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kingofkingdom-archive · 4 years ago

Text

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.

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfiction #fanfic #din djarin fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x female reader #mando x fem!reader #female reader #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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ahockeywrites · 4 years ago

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Is that a drawing of me?

You sighed. Your professor set you an assignment to draw something that makes you smile. His suggestions included a pet, a sport or a loved one. Naturally, the first thing that came to your head was your boyfriend, the resident pest of Calgary, Matthew Tkachuk. The only problem you had, is that drawing faces was your weakness when it came to your artwork. It wasn’t that you couldn’t draw faces, if it was a life or death situation, yes, you could draw a face. However, when compared to your nature drawings, they were second best.

“So, are we gonna get a drawing of Mr Hockey hotshot this time?” your friend Anna asked. You looked at her with a look only she could read. Realistically, the answer should have easily been yes, but your worry of making him look bad was heightening your anxiety.

“It’s an idea, but you know how I was in our portraits module. How can I do the man I love justice when I can barely draw someone with straight hair,” you said as you slumped into the chair in the small coffee shop. “His curls will be the death of me.” Taking a small sip of your coffee, you noticed a text from the devil himself.

Matty: Hey baby, just wanted to let you know I’m back from practice now! Let me know what you want to do for dinner :) x

You: Urm… I’m good for anything? Something quick bc I’ve got college work to do x

Anna could tell that you were talking to Matt, solely by the way that your face lit up whenever you two spoke. “But, who or what else would you draw? I mean, I’m planning on doing my family by the lake back home, if that helps?” Anna offered. You knew she was just trying to help, but you had to draw Matthew. You had skirted around it before but you had decided.

“I’m gonna draw him, but hopefully not too well,” you said, “I can’t inflate his ego any more. I think Brady and Taryn would want words with me.” The two of you giggled, knowing that anything that made him look too good in his eyes would just make his head grow 20 sizes.

“Yes my love!!” Anna exclaimed, “shall we stop by the art store before art history?”

“I think I’m gonna need to,” you explained, “I need some new canvases and a lot of red pencils if he’s gonna be in Calgary gear.”

The two of you left the coffee shop for the nearby warehouse full of art supplies. It was just off campus and offered a generous student discount to almost anyone. You wandered down by the canvases, trying to figure out which size would be right for your latest piece. Too small and the picture would look cramped, too large and the image could look out of proportion. Eventually, you settled on a relatively large one and by this time had picked up some very Calgary appropriate red and black pencils. You also spotted a scrapbook that looked perfect to start filling with photos of you and Matthew.

Scrapbooking was something you had always wanted to get into, but it never came up in your studies and you always thought that you should practice line art or painting. But with your second anniversary coming up, it was something you could do in your downtime to relax but also create something beautiful. All you had to do was get a few rolls of washi tape and some photo corners. Everything else, if you had forgotten it, could easily be ordered later.

2 hours and $150 later, you exited the store with Anna and headed to your final lecture of the day. Now, just because you enjoyed both art and history did not mean that you enjoyed the combination of the two. Especially when the professor decided that it would be fun to set a 2000 word essay on the Renaissance period. “I cannot wait for this day to be over,” Anna spoke aimlessly.

“Honestly, same, hopefully Matt has got some food ready for when I’m back,” you hoped, no, prayed to someone above that he had actually made something and hadn’t burnt down your apartment. “I’m gonna head off now, but text me updates of your portrait?” you asked Anna. She nodded and you started your short walk from campus to the apartment.

15 minutes later, you arrived home and tumbled through the door. The smell of something baked filled your nostrils. “Matty baby?” you called out, hoping he would hear you and give you a hand with all the supplies you had bought.

“Y/N!” he called, coming to the hallway. “Need a hand?” he asked, but the two of you knew it was rhetorical. You let out a small giggle and gave him two of the bags you had filled to the brim with scrapbooking items. Now, you could have hidden them from him, but it was likely that he wouldn’t even know what they were so you were safe. The two of you moved in sync to the office of the apartment which very quickly had become your own personal studio with an easel and multiple chests of drawers with the most random supplies in them.

“Just pop them down anywhere, I have a drawing I want to start tonight along with an essay,” you complained.

“Don’t you worry, I have wine and lasagne,” Matthew sang. You audibly groaned at the sound of food, all you wanted was a warm meal and to relax. At least you’d be able to get one of them tonight.

You two sat down at the island that graced the kitchen of the apartment. Matthew had set the table and even put a few candles out, “I thought you could do with an hour or so of doing nothing,” he spoke as he went to grab your hand. He rubbed soft circles over your knuckles as you picked up your wine glass with your other hand.

As you took your first bite of the lasagne, you sent your boyfriend a wink. Lasagne was one of the few things he could cook and not mess up and he knew that. “I am so glad that I have a small amount of time before I start my drawing tonight,” you explained.

“What are you drawing?” Matt asked as he lifted his wine glass to his lips.

“That is something I would rather not share just now, but you’ll find out later,” you winked. You were never particularly secretive when it came to your artwork so he was slightly confused but he went along with it. Maybe, he thought, it was going to be a gift for someone and you didn’t want him to spoil the surprise.

The two of you continued to chat over dinner, talking about practice and how boring your lectures were. The boy sitting across from you never failed to make you laugh and you knew that you couldn’t draw anyone else other than him. As he was talking, you allowed yourself to take in his features and you tried to think of the best way to draw them. “If you’re done staring, I’m gonna sort the dishes out,” Matt laughed. You hadn’t even realised you were looking so intently at him. “I know I’m beautiful,” he got out before you tried to tackle him to the ground, however, your strength was nothing compared to his.

“I think this means it’s time for me to go and get started with my assignment,” you giggled from underneath him. “Come grab me if I’m still working and should be asleep, yeah?” you asked. He nodded and let you head to the office.

Once seated in the office, you pulled out your laptop and google searched Matt’s name, hoping some good images of him came up. Or at least, some that you could try to emulate. You found one of him smiling and celebrating a goal and thought that would be perfect. It also meant that the majority of his curls were underneath a helmet so wouldn’t have to worry.

Grabbing the canvas you had specifically bought for this, you placed it on the easel. You began to sketch out the rough shape of a skater in the foreground. Then, you moved onto the face. You thought if you did the face early on, you could fix any mistakes with it once the rest of the image was done. Starting with the eyes, then the nose and mouth, this wasn’t going as badly as you thought it might have gone. But then, the dreaded curls were staring at you from underneath the helmet. Sighing, you knew that if you didn’t start them now, they would never be done and a bald Matthew was something you never wanted to see.

