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chacusha · 2 years

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TNG rewatch: season 4 part 2/2

Watched these a while ago. Need to put down my thoughts before I forget them:

4x17 "Night Terrors":

This is actually a really good Deanna episode where she gets the chance to problem solve and shine. But it is sadly marred by the TERRIBLE dream sequences that look so bad, are repetitive and don't add much to the episode, and which are not the best way at all to showcase Sirtis's acting skills.

4x19 "The Nth Degree":

POV: You're performing in a play and the android in the audience is reacting the entire time like this:

4x20 "Qpid":

When I first watched this episode, I both really disliked it and the way Q and Vash were utilized in the episode, and felt like it actually retroactively made "Captain's Holiday" a worse episode, but I couldn't really articulate why that would be. Now having rewatched it, I think I figured it out.

The thing with "Captain's Holiday" is that it established Vash as a femme fatale type -- she's rogueish and very clearly not up to any good and lying to you and scheming behind your back, and she wears these characteristics on her sleeve. She's very much not long-term relationship material (but IS very much vacation fling material). So why does "Qpid" try to create a whole romantic plotline centered around her? They kind of recast her character archetype so that instead of being "rogueish" they take some of those traits and instead make her a non-traditional, not ladylike, anti-damsel in distress character. And like, sure, that is all in-character for her, but that's not all who she is. Because she is a femme fatale, the whole plot just makes no sense because it's a plot about Picard and his orientation toward romantic relationships featuring a character who isn't at all suitable for a romantic relationship, nor would anyone (including that character!) be under any delusions otherwise. And yet the "message" of the plot seems to be about Picard owning up to the fact that he loves/cares about her, and features Vash being hurt that Picard wasn't willing to do this earlier. But why?!?

Why does Patrick Stewart look so hot specifically when he's in this Robin Hood getup??

Positives to this episode, though: (1) Just... Worf. Worf going "Sir, I protest. I am NOT a merry man!" and breaking Geordi's lute. I just... (2) When I first watched this episode, I had no idea that Qcard was a thing, but even still, I definitely got the vibe at the end that the emotional note being hit was "You find out that your two most chaotic exes just started dating each other..."

4x23 "The Host":

The first queer Trill episode! I really like this episode because I love identity issues and I think the actors did a really good job of conveying, whenever the symbiont switches to a new host, that there is continuity and there's something very much the same about the person even as there is blending (IIRC, there's something host!Riker says that indicates the Riker persona is still in there somewhere).

Also, Riker is really the greatest bro for facilitating Crusher and her boyfriend sleeping together and being 100% chill about it afterward.

4x24 "The Mind's Eye":

I only just realized on this rewatch that Sela appears in this episode. Neither my partner nor I recognized her voice last watch-through.

4x26/5x01 "Redemption Pt. I/II":

So the supreme leader of the Klingon empire shows up to tell you discreetly that the Klingon empire is on the verge of collapsing into civil war. What else is new?

Kurn and Gowron are amazing as always. The villains of this plotline are a bit lackluster/cartoonish, though. I guess I love the horny Duras sister, but that's about all the characterization you really get for either sister.

I like how Gowron is a similar character to Kai Winn -- he always seems like he is reacting in the way you would expect someone who is prioritizing the long-term welfare of the Klingon empire and who has a notion of honor to act. But also you notice that he is mainly happy/disappointed when things are going well/are setbacks for him personally, and he won't waste political capital on lost causes, although he always seems to have a good reason why, and doesn't seem very hung-up on that fact. In other words, it often is the case that "what is good for the empire" just HAPPENS to be be "what is good for Gowron."

Gotta love Starfleet's revolving door policy with respect to its officers.

I do think this is a really good character plot for Worf, where he learns that he doesn't fit in the Klingon empire as much as he imagined he does; that his upbringing was after all pretty thoroughly Federation. But nevertheless, he is part of that world (the Klingon empire) and can't be politically detached from its goings on,and will use whatever levers he has in that society to advance his agenda in it. It's a very interesting characterization!

Overall, season 4 was pretty solid, but didn't have as many stand-out episodes as season 3. "Data's Day" is very good, though, and there are some cool episodes here that do interesting work with the characters or establish worldbuilding that goes on to be important later.

#tng rewatch #star trek #star trek: the next generation

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evilvarric666-archive · 3 years

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Will Scarlett is now dating rumplestiltskins second ex wife. This man has no luck with relationships (the problem is him)

This plot point is massively improved for me due to the fact that my mental image of Will Scarlett is still Worf in that one holodeck episode.

#ouat anon #sir i protest. i am not a merry man!

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gaymetaknight · 4 years

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Meta Knight but he's Worf Son of Mogh

#''.....good tea. ......nice house.''#''Sir I must protest. I AM NOT a merry man!''#meta knight #worf son of mogh

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startrekdreams · 3 years

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“Sir, I protest! I am not a merry man!”

Star Trek TNG: Season 4, Episode 20, Qpid

#startrekdreams #star trek gifs #star trek tng #worf #qpid #geordi la forge #star trek robin hood

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newtonsheffield · 3 years

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Hi! I am the anon who owes you two corgis! I LOVED THAT. You cannot dangle that in front of us and never expand. That’s cruel Molly. I think I speak for everyone when I say we will pay you in *many* imaginary corgis if you give do this for us. I know you don’t like regency maybe because you are worried abt historical accuracy? But just say screw it and write it anyway? I assure you most wont care and you write it perfectly. So plz put us out of misery and at least give one more Drabble? Pretty please 🥺

You get one more chapter Corgi Anon! One! Because my mind is a traitor and apparently loves flattery and praise!

Let's check in with Kate the next day

@xnwitchluna As requested

This is also on Ao3

He's not going to call. Kate hissed at herself for what must have been the hundredth time that morning. Men like Anthony Bridgerton do not call on young ladies just because they danced with them once. And besides, even if he did call, he wouldn't be calling on her.

She hadn't been surprised when Mr. Bridgerton's voice had called out to them, asking after Edwina. It had happened at least ten times in the short amount of time since they'd entered the ballroom after all. A young man came, made calf eyes at her sister and sometimes got a dance for his trouble. But, newly arrived in London though she was, even she had heard Mr. Bridgerton's reputation. The gossip sheets were brimming with his exploits, mistresses and widows, women falling at his feet whenever he looked at them. And Kate was not going to allow Edwina to fall victim to a man who was not serious about marriage.

Humiliating though it was, they both knew what their financial situation was, and while Mary wasn't going to be throwing them in the poor house any time soon, either she or Edwina needed to marry very well. They didn't have time to be led in a merry dance by a notorious rake and left, reputation ruined, at the close of the season. And so, Kate had taken it upon herself to wee out the unworthy from her sisters veritable gaggle of admirers and Mr. Bridgerton would be no exception.

He'd played his hand excellently, she could admit, he'd been all politeness and good cheer when he'd asked her to dance, surely hoping to curry her favour. And Kate wasn't too proud to admit there had been something awfully disarming about his wide, open smile, a sort of kindness she hadn't expected from a man of his repute. Then there was the way his eyes had shined at her in the candlelight, and his hand had been like an open flame of its own when he'd led her in the dance. And perhaps, worst of all, the way when she'd challenged him, he'd seemed to thrive forward, rather than shrinking back. It was all rather befuddling. But one thing was certain, Edwina should not be allowed within ten feet of the man, she certainly wouldn't be able to keep her senses the way Kate could.

"You should stay, Kate." Mary said softly as she stood to leave the drawing room. She'd had quite enough of being living artwork for Edwina's suitors to smile at benignly for one day. Kate sighed. "Mary, you and I both know that none of the gentlemen calling will even notice I'm not here. They'd much rather have a chance to wax poetic to you than be forced into conversation with me." Mary tutted, continuing with her embroidery. "And should Mr. Bridgerton call?" Kate stilled momentarily, her cheeks warming before she forced herself to scoff "Should Mr. Bridgerton call, expect to find Newton flying up the stairs. Equally as likely I should think."

It had been like this ever since she'd left Mr Bridgerton's presence last night. A near constant stream of questions from Mary and Edwina most of which she'd sighed away. Edwina had been particularly tenacious after Mary went to bed, and she snuck into Kate's room as always. "Oh, Kate." Edwina had sighed, ever the romantic, "The way he looked at you." Kate had rolled her eyes. "He was merely trying to flatter me into currying favour with you." Edwina's brow had furrowed "Kate, he never even looked at me. And he certainly didn't ask me to dance. Nor any other young lady." And Kate hated that she knew Edwina was right. Hated that her traitorous heart had watched the dance floor for him all night, and not seen him once.

