#NEW POLISH ART JUST DROPPED AND THEY ARE GORGEOUS

[nasirsagron]

He was born to be a king. He’s not a stand-in, or a second choice, like you are. He rules men just by breathing. When he walks into a room, he commands it. People love him. Like they loved your brother.’

[heartfullofleeches]

i've missed the gallery, so here's a question. how would the gallery gang be with a nightguard/frequent visitor reader who's an aspiring artist? i've seen people talk about going to actual galleries for inspo or just sketching the paintings, and was wondering if the art pieces would be honored to be models or something. i dunno man this is my first ask im not sure how this stuff works lol

(I've done this as individual hcs - hope you don't mind!)

The Scavenger

"Draw, please..." "You want me to draw a candy wrapper?" "Draw."

If you want inspiration, Scavenger has got you covered. They'll pull out their finest stole goods for your seeing eyes alone - necklaces, vintage toys - and pretty much anything that catches their eye or isn't nailed to a wall. Most nights they just hold up a pocket mirror and tell you to draw what you see, because it's the best thing in the gallery. If you give them your sketches, don't be surprised if they just shove them in their mouth and return to their painting without another word. Something this precious must be kept on their person at all times.

The Painter

Gasp. A future master in their presence? Well, the only correct course of action is for two geniuses to put their heads together, and create gorgeous works of art together that will bring tears to the eyes of any manner of creature. If you are a painter like them, they create a palette for you out of their own flesh and blood. Hm, as perfect as their colors are - something feels missing. As, yes. Red. That other guard has lots, and is being selfish by hogging it all. Not to worry, dear - your muse is on the case! Sir, sir! Stop running - your sacrifice is needed for greatness!

The Lady in Red

How charming.... Will you sketch her something to put on the walls of her cabin while you are away? She'll let you go for the evening if you do. Leaving old sketches around when there are others on site will also secure their safety as she'll drop everything to have a piece of you. Draw a picture of her and she'll be the wailing ghost of the eve.

The Faceless Angel

Monitors your location and makes sure nothing disturbs you. If you ask them to sit down they will start to hum to fill the silence, stopping if you look their way. Even if you ask to sketch them, the angel is surprised when you show them the finished work. Ah, they've gone and ruined it with their tears. If they are allowed to be greedy, could you draw what you imagine their face to look like?

RoseBud

It's only logical a gallery would attract an artist. Rosebud points out the flowers that are in this season for you to warm up, and tells you to come when you're ready to draw the finishing piece. Their babes are extra yippy tonight, but they are just as excited as them and unable to contain it like their greater half. Give it directly to Rose or they will eat it, but unlike the Scavenger they feel bad and start to cry. Rosebud has some artistic skills of their own and will ask to draw you some nights

Soleil

You want to draw them? Oh, but their gears haven't been polished in ages - their casing could use a shine as well. Don't even get them started on their dials. Give them a few nights to spruce themselves up and they'll be the perfect model for you to sketch and adore

Anri

You draw? How cool! They'd love to draw with you, but they don't have the same talent as you. Would you still mind if they doodled a bit in your book anyway? Maybe when you get off work you can hit up a coffee shop and give them a few pointers.... Oh.

Julian

Outright steals your notebook and tells you to give up before you get ahead. Realizes he's doing the same as his parents and gets it back... with a few sketches thrown in the back. They're all of you in different parts of the gallery doing your job... Except for one. Why did he draw you sleeping? And why does he know the color of your bedsheets

The Director

How fun! The gallery is always open to new donations. He'd love if you drew him, or one of the many stories he has to tell. He has a perfect tale about a painter who got lost in the woods and tricked by a power beyond their understanding. Why won't you come up to his floor and let him watch you work your magic as he tells it to you? Kick back and relax. Stress is the last thing that should be on an creative's mind. Get comfortable...stay as long as you want.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Open Circuits

I'm kickstarting the audiobook for "The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation," a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and make a new, good internet that picks up where the old, good internet left off. It's a DRM-free book, which means Audible won't carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

Every trip to Defcon – the massive annual hacker-con in Las Vegas – is a delight. Partly it's the familiar – seeing old friends, getting updates on hacks of years gone by. But mostly, it's the surprises, the things you never anticipated. Defcon never fails to surprise.

I got back from Vegas yesterday and I've just unpacking my suitcase, and with it, the tangible evidence of Defcon's cave of wonders. My gear bag has a new essential: Hak5's malicious cable detector, a little USB gizmo that lights up if it detects surreptitious malicious activity, even as it interdicts those nasty payloads:

https://shop.hak5.org/collections/omg-row2/products/malicious-cable-detector-by-o-mg

(In case you're wondering if it's really possible to craft a malicious USB cable that injects badware into your computer and is visually indistinguishable from a regular cable, the answer is a resounding yes, and of course, Hak5 sells those cables, with a variety of USB tips:)

https://shop.hak5.org/collections/omg-row2/products/omg-cable

But merch is only a sideshow. The real action is in the conference rooms, where hackers update you on the pursuit of their obsessions. These are such beautiful weirdos who pursue knowledge to ridiculous extremes, untangling gnarly hairballs just to follow a thread to its origin point.

For the second year in a row, I caught a presentation from Joseph Gabay about his work on warshopping: slicing up shopping cart wheels and haunting shopping mall parking lots during resurfacing to figure out how the anti-theft mechanism that stops your cart from leaving the parking lot works:

https://www.begaydocrime.com/

And of course, I got to give one of those presentations, "An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet's Enshittification," to a packed house. What a thrill! It was livestreamed, and if you missed it, you'll be able to catch it on Defcon's Youtube page as soon as they upload it (they've got a lot of uploading to do!):

https://www.youtube.com/@DEFCONConference/videos

After my talk, I went back to the No Starch Press booth for a book signing – which was amazing, so many beautiful hackers, plus I got to share a signing table with Micah Lee. As I was leaving, Bill Pollock slipped me a giant hardcover art-book, and said, "You're gonna love this."

I did. The book is Open Circuits: The Inner Beauty of Electronic Components, by Windell Oskay and Eric Schlaepfer, and it is a drop-dead gorgeous collection of photos of electronic components, painstakingly cross-sectioned and polished:

The photos illustrate layperson-friendly explanations of what each component does, how it is constructed, and why. Perhaps you've pondered a circuit board and wondered about the colorful, candy-shaped components soldered to it. It's natural to assume that these are indivisible, abstract functional units, a thing that is best understood as a reliable and deterministic brick that can be used to construct a specific kind of wall.

But peering inside these sealed packages reveals another world, a miniature land where things get simpler – and more complex. Inside these blobs of resin are snips of wire, plugs of wax, simple screws, fine sheets of metal in stacks, wafers of plain ceramic, springs and screws.

Truly, quantity has a quality all its own. Miniaturize these assemblies and produce them at unimaginable scale and the simple, legible components turn into mystical black boxes that only the most dedicated study can reveal. Like every magician's trick, the unfathomable effect is built up through the precise repetition of something very simple.

A prolonged study of Open Circuits reveals something important about the hacker aesthetic, a collection of graphic design, fashion and industrial design conventions that begins with this realization: that the crisp lines of digital logic can be decomposed into blobby, probabilistic lumps of metal, plastic, and even wax.

It reminds me of George Dyson's brilliant memoir/history of computing, Turing's Cathedral, where he describes how he and the other children of the scientists building the first digital computers at the Princeton Institute spent their summers in the basement, hand-winding cores for the early colossi their parents were building on the floors above them:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/03/12/george-dysons-history-of-the-computer-turings-cathedral/

You can see my hacker aesthetic photos in my Defcon 31 photo set:

https://www.flickr.com/search/?sort=date-taken-desc&safe_search=1&tags=defcon31&user_id=37996580417%40N01&view_all=1

In this video, Eric Schlaepfer illustrates the painstaking work that went into decomposing these tiny, precise components into their messy, analog subcomponents. It's pure hacker aesthetic, and it's mesmerizing:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=byKyJ0b04Lo

But Open Circuits isn't just an aesthetic journey, it's a technical one. After all, Oskay is co-founder of Evil Mad Scientist Labs, one of the defining places where hardware hackers gather to tear down, pick apart, mod, improve and destroy electronics. The accompanying text is a masterclass in the simple machines that combine together to make complex assemblies:

https://www.evilmadscientist.com/

Defcon is a reminder that the world only seems hermetically sealed and legible to authorized parties with clearance to crack open the box. From shopping cart wheels to thermal fuses, that illegibility is only a few millimeters thick. Sand away the glossy outer layer and you will find yourself in a weird land of wax-blobs, rough approximations, expedient choices and endless opportunities for delight and terror, mischief and care.

