#my grandfather could tell you the price of ANYTHING in ANY year

[los-plantalones]

me as a child, not knowing anything about adhd or autism but loving watching the people in my life glow when i ask them about their hyperfixations/special interests:

[otrtbs]

Hi I hope you're doing well 🌷

I had a question. I'm totally asking out of pure curiosity, it's not a criticism or anything of the sort.

In ahb (this masterpiece of yours) Sirius's favorite painting is Degas' Dancers.

I wanted to know if you knew the background of this painting and if making it Sirius' favorite was a deliberate choice or if you had no idea at all.

Because the Ballerinas in Opera Garnier in Paris were all really young and mostly, they were poor. The dancers were often their family's hope to crawl out of misery.

The audience was full of men.

In fact, the sad flip side was that there was a whole prostitution network behind the scene. With these young girls. Men could pay for backstage access to watch ballerinas change and sometimes rape them.

So Degas was a big customer.

That's how he painted the dancers and most of his works.

That's again how he sculpted the ballerina, her tutu was added meaning the 14 year old girl was posing nude.

Degas is also suspected of being Jack the Ripper, there are a certain number of credible leads and potential evidences.

That's why I was wondering if you knew.

Since there is this whole chapter where they insult Picasso (as they should) I found it strange that Degas being a known major p*do did not receive the same treatment.

Ps: I'm french, I don't know if I made any mistakes writing this, if I have please excuse me I tried my best 🙏

Okay hi, hello! I am doing well and I hope you are as well! You have unlocked Art Historian Thesis Nat, so I am going to put an extremely lengthy post under the cut, I'm so sorry (this is literally my area of study,,, i fear i am incapable of being brief about this)

I do want to clarify that right off the bat, I don't necessarily think many of these art historical figures are "good people". Like none of them are the best, most moral, upstanding citizens you should model your life after (but they're also dead sooooo). But I also understand that I did take some time in my fanfiction to make my hatred for Picasso very clear, and so I can also understand the confusion in not extending that same hatred towards Degas. But there are a few reasons for that, that I'll try to explain below!

The direct historical documentation of Pablo Picasso's violence towards the women in his life is vast and damning. If you want particularly good insight into his violence and abuse, then I recommend reading Marina Picasso's (Picasso's granddaughter) memoir titled: Picasso: My Grandfather. I also recommend Françoise Gilot's (romantic partner of Picasso) books, Life with Picasso and Picasso and Matisse. It is through the memories of the people who loved Picasso and who loved him in turn, that we hear of his sadistic nature that drove his lovers to suicide and we get personal letters that he wrote to Gilot in which he says things like "Dora, for me, was always a weeping woman… And it’s important, because women are suffering machines" and "For me there are only two kinds of women: goddesses and doormats." His granddaughter has this to say about him: “He submitted [women] to his animal sexuality, tamed them, bewitched them, ingested them, and crushed them onto his canvas. After he had spent many nights extracting their essence, once they were bled dry, he would dispose of them.” And Gilot says: "I am the only one to not have been sacrificed to the sacred monster(…) and is alive to tell the tale. He was a wonderful person to be with, it was like fireworks, amazingly creative, so intelligent and seductive(…) but he was also very cruel, sadistic and ruthless with others and with himself (…) It was the greatest love of my life, but you have to protect yourself (…) The others did not, they clung to the powerful minotaur and paid a very high price."

Why this matters: The evidence for Degas being so virulently misogynistic and cruel towards women is extremely less substantial and more speculative in nature.

Degas being Jack the Ripper. Degas being Jack the Ripper started off as a tiktok theory posed in early 2024, (though you can find an article as early as 2004 written by The Guardian's art critic here) and while fun to think about and speculate, it isn't true. August and September and November of 1888 is when the Jack the Ripper crimes were committed in London and Degas was in the South of France at that time receiving medical treatment because he was in extremely poor health. (Which you can find in The Letters of Edgar Degas edited by Theodore Reff (I'm sure there's. free PDF version out there somewhere)). Also, self-admittedly speculative, but Degas didn't visit the East-End of London when he did make his excursions to London because he was classist 😭. So, it would be odd for him to know the ins and outs of the streets where the murders took place. And also he had failing eyesight starting at 36, so the odds of him being Jack the Ripper are extremely slim.

The Ballerinas Yes, while it is true that the ballerina's were often subject to horrific conditions and were prostitutes for the "wealthy" patrons of the opera house, this does not mean that Degas partook in that. in fact, most historical documentation surmises he didn't. Degas considered himself a "realist" painter rather than an impressionist painter, wishing to document "real life" in all of its ugliness, beauty and unstylized truth. Therefore his primary concern was documenting the opera house and ballet in all of the moments, not just when the girls were dancing on stage. And in many of his paintings, Degas captures the opera patronsn in his ballerina paintings as lurkers behind the stage curtains as sinister black shadows, or as men predatorily watching in nice suits (e.g. Ballet, 1876 and The Rehearsal of the Ballet Onstage (1874)). But Degas himself, was NEVER a ballerina patron, he is even quoted as saying "People call me the painter of dancing girls. It has never occurred to them that my chief interest in dancers lies in rendering movement...". (now this is not because Degas was morally outraged at what was happening to the ballerina's, but because he viewed the men abusing the girls as committing a sin against God by sleeping with prostitutes). But while Degas had access to backstage, he was never a customer. And in fact, Degas is a notorious, well-documented celibate. This is because Degas believed sleeping with women would make him lose his special painting ability. No lie. Here's a direct quote from Vincent Van Gogh in his a letter to his brother Theo about the artist: "Degas lives like a little lawyer and does not like women, for he knows that if liked them and went to bed with them, he would become intellectually diseased and would no longer be able to paint." Degas was also known to reject ballerina's advances as well (again, fearing women would take away his magic painting power).

Feelings towards women By all accounts, Degas friends describe him as being reclusive towards women to being jovial with them, but always kind to them outside of a working environment. He even developed friendships with his fellow contemporary women painters. In a working environment, Degas was obsessed with perfection, demanding ballerinas contort their bodies in painful positions, and making them hold those positions for hours at a time. By all accounts, this was not because he hated them, but was obsessed with capturing their movements, the limitations of the human body, and he demanded perfection from himself. (x x x) (i.e. his obsession for his work and drive for perfection as a painter made him demanding and harsh towards his subjects, not his pure hatred of women).

Conclusions: So by many accounts, Degas was not particularly fond of women, and had little regard for his dancers. But the claims that he must have slept with the ballerina's and been a patron/customer "because that's what all men did back then" are not backed by any evidence. only evidence to the contrary. I went in on Picasso because those that were close to him have written first-hand accounts of his monstrocity. This is not the case with Degas. So, while I didn't tear him down like I did Picasso, I wasn't lauding him as a saint either. I highly recommend reading the article called Degas's Misogyny by Norma Broude which details the ways in which modern times have run away with this idea of Degas being a sadistic woman-hater and how we've gotten to this point. Anyway, TLDR; I was aware of the dark "underside" of the Paris Ballet at the time in which Degas was painting his works. Do I think he is Jack the Ripper and a man who participated in ballerina prostitution? No, not at all. At the end of the day, I am just an art history girl, telling anyone who will listen that there is not enough documentation on Degas to take these claims as 100% truth, or put that man up there with Picasso. Peace and Love! <3

[superconductivebean]

4, 17, 31!! 🫶

!!!!!! hi ^ ^ link to the list

4. Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

At some point, a shout started to mean a lot to Julia. Ever since she had been flung into the wondrous would of magic she had been as wonderfully thrown every opportunity to die if she wouldn't follow a hastily given advice mid-combat, given a direction with a low roar or screamed at saving her life with a paused of her, stuck perplexed at someone's ask to stop moving. At some point, an immediately shown response became a part of her. You scream for her, and something in her brains will interpret your call most correctly -- or attempt at it, unable to differentiate between a genuine ask and stunts people like Imelda liked to pull each time they needed her utmost attention.

This time, when Imelda shouted for her from downstairs, it was a voice of worry. Julia couldn't think of anything hearing a question, shuddering through her vocal cords. But when she flew to where Imelda was, in kitchen, near the open window, looking at an empty toweled patch on its sill, Julia realised the gravity of the question was either inquiring the Earth's gravity, or--

"Julia," Imelda began, stuck perplexed at Julia's poorly laced corset; she expected her not to wear it? "your pie fell down to gnomes!"

"Our pie," Julia corrected, "and we have one more upstairs?"

"That one is mine, but thank you for telling me at least this one is all right. You didn't knock it down fledging to there, did you?"

"Obviously not!"

"And not any bird pecked on it?"

"No?" Julia could felt Imelda's gaze's crawl up to her eyes. Slytherins.

"Then where was that lace?"

Slytherins, damnable House, always good to notice things belonging to where they shouldn't.

It wasn't a lace keeping the corset firm around the waist. For it, Julia accidentally picked a rather colourful rope she'd often use to hang herbs and other potions ingredients onto. Still, wasn't a putting a pie in the piece of it, the pie.

"My ingredients," Julia said with a straight face.

People often thought she was weird for it but it doesn't matter what she wears, it's important she's there and ready to help, anyhow, by her solving the danger of the day or her showing the price of the false alert; in Imelda's case, giving her a suffocatingly long kiss to call a thing in her in return, knowingly making her aware anything else only might come later.

No one jabs a Ravenclaw like this. They have bird-like instincts. There isn't anything to mock or exploit. Julia, in addition, had a weird nudge like an once broken arm has but she preferred not to give it too much thought. Sharp said it was normal, somewhat, and he knew knew it better than most, acquiring trauma right to the mind, that is.

(im sorry i felt an urge to write a silly pie drama xD)

17. What was your character’s favorite toy as a child?

Julia had an adorable kneazle plushie made by her grandmother from her father's side. After she and Vivienne, her mum, moved to England and settled there, she sulked because of its absence but years later got reacquainted with it; her uncle sent it to her for Christmas of '92.

Julia hadn't a chance to thank her grandmother once more, however.

By the time Julia had finally got to visit Faroe, she learnt her gran had passed a few years prior but was surprised the woman lived up to a ripe old age. She could live for a lot longer if her sons would stay on Faroe and not move to Denmark with he uncle's financial help -- that what her auntie said and grandfather confirmed, though. They had faith in her.

31. Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.

7th year was Julia's favourite year.

At some point in the late summer of 1892, she was struck with an idea to ask Sharp if she could move out to her shop in Hogsmeade.

It wasn't prohibited by the school rules but required a permission from the family or the guardian. Although it wasn't frowned upon, it could hinder her ability to keep up with academics and expectations of them, especially those of Sharp.

He knew her aspiration was to become a trader and live off selling potions among other things, he could think Ravenclaw tower was the best place to study during the sleepless nights (he was aware Julia had troubled sleep). He was also her legal guardian after the events of the year 1890, he had a say in her legal dealings.

But he suddenly agreed. Julia needed to know a lot about potions, yes -- but all this knowledge would be nothing without any trading experience. Her licence didn't allow her to sell anything harder to produce than ingredients of certain grades, basic spagyric things, potion bases and basically anything that master potioneers could make and sell. But anyone has to start from somewhere. But he placed a condition: besides demonstrating any success and that she manages work-life-school balance, she would also need to maintain a certain level of trust aka he knew Julia had something more in mind than to just follow dreams and aspirations; she needed privacy for one more reason than to just satisfy an urge to live a bit more free.

tldr; :

Lucky birb she was, she managed to secure her wish, had a source of income; she also had a peaceful place to study most days, a relaxed and private access to bathroom and kitchen, and an ability to change and renovate the place to her liking. Besides school things, she was able to train magic differently, practicing chores and repairs; she also got into woodwork and areas of Transfiguration for construction work (it will become her first employment after she finishes school, for monetary and legal reasons), tailoring, too.

But her first grand project was to correctly install a stove.

The Tegelkachel.

It's a stove from the Netherlands, a masonry heater, and Julia wanted it. At this point of her life, she knew how to renovate, and with a help of a friend, was able to insulate the shop a bit and plan the floors the way the heater wouldn't stand near an outer wall. Why not do that all with magic? Julia would've needed to spend a hefty amount on the Ministry assigned Charmer to apply heat-retaining and heat-giving charms on the entire house. She couldn't afford that. Nor she wanted for that matter: muggles have plentiful of working solutions that can be sparkled with a wish but not replaced with a much more unstable re-invention -- or a stable one, but for a price. Suffice it so say, that would always leave her visitors perplexed. It's not common for the wizarding community to adopt muggle technology.

And most importantly, the shop was a discreet place to spend time with her lovelies and not attract too much attention to their affair.

:3

Her life will return to the home renovating heaven a few years after graduation, when she, already a somewhat experienced construction worker, becomes obsessed with building a house in Northern Wales. It was a task to accommodate all three's lifestyles and preferences.

tldr;2: she likes it when she can have minecraft irl or any other proper birb enrichment such as taking shiny things up and hoard them, be noisy and sassy if unhappy, and Make A Nest because RoR was too good to believe it was actually true, she needs a worthy replacement!

[let-them-eat-cherrypies]

— a funeral, a bar, an airplane. A 3 encounters story with John Price.

✨ slow burn, fluff, lieutenant John Price/Original Female Character, no use of Y/N, before canon, OOC. 3.661 words.

⁘ the first time Charlotte Alderton and Jonathan Price crossed with each other was when Jonathan, a lieutenant for the Special Forces, mistaken the church which would hold his grandfather's wake.

He got late to the church, ran out of the cab, and didn't pay much attention to his surroundings. He had just arrived in England after his Commanding officer granted him a couple of days to attend his grandfather's (and a war hero's) funeral and had to sort his clothes inside the cab, not seeing the exact direction which he was taking.

Once there, he found it strange that his mum and dad would leave a typo on the wake ceremonial sign.

— Sorry, are you working here? There is a typo on the sign. It is Henry Price, with an I. Not Henry Preece. — Jonathan said to the woman standing by the side of the paper sign, typing on her phone. — And, the service is already finished? My brother said it would start midday.

— Well, the last time I checked, my uncle's name was written with double E. — Charlotte said, lifting her eyes to look at the strange (but very handsome) man's face. — And, yeah, it started at 7. But my mum is on the burial grounds if you want to say your condolences for her brother's passing.

— Her brother?! — Jonathan looked confused at the woman, who just blinked back at him - as if she was trying to make any sense of his question. He looked at the church. Damn, was he at the wrong church?! He looked around, trying to find the street name or anything else that could help him locate himself.

He looked at the text message on his phone, then checked back the grounds. He was at the wrong church, at the wrong wake.

— Oh, bollocks! I am so sorry for your loss. I am at the wrong church. I am incredibly sorry, thought I was at me grandfather's wake... — Jonathan started to excuse himself when his phone rang and he turned around to answer. — It is John. Oi! mum... I know and I am sorry, I got to the wrong church... I know, mum. Calm down, I will be there... Ok? Ok. Bye.

The woman patted John's shoulder and he turned back to her. She had something in her eyes, a sparkle, that enchanted the lieutenant for a moment.

— You can take my taxi. — She said, smiling fondly and pointing to the car that just dropped by. — I just ordered another. Sorry for your loss, hope you are there on time.

— Thanks and... I am so sorry again. — John said getting in the cab, with his bags wrinkling his clothes at the motion. The soldier spared one last look at the woman at the church door. She kept the smile on her lips, taking her attention to her phone. John tried to imprint her image on his mind, as a strange aura of beauty surrounded the scene and - for a moment - he wished he could know that woman better.

⩛⩚⩛⩚⩛⩚

⁘ Charlotte and Jonathan's second chance encounter was a bit more pleasurable than the first one. The sun had already set when she entered the Stables' pub wearing the same outfit she had on all day long.

After her uncle's funeral, her family got together at his favourite restaurant with some of his friends to tell tales about his life and "celebrate the way Henry lived his life", according to her mum's words.

After a lavish afternoon of food and stories, Charlotte found her way to one of the pubs her uncle used to deliver the unlabelled whisky bottles he produced on the family farm for years, and became sort of an emblem for selected pubs. Stables were their favourite place, no surprise when she received a message from the owner expressing his condolences and asking her to come by later, so he could present her with one of his uncle's legendary bottles.

— Carlie! — the pub owner called her name the second she crossed the door. — My dear Carlie, what a loss! I dinnae see you at the church, though you stayed in school! — the old man said, turning around the counter to compliment Charlotte with a hug.

— I was at the back of the church. Maria - you know her, Doug's wife - she is pregnant and living that moment that nothing stays in. I was helping her. — Charlotte answered, walking with the old man into the bar. — But, let's get down to business: you said you found a rare piece from my uncle's production, is that true? Or were you just luring me to your pub, Peter?

— Just a moment, I'm gonna get it on the office. Amanda, can you serve the table with the gentleman on the corner? His liquor is Bourbon, 12 years old from the second shelf.

Charlotte looked at the table in the corner, and to her surprise, the gentleman was the same man who was in the wrong church that morning. He didn't see her, as he was concentrating on reading from a folder and taking notes with a pencil every now and then.

She thought, for a brief moment, to go there and talk to him. But, when the waiter broke his concentration to pour more liquor into his glass, he looked up to see her, before she could move. He held the glass up, on a silent toast, and Carlie answered with a timid nod and a fondly smile. He was handsome, indeed, and she promised herself never to tell anyone that she was attracted to a strange man who appeared at her uncle's funeral.

— A single-malt whisky, aged on a heavy barrel, from our favourite unlabelled distillery and marked with a "C" seal, do you remember it?! — Peter said, bringing with him an arm-sized barrel from the back office. — Henry stated so many times that this was his fine creation and he wanted to age more. So I kept hiding and never had the chance to savour it with him.

Carlie's jaw dropped the moment the pub's owner gave her the little barrel. She knew her uncle had made a limited edition of his whisky to celebrate each of his nieces' birth, each one flavoured differently and sealed with the three girls' initials: C for Charlotte, E for Emilly and A for Annie.

— Oh, Pete! I have never drunk my own whisky, could you believe it? Henry said he and Pop drank all the only barrel he aged on my tenth birthday! This is wonderful! Should we toast him? — Carlie said, cleaning the tears that rolled down her face and stretching an arm to grab the glasses from behind the counter.

— Of course, my deary. — the old man snivelled and opened a smile. He took out the seal and the stopper, pouring the liquor on the glasses. — Henry always said he would be damned the day her girls cried because of him! To our Cranky Henry!

— To Cranky Henry! — Carlie said, toasting with the pub owner. The whisky had a strong aroma and was even stronger in flavour. Carlie loses track of time, admiring the smell and the colour of the liquor in her glass, thinking about her uncle.

— I don't know what that is you are drinking, but smells very nice. I could catch the scent of it from my table — a strong voice brought Carlie back to the present. The gentleman in the corner was now by her side, putting the folder he was studying over the bar. He was so close now that Carlie could smell the tobacco aroma from his clothes.

— This is my uncle's whisky, the one he made to celebrate my birth. Peter, the pub owner, was one of his closest friends and kept a little barrel sealed with him for twenty-six years. Would like to try it?

— Oh, it sounds very personal. I think you should keep it. — the man declined, very politely.

— You disrespect my uncle's memory with your rejection, mister... Sorry, I didn't get your name. — Carlie playfully pointed at him, trying not to get hypnotised by the man's sea-blue eyes.

— It's John, short for Jonathan Price. My pleasure. — the man extended his hand to Carlie, who had to make a little turn on the barstool, now been face to face at John, to shake his.

— Charlotte, but everyone around here calls me Carlie. — she was impressed with the sensation of holding his hand. Or was it the alcohol fermented for 26 years that was already making her too sensible?

— I just wanted to say how sorry I am for earlier. I think I was kind of rude to you. I didn't know I was in the wrong wake, I was supposed to be in my grandfather Henry's wake. — John started, with a seductive smile.

— Well, you are excused for earlier, but not for now. I insist you have a proper toast with me, on ours Henry's memories. — Carlie joked, offering the little wood barrel to John and scooping a clear glass out from a tray near him. John accepted this time, pouring the âmbar liquor into his glass and filling Carlie's.

— To Major Henry Percival Price, war hero, grandfather and a sorry excuse for a fisherman. — John said, offering his glass for the toast and looking into her eyes as if he were trying to stare at her soul.

— To Henry Albert Preece, a drunk hazard, the best of the uncles and the worst Christian ever made. — Carlie replied, clinking her glass to John's, and proceeding to sip the whisky.

— Holly hell, this is delicious! — the blue-eyed man exclaimed, after tasting the liquor. — You said your uncle made it?

