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kazoosandfannypacks · 4 months

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summary: "Though all Mandalorians placed heavy emphasis on the value of their beskar armor, for some it was just armor, a thing only to be taken up in a time of war. Others believed that to remove your helmet or even so much as a glove around another living being was to make yourself an outcast. Most Mandalorians fell somewhere on the spectrum between them, and house Wren and its clan leaned towards the latter, not allowing themselves to remove their helmet. Their custom held one distinct caveat: once a Mandalorian had chosen a partner, a partner for life, their souls bound by a tie no man could sever— then, and only for them, could they remove their helmet, and share their face for the first time with another living soul." or, "the au in which ezra falls for sabine without even seeing her face" word count: 7927 words a/n: I hope you guys are having a great week! the good news is that I'll hopefully be writing more fic over the next couple weeks! the bad news is that that's because I'm on crutches at the moment and avoiding doing fanarts for related reasons… let's just say, I now know firsthand that getting stabbed in the foot REALLY hurts. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this fic, because I had a lot of fun writing it! It's my longest sabezra oneshot, so far, so that's exciting! shoutout to the talented and creative @kanerallels and the lovely and sillygirlcoded @laughingphoenixleader for betaing! taglist: @laughingphoenixleader @accidental-spice @kanerallels @piraterefrigerator @jedi-nurse @dootchster @lucasbridger @redroverrider @light-umbra @commander-tech @jedimandalorian @notanodinarygirl {if you’d like to be added to or removed from my Sabezra taglist, let me know!}

also on ao3!

This is (Kinda) The Way

There were two kinds of people Mandalorians disagreed with— others and themselves. For every disagreement a Mandalorian had with an outsider, they had even more among their own ranks. Customs, traditions, and language were the biggest one, especially when it came to the one thing that united them all— their armor.

Though all Mandalorians placed heavy emphasis on the value of their beskar armor, for some it was just armor, a thing only to be taken up in a time of war. Others believed that to remove your helmet or even so much as a glove around another living being was to make yourself an outcast.

Most Mandalorians fell somewhere on the spectrum between them, and house Wren and its clan leaned towards the latter, not allowing themselves to remove their helmet. Their custom held one distinct caveat: once a Mandalorian had chosen a partner, a partner for life, their souls bound by a tie no man could sever— then, and only for them, could they remove their helmet, and share their face for the first time with another living soul.

🧡•💜•🧡

If this were a normal day, Ezra would be sitting on the familiar outskirts of his home city right now, feasting on whatever he could get his hands on. Instead, he was on a starship in the vacuum of space, with a group of rebels who thought it better to steal for others than for themselves— and somehow, it felt right, not just helping others, but the people he was helping others with.

In the few days he'd been on the Ghost, he'd gotten to know everyone pretty well. Hera was kind and brave, Kanan was cranky but meant well and cared about people almost as much as Hera did, Zeb would flatten him if he got within two feet of himself or his food, and Chopper loved nothing more than making others miserable— overall, it wasn't an awful combination.

The one member of the crew Ezra had a hard time connecting with was Sabine. Maybe it was because of how she'd shrug him off whenever he'd talk to her, or the fact that she didn't eat in the galley with the rest of the Spectres— but more than likely, it was because she was always wearing that helmet, and the armor that (mostly) matched it. He'd never seen her without it, and from what he'd gathered, no one else in the crew had either.

That afternoon, he'd run into her in the galley, as she was grabbing a meal to take back to her room. No one else was around, so he figured now was as good a time as any to risk a social blunder.

"Why do you always wear that armor?" Ezra asked.

Sabine stopped partway through the cup of juice she was pouring herself, just for a moment, then continued.

"I'm a Mandalorian," Sabine said.

"Okay?" Ezra shrugged. Mandalorians had come to Lothal before, and they'd had no problems with taking off their helmets. "I've seen Mandalorians take off their helmets before."

"Well, they must not've been from clan Wren," Sabine said. That was the closest she gave to an explanation before storming off, much faster than normal.

Ezra told himself not to replicate that mistake again.

🧡•💜•🧡

"Can I talk to you?" Ezra asked, taking a seat in the cockpit diagonal from Hera— Sabine's seat, he could tell from the paint job, but she wasn't around anyways at the moment.

"Sure," Hera said.

"I just," Ezra sighed, "I know you're the best person to ask— that is if I don't wanna get laughed at for asking or end up getting my question answered with two more questions I don't know the answer to like Kanan always does."

Hera smiled a little as Ezra said that, which he added to his mental folder of What Exactly Is Going On Between Kanan And Hera, Anyways?

"Why doesn't Sabine take off her helmet?" Ezra asked, "I know lots of Mandalorians who do, well, one or two of them, and I don't really personally know them, but..."

He could tell his question had been a serious one to Hera, because when he asked, she turned away from the ship's controls for the first time since before he came in. Instead, she turned to Ezra, her hands folded in her lap as she leaned toward him.

"Not all Mandalorians are the same," Hera said, "just like not all Twil'eks, humans, or Jedi. Different clans have different customs they adhere to."

Ezra nodded. That kind of made sense.

"What happened to the rest of Sabine's clan?" Ezra asked. It was hard to tell exactly how old she was because of the helmet, but she didn't seem too much older than he was, and he'd never heard mention of her family.

"Mandalorians are a brave people," Hera answered, slowly, "fierce warriors who don't like change in their customs and traditions. Naturally they're not the kind of people the Empire likes having around. I never asked questions when we found Sabine, at least, not after I learned she wouldn't answer them."

Hera shook her head, and Ezra nodded. The Empire had probably done the same thing to Sabine's family that they'd done to his.

"Armor is important to a Mandalorian," Hera said, "handed down from generation to generation. It might be one of the only things she still has."

"I get it," Ezra said, and stood up to leave.

"One more thing," Hera said, and Ezra turned back to her, "she may have a rough exterior, but that doesn't mean she doesn't need a few good friends."

Ezra nodded. If there was anyone who seemed hard to make friends with, it was Sabine— so if there was anyone who needed friends, it must be her.

🧡•💜•🧡

Even in the midst of yet another heated disagreement with Chopper and Zeb, Ezra wasn't gonna abandon Operation Be Sabine's Friend, so when he saw her painting in her room with the door open, he only felt it right to stop and say hi.

"What are you working on?" Ezra asked, leaning his arm against the doorframe.

"A little piece I like to call 'none of your business.'"

"Okay," Ezra shrugged, "well, if you ever get tired of painting 'none of your business' and need inspiration..."

"I'll be sure to look elsewhere," Sabine said, then mumbled something under her breath in some language Ezra didn't understand.

Ezra didn't have time to ask what that meant before Chopper zoomed by, running into Ezra and almost knocking into him, and leaving Ezra to forget about his quest to befriend Sabine.

At least, until that night, when he counted it a victory that Sabine had painted himself and Zeb on the wall of their room, even if it was the most humiliating representation of him he'd ever seen.

🧡•💜•🧡

Ezra knocked on Sabine's door, and was surprised when she actually opened it this time.

"What is it?" Sabine asked, arms crossed.

"She must be in a better mood than normal today," Ezra thought.

"I just," Ezra shrugged, "I know you like doing art and painting and stuff, and you do a really good job at it."

"And?" Sabine asked.

"I," Ezra pulled a stormtrooper helmet out from behind his back, "I wanted to know if you'd paint this for me?"

"Why?"

"I wanted a helmet to wear on missions," Ezra said, "that way no one knows who I am."

"What, using other criminal's names as an alias just isn't cutting it for you?"

"I'm serious," Ezra said.

"Then wouldn't it be better to leave it plain?" Sabine asked, though she took the helmet from him, which was a good sign, and she held it up and surveyed its surfaces.

"Nope," Ezra said, "last time I went in there with a white bucket, Zeb said he couldn't tell the difference between me and the troopers and knocked me out cold. I don't want him to have that excuse anymore."

"I'll see what I can do," Sabine said. She closed the door before Ezra could get another word in, and he didn't see her for the rest of the day.

🧡•💜•🧡

"Look alive, Jedi!"

Ezra looked up just in time to see an unidentified flying object hurtling towards his face, and surprised himself by catching it— this Jedi stuff was really paying off. He looked at the large chunk of plastoid in his hands and quickly recognized it as the helmet he'd given Sabine the previous morning, though now it had a fresh paint job. Ezra didn't know much about art, but he could recognize Sabine's handiwork.

"It's perfect," he said, looking up overtop it to see Sabine, seating herself proudly on the table he was sitting at.

"It's nothing," Sabine said, "the only thing better than painting is defacing Imperial property in the process."

Ezra smiled as he tried the helmet on, suddenly remembering something else he'd taken— or, helped take, anyways— from the Empire.

"This is great," Ezra said, then leaned closer to her, "I just might commission you to work your magic on some other stolen Imperial property, if you're up to it. Something much larger than a helmet."

He could hear the excitement in her voice, despite how hard she tried to hide it.

"What do you have in mind?"

🧡•💜•🧡

"A TIE Fighter?" Sabine asked, standing outside the cave on Lothal not long after, "are you crazy?"

"Come on," Ezra said, wondering if this was a mistake, "you said you wanted to deface government property."

"How did you even get a TIE Fighter here?" Sabine asked.

She walked around the fighter, clearly studying its surfaces as though envisioning what they'd look like when she was done with it.

Ezra smiled. She'd already taken the bait.

"Zeb and I may have 'borrowed' it when we went on a wild meiloorun hunt," he explained.

"Yeah," her helmet peeked out around the wing she was standing behind, "and Kanan and Hera told you to destroy it."

"I know," Ezra fake-sighed, "but our options were blow it up without the best explosives expert on our team— or leave it as a canvas for her next masterpiece. I guess the choice is up to you..."

"Go grab my spraycans."

🧡•💜•🧡

Ezra had never watched Sabine work before, but she'd said he could stay as long as he kept lookout at the mouth of the cave and didn't say anything, and Ezra took that as a step up from the usual.

He bit back his hundreth question in the last few hours, knowing that if he was going to get Sabine mad at him for talking, it would have to be something a lot better than "is orange your favorite color? Mine too."

