#best rove cart

[pinkaditty]

Starstruck Coral (Romeo Lucci x Reader; Tokyo Debunker)

okay so uh. i don’t really know how to explain this one. like truly i don’t. i feel like it came 2 me in a vision from a higher power or something bc this doesn’t feel like it was my own idea, much less self-indulgent, but regardless??? i actually like it!!!!

a/n: what i can say is that this was directly inspired by me buying this lip plumper tint called "Starstruck Coral" and how literally everyone around me once i put it on was like "ITS SO PRETTY!!" so yea. that's what this is. also. yea. been writing a lot of porn-free fics lately. don’t worry, im not uninspired. rather, i just wanna focus on budding feelings 4 a little while. then it’ll be back 2 porn i promise. im too insane 2 be kept from porn 4 very long i fear. 

maybe part 2? maybe? idk yet i dunno. i might. i might not. we’ll see what my brain says…

summary: romeo cannot stand your visage so he styles it to his liking. why are you suddenly the belle of the ball? (leo, rui, haru, ed, and lyca make guest appearances here lol)

cw: some sexual comments. minors dni as per usual. no smut i fear!

“...Why are we doing this, again?”

“Shut up.” Romeo’s voice is practically seething with barely restrained anger as you interrupt his focus for the umpteenth time. He holds up one finger in the air towards you, not even turning to look at you. He slowly puts his finger down, and his hands twitch, clearly resisting the urge to ball into fists. “Just shut up. Let me handle this.”

Romeo continues perusing the available colors. Pearlescent White, Modest Matte Mauve, Cherry Pop Red, Hot Tease Pink, Starstruck Coral, and Raven’s Wing Black. He narrows his eyes and whips his head around to your face, studying your features intensely. His eyes pause on your lips, and he frowns as you roll them between your teeth nervously. 

“Would you stop-! Urgh, nevermind.” He starts before abruptly stopping, turning fully towards you and grabbing your face, directing it in different angles in the light. He pays strong attention to your lips, noting the thickness, color, and shape of them. He grumbles to himself, looking back at the colors on the shelf. Only one seems to be a perfect match.

Starstruck Coral. That’s the one.

He plucks it off the shelf and places it in the basket before stalking off to the cash register. He knows you know to follow him, and you do, meekly following his steps, still unsure of the purpose of this outing. You shift idly from one foot to the other as he pays at the cash register, listening to the general ambiance of the store. People chattering, items being scanned, wheels of carts rolling along the tile floor. You’re idly reading the label of a pop culture magazine when Romeo appears at your side, sour expression etched into his face. It makes you jump, and he looks at you with an even sourer expression. “Let’s go,” is all he says, his voice loud and demanding, leaving little room for argument. He walks off again, casting a look over his shoulder to ensure you’re following him, which you are, confused expression still stuck on your face. 

The two of you return to the Darkwick train station through a door labeled “Employees Only”, careful not to get caught. Once you board the train, Romeo unceremoniously tosses the bag of products towards you and sits across from you. His expression is enough to broadcast that he’s more than over this, despite having spent hours meticulously scanning the available products to find the ones that best matched your skin. He studies you again as you take your seat and the train begins to move. His eyes rove over your face again, as though picking apart your appearance in search of flaws. He hardly flinches when you look up and catch his gaze, though when you nervously turn away, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Go on. Ask what you want to ask.” His voice comes out exactly as exasperated as he’d meant it to be. He would hope this would discourage you from asking any questions, but he knew better than that.

He watches you shift nervously before speaking up, looking down at your fingers fidgeting with the bag instead of making eye contact with him. “...What is all of this for?”

He exhales, already sick of answering your questions even though he hadn’t answered any. “That anomalous cloak does not do your makeup for you.” Part of him assumes this would be enough explanation, but at your still confused expression, he rolls his eyes and continues explaining. “I am tired of going on missions with someone as basic and unappealing as you. If you are going to be a constant, I insist you at least know how to do your makeup to fit in when we go on high-class missions.” He doesn’t bother sugarcoating anything. Instead, he leans back in his seat again, deciding this was a job well done. He hears the crinkling of the bag and pops one eye open, watching you as you study the products in the bag. You pull out the Starstruck Coral lip tint and suddenly you have his full attention. He opens both eyes and tries to discreetly lean forward, watching as you turn the box around in your hands. He was awful proud of that choice. It was the perfect ombre blend of coral and pink, not too warm and not too cool. It would match your undertone perfectly and it even had a shimmering quality to it. So long as you wore it right, he was sure it’d refine your appearance an exceptional amount. 

After finishing praising himself for his genius internally, he leans his head back onto his seat, content to just get this over with. As long as you didn’t look as constantly unappealing as you usually did on missions, it would be fine. He couldn’t get why, but it irritated him. Granted, your skin was okay at best. There were some acne scars here and there, blackheads all over your nose, and slightly puffy undereye, which he suspected was from not getting enough sleep on this accursed campus. Other than those faults, your skin was okay. No visible outbreaks or dryness. He had to applaud you for at least taking his advice to heart and moisturizing a little bit. It had done noticeable wonders, at least to him. 

He hears the unmistakable sound of plastic wrap being torn, and he perks up again, noticing you unwrapping the Starstruck Coral lip tint. He leans forward again, curiosity suddenly bubbling within him. “Put it on.” He says before he can think about it, his eyes focused on the small unwrapped box in your hands.

“...Huh?” You give him a puzzled look, tilting your head. His eyes flick towards you in annoyance and he gestures towards the box, his eyebrows furrowing in irritation.

“Don’t be dense, put it on!” 

You nod hurriedly, and he can tell from the way your eyes glimmer that you’d wanted to try it. He has to resist the urge to smile, your subtle but affirming reaction filling him with pride. He watches as you open the box and pull out the lip tint, turning it over in your hands before unscrewing it open. Romeo can already feel himself growing impatient, idly tapping his foot as he waits for you to start. “It may be a little messy because I don’t have a mirror, but I’ll do my best.” You warn him, finally unscrewing the tint, admiring the pretty ombre color. He sits up when you speak, and unbeknownst to you, a scowl crosses his face momentarily. You hear his footsteps before you see him, crossing the short distance across the train in record speed and snatching the tint away from you before you could apply it with shaky hands. 

When you look up at him questioningly, he shakes his head, holding the tint and applicator brush in his hand. “Just hold still.” 

With that, he leans over you, placing the thin tube of tint in your hands and firmly holding your chin, his eyes seemingly glued to your lips. “Open.” When you do as he says, he gently applies the tint to your bottom lip, pursing his own lightly glossed lips as he focuses. He exhales, and fails to notice the way you shiver, his breath fanning over your neck. His knuckles gently press into the soft skin of your cheek and chin as he carefully follows the border of your lips, watching as the plush skin yields to the pressure before plumping up again. Somewhat caught between a haze of his intense focus applying the tint and unexpected fascination with the buoyancy of your lips, Romeo accidentally smudges some of the tint. Despite his bubbling annoyance at his own blunder, for a moment, it’s an almost charming imperfection. The lip tint glitters against your skin, smudged just off the corner of your parted lips. If he were any more brazen, he would have given in to the odd temptation unfurling in his stomach to simply kiss it away. Fortunately for him and his own reputation, he’s far more proper than that. With a pointed glare at the corner of your lips, he wipes away the smudge with his gloved thumb. He glances at the sparkling residue left on his glove before wiping it away onto your top lip. When you flinch in response, he has to suppress a shiver down his spine. This action was inexplicably intimate, yet he didn’t understand where his flusteredness was coming from. There was no reason to act nor feel like this.

He applies the tint to your top lip in a more rushed fashion, suddenly wanting to replace the earlier distance between you two. He frowns when he finishes, nitpicking any slight smudges or missed spots, before stepping away, admiring his work. “There.” He plucks the tint from your grasp, screwing the applicator back on and tossing it into the bag. “...This might be good enough,” he says, feigning confidence, but he can hear the way his voice wavers with uncertainty, a part of him itching to do more. His gaze flickers upwards to meet yours and an idea pops into his head. He could do your lashes. They were long by itself, but some of the mascara he’d bought couldn’t hurt. Despite himself, he finds himself sitting back down in front of you, reaching for and holding your chin firmly again. He turns your head every which way, determining what else he could do to refine your appearance some. Unfortunately, he’s aware this train ride ends soon, and he feels himself getting nauseous at the idea of spending more time with you than he has to, despite the anticipation crawling up his spine. He reaches for the bag again, pulling out the mascara he’d bought earlier. When you reach out your hand to apply it yourself, he gently swats your hand away. “No. Hold still.”

He doesn’t give you much choice, still holding your chin and pulling your face closer to his. He purses his lips again, telling you not to blink as he applies your mascara. He finds himself staring at your eye color, noting the color of the mascara in comparison. Perhaps next time he ought to choose something that made your eyes stand out more, or maybe that’d be easier done with some eyeshadow in the correct shade. He decides to halt his thoughts there, scowling. He had to focus, and he was damn well sure there wouldn’t be a ‘next time’. He internally recoils at the thought of having to peruse the shelves with you over his shoulder again, constantly shifting your expressions, making it harder for him to focus. The slight furrow in your brow even now was distracting, and all he could think about was how he wanted to remind you that frowning causes wrinkles, and you would be especially susceptible to them if you didn’t keep up your skincare regime. Instead, he lets go of your chin and flicks you between your brows, frowning at you himself. When you get the message and relax your expression, he nods appreciatively and continues his task, moving to your other eye. 

Finally, the task was complete. His eyes flick back and forth between your eyes, watching as you blink at him dubiously. When satisfied, he pulls away, screwing the applicator back into the mascara and observing your face. Your eyes seemed wider and brighter, and the added mascara helped your lashes appear longer. Your lips were bright and shimmering, still covered in that Starstruck Coral color. Romeo smiles to himself, proud with how he managed to turn around your appearance with so little. He reaches for your face again, holding your cheeks with considerable tenderness, as though scared one wrong move would smudge and ruin the perfect portrait of you. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath as he gazes at you, checking your entire face for imperfections, glazing over the negligible or unnoticeable imperfections that couldn’t be immediately cleared. He exhales, feeling himself gleam with pride as a reluctant smile digs into his cheeks yet again. He sits down beside you, still holding your face. “Non c'è male…” He mutters to himself, finding his gaze lingering again on the pretty ombre mesh of pink and orange and red on your lips. Truly, Starstruck Coral had been the right choice. 

He’s basking in his pride more when he hears the shutter click of a camera, and a whistle in a familiar voice. “Now this will do numbers on WickHive.” The same familiar voice cackles and Romeo already knows he hadn’t moved away quickly enough to avoid the picture. One glance up and there he is, Leo, staring down smugly at his phone, where the incriminating image is probably being held. Surprisingly, hunched over Leo’s shoulder is Rui, inspecting the picture with a crease in his brow. Romeo cannot believe his lack of luck. 

Romeo catches it when Rui makes eye contact with you, and it doesn’t escape him how Rui’s eyes flicker with an emboldened interest. Stepping past Leo, Rui heads to you with an extra skip in his step, wide smile already spreading across his face. His voice is higher than usual, and Romeo wonders if mere makeup was enough to trip up the ladykiller himself. “Woooow, MC!” He stops a short distance away from you, his eyes flickering across your face as he takes in your makeup. “You look cuter than usual today. What’s brought this on, huh?” Rui’s tone is filled with mirth as he pokes your nose playfully. Romeo stiffens and has to bite back the urge to swat his hand away from your face. 

Romeo carefully watches your reaction, and is almost relieved when you don’t smile immediately. “You like it? I haven’t seen how it looks yet.” You reply to Rui, a little hesitant but clearly glad for the praise. 

Rui sticks his bottom lip out in a mock pout. “Awww, you should! You look so cute!” His face breaks out into a wide smile again, and it’s almost crushingly obvious that Rui’s a flirtier version of Kaito at this point. “I’m assuming we have you to thank for this, hm?” Romeo looks up to notice Rui’s gaze on him as Rui vaguely gestures in your direction. 

Romeo doesn’t resist the urge to puff his chest out a bit, folding his arms indignantly. “Indeed.” His terse answer doesn’t hide his swelling pride, he’s aware, but brevity is the soul of wit, which he likes to claim to possess.

“He picked out some makeup items for me.” You chime in, holding up the bag with a relaxed smile. It seems you’ve finally taken to Rui’s compliments. 

Rui shakes his head with a complicated look in his eyes, clearly picking up on the message behind the gift, but happy for you nonetheless. “Well, leave it to Romeo to pick out such a pretty color. It suits you.” Rui winks at you before finally finding a seat on the train, just across from you, taking Romeo’s former seat.

Leo, who’s clearly been either editing the picture or waiting his turn to soak up all the attention, saunters up to you, smug smile still on his face. Romeo doesn’t miss how your earlier smile seems to fade all at once. He would laugh, but it’s not that funny. 

“Gotta say, I agree with Rui. Who knew…” Leo trails off, his fingers reaching for your chin and holding it with uncharacteristic tenderness, tilting your face upwards towards him. Romeo notices how you stiffen at the contact. “...That the honor student could be—” Leo suddenly snaps his lips shut, and Romeo can tell from the way his lips purse despite being in a smug smirk that he had to bite back a compliment. Leo only falters slightly, brow creasing minutely before quickly straightening again, lips quirking back up into a teasing smile, more words as demeaning as they were saccharine sweet on the tip of his tongue. “Well, it suits you. You might even be unrecognizable enough to pass as a beauty in this picture.” Leo smirks, waving his phone in his hand. 

Romeo finds himself intervening before he can really think about it. He swats Leo’s hand away from your chin. “Stop that. You’ll smudge her foundation.” A blatant lie, but it would be sound enough to get him to back off, Romeo hopes. Something about this was fraying at his nerves. 

Leo raises a crooked brow at Romeo, a slow, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “I don’t know, Romeo. The blackheads on her nose account for a lack of any foundation at all. Nice try, though.” Romeo should be thankful Leo lets it go, but all he can do is turn away indignantly, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. He hears a chuckle before light footsteps padding away, and gently exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. By god, of all people to board the train at that moment… 

Rui walks at a much faster pace than you and Romeo, strained expression on his face. He’d left Lyca and Ed in charge of the bar while he was off on a short mission, as he explained earlier, and could only hope that they hadn’t mistakenly set the bar on fire. 

Romeo was headed to the bar for drinks, and as far as he was concerned, you were coming with him. The earlier incident with Leo convinced him he cannot let you out of his sight for today. Leo had cited some excuse for not coming to the bar, but Romeo could tell from the grin Leo flashed his way that he can expect that picture to be all over WickHive by evening. A drink to forget it, even temporarily, would be enough for Romeo. 

Rui heaves a sigh of relief as he steps into the bar, glad to find nothing on fire nor destroyed, but Lyca doing the work while Ed sits perched at the bar. A red shock of hair buried in a white sleeve also denotes another guest. Romeo has to grit his teeth, remembering how Haru went on and on about you after first meeting you. He can only imagine the endless waterfall of praise he’ll surely come up with on the spot seeing you even remotely dolled up. He makes a mental note to bring painkillers for the inevitable headaches he gets when he comes here and Haru happens to arrive. 