— Yeah, our family had this unlabelled distillery for years. It started somewhere during the First War, and it kept the Preeces fed for years. Henry was the last one to produce them for pubs and some fancy restaurants, now we have some barrels just for the family. — Carlie started, tapping the barrel over the bar. — My mum became a teacher, my sisters didn't mind the family business and I... well, Henry always said that would be great to have someone on the side of the law in the family, to help whenever we get sued for producing unlabelled alcohol for years. So, here I am: a corporate lawyer... Sorry, I think I got excited with your question. — she stopped herself, covering her eyes with her hand, hiding the blush from her face. Again, was it a result of his presence or the alcohol? she thought, gulping the rest of the whisky.

John laughed sweetly, finishing the drink of his glass and placing it on the wooden table. — I see you have a great passion for your uncle's story. Nothing to be sorry for, doll. — He completed, pouring more whisky on both glasses.

— And what about you? Getting late for a relative's funeral, reading documents all alone in a pub on a Tuesday night... Are you a kind of spy? — Ok, now Carlie was sure that she got on her limit of alcohol as the words escaped her mouth before she could think it properly. She drank pint after pint in the afternoon, and now she was on her third glass of whisky with this charming stranger.

— A spy? — he laughed freely at her question. She could see that he was also blushing and made her wonder how long he had been drinking before they met. — No, not like that. A soldier, a lieutenant from the Special Air Service at your disposal. — he made a little bow to Carlie, making her laugh this time. — And I have to make sense of these documents — he tapped his fingers on the folder — before coming back to the field. It was really difficult with my mum complaining about my brother all day long, so I moved to a pub to have a little bit of peace of mind.

— Bold choice, sir. It was a pleasure to meet you, but I have a fly to catch tomorrow morning and I hope I don't get too hungover after mixing pints and whisky. — Carlie said, standing out the stool trying to maintain her posture. — Pete, I have to go. Are you sure I can take the barrel?!

— Sure, kiddo. It is yours. If you find more of the E's and the A's, bring it around to us, don't be a stranger. — Pete answered from the other side of the bar.

— May I accompany you to the taxi? — John asked while paying his tab. Carlie nodded, and they got out of the pub together. John opened the door for her saying "Ladies first" and receiving "Oh, what a gentleman" in response. 

She tried to be discreet, but couldn't help to get her gaze at the way he lit a cigar, admiring how the shirt sleeve cresed with his muscle movements. He blows a puff of smoke and with the same hand that held the cigar, he made a sign for a cab. He held the door for her to enter, as she held the barrel like a baby in her arms.

— I hope you find me the next time you get around, lieutenant. — Carlie said, as a last movement of their dance, before John could close the door. — Preferably in a pub, not at a wake. The third time is a charm.

— I make these words my own, misses. — he responded, leaning his body so his eyes found hers. He closed the door, with a smile on his face, and started to walk in the opposite direction from Carlie's way, puffing his cigar into the night.

⩛⩚⩛⩚⩛⩚

⁘ The third time for Carlie and John was the charm. John past the night awake thinking about that Carlie girl he met in the pub. He thought about going there that next day to get some information about her, she said that the owner was a friend of her family, right? Maybe he could give him a hint on how to find her again.

He was eating his breakfast with his mum, dad and brother — a scene quite rare in the house since Jonathan got enlisted — when his phone rang in his pocket.

— It is John Prince. — John answered, getting out of the table with his mum's complaints. — Of course, sir. I will be there, sir. Thanks for your notice. — he said on the phone, answering the call of duty that he wished could take a little more time to come. — I have to go, my team is waiting for me for our next mission. My flight is in an hour from now. — he announced to his family while going up to his old bedroom to change clothes.

— I'll drive you there! — Billy, John's younger brother, shouted running after him. — Maybe the love of my life is waiting for me at the airport. Who knows?! — he mocked John, passing in front of his room.

John confided in Billy about the encounter at the pub when he got home later than he expected the night before, being late to the match he said he would watch with the young man. Now, he regretted the late-night chat, knowing that Billy would be a complete menace about it.

The drive to the airport was more pleasant than John expected. Billy tried to take out from John some details of his work, and John just answered again and again that if he was so interested in the Special Forces, he should enlist himself. No takes about the pretty lawyer John met the other night, though. 

— Try not to die too, mum wouldn't handle all of that again — Billy said, while John got his bag on the backseat. — Be safe, if it is possible. — He completed.

— I will make no such promises. Take care of mum and dad. — John replied, closing the car door.

John got to the airport, looking for the flight panel. His flight to London was already marked as "Now boarding". He crossed the airport, after announcing his presence at the check-in balcony. He passed through security and had to walk fast to not be late for boarding. 

With no surprises, he was the last one to embark. Wearing his uniform, the crew made some fuzz on his entrance, and the flight attendants were especially cordial with him. "Girls like boys in uniforms", his father used to say to him. One of the attendants took him to his seat, pointing to a place by the side of a woman, wearing a red coat, who was focused on typing on a laptop and wearing a pair of headphones as if she was transcribing some audio.

— Excuse me, miss. But could you turn off your computer? The plane is about to take off. — the young attendant asked the woman, tapping her shoulder and startling her out of her concentration.

The woman lifted her head, and to John's much surprise, it was Carlie, the woman with whom he shared the delightful evening on the day before.

— You gotta be shitting me! John?! — Carlie exclaimed, closing the laptop. — Are you following me? — she asked with a peal of nervous laughter.

— Well, you were the one that said that wanted to see me again. Better sooner than never, right? — John said, placing his duffle bag on the overhead bin, and taking the seat on Carlie's side.

— You... I... These fatigues fit you very well. — Carlie said, visibly nervous with the soldier's proximity. John couldn't say if her cheeks were blushing or if it was just the red coat reflecting the colour on her face.

— Thanks. — he said, fixing the belt. — Maybe this is a sign that we should bump into each other more. Do you live in London?

— No, it is just a work trip. My office is holding this big conference there. I have a place in Liverpool, this — she pointed at the laptop on her lap — is a couple-of-days thing. And you?

— I am going to present myself at RAF Northolt today, going overseas tonight, maybe.

— Oh, so it is not a couple of days thing for you. — she replied, with a hint of disappointment. 

— I am afraid not, but... I could always call you when I get back. — John rolled the dice, testing his luck. Carlie opened a strange smile, and - for a brief moment - John thought she would turn him down. He kept looking at her face, waiting for a comeback. 

— Oh, sure. I didn't give you my number yesterday, did I? Just a second — she searched the purse on her side, taking out a business card. She grabbed a pen and wrote on the backside of it. — Here, this is my personal number and e-mail. — she passes the card to his hand.

John admired the card for a moment. It reads Charlotte Alderton, LL.B. above some big law office name and a corporate number. On the other side of it, with delicate handwriting, a phone number with the 0151 Liverpool code followed by an e-mail.

— I am afraid I don't have a business card. Could you lend me your pen? — John said, getting the check-in ticket from his pocket, where he also kept her card. He wrote his number and his name below it, with a "Lieut" by the side of it, mocking the way her name was presented on her card. — I can't always have my phone when I am overseas, but I promise to reply to you as soon as possible.

— Oh, nice to know beforehand I will be ghosted for a while. — she joked, looking at John's number and then putting it inside her wallet. — At least I wouldn't be wondering if you were just being polite right now.

Carlie's phone rang, interrupting the chat. She excused herself and turned her attention back to the text on the computer on her lap while listening to someone passing directions on her essay. John tried not to be suspicious, but every now and then spared a side gaze to the woman replying to someone on the other side of the line with a firm voice and strong arguments.

He was attracted to her, he had no doubt of it. But now? Now he could say that he was in love. Oh man, that woman speaks as if she knew how to order around, a quality John always admired. Not a single drop of doubt in her sentences, he tried not to pay attention, but it was almost impossible for him.

She kept on the line during the rest of the flight. One of the flight attendants invited John to sit on the front row, so he could disembark fastly. As he got up, Carlie put the phone down for a moment and whispered:

— I will be at the Royal Hotel, near Russell Square Station, in case you stay in London tonight. 

John smiled and nodded to her, walking the aisle with his heart screaming to get back to his place, even for a couple of seconds. For the first time, John was hoping for a delay in his mission so he could be at the Royal Hotel that night.

↝ 🥧 ↜ this was my first public fic. I plan to write to write smut after that. Be kind, please.

[mhalachai]

Halloween asks, take your pick of which to answer:

jack o’lantern - tell us an urban legend or folk story you know

eye of newt - would you rather be the main character or a supporting character?

toe of frog - would you rather possess a cursed necklace or a haunted mirror? 

toe of frog:

i'm going to go with haunted mirror - far less portable. Looking in a haunted mirror can be done on your own schedule, from behind any lines of salt as one so wishes – a cursed necklace is one of those things that seems like it’ll pop up in my pocket regardless of how many times I throw it into the ocean. Best stick with the mirror.

jack o’lantern - tell us an urban legend or folk story you know

so there's this haunted house in Calgary, that used to be owned by a man who got swindled at whist by my great-grandfather, and it (the house) is still kinda pissed about it.

to keep this story relatively short, in 1886 Peter Prince came to Calgary from Wisconsin to start the Eau Claire Lumber Company; he shortly became a bigwig about town. You can read about him here; I’ll spare the details as irrelevant to the story.

Anyway, my paternal great-grandfather, who also hailed from Wisconsin, moved to Calgary around this time as well, and since they knew each other from back east and moved in the same social circles, GGF and Mr. Prince would often of an evening play cards at the Prince’s house (in the company of the wives, of course etc).

As my father tells this story, there was some grumbling (good-natured or malicious, I could never find out) that GGF would cheat at these card games, and by the time the friendship drifted away, had bilked Prince (and whoever else was playing) of a not-insubstantial amount of money.

Fast forward to 1966. In an effort to capitalize on the rising land prices in downtown, and no doubt to garner whatever tax breaks it would give, the Prince family donated the house to Calgary’s Heritage Park… and so the house was de-bricked and moved across town in three sections, where it was reassembled and rebricked at no little cost.

The house today is decked out in full Edwardian regalia, and you can go see it if you’re in Calgary, but the house seems to have brought with it a haunting or two – three of Prince’s four wives died in the home, and visitors tell of a lady in a long white dress with a high lace collar being seen in the house.

And where this ties into the first part of our story: In the 1970s, my father (who had never been in the house when it was in its original location) was at the park with some friends. It was a bright sunny day, but when my dad went inside, he felt cold. They walked around for a bit, and when they were on the second floor (where the bulk of the hauntings seem to occur), one of his friends asked him a question, and called him by his last name as was their wont (this being the same last name as the GGF, as referred to above). As soon as the name was called, my dad swears that something unseen pinched him, hard, and he felt as if someone (something?) was glaring angrily at him. He practically bolted from the house and refuses to go back in to this day.

I’ve been in the house a number of times over the years (with my mother, as I was under the age of 10 when we lived there) and haven’t experience anything, so maybe  the house just didn’t like my dad.

here's the house:

[kaelio]

When I was working as a graphic designer for PAWS Inc. (SE Asian Market) in Muncie, Indiana, I got stuck in what I can only describe as a triplex apartment between a group of BSU students and an elderly, mentally handicapped man who would tell us all about how he was the last person in his assistance program to still have a helper monkey. Apparently they've mostly been phased out or something?

Anyway, the kids who lived next to me in the triplex were obsessed with seeing this grandfathered capuchin and seemed to be split 50-50 on believing it even existed. I'd been there six months, the students almost a year, and none of us had seen or heard this thing in person. Kenneth - the old man - would stand on his end of the house and "water the grass", which really just amounted to chain smoking and hosing his corner of the lawn down. Anytime any of us went outside while he was doing this, he'd yell conversation to us. "Esquire (the monkey) turned off the TV during Final Jeopardy last night. I got so mad..." and "I caught Esquire eating out of the trash again. Such a pain in my ass." It was nonstop during the summer months.

So at the end of August, I was helping Kenneth with some legitimate yard work. He asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner, and even though Esquire did not come up in the invitation at all, he was my first thought. A chance to confirm this creature's existence. I jumped at the opportunity.

So that night, I have the worst meal of my life. Reheated spaghetti eaten out of Tupperware. No conversation. Just the sounds of us eating. Feeling weirdly nauseous and wanting to go home, I asked Kenneth where Esquire was.

"In my bedroom. He was acting up earlier. and I didn't want him bothering you during supper."

I should have accepted this, but I pressed on, saying I was full and just wanted to meet him before going home. At this point, Kenneth stood up, walked to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, and was in there for maybe five minutes or so. I was about to leave when he came out.

"He's about to bedtime out, but you can see him before you leave."

Here's my memory of that encounter, as filtered through my PTSD (semi-serious here - I could get diagnosed for sure):

Sock monkey sitting in a wicker chair next to a bed. Withered Cracker Barrel price tag still hanging off. White areas of the monkey stained with nicotine. A hole cut in between the legs. Kenneth behind me. I forget the exact words, but he did ask me to touch Esquire, so I half heartedly petted it and he slapped the back of my head. Whispered to me "F-fingerblast this little turd." That part I remember perfectly. And I did.

I won't dwell on the rest of the encounter. Suffice to say that it was a bad night for me, and finishing out that lease was hell. I don't regret anything but accepting the dinner invitation. Had I not become finger intimate with Esquire, he very well could have stabbed me. He'd been collecting knives since Vietnam. I noticed several pocket knives on a drawer in the bedroom alone. This was a scary dude, and it's hard to blame myself for it. But anyway, I ended up getting let go from my dream job right before the end of the lease, so obviously I didn't stick around for long.

All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that you should really, really be careful around this neighbor of yours. What seems and reads as funny online or to your friends can be a life threatening, terrifying experience irl.

--obeah (short story)

[star-man-creature]

Remembering my papi

My friend, Red, and I were looking through old google street views of our hometowns and I looked at my nona and papi’s house.

He died about 9 years ago. He was a teacher, although he drew as a hobby. I looked through his old drawings around when he died and showed some of them to my at-the-time friends, one of them of me as a baby. They said the drawings looked bad, but I don’t care.

My grandparents have this stained glass window in their door. It used to be broken (it’s fixed now, my aunt made it all good), so my papi had it in the garage so he could work on it. Seeing the wooden board over the place that stained glass used to be made me remember everything and break down.

My grandfather was born in guadlahara and taken to the us as a baby. Because of this, he really liked spicy foods. When he got as old as he was, this meant his liver started to get really messed up. He hated taking his medicine, and eating more bland food. One day, while my nona was out getting groceries, he left to go to the corner store. He left a note: “going to the store. I’ll be back. Love Ralph”. He fell while crossing the street and broke his neck.

He lived, but had to have one of those big halo metal neck bracers. He was getting better, until the doctor went on a weeklong vacation and the nurses tried to take it off to clean. My nona showed up to the hospital room just as he was telling the nurses that he couldn’t feel his feet anymore. His health declined rapidly at that point, we put him into hospice because he had nerve damage, what else could be done.

My family now takes a trip to a beach town every year over summer, because my papi never got to leave the country post-9/11 due to his messed-up birth certificate due to being taken here as a baby. He always wanted to go visit Belize. We just got back today, but yesterday my nona talked about papi and his death.

Apparently, although I don’t remember it at all, my family decided to pull the plug and were giving last goodbyes. I walked into the room, and with one of the last times he was conscious, he pointed at me and said “There’s Noah”

I’m the oldest kid of my extended family. I remembered this event earlier and got very emotional.

I feel like I’m doing a bad job of remembering my papi. I feel like almost everything i do remember are secondhand stories or snapshots of time. I just remember being on my mom’s ipad at my grandparents’ house instead of talking to him, and playing UMvC3 in the hospice game room to not think about it during his later time. When I heard he finally died, I remember just going and turning on Dragon Ball Xenoverse and just playing it all day so I wouldn’t think about anything else. I feel like I was heartless. I am not even really sure if I did those things because I didn’t want to think, or if I just cared more about video games than my papi’s death. I guess in the end i did care, i cried in the middle of PE the next day and talked with the school counselor about things, but I don’t think it really resolved any of my feelings.

I feel like a bad grandson. I look almost exactly like my papi did when he was around my age, and yet I have barely any clear memories of him and up until yesterday I didn’t even know the whole story behind his death until last night. Either way, I want to write down what happened, and indulge in these emotions for a little bit tonight.

Rest in peace, Ralph Price. I love you papi.

[zuzanwrites]

Optimus Found Out That it has Been a Decade Since Their Best Friend’s Grandparent Passing

(Disclaimers: Sadness, Slight Depression, Grieving Process)

Characters Mentioned: Miko and (TFP) Optimus

Miko looked at Optimus and said, “Hey, uh, have you seen Y/N at all today?” Optimus looked, confused.

“No, why?” Miko thought for a second, thinking if she really wanted to tell him but decided it was a good idea. “I think you should check up on her, it’s been almost ten years since their grandparent has passed.”

Optimus nodded in understanding. “I’ll check up on them.” Optimus transformed and started to call her on the way to her house. She picked up. “Hey… Do you need anything Optimus?” They sounded sad and just not like herself.

“Miko told me what happened, I was just wondering if you needed anything?” Optimus said, concerned. Y/N laughed alittle. “I’m alright I just need space from everyone for at least today. If you’re free, we could relax with each other at a park or something later. But I have to get flowers soon and pay my respects.” Y/N sounded sorrowful.

“I’ll go with you.” Optimus said calmly. “Are you sure, you really don’t have to?” Y/N said, smiling alittle. “I want to.” They smiled, “I guess you’re outside already?” Y/N looked out the window. Optimus chuckled alittle, “Yup.” They smiled but still grievingly went to Optimus. “You really don’t, have to, I could’ve walked. I kinda need the fresh air anyway.”

Optimus’s holoform looked over, “Yeah, but you seem like you could use the company.”

They shook their head, “Well you’ve got me there.” They both got to the florist, they both got out. They noticed that Optimus was coming and tried not to laugh. “Who the hell do you need to get flowers for?” They asked curiously. “Fowler.” Optimus tried to lie. They were laughing, "Okay, I have to see that.”

They were looking at the flowers and practically got all of the red, white, and blue ones and started saying, “My grandfather supposedly helped America in a war with a important job that didn’t require fighting and he loved everything that was American made, he didn’t have anything really made from other countries until a couple of years before he died.” They started looking at the flowers and their prices before sighing and practically grabbing all of them and speed walking to the cash register.

As they were about to take out their cash and card to pay, Optimus stopped them, "Don't, it's on me." And paid without giving it a second thought.

After they got back in Optimus's truck cabin, they started saying "You really didn't have to, I could have paid for it." I said, smiling alittle.

"You could have, but you really shouldn't have to." Optimus started driving to Y/N's grandparent's grave. When they both got to Y/N's grandparent's grave, Y/N took a deep breath before saying,

"Hey grand(p/m)a. I know it's been a while but I miss you everyday and-" Y/N started to get emotional. Optimus noticed this and wrapped his arm gently around Y/N's side, slightly above the hip, "I just wish that you could see the person I've become. I wish you could just be here telling me how proud you are of how you're grandchild has changed... That would just mean alot to me."

Y/n took a deep breath before starting to compose themselves feeling Optimus's hand on their back. "The doctors found out I have a immune disease that no-one's really heard about. Myasthenia Gravis. I'm getting better at coping with it and not getting as emotional but it still hurts like hell everytime I can't open something as simple as a soup or pasta can, even if it has a tab to pull on it. I don't really like that I have to be on steroids to treat it because I would love to have just the option to play in any sports for fun and I just wish my body could treat it on its own."

They started to smile, "But on a happier note, I do kind of have strong crushes on two people but I know they honestly need to focus on much more important things and they're definitely "out of my league" without a doubt so. But if the rumour's true, and you are really watching over me, then I think you know who they are." They gave a gentle glance at Optimus before looking back at the grave.

"Hope my childhood pets aren't giving you too much trouble. Tell them all that I said hi. I love you all." They placed two fingers to their lips and placed them on the grave stone for a moment before stepping back alittle and giving silent prayers.

After they gave silent prayers they did the holy cross gesture on themselves and walked back to Optimus's truck cabin with Optimus following closely behind.

They visited a park where their name was inscribed on a stone to remember their service during the war. And then they had a picnic with food and stuffs from the human's bag before chilling at base for a while and calling it a day.

[wish-upon-a-sapphic-star]

🎵 A duck walked up to a lemonade stand

And he said to the man, running the stand

"Hey! (Bum bum bum) Got any grapes?"

The man said

"No we just sell lemonade. But it's cold

And it's fresh 🎵

At nine years old, Remus Lupin was a failed businessman.

A gust of wind blew past and he slammed his hand down on the flimsy poster board that was his sign before it could fly away. He read it again.

LEMONADE. 1 DOLLAR PER CUP.