He held his hand out and sensed as much as he could, every Loth Rat and Loth Cat within a good sized radius of the cave— but not another sentient life for about as far.

The very first orange hues started creeping into the horizon. They'd need to be getting back soon.

He turned back to Sabine, and since he couldn't see her face, he'd learned to read her body language to make up for it, and she seemed to really be enjoying herself and her work.

He'd never seen an artist at work before, and was impressed by how in command of the spraycan she was. Ezra had tried drawing once or twice, and found his Loth Cats looked like angry jogan fruits, and his people looked like a platter of noodles that'd just had a very bad day.

Apparently, reflection on his own inability to draw wasn't the best thing to do on an empty stomach.

But Sabine's art was almost less like a drawing and more like a piece of herself, like maybe if Ezra studied it enough, he'd see all the pieces of her she hid.

And if that was the case, then she must be absolutely beautiful.

"Wow," Ezra whispered, apparently not as quietly as he absentmindedly had thought.

"That doesn't sound like not talking," Sabine was quick to reply.

"Sorry," Ezra shook his head, not even having noticed until now how hard he was staring at her, "I just, how are you so good at that?"

"Practice," Sabine said, "a little hard work and discipline will get you pretty far."

"That's what Kanan's always saying," Ezra rolled his eyes.

"Well maybe you should start listening," Sabine called back, "or, at the very least, stop talking."

"Sorry," Ezra said, then looked back out at the horizon. As much as he enjoyed this secret painting session, he was getting hungry, and knew the rest of the crew would be suspicious if he missed a meal.

"We should get heading back soon," Ezra said, "It's almost dark."

"I'm almost done," Sabine said, adding one last white stripe, "there. Now I'm done."

Ezra got up and walked over to the TIE Fighter, in awe.

"Am I allowed to talk now?" Ezra asked.

"I guess," Sabine said. He could hear the sarcasm in her voice as she packed up her art supplies.

"It's amazing," Ezra said, "way to stick it to the Empire."

"I am pretty good at what I do," Sabine shrugged.

"Oh, more than that," Ezra said, "it's a shame no one else will ever see this."

"It's not about others seeing it," Sabine said, grabbing her case of spraycans, "this one was for me. It's about the process."

Ezra nodded. After seeing how lost in the process Sabine got, he understood why it all meant so much to her.

"Sabine?" he said, as they left the cave.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for sharing it with me."

🧡•💜•🧡

Ezra had always thought Sabine was cool. He met her stealing from the Empire, and she'd jumped off a rooftop onto a moving speederbike— how much cooler could someone get? Combined with the custom armor and quick wit, she was strong contender for coolest person he'd ever met.

And the more he got to know her, the cooler she got. She designed her own armor. She was a weapons expert. She was, apparently, fluent in two different languages, which was probably what made her so quick to come up with insults.

Sabine always knew what to say, good or bad— usually scalding and rude— and Ezra didn't mind hearing it. Somehow she could make an insult feel as special as a compliment. It was almost like the sound of her voice was enough to give him unreasonable joy.

"Ugh," Zeb growled one night as he trudged into their room, "why haven't you gotten rid of that thing Sabine painted on the wall?"

"It's not a thing!" Ezra defended, sitting up on his bunk, "it's art."

"It's a stupid drawing of us from years ago," Zeb said, "and frankly, I'm getting tired of looking at it."

"Yeah," Ezra said, "well, I'm not."

He turned his back to him as he laid back down, but not before noticing a smile on the Lasat's face, and he could hear him chuckle over his shoulder.

"That's what I thought," Zeb said, smugly.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," Zeb laughed, something surprisingly not unpleasant in his voice.

Ezra recognized that tone. It was the same tone the guys on the base used whenever he'd tell them about the latest mission he'd gone on with Sabine, and it usually carried a "wow, Bridger, when are you gonna just ask the tin can out already?" with it. The other young guys in the rebellion were, well, just that, young guys. They could scarcely go more than five minutes without talking about girls and who was going with who and which girls they would be going with if this war ever gave them a night off, so it was only natural that they'd joke about the possibility that Ezra had a crush on Sabine.

But Zeb? Zeb had never talked with Ezra about girls or feelings or anything like that before, never even hinted at it— until now. Something about a mostly-trusted, somewhat-wise, maybe-in-some-ways-experienced crewmate hinting at it made the possibility of Ezra liking Sabine made it feel all the more real.

"There's no way I have a crush on Sabine," Ezra thought, "I've never even seen her face before. I mean, she is amazing, coolest person I know. And sure, I like spending time with her, and anytime I start talking to her I don't want to stop, but that's normal, right? And sure, my heart skipped a beat that time she grabbed my arm to pull me out of the way of Imperial fire, but what if that's just the adrenaline of the fight, right? Just because I can't stop thinking about her and want to keep hanging out with her for the rest of my life and feel all giggly whenever I think about her doesn't mean I have a crush on her, right?"

He looked over at her handiwork graffitied on his wall and smiled rather stupidly.

"Who am I kidding?" Ezra sighed, "I definitely have a crush on her."

🧡•💜•🧡

It wasn't too long before Ezra had realized that not only did he have feelings for Sabine, those feelings were growing. More and more frequently, he caught himself thinking about her when he was supposed to be doing other things like Jedi meditations and recon missions.

A favored distraction of his male curiosity was Sabine and her constantly shrouded face. He respected her privacy, and never attempted to see her face— besides, maybe the mystery was part of the charm— and often when he'd fall asleep at night, he'd try to imagine what her face looked like. At first, the faces ended up looking similar to other people, girls he'd met on the base, a bounty hunter he'd had a run-in with, or even a merchant girl he'd seen in the village. But every time, she seemed Not Quite Right, and he'd try again. Eventually he started coming up with all kinds of versions of her— one night she'd be a redhead, the next he'd imagine her with green skin, then after that she'd have eyes that were just black blobs— it didn't really matter. He'd only ever see her with her helmet on anyway, so what did it matter?

But even with the helmet, anytime she walked in the room, he could feel his heart race like she was the most beautiful girl alive.

🧡•💜•🧡

"Karabast," Ezra muttered, jumping back a bit by instinct from the blue milk that overflowed from the glass he was pouring it into and spilling all over his hand, and now onto the floor.

"I should know better than to pour myself a drink when Sabine enters the galley," Ezra thought, setting his drink down on the counter behind him as he searched for a cloth to clean it up with, "a Jedi has to stay focused."

"Need a hand?"

He heard Sabine's voice behind him and turned around quickly— too quickly, as his forehead rammed into helmet.

"Ow!" Ezra said, wondering what could possibly make an armor that hard.

"Sorry," Sabine said, and her gloved hand touched the now-sore spot on his forehead, "are you alright?'

"I'm fine," Ezra said, ignoring the pain in his forehead for the moment. He'd dropped the towel, and now he swirled it around the floor with his foot to clean up the spill, knowing that as bad as the injury was, it couldn't be nearly as bad as what would happen if Hera caught sight of the mess he'd made. "My forehead isn't dented, is it?"

"I'm no medic," Sabine said, opening the conservator and scrounging around in it, "but it looks like it'll be the opposite. At least you'll be able to make up one of your elaborate stories about the bump it'll leave."

"Oh yeah," Ezra said, "about how I accidentally went head-to-head with a Mandalorian and ended up almost literally crying over spilled milk."

She laughed a little at his attempted joke, then pulled a frozen bag out of the conservator.

"Put this on it," Sabine handed it to him, "that'll numb the pain and slow the bruising, or something like that."

"Thanks," Ezra said, and as he pressed the bag of frozen rations to his forehead, Sabine bent down and finished taking care of his mess on the floor.

"What happened, anyways?" she asked.

"I guess I got distracted," Ezra said, still distracted by her.

"While pouring a glass of milk?" Sabine asked, looking up at him quizzically before turning back to her work of drying up the floor.

"Yeah," Ezra scratched the back of his neck.

"I've noticed you've seemed a little spacey recently," Sabine said, "almost distant. Something on your mind?"

"More like someone," Ezra said, before he could stop himself, and she looked up again before he had a chance to get that stupid love struck smile off his face.

She stopped what she was doing for half a second, then got up off the floor.

"I gotta go," Sabine said.

"Sabine...."

She tossed the towel onto the counter behind him and turned to leave, but Ezra didn't want to see her go, not now or ever. He searched his words for something to say that would make her stay.

"I don't know how to ask you out!"

Ezra could tell without even needing to see her face that, as unexpected as his words were, Sabine still couldn't've been more surprised to hear him say that than he was. Still, she stopped and turned halfway back to him, so whatever he'd just done, had accidentally worked.

"What?"

"Normally if I wanted to ask a girl out," Ezra said, knowing the oncoming ramble was going to sound desperate— which wasn't entirely inaccurate, "which, technically I never have— at least, not with it actually leading to a date— but if I did, I'd ask them if they wanna go get dinner, which you, specifically, don't really do with people. So then I'd ask about getting ice cream instead, but then: same problem. So then I've been trying to think of different activities you like that we could do together, but all I could think of is fighting the Empire and defacing government property— which we already do together, and could do more of, but those don't really sound like date night activities, unless we were holding hands, but...."

Sabine had walked over to him while he was rambling, and now she stood in front of him, arms crossed.

"Are you asking me on a date, Ezra?" Sabine asked.

"I'm trying to," Ezra said, "is it working?"

"Me?" Sabine asked, "you want to go on a date with me?"

"That's the hope," he shrugged, "if you're up for it."

"Why?" Sabine asked, "is this some cheap attempt to try and get my guard down? It's not some ploy to try to see me without my helmet, right? Because...."

"I know," Ezra said, "you don't take your helmet off. It's a clan thing. I wouldn't ask that of you."

Sabine took a heavy breath. "You'd really go out on a date with me, armor and all, just because you like to spend time with me? No ulterior motives?"

"Absolutely."

"And you're okay with the fact that you'd never see my face?"

"Absolutely," Ezra said.

"How about a holofilm at seven tomorrow night?"

"Eat dinner separately first?" Ezra asked.

"Sounds like a date."

He smiled as Sabine walked away, unsure how he'd managed to do that, but very glad that he had.