Mary seemed to laugh despite herself, and then sighing, she put down her embroidery. "At least stay here until I've spoken with cook." She said in her tone that brokered no room for argument, leaving the room before Kate could protest even if she wanted to. Kate sighed as she fell back against the sofa, rather despondently. "Miss Sharma are you at home for callers?" The Butler's voice startled Kate, her posture ramrod straight once more as she took the proffered card her heart skipping traitorously as her finger traced the words there, unbidden

The Right Hon. Mr. Anthony Bridgerton

And for the life of her, she didn't know why she did it. It would have been so easy in Mary's absence to turn him away but instead she said: "Yes, Show him in. And then inform Lady Sharma."

The butler smiled and retreated, and Kate tried to stay calm despite the inexplicable racing of her heart. And then the door opened and there he was. Looking every bit as handsome in the daylight as he had last night. His hair falling into his eyes a little, his face lighting in the same disarming smile when he saw her.

"Miss Sharma, How do you do?" He said, his bow encumbered slightly by the veritable florist stand he seemed to have brought with him. "Very well, Mr. Bridgerton." She curtsied though their eyes seemed locked together. "And you, Sir?" There was no reason to be impolite, she told herself, he hadn't done anything so very offensive to her this morning. Mr Bridgerton's smile widened. "I'm very well." Silence seemed to stretch between them for a long moment as they stared at one another. Mr. Bridgerton seemed to shake himself. "Ah, Flowers for your Mother and Sister." He said, holding out two of the bouquets, roses she noticed. Beautiful ones at that. Kate took them when offered, admiring them before placing them on the side table. "My sister is out this afternoon, Mr. Bridgerton, so I'm rather afraid you've had a wasted journey. Mr. Berbrooke has called and taken her for a stroll in the park." Kate said dismissively. Mr. Bridgerton looked rather perplexed for a long moment. and then seemed to shake himself.

"And for you, Miss Sharma." He said, ignoring her statement in favour of brandishing the largest bouquet of tulips she'd ever seen at her, his eyes wide, his smile the brightest. And Kate's ridiculous heart fluttered again, butterflies beating their wings against her stomach. The flowers were beautiful, a stunning arrangement of red, and pink and yellow all mixed in together, even a man of Mr. Bridgerton's stature was practically buckling under the weight of them. And while her hands itched to reach out and touch them something in her refused to. "Do you not care for tulips?" Mr. Bridgerton asked, startling her again. His brow furrowed again. "Only, I thought I understood from my conversation with your sister last evening that you did."

And there it was. When Mr. Bridgerton had spoken with Edwina she didn't quite know, possibly when she'd been detained by the oddly attentive Duchess of Hastings, but he had. And in doing so he'd revealed his true motives. Ad despite knowing all along that this could have been his only real design, her heart sank.

"Mr. Bridgerton, after our discussion last night, you surely cannot imagine that I'd allow you to court my sister." Her voice rang through the drawing room towards him. Her most commanding tone that usually sent men running, and Mr. Bridgerton reacted most oddly. His brow furrowed momentarily, and then his eyes lit up, as though a candle had sparked behind them, his head thrown back in laughter that rang like a bell through the room, and Kate's heart leapt again. That same disarming smile on his face when he said "I should hope not, Miss Sharma, but would you allow me to court you?"

It was all Kate could do to prevent her mouth from dropping open, her heart fluttering though confusion welled up inside her. The bouquet still being held in no man's land between them, their eyes locked together in the same bizarre tension that had seemed to fill the room as they danced last night. And then she reached out and took them. "I'll consider it, Mr. Bridgerton." His laughter rang out again, "Well that's all a man can hope for, miss Sharma."

"Goodness, Kate, I've just seen the oddest occurrence in the hallway." Mary said as she breezed into the room breaking the tension. "I could swear I've just seen Newton flying up the stairs." Kate fought to roll her eyes at Mary's motherly smirk, her face brightening into a warm smile as she turned "Mr. Bridgerton, how lovely to see you again. Won't you take a seat?" Mr. Bridgerton smiled warmly at Mary as he settled himself on the sofa, Kate's mind struggling to catch up with the odd series of events. "Lady Sharma, nothing would give me more pleasure."

#when anthony met kate #edmund lives au #anthony is ready to get married #and kate's like sir can i help you?#kathony #anthony x kate #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #mary sharma #edwina sharma #molly's asks and answers

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pissfaggit · 3 months

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Saw loves to show you a scene from a previous movie and be like PLOT TWIST!! There was exactly one more person involved in that situation that you were not aware of!!

#saw #i made this right after i watched saw v and its been sitting in my drafts since then #but im on vi rn like halfway through and its soooooo #you cant make this shit up lol #sir i protest i am not a merry man

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

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Signs

Geralt of Rivia x reader (smutty fic)

Word count: 2.371

Disclaimer: Witcher signs and some kind of smut

Author’s note: I’ve been reading a bunch of snippets from Andrzej Sapkowski’s Witcher books and one of them described a meeting between Eskel and Triss. Triss was taken aback when he touched her, because his Witcher skin triggered “pleasant, but piercing vibrations”. WELP. I don’t know about you, but; count me horny, girls.

Go to Signs part 2 or read Signs part 3

Simmering eyes. That’s how you’d describe them.

Throughout the night they had made sure to land at least a dozen times on your form as you drank and danced with your fellow townsfolk, the beast now defeated and your lives saved. But it had not been a knight in shining armour that had fended off the beast. No. It had been him, a weary man in tattered boiled leather armour, his face studious and ..simmering.

It fascinated you.

Between the dances you’d steal glances at the peculiar stranger, the flames of a fire that roared in the middle of the square dancing over his face as his large hand thumbed over his cup of mead. With those peculiar eyes he watched some flirty wenches, their giggles bouncing off the buildings that surrounded the square, some young men trying to steal their attention for the night. But, what these wenches seemed to forget was that there was probably only one who could TRULY show them a good night.

Him.

That is..if the stories were true. Weren’t Witchers known for their outstanding stamina..and..eh..*aherm*.. virility?

The very idea of what could be hiding beneath that worn leather armour made your legs tingle and cheeks grow hot, the song you were dancing to ending and your partner thankfully not noticing the sudden heat that crossed your face. ‘Thank you.’ You mumbled at him before turning on your heel, wishing to step out to refresh yourself but finding yet another suitor before you.

Him.

Like in a blur he offered you a gracious greeting bow, white hair slipping over his wide shoulders before he rose to full height again, his frame towering a good foot above you. There was not really a question in whether or not you’d accept this dance, his feet already stepping closer, pushing you back into the dancing circle as a new tune was struck.

He hadn’t danced with anyone else yet, so you couldn’t help but feel both confused and flattered at once, more heat rising to your cheeks as you finally managed to take a good close look at the Witcher. And dare you say..he was a rather pleasant specimen to look at. High cheekbones, strong jawline. And those eyes. Those eyes!

‘I was about to cool down for a bit.’ You smiled sheepishly, receiving a wolfish grin from him. ‘Well I am just warming up.’

His voice was deep and honey, rumbling through his chest like a summer thunder. Delightfully so. You couldn’t help but become putty before he even inched close enough to start the dance, the rest of the crowd already twirling and laughing around you. It was as if the late summer air had grown more thick and the fires burned more brightly when the White wolf raised his arms in a dancing stance, your arms quick to follow suit and interlace fingers with his. And how. You weren’t sure if it was the mead in your blood or the heat of his touch, but like little sparkles, a strong force emitted from his being. It buzzed from his skin.

Like magic.

Then again. Witchers did indeed use some type of magic. So perhaps..just maybe..maybe he..You looked back up in his eyes, mirth shining there as he gripped you more tightly, an arm sneaking around your lower back before pulling you incredibly close. You didn’t know this man’s name. Where he was from. Or if he even WAS a man to begin with. But here you were. Noses nearly touching, eyes melting into one another as his feet started manoeuvring you with effortless grace through the crowd.

He hadn’t looked like much of a dancer, but apparently he was one for pleasant surprises. Light feet did not once mislead, even now you could feel the heat and alcohol happily buzzing through your foggy brain. It was like you were floating, the thick crowd around you forgotten as you looked up, studying the Witcher. His countenance seemed far less reserved now you were so close to him. In fact, he seemed to have fun. A sparkle hid in the severity of his tight jaw, focused eyes, fingers tracing some deliberate circles over your back as you moved.