He had considered marking down the price a few times, but he had only sold one cup so far, and he couldn’t buy anything with one dollar. It would be better to just wait for someone to buy another cup at the current price than settle for one dollar and fifty cents, even if it might mean a faster sale.

The park bench was uncomfortable, to say the least. The metal at the top stuck out in one spot and it kept poking him in the back, and he had lost any feeling in his butt a long time ago. Still, he held onto his sign and cups and pitcher. He had made that lemonade himself, and he was going to sell it. Even if it meant sitting out in the sun for four hours and only earning one dollar.

A laugh came from the playground and his eyes drifted towards the sound. Two boys around his age were throwing sand at each other in the sandbox, one holding his long hair back with his hand, the other squinting, though not from the sun, since his glasses were hanging from the collar of his shirt. A toddler slid down the twisty slide. A girl with bright red hair was climbing on the monkey bars.

Remus ignored the part of himself that wanted to join the others on the play structure. He was here to make a profit, and he was failing. Now wasn’t the time for fun and games.

His biggest mistake was forgetting to bring his Monsters Inc watch. His mom had said she wanted him home by sunset, though, so he guessed that he had another two hours left.

The cloud that had been covering the sun passed, and the heat beat down on him, reminding him of just how thirsty he was. His eyes flicked to the pitcher. Well, since he wasn’t selling any lemonade anyway…

“Hey, got any grapes?”

Remus stiffened, startled. It was one of the boys from the sandbox. His dark curls hung on his shoulders, clearly tangled, and his ears were even redder than the rest of his flushed face. Probably a sunburn.

“Sorry, what?”

The boy repeated himself. “Got any grapes?”

“Why the fuck would I have any grapes?”

The boy’s eyes widened. Remus vaguely remembered something about being told not to curse in front of other kids, but he didn’t really care. There was a badly drawn duck on the boy’s shirt, and it was taunting him.

Duck Boy regained his composure and gave a sideways grin. “My name is Sirius.”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “Remus.”

“I like your name.”

He hesitated, not sure how to respond. “...Thanks. Why do you want grapes?”

Sirius just shrugged, shoved the pitcher to the side, and sat next to Remus on the bench. “I’m leaving the park in a few minutes to go back to my friend’s house. You should come with us.”

Remus glanced down at the duck on Sirius’ shirt, surely meant to be a warning about this boy’s sanity. “You just met me. We’re not even friends.”

“Sure we are!”

Remus was pretty sure that wasn’t how friendship worked, but he hadn’t exactly experienced it before, either. Not that he was going to tell Duck Boy that. “You don’t even know me. Name one thing you know about me.”

“I know that you’re cute,” Sirius said with a smile.

Remus bristled. The only people who called him cute were his aunt and his grandfather, both of whom would then croon about how much he’d grown since they last saw him. He stood, arms crossed. “You can’t be that much older than me.”

“No, not the way adults say it. Cute like the way boys talk about girls.”

Remus was practically fuming. “I’m not a girl, either.”

“No, but you are cute.” Sirius smiled, and his nose crinkled as he did.

Remus deflated, finally catching his meaning. His cheeks felt warm. Maybe he liked it if Sirius thought he was cute. Maybe because he thought Sirius was kind of cute, too.

Any warm feelings he had evaporated when he realized Sirius had just finished a cup of lemonade and was helping himself to another.

Remus snatched the pitcher away. “I hope you plan on paying for that.”

Sirius’ guilty smile said enough.

Remus glared and grabbed the cups and sign. He should have known better. Once he had a firm grip on his things, he turned to walk away.

“Wait!” Sirius ran to catch up to him. “If you come with me to James’ house, his mom can pay you.”

He shook his head. He had no reason to trust Duck Boy.

“In fact, she’ll pay twenty dollars for the rest of it.”

Now that made him pause. “Twenty dollars, huh?” That was easily worth double what was left in the pitcher.

“It’s really good lemonade,” Sirius said with a wink.

Remus’ face heated up again. “Hmm. Okay.”

“Yes!” Sirius jumped a solid foot in the air and turned to yell across the park to his friend. “James, we’re bringing Remus with us!”

“Okay!”

Maybe Remus’ business venture wasn’t a failure, after all.

Maybe he had made a couple friends out of it, too.

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

The King’s precious gem...

For the sweet @marilynmonroefanfics​

Hope you will enjoy this story!

"Here comes King consort (Y/N) of Mirkwood!"

"This social climber? Don't even talk to me about this little nobody!"

"Quiet! If King Thranduil hears you, he will make you pay! The last one who dared disrespect his husband ended up in jail for almost 20 years. Luckily for him, (Y/N) pardoned him. Besides, the people loved him!"

(Y/N) did not care about those gossips on his trail: he knew he deserved his place next to the king. What a long way since he was only a healer!

The young elf can heal since his younger days. Noticed for his gifts, he succeeded in working at the royal court. However, he did not expect to be the friend and confidant of Prince Legolas.

The two young men fought together against the Orcs or any enemy of their kingdom.

One day, (Y/N) managed to save the life of Legolas when the latter fell ill. Worried about his son's safety, King Thranduil hired the best healers of his kingdom to treat him. Only (Y/N) managed to heal the young prince.

Grateful, the monarch allowed him to stay in the court. Then, he started to get interested in this young healer who can play with a knife and medicine. The elf king always found an excuse to spend more time with (Y/N).

Slowly, a romance blossomed between them, much to the surprise of Legolas. 

When the court heard about this affair, it was a shock for many of the royal counselors. Indeed, they took a very dim view of this young commoner. However, the people immediately loved (Y/N) and accepted him as their new king consort.

Since this day, (Y/N) was allowed to sit next to The King. And today, he felt his presence would be helpful for his husband, as the latter was about to greet a delegation of dwarves. This delegation was led by Thorin Oakenshield, the grandson of Thror, King of Erebor. It sounds like his beloved husband would need his help.

It is necessary to say that between Thranduil and the Erebor royal family, there was a feud that lasted for years. 

As he arrived in the throne room, a servant announced:

"His Majesty King Consort (Y/N) of Mirkwood!"

Slightly smiling, the young man saw Thranduil sitting on his throne. 

The monarch talked with a guard:

"Let those dwarves coming here. However, be careful with this Thorin Oaekenshield: I fear he might be like his grandfather..."

"All the guards will be vigilant, Your Majesty!" stated the armored man as he saluted his king before leaving the room.

Thranduil turned his hand and gently gestured to his husband:

"Come here, my love."

"This is what I intended to do, my adored." (Y/N) smiled as he sat on his throne.

Thranduil reached (Y/N)'s hand and held it.

"I am glad that you find some time for me."

"Well, I know this meeting is capital for you. Besides, I would like you to avoid a new feud between our people and the dwarves of Erebor."

The elf king sighed.

"What can I say? You cannot trust dwarves. Especially those who come from under the mountains."

"Who knows? Maybe Thorin would be different..."

Thranduil scoffed.

"I wish I was optimistic like you, my sunflower."

"Let see..."

Suddenly, a guard shouted:

"Thorin Oakenshield and his delegation are here, Your Majesties. Gandalf the Grey is here too!"

"What this wizard is doing here?" grumbled Thranduil.

"We'll see in time..."

Shortly after, the company of Thorin Oakenshield arrived in the throne room. Among the dwarves, (Y/N) noticed a hobbit, which surprised him.

But, much to his delight, he noticed the presence of Gandalf.

"Dear Gandalf, what a pleasure to see you!"

The old wizard politely bowed with a smile:

"The pleasure is reciprocated, King (Y/N)."

As for Thranduil and Thorin, they stared stonily at each other. The Durin dynasty and the Elf King always had difficult contacts. All the story with Smaug did not improve it, and even if Thorin finally regain his throne, he never forgave Thranduil for giving up on his people when they needed help.

"Greetings, o delegation of Erebor. I hope the journey was not too arduous," said Thranduil with a cold tone.

"It went well, Your Majesty," politely said Balin with a respectful bow.

"It is a pleasure finally meeting the brave company of Thorin Oakenshield. The same company who dared fight Smaug The Terrible and gained back their kingdom," added (Y/N) with a gentle smile.

All the dwarves giggled with a blush on their faces. They all heard about King (Y/N) of Mirkwood, known as "The Gentle King" by all realms. Even Dwalin, who could not stand elves, was not able to resist.

The two kings started to negotiate new treaties between their respective kingdoms. Unfortunately, as they were both stubborn, they did not agree on anything.

"WHAT? YOU WANT US TO SELL OUR METAL? THAT IS DAYLIGHT ROBBERY!" yelled Thorin.

"It is ABSOLUTELY out of the question that my people would low the price of our wooden crafts," replied Thranduil with anger.

As for the other dwarves, they stayed silent while watching their sovereign sparring verbally with The Elvenking.

Meanwhile, Gandalf talked with (Y/N).

"I expected that they would fight. I hope you're not annoyed, dear (Y/N)."

"Not really, my dear wizard: I am not surprised by their behavior. They never got along, and I am afraid it will not change."

Suddenly, (Y/N)  noticed Bilbo slowly coming towards him. Gandalf exclaimed:

"Ah, I forgot! I should introduce you to our dear Hobbit! Master Baggins, this is King (Y/N) of Mirkwood. King (Y/N), I would like to introduce Bilbo Baggins to you. Without his talents, this quest would have failed."

Intimidated, the Hobbit awkwardly bowed:

"It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty."

"It is a pleasure to meet you too, Mister Baggins."

Catching his breath, Bilbo replied:

"I have to say, Your Majesty: when I told all the inhabitants of Hobbiton that I would meet you, they all ask me to check if you were as handsome and benevolent as the songs said..."

The King consort asked, amused:

"And do I meet your expectations, Master Baggins?"

Bilbo brightly blushed before replying:

"The truth is, O (Y/N), the songs did not have enough words to praise your handsomeness and kindness."

"That is very kind of you, Mister Baggins."

Fidgeting his fingers, the Hobbit:

"May I ask you something, O generous monarch?"

"What is it, Mister Baggins?"

"Well... The people of Hobbiton want to have proof that I met you. And I would like to know if you could provide me some evidence."

The King consort smiled:

"Did they ask for something in particular?"

"Not really."

"Then, I think I can help you," replied (Y/N) as he cut one of his dark locks. 

Then, he put in a golden pendant, engraved with his portrait, before handing it to Bilbo Baggins.

"When you will come back home, tell your people that it is the present from the King consort of Mirkwood to the bravest Hobbit."

The Hobbit stared with amazement at this gift. 

He stammered:

"Your Majesty... I have no words to tell you how grateful I am!"

"There is no need, Master Baggins: your actions speak louder than your words."

(Y/N) did not notice that Fili was looking at him with adoring eyes.

Indeed, the nephew of Thorin swore he never met such a handsome man in all realms. It such a shame this perfect elf married Thranduil. 

He came towards (Y/N) and politely said:

"I am pleased to meet you, King (Y/N)."

"The pleasure is mine, Prince Fili."

The young Dwarf prince felt his heart skipping a beat: this voice! It was like hearing millions of birds singing in harmony.

Clearing his throat, he asked:

"Your Majesty, may I ask you something?"

"Of course. What is it?"

To the surprise of all the people gathered in the room, Fili asked:

"Are you aware that your handsomeness is the most deadly weapon of all realms?"

All stopped talking - or yelling - and looked at the scene with surprise on their faces.

As for (Y/N), he was astonished by this question.

"Well, I am not aware that I am dangerous to this point. Could you tell why?"

Smirking, Fili declaimed:

"Like a battering ram,

Your smile makes the walls around my heart crumbling down.

Like a sharpened sword,

Your eyes destroyed the shield that protects my mind.

Like an arrow,

Your voice pierced me to the core.

And like a defeated army,

I surrender to the love I feel for you."

"WHAT?" exclaimed (Y/N).

"How dare you, you filthy dwarf!" yelled Thranduil.

"Do not use that tone with my nephew!" scolded Thorin.

Unaware of the upcoming threat, Fili pursued his declaration:

"It is the truth! You're so handsome, kind, wise, and pure. You deserve better than those arrogant elves!"

"Fili, shut up!" gritted Kili.

Feeling the anger boiling in the eyes of the Elvenking, Gandalf tried to calm the situation.

"Your Majesty, please forgive this young dwarf. He lets the ardor of youth speaking louder than his reason," he said while giving a slight slap on Fili's head.

Balin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed: not only he had to deal with the short-tempered dwarf king, but he had to handle his carefree prince.

As for Dwalin, he inwardly chuckled: he despised Thranduil, and seeing Fili courting the King consort of Mirkwood amused him.

Meanwhile, Fili claimed his love for (Y/N):

"Come to Erebor, o blossoming orchid. I would make you the happiest prince of all realms."

"Listen, Fili: your gentleness towards me is moving. But, in case you are not aware, I am married and happy!"

"And I would let no one, and especially NO DWARF, courting my spouse!" fumed Thranduil.

When he heard that, Fili had a deadpan expression on his face and declared:

"Then, I know what I have to do..."

"What do you mean?" asked Balin, sweating with dread.

"Why I fear he might say something stupid?" muttered Bilbo.

They were not out of the woods!

"I, Fili, son of Dis, grandson of Thrain, solemnly demand the hand of (Y/N) of Mirkwood as my husband!"

"WHAT?" yelled the dwarves.

"Oh no!" groaned Kili as he facepalmed.

As for Gandalf, he feared that Thranduil would be mad. And it was the case!

"Stay away from my husband, you idiot!"

Thorin snickered, which angered the elf king.

"May I know what causes your hilarity, Thorin Oakenshield?"

"At least, it proves that my nephew has good taste. And perhaps (Y/N) will appreciate our beautiful kingdom, far from your bunches of hypocrites!" replied the latter.

"What do you mean?"

"Either you are deaf, or blind... or stupid. But I find it hard not to notice that your royal boot-lickers are not happy to see a consort that is not from royal lineage!"

"Please, can we go back to the negotiations?" pleaded Balin.

"Not until this idiot stops courting my husband!" yelled Thranduil.

"Oh, shut up, you pointed-ears princess: nobody asked for your opinion!" growled Bombur.

"Guys, stop it!" begged Bilbo.

"Besides, Fili: it is not possible to marry (Y/N)!" explained Kili.

"And why?"

"First of all, he is already married! Secondly, he is an elf from the woods. He does not belong to the mines, neither the mountain!"

"Ah, I did not think about this... Ah, I have a plan! I shall create a beautiful garden on one of the mountain plateaus!"

"Oh, so you can plant something else than a vegetable patch?" said Thranduil with irony.

"You want to fight?" screamed Oin.

All this argument created chaos that gets on the nerves of the wizard.

"CALM DOWN, ALL OF YOU!" ordered Gandalf in a booming voice.

All immediately stood silent, terrified by the charisma of Gandalf.

Once the silence fell on the room, the wizard said:

"I did not try to stop a war for enduring your silly bickerings!"

"But..." protested Thorin.

"DO NOT DARE CONTRADICTING ME!"

As for (Y/N), he decided to put an end to this mess.

He turned to Fili and declared in a soft voice:

"Fili, I would like you to listen to me carefully!"

The latter nodded, afraid of the answer.

"I am all ears, (Y/N)."

"Fili of Erebor, I appreciate your compliments towards me because I feel they were sincere and pure. But for once and all, I am already married to the man I love more than my own life. 

I am aware that I am just a gold digger, a social climber for many royal counselors. A little nobody that does not deserves to wear the crown of Mirkwood. But do I care? No. 

Because all the elven people love me, Legolas helped me, and my husband would never let me go. It is more than enough for me..."

Fili sighed.

"And to say I was thrilled to introduce you to Mum. I am sure she would love you!"

"I have no doubt. But I belong to Mirkwood and his king, against all odds."

"Besides, I am sure that Mother would surely want you alive and not beheaded by a MAD ELF KING because you try to steal him his husband, you jackass!" replied Kili, fed up with his brother's shenanigans.

"Anyway, we sorted this story, and there is nothing to worry about!" wisely said Gandalf.

"I hope so..." coldly stated Thranduil.

A few hours later, the dwarves and the Elvenking managed to find some common ground. Then, Thorin and his company went back to their kingdom, followed by Gandalf and Bilbo.

As he nearly walked out of the door, Fili shouted to (Y/N):

"Dear (Y/N), if one day you come to Erebor, I promise I will show you the garden I create for you. I keep my words!"

"I can't wait to see it, dear Fili!" smirked the king consort of Mirkwood.

Once the delegation left, Thranduil sighed and said:

"Finally, they're gone! I swear to the moon that those dwarves would kill me!"

"Well, you managed to survive. Speaking of surviving, I am surprised that you did not kill Fili on the spot!"

"My dear daffodil, you have no idea how much I wanted to cut off his head!"

Amused by this fit of jealousy, (Y/N) asked:

"But you know I would never leave you, right?"

The Elvenking gently smiled and held the hand of his husband.

"No doubt about you shall ever cross my mind, dear.I know you will never leave me."

He gently kissed (Y/N)'s hand before the pair exited the room. 

On their way, the king asked:

"Now, my waterlily, could you tell me the names of my royal counselors who disrespected you? I think I might need to have a little conversation with them..."

"I assure you, Thranduil, there is no need..."

Thranduil gently shushed his consort by putting his finger on (Y/N)'s lips.

"I have to do it, my love. After all, no one dares to be rude towards the King's precious gem without suffering consequences!"

Slightly blushing, (Y/N) smiled at this compliment. 

And as they went to the dining room, (Y/N) felt like something new arrived in Mirkwood. He believed that one day, the court would not look at him as (Y/N) the little nobody with a crown, but as (Y/N) of Mirkwood, the king consort of this kingdom and the King's precious gem. 

Long live the kings...

Thanks for the reading!

I hope you enjoy the story and I can’t wait to see future requests!

See you soon and take care! 😘🥰😍

[steves-on-a-plane]

First Date

Words: 1493  Pairing: Bucky  x Reader Warning: none  Summary: Reader and Bucky have been set up by their mutual friend Sam Wilson. Things start off awkward at first, but after Reader shares a bit about herself and her life, Bucky warms up enough to share some details about his own life. 

“James?” You asked the man sitting at the table with uncertainty. Well Sam had been right about one thing, he certainly was handsome. He had steely blue eyes and a strong jawline. He was wearing a motorcycle jacket and a pair of riding gloves. He looked up from the book he’d been reading. “I’m Sam’s friend…”

“[Y/N].” He finished for you in a gravelly voice. “Please sit down.” He invited you to join him at the table’s only other empty seat. So you shrugged off your jacket and sat down. It was a nice enough night, just over fifty degrees out, but you’d wished you’d worn something warmer.

“I should have worn a sweater.” You mumbled mostly to yourself.

“You could keep the jacket on.” He suggested in a way he thought was helpful.

“I would but it doesn’t quite fit. It’s been too small for a while now.” You confessed. “But it’s my lucky jacket.” He leaned sideways in his seat to steal a peak at the jacket in question.

“You have a lucky denim jacket?” He straightened in his chair again.

“I’ve had this jacket since I was in high school. I took my SATs in this jacket, wore it to my first job interview. What can I say,” You shrugged. “Just because something’s old doesn’t mean it’s outworn its usefulness.” This made him laugh for some reason. “Reading anything good?” You attempted to read his book’s title upside down.

“Oh, not really.” He shrugged.

“I’ve never read Lord of the Rings. Is it your first time through?” You asked him.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You, ah, you read?”

“Are you asking if I know how to read?” You question.

“What? No I was just…”

“Relax.” You smiled at him. “I was just teasing. Tolkien’s not my thing, though. I don’t need to read three pages about the Baggins’ legacy handkerchief collection. Now the Star Wars novels…” You let your sentence trail off as you nodded with approval.

“They have Star Wars books too?” He seemed almost exhausted by the idea.

“Hundreds of them.” You confirmed.

“Have you ever eaten here before?” He questioned, bringing his attention to the menu.

“No, I assumed you had.” You said, also picking up your menu.

“Sam recommended it.” He mumbled.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s great then.” Sam was a bit of a foodie so there was a high probability any place he recommended was good. As you skimmed the menu, scanning your options you noticed the prices were a bit over your own budget.

“This place seems…expensive.” You commented, unable to phrase it more delicately.

“Oh? You don’t find Forty-five dollars a reasonable price for pasta and chicken?” He scoffed.

“I know a place not too far away, do you maybe want to get out of here?” You suggested. James looked down at the menu in his hand, seeming to weigh the options.

“If Sam asks, we both had the steak, and it was delicious.” He smiled getting to his feet. You put your lucky jacket back on and followed James out of the restaurant. “So how do you know Sam?” He wanted to know once the two of you were walking in step together.

“Ah, work…sort of.” You told him vaguely. “You?”