🧡•💜•🧡

About halfway through the holofilm, Sabine's hand found its way into Ezra's.

"You're okay with the fact that I'm wearing gloves?" Sabine had whispered.

"Of course," Ezra'd whispered back, his emotions a flutter at the mere fact that she was on a date was him, that her hand was in his at all, even with the layer of leather between them.

Sabine Wren had said yes to a date with him, and now their fingers were interlocked as they watched a holofilm together at the base's rec room. Her helmet, hard and heavy though it was, laid against his shoulder. What more could he possibly ask for?

As they walked back to The Ghost together afterwards, their fingers were still entwined.

Ezra noticed the chill in the air— he'd been planning on it, and had worn a jacket over his nicer shirt tonight, because he knew either he'd be cold, or, better yet, she'd be cold, and he'd have the chance to do what the boyfriends in all the old holos did.

Much to Ezra's delight, Sabine shivered as a gust of wind blew across the base.

"Those old Mandalorian traditions don't say anything against wearing a jacket over your armor, do they?" Ezra asked.

"Well, no," Sabine said, and before she could say anything more, he'd let go of her hand, taken his jacket off, and draped both the jacket and his arm over her shoulder.

"How's that?" Ezra asked.

Sabine huddled a little bit closer to him.

"Perfect," she said.

They walked together in silence for a moment, Ezra knowing full well that if he opened his mouth he'd ruin the moment and blow all chances of a second date.

"Ezra?" Sabine asked, her voice a whisper as they neared the Ghost.

"Yeah?"

She stopped in her tracks, and he did too.

"Do you want to do this again sometime?" Sabine looked at him, her head barely tilted up, a glimmer of a reflection of the stars in her visor.

"If it's all the same with you," Ezra said, his tone still hushed, "I'd like to do this again a lot more times."

"Really?" Sabine asked, "you wouldn't have a problem going steady with someone you've never seen face to face?"

"Of course not," Ezra said, and he turned toward her and took both of her cold gloved hands in his, "I could spend the rest of my life with you and still not have a problem with never seeing your face."

Sabine didn't respond, and Ezra was bad enough at reading expressions, but especially when he couldn't even see the other person's expressions. Maybe that was too soon, too fast. On any other first date, that would've seemed too forward, but when you've been fighting side by side with someone for years, living on the same ship and sharing your struggles, a first date hardly felt like the first one. Still, maybe something as big as "I want to spend the rest of my life with you," was a little too much for a first date doorstop conversation, and he'd probably ruined his chances right there.

He loosened his grip on her hands, but she tightened hers, not letting his hands slip away.

"I don't always have to wear my helmet, Ezra," Sabine said.

"What?" Ezra asked, "I mean, I know you take it off to eat, and probably to sleep too, and maybe when you use the sonic, not that I've thought about that, but you always have to wear it around others, right? That's what Hera said."

"Hera doesn't know everything," Sabine said, "I can take off my helmet, but...."

Her voice trailed off, but he desperately wanted to follow it. He nodded and squeezed her hands a little, silently pleading her to continue.

"Our clans customs don't say we can't ever take off our helmets," Sabine said, "but that the only person who can see us without our helmets is our ruusaar riduur, our life partner. It's a huge commitment, one that some spouses don't even make with each other."

Ezra smiled. "So you're saying I have a chance?"

"I'm saying there's almost no chance," Sabine said, "like I said, it's a commitment, and I don't do so well with committing to anything, and, besides, we'll probably fall apart before we reach that point anyway."

"Not on my watch," Ezra said, not about to let anything happen to push Sabine out of his life, "and thank you for telling me."

"This still doesn't change anything."

"Of course not," Ezra said, "I still love you just the way you are."

He was barely an inch or two taller than her, but that didn't stop him from standing on his tiptoes, leaning towards her, and planting a kiss on top of her helmet.

"Same time next week?" Sabine asked.

"It's a date," Ezra said.

🧡•💜•🧡

Several dates and missions and trials and soft-giggles-while-staring-at-each-other-from-a-distance-es later, Sabine found herself with the choice to go back to help her people. Though Ezra strongly encouraged her to go, it wasn't without tears on both of their parts, and if it wasn't for the whispered, "I'll wait for you"s in their goodbye hug before she left, he would've certainly assumed it was over for them.

But instead he held out hope for them, trusted that the same force that brought them together and connected them across the galaxy would bring them back together, and his waiting paid off not long after, when he found her in his arms again, this time in a hug that meant hello instead of goodbye.

"I've missed you," Ezra whispered, holding her tightly and not willing to let her go, ignoring for the moment that Kanan and her entire clan were watching them.

"Me too," Sabine whispered.

He then let her go, knowing he hadn't made a great impression on her family the first time he met them and wanting to rectify that— especially when they began the mission to save her father. Maybe he kriffed up in his first meeting with her mom and her brother, but he determined that her dad's first impression of him would be a good one.

🧡•💜•🧡

"Are you with my daughter?" Alrich asked, as Ezra jumped in to save him as part of their mission.

"If that's okay with you, sir," Ezra said, then realized the question was about the status of her rescue mission, not the status of her relationship, "I mean, uh, yeah, we're, uh, we're here to rescue you."

Though his answer wasn't more rambly than normal, he felt more like an idiot than normal. Sabine always found his stumbling through his words cute and endearing, but the other Mandalorians didn't appreciate his candid words much, preferring instead to see action. So, Ezra made sure to show plenty of it, fighting alongside them later with such reckless boldness that he took a blaster bolt to the left shoulder and still kept going until the battle was over.

As the medical droid tended to his wound, Sabine sat next to him, holding his right hand lovingly as she sent forth a flurry of angry Mando'an words at him that amounted to a more colorful version of "don't you dare do something that dangerous and stupid again."

"Aww, 'Bine," Ezra smiled under his helmet, (he always wore one of his repurposed helmets on Krownest, to respect her people's traditions,) "I didn't know you cared so much."

"Maybe next time that happens I'll just let you bleed out," Sabine teased.

"You wouldn't dare," Ezra said, "besides, what is it you always say? Something about finding my combat skills and selfless bravery attractive?"

"Bravery?" Sabine asked, "more like borderline stupidity."

"And this one was skillful, brave, and borderline stupid," Ezra said, wishing his helmet didn't hide the playful expression on his face, "admit it, you thought it was hot."

"Maybe a little," Sabine said nudging his uninjured shoulder with hers, "just never do something that ho- stupid again, understand?"

"You and I both know I can't avoid that," Ezra said.

"I know," Sabine faked an overdramatic sigh as she rested her head on his shoulder.

🧡•💜•🧡

Apparently his heroics charmed the rest of the clan as well, especially Alrich. Sabine chose to return with Ezra and Kanan to the Rebellion, and as her family gathered to say their farewells, her father bestowed upon Ezra a special gift.

"We want you to have this," he said, and handed Ezra a shoulder pauldron, one that was inlaid with the Wren family crest.

"Thank you," Ezra said, studying the heavy hunk of metal he'd been gifted, then looking up at Sabine's parents with gratitude, "it's a huge honor."

"You were shot protecting our clan," Ursa said, "and Clan Wren honors that. This shoulder guard will protect your arm while it heals. Not even your lightsaber is strong enough to cut it."

"Is this real beskar?" Ezra asked.

"Of course," Ursa said, "it belonged to Sabine's ancestors. Clan Wren has carried it for generations, and counting."

Ezra didn't exactly have time to unpack all the meaning in that sentence, but he was pretty sure those last few words meant something along the lines of Ezra being on his way to becoming part of their clan now, a high honor.

"Thank you," Ezra said.

"Be good to her," was all Alrich said in reply, and as Sabine's hand slipped into Ezra's, he understood what he meant.

"I will," Ezra nodded, "I don't intend to do anything that stupid."

"He made a promise not to do anything stupid," Sabine said.

"The jury's still out on how long Bridger can keep from doing something stupid," her brother interrupted, "but he's earned my respect."

"I'll take care of her," Ezra said, "and if I don't, well, I have full confidence that she can 'take care' of me, and probably knows at least a dozen ways to hide the body."

"Two dozen," Sabine said, and that's when Ezra knew he'd been on Krownest for too long, because there was something almost romantic in the way she'd just threatened him, and he'd been around Mandalorians long enough that he enjoyed it.

🧡•💜•🧡

As soon as they were back on the ship on the way back to the fleet, Ezra took off his helmet. He didn't like how it limited his visibility, its awkward bulk, how heavy it made his head feel. He then took off his gloves so he could fluff his hair up a little— another thing he couldn't stand about his helmet was how sweaty it made his hair, and somehow at the same time staticky, clinging closely to his head in a way that didn't feel natural.

He heard a sigh behind him and saw Sabine sitting on the bench he stood next to, the chin of her helmet resting on her fists, her arms propped up on her knees, apparently watching him with great interest.

"What?" Ezra asked, smiling as he sat down next to her.

"I've missed your stupid face," Sabine sighed, her gloved hand running along his scars as though she thought she'd never see them again. Though they'd seen each other a lot these past few days, Ezra'd never taken his helmet off unless he was by himself— or with just Kanan, who obviously didn't mind that Ezra didn't follow Mandalorian customs around him, and if he had minded, wouldn't've noticed anyways.

But Sabine hadn't seen Ezra's face since before they first went to Krownest together, months ago, and from the tenderness of her leather touch, he knew it'd been too long for her.

"Well," Ezra said, trying to flirt back and failing to find the words, "I'd missed your stupid, uh, helmet?"

She laughed a little. "It's good to be going home."

Ezra slid his hand under and around hers, and whispered, "you have no idea."

🧡•💜•🧡

Not too long after, Sabine and Ezra sat in the only place they'd ever found they could share a quiet moment together on the Ghost, sitting next to each other on the bottom bunk in Sabine's room.

Well, "sitting next to each other" was an understatement. His arm was wrapped around her, and her hand held his, and her helmet rested on his chest, and they were talking and laughing with each other in a way they were sure no one else in the galaxy had ever experienced or could possibly understand.

"I still don't know how I managed this," Ezra said.

"Managed what?" Sabine asked.