Clearly, Romeo needs to be more forthright about how he’s trying to protect his ears, because when you plop yourself down in the seat right next to Haru, all he feels is dread. He quickly slips into the seat on your other side, despite there being no remaining danger. 

Rui, finally behind the bar, gently nudges Haru. He immediately raises his head, and Romeo can’t tell if he woke up that quickly or was already awake and out of it so soon. The faint blush on his face indicates the latter. As Haru reorients himself, Romeo notices Lyca peering at you oddly. He’d never so much as heard this boy speak, but something tells him he’s going to be as much as, if not more of, a headache than Haru. 

“Oh, hi MC-! …Wait. Something’s different about you.” Haru’s voice had its classic drawl it always had when he’s getting close to being hammered. Romeo’s sure it’s loud enough to be heard from Obscuary’s entrance. He watches, jaw clenched tight as Haru inspects you. Boldly, and probably not realizing how drunk he is, Haru reaches out, his gloved fingers lightly tracing the skin above your eyebrows. Romeo notices you don’t recoil at this touch, but he doesn’t know if it’s because you know he’s drunk or if you happen to not dislike Haru. Both options are less than ideal.

Puzzled expression still stuck on his face, Haru traces his fingers downwards, caressing your cheek. “Yea…” He mutters to himself, his eyes tracing the path of his fingers. “Something’s…” his fingers reach the corner of your lips, “...Different…Oh!” His eyes widen like it’s finally occurred to him, and his gaze remains transfixed on your lips, shimmering coral color still bright and undisturbed on them. “You’re wearing makeup!” 

“Is that what that is?” Lyca cuts in, suddenly appearing behind you, craning his neck to get a good look at your face. He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing your appearance before leaning away, satisfied. He crosses his arms, a light blush dusting his face as he tries to ignore the staring he just did. “Hmph. It’s pretty.” His compliment is short and terse, but Romeo can tell from your relieved sigh that you’re happy to receive it nonetheless. However, said compliment is quickly followed up by: “...You reek of the damn blond gigolo, though.”

Rui stiffens behind the bar, cleaning a glass. “Come on, my cologne isn’t that potent.” He looks up from his task to find all five of you avoiding his gaze. 

Ignoring Rui’s distressed cry of shock, Haru turns to you again. “Lyca’s right. It is pretty. Though…” Haru leans towards you, his chin propped up in his hands, “I always thought you were quite the looker, you know.” His smile is disarmingly handsome, even to Romeo. His flushed cheeks and lovestruck gaze probably only add to it. Romeo suppresses a gag, turning away. 

Rui, having partially recovered from the prior shock, also leans towards you, resting his cheek in his palm, partially hiding a cheeky smile. He hums in agreement with Haru, nodding. “Can’t disagree with that. You’re an attractive gal.”

Romeo shivers, ready to pull you away from Haru and Rui’s gazes. When Lyca cranes his neck to gaze at you again, Romeo snaps. 

“Will you horny dogs keep your dicks in your pants and your lascivious gazes off of her?!” He knows he’s one to talk considering the way your lips simply shimmering was enough to disarm him on the train, but still. This was ridiculous. 

“Really, now…” A soft, low, velvety voice echoes through the silence following Romeo’s outburst. Ed appears behind you, gently placing his hands over your ears. He mockingly frowns disapprovingly at Romeo. “Using such vulgar language in front of a lady…” He shakes his head and tuts a few times, a smile crawling onto his face. “Surely you know your manners?”

Rui chimes in, teasing grin all over his face. “He may need a refresher on them.”

With that, Haru, Rui, and Ed dissolve into snickers, just as Romeo bursts into a blush. Lyca, off to the side, looks a little confused. 

“I don’t get it. Why not use words like that in front of her?”

Romeo’s walking you home. He insisted on it. He wasn’t about to let a repeat of him being humiliated yet again by your side, nor was he going to let some other ghoul or normal human lay his eyes on you, at that. Maybe this makeup was a bad idea. But then, he turns to sneak a quick glance at you. Your expression appears quite pleased, and your shimmering lips are curled into a small smile. 

Well. Maybe it wasn’t that bad of an idea. 

“Thank you.” Romeo’s surprised to hear you pipe up, and turns towards you questioningly. 

“For what?”

“For the makeup.” You gaze at him kindly, giving him a small smile. He’s taken aback by it. “Can’t say you were kind about it, but I appreciate it regardless.” 

Romeo hardly stiffens at the comment. He knows he wasn’t particularly kind about it, but that’s the point. How else is someone who can hardly remove their blackheads going to take proper care of their skin? He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, letting his thoughts run around his head. Part of him wondered if he had another reason for buying you makeup in the first place, and why this entire gift felt like it was only going to bite him in the ass later. Maybe it already was, what with how you’d managed to catch the attention of every single ghoul they’d encountered today. But that didn’t make sense. Why would you gaining attention bite him in the ass? He shakes his head, a blush forming on his face as though he already knows the answer. 

“Shut up. Just use it on missions.” Romeo’s response is as terse as ever, quick and to the point. He watches as you roll your eyes, and something in him twinges, partially wishing he could’ve given a nicer comment. 

When you arrive at the chapel, he watches you bound up the steps, sticking around despite himself. He musters up an obligatory “Good Night,” right before you close the door on him, and he watches as your shimmering Starstruck Coral lips pull into a grin. 

“Goodnight, Romeo.”

He turns away as you close the door, ready to fill the rest of his walk back to Sinostra with more pondering. His phone buzzing in his pocket interrupts his peace, however, and he turns it on only to find an innumerable amount of notifications from WickHive. 

“Kurosagi…” He curses his name under his breath. “When I get you…”

a/n: yippee!!!!!!! im surprised i managed to finish this. i honestly like it a lot, i think it's really cute and i like the way i wrote it. i genuinely hope you guys like it too!!!!!

shameless note that, as usual, i love likes, comments, tagged reblogs, and asks!! please feel free to let me know in any way you like just how much you loved my writing! it's what keeps me going!

until next time!!!

EDIT BC I SOMEHOW FORGOT?: a few hc's im adding 4 relevance's sake:

rui wears strong cologne and douses himself in it

haru has grey eyes

that's all yippee!!

[dweemeister]

Robot Dreams (2023, Spain/France)

There exists an assumption that one has to be an animator in order to direct an animated film. While most cinephiles might reflexively point to Wes Anderson (2009’s Fantastic Mr. Fox, 2018’s Isle of Dogs), I think Isao Takahata (1988’s Grave of the Fireflies, 1991’s Only Yesterday) the exemplar here. Even so, a non-animator taking the reins of an animated movie is rare. Into that fold steps Pablo Berger, in this adaptation of Sara Varon’s graphic novel Robot Dreams. Moved after reading Varon’s work in 2010, Berger acquired Varon’s “carte blanche” permission to make a 2D animated adaptation however he saw fit. Like the graphic novel, Berger’s Robot Dreams is also dialogue-free.

Beginning production on Robot Dreams proved difficult. Berger originally teamed with Ireland’s Cartoon Saloon (2009’s The Secret of Kells, 2020’s Wolfwalkers) to make Robot Dreams, but these plans fell wayside when the COVID-19 pandemic hit. His schooling in how to make an animated film would come quickly. Despite an increased appetite for Spanish animation worldwide (2019’s Klaus, 2022’s Unicorn Wars), poor distribution and marketing of domestically-made animated movies has often meant Spanish animators have roved around Europe looking for work. With a pandemic sending those Spanish animators home, Berger and his Spanish and French producers set up “pop-up studios” in Madrid and Pamplona, purchased the infrastructure and space needed to make an animated feature, and recruited and hired animators. Berger’s admiration of animated film fuses the lessons of silent film acting (Berger made a gorgeous silent film in 2012’s Blancanieves; in interviews, Berger cites Charlie Chaplin’s movies as having the largest influence on Robot Dreams, alongside Takahata’s films) to result in one of the most emotionally honest films of the decade thus far – animated or otherwise.

Somewhere in Manhattan in the late 1980s in a world populated entirely of anthropomorphized animals, we find ourselves in Dog’s apartment. Dog, alone in this world, consuming yet another TV dinner, is channel surfing late one evening. He stumbles upon a commercial advertising a robot companion. Intrigued, he orders the robot companion and, with some difficulty, assembles Robot. The two become fast friends as they romp about New York City over a balmy summer, complete with walks around their neighborhood and Central Park, street food, trips to Coney Island, and roller blading along to the groovy tunes of Earth, Wind & Fire. At summer’s end, an accident sees the involuntary separation of Dog and Robot, endangering, for all that the viewer can assume, the most meaningful friendship in Dog’s life and Robot’s brief time of existence.

If you have not seen the film yet, let me address a popular perception early on in this piece. Set in a mostly-analog 1980s, Robot Dreams contains none of the agonizing over artificial intelligence or automatons in fashion in modern cinema. There is no commentary about how technology frays an individual’s connections to others. Robot is a rudimentary creation, closer to a sentient grade school science project than a Data or T-1000.

So what is Robot Dreams saying instead? Principally, it is about the loving bonds of friendship – how a friend can provide comfort and company, how they uplift the best parts of your very being. For Robot, the entirety of their life prior to the aforementioned accident (something that I, for non-viewers, am trying not to spoil as Robot Dreams’ emotional power is fully experienced if you know as little as possible) has been one of complete estival bliss. Robot, in due time, discovers that one of the most meaningful aspects of friendship is that such relationships will eventually conclude – a fundamental part of life. And for Dog, Robot’s entrance into his life allows him to realize that, yes, he can summon the courage to connect with his fellow animals, realizing his self-worth. Perhaps Dog gives up addressing the accident a little too easily, but the separation of friends has a way of complicating emotions and provoking peculiar reactions.

On occasion, Robot Dreams’ spirit reminds me of Charlie Chaplin’s silent feature film period (1921-1936) – in which Chaplin, at the height of his filmmaking prowess, most successfully wove together slapstick comedy and pathos. On paper, pathos and slapstick should not mix, but Chaplin was the master of combining the two. No wonder Berger fully acknowledges the influence of his favorite Chaplin work, City Lights (1931), here.

Across Robot Dreams, Berger inserts an absurd visual humor that works both because almost all of the characters are animals and despite the fact almost everyone is an animal. A busking octopus in the New York City subway? Check. The image of pigs playing on the beach while sunburnt to a blazing red? You bet. A dancing dream sequence where one of our lead characters finds himself in The Wizard of Oz performing Busby Berkeley-esque choreography on the Yellow Brick Road? Why not? Much of Chaplin’s silent film humor didn’t come from his Little Tramp character, but the silliness, ego, and/or absentmindedness of all those surrounding the Tramp. In City Lights, humor also came from the rough-and-tumble edges of urban America. Such is the case, too, in Robot Dreams, with its blemished, trash-strewn depiction of late ‘80s New York (credit must also go to the sound mix, as they perfectly capture how ambiently noisy a big city can be).

Amid all that comedy, Berger nails the balance between the pathos and the hilarity – pushing too far in either direction would easily undermine the other. The film’s melancholy shows up in ostensibly happy moments and places of recreation: a realization during a rooftop barbeque lunch, the emptiness of a shuttered Coney Island beach in the winter, and an afternoon of kiting in Central Park. It captures how our thoughts of erstwhile or involuntarily separated friends come to us innocuously, in places that stir memories that we might, in our present company, might not speak of aloud.

As the film’s third character, New York City (where Berger lived for a decade) is a global cultural capital, a citywide theater of dreams, a skyscraper-filled signature to the American Dream. To paraphrase Sinatra, if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. But it tends to grind those dreams into dust. The city’s bureaucratic quagmire is lampooned here, as is its reputation for mean-spirited or jaded locals. Robot Dreams also depicts the visual and socioeconomic differences between the city’s boroughs. With such a jumble of folks of different life stations mashed together, Dog’s people-watching, er, animal-watching during his loneliest moments makes him feel the full intensity of his social isolation. With Robot, however, Dog has a naïve companion that he can show the best of the city to. Robot has no understanding of passive-aggressive or outright hostile behavior (see: Robot hilariously not understanding what a middle finger salute is – the only objectionable scene if you are considering showing this to younger viewers). Within this city of contradictions, Dog and Robot’s love is here to stay.

Though he is no animator, his experience in guiding Spanish actresses Ángela Molina, Maribel Verdú, and Macarena García in Blancanieves through a silent film was valuable. In animated film, there is a tendency towards overexaggerating emotions. But with Robot Dreams’ close adaptation of the graphic novel’s ligne claire style and the nature of Robot’s face, the typical level of exaggeration in animation could not fly in Robot Dreams. Berger and storyboard artist Maca Gil (2022’s My Father’s Dragon, the 2023 Peanuts special One-of-a-Kind Marcie) made few alterations to the storyboards, fully knowing how they wished to frame the film, and hoping to convey the film’s emotions with the facial subtlety seen in the graphic novel. Character designer Daniel Fernandez Casas (Klaus, 2024’s IF) accomplishes this with a minimum of lines to outline characters’ bodies and faces. Meanwhile, art director José Luis Ágreda (2018’s Buñuel in the Labyrinth of the Turtles) and animation director Benoît Féroumont (primarily a graphic novelist) visually translated Sara Varon’s graphic novel using flat colors and a lack of shading to convey background and character depth (one still needs shading, of course, to convey lights and darks of an interior or exterior).

Robot Dreams’ nomination for the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature this year was one of the most pleasant surprises of the 96th Academy Awards. In North America, Robot Dreams’ distributor, Neon, has pursued an inexplicable distribution and marketing strategy of not allowing the film a true theatrical release until months after the end of the last Oscars. The film was available for a one-night special screening in select theaters in and near major North American cities the Wednesday before the Academy Awards. And only now (as of the weekend of May 31, 2024), Neon will release Robot Dreams this weekend in two New York City theaters, the following weekend in and around Los Angeles, with few other locations confirmed – well after interest to watch the film theatrically piqued in North America.

Alongside Neon’s near-nonexistent distribution and marketing of Jonas Poher Rasmussen's animated documentary Flee (2021, Denmark), one has to question Neon’s commitment to animated features and whether the company has a genuine interest in showing their animated acquisitions to people outside major North American cities. This is distributional malpractice and maddeningly disrespectful from one of the most acclaimed independent distributors of the last decade.

In Robot Dreams, Pablo Berger and his crew made perhaps the best animated feature of the previous calendar year. Robot Dreams might not have the artistic sumptuousness of the best anime films today, nor the digital polish one expects from the work of a major American animation studio. By film’s end, its simple, accessible style cannot hide its irrepressible emotional power. Its conclusion speaks to all of us who silently wonder about close friends long left to the past, their absence filled only by memory.

My rating: 8.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog. Half-points are always rounded down.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[viscerawizard]

I blink away the sleep that fogs my brain as my patrons' messages crowd my vision - blurred already by the rays of the morning sun and the fact that the cart is definitely still rolling over pathless hillocks - and say my catchphrase, as I always do. No one wants to miss it. I'm one of the best scrys out there, I hear. Not that it gets to my head. No.

"Goodmorrow, patrons! Who hast the strength to rove with me today?"