“Same.” He replied quickly.

“Are you a veteran?” You questioned.

“You could say that.” He sighed. “You?”

“No, my Dad was. Vietnam.” You explained. “I met Sam while I was helping out the VA.”  

“You said was. Is your father…” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Yeah. It’s been years now, so my mother and I have adjusted to life without him, but there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t feel like there was more we could have done for him.” You shook your head. “I’m so sorry, this is a terrible conversation for a first date.”

“No, no it’s fine.” He insisted. “Much better than asking me about a childhood pet or I don’t know, my favorite color. It’s refreshing to have someone share their life so openly.”

“Oh? It can go both ways, ya know.” You elbowed him playfully.

“What do you want to know?” He asked stuffing his hands in his pockets. You continued walking, taking a minute to think of something interesting to ask him.

“What is something you’d never bring up on a first or second date, but your romantic partner should know?” You asked. He stopped walking, which surprised you. You stopped too, turning to look back at him.

“I’m a hundred and three years old.” He said before continuing down the street.

“Okay, well if you’re not going to take it seriously, don’t open the door to…” You rolled your eyes before chasing after him.

“I’m being serious.” He insisted, not looking at you.

“How can you be a hundred and three years old? The only person who looks as good as you and is that old is Captain America. The internet says he’s up on the moon or whatever but either way you’re not Captain America. So how could you possibly be that old?”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He mumbled. You wanted to prod some more but you’d reached your destination. “C’mon.” You tugged him by the elbow towards a small hole in the wall restaurant.

The restaurant wasn’t much. It was certainly small with only about ten tables. The décor was simple and slightly outdated. Along one wall was a mural of Italian wine makers stomping grapes. There were yards of faux grape vines winding and twisting like trim across the top of the dining room. Some sections of vine even had plastic grapes dangling from them. The tabletops were well worn, their red and white gingham patterned had faded slightly over the years. It wasn’t much, but it was warm and the food was good.

“Best pizza in the whole city, I swear.” You promised as you dragged him inside.

“This place doesn’t even look open.” He commented with uncertainty. There was no one in the dining room when you arrived, but at the sound of the bell over the door, A short woman in an apron stepped out from the kitchen. A teenage boy in all black stumbled out beside her.

“I’m so sorry, but we are closed for tonight. You come back tomorrow.” The woman started to say in her thick Italian accent.

“Ma, it’s me.” You rolled your eyes. Your mother squinted at you, before putting her glasses on. She beamed with a smile once she recognized you.

“[Y/N]? But you are supposed to be out on a date, not here.” She argued.

“Well, I brought my date here. Ma, Marco, this is…” You began to introduce him.

“Bucky, Ma’am. My friends call me Bucky.” He introduced you.

“Are you taking good care of my [Y/N], Bucky?” Your mother asked.

“Ma, leave him alone. He hasn’t even been able to eat yet.” You told.

“Not eaten?” You mother seemed scandalized. “You left an hour ago to go to that fancy restaurant! Sit, sit, both of you. Marco, go get table setting for your cousin!” She ordered the young boy.

“è bello, no?” You mother whispered to you. You wanted to chastise her, but Bucky replied back in Italian.

“Non bella come tua figlia.” He smirked.

“I will cook something special for you, Bucky.” You mother decided.

“Just pizza will be fine, Ma!” You called after her. “So, you speak Italian?”  You quested as the two of you sat at the nearest table.

“You don’t?” He continued to smile.

“Not since my dad…” You confessed looking around.

“I’m guessing this was his place?” He nodded towards the large neon sign behind the bar proclaiming the restaurant as Antonio’s.

“It was my grandfather’s. Then my dad took it over and he was a terrible cook.” You laughed. “He hired my mom to be his chef, that’s how they met. They were a perfect team for over thirty years. Since then, we’ve been doing everything to keep it afloat. It’ll kill both of us to lose it.”

“I really am a hundred and three.” He said again, not knowing what else to say. “I tell people that I wear these gloves because I have poor circulation, but the truth is…” He tugged off his right glove first, then his second. You noticed, even in the dim lighting of the restaurant his left hand seemed to be made of metal. “It’s vibranium.” He told you flexing his fingers so you could see them.

“Bucky.” You repeated. “A hundred and three. Are you the guy they were looking for all those years back? The one they thought did the Socovian Accords bombing?”

“How can you be sure I didn’t do it?” He asked.

“I just have this feeling about you.” You shrugged. “Like you’d never hurt a fly. So, tell me, Bucky. How do I get to be a hundred and three and still look as good as you?”

[holylulusworld]

Her decision

Summary: Consequences are something the mobsters never experienced. Bucky and Steve will learn they will get more than they bargained for...

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Reader x Mobster!Steve

Characters: Peter Parker, Dr. Helen Cho

Warnings: angst, pregnant reader, threats, mentions of violence, angry reader, I use the word rape & non-consensual (nothing happens but I mention it just in case), mentions of groping, bratty reader

Ours to keep masterlist

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

“How did it go?” Bucky smirks, watching his friend press a hand against his bleeding forehead. “Great I assume,” the lamp hitting the closed-door answers the mobsters’ question.

“She’s angry, pissed, and demanding,” Steve huffs, looking at the door. “I will not enter that room again. Not today or like ever.”

“Let me tame this wild little kitten,” self-confident Bucky opens the door to poke his head in. “Look at her, Steve. She sleeps peacefully.”

“I wouldn’t count on her being calm and nice. I can tell, she’s ready to murder you, me, and the whole organization. If not for Peter, I bet she would get a gun to shoot us all,” Steve winces feeling blood run down his neck.

“What did you do, Rogers?” Bucky blinks seeing Steve’s cheeks flush pink. “You couldn’t keep your dirty hands to yourself. No wonder she wanted to kill you with a lamp.”

“A Tiffany lamp, the one my mother gifted to me,” grumbling Steve points toward you on the bed. “Y/N Y/L/N is an angry mother bear, ready to attack when you get to close.”

“Rather when you try to touch her goods,” pissed Steve storms off, not caring if you kill his friend and partner in crime.

“Doll?” sneaking toward the bed, eying the lamp on the bed warily Bucky calls your name. “Y/N, darling I need to talk to you about a few rules. Can you not throw a lamp at me?”

“He deserved getting hurt!” You grumble, hiding underneath the blanket. “Bastard tried to touch my private parts,” snickering Bucky crawls onto the bed, aware you grasp for the lamp.

“He tried to touch our girl, doll. Don’t be such a prude. We both know you came so hard on our cocks that night,” Bucky purrs, glancing at your ass sticking out of the blanket. “I could fill you so good.”

“Is that what you want? Coming to this room to rape me?” Dumbfounded Bucky gasps when you wield the lamp in front of his face. “I agreed to come here to save Peter’s life, not to let you touch me.”

“I thought you know we want our girl back, including nakedness,” not giving in the mobster moves closer to touch your cheek but the lamp hitting his shoulder is not what he imagined would happen. “Doll, we just want you to be ours.”

“I don’t care,” you poke Bucky’s chest with the lamp, angrily clenching your jaw. “I wanted to give my innocence to someone loving and adoring me. Not to two guys who used me, took turns only to kick me out of their house like a random whore they can use. The only thing you forgot to do was paying me for my service.”

“We never pay for sex but you’ve got a point there, doll,” Bucky admits. “Listen, we are bad guys, okay. Bad attitude. Bad reputation. Rotten to the core.”

“You could’ve just left me alone. I had a nice life, you know. No one was paying attention to me but that was fine. I just wanted everyone to leave me alone,” you sniff, hiding your face in the cushions.

“Doll, I must admit at first, we liked the chase. But after the first rush subsided, I didn’t feel good for the first time. I kinda missed you,” you snort, closing your eyes. “We didn’t send Peter to have an eye on you for no reason. We wanted to know how you are doing and if he can find a weak spot to make you fall for us again.”

“Fuck off, Barnes,” you want to hit him with the lamp again, but Bucky is faster. Taking it out of your hand he throws it over his shoulder. “That was granny Roger's second Tiffany lamp.”

“I’ll take the blame,” Bucky smirks when you nod eagerly. “I know you do not have any reason to believe me, us, but we tried to win you over by using Peter.”

“…that’s the reason you wanted to fuck my colleagues. This must be the stupidest and lamest lie I ever heard. Call my parents, they can give you advice on how to lie to me,” voice thin now you sit on the bed, covering your bump.

“I heard about your parents, doll,” the mobster sits next to you, glancing at the bump you try to hide. “I promise, none one will touch you against your will. Steve and I are bastards, but we are not the kind of guys forcing ourselves on a girl.”

“What do you want from me? I’m no one special to you or anyone else. Can’t you just let me go back to my apartment?” Pleadingly looking at Bucky you sigh deeply. “Please?”

“We got a deal, doll,” Steve clears his throat, warily watching your hands ball into fists. “I’m sorry for touching you but the babies, they are ours, just like you. If one of our enemies gets to know you are our girl, they will hurt you.”

“I hate you,” a huff later Steve sits onto the bed, handing you a manila folder. “What’s that?”

“Pictures of Peter and his treatment. He’s doing better, his arm is fine,” you don’t like the way Steve looks at the pictures. “For now.”

“Can you for once not threaten someone? I like Peter, stop hurting him to get to me,” sniffling you close the folder, clutching it to your chest. “He’s a nice guy.”

“Did you fuck him?” Bucky’s voice raises when he must watch you hold the pictures to your chest. “The boy is dead.”

“Unlike you, I do not fuck anyone coming to my path. Peter is a friend and a boy. Jesus, I don’t think he’s at age. The boy is like my broth…,” your eyes water at the memory of your little brother.

Steve nods at his friend, not missing the way you cling to the pictures. “You miss your little brother.”

“I guess I like Peter as I imagined my little brother would be like him one day. A bit shy, but smart. Strong if he needs to and protective. He tries to make the best out of a bad situation,” Bucky nods, understanding how you feel.

“I had a younger sister,” the mobster moves closer to place one hand onto your belly, slowly rubbing it. “Rebecca, but everyone called her Becca.”

Bucky’s eyes sadden when you try to shove his hands off your baby bump. “Where is she?”

“Died years ago. It’s been ages since I talked about her,” you can see tears form in Bucky’s eyes and for the first time, you wonder if he can love someone. “My father, he was a notorious mobster, hard, unforgiving. When he crossed another line, my mother and sister paid the price.”

You gasp, clasping one hand over your mouth. Suddenly too aware of what could happen to your babies you look at Steve. “He’s telling the truth, Y/N. One day after his mother and Becca left church on Sunday they got shot. A drive-by.”

“That’s awful. Did they ever find the murderer?” Bucky nods, giving your thigh a tight squeeze. “Your father, he killed them.”

“It was a massacre. People still talk about it behind closed doors. After my father was done, Steve’s father, Joseph had to stop him. This is how we ended up uniting the empires our grandfathers founded.”

“Bucky’s father, he didn’t stop until his bloodthirst was satisfied. My father stepped in as George, Bucky’s dad was close to starting another killing spree,” you're horrified at Steve’s explanations. Your hands tremble and you feel like you are going to pass out any minute.

“Doll you need to take deep breaths,” Bucky brings you into his arms before you can fall out of the bed. “No more horror stories, Steven. Our girl just passed out,” Steve hums, moving his hand to your belly. “No touching without her consent.”

“I wanted to feel my baby…”

“Prenatal what?” Steve looks at the brochure the doctor hands to him. “I got no clue about this stuff, Dr. Cho. Can you explain it to us?”

“It means we will find out who the father is before Y/N gives birth,” Helen Cho, explains. “I can explain the whole procedure if you want me to.”

“Is it dangerous?” Bucky looks at your belly, not wanting anything to happen to his heir. “We will not risk anything. Y/N must agree too.”

“There is no risk, Mr. Barnes,” you chuckle, watching Steve turn pale when the doctor gets a syringe out. 

“You will not put that into my girl,” protesting Steve tries to grasp for the syringe. “I will not allow you to poke her,” Peter snickers silently glancing at you now and then, or rather anytime none of the mobsters is paying attention to him.

“Mr. Rogers, I need to collect DNA from the mother with a simple blood draw. Later we will gather you and Mr. Barnes DNA using a cheek swab. I will not hurt Y/N or her babies,” the mobster eyes Dr. Cho warily, not trusting her with his baby.

“Gosh, don’t get your panties in a twist, Rogers. Months ago, you treated me like trash, tossed me onto the street, and never looked back. Do not act as if I mean anything to you. I’m a breeder to you and your friend, nothing else,” you don’t hide your anger, even purse your lips when Steve tries to argue. 

“She could hurt you with that syringe or the babies. What if she tries to kill you?” you roll your eyes in an attempt to stop Steve from saying more stupid things in front of your doctor.

“I’m the mother ans got three votes, you only got one. I have the saying,” looking at Dr. Cho you nod. “Do it doctor. I trust you.”

“I have a vote too,” Bucky grumbles, stepping closer to you. “This makes two against three.”

“Yeah, I’m glad you can count, Barnes but I’m still the mother and got three votes. Now shush and let me handle this,” the mobsters do not like you start acting like a brat, but you are determined to show them you are in charge.

“How long will you keep it to yourself? I want to know about the results too,” Steve grasps for the envelope but you slap his hand away. “Doll, let me have a look.”

“I want to talk about a few rules,” Bucky grunts, tugging at the envelope you hold in your hands. “Y/N, give me the goddamn envelope.”

“First, Peter will be my personal bodyguard. No more threats or I’ll be gone, just like my babies,” jaw tense Steve looks at you, close to just taking the envelope out of your hands.

“Fine. One false step and he’s dead,” you narrow your eyes, at Bucky who suddenly starts to sweat. “No more threats got it.”

“Next, no touching or groping. I’m not your toy,” Steve sighs, ogling your growing cleavage longingly. “I would kill to suckle at those tits.”

“I don’t care and …gross,” you slowly open the envelope, checking on the results. “So, if you want to know who will become a father in five months you’ll give me your word that I will be safe here, just like my kids.”

“Promised, no tricks,” Bucky points toward the piece of paper in your hands, licking his lips. “Tell us now doll.”

“I’m not done,” grinning you stuff the letter into your bra, not caring Steve starts to growl. “You will not play your sick games with any girl again. You are mine now, which means no sex with other women.”

“Wait…you don’t want us to touch you,” Steve points out, hating you grin devilish. “You can’t be serious!”

“No sex for you at all,” both mobsters do not like your conditions but threatening a pregnant girl is not their style. “I want enough money for me and my children. Peter will not do anything illegal again. You will not go out with other chicks, this includes sex.” 

Whilst both men crowd you like lions ready to pounce on their prey you hold their gaze. “We have a few rules too.” Steve purrs, dipping one knee into the mattress.

“You will stay here. We will sleep in the bedroom we prepared, together. No other guys, no sex with other guys. The babies are ours, just like you. No leaving us,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, a frown on your face.

“No sex,” you cross your arms over your chest. “I mean it…”

“Negotiable, doll,” Bucky joins his friend onto the bed, looking at you hungrily. “Now be good and give me the letter.”

“I don’t think so, Barnes,” you scramble away, squealing when Bucky flips your over, covering your body to slip his hand into your bra. 

“Where is the letter?” Bucky grunts. “Doll, I’m losing my patience here.”

“I will tell you the results if you sign the contract Peter prepared for me,” you smirk at Steve. “I told you he’s shy but smart. Now be good little daddies and sign it. If you do so, I’ll stay and tell you about the results…”

“I fucking hate you,” Bucky mutters, pacing around the new bedroom. You are unimpressed. Legs crossed you relax on the soft mattress a smug grin on your lips. “You’ll get half of my money if I dare to cheat on you?”

“Correct.”

“Same goes for me, Buck,” Steve is still fuming. He had to sign a contract handing you his balls on a silver plate. 

“As you were such good daddies,” you coo, lips curved into a grin. “I’ll tell you about the results.” Both men sit onto the bed, leaning closer to glance at your belly.

“Tell us…” Bucky places one hand onto your belly, rubbing it slowly. “Please, doll. Stop torturing us.”

“According to Doctor Cho I’m going to be a mother,” you snicker, turning around to close your eyes. “I’m too tired now. Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you more. Now be good and stop moping. You’ll learn your place…”

“Learn our place?” Bucky chokes out, looking at Steve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh-pretty mobster,” you open your eyes, grinning wickedly. “Did no one ever tell you to never underestimate a pregnant girl? You’ll do anything I want you to do when I want you to do so…”

>> Part 3

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[wallwriterstuff]

Hi! Can I please request a Demetri x mate!human!fem!reader where she’s Bella’s younger sister, and when the Volturi come for Renesmee, the Cullens tell her to stay with Charlie, since they had a bunch of vampires with them plus the Volturi showing up, it’d be bad with a human in the mix. Being related to Bella (haha) she doesn’t listen, choosing to hide behind a tree to try to see how Bella and her family are (she was worried what the Volturi would do). I’m sure everyone would realize there’s a human there, and Aro sends Demetri to check it out, who finds Y/n, and quickly realizes she’s his mate. Ooo that would be nerve racking to Bella because she’d see Dem speed her younger sister over to where all the Volturi are. I’m sure she’d have to go back to Volterra with them, and she’d be a little freaked out. Awhhh it’d be so cute to see them bond, and on New Year’s, she wants to watch the ball drop (because it’s a tradition), and when it’s the New Year, she kisses Dem for the first time!

Little Red Riding Hood Part 1 ||Demetri Volturi x Female Reader||

Part 2: The Big Bad Wolf 

Part 3: What Soft Lips You Have 

Part 4: And They Lived Happily Ever After 

Warnings: None, just Aro being a manipulative little meanie 

Words: 4793

Summary: Against her sister’s advice, Y/N Swan sets off on a one woman mission to protect her family, unaware of the price she will have to pay to do so. 

One of the worst habits you had was wondering the house late at night when you shouldn’t be. It wasn’t your fault really, insomnia didn’t have an easy cure and your sleeping medication was…well, when you woke up in the morning you felt drunk, they weren’t really something you enjoyed using. It had been an innocent quest really, a simple mission – get a warm mug of milk to go back to bed with. If anything, you were perfectly in the right to go wandering your own home. It should have been safe, even at 3:24AM.

Riley Biers shouldn’t have been there.

But he was.

In your living room.

And so were you.

Until you weren’t.

Alice had seen it all in advance of course and whisked you out of that room so fast the venom hadn’t even had time to properly enter your system after Riley bit down. Charlie hadn’t even been woken from his slumber by the time you were whisked into the depths of the forest to a nice little clearing where you could scream to your hearts content and nobody would hear you. Carlisle had saved you that night, sucking the venom out as quickly as Riley had injected it. The night that had followed was a surreal, whistle stop tour of the vampire world and its laws, laws you were technically breaking since you knew about the Cullen’s now. Of course, that meant you knew about the newborn army to, but you decided to stay out of that one. Some things however…some things demanded your attention, and whether you were human or not you simply had to at least see your family would be okay.

After a whirlwind few months your sister was saved, married and knocked up. Come Christmas, your hybrid niece was looking to be nine years old and your father was suspicious but none the wiser to the world you knew all too much about. You had carefully hidden your bitemark with polo necks, a sudden and bizarre choice your father had commented on once but quickly dismissed after you spouted some fashion facts Alice had prepared you with – fashion and Charlie did not mix and he dropped that conversation faster than one might drop a saucepan on fire. Of course, Renesmee (who you had created a variety of nicknames for just to tease Bella because otherwise you…well you’d have to call her Renesmee, and that was just cruel) was unique in every way, and unique and unknown equated to threat and danger in many minds, many minds the Cullen’s had slowly swayed over the few weeks since Alice had informed them of their impending death sentence.

You hadn’t been allowed to visit since the nomads and covens had started arriving, and though you understood the reason it didn’t make it any easier to know your sister, your niece, your extended family, were all in danger and you weren’t getting to spend what might be their last moments with them. It was only made worse when Bella and Edward had brought your father tickets to go fishing out of state, and tried to do the same to you. You loved your TV shows, truly you did, so for them to somehow get you backstage passes for Supernatural of all things was…immense. What you hated the most was how tempted you were to go. Who would say no to a long stay in a five star hotel, all expenses paid for and any bills you accumulated paid for by a Cullen, bottomless credit card?

When Edward and Bella had dropped you at the airport, part of you really had been ready to say goodbye to them, but as you stood in line for the gate the heavy weight of guilt settled in your gut and wouldn’t stop squirming. You had to turn back, you had to go. Nobody knew when the Volturi were going to land exactly, but you knew the day, and with Charlie and Sue gone for their fishing trip you would have nobody to stop you doing the incredibly dumb thing you had set your heart on. The taxi fare home had been extortionate but you couldn’t exactly have called anyone for a lift could you? You called the hotel and told them you were cancelling your stay, having to push your backstage pass for the Supernatural set deep into the depths of your bag to manage the grief of missing that opportunity, but family came first.