A knock on the office door startled you, “baby, it’s almost midnight. You have an 8am lecture tomorrow and don’t want you to be late,” Matt said in a soft voice.

“Yeah, just gimme a few minutes,” you replied. By this time you had moved onto the logo on his shirt and if anyone saw, it would be incredibly obvious who you were drawing. Curly hair, Calgary Flames player, number 19, with an A on his chest. You were so engrossed in the drawing, you hadn’t noticed Matthew open the door and walk to be behind you.

“Is that a drawing of me?” he asked. You jumped out of your skin and he had to put his hand on your shoulder to stable you. You meekly nodded and looked up to him. “It’s amazing,” he said as he took in the drawing. Suddenly, he put two and two together, “this is why you wouldn’t tell me what you were doing, eh?”

“Maybe,” you said softly, trying to hide yourself in his chest. “Didn’t want to inflate your ego anymore.”

“Baby, if every drawing you do of me is this good,” he said as he pressed his forehead to yours, “my family better make an entire room back in St. Louis for my ego.” You slowly pressed your lips to his as a sign of appreciation.

“I take it you like it then?”

“Like is the wrong word, I love it. I also can’t wait to send a picture of this to the family group chat to get their thoughts,” he laughed.

“Well, as long as your mom doesn’t want me to do another one, I think I’ll be okay,” you said as you kissed him again.

#ahockeywrites #Matthew Tkachuk #flames19 #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

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morimakesfanart · 3 years ago

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Hi (●’◡’●)ﾉ first I'm not trying to be rude or rush it's a genuine question 😅 but ruffly how long does it take to write and draw one chapter? I've always wanted to write and draw my own comic but as a college student I hardly have time 😅

It completely depends on the level of detail in the drawings and the number of panels. It's been a while since I timed myself. I took a while to answer this so I could see how long things actually take for me right now. Also, note I am doing this while working a full time job, taking care of my family, and doing constant physical therapy to combat my chronic pain and other disabilities. (I only have about 10 hours of free time every week to work on drawing comics if I'm lucky.)

I write my stories in arcs. First I write a lot of events and character developments (including character motivations) that will happen in the arc -often this is just in my head (not written down). Then I just start writing and I don't worry if it's good or in character though I will still try to do that. The point of this is to give me a more concrete outline to work with. "It's easier to edit and change something than it is to make something new," I think that's how that saying goes. Then I reread and edit/rewrite scenes keeping every character's motivation in mind. This often leads to many changes in how things happen because once every character is having their motivation and ability to problem solve considered they can't act as plot devices as easily.

With fanfiction specifically, this is the stage where I rewatch and reread scenes with the characters I'm writing. The types of neurodivergent that I am makes mimicking and mirroring easier for me. It also helps that I grew up in theater. I do my best to mimic their ways of talking, and get into their head space so I can better write them. When I reread what I wrote and I can hear the actor's voice in my head then I know I captured the personality of the character.

Writing an arc normally takes me 3-5 months depending on length and what I have to set up for the start of the next arc. As the first chapters in the arc solidify I can start posting them, but only if I have about 1/4-1/2 of the arc written out in full. When writing, I go back and forth between all the chapters to make sure that there is enough foreshadowing and follow through. I reread my own story many times to make sure every flows together too.

Now for the drawing/comics side:

The long chapters of Sindria's Prophet have as much plot as 3-6 chapters of comics. Webtoons originals have a minimum of 30 panels per chapter for their plot based series. My average for comic chapters is about 45-50. (I am not an Originals writer & post on both Tapas and Webtoons CANVAS.) After learning how short their chapters are, I've started writing shorter chapters.

I can get done chibi panels in 15-30 minutes. My slice of life comic is normally 5 panels, but sometimes I've gone as high as 15. I tend to take between 45 minutes and 2 hours to get done 5 panel chibi comics.

Non-chibi panels take between 30 minutes and 2 hours. That's for each panel. If it's just a head shot and I've draw that character from that angle before it can be done in 15 minutes as long as it's not a character with a lot of accessories.

The lineart for the Gojo piece I recorded before took about 20-30 minutes. I was also chatting with a friend at the time or I probably could have done it faster. I got the whole thing done at a leisurely pace in about 2.5-3 hours. (picking colors took me a while.) The Sinbad sitting up in bed illustration took about 2-2.5 hours because of the amount of detail that went into the background and checking references. Most of that time was on line art. only about 5-10 minutes were shading.

A waist up of Sinbad with all of his metal vessels used to take me 2-3 hours for just the lineart because of the amount of detail. I've cut it down to 1-1.5 hours since I've drawn him so much and have figured out short cuts for drawing him.

To cut time for my original comic, I don't do shading anymore, but I do have a flat grey layer so I have a few tones to help things stand out. I do most of the shading in the lineart now. For special moments I will use a shading layer though.

Time break down for about 40 panels (after scripting): 5-10 panels will be chibi - 75-150 mins (1h15m -2h30m) 5-10 panels copied with minor edits - 60-100 min (1h-1h40m) 5-10 panels of just head shots etc - 150-210 min (2h30m-3h30m) 5-10 panels of high detail/ with background - 330-630 min (5h30m-10h30m) Total: 10h15m - 17h55m

This does not include figuring out panel layout or lettering etc. For that add another 2-4 hours. Also note that none of my comics are in full color. For full color add 30mins -1h30m per panel. I have an editor for my original work which adds a lot of extra time too.