‘What is it you see?’ He grumbled again, eyes flicking back to meet yours, sending with it yet another shivery tremble through your nervous thighs. Oh, what was it with this man that made you so weak at the knees? Quickly recomposing yourself you laughed, the sound tinkling above the joyous banter of the crowd. ‘Oh Witcher. I guess I.. see you.’ You winked and leaned a little more into the arm he kept snuggly held around your back, trusting him to support you.

‘You are not afraid.’ He stated, as if nearly surprised, golden eyes studying you as you looked ahead to see where you were going - he was steering you to the outer ring of the dancing crowd, where the couples danced more slowly. Less erratically. But thereby offering opportunity to talk. And be more acutely aware of those sparks that seemed to dance on the Witcher’s skin.

A strange feeling indeed.

‘Curious, mostly.’ You smiled.

‘About what?’

‘You.’ You said, shrugging nonchalantly. Was that the alcohol talking? You were glad that you were old enough to have built a life of your own, your parents never having to hear about this..whorish..act on your behalf. Dance with a monster? Speak the tongues of seduction? Were you insane?!

‘And why is that?’ He enjoyed it.

Another jolt washed through you. Was he..was he doing that on purpose? You eyed where your hands were connected, his grip tight and warm around your proffered palm. You couldn’t see anything, but..

*spark*

HE WAS DOING IT AGAIN.

‘Ho-how..?’ You breathed, blinking as you obviously felt something. Not only in your hand. Also..*aherm*..eh..down between your thighs. The Witcher laughed, hands pulling you even closer, nose now brushing close to the shell of your ear. ‘I can smell you.’ He whispered huskily, the timber of his voice making yet another shiver run over your skin.

Alright, whether or not you were a whore. He was intriguing. You had to give him that. And the alcohol in your veins was definitely not helping, your lips curling up, all on their own accord. ‘Hahah..and what is it you are smelling good lord?’ - ‘Hmm. I’m afraid I am no lord, milady.’

‘Well I am not a “milady”, sir.’

‘And I am no “sir” either…wren.’

‘Wren?’ You shook your head in amusement. ‘I am no bird..wolf. You see, I cannot fly.’ You managed to escape his arms, fluttering your arms playfully at your sides as you slipped into the more wildly dancing inner circle, leaving the Witcher behind. The Witcher’s grin grew, nose sniffing the air to follow your scent.

‘I’ll make you.’

—

You knew he was not far behind. With fast feet you sped through the crowd, moving closer and closer to the fire that centred the village square. The heat was blazing here, making the dancing sweat on your muscles loosen again, small droplets gathering in the back of your neck. Looking around carefully you couldn’t see him. All you saw was a few hundred people minding their own business; drinking, dancing, making merry. And quite naughtily so. Your eye fell on a pair that was no longer moving in the crowd, feet halted and hands tugging at half-undone clothes, fingers roaming where they probably shouldn’t in public. The woman’s stays were leaving little to the imagination, her voluptuous chest near spilling out as the man duck down to lick the deep crevice between.

‘You fly not far.’ Him again, dark voice humming in your ear. You jolted up, wishing to flee again, but this time there was no room, no way, the fire blocking one side and his large chest the other. ‘I told you I can’t…-’ You turned to protest, but lost your train of thought as he pressed his nose back up against yours, nudging it. He was so close and the fire was so hot in your spine that you could literally feel yourself melt, feet not managing to get away even if you wanted to.

The wolfish grin returned and with half an eye the Witcher also peered at the naughty couple a few meters ahead, their tongues now dancing. You couldn’t help but steal the moment yourself to just stare at him, the close flames now brightening up his whole face until no hair or scar could be missed. He WAS handsome to a fault. Even the small scar just above his eyebrow seemed to only enhance his looks, those simmering honeyed eyes now turning back to you as his thumb brushed up over your cheek, feeling the slight stick of sweat there before he gripped your jaw.

His fingertips sparked again with that energy, that magic, a cold shiver running down your spine despite the heat of fire and flesh around you. It awoke that barely cooled down slick between your thighs, your legs awkwardly wishing to squeeze and rub together to alleviate the frustration that was steadily building there. And the Witcher..he didn’t seem to miss your condition, lips tugging up in a smile as he leaned even closer, lips now nearly touching yours, fingers cupped your face in two large hands, tipping your head back for easy access.

And you allowed it. Whore! Whore!

‘Little wren.’ The Witcher broke through your thoughts, fang-like teeth appearing behind his silky lips. His smile was strange. But you couldn’t care, your eyes already lost in those burning orbs of gold. This man could do anything with you as he seemed fit, that much was clear as you didn’t protest one bit, body mush beneath his tingling fingertips.

*SPARK*

You gasped as that same energy surged more strongly through his finger pads, shooting straight down your spine and out your nerve endings. Making that coil inside your stomach twist and twirl.

His smile grew.

Slowly one of his hands dipped lower, travelling a slow and tantalising path down your neck, thumb finding the top of your stays, just hidden beneath your simple blue cotton dress. More sparks buzzed as four more fingers joined his thumb, a full hand now placed on your bosom, your breath choking in its confines. ‘Please.’ You begged - though you were not sure what for, his lips still awfully close to yours. He did, however. A silent gasp glued to your lips as he dipped down, lips brushing over the corner of your mouth, placing a gentle kiss there. The combination of wild electricity, a two-day old beard and soft plushy lips was almost worth flying for. Almost.

With trembling legs you quivered beneath his touch, the hand that had rested on your bosom quick to swoop around your lower back again, pressing you impossible close as his lips nibbled on, finding the line of your jaw, cheekbone, his breath hot on your already heated skin. Even his lips seemed to elicit power. Small, but piercing little vibrations running through your nerve endings at every brush of his silky touch.

Again, it felt like you were floating, though this time the dance was different. It was..not dancing at all. Was this flying, then? Your legs could no longer stand as your eyes rolled closed, body giving in to the pleasure that sparked in your loins. How could he do that without even touching you down there? Lolling your head back for a moment his lips took the opportunity to travel down your neck, nipping and nudging you further to the frayed edge of reason. But you needed more before you could truly fall - or fly. Opening your eyes you were met with those simmering yellow orbs again, his lips and hands not hesitating to give you what you needed. It was like he could read your mind, the hand on your lower back travelling lower, pressing your hip into the curve of his arousal, hot and throbbing beneath his breeches.

And sending off an energy that broke your lips apart again.

‘Oh my..’ You breathed, your parted lips an invitation he couldn’t refuse, his kiss now finally placed where it was needed. Sweet, honey..sparkles, his tongue brushing hot and velvety inside, sending more energy through your limp limbs until all you could do was give in. Give in to his hard softness. His sweet tanginess. His..Wait, tanginess? Blood? You only noticed now that he had bit down on your lip, tongue soothing back over the small nip. But could you care? Not as of right now. With a groaning moan you bit back, his upper lip caught between your teeth as the hand on your bum now rubbed you more fiercely against his clothed erection, the many layers between you only causing more friction. More…

ARGH

It was like there were a hundred hands caressing your skin, tingling and tickling and loving and..OH SWEET MERCY! His lips retook the reigns, forcing your lips apart again as his tongue delved deeper into you, sending with it the last of HIS mercy, your whole body now convulsing in his tight grip.

Flying.

It took a good long moment to realise that the dance had ended and people were changing partners again, making it a perfect moment to escape. But it wouldn’t be alone. Your legs wobbled dangerously - as if drunk - the Witcher now leading you back to the outer edge of the square, his arm strong as steel around your trembling physique. Once you were back in the calm, he turned, thumb brushing over your swollen lips, finding a little blood there. ‘Ai. A wounded bird.’ He studied the small gash that he had made in your lip, but all you could do was smile, the spark of his touch numbing all pain.

‘Better kiss me to make it better.’

‘Hmm.’ He smiled, then slowly shook his head once. ‘No.’

‘No?’ You felt hurt by his sudden refusal. Was he just going to discard you after..after…?!

‘I know something else to do. But not here…’ He leaned in closer, nose sniffing in your scent - and your arousal - again.

‘..little wren.’

Go to Signs part 2 >

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#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill smut #smut #public #witcher signs #signs #oneshot #geralt of rivia #the witcher #henry x reader #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt smut #shalliwriteafollowup?