Back my anti-enshittification Kickstarter here!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/14/hidden-worlds/#making-the-invisible-visible-and-beautiful

[missamyrisa2]

Happy New Year Miss Amy! I hope you have an amazing year filled with smiles and laughter. :3

Awwe thank you soo much sweetheart! ~<33 I know I will when I have such lovely amazing readers keeping my ask box soo brimming with adorably ticklish scenarios ~ I am vowing to ramp up my productions this year, I will get to all those asks that have been patiently waiting for their tickles! But I also won't be able to help my silly wandering feathery mind ~ I mean, I have to consider a New Year's party where a cutie is the ball being lowered, and they're being lowered to a crowd's resolutions to be more teasy and tickly to deserving ticklees~! Oooh, they struggle and wiggle on the annual apparatus, so lucky to not only be the giggle belle of the tickle ball, but literally the ball ~ smirking knowing faces surround in the party, beaming watching that gorgeous naked twitching form, their weapons at the ready ~ feathers and fluffy dusters, supple brushes and vibrating toys, q-tips and markers and wiggly nails and guitar picks and ice ~ oooh the sensory combinations will be endless. The crowd starts an enthusiastic coordinated countdown, 10-9-8-and it summarily falls into chaos of shouting numbers and verbal taunts and teases when the ball's bubbly ticklish butt comes into reach, polished and treated just so right. Giggles erupt, excited cheers and ticklish coos too ~ the tickle ball is lowered steadily into waiting fingers and tools, toes coated with ticklish attacks as hands slip in and out to take their swipes, gather their ticklish flesh. Oooh, the new year is already off to a laughy bang, probably down to 4 but who knows at this point. That ticklee ball is being made into a work of art with silvery new year's markers~ Who is gonna get kissed when the ball drops? Why the ball of course, so many lips are closing in, brushing and humming, blowing raspberries and sensually kissing every bit of exposed skin they can find. The tickle ball is released, and the fireworks are their ticklegasm, summarily happening at once when the new year rings in, wiggling and squirming to satisfaction with all those smothering loves surrounding and vibrating tools going to work ~ ooh but this party goes on into the night~! Our lovely ticklee tickle ball is sort of crowd surfing now, passed over the cheering energized audience with hands and toys reaching up to continue their tickles, sometimes paused and held in place with legs and arms spread so the taller of the attendees can go to work ~<3

mmmh~ what were we talking about?

[lesvegas]

First impressions of Stray are VERY fucking good.

The game is gorgeous, but that much is already obvious. It's less cyberpunk than I thought it would be, and honestly? I'm glad for that. The grimy city covered in neon lights and plants that thrive without sunlight in a totally walled-in city that no one can ever leave is such a perfect setting and I'm already obsessed with the themes and aesthetic. Parts of it almost remind me of fo3's vault concept art (very loosely, mostly in terms of scale). Lighting is just as pretty as you'd expect and the gritty concrete, bright neon lights, vibrant plant life and the little orange cat you play as all feel natural together. I don't have much of an ear for music, but the soundtrack is pretty beautiful from what I've listened to so far as well.

The game is also fairly polished. I only experienced framerate drops a couple times when coming into new/big areas or cutscenes. There was one glitch where a robot seemed to appear then disappear, but that's about it. It looks and feels like a triple A game in all the best ways without 90% of the problems.

The gameplay has an emphasis on exploration; you're meant to jump from platform to pipe to rooftop to shelf to table to meet robots, read old news and graffiti, find items, and run from these... headcrab fungus things. The platforming feels smooth, like what I'd expect Assassin's Creed to feel like if I ever actually played it, and you have the freedom to explore the city hub quite well (I know I'm referencing a lot of different games here, but it definitely gave me Sly 2 vibes in that department).

The game is a lot more relaxing than I'd expected. There's an emphasis on the narrative, a mystery, and world building here, with bursts of excitement in between. So far, there's only been a few times where I really had to run from (kinda oddly cute?) enemies, and it's not exactly hard if you've played almost any video game before. But everything I've mentioned already more than makes up for that. Also, it makes sense there wouldn't be too much combat or excitement since you play as, y'know, an ordinary house cat.

Speaking of the cat, the entire reason I even got the game... he's cute. And it's very clear the developers adore and know cats very well. Every little animation and interaction feels so natural, and anything that feels un-cat-like (for example, actually following a NPC when they ask you to) is too cute not to forgive. I'd say the least realistic thing is that I can walk in shallow puddles of water and the cat DOESN'T react to it (but considering how much water there is, it's understandable).

NPCs are all robots, and each one has their own charm, whether it's their appearance, dialogue, or both. There's plenty of small adorable moments (you can rub up against one's legs and her monitor face becomes a heart), funny moments (you can meow to distract a guy while he's trying to throw something only to make him drop it), and even sad moments.

This is already looking to be a phenomenal game and I'm so glad I pre-ordered it. I'm only just over two hours in, but I'm really looking forward to the rest.

[hilarychuff]

uptown girls in my asoiaf au graphic series

Who says money can’t buy happiness? Sansa Stark has everything a girl could want — a gorgeous apartment, a passport full of stamps from countries all over the world, a precious little pet pig, and soon the perfect 22nd birthday party. It’s poised to be one of the biggest nights of the year, attended by all the most famous socialites in the city and half of the music scene, and the second she sets her eyes on starving artist and upcoming singer-songwriter Jon Snow, she knows just who she wants to be her birthday present.

Myranda knows him from the industry, swears he’s supposed to be celibate or something, too committed to his art to invest any time in his love life, but Sansa knows how to make men want to go home with her. And Jon does, and then he stays there for three days in a haze of takeout and sex and songs he strums while bent over one of her father’s famous guitars. He stays until the constant candle light stops being romantic and her postmates account stops working, and then he tries to clumsily detangle himself and return to the real world while she tries desperately to convince him to stay one more day in this perfect fantasy she’s built for him. And then he’s gone. And then the money’s gone, too.

Before she knows it, she finds herself sleeping on her friend’s couch and playing nanny to a screaming, sickly little boy, spending her days bringing him to school and ballet and doctor’s appointments, trying to pretend she knows what she’s doing when an 8-year-old acts more like a well-rounded adult than she could ever hope to be. Her nights she spends alternately dodging Jon’s calls asking her to drop his lucky jacket at his record label and leaving him her own voicemails suggesting she could bring it to his place. 

When they finally meet at a restaurant, when she delivers his jacket scorched from a kitchen fire of her own making and made new with dye and shoe polish and the skin of a teddy bear she sacrificed to the task, he tells her he can’t see her again. He can’t get dragged back into her world, he says, a world where she seems free of the burdens the rest of them have to bear, especially not now that he’s finally landed a record deal, not now that his music is just as much a business as it is an art. He’s too close, he says, too close to having everything he wants, everything he’s been working for. She can’t make him stay, and so she lets him go, and she doesn’t mention how everything is falling apart around her as Myranda kicks her out, Robin fires her, Petyr tells her she has no choice left other than to sell her father’s guitars, her mother’s dresses, even her brother’s signed baseball card collection. 

All of it is gone, just like that, and Jon’s song, the one written about the four nights and three days he spent wrapped up in her bed sheets is playing on what seems like every radio station. But she’s strong. She’s a Stark, Ned and Catelyn’s daughter, Robb’s little sister, and she can make it through this. She can be brave. Her life may no longer be a fairytale, but it’s hers, and she’s determined to make something of it. 

ft. sansa as molly, sweetrobin as ray, jon as neal, littlefinger as roma sort of, cersei as bob sort of, harry as huey, myranda as ingrid, ned stark as tommy gunn

[sariahsue]

Footsteps

Marinette’s about to get married to her soulmate, a man she’s never met before. Too bad she meets that cute groomsman in the hallway first. Rated G. 4,000 words.

***

Marinette bunched the white lace of her train into her fists and walked faster, eyes searching the empty marble hallway. Just keep walking. She could get through today. One foot in front of the other.

All she needed was some fresh air. She thought a building as enormous as this one would have at least one window that she could open. Instead, sunlight streamed through vaulted arches taller than the bakery she'd lived in her whole life, mocking her.

Marinette poked her head around a corner into a side hallway, saw nothing but closed doors, expensive paintings (that couldn't be an actual van Gogh, right?), and a plush white rug, and walked past.

All she needed was a few quick breaths, a little bit of air to cool off her flushed face, and a few minutes away from her hovering family and bridesmaids so she could pull herself together. And then she would get right back.

How big was this building? Each hallway she looked down offered a new way to get lost, with smaller hallways coming off of the side hallways and as many doors as there had been guests and staff just an hour ago. She gripped her train harder. Staff that had disappeared to the banquet hall to set up for the reception. Guests that were nowhere in sight because they were being seated in the chapel right now.

A door snapped shut somewhere behind her, and she whirled around, her heart in her mouth at having been caught, but no one was there. Her eyes traced crystal vases on marble tables only put there to break up the vast space the building contained. Nothing moved. And nothing looked familiar.

Can I even find my way back now? 

It was a problem she would have to deal with later. She didn't have the capacity for one more thing to go wrong right now, so she marched forward to continue her quest.

Her heels click-clicked as she walked across the polished floor, and she could have sworn she heard the door closing once again.

The shoes were going to give her away. With shaking fingers, she reached down and unstrapped them. They swung from her hands as she kept going.

Just a few days ago, Marinette had been so excited to finally meet her soulmate and get married. Why had the feeling deserted her today?

She knew the answer. All week it had been building, but now that the day was here, the swirling anxiety that had been simmering below the surface of her joy just couldn't be ignored any longer.