Things taking so long to draw is why I only make some comics for the fanfic instead of drawing the whole thing. We would still be in the Balbadd arc if this was a full comic

#mori answered #making comics #how to make comics #how long it takes #kind of shamelss plugging of my original work

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horansqueen · 4 years ago

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Stuck With You - Chapter 35

Chapter 35: Things I’ll Never Say

🡪chapter 1 🡪chapter 2 🡪chapter 3 🡪chapter 4 🡪chapter 5 🡪chapter 6 🡪chapter 7 🡪chapter 8 🡪chapter 9 🡪chapter 10 🡪chapter 11 🡪chapter 12 🡪chapter 13 🡪chapter 14 🡪chapter 15 🡪chapter 16 🡪chapter 17 🡪chapter 18 🡪chapter 19 🡪chapter 20 🡪chapter 21 🡪chapter 22 🡪chapter 23 🡪chapter 24 🡪chapter 25 🡪chapter 26 🡪chapter 27 🡪chapter 28 🡪chapter 29 🡪chapter 30 🡪chapter 31 🡪chapter 32 🡪chapter 33 🡪chapter 34

College Enemies To Lovers AU

characters // masterlist // instagrams // mood board

If I could say what I want to say I'd say I want to blow you, away Be with you every night Am I squeezing you too tight If I could say what I want to see I want to see you go down On one knee Marry me today Guess, I'm wishing my life away With these things I'll never say

It don't do me any good It's just a waste of time What use is it to you What's on my mind If ain't coming out We're not going anywhere So why can't I just tell you that I care

click here to be on the update list

DEVON

I woke up with a groan and felt my head throb and ache just like it would do if I was hungover. I hadn't had a single drop even if I should have when I remembered the way I painted and for how long. I was pretty sure I had fallen asleep on the floor but when I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Niall's pretty face very close to mine.

My heart jumped in my chest and my lips parted before I licked them. He was sleeping and he looked so peaceful and motionless that I started wondering if he was actually breathing. I slipped my hand under the cover to reach for his naked chest and held my breath at how warm his skin was. It was a miracle my cold hand didn't wake up up but I still waited a few seconds, trying to feel his heart beating in his chest.

Every time I looked at him, I felt something twist in my stomach. I knew he wanted us to be official and if I listened to my heart, that's what I wanted too, but risking it was so scary I couldn't find the courage to give in to his request. I thought about Henry and how he had broken me, and I thought about Abby and how Niall could break me even more. There was no was I could heal my heart if he hurt me, it would be turned to complete dust and I knew it.

I found myself jealous of the way Niall was in love with Abby, and how he would have done anything for her. I was jealous of a past relationship of the man I had refused to date and I hated myself for it. I knew it wasn't rational and that it made no sense but I couldn't help it.

Perhaps, if I had met Niall before I met Henry... maybe if he had met me before he met Abby... In that specific case, maybe we could give each other the chance and the love we both deserved. The problem was that we both went through the exact same thing, or almost, and apparently, two persons who went through the same thing can understand each other, but can't help each other. I didn't know how true that saying was but I had heard it enough to hear it echo in my head every time I wanted to love again.

I brought my hand up to his face and brushed my fingertips on his cheek so softly that I felt a shiver run in my back. One of my fingers reached his bottom lip and I felt myself tear up. I had never met in my life a man like Niall and he was slipping through my fingers because of my fears and anticipations. It was unfair, and it was stupid, but the knot in my stomach was there permanently and I couldn't make it disappear. All the feelings that came back when I saw Henry again made me remember how bad love hurts and at that exact moment, laying in bed in front of Niall, I knew it was true.

I desperately wanted to kiss him but I knew he didn't want us to do anything anymore so I just swallowed hard and got out of the bed slowly. I searched for my painting and found it on the desk in a corner of the room, sighing low. I hated it and started nibbling on my bottom lip, trying to remember that I always hated my art in the first few days after making it, and that it was normal. Besides, artists are the worst critics of their own art.

I heard Niall move in bed and turned around just in time to see him reach for a pillow and bring it against him. He let out a short whimper and it made me wonder if he would have cuddled me if I was still in bed. I shook my head, trying to push that thought away, and finally search for a pen in the room, finally finding one in one of the drawers. I sat on the couch and started scribbling a few words on a paper. I really sucked at writing songs, but I could clearly remember a melody, especially one that really touched me, and it came in handy at that moment.

When I was done, I re-read what was written on the paper and raised my nose up before sighing again and folding the sheet, putting it away in my bag. I decided to take a quick shower to take the paint off my arms and face and when I walked back in the room, Niall was awake. I stopped walking and held my breath at the sight of his naked back. It's not like I had never seen Niall only wearing boxers but perhaps knowing I'm never get to touch him again made something twist in my stomach.

"Oh, hey." he let out when he turned around. "How did you sleep?"

I wanted to tell him that I slept better than I had in a while, if only because he was with me in the same bed. When I woke up, I felt the warmth of his body emanate on mine even if we weren't touching and I loved it way too much. I couldn't tell him that it would have been even better if he was holding me all night, but I wanted to, because I felt it all over my body. I felt it so intensely that I had to swallow a lump in my throat.

"Was nice, and you?"

"Good, thanks." he said, putting on sweatpants. "Better than the floor."

I sent him a small smile that he sent back and I licked my lips. "Thanks for bringing me in bed and tucking me in, last night. I vaguely remember."

"You're welcome, Devie."

I felt my heart flutter at the nickname and I realized I'd never get over it.

"So, you're going skiing today?"

"Snowboarding, yea." he let out, searching for his stuff in his bags. "You're gonna join us downstairs in a few hours?"

I nodded quickly and pressed my lips together as I stared at him. I loved how he moved around the room like it was just a random day and we were just used tp be around each other like that. To some extent, we were, since we shared the same room on campus, but it felt slightly different at that moment, more intimate, maybe. I let my mind wander, imagining what it would be like if we ended up dating and living together. Was that what I would see in the morning before he actually went to work?

"Okay, I'm ready. I'll see you later?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Mmhm." I nodded as I imagined him walking closing to me and bending down to kiss me.

Why did I like this scenario so much it made my heartbeats accelerate? I watched him leave and when the door closed behind him, I felt extremely empty and lonely. I got up after a few minutes and walked to my painting again, running my fingertips slowly on the colors I had used. Was it crazy to start painting with light colors so early after a break up? I turned my head to look at the door, hoping it would open again as my heart thumped hard in my chest. It was Niall, I knew it. It was him that brought in me all these new emotions and I liked it so much I felt myself tear up.

Without thinking, I searched through my bag and found a few pictures I had taken. I had taken the time to develop them by myself in the college darkroom and I had loved the result. Despite myself, the lights had added a few pale yellow spots and it looked amazing. At first, I wanted to numerize them and modify them but I realized I didn't need to.

I sat in bed and looked at them carefully. There were no full faces on any of them. My favorite was one of Niall's naked shoulder with a bit of his back and hair. We could also see the top of my head and part of my forehead in it too as I lied down beneath him, and his fingers were slipped in my hair. I had no idea why this specific shot made me feel emotional but it was strong and it made something twist in my chest.

