying to remember why that was a bad thing even as Tony pulled him into strong, solid arms.  He leaned his head to rest on Tony’s shoulder, taking a deep breath, trying to stay calm.  Tony smelled of burned incense and warm earth.  He tried to be brave.

Then Anthony slipped one hand into the open collar of his shirt and Peter gasped in surprise.

“No!  This is a bad dream!  We’re in Transylvania! This is Castle Dracula, Tony look!”  He grabbed the man by shoulders in terror, his heart pounding in his chest, his head jerking around frantically, taking it all in.  Oh course… it was all so obvious.  The tall black windows.  The battlements, jagged against the sky.  The many shadows.  

“I know this dream, I’ve had this dream before, this is going turn into a nightmare and I’m going to lose you.”  He buried his head in Tony’s embrace, afraid to look around the room anymore, knowing he would see something terrible.  Somewhere very close he could feel it, the much younger boy that had stayed up passed his bedtime reading that book until VERY late at night alone in his house, afraid to shut the book, afraid to close his eyes, afraid to move from that spot until Aunt May and Uncle Ben returned.

But Tony’s arms were solid and unmoving.  He held Peter against chest and murmured to him, stroking his hair and arguing with him gently.  “Hold to me Peter.  Hold fast. Hold close.  Stay with me.  I conjure Master Peter and do not release him.  Fear not, Master Peter, but be resolute.  By the uttermost magic I bind you to me…”  

“But that’s not real,” Peter scolded.  “That’s not even in Dracula.  Even if it were real in this dream it won’t stay real for long.  Because dreams turn into… I told you Tony…”

“Look to me, look to me,” Tony crooned, stroking Peter’s back with strong hands, finally resting his head against Peter’s hair, shushing him, almost rocking him, until he allowed himself to be gentled.  Peter leaned into the warm embrace.  It was a wonderful feeling.  Even if this moment faded into something else, it was a moment he would remember.

“Whatever you want to tell me, tell me quick.  I can’t make it last.  Please Tony.”

Tony lay his mouth against Peter’s ear, scraping his beard across Peter’s cheek.  Peter shivered at the touch.

“You need not fear.  I am the master of this place.  We can speak, dispute, have discourse one with another here.  We spoke so little in the dreams when you first called unto me, for then I was so weak, and you were a magician unskilled.  Do you not see that we are stronger now?”

“I’m not a magician at all,” Peter whispered.  He wiggled a little and Tony loosened his arm a little, looking down into Peter’s face.  

“But you are the Master Doctor, master of all arts, the one who named me.  Who feeds me his light, but does not know of it.  I will instruct you now.”

He guided Peter into a sitting position (Peter had been laying back in Tony’s arm, looking up at his face, thinking that he was wrong, this was in fact the best dream in the world) and looked closely into his face.

“Do you fear?”

Peter thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“I must feed of your light.  ‘Light’ is not a fit word.  Likewise is not ‘feed’ the fit word.”  Gently he scraped the pad of his thumb across Peter’s lips.  “There are no fit words.”  

“But I can show you…”

Gently Tony slipped a hand into Peter’s open-necked shirt and moved it aside and, just as gently, pulled Peter against his chest.  Breathing against Peter’s throat for just an instant, he covered the pulsing vein with his mouth and began to suck.  Peter’s heart pounded against Tony’s chest.  He tried to remember to breathe.

Soon then were laying together on the bed, Tony moaning and stroking Peter’s back with strong hands.  His back, his waist, sometimes down the sides of his legs.  Peter clung to him, trying not to moan as well. Sometimes he would push Tony away and Tony would always comply, (eventually) laying back against the white pillow, panting.  At those times Peter’s hand would fly to his shoulder to look for blood, but he never found it.  Sometimes Tony’s mouth seemed to be wine-stained, sometimes it seemed to Peter that there were wine-stains too, upon his shirt, upon his fingertips, but at other times there were none.  Sometimes Peter’s head spun, sometimes he feared he would fall asleep (but he was asleep. Could he fall asleep in a dream?) Then Tony would move toward him again, whimpering, nuzzling against his cheek, his nose, wordlessly asking for more. And every time, Peter obeyed.

Finally Tony pulled away, sated.  He stroked Peter’s hair and thanked him repeatedly, touching their foreheads together and caressing his face.

“What that… have you… fed?”

“After a fashion.  It is a dream of feeding.  It gives me nourishment. In your bedroom, when night falls on the morrow, you will feed me again.  You will make me strong.”

“And is this…” once again Peter reached up to finger the wet place on his neck, surprised once again that there was no wound there.  “Is that ‘light?’”

“Your light made me strong enough to speak,” he said, tracing one finger over Peter’s lips. “Your light made me strong enough to touch your dreams.  Your light gave me form enough to touch you.  When you lay on your bed and wept tears, I fed from your loneliness.  When you read your books that made you laugh, I fed from your joy.”

“But… that’s not ‘light.’ Loneliness and joy aren’t light. Those are feelings.”

“And when you sit on your bed and read to learn?  And when you make your scholars drawings of plans and schemes of clever instruments? What is the fit word for this?”

“Is it… curiosity? Or… wait…”  Peter pulled away from Tony’s touch enough to think.  He turned his head and considered the old-fashioned words that he knew.

“Is it… passions?”  

He moved back closer, please with himself.  Tony seemed pleased too.  He took Peter’s hands and wove their fingers as he spoke.

“If you were a painter, I would feed upon your light when your landscape was complete.  If you did compose, I would feed upon your light as the ink dried upon your opus. If you were a sculptor, you would feed me when the statue stood completed in your studio.  Not before, for fear you would never finish it.”

“But you learn, Peter.  Daily.  Hourly. You never finish.  And you question.  Even your questions feed me.  I’ve never tasted the like.”  

Peter lowered his eyes and tried not to grin.  It wasn’t easy.  He was sometimes praised for being ‘smart’ but he wasn’t often praised for learning constantly (and he certainly was NOT praised for constantly asking questions.)  He hid his smile by moving his forehead closer to Tony’s chin.

“If… wait… if you are old enough to remember when scientists thought the sun revolved around the Earth, instead of the other way around… that was before the 1600’s.  How old are you, Tony?”

Tony moved away enough to look into Peter’s eyes.  He traced gentle fingers across his jaw, his lips, his chin. Peter moved his fingers to touch the line of Tony’s beard, but wasn’t brave enough to do more.

Then Tony pulled away completely and tucked one arm under his head, staring at the top of the canopy bed, contemplating.  Finally he spoke.

“I was first conjured and tasked to vex the stylite Simeon the Elder before I killed him.  I believe.  Do you know the date of the death of Simeon the Elder?”

“No, but I can look it up in the library.”

“But here are spirits far older than I.  I knew of a demon tasked by Eratosthenes to take messages Alexandria to Syene.  He was a great deal older.  It is hard to tell.  When I am not fed I must sleep.  When I sleep I forget.”

He turned back to Peter and gathered him up in his arms again.  “You are the Scholar Peter, you will consult this vast library you travel to, the one so far away from your dwelling place…”

Peter snuggled in and described the tiny, disappointing library that he visited weekly in Devil’s Holler, and how he could only get his Uncle Bed to drive him to the slightly superior library in the next town over, and how all of them paled in comparison to the libraries he visited in New York City. As he spoke Tony’s hands began a delicious journey up and down his back, the back to his waist, then back to his back again.  

Once, that hand rested in the small of his waist for a moment, then began moving further downward, causing Peter to gasp and jump a little. He couldn’t help it.  He reached for the hand and squeezed it in apology.

Embarrassed, he started talking again.  “But everything is better in New York City.  The schools are better.  The museums are better.  There are more movie theaters.  There aren’t even any museums here at all…” and so on.

They fell into silence and Peter felt himself dozing.  It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.  It made him feel that the dream was changing.  He was hearing strange voices intoning solemn words outside the room.  He jolted awake and looked up at Tony, to see if he had spoken, but Tony only smiled. Then his eyes drifted closed again.

When he jolted awake the second time Tony pulled him closer, rubbing his back through his shirt and calling his name.  Peter’s hand flew to his neck… he had dreamed he was bleeding and staining the sheets… then grinned in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry.  I keep thinking you really bit me.”

Tony smiled and took one hand in his.  “Wherefore?  I did not bite you the first time I fed from you,” he said with a wicked grin, lowering his mouth to Peter’s wrist and sucking gently at the pulse.

Peter was confused.  “You… what?”

Tony moved a little and fished for Peter’s left hand, that had been laying between them.  He pulled it gently to his face and touched Peter’s fourth finger.

“Do you know what this is, my scholar?”

“That’s my ring finger… Tony…” Peter scolded, scandalized when Tony fit the entire finger into his mouth and sucked on it vigorously, finally pulling it away from his lips in a gesture that felt slightly obscene.  

“That finger carries the vein that leads directly to your heart, a perfect place to feed.”

“But it doesn’t really have a vein that… eww gross….” Peter giggled as Tony went down on his last two fingers, sucking on them.  It felt ridiculous (but it felt something else, too. Something Peter didn’t really have a word for.)  

“And yet I can feed this way.  I need not hurt you.  I did not hurt you when you fed me sorrow the first time, when Wagner did not come to your celebration.”

“What… what?”  Peter pulled his hands away and sat up suddenly.  “What are you talking about?”

Tony lay his head back on the white pillow and looked up sadly. “When your schoolfellow agreed to come to your celebration.  You came to your room and told me all about the joy of it.  But then the message came upon the telephone that he would not attend. His father conveyed the message to your Uncle.  You wished to contact your other schoolmate in New York City in consolation, but your Uncle angered you when he said the cost was too dear.  You came to your bed and cried, and then you came to the floor to speak to me.  You gave me your tears.  Then you gave me your hand,” he touched Peter’s left hand, but didn’t take it.  

“Tony that doesn’t… no.  That doesn’t make sense.  I don’t know anyone named Wagner.”

Tony closed his eyes and sighed.  Peter was suddenly worried and reached for him, and soon he had Tony’s head laying against his chest, and he was the one with his face nuzzling Tony’s hair. Tony wrapped strong arms around his back and held him close.

“Forgive me Master Peter, my scholar, my novice magician.  My pilgrim of great libraries.  Forgive me. Grant me pardon.

“I was so hungered.  I had hungered for so long.  I fed poorly. I fed too deeply.  I drank up all the sorrow and loneliness of the moment, and left none behind.  Without the light of the moment you no longer carry the memory.  Forgive me my clumsiness.  I will not injure you thus again.”

He planted a kiss upon the center of Peter’s chest.

Then he whispered “Unless you ask me to.”

Peter wasn’t sure what it meant, and wasn’t sure he was ready to. So he did what he knew how to do. He held on.  He didn’t speak anymore.  He held on until he fell asleep.