Most people gave themselves a few weeks or at least a few days after meeting their soulmate to get married, but her husband-to-be, Adrien, had insisted on being "traditional." No seeing each other until the wedding. She hadn't even talked to him on the phone yet. They would fall in love at first sight, as she walked down the aisle. If she'd met him before, maybe right now she wouldn't be so-

Marinette bumped into a glass-topped side table, sending the empty crystal vase on top tilting dangerously. Dropping her train, she managed to grab it before anything smashed. She stood there, frozen, listening, waiting to see if anyone would scold her, but no one was around. With a whispered "Sorry!" at the vase, she put it back in its place and kept searching through the maze of hallways.

It must have cost a fortune to rent this humongous mansion for the day. A new worry stuck in her throat. I'm not going to be able to fit in with my husband's family, am I?  Adrien would love her completely. That's just how it worked. But what if her in-laws hated her because her parents weren't rich too?

Her panic spiral was halted by the sight of a familiar blue rug pattern in one of the side hallways. Marinette made her way over, window quest forgotten, and she tripped over her dress the whole way there.

The long, white walls were filled with paintings of fruit and flowers, like the ones she used to make in art class (but with lighting skills so good it made her want to cry), and no… she hadn't been down this way before. Even as upset as she was, the artist in her would have remembered.

Marinette took a few seconds too long to glare at an apple, and by the time she heard the whispering, it was far too late for her to hide.

"Sneaking," a male voice whispered.

Marinette turned toward the voice. Had someone seen her? Did someone know she was roaming the building alone? She saw no one. And she saw nowhere she could quickly hide.

A few feet in front of her, the hallway turned a corner and continued out of sight. Some of the hallways had been like that, leading to more corridors and rooms that she hadn't bothered to explore. The footsteps came closer.

"Sneaking around the corner."

If she held very still, maybe he wouldn't notice? She walked backwards and pressed into the white wall, the fabric of her dress rustling loudly with every step, every breath she took.

His shoes squeaked as a hunched figure came into view.

"I'm not sneaking!" Marinette blurted out as soon as she saw him.

He jerked up straight.

She noticed three things instantly. He was blond. He was holding his hands around his eyes, like binoculars or a mask, and he was in the nicest tuxedo she had ever seen.

The man was also quite a bit taller than her, but he still jumped back in alarm when he saw her, and finally lowered his hands. Brilliant green eyes went from shocked to soft and warm and inviting.

"S-sorry," he finally said. "I was the one sneaking around. No worries."

"Oh," Marinette said, heart beating in her throat. "Right. I wasn't sneaking."

He smiled, and Marinette was glad she was already leaning against a wall. He had to be the single most beautiful human being she'd ever met her in life.

"Um, nice to meet you?" he said. When he held out a hand to shake, she quickly took it. His hand was soft and gentle and warm. No ring on either hand that she could see. Gorgeous and single!

Guilt swept through her, making her drop his hand. Here she was, getting married in literally a few minutes and ogling someone else. But he was still smiling at her. No, she had to stop thinking like a single woman. But he was so pretty.

"Of course. So, uh," He looked down at her dress. "You must be the bride, huh? Marinette? Nice to meet you."

Sweat prickled on the back of her neck. Judging by his outfit, she'd just been caught by a member of the groom's wedding party, a groomsman or a family member. Would he tell her future husband that she was out here getting cold feet? Not that it wasn't true, but she didn't want her soulmate to know about it.

"And you are?" she asked, hoping to divert attention away from herself. "One of the wedding party, right?"

"Yeah," he whispered and reached for her hand again. "I am. I was out here looking for you. I'm A-"

She shrank back. No matter how much she wanted to, she shouldn't be thinking about him this way. She was getting married to someone else.

The man dropped his hand quickly, eyes roaming her face, like he was looking for what he had done wrong. When he couldn't find anything, he ran his fingers through his hair and stammered out an apology. Marinette watched each lock fall back into place, the light catching each strand and making him glow.

"I'm-" he tried again, a blush rising in his cheeks. "Ni- W-winston."

"Winston?" Marinette couldn't help but laugh a little. That was the least French-sounding name she'd ever heard.

"Winston the groomsman," he said, not looking at her. "Yes, old family name. My father's name, and his father's name, and I think I have an old uncle. Because we're British way back there somewhere on my mother's side-"

"Nice to meet you, 'Winston.'" It was apparent he was nervous, and she didn't want him to feel uncomfortable, so she changed the subject. "What are you doing out here? You were looking for me?"

"Um." He looked around the hallway for inspiration, and Marinette immediately regretted her question as she watched his discomfort grow.

"I- He- The groom wanted to meet you before the wedding," Winston confessed.

"He did?"

"Yeah, he wanted to break tradition and see you, but Fa- his father is stifling stick in the mud."

"Yeah?" The knowledge was somehow both comforting and unsettling. She and her future husband had both wanted to meet first, but her father-in-law… she wasn't going to fit in.

"Yeah," he breathed. "He can't wait to meet you. But he couldn't get away, so I thought I'd come out here. And, wow, he's going to love you. You're amazing."

Marinette flushed at the compliment. "Isn't that how it's supposed to work? Love and first sight and everything?"

"Sure," Winston said, "but you know what I mean."

In the distance, an organ started playing softly, but Marinette barely heard it. This man would go through all that trouble for a friend of his? He was so kind, and she was going gooey under his intense gaze.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked quietly.

Just like that, the glow was gone. Would he believe the truth, that she was just hoping for some fresh air? He might be sympathetic. But he might not be. Who would feel sorry for a bride on her wedding day?

"I was… looking for the bathroom and got super lost." She adjusted her skirt with one hand to give herself something to do and then laughed nervously. "This place is such a maze."

Winston didn't answer right away. He studied the train of her dress, mouth a thin line of disappointment. Her shoes dangled from her loose fingers as she waited, and she adjusted her grip.

"You don't have to get married today, you know," he said. "You can call it off."

Marinette squirmed at how perceptive he was - or maybe she was just obvious - and pushed her hair out of her eyes. When it fell back into place, Winston reached out to tuck it behind her ear but stopped himself. His hand hung there awkwardly between them until he let it slowly fall.

"It's okay to be nervous," he said. "I know lots of people who didn't go through with their weddings. Loads."

Marinette smiled at the lie, grateful he was trying in spite of everything, though she was still a little worried he was going to tell Adrien about this conversation, or that word would somehow get to her future in-laws. She wasn't sure which would have been worse, giving her in-laws ammunition or disappointing Adrien.

"No, I really did get lost," she said. "I didn't mean to get all the way over here." And to make it sound convincing, she added, "Do you know the way back?"

"I can walk you." Adrien stood up straight, his smile returning.

"Oh, you don't have to," Marinette said quickly. There might still be a chance for her to find a window and that breath of fresh air she'd been hoping for.

"I insist." Winston held out an arm for her, and like the idiot she was, she eagerly took it. His free hand settled over hers, and they began to walk.

Her heels swung from her other hand, and without their added inches, the difference in their height was ludicrous. But Winston didn't comment on it, just matched her pace without making her feel rushed.

Together, they left the small hallway and stepped back into the still deserted main hallway. Sunlight poured through the windows, reflecting off the gleaming floors and sparkling crystal chandeliers high above. Winston's hand on hers was comforting, and he was so sweet to help her, but now there was no chance for her to get away.

Feebly, she said, "I think I recognize this part now. You can get back."

"Oh, they won't miss me," Winston said. "I'll make sure you get back safe. Is there anything else you need?"

Marinette sighed. As kind as he was handsome, and she hoped he never removed his hand from hers. Why did he have to be so nice and gentle?

After several more turns, she really did start to recognize things. How had she wandered so far? Her family must have been worried by now.

Marinette didn't bother to escape from him again, and Winston didn't let go of her, even when they stopped in front of the bride's room with its white and blank, gleaming, bronze plaque.

"I can't wait to see you coming down the aisle in a few minutes," Winston said. He lowered his arm, and her hand slipped away from his sleeve. She felt the loss of his touch immediately. "I mean, if you still want to," he added quickly.

"I'll be fine," she squeaked. "Thanks."

"Okay," he said, waving goodbye without moving away. "Great. See you."

Yup. He was definitely the most adorable, sweet, and beautiful man she'd ever met. "Why couldn't I be marrying this guy?"

Winston took a step back. "What?"

Huh? She'd said that out loud? She'd said that out loud! 

Fumbling for the handle behind her, Marinette said a hasty goodbye and launched herself through the door and slammed it shut without looking at his expression. What was she supposed to do now?

"Girl, where have you been?"

In seconds, Alya, Sabine, and Tom were gathered around her. Marinette leaned her back against the cool door, wondering if Winston was still staring at the spot where she'd been standing.

"Are you all right?" her father asked.

"Just needed some fresh air," Marinette said, staring at their shoes. "Then I got lost. Have you seen this place?"

"Marinette," Sabine said, lifting her daughter's chin with one soft hand. "You can tell us the truth."

The tension in Marinette's body all came out in a rush. Her shoulders slumped, and she slid down the door two inches.

Tom brought over a chair, and Marinette tried to sit down, only to find that her dress was caught in the door. What else could go wrong today? Without peeking into the hallway, she opened the door and removed her train - to her relief, it didn't look like she'd ripped it - and then collapsed into the chair.

"It's okay to be nervous," Sabine said.

Marinette nodded, though that wasn't the entire problem anymore. She was supposed to be marrying a friend of "Winston's" in a few minutes, maybe his best friend or even his brother. He would be standing there, witnessing her marriage, knowing what she'd just said. How was she supposed to show her face out there now?