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beinmybonnet · 4 years

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29th June 1613 - London, England

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?

“He went to the trouble to have a draft carried all the way to Brandenburg for me, the least I can do is attend the opening night.”

Andromache rolls her shoulders into her partlet. “The least you can do maybe. Why am I doing this?”

“Because you missed me. And because you cried when we saw Othello.” Yusuf replies, looking sideways at her. Curbing the inevitable objection, Quynh squeezes Nicolò’s arm and strides forwards to overtake them. He lets himself be dragged after her, taking care not to tread on her skirts.

“I love the theatre. Plus, we’ve spent the last week sleeping in a shack in the Dales. This,” Quynh waves her free arm over the bridge rail, “is a nice change of scenery.”

London Bridge is teeming with people, the warmth of the bustle settling like cinders into his skin. The city writhes in its haste. Against the far bank of the Thames tall buildings strike against the horizon, the old Southwark Priory still reaching high in spent pride. Buildings are painted pale with dark beams striking bold across them. It is beautiful in its own way, Nicolò thinks. Inelegant, but unique.

“It wasn’t that bad. I still think we should have stayed a little longer, at least until-

“Andromache we’ve slept in nicer caves.”

Quynh glances back over her shoulder meaningfully, brow rising. Andromache shrugs. A smile, although few would recognise it. They step down onto the riverbank as one, turning east.

Nicolò nudges his shoulder into Yusuf as they pass the gardens. “You fail to mention you sent that script back with corrections.”

“Revisions. Small ones.” Yusuf’s voice is low, his expression impish. “Barely noticeable.”

“Ah, here we are.” Yusuf waves Andromache forward into their usual first-floor booth and steps back to allow Quynh to pass. Nicolò pauses, peering up the stairwell.

“Full house.”

“First performance. Trust me, this will be one to remember.” Yusuf is bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, and it makes Nicolò want to tuck his chin over a bobbing shoulder.

“You’d think the city would be a bit more subdued,” Andromache settles herself on the bench tucking thick plum skirts around her calves. She happily accepts a bag of roasted hazelnuts from Yusuf as he passes her to stand at the balcony. “They’ve only just recovered from their last bout of plague.”

“Exactly! This is the power of art.” Yusuf beams, arm sweeping wide. “Look at these people.” All around them the crowd is seething with anticipation, the noise growing as the wait goes on. Children scramble in the lower level of the yard for better vantage points, clawing their way up the beams supporting the lower galleries. People are shouting and laughing and drinking, the sound cocooned tight within the impressive structure. A man swings a laughing boy up over the mass, and a small group of women pressed against the stage begin shouting a suspicious sounding rhyme, pointing across the pit. Before they can finish a man in the gallery beneath them roars his response across the yard.

Nicolò’s brow furrows. “Clot-pole? I don’t…”

“She’s calling him an idiot,” Andromache supplies, “and insulting his hat.”

“It is a bit much.” Quynh’s leaning over the balcony to get a better look. “I think she’s accusing him of, err – short-changing her. Last night.”

Still grinning, Yusuf peers over beside her. “Oh, she’s quite angry. Here we go.” He sounds delighted. What looks like a parsnip sails over the head of the crowd. “A pity, she’ll want those for the third act.”

Quynh’s now bent almost double over the bannister and Andromache reaches to steady her without looking. “Isn’t this sort of thing that made the man move half of the troupe over to Blackfriars?”

Yusuf shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Ah, William has become far too prudish in his success. The engagement of the audience is the nature of theatre.”

“Engagement?” Nicolò smirks as something below meets its mark with a splat and a shout.

“Well, you cannot deny their enthusiasm-”

Quynh reappears with a whoop of triumph clutching her prize; a browning cabbage intercepted in the air. She rotates the rotten vegetable in careful examination. “Excellent.”

Yusuf raises his hand in hopeless protest as Nicolò leans back in his seat, eyeing Quynh. “10 crowns says you can’t hit the stage from here.”

She snorts derisively.

“20 if you can take King Henry off his feet.” Andromache counters, rising slightly to gauge the distance. Done, Quynh agrees happily, settling beside her and tucking her cabbage under the bench. Yusuf mutters an exasperated appeal for help to the heavens and Nicolò quickly tugs him down into the remaining space with a hand over his knee.

The parting of the stage curtain prompts the dropping of remaining projectiles and an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. The herald clears his throat, steps to the edge of the stage and spreads his arms.

The first and happiest hearers of the town,

I come no more to make you laugh; things now,

That bear a weighty and a serious brow,

Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,

Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,

We now present. Those that can pity, here

May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;

Be sad, as we would make ye

“Oh, so a comedy?” Quynh says brightly and Yusuf shushes her.

The first actors emerge from the wings in their velvets and the tale takes flight.

In all this noble bevy, has brought with her

One care abroad; he would have all as merry

As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,

Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy:

Yusuf is mouthing the words soundlessly, engrossed.

There are many things Nicolò has enjoyed about visiting theatres over the years. He will readily admit this performance is an enjoyable one - the young man playing Buckingham is particularly charismatic, the audience viscerally immersed in his indignation. The actors proudly deliver their lines and their story to an increasingly hypnotised audience.

But the play itself has never been what really draws Nicolò to this place. He glances sideways again and immediately, expectedly, loses the thread of the plot. In this moment the talent on the stage could never hope to hold his interest as he sits beside this man. Yusuf has lost himself entirely to the unfolding tale, gaze flitting from figure to figure calling below. Passion alight in his eyes. The arts do this to him in a way Nicolò has seen nothing else in all their time together. They have walked familiar paths in gallery halls for hours on end, Yusuf’s eyes roving walls of painted expression. They’ve sat in houses of the dying and listened to children bringing comfort with songs of naivety. Literature, dance, poetry, music; in all their changing forms they have always arrested Yusuf in his entirety.

These things give people freedom Nicolò, true freedom, he had once said. Free of limitation and expectation, in art people reveal their true selves. It is beautiful.

For Nicolò, that beauty is reflected blindingly in Yusuf’s own experience. To watch him like this for the rest of his given days would see him depart this earth achingly grateful to his God.

But Yusuf feels his distraction and leans toward him. “You’re missing it,” he murmurs, smile pulling impossibly wider. Unbridled delight is etched at the edges of his eyes, and Nicolò wants to trace his fingertips over the creases. He only realises he has reached out and done so when Yusuf captures and kisses his palm. “Watch the play.”

“It is a story still within living memory, I know how it ends,” Nicolò whispers.

Yusuf will not have it, nodding towards the actors. “Watch them tell it.”

Anne Boleyn is drifting across the stage, hand at her chest and Nicolò turns dutifully back to the performance.

Was he mad, sir?

O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:

But he would bite none; just as I do now,

He would kiss you twenty with a breath.

This time it’s Yusuf’s eyes that flicker back towards him and Nicolò hears silent words in the curl of his lip. Twenty kisses in a single breath. A risky venture, no?

Nicolò hums, his thoughts mirrored beside him. We shall see.

Good lord chamberlain,

Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;

And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em

Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty

Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.

You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.

A good digestion to you all: and once more

I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all!

King Henry VIII emerges from the curtains with a flourish, the actor clearly taking great pains not to stumble in breeches that billow around his knees. The theatre bursts into applause as a round of trumpets sound, and they shout their approval at the blast of a canon from the rafters. The actors move to their marks to begin the scene in earnest, and Andromache leans forward with interest for the first time.

“See, I told you! With the funding now available, they’ve really spared no expense,” Yusuf is still clapping. Andromache hums noncommittally sitting back, but her eyes are suddenly bright with curiosity.

“Quynh, if you’re going to win your money, I suggest you do it now.”

“Why? I was going to wait until the trial scene,” she replies, confused.

From his place beside her Nicolò can see clearly that Andromache is struggling to suppress a smirk. “Well, there won’t be much left by then.”

“What?” Quynh looks down the bench at him. He shrugs. Andromache sighs around her growing amusement.

Seconds pass before she speaks again.

“They’ve set the roof on fire.”

He doesn’t need long to piece together what’s happened. There’s a thin plume of smoke rising from the inner curve of the roof and within, a flicker of light no bigger than that from a candle waving gently in the rafters. The canon. They wadded the canon, he realises. The little flame wafts higher in the breeze. The crowd is oblivious, too focused on the stage to be looking upwards. He taps Yusuf’s thigh.