When he woke he was cold and achy and laying on the floor.  He crawled up into his bed and under the covers and tried to tell himself it was all a dream.  He hadn’t really spent the night in the arms of a demon, who could be sent out to kill people.  Or take away the memory of his only friend in town.

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

MORE TOMORROW

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

From now on, as promised, the tagged list has a new name.  From now on you are named

MY FEELS:

@mrstarksbaby

@starkerprince – @starkeristheendgame – @dizziestofdaydreams – @twokinkybeans – @fleet-of-ships – @flush-styx  – @mrstarksbaby – @starker-sorbet – 

@castiruth – @starkerthanreality

If you would like to be added to the dinnertable, let me know.

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Sun 30 June🏳️‍🌈

Liam really continues to Do The Most and Be The Cutest Bean and get proper sultry as well, he's covering the bases! First off he performed (in a set that looked like a disney castle or something.) He played a full set list (12 songs) to a massive crowd in Brazil (his band member said 70k!) He played three covers, three 1D songs, and all his hits, most of those (1D songs included) with a sort of Latin beat thing added, though still not a single song from his EP, boo to that. His call out to the boys before Little Things was appreciated ('I usually do this song on stairs') and all the public love he gave his bandmate for his birthday (including getting the crowd to sing) was lovely. We have great footage of the whole thing already via the festival livestream cameras but Conor was there running around on stage too so I look forward to seeing that in the Brazil video diary. There were cute backstage posts featuring crew and band that were great, and today he flew right back outta there so more airport fan pics, very sweet.

And this morning the Hugo material started dropping big time, we got a super sexpot sleepy eyed pic of him in a big shirt lifted to show just a bit of skin, and I know that top just has a high neck but damn if it doesn't look like he's wearing a whole ass collar, OKAY, listen it's just a lot. But it's not just a soft porn ad campaign, it's also a first look at his clothes collection! And it came with lots of teases of more- we're told that "the countdown is on" to the July 4 official launch and we can expect to see lots more bits over the next week, including the collection going on early sale. Warning for anyone going to check this out firsthand, while the ig campaign does have a bunch of half naked artsy Liam clips it also is absolutely unsuitable to anyone with epilepsy or other reason to avoid flashing lights, including just not wanting to be given a headache.

More photos of Harry from NYC, this time fan pics at what looks to be the airport (related, he was rumored to be in London this morning.) These ones are notable for the fact that he's got EYE MAKEUP on, beautiful! (#notamanip CAN YOU BELIEVE? What a time to be alive.) Lipstick too but he always wears lipstick that's not news but also his hair is all did up. Oh la la baby! There were rumors that he was on his way in to a photoshoot in the other pics in which he's wearing the same outfit but no make up, I am very much a lot looking forward to those pics 👀👀

Meanwhile it was the final day of Glastonbury- we saw one goofy picture of Niall looking to be living it up, wonderful, and the various tabloids tell us both that Louis was spending his festival evenings partying in a super exclusive area (daily star) and that he rejected the VIP areas in favor of mingling with the people and declining all available freebies (the sun). What is The Truth? Idk but the sun also implied he'd left and there is one more pic from today sooo.... They also said he spent his time wandering about with his "eight pals" which is simultaneously weirdly specific and weirdly vague and makes me wonder if they wrote their whole article only from looking at that one creeper pic of him and the crew walking.

And finally, remember that HBO show Euphoria? It's about a teen girl and there are a lot of things going on it sounds like, drug issues, good queer representation, Zendaya, but the part that's relevant here is that the main character writes fic and the episode featuring an animated Larry scene (Harry giving Louis a blowjob before a TMH concert jfdgjgdfgh WTFF) aired tonight so you know, brace yourselves, Discourse incoming. The good news is it was apparently very short and not graphic and probably overshadowed by the dramatic content of the rest of the episode so maybe it'll just blow (heh) over, the bad news is there's discussion of "conspiracy theories" and fandom SIGH please just go away and leave us in peace

[amandas-discovery]

So has Logan eaten yet? It's about time by now, right? Has anyone explained to him about not moving his wrist? Did he inadvertently move it when he woke up? (AKA moving away from collar color discourse, guys, oh my god.)

“Finally.” Virgil raised an eyebrow when Roman returned, some fruit cut up on a tray in his hands. “What took you so long?”

“Ah, I just got lost in thought I guess.” Roman shrugged, not wanting to get into the details of the terrible places his mind had drifted. He set the tray down on the matchbox, looking over to the bed. “Oh! Logan, you’re awake! Aww, you feeling any better, buddy?”

Logan gave him the sluggish glare of a toddler. “Don’t patronize me.”

Roman laughed at that. Logan certainly sounded better. He started to sit up, and immediately Roman was at his side. “Watch your wrist.” He murmured, helping prop Logan up.

“Want something to eat, Lo?” Patton asked, already climbing down to go grab some fruit.

“Yes, I could eat.” Logan nodded. Patton brought him some, helping him carefully eat the blueberry with as little mess as possible. Some inevitably dripped, but no one mentioned it.

“So, since you’re looking in better spirits, I was thinking we should all do some family bonding.” Roman smiled, clapping his hands together. “Who’s up for storytime?”

“Storytime?” Virgil raised an eyebrow, biting into his own fruit as he sat now retreated in the corner. “We’re not ten anymore, you know.”

“Or, we could draw.” Roman went on excitedly. “Make some snacks, play checkers, or just talk.”

“I thought we were already talking.” Patton frowned.

“Well, we are, but...special talk.” Roman pressed. “I feel like there’s a lot to talk about between us.”

The other three looked at each other.

“I mean...I don’t think so.” Patton admitted with a shrug. “We already know what happened to Logan, and now it’s just a matter of time until he gets better.”

“Unless you want to tell us where you went today.” Virgil said, taking a large bite of his berry.

“Oh, I just went on a supply run.” Roman waved off his concerns. “No big deal.”

“Then there’s nothing to talk about.” Virgil gave him a look that said ‘checkmate’.

“Roman, as much as I appreciate your efforts,” Logan spoke, gaining their attention, “I am still exhausted.”

“Already?” Patton looked astounded at this. “But you were asleep forever!”

“I need rest to recover.” Logan explained, his eyelids already flickering. “Perhaps we can do something tomorrow.”

“I…” Roman looked around the room with a pause, seeing faces that matched his own level of tired. “...yeah, I mean, I guess tomorrow works. Let’s shoot for an early morning rising then, yeah?”

“Why the rush?” Virgil asked. “Got somewhere to be?”

“No, but it never helps to sleep the day away.” Roman insisted.

“I dunno, I think it sounds pretty awesome.” Virgil looked over to the bed. “Hey Logan, is it cool sleeping the day away?”

Logan gave a tired nod, although it could have just been him sinking back into the pillows. His eyes were closed.

“Logan says it's cool.” Virgil grinned triumphantly.

“Well, Logan’s wrong.” Roman huffed. “Now get to bed or I’m dragging you out in the morning myself.”

[infracti-angelus]

Pale Fire, Chpt 2

PALE FIRE, a Lord of the Rings fanfiction

Pairing:  Éomer and Lothíriel

Summary: Lothíriel wasn’t unacquainted with infatuation; after all, she was nearly twenty-one years old and (by Gondorian standards, at least) well past her prime. But while she was acquainted with infatuation and the whispers of attraction, this was entirely different. And it infuriated her. And when his line of sight but glanced over her, she felt heated from top of her hair to the base of her foot. No, not heated. Burning. Set aflame.  She felt as if she were the swine roasted on the spit for tonight’s dinner.

Rating: M

Click here for chapter 1

Chapter 2: The Report

The journey took seemingly forever to Lothíriel and likely the rest of the ship’s crew. Maren insisted on traveling with them, which put her in a perpetually foul mood. She suffered from aearlhîw whilst they sailed along the coast of Belfalas until they cleared the Mouth of Anduin. Betwixt bouts hanging o’er the side of the ship, she berated the cook, bossed around the boatswains, and interrogated the sailing master. Perhaps the only ones unscathed were the captain, first mate, and Dol Amroth’s harpists who travelled with them to perform at the coronation (they were safe because they rarely left the cabin they shared, insisting on practicing). Because Maren was incapacitated for the first leg of the journey, it fell to Lothíriel to dissemble the droves of rejected garments she owned and glean whatever usable trimmings she could, placing them in empty baskets for Maren to examine when she was able. Truthfully, Lothíriel wasn’t much more pleasant to be around than Maren. She found herself rather snippy with everyone, undoubtedly due to being confined to a corset from every sunrise to dusk. The first time Maren had laced Lothíriel in, she had needed to brace her knee at the base of Lothíriel’s spine to get the appropriate leverage. Maren had to tighten it twice that day before Lothíriel could button up one of her mother’s gowns. Lothíriel had decided then that she abhorred corsets and understood why they had gone out of style. They were impractical for breathing. Maren, however, was satisfied, because by the fourth day Lothíriel was able to keep it on without reprieve as long as she remained immobile. By the fifth day, Lothíriel was able to complete simple tasks, such as utilizing the chamber pot unassisted or take a turn about the cabin.

By the end of the first week, Lothíriel believed she finally acclimated to wearing a corset, though she wasn’t quite sure how she’d ever accomplish dancing in one. Perhaps she could avoid dancing altogether? Somehow she doubted it. In the meantime, Lothíriel busied herself with embellishing her mother’s dresses. They had passed through the Mouth of Anduin and were no longer on the sea but rowing up the river. Maren’s countenance improved greatly and she was able to assist Lothíriel. On one gown deemed too plain, Maren embroidered elaborate swirling designs in silver thread reminiscent of the sea surf around the cuffs, collar, and hem. On a dove grey dress, Lothíriel stitched mother of pearl on the skirt. Once Lothíriel was exhausted from her constricted lungs and pricking her fingers, she would retreat to the deck and gaze at the lands.

The entourage was small, with only two ships sailing along the river. Lothíriel and Maren occupied the larger of the two which housed the greater number of Swan-Knights. The larger ship was part of the Royal Armada. Its large white sails were massive when unfurled and the figure head at the bow shaped like a swan’s head. The outside of the ship had detailed carvings in the white wood, made to mimic the feathers of a swan’s wings. The other ship of the party was from Dol Amroth’s fleet. Its smaller size allowed it to sail faster and be maneuvered in tighter places more easily. The remainder of the ships stayed in Dol Amroth to protect the coast there from Corsairs of Umbar. Lothíriel was unworried, for as per her father’s letter, ships bearing Swan-Knights would be stationed periodically along the river to join them and ensure their safety. The first of her father’s ships, Aerthûl, was the first to join them as they approached Pelargir. The setting sun cast hues of rose gold on the stark white sails. But it wasn’t until they passed through South Ithilien and reached Emyn Arnen that Lothíriel became excited. A giggle rippled through her as the Lancrista, came into view. Oh, how she had teased Amrothos for the naming of his first ship! As they rowed closer, she could see him walking excitedly on deck, waving to her and barking orders. They came to dock at shore and in no time Amrothos had departed his ship and boarded her own.