Her parents and Alya doted on her, trying to put her fears at ease, but it was only making everything worse. She couldn't ignore her anxiety while everyone was talking about it. They flitted around the small room, fetching her water, guiding her to sit down in front of the triple mirror vanity, offering to brush her hair out. "That always calmed you down when you were little," Sabine said.

Marinette nodded.

"If it makes you feel better," Tom said, "I'm sure he's just as nervous as you are. I was nervous, too."

"Everyone expects you to be a little anxious." Sabine picked up the bristle brush while Marinette avoided looking at herself in the mirror. "You're marrying someone without ever having met him. That's terrifying. But you're going to be okay."

Marinette nodded again, dumbly. They waited for her to say something, respond with her usual cheerful attitude, and when she didn't, Alya jumped in.

"Sabine, didn't you get married and move to France at the same time?"

All four of them knew the story. Marinette had grown up hearing it, had loved hearing her parents' own love story.

"I found out my soulmate's name two days after my twenty second birthday," she said. Marinette could almost mouth the words along with her mother, they were so familiar. "I couldn't believe he was so far away. I started teaching myself French almost immediately, but the first time we got on the phone to speak to each other, all I could say was hello!"

A tug on Marinette's scalp told her that Sabine had found a small knot. She set the brush down and started to pick at it with her fingers.

"I moved away from home to a strange country, and was learning a new language, and was nervous about meeting my soulmate, but as soon as I saw him, it didn't matter," Sabine said. "You're going to be fine. As soon as you see him, you'll love him, and everything will be okay."

"I know all that," Marinette said. "But I'm scared now!" Not to mention distracted by "Winston," and the crushing guilt that reminded her she shouldn't be.

"Well," her father cut in. "What do you want to do about it, Marinette? Do you feel like we should wait a little bit?"

"Yeah," Alya added. "We can tell them there's something wrong with your dress or whatever if you need a few more minutes."

"I'm sure Adrien would understand," Sabine said. "He seemed very kind when we talked to him."

A few more minutes sounded wonderful, a chance to collect herself, do delay the inevitable. Or a chance for her anxiety to get worse. She took a deep breath. "No, let's just get this over with."

"Very convincing." Alya picked her clutch up off the vanity and started fishing around inside it. "You sound so pumped. Let me just text Adrien." Alya pulled out her phone.

"No," Marinette said, covering the phone with one hand. Her fake nails clicked on the screen.

"Waiting's not going to make it easier. I don't need any more time to worry. It's like you said, when I see him, everything will be fine. So let's just so see him. I want to see him."

"All right." Alya dropped her phone onto the table and grabbed the eye shadow. "Come here, then."

Marinette sat as still as she could while Sabine finished her hair and Alya did her makeup and Tom hovered around, asking what he should do to make her feel more comfortable. When they didn't give him any ideas, he started telling funny stories from Marinette's baby days.

Marinette only half listened, making sure to smile when someone else laughed. Maybe Winston had asked "What?" because he hadn't heard what she'd said. She had said it quietly, after all. That was logical.

Eventually, Tom had to leave the room to check on how things were progressing. Marinette missed his voice and his stories. The silence was too easy for her anxious mind to fill.

If she could just make it a few more minutes, if she could just make it to the altar, then she'd fall in love with her soulmate at first sight and everything would be great. No more worrying. No more wondering.

The final piece of her outfit, her veil, was laid out neatly on the flower-print sofa, waiting for her. When Alya declared her face perfect and Sabine could find no hair out of place, Marinette strapped her heels back on and stood, knees shaking, and retrieved her veil. She seemed like another woman in the mirror as she watched herself put it on.

Marinette did want to meet Adrien. She did. A few days ago, she'd felt excited. Just his name was enough to put a smile on her face. Her parents had met him, and she'd devoured every detail of him they could give her. Elation had bubbled through her chest as she had designed her wedding dress. It had taken weeks to finish simply because she was having so much fun designing it that she hadn't wanted to stop. If she could remember what it had felt like then, maybe she could recreate the feelings now.

The door creaked as it opened, and Tom walked back in. "It's time," he said, extending his arm for her.

Marinette plastered a smile onto her trembling lips and leaned on his arm to compensate for the weakness in her knees. No one else needed to know about her struggle, least of all Adrien.

The walk down the hallway to the chapel didn't take as long as Marinette thought that it should have. The organ music was too loud, but still not loud enough to drown out the breathing and whispers of a room full of hundreds of people, everyone who was ever important to her, and more that she would get to know well in her lifetime as Adrien's wife.

The processional song began to play, and Marinette walked in, staring at the pink petals on the carpet in front of her. Pews creaked and fabric rustled as everyone stood for her. And she kept her face down.

Don't make eye contact with the groomsmen. You're getting married to Adrien, so don't look for adorable "Winston."

Marinette forced her face up, searching out the people she knew. For her bridesmaids and Alya, her mother in the front row. Her school friends throughout the year, aunts and uncles who had flown from all over the world. A few held tissues, some waved at her. They were all smiling.

Everyone was smiling except for her.

She should be looking at her new husband - her soulmate - for the first time. He was probably looking at her. Had he already fallen for her? Was he wondering why she wasn't looking at him?

That curiosity was nothing compared to how much she wanted to look for the man she'd met in the hallway. There was something seriously wrong about that. It went beyond the guilt that she felt. It was a strangeness in the situation that she didn't have time to think about.

The line of petals thinned and disappeared halfway to the altar, and the organ music swelled.

The temptation was too great. Marinette raised her eyes, looking at the groomsmen first, looking for the friend that shouldn't have liked as much as she did. Because she was marrying someone else, she reminded herself as she quickly scanned their faces. And because she had only known him for about two minutes. What was wrong with her?

Her gaze skimmed them all twice, three times, but Winston wasn't there. Her footsteps stuttered to a halt before taking a big step to match her father's long stride. The hand holding her bouquet started to sweat.

Could he not bear to watch her marrying someone else? No, that was ridiculous. He didn't feel the same way. He wasn't feeling torn like she was.

He had definitely been part of the wedding party. He'd said so. So who was he?

The carpet ended, and Marinette heels clicked on marble as realization clicked into place. He was part of the wedding party, but not one of the groomsmen, so that must have meant…

For the first time that day, her heart pounded from something other than anxiety.

Marinette held her head high and looked for him. And she found him. "Winston." It had been a ridiculous name anyway. Adrien suited him much better.

Adrien smiled broadly at her. That wonderful smile she first saw out in the hallway was now a hundred times brighter, focused solely on her. He had snuck out to see her, had so gently guided her back when she was lost, had made sure she was comfortable, and offered to call off the wedding.

No wonder she had liked him so much. Love at first sight, just like everyone said.

He reached out a hand for her as she took the last few steps to the altar. Marinette slid her fingers into his, and they fit perfectly.

"Hi, Winston," Marinette whispered as she nestled herself into his side. "Could the groom not get away again? Are you getting married for him too?"

"I said the groom was going to love you," he said. "And I was right."

The last notes of the organ faded away, and a hush settled over their friends and family. This was it. They stepped together up to the altar. The first step of their lives together.

***

Author's note: Merry Christmas! You're getting something completely un-Christmasy. Huge thank you to @ours-polaires, @khanofallorcs, @vivalasaturn, and @noirshitsuji for reading over my outline of this and making sure everything made sense!

[butterysalt]

A Silent Fate | John Watson x Mute!Reader (Pt 1)

Pairing: John Watson x mute!reader (gender neutral)

Summary: On one’s 18th birthday in this world, a message appears on their forearm, reading their soulmate’s first words to them... You were never one to worry too much about the laws of the universe until after what seems to be a devastating accident at the art studio, you find that fate had much more different and rewarding plans for that day.

Contains: big crash/impact

Word Count: 1,203

A/N: I had this fic idea for a while but am now getting around to polishing it a bit! This will be a multi-part oneshot so look out for more updates! :)

<><><><><>

Part 2 (WIP)

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You walked around the art studio, watching all the students sculpt and shape their mounds of clay into unique busts. It was a comfortable silence among the brightly lit workspace. Nothing but the shuffling sounds of crusted aprons and the soft plops of scraped clay.

Descending the modern steps of the upstairs studio, you entered the main room again on the ground floor. In your arms, you carefully held a tall plant. Downstairs, the owner of the art studio, Mr. Fell, acknowledged your entrance and his eyes lit up.

“Y/n! Ah, thank you dear for moving the plants around up there. I’ve been meaning to redecorate the place with a more floral touch,” he explains with a light-hearted chuckle. You smiled kindly at the older man’s delight. He appointed you to the collection of plants and bouquets outside of the building. It was mainly just leafy decor and old sculptures or easels to be donated.

Even with the gloomy London weather, there was just something that made your day more magical when you were surrounded by the arts and creative environment. It was the closest thing to a dream job for you.

You placed the old plant beside the outdated sculptures and moved around some decorations. While you were separating and sorting the materials, you sensed a commotion coming up behind you.

Leaving you with no time to react properly, there was a shout and a huge black blur tumbling right past you. The force of the giant mass sent you falling back onto the materials and into the wall. You let out a soundless scream as you curled up protectively, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing from the impact.