I got up and grabbed the piece of paper I had put in my bag earlier before I walked to the desk, sitting down in front of it. Slowly and carefully, I copied the lyrics I had scribbled while Niall was asleep behind the picture, along with a few lyrics that didn't belong to me. I had taken a lot of pictures in my life, but nothing like this one. Perhaps it was only because it meant so much to me... because he meant so much to me. It actually made me want to pain that picture and I quickly grabbed a blank canvas from my stuff before grabbing a pen. I was never really good at drawing people, I felt like the human body was too complex to draw, but I decided to make an exception this time. It didn't really matter anyway. When I'd add paint, the forms wouldn't be as defined and even if I knew nothing could be better than the actual picture, I felt like not painting it would eat me up inside.

I couldn't tell how long it took me but when I didn't stop until I was done. Normally, a painting like that could take me many days to create but somehow, it had turned out the way I wanted after only a few hours. I left it on the floor and decided to finally take an other shower, if only to take the paint from my hands, arms and face. I got out and quickly dressed before checking my phone. I had no message and I raised my nose up, telling myself they were probably busy skiing but I still decided to get downstairs, to the common living room. I loved how all the couches were placed with a fireplace in the middle. The first thing that made my heart jump in my chest was a laughter. I recognized it because I had to hear it for hours on a certain night and every time, it made my heart drop in my chest. Today was no exception. My eyes roamed around and found Abby who was laughing, throwing her head back. She was still wearing her beanie and coat and when I noticed Niall was the one she was talking with, I felt nauseous. He laughed too before taking a sip of his drink and Abby moved closer, placing her hand on his arm and letting it slip down.

I swallowed hard, knowing it probably meant nothing but telling myself that if this simple gesture made me feel like that, I'd never be able to be around Niall if he was dating an other girl, especially if that girl was Abby.

I held my breath and my lips parted when Niall turned around and our eyes met. I felt myself tear up and shook my head lightly before turning on my heels and leaving. I tried to keep my tears in, knowing it was ridiculous to be sad for that, and just as I was reaching the elevator, I felt his warm hand on my arm.

"Hey, Devie, where are you going?" he asked softly as I turned around. His face changed when he saw mine and took a step closer. "Woah, what's wrong, why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying!" I let out a bit too roughly, taking a step back. "I didn't want to annoy you while you were flirting with your ex girlfriend."

"Devie, we weren't flirting." he argued. "At least, I was not."

"She was all over you." I just replied.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "So? That's what Abby does! Besides, you're texting with Henry and I haven't thrown a tantrum about it!"

"I'm not texting with Henry, what are you talking about?"

"You told me he messaged you when we were at my apartment!" he pointed out, making me frown.

"Yes! But I never said I answered him!" I let out a but louder. "Because I didn't!"

His face changed, his traits softened and he took a step closer. "You didn't?"

His voice was low and gentle and it calmed me instantly.

"No. I want to move on from him, I don't love him anymore."

Once again, Niall took a step closer and took his beanie off. I felt my lips curl very slightly on the light at the sight of his hair and he quickly passed his hand in it, messing it even more. He looked so pretty I felt my head tilt a bit on the right.

"If... If it makes you feel better, I don't have feelings for Abby anymore either. I can't even understand why I ever was in love with her." he added with a shrug. "Not that you really care, because you don't love me like that, right?"

I stared at him and blinked a few times, trying to decide what I was supposed to say. I could be mad at him but I loved the way he was looking at me, as if I was the only person that mattered in the world, as if he was about to jump on me to make me feel all the damn feelings he had for me inside him.

"Did I say that?" I just asked with an amused smile before licking my lip, taking a step back.

"Hey, stay with us, we were about to go out for dinner." he quickly proposed as we heard the doors of the elevator open. "You came here to spend time with your friends, right?"

My eyes roamed on him and I finally nodded. "Alright."

----

Niall was still telling me a story when we walked back in our room. It was late but neither of us really cared. I had a small talk with Louis who presented me his new girlfriend Eleanor, and I immediately liked her. Lewis was funny and the way Daxia looked at him made me happy. I tried not to give too much attention to Noah but he still bought me a drink and we had a small chat. All I wanted, though, was to be close to Niall, and I ended up scared he'd be annoyed that I followed him better than his own shadow. At some point, he had placed his hand on my thigh, moving closer to me to ask me if I wanted an other drink, but all I could think about was the fact that he was touching me.

We didn't drink too much though and when we closed the door of our room behind us, I was laughing because he was funny, and not because I was tipsy. He turned around and took a few steps back as I followed him, but when his lips curled into a cheeky smile, it made me frown.

"What do you have in mind?" I asked, unable to stop smiling.

"Are you tired?"

I frowned more but it only made his smile bigger. "Mm, no. Why?"

"Do you trust me?"

That question took me by surprise but I didn't have to ask myself the question. The answer came naturally. "Yes."

And I trusted him. I trusted him more than I trusted pretty much anyone, and it was one of the things that scared me in this relationship, whatever it was.

"Thank you." he just whispered, holding out his hand to me.

I breathed in but still slipped my palm on his and quickly, he pulled me out of the room. Instead to take the elevators, he brought me to the stairs and we ran down until the main floor, stopping abruptly in front of a door. I held my breath as Niall opened it very slowly, peeking out for a few seconds and finally holding his hand back for me. I grabbed it and he turned around to look in my eyes, bringing his finger on his lips to tell me to keep quiet. I nodded and followed him on the other side of the door until we reached a second door. He tried to open it but groaned and raised his nose up when he realized it was locked.

"Fuck."

I moved to look through the window and my lips curled when I noticed a pool. The lights of the room were off but there were a few at the bottom of the pool and the sight was great.

"I'm gonna try to steal the keys." he added, taking me out of my thoughts and making me blink.

"No wait!" I stopped him in a whisper, holding his arm. "What if you get caught?"

He sent me a small smile and his eyes roamed on my face before he shook his head. "Don't worry."

He left and I felt my hand slip from his arm. I held my breath and remained motionless as I waited for him to come back and it seemed to take forever. When he appeared again, my heart jumped in my chest, scared that it could be someone else, but he stopped right in front of me as I raised my eyebrows. A smirk quickly draw itself on his lips and he moved his hand up, showing me a keychain with at least 20 keys on it.

"Okay, I'm impressed." I admitted low, making him chuckle.

It took him a few tries and he finally unlocked the door. We walked in slowly and when he closed the door behind us, I turned around to look at him.