It does take a moment. “Oh dear.” Yusuf looks back and forth between the roof and the stage, face falling. “Well maybe-

There’s a loud pop as the flame meets eager fuel. It dances up into the thatch lining the hooped roof and flares wide and greedy. Whip fast, it licks across the reeds consuming them in crunches and cracks that have people now looking skywards and shouting. Those in the highest galleries rear back as the fire completes its rapid circuit of the roof. By the time the actors have abandoned their attempts at continuing and stand dumbstruck on the stage, the theatre is ringed in an ominous halo of flame.

“Yusuf, unless your intention is a repeat of ’54…” Quynh trails off sadly, holding her cabbage.

Clumps of lit thatch are beginning to drift into the standing audience and the pushing and shoving follows in earnest. One man charges through the crowd braying, his breeches alight. Andromache stands looking decidedly more cheerful. “Come on, we’ll help them clear the pit.”

Nicolò follows suit, a hand falling to Yusuf’s shoulder. He has to work to quell an absurd urge to laugh; Yusuf is glaring at the roof with all the stubbornness of a chastised child. He squeezes gently, sympathy winning out. “I’m sorry.”

“Canons, who on earth thought canons in a wooden building was…” Yusuf trails off, glancing up. “Nothing to be done I suppose.” He holds out his other hand. “Shall we?”

Drawing Yusuf up behind him, Nicolò moves out into the stairwell twisting up into the higher galleries where people are starting to pile down in haste. An older man stumbles in the rush and he reaches out to steady him. “Careful, sir. Head out towards the river.”

The man nods and quickly hurries on pressing his handkerchief to his mouth. The next woman through the door snatches her arm up to her chest before he can move to offer any assistance. Dirty papist she spits as she veers away. Yusuf tenses, a hard line pressed at his back. Nicolò just dips his head.

“Please hurry.”

By the time the flow of people has ebbed the flames are beginning to consume the ornate stage pillars. The curtains masking backstage catch like parchment and blaze furiously. “We should make sure the galleries are clear,” he says, “you take the east, I the west?”

Yusuf eyes the roof timbers warily. “Five minutes. No more.”

In the end it only takes Nicolò four minutes to usher the last stubborn gamblers from the gentleman’s room. The fact that the smoke has now crept down to waist level speeds this along nicely, and they hurry to the stairwell hunched and coughing. Nicolò stays low, following them down the last steep flight when his foot catches on something in the darkness, almost putting his hand through the adjacent wall in an attempt to steady himself. There’s a man slouched in the corner, limbs sprawled wide and snoring. An empty bladder clutched to his chest. The strength of the brandy fumes punch through the dense smoke to further sting at his eyes and his irritation almost threatens to outweigh his conscience. Almost.

By the time he staggers out into clear air dragging his oblivious charge Nicolò know he’s been much longer than five minutes. Behind him there’s a crash which sounds very much like the galleries have finally given in and collapsed. Sounds like, because his eyes are clenched shut, burning and watering. Pressing his hands to his knees, he tries not to gag on the tar in his throat.

A hand settles on the back of his neck whilst another cups a palmful of water to his face. Nicolò winces.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, “He’s heavier than he looks.”

He can hear Yusuf grinding his teeth but his response is surprisingly placid. “Rinse your eyes.”

Yusuf presses a water skin into his hands and moves away. When Nicolò’s vision has cleared he spots him back near the eastern entrance, patiently shepherding two enraptured boys further from the fire as they gape at the sky. Even for one who has seen much, Nicolò must admit, it is quite a sight.

The playhouse’s cylindrical shape has moulded the fire into a twirling steeple of flame inside the structure, now reaching twenty feet clear of the building itself. The Globe resembles an enormous cauldron struggling to hold its roiling contents. It belches clouds of thick black smoke as its rim splinters and cracks under the pressure and heat. What’s left of the thatch continues to feed the furnace, keeping the flames bright and fierce.

Quynh appears, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow to steer him away. She leads him to a grassy curve of the riverbank where people are congregating in groups and beginning to resettle on the ground. From one muse to another, the audience remain eager spectators, gasping and whooping as the bones of the building begin to break, sending up showers of sparks. Yusuf and Andromache join them just as the walls start to keel inwards.

“You were right, definitely one of his more memorable works,” Andromache announces as they sit. “Perhaps my favourite.”

“Yes, I’m so very glad you enjoyed yourself.” Yusuf’s tone is flat, but his eyes roll indulgently.

Quynh settles herself back against Andromache’s bent knees, facing the playhouse. “We can still make a night of it. We get a bottle of wine, some pastries. Watch the sunset.” Her voices softens slightly and she levels her gaze at them. “You really must go so soon?”

He looks to Yusuf, who nods. “We have passage on a ship to Antwerp. She leaves on the tide tomorrow morning.”

Quynh’s sigh is dejected. “You won’t consider staying just a little longer? We’re moving on to…” she trails off, peering up at Andromache – Devon, she supplies, “We could use your help relocating these women. The trials are becoming barbaric.”

Yusuf shakes his head, surveying the crowd. “I’d prefer not to tempt fate. London is not at its most welcoming for us presently.

Nicolò quirks his lip. “You mean for me.” Ah, he sees now. The woman from earlier is stood just a little further up the bank, clutching at well-dressed man and pointing at them. Yusuf stares back unflinchingly. Nicolò feels him shift to further block her line of sight to him.

Then he turns back to meet Nicolò’s eye and speaks firmly. “For us. If a place does not welcome you, it does not welcome me.”

Quynh has watched the exchange carefully and suddenly sits up. She clears her throat and calls out loudly enough for those nearest to turn. “Thou art a boil, madam, a plague sore!”

Andromache snorts and the woman raises her fan to her face appalled, tugging on her husband’s arm. It has the intended effect on Yusuf though and his grin returns to its proper place. Nicolò feels a familiar rush of affection for Quynh and her unfailing ability to put people at ease.

“King Lear,” Yusuf says proudly. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.”

“Of course she was,” Andromache interjects, “It’s a magnum opus of insults.”

Quynh grins up at her. “Oh, you worsted-stockinged knave.”

The retort is instant. “Brazen-faced varlet.”

“Ancient ruffian.”

Andromache shrugs. “Accurate.”

Their laughter comes in easy unison and Yusuf’s expression is unbearably soft as he watches them. “It won’t be for long,” he promises.

Quynh pulls her eyes from Andromache and nods. “Probably a sensible choice at the moment. You do look violently Venetian Nicolò.

He wrinkles his nose, affronted. “I do not-”

Yusuf is reaching for his face, so he pauses his protest for the gentle pass of a thumb over the bridge of his nose. “It’s your profile my love.” Yusuf’s tongue darts out over the pad of his thumb before it returns to rub more firmly at his nose. “Which currently is very sooty.”

With his hands still upon Nicolò’s face he murmurs. “Oh but what a piece of work is this man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel,” Yusuf blinks, his sincerity blinding, “in apprehension how like a god.”

It’s all Nicolò can do not to rub his flushed cheeks into Yusuf’s palms like an alley cat.

Andromache arches a refined brow at Quynh. “Nicolò gets a Hamletian ode to his soul, and I get ‘ruffian’?”

Quynh rocks onto her elbow in the grass without missing a beat. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Mayhap a smouldering playhouse, ablaze in righteous flame?

“Likened to a smoking wreckage, how romantic.”

Nicolò would laugh but Yusuf is still holding his gaze and his face, everything else muting around him. He does this; bestows his love in soft declarations that leave Nicolò stunned, and then holds him steady until the words perfuse. Nicolò loves him so much he feels he might combust, with all the ferocity of the fire at his back.

Centuries before, he had allowed his disbelief to ask a question once, and only once. The intensity frightening him. Could a gift such as this truly be his eternal?

Nicolò smiles at his world and whispers.

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and gives life to thee.

held in the embers on ao3 at theexistentialteapot

part one of this series can be found here

#god this one took years off me #but it's done!#thank you bones for the final shove over the finish line #i am so soft for this found family #and they deserve happy memories #yusuf would 1000% have been a theatre kid #the headcanon is lodged #userbones #usermarwan #tusermj #tuserceleste #the old guard fic #the old guard #mine

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the-moon-prince · 3 years

Text

The Last Of us~Kurapika x Reader ~Chapter I

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

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

Paring: Kurapika Kurta x GN! Reader

Word count: 2 783

TW: None!