I am met near instantaneously with a crowd of m-m-m's - mental magus messages - most of which say something of the sort that one would say to a dog. "Heel!" says one. I find this unamusing. For the last few days, I explain to my newest scryers, I have been eating table scraps and bones. I am hungry - I chortle a bit - but I haven't lost my nerve just yet.

My party members are still asleep, but that's just as well. I can walk my scryers through preparing the healing potion that's been brewing for the last month, and show them the beautiful, beautiful hillocks that sometimes try to eat what rolls o'er them.

For this is not a path, no. This is a hemb's nest. I am in a hemb's nest. And I must be very very quiet, for I'm hunting their eggs.

The potion is a nice reddish-gold color by now, and one particular scryer says it looks very edible. I reassure her that it tastes revolting. The stoke-dragon under it nods. It is made with phoenix's droppings, which not only give a boost to regeneration, but smell and taste like a burnt raccoon who roll'd in giants' dung since it was a wee baby. The scryers laugh, reassuring me. I'm settling into the groove again, and as my party members wake up, they are introduced to my scryers too. Imoln has his own scryers to sate, Miya and Eyraz carry magical items which power them, and Ophelia - bless her - has trained her skills to the point that she doesn't need outside magicks for help. I'm a bit envious of her, but that's beside the point.

The point is the hembs. Big, rockish things. They bury themselves in the ground for months on end after breeding season and look like fields of stones. Hides thicker than your arm. And they're remarkably easy to train, if given time, attention, and generous helpings of mountain goat.

We'll be to the nest soon. It's at the heart of the hembfield. See, every spring, I explain to my scryers, all the hembs in a certain area go down from the mountains they live in and collect in valleys to mate. After that lot is done the eggs are laid at the center of the valley and all them hembs sleep around them to protect them - and whatever unlucky hemb is closest to a hemb egg when it hatches has to parent the thing till it's old enough to go off by itself and its hide has hardened.

Imoln gestures to me at the surroundings, then at his head.

"Ah."

I smile, then slink towards the back of the cart. He's going to show his scryers the view. I did that already, so now- ah! My spellbox! Drat. I didn't check my spellbox all morning.

I open my rucksack, and sure enough, it's spitting out magic parchment with this morning's donations on them already. Line by line, I watch a fireball spell materialize. It's fairly short, so I rip it off once it's done and roll it into a tube so it can go in one of my arm bags.

Miya whistles, perched on the wingless cliffwyrm that's pulling the cart. She sounds impressed, so I whip around and put the rest of the new spells in my leather arm bags as well.

"Hemb eggs!" I exclaim, perhaps a bit too loud, for the rest of my party now looks at me in mild contempt.

Immediately my head fills with "omlette" "hard boiled hemb?" "wee BABYS!!" and the like. Ah, good old scry-spam.

Ophelia, mute as ever, signs "right, left, wake." Oh, no. I was too loud. rats. On the bright side, though, the cart is squarely in the clearing and not on any hembs anymore. Hembs who now are unburrowing themselves and rising to glare at us with their beady eyes. Now I see why some call them armadillo-bears, even though they're completely gray and covered in stony hide. Not to mention the tails, wide and flat and long.

The one to the right of our cart is waking up faster, shaking its head free of the dust and grime. We all rush into formation, with me to the right flank, Miya and Imoln to the left flank, and Ophelia and Eyraz more to the center. Now's the time, I tell my scryers, to donate if they want to watch me more, through the shakes of the hemb's paws hitting the ground in warning.

Miya, all the way at the left of the hemb, nods, and we fly into battle. Eyraz and Ophelia taunt the hemb by baring their teeth, and Miya, Imoln and I prepare fireball spells. "Thank you, DragonDongus69" I whisper as I read the parchment and it disappears, readied. The spell donator is now booyah-ing in my mental chat, but I don't particularly mind.

Snap with my first and third fingers, blow into my first and second, I run through my head. I need to do it right or the fireball's going to come out more of a flaccid firefart.

Eyraz has now moved onto their most effective silent taunting technique, the jump-around-and-wave-obscene-signs. It works splendidly, as the hemb opens its mouth. Before it can roar and wake up the whole hembfield, though, Miya, Imoln, and I strike.

Snap. Blow. Boom.

The hemb's softest weak point is its mouth, which has been hit by a three-way fireball, killing and cooking it instantly. No more scraps for dinner. Roasted hemb, a delicacy for some, will now be our next few meals.

The hemb to the left of us, upon seeing the silent takedown of its neighbor, has wisely decided to leave us the hell alone and burrows itself back down into the dirt.

I think I'll name the egg Hemrietta.

You're a Warlock. But instead of drawing power from a higher being, people can choose to donate a portion of their magical power to you. In exchange, they can scry on your adventures and can send telepathic messages to you, as well as make requests. It can get annoying, but you make it work.

[spacenutspod]

NASA’s Spirit and Opportunity Mars rovers landed on the Red Planet on Jan. 3 and 24, 2004, respectively. This image shows a view Opportunity captured of its own shadow on July 26 of that year, the 180th Martian day, or sol, of its mission.NASA/JPL-Caltech This month marks the 20th anniversary of Spirit and Opportunity’s landing on Mars, part of a mission whose legacy will extend far into the future. In January 2004, twin NASA rovers named Spirit and Opportunity touched down on opposite sides of Mars, kicking off a new era of interplanetary robotic exploration. They arrived in dramatic fashion three weeks apart, each nestled in a cluster of airbags that bounced along the surface around 30 times before coming to a stop and deflating. The golf cart-size rovers’ mission: to look for evidence that water once flowed on the Red Planet’s surface. Their findings would rewrite science textbooks, including Opportunity’s discovery soon after landing of the famous “blueberries” – spherical pebbles of the mineral hematite that had formed in acidic water. Several years into the mission, Spirit, undaunted but now dragging a damaged wheel, uncovered signs of ancient hot springs that could have been ideal habitats for microbial life billions of years ago (if any ever existed on the Red Planet). Scientists suspected Mars had long ago been radically different than the freezing desert it is today: Orbital images had shown what looked like networks of water-carved channels. But before Spirit and Opportunity, there was no proof that liquid water had formed those features. On the 20th anniversary of the landing of Spirit and Opportunity, celebrate NASA’s Mars Exploration Rover Project with this two-sided poster that lists some of the pioneering explorers’ accomplishments on the Red Planet.NASA/JPL-Caltech Download a free poster celebrating the 20th anniversary of the landings “Our twin rovers were the first to prove a wet, early Mars once existed,” said former project scientist Matt Golombek of NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Southern California, which managed the Mars Exploration Rover mission. “They paved the way for learning even more about the Red Planet’s past with larger rovers like Curiosity and Perseverance.” An Enduring Legacy Thanks in part to the science collected by Spirit and Opportunity, NASA approved development of the SUV-size Curiosity rover to investigate whether the chemical ingredients that support life were present billions of years ago on what was once a watery world. (The rover found soon after its 2012 landing that they were.) Perseverance, which arrived at the Red Planet in 2021, is building on Curiosity’s success by collecting rock cores that could be brought to Earth to check for signs of ancient microbial life through the Mars Sample Return campaign, a joint effort by NASA and ESA (European Space Agency). While working on Spirit and Opportunity, engineers developed practices for exploring the surface that continue today, including the use of specialized software and 3D goggles to better navigate the Martian environment. And after honing years of expertise during the twin rovers’ travels over Mars’ rocky, sandy surface, engineers are able to plan safer, longer drives, and to quickly put together the far more complex daily plans required to operate Curiosity and Perseverance. Using footage filmed at JPL when Spirit touched down on Jan. 3, 2004, as well an animation depicting the rover’s arrival at the Red Planet, this video celebrates the 20th anniversary of Mars Exploration Rover Project landings. Spirit’s twin Opportunity arrived at Mars three weeks later. Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech Science team members have also become more adept in their role as virtual field geologists, drawing on years of knowledge to select the best ways to investigate Martian terrain using the robotic “eyes” and tools carried by their roving partners. Martian Marathon Designed to last just 90 days, Spirit landed on Jan. 3; Opportunity, on Jan. 24. The solar-powered Mars Exploration Rovers soldiered on for years – in the case of Opportunity, nearly 15 years, before succumbing to a planet-enveloping dust storm in 2018. That durability surpassed the wildest dreams of scientists and engineers, who had only expected localized exploration over a distance of no more than one-third of a mile (600 meters). Instead, through their long-lived robotic surrogates, the team got the chance to roam a wide variety of Martian terrains. Opportunity, the first rover to go a marathon-length distance on another planet, would ultimately cover nearly 30 miles (45 kilometers) in total – the farthest distance driven on another planet. “This was a paradigm shift no one was expecting,” said former project manager John Callas of JPL. “The distance and time scale we covered were a leap in scope that is truly historic.” This artist’s concept depicts one of NASA’s Mars Exploration Rovers on the Red Planet. The twin rovers, Spirit and Opportunity, landed in 2004 and lasted years beyond their expected 90-day mission.NASA/JPL-Caltech The chance to see so much was critical for revealing that not only was Mars once a wetter world, but also that it supported many different kinds of watery environments – fresh water, hot springs, acidic and salty pools – at distinct points in its history. Continuing Inspiration The roving twins would also inspire a new generation of scientists. One of those was Abigail Fraeman, who was a high school student invited to JPL on the night of Opportunity’s landing. She got to watch the excitement as the first signal returned, confirming Opportunity had safely landed. She would go on to pursue a career as a Mars geologist, returning to JPL years later to help lead Opportunity’s science team. Now deputy project scientist for Curiosity, Fraeman calls many of the people she met on Opportunity’s landing night her close colleagues. “The people who kept our twin rovers running for all those years are an extraordinary group, and it’s remarkable how many have made exploring Mars their career,” Fraeman said. “I feel so lucky I get to work with them every day while we continue to venture into places no human has ever seen in our attempt to answer some of the biggest questions.” More About the Mission JPL, a division of Caltech in Pasadena, California, managed the Mars Exploration Rover Project for NASA’s Science Mission Directorate in Washington. For more information about Spirit and Opportunity, visit: https://mars.nasa.gov/mer News Media Contacts Andrew GoodJet Propulsion Laboratory, Pasadena, Calif.818-393-2433andrew.c.good@jpl.nasa.gov Karen Fox / Alana JohnsonNASA Headquarters, Washington301-286-6284 / 202-358-1501karen.c.fox@nasa.gov / alana.r.johnson@nasa.gov 2024-003 Share Details Last Updated Jan 17, 2024 Related TermsMars Exploration Rovers (MER)Jet Propulsion LaboratoryMarsMars Exploration ProgramOpportunity (Rover)Spirit (Rover) Explore More 5 min read NASA Study: More Greenland Ice Lost Than Previously Estimated Article 1 hour ago 7 min read Michael Thorpe Studies Sediment from Source to Sink Sedimentary and planetary geologist Michael Thorpe finds the stories rocks have to tell, those on… Article 1 hour ago 6 min read This US-Indian Satellite Will Monitor Earth’s Changing Frozen Regions Article 7 days ago

[cakedisposable]

Ape Rove Carts Review : Premier Cured Resin Cartridge 1Gram Vape Pen

Ape Rove Carts has created a fantastic product in their Premier Cured Resin Cartridge. As someone who regularly uses vape pens, I am quite impressed with the quality, flavor, and overall experience that this product provides.



This vape pen has more than enough to keep me satisfied. I appreciate that this vape pen comes with cured resin, a feature that enhances the flavor and potency. As the resin is cured, it has a richer and deeper flavor compared to regular cartridges, and you can truly taste the terpenes in each puff.



I tried the Indica variant of this cartridge and was met with a sweet, citrusy, and slightly spicy flavor. The high was calm and relaxing, which is what I prefer. The Sativa variant provides an uplifting, energetic high, which is perfect for daytime use.



The Ape Rove Carts vape pen is also easy to use and compact. It's easy to slip into my pocket, and the draw is always smooth. This product is well made, reliable, and consistently performs to a high standard.



If I had to criticize one thing about the Ape Rove Carts vape pen, it would be that the price might seem a bit steep for some users. But given the quality of the product, I believe it’s a worthwhile investment.



Lastly, Ape Rove Carts shows they are committed to ensuring a quality and safe product for their consumers. All of their products are lab-tested, and they make it easy to view the test results on their website.



Overall, I give the Ape Rove Carts Premier Cured Resin Cartridge a 4.8/5. It's one of the best cartridges I have used, and I would highly recommend it to other vape enthusiasts.



However, this review is subjective and based on personal use. Effects may vary depending on individual tolerance levels and strains. Therefore, always do proper research or consult with a medical professional if using it for medicinal purposes.

[rootslosangeles]

What to Purchase From a Recreational Dispensary in Los Angeles

Whether you’re on vacation, new to cannabis, or a veteran smoker—there’s a lot to consider when shopping at a recreational dispensary in Los Angeles. You’ll encounter different strains, concentrates, edibles, brands, and more. So, what should you purchase the next time you visit Roots LA? Let’s take a deeper look at the best options to keep in mind.

What to Buy if You’re Visiting California You’ll definitely want to stop by a dispensary if you’re visiting California or on vacation. That said, you might not have enough time, space, or freedom to enjoy certain products. Fortunately, you can select products that are portable, low-key, and disposable.

Pre-Rolled Joints Pre-rolled joints are fantastic if you’re on vacation or traveling through the state. Pre-rolls can be affordable without losing potency. They provide a traditional way to enjoy cannabis, and you’ll find various Indica, Sativa, and Hybrid strains. Joints can be ideal for multiple people, as they’re easy to pass around and share.

Consider brands like Baby Jeeter, Froot, Pacific Stone, and Dime Bag the next time you visit Roots LA.

Cartridges and Vapes In some cases, the smell of a joint can be too noticeable. Maybe you’re with family, on a work trip, or in a non-smoking hotel. Cartridges and vapes are perfect for these situations. You can find cannabis carts that are budget-friendly, potent, flavorful, and disposable.

These products can be used right out of the package and have a lower profile aroma. Depending on your tolerance and usage, one cart can last an entire trip. Look for disposable brands like STIIIZY, Rove, and Dime.

Edibles Lastly, edibles can be a fantastic choice if you can’t smoke or need something entirely low-key. Edibles like gummies, brownies, and drinks don’t have a powerful aroma and are easy to transport. Tiny cannabis gummies in low dosages can also be ideal when you’re on the go.

Just be sure to watch your dosage range if you’re not experienced. Newcomers can experience unpleasant side effects if they aren’t careful. Dosages between 5-20 mg may be ideal, but ask your budtender for their recommendation.

Get Discounts on Your First Order! We offer a wide variety of daily deals and discounts besides just the ‘Deals’ tab on our online menu. We have a deal for you whether you’re a recreational, medicinal, veteran, disabled, or senior customer! Here are some deals to expect the next time you visit our weed shop:

20% off your first order on all products 15% from 6 AM to 10 AM every day 15% from 2 PM to 6 PM every day 5% off for veterans, seniors, and disabled visitors

Visit Our Recreational Dispensary in Los Angeles Today! Look no further than Roots LA If you’re searching for the best dispensary menus in your area. We offer a wide variety of brands, strains, and products for you to choose from. You’ll find incredible products with options like Kush Mints, Area 41, and more. If you get stuck with all the choices or need a gentle push in the right direction, our budtenders are here to help.