“Lothy!” He yelled, scrambling up the ladder thrown off the side. His grin was infectious and wide as she threw herself into his open arms, squeezing him fiercely. “Great Ulu, what a welcome sight you are! I’ve missed you! How do you fair? Are you eating enough? You look too skinny!  Is that Naneth’s dress? How ever did you fit into that? Have you been eating enough? We expected you two days ago! What took you so long?”

Lothíriel couldn’t help the good natured teasing and chided him as she released him. “Amrothos, I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again: I can’t answer every question when you throw them at me all at once!”

Amrothos had the decency to look properly chastised but continued grinning. “Tell me you’re your journey was uninterrupted by any hazards. We expected you two days ago.”

“That is due to Maren,” Lothíriel explained. “She demanded a day on the shore to dye cloth. Do not be cross with the Captain for postponing our progress. She was a tempest personified!”

He looked quizzical. “Maren came along? And why would you need to dye cloth? Haven’t you plenty to wear?”

Lothíriel’s eyes dropped. “There is much changed since you were last home.”

Amrothos frowned. “Tell me all.”

“Well…trade has all but ceased due to heightened traffic by the Corsairs. Goods we once considered essential are now regarded as frivolous.  Cloth is limited to what we have and our grain stores have been depleted.” Lothíriel’s further account was interrupted by Maren’s footsteps approaching them. Amrothos immediately stood up straighter as she approached.

“After all I’ve done for you and yours, you did not yet greet me, boy.” Maren croaked, wagging a finger at Amrothos.

Amrothos grinned. “I didn’t know an old cantankerous governess would be here.”

Maren’s eyes narrowed and she reached up and firmly swatted the back of his head. “I’m not old.”

If it was possible, Amrothos’ grin widened. “You told me you vowed to never step on a boat again after transporting Naneth to Ada.”

“Aye, and you once swore that you would wed me when you were old enough.”

Amrothos guffawed, motioning them to follow him below deck to continue the conversation in private. They settled themselves in Lothíriel’s cabin and Amrothos urged Lothíriel to finish her report on Dol Amroth.

“I’ve had to access the emergency victuals,” Lothíriel, grimacing as Maren dropped lace into her hands that needed mending. “Rícah has been doing her best to make due. She’s been baking cram with what remains. I hand out rations of it to the town every few days.” Maren made a disapproving noise, but didn’t press the matter and Lothíriel began the painstaking task of tatting. “Dol Amroth is living on what we can produce ourselves. The townspeople survive off mollusks, but are too frightened to venture outside of the shallows.” Lothíriel sighed. “Some of them have gone too far from the shore and didn’t return. I now instruct some of our Swan-Knights to fish every day, though I’m sure they’re not pleased with me for the directive. We’re fortunate we have a ready supply of meat and salt from the ocean. I’ve gotten very skilled with herbs in the kitchen. You wouldn’t believe the difference it makes when you’ve eaten fish every day for every meal.”

“And are you eating every meal?” Amrothos inquired. “Because I’m certain that was Naneth’s dress, and she was built like an eel.”

“Doesn’t she look splendid?” Maren interjected.

“Yes, I’ve been eating,” Lothíriel glared at Maren. “But as I stated, all of my dresses are sensible. I’ve been wearing them while weeding the gardens or cooking in the kitchen. I don’t own anything extravagant fit for court--”

“Absolutely nothing fit for a princess!” Maren bemoaned.

“—and Maren found some of Naneth’s dresses that we could alter for me. Included in the chest was a corset, which is—”

“This is highly inappropriate discourse, young lady!”

“—laced so tightly I can barely breathe in attempt to stuff me inside this gown,” Lothíriel finished.

Amrothos chuckled at Maren’s distress, prompting her to swat at him again.

“And what of you, brother? Are father and the rest well?”

               Amrothos assured Lothíriel that he, her brothers, and Ada were well. His countenance visibly fell when he delivered the news that their Uncle Denethor and cousin Boromir had passed. “Faramir is on the mend. He took a critical blow while defending Minas Tirith. Ada was able to rescue him. Of course, this was before I got there, or else I would have done it myself. He seems shaken, and I dare say he is still critically wounded by Boromir’s death.”

               Lothíriel sighed, wiping tears that were gathering at the corner of her eyes. “What ill news. I had hoped to show Boromir that I can bake bread now. It is leagues better than the last time I had baked for him, though it is not to the quality of Rícah’s. Faramir must be desolate.”

               “When I departed, he had been quite preoccupied.”

Amrothos explained what had happened at the Battle of Minas Tirith. He told them of how the White Lady of Rohan had surreptitiously joined her kinsmen and had slain the Witch King of Angmar, but not before receiving a devastating blow. He described how she had been healed by their new King, who was a mighty warrior, noble and just, blessed with a healing hand, and had “nigh taken her from the very grips of blackness and horror.” (The King Elessar also had a quiet sense of humor and was “tall as the sea-kings of old”).

“While recovering, the White Lady met our own dear Faramir,” and the amount of brow wiggling and winking caused Maren to swat him again.

“In all seriousness, I am indeed pleased for Faramir. He deserves every happiness,” Lothíriel pressed, “and he has not had any for a time.”

“Aye, not since your Aunt Finduilas died,” Maren supplied.

“I am pleased as well,” Amrothos insisted. “And Faramir could not pick any more fortuitous than the White Lady. She is sister-kin to the King of Rohan.”

“Îdh has smiled upon him,” Maren said, warmly.

“I thought the King of Rohan was older,” Lothíriel mused.

“Théoden King was their uncle. The White Lady slew the Witch-King to save him, though she was too late.”

“Oh.”

Amrothos entertained Lothíriel the remainder of the time with stories.  Erchirion had apparently thrown a fit when Amrothos was chosen to meet her instead, but he had been tasked with mollifying many of the nobleman who were left reeling after the passing of their uncle, the Steward of Gondor, and the coming of King Elessar. The new King of Rohan was already displeased with Elphir, who had recommended a prompt betrothal and marriage to secure the royal line. Elphir had been unexpectedly backed by numerous advisors of Rohan, which had incensed the king. The king had, evidently, roared at Elphir to focus on getting his own wife before hassling him. Elphir had smugly introduced the king to Rosilith who, since Elphir had parted from Dol Amroth a few years ago, had been working in the Houses of Healing and their son, Alphros. Amrothos described the king’s following outburst with glee, managing to censor the tirade at the last moment when he noticed Maren was listening.

All in all, the last leg of the journey was pleasant with Amrothos in tow. Once they arrived in Osgiliath, an escort met them with horses and wagons to guide them to Minas Tirith. They had managed to make it a day and a half before the coronation (“So soon!” cried Maren, though she was to blame for the delay). After a rather joyous reunion between her father and brothers, Maren insisted there was still much to do before Lothíriel could be considered presentable (Lothíriel had a feeling this was because the day previous, Maren had noticed freckles on her face).

And so it came to be the morning of the coronation.

Sindarin Language Guide:

aearlhîw = aear - sea + lhîw -sickness 

No such thing as a word for seasick, so I combined them

Aerthûl = aear - sea + thûl -breath

Lancrist = lanc - throat + crista - (v.) to cut; 

Something I would assume a young boy would think sound edgy (ie. what your first email address sounded like, I’m sure)

Ulu - The Sindarin equivalent of Ulmo; Ulmo, also known as King of the Sea, Lord of Waters, and Dweller of the Deep, cared about Arda and the Children of Eru. It was said his spirit was in the very viens of the world, and through them he kept in touch with the Children of Eru and saw every grief and need, and thus knew more of the goings on with them than even Manwë. Even while the Valar were secluded in Valinor or when the Children were under the wrath of his brethren, Ulmo, alone of the Valar, was the one who never forsook them.

Naneth - mother

Ada - father

cram - cake of compressed flour or meal (often containing honey and milk)

Îdh -The Sindarin equivalent of Estë; One of the seven queens of the Valar (The Valier), Estë had the power to heal all hurts and weariness.

Click here for chapter 3

[scarletraven1001]

Detention

04 – “Do you… well… I mean… I could give you a massage?”

A High School AU Vegebul one-shot for prompt #04 on this post, for @neurodivergent-peridot, @hellsbells9000 and @amazingmeplusone

I hope you all like it!

Chapter Warning: Teeth-rotting teen fluff

Also on Ao3.

Part 1 of my HS AU:  Detention / Accomplice / Confetti 

All Fics in this Series:  1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9

8-8-8-8-8

Detention

8-8-8-8-8

Dr. Gero can go right to hell.

Vegeta sniffed in disdain as he made his way to the detention hall, imagining a multitude of ways he can – he totally can, if he tried – break the neck of the offensive Assistant Principal who dared give him detention.

Him! Vegeta Prince!

Star basketball player of Shenron High, straight-A student and hottest Junior in school, if he did say so himself.

“This is Kakarot’s fault,” he grumbled, pushing back some bangs that had fallen into his eyes, straying from the rest of his spiky, dark hair.  

The fool had broken one of the large cases in the trophy room, and since his idiotic cousin had already been to detention three times in the past month and his Aunt Gine was very likely to kill him soon, Vegeta had benevolently decided to take the fall.

He knew that Principal Piccolo would have let it slide.

He had not been anticipating that the Principal was going to be on sick leave, and that the universal dick, Gero, was in charge that day.

He rolled his left shoulder, cringing at the slight pain. He had strained it during practice the day before, and Kakarot should be thankful, because if he had not been injured, the black eye that Vegeta had given him would have been bigger.

“I can’t believe I’m going into detention,” he hissed as he nudged the door open…

“I can’t believe that I’m in detention!” a voice shrilled from within the room.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one.

He peeked in through the small gap he had made in the door, and when he saw who the infuriated voice belonged to, his eyes widened as his heart beat a fierce staccato in his chest.

Shit.

Of all the people he could possibly be stuck in detention with, it had to be her.

Her long blue hair shone in the bright light of the room, her creamy cheeks flushed and blue eyes narrowed in her indignation.

She held her cellphone to her ear as she spoke animatedly to whoever was on the other line, and Vegeta felt a little hot under the collar as he watched her ruby lips wrap around her words.

Bulma. Goddamn. Briefs.

He had been harboring a major crush on her for years, but he was a “jock”, and she was the brilliant president of the Science Club and most probably the class Valedictorian once they graduate.