Thick smoke billowed up into the air, hiding the building from everything else. The sound of a blaring engine and tire screeches grew smaller and smaller as the blurry vehicle seemed to drive away.

“....Y/n! Y/N!” The owner of the art studio shouted for you. He coughed in the midst of the dust clouds, waving away and looking for you. The old man huffed a sound of relief when he found you in your defensive state. Certainly shaken up, but safe.

“Oh, good heavens!” He kicked away scraps of baked clay shards and stray leaves as he pulled you out of the rubble. You didn’t even realize you were still deathly clutching onto that plant with your dear life. Standing up on your feet again felt like a foreign action. Is this air safe to breathe? It’s making me dizzy...

What once was the gorgeous glass studio with the clean display of student creations and painted masterpieces was now a hot heap of shattered glass wreckage and broken materials that drilled holes into the buildings strong walls. It felt like a part of your heart had been nicked at.

The longer your eyes roamed around the broken infrastructure and busted clay pots you felt your stomach sink lower and lower. Blast that bloody devil hound’s vehicle from hell for bustling its way over to your studio. Grief was quickly dissolved into fury bubbling underneath your skin.

You quickly snapped your eyes shut and grimaced. It barely felt like you were even alive after such a close hit. Take a deep breath… it’s more important to process everything first and figure out the next rational thing to do. Then worry about grievances.

A pair of padding footsteps grew louder but you couldn’t see much through the smoke that still lingered. The dirty cloud eventually split apart to reveal two men racing through the scene of the accident, seemingly chasing after something.

One of the men, a dark mop of curls atop his head and a flitting black coat trailing behind him as he zipped past the entrance of the art studio in a rush. The second, a dirty blonde and shorter of the two, took the time to glance within the building, locking with your eyes. His run came to an abrupt stop as he panted heavily, catching his breath.

He hobbled over to you, flipping out a pocket-sized notebook from his jacket. He paused in front of you, bowing over to take a deep breath.

“So sorry about all this! How much for the damages?” The man huffed out in sections with an apologetically British voice. You felt your entire body stiffen.

Maybe it was because of the soreness and stinging from being blasted in the accident or because you felt a specific force of intimidation from his peculiar charisma. But your best bet was probably the way that those familiar words sent a sharp pain through your chest.

No, it wasn’t exactly the painful sharpness that made you want to scream in pain. This sharpness was the kind that caused the cogs in your brain to halt and go blank. It was the kind that made the skin on your forearm tingle and burn in an unfamiliar way that felt borderline intrusive. This sharpness tickled your heart daringly, making it dance and leap within you.

Your jaw dropped at this quick realization and you tried to utter something to this man, but of course, to no avail. The adrenaline that was now rushing through your veins made you forget that you were holding the plant as you attempted to sign in BSL.

The blonde man swiftly lunged forward to catch the plant as well as Mr. Fell who helped stop the plant from shattering onto the ground. “Y/n! Careful, now!” A part of your brain stopped, shocked that you did something so ridiculous. Thank goodness the new guy had sharp reflexes.

You cursed yourself mentally and pressed the pot closer to yourself, desperately locking eyes with these very special blue ones in front of you in hopes of communicating something to him that way. The man opened his mouth to say something back to you except he was quickly interrupted by his previous running partner with the dark curly hair.

“Come on, John!! God’s sake- we have a runaway car to catch!” The tall man yelled briefly before disappearing into the smoke again. “John” hissed impatiently, muttering angrily under his breath as he scribbled something messily on his notebook then ripped the page out.

“Ah- this is our contact information. You can send us the fines and we’ll cover everything, alright? Uhh m-make sure to go to a hospital too in case there are any serious injuries! Sorry- I really must go,” the shorter man promptly explained then ran off after his friend again.

He had stuffed the paper between your fingers, sending an electrical jolt through your body. You shivered and wondered if he had felt the same sensation when your hands brushed against one another.

John. So that was his name if you had heard it correctly. You needed to find him again. God knows how many men named “John” there were in this city. Mr. Fell took the plant from you and suggested that you sit down somewhere safe. Your eyes followed the shrinking figures of John and his partner. Somehow, you needed to figure out how to find the man that fate intended for you to meet again. You had finally found your soulmate.

[thatesqcrush]

After Hours, Pt. 2 - A Blissful New Year

**

Bryan Kneef x Reader. Conclusion (but not really, lets be real) to After Hours.  AN: NSFW (shocking) for loads of smut and language. AN 2/warning: Anal play requires a lot of prep - please don’t shove plugs without thorough prep and lube - lots and lots of lube as the anus doesn’t produce lubricant. So don’t do what Bryan does. No bueno. But it’s fanfic and I am suspending reality for this self-indulgent fic.

Prior parts: “The Trip” “The Trip, Pt. 2.

AN 3: Happy 2021 friends, may this new year bring you all that you wish for. Let’s say peace out to this dumpster fire of 2020. My last piece for holiday bingo - a very loose interpretation of “gift wrapping.” But again, it’s my bingo so whatevs, ha.

WC (for those who care): 2.8K

**

It was New Year’s Eve. The normally bustling city was quiet, with just a few stragglers securing what was needed to ring in the New Year. Knowing what was going to occur later that evening, you had called a few friends and secured some favors. You spent the entire day primping and pampering. You had a full face of makeup on, more heavy than you usually went for, complete with false lashes and a bold red matte lipstick, as if muddled blackberries were smeared on your lips. Your hair was swept up, with a crown braid to finish the look. Your dress, thanks to Rent the Runway, was a Badgley Mischka gold sequin dress with a v-neckline and ruched waist. It was also dangerously short sans heels and the champagne stilettos you wore, made it even shorter.

Before you left, you downed a shot of Reyka vodka – a gift from a client after you won their case. It went down smoothly – almost too smoothly. You decided to down one more shot to settle your nerves as you waited for your Uber to arrive.

**

Not to be outdone with the elegant Christmas party a week earlier, STR Laurie also hosted a very opulent and lavish New Year’s Eve party. This time it was located at one of the ballrooms at Navy Pier. The ballroom capitalized on timeless architecture and the beauty of Chicago with brick structure and a sweeping dome ceiling which boasted a warm and rustic feel, while being fresh with polished floors and modern amenities. It sat directly on the lakefront with expansive, panoramic, and breathtaking views of Lake Michigan and the skyline. Crystals, crème roses, white lilies, and purple statice hung off the wrought iron chandeliers.

All of STR Laurie and Reddick Boseman were there, with their significant others or dates. Mixing in were the highest echelon of clients the firm wanted to impress or court to pad their billing revenue. Food and drink were abounding in obscene excess, with both an open spread of everything you could possibly imagine along with butler service carrying hors d’oeuvres and champagne. There was a quartet playing jazz.

You plucked a champagne flute off a serving tray and made your way around, greeting colleagues and guests alike. You scanned the room for Bryan but he was nowhere around. You continued to mill about, enjoying the passing time. Every once in awhile you would try to discreetly scan the room to see if he had arrived.

The clock inched forward, closer to midnight. You walked to the one of the windows, with yet another glass of champagne in hand. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling. The moonlight beamed off Lake Michigan, creating an ethereal effect over the city. You overheard from someone passing by that it was thirty minutes to midnight.

You took out your phone, feeling defeated. You were focused on your phone, arranging for an Uber home but you knew Bryan was behind you.

The cologne gave him away. You knew that smell from anywhere. You had been up close with that scent in many ways – from being under Bryan, over Bryan, sitting next to him, to name a few ways.

The tactile sensuality of rich black leather, patchouli and vetiver of his cologne enveloped you like a second skin. Layers of amber emanated off the heat of his skin. It was addicting and intoxicating. You looked up and Bryan’s reflection in the windowpane confirmed that it was in fact him. You spun around and slipped your phone in your clutch.

“Bryan.” You greeted coolly. “I was just about to leave.”

Bryan’s arms were around his back. Your breath caught in your throat as your drunk him in; he looked debonair in his tuxedo. His salt and pepper hair was perfectly coiffed and his beard was neatly trimmed.

“Hey gorgeous. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” Bryan replied with the tiniest of shrugs as if he did not even care that he had kept you waiting. You suspected he actually did not.

“I had to pick up something for you.” He continued.

You cocked your brow and crossed your arms, which happened to push your breasts up. “For me?”

Bryan’s gaze darkened. “Consider it a belated Christmas gift. Had to make sure it was wrapped perfectly.” And with that, he brought his arms around, lifting a small, gilded box with an impossibly perfect handtied bow.

You took a step forward and took the box from him. Your eyes met his and he nodded, waving to fingers as confirmation that you should open it. You felt bad undoing such a perfect bow, but you were curious as to what it was. The elegant red ribbon fluttered to the ground, landing in a small heap by your feet. You lifted the top of the box and felt your cunt kick at the gift.

It was a butt plug and a small, nearly pocket sized bullet. Your fingertips traced over the butt plug – it was cold as it was made out of glass. The plug was deep red in color and the flared base ended with a marbled rose. It almost looked like a piece of art. A shiver went through your spine.

You looked up at Bryan once more; the look on his face was criminal. “It’s almost midnight.” You replied softly.

“Then we should find someplace where we can be alone then, hmmm?” Bryan replied.