Our knowledgeable staff of budtenders is here to guide you through the process and ensure you find the best product for your needs and tastes. So what’re you waiting for? Come visit us in person at 11045 Sherman Way Sun Valley, CA 91352 or call us at (818) 210-0095!

[metrixdistributions]

Nectar Collector comes with everything you need in your dab tool. It is glass on glass with an inline glass percolator. There is no dabbing tool required. Simply use any of your quartz tip or titanium tip and heat it up with a torch. When it is hot enough, dab it onto your glass dab tray with the wax already in it. The Metrix Nectar collector variants come in different sizes like 10 mm, 14 mm, and 19 mm. For more information, contact us at +1 (909) 786-6872.

[cinebration]

Injury Before Infliction (Geralt of Rivia x Reader) [Request]

Could I request Geralt x female reader sitting around a fire after he has hunted a monster and gotten a few mild injuries. He insists he's fine, but she wants to help patch him up and take care of him. He eventually relents and lets her help him.—Requested by anon

Warnings: blood, guts, wounds

Gif Source: lamberts

The most frustrating quality Geralt possessed was his general lack of regard for himself. That is, he sustained injury and plunged headlong into danger without a care for his own wellbeing beyond a general sense of self-preservation and the knowledge that if he did not succeed in killing the monster, it would go on killing and terrorizing people ill-equipped to handle it.

As such, Geralt regarded superficial or basic injuries as nothing more than nuisances, and as all nuisances go, they were best treated quickly, without fuss, and without undue attention. He disliked excessive attention, because it suggested that he was not equal to the pain—which, in the case of nuisances, was not worth his attention in any case.

You, on the other hand, believed that all such injury, whether physical, emotional, or psychological, was in need of treatment, whatever treatment the particular ailment required. You were something of a healer, trained in the old ways and touched with a little bit of chaos to help healing along.

You crossed paths with Geralt on the outskirts of a village plagued by one of the new abominations that were emerging from the broken monolith. It had consumed half the population, maimed another quarter of it, and made the rest flee for dear life. As a healer, you were drawn to the place of such pain and death and devastation in the hopes of offering your aid.

However, much to your dismay, the village was empty but for corpses and the carrion creatures tearing at their decaying flesh. Your instincts had never steered you wrong when it came to selecting new places to offer your services. Why, then, were you in an abandoned place with no one to heal?

You wandered through the eerily quiet village, your footsteps light on the springy soil of the streets. It had rained a few days before, giving the earth some pliancy beneath your tread.

Carts lay abandoned and overturned on the small thoroughfare. No animals roved around or scurried underfoot.

A malodorous stench whipped past your face as the wind kicked up. You rounded a corner and found its source: the malformed creature, its stomach split open, guts poured out onto the dirt street. In the early morning chill, its innards still gave off wisps of steam. It had been freshly killed.

You found its killer a few paces away, heaving a sigh as he rested on a barrel that had miraculously survived the fight. Wooden houses to either side had suffered the worst of the damage, hardly standing after the destruction the creature’s fight with the witcher had caused.

The white-haired hulk of a man that had slain it glanced askance at you as you drew near. You paused a few paces away, your gaze flicking from one wound to the next over his armor-clad torso. The creature had managed to tear through the stiff leather, gouging his flesh none too superficially.

Your senses hadn’t been wrong, then.

“Witcher,” you greeted quietly. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.” He heaved himself to his feet and strode past you, leaving the dead creature in his wake.

You followed after him. “Those wounds say otherwise.”

“I’ll live.”

“Are you sure? I’ve seen others die for less.”

He grunted and passed through the village’s entrance, turning right on the road. Striding after him, you walked for nearly a quarter-mile before he angled into the forest, picking his way over fallen trees and thick undergrowth. You shadowed him less gracefully, your pursuit of him audible even to those without his enhanced hearing.

A clearing emerged from the dense woods. A horse trimmed the grass therein, unburdened of its saddle and other bags. Its tail swished lazily against its rump, casting away hungry flies. A few paces away sat an unlit fire pit with a small deer trussed beside it.

The witcher lit it with a sign thrown from his fingers. Peeling off his gloves, he shucked himself out of the leathers, wincing as the wounds in his chest flared with pain, and drew out a knife to field-dress the dead animal. You watched him cut with practiced precision, each motion as fluid as a snake sliding through water. He skewered some of the meat he sliced off its hank on a stick and hung that over the fire for cooking.

“I’m a healer,” you said. You had stopped beside the horse and remained on your feet as the witcher eased himself down onto a rock overgrown with lichen. “I can easily treat you.”

“What were you doing at the village?”

“Looking for people to heal.”

He fixed you with those yellow eyes, the sheer brightness of them startling you. You had only ever seen that color so strongly in the eyes of an owl from your youth, a great, imposing thing that never seemed to blink or miss anything—a quiet killer who caught prey without the poor things ever realizing they were doomed.

“The village’s abandoned.”

“I am aware, but I was drawn here all the same.”

“Drawn?”

“I go where I’m needed.” It was the explanation you always gave to people. It was easier than explaining that something inside of you pointed like a compass to whatever newly injured folk required your assistance.

“You aren’t needed.”

“I disagree.”

The witcher stared at you over the fire. As the sun climbed overhead, casting long shadows over the clearing from the trees surrounding it, the man’s rugged features, still dirty from the blood and guts of the creature, became mountains and valleys of darkness.

“Will you leave if I let you fix me up?”

You nodded.

Heaving a sigh, the witcher stripped off his shirt as you sat down beside him. You carried two objects: a pack over your back with your travel essentials and a small pouch slung over your hip with your healer’s kit. Shouldering off the pack, you reached into the pouch and plucked out a small vial of red fluid and fresh linens. The gouges, though a fraction more than superficial, did not require stitching, although you had the curved needle and suturing thread necessary for that task in your pouch.

You applied the red fluid liberally over the witcher’s wounds. He flinched, jaw grinding as the ointment sparked new lines of pain through his chest, but he kept silent as you quickly cleaned out the wounds and dressed them in silence.

Only when you finished did you speak. “That should do. When they heal and the scars form, rub the tissue with your fingertips, hard, to help the scar from becoming raised.”

He grunted. “I don’t care about that.”

You shrugged. “I advise it to all my patients.”

You felt his gaze on you as he pulled his shirt back on and you returned the ointment bottle to your pouch. It felt penetrative, as though trying to peel back your exterior to see underneath.

“Do all witchers have poor social etiquette?” you asked, not returning his gaze as you tied the pouch shut.

“How did you hear about the village?”

“I crossed the paths of some of the injured.”

“And you decided to come all the way here where the monster was?”

“I knew someone was hurt and needed my help.”

“How long ago did you talk to the villagers?”

You paused to think. “A few hours before daybreak.”

The witcher frowned. “I hadn’t fought it yet.”

You didn’t reply, but you finally turned your attention to him.

“How did you know to come here if I wasn’t hurt?”

“You were hurt.”

“Not when you decided to come here.” His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Are you a seer?”

You shook your head. “I just knew someone needed me.”

Rising to your feet and dusting off your skirts, you hefted your pack back onto your shoulders and stood with your head tipped up toward the sun, feeling its warmth and the breeze kicking through the trees fringing the clearing.

North, the little voice inside whispered.

“It was a pleasure,” you told the witcher, facing yourself toward the north. “I have somewhere else to be now.”

Frowning, the witcher remained silent as you stepped past him and proceeded to your next patient. He thought about you for several days afterward, wondering how you knew injury before its infliction.

[twstedstoryshop]

Congratulations on 700 readers.Your get to a thousand in no time.Ok for the event and sorry if it's to early.

But medieval au with a jester Yuu.The characters being Jack, Sebek and Ruggie.Thank you for all your hard work.

More of a platonic/ambiguous take on this request. Wanted to build a world and slight story between the inhabitants of this kingdom and a mysterious jester. Long read warning! -Shopkeep

Medieval AU with Jack, Sebek, Ruggie, and a Jester Yuu

Jack is a sword of hire. A (literal) lone wolf of a mercenary who lets the winds carry him to various towns or kingdoms that have any kind of work to carry out. Bandits, roving monsters, or an insidious plot caused by a corrupt noble, Jack is on it.

Has become a bit of a local legend, but people can’t seem to get a hold of him as he immediately puts on his broody facade and skips town before folks can try to pry into his life.

It just so happens with his latest bounty, he ends up in the court of some sort of noble dragon prince. Who that prince was, he could care less. He’s here to play as extra muscle to protect said prince during a masquerade ball.

All sorts of colorful faces filled the ballroom with masks, gowns and suits to beguile and dazzle. Yet Jack remained in the shadows, dressed somewhat decently and a wolf mask upon his face to match his wolf ears and tail.

He kept an eye on the horned prince who was tonight’s star of course with so many people coming to give their greetings to him. But something distracts him for a second. A soft jingle and laughter made his ear flick.

A monochrome jester with dashes of bright blue in their attire. They spun, they joked and played among the crowd, causing a few laughs here and there among the party-goers. Jack was curious about the sight until he made the mistake of making eye-contact with the jester.

The jester cart-wheeled over and smiled at him. He could see they wore a half-mask, hiding their eyes away, yet their lips were graced with a warm smile. “A wolf at a ball? That’s a sight to behold! Good wolf, why wear such a dour expression? Is it not time to make merry and wag your tail?”

Jack raised a brow at this silly entertainer. “I’m busy. I’m not here for dancing…” “Oho! I see, I see, but still, it would not hurt to smile just a little. Even hard working guards should relax every now and again!” “I’ll pass.”

The jester would whine up at Jack and rattle their bells. “Please, Sir Wolf! Allow me to do one trick for you! I will surely make you smile!” Again, Jack would raise a brow, intrigued to see what this jester could do to try and make him smile. “Good luck then. You won’t get a grin out of me,” Jack said assuredly, crossing his arms.

The jester smiled and giggled. With fanciful twirls of their arms and wrists, the jester guided Jack’s eyes about and suddenly, appearing out of thin air was a batch of flowers. Suddenly the flowers shifted to fully formed pears. Another twirl and they turned into candies!

One was unwrapped and before Jack could protest, the sweet pear candy was placed between his lips. The taste danced on his tongue and his tail began to slightly wag, having not had such a treat before. The jester chuckled. “A wagging tail is surely a wolf’s way to smile, yes?” “Hey, wait! That’s not what we agreed on!” Jack said with a mouthful. “But you’re happy right? Just a little?”

Jack went quiet, unsure of how to react to the jester’s words. He looked off to the side, pouting a bit that he had been bested. The mysterious jester laughed, satisfied with their work.

Sebek was a dutiful knight to the fae crown prince and he wore his title as knight proudly. Tonight was important for the prince had organized a masquerade ball. Sebek had to be on high alert as there was no telling who may show up.

A part of Sebek was a bit perturbed that the general of the kingdom had suggested hiring extra eyes and muscle to play guard. Why should they take in untrustworthy sellswords when he, his co-knight, and the general were enough for the prince!

Yet the prince agreed with his fae general and he had mentioned it would give him a reason to invite a dear friend of his to keep a lookout too.

A friend of the prince? Perhaps another noble fae? It was first for Sebek to hear about such a friend! A part of Sebek looked forward to this meeting, wondering what kind of fae this person may be?

And here he was, staring down at this silly monochrome jester, happily swaying their hat to hear their own jingling bells. All the while the prince looked at them with such fondness.

“Sebek, this is my dear friend, Yuu. They’re a wonderful entertainer and will also be a guard as well. I’m tasking you to help familiarize them with the castle layout and such.” “M-me, your Grace…!?”

The prince looked at Sebek with slightly raised brows. “Do you not want to do such a task, Sebek?” “I would never go against your word, your Majesty! I would be more than happy to take this human under my supervision!” The prince smiled contentedly. “Then I leave them in your care. Please treat them well.”

So that was how Sebek, the proud fae knight, was left to tend to, well, a clown basically. Yuu would follow Sebek around closely like a chick following a hen. All the while Sebek drilled so much information in them. From all the noble family names attending the ball to all the best vantage points to watch over the prince.

In the middle of his strict teachings, Yuu simply piped up, “You really care about Prince Malleus, huh?” Sebek whirled around and raised his nose slightly in the air. “But of course! He is the crown prince! A man worthy of the utmost respect and being his knight is an honor above all else!”

Yuu smiled and tilted their head. “Hehe! I’m glad the Prince has a wonderful person like you beside him. Along with his other knight Silver and General Lilia. I worry about him sometimes, you know.”

Sebek’s brain screeches to a halt at such words. He has to take a moment to realize what this lowly human entertainer just said. Him? Wonderful? He coughs into his fist, trying not to get bashful at the sudden compliment. “Why worry if you think so highly of us then, jester?”

"That is true. I can’t help it sometimes. I’ve only ever imagined you from the letters Prince Malleus sends me. He speaks rather highly of all three of you.” “... What kind of things does he say about us?” Sebek asked with an eager look in his eyes. “Oh my~ This is a charming side of you! And here I thought you were an uptight prude~” “Who are you calling an uptight prude, jester!?”

Masquerade balls like this were such a cinch to infiltrate. It took only a quick distraction and a snatch of some noble’s mask to blend into the crowd. Where everyone had to wear a disguise, no one would be none the wiser to a spy in the mix.

Frankly, Ruggie was apprehensive to take this job from the second born prince from the beast kingdom, but the prince promised him quite a hefty reward if he could pull this off. Not wanting to let opportunities pass by, the hyena took the job.

It seemed simple enough. Keep his ears peeled for information and maybe swipe something right off the fae prince that could give him more intel. Plus with so many nobles around, it was a buffet of loose purses and valuables to pilfer.

Ruggie would move with such deftness and stealth between the party-goers. A quick “excuse me!” and some squeezing by and Ruggie had a handful of coins or jewels to hide away in his pockets.

Yet the main course was yet to be had! As if on cue, the fae prince stood not too far from his reach. He had a couple guards at his side, but so many people were coming in to greet him. It was the perfect opportunity to nab something while he wasn’t looking.

Ruggie closed in, breath held, and his fingers twitched to see what he could swipe off the prince. Yet before his hand could even grasp, another hand suddenly grasped his and Ruggie was being swept off his feet!

“Oh my! A dance offer for me? What a charming man you are!” What? He was inches away from the prince’s pockets and suddenly Ruggie was being held around the waist, hand-in-hand with a laughing jester.

“Hey! Lemme go!” Ruggie yelled but sadly his cries for help were drowned out as he was twirled away wildly into the sea of dancers. He glared at his captor. “What’s the big idea!? Are you some kind of creep? I didn’t ask for a dance!”

“What? Oh you wound me, Sir Hyena! But you looked oh-so-desperate for a dance. You were even reaching out for the prince to ask him!” There’s a glint of knowing behind the jester’s mask and Ruggie stiffens.

”... What do you want?” Ruggie is immediately wary, unsure of what this jester wants if they’ve been eyeing him so well to catch him in the act of pick-pocketing. “One dance is all I ask, Sir Hyena and try to maybe noy bother my dear friend, aye? If you keep reaching for him, I will always whisk you away~”

Ruggie makes an annoyed click of his tongue and allows himself to be twirled around and dances with this stranger. “Why don’t you just turn me in if you saw me going for the prince?” “Mmm… I’m more about making friends than enemies. We all have our reasons to do the things we do. I’m sure you have your own.”