She had a vicious temper, but she was nice most of the time, and she wasn’t the type who looked down on or mistreated others.

They were both from well-off families, and he had first met her when he transferred from out of state due to his father’s work reassignment.

He had been twelve, and he had been flustered beyond belief at the sight of her large, bright blue eyes.

He did not know what to say, what to do, and how to deal with the almost painful slamming of his heart against his ribcage, and so, he, in his infinite tween wisdom, had decided to avoid her like the plague.

He barely spoke to her in the past five years, but he had – and this was known to absolutely no one – sometimes trailed her as she walked home when she stayed late in the Science lab, to make sure that she got back alright.

“Of course I didn’t mean to blow up the machine, Gero’s just being a dick,” she said, and Vegeta smirked.

They seemed to share those sentiments, as well.

He steeled himself, before he pushed the door open to let himself in.

Bulma heard him enter, and without turning to look at him, she whispered hurriedly into the phone.

“Chi, I got to go. Later,” she said, before she ended her call and stuck the phone into her pocket.

She turned then, and Vegeta met her eyes for the first time in a very long time.

He was shocked dumb by how the sight of those wide blue eyes staring into his made his breath catch in his throat.

By God… she was gorgeous.

His presence in the room seemed to surprise her as well, since she too just stared at him, her cheeks apparently still flushed from her earlier anger.

“Ve- Ve- Vegeta!” she exclaimed, eyes wide as saucers. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down at his shoes, away from her mesmerizing eyes. “I have detention today.”

“Oh,” she said. “So do I.”

He nodded, taking a seat at a chair near the door.

He looked pointedly at the door, refusing to turn around to regard her.

However, though she was out his sight, the scent of her cologne, fresh and intoxicatingly sweet, drifted into his nose, and he almost groaned at the injustice of it all.

To be so close to her, and unable to do anything…

How he wished he could just –

“Ne, Vegeta?” her voice rang like a bell, and his head involuntarily lifted to follow the sound.

“Hm?”

“Why are you sitting way over there?” she asked.

“Huh?” he answered, the absolute epitome of intelligent discourse.

“Come sit here,” she said cheerfully, patting the desk chair beside her. “We haven’t spoken in ages, I wanna catch up!”

Vegeta noted that her face still appeared flushed. He was beginning to think that maybe she had used one of those red powders that his mother used to keep her face pink.

He, on his part, could do nothing but nod, as he found himself slowly but obediently getting up to approach her.

She beamed brightly as he sat at a chair beside her, and he wondered where the hell the detention proctor was as he found himself seated next to Bulma, closer than he ever had before.

She was smiling as he squirmed internally, placidly sitting down as she leaned against the back of her chair.

Her smile faltered slightly as he looked straight at her, before she grinned brightly again.

“How have you been, Vegeta?” she asked.

“Umm… Fine…” he muttered.

“Good,” she smiled, and he watched curiously as she looked down at her hands, her smile stiffening the longer the silence between them dragged on.

“Uh…” he began, and she looked up, her eyes wide and…

Hopeful?

“I… uh… I’m in detention,” he said.

He blushed dark red when he realized exactly what he had said, and how so utterly god damn stupid he must have sounded.

She giggled, and he almost snarled out a defensive “what are you laughing at”, when he looked up, and his embarrassed irritation just melted at the sight of her delighted laughter.

Her eyes were pinched shut, a hand on her lips, and the same pink blush remained at the apples of her cheeks.

“Yes, me too,” she finally answered as her giggles died down. “I accidentally blew up one of the mini centrifuge machines in the Chem lab.”

“I was sent here for breaking the case for the big football trophy.”

She looked curiously at him, twirling a lock of her hair around a finger. “That’s pretty big. How did you manage that?”

“Well, I didn’t break it,” he sniffed in disdain. “I took the fall for Kakarot, err, Goku, coz if he gets into another detention this month, his mother will kill him.”

She smiled wider. “Goku is your cousin, right? That’s pretty nice of you.”

“Tch,” he said. “I just wanted to avoid the chaos. My father will most likely be part of the drama once his beloved sister starts freaking out on Goku.”

He was beginning to get the hang of this conversation, and he slouched down, leaning back on his arms.

He gasped when his arm decided to remind him that he was injured, a sharp pain resonating from his shoulder blade to his elbow.

Bulma noticed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, rolling his arm. “I just twisted my arm at practice yesterday. It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I’m fine. It hurts but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” he retorted, his next thoughts souring his tone. “Your boyfriend slammed into me while I was trying to pass the ball.”

Bulma blinked. “Boyfriend?”

“Yamcha,” he said, an unintended growl passing from his lips.

“What?” she asked, eyes wide. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“He said he is.”

“He’s not! Oh my God, is he still on about that? We went on one date. One,” she fumed, lips pouting slightly. “He’s not my boyfriend, I swear.”

He sat back, relieved.

“So… your arm hurts, right? Maybe I can help?” Bulma said softly.

“What? How?” he asked.

He looked at her in confusion when she started blushing again, and she looked down at her hands as she answered.

“Do you… well…,” she stuttered. “I mean…”

“Woman, just spit it out,” he said impatiently.

“I could… I could give you a massage?”

He was stunned.

The girl of his dreams was offering to give him a massage.

She was volunteering to touch him.

Without giving himself the chance to think and potentially cower away, he removed his thick denim jacket, leaving just his thin blue shirt, and turned his back to her before she saw the red hue crawling onto his cheeks.

“H- here,” he pointed vaguely at a spot behind his left shoulder.

He thought he heard her gulp.

And then, he felt her soft, thin fingers rest upon his shoulder.

He almost moaned, her innocent touch so electrifying, that it nearly stole all his senses.

He closed his eyes as he felt her move her fingers slowly, both of her hands moving to clutch the tight muscles on his upper back and arm.

His own fingers curled convulsively around his jacket, and he furiously stamped down the increasingly lustful thoughts that flowed through his mind the longer her fingers stayed on his back.

He felt her palms push down flat against a particularly sensitive spot, and he finally did groan, unable to keep the sounds to himself any longer.

Oh but this couldn’t possibly get any better…

“You like that, Vegeta?” her soft voice, low and hypnotic, whispered into his ear.

It got better.

He moaned as she worked on him, and he cannot believe how incredible this felt, how mind-numbing her touches were and how good she was at this.

“I’m glad you let me do this, Vegeta,” she said, and the sound of his name coming from her lips absolutely flooded him with unmistakable desire.

He wanted to touch her, too.

He grasped his jacket tighter, fighting the impulse to turn around and crush her small body within his arms.

“I wish you’d come and talk to me more often,” she whispered, and he felt her shift ever closer to him.

He could almost feel her heat against his back, god damn…

Vegeta groaned as she moved to knead a hard knot on his side…

He belatedly noticed that her hands had strayed from his left shoulder.

“Bulma,” he moaned, and he flushed deeply as he heard the slightly desperate note in his voice.

“Hmm?” she asked, and he turned his head, only to realize that her face was dangerously close to his own.

Her soft, pink lips, puffed her sweet breaths against his face, and his mind blanked out at the overwhelming proximity.

If he leaned towards her… just a little…

A sudden, loud bang, made them jump apart, and he quickly turned around to catch Bulma as she nearly fell off the chair that she had been kneeling very precariously on.

“Hello children,” a happy voice sounded, and Vegeta turned his fuming eyes towards the door, to the man who had dared intrude on the only moment he had ever gotten to share with his blue-eyed muse.

“Mr. Mao!” Bulma greeted, and Vegeta nearly grinned at the breathless tone of her voice.

“So, good news! You kids are lucky!” Mr. Mao said, making Vegeta roll his eyes.

He would have been luckier if he had been able to kiss Bulma, god dammit.

Mr. Mao continued. “The proctor called in sick, so since both of you are on first offense, you get to go free! Just don’t be naughty again, alright?”

Before he could even react, Bulma stood, pulling her shoulder bag on, before she basically ran out of the room after a quick thanks to Mr. Mao.

Vegeta sat stunned for a few seconds, before he gathered his wits, stood up, and ran out after her.

He looked around the hallway, and was surprised to realize that Bulma was apparently faster than he had anticipated, because she was nowhere to be found.

However, he was sure, that the girl was probably running home.

He ran full tilt, shrugging his jacket back on, using his much-celebrated speed on the court to run after Bulma.

After today, he realized… he had a chance.

And he wanted to grab that chance.

He wanted to be with Bulma. He always had.

And now he was going to make it happen.

He had been so dumb to not even think of approaching her before.

It took him no time to catch up, and he gathered the breath in his lungs to call out for her.

“Bulma!” he shouted, and she stopped running, turning around in shock as she watched him practically fly towards her.

“Hey,” he greeted as he caught up, and he grinned as he watched her grow pale in consternation.

“Vegeta, look. I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I got caught up in that, I am so embarrassed, you probably think I’m such a creep-”

“Go out with me!”

The words, so suddenly blurted from his mouth, hung heavy between them, as Bulma blinked up at him with an ever-darkening blush taking over her whole face.

“What… Vegeta, you-”

He held a hand up, cutting her off. He needed to say this before he lost his nerve.

“Bulma. Go out with me. I am asking you out on a date,” he said, and he felt his own face begin to grow hot, as if his ears were about to literally combust from all the pressure his blood was pumping into his head.

“W-w-why?” she stuttered, staring disbelievingly at him.

Now or never.

“Because I like you. I always have. And I,” he swallowed convulsively, pulling at the neck of his shirt as the material began to feel like it was trying to choke him. “I wanna see, if we can be together. Because I want us to be together.”

His heart nearly beat out of his chest when he saw her smile, and she raised a hand to twirl a lock of hair around her finger as she gazed into his nervous dark eyes.

“Ok,” she whispered.

He smiled, and he was about to say something more, when Bulma leaned up, and placed a very soft, very quick kiss on his right cheek.

He stood stunned, and he raised a hand to touch the place where her silky lips had touched him with a feather-like caress.

He was still in shock as she turned around, and began to walk back home, a giddy spring in her step.

“Bu-Bulma!” he called.

She didn’t even pause as she called over her shoulder, “Pick me up for school tomorrow, ok? See you, Vegeta!”

He grinned.

Some good things could come out of detention, after all.

8-8-8-8-8

End

Read Next

[jeffatk1ns]

Not The One - Jeff Atkins x Reader

Request - “ do ya mind writing one either about jeff being good/best friends with the reader & he’s drunk in a party so girls try to flirt but he simply says they’re not the reader & starts looking for her or the reader confesses she likes him but he leaves for some time bcos he doesn’t know how to react but comes back & kisses her passionately “

“I’m just really not sure, Jeff, i mean there’s going to be so many people and it’ll be crowded as hell, the weather is meant to be bad, anyways.” You sighed, walking down the hall in front of your best friend Jeff.