You closed the box and offered your hand. “Lead the way.”

***

You were curious as to where Bryan was leading you. You followed him dutifully as he tugged on random doors by the ballroom you were in. Finally Bryan found an open door and he stuck his head in. He opened the door, holding it for you. “M’lady.”

“You sir are the furthest thing from honorable.” You snorted walking in, but not before thrusting the gift box into his chest.

Bryan made sure the door was locked after he closed it behind him. He caught up with you in a few paces and reached for wrist, stopping you in place. He pulled you close to him and captured your lips with his. The kiss was frenzied as you each grabbed handfuls of each other’s bodies, unable to decided where to touch first, wanting to touch every part of each other at once. His hands made way to your ass, grabbing the flesh before delivering a hard spank to it. You let out a moan as he reached around to the backs of your thighs, lifting you up in his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked to the back of the ballroom to the window.

The muffled sound of the party was in the background, but you did not care about that one bit as his lips locked onto the slope of your neck sucking another bruise. You let out a mewl of pleasure as his hands slid up your waist to the top of your dress, kneading and massaging your breast through your dress. He then pushed the neckline of your dress aside on each side, freeing your tits from its confines. Bryan’s mouth latched onto a nipple and you arched in his embrace. Your pert nipples endured licks from his tongue and then harder suckles from his warm mouth. Your pussy flooded with desire and it was safe to say that you were obscenely wet from Bryan’s actions, and he had only just begun.

You tugged on his dark hair, dragging his mouth from your breasts to your mouth, kissing him once more. Your tongues rolled over another’s until Bryan took control of the kiss, using his tongue to fuck your mouth.

Your palm slid down the front of his pants, stroking his clothed erection. “Please, fuck me.” You unabashedly begged. Bryan chuckled darkly as he spun you around and pressed you against the window. It was the same view as in the other ballroom and your mind was spinning as you came to terms of being fucked in front of all of Chicago in some sense.

Bryan pressed himself against you, rutting his cock against you, practically humping you in a futile attempt to give himself some relief from his own ache, which was throbbing against the seam of his zipper. You pushed back, desperate for more. Bryan flipped up the back of your dress, running his hands over the slope of your ass and used the tip of his shoe to spread your legs apart. He dropped to his knees and hooked his fingers on the flimsy straps of your lace thong, bringing it all the way to your ankles. He tapped your ankle and then the other, and you stepped out carefully. Bryan made sure your heels didn’t get caught and then once they were off, he took your thong – already ruined – and took a deep inhalation. Bryan growled and shoved your thong into his pocket. “I’ll be keeping these.” Bryan rumbled. “I’ll use them for the next time I jerk off.”

You shivered once more at his filthy words. “After me, you’ll never need to jerk off. My pussy belongs to you daddy. You can use me however you want, whenever you want.” You panted, wriggling your hips once more.

“Is that so?” Bryan asked, his voice delighted. “My personal fuck toy?”

���Yes.” You confirmed. “Yours.”

You gasped as you felt his beard scratch against the backs of your thighs, his tongue running an unhurried stripe from your clit up to your ass. Bryan’s palms were splayed out on your cheeks, spreading them wider. He used his fingers to part the lips of your hot cunt and buried his tongue, eating you as if he were a man having his last meal.  

You let out a cry of pleasure, grasping desperately at the window, your nails scraping. Bryan shook his head, lapping and flicking his tongue against your pussy, which was dripping. Your thighs were a mess of his saliva and your juices. He snaked his fingers and found your clit, rubbing haphazard circles on your swollen flesh. You rocked against him, desperate for more, desperate to be filled. Bryan gathered some of your juices on to the tips of his fingers, teasing your asshole. “This ass is going to look so good with your gift.” Bryan murmured. He removed his hands and you heard him open the box and then drop it back to the ground. Bryan snorted and then hocked a wad of spit into his hand in order to use it as lubricant. You felt the tip of the plug at your entrance and then Bryan sunk the plug inside of you as he sunk two fingers into your pussy. He let out his own groan of satisfaction at how easily they sunk in. You let out a wrecked moan, feeling the pressure of the plug give way to fullness.

You let out a groan, tipping your head back. Bryan let out a satisfied whistle and then stood. “Stay still.”

“Okay.” You managed to choke out, your voice was heady, filled with want. “I feel… so full.”

Bryan undid his cummerbund and then undid his fly, pushing his pants and boxers down in one movement. One hand gripped your hip, the other was on his cock, giving it a few strokes. He rubbed the tip of his cock against you slit, slicking his cock with your wetness. You recalled how he did that prior – and just that – before releasing into your panties and you wriggled back again, desperate.

Bryan paused and you tensed.

“What? Is there so—” You asked but you were cut off by the sound of buzzing in the room. You realized that Bryan had turned on the bullet. Bryan lined his cock with your entrance, you could feel the buzzing along the side of your hip. He dragged the head of his cock up and down your cunt, gathering your essence, then pushed the crown into you. Finally, with a snap of his hips, Bryan sunk into you, his cock hitting your cervix.  You groaned as he stretched you with his monstrously sized cock. You felt wonderfully full; there was a slight burn mixed with pleasure.

Your eyelids fluttered closed and you moaned loudly as his other arm, the one with the bullet in his hand, wrapped around and down you, settling on your clit.

He started to fuck you hard and fast. He was relentless, pounding you deeply; you were certain you would feel it the next day. You felt yourself clench around him, your orgasm building furiously. Keeping his one hand on your clit, he used his other to sink his fingers into your updo and tug hard. You cried out at the edge of pain and your cunt clenched around his cock.

“Oh God, Bryan - I think I am going to —" the words were caught in your throat.

“That’s it kitten. Cum on this cock, cream for daddy.” Bryan grunted, as he pounded your pussy deep and hard. Beads of sweat dropped off his forehead. You came hard, wailing his name and as the tendrils of your orgasm washed over you, you were distantly aware of fireworks going off in front of you.

“Yes!” Bryan hissed. “Fuck, fuck!” His hips quickened and you knew he was going to cum soon. Bryan thrusted harder and faster, in and out of your pussy. The pressure of the bullet on your clit deepened and his other hand pressed into your hips so much so that you were certain there would be bruises.

“Oh shit, I am going to cum Y/N. Take that cum!” Bryan growled as he stiffened, releasing into you. You could feel his cock pulsing inside of you. Bryan gnashed his teeth together, letting out a sound akin to something animalistic and primal as if he was marking you as his. You could feel some of Bryan’s come drip out despite still being connected and that trigged another orgasm and you cried out again.

Bryan pulled out of you and you barely had a second to come back down when his mouth was on your pussy again, lapping the mix of your release and his. The bullet was tossed to the side, no longer needed. He stood up and jerked your chin and pressed a hard, deep kiss into his mouth. Bryan pushed the mixture of your and his release into your mouth and you groaned in pleasure, taking delight in the filthy kiss.

He broke the kiss briefly to command you to swallow and you did.

You went to kiss him again but missed as Bryan sunk back down on his knees, resuming his oral fixations on your cunt. You ran your hands through his dark hair as he propped a heeled leg onto his shoulder. “I want one more – I want the big one.” Bryan sunk two fingers into you and crooked them in a come hither motion, stroking against your g-spot. You felt the familiar pressure surge and you cried out as you began to squirt. He rubbed your clit with his whole palm, not caring that he got soaked in the process.

“Fuck Bryan, oh God, oh fuck!” You shouted, with the last word’s syllables being stretched out.

You stood there panting, a complete and utter mess.

Bryan slowly pulled out, gently putting your leg down. Bryan stood and fixed himself. He pulled you close to him and kissed you softly. You wrapped your arms around him and leaned into the kiss. You felt his hand trace the curve of your ass and then reach into your cheeks and pull out the plug.

You broke the kiss, shuddering. Bryan reached into his pocket and pulled out your panties and then wrapped the plug in it. You bent to pick up the bullet and handed it to him and that was further wrapped with the plug. Bryan shoved all three items back into his pocket.

“Should we go back to the party?” You asked as you both walked back out, your voice hoarse from all the orgasms that Bryan ripped out of you. You both could hear Auld Lang Syne being sung from the ballroom inhabited by all of STR Laurie.

Bryan scoffed. “Fuck no – lets go finish this party at my place.”

“Sounds perfect.” You replied. “Lets go.”

“My car is out front.” Bryan replied. He wrapped his arm around your waist as you made your way back out to the cold Chicago air. Fireworks continued to go off above as you and him drove off into the night to continue the celebration.

FIN.

--

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[misssophiachase]

You Make My Heart Smile

So, happy (belated) birthday, Tina @tnapki Your edits make me smile (pardon the pun) and I wanted to thank you for that and everything you bring to the fandom.

I based it on your GORGEOUS EDIT

I also made it about food cause it’s SO you. On AO3 HERE

Also thanks to the gorgeous Kait @an-awesome-wavve for being amazing and my part brainstorm, part beta, part researcher and part undercover partner in crime. 

Renowned Chef Klaus Mikaelson has a bad reputation until he meets food blogger Caroline Forbes and has no idea how to handle her or the unfamiliar feelings she evokes, especially that annoying ability to make him smile. 