"I don't have a swimsuit." I admitted, tilting my head.

"You have underwear." he chuckled, making me raise my eyebrows. "What? Nothing I haven't seen, isn't it what you said the other day?"

I pressed my lips together and moved my chin in his direction. "You, first."

He chuckled again and without hesitation, grabbed the bottom of his shirt, moving it over his head. I let my eyes travel on his chest as he worked on the button and zipper of his jeans, finally taking them off along with his socks. He looked way too good, illuminated by the soft lights in the pool, and my heart skipped a beat. I moved my gaze up until my eyes met his again and he sent me a soft smile.

"Your turn."

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan story #niall horan writing #niall horan enemies to lovers #niall horan au #niall horan college au #niall horan uni au #my fanfics #swy

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theteaesthetic · 4 years ago

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The morning routines of famous artists, and what I learned from them

Hello cuties!

So I took some time to research a few artist’s morning routines and LET ME TELL YOU how surprised I was to realize how interesting they are. I’ll start right away lmao, so let’s see:

1. Salvador Dalí

I wouldn’t necessarily say he is the best exemple lmao, and here’s why, I’ll even quote him: “ Every morning upon awakening I experience a supreme pleasure: that of being Salvador Dalí, and I ask myself, wonderstruck, what prodigious thing will he do today, this Salvador Dalí.” This little surrealist used his ego like others would use caffeine. He still did better though than Pablo Picasso, who often arrived at his studio in Paris around 2 p.m. yikess.

2. Andy Warhol

So each morning he woke up and had a phone call with his friend, Pat Hackett, around 9 a.m. to talk about the previous day. These calls lasted up to 2 hours, after which Warhol showered, got dressed, took his two daschunds downstairs to the kitchen where he had breakfast. Interesting approach.

3. Balthus

So Balthus sat down for breakfast each morning around 9:30 a.m. and read the mail right after. He scrutinized the quality of the sunlight to decide whether or not he would paint that day. If the light was right in the early afternoon he walked to his studio. Before getting to work he said a prayer and meditated for several hours in front of an unfinished painting - meanwhile smoking. He once said: “I intuitively understood that smoking doubled my faculty of concentration, allowing me to be entirely within a canvas”. I liked quoting this.

4. Robert Rauschenberg

He woke up and ate a “nice, healthy breakfast”. He took his vitamins, then drank an espresso. Matt Hall, his former property manager said “My god, he’d have a triple, double espresso. I’d be climbing the wall, and it was getting him kick-started”. The most interesting part of his routine, however, was that he watched “The Young and the Restless” religiously. Soap operas and other television programs played constantly in his studio as well.

5. Chris Ofili

Ofili arrived to his studio each morning between 9 and 10 a.m. and began his day there. He tore up a big sheet of paper into eight equal pieces and he would loosen up by making abstract marks on them with his pencil. Then he would move on to watercolor. Each piece usually took him between 5 and 15 minutes. Some days he completed just one, on others he finished as many as 10.

6. Louise Bourgeois

Each morning the artist woke up and drank a cup of tea “with some jelly straight out of the jar”. Afterwards “she’d have a bit of a sugar high and be ready to roll”. She arrived to her Brooklyn studio around 10 a.m. . She generally spent the mornings engaging in more physical activities but after lunch she would draw for hours.

7. N. C. Wyeth

He woke up at 5 a.m. and immediately started chopping wood. He put down his axe around 6:30 a.m., and had a breakfast that usually consisted of grapefruit, pancakes, eggs, and coffee. He then went to his Pennsylvania studio and composed a letter or two. After this it was time to work. He threw on a smock, lit his pipe and began to paint,

8. Willem de Kooning

He was never a morning person. He would wake up. reluctantly, around 10 or 11 a.m. and immediately gulp down several cups of strong coffee. He then painted the day away and only paused for dinners or visits from friends. After he got married to Elaine Fried they settled on drinking coffee with milk instead of breakfast, worked together and only took breaks to get another cup of coffee or share a cigarette.

9. Joan Miró

The Spanish painter rose every day at 6 a.m. and he bathed, ate a light breakfast of coffee and bread. After that he settled down in front of his easel. He painted without stopping from 7 a.m. to noon, at which point he left his studio and exercised for an hour.

10. Georgia O’Keeffe

“The morning is the best time, there are no people around”- or at least that’s what she said to an interviewer in 1966. She typically woke up with the sun, then built a fire or brewed some tea. O’Keeffe then reclined in bed to watch the dawn break. She usually took a half-hour walk after it. At 7 a.m. she had breakfast. Some mornings she tended to her garden, but her favorite days were the ones she spent in the studio.

________________________________________________________________

So my first takeaway from this mini research is that there is no one-size-fits-all morning routine that works equally well for everyone. Let’s take Willem de Kooning for example. He would absolutely hate N. C. Wyeth ‘s schedule. My best advice is to experiment with everything until you find the routine that works best for you personally. I hope that this was somewhat entertaining to you guys lmao it sure was for me.

Have a great night and just keep on shining! ✨

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writingwithciara · 4 years ago

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Silent Auction (2) ~Topper Thornton~

summary: Kildare County High School decides to have an auction to save the arts programs. all the students are up for grabs and y/n is purchased by the least likely person. her worst nightmare. her nemesis. someone who doesn’t even attend the school.

word count: 2k

pairings: topper x reader, jj x reader (platonic mostly & a slightly one-sided romance)

warnings: fluff, enemies to friends (kinda)

a/n: behold, the 2nd & final part to ‘Silent Auction’. enjoy!

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masterlist

“Will you calm down? It’s just a date. Nothing’s gonna happen.” y/n smiled at JJ. He wasn’t happy that his best friend was being forced to go on a date with the one person everyone in the group hated.

“I know. But it’s with Topper, of all people.” the blond boy continued to whine as he followed y/n around, helping her get ready, even though he didn’t want to.

“JJ, I know. I don’t want to do this either. But like I said, it’s just one date. It’s not gonna kill anybody.” she giggled at the pout he was currently sporting. “And besides, he saved the arts program for years.”

“I hate the arts program.”

“Ahem! Excuse me?” she narrowed her eyes at JJ and he looked anywhere but her face. “The arts program is my favorite program.”

“I know. But you’re good at it. I am not, hence the reason I don’t like it.”

“I’ll give you lessons tomorrow if you stop whining about my date with Topper.”

“Hmmmm....nah. Not worth it.” he smiled and plopped himself down on the couch.