"The coolest, smartest, most beautiful girl in the entire Rebellion is my girlfriend," Ezra shook his head, "not bad for a street rat."

Apparently only one word in that sentence mattered to Sabine.

"Beautiful?" Sabine asked, "Ezra, you've never seen my face."

"I don't have to to know that you're beautiful," Ezra said.

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, I've seen your art," Ezra started, "you're always saying that art is a reflection of the artist, and if that's the case, you must be absolutely gorgeous, because you're the most talented artist I've ever seen."

Sabine nestled closer to him and hid herself even further in his embrace, like she often did when she was embarrassed by how much Ezra was complimenting her. The joke was on her though, because he really enjoyed it when she did that, and it only made him want to shower her with even more praise.

"And I've heard your voice," Ezra said, "and anyone who can make an insult sound as pretty as you can must be very pretty herself. You have a really pretty laugh, too...."

"Okay, I get it," Sabine said, barely stifling a really pretty and slightly flustered giggle.

"I'm not done," Ezra said, "I've also seen how you fight, how graceful and smooth in even the most deadly battles. That's beauty. The pride in each and every one of your explosions that goes as planned, that's beauty. That tone of voice that makes me know your face is shining under that helmet: beauty; the heart you have that can't help but help others, no matter how you try to hide it— it's all so beautiful. You're all so beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful to me."

"But you still haven't seen my face," Sabine said.

"And I've told you a hundred thousand times it doesn't matter," Ezra said, "that I'd spend the rest of my life with you, even if I could never see your face."

"And do you mean that?"

"Every time."

"Not just the 'if you'd never see my face' part," Sabine clarified, "the other part. You said it when we were younger, that you'd spend the rest of your life with me if you could. Do you still mean that as much as you did back then?"

Ezra sat up properly, this conversation seeming to have gotten a bit more serious and wanting to show that he recognized that.

"Sabine, I mean it so much more than I did back then," Ezra said, taking both her hands in his, "every time I say it I mean it a little bit more. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"But do you mean that?"

"With all my heart."

Sabine took a deep breath.

"It's not like I'll never take off my helmet," Sabine said, "showing my face would be a sign of commitment. It would show that I'm absolutely sure I want to spend the rest of my life with someone. I'd have to know that I love someone enough, with all my heart and soul, to want to them to be my forever."

"'Ruusaar riduur' is what you called it before," Ezra said.

"Yeah," Sabine said.

She slipped her hands out of his, and before he had the chance to wonder if it was because he'd done something wrong, he realized it must be because he'd done something right. Her hands gripped the sides of her helmet, then pulled it off her head.

Ezra found himself absolutely speechless as he looked the face that he'd loved for years but only met now. He'd pictured her looking hundreds of thousands of ways, but this face, with the big brown eyes, and the shy smile, and the dark hair that didn't even reach her shoulders and somehow looked flawless despite her having worn her helmet for the last few hours, and this face— her face— was the most beautiful face he'd ever seen.

It took him a moment to understand what it all meant. If she'd taken her helmet off, that meant that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him— the most beautiful girl in the world (and now he could with all the more integrity say that about her appearance) wanted to share her beauty with him, and only him, for the rest of her life? He didn't think he was lucky enough for this moment to ever come, but now, here it was, and she was lovely, and he loved her, and he'd never wanted to kiss her more in his life, and she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he could spend the rest of all time with her, and now, now he had to find some way to say the words that were swirling around in his mind.

💜•🧡•💜

"You don't have to do this," Sabine thought, as she let go of Ezra's hands, "he likes you, you like him. Why risk vulnerability and commitment?"

But as she looked at Ezra, she found she wanted commitment more than she'd ever imagined. She wanted him to know her face as intimately as she knew his, to see with his own two eyes who she really was, and for herself to look at him without her visor altering her perception.

So, slowly, giving herself enough time to stop herself if she regretted it, she pulled her helmet off her head, for the first time in front of another life form since she'd put it on as a child, what felt like a lifetime ago. It felt vulnerable, and terrifying, but also freeing. She looked up at Ezra and smiled a little, wondering if he loved her face as much as he loved the rest of her— as much as she loved him.

"Maybe this was a mistake," she thought, "maybe I should've just let him keep whatever version of me existed in his mind." She'd seen him flirt with lots of girls, back before they started dating, and none of them ever looked quite like her. What if, even without her armor, she still wasn't enough for him?

But the smile that spread across his face said it all, and if not, enough words tumbled out at a parsec a minute to make up for the verbiage his expression could've lacked.

"Why did you take off your helmet?" Ezra asked, and though anyone else could've left it at that question, the man she loved would never, and he followed it up with seventeen more. "how are you so pretty? I didn't know it was possible for someone to be so beautiful. Does this mean you want to spend forever with me, because I want to spend forever with you too? You're so pretty. I mean, that's not why I want to spend forever with you. I'd spend forever with you if I didn't get to see your face, but I'm so glad I get to see your face. You're literally the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my entire life; I want to kiss you so badly. I mean, not that I'm gonna kiss you, unless you want me to, I just, I've never seen someone so beautiful in my whole entire life. I just, I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you to be so beautiful, I mean, not that I wasn't expecting you to be so beautiful, but I couldn't've expected you to be so beautiful, but, holy kriff…"

Sabine already had a hard enough time with Ezra complimenting her on things she was often praised for, like her abilities and talents, but now that he was complimenting her on her beauty— she didn't know what beauty was, and how was she supposed to know if she was beautiful? Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, and no one had beheld her before, especially not like this. As it was, she almost wished that she was still wearing her helmet, because she was blushing so hard it was almost embarrassing.

This had to stop. At the rate Ezra was going, he could go on talking like this for another three hours without sign of slowing down.

Though Ezra was the only boy she'd ever dated, she knew boys well enough to know they came with one handy special feature— there was a pretty easy way to shut them up, one she'd secretly been wanting to try since before they left Krownest. Somewhere in his rambled confessions, she'd heard the words, "I want to kiss you," and lucky for him, the feeling was mutual.

Before his lips could get him into any more trouble, she took over for them, grabbing him by the shirt collar and sending his lips crashing into hers. It still took him a couple seconds to grasp what was happening and shut up— that's about when the whispered "holy kriff" at the end came in— but he quickly understood the assignment, and as his lips touched hers, his hand touched her face, something passionate and gentle and unfamiliar and overwhelming. No one had seen her face before, let alone touched it. And now, here was his hand, his fingers twirling on her cheek, his other hand on her neck, with his thumb stroking a soft spot behind her ear.

She pulled away from him, all of it seeming too good to be true. But when she read the love and excitement in his shining blue eyes, she believed it herself.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he whispered back.

And now, she was absolutely certain that he meant it.

💜•🧡•💜

A few months later, they were back on Krownest— not for war, or for reunion, but for a wedding.

Sabine had told Ezra that he didn't need to adapt to her customs, that if they forged him his own armor, he'd be making the same commitment to it she had, but he insisted on becoming part of her world. She'd painted his armor herself, colors custom chosen by them both, and repainted her own armor to match it. He'd started wearing the helmet right away, partly because it was better than the repurposed trooper helmet he'd been wearing, and partly because he wanted to get used to the weight of it, and partly because he enjoyed looking like he belonged here.

But except for that and the left shoulder guard that he'd scarcely taken off since he got it, Ezra hadn't worn the rest of his armor until today, when they stood side by side in a private wedding ceremony they held on the Ghost. It was a small gathering, Sabine's family and the Spectres as the only guests in attendance, but the happy couple hardly even noticed them. The ceremony passed quickly, even for a Mandalorian one, which was always quick anyways.

If you'd asked her later, Sabine wouldn't be able to tell you much from that day, except for Ezra, and how she could almost feel the look on his face as he said his vows to her, and how deeply they both meant it when they declared themselves one with each other, and how there'd never been a more precious keldabe kiss (or "bonk of endearment" as Ezra would often call it in his silly little way with words) than the one that followed that ceremony.

And the most perfect moment of her life would come that night, when Ezra held her in his arms without a scrap of beskar coming between them, a pure, intimate, human connection, one that spoke of love, a love of their own, beyond either of their wildest dreams.

💜•🧡•💜

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moonlitmeeks · 2 years

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༊*·˚ i burn for you ; tristan dugray (0.5k)

summary: spending an evening curled in front of the fire with your boyfriend is the perfect way to end the day

song: fade into you — mazzy star

a/n: apologies if tristan is a little ooc here, i just think he'd be a little softer when he's alone with his s/o!! hopefully you enjoy regardless and, as always, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!<3

masterlist | taglist

dating tristan dugray had a myriad of perks. one of them was the privilege of spending time in his, frankly unbelievable, house.

his living room rug was warm under you, the velvety white strands tickling the exposed pieces of skin around your ankles. both of you were decked out in one of tristan’s hoodies and a pair of his pyjama pants, sitting as close as possible to one another without you being in his lap. his arm lay lazily behind you, permitting you access to rest your head on his shoulder.

taking advantage of his parents’ friday date nights, your boyfriend had invited you over for the evening for a night of quiet and relaxation after the stress of a week at chilton. whilst others may have favoured a large, raucous gathering when blessed with a free home, you were glad tristan had settled on a calm night in.

the log fire crackled and spat, flames engulfing the wood and casting a golden radiance across the room. the warmth was like a familiar friend, wrapping you in a hug that could send you to sleep if your heart wasn’t pounding at tristan’s proximity.

his eyes were locked onto your side profile, slowly tracing every curve and line, committing every inch of your face to memory as though it was the last time he would see you. tristan couldn’t believe that you were real. it was though you were carved from marble by the most experienced sculptor, your beauty incomparable to anyone else.

you looked away from the fire and turned your attention to tristan. even upon being caught, his stare never wavered. the only indication that he had noticed you was the small smirk that tugged at his lips.

“you’re staring."

“is that a problem?” he responded, gaze flitting from your lips to your eyes.

“not at all,” you smiled, your hand moving to trace his jaw with a featherlight touch.

“i thought so,” he hummed, leaning into your touch. his fingers grazed yours, so gentle that, if not for the warmth of his skin, you wouldn’t have noticed. “someone as pretty as you deserves to be stared at. would be rude to let that beauty go to waste.”