3 May - Alinea - 1723 N. Halsted St, Chicago IL - 3pm

“I’m not going to do some stupid interview, you know I have other, more important things to do, right?”

Klaus Mikaelson didn’t do interviews. He didn’t need to because his accomplishments spoke for themselves. He hadn’t slogged away in kitchens since he was twelve and worked his way through culinary school and some of the best restaurants to waste his time. 

Being a world-renowned chef owning not one, but four, three-Michelin-starred restaurants across the globe meant he could do whatever the hell he wanted. 

But yet here she was running his life. 

Still. 

“Like yell at me? I mean, you’ve been doing that since we were little so I guess it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before. ”

“I knew I should have never mixed business and family,” he snapped. “You always throw our childhood back in my face as an excuse to insult my life choices.”

“Because it’s too easy not to,” she pouted, flicking a stray, blonde lock over her shoulder.  “And, while I am unfortunately related to your sorry ass, I am also your publicist and this interview is good for your career.”

“I don’t need publicity.”

“Correction, you do need publicity,” she argued, her fork now attacking the very veal he’d cooked with more fervour than needed. 

“Easy on the product, little sister,” Klaus growled, his protectiveness for his art on full display. 

“Oh, silly me I thought it was already dead,” she shot back, tartly. “And before you interrupted, I was going to say that, yes maybe you shouldn’t need publicity given your career achievements, but that was before you dropped an entree on the food critic’s lap from the Chicago Tribune, fired your sous chef in front of the entire restaurant and insulted Gordon Ramsey on national television.”

“Ramsey is a sell out, I stand by my comments,” he muttered. “The critic had it coming and, now you mention it, so too did that sorry excuse for a sous chef.”

“You realise people call you the angry chef, right?”

“Better than the naked chef I suppose.” He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. Klaus wasn’t in the business for gimmicks or to secure his own cooking program. He took his food seriously and there was nothing wrong with that. 

“At least people like Jamie Oliver,” she replied, arching her eyebrows knowingly. “Anyway, there’s no point in arguing because she’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Please tell me you didn’t just schedule an interview without my permission?”

1717 N. Halsted St, 3:10pm

“What’s with the expression of impending doom, Care Bear?” He asked, lugging his camera equipment as they walked up the block toward Alinea. 

“What have I told you about calling me that?”

“Not to do it but it’s too fun not to, Care Bear.” Given his general maturity level, Caroline decided it was a losing battle and she had more important things on her mind. 

“Anyway, it’s not doom,” she muttered. “It’s just the overwhelming desire not to do this interview but given I don’t want to get fired and also pay my rent, there’s no other option.”

“Is someone afraid of the angry chef?”

“Oh, puh-lease, I’m not afraid. Although, I might not be able to bite my tongue if he decides to insult me like he did Gordon Ramsey.”

Caroline wasn’t one to judge but his indiscretions were well-known and well-documented. Although, chefs with egos weren’t an entirely new phenomenon to the industry or to Caroline given interviewing them was her job.

“You and I both know Ramsey deserved that dressing down, if anything Mikaelson earned my respect that day.” Caroline couldn’t argue with that. 

Although this one was another kind of beast. 

The effortlessly attractive kind. 

For Caroline, this was an unsettling prospect. Until she reminded herself why she was here in the first place. 

Caroline loved food. Sometimes, she thought, more than life itself. 

So, when she became a food blogger after graduating with a journalism degree from Northwestern, it wasn’t a surprise. She was currently the senior blogger at popular food blog Delicious. 

“You love food and writing about it,” Was Enzo reading her mind? “How about instead of focusing on the negative, remember that this will be your biggest interview yet. Think about all of the exposure this will garner.”

The upper echelons of Delicious had decided that an interview with Klaus Mikaelson would be a big scoop. Caroline was all for interviewing chefs about their food and the passion behind it but she knew her editor wanted something less about his craft and more about his bad boy reputation.  

“Yes, but I want to write about food, not produce tabloid fodder.”

“Just think, once you do this then maybe you’ll have enough of a following to start your own blog and write what you want and not what someone tells you to do.”

“Mmmm, you do have a point.”

“Of course I do because Enzo knows everything. Also, take me with you because you’d be lost without me, sweetcheeks.”

“Third person, huh? That ego of yours knows no bounds, Lorenzo.”

“You know it, Care Bear,” he joked, flashing his most dazzling smile. “Well, looks like we’re here.”

“Looks like it,” she murmured, noting the intimidating sign overhead and wondering what she’d gotten herself into. “Here goes nothing.”

3:15pm

“Caroline Forbes?” 

“You must be Rebekah and this is my photographer Lorenzo St John.”

Klaus, who’d been throwing a temper tantrum not one minute ago, found himself looking up into the blue eyes of one Caroline Forbes. Suddenly, all of the white noise of the moment fell away and it was just the two of them in the room together and the blonde in question was looking at him expectantly. 

It was paralysing. 

But good paralysing he decided. 

“Nik?” Rebekah questioned. Now they were both looking at him. Had he zoned out and not realised it?  Well, if so, this was all kinds of embarrassing. “Caroline is the senior blogger for Delicious and she’s here for that interview, you know the one we talked about earlier?”

Yeah, ten minutes earlier, he thought to himself doing everything he could not to bite back in front of the new arrival.   

“It’s nice to meet you Mr Mikaelson, I have to say I’m a big fan of your…”  

“Look, it’s not going to be possible, I have to prep for dinner service,” he lied, although regretted it immediately when he noticed her expression. Klaus wasn’t used to being nice, it wasn’t in his DNA and usually it didn’t bother him. 

Until now. 

Klaus decided to blame it on the foreign feelings she was causing. As soon as he got some distance between them it would be fine, especially that vanilla scent he couldn’t ignore given it was infiltrating his first line of defence.

Klaus liked women, in fact he slept with many when his busy schedule permitted, but that was sex and nothing else. Just the way he liked it, easy and unemotional. 

“Why don’t we multitask then? I’m happy to help. ” Her voice was light and melodic. Klaus was hoping it wasn’t going to sound so enticing. He also wasn’t expecting that response. “I worked in a restaurant kitchen for years, I can do dishes, polish cutlery and peel a mean potato and an onion, well almost without crying.”

Why was he buoyed by that ridiculous statement and increasingly trying not to flash her a goofy smile? 

Klaus didn’t smile. He just didn’t. Ever. 

This wasn’t how he saw his day going at all. He was going to kill Rebekah. Before he could reply, the current subject of his ire spoke. 

“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” she grinned. “How about Lorenzo and I make ourselves scarce then?” 

“It’s actually Enzo, darling, you sound a bit too much like my mother and my oppressive boss Care Bear here.” 

Klaus hadn’t even realised there was someone else in the room up until this point but it was clear Caroline wasn’t too impressed by his nickname or the oppressive part. Maybe they had more in common than he thought? 

Care Bear.  Klaus thought it was adorable. Then he could feel it, that idiotic urge to smile again. 

Before he could object again, Rebekah had made a quick exit with the photographer and she was just standing there. Klaus could feel the awkward tension between them and knowing he’d caused it wasn’t helping matters. But he didn’t know any other way to act. 

Then the words he’d struggled with just tumbled out. 

“How do you feel about fish?”

Not the most suave topic or question but this was his ‘uncomfort’ zone. 

“Depends on the context.”

“The context?”

“I mean, if you think I can clean, fillet and debone a fish, you’ve obviously overestimated my cooking talents.”

Klaus had to practically eat the smile that was threatening to appear.  Again. 

“Everyone has to start somewhere and get their hands a bit dirty, otherwise what’s the point?” He advised. “But, if you don’t want to then…”

“Oh, I never back away from a challenge, chef,” she promised. 

Again, the pesky smile was hovering just beneath the surface. 

Leading her towards the kitchen, Klaus told himself that preparing a fish was definitely going to keep his emotions at bay and also block out that perfume which was throwing him off balance. 

4:45pm

“Why do I feel like this was a ploy to distract me from my interview?” Caroline asked, dipping the fish into egg wash and then flour as instructed by her cooking mentor for the day.. 

This was not how she saw her day going. It was surreal to say the least. This guy was supposed to be an ogre but Caroline was realising he was something else entirely. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shot back. “But you filleted that fish like a professional, maybe you’ve missed your true calling?”

“I suppose I had a semi-good teacher,” she admitted wryly. 

“Wow, tell me what you really think, Forbes.”

Caroline was trying not to to get too caught up in the moment but Klaus Mikaelson had challenged every judgment she’d ever harboured about the temperamental chef.  He’d been unusually kind and patient.

The one thing she’d noticed was that his overall demeanour didn’t match his expression. 

He didn’t smile.

Not once. 

A few times, Caroline could swear it was close or maybe she was just imagining it?

“So, why do you like food?” It was a question she wasn’t expecting. Especially seeing as she was the interviewer and him her subject. 

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be asking you?” He was silent for a moment, almost like he was contemplating it. “But I get the impression you don’t like that question much?”

“I’d much prefer to hear your story first, call it a warm-up.” Clearly he was nervous and Caroline was happy to oblige if it helped. 

“My grandmother,” she smiled knowingly, visions of her nana filling her head. “When I was younger I’d go to her house most weekends and we’d cook together. She could make anything and everything. She died last year and it’s been tough without her but at least I still have those memories.”