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

#kurapika x reader #kurapika hxh #hxh #hunter x hunter #kurapika #hxh x reader #hxh scenarios #hxh drabbles #kurapika kurta #kurapika imagine #kurapika kurta x reader

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marlinspirkhall · 4 years

Text

Worf

“Sir, I protest, I am NOT a merry man!”

This is actually based on a screenshot from a different epsiode where Worf is in disguse to help his brother, TNG S7 E13.

#worf #art #digital art #star trek #star trek tng #tng #fanart #star trek fanart #worf fanart #portrait #digital portrait

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kyber-crystal · 4 years

Text

catch me under the mistletoe || s.r

summary: in which a certain bond is tightened during the magical holiday season

words: ~3.6k

warnings: none. some language i think,,, and rly shitty writing bc i wrote this over a year or so ago

a/n: we’re still days away from christmas lmao, but who cares

“MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE EVE, LOSERS!” Bucky yelled out.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE EVE!” Thor boomed in reply, slamming his hand against a baking sheet.

“Shut the hell up!’ you hissed as you shuffled into the kitchen, a cranky look on your face. You grabbed the nearest pillow to you from the couch and chucked it at Bucky’s head. He winced and immediately stopped what he was doing.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For waking me up at nine-thirty in the morning on a Saturday, asshole,” you muttered, reaching over to pour yourself a cup of tea. “Do you ever shut up?’

“9:30 isn’t even that early. You’re just lazy,” he argued. “And why am I getting all the hate? Thor was in on this too?”

“Because Thor is a compassionate and kind being,” you explained, as the Norse god gave you an apologetic smile.

“Merry Christmas Eve Eve, Lady Y/N,” he greeted politely. “I presume you slept well?”

“Yes, until Bucky started making noise…”

“I’m sorry!” Bucky exclaimed. “I’ll buy you more Cadbury tomorrow, okay? Is that enough?”

You nodded. “...Okay, fine.”

Steve hobbled into the kitchen, dressed in his Captain America pj pants (Tony got them for him last year as a gift) and wearing fluffy slippers.

“Morning,” he yawned as he ran a hand through his hair to tame it, quickly kissing your forehead before sitting down in between you and Natasha. “How’d you guys sleep?”

“Got a solid six hours. Better than last week’s combined total of three, so I’d say not bad,” you replied. “You?”

“Managed to squeeze in five. So, anything new happen lately?”

“No, asides from the fact that the holidays are near and you two are acting like a couple,” Natasha rolled her eyes. You and Steve both averted your gazes and looked down. “Anyway. When are we gonna start getting decorations up?”

“After we finish eating, I guess,” Sam shrugged as he poured cereal into his bowl. “Ooh yes. I got more charms this time. Fuck the grains, Lucky Charms ain’t lucky if you got more grains than charms.”

“Shuri and T’Challa will be coming in approximately two hours. I advise you all get to work on decorating before they arrive,” FRIDAY’s voice came over the intercom.

Loki suddenly materialized in the middle of the lounge with a wide grin plastered on his face, as well as Pietro. “Did someone say decorate?”

“Have at it, brother, Sir Speedy,” Thor handed the several boxes of decorations over to him. “But please, don’t do anything stupid.”

...

You were all amazed and shell-shocked when a mere fifteen minutes later, the entire compound looked like a winter wonderland. The giant tree standing strong in the corner of the lounge was decorated from bottom to top with various stunning ornaments, garlands, and twinkling LED lights.

Long story short, it seemed as if someone had punched Santa and made him throw up Christmas. Loki and Pietro nodded in approval at their work before exchanging a high-five.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this but,” Tony cleared his throat, “the jokesters really pulled it off this time. I’m proud of you both.”

The only thing left to do was hang the wreath up, and you decided to be the one to do so. You climbed up the ladder to hang up the wreath when you felt someone taser your sides.

"Steven Grant Rogers!" you screeched, glaring at him as you wobbled and tried to regain your balance. "I could've fallen off, you bastard!"

"Oops," he shrugged, giving you an innocent look. "That was a complete accident, I'm so sorry."

"You suck," you stuck your tongue out at him before hanging the wreath up on the wall.

"Told you the holidays were a magical season," Natasha whispered over to Wanda, and they both exchanged knowing looks. “Hey, Y/N, I still have some last-minute shopping to do. You willing to drive?”

“Sure, why not,” you shrugged. “But why can’t you take your own car?”

“I don’t feel like driving.”

“Alright,” you sighed, standing up and pushing your chair in. You leaned down to quickly kiss Steve’s cheek. “See you guys later.”

“Damn,” Sam wolf-whistled as you stepped into the elevator with her and Wanda, doors closing behind you. “She’s so oblivious.”

“To what?” Steve looked confused.

“Y’all are so in love. Don’t try and go on with that ‘we kiss each other all the time’ bullshit because that’s not what people who are ‘just friends’ do.”

“But it is what just friends do. Y/N and I...we’ve known each other for a while...”

“Bullshit. I ain’t buyin’ that.”

…

After you finished your last-minute shopping, you returned home with the gifts all wrapped up and ready to go and decided to whip up a batch of gingerbread cookies. The party was due to begin tomorrow evening, and you wanted a head start so you wouldn’t be cramming mere hours before.

Soon enough, the warm smell of cinnamon and other festive aromas drifted through the air.

"Mmm, is that gingerbread?" You turned around to find Steve sitting there, chin propped on his hand.

“Yeah. When I was little, I’d help my dad bake them because he’d often burn the cookies. As a SHIELD agent, he was always busy and didn’t have the time to improve his cooking skills.” You chuckled, and a nostalgic smile appeared on your face as you recalled the memory. “I started cooking at a young age...it really helped me prepare to be on my own. It kinda became a tradition of mine to keep baking even after he passed...feels like I still have a part of him with me when I do.”

The timer went off and you grabbed your oven mitts, pulling the cookies out of the oven and placing them on the counter. You put the second batch in and reset the timer.

"You smell like cookies," Steve commented, wrapping his arms around your waist.

Your cheeks turned bright pink from the physical contact. He didn't let go, and you let your arms slide up his back and stay there, as you stood in his tight embrace, breathing slowly and heart beating rapidly.

Tony broke it up by walking in and coughing loudly.

"Don't distract her, Rogers," he said, sitting on the couch with a slight smirk on his face.

The two of you pulled away from each other, looking away quickly to avoid further embarrassment.

"Speedy Gonzales, Parker, you better put those props away or no party or cookies for either of you," you scolded as Pietro and Peter were parading around the lounge.

"Darn. I look really attractive in this headband," Pietro whined.

"Yeah, it really brings out the color of your eyes," you said sarcastically.

"Thanks, Y/N," he imitated your tone of voice.

Shuri arrived soon enough, and immediately took to watching Vine compilations with Peter on the couch as they ate the few samples of the cookies you’d given them. The compound grew rather quiet, and you relished in the feeling of peace before someone could come along and screw it up again.

…

The next day quickly came and went. One by one, the rest of the guests began to arrive: Strange and Wong, the Guardians, Loki, even Fury and agents Coulson and Hill. How Tony managed to convince them to come, you had no idea.

You were dragged away by Natasha to get ready upon her insistence that you were forbidden on seeing Steve before the party. Despite your protests (”The fuck? This isn’t even a wedding? Why are you treating it like one?), she didn’t budge. Knowing her unmovable determination, you allowed her to dress you up and do your makeup.

“Wow, gold really is your color,” she propped a hand on her hip as she spun you around so you could look at yourself.

“You’re a miracle worker, Romanoff,” you laughed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d be so lost.”

“That’s why we’re friends, isn’t it?” Natasha gave you a little wink. “Dress to impress, love, dress to impress.”

...

The Christmas party was now in full swing - it was just after dinner and everyone was walking around, laughing and drinking at the bar or just casually conversing with one another. You were bored of wandering around and had already talked to pretty much everyone in the room, so you decided to look around for Clint and T’Challa because you didn't know what else to do.

"Hey, mind if I join you?" you asked, holding your simple glass of ginger ale (You hated alcohol). "Stark ditched me because he's busy working the music."

"Sure," T’Challa nodded, motioning to the empty seat beside him, and you slid into the booth. "How's it going for you so far, Miss Y/L/N?"

“Just Y/N is fine,” you laughed, setting your drink down on the table, “I’m doing alright. What about you? I forgot to ask how the flight here was.”

“We were able to get a couple hours of rest on the way here, so I’d say it was a nice flight.”

“That’s good,” you nodded.