“Remember that time you called me at 3am because Buttons was throwing up everywhere, and i came to help you and you said you owed me? I’d like to cash in that favour, please.” Jeff smirked.

“For some stupid party? Why?”

Then, he got down on his knees and flashed you the puppy dog face which he knew you couldn’t resist. “Pweasee.”

“Get up!” You grabbed his arms and pulled him up. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Is that a yes?”

“If that means you’ll stop drawing attention to us.” You said through gritted teeth, dragging him along next to you. He gave a starlit smile indicating he was over the moon.

—–

Just like you’d expected, the place was crowded and the suffocating stench of alcohol and hormones permeated everywhere. Jeff had arrived before you, so you decided the first plan of action was to find him.

You spotted him leaning on a cabinet in the corner talking to a girl. The dazed look indicated that he was already pissed, you weren’t sure you wanted to talk to him until you’d had a little alcohol yourself. So you headed to the bar and poured your drink of choice.

“Y/N! You made it!” A few drinks later Jeff was staggering up to you. He put his hand on the counter beside you, cornering you in with his close proximity and smelling strongly of Tequila. You, yourself we’re feeling tipsy so this wasn’t an issue, and if you were honest, sober you wouldn’t have minded much either.

“Steady there, Jeff.” You giggled, gripping his arm to centre him.

“You look very pretty.” He slurred in a somewhat whisper. He was close enough that you could hear.

“Don’t I always?” You joked.

“Yes, but I don’t always tell you because… I’m shy.” He chuckled in that drunk way.

“You’re silly.”

“I know.”

“We’ve been best friends for an eternity, you shouldn’t be shy in front of me.” You reached up and touched his hair absentmindedly.

“You wouldn’t understand…” He trailed off, his head lulling and landing on your shoulder.

“I think you may even be drunker than me.” You snorted, supporting his head with your hands. “Jeff there’s something I need to tell you…”

He snapped his head up, as though a lightbulb lit up above him. “I never spoke to Zach!”

You laughed at him once more, concealing the hurt that he’d just ignored you entirely and tapped his shoulder with a ‘go find Zach’, before he sauntered off through the people to find his friend.

Jeff had become scared that you’d say something he didn’t want to hear, and his reflex was to run away, he needed to come up with a game plan. Zach was always happy to help him. However, Jeff lost his train of thought halfway through the house, and found himself stopped by one brunette girl who’s name he couldn’t put his finger on.

“Hey Jeff.” She swooned. “Looking good.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, not one to be rude.

“So, how have you been recently?”

The conversation was menial, and Jeff’s memory for it was gone up until they both ended up sat on a couch outside. By then, he’d been joined by two more girls, a blonde, and one who he remembered may have been called G/N.

“That shirt really does suit you.” The original brunette purred, casually throwing a leg over his.

He looked confused down at the limb, but honestly, still didn’t think much of it.

G/N had shot her a dirty look, while the blonde tried nearing Jeff on the other side of the sofa.

“I’m gonna be honest Jeff. I think you’re so hot and… I really like you.” The brunette stroked his jaw.

“Hey!” G/N screeched. “I thought we agreed I was gonna get him tonight?” Meanwhile the blonde still edged even closer.

“Look, girls…” Jeff started, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m flattered, but I sort of like someone else…”

And with the protesting moans of the three girls, he stood up and moved in the direction of the house, on the hunt for the girl he really wanted.

“Jeff!” The blonde girl ran up behind him. “I get it. But we can just make out or… something else…” she pulled at his shirt collar.

He moved her hand simply and deadpanned; “You’re not Y/N.”

“Y/N?!” she spat with disgust. But Jeff didn’t hear the rest, for he’d already left her behind.

That’s when he saw you. He’d sobered since you’d last spoken (not entirely, of course) and although he’d be too scared to do this stone cold, he was clear in what he was doing. You were dancing by yourself in the middle of an almost empty room, as most of its occupants had migrated to bedrooms. Carefree, gorgeous, and totally independent, he was reminded of all the reasons he’d fallen for you in the first place.

You saw him, and lifted your hand in a wave. Except, he’d sped over to you, taken that hand in his, and collided his lips with yours.

You’d expected him to taste of Tequila and forgotten nights of the past not to be revisited, but instead his flavour was of raspberry sorbet- sweet and tangy and you just wanted more, more, more. Your fingers tangled up into his hair, matted slightly by spilt beer but otherwise smooth and clean. His found the small of your back and your waist. The poppy music in the background slowed and muted as though you were hearing it underwater, all your senses utterly overtaken by this earth shattering kiss.

Every time you’d dreamed this, you’d expected there to be some discourse over the fact he was your best friend and it was weird, but everything fit. It didn’t feel wrong at all. It felt like finally, you’d both found your missing half.

When, after god knows how long, you finally broke apart, your forehead found his and your two contrasting gasps for breath filled the space.

“Wow.” You only just got out. You were drunk. Not from the alcohol, but from Jeff.

“In case you haven’t guessed, I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” He chuckled breathlessly, still gripping your waist with one hand, tucking hair behind your ear with the other. “Even after I had to clean up Buttons’ vomit at 3am.”

“Me too. Forever.” You grinned, as you and Jeff basked in each other’s adoration, and the feeling of something dormant finally coming into bloom.

[mullersturtleneck]

Sticking with the Schuylers (21)

How even does this have 21 parts and people who are atually still reading it? I’m in constant disbelief of how kind you all are, thank you heaps not only for sticking around (get it? My humor is too much) but also for continuing to comment and make my days so bright. <3

In this part, we get a glance at two Thanksgivings.

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   11   12   I   13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C  I   19   20

Laurens sighs as he paces the living room floor, eyes cast down to his watch every so often. In the background of it all the parade had just begun on television, the sound blaring through the otherwise empty apartment. He turns to watch a piece of the music but is disinterested by it, his mannerisms becoming quick and antsy. He shouts.

“Come on, Alex. We’re going to be late!”

               Alex can barely hear him over the buzzing in his mind. He’d woken up late, having only slept a few hours after a night of tossing around in bed. Eliza had called him to let him know that they’d all arrived safely at the mansion; to tell him goodnight. There was still an awkward air about their conversation as they danced around the topic neither wanted to get into. He’d hung up with a pull in his chest; a longing.

He looks into the mirror and his perception changes. Suddenly, everything is different. No longer does his ponytailed hair ‘just fit him;’ it’s disheveled and unruly. And his favorite grey sweater, the one with two buttons and a slight rounded collar, has a small hole on the sleeve and a stain on the hem. He smooths down its wrinkles as John’s voice calls him again, this time more terse and agitated.

“Okay, I’m coming!” He shoots back. Alex allows himself one last glance in the mirror, pulling a face before heading out the door.

“Took you long enough!”

“I know, I’m sorry, let’s just go.”

…

               There’s faint jazz music flowing throughout the mansion when the girls traipse down the stairs, half an hour before the festivities. Angelica opens the door for John, letting him in before he trails her around the house, deep in conversation. Peggy drapes herself over one of the coffee tables, phone in hand. Her eyes are half-closed, one leg crossed over the other and an elbow propped on her knee. The youngest Schuyler doesn’t look up from her phone as the organized chaos of Thanksgiving set-up whirls on around her. Eliza’s in the kitchen, standing by the chef’s side as she chops up the last of the vegetables for the soup. She speaks in an easy, fluent French that flows through the kitchen, radiant and bright over the noise of the music. Their chef laughs along with her, to a joke Peggy hears but does not understand.

Peggy had never had the patience for their father’s language tutors. Eliza, however, had nothing but. In the time it had taken Peggy to pick up the basics of Spanish Eliza had leaned both Spanish and French. And then the youngest Schuyler had given up, and Eliza continued. It was a talent, she’d explained with a grin. On one of their summer trips to Italy, she’d conversed easily with everyone they’d met. It made both Peggy and Angelica jealous. Eliza simply shrugged every time the conversation was brought up.

She’s taken to the kitchen as a solace to her current mood; her once grumpy disposition immediately changing with the bustling of their chefs and the work around the busy room. They sing along to the jazz as they move, effortlessly, in what Eliza has grown to see as a ballet of their own sorts. There’s never a moment of collision, even when it seems like the bustling has grown too busy and the crowd too intense. They simply move around each other, opposing magnets in an easy kind of work, as they create the biggest meal of the year.

The chefs greet her by name and warmth of tone as she slips an apron over her dress, tying silky strands of hair up and away from her face. She trades her heels for bare feet and hums along to the music, asking sweetly for her first chore. She checks her phone before beginning. He’s texted her three times. She pockets the device before picking up a large knife and a cutting board; the bustle of the kitchen is the best way to avoid her feelings.

…

               Throwing himself into the busy throng of the Laurens’ household proves to be the best way to distract himself from the consistent echo of thoughts in his head.  He’d sent Eliza four text messages on the subway here, each one longer than the last. He’s not sure exactly what he’s meaning to say-how the topic will come across in a message-so they’re mostly attempts at opening completely different conversations. There’s one about his neighbor, who he’d seen walking across the hallway in boxer shorts and an American flag scarf. Then, a story about the elderly women they walked past all the time, who liked to sit in front of the Asian-fusion café and feed the pigeons their leftover scallion pancakes. Then, two stories about Laurens; ‘he walks so slow I think he’s actually a tourist’ ‘he just tripped into the turn-style pray we make it out alive.’

               No response.

               John can tell his best friend is in a sour mood when they stand side-by-side on the subway; his eyes avoidant and cast down at his phone every other second. He doesn’t even keep it in his pocket, rather in his hand, half-raised so that he can easily keep updated. He chooses not to ask, however. It’s not his place, not his business to be involved in.

               Until they get to his house.

               The Laurens’ apartment is thankfully not too tiny-it is, however, cramped wall-to-wall full of his very large, very loud family. His Abuela takes their coats and shoves them into the little coat closet in the hall, putting a hand on the already overflowing pile so that the door will be able to shut. They’re greeted by a round of raucous voices, pats on the back and gripping hugs from every direction. Alex smiles as he’s taken into the throng of family, immediately sighing as the joy of it all overfills him.

               The chaos is cheering.

…

               The quiet is smothering her.

Eliza sits between Angelica and Peggy, listening to her father and grandfather talk politics while her mother entertains her uncles and aunt. It’s a subdued meal, a moment that feels more unsettling than the comfort it normally brought. The endless talk upon subjects that hold no interest to her makes her feel like Peggy who, from her place beside her, hides her phone underneath the table with a sly grin. The youngest Schuyler keeps this secret like her biggest talent-if one was looking at her straight on, no difference could be told. Today, Eliza is envious of it.