“shut up,” you laughed, cheeks growing warm at his words. "i didn't realise you were so cheesy."

he shrugged, inching closer to you. his breath fanned your face, suddenly making you aware of the little space separating your lips.

"don't act like you don't love it."

any smart remark you could have produced died on your tongue as his lips touched yours, gentle at first, before delving into something more passionate and deep.

as his arms snaked around your waist, your skin was burning under his touch. it seemed that his kiss provided more warmth than a log fire ever could.

—

🏷 ; @bluetreecloud20 @starlit-epiphany @mirclealignr @bberee @spncvr @dearestestella

#🏷 ; bee's writing!#🕷 ; bee's halloween horrors!#tristan dugray #tristan dugray x reader #tristan dugray x you #tristan dugray x y/n #tristan dugray imagine #tristan dugray blurb #tristan dugray drabble #gilmore girls #gilmore girls x reader

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tuttocenere · 4 months

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Isolde by Clara Weaver Parrish (1861-1925)

Tristan et Yseult by Jean Delville (1867-1953)

#tristan and isolde #arthuriana #(arguably)#I like this story but somehow I like none of the actual versions of it if that makes sense #just the love potion / death potion thing alone is very powerful to me #someone should write an opera about it #paintings

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winterlogysblog · 1 month

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4KOTA HIGHSCHOOL AU

Liones University

Founder - Bartra Liones President - Meliodas Vice President - Gilthunder Prefect of Disipline - Dreyfus School Doctor - Hendrickson Middle School Principal - Guila Highschool Principal - Howzer Drama Teacher - Gowther PE and Science Teacher - Derieri PE Teacher - Griamore

Known Groups (Past):

The Seven Deadly Sins - Delinquent Gang led by Meliodas (yes, the president of the school) Members: Meliodas - Former Leader of The Ten Commandments; President of Liones University Ban - Owner of Fox's Sin (Bar & Resto) Escanor - Veteran Soldier Harlequin - Alias: King; Fashion and Costume Designer; Owner of Chastiefol (Fashion Clothing Brand) Diane - Former Ballerina; Model for Chastiefol Gowther - Drama Teacher of Liones University; Producer and Owner of Nadja Theater Merlin - Former Vice President of Camelot Academy

The Ten Commandments - Delinquent Gang led by Zeldris Members: Zeldris - Owner of Underworld Corp. Mael - Former Member of The Four Archangels Derieri - PE and Science Teacher of Liones Academy Monspeet - In the US Gloxinia - In France Drole - Also in France Melascula - Professor at Camelot University Galland - Professor at Camelot University Grayroad - <No information found> Fraudrin - <No information found>

The Four Archangels - Student Council Group Members: Ludociel - President Mael - Former Vice President turned member of the Ten Commandments Sariel - Secretary Tarmiel - Comittee Chairman

Known Groups (Present):

The Four Knights of the Apocalypse - just a gaggle of individuals Members: Lancelot - Captain of the Basketball Team; Models for Chastiefol in his free time (either he gets paid or he gets free stuff); Straight A Student (he doesn't even try); Subject of expertise - Math Percival - The most innocent bean known around Campus; Subject of Expertise - Foreign Language (doesn't know why he's good at it) Gawain - Former Camelot University Student; Captain of the Women's Volleyball team; Straight A Student; Self proclaimed chick magnet; Subject of Expertise - Science Tristan - Student Council President; Straight A Student (you're doing great sweetie); Subject of Expertise - Science and History

Percival Platoon - 4kota sub-group led by Percival Members: Anne - President of Fencing Club; Straight A Student; Subject of Expertise - English Donny - Varsity Basketball Player; Subject of Expertise - PE Nasiens - Hendrickson's assistant; Models for Chastiefol in his free time (automatic free stuff); has an obvious crush on Percy; Straight A Student; Subject of Expertise - Science and Geography

Tristan Platoon - 4kota sub-group led by Tristan Members: Isolde - Cheer Captain; has an obvious crush on Tristan; Subject of Expertise - Art and Design Chion - Campus A-hole; Does not care about anybody except for Tristan (Isolde and Jade too but mainly Tristan); Subject of Expertise - Science and History Jade - The tolerable one; has an obvious crush on Isolde; Subject of Expertise - Geography

Lancelot Platoon - 4kota sub-group led by Lancelot Members: Sixtus - Foreign Exchange Student (currently in France staying with Uncle Glox and Drole); Subject of Expertise - History (really good at memorizing specific dates) Tioreh - Member of the Gymnastics Club; Subject of Expertise - Arts and Design

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fbfh · 1 year

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as with all nsfw works all characters are aged up to 18+ Tristin Dugray wants to fuck you so bad. He's had a huge massive crush on you since he first laid eyes on you, and it's only been getting worse. he wants to touch you, to dig his fingers into the fat of your hips and kiss you until he's breathless and you're whining for him. He wants to touch you everywhere, to learn right where all your sensitive spots are, wants to make you drip down his fingers and cream all over his hand, to know your body more intimately than anyone. He wants to lay you down and fuck you nice and slow, make sure you feel every single thing. He wants your attention, he always has, and that's going to get so much worse when you let him inside you. He just knows you'd get all shy, burying your face into his neck while you cling onto him, leaving scratch marks down his back that tell all the other girls he's taken. You'd be so shy, sighing and trying in vain not to moan while the head of his cock rubs perfectly against your g spot again and again. You're so cute like this, he'd think, not wanting him to see how much he's affecting you, embarrased by the way he makes your eyes roll back and how easily your walls clench tighter around him, but he doesn't miss it. He doesn't miss a thing when it comes to you. Not a single sigh or shudder or stifled moan goes unnoticed. And he would be patient, talk you through it every single time. His hand comes up to hold you closer to him while the other keeps both of you up, and he lets himself revel in the way you cling to him for a moment before he lets out a breathy moan disguised as a chuckle.

"C'mon Mary, don't get all shy on me now..."

Slowly, gently, he'd ease you back down to lay flat against the bed and rest his forehead against yours.

"Easy... easy Mary... just like that..."

He keeps your eyes on him at all times, watching every change in your expression, peppering you with kisses and drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you until you're both tired out. He'd hold you close afterwards, kiss your forehead and keep you warm and cozy, lying on his chest with his arms wrapped around you, make sure you sleep better than you ever have. He's biding his time now, but he believes that will happen. He knows in his gut that you're meant to be in his arms, just like he wants you to be.

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vigilskeep · 7 months

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i like fade dreams to have a twinge of horror—it’s a dreamlike, subconscious version of what a demon drawn to the worst parts of you thinks you want—and what i think would be insane is if tristan’s fade dream was that he and fergus had entirely switched places, making him the elder brother, the heir, the non-mage, oriana’s husband, and oren’s father. for best results bryce should also be king so in a weird way he’s stealing alistair’s place as well and so it’s a real mirror image of alistair seeing himself have a normal family

#i love. writing characters who are fundamentally envious #like catnip to me.#i think it would activate his least favourite parts of himself in a way that pleases me #tristan cousland #hitting post on this and going 2 sleep

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notllorstel · 2 years

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how does bell feel about darius' mentor :0?

In present time, misses him more because the mentor meant a lot to Darius and also the one to give the palisman wood that Bell is carved from to Darius (doodles I had of the scene)

in this backstory idea, the former golden guard was assigned by Belos to mentor and convince Darius to join a coven (preventing of another powerful wild witch) which he succeeded but regretted instantly when learned Darius got the symbol (was loyal to belos but started questioning and turning against him) and especially when discovered Belos true plans.

Darius eventually forgives the mentor with him trying to make it up for it. Bell’s protective of Darius and saw how much the betrayal hurt him is a tougher nut to crack and became more Standish off with the mentor, but the mentor appreciated Bell’s resolve and how much they cared for Darius. Bell does feel sad after the mentor disappearance?death?tbd and wished had more time to maybe trust them again like before.

Also bonus Bell fresh from the oven

#the owl house #toh oc bell #toh #darius deamonne #toh darius #toh golden guard #asks #llorswip #rip words I’m writing while half asleep #got more in depth stuff for this idea but ain’t in the zone to delve more #golden guard tristan #Bell the palisman

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good--merits-accumulated · 17 days

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do you take requests🧍‍♀️

LMAO I don't know if I would write full versions of these, but I can do some short snippets of each!

I. writer! Todd and vampire! Neil neighbours

Nicolas bared his teeth – and they were not just flashing white as Andrea had seen, but long and pointed, and curved like the canines of wolves. And they were no longer white, but slick and dark with blood. Of course. What a fool he had been. Nicolas moved closer and put one hand on Andrea’s throat, one cold relentless hand, so that they could both feel his pulse jumping between them. Behind him, pinned to the metal wall, Clara’s stake lay clenched in his hand.

“No, no, no,” said Neil cheerily across the space between their balconies, “you’ve forgotten that Andrea wears that necklace.”

If it had been six months ago, Todd would have – and had – turned red, snatched his laptop off the flimsy table, and scuttled away into the sanctity of his own apartment, imposing a state of self-exile from the balcony for several more weeks. Fortunately it was not. He twisted around in the chair, shot a half-despairing glance at Neil’s grinning face, and asked, “Have you never heard of privacy once in your entire life?”

“I have many times heard of l’intimité,” said Neil, grinning wider, “and of einkalíf, and even yǐnsī. Privacy, however. That’s a new one. Pri-var-see. Is that how you say it?”

He was incorrigible. Todd had discovered quite early on in their friendship that Neil had had some huge measure of life experiences which allowed him to come up with a rebuttal to every situation, and even earlier on that allowing him to run his mouth in French was a dangerous thing to do to himself. He was best humoured. “You’re in a boasting mood,” he said, pulling the laptop towards him. “I’ll bite. What’s wrong with his necklace?”

“You’re the one writing with your screen brightness all the way up on an open balcony,” said Neil mildly, but acquiesced when Todd shot him a threatening look. “Sorry. Lips sewn. Anyway – whatever gory hand-to-hand combat scene you’re working on there can’t go if he’s got the necklace on.”

“Well, why not?”

“It’s a fish,” said Neil, with some measure of surprise.