A restless night’s sleep later and you were dressing for the snow. It had fell fast and thick since Christmas day, so you had to set out early if you were going to get anywhere fast. Bella was your sister and you loved one another dearly, so of course you had spoken all about the upcoming battle, her hopes and her fears, her plans.

“There’s a clearing to the North of the house, we’re hoping if we engage them there it’ll be far enough away from people to stop anyone else getting involved by accident.”

Clearing to the North of the Cullen residence, right. With your Grandfather’s old compass you had set out, bundled in your thickest woollen coat and decked out the whole nine yards with scarves and hats and gloves. The air was freezing, nipping harshly at your exposed skin till your ears and nose were tinged red. Sniffling, you trudged through the layers of snow, stumbling over your own feet once or twice in the hereditary Swan way before regaining your footing and ploughing on. The trees seemed never-ending, an identical blanket of white on each and every one that towered above you, encroaching from all sides and making you lose all sense of direction. If it wasn’t for the compass in your hand you could have easily gotten lost in the winter wonderland, but a break in the treeline finally made an appearance. Numb as your extremities were, you forced your tired body to cooperate and propelled yourself forward, stumbling towards a tree you might be able to see past.

The forest was eerily silent, not a single scuttling animal or twittering bird to be found today, and the clearing itself was so large and the covens spread so far apart you could barely see a thing either, not with your dull, human eyes. A swarm of black gave away the Volturi, the mismatch of beiges and neutral tones on the left letting you know your family had yet to be taken down. A sigh of relief escaped you and you clapped a hand over your mouth in alarm, heart skipping a beat in your chest. Vampires had extremely sensitive hearing, there was no way somebody hadn’t heard you, and if it wasn’t the sigh that gave you away then it would surely have been the sound of mitten slapping flesh. Pressing into the bark you peeked around the tree trunk, heart hammering in your chest now as you tried to establish what was happening. You couldn’t hear a thing, could barely see. Ness sat atop Jacob, his russet fur glinting in the bright white of the snow-covered landscape.

“It all looks so terribly interesting from this distance does it not?” the smooth voice was right by your ear, and you screamed louder than you ever had in your life. Whirling around you shrunk back from the vibrantly red eyes of an admittedly handsome man, his expression devoid of any emotion as he looked you over. He had boxed you in against the tree trunk, his cloak billowing about him, the shiny, golden ‘V’ hanging around his throat making your chest constrict. Volturi, he was a Volturi guard. With wide eyes you stood in a silent stare-off, unable to decipher the emotions flickering through his eyes as he stood a step toward you.

“Stay away from me!” you cried, cringing back into the bark behind you. His head tilted.

“You came to spy and did not expect there would be consequences?” he asked, not stopping till he was almost on top of you. Your breath hitched. He had the most gorgeous looking face but you could identify the features of a killer in it. The glowing red irises didn’t look at you with malice however, more…confusion. His sharp, pearl white teeth weren’t bared to take your throat out but carefully sealed away behind plush lips. You could almost believe he didn’t intend on hurting you if his hands weren’t still reaching for you.

“You’re here to butcher my family, I had to…” you trailed off, because in reality what could you do? What could you possible say to this vampire that wouldn’t make him laugh? You were human, you stood no chance. He had paused, waiting patiently for your answer, yet when you gave him none he proceeded to pick you up like you weighed next to nothing, your feet being whisked out of the numbing snow to dangle over his arm. His eyes never left yours.

“Hold tight little one.” He suggested, his voice devoid of any emotion. If there had been any part of him you might have been able to appeal to before it was gone now, hidden behind a stony exterior. The world blurred around you and the jarring movement thew you off balance as he set you on your feet again, your body tilting in a way it shouldn’t till he was forced to grab you and hold you steady. Nausea rose quickly in the back of your throat, the world still spinning and blurring your eyes. You could see the edges of black cloaks swirling in your vision as you fought back the urge to be sick. There was no way to hide your anxiety now, your heart hammering away for all to hear, your breathing too quick to be normal.

“You seem to have distressed our dear friends, Demetri.” The smooth voice was sickeningly sweet, entirely false to your ears. Trying to take a steadying breath, you forced yourself to look up at the three imposing figures before you. A giant stood behind them, two young twins to their right. The three were quite obvious to you form the stories you’d heard, and your shudder had nothing to do with the cold this time. Demetri, the man holding you, had yet to let go of your waist, and his hands felt strangely soothing, their firm grip something that felt grounding and reliable despite your terror in this moment.

“An intruder who has already seen too much, end her now as yet another of the Cullen’s mistakes.” The blonde sneered. You swallowed, mind spinning. You were dead either way, right?

“My niece is not a mistake.” You retorted. You were proud that your voice didn’t waver once, though the grip on your waist tightened slightly and you weren’t sure if it was to warn you or scold you. Caius hissed, eyes narrowed in a vicious glare.

“Your niece? May I, my dear?” Aro stood before you, taller than you had expected with hair almost as long as yours. You knew it wasn’t a request, but you found yourself desperate either way to avoid touching him and shrank back from his extended hand, straight into Demetri’s chest. His hand was hesitant, but it lifted from your waist to lightly skim down your arm, his lips close to your hairline as he whispered, “Do as you are told now, little one.”

He carefully extended your hand for you, noting the tremor in it once more as Aro’s eyes flickered between you. He removed your mitten with a flourish, your hand immediately clenching and unclenching at the sudden blast of arctic cold it had previously been shrouded from. Aro’s skin was somehow even colder and your shivering grew in intensity. Very vaguely, you could hear Bella shouting something, but the distance was so great and the clearing so vast it swallowed the sound. His eyes flickered over yours, completely pinning you to the spot, and then they looked past you to whatever was happening behind you. Demetri was blocking your view when you tried to see what Aro was seeing.

“Sweet Y/N, your bravery in coming here is applaudable. I can only hope our own dear ones are as dedicated to our family as you are to yours.” Aro sighed, a hint of melancholy in his voice. You flinched, knowing the next words from his mouth would most likely be spelling out your death sentence. The sound of the breeze was all that filled your ears for a moment, the anxiety and anticipation growing in your stomach making it difficult to hold onto the meagre breakfast you’d forced yourself to eat. It occurred to you in that moment that this would be your final moments with your family, your last chance to say goodbye, and they could hear it. Squaring your shoulders, you held your head high.

“I came because I love them, and I don’t regret that. You can’t destroy my family, their witnesses are proof of that. My niece was created out of love and the legacy of love they would leave behind will be far too great for you to overcome. So go ahead and do what you have to to me, if I can die with half their grace then I know I’ve done them proud.” You clenched your fists at your side, prepared for the bite that Aro would deliver, maybe Demetri. Caius looked most upset by your little speech, hissing quietly and looking prepared to spring towards you. More muffled noise from behind you let you know your family had heard, even if you couldn’t hear their goodbyes you felt them in your heart.

Aro’s head tilted slightly, his expression cold, and then his mouth opened slightly and he was leaning forward. You closed your eyes, flinching as you braced for the pain of a bite you knew well, but instead you felt cold air, and when your eyes snapped open you were shielded from Aro’s bite by a tall, lean body, one strong arm curled backward to keep you caged against his spine. Demetri.

“Master…please.” He extended his hand, ripping off his glove with his teeth as he went. Aro eagerly took his hand, probably as desperate as you were to know why one of his most treasured guard would so openly defy him. Some of the Volturi’s people were starting to whisper behind them but a lethal look (from the giant of a man you guessed was Felix from Bella’s stories) silenced them. His grip on your hip tightened for a moment, the silence deafening before Aro chuckled.

“Ahhh…così si forma un legame eterno.” he murmured. You scrunched your nose, having no idea what he meant since you didn’t speak Italian. When Demetri carefully moved aside, giving Aro as slim a chance to access you as he possibly could, and your heart twisted with gratitude that he would even bother to try. You swallowed, doing your best to keep your fear from your face.

“Aro.” Caius growled. Aro held his hand up, forcing his brother to heel even if he couldn’t placate him.

“You are intriguing, Y/N. The Volturi do not offer second chances, but for the sake of our dear Demetri we are willing to bend the rules just this once,” Aro smiled, a shark-like grin that made your stomach sink, “You have a choice before you. Your family are quite innocent in regards to the accusation against your niece, for that we will deliver no justice-“ there was some uncomfortable shuffling behind him Aro dutifully ignored, “-however you are a law broken, yet another example of the Cullen’s inability to guard our secret from humans. An example must be made, you must be dealt with appropriately. Either you turn here, now, or you come with us, and we turn you.”

It was a Hobson’s choice. What Aro was really asking was how dead did you want to be? Dead dead? Or undead dead? If you let Carlisle bite you now in the clearing there were so many unpredictable nomads around. Bite your wrist and it would take forever for the venom to reach your heart and really start the change, you would be tortured right in front of them, a punishment for them all no doubt. Bite your throat and blood would spill, blood so many of those nomads wouldn’t think twice about feeding from in any other situation. So, what did you do? Did you choose the option where you ended up far from home but safe? Or did you choose the option that did not guarantee your safety but did guarantee your family would suffer watching you suffer?

For the first time since you entered the snow you felt warm, warm with so many eyes on you. Swallowing thickly, you tried to will your mind to work faster to outwit the vampire before you. In the end, you could only think of a compromise.

“My father’s not home right now. If I chose to come with you, could I have time to pack some clothes?” your voice was slightly weak, your heart aching in your chest. Your father would never see you again, he’d have to believe you just ran off, that you were the same flighty woman your mother was. Bella might never get a chance to see you again either, an eternity of knowing you would never lose your sister, but that you would never be reunited. It was painful however you spun it. Aro’s smile only widened, knowing he had successfully backed you into a corner.

“But of course! Such a…noble, sacrifice, must be rewarded. You have earned that much my dear. Demetri will take you now.” Aro gave his tracker a nod and Demetri seemed to relax, swiftly turning on his heel to march you across the snow. His hand was gentle on your arm, but the speed he set almost had you running to keep up, like he was desperate to get you out of there lest Aro change his mind. As you were escorted out of the clearing, you dared a single glance back at Bella, her face the very picture of horror as Edward held her back. All you could manage was a weak smile as your sister disappeared from view for what was possible the last time.

Once you were far enough into the trees that the clearing was out of sight for you, Demetri suddenly came to a stop, exhaling sharply and dropping his hand from your arm. It ran through his hair but barely ruffled it. Whatever he was thinking, you weren’t about to be privy to it as he slung you across his back with ease. You gasped, clinging on tight.

“Hey! What are you doing!” you protested.

“Taking you to your home. You are slower than I am.” He retorted, his voice quiet and his grip on your thighs firm. You held on tight, heart rabbiting in your chest.

“You don’t even know where I live.” You squeaked. Demetri chuckled, the sound vibrating through your gut.

“No, but I know where the Cullen’s live, and I find it hard to believe that in all this snow you walked all the way here. Now hold on tight and try closing your eyes, it may help with the nausea, cara mia.” He gave you seconds at most to bury your face in his shoulder before he took off, maybe…or not? You weren’t really sure but you didn’t dare lift your head to look. He made sure his gait was smooth, every stride flawless so he didn’t so much as jostle you, and by the time he gently encouraged you to unwind your legs from his waist you were in front of the Cullen’s house. The only reminder you had ever ran anywhere with him at all was the windswept state of your hair – it was unfair his still looked perfect.

He had been right of course, you had driven to the Cullen’s today. It was hard to imagine him sitting beside you in your small car, his cloak about him and his outfit all…well, what even was he wearing? Why did that even matter when this Volturi guard was escorting you to pack things that would be your only reminder of home? Demetri was quiet, watching you carefully as you stared at your car. Nothing made sense. Why had Demetri saved you when he was the one who hauled you out in front of Aro? Why had it felt like he was protecting you? Why was everything so…comfortable? Being around him was like being in the company of an old friend, it was familiar and warm, inviting, the silences felt natural.

Demetri quietly called your name, his expression questioning, but you didn’t bother to give him an explanation, simply pulled out your car keys and got into the driver’s seat. The radio chased away the silence, your fingers clenched tight around the wheel as you tried to figure out what to pack.

“Where are we going?” you asked him finally. Demetri kept his eyes on the horizon.

“To our home, to Volterra. You will be joining us in Italy.” He answered. Italy? You didn’t know the first thing about Italian culture. What was the food like? The people? The language? You’d need to pack warmer clothes, and they didn’t accommodate turtle-necks – not that you needed to hide a bite from vampires. It wasn’t really until you pulled up in the driveway of your home that it really struck you, the weight of the deal you made hanging heavy on your shoulders as you idled in front of your childhood home. In your mind you could see yourself running up the drive, your suitcase abandoned for your father to pick up as he welcomed you to stay for the summer. Other winters where you had opted to spend Christmas with Charlie over Renée flashed through your mind next, dilapidated snowmen and strung up lights over the porch flashing bright. Tears stung your eyes.

“I’m never coming back here, am I?” you whispered. Demetri remained silent, and you were grateful for it. There was nothing he could say to make this better and you suspected he knew that. Furiously wiping at your eyes, you rummaged for your house keys and cleared your throat. “You should wait until I open the front door, it’ll look suspicious if you follow me in and any of the neighbours see.” You muttered, already climbing out of the car before he could argue. It was a slow walk up the drive, a walk where you desperately tried to imprint the bumps in the concrete, the muddy smells of the forest surrounding you, and the awful netting in the windows’ you father hadn’t changed since your mother moved on, into your memory.

The smell of stale beer from the cans in the recycling box beneath the sink hit your nose as the door opened, the familiar smells of Charlie’s aftershave and Sue’s perfume coming next. The house was cold, quiet, desolate even. Demetri was in front of you in the blink of an eye as you shut the door behind you, nobody would have seen him enter for sure. He glanced around himself, obviously curious at the choice in décor and the photographs along the walls – you couldn’t bear to look at them. With a soft sigh, you left him in the living room, knowing he would do what he liked anyway regardless as to whether or not you invited him upstairs.

The suitcase you had packed for your trip would need to be unpacked, some of your jumpers and long-sleeved shirts would not be needed in Italy after all. It would be hot, and heat was not a friend to wool. Your wardrobe doors flung open, you were contemplating what to put back when Demetri interrupted you.

“Vampires do not feel temperature the same way humans do. When you turn it will be no issue to wear jumpers, if they are what you prefer.” He said. Brows crinkling, you subconsciously lifted a hand to your throat.

“It’s not really a fashion choice,” you murmured, “But I guess I don’t need to really hide a bitemark from a bunch of vampires, do I?” Just like that the air changed; you no longer felt comfortable with Demetri, not when he was giving off such a sour energy. He radiated danger, anger. He took a breath to visibly compose himself, but his eyes were still darkened by anger, near black with the rage he radiated. The leather of his gloves squeaked as he clenched and unclenched his fists. You took a step back from him, biting down on your lower lip as your heart skittered.

“Show me,” he said, eyes blazing. You shook your head. “Show me.” He growled, stepping forward this time. Gulping, you reached up with a shaky hand to pull the turtle-neck down as far as you could, thankful the material stretched slightly. Demetri peered past the fabric to the silver crescent shapes of Riley’s teeth, emblazoned on your skin until Volturi venom decided to buff out that imperfection. He hissed quietly, his fingertips tracing the mark and sending shivers down your spine. He was freezing cold, cold as a corpse actually since that was technically what he was, so why did his fingers leave a blazing trail of fire across your skin?

“It’s just small, it’ll go away anyway if-“

“It will not, go away.” Demetri ground out, his eyes fixated on the scar. He looked genuinely disgusted and you couldn’t tell if it was at you or the bitemark, you couldn’t tell quite why it bothered you so much either. Why did you care so much that this upset Demetri?

“It won’t?” you asked weakly. He winced a bit, letting his hands drop and looking away. You counted ten whole seconds before he dared turn back to you.

“No, it will not. Venom is what will immortalise you, petrify your system, it has had a chance to do so to those cells it has touched already and they will be forever changed by it. My only hope is to bite down there, that by breaking the surface with my teeth it heals over with my venom.” He almost growled the word at you in his frustration and you swallowed, blinking in surprise.

“You’re going to be the one that turns me?” you questioned. Could he even do that? Did he have the self-control? You had thought Aro would do it if you were honest, though you couldn’t say you were over the moon to have that old coot’s teeth in your throat it was guaranteed to at least be safe. What right did Demetri have to steal your life? Why was he so angry over the thought of another vampire biting you? Had he claimed some weird sort of vampire dibs?

“Of course. The Volturi have laws they enforce but when it comes to affairs between mates, they leave well enough alone.” He informed you, head tilting. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Mates?” you whispered, mind reeling.

“You do not feel the pull?” he asked. He had yet to step back from you, unbearably close and yet somehow not close enough. For a moment you couldn’t say anything, simply trying to desperately scramble to think coherently enough to consider answering.

“I don’t…I barely know you, you can’t just…say that.” You stammered. Demetri very gently grasped your chin between his fingers, tilting your face upward so you were forced to maintain eye contact with him. You weren’t sure what he was searching for, if he found it or not, but he dropped your chin with a sigh.

“Pack, tesoro, we have little time.” He murmured. You were relieved when he stepped back – it gave you a chance to breathe.  Mate? Demetri thought you were his mate? You knew what that meant, Edward had explained to you what his connection with Bella was like after Riley had introduced you to his world, trying to help you understand how awful the months leading up to Bella’s running away to Italy had been for both of them. Is that why he had been so protective of you on the field? Is that why he was so furious another vampire had dared mark you? It crossed your mind then just how selfish your decision actually looked to the outside world. In your head, you had been saving your family from suffering, but to them it probably looked like you had chosen to run off with your mate because you didn’t trust they would take care of you. How were they ever going to forgive you for this?

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (195/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball,  which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made  on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: This story takes place about 1000 years before  66 years after the events of Dragon Ball Z.

     [1 September, Age 749.   Earth.]  

One story continues with two mercenaries robbing a child of his dearest possession.  

Pasta and Bongo are craven opportunists.   When King Gurumes begins destroying his own land in search of more Blood Rubies, his people become restive and unruly.   His military and royal guard are stretched thin protecting his mining and construction operations, so he hires foreign mercenaries for added security.   Gurumes' vast wealth pays them well, but Pasta and Bongo want more.  

When they hear of the King's terrible curse, they tell him tales of the seven magic Dragon Balls, and the fabled wish that could free him from his endless hunger.   Gurumes promises to pay them anything they want in return.  

The exchange rate is a curious one.  Legend holds that the Eternal Dragon can grant any wish imaginable, but Pasta and Bongo crave only profit, and there is plenty of that to be found.   Gurumes would sell his kingdom for the wish, even as he slowly destroys it to unearth the Blood Rubies that so fascinate him.   And  while the Blood Rubies might fetch a high price, King Gurumes does not dare to sell them, for he cannot bring himself to part with a single gem.   And so, when Pasta and Bongo steal the Four-Star Dragon Ball from the little boy's house, they leave a single gold coin as payment.    

For some, that might be a great bargain.  Individually, each Dragon Ball is useless.   Master Roshi trades his away without a second thought.   Bulma is resourceful enough and dedicated enough to track down the other six, but most would probably be happy to accept a chunk of gold and let someone else take up the grand quest.  

But the boy does not care about gold, or rubies, or Dragon Balls, or wishes.   For him, the orange crystal with four red stars is not valuable for what it is worth, or what it can do.   He treasures it for what it represents: the memory of his adoptive grandfather, who once held it as a keepsake.  

If he were an ordinary child, then he might have to suffer the injustice of Pasta and Bongo's crime, but Son Goku is far from ordinary.   He fell from the heavens, with the blood of the Legendary Super Saiyan running through his veins.  But when he arrived on Earth, he was nothing.   An outcast from his own people, a weakling orphan with no memory of his heritage and no prospects for his future.   Like a single Dragon Ball, he was useless and easily ignored.

It was Son Gohan, a kindly old man, who found the boy and gave him value.  He took the boy as his grandson, named him, sheltered him, and trained him in the martial arts.   And the boy never forgot that kindness.   When his grandfather died, the boy kept the orange ball with the red stars in a household shrine, and spoke to it as if it contained his grandfather's spirit.   For what Son Gohan represented could never be destroyed, much less purchased.  

What price can be put on love?   A gold coin?  A kingdom?   A castle full of Blood Rubies?  