               Their father clears his throat, eyes poised at his daughters.

“Angelica, dear, where’s your friend…Alexander, wasn’t it?”

“Alex.” Elizabeth interjects from her place next to her sister, stabbing her fork into her tofu with a gusto that makes Peggy stifle her laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. “He prefers Alex. He couldn’t make it. And he’s my friend, too.”

Silence. Phillip Schuyler moves on to the next topic of conversation rather easily, ignoring his middle daughter’s sudden rebuttal. Angelica, however, does not. She looks over at Eliza, who is now dismantling the peas on her plate with the back of her fork. The oldest Schuyler joins into their father’s new conversation, but not before nudging Eliza. There’s a round of facial expressions exchanged between them that John recognizes as a private form of communication. He keeps Phillip entertained while the two-wait, Peggy’s joined in now, too-keep each other busy by trading looks between themselves.

The silent discourse ends in a huff on Eliza’s end, and she’s reserved for the rest of the dinner. Their father commends John on his cooking and the dish he and Angelica brought, and the two have a lengthy conversation as the sisters look on. Angelica is beaming. Eliza is passive. Peggy looks between the two, shaking her head, the beginnings of understanding hitting her.

They’re finally excused from the table after the fourth course of the meal, taking a break before dessert is served in the parlor. The young Schuylers find space in the sitting room, Peggy adjusting her dress so that she can sprawl herself out along one of the oversized armchairs. Angelica sits across from her, on the loveseat, gesturing for Eliza to find the space next to her. The middle Schuyler ignores her, walking to the window and leaning up against the wall. Her arms are crossed, vacant eyes feigning interest in the high noon sun. She picks her phone up from the table, glancing at its screen before discarding it once more.

Angelica and Peggy watch it all take place before their eyes; the change in demeanor of their sister, the way she had acted during their meal. The quiet, reserved disposition was so unlike her that it made the two find concern, watching her with furrowed brows and the beginnings of conversation brushed up against half-opened lips.

“She and Alex had a fight.” Eliza can hear the words, swift and muted, from her older sister’s lips and she feels a negative energy bubble up inside of her. She spins around, glaring at Angelica through half-closed eyes.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Eliza,” Angelica responds with the beginnings of a rebuttal but stops herself as Peggy shoots her a severe stare. Instead she takes a breath, a pause, before standing. “Eliza, what happened?”

…

               “Alex, what the hell, man?” The party has been going on for quite some time now, Alex in the height of it all for most of the night. John has watching; hanging with his family too, of course, but mostly watching. Alex has had three drinks. He shouldn’t be acting like this already.

               Alex is in the hallway, burning a hole in track he’s repeating over and over again. His feet are quick and purposeful, hands fidgeting with the cube kept in his pocket. And under his breath he’s murmuring a collage of words that aren’t cohesive, that string along in broken-up fragments of sentences heard multiple times. John crosses the hallway in only a few long strides, grabbing hold of Alex’s shoulders.

               “What’s wrong?”

               “Eliza-I don’t know-I think we might be over and I think I really offended her but her dad asks a lot of questions and Church wears khakis and I,”

               “Okay, slow down.” John makes Alex breathe, slow and meaningful, before leading him into one of the bedrooms. It’s floral, and the smell is both musty and spicy, but its privacy serves more worth than the atmosphere. Alex sits on the bed which sinks with his weight and runs a shaking hand through his hair.

               “Explain.”

…

               They retreat the subway with Alex leading, footsteps light and quick as John trails far behind. He waves a tired hand at his active-minded friend, who is now running-pushing past the people that walk the streets. The cool of the air freshens his mind; drives him toward his goals. His legs move faster. His mind comes up with about four-hundred different ways to say what he’s been thinking all day long. He wishes he had more time to plan things out, more time to think. For once, however, it is a foreign spontaneity that drives him. It’s her.

               She’s startled by a resounding pound on her door. The time on her kitchen clock reads 12:45 as she slides past it on dainty feet, making as little noise as possible. The pounding continues. Eliza creeps to the peephole, lifting herself onto her toes to be able to see outside. Her heart swells at the sight, her hands making a swift move for the lock on the door.

               “I don’t have a mother and my father left when I was ten and you know about my cousin but I come from nothing. I don’t own a pair of khakis and the most money I’ve ever spent is a tossup on that cheap laptop I bought the day I got here and really bad alcohol. I’m an immigrant,”

               “I know that.” Her voice is soothing and sure, like silken honey to his crass and rushed speech. He can’t seem to stop himself, however, finding space to wander with hastened feet around her apartment. He talks with his hands. She hides a smile beneath her own.

               “I came here from Nevis-from the Caribbean-my freshman year. I’m a scholarship student,”

               “I know,”

               “I have nothing to my name.”

               “Alexander,” There’s a wonderful juxtaposition between the comfort of her demeanor and the way her tone is laced with a tint of harshness. It’s as if she’s scolding a child, the way she puts her hands on his shoulders. Her warm eyes are laced with emotions that course from her to him, ebbing and changing with every second she has her hold on him; sadness, understanding, security. He feels an involuntary breath-a wave of calm. Eliza’s lips turn up as she brings them to his forehead, brief and demure, before resting her own head against his. “Is that why you didn’t want to come with me?”

               He nods-their heads are still pressed together and she can feel the hesitance behind him and his trembling breath. Her thumbs glide up and down along his cheeks and she repeats his name again, just barely coming out in a honeyed whisper of syllables.

               “None of what you just said matters to me. None of it.”

               “But your father,”

               “Screw him.” It’s the crudest of words he’s heard from her, the way it’s sent in a full tone of voice, sure and certain as she brings her lips to his. She’s less gentle this time, lingering longer. When she pulls away reluctantly he’s amused.  Eliza’s hands still hold the outline of his face. She traces the stubble that’s formed along the sides of it, her voice half of a whisper now.

               “Two things,” A brush of her lips against his jaw. “Don’t shave this off. I love it.”

               He nods, feverishly, hands pulling her flush against him.

               “Second,” She has to pull away from him for a moment, taking a breath to regain the air she’s lost from their contact. Eliza runs her fingers through her hair, brushing it to one side of her face to regain some of its composure. “I do want you to meet my father. It’s just-my family, we’re close. And I really like you-it’s important to me.”

Her hands find his shoulders again. Her head is tilted, eyes scanning him up and down as she brings herself-slowly, gracefully-back toward him.

“Of all of the things my father said tonight, there was one that really bothered me. Which is why it is kind of important for you to meet him.”

“Oh? And what was that?”

“He called you Angelica’s friend.” Her lips find his jawline again, the spot right by his ear. “And I don’t-I’m not trying to be that girl-the freakishly jealous one, or anything like that, but it’s just-you’re mine. Not hers.”

He looks over her with concern but she’s flushed, one corner of her lips turned up in a smirk he’s never seen before. It’s the word, too-mine­. He loves the way it ascends from her lips through the air between them. It brushes against Alexander’s ears like the finest silk, warming and inviting, his heartbeat quickening upon the syllable and her sweet tone of voice.

“Oh man, so what do I tell Church, then? I thought we had something going there.” He feels the corners of her lips turn up against his, a slight giggle passing through their miniscule partition. One hand reaches up to smack his shoulder as she pulls away from him, shaking her head.

“Jerk,” She chides. Alexander smirks back in response before moving to her apartment door, where he’d dropped the plastic bag he had been carrying on his way home from John’s. He holds it up with pride and a shine in his eye, his voice teasing.

“Would a jerk bring you back enough plantains from Laurens’s family to get us through the next six episodes of Parks and Recreation?” Her eyes light up and she moves to him, lips pursed. But when she nears him she snatches the bag from his hands, digging through it until her treasure is found. And then Eliza finds her way back to the couch, legs folded underneath her as she queues up their show. And when he’s with her-when she’s curled herself into his chest-the thought of going public doesn’t seem so terrifying. For her, for his Eliza, he’d do anything-even when she’s hogging the plantains.

[tfloosh]

Discourse

It was something the crew noticed early on in Link and Tetra’s relationship. It’s not like they tried to hide it or anything, so the crew was worried. Because it was happening constantly. Like every time someone saw them, they were doing it.

Fighting.

Link and Tetra argued.

A lot.

Sometimes it was big fights over whether or not they should find new land and establish a New Hyrule, but most of the time it was petty disagreements.

“Tetra, how could you not believe in the Great Fairy? We’ve been to a magical castle at the bottom of the ocean of Triforce’s sake!”

“No, Link, we are not going that way just because you saw a shiny light.”

“Stop making fun of the Koroks, Tetra. It’s not nice.”

If it weren’t for the fact that Link and Tetra really did seem to enjoy spending time together, the crew would have intervened. But there were some times they really contemplated letting Gonzo release his over-protective side. They try and rationalize that they’re doing what’s best for their captain, but in all honesty, they had never seen Tetra more miserable than when Link was away visiting his family or they were giving each other the silent treatment after a rare, big fight.

“Why do you guys worry so much?” Tetra snapped at them when they asked. “It’s just how we talk. Get over it.”

“Well, it’s just,” Nudge stuttered. “You argue a lot. We’re not entirely sure it’s healthy.”

Tetra rested her head on her palm, “Guys, this is our normal. Link puts up with my argumentative side and has the balls to argue back, and I really-” a blush spread over her cheeks, and she started rushing her words, “I really like him, okay?”

“You goin’ soft of us, boss?” Mako teased.

“No!” Tetra’s face reddened further. “I just, - sometimes it’s, ya know… Shut up!” she stormed into her room, and if there was a door to slam, she would have done it.

“I guess I should make her a door soon,” Link’s sheepish voice piped up from behind the crew. They all turned to face him. “She is right, though. Fighting’s kinda our normal. Nagging and arguing is just Tetra’s style; it’s how she operates. I think it comforts her to know someone’s there to challenge her, hold her accountable if she’s wrong, and keep her heading in the right direction.” Link’s brow furrowed. “Even if we don’t agree on what the right direction is.”

“We know you’re good for her, Link,” Niko smiled.

“We’re just worried about our captain,” Nudge continued. “You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I do,” Link nodded. “And I appreciate you all the more for it.” He started to make his way through the pirates to Tetra’s room. “So, ah, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll talk with her and see if I can cool her down.” He tripped slightly when he got past all the crew members. “Now would be a great time for you to all get back to the deck.”

The pirates didn’t move.

“Please?”

Still no movement.

“Leave us alone, you idiot pirates!”

“Thank you, Tetra,” Link resisted the urge to smirk as he slipped into Tetra’s room and the crew, grumbling, made their way up to the deck.

“So you only ‘really like’ me?” Link teased once all the pirates were done straggling.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Link,” Tetra smiled, which was usually a dangerous thing. “How’s Aryll?”