Todd fixed him with a look. “Neil, Andrea is a marine biologist.”

“A marine biologist wearing an ancient symbol of Christ around his neck,” said Neil. “Nicolas – he’s the vampire, yes? – he wouldn’t be very partial to that, I imagine.”

“A fish?” said Todd, surprised. “Well, it's not exactly a cross.”

“Hurts just as bad,” said Neil, making a face. “I mean, I would reckon. You know the ichthys actually predates the cross by two centuries? Bit more power to it, wouldn’t there be?”

He squinted and turned around fully. In the faint light spilling from his flat – the light from his flat was always faint – Neil looked loose-limbed and relaxed, draped over his balcony with his customary easy smile on his face, and his perpetual air of someone who knew more than he was letting on. Infuriatingly, the air was alluring at the best of times. But there was no hint of a lie or a joke on his face. “How on earth do you know that?”

“I’ve got time,” said Neil, “I read.” Then, with a shrug affecting casualness, “Could come over to yours and explain it more to you, if you want.”

“Well,” said Todd, and then, “well.” It had been six months they had known each other. He supposed that was enough time. But it had not happened before. For a moment a terrible feeling of anxiety overwhelmed him – something prickled over the back of his head like a hood, and a cloud crossed the moon, so that for half a second all was plunged into darkness. He shuddered. But then the clouds cleared and a ray of light struck Neil’s face, and illuminated it for him; he looked a little bit sheepish and a little bit pale, with nervousness perhaps. His hands twisted, one after the other, on the railing of the balcony. He was looking determinedly down. “I suppose it’d be helpful,” he said, and Neil looked up with a smile, suddenly blinding.

“Really?” he said.

“Well, don’t make me recant the offer.”

“Of course. Invite me in?”

He jerked a thumb in the direction of the door, standing up. “No,” said Neil, in a voice that was soft but carried nevertheless, and filled with laughter. “I’d like to hear you say it.” He was full of odd little idiosyncrasies like that, and despite himself, they were all endearing.

“You – are – ridiculous,” he said, punctuating each word with a movement; standing up, shutting the laptop, tucking the chair in behind him. “Are you recording that, or something? Come on over to the door. Of course you can come in.” He left Neil’s smile and the laptop behind him and slipped back into his flat, to stack the cushions back onto the sofa and check his hair in the mirror.

It did not occur to him until much later the point that should have been obvious from the start – that their balconies were much too far apart to see well, and that his screen brightness, despite Neil’s insistence, had not been turned up all that much at all. But by that point, he could no longer quite bring himself to care.

II. vampires! Todd and Neil forced to plan museum heists

Languages tended to blend into one another these days; they evolved so much over these many hundreds of years that dialects, once sisters, became distant cousins, and then ceased being on speaking terms altogether. It was awfully difficult to keep up, at least without looking like a fool or a grandfather. Despite that, some languages had, throughout the years, impressed themselves onto certain parts of Todd’s moods. Corsican when he was feeling playful, Old Norse when he had just woken up or was particularly vulnerable – English for almost everything else, except in those rare cases where he felt something unimaginably distressing had happened, or that some unforeseen calamity was tearing at the bounds of his reality, demanding to be given voice and a few more vowels. In those cases it was invariably French.

“Merde,” he said, staring in dismay at the display case, “oh, merde.”

“Fill de puta,” agreed Neil gloomily.

Staring back at him was five sheets of stained paper, covered densely from margin to margin in a scribbling hand he knew very well, seeing as it was attached to his wrist. They had been arranged with the utmost care on a transparent support, and although he had not read the contents of the label next to it, he could, very clearly, see its proud, bolded title: The Met Museum presents – “His sweet mouth”: Love Letters Through Time.

“Fill de puta,” Neil repeated. This time with a touch more horror.

“That must have been one of your letters,” said Todd faintly.

“The first time I used the phrase,” he rejoined, “le Roi Soleil was already dead.” He gestured at the line before them that read 15th century, exact date unknown. “That was you. Remember?”

He remembered, unfortunately, in excruciating detail. That had been a particularly thrilling night – a young man, one of Borso’s hanger-ons – a moonlit chase through the Castello Estense – him and Neil had been younger then, and had spilled more blood than was strictly necessary in the process. But it had been wonderfully romantic, and shortly afterwards, when Neil had gone off to Venice to do something with alum and Todd had remained in Ferrara, he had sat at his desk and remembered the moment; their hands and mouths meeting in that dim corridor of the Castello, the soft chimes of their laughter, the taste of the courtier’s sweet blood lingering still on his tongue. Enamoured, and in a mood much more befitting to a youth, he had written the letter and sent it off with a kiss.

It had been well received at the time; Neil had come back from Ferrara early and they had gone off for a third honeymoon in Milan, and stayed until the whole business with Galeazzo Maria had forced a quick escape. When asked where the letter had gone Neil had only assured him that he had kept it, with the kind of dashing prince’s bow he had favoured at the time. Looking at him now, both of them were remembering it.

He looked a little closer, just making out a particular line of Italian which had not been fit for public company in 1469 and was certainly not more so now, under hundreds of thousands of visitors’ eyes. “You said – ”

“I may,” said Neil, a little shamefacedly, “have lost it.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and added ruefully, “1844.”

He put a hand over his eyes. “The Oregon Trail?”

“It was quite windy.”

He pointed accusingly at the letter, and Neil winced. “Not windy enough to destroy the damn thing.”

“Well, it could be worse.”

“Worse!” One or two people looked over; he pulled Neil with him into the corner of the room, away from the damning glass display cases. “Neil, not only has our property been stolen – ”

“Lost.”

“Yes, because you lost it. Not only that, but now thousands of people are looking at it under this – damn – ” Lost for words, he pointed at the sign above them as they had walked into this particular exhibition room, reading, quite damningly, Eroticism and Sensuality, 1300-1550. He took one deep breath and compressed all the forcefulness and anger into a single, low, “Merde!”

“It was quite a good letter,” Neil offered. “I was flattered. Particularly the passage about my – ”

“There’s nothing for it,” Todd decided, firmly cutting him off. “Does Charlie still have all of his equipment from the ‘60s?”

“Good God,” said Neil smilingly. The good thing about having known each other for over a thousand years was that, at this point, they could have been the same person; he had not surprised Neil in quite some time with his actions. “You don’t mean to break into the Met?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

Neil blinked at him slowly, and pulled him a little closer, so that they were pressed close enough together to be mistaken for young lovers. A middle-aged woman pushing a stroller shot them a smile as she walked by, and Todd smiled back, close-lipped. “I certainly haven’t been arrested in quite some time,” Neil mused.

“And you can’t be hung for it any more,” Todd pointed out, putting his head on his shoulder. “The stakes are exceedingly low. Neil, I really do want that letter back.”

When he looked up at him again he was smiling; the wide flashing smile which exposed all his teeth and the fangs jutting sharp onto his bottom lip. The light in his eyes had long since died but in the reflected glow of the spotlights they looked almost alive again, and dancing with mischief. “Well, if you wish it,” he said. “Then I can’t say no.”

Notes:

I: languages Neil uses in succession: French, then Icelandic, then Chinese. Take all the stuff about the icthys with large grains of salt - I did like 3 seconds of research for this and it was all on Wikipedia! Also I do think Andrea wears specifically the icthys, and not just any old fish.

II: Todd is of course using French, but Neil uses Catalan. Maybe I've been reading too much Aubrey-Maturin. The Borso mentioned is Borso d'Este - highly recommend reading more about him if you like Quattrocento things. Similarly Galeazzo Maria is of course the real Sforza who was assassinated in 1476!

#sorry about the delay i was sleeping + debating the merits of consuming jesus' stigmata with some friends. you know how it is #anderperry #dead poets society #anderperry fic #tristan writes #thanks for (sort of) requesting! it was nice to stretch these particular writing muscles #tristan stop bringing everything back to Quattrocento courtly dynamics challenge. failed #ask

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yoselin-uyu · 3 months

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Just look at them, i was thinking about a mini one-shot of the moment so if you wanna read it, go below :D

NEED TO SEE HIM

Everard nervously adjusted the borrowed Ravenclaw robes, attempting to blend in as Crowen, Tristan's roommate. Gryffindor students weren't allowed in the Ravenclaw common room, but tonight, he had to see Tristan. He had already talked to crowen about his idea to enter the Ravenclaw rooms which he agreed and spend the night in another place.

In the moonlit dorm room, Everard Knut, disguised as Crowen using his abilities as a metamorphmagus, he stealthily entered, with his heart pounding.

Tristan was already there, engrossed in a book, glanced up at the sound of the door opening. —"Hey, Crowen, you're back early"— he said, a hint of suspicion in his eyes, Crowen was to be here since early but why did he came late today?.

Everard, as Crowen, mumbled a vague excuse, hoping his disguise held up. Yet, as the night unfolded, Tristan's keen intuition sensed something amiss. The air between them thickened with unspoken tension until Tristan, with a knowing look, said —"You're not Crowen"—

Caught off guard, Everard hesitated before revealing his true identity. Before he could say a word, A knowing smile formed on Tristan's lips as he pulled Everard into an unexpected, passionate kiss, unraveling the hidden desires between them. The surprise transformed into a shared warmth, momentarily forgetting the risk they were taking.

After a long moment of "forgetting the risks", Tristan stared at the enamored look that Everard was giving him and couldn't help but say —"F¡ck"— he would look and those eyes forever.

The next morning. Crowen entered the room to find Everard and Tristan sharing the same bed. Shock painted his face as he stammered —“What... You're still here?”—

Crowen woked up Everard saying they have to leave for class since they were already late, But Everard was too sleepy to put full attention to him so he kept hugging Tristan from the back.