This was what Pasta and Bongo and King Gurumes could not understand.  In their desperate greed, they could not imagine anyone wanting something more, and having the courage to fight for it.   They could not imagine a boy venturing out into the world for the first time for something more precious than treasure.  They could not forsee that boy mastering the Kamehameha on his first try, or joining forces with friends who would help him set things right.

This is why Pasta and Bongo's schemes would always fail.   Each time the story is told, each time they come to the Land of Gurumes and offer to track down the Dragon Balls, their path leads them to Son Goku, and then to ruin.  All because they could not conceive of something worth more than money.  

According to Saiyan folklore, once every thousand years, a warrior of their race rises up to have incredible power.  Son Goku is the culmination of that cycle, destined to take his place as the next in a long line of Legendary Super Saiyans.  Pasta and Bongo are merely soldiers of fortune, unremarkable and easily replaced, a footnote in some more important tale.    Their destiny is obscurity, again and again.

The heart beats, and the blood of this tale continues another lap on its endless course.  

*******

     [2 September, Age 749.   Earth.]  

"And that's all I know, I swear!"

Emperor Pilaf lived in a curious fortress in the middle of nowhere.   The architecture resembled a cross between a mansion and a dungeon filled with robotic weapons and attack dogs.   To a spacefaring mercenary like Luffa, it was the most familiar-looking thing she had ever seen on the planet.  In her travels, she had encountered countless tin dictators and warlords who lived in similar facilities.  

With his pointed ears and clammy blue skin, Pilaf looked more like a demon than an Earthling.  Despite his regal attire, he had only two subordinates: a dog-man named Shu and a human woman named Mai.  They carried themselves with a bit more dignity than their Emperor, although this wasn't saying much.  

Luffa turned her back to the three of them, staring instead at the wreckage of the mechanical deathtrap they had tried to use against her when she first arrived.  

"Let's go over it one more time," she finally said.  

Pilaf quailed in terror, and Luffa shivered with revulsion.   His cowardice was almost too much to bear.

"You were searching for the Dragon Balls," Luffa said.  "And you found one a few days ago, but then Pasta and Bongo stole it from you.   They left a gold coin as 'payment', the currency of the Land of Gurumes."

"Th-that's right," Pilaf said.   "Wow, you really have an excellent memory.  Not like Shu at all.   He's always forgetting things, leaving his chew toys and throwing stars just lying around--"

"Aw, I said I was sorry about that, Sire," Shu whimpered.

"You know," Pilaf said, ignoring Shu, "I could use a lady with your talents in my organization!  Expansion, that's the key to a successful enterprise, and I think the next fiscal year is going to be very busy for us.   If you're interested, I'm sure Mai could find you an application form--"

"Quiet!" Luffa snarled.   There was a series of yelps and shrieks as the three of them trembled in fear, and then she continued.   "How did Pasta and Bongo find your Dragon Ball?   I thought you needed a special radar to detect those things."

"They took our locator device!" Mai said.   "Word got around that we were searching for the Dragon Balls.  We even contacted them about it early on, to see if they had any leads.   At the time, they thought it was all just a fairy tale, but once King Gurumes hired them, they must have decided to come after us and steal all our research."

"Idiot!" Pilaf screeched.   "You can't just tell her that!   That's highly classified information your divulging!"

"Sire, she's already captured us," Mai said wearily.

"Well... you could at least sound a little guiltier when you answer her questions!" Pilaf whined.  

Luffa ignored their bickering and stood silently for a few minutes.   At last, Shu spoke up.  

"Uh, ma'am?  It's none of my business, but if you want to know about Pasta and Bongo so bad, why don't you track them down and question them?"

"I already have," Luffa muttered.   "Twice.  And I've talked to the Ox-King, Oolong, Yamcha, and several officials in the Land of Gurumes.  I've even talked to you before, Shu.  Several years in the future, but on a different cycle of the loop, so you wouldn't remember that."

They were confused, naturally.   To Shu's credit, he did his best to remain calm.   Luffa supposed that he had experience from placating Emperor Pilaf's tirades.  

"Well maybe you should take a break and have somethin' to eat?" Shu suggested.   "Emperor Pilaf has a bunch of good food in the pantry.  I mean, you are hungry, right?  That tail of yours is moving kind of the same way mine does around suppertime--"

Luffa suddenly spun around and growled at them.   "Of course I'm hungry!" she shouted.   "I haven't eaten in days!   I don't dare, because if I do I'll end up like him!"

"Him?" Pilaf asked innocently.   "Him who?"

Luffa stormed out of the room, smashing her way through a wall rather than using any of the doors.   Pilaf and his henchmen followed her and watched carefully until she levitated into the air and took off into the sky.  

"S-she's gone, Sire," Mai reported nervously as Luffa receded into a tiny dot in the clouds.    

"Yes, I see that," Pilaf snapped.   "Now I want both of you to start cleaning up this mess so we can get back to work."

"Sire, she really wrecked the place," Shu pleaded.   "It'll take us weeks to clear the debris."

"And it'll cost a lot of zenni to replace the equipment she destroyed," Mai said.  

"So?" Pilaf sneered.   "Don't bother me with petty details, you two! I need this facility to carry out my plans to take over the world!"

"Well, what about one of the backup stations, Sire?" Shu suggested.    "Like the one out in the desert?"

"Are you suggesting that I, the great Emperor Pilaf, abandon part of my domain?" Pilaf demanded.  

"Sire, what if that woman comes back?" Mai asked.

Pilaf didn't answer right away.   Instead, he made an audible gulp as he considered the question.  

"My decision is final," Pilaf said.  "We'll evacuate this base immediately.   It's not a retreat, of course.  Merely a strategic withdrawal."

"Very good, Sire," Mai said knowingly.  

*******

On an uninhabited island, Luffa had set up camp, and spent an hour distilling potable water for herself.   She had not eaten since the night she found Excitebike devouring their supplies.  There had been enough food to sustain a Saiyan for a year, and somehow Excitebike had eaten it all.  

What made it truly strange was that Namekians did not require any food.   It was as though he had become a completely different life form that night.   The overwrought, snobbish Deep Time Investigator had become a brutish creature, obsessed with his next meal.  

There was only one explanation, which was the one Excitebike himself had explained to her earlier that evening:  The Blood Rubies.

The Supreme Kai of Time had assigned them to investigate an anomaly called the Ruby Loop.   It was supposed to be a naturally occurring time distortion that contained a fragment of history.  Everything on Earth was the same, except for two key differences.   First, the course of events repeated itself, always starting over on September 1, Age 749.   Second, this Earth contained a mysterious mineral known as the Blood Rubies.   The Kingdom of Gurumes was lousy with them, and somehow they had affected the mind of King Gurumes.    In his obsession, he began to destroy his own kingdom, and he interfered with the saga of the Dragon Balls.

In some loops, the Dragon Balls would be used to remove the Blood Rubies from the planet.   In others, the danger of the Blood Rubies would be recognized and the people of the world would attempt to contain them by walling off the Land of Gurumes.    But some how, some way, the Earth would eventually be destroyed in some terrible conflict.   In either case, the removal of the Blood Rubies from the Earth would cause the cycle to reset and begin again on September 1, Age 749.  

The Time Patrol had been exploring the Ruby Loop for two years, and learned of the curse that affected King Gurumes. It was believed that the Blood Rubies had caused it somehow, mutating his body into a swollen monstrosity, and leaving him with an insatiable hunger.   When Time Patrollers began to experience mild symptoms resembling Gurumes' condition, rules were put in place to avoid any food or drink native to the Ruby Loop.  

Luffa was no Deep Time Investigator.   She had only been with the Time Patrol for a few weeks, recruited for her great power more than anything else.   Nor was she a scientist or a doctor, who might be able to understand such things.   Still, she knew enough to conclude that Excitebike had caught the same curse that had affected Gurumes.  

He hadn't eaten or drunk anything other than the rations they had brought with them.    And he had warned Luffa not to touch the Blood Rubies, since they were believed to be the source of the curse.   Excitebike even wondered aloud if the air itself might be contaminated with the dust of Blood Rubies that had been crushed by Gurumes' mining operations.  

The man was careful to a fault, and yet he had been affected more severely than any of the other Patrollers he had described.   Luffa could only guess that it was a chronic exposure to the Blood Rubies.   Chronoa had told her that Excitebike had logged more hours in the Ruby Loop than anyone else.   That was the reason she had assigned him to show Luffa around.   The Supreme Kai of Time believed that Luffa was capable of solving the mystery, but she needed an experienced hand to fill her in on the details.  

As she watched the colorless drops fall from the spout of her condenser coil, she hoped that Excitebike had told her enough, because she wouldn't be getting any information from him anytime soon.  

After she had found him gobbling their supplies, she had tried to reason with him, but found that his mental state was deteriorating rapidly.  He tried to flee into the woods, and when she stopped him, he would scream about the Blood Rubies, like the ones he had shown her in King Gurumes' storerooms.   It soon became clear that he wanted to go back there, and there was no way to talk him out of this.  

Eventually, Luffa was forced to render him unconscious, using the same technique she had shown him earlier that day.   But while she studied his motorcycle to find a way to call for help, he woke up and escaped.  

"And that," Luffa said to herself, "was how I blew the mission.  Best I could do was figure out how to drive the bike, but I can only go back and forth in time.   I can't figure out how to get back to Toki Toki City, or even send a message.  About the only thing I can do is track Excitebike down, but I can't do anything for him."

Luffa looked at the half-filled bottle of tepid water and sighed.   She wished she could drink it all right away, but she had to make it last.   Excitebike had warned her that the food in the Ruby Loop might be dangerous, but his strange transformation had proven that she couldn't trust the water either.   As unpleasant as it was, the safest course was to distill her own urine.  This was nothing new for spacefaring peoples.   Luffa had lived most of her life aboard various starships, and each of them had waste extraction systems to recycle precious moisture.   Doing it herself with a pot and a copper coil was another story.  It was slow, dreary work, and the odor only made things worse.    But what truly eroded her morale was the memories that it brought back to her.

"I thought you were just jerking me around," Luffa said as she thought back to her wife.  

Zatte had taught her how to construct and operate primitive stills for just such an emergency.  A survivalist from a species of survivalists, Zatte had known dozens of designs for the purification of water.   Occasionally, she would demand that they go to some remote place and practice building them together.  

"We lived on a luxury cruiser, never had any trouble getting fresh supplies, and even if it got this bad, I would have just gone to the nearest freshwater lake, or let you handle it for me, since you knew how to do all this crap," Luffa muttered.   "But no.   You wanted me to go through all this myself, make sure I could do it without you.    'Just in case.'"

The still Luffa had built was well-designed.   It had been easy enough to steal a few feet of copper tubing and solder it onto a metal bottle.   But it was not a long-term solution. She would continue to lose water through her respiration and sweat, and the volume she was recycling would gradually dwindle to nothing.   Eventually, she would die of thirst, or take her chances on the water native to the Ruby Loop.  

"Nothing like a deadline for motivation," Luffa said.   "You told me this was only a stopgap, a way to buy time to forage, to plan.   Heh... I used to complain about how boring this was, and you said the time was a blessing, a chance to take stock of the situation and think about the next move.  The whole time... all I could think about was the way the flames reflected in your eye, and the smell of your hair..."

Luffa shut her eyes tightly.   There were, after all, other ways to lose moisture.  When the silence of the island became unbearable, she spoke again.  

"I found Keda," Luffa said.   "She didn't die like we thought.   Somehow she got zapped into the future, and ended up on Earth.   I still need to talk it over with  the Supreme Kai of Time.   I kept putting off telling her about it, but she already found out from someone else, so that doesn't matter.   I would have told her myself, but I just didn't know how to explain it.   Keda... well, she  seemed safe there.   Happy.   I don't know if it's right to take that away from her, but it feels wrong to just leave her.   It's Chronoa's call, probably, but I don't think she'd understand.   Of course... if I don't get out of this mess, I may never find out what she decides..."

Frustrated, Luffa stood up and paced around the fire.    

"This is stupid," she said.   "This whole.... whole time fragment is inside a red rock floating in Chronoa's basement, and I can't contact her!  I can go back and forth through time, interrogate anyone on this planet, but it doesn't do any good because no one knows what's going on, and I don't know what questions to ask!    And Keda's alive and well in West City right now.  I could fly to her house whenever I want, but I'm too nervous to-- Wait a minute..."

It suddenly dawned on Luffa that this time fragment was like the one she had used to track down Keda before.    It was only a piece of history, but it included everything from the real timeline.   The Earth was almost exactly the same, and so were all the people.   It was a duplication of the real Earth, changed only by the circumstances unique to the Ruby Loop.  

She had understood this when she was briefed on the mission, but she only acknowledged this on a factual level.   At times, she had to remember that this was not the same Earth she had visited before in past missions.  For other Time Patrollers, this was probably more intuitive, since nearly all of them hailed from the Earth, or knew it well.  

Excitebike had only really shown Luffa the beginning and ending of a recent cycle of the Ruby Loop, but everything in the middle should have been fairly similar too.  Somewhere in the middle of those years, a Keda would have appeared on Planet Namek and would have been wished to Earth by the Dragon Balls. Unless something involving the Blood Rubies had altered those events somehow.  Keda might be on the Earth in the Ruby Loop, but she might have been living at a different address.

But Keda wasn't the one Luffa had in mind.  As she waited for the last drops of water to fill her bottle, she began to rehearse her story.  Even if her plan could work, it would require a lot of convincing...

*******

     [1 October, Age 767. Earth.]  

"And that's why I came to you."

Bulma cradled her teacup in her hand as she digested Luffa's story.     After a few moments of silence, she set the cup on the table and shook her head.  

"A time traveling Saiyan...?" she said. "And you're on our side, like Goku?  That alone is pretty far-fetched.  After all that trouble we had with Raditz and his two friends, I thought Goku was the only Saiyan left."

According to the history Luffa knew, Vegeta had taken up residence in Bulma's home by this year.  In this cycle of the Ruby Loop, however, Luffa had sensed no trace of Vegeta's ki anywhere on the planet.  

"The other Saiyans," Luffa asked.  "What happened to them?"

"Oh, they're dead," Bulma said.  "Piccolo killed Raditz, and then those other two showed up about a year later, but Goku showed them who's boss.  The last one--the little guy-- he followed us to Namek, but he must have run into Frieza's soldiers.  We never saw him after that.   Good riddance, I say.   Those guys were real creeps!"  

Bulma suddenly noticed Luffa's tail laying across the armrest of her chair and her indignant expression softened.   "Uh, no offense," Bulma added with an awkward chuckle.  

"Don't worry about it," Luffa said.  She was too tired and hungry to worry about Vegeta's fate.  "I've met my fair share of Saiyans, and our bad reputation is well-earned.   Anyway, where I came from," she continued, "you invented the first time machine on Earth.  I'm positive that my own timebike is based on the same technology.   If you could take a look at it, I'm betting you can help me send a distress call back to my base."

"But you're talking about something I haven't even thought of yet," Bulma objected.  "If you can really travel back and forth on that motorcycle of yours, then why not go a little further into the future and ask me then?"

Luffa shook her head.  "I would if I could, but it doesn't work that way."  She didn't bother trying to explain the cyclical nature of the Ruby Loop, or that the older Bulma whom Luffa had met in Toki Toki City was from a completely different timeline.   It had taken Luffa hours to locate a longer cycle of the Loop, one which allowed this version of Bulma to age past thirty-four.   Luffa couldn't tell her the truth, which was that Bulma would suddenly become a teenager again in a few days.  So instead she kept it as simple as possible.

"You're all I've got," Luffa said plainly.  "Will you help me?"

Bulma thought about it for a moment longer before answering.   "Well, I'll take a look at it," she said.   "I mean, how can I pass up a chance to see a working time machine?  But I can't promise anything."

"I understand," Luffa said with a sigh of relief.   "Just see what you can do, that's all I ask."

"Let's head down to my workshop," Bulma said with a reassuring smile.  "I may need to run some tests."

For the first time since she arrived in this strange time fragment, Luffa began to feel hopeful about the mission.  She hadn't achieved the objective, but if she could get word to Chronoa and have Excitebike safely extracted, then they could at least lick their wounds and plan for another expedition.   As horrible as Excitebike's transformation had been, it might turn out to be a valuable clue that would shed some light on things.  

All Luffa knew was that she wanted to leave the matter to someone else.  Her body still ached from her defeat at the hands of Beerus, and between that and the hunger that gnawed at her belly, she knew she was in no condition to solve anything.  As Bulma led her into the repair bay and switched on the shop lights hanging from the ceiling, Luffa headed straight for the closest chair and helped herself to a seat.    

"You said you have it stored in a capsule?" Bulma asked as she threw a white labcoat over her shoulders.  

"Right here," Luffa said.  She withdrew a Hoi Poi capsule from her pants pocket and tossed it into Bulma's waiting hand.   Bulma activated the capsule and dropped it onto an open space in the bay.   The capsule exploded into a puff of smoke, which faded to reveal a futuristic two-wheeled vehicle.  

"Gosh.  This looks like something out of a movie," Bulma said, barely containing her excitement.  "You're telling me I invented this?"

"Not directly," Luffa said.  "But I'm sure your tech is all over this thing.   And even if it's not, I doubt anyone else on this planet could make any sense of it."

Bulma sat down on the bike and began looking over the controls.   "You know, I've thought about time travel before, but I've been so busy working on the fortifications around King Gurumes that I've never had time for those kinds of projects.    It's nice to know I'll get the chance one of these days.  I guess things must settled down in the future."

Luffa didn't know how to respond to that, and so she tried to pretend she wasn't listening.    "It's a pretty big place you've got here," she said.   "You must have a big family."

"No, it's just me and my parents," Bulma said.   "My sister stops by every few years."  

"You don't have any kids?" Luffa asked.

Bulma shook her head, but didn't look up from the motorcycle's console screen.   "Oh, you know how it is.  I never could find the right guy.  Besides, I'm still enjoying the single life."

That settled it.  There was no Trunks in this world, which suggested that most of what Luffa knew about Earth history in this era wouldn't apply.   As helpful as Bulma might be, she may not have had the same background as the one Luffa had met in Toki Toki City.   This version seemed to have devoted much of her life to containing the Blood Rubies.  

As Luffa pondered Bulma's qualifications, she noticed her pressing a button on a wristwatch she wore on her left arm.  

"Any trouble?" Luffa asked.  

"No," Bulma said.   "You're right, this is Capsule Corp.  I mean, the peripherals are.   The bike itself seems to be remodeled from a Signia-LR, or maybe some later model they haven't built yet.  But the computer console runs on my dad's operating system."

"Then you can figure it out!" Luffa said hopefully.  

"Maybe," Bulma said.   "I still need to learn how this thing works, but at least it's familiar to me.   I just... need a little more time."

Luffa wanted to tell her to take all the time she needed, but she wasn't sure how much they had to spare.   She leaned back in her chair and tried to ignore the pangs in her stomach.  

And then, suddenly, she sensed a Saiyan power in the room, appearing as though out of nowhere.   Luffa glanced to her left and saw Son Goku standing in front of a tool case with two of his fingers pressed against his forehead.  

"Kakarot?" Luffa asked.

"Hey!" Goku called out to Bulma as he lowered his fingers.  

"Well it took you long enough!" Bulma shouted.      

"Hey, we got here as soon as we could!" Goku said with a smile.  

"You told me it was called 'Instant Transmission', Goku!" Bulma scolded.   She had dismounted the bike and was now angry wagging a multimeter at him.   "'Instant' means 'right now'!"

"I told you!" Goku said.   "It doesn't work that way.  Sure, I can move from one place to another instantaneously, but I gotta concentrate to make it work.  Besides, I have to have a strong ki to get a fix on so I know where to go.  You're not a fighter, so it's tough to sense your energy from so far away."

Bulma slapped her palm against her forehead and gestured wildly at Luffa.   "What, so you can't sense her?"

Goku glanced over at Luffa and shrugged.  "Well, no, now that you mention it.  Not from Mount Paozu, anyway.   Wait a minute..."  

He approached Luffa slowly and looked her over until his eyes finally widened with surprise.  "You're a Saiyan?" he asked.  

Luffa waved her tail gently and rolled her eyes.   "You don't miss a trick, do you, Kakarot?" she said.  "I've been suppressing my ki to avoid unwanted attention, but I guess Bulma must have contacted you without me noticing."

"Sorry about that," Bulma said.  She held up her left arm and pointed at her watch.   "But we've had a lot of trouble with Saiyans, and Pansy thought it would be a good idea to call if we ran into anything unusual."

"Pansy?" Luffa asked.  

"Uh-oh..." Goku said.   "I forgot to bring her with me."

"You forgot?" Bulma yelled.   "What's the matter with you?!"

"Take it easy," Goku said.   He held up his hands in as submissive a gesture as he could muster.   "I'll go back and get her.   It won't take but a second!"