”I could have tried to kill the prince, y’know. Do something drastic.” “I don’t think you’re the kind of person to throw yourself in the eye of the storm. Maybe for cheap thrills perhaps? But to test a prince, I am unsure.” Ruggie grimaces. “Who the hell are you?” Yet that answer never comes to him as he is elegantly spun away from the crowd.

The jester bows with a flourish and disappears into the crowd mysteriously. Ruggie is left perturbed, unsure if he should be thankful or unnerved by the encounter. Whatever it is, he pushes the feeling down to focus on his mission. Cautious now more than ever…

[robininthelabyrinth]

Hi! I really love your writing and was wondering if you would do a part 2 of the fic you did for @kitsunesongs birthday?

The one where Nie Huaisang meets Xiao Xingchen and "persuades" him to go to the Nie Sect.

sequel to this one

Xiao Xingchen and Nie Mingjue got along just as disgustingly well as Nie Huaisang might have predicted, and it was starting to tick him off.

Not just him.

“It’ll pass,” he remarked to the glowering young man sitting beside him. “It always does…eventually. Xiao Xingchen is no different.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Song Zichen said, voice tight and back even tighter. The temples and the sects were not on what one might call the best of terms – it was politely referred to as tensions – so Song Zichen had refused to even consider leaving Xiao Xingchen in Nie Huaisang’s not-so-capable hands, but he also wasn’t strong enough to stop him, so all it meant in the end was that he had to trail along with them like an imprinted duckling.

A duckling with no sense of humor.

“They all come and get knocked over the head with it,” Nie Huaisang said with a sigh, fanning himself. He’d seen it happen time and time again. “My brother, I mean.”

“Your brother…hits people?” Song Zichen said, sounding doubtful enough for Nie Huaisang to realize that even he’d fallen for it.

“No,” he said patiently. “They’re overwhelmed by admiration for how good of a big brother he is and want him for their own.”

Song Zichen’s expression appeared to be at war with itself: he couldn’t decide whether to scoff at Nie Huaisang’s patent ridiculousness, furiously deny that Xiao Xingchen was attempting to market himself for possible adoption, or sullenly acknowledge that he, too, would like to be the recipient of Nie Mingjue’s rough sort of affection.

It was all those meaningful hand-on-shoulder, serious eye-contact, respect-is-given-where-it-is-earned-and-I-respect-you things Nie Mingjue did without thinking about it – possibly it was just the dearth of decent parents among the Great Sects, and the smaller sects too come to think about it, but everyone was hilariously susceptible to it.

(He’d accidentally done it to Lan Qiren once, making the man actually glow with pride for a moment before he realized he was being complimented by someone at least a decade his junior and fixed his expression. It was a memory that warmed Nie Huaisang’s heart.)

“Still,” Nie Huaisang mused. “I will admit that this is getting out of hand.”

He’d known that Nie Mingjue would be fond of Xiao Xingchen, but he hadn’t anticipated how much his brother had apparently been longing for someone with whom he could have ethical and moral discussions that didn’t leave him scowling and looking sick to his stomach. The two of them shared a clear and forthright vision of the world – in which people were supposed to help others, fight evil and save innocents, and that everything else was a distraction – and what started out, to Nie Huaisang’s mind, as some sort of moral purist fan club had eventually sort of…escalated.

It wasn’t that Nie Huaisang forgot that his brother was a powerful sect leader and formerly the general of the combined forces of the cultivation world and therefore was a terrifying political powerhouse to be reckoned with, not really. It was that his brother so rarely ever did anything with his power and influence that it was easier to just…put it aside.

On a normal day, his brother was a simple person: he wanted his family and sect to be happy and safe and strong, the common people protected, and evil defeated – ideally courtesy of his blood-thirsty saber, after a brisk bit of exercise. Nie Mingjue was respectful of others, such that he rarely intervened where he wasn’t explicitly invited, and so his focus had always been Qinghe, its environs, and the surrounding sects that pledged their loyalty in exchange for Nie support and strength.

Xiao Xingchen had more ambitious ideas than that.

Maybe he should have done more to head off their enthusiasm before it got this far, Nie Huaisang grumbled in his thoughts. But his brother seemed so happy, lighter than he’d been in years, less angry at everything – and his sudden burst of activity was driving Sect Leader Jin up the wall, and that was just legitimately hilarious.

Still, it was one thing for Xiao Xingchen to say that he wanted to protect innocents and defeat evil, no matter where it was. In the end, he was a naïve and untried young man unfamiliar with the world, no matter how powerful his ancestry, and such things would always be met with indulgent smiles and virtually no interest, everyone assuming it was little more than a child’s daydream.

It was something completely different for Nie Mingjue, Chifeng-zun and Sect Leader to one of the Great Sects, to put out a call for all able-bodied cultivators with courage and skill to join together once more to sweep through the worst parts of the cultivation world and clean it up together.

After all, Lan Xichen might win the women’s vote, but among men, at least, Nie Mingjue was the most admired man in the cultivation world, bar none, the most idolized and revered and envied, and he was offering an opportunity to win valor by his side. Those who had fought in the Sunshot Campaign were enticed by the notion of something clean and straightforward, cultivator against evil the way it was supposed to be; those that didn’t have a chance to win glory the last time were champing at the bit to belatedly add “fought under Chifeng-zun’s command” to their personal legacies; those who had been too young for the war were excited by the possibility of fame and fortune…

Sect Leader Jin, who was advocating to be Chief Cultivator of the cultivation world, did not want there to be a roving war-bad of powerful cultivators under his chief-most rival’s personal command, traveling throughout the cultivation world and making friends with each other and winning fame left and right with only Nie Mingjue to thank for it.

Sadly for him, there really wasn’t anything he could do about it.

Especially not now that Nie Mingjue was no longer asking Jin Guangyao to come play for him so regularly.

The playing had been designed to help with his ever-worsening temper, if Nie Huaisang understood his brother’s curt explanation properly, but it hadn’t really been doing much, and Nie Mingjue was far too busy now to waste time with things like that.

(Nie Huaisang did not think about how his father had died, and how much stronger his brother was than his father had ever become. He did not think about the fact that Xiao Xingchen was said to be doomed, the way his brother was doomed, or the fact that his brother’s decision to stop listening to Jin Guangyao’s playing or Lan Xichen’s encouragement of it had come on the heels of meeting someone else who was trading away their chances at a long and happy life for a chance to try to improve the world.

He did not think about any of that, or of the slow halting explanation his brother had finally given him about all the things he knew-but-didn’t-know about his sect’s cultivation style, about his brother’s own personal prognosis, and he certainly didn’t think about how his brother clearly saw this whole ridiculous notion of a massive large-scale night-hunt as his final campaign, his legacy, to be left behind when he himself left the world.

It wasn’t relevant, because it wasn’t going to happen, Nie Huaisang wasn’t going to let it happen. So he wasn’t thinking about it.)

“It’s a good plan,” Song Zichen said, and Nie Huaisang looked at him. “I had wanted to start a sect with no bloodline, based only on friendship, but Xingchen and your brother are putting together a coalition of sects that is much the same thing. All of those young men becoming brothers in arms…”

“Women, too,” Nie Huaisang said, because it was true. There’d be plenty of unexpected marriages formed before this whole thing was done – Jiang Cheng had recently declared his intention of joining, the nephew he’d insisted on caring for personally carted around on a sling on his back, and he looked so positively dashing when he did it that the women of the cultivation world might even consider removing him from their blacklist one day.

Maybe.

Song Zichen nodded seriously. “Women as well. Regardless, the end result of what they are achieving is the same - unity, friendship, cooperation, rather than chaos.”

Nie Huaisang smiled. And then, because why not, he used the excuse to slide closer and nudge Song Zichen in the side with a hand that lingered. “Don’t count yourself out, Song-xiong. You’re contributing, too.”

Song Zichen did not appear convinced.  

“You are!” Nie Huaisang insisted. “You just need to figure out what you’re good at – some purpose for yourself, some mission, or even just something to pass the time pleasantly. I’ll even help.”

He was about to suggest that they go to bed together – listen, he was shallow and Song Zichen was a very pretty person – but Song Zichen frowned, ducking his head a little in thought.

“Well, there is something,” he said slowly. “I thought, if it was true, that I might go deal with it. Although it’s only a rumor I heard…”

“I love rumors,” Nie Huaisang assured him, shelving his proposition for the moment. “What is it?”

“Have you ever heard of someone,” Song Zichen asked, “by the name of Xue Yang?”

[xxdragonwriterxx]