Link swallowed, “Good. She’s still living on Outset but still talking with that guy from Windfall.”

“The guy you don’t like?” she laughed. Link narrowed his eyes; it was a reluctant giggle, one Tetra was trying to fight down.

“Yes, the guy I don’t like.”

“Well, I like him.”

Now, Link knew he was in trouble, “But you haven’t met him.”

“Well, as luck would have it, Aryll and Jareth, which is his name by the way, came to visit us when we were docked at that Private Oasis.”

“Did you rob the Private Oasis?” Link interrupted.

“That’s not the point, Link,” Tetra skewered him with a glare. “The point is Aryll said she hadn’t seen you the whole time you were gone. Where were you?”

“I was not visiting my family,” Link decided to go with the truth. “I’m sorry I lied.”

“Why?”

“I needed some time to pick out this,” Link pulled a small box from his pocket.

“What is it?” Tetra’s eyes zeroed in on the box excitedly, as if she could see through the velvet lining.

“I’m not gonna let you see it that easily,” Link smiled to hide his laughter. “You’ll have to earn it.”

“You’re going to make this difficult aren’t you,” Tetra pouted.

“No, no,” he raised his hands innocently. “I just got a couple of questions.”

“Fire away then,” Tetra’s curious eyes barely left the box still in Link’s hands.

“You didn’t rob the Private Oasis, did you?”

“Link,”

“Come on, Tetra,” Link shook the box tantalizingly.

“No,” Tetra growled out. “We returned that pompous idiot’s lost thingamabob.”

“Cool, now for the real questions.”

“Link!”

“Do you really only ‘really like’ me?”

“Of course I more than really like you,” Tetra looked away, a blush rising in her cheeks.

“How much more?” Link egged her on.

Tetra stared daggers at him before going to the door and looking out into the hallway. Apparently she didn’t find anything because she came back to face him.

“You know I love you, Link.”

“I know,” he pulled her closer for a kiss. “I just like hearing you say it.”

“Is that all?”

“Just one more, I promise,” Link wrapped his arms around her and stole one more kiss. “Are you ready to tell everyone we found a place to establish as New Hyrule?”

“Yeah,” Tetra smiled, the soft smile that wasn’t dangerous. “I thought about what my mother would do,” she looked over at the pictograph she kept on the wall, “and I think it’s time to do what I was born to do.”

“You know we don’t have to reestablish the monarchy,” Link said. “You can go on being a pirate.”

“But I want to do this,” Tetra’s face hardened in determination. “New Hyrule is going to need a leader, and I’m pretty good at leading, you know.” She winked up at him.

“Will you marry me?” Link asked.

“What?” her eyes widened in shock.

Link held up the box with a smile, got down on one knee, and finally opened it to reveal a gold ring with a single diamond on it, “Will you marry me?”

“Did you ask the crew about this?”

“Wait, what?” Link froze in confusion.

“You didn’t ask the crew or anything?” Tetra seemed more shocked than Link. “You have to ask them first; they’re practically family.”

“But I don’t want to marry them,” Link said. “I want to marry you.”

“But you need to make sure they’re okay with it first,” Tetra grabbed Link’s hand and hauled him up onto his feet. “Goddesses’ help me. Come on.” She grabbed him by the collar and started dragging him out of the room.

“Where are we going?”

“To see the crew,” Tetra threw open the door that led to the deck. “Listen up! Link has something important to ask.”

The pirate crew left their posts and congregated around their captain and first mate. Senza, Nudge, and Gonzo crossed their arms and looked down intimidatingly at Link.

“H-hey, guys,” Link stuttered. “So, uh,” he held up the still open ring box, “I was gone the past couple of days to get this. And I, uh, wanted to ask Tetra to marry me.” He glanced back at the captain. “So, what do you guys think?”

There was a moment where Link was sure they were all going to shout ‘NO’ and proceed to beat him to a pulp.

But then each member of the crew broke into a smile.

“It’s a wonderful idea, Link,” Niko was the first to speak up.

“I agree,” Nudge gave him a thumbs up. “And I think speak for all of us when I say we approve.”

Link looked to Gonzo, who was most protective of Tetra.

“Fine,” he stated gruffly after a couple of seconds of staring. “Go ahead and ask her.”

They all turned to Tetra, and Link got back down on one knee.

“Tetra, you are stubborn, crazy, and even mean at times, but I love you more than anything in this ocean, and I will forever be grateful the Helmaroc King dropped you on Outset Island.” That got a good laugh out of everyone. “Will you do the honor of marrying me?”

“Of course I will, you idiot,” Tetra flung her arms around Link, and the crew cheered excitedly for them.

[cameron-ashurst22]

Narrative Essay Weekly Summaries

Ba1B weekly summaries- Narrative Essay Weekly summaries

Week 10 

Day 2 - Narrative research

Today I was briefed on the next essay and unit that is contained within the essay.I found that the essay revolves around narrative and is a 1500 word essay on a short film or feature length film. I found that story is what is told and discourse is how a story is told.I also found that plots should be connected and complete , self contained and contain a movement or change. I found this lecture beneficial in developing my understanding of narrative structure as it opened my eyes to Freytags pyramid and the different modifications used when structuring a narrative.

Week 11 

Day 2 - Narrative essay 

Today in the Narrative essay lecture I learned the types of question I would have to choose for the essay itself the selection was as follows:

Analyse your chosen Narrative with close reference to the Hero’s journey or another appropriate template 

Make a proppean analysis of an animated fairy tale and explain animations suitability for telling fantastical tales

Stories have been described as an engine for social change.Analyse your chosen narrative with reference to its social or moral purpose and the techniques used to convey this.

Only available in animation.To what extent does the Paul wells quote app to your chosen film?Explain how the medium and material enter shape, and define the narrative.

Animation is a uniquely visual medium.Analyse your chosen narrative as a successful example of visual storytelling.

I also found out in this lecture that there are specific shapes of a story which generally include either conflict or non conflict. For this exercise I had to create a story around a chocolate Santa and produce a story with either conflict or non conflict. I found that this helped to show the difference between how a story could be told. I also discovered that character and complication is a useful route for a story with most of these stories thriving on conflict.

Furthermore, later in the lecture I found Coleridge mechanic vs organic form of story telling where a mechanic form uses a pre existent sago and can be described as ‘wet clay in a mould.’ The Organic form develops itself from within and is shaped by its own development and that a good poem is like a growing plot.

In addition I found that an act is a part of a story consisting of individual scenes and originates from theatre which was signalled by the curtains closing. Sequences are from early cinema where a film reel would stop after 10 minutes.

The classic Hollywood story includes 3 acts. Act one is where the character is up on a metaphorical tree , act two is where the character has rocks thrown at him/her and the final act is where the character gets down from the tree.

In contrast, the plot without  conflict from east asian stories tends to have a four part structure an introduction, elaboration , twist and emphasis. This is also known as Kishotenketsu.

Week 12 

Day 2- narrative essay 

Todays lecture I learned about the learning objectives for the narrative essay itself they are as followed:

LO5- Demonstrate knowledge of fundamental techniques materials and processes associated with your subject.

LO6-Make judgements and present arguments through engagement with fundamental historical, cultural and ethical concepts and theories associated with your subject.

LO7-Demonstrate a range of approaches to creative and experimental problem solving.

LO8-communicate the development of your ideas clearly using text, image or object.

LO9- Demonstrate fundamental subject specific and transferable skills relevant to your practice and future career

LO10- Evidence independent planning and time management in the development of your work.

This lecture revolved around question two and explained the importance of fairytales and that they are ready made stories for animators to choose from. The origins of fairy tales revolve around Marchen which are popular fairytales that are oral in origin and prepare written record, so its difficult to be sure about their exact origins many are thousands of years old. Kirstmarchen are literally and artistic fairytales. At first fairytales where not intended for children and there is a clear distinction between what is good and what is evil.

It was not until the Disney rendition of fairytales which truly highlighted the difference of storytelling. Disney fairytales relied heavily on fantasy and the happily ever after ending.This often led to criticism as Disney fairytales reinforced patriarchal story and stereotypes.

I also learned about Olrik and the law of twins where two people can appear together in the same role and should be similar in nature.I also learned about the law of patterning where situations and events are told and retold in as similar matter as possible.

Propps four fundamental principles:

Functions of characters serve as stable, constant elements in a tale and are independent of how and by whom they are fulfilled. They constitute the fundament components of a tale.

The number of functions known to the fairytale.

The sequence of a function is always identical 

All fairytales are of one type in regard to their structure

All plot types have constants and variables. Any basic plot will have stable elements and variable elements.If we decide for example that the quest is basic plot then we can say that a static element is that it will always involve a journey. A variable would be the destination.

There are two types of hero in a fairytale one that directly suffers from the action of the villain in a complication called a victim hero. There is also a seeker hero who liquidates the misfortune or has a lack of another person. The villain appears twice in a fairytale at first he will make a sudden appearance from outside.The second appearance is a person who has been sought out.

Week 13 

Day 2- Narrative Research essay

Today I watched the film up and decided to place the characters into Christopher Vogler's theory on archetypes. Also creating a plot summary regarding the film.I found this lecture eye opening into looking into the story further looking at the themes of mentorship and family within the film.

Plot summary- 

Carl frederickson is a little boy who is a dreamer and grows old with his wife Ellie who ensures an essence of adventure in him.They both want to live at paradise falls in south America as they are fascinated boy Charles Muntz a famous explorer. After the death of Ellie Carl becomes insular and does not want to move from his house. Ultimately it takes a call to  action of him hitting a worker from the construction company with the consequences of him being placed in a retirement home as a result and his house being demolished for him to leave the area He begins to fly to paradise falls were he hears a knock at the door thousands of feet in the air, this introduces him to Russel a wilderness explorer who had knocked at Carls door previously. Carl tries to take Russel home but a storm ensues.

The house is knocked around in the turbulence but Carl manages to tie most of his items down before falling asleep. He's woken the next morning by Russell, who tells him that they're over South America. Carl releases some balloons to descend but they hit ground early and are knocked out of the house. As they reach the other end of the falls they decide to walk the rest of the way due to the balloons deflating.

Meanwhile, a chase is progressing in the jungle. Russell stops to go to the bathroom and happens upon a giant bird which he lures closer with a chocolate bar. He introduces the colourful creature to Carl and gives it the name Kevin. Kevin follows them as they continue their journey but runs off when they approach the silhouette of a man who calls out to them. However, they see that the man is nothing more than a trick of the eye caused by overlapping stones. They are then approached by a golden retriever with a red light on his collar. Russell tells him to sit and speak and is surprised when the dog answers, using the device on his collar. He tells them his name is Dug and that he is a tracker looking for a bird, at which point Kevin tackles him. They continue on to paradise falls and find none other than Charles Muntz who has been looking for Kevin for many years as he tries to repair his reputation.