Bulma pointed her thumb back at Luffa.   "A second?  What if she tries something funny while you're gone?  She could take me hostage or... I don't know!"

"I came to you for help," Luffa said.  "Why would I do anything to screw that up?"

"I know," Bulma said apologetically.   "It's the principle of the thing..."

"Back in a jiffy!" Goku said.  He had already placed his fingers against his forehead, and he vanished before anyone could respond.  

"What a jerk," Bulma groaned.  "He keeps showing off that teleportation trick, but he's such a scatterbrain that it almost doesn't do him any good.   He might as well have flown all the way here."

"Why bring him into this?" Luffa asked.  "If you thought I was a threat, you sure didn't show it."

"I believe your story," Bulma said.   "I mean, this bike of yours would be pretty hard to fake.   But you're still a Saiyan."

"So is he," Luffa said.  

"Yeah, but he's different," Bulma said.   "I've known Son since he was a little boy.  Anyway, after the Gurumes crisis, we all agreed to stay in touch whenever anything weird came up, and you have to admit that time traveling motorcycles definitely fit the description."

"Okay, but--"

Before Luffa could finish her thought, Goku suddenly reappeared, this time with a woman holding his other hand.  

"We're back!" Goku said cheerfully.  

"Hey, Pansy," Bulma said.   "Sorry to bother you like this."

"Don't be," the woman said.  She was wearing a red sweater dress and white boots.   "The signal watch was my idea, remember?   So what's up?"

"She is," Bulma said, pointing to Luffa.   "She's a Saiyan from the future, and she wants me to fix her time machine."

"Time machine?" Pansy asked.   Bulma tried to point out the motorcycle to her, but Pansy couldn't seem to take her eyes off of Luffa.  

It was during that awkward pause that Luffa began to remember where she had seen the woman before.   The night Excitebike began to mutate, they had been preparing their campsite, when they saw a little girl wandering through the woods.    Luffa had wondered about the child's safety, but Excitebike assured her that it was nothing new.   The girl always came through the woods in that direction, as she always met Goku and Bulma at the beginning of each cycle of the Ruby Loop.  

Now, Luffa had traveled forward nineteen years, and she was seeing the same girl as a grown woman.  Her long red hair had been styled with a curling iron, and her brown eyes looked more determined than before, but the snapback hat on her head looked almost exactly the same as the one she had worn as a child.    

And yet, even though Luffa remembered Pansy, there was no way that Pansy could remember Luffa.    According to Excitebike, everyone who lived in the Ruby Loop reset with each cycle.  Luffa had traveled across several cycles to reach this moment, and so this version of Pansy ought to have no memory of meeting two Time Patrollers in the woods.  

So why was Pansy staring at her so intently?

"Sorry," Goku said to Luffa as he walked over to join them.   "I got in such a rush that I never got around to introductions."

"I already know you by reputation, Kakarot," Luffa said.   "You're the Legendary Super Saiyan of this era."

In spite of her troubles, Luffa couldn't resist the urge to mention that.   From the moment she had first seen him transform into a Super Saiyan, Luffa had longed to face Son Goku in battle, but circumstances had made that impossible.  The Ruby Loop might have offered a rare chance for them to fight, but Luffa was too weary and dehydrated to fight him at her fullest.   Their match would have to wait.  

"I guess you must've heard about what happened on Planet Namek, then," Goku said.   "Well, I ain't 'Kakarot'.  I may be a Saiyan, but I was raised on Earth. My name is Son Goku."

Luffa had no intention of ever calling him that, but she saw no point in arguing over it.  

He then reached out and put his arm around Pansy's waist, drawing her close to his side.    "And this," he said with a warm smile on his face, "is Pansy!    She's my wife!"

"Your what?" Luffa asked.  

Luffa didn't know much about the Earth's history, but she was certain that this wasn't right at all.   She had forgotten the name of Goku's Earthling wife, but she remembered her having black hair and a much stronger ki than Pansy.   And according to Excitebike, Goku and Bulma never would have met Pansy in the proper course of history.   Their hunt for the Dragon Balls in Age 749 was supposed to lead them in a different direction, away from the Land of Gurumes, and away from Pansy.    

But in the Ruby Loop, things had proceeded differently.    Here, Goku did meet Pansy, and they must have fallen in love and married, while Bulma never married at all.   It wasn't such a surprising change, once Luffa stopped to consider it.  

So why did Pansy look so nervous?

 NEXT: Blood will tell.

[akampana]

Oh, oh, how about a Gil vampire lord and arty famous vampire hunter in a eternal rivalry for no.1, kinda Hellsing and dracula rivalry but with a twist

“I couldn’t live with myself, if I didn’t tell you.” Gilgamesh x Arturia Vampire x Hunter. Enjoy!

_______

Three bullets.

Two knives.

One vampire.

Arturia Pendragon clicked the cylinders back into place and brought her weapons up to her chin, the warmth of her breath misting the polished barrel. She was the only thing in this accursed mansion that had any sense of heat, as everything inside was either unlit, inanimate, or dead.

The small hunter cursed the winter. There wasn’t a poorer season for killing vampires than one that was as dark and cold as the night creatures’ hearts. However, she could wait no longer. For generations, her family had pursued the blood-sucking fiends, hoping to one day cease the plague that had haunted their lands. At last, it could come to an end. There would be no need for her little brother to learn to handle a gun as well.

All she had to do was put Gilgamesh to rest.

A sudden movement from the right had her fingers on the triggers, but it was an effort wasted. There was nothing but the creak of wood and a curtain dancing in the cold breeze. However, she was not too quick to drop her guard. The vampire she hunted tonight was older than time and just as wise. Tricks like this were not beyond him. It made his hunts more interesting, she bet.

"There you are, my love."

...

Too slow!

The Pendragon ducked to the floor just in time to hear his palm smash through the stone brick behind her. Aiming her revolvers, she sprang up like a gymnast, twisting midair to face the hellspawn.

Silver shot out of her gun, but she already knew it would miss. Vampires were quite the agile creatures, having shed their human limits in exchange for their souls. Even if Gilgamesh looked mortal like herself, the way he sidestepped fire at such a short distance clearly suggested otherwise.

The soles of her boots screeched against the floor as she secured her landing by chucking the revolver at her opponent. Empty guns were useless in fights that required all her attention, but thankfully, this one had extra utility against creatures of the night.

When a high pitched squeak more suited to a frightened pig passed her old rival's lips, she knew she'd made a successful play.

"A silver-barrelled gun? Ha! And here I believed you had exhausted all your options," the older one smirked, the skin of his hands hissing from the contact. "That must have cost your family the entire treasury, my dearest Arturia. Who did this once belong to, hm? Was it your father's? Grandfather's? Great-grandfather's?"

Arturia grimaced as she snatched one of her knives from her heel.

"Killing your kind brings quite the fortune,” she answered, as per their usual simultaneous verbal bouts. “I can buy a hundred more with the price on your head, Gilgamesh."

She spun the blade round her fingers to provoke him, stopping in a backhand grip.

"More of your distractions, girl?" he sneered, just a hint of irritation breaking through his haughty mask. "It will take more than parlor tricks to fell the likes of me!"

Arturia lunged like a fencer, weaving through his usual jabs till she nicked his skin, lamenting how terribly shallow the cut was. As her breaths began to labor, her eyes flickered to the hallway, debating whether or not she could make a break for it. There was no outmatching a vampire in a direct dance to death, but she’d already made that play. Gilgamesh was not going to let her go a second time-

A sharp hiss was the woman’s only warning before his hands seized her throat.

No!

Desperately, she fired the gun at his knee, but all it did was have him bruise her skull on the floor instead of the wall, flinging her around like she weighed nothing.

The woman kicked and thrashed, but for all her effort, all she managed was a slash to his face before he rid her of her knife. Black spots began to cloud her vision, but Arturia took aim even as her lungs began to burn.

She had one bullet. One final attempt to make sure no Pendragon would ever have to take up the craft again. She had to spare poor Arthur. Only six and already being taught how to wield a knife. Igraine was already planning to take him out to hunt foxes. Arthur loved foxes. God. She had to make this one shot. Just this last one. For his sake. Please.

It didn’t take Gilgamesh any effort to bat her gun away.

Arturia’s emerald eyes locked with those of her assailant’s. Her whole life, she’d trained for this day, only to still come up short. It didn’t matter, the thousands that had fallen to her technique. She was still no match for him, not even after all this time.

Her nails clawed into the skin of his knuckles as Gilgamesh dipped down toward her shoulder, no doubt preparing to sink his teeth into her jugular.

Was this how she was going to meet her end? So close to finally ridding the continent of every vampire there was? So close to liberating her brother, her entire clan, from cruel deaths at the hands of the immortals? Why, after all she’d sacrificed, after giving up her life to become a hunter, did she have to fail at her mission’s most crucial moment?

Tears fell from her eyes as she shut them tight, refusing her last glimpse of life to be the eerily perfect face of the undead.

His teeth scraped against her skin. A final torture before he drained the life out of her.

Arturia braced herself for the bite, her head screaming apologies to every person she was letting down. Igraine, her late father, her cousins, Arthur.

But it never came.

“You have done well, my queen,” whispered the old creature, his cold lips brushing against her neck. Arturia gasped for air, hacking and coughing beneath him, a million questions running through her mind. He quieted them all with his thumb on her bottom lip, freezing Arturia where she lay.

“I have endured several of your lifetimes. Each, more passionless than the last. I thought myself fortunate at first, able to experience every pleasure the world had to offer, but a thousand years can make even the sweetest fruit seem vile.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his sharp, eternal features, but it was quickly replaced by something Arturia had never seen before. The emotion swelled within his vibrant ruby irises, which glowed even through a night as dark as this one.

“Eventually, I saw this ‘gift’ for what it truly was: a curse, bestowed upon me by that loathsome snake an eternity ago,” he voiced cryptically, knowing this beautiful little girl would likely never grasp just how long he’d walked this earth.

The Pendragon stared up at him with those fiery irises he’d been fond of since the first time he beheld them.

It was exactly twenty years since the day she first came here. Fifteen years old, a mere child, yet one that possessed the gall to challenge him to a duel. He spared her that day, and she went on to challenge every single creature in the continent that had been turned, coming back every now and then for another shot at his head.

Arturia wasn’t anything like those that shared her last name. Her clan was stiff. Traditional. She took their knowledge, but did not stop there, taking various forms of study to hone her craft. She'd been to Ireland to study their methods. To France to understand alchemy. Three years ago, she nearly killed him with near-invisible wire she acquired from the east. Before that, it was a sword of fire. Today, apparently, she’d gotten dexterous enough dual wielding either guns or knives, when she hadn’t that skill prior.

Ever since they met, his days were full of excitement, anticipation for the day she’d return. Suddenly, he was always on his toes, rising at the first sign of night to prepare for her next arrival. His hunts were no longer mechanical, for he knew now that he and she were bound to cross paths. Where would she see him next? On a hike into the mountains? In summer, when the days were long? Maybe even at the local ball? There were so many possibilities!

About a decade into their arrangement, Gilgamesh realized he was feeling something he hadn’t felt in eons.

He felt alive.

But like most living things, he knew Arturia had a limit. And before she reached it, before his fun could be taken away once more, he knew he had to do this. What better time than now, when he had the opportunity to caress her cheek for the first time?

“However, despite how I’ve loathed my own longevity, I never want our duels to end,” he admitted, memorizing her face, counting her freckles, brushing his thumb against lips he didn’t dare kiss for fear of imparting his curse.

“You, wicked woman, have made this soulless being crave a soul, if only to meet you once more beyond the grave.”

Minutes passed in silence as Arturia registered his confession. The night did not conceal her expressions from him. Not the fear, the anger, the confusion. He witnessed the exact moment of her realization, felt her heartbeat quicken, saw the heat rise to her cheeks. At last, she understood why she lay under him and had not yet fallen victim to his fangs.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked calmly, her voice strained, but clear. “Why now?”

“I have desired to do so for half a decade, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you...and I cannot die without you knowing that you are treasured beyond belief.”

Slowly, he reached for her ankle, where he knew she’d hidden her last knife. It burned his flesh as he grasped the hilt, rejecting the impurity of his being, but he persisted anyway, rejoicing in the sensation. This would be one of the final times he’d experience it.

“Wh...what are you doing?” she asked as he pulled her up to face him, placing the dagger in her grip and clasping his hands around hers. Even presented with the opportunity, it was no longer killing intent that resided within her eyes, only conflict.

“Without an end to one’s existence, love, the delights of what you call ‘life’ have no meaning,” he explained, moving her arms so that the blade’s tip rested just above his heart. “Therefore, Arturia Pendragon, I ask that your worthy hands grant me mine.”

He’d expected his death to be immediate, to happen as soon as he loosened his hold. Gilgamesh knew better than anybody what Arturia had at stake and who she was protecting. Hell, he was excited just contemplating what kind of life she’d lead, now that she’d been liberated of her family’s burden.

But now, when her goal was right in front of her, she hesitated.

For what seemed like a better eternity, Gilgamesh watched her stare into his exhausted red eyes, like she was engraving their intimidating splendor into her memory.

“Thank you.”

His death couldn’t have been sweeter.

[felassan]

Dragon Age Library Edition Volume 1 annotations & additional pages/art compilation

Dragon Age Library Edition Volume 1 is a hardcover collection of some pre-existing Dragon Age comics that was released in 2014. It comprises of all issues of The Silent Grove, Those Who Speak and Until We Sleep. In places, it includes additional annotations/commentaries by the illustrators and authors, as well as a few additional pages with additional art. iirc these additional annotations and pages/art aren’t featured or available anywhere else (in the franchise I mean; other people have probably put them online at some point I’m sure).

From what I can see at least, Library Edition Volume 1 is no longer in print, and as such listings for it on resale sites etc are.. price-inflated & prohibitively expensive (~£100+, which I’m sure we can all agree is just not reasonable or accessible to most people). Due to this, I’ve compiled the additional annotations and pages here in this post. Thank you and credit to @artevalentinapaz, who kindly shared the material with me. This post has been made with their permission. The rest of this post is under a cut due to length.

These commentaries are in the context of The Silent Grove, Those Who Speak and Until We Sleep. If you notice any errors or annotations missing, or need anything clarified, just let me know. I think the annotations are in chronological order. In places I elaborated in square brackets to help explain which part of the comics an annotation is referring to. A note before you proceed further: some of the topics referenced in the annotations/additional pages are heavy or uncomfortable. The quotes here are word-for-word transcriptions of dev/creator commentaries, not my personal opinions or phrasings.

(Also, I do recommend always supporting comic creators by purchasing their comics legitimately. I own each issue of these comics having bought other editions of them all legitimately. The reason I put this post together is because this specific Library Edition volume has been discontinued and the consequently-inflated cost is so high, rendering the additional material inaccessible to most.)

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The Silent Grove annotations

Illustrator Chad Hardin: “I used to be an environmental artist for video games, so I built a 3-D model of Antiva City using the program Silo. Many of the buildings are simple cubes, but a few are more detailed. Overall, I spent the better part of a day building it, but I used it again and again throughout The Silent Grove to maintain continuity in the backgrounds.”

Script Writer Alexander Freed: “Even working with David Gaider, it took me several drafts to find Alistair’s voice. His narrative had to convey his humor and self-doubt from Dragon Age: Origins while suggesting a newfound weariness earned during his years on the throne. For readers familiar with the character, he needed to seem like a changed Alistair - but Alistair nonetheless.”

Chad Hardin: “If you read a lot of comics, you might wonder why the majority of the heroes wear skin-tight suits. Well, I can tell you: they are easy and quick to draw. In video games, you build the model once and then animate it, so details don’t slow you down. In comics, everything has to be rendered by hand. Varric and Alistair’s outfits were quite detailed. It took me a long time to get used to them, and even longer to memorize the designs until drawing them was second nature - Varric’s knee armor in particular! Oy vey!”

David Gaider: “One of my favorite scenes in the entire series [when Varric and Isabela are disarming traps and picking locks together while Alistair looks on]. Isabela and Varric, doing what rogues do. I had a suggestion for how to put it together, but Alex managed to make it fit and did a great job with it.”

Chad Hardin: “I never used to keep any of the artwork I created for comics. I would just hand the pages over to my agent to sell. This page [when Alistair, Varric and Isabela are in a tavern together, with hookah in the foreground] I kept for myself. I love the hookah-smoking elves in the second panel and Isabela’s face in the last panel. I rendered the first four chapters of The Silent Grove in grayscale using ink washes, gouache and Copie markers.”

David Gaider: “For a little while, Varric [in these comic stories] was supposed to be Zevran from Dragon Age: Origins, which would have made sense, Zevran being Antivan and all. I know that some fans would have loved to see him, but the dynamics of the group just didn’t work as well. Then a planned cameo later had to be cut for space. Ah well, Zev, another time.”

Alexander Freed: “Isabela at her most dangerous [climbing up the side of the cliff]. This scene - featuring a scantily clad, dripping-wet woman who tends to flaunt her sexuality - could easily have come across as exploitative, but Chad did a lovely drop portraying Isabela as purely focused and deadly.”

Chad Hardin: “Isabela rising out of the water and scaling the cliff with the knife in her mouth is one of my favorite parts of The Silent Grove. It is one of those moments where the writing really inspired the art. Hats off to Alex and David. This is another page I kept for myself.”

Colorist Michael Atiyeh: “This is one of my favorite Dragon Age pages. Chad is such an amazing artist; I feel very fortunate to have had the opportunity to work with him.”

Chad Hardin: “I love that this page [when a guard spots Varric and shouts ‘Intruder!’] made it in uncensored. So many times in comics, I draw something and some stuffy lawyers come out of the woodwork and tell me to tone it down. Dark Horse and BioWare always let me have fun, and this turned out to be one of my favorite pages with Varric and Bianca. Any guesses to which word he is mouthing in the second panel?”

Alexander Freed: “Note the simple decency of Alistair as he gives his cloak, without comment, to Isabela. For all his flaws, he’s genuinely kind at heart - a rare enough trait in Isabela’s world that I think it’s much of what she values in him.”

Chad Hardin: “I love the opening panel to this chapter [the opening panels to Chapter 3, when the team are on a ship at sea]. It’s the image I use on the homepage of my website. This page was a gift to my cousin Wendy, who loves pirates. Seascapes with sailing ships might be clichéd in fine art, but for me it was a first.”

David Gaider: “I wanted to have this story center on the group travelling to a Witch of the Wilds other than Flemeth, and originally I had set it somewhere else - until I remembered a Codex entry from Dragon: Age Origins that offhandedly mentioned a witch in the Tellari Swamps. Brilliant! It’d look like I planned it all along. I didn’t.”

Michael Atiyeh: “I love opportunities where I can show a change in the time of day as you move from panel to panel [when the ship heads towards and the team arrive in the Tellari Swamps]. I feel the palette of each panel is very distinct and beautiful.”

Alexander Freed: “Why did Alistair choose two people he barely knows to be his companions on this quest? We never make this explicit, but of course Varric is on the right track. Alistair wants to surround himself with people who don’t know him and won’t judge him, yet it’s Alistair’s idealism that Isabela and Varric work to preserve.”

Chad Hardin: “Another page where the writing inspired the art [when the group suddenly encounter a dragon]. I love the dragon bursting onto the scene and Isabela’s stare. Some writers will try to cram six or seven panels on a page like this and the pacing just doesn’t allow the artist to give each moment the right punch. Can you imagine if the first panel was crammed into a single square inch?”

Chad Hardin: “Yavana was one of the only characters that we did no preliminary sketches for. I don’t know how that happened, but thankfully it worked out.”

David Gaider: “I love how Yavana looks like a cross between Flemeth and Morrigan. Flemmigan? She’s totally Chad’s design, and it’s great. Typical for these witches, she never says things straight. In my mind, this Alistair is the one who did the Dark Ritual in Dragon Age: Origins - and I was half-tempted to have him lose his cool in this first scene [opening panels of Chapter 4] with her. Too early, though.”

Alexander Freed: “Through this whole sequence [the page when Varric aims Bianca at Yavana], Yavana is dropping cryptic hints and Alistair is refusing to play along. He’s met Flemeth and Morrigan - he knows Yavana won’t give him a straight answer, and he won’t give her the satisfaction of asking needlessly.”

Michael Atiyeh: “Sometimes it’s the little things on a page that spark my interest. Here [when the team navigate vines and mud to get to the temple], the sunset panel came out great and the mud looks really thick and gooey. It’s fun to focus on these details and make them stand out.”