🔥I’m Sorry, Um..., Congratulations? 🔥

~~~

Levi had to admit, even with anger clouding his system, he was impressed by the determined look on the small doctor’s face as she stared him down, one hand on his chest as she held him back from the infirmary room where his lover had been taken after returning from an expedition. He could feel her trembling against him, her body betraying her nerves at the murderous look on his face, but her eyes were hard and unyielding as she stared right at him.

“She is fine Captain, she has just been pumped with a lot of sedatives and needs her rest. If you go in there, she won’t be able to talk to you.”

“I don’t care, I need to see her,” Levi growled, pushing harder against the hand that blocked him.

The doctor sighed when she saw the fiery look in his eyes. She was determined but she wasn’t heartless. She knew she would be able to work better on the young woman under her care if Humanity’s Strongest Soldier wasn’t watching her every move like a hawk, but she also knew that he was just scared for the person he loves the most. She could see it in his eyes, the desperation that was buried beneath the anger. He just needed to see that his wife was okay.

The doctor hesitated for one more moment before closing her eyes and nodding once, standing aside for him to pass. Levi wasted no time, quickly pushing into the room behind the doctor, only relaxing when he saw (Y/N) in the bed in front of him. He moved over to her bedside and slid down into the available chair, ignoring the doctor as she came in, grabbing a hold of (Y/N)’s hand and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. She was alive, he could see the rise and fall of her chest under the sheets, but he still felt nervous. The sight of her paler than normal skin and the bandages wrapped around her arm and chest was making him feel light headed.

He hadn’t been there when she got hurt. He hated it, but as Squad Leaders, the two of them usually had to separate during missions, (Y/N) leading her squad while Levi ran his, working to save as many people as possible whenever the missions went awry. He knew she was very capable, knew that if he ever suggested she back down as a Squad Leader to be in his own squad or stay home while he went off to fight that he would probably lose a limb. He couldn’t stop her from saving people and fighting for a better world, but he hated that he couldn’t always be there to save her.

Her squad had told him what happened when he found her in the medical cart on the way back to the walls. Apparently, an abnormal had lunged for one of her squad members when they had been busy slicing the nape of another titan. She had propelled herself into the titan’s hand, which had knocked it away from the soldier, allowing him time to escape, but had crushed her own gear to her side in the process, breaking her ribs and spraining one of her arms. The injuries had been further bolstered by her being thrown into a tree, knocking her unconscious on impact.

Levi sighed and squeezed her hand. She could occasionally be so reckless that sometimes he wanted to thump her over the head. Maybe even tie her to a chair if it kept her out of trouble. Levi chuckled quietly to himself as he pictured the fury she would bestow upon him if he ever told her to stay home like a good housewife. He figured he’d be safer in a horde of abnormals. She was such a little spitfire, but she was his spitfire, and as he looked at her prone form lying motionless in the bed, he knew he wouldn’t have her any other way. He was just grateful that she was still here with him after pulling that stunt.

The doctor took a few notes as she lifted the sheets, checking (Y/N)’s injuries before clicking her tongue and leaving the room, probably to get more supplies. This gave Levi the chance to place a soft kiss on (Y/N)’s hand, running his lips softly along her palm as he savored the warmth that met his lips. No matter how long they had been together, Levi still felt embarrassed about showing her a lot of affection in front of others, usually only going so far as holding her hand. With the doctor gone, he gave himself the luxury of showering her with small butterfly kisses, revealing how much he loved her and how worried he was for her. Finally leaning back in his chair, Levi brought (Y/N)’s hand away from his mouth and settled back with a sigh, content to wait for her to wake up, giving her hand another comforting squeeze.

Levi had just been about to close his eyes when he was surprised by the feeling of his hand being squeezed back. Levi immediately jolted in his seat and glanced over to his wife’s face to see her features scrunched up as she fought her way back into consciousness. Levi leaned over her, his other hand joining the first to hold her hand to his chest as he watched her eyelids flutter.

“Come on, (Y/N), open your eyes, baby,” Levi murmured.

The doctor came back in as (Y/N) let out a groan, the petite woman brightening at the sight of her patient waking back up. Moving to her other side, the doctor began to check her vitals as (Y/N)’s eyes blinked open, her (e/c) hues roving around the room in an attempt to focus on something.

Levi watched her eyes clear as she woke up completely, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth at the sight of the recognition in her eyes when she saw him.

“Levi…,” (Y/N) sighed.

“Hey, baby,” Levi murmured, using one hand to brush the hair out of her eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” (Y/N) said with another soft groan.

The doctor chuckled at (Y/N)’s response as she looked her patient over, carefully running her hands over her chest and sides. “You should, you took quite the hit,” she said.

“Really? What happened?” (Y/N) asked, leaning on Levi as he helped her sit up.

“You saved one of your squad members by taking a hit from a titan yourself,” Levi answered, his gruff tone making (Y/N) wince. She knew that tone, it was the tone he used whenever she managed to get injured on an expedition. It was a tone that both warmed her heart and sent a chill down her spine. She knew it just meant that he was worried about her, which was what made her heart warm, but she also knew it was a warning.

“Oh yeah…,” (Y/N) said, gently rubbing the ribs along her right side. “Are my ribs broken?”

“Yes, three of them, but your arm is only sprained. I’ve set your ribs and wrapped them so you should be fine aside from some soreness. You can’t do too much though, or you’ll risk fracturing them. You will need to take a break for awhile if you want to heal as fast as possible, so don’t even think about training, even with a lessened training regiment,” her doctor ordered.

(Y/N) hung her head in disappointment but nodded, her hair curtaining her expression.

“I’ll have your arm in this sling for a little bit, but after a few days you should be fine to take it off, alright? Just don’t do too much physical activity or you’ll make your entire body worse, alright?”

(Y/N) nodded again but lifted her head. “Thank you, Doctor…?”

“Santiago. Doctor Santiago, but you can call me Rosita.”

“Thank you, Rosita,” (Y/N) finished. “I appreciate all of the stuff you’ve done to help me.”

“Oh it’s nothing,” Rosita said with a wave. “It is my job, but you do so much for the good of humanity, the least I can do is patch you up after the fight.”

“Well thank you. I appreciate your consideration for my desire to get back in the field as quickly as possible.”

Levi grumbled something (Y/N) chose not to hear and flashed a warm smile at the suddenly bashful doctor, the small young woman wringing her hands in front of her while a pretty blush stole across her cheeks.

“Well actually, I meant to thank you,” Rosita said, still not looking at (Y/N). “The man you saved today, the one on your squad, is actually my older brother, Nico. When I heard what you did and how you got hurt, I knew I had to treat you and do it in the best way possible, in return for saving him. He’s all I have left, we lost the rest of our family when the titans broke through the wall, so I can’t thank you enough for keeping him safe for me.”

(Y/N) and Levi both exchanged looks of shock, but quickly shook it off. (Y/N) smiled even more at the doctor and quickly gave her a hug, ignoring her squeak of surprise when she brought her into her arms.

“I’m glad I could save him too. That’s why I do this job, to bring people back home to their friends and family,” (Y/N) said before releasing Rosita, smirking when the girl still looked dumbfounded at the idea of one of the most powerful Squad Leaders in the Survey Corps giving her a hug. She finally collected herself and busied herself with analyzing the data on her clipboard, turning her back to them.

“I’m glad he’s okay too but you need to stop getting yourself hurt,” Levi scolded, frowning at the smile his wife threw at him.

“Well what’s the fun in that?”

“(Y/N)...,” Levi said in warning.

(Y/N) giggled at the dark tone in his voice and leaned up to kiss him, fighting the urge to wince as she strained the muscles along her sides. Levi kissed her back with a roll of his eyes and gently stroked her uninjured arm, his fingers causing sparks to flicker along her skin. When they parted, Levi’s eyes were molten, the hot steel in them making her shudder.

“Just be more careful, brat. I can’t lose you.”

(Y/N) softened at his words and gave him another soft peck before Rosita turned back around to face them, Levi quickly moving back into his chair as if he hadn’t just been snuggling up to his wife. Rosita eyed them with a tiny smile on her lips but didn’t comment.

“Well, I’ve got the results for your tests and I’ve checked you over a few times and it seems like you will be able to be discharged later tonight. You were lucky, you broke a few bones, but you didn’t have any signs of internal bleeding and you’re both still relatively healthy with limited long term effects. I’m actually surprised that you were even out on that expedition considering your condition, things could’ve been significantly worse, and if you weren’t careful, you could’ve killed either yourself or the baby. If I were you, I’d start thinking about laying off the expeditions and focus on working from home until it’s safe for you to go back out on the field.”

Rosita looked up from where she had been reading off of her clipboard when she was met with silence, her eyes widening at the shocked expressions on both of their faces. (Y/N)’s jaw had dropped, her eyes wide and her chest heaving as she placed a hand over her stomach in surprise. Levi had gotten significantly paler, the color draining from his face to where he looked as white as a sheet, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull as he stared at the ground, his lips slightly parted. It took Rosita a moment, but suddenly it hit her.

Rosita brought her hands up to her face, covering her mouth with her overlapping palms as guilt and shock flowed through her system like an electric current.

“Oh my gods, did.., did you not know?”

(Y/N) shook her head woodenly and Rosita paled, rivalling Levi’s lack of color as dread flooded her.

“I am so sorry! I thought you knew! I- oh gods…,” Rosita stumbled over her words, her eyes wide as she paced the room, trying to escape the situation by doing something, anything. Unfortunately, her frazzled brain didn’t give her time to think and she quickly took her leave with a mumbled excuse, slamming the door shut behind her in her haste to leave. Silence filled the room, the young couple frozen in shock as the doctor’s words replayed in their minds like a broken record. 

(Y/N) glanced down at her stomach, running her palm over the still flat surface. She had noticed the signs, the slight increase in her weight, the fact that she vomited her guts up every morning, the dizzy feeling she would get when she worked her normally easy exercise routine. But all of these things she had dismissed as being overworked. She knew she was prone to working herself to the bone, often getting chastised by her amazing husband for forcing herself to do too much. The vomiting, the nausea, the weight change, those were all things she had experienced already whenever she worked too hard, the lack of sleep causing the dizziness, the inconsistent diet causing the weight change, and the migraines causing the vomiting. She had never even thought about the possibility of being pregnant, even though it made sense. She realized she had missed her last period, but she had been so busy she had failed to notice it, only focused on the upcoming expedition and preparing herself for the danger that would come with it.

Fear struck her heart then. The expedition. She had gone on the expedition with a baby in her belly, and had gotten hurt, would’ve died if it weren’t for her last minute efforts to make the fall less painful as she slammed into the tree, or the wonderful doctor that had healed her. She knew she had just been told the baby was alive and healthy, but what would she have done if it wasn’t? What would Levi have done? The thought made her close her eyes. 

Levi was right beside her and still hadn’t said a word. What was she going to say to him? Would he believe her if she told him she hadn’t known when going out to fight? She was almost too afraid to look at his face, to see the fury and condemnation in his eyes. They had never talked about children, the two of them too worried about wiping out the titans and saving humanity to worry about a family. (Y/N) knew she wanted this, had always wanted kids especially when she got together with Levi, but the titans were still roaming the world. How would he react to having a baby thrown into the mix of chaos that already weighed heavily on both of their shoulders?

(Y/N) knew she had to face this. This was the man she loved more than anything. They had been together for years, even before they were dating, their friendship lasting strong since the day they met when Levi was forced to the surface with Isabel and Farlan. They could figure this out, would figure this out, together. 

Opening her eyes, (Y/N) gathered what little courage she had left and turned to Levi, her mouth open to speak when she froze. Levi was crying. The tiny teardrops sparkled in the light of the hospital room as they slid down his cheeks, cutting trails down his perfect skin. He had regained some of his color and his eyes had narrowed back to their normal size, but the hues themselves were shining with emotion.

The sight was overwhelming. Levi had never shown this much emotion, even with her. The only other time she had ever seen him like this had been the night of their wedding when they were back in their room alone, a similar expression on his face as he made love to her for the first time as husband and wife, his eyes shining with emotion in a way that made her heart stop.

He turned to look at her and she felt herself break, tears welling in her own eyes to stream down her face. Her heart was pounding, threatening to burst from her chest as she met his intense stare.

“Levi- mppffhh!”

(Y/N) was cut off by Levi’s lips on hers, the passion and love that was being conveyed through the kiss making her feel light headed as her breath was stolen away. Levi was kissing her like the world was about to end, his tongue insistent as it mapped her mouth, his teeth biting and pulling at her lips almost feverishly. (Y/N) could do nothing more than whimper and moan into his mouth, her hands flying to grip his biceps and hold on for dear life.

They were both huffing and panting when they broke apart, (Y/N)’s whole world spinning in the aftermath of his soul searing kiss. Her eyes searched his, trying desperately to see what she hoped to see in his gaze. She thought his kiss was clear enough on how he felt, but she needed to see it. She needed to know that what he was telling her was true, needed to read it directly from his gunmetal eyes like she did every time she needed to know the truth from him. Years together had taught her how to read Levi like a book, her favorite book, so she would know his true feelings if she just met his gaze.

Levi didn’t shy away from her when she leaned closer to peer into his eyes, her hues flickering back and forth across his face desperately. Levi smiled and kissed her again, less aggressively this time, but no less passionate. (Y/N) slumped against him, her eyes fluttering closed until he broke away again. Leaning their foreheads against one another, Levi held her close, his hand tangling in her soft (h/c) locks.

“(Y/N), thank you,” Levi murmured. “I never thought I’d ever get this. Thank you so much.”

(Y/N) beamed at his sentiment, initiating her own quick kiss with him, relieved he wasn’t rejecting her or the new little life they had created together. “I love you, Levi.”

“I love you so much, (Y/N)” Levi whispered, pecking her lips again before leaning back, his eyes shining with the love he usually kept shuttered away. The sight made (Y/N)’s heart melt, her own eyes reflecting the love right back at him.

“I am so sorry, I really wasn’t aware you didn’t know,” Rosita said, the couple jumping away from each other in surprise, the pair having been so absorbed in each other they hadn’t noticed the bashful young woman come back in.

“Oh it’s okay!” (Y/N) said brightly. “You didn’t know, and we would’ve found out eventually, right? We just found out a little sooner, that’s all!”

Rosita was still mortified, but she seemed to relax a little at (Y/N)’s words, her hands wringing in front of her again as she faced the two captains.

“Well, I ran the results by one of my colleagues to be sure, but it looks like both you and your little one are just fine. You will be discharged tonight with an updated training schedule so you can remain active without putting yourself and your baby in danger. I’m sorry again, and um…., congratulations?”

(Y/N) chuckled and smiled at the doctor. “Thank you so much, Rosita. For everything.”

Rosita nodded and quickly took her leave again after grabbing a few things from the room, heading off to file the proper paperwork and bury herself in her embarrassment.

Levi smirked at the door Rosita had just scrambled through. He would have to find some way to thank her and let her know everything was fine, but for now, he had other things to worry about. Looking down at his wife, Levi couldn’t help the smile that crept along his features. They were going to have a baby. They were going to be a family. He had never in his life expected to have one of those. In the beginning, he had always assumed he was destined to be alone, the world always taking away the ones he loved most. But then (Y/N) had burst into his life like a firecracker, throwing his carefully structured world out of whack and destroying the walls around his heart in the same (Y/N) style fashion, never shying from his cold personality and laughing at his sarcastic shit jokes.

After they were married, he always expected to wake up and have it all be a dream. Everything had felt so surreal and yet he had never been so happy. This gave him the same feeling. He felt like he was floating, like he was going to wake up any minute now to find (Y/N) curled up against him in bed. But he knew he wouldn’t. This was reality, his reality. He was going to have a family and he had the stunning woman in front of him to thank for it.

His eyes hardened when he looked at the bandages wrapped around her body. He knew (Y/N) had had no idea she was pregnant when she rode out on the charge earlier that day, but Rosita was right. Something could’ve gone worse, and he could’ve lost one or both of the lights in his life. He knew (Y/N) was not going to be happy about being left behind, but he needed now more than ever to protect her. She was the diamond in a cave of stones, and he wasn’t going to give her up for anything. 

He needed to kill all of the titans so his family could live and grow up in a world without the fear of being eaten. He wanted his child to be able to laugh and smile and enjoy life without the constant threat of death, without the fear that one or both of their parents might not come back for them. He grit his teeth and clenched his fist subconsciously as he dared anyone to even try to take his family from him, or him from his family. He was determined to give them the best life he could possibly give them, no matter what, and even though he would die for them if necessary, he wanted to be a part of it. Even if he was afraid of his possible lack of skills as a father, never really having had a proper role model to show him how it was done, he would try everyday to be his best for them.

A warm hand on his cheek snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see (Y/N) watching him, a concerned look on her face. His own hand came up to rest over hers, his eyes closing while he nuzzled into her palm.