Muntz invites them into The Spirit of Adventure as guests, but his behaviour soon turns hostile when he finds out that Russell has adopted a new pet bird. Muntz reveals a table of head mannequins wearing various headgear and grimly knocks each one off with his cane as he describes the stories their wearers told him; claiming that each one was actually after his bird. Carl and Russell run away from the zeppelin just as Muntz discovers the bird calling out from the roof of Carl's home. Riding on Kevin's back and assisted by Dug, who calls Carl his new master, they barely escape capture by Muntz's dogs, though Kevin is injured in the process. Carl agrees to help Kevin get back to her babies safely but, just before Kevin can re-enter her labyrinth home, a net flies out and captures her. Muntz and his dogs have arrived in the zeppelin, led to the spot by a tracking device on Dug's collar. Muntz throws a lantern beneath Carl's home, setting fire to it. Carl ignores Kevin and runs over to extinguish the flames as Muntz takes Kevin on board and leaves. Angry and disheartened, Carl yells at Dug and tells Russell that he's taking his home to Paradise Falls if it kills him. He manages to set his house down on the Falls, but loses Russell's respect for leaving Kevin.

Carl goes inside the house and sits down to look at Ellie's adventure book. Saddened that she never got to see the Falls, he is about to close it when he discovers added pictures near the end, documenting their life together. On the last page is a note written by Ellie that says thanks for the adventure, now go have a new one! Enlightened and inspired, Carl goes outside in time to see Russell take off with a few balloons, using a leaf blower as propulsion. Carl empties his home of extra furniture, allowing it to become airborne once again, and follows Russell. He finds Dug on his porch and happily exclaims that Dug is his dog and he is his master. Russell manages to sneak aboard Muntz's zeppelin but is quickly caught and tied to a chair. Muntz sits him on the ships bomb-bay doors and flips the switch for them to open. Carl flies in and manages to rescue Russell in time, setting him inside the house while he goes into the zeppelin with Dug to fetch Kevin. He is able to distract the guard dogs with a tennis ball from his walker and frees Kevin but is confronted by Muntz. They engage in a sword fight while Russell, freed of his ties, fights off a squadron of dogs in fighter planes. He regains control of the house and returns to help Carl, who has climbed to the top of the zeppelin with Kevin. Dug has, meanwhile, faced off against Alpha and outsmarted him, effectively becoming the new alpha, and runs off to meet the others topside.

Kevin, Dug, and Carl run for the house which Russell has landed on the wing of the zeppelin, but Muntz appears with a rifle and shoots at them, causing the house to slip and dangle in the air. Carl struggles to hold onto the house with the hose while Muntz goes in after Kevin. Carl lures Kevin, carrying Dug and Russell, out of the house with chocolate and Muntz attempts to jump out of the window after them. He doesn't make the jump as his foot gets caught in some balloon strings and, weighing too much for the balloons to support him, he falls to his death. As Kevin, Dug, and Russell make it back to the zeppelin, Carl is forced to release his house, which slowly descends into the clouds, a loss which Carl accepts as being for the best.

Kevin is returned to her three chicks and Carl takes Russell and Dug home where Russell attends his senior explorer ceremony. When Russell's father fails to present him with his final badge, Carl fulfils the role and gives Russell a grape soda badge that Ellie gave him when they first met, calling it the Ellie badge. Afterwards, they sit on a curb together in front of an ice cream shop, Carl acting as a surrogate grandfather to Russell, The Spirit of Adventure anchored above them.

At Paradise Falls, Carl and Ellie's house has landed right at the spot where it was meant to be: on the cliff overlooking the falls.

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1049413/plotsummary

Week 14

Day 1 -Research project  

The hero’s journey lecture 

Proppian analysis 

Lack or desire often external; a thing that can be acquired.

The procreation reason, a star ends in sexual union or its symbolic manifestation through marriage.

The psychological reason, stories separate the disparate parts of our psyche .

Christopher Vogler:Three act structure (Act 1- separation), (Act 2- descent and initiation), (Act 3)

The 12 stages of the heroes journey according to Christopher vogler 

Ordinary world(exposition)

The hero has to be shown in his ordinary world to create vivid contrast with the strange new world he is about to enter.

2.   The call to adventure 

The hero is presented with a problem,, challenge or adventure to undertake.Once presented with a call to adventure, she can no longer remain indefinitely in the comfort of the ordinary world.

3. Refusal of the call (if the story features a reluctant hero)

Often at this point the hero balk at the threshold of adventure, refusing the call or expressing reluctance.

4. Meeting with the Mentor ( not present in all stories)

The function of the mentor is to prepare the hero to face the unknown. They may give advice, guidance or magical equipment.

5. Crossing the Threshold

Now the hero finally commits to the adventure and fully enters the special world of the story for the first time. Vogler says ‘ this is the moment when the story takes off and the adventure really gets going’.

6. Tests , allies enemies 

Once across the threshold the hero naturally encounters new challenges and tests, make Sallie and enemies, and begins to learn the rules of the special world.

7. Approach to the inmost cave 

The hero comes at the last to the edge of a dangerous place… where the objet of the quest is hidden. In this stage the hero makes preparations to enter the inmost cave.

8. The ordeal( Midpoint ,death and rebirth)

Here the fortunes of the hero hit bottom in a direct confrontation with his greater fear.The audience is held in suspense:will the hero live or die?

9.Reward ( seizing the sword)

The hero now takes the possession of the treasure she has come seeking, her reward. The sword could be important knowledge or experience.

10.The road back

The hero is not out of the woods yet. He may be pursued by vengeful forces that have been disturbed by the seizing of the sword, the elixir or the treasure.

11.Resurrection (climax)

This is the final test for the hero, who has to be tested once more to see if he has really learned the lessons of the ordeal.The hero is transformed by the experience.

12. Return with the elixir( denouement)

The hero returns to the ordinary world, but the journey is meaningless unless she brings back some elixir, treasure or lesson from the special world.

Modern day plot of revelation:

The infinite detailing of existents

Events take a lesser role

Character orientated 

Existents-

Characters 

Settings

Actions-

Actions 

Happenings 

2d storytelling where the protagonists don’t change. Change comes through overcoming a problem in the show itself or bring change to another character.

The 7 basic plots- Christopher Booker 2004

-Overcoming the monster - the protagonist must defeat an antagonistic force which threatens the protagonist and/or homeland

-Rags to riches- the poor protagonist acquires things such as power, wealth and a mate, before losing it all and gaining it back upon growing as a person.

-The quest- the protagonist and some companions set out too acquire an important object or get to a location facing many obstacles and temptations along the way.

-voyage and return- the protagonist goes to a strange land, and after overcoming the threats it poses to him/her, returns with nothing but experience.

-comedy- light and humorous with a happy or cheerful ending.Central motif is the triumph over adverse circumstance, resulting in a successful or happy conclusion.

-Tragedy- the protagonist is a villain who falls from grace and whose deaths is a happy ending.

-Rebirth- the protagonist is a Willian or otherwise unlikable character who redeems him/herself over the course of a story.

Traditional vs experimental animation

Traditional animation tends to imply that it is a film that tells a story in movie drawings…. And contains what has been called personality animations with which the narratives protagonists are played.But experimental animation can be more like graphic art in motion.

Paul wells signposts of experimental animation

Abstraction

-Might use shapes and forms rather than traditional character.More about rhythm and movement in their own right.

Specific non-continuity 

-Rejects ‘logical and linear continuity’. Prefers illogical and sometimes multiple continuities.

Interpretive form

-Subjective rather than objective.

Evolution of materiality

 -Concentrating on its very materiality.Colour shape and texture evoke certain moods and ideas and give pleasure in their own right.

Multiple style 

-freely combines styles and techniques, to best express the artists ’vision’ and ‘ challenge and rework orthodox codes and conventions’

Presence of the artist 

-these films are personal and subjective. Trying to reflect an absolutely individual vision.

Dynamics of musicality

-music becomes very important in experimental films which may resist dialogue.Trying to make visual music.

Riffing 

The term is used by Gerald Mast in Film theory and criticism(1974) for the technique used by short films In which gags take precedence over story.The film establishes a basic premise and ‘riffs’ on the possible consequences of this idea.

Week 15

 Day 2 - narrative essay 

Animation is a uniquely visual medium

Animation is a medium and not a genre 

Animation encompasses an extraordinary range of styles and stories.Some of these stories can be told through live action.But some stories could not be told without the medium of animation it is intrinsic to the narrative itself.

Story= what is told 

Discourse= how it is told 

Key vocabulary:

Metamorphosis is the free flowing stream of consciousness of fantasmagorie (1908), generally considered the first animated cartoon.

Metamorphosis can have a thematic purpose.

Fabrication- Paul wells uses this term fabrication to describe the process os taking existing materials- whether man made or naturally occurring- from the ‘everyday world’ and reinterpreting  or re-purposing them within an animated film.

Substance= (re) animated insects

1937-  Disney one drawing killing another drawing

Content= love triangle melodrama

Cartoon and Caricature

‘The very language of animation seems to carry with it an inherent innocence which has served to disguise and dilute the potency of some of its more daring imagery.

As wells suggests , this allows animation to express feelings and thoughts about taboo subjects without inhibition.

Violence feels Sad, unthreatening in the Tex Avery film from 1948.The cat that hated people.Objects take on a surrealist form- this would be nightmarish if actually happening-but the language(and the sheer unreality) of the 2d cartoon directs us to feel safe while watching.

Visual story telling

Hermeneutic code which helps build mystery and suspense.

Images juxtaposed in such a way the brain works to add in what we have not been explicitly told.

Ellipsis = the deliberate omission of the plot details or events that can be inferred through contextual clues and/or surrounding action.Really important in pace and structure especially in short film after establishing action.

The Kuleshov effect 

In the early 20th century, lev Kuleshov, a Russian director, filmed an actor in turn at a bowl of soup , a coffin and a girl audiences were amazed by his ability to evoke hunger, grief and desire.

Another of the narrative codes.Barthes(1974) identified was the cultural code.Narrative statements in the cultural code rely on the audiences common ,or cultural code.

Narrative statements

There are two kinds:

Process statements (something is done or happens)

Stasis statements (something ‘simply exists or is’)

Week 16 

Day 2 - narrative essay

Today I had feedback on my essay so far. I was told that the subject matter in the film coco was correct in answering question three. I was pleased with the feedback I received due to the essay being structured correctly and reading well. I was told to properly cite my essay with Harvard reference which was something I was going to do upon the essays completion and to remove/ expand on a particular paragraph of my essay as it was journalistic.