“God, I hate you so much.” she shook her head in disappointment and went to her room to change. Topper was gonna be there any minute to pick her up and she had spent the last 15 minutes arguing with JJ.

Topper walked up to the front door, nervously. His palms were sweaty and he wasn’t prepared to be wowed by y/n. He knew what he did to the Pogues was shitty, and that she hated him for it, but he had never directly been rude to her. The things he did were the cause of her hatred towards him and he regretted it. Topper really liked y/n and he needed to make it all up to her. So, when he finally knocked on the door, he was shocked to see JJ standing on the other side of it.

“Um, hey. Is...is y/n ready?” JJ just ignored him and left the door open. Topper walked in and slowly closed the door.

“JJ, can you come up here for a second?” y/n called down to her best friend, who stood up and glared at Topper before going upstairs. “I need your honest opinion on my outfit.” she sighed and turned to face JJ.

“You look great, y/n. Honestly.” he smiled and leaned against the door frame. “He’s downstairs by the way.”

“Shit. I haven’t even done my makeup yet.” she started rushing to get her makeup done. JJ walked over to her and grabbed her hands. “JJ, what are you doing?”

“You look fine the way you are. Trust me,” he sighed. “Topper’s gonna love it.”

“Thanks, JJ.” she set her mascara down and took one final look at herself before going downstairs. Topper stood up from the couch when he heard her coming.

“You look....wow.” he smiled and noticed JJ standing behind her, giving him an intense stare.

“Thanks, Topper.” y/n blushed and turned to look at JJ, who quickly changed the look on is face to a softer one. “You going home or are you gonna stay here for a bit?”

“I’m gonna hang back.” he smiled and returned his gaze to Topper. “I’ve got a few rules for ya, buddy. First off-”

“JJ, calm down.” y/n giggled at the fact she had to restrain her best friend from continuing. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know. But you’re my best friend. I care about you and want to make sure he knows.”

“I love you.” she smiled and headed to the door.

“I love you too,” he smiled sadly as he watched them walk out to Topper’s truck. “Take good care of her, Topper. She’s my best friend.”

“I will. Don’t worry.” he yelled out the window before driving off. JJ headed back inside to sulk and think about his own problems.

Y/n and Topper headed to a restaurant, with the intentions of having a nice meal. But when they got there, the woman at the front desk had informed them that their reservation had not been recorded in her book.

“Well, this sucks. I wanted to give you a night you’d actually like.”

“It’s fine, Top. We can go anywhere.”

“I know. But you’ve never eaten here before and I wanted to make this night special.”

“IF it makes you feel better, fancy and expensive dates don’t impress me. If you want to make this night special, just be yourself & don’t try to use your money to make it special.”

“Okay.” he smiled down at the girl. “I think I can do that.”

“Awesome. Now, follow me. I had a feeling something bad was gonna come out of the date but, that’s okay.” she grabbed his hand and they began to walk downtown.

“So, what’d you have in mind?”

“Well, I have a passion for art & I have a few connections at the art studio downtown. So, I begged Mrs. Capron to give me the keys to the studio and she did.” she smiled and held up a pair of keys. “I only did this just in case.”

“So, you anticipated something bad happening to our date?” he chuckled.

“Well, yeah. You’re a Kook and I’m a Pogue. They’re not meant to be together at all.” she looked up at him. “Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad. You’re very right.” he smiled. “Now, let’s go to that studio.”

They arrived at the studio only moments later. Y/n unlocked the door and turned on the lights.

“What should we do first?” she asked and watched as Topper looked around in amazement.

“I’ve got an idea. Sit on that stool over there.” he pointed to the stool and looked around. y/n sat down and Topper grabbed a canvas. “I’m gonna draw you.”

“You’re gonna draw me?” she laughed. “Are you any good?”

“You’ll see when I’m done.” he smirked. “Now, pose.”

“Okay.” she found a comfortable pose and looked off into the distance. “How’s this?”

“Perfect. Now, just hold that pose until I’m done.”

“Not a problem.”

She held the pose for nearly two hours before she was instructed to come look at his artwork.

“What do you think?” he asked. “In my honest opinion, I don’t think it does the real you any justice.”

“What are you talking about? It looks amazing.” she stared at the drawing in bewilderment. “You got my hair right and everything.”

“I tried my best.” he smiled and stood up.

“I had no idea you were so good at art.”

“I’ve been working on my art since I was a kid. Of course, my parents would never approve of it, so I’ve been doing it in secret since I was 7. Why do you think I spent so much at the auction?”

“You need to share your talent with the world, Topper. This is amazing.”

“I have more at home, if you want to come check it out sometime.”

“How about now?”

“What?”

“We can go now. Mom’s out with her friends so she won’t get mad.” he smiled. “Come on.”

“Okay. But I’m keeping this and I gotta lock up.” she grabbed the canvas and the keys before going outside.

The short trip to Topper’s house was full of talk about art and life. Y/n smiled as she realized that Topper was a completely different person when he wasn’t with his friends, specifically Rafe. When they pulled up to his house, he rushed around to open her door for her.

“Thanks, Topper.” she smiled and grabbed his hand. They walked into his house and went up to his room. He reached into his closet, pulled out a large box labelled ‘Top Secret’ & unlocked it.

“Inside are all my artworks over the last few years.” he slid the box over to her as she sat on the end of his bed. Y/n looked through the box.

“Topper, you’re....” she looked up at him with a grin. “You’re amazing.”

“Thanks.” he chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve showed these to.”

“Really? Not even Rafe knows about these? He’s your best friend.”

“I know, but if he knew, he’d definitely make fun of me for it.” he walked over to the balcony and sat outside. Y/n set the box down and followed, taking a seat beside him.

“Topper, you shouldn’t be ashamed of this talent. Art is a fascinating subject and not many people realize that.” she smiled and looked at him. Topper was looking out at his backyard. “If Rafe really was your best friend, he would appreciate that you’re talented.”

“You’ve got a point.” he sighed. “But it’s not him I’m worried about. It’s my mom. She’s always on my back to be perfect and in her eyes, an artist is not perfect.”

“She’s stupid.” she looked at her hands. “No offense.”

“None taken, really.” he chuckled. “So, I’m gonna change the subject and ask you a question.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“What’s going on between you and JJ?”

“Me and JJ?” if y/n had been drinking, it would have been shot out of her mouth. “What makes you think there’s something going on between me and him?”