“You’re overthinking this. I can see it in your face,” (Y/N) said, snickering at the half-hearted glare he threw her. “We are having a baby, Levi, and I am here with you. You will not have to do this alone.”

“I’m here too, (Y/N). I promise I will be here every step of the way, and I will protect you with my life. So please, promise me you won’t do anything stupid during this pregnancy?”

(Y/N) smiled and leaned up to peck his lips lovingly.

“I promise, I won’t. I love you, Levi.”

“I love you too, (Y/N),” Levi said as he gently moved her to the side and slid into the bed with her, curling his body around her protectively. (Y/N) sighed and pushed herself against him, feeling her eyes droop as his warm presence lulled her to sleep, her hands laying lovingly over the child that rested in her belly as the soon to be new parents basked in the glow of their newest surprise.

[billypowers]

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Path

Breach Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (series), general angst

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: Uh, yeah, the long awaited update! And we’re very close to an ending. A necessary explanation that the timeline of the MCU has been changed for the purpose of this series. As of this chapter, the year is 1989. Anyways, let’s welcome back James and Luka!

I won’t demand but do ask for feedback; likes, reblogs, replies, comments, asks, especially on this series, but again, enjoy in your own way! <3 Love you!

You’d never been on a plane before. You’d ridden in the cargo bay of a large boat from Europe, hidden amid the barrels and fishing nets. The rest of the way, had been marked by the back of rickety farming trucks and mule-drawn carts. But never a plane.

Weeks on the road, by foot, by car, until you reached the short dock along the winding river; a peculiar, small plane floating on the water. 

James handed the man a handful of bills and turned back to you as he felt the pistol hidden beneath his jacket. Luka sat on your hip and asked a dozen questions as you were helped into the aircraft, the pilot ahead of you and James behind. How did it fly and float? Where were you going? Were you going to space? 

You hushed him as you sat on a crate against the wall and James sat on the next. You turned Luka so that his back rested against your front and the man beside you tapped his gloves fingers on his knee. 

You listened as the pilot flipped switches and cranked the plane to life. It rumbled around you and you latched onto James’ arm without thinking. He leaned in until his arm met yours. Luka laughed in delight as the propellers began to spin.

“It’s alright,” James said in Portugeuse; he warned you not to speak Russian. “Be calm. I rode in worse.”

“Maybe you have, but I do not like the idea of being so high up,” You hissed and retracted your hand. “Must we go so far away?”

“We’ve spent long enough here.” He whispered close to your ear. “And now is the time to go. So many people are moving around, we will hardly be missed.”

“You still haven’t told me where we go,” You hugged Luka as the plan began to move.

“Best I don’t. Yet.” He said pointedly and raised his finger to his lips to signal silence.

You nodded and rocked Luka. The canvas bag on your back held a change of clothes for both of you and the woolen wolf toy you’d knitted him when he was still in the cradles. James told you to bring as little as possible. Enough to survive. He had a bag on his own back stuffed with salted rations, ammunition, and his own clothing. He was geared more to war as you felt little more than a refugee running for the hills.

The constant roar of the engine set you on edge and tugged at your exhausted mind. As the plane lifted from the water in a flurry, you clung tighter to Luka and he grabbed onto your arm to keep you from squeezing him too hard.

“Mama, mama,” He called over the noise. “You will hurt me.”

“Here,” James reached out and took Luka’s arm. “I’ll take him. You should try to rest.”

“Up here?” You let go, reluctant. The boy was your only comfort as you lifted into the clouds. “I don’t think I can.”

“Try.” He ordered. “We will still have far to go after we land.”

“We always have far to go,” You crossed your arms.

He was silent. Again. In those days you’d traveled, he had been even less talkative than before. His brow wrinkled as he forged on, aimed towards some unknown target. He was even more insistent, even more impatient, but you did not have the strength to hope that he was eager for some end to the road. Only another pit stop.

Despite your nerves, despite the way your skin pricked every time you thought of the dearth of land beneath you, and the altitude made your ears ache, your eyelids closed. At first you did not doze, merely tried to hide from the world before you. But your own fatigue overwhelmed your obstinacy and you fell asleep.

In your dreams, you were there again. As you were every time you slept. The bright cell, the anguished cries of your child, the sinister shadow of the soldier. Not James, the soldier. And the doctors poked and prodded at you as they whispered. You screamed but no sound rose and you woke with a start.

You blinked through the haze as the engines whirred still and you glanced over as James quickly folded up a piece of paper. You saw only the picture of a man, taken long ago, blonde hair and square jaw; stoic. You covered your yawn with your arm as James tucked the paper into his pocket, jostling Luka who slept silently against his chest.

“You okay?” He asked. “You were dreaming again.”

“Was I?” You played dumb.

“You make noises,” He said. “Sometimes you speak.”

“Oh,” You shifted on the crate. “How long did I--”

“Mmm,” He shrugged. “We’re almost there.”

“There?” You asked.

“Almost ready to land,” He explained. “You don’t trust me.”

“Why do you say that? I have trusted you, James. You have kept us safe.” You argued.

“But you watch me.” He said. 

You lowered your head and rubbed your hands together. “You are quiet. You… never tell me anything.”

“I tell you what you need to know. Any more and it would be dangerous.” He pushed back his hair. “Can you trust that I am taking us somewhere we will be safe? Somewhere we might be able to stay?”

“And where would be such a fantastical place?” You challenged.

“Another thing I cannot tell,” He smiled grimly. “But will you trust me one last time?”

“Always trust,” You assured. “Always.” You reached over and touched Luka’s cheek. “Even then, you saved him. You took him from those monsters.” You sniffed. “You never had to take me too.”

He bent his head and looked down at the child in his lap. He rubbed Luka’s back and sighed.

“Do you think I would’ve left you?” His voice was brittle.

“You weren’t James then.” You placed your hand over his as his fingers, the metal ones concealed in his leather glove, began to twitch. “You are now, but you still hide from me.”

He shook his head and turned his face away from you. “The soldier, James…” You could barely hear him. “They are the same person and they both hurt you.”

“You are not--” You tucked your fingers under his palm and held his hand as he tried to pull away. “No, you did not know the soldier as well as I. You are not the same, James.”

He kept his face hidden but squeezed your hand. He took a deep breath and rested his head on Luka’s smaller one. “I try…” He muttered. “I try.”

✰

Back on solid ground, you didn’t stop moving. The only thing that changed, was the world around you. At first, the signs remained in Spanish and after a stop at a checkpoint, they turned to English. You could not read that so well and the few people you met, spoke too quickly for you to keep up.

You could surmise that you were in America. You knew that James was born there, it was of the few details he offered about who he was, or who he had been. You stopped at a bank, he waited for the other customers to clear out, and he exchanged his real for dollars. He kept his head down as he returned to you, hidden with Luka behind a cafe, and kept on.

He bought a rusted old Chrysler from a dealer on a dusty road. It rattled but didn’t putter. He stopped only to fill the tank and buy coffee and processed sandwiches from the stations. You stopped once to eat in a restaurant but James had hurried you through the meal as Luka began to shout loudly in Spanish, Russian, then English.

States lines were little more than painted signs on the road. The landscape changed, it grew wetter, lusher, swamps then forests, then sprawling farmlands. James kept away from the cities and forged along the back roads. And then he stopped and stared down an impasse.

You were tired. Days spent sleeping in the car, almost a whole week, with the brooding man and the bored and energetic child. It had all mounted on your shoulders and in your head. You wanted a bed; a real bed. You wanted to stay still.

“What is it?” You asked.

“We’re almost there,” He said.

“Almost where?” You wondered as you unwrapped a candy bar for Luka. A treat you’d saved for him a few days back.

James let out a long breath and turned the wheel as he hit the gas. He didn’t answer as he drove on. He wasn’t going to tell you. You could tell he was anxious. You could tell he was uncertain. And you were too.

You played a game with Luka to distract yourself. He grew tired of it and so you sang with him, out of key, but it eased your nerves. You went silent as you reached the city. You didn’t need a sign or a map. You knew it from the magazine and the television. It was New York.

You looked over at Bucky in disbelief.

“This is--”

“Where I’m from,” He said. “I was born here. Up in Brooklyn.” His voice was wistful. “A very long time ago.”

“Very long,” You chided. “You are not so much older than me.”

“I don’t look it,” He kept his eyes on the road and slowed with the traffic around him. “I…” He swallowed. “I have to meet someone and then I will tell you. Everything.”

“Meet who?” Your heart was fluttering.

“An old friend,” He stopped as the car before him did and he leaned against the car door as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out that paper, newsprint, folded and refolded time and time again. “Here.”

You unfolded it carefully. The article was printed in English. You frowned. “I cannot read so well this language.” You said.

“You can read enough.” He insisted. “You will have to learn to speak it too.”

You squinted and looked over the paper. The same picture of the blonde man; words you recognized; a name. ‘War hero, Captain America, found in Arctic’. Your eyes roved the page; thawed, alive, preserved, miracle. You shook your head in confusion.

“That is my friend,” James said. “He can help us. He knows people. People who can keep us from Hydra.” He eased onto the gas. “I can’t fight alone. Not anymore.”

“You sure they will?” You asked. 

“I know he will.” He gripped the wheel tightly. “If not me, you and Luka.”

“All of us.” You insisted.

He looked grim as he nodded but said nothing more. You folded up the paper and looked around at the crowded buildings.

“Mama, there’s so many people,” Luka chimed. “And everything’s so tall.”

“Yes, Myshka,” You said. “So tall.”

✰

It was dark. You sat in an alley with Luka in your lap, a disposed orange crate beneath you. James stood against the wall, hidden in shadows as he kept his eyes on the opening. Every time a pedestrian passed, he grew tense. You weren’t sure what his plan was, you were only scared. You needed somewhere to sleep, even the car, but he was too nervous to leave you alone, even locked in the old Chrysler.

Then he marched forward. You watched him as he grabbed the silhouette and dragged it into the alley. The man was taller than him, his figure limned in sunlight as he pushed back against James and forced him against the wall. The two men struggled with each other as they grunted.

James caught a fist than an elbow, barely keeping himself from being thrown off his feet. He was holding his punches, refusing to hit the man.

“Steve, Steve!” He hissed. “Hey, punk, it’s me!” He snarled. “Bucky.”

The other man suddenly stopped. He held James, or this person he knew as Bucky, against the wall as he tried to see him through the dark. He released him and stepped back, stunned.

“How--” The man uttered.

“I can’t explain. Not here.” James said as he lowered his voice.

“It can’t be,” Steve gasped. “Bucky. What the hell are you doing scaring me like that?”

“I didn’t know how else… I spotted you just down the street but-- had to take a chance.” James said nervously. “And I-- We need a place to go. Just for the night.”

“Just for the night?” Steve asked. “Is that all?”

“Well, no, but--”

“Wait, you said ‘we’,” Steve interjected. “Who--”

Bucky waved two fingers and signaled you over to him. You stood from beside the stinking bins and neared as Luka asked what was going on. You hushed him and came to stand by James, just behind his shoulder. The moonlight shone past the tall apartments and you saw the man clearer as he saw you in turn. He smiled.

“Buck,” He said. “You--”

“My son, Luka,” James said pointedly then introduced you.

“How did you--”

“We can’t talk out here.” James urged. “I know it’s a lot to ask but I can’t take them anywhere else.”

“It’s nothing, pal,” Steve patted his shoulder. “Stay as long as you need.” He looked between you and James. “So, let me show you my place. Not much…” He inched towards the mouth of the alley. “But it smells much better than this hole.”

[daebakinc]

D-4: Prince

Pairing: Prince Kun x Knight Reader AU: Royalty Word Count: 1.4K

“You! Knight! Champion!”

You freeze, glad your back is turned. Royalty don’t take it well when you roll your eyes at them. Gritting your teeth to keep the long-suffering sigh inside, you force your mouth into a polite smile to face the queen.

“Your Majesty.” You bow at the waist. You know she expects you to kneel, but you’re the prince’s champion, not hers. As such, there are only two people who can demand such: the king and your prince.

“The coronation ceremony begins an hour. The prince must be ready,” the queen says stiffly. Without looking, you can tell she isn’t pleased at your lack of deference, but knows she has no power over you, lowborn as you are. “He’s not in his rooms. Go find him and make sure he is not late.”

“The prince knows his duty, your Majesty. He will be there.”

The queen nods and hurries away, her plentiful entourage trailing after like many lace and powder-laden ducklings. You sneeze at the wall of perfume they leave in their wake. After so many years on the road, you’re not sure you’ll ever become accustomed to the extravagance of court life. Sure the food and quarters are unquestionably better, but the people... 

Well, until the next war, there’s no place to run away to. You’ve stayed by Kun’s side ever since you found each other on the streets and you’re not about to abandon him now. Not when the life and fate you’d both thought were set were turned on their heads, then thrown in a barrel and tossed down a mountainside for good measure.

Rolling your shoulders beneath your armor, you head towards the stables. If Kun isn’t in his rooms, there’s only one of two places he can be. You pray it’s the stables.

Unfortunately for you, the only occupant in Feifei’s stall is Feifei. None of the stable hands have seen him either.

You should be thankful that by the time you reach the top of the sentry tower, you haven’t sweated through your silk tunic beneath your armor. That still doesn’t stop you from leaning against the stone wall, well out of breath, and glaring at your future king.

“The sentry tower?” you demand, coughing to clear your throat. “Of all places, this one? Really?”

Your friend just shrugs from his perch on one of the windowsills. He pulls one leg toward his chest and rests an arm on it, saying, “I knew you would be the only one to think to look here.”

“I’m so honored, your Highness,” you retort, making Kun’s head snap up.

"Don’t call me that.” At your raised eyebrows, Kun quickly looks back out over the city. “I’m not the prince yet.”

In his jet black, scarlet red, and shining gold robes, he certainly looks the part. The simple circlet of gold resting on his head also declares his status, a temporary holder for the crown he’ll receive in less than an hour’s time. 

“You’re going to be,” you remind him. You cross the small room and sit on the opposite end of the window sill. Your eyes rove over the city, a warren you memorized out of survival. Keeping your gaze outward, you ask, “Remember when we stole that whole food cart? And hid it as a manure cart so we didn’t get caught?”

Kun laughs, nodding. In that second, some of the shadow of stress leaves his features. “Smelling like that was worth not being hungry for a few days.”

“We didn’t smell that good to begin with, you have to admit. That was first and last time our stomachs were that full for awhile. What about when you negotiated our first mercenary contract?”

“What’re you doing?”

You meet Kun’s questioning eyes squarely. “Do you remember? That miser only wanted to pay one gold coin a piece for going on a fool’s errand. You made sure we were paid fairly. It’s because of you that we every single one of us young fools survived.”

“What does this-”

“Do you remember what you told the king the day he summoned us and he revealed who you were?”

Kun remains silent. You can tell he’s slowly connecting the parts, but you don’t have the patience to wait until he arrives at the conclusion you want.

“You told him were you go, we go,” you remind him. “You demanded ranks and positions for us, the sons and daughters of peasants who you could have easily left behind like so many others did.”

"How could I do that?” Kun demands, sitting up. “We’ve bled together, starved together. You all are more family to me than these people could ever be.”

“You know what they think of family. People like them would have flung us aside, forgotten. Don’t you see, Kun? Do you? I knew you were something special back then too. No matter what situation we got into, you got us out. You kept us alive, but you never became cruel or cold. You were meant to be a king long before-”

“Before the king realized he could no longer have children so his abandoned bastard would have to do for an heir?” The bitterness in Kun’s words is so palpable you can taste it on your own tongue.

“That’s one way to look at it. Of course,” you wait until Kun’s eyes turn back to you, “there is another way.”

His curiosity gets the better of him again. “What’s that?”

“An opportunity.” You move closer until your face is a breath’s from his. “You finally get the chance to be who you dreamed of. A powerful, righteous man who rights injustices and defends the innocent. All those crazy dreams we had when we were kids, you can make them a reality.”

“I don’t really want to be king of the world anymore.” Kun takes the circlet from his head and turns it in his hands, staring at it. “I don’t even want to be a prince. I don’t feel like I won’t ever belong... We grew up in this city, but it was worlds away from this palace. What if I can’t do it?”

Without a second thought, you slide from the windowsill to kneel in front of Kun.

He jerks away, startled, then instantly puts his arms on your elbows, trying to force you up. “What- Why are you-”

“Kun, all of us know we owe our lives to you in more ways than one. That’s why we’ve followed you for so long, why we still follow you, and will follow you no matter what. No matter what you desire, whether it become king or run away, we will always do our best to ensure your success and happiness. But...” you raise your eyes to look into Kun’s, “I truly do believe you will be the best king this kingdom has ever seen.”

“What of your happiness?” Kun fires back. He pulls on your arms again, but you don’t budge. “Can you be happy here?”

“That doesn’t-”

Kun’s hands shoot to your face, pulling it to his so his lips can fully cover them. Like it’s the first time, his kiss renders you completely defenseless. All you can do is breathlessly sink into him, your fingers twining through his hair.

When he finally draws back, it’s only far enough so that your noses still touch. “Don’t ever say your happiness doesn’t matter.”

Words are hard, but you try. “A king and his champion? Don’t think I’ve ever read that fairytale before.”

“Then we’ll write our own.”

“Pretty sure it’s law that you have to marry a princess though,” you tease.

Your prince draws you up into his lap. After stealing a soft kiss, he replies, “Wasn’t it you who was just reminding me kings can make whatever changes they please? I think we just found the first one.”

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Spells and Sneezes