Chad Hardin: “I hated drawing this scene [when Isabela gets kicked] where Isabela gets the boot to the face. Call me old fashioned, but I was raised to believe that only a coward would ever hit a woman (even a battle-hardened pirate adventurer). I draw at home, and my girls often watch me work in my studio. This was a page I didn’t want them watching me draw. I do like, though, that Isabela gets up, yanks the arrow out, and then soldiers on (and later extracts brutal revenge).”

Michael Atiyeh: “Poor Isabela. It seems I gave her more bruises and black eyes than any of the other characters. [when Isabela is yanking the arrow out]”

Chad Hardin: “It’s always interesting to go back and look at artwork because it reminds me of what was going on in my life at the time. I inked this page [opening panels of Chapter 5] at a ‘draw night’ session at an anime convention in St. George, Utah. I was one of the special guests, but I missed the first day because I was at my grandfather’s funeral in Las Vegas, Nevada. Seeing this page brought back those memories.”

David Gaider: “‘Bianca says hello.’ [quoting the panels being referenced] I adore Varric. I was tempted to have him narrate the entire series [in reference to these three comics], but then again I liked the idea of having each series center on one of the trio’s viewpoints. This book belongs to Alistair, but that doesn’t stop Varric from getting all the best lines.”

Alexander Freed: “Claudio, of course, is not a terribly sympathetic figure. But I wanted to emphasize that he takes this fight as personally as Isabela - he sincerely loved Luis and blames Isabela for the man’s death. I think it’s important to give every character, even the most loathsome, some dignity. [when Isabela and Claudio are fighting]”

Chad Hardin: “Payback! Here is where Isabela extracts her revenge on Claudio [when Isabela stabs Claudio]. I never enjoyed killing off a character so much. I particularly enjoyed putting the look of shock in his eyes. He had it coming. There is something satisfying about killing a ‘made man’.”

Chad Hardin: “Every now and then when drawing comics, I wish I could animate some panels and watch them as a cartoon. It would be great to see this sequence [when Yavana catches Claudio’s soul] in full motion as Yavana snatches Claudio’s soul, makes it reenter his corpse and then extracts information from him until he bursts into flame. It was a very Hellboy-ish moment. I enjoyed the movie that played in my mind while drawing this scene. Hope everyone liked the result.”

Chad Hardin: “As I mentioned on page 17, I rendered the first four chapters in grayscale, which made the black-and-white art look great, but had a neutralizing effect when it came to colors. By the time I drew chapter 4, I had seen the effect it was having and decided to stop using the grayscale so the colors would pop. When I saw this page [when Alistair says to Yavana ‘And we helped you find it’] in print, it confirmed to me that I made the right decision. I honestly feel this art was the best of The Silent Grove.”

Chad Hardin: “I practically painted these pages [when Yavana says ‘It is permitted. Tonight and only tonight’] in thumbnails hoping it would help me choose how to render them in ink. It is so hard trying to figure out how to get a full range of value out of just black and white. There are some artists and inkers that make this look easy. Mark Schultz comes to mind. Michael saved my bacon. Colorists really do so much work when it comes to rendering; this page came out awesome because of him.”

David Gaider: “Here we reveal the existence of Great Dragons (as opposed to High Dragons), and also that Yavana was the source of the return of dragons to Thedas after their departure for so many centuries. But why? There’s the rub, and not even Alistair can trust that she’s telling him the truth.”

David Gaider: “Here’s the controversial scene [Alistair killing Yavana]. I think some fans don’t like that Alistair did this, and have said they consider it out of character. I don’t. From his perspective, Flemeth and her daughters have been toying with the world for reasons that can’t be trusted. They dragged Maric away from his family, from him. One might think his judgement foolish, but considering what Alistair was capable of deciding even back in Dragon Age: Origins, it’s certainly not out of character.”

Chad Hardin: “[same scene as above] This was a controversial page, and there were a lot of people who thought it was out of character for Alistair to kill Yavana (I didn’t see it coming - I mean, you just don’t kill a Witch of the Wild), but here is the thing: this page is Alistair acting as a king. Yavana has been manipulating him, trying to play him like a pawn, and he just can’t allow that. There’s too much at stake, for himself and for his subjects.”

Alexander Freed: “The end? An end, at least [the trio walking off into the distance]. The series needed a note of closure while leading into Those Who Speak (which wouldn’t arrive until many months later). David tweaked the ending in the outline several times, and I did my best to balance resolving Alistair’s emotional journey without resolving the quest. It’s not as clean as I’d have liked, but fortunately, now it’s all in one volume...”

Those Who Speak annotations

Alexander Freed: “Capturing Isabela’s narrative voice was much easier for me than capturing Alistair’s - partly because I’d already written The Silent Grove, and partly because of my own writing proclivities. Rereading now, I wonder if I laid on the (mild) profanity a bit too thick. I’ll leave you to judge.”

David Gaider: “I like the additional detail Alex and Chad put in, letting us see more of Qarinus and more of Isabela’s crew. Alex wanted to give her crew more of a presence, and let her first mate have some face time, so they weren’t just parts of the scenery. Good call on his part.”

David Gaider: “I’m really fond of the formal getups Chad made for the party. Isabela’s actually comes from a concept we didn’t use from the cancelled Dragon Age 2 expansion, if I remember right. And Maevaris came from me asking for ‘someone who looks like Mae West’ - with the wonderful outfit all Chad’s doing.

Chad Hardin: “Maevaris. I love Mae. When David and Dragon Age art director Matthew Goldman spoke to me about designing Mae, they wanted her to be fully female with the exception of her biology. They told me to think ‘Mae West’. Well, when I think of Mae West, I think of her... womanly shape. So, drawing Maevaris was always walking a fine line between portraying Mae’s identity and her biology. The process endeared her to me.”

Michael Atiyeh: “Just like in The Silent Grove, we are introduced to another gentleman from Isabela’s past [when the team meet Lord Devon and Isabela threatens him]. As was the case with Claudio, he will meet his fate at her hands.”

Chad Hardin: “When I was drawing Titus, my kids asked me why I was drawing ‘angry Jesus’ or ‘evil Jesus’. I can’t remember which term they used exactly, but it made me chuckle. I was going for a mix of Rapustin and Joe Stalin, but ‘evil Jesus’ would do.”

David Gaider: “I’m not sure it’s apparent here [when Alistair says ‘I’d really rather not’], but Alistair was supposed to be using one of his Templar powers on Titus (that’s why Titus recognizes what he is on the next page) and disrupting his magic.”

Alexander Freed: “Isabela is witty and charming enough that it can be easy to forget that she’s not, in fact, a nice person. Even after finishing the outline, David was concerned about making her too unsympathetic - but I loved his approach in this series. The dark deeds Isabela commits - this murder included [Isabela killing Lord Devon] - are what make her guilt tangible and no easy matter to overcome.”

Alexander Freed: “I thought the notions of Isabela’s pride in her captaincy and dedication to her crew were some of the most interesting aspects of her character in David’s story. In scenes here [when Isabela is on her ship saying ‘Keep them focused and keep them sober’] and elsewhere, I did my best to emphasize their place at the core of Isabela’s world.”

Chad Hardin: “Most of the time I draw from imagination, but because of the complexity of this page [Qunari trying to board Isabela’s ship] I decided it would work better if I had photo reference. On this page are my nephews Jared (Varric) and Adam, my niece Melissa, my kids Erica, Tasey Michaela (Isabela) and Chad (Alistair), my friend’s daughter Amy, my wife Joy, and the neighborhood kids as Isabela’s pirate crew. (The crew member mooning the Qunari is out of my ol’ noodle.) I paid their modelling fee in pizza and root beer. Also, I had originally drawn cannons on Isabela’s ship, so if there are parts of it that look slightly wonky, chances are there was a cannon there.”

David Gaider: “Ever since the BioWare artists finally did a concept for female Qunari, I’ve been itching to include one in the game. It’s always slipped through my fingers, so I was going to be damned if I’d have a Qunari plot in a comic - without the same technical limitations - and not have one present.

Chad Hardin: “I had no idea this was the first time anyone outside of BioWare had seen a female Qunari.”

Michael Atiyeh: “I really like the lighting in this sequence [Isabela in her cell thinking ‘I haven’t eaten in days’], especially the strong white light and the characters in shadow.”

David Gaider: “The entire sequence of Rasaan interrogating Isabela was something I plotted out in detail when this series began. Here they discuss names - something treated in a manner peculiar to the Qunari, considering how much importance they apply to what things are called (and not called), because it forms the core of their identity. Isabela brushes it off, but as we find out later it’s also at the core of her identity. I liked that parallel.”

Alexander Freed: “To balance out the relatively static talking pages elsewhere in the issue, I hoped to make the interrogation and flashback sequences beautiful and full of information. I proposed an approach to Chad, and he wisely reshaped it into what you see here [the page with the scene where Isabela says ‘I’ve made a lot of stupid mistakes’]. Anything that succeeds on these pages should be credited to him; anything that fails is my fault.”

Chad Hardin: “Probably the most challenging spread I have ever done. My friend Stacie Pitt was the model for Isabela on this page, and my wife Joy was Rasaan. I saved these pages [around the scene when Rasaan says ‘Mistakes can be corrected’] for myself.”

David Gaider: “Sten from Dragon Age: Origins becoming the new Arishok of the Qunari was something we'd planned even during Dragon Age 2. This was a great opportunity to show that, and also to show that Sten didn’t acquire horns even despite the makeover the Qunari received in DA2. Hornless Qunari are considered special, and Sten is no exception.”

Michael Atiyeh: “I think that David, Alex and Chad handled Isabela’s flashback [to when she was sold by her mother] in an interesting way, and it created a nice flow to the story.”

David Gaider: “This was a controversial scene [what happened to the slaves Isabela was transporting], the end result of a lot of discussions between me and Isabela’s original writer on the team, and it went through a lot of revisions over that time. It needed to fit with the story Isabela told the player in DA2, but fill in the blanks of what she didn’t tell. We didn’t want Isabela to be someone who became who she is because she was ‘broken’ but instead as a result of her own actions - yet also not be completely beyond redemption.”

Chad Hardin: “These were hard pages [as above] to draw. It was difficult knowing that events such as this are part of human history, such as the Zong massacre in 1781, where the British courts ordered the insurers to reimburse the crew of the Zong for financial losses caused by throwing slaves overboard when faced with a lack of water. Horrifying beyond words.”

Michael Atiyeh: “Here, Isabela visits here crew, and I wanted to play up that she was in the light and they were in a dark cell. The light streaming through the bars gave me the opportunity to highlight Brand, who also had dialogue in the scene.”

Alexander Freed: “I struggled to find a way for Varric to contribute to victory without distracting from Alistair and Sten’s big fight. I’m happy with the solution: a brazen lie seemed appropriate to the character without taking away from the main show.”

David Gaider: “I believe my original plan had Isabela’s and Alistair’s fight scenes happening separately, but I like how Alex intertwined them in the script and I especially like how this ends up highlighting the differences between their characters when their fights are resolved. Isabela is defiant, revealing her name not because Rasaan demands it but because it’s her choice. In both cases, mercy is strength.”

Michael Atiyeh: “The brush I created for the clouds really gave them a nice watercolor effect here [on the deck of the ship, Sten calling Alistair ‘kadan’]. That brush has become a staple in my toolbox.”

Alexander Freed: “With the strong theme of names running through these issues, I liked the notion that Isabela had outgrown being, well, ‘Isabela’. When her name comes up in Until We Sleep, it’s largely played with ambiguity.”

Until We Sleep annotations

Alexander Freed: “The story of ‘Arthur’ is one of my favorite minor sequences [Varric infiltrating and fighting his way into the fortress]. It tells us something about Varric and it delivers plot information - and it’s also a reminder that our heroes kill an awful lot of people during these series and cope with it in their own ways. In general, writing Varric let me skirt the edge of metacommentary, which I greatly enjoyed.”

David Gaider: “Varric, as always, is my ‘voice of the narrator’. Here he’s expressing some of my own amusement at Alistair’s growing list of peculiarities [‘Your majesty is quite the special snowflake’]. To think, back at the beginning of Dragon Age: Origins he was just the player’s goofy sidekick who grew up in a barn.”

Michael Atiyeh: “By the third series, Until We Sleep, I really started to have a complete feel for what I wanted the final art to look like. As an artist, it’s important to continue to evolve and grow. The close-up of Sten’s face [same page as above] is a perfect example of how I wanted the rendering on the characters to look.”

Alexander Freed: “David’s outline called for a short, somber reveal of the Calenhad story by Sten. Fueled by my desire to avoid ‘talking heads’ sequences, I scripted it as a full-on storytelling flashback. David made sure the history worked (at least from the Qunari point of view), and Chad did a beautiful job handling it in a mere two pages.”

David Gaider: “Blood is important in Dragon Age, as a theme. Here we tie in the dragon blood that was mentioned all the way back in The Silent Grove and explain what it means at last. I was a bit hesitant to tarnish the legend of Calenhad the Great in this way, but I comfort myself with the knowledge this tale is but a viewpoint and not necessarily the entire truth.”

Michael Atiyeh: “Titus melting the attacker is a great example of classic comicbook storytelling and exactly what made me fall in love with the medium.”

David Gaider: “I was really happy with how Chad handled the reveal of Mae as transgender [the scene with Mae in the cell]. My worry was that Varric finding her disrobed might be potentially titillating, but I think he handled it nicely. I only wish there was more time to have Mae properly respond to being exposed in this manner, even to a friend.”

Chad Hardin: “I originally drew Mae as female [same scene as above], then changed her anatomy, so the psychological violation and humiliation she felt would be the focus. Hope that came across.”

Chad Hardin: “When in doubt, have Bianca shoot it [Varric shooting the artifact].”

David Gaider: “This scene [Varric and Bianca the dwarf] with Varric was one I wanted to do for a very long time. We’ve hinted that Varric’s crossbow was named after a real person, someone he never wants to talk about. Now I finally had the chance to show why.”

Chad Hardin: “Of all my Dragon Age pages, this scene was hands down my favorite, because Varric is my favorite. It was awesome to get to draw Bianca in her dwarven form. These scenes give you a glimpse of the love Varric and Bianca shared. It doesn’t tell you the whole story, but you can assume plenty from what is shown. You get to see Varric mostly naked (you’re welcome), but most of all you witness Varric’s heartbreak. I felt privileged to draw it. I got so obsessed with drawing this page I did an entire watercolor painting based on the last panel [Varric gets up to leave, ‘This isn’t right’ - ? or perhaps the scene where he opens the door to leave].”

Alexander Freed: “Unreliable narrators are always tricky - done wrong, they can just confuse the reader. But I’m fairly happy with Varric’s lies throughout this series, most of which are used to downplay the emotional cost of events rather than whitewash the events themselves.”

Michael Atiyeh: “This palette worked perfectly [Varric standing in front of the doorway/portal in the Fade proper], but I can’t take all the credit because BioWare provided reference for the Fade. I added the hot orange energy for the doorway, which looks great with the sickly green sky.”

David Gaider: “This scene [Isabela’s Fade nightmare] was actually inspired by a fan named Allegra who did a cosplay as a Qunari version of Isabela. I knew I wanted something like this for Isabela’s Fade section of the comic, but it didn’t really solidify until I saw the cosplay.”

Chad Hardin: “Isabela is more affected by her encounter with Rasaan than we were led to believe. A portent of things to come?”

Michael Atiyeh: “I love this shot of Mae in the fourth panel [on the page where Isabela is affected by vines]. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention what a great character she is in the series, and Chad captures her beautifully in this shot.”

Alexander Freed: “I saw this issue as a sort of downbeat victory lap. Over the course of the previous series, our protagonists largely came to terms with the inner demons the Fade confronts them with here. The fact they’ve come so far lets them win this last battle... but they still have scars that will never completely disappear.”

David Gaider: “Maric was in the first two novels I wrote for Dragon Age. Seeing Chad’s rendering of him as a regal, grown-up version of Alistair made me incredibly nostalgic. Some characters you just never let go of.”

Alexander Freed: “I feel Varric’s lines (‘tell yourself the stories you need to tell’ but ‘never live your own lies’) are the natural endpoint of all the exchanges he’s had with Alistair, starting from the end of Chapter 1 of The Silent Grove. And of course it plays off the story of ‘Arthur’, as well.’’

Chad Hardin: “I’m happy with the way Titus came off in these pages [Titus attacking and saying ‘The last magisters of Tevinter were so close’]. He looks threatening and powerful when fighting Alistair, Isabela and Varric, but genuinely confused by his inability to defeat Maric. Bye-bye, evil Jesus.”

Alexander Freed: “I can’t help but feel for Titus. He was unthinkably corrupt, but I see him as genuinely motivated by Tevinter’s glory. (The fact Alistair reads zealous ideology as a lust for power says a lot about both characters.)”

Michael Atiyeh: “I love the seamless transition of color from Titus’ magic to the dragon breath and then back into the orange remnants of his magic in the smoke. This was a really fun panel to color [Titus saying ‘Die by what wrought you’].”

David Gaider: “‘You are not the dreamer here. I am.’ I always have a scene or a line that’s in my head when I begin a tale, and this line of Maric’s was one I wanted all the way back when I started working on The Silent Grove.”

Chad Hardin: “I love this page [Maric and Alistair clasping hands]; Mike’s colors are spot on. We get to see all our heroes in an ideal state for the last time. This is the last Dragon Age page I saved for myself.”

David Gaider: “This scene kills me [Alistair destroying the Magrallen]. I knew it needed to happen; I knew I wanted it to happen even back when I began the story. Alistair lets Maric remain in the Fade rather than dragging him back to a world which has moved on. Alistair’s ready to move on, but forcing him to give up that hope... it makes me feel like a bad person.”

Chad Hardin: “Heartbreak for Alistair as he realizes that once again, as a king, he must kill: this time, his own father (granted, the Magrallen did most of the work). I really like how Maric crumbles away in the end. This was my last page, and the emotions on the page and in my studio were very final. Altogether, this was a year of my life in the making. On my last page, I wrote a thank you to everyone involved, the crew at Dark Horse and the crew at BioWare. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank them again. It was a thrill. Finally, a huge thank-you to the Dragon Age fan community, whose support was overwhelmingly awesome.”

Michael Atiyeh: “As the story came to an end, I knew I was going to miss these characters. Writing these annotations reinforces the fact that I hope to work with this great creative team again one day. Many thanks to Dark Horse and BioWare for the opportunity to work on Dragon Age.”

Alexander Freed: “The tension between the art and the narration on this page [the one with Alistair sitting on his throne while nobles argue] is something you can only pull off in comics. Neither tells the full, bittersweet story alone. Similarly, these issues wouldn’t have been possible without everyone on the team; thanks to David, Chad, Michael, and everyone I lack space to list!”

Additional pages / art

Library Edition Volume 1 also came with some additional pages, with additional art and commentary. These are as follows (I’m including them for the sake of completion, click the links to see):

1. Alistair and dragon concepts

2. Rasaan and Maevaris concepts

3. Sten, Titus and Yavana concepts

4. A series of cover pages 1

5. A series of cover pages 2

In case anyone has trouble reading the notes that accompany these images, I’ve transcribed them below:

1. Dragon Age Sketch Book

Alistair Concept 

Dragon Age / Dark Horse

Chad Hardin: “The headshot of Alistair is from a finished sketch with a rejected armor design. In order to save time, the redrawing was completed on the computer, where tweaks and changes are quick and easy, if somewhat less glorious.”

[Dragon] Head #1 / Head #2

Chad Hardin: “Everyone liked this dragon sketch so much that Dark Horse printed it for signings at conventions. You can see I did multiple proposals for the dragon’s head. It was more effective than drawing the body over and over.”

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2. [arrow pointing to Mae’s sleeve] concealed [I think that’s what it says anyway] daggers / shurikens?

Chad Hardin: “When designing Rasaan and Maevaris, I wasn’t exactly sure how their roles would play out in the series. Maevaris’ outfit was inspired by brothel madams of the Wild West. I thought it would be cool to have some weapons concealed in the formal wear. These never came into play in the series, but they were there in my mind.”

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3. Chad Hardin: “Although we only see Titus in his battle garb in one issue, I really liked the design of his armor. The sketch of Yavana was done on the fly and served as both a rough preliminary sketch and as a panel layout. You have to work hard and smart in comics to keep up with the deadlines.”

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4. Cover Artist Anthony Palumbo: “This was my first assignment for Dark Horse, and I was both excited and nervous. I drew pencil sketches of the main characters, scanned them and played with different arrangements, poses and color schemes in Photoshop.”

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5. Anthony Palumbo: “Fellow illustrator Winona Nelson helped me by sitting for photo reference. I created the mock-jewelry with gold-painted Sculpey. That’s a quick photo of my own gaping maw, to help with the image of Varric.”