“You’re always together & I heard him say he bid on you. It’s also in the way you act with each other.”

“Oh. Well, we’re not together. He’s just been my best friend for a long time. He’s practically a brother.”

“Well I think your ‘brother’ has a thing for you.” he smirked and nudged her shoulder.

“No he doesn’t.” she shook her head and thought about it. “Ew..gross. Nope. I can’t even think of him in that way.”

They both shared a look and laughed. The time they spent together was different than they both expected.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure.” she smiled.

“Does this...feel different?” he gestured between them. “Like, have you been having as much fun as I’ve been?”

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely.” she smiled. “You know, you’re way different than I expected. You’re not a complete asshole.”

“Thanks.” he smirked. “You’re....you’re just as I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“I already had you figured out since day one. You’re a beautiful, intelligent and kind girl. You know how to make others feel happy and safe. Everything you say sounds sweet. And I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body.” he smiled. “You helped me finally realize that being an artist is nothing to be ashamed of and I think I’m gonna show my work to my mom.”

“I’m proud of you, Top.” she smiled and hugged him. The hug lasted a little longer than any hug she’s shared with her friends. Topper smiled and pulled back to look at her. Y/n suddenly felt insecure under his gaze and started touching her face.

“I-is there something wrong with my face?” she sighed. Topper reached ip and moved a strand behind her ear.

“No. You’re perfect.” his gaze flicked down to her lips, and what he thought was a quick move, was definitely caught by y/n as she mimicked the move. “Just...absolutely perfect.” he smiled and started leaning in. She met him halfway and their lips molded together perfectly. When they both pulled apart, the look on their faces spoke volumes.

“Wow.” they both sighed with happiness. Y/n rested her forehead against his and smiled. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”

“I don’t know. But now that it’s happened, I don’t want to stop.” Topper smiled and placed another kiss on her lips. “I think JJ is gonna hate me for macking on his girl.” he chuckled when she smacked his arm.

“Not his girl & don’t worry. I’ll talk to him.” she smiled and leaned back in. The feelings they felt were running wild but neither of them cared. Not even of what their friends were gonna think. All that mattered was that the two of them were happy. This was it.

tags:

@spilledtee @im-a-stranger-thing @ameeravandijk @jellyfishbeansontoast @obxmxybxnk @http-cherries @ijustreallylovethem @maggiesrandomness @softstarkey @poguesgold @jjouterbanks

#topper thorton x reader #topper obx #topper thornton #topper x reader

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kashuan · 4 years ago

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do you have recommendations/advice for doing warm-up sketches?

For me, my warm-up sketches are always some kind of life/referenced drawing, so I’m going to assume that’s what you mean here! In general, I find the best way to get warmed up is to strike a balance between doing something familiar/’easy’, but with a challenge to it. For example, one of the things I find ‘easier’ to sketch are dresses with a lot of fabric. Because it’s a subject I have some confidence in, that I know I will have fun with, even though I’m not warmed up yet, I’m preventing myself from getting stuck before I’ve even begun. I’m sure every artist is very familiar with that experience, where you draw a few lines and then you just close the canvas because it’s not working. Some days are just like that, but I find it happens to me more often when I start off with a subject that I’m not that hyped about drawing in the first place. So by picking a subject you enjoy, now you at least have some motivation to stick with it. The challenge part, though, is what will actually get you warmed up at a good pace. You can approach this in a few ways; the most common ones I use are: 1) Set a time limit. 1-2 minutes is best for your first drawings. This doesn’t give you time to get hung up on making your lines look nice, worry about accuracy, etc. It’s usually just enough time to get the general idea of the subject down. 2) Use a new brush. For me, using a brush I don’t usually use feels like it gives me more permission to experiment and make mistakes. Also, even if I only use it for a few drawings, when I then go back to my tried and true brush I’m basically tricking my brain with how my next drawing feels like an instant improvement 3) Use a pen (if you want to try traditional media) or a brush that imitates a pen that encourages no erasing. This is really just a more enforced version of 1, in that you can’t even tempt yourself to go back and fix anything. Time limits, in general, I think are important for getting properly warmed up, especially if its been a few days since you’ve drawn. Like I said above, it can be super tempting to give up when the first sketch turns out bad (and more often than not, it won’t be that good). Learning to let your warm up sketches be bad and keep going is a skill in itself imo. Tell yourself ‘I’m going to do 1-2 minute drawings for the next 15 minutes no matter how bad they are’. It doesn’t always work out, but for as much as a slog as it can feel like in the beginning, a lot of the time by the end of that 15 minutes, the drawings are coming out a lot better and quicker. If you’re still up for it after that, I tend to spend about 30 minutes to an hour doing a complete warm up. Once you’re starting to feel, well, warmed up, this is when you should move on to 3-5 minute drawings, and maybe start switching up your subject to things less in your comfort zone. If you have a drawing in mind you want to do when you’re done warming up, maybe focus on something like that (ie: if you want to do some art of a character in a suit, do some quick studies of suits). This is also when I start focusing more on making the lines actually look nice, focus on accuracy, give myself allowances to erase and be a little more nit-picky, etc. So yeah, that’s my general process; I hope this roughly answers your question! :>

#Anonymous

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writing-reading-inspiring · 5 years ago

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Discovering Truth (Mob!Tom Holland X Reader) - Chapter One

Summary: One can say that (y/n) doesn’t have a normal life. Then again, anyone who’s father is the leader of one of the most feared English mobs probably wouldn’t. One day, her life gets turned upside down when a letter arrives from her uncle stating that she is a target of her father’s rival mob, the Hollands.

Chapter One ~ Chapter Two

I’ve always understood that I wasn’t a typical teenager. I mean, I’ve been exposed to that idea since I was a 7 year old girl shooting a glock 17 at a moving target during my father's “protection training”. I feel like a part of me even understood that when I was waking up to the blaring of an ambulance and the sharp beep of a heart monitor when I was 4. My life is complicated and simple at the same time, which isn’t just confusing, but really sucks.

To understand how I ended up here, I have to tell you about my family and what I know of my past. My father is Harold Chimaera, leader of one of the most feared English mobs. My mother was his wife, Eleanor Chimaera. She was an amazing wife and an even more amazing mother, at least from what I can remember. My father sent her away to Corinth, Maine when she was pregnant with my brother, Scott, and me in order to keep her safe from any harm that could befall us. Sadly it wasn’t his enemies that hurt us, but a truck driver on Mccard Road who had a bit too much Bourbon to drink. My mother and twin brother died that cold winter’s night.