@khamoise @tiny-chiro

#Everard Knut #Tristan Winger #them #hpma mc #hpma #my art #mc #oc #art #I was too lazy to draw their clothes so i just left them like this #glad i was lazy honeslty #this looks very good 🫵#wooooooo i ended up doing a mini one-shot #im bad at writing #lol #im mad for all my oc's ship with other oc's #love them #love khamo

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solisaureus · 1 year

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i want will and piper to bond over having a famous mortal parent

#the press are like where does will solace the young son of naomi solace go every summer???#naomi being contracted to write a song for the latest tristan mclean film #and piper and will aggressively trying to pretend it doesnt exist. TOGETHER #robin text #tsats spoilers

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hihopelessromantics · 5 months

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making an nnt "god" a concrete thing with lore / biology. substance if you will. because committing to the bit is fun and nakaba missed out

inspired that the idea that not only should Meliodas and Elizabeth have a less human form but Tristan too! I love the different takes on their designs.

chapters cause this is long! and control f is our friend

canon adjacent lore

children of the gods

awakened god designs

the gods' chosen helpers

extra pet theory because I love y'all and I love elizabeth angst

@kalopsiakey @7-ratsinatrenchcoat thank you for helping out with the brainstorming for the tristan and melizabeth 'eldritch forms'! Hope you like the finished product!!

- - - - canon adjacent lore anyone ? - - - - -

In my aus, I usually go with the interpretation that the SD and DK are the latest two in a line of governing deities, with the others dying to various means. And the SD and DK blotted them out from public memory to establish the maximum amount of control for themselves.

In order to govern their realms, I propose it was a long-standing practice that gods would retain only a percentage of their power, and lend out the rest to trusted ones who help them ensure the safety and health of their realm. There might be other groups that the Archangels and Ten Commandments are in charge of!

Theoretically, this would also allow them to retain a form suitable to walk among their people. None of this taller than a castle shtick. Perhaps the DK and SD are physically magnified with their power. Part of their appearance is morphed by their will - the DK's armor, and the veil across the Supreme Diety's face seem to be symbols of their power. They can also be representative of how the DK was seen as an invincible opponent, and how now one knew the SD's true intentions but thought she's "too holy to look upon and find fault in."

To a god, sacrificing and dividing up your power (especially) in a time of peace is symbolic of trust and humility. In war, it could be neccessary to maintain one's prestige and honor as a monarch., Could mean that you value the ability to live as one of your people as one of them rather than as someone they worship.

- - - - children of the gods - - - -

What's the difference between something like the Supreme Diety and her daughter? Biologically, nothing, I'd assume. In nnt, "god" seems to be a state of being, asserted not simply by having power but by coming into your own and claiming it as you.

I propose that the gods are a conduit for that portion of their realm's magic that would otherwise roam freely, and that the other life in that realm has already absorbed, at birth, the limit each individual can handle. Biologically, that is.

For a goddess or demon to maintain that state in Britannia without cracking holes in the fabric of reality, there'd need to be some way to both reign in that power and dilute it down to a level that's manageable for that individual. And there probably are ways. Let's see what happened to Mel. His 'original powers,' when he accepted them, were raw and undivided; additionally, he had no clue how to manage a power influx of that extent and his mind was NOT in a good place to try and manage an extra extreme stressor. And uh. He has priors with letting his demon powers run amock in a destructive manner. If there's also a psychological component to how your godly powers act, that's the first uh-oh. Second uh - oh: he'd maintained complete certainty that unlocking them would have that kind of disastrous consequences for 3,000 years. self-fulfilling prophecies are a thing. especially if you believe that a demon's powers, specifically, their darkness, is deeply involved with their subconscious. Being 'a god' doesn't seem to logically coincide with being helpless. I think the real reason the DK and SD were trapped in their "bubbles" in their respective realms is their refusal to set aside that power, and walk as a simple demon or goddess even temporarily. A lack of will (in the gods' place) or a lack of control (Mel), rather than a lack of possibility. It makes it more interesting, I think!

In that case, the natural disasters we saw after Mel stepped into that power would be a result of the vast amount of demon realm magic accompanying him running completely amock in the wrong realm, interfering with the other magics present and the balance.

- - - - For "awakened god" designs! - - - -

I think Meliodas would want to keep his appearance mostly the same . . . just with more pizazz. Same with Zeldris, he seems to have it down pretty well already judging by his dramatic entrance in 4kota. If they're able to channel their powers well enough for this, I think they'd leave most 'monstrous' features toggled off while using this form except for their aura, and other associated demonic features such as wings, horns, and claws. They'd use the extra power boost to help their darkness roam with more versatility. Perhaps it'd form a tail behind them and coil about their horns and nearby loved ones like decorative, protective wreaths. It might lend a dragonlike flair to Meliodas, with several sets of horns about his face and dragonlike spines; and likewise, for Zeldris, some regal feathers and a simple, elegant floating crown - irremovable but loved - floating like a halo above his head.

I think Elizabeth would gain another pair of wings (if not more), and a dress of light in the same theme as Meliodas's assault mode outfit. She would have a magnificent crown of light, and she would hate it, she would complain that she didn't even wear a crown at her wedding, why does her magic think she'd want one? and she'd tear it off. every time. Maybe one day she'll accept it. Her brother-in-law tells her it's a symbol of how she'd given her heart, blood and breath to her realm, and to protecting the peace in Britannia, and that it's something she earned. But all she can see is this form is more grandiose than her mother's ever was, regardless of how much more like herself it looks than like some plain, no-faced worship-demanding statue. (That's how Meli describes her mother). Maybe one day! In the meantime, she released most of her original magic back to the Celestial Realm to assist in its revival. And covers up the crown with ribbons her husband sewed for her whenever she's prepping for a serious battle.

The special feature I came up with for what I'm calling Tristan's "awakened god form" is based on a biblical angel's wheels of eyes. That, except Twinkle stars, bright as a goddess's magic but as maneuverable as darkness, and they point in whichever direction he's focused on.

Wings would be feather-based, with darkness that weaves around them like the tounges of flames.

I think even the most high-level demons and goddesses would have less humanlike teeth in the back of their mouths accompanying their molars. Maybe just a little sharper, and much more durable. Maybe a second or third row of teeth that gets less prominent or even more retractable as it nears the lips. sharks come to mind. I'm jealous of their teeth. Why are ours so flimsy. Anyway. 7 rats proposed a demon / goddess child's noticably inhuman teeth might be like that of an anglerfish. Interesting idea.

Like. Uh- puts on a poetic narrator voice Like a wide smile, almost uncannily wide but almost like the way you walk with your feet pointed outward and not an emotion. And when he moves his mouth to speak or frown you can see little gleaming edges along his jaw like a set of jewels in a necklace. You're not sure what they are. Like spikes or horns but… from within. That ought to be decorative, you think, but you've thought the same about the demons’ sets of horns and their fangs and now that you think about it, the shapes surrounding the powered-up goddesses'… is they really magic or something supernatural beyond your mind’s comprehension. . . ?

As for the eyes - dark, demon-colored with swirling golden triskeles in the center. Since in normal form he already has the duality - and it makes sense considering how goddess and demon powers present themselves in their eyes - I think hiding the heterochromia in his eldritch form would make it more horrifying. Like, now we are stepping away from physics into what a “god” is in this universe. The darkness spills out of his eyes like the whisps of dry ice ofc!

- - - the gods' chosen helpers: examinating the the SD's blessings and the DK's curses - - - -

3/4 Archangels' Graces channel a certain element of nature: wind (Tornado), water (Ocean), light (Sunshine), with Ludociel's Flash being the odd one out. I propose this is because Ludociel has such a tainted mindset the only Grace that would take him is the one representing swift, determined action (because hehe). The Ten Commandments, unlike the Graces, have a further element of control - their double-edged nature - suggesting the DK isn't as thorough of a manipulatior (deadbeat hehe) as the SD and cannot rely on his command alone to gain 100% of the TC's focus. There's been clear tampering with the power it gives them, and less trust; they're artificial compared to the Graces, one of which was said to have chosen Escanor of its own free will. As for what they can do - they represent values that are considered virtues. Except for purity. what the hell does Derieri's purity do again? Not that she NEEDS that extra power, for the love of god the brute force trauma of this woman's second blow would probably cause permanent damage. Anyway, love forces those with hatred in their hearts to stand down from a fight (objectively not a bad thing), truth does the truth thing, etc.

These are not neccessarily combat-focused powers, though they are used and intended as such. It's not a stretch to say they could be utlized in a different manner in times of peace. The Demon Realm has probably countless small villages and intellegent species for the King to oversee and keep the peace between. It makes sense for him to have more vassals from that standpoint. Meanwile, the Celestial Realm from what we can tell has fallen into disrepair without the routine care of its people. I'm gonna go ahead and headcanon that the natural phenomenon here is at least as 'extreme' in human terms as the demon realm's, and that effectively managing a system of islands in the sky with probably dozens of intellegent migratory creatures like sky fish, etc. does take some supernatural effort. And that most of the goddess population here is centralized in one main area. Pretty much all nakaba has given us is an implied lack of diversity in the celestial realm (why everyone look like that except for Tarmiel) (it's fine we can make the creatures ourselves). Anyway. A not-double-edged-sword version of the Commandments and the current Graces could be repurposed to aid in civil relations (people), and enviornmental mangement (nature) respectively.

-- - - - - extra! pet theory as to why Elizabeth is an only child - - - -

I have a pet theory for my holy war au that Elizabeth wasn't made like a human child and is, rather, a genetic clone the SD shaped of herself (think shaping a living being out of clay) as well as just one in a succession of rebellious (and very dead) attempts at the perfect daughter. This is why there's only one of her, while Meliodas has a sibling, and why she's older than Meliodas. Until Elizabeth, there was no proof that what the SD and DK wanted could be managed without serious consequences. The SD learned that just having the one is important for the amount of control she wants over her daughter. She only has so much patience, and the sisters tended to back each other over her. Thank - well, herself - that they were so young. . . all those times. This is why the DK insisted on totally eliminating his children's emotions; he thinks so long as they don't care for one another, and don't even think to, he can manage as many as he wishes. Otherwise, he thinks the SD is a loon who failed like four times in succession, and refuses to acknowledge that he specifically waited for her to succeed, "learning" from her mistakes, before having his own children.