“Kinda off topic, but hey, why aren’t you talking to Capsicle? He was looking for you earlier,” Clint spoke up. “Go talk to him.”

“Clint…”

“Come on! Just talk to him. It’s not like you’re some teenage fangirl terrified out of your mind to even look in his direction.”

“Fine,” you huffed, standing up. “See you guys later?”

“See you,” the two men said in unison as you walked away.

Your eyes scanned the room for Steve’s familiar broad-shouldered figure. They finally land on him, standing in the corner with a crystalline champagne glass in his hand, standing next to Bucky with a faint smile on his face.

You take one look at him and you swear your heart stops. He was literally the human form of perfection. The black suit he wore only further accentuated his lean, athletic build, with chiseled features and a sharp jawline that had to be sculpted by the gods themselves. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of him. The collar of his shirt is rolled down slightly, holy crap- and his eyes- they seemed to be shining even more brightly tonight, if that was even possible. They made you swoon, and you never swooned. The effect this man had on you…

As soon as he met your gaze, he couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face. His eyes immediately brightened at the sight of you standing there in your shimmery, gold gown, his heartbeat picking up speed.

He gave you a quick once-over before looking straight back into your eyes. “Hey, doll. You look...amazing.”

“Thanks,” you chuckled lightly, feeling your face flush, “you look great, too, Captain.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “So you’re not gonna make a comment on my appearance, huh Y/N?”

“Oh! Sorry,” you apologized, “Bucky! You look so...different!”

“Decided to go back to that old 40’s look. Tony insisted on it and I caved, so here we are,” he explained, gesturing to his clean-shaven face. “What do you think?”

“You look great,” you beamed.

“Romanoff pick out your dress?” You nodded, and he made a little ‘ah’ in realization. “She has good taste.”

“I know. I never would’ve found this on my own. Hope Tony doesn’t mind losing 2 grand from his credit card.”

“He won’t. Uh, anyways...I’m gonna go join Clint over there for our pool rematch. We have at least fifty bucks on the line now that Strange and Quill are joining in,” he motioned behind him to show Dr. Strange and Peter Quill arguing over how much money should be put in. “Catch you guys later?”

“Sure,” you nodded. “See you later.”

You turned back to Steve to see his baby blue eyes still boring into you. Normally you’d feel like shrinking away underneath his gaze but instead, you hold your head high and maintain the friendly smile on your face.

“So, how’s the party been going for you so far?”

“Other than Tony ditching me to DJ, I’m great,” you laughed, “and you?”

“Parties aren’t really my style, but I decided, why not just let loose for tonight?” he replied, “It’s Christmas. There’s no need to be in a foul mood.”

“I mean, you can’t possibly stay grumpy when you’re watching Peter and Shuri battle it out on the dance floor.” He glanced in the direction you were looking at to see in fact, Peter and Shuri, holding a dance-off as several people cheered them on.

“Staying on that topic…” he paused for a moment before speaking, holding his hand out to you, “may I have this dance?”

“Of course, Captain,” you give him a goofy grin as you took his hand and he leads you to the dance floor. Once the two of you arrive at the center, the crowd immediately parts to make room and the music immediately switches from a fast-paced pop tune to something much slower.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, pressing you close to his body. Right away you’re hit with his fresh scent of berry aftershave and pine, and clean linen. You find yourself leaning into him as he gently places his hands on your waist and your arms loosely wrap around his neck, swaying gently to the beat of the music.

“You’re pretty good, if I do say so myself,” you comment, sending him a flirty wink. He laughs in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he does so.

“You’re not so bad at this, either,” he grins, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch in your throat. He twirls you outward before bringing you back in, quickly catching you around the waist again. “You’re very light on your feet.”

You continued to dance and twirl around the floor, onlookers thinking to themselves that this most certainly wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this before. The lights overhead twinkled with each step you took as you spun around in delicate circles, the gold of your dress glittering brightly. With the feeling of Steve’s warm hand on your back and your feet gliding smoothly across the floor, it felt as if the only people in the world at that moment was just you and him, no one else. You’re too busy to realize everyone’s stopped what they were doing to watch you two. Like Cinderella and her Prince Charming, Hercules and Megara, Beauty and the Beast - you had everyone believing you were a match made in heaven.

You’re not sure how long you stay wrapped up in each others’ arms for. Maybe it’s about half an hour later when the music switches again that you finally snap out of your trances.

“That was nice. Thank you,” you gave Steve a single nod. “I had fun.”

“Likewise, Y/N,” he looks you square in the eye as he gives you yet another million-dollar smile. Oh my god, his smile-

You make your way over together, his hand still on the small of your back, to where the rest of the OG Avengers were seated around the couches.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the lovebirds themselves,” Sam smirked as you sat down, Steve putting his arm around the couch right behind your head. “Saw your romantic little moment back there.”

You rolled your eyes. “Lovebirds, my ass.”

“Language,” Steve teased, nudging you in the side. You shot him a ‘look.’

“Well, you’ve been quite the eye-catcher tonight,” Natasha folded her hands in her lap, nodding in approval as she observed your appearance. “If I were Rogers, I’d take you out on a date right away. Or if I were a man in general, I’d just straight up marry you.”

“Nat, with the way we act around one another, some people think we’re already married.”

“Touche.”

“Ooh, damn,” Clint let out a low wolf-whistle, twirling his drumsticks around his fingers. “Sounds like someone’s hot property.”

“Shut it, Barton,” you gave him a death glare.

“Okay, anyone against Y/N and Cap being a couple, please raise your hand,” Pietro announced, and when nobody raised their hands, he pointed at you. “See! No one’s objecting. You’d make an amazing couple.”

"No."

"Yes."

"Why are you guys so determined?"

"This ship has to happen. It is not going to die. Not on my watch," Sam declared.

“What even is a ship-” Steve began, but was unable to finish his sentence as Maria Hill was approaching your group.

"Merry Christmas! So I've heard this is the new power couple," she said as she made her way over and sat down as well. "How's it going?"

“Ooh, another ship member!" Clint pumped his fist up in the air.

"Damn right," Sam gave Hill a thumbs-up.

"Of course I'm on board," she smiled. "I'm all for it."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Seriously. What is it with you guys and shipping people together?"

"It's 'cause y'all cute," Sam wiggled his eyebrows up and down. "Y'all really gotta be cute like that. My heart can’t take it."

"Y/N," Steve noticed that you were looking uncomfortable and jerked his thumb behind the two of you, "want to go get some soda or something to eat?"

"Uh, yeah," you let out a sigh, brushing out your dress, "yeah. That'd be great."

"Don't have too much fun!" Tony called after you.

"Remember to stay safe and use protection, guys!" Clint cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted.

…

“Well, that was chaotic,” you breathed out as you took a sip of your champagne before setting it down on the counter. “I’m honestly not even surprised by the team, anymore...kinda got used to it.”

“Yeah, you grow immune to the jokes after a while,” he shrugged.

“You know…” you thought for a moment, a wistful yet sad smile appearing on your face as you looked out ahead, "Mom always got so excited around Christmas Eve. She wasn’t a huge alcohol lover, but made an exception for champagne. And hot chocolate. No matter how cold or warm it got during the month, she had one mug of it every day-"

You stopped for a moment to compose yourself again. "And Dad---he would make us sing along to every single Christmas track that came on the radio."

"Hey, are you alright?" Steve's brow furrowed in concern as he placed a hand on your forearm.

"I'm okay," you smiled sadly. "I just really miss them."

“I know. I miss my parents, too. My mother...she’d love you, you know. Ma always talked about having another daughter, but was unable to. Loved hot chocolate, like your mother…and never missed the chance to catch the sunrise or sunset, no matter the occasion.”

“She sounds like an amazing person,” you looked up at him.

“She was.”

You spent another hour or so talking together, feeling the tension lift from your shoulders with each passing minute. Talking to Steve came so naturally so often- that was why, when you couldn’t fall asleep at night, would go out to the balcony with him and talk until the sun rose. You just continued your conversation, until giggles and whispers interrupted your chatter.

"What do you want, guys," you rolled your eyes at the team, arms crossed and smirking at you and Steve. Shuri especially, had a rather evil grin on her face, and so did Clint, Bucky, and Sam.

"No...what they're trying to say is...uh..." Steve scratched the back of his neck and with an awkward chuckle, pointed to the mistletoe hanging above your heads.

"Mistletoe," you said softly, feeling your face heat up.