I needed to try some Fantasy sickfic, and also practice my “stuffy talk”, so have ~3700 words of a very sneezy, stuffed up sorcerer. This post was inspired by a prompt I saw from this site long ago about a tall, thin, sneezy warlock, but I can’t find that post again to link it to save my life. So generic thanks to whoever came up with the prompt!

“Hehhtt’SSCCHHEEEWW!!

The tickle he thought he’d stifled exploded out of him unexpectedly as a massive, wet sneeze. The tall, young sorcerer groaned and wiped his dripping nose wearily with an already sodden handkerchief. His entire workbench was now covered in the spray. He sighed dejectedly, glancing out the window, the weak afternoon sunlight offering little comfort.

 He had been stuck on this spell for days now, and the deadline was fast approaching. And this wasn’t just any order, this was for the KING. He was preparing to wage war and was looking for chainmail woven with a defense spell for 3,000 of his top officers. The king had chosen him to fill this order because defense spells had been his specialty during his apprenticeship, but for some reason this powerful chain was toying with him. If he could get just one prototype together, making the rest would be the work of a day. But he had not been able to make even one yet.

He groaned again, wincing as he continued to wipe his raw, dripping nose. His head hurt. His throat hurt. His eyes hurt. His chest hurt from all the coughing he’d been doing. But he couldn’t rest until this was done.

He summoned the chair he had shoved aside a few minutes ago. Neither sitting nor standing seemed to help him concentrate better, so he kept going back and forth. He leaned his head in his hand and picked up his quill again, scratching sigils fruitlessly.

A merry knock startled him and he leapt to his feet, his lithe frame quivering. For a moment he imagined it was the king’s advisors coming to collect the spell a week early. Instead, his younger sister poked her head in, waving cheerily. 

“Brother, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost! Did I startle you? I’m sorry. It has been some weeks since I’ve seen you, and I wanted to check on you.”

She bustled in, her cleaning cart clattering behind her and parking itself by the door. Elliamina was a kitchen witch, and renowned throughout the land for her cleaning abilities, especially for never having an apprenticeship of her own. She had helped her older brother with his studies, being the more studious of the two, and had picked up some knowledge of her own, enough to make her own way in the world without formal training. 

She danced over, wrapping her arms around him warmly. She was almost a meter shorter than him, but otherwise they were nearly identical, though there was a 5 year span between them. The length of their hair was the only difference. Elmrador weakly returned her hug, his heart still pounding. 

“Good to see you, Mina. I have missed you. I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you, but I’ve been quite busy with orders of late. I can’t visit long today though. I have much work to do.”

“Well, at least let me give your cottage a quick tidy while I’m here.” She stepped back and surveyed him, cocking her head. “You are ill, brother.” Her mouth immediately quirked down sadly.

It was a statement, not a question. He also frowned. “I am fine.”

As if only to betray him, a hoarse coughing fit snuck up on him, leaving him red and breathless. He rubbed his chest ruefully. “Or at any rate, I don’t need you fussing. I need to finish this order. It’s for the king.”

“Hm.” She looked at him skeptically. “I have the supplies to make a tonic for you. Let me give you that at least. You look miserable.”

He grunted his approval. “As long as you don’t mix it with a sleeping draught.”

“If that's what you want,” she said, rolling her eyes. She flitted back to her cart and began to mix up a simple potion. Meanwhile, he seated himself again and resumed his scribbling. Another dratted tickle was growing in his nose though, which was streaming in earnest. He mopped the drips, to no avail.

“Ah… ah… Ahhkkt’shoooooo!” His handkerchief caught only part of the spray due to how sodden and crumpled it was, and his workbench was once again covered. Mina was at his side in a moment, rubbing his back.

“Poor dear! Elm, you sound awful. You should be in bed.”

“As soon as I work this through.”

She sighed and shook her head, handing him the steaming tonic. He took it with a grateful smile and gulped it down before taking up his quill again, rubbing his hands together to warm them before he did. 

Seeing he didn’t intend to chat further, she began to clean his one room cottage. It was all he needed, just the right amount of space. He kept it cozy and neat for the most part, but when he was busy, cleaning was the last thing on his mind, which is one of the reasons she liked to visit often. She genuinely loved cleaning, especially for people she cared about. She began at the ceiling, sweeping down cobwebs and dusting the corners as she sang to herself. Elm personally thought her singing was a big component of her magic, though she denied it. 

After the ceiling, she moved to the walls and cupboards. Elm found himself watching her idly rather than working. He turned back to his papers, shaking his throbbing head, trying to clear it. The tonic seemed to be affecting his fever. He had previously been shivering in the warm room, but now he was starting to sweat.  The congestion seemed to be leaving his chest but was streaming out of his nose in earnest. 

He didn’t know where his other handkerchiefs were, so he kept using the current one, but it was getting less and less effective as his sniffles got wetter and wetter. It wasn’t long before he started sneezing, both from his overactive nose, and the dust his sister was creating. 

“Errr’sssHUUH! ErrrRIESSH’shew! Ehhhkxxt’SHEEEWW!”

 Mina threw down her duster in exasperation. “I don’t know how you can stand to keep working. *I* can hardly work with you like this!”

He shrugged petulantly, rubbing his red nose. “Well, if you weren’dt kickig ub so mbuch dusdt…”

“Oh! Is the tonic not helping? It shouldn’t make you sound like that.”

“Idt helped the cough. Bud idt mbade mby ndose worse,” he mumbled weakly.

She rolled her eyes. “That tonic works on everyone else, except stubborn sorcerers. I bet your magic is going haywire and counteracting it. Especially without the sleeping effect.”

“Thadt’s ndot mby fauldt.” He shivered and coughed softly, summoning a blanket to wrap around his shoulders as he was suddenly freezing instead of sweating.

She sighed and moved to his side again, rubbing his back some more. He leaned against her wearily.

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Ndo. I worgk best adt ndight.”

“Poor dear. You’re exhausted. No wonder you’re ill. What has got you so worked up?”

She glanced at the papers spread before him. “Chainmail woven with defense? Clever. Lucky you, getting an interesting project like this.”

“Idt’s driving mbe to distraction. I can’dt quide sordt it oudt.”

Her sharp eyes roved over the parchment quickly. “Your writing is terrible when you’re ill. I can hardly make it out. Ah, but here’s one of the reasons you're having trouble--half of these sigils appear to be reversed. See these here? They’re meaningless. Don’t tell me you’ve been working with them like this?”

He groaned pathetically. “They weren’dt like thadt whend I wrote themb! I ndo they weren’dt!”

She reached out and tried to feel his forehead. He batted her hand away before she could. She frowned.

“You know your magic is unpredictable when something is wrong with you, brother. My guess is you sneezed on these and they reversed themselves. You’re positively crackling with stray mana. Not to mention you’re probably feverish. You need to take some rest.”

“I can’dt. I have to deliver 3,000 of these in a weegk’s time, and I haven’dt even godden one yedt.”

“You’re not being productive like this though.”

“Ndeither are you. I thoughdt you were cleanig.”

She swatted him playfully. “See to yourself first, Elmrador, before you worry about me.”  

 Shaking her head, she reluctantly went back to her cleaning. The thin sorcerer directed his gaze back to his work, slowly fixing the reversed sigils, but he couldn’t get his eyes to stay in focus. They were so heavy. Everything was blurred around the edges. 

His head was overwhelmingly heavy too, and achingly throbbing. He let it drop to the workbench, the cool wood pleasant on his hot forehead. He let his mouth hang open and tried to breathe, letting his nose drip gently into his handkerchief.

He must have dozed off, because Elliamina’s touch startled him some moments later. He turned to look at her, his cheek still on the bench.

“Why are you fighting yourself? You’re no good to anyone like this. The project can wait.”

“Will you mbake mbe some tea?” he asked pitifully, changing the subject. 

She rubbed his back, surveying him keenly. “I’ll make you some tea if you take it in bed.”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, slowly pulling the blanket closer to himself as he rose and shuffled to the corner where his bed stood. He clumsily discarded his outer tunic and boots as he went, kicking them aside before falling onto the mattress and heaping blankets and pillows over himself, dozing immediately. His sister busied herself boiling the water and preparing the tea leaves. 

When it was ready, she shook him awake again and helped him sit up.

“I can do idt mbyself,” he muttered, shaking her off.

“You’re worn out enough,” she chided gently. “So let me help.”

He couldn’t argue with that. The tea was sweet and hot, the perfect temperature to start drinking immediately. But naturally, the warm liquid made his nose stream in earnest. His sister had been fussing around, fluffing his pillows and picking up his discarded clothes. When she noticed his sodden handkerchief, long past its usefulness, she quickly summoned another. He took it with a grateful smile, though the effect was somewhat ruined by his watery eyes. He blew his nose several times, but his sinuses were stopped tight, and blowing just made his head throb terribly.

Once the tea was gone and he had finally stopped shivering, he felt he couldn't keep his eyes open for another minute. He fell back into the bed as Elliamina dimmed the lights and covered him warmly. 

Mina watched as he seemed to slip into a doze immediately. After a moment, she returned to her cleaning. She had made up her mind that she would stay here with him until he was over the worst of this. And since she would be here for a while, she had decided she would scour his cottage from top to bottom. 

However, her brother couldn't seem to settle. He tossed and turned, coughing more and more often, the most awful-sounding fits. Finally he rolled over and opened his eyes, looking at her pitifully.

"I can'dt sleebp," he croaked. "First I'mb sweatig, then I'mb freezig. And I can'dt breathe for the coughig." 

She clicked her tongue, coming to his side. She felt his forehead and cheeks, and this time he let her, leaning his head into her hand. 

“You are so warm, Elm,” she tutted, brushing the sweaty hair off of his brow. “Would you like me to make you another tonic, a stronger one to help you sleep?”

He hesitated, then nodded miserably. 

“Just a moment, then.” She trotted to her cart, ingredients flying to her hands before she had even reached it. She made a potion double the strength of the first one, with a strong dash of sleeping draught. Turning, she made her way back to the bed with the steaming mug as her brother once more struggled into a sitting position, hindered by another coughing fit.

He swallowed the mixture in a few gulps, grimacing, whether from the taste or his sore throat, she wasn’t sure. Then, she helped him lie back yet again, propping him up with pillows so he could breathe easier. The process seemed to wear him out. His eyes drifted closed immediately. 

Elliamina tucked him in, straightening the blankets around him. He mumbled something incoherent as sleep overcame him.

“What did you say?”

“Stay with mbe,” he mumbled, his wheezy exhale turning into a snore.

“Don’t worry, I will,” she whispered, though she knew he did not hear. 

Elliamina spent the rest of the evening puttering around, finishing her deep scour, making soup for when her brother woke, tending to his garden, and other domestic things that she had helped him with since they were children. She gave special attention to his workbench. She cleaned it and sanitized it thoroughly, even using a special cleansing spell on the parchment he had been working on. Sure enough, as soon as it was clean, she saw many of the sigils reverse themselves to what they should be. With a little smile, she replaced the papers where she had found them. Meanwhile, the tonic did its job admirably; Elmrador hardly moved, and he was breathing much easier. The only sound he made for many hours was soft, even snoring.

Evening turned into night. Mina was an early sleeper and early riser. As soon as the sun was down, she made a little nest for herself with extra blankets and pillows on the freshly scoured floor in front of the fireplace. She was weary from her day’s efforts, and dropped off to sleep without any effort, expecting her brother to sleep soundly through the night as well.

Imagine her surprise when she was awakened by him jumping out of bed in the middle of the night and running to his workbench, lighting candles hastily as he went. He banged down into his desk chair, picked up his quill, and began scribbling furiously, muttering to himself.

“Elm? What ails you?” she yawned, getting to her feet and wrapping her shawl around herself to go stand at his side, feeling his forehead. His temperature seemed almost normal, though his cheeks were flushed. He paid her no mind.

“The spell. It came to me in my sleep. I know what I was missing.” He sniffled wetly, wiping his sleeve under his nose, but continued scribbling away. 

“I shan’t try to reason with you, since you’re so determined, though I wonder how you’re awake at all for how strong that tonic was. I don’t want to imagine the state you’ll be in in the morning.” She sighed softly. He seemed fine for now, but the tonic could only mask symptoms for so long.

With a shrug, she shuffled back to her nest. As she went, she mumbled: “Fates help you if you wake me again, though.” In front of the fire once more, she burrowed into her blankets, and was quickly lulled to sleep by the sound of his quill and his muttering. 

It was a harsh cough that woke her again in the morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise, but not hers. She yawned and stretched luxuriously. For a moment she forgot where she was, until a wet sneeze made her turn. 

Elmrador was just as she had left him the night before, hunched over his workbench. Spread out all around him were what appeared to be hundreds of chain shirts, and more were in the process of being finished. However, her brother looked more asleep than awake as he worked. Harsh, dark circles ringed his eyes, vivid against his pallor, as was his raw, chapped nose. Just as she noted this, the nose disappeared into his handkerchief .

“Hrrr’RUSH’eeww! Ahh’NNXGH’shuuh!”

“Oh Elm,” she murmured fondly. “You are in quite a state now, aren’t you?”

“Mbina… Good mornig. Loogk, I fidished mby prototype. Idt’s mby best worgk, I thingk.”

“It had better be, for you to be working as ill as you areYou look awful. You ought to go back to bed right away.”

“Id a few mbinutes. As sood as I fidish these three, I’ll have 300 done. Thed I cad automate themb to reblicate thembselves.”

Such a long speech made him cough harshly, his voice long gone. She tutted disapprovingly. “You’ll be in bed for a week after this. You’ve done yourself in, stubborn fool. 

“Id was worth idt,” he said, almost smugly. “Idt’s for the king.” 

“So you said,” she said, yet again rolling her eyes. “We’ll see if you can say the same in a few days.”

A hoarse grunt was his only reply. He had gone back to his work and needed all his remaining concentration to finish.

Seeing that he wasn’t moving until he reached his target, Elliamina did her own washing and grooming, cleaned up her bedding, and got coffee and breakfast going. Just as she was putting the eggs on, she saw him toss down his tools with a final flourish. However, as he said, the chain mail materials continued to manipulate themselves to form more armor even as Elmrador wearily stood, scrubbing his face and swiping at his dripping nose with a once again sodden handkerchief. 

A round of rough, barking coughs made him hunch over again a moment later, a hand pressed to his chest. A weak “ow” was all he could manage as he tried to catch his breath, a hand now at his temple.

“I didn’t thingk coughig could hurdt so mbuch,” he wheezed.

“Only when you push your body past its limit. Come along, it’s bed for you for the foreseeable future, you dunce.” She moved to his side and grasped his elbow, leading him back to his mattress.  

“You don’dt ndeed to help mbe walk, I’m ndot an invalid, only full of cold,” he muttered, trying to pull away. Mina was not dissuaded.

“Be that as it may, I’d rather help you get there just the same. You look as if a strong breeze will blow you over, and then where would I be?”

He deigned not to reply and instead allowed her to seat him on the edge of the bed where he swayed weakly as she helped him remove his sweaty clothes and don his nightshirt before propping him up against a heap of pillows, as his wheezy breathing was rather worrying her. She plied him once more with tea and tonic, which he accepted without a fuss. Then she brought over the plate of steaming eggs and toast. He made a face and pushed it away.

“I don’dt like eggs even whed I’mb ndot sick. I cerdainly don’dt wandt themb ndow.”

“Ah, so that’s why you have so many eggs. Well, would you at least eat the toast?”

He grunted noncommittally and took a half-hearted bite, taking a long time to chew and swallow. He only managed to finish half a slice before he pushed that away too. “Can’dt. Throadt hurdts too mbuch. Jusdt mbakes mbe feel sicker.” He gamely finished his tea though as she watched worriedly.

“You never turn down food. You’re already a beanstalk, Elm. I wish you would eat something.”

A rough cough was the only reply he could manage as he quickly coasted toward sleep once again. Mina sighed and decided to let him sleep, putting the food aside. That was what he needed most now anyway. 

And sleep he did, for a long time. Yet his work was not done. He had to get up for a few hours the next day, for once all the shirts were complete he had to do the final quality review of the armor. Elliamina hovered worriedly at his elbow as he did intricate magic to test the limits of his creations. He was so weak he could hardly stand, arms shaking and face flushed as he cast. He had to sit often to catch his breath and wait out bouts of lightheadedness or coughs, but he would be damned before he delivered a subpar product to the king. Mina assisted him as best as she was able, doing whatever she could for his health and ensuring he didn't harm himself.

 After hours of rigorous testing, he finally pronounced them suitable, while Elmrador himself ached with weariness. Without another word, he proceeded to crawl back into bed and bury himself in blankets, immediately beginning to snore as one deeply exhausted.

He passed most of the next several days in an illness and tonic-induced slumber. He was miserable when he was awake, every fiber of his being aching or throbbing. Mina forced him to eat and drink whenever she could, but mostly he wanted to sleep, and she let him do just that. 

He was in fact asleep when the king's men arrived for the armor. A small crew of men rode up to the cottage with much pomp and ceremony. Mina greeted them in the garden, introducing herself as the sorcerer's assistant. They were immediately enthralled with her, as was everyone that met her for the first time, and she utilized this to expertly manage the transaction. Within 20 minutes the men were departing with many sacks of chain shirts in their cart, ecstatic with their purchase, while Mina carried a hefty pouch of gold, more than Elm had originally bargained for, into the cottage. Elmrador was still asleep, oblivious to it all. She knew he had lost track of the days some time ago, and she didn't see a reason to excite him until he was better.

Instead of waking him, she safely hid the gold in his stores. She then pulled up her chair once more to her place beside his bed, took up her needlework, and softly began to hum as she worked while her brother slept on peacefully.