#tristan liones #tristan #i have so much mutual-brewed lore from the summer I come back here and get whiplash from the canon #and i can hear my tumblr drafts planning a revolt #oop -#eldritch horror #i feel like this isn't eldritch enough but would they choose to be? Idk. and I feel like they should get to choose. as a treat.#elizabeth just wants to keep her royal cottage core and homely knight vibes sometimes is that too much to ask #is that the torture you had in mind for ellie #demon king #supreme diety #four knights of the apocalypse #gods in fiction #mmmm themes #nnt #meliodas #hihopelessromantics writes a drabble #my tags are malfunctioning. why are there three of the thing I just typed once. help me.#i. i hope i didn't forget anything

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ifisawyoueverydayforeverwill · 2 months

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Has anyone ever made an HEU fic with Prince Char in it?

I have seen spacedogs, Will with Duncan Vizla, Bobby Bronson, Lucas, even Tristan/Galahad.

Has anyone ever made one with the sass queen of innocence Prince Char?

I need it so badly

#I would make it myself but I don't know how to write #cries #hannibal #hannibal extended universe #heu #hannigram #will graham #nbc hannibal #prince char #tristan #galahad #spacedogs #hannibal lecter

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geralts-yenn · 1 year

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Believe in me

Modern Vampire AU Melot (Tristan&Isolde) x OFC Aurora (third-person pov)

summary: Aurora desperately needs a job and her friend suggests something she wouldn't have thought of: working as a blood donor in the nightclub of the vampire king. Meeting the vampire Melot on the same day helped Aurora to make up her decision.

But things are getting complicated soon. Melot and Aurora have to deal with hateful humans, power-hungry vampires and even gods.

series warnings: 18+ Adult content! parental violence and abuse, blood and other vampire stuff, violence, sex in all kinds of forms. Probably need to add more as the series continues

chapter warnings: parental violence and abuse

word count: 1,8k

A/N: The first series I am starting on tumblr and to say that I am nervous would be an understatement. I am terrified. This is all very new to me, so please be gentle. Although every kind of interaction is highly appreciated as always. I'm taking nice words, gifs, keyboard smashes or supportive advice. Just reblog and add your thoughts to it to make me happy, please!

Part 1

Series Masterlist

Carefully, Aurora tiptoed down the stairs. She knew her father was already drunk and if he heard her, a new fight was inevitable. But she wasn’t careful enough, she didn’t even manage to get into the living room before she heard him yelling:

“Aurora, get your ass into the kitchen and make me dinner!” Aurora silently cursed and turned to the kitchen.

“Hey Dad! I was on my way to the library. I need to catch up on my classes. Would you mind some microwaved leftovers?” She didn’t dare to look at him so she just stared at her feet.

“Yes, I do mind!” he shouted at her. “You know exactly that your mum isn’t here anymore to take care of me. And you know it’s your fault. She was driving your stupid ass to your soccer training. And yet, you stand here in front of me and your mum is gone. Two years! It’s been two years without her. And you still act like it isn’t all your fault, ungrateful bitch! You should have died, not her!”

So, it’s one of the days when he didn’t even try to hold back the hate. Aurora tried to blink the tears away that started gathering in the corner of her eyes. Without saying a word, she started to prepare a meal for her father. If she chopped some onions, maybe she could blame her tears on that.

Her father watched her silently, but his eyes still gave away the pure hate that he felt for his daughter. He was never a loving dad like the ones Aurora knew from TV shows or commercials. He was always cold towards her, ignoring her as much as possible. Even when her mum was still alive. Back then, he didn’t make a difference in the way he treated Aurora and her sister Tara.

But after the car accident that killed her mum and miraculously left Aurora without even a scratch, he changed. He was still ignoring Tara. But he transformed all his frustration and despair into hate and disdain towards his youngest daughter.

After Aurora had finally finished cooking, she served a portion to her dad. He took one bite, grimaced and smashed the whole plate against the wall. "How are you not even able to be useful for something that simple as making me dinner? This tastes like shit!" he hollered. He shot up, knocking over his chair, and thrust towards Aurora.

She took a sharp breath and held up her arms, trying to protect her face. Her dad quickly changed directions and his fists slammed hard into her rib cage. Aurora cried in pain and fled through the kitchen door. At least he was slow when he was drunk enough to beat her.

Biting her lips to drown the pain in her chest, she grabbed her backpack, keys and shoes and ran out of the front door. She didn’t stop until she was a few blocks away. She needed to get as much distance as possible from her father. When she finally decided that she was at a safe distance, Aurora sat down on the sidewalk and brushed some gravel from her bare feet before she slipped into her sneakers.

Sitting down was not a good idea. As she tried to get up again, the pain in her chest got so bad, Aurora couldn’t fight back new tears. So she decided to just stay there, sitting in the dirt. She didn’t have anywhere to go anyway. Slowly, she tried to calm herself, taking deep breaths and pressing her palms on her closed eyelids.

People were passing by, but Aurora didn’t care if they saw her like that. They probably didn’t even notice. But when she opened her eyes again, she was startled as there was a guy sitting right next to her. Aurora flinched with her eyes wide.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry! I didn’t want to scare you.” The voice of the stranger was deep and somehow soothing. “I saw you crying and was about to ask you if you needed help.”

Aurora carefully lifted her gaze to the man. He was breathtakingly handsome. His dark curls fell into his face, his sharp jawline was covered in stubble and his pale skin was flawless. And his eyes were glowing in a dark crimson.

“You… You’re a vampire!” Aurora stated the obvious. A smile swept over the face of the young man, revealing his perfectly white teeth, his fangs brushing over his lower lip.

“That I am.” he said, in a very friendly and casual way. He held out his hand. “Melot it is. I would say nice to meet you, but in the state you’re in, I think that wouldn’t be fitting.” Aurora took his hand, noticing that it was surprisingly soft and warm. But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. So Melot kept talking:

“Is there anything I can do for you, dear? I can’t just ignore you sitting here crying.” His hand brushed over her back to sooth her, so carefully, Aurora hardly felt it. She felt stupid, but she just couldn’t bring herself to speak. His beauty was stunning, and yet he scared Aurora all the same. She had never seen a vampire that close to her. Although they were legalized ten years ago, most of them kept living among their own kind.

“Did someone hurt you?” Melot tried again. A small sob escaped Aurora, but then she shook her head. Finally, she replied to him:

“I’m fine! Thank you for checking in on me, but there’s no need to.” Melot frowned, obviously not convinced by Aurora’s words.

“Can you call someone to pick you up? Your parents, a friend? I don’t want to leave you here like that. You’re definitely not okay.” he insisted.

Aurora thought about what he said. She couldn’t call her parents, of course. But she probably should call Tara. She could be crashing her sister’s couch until she knew if she wanted to go back to her dad or what else she could do.

“I’ll call my sister,” she told Melot. “I’m Aurora, by the way.” She offered him a small smile that he returned with a wide one that once again revealed his fangs.

Aurora took out her phone and called Tara. Her sister wasn’t quite happy that she had to get her, but in the end she told Aurora that she would be there within the next 20 minutes. Aurora brushed her tears away with the sleeve of her shirt and blinked curiously at Melot.

“You haven’t seen one of us yet, have you?” he asked. Aurora shook her head.

“No, I don’t go out a lot and my dad is not really fond of the idea of vampires living among us, to be honest.” To Aurora’s surprise, Melot didn’t seem to be offended. He chuckled softly.

“He’s not alone with that, and I understand. It must be a scary thought for humans. But I swear we’re not creeps. At least most of us.”

Now it was on Aurora to chuckle. “That’s exactly what every creep tells you, you know?” Both laughed at that.

Melot thought about asking once again what had happened, but he was glad that Aurora had stopped crying so he decided to leave it to that. Though, he felt strangely upset to see her like this.

Instead, they talked about lighter topics. Aurora spoke about her classes and Melot told her that he was working for his uncle. He wasn’t exactly Melot’s uncle but it was easier to call him that, considering that they lived like a family the last 500 years.

When her sister's car stopped next to them, Aurora had almost forgotten how upset she was when she left her home. And she also had forgotten about her broken ribs. She got up and cursed immediately at the pain that shot through her body. Melot was next to her out of thin air, steadying her steps. His arm was wrapped around her waist and he took the weight of her body onto his shoulders.

Tara didn’t even get out of the car. She just opened the passenger door.

“What happened this time?” she asked, though she didn’t seem to be honestly interested. Aurora got angry at the heartless reaction of her sister. Even a stranger, a vampire to be precise, was more invested in her than her family.

“He broke my ribs. After he smashed his dinner against the wall. I can’t go back to him tonight.” Her sister just rolled her eyes.

“So you want to come home with me? Fine, canceling my date then.” She couldn’t sound any more annoyed. Melot clenched his jaw. There was this sweet girl and someone had hurt her. And not even her sister did anything to help. He decided that he would keep an eye on Aurora.

When she was finally seated in Tara’s car, Aurora turned to Melot. “Thank you! It was really nice to meet you!” Melot chuckled, remembering his own words at the beginning of their conversation.

“Goodbye Aurora, take good care of yourself!” He looked down at her, a soft expression on his face, despite his extraordinary red eyes.

Tara drove off before she had to witness any more of that stupid conversation.

“What was that, so you’re dating a vampire now, or what?” She spat the words into Aurora’s face. Aurora cowered back into the seat.

“No, he just stopped and asked me if I was alright. No human did that, by the way. I don’t know him and I won’t ever see him again, I guess. So you can stop hating me for another reason.”

Melot watched the car driving off, not without remembering the driver's plate. When he turned, Charlie was standing beside him.

“Melot, what are you up to again?” He was smiling deviously. Melot shook his head. “Don’t bother, cousin. It’s nothing of your interest.” Charles raised an eyebrow but didn’t press any further.

“August wants to see you. He’s pissed, I have to warn you, though I don’t have a clue why. So good luck!”

Melot gritted his teeth in frustration. He wanted to investigate what happened to Aurora. He needed to see her again. There was a bond he felt towards her that he just couldn’t explain. He didn’t have time for the stupid intrigues of his uncle. August was the fucking vampire king, he should be able to deal with his shit on his own. Or at least, if he needed Melot’s help, he should finally acknowledge Melot’s skills and give him more recognition.

Part 2

#Melot fanfiction #Melot (Tristan&Isolde)#Modern vampire AU #my writing #Believe in me #vampire!melot

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