"Yeah," he spoke in a quiet voice, a light pink shade dusting his cheeks.

"Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!" the entire room began to chant.

"Rules are rules! You're not leaving until you two kiss!" Clint sing-songed.

The air around you had suddenly grown thick with anticipation and suspense as everyone fell silent, waiting for what was to come next, your heart beating so fast that it was making it difficult for you to catch a breath. Your gaze slipped down to his lips so he took this as a cue to let his arms slowly snake around your waist and you placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling as if everything was all going in slow motion.

Although the kiss didn't last very long, you made sure to take in every detail. His lips were so soft and warm, you could feel one of his hands on the small of your back as he pulled your closer, the other resting just below your shoulder blades, and you could feel the butterflies going wild in your stomach. Your heart was beating a million miles per hour, it seemed, and the sparks.

It could've been hours, or weeks, or even months until you finally broke apart but when you did, you were both grinning like fools and the team was trying their hardest to hold back their excited squeals.

"Merry Christmas," you whispered.

"Merry Christmas," he breathed out, before wrapping his arms around your waist again to bring you in a second time.

“Clint! Get up!” Sam lightly tapped the archer’s cheek. “Get up!”

“I think he’s dead.” Peter whispered.

“No, he just passed out from shock,” Shuri shrugged, but then gave him a high five. “Anyway, good job, Pete! You did a pretty amazing job of hanging that up there in time.”

#avengers imagines #steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #marvel fic #avengers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fic #captain america fic #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine

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lovemesomeerabordwarves · 3 years

Text

Mushrooms part 1

I’m reposting part one again so that it works properly since the link for the ‘continue reading’ didn’t work with part two after I re-blogged them when I moved over to a different account.

After a long walk through the quiet forest, you decided to lay down among the wildflowers. Your (H/C) hair fans out around you as you stare up into the sky. Fluffy white clouds drift lazily across the summer blue sky. You’ve noticed over your many hours of sky gazing that the summer skies always appear bluer than in any other season. You take a deep breath and close your eyes as the sun warms your face.

As you open your eyes you notice that the blue sky has turned into a pink and gold sky. It seems that your brief rest had turned into an afternoon nap. You hastily get up, brushing grass and a few flower petals off your skirts. Picking up the basket of mushroom that you gathered along your walk you head for home. Walking along the lane you see that everyone has already begun to sit down for dinner. Chimney stacks expel smoke as stews are stirred for the final time. You pass the mayors house and turn left to walk up to your quaint little hole. It wasn’t much by hobbit standards, but you were happy with it. Your small garden overlooked the valley and when the sun rose in the mornings it warmed your home nicely as you sat in your armchair drinking tea.

Unlocking the front door, you step inside and set the basket of mushrooms on the little table just inside the door. Your remove your shawl and head the kitchen to make your dinner of grilled fish and boiled potatoes.

After eating you decided to take your tea outside to sit in your garden and listen to the melody of crickets. Just as you sit down, a dark figure comes walking up the path to your home. It was strange since your home was the only one up this way. Just as the figure walks past your mailbox, they come into the light of your lantern. A dark cloak was wrapped around a muscular figure that stood only a few feet taller than yourself. This clearly wasn’t a hobbit, but it wasn’t a big person either. The figure looks around as if searching for something. It appears that they haven’t noticed you yet since their gaze goes right over you.

After a minute, you decide to try and help them.

“Excuse me, are you lost?”

The figure jumps in surprise and a hand reflexively goes to the hilt of an axe you hadn’t noticed before.

You stifle a giggle as the figure looks you over and removes his hood revealing hair that is as dark as a ravens wing, streaked with grey. His eyes were the same color as the summer sky. His bearing was one of power and command. He quite literally took your breath away. Thankfully he wouldn’t be able to see the color rise to your cheeks.

“I am looking for the home of a Mr. Baggins. Do you know where it is?”

“Umm yes, its not too far. I can show you if you would like.”

“Thank you but I would hate to disturb your night anymore than I already have.”

“You haven’t ruined it, and I wouldn’t mind. The lanes can be a bit tricky if you’re not from here. Even Tooks or hobbits that live in Bree have trouble at times.”

You set your tea on the bench and make for the garden gate.

“Well I thank you. Might I know your name if you are to show me the way?”

“I’m (Y/N). What might your name be?”

“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service madam.”

You can’t stifle the next giggle.

“You don’t have to call me madam, I’m barley into my thirties. Just (Y/N) is fine sir.”

The man nods in response.

As you walk along your curiosity gets the better of you.

“If it’s not too much, might I ask a question?”

“You may ask, and I may answer.”

The mans mouth lifts up in a half smile as you giggle again.

“Are you a dwarf? You’re not a hobbit that’s for sure, but I don’t think you’re as tall as one of the Big People.”

“Big People?”

“It’s what Hobbits call those of the race of man.”

“Hmm. Yes, I am dwarf. A dwarf of the Blue Mountains.”

“Oh. That’s to the west isn’t it?”

“Yes it is.”

“What brings you to the Shire then?”

Thorin remained silent. You must have asked a question that was too personal. The two of you remain silent for the rest of the walk. As you get closer to Bag End, you can hear a lot of merry and loud voices coming from within. Was that singing? Thorin must not have been the only one to seek out the quiet hobbit. You are still curious but decide to ask Bilbo about it another time.

“Here we are. The home of Mr. Bilbo Baggins.”

Thorin turns to you and bows.

“Thank you for your assistance (Y/N). I am in your debt.”

“Your welcome and don’t even worry about it. I would have felt bad if you had been stuck wondering around all night.”

Thorin bows again and turns to walk up the Biblos house. As you yourself turn to leave you notice a small glowing scratch on the green door.

‘Bilbo’s not going to be happy about that. It was just painted a week ago.’

Once you return to your own home you decide it was time for bed. You had planned to get up early to hunt for more mushrooms.

The birds chirped and squirrels chittered as they jumped from tree to tree. The morning mist was starting to dissipate, and you hadn’t much luck with your mushroom hunt yet. Your search had taken you farther and farther away from your normal path. It was always harder to get mushrooms when the weather got warmer. After looking under another log and coming up empty you hear a noise. You look behind the big evergreen tree and down the hill towards the path and see a line on people on ponies and a horse. At the front you spot the dwarf Thorin. Before you can move out from behind your tree you hear a shout. The ponies and horse halt in their tracks as their riders turn around in their saddles. Your lean on a low tree branch to try and see who’s running up.

“Wait! Wait, I’ve signed it.”

Bilbos comes up the road laden with a walking stick and a pack, a piece of parchment is being waved around. He hands the parchment to a white-haired dwarf who nods towards Thorin.

“Everything seems to be in order. Welcome Master Baggins to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Give him a pony!” Thorin turns his own pony around to continue on their journey.

You lean over the branch more as you hear Bilbo protesting the use of a pony. He wasn’t fond of riding and he looked awfully funny when he did ride. The branch snaps as you lean over to get a look at Bilbos face, and you let out a little shriek as you tumble down the hill, mushroom basket flying past you. You slam into a rock with your left shoulder and feel a snap. Reaching the bottom of the hill, you let out a groan and try to sit up but are forced back down as searing pain shoots through your arm.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright?!”

You can hear the panicked voice of Bilbo coming towards you. However, someone else is already at your side. A pair of strong hands stops you from trying to get up again. Through tears you look up into the rugged face of Thorin Oakenshield.

“Lie still. The fall hurt your arm I think.”

Laying your head back down you try to stop the tears from welling up.

“Oin, come over here, she’s hurt!” Thorin barks over to another dwarf.

An older dwarf with a hearing horn waddles over to you along with the rest.

“(YN) what are you doing all the way out here?” Bilbo asks as the dwarf known as Oin looks over your arm.

“I was looking for mushrooms. I was about to go home when I heard shouting. OW!” Oin had jostled your shoulder a bit.

“Sorry lass, it looks like your shoulder is dislocated. I’ll have to pop it back into place.”

“Okay.” Was all you could respond with as you tried not to vomit from the pain.

“Have her bit onto this.” Oin passes a large stick to Thorin who holds it up to you.

You give a concerned look but bit onto it. As you do Oin places one hand on your back and his other on your shoulder. Another hand grips yours and you look into blue eyes. You heard a pop, felt a sharp pain, then blacked out.

@jumpingmanatee

#thorin x reader #thorin x you #hobbit fanfiction #fanfic

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