When my father found out, he immediately came to the United States to bring me home to London. From there, he moved most of his operation to Cambridge, a place where he can keep me safe from accidents and anyone who would want to harm us.

I was drawn out of my thoughts by a light knock on the door frame. The gruff voice of my father's right hand man, Abel, followed after it.

“Ms. Chimaera, you’re father requests your presence in the living room.” He adjusted his black suit jacket and scratched at his 5 o’clock shadow that he seems to have forgotten to shave.

“Of course Abel,” I curtly replied. “I’ll be right down. Just give me a minute to put my easel away.”

He nodded towards me before disappearing from my view. I got up and looked at the blank canvas that was taunting me. I’ve been unable to draw for the last 2 weeks and it’s really starting to get on my nerves. I’ve already painted the roses in the garden, the birds in the aviary, the butterflies that flutter just outside the windows, and even the creek that runs next to the house.

My home may be considered luxurious in it’s grand stature, pristine marble floors, exquisite design, and exotic fauna; however, it lacks inspiration for me at this point. After 15 years, things start to seem boring and you start to get claustrophobic, even if you have a generous amount of room to move around.

Being caged and unable to leave the grounds of my father's estate may keep me safe, but it stops me from being alive; I’m only existing. I know I’m luckier than most, and I’m grateful for it, but I can’t help how I feel.

I begin to put away my painting materials before heading through the door of my art room.

My father gave no worry to buying me whatever I wanted. This would explain the highly functioning studio I have next to my room, the stocked kitchen that holds any ingredient I could imagine using, and the $800 camera I have in a hard case on my dresser in my bedroom.

The walk from upstairs to the living room is brief due to my father wanting me to be able to escape as quickly as possible if needed.

“(y/n)! There you are. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your thoughts on how I should get Mulligan to back off of our exports. But first of all, have you painted anything new for me to hang in the gallery?” My father got up from the couch and walked to the staircase while speaking to me.

His question caused goosebumps on my arms. He has been asking me for a new painting everyday after I told him I had nothing to work from.

“I haven’t been able to paint anything new yet, but I’m thinking about painting the garden again, except this time it would be in the morning,” I replied to him while looking down.

“That sounds absolutely wonderful, my dear. Now, about that plan of yours. I enjoy the part about messing with Mulligan’s investigation, but why exactly do you think he would go after another mob all of the sudden,” my father inquired.

You see, my father has been trying to prepare me for when I take over the mob when I’m older. At least that’s what he tells me. Personally, I believe he’s trying to make sure I’m smart enough to take care of myself if I need to. Nevertheless, I put my input in on subjects such as how to increase profits and how to get nosy detective’s off our scent.

“Dad, Mulligan has been chasing us for years, which means there’s a low chance that he has been doing other cases. His chief must be pretty mad at him for ignoring his other duties. Giving ‘evidence’ that can bring down another mob permanently would put him in good graces with his boss. He would be an idiot if he doesn’t take the bait,” I explained to him.

“That’s my smart girl.” He came over to give me a hug.

When he pulled away he spoke again, “Oh, I almost forgot. Rosetta put together the mail and apparently there are quite a few pieces for you. How many colleges did you apply to?”

“Maybe about 15. I wanted options,” I said.

This wasn’t technically a lie, but it also wasn’t technically the complete truth. I wanted a good amount of options, yes, but I also wanted to be able to get as far away as I can. Not because I hate my life, but because I want to feel free.

“Sweetheart, I can get you into any school you want with one phone call, so why did you need options?”

“I wanted to get in on my own, and I’m sure I did with my markings.”

“Of course you did, darling.” He checked his watch and a pained look came to his face. “I hate to do this sweetie, but I have a meeting in five minutes. The mail should be in your room. Tell you what, how about we have a movie night tonight? Say 8 o’clock?”

“Sounds perfect. Now, don’t be late to your meeting because of me. I’ll see you tonight. Love you.”

“I love you too.” With that, he departed from the living room towards the north side of the estate, which is where his conference room is.”

I made my way back upstairs to my bedroom. I might as well see what letters I was able to get today.

You see, the mail that we receive is gone through and assorted at another location in case of dangerous substances or tricks. It’s also a way for my father to see who was trying to contact me via mail (he already has my computer's searched and monitored 24 hours).

Once I get to my bedroom, I immediately spotted my mail placed on my mahogany desk as it is every day. I grabbed the stack and sat against the headboard of my bed, having to push myself back a couple of times due to its size.

University of Oxford ... accepted.

University of Cambridge ... accepted.

University of York ... accepted.

Université de la Sorbonne ... accepté.

Harvard University ... accepted.

Letter from Elijah Wilson ... that’s a new one.

I immediately push the other packages aside and look at the small white envelope that managed to get to my room. I’ve never had mail from a person I’ve never heard of, especially one bearing my mother's maiden name.

The mail crew must have not seen this because it wasn’t already opened. Slowly pulling apart the unopened seal, I pulled the crisp, white paper out of its sleeve.

Dear (y/n),

Hey kiddo, it’s your Uncle Elijah again. I don’t know if you’ve even been getting these letters, but that doesn’t matter. I still have hope that I’ll be able to see you again. You must be about 19 now, right? Last time I saw you, you weren’t even to my knee, but you had tremendous spunk for a 4 year old. If you’re anything like you were when you were little or anything like your mother, I believe that you’d get along great with my daughter, Elizabeth. I’m sure you’re living a great life in Cambridge with your dad, but I really do need to see you, sweetie. I understand that talking about what happened with your mother and brother must be a difficult thing to do. I could hardly speak about it for at least two years, but it’s been 15 now. Not only do we miss you in Maine, but we want to try to help you as much as possible too. I’m sure your father has some of the greatest protection set up just for you, but even Fort Knox has breeches in their security system. I’m sure he already knows about the Hollands trying to get to you, but I’m just worried that you won’t be ready for when they do come. Though I hate to say it, there offense has gotten stronger and they had corrupted more mobs that I can count. There are probably enemies that you think are allies coming in and out without any strain. These men have already killed Eleanor and Scott, I don't want to see them kill you too. I know coming to Maine didn’t work that well last time, but we’ve grown since then, we’re more prepared. Please come, or at least respond so I know that you’re safe.

With love and the best intentions,

Uncle Elijah

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