Caroline didn’t mean to get personal, especially with the so-called “angry chef” but for some reason she felt nothing but comfort in his presence, even if he didn’t smile. 

“What was her specialty?” 

“Banana cream cheesecake,” she smiled, the taste of it rushing back in all its delicious glory. 

“Hard to beat,” he murmured. “Have you ever eaten a Bananas Foster? My restaurant in New Orleans does a modern version over flame.  According to my maitre’d there’ve apparently been a few proposals over dessert.”

“Over your dessert?”

“Someone sounds dubious. Let’s just say it’s fireworks but without the danger. Well, unless the tablecloth is accidentally set on fire but the fire department down there are pretty good first responders I understand.”

“I just didn’t take you for the romantic dessert type.”

“I suppose there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me then.”

“So, why do you like food then?”

“Well, of course I like food, I wouldn’t be a chef otherwise,” he shared, moving swiftly in behind her and taking the fillets from her hand and placing them in the hot pan, Caroline was trying not to react to his touch or that welcoming and heady mixture of sandalwood, spices and soap . “But one interview isn’t going to even begin to answer that question.” 

He had a point and Caroline knew it. How could you sum up what food meant to you in one interview?  

“So, what exactly are you trying to say? I do have a deadline to meet.”

“How about we schedule a follow-up interview tomorrow morning? Dinner service is imminent and if you stay I’m going to have to ask you to do more than fillet a fish. My pastry chef Lucien is also very needy, requires constant gratification, and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”

“Not gonna lie I’m intrigued and by that I’m talking about Lucien. Did you insult his choux pastry or something?”

 “Not if I want my patrons to eat dessert this century. But, if you insist on staying, there’s a whole pile of onions there with your name on it and we can call it even.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He raised his left eyebrow by way of response. Caroline was trying to ignore just how good he looked, even if there was no smile forthcoming. 

“Fine,” she conceded. “Tomorrow morning but that’s it otherwise my editor might fire me.”

“Great, let’s make it 10:30, you can poach an egg, right? And I also expect extra crispy bacon.”

Caroline knew she was possibly in trouble and not because he was tasking her with cooking. Enzo would also parrot that particular concern but she couldn’t help herself. 

Today was probably the best day she’d had in a long time and she didn’t want it to end. She told herself that she’d return tomorrow and get her interview, that’s all she wanted from him, right?

4 May - Alinea - 1723 N. Halsted St, Chicago IL - 11am

Klaus Mikaelson was in uncharted territory. 

That’s what scared him the most. 

Caroline Forbes was seated across from him at his best, window table in jeans and a cream sweater, her plate empty and a very full but satisfied look on her face. Klaus decided to add that to his favourite expressions file. It was fast filling up and he’d only known her for 20 hours. 

He wasn’t this guy. 

At all. 

But she’d consumed his thoughts since their first meeting and all night through dinner service and beyond. He’d barely slept, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He’d been looking forward to seeing her as soon as she left. 

The only problem? Not smiling because it was that difficult when she was in his presence. He had his reasons of course. 

“So, why do you love food? And no arguments given I poached a mean egg and also let you have a reprieve yesterday.”

“The bacon could use some work, just saying.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to cook itself yourself, Mikaelson. Are you always such a critic? Last time I checked that was my job. Also enough with the distractions. So?”

“My mum,” he admitted quietly, even if it took a minute or so to verbalise. For some reason her opening up about her grandmother had filled him with courage. He didn’t do feelings or talk about them for that matter. “She cooked with me practically from birth until she got too sick last year.” 

Those last words wobbled, it was unfortunate as it was expected. He’d struggled for a long time and losing his mother had been difficult.  

“What was her specialty?” Klaus recognised the question he’d asked himself yesterday, but the fact her hand squeezed his at the same time filled him with the confidence and warmth he needed. 

“Rosemary braised lamb shanks, it was her favourite protein. I’ve tried to pay homage on all my menus since.”

‘So, that explains the Saddle of Elysian Fields Farm Lamb with Babaganoush, Romano Beans and Harissa Jus on your menu then?”

“You’ve done your homework clearly?” 

“That and the fact it’s the first time I’ve seen you smile, and I have to say it’s really nice.” 

Klaus didn’t even realise he’d let it slip but suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t want to hide it, not with her. 

“She used to tell me to smile all the time because I was too serious, you could say it’s something I’ve battled with ever since she passed.”

“All the more reason to smile, even just to introduce those dimples to the general public. Has anyone ever told you they should come with a warning?”

“No, but more than happy to discuss further.”

“If only, but I have to get going.” Klaus felt almost deflated that she was leaving as quickly as she’d arrived. Maybe he’d shared too much. “Deadlines and all that. But if you could just consult the email I sent confirming the details of our interview that would be great.”

Klaus felt disillusioned, he’d opened himself up to someone and she was running away.  She was out the door before he could even move from his seat. Checking his emails was the last thing he felt like doing, but his hand went to work on his cell checking it anyway and dreadfully waiting for its contents.

“As of three minutes ago, I no longer working for Delicious. It wanted a story I wasn’t prepared to write. I like your smile and dimples too much and I also want a Bananas Foster.”

His chest constricted as he read each word and his grin was unmistakable.  It didn’t take long for him to reply.

“You make my heart smile.”

Tabloids would report months later that famed food blogger Caroline Forbes married famed chef Klaus Mikaelson in rural England after proposing over a dessert of Bananas Foster in New Orleans. 

[phonecallwithsatan]

That’s A Pretty Color

a.n.: Fred Weasley x y/n, just fluff in this one folks<3 How is everyone doing? I hope everything is well, and if it is not, don’t let anything stop you from sharing if you need to! I wrote this one up because it’s a scenario that I will NEVER experince in my life because all real life men are trash exept for Alex Lawther and of course, the rest of my thirty-plus celebrity boyfriend. Lord, I’ve come full circle from 2015. Enjoy, my beauties! 

Reader paints their nails but it takes a long time to dry. Luckily, a certain crush is able to help them with some tasks reader cannot do on their own. No specific gender or house is specified:) 2k words!

☼

For the first time in what felt like forever, everybody in your year had no homework for the weekend, and students had free reign over their plans.

It was Saturday, and you and your friends went to Hogsmeade, where you had found the perfect nail polish. It was in your favorite color and it had a perfect wand for application. Not too dark, not too light. It was perfect and you couldn’t wait to put it on.

That activity would have to wait, though, because all your friends had convinced you to wash up way too early for your liking, as you liked to bathe a bit later at night, and attend a planned party by a friend of another friend, of yet another friend who was in your house.

Your house often had parties. Really often. And today was one of them. However, it was a strange one. Everybody showed up in their loungewear after coming back from the bathrooms, and there was no alcohol. It was just students in sleep shorts and slippers talking among themselves.

You actively participated along with your friend Luna Lovegood, who had just decided to turn in for the night.

“[y/n], I just am so tired. It’s one in the morning, can’t I see you at a more normal time?” She had a soft voice that deemed even softer when she was tired.

“Of course, Luna. Wait for me at the entrance tomorrow, okay?” You said, taking your legs off her lap as she got off the couch, only to curl them up to your stomach as you waved goodbye to your friend. 

You looked around to see who was left at the gathering and one by one people began to either go up the stairs or to just leave.

Now bored, you took the polish that was next to you on the table you had placed it on. You decided to paint your nails.

One by one, you dragged the brush along your nail beds to spread the gorgeous color you had found by surprise, deep in the back of the beauty store you and your friends frequently visited.

You had just finished your first coat when you felt the couch shift a bit. Fred Weasley.

“Hey, George.” You wanted to mess with him.

“Not Geo-” He was interrupted by you.

“I know, Fred. I’m just messing with you.” His reaction softened when you said that. He shook his head and smiled, looking down and then back up at you, running his hand through his short red hair.

You knew the difference between the two brothers. You only knew it because you’d always had a thing for Fred. It made you mad when people mixed the two up, even though they would never know that.

“I don’t know how you do it every time [y/n]. It’s a skill very few possess, even my own family can’t tell the difference like you do sometimes.” He made you blush similarly to the color of his hair, hoping he would never, ever, be able to feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You shrugged and continued onto your second coat of color.

You’d talk with Fred from time to time. Whether it be at a party like this one, or just in class, he was always engaged and interesting- and bloody good to look at, too.

You didn’t know if it was the way his eyes would shine when you told a joke, or when he’d walk you to class just to put a hand on your lower back and waist to say goodbye, but you could say you had a small, teeny, tiny, crush on the boy who was sitting beside you.

“That’s a pretty color.” He leaned over to look closer and smiled as he pulled his head back.

“Thanks, Freddie. I bought it today at Hogsmeade.” 

“Yeah, I know.” You were so confused by that statement.

“What?” You looked up and you saw him slightly scratch the nape of his neck. He brought his hand back down and pointed at the bottle on the table beside you. 

“Well, I saw you today, Y’know, at Hogsmeade.” Now he was turning red. This was something new coming from Fred, you’ve never seen him flustered. You were just so- confused.

“Why didn’t you come over and say something?” You laughed at the boy in front of you. It was more of a nervous laugh rather than a ‘you’re-so-lame-for-not-saying-anything’ laugh.

“Well I’m here now, aren’t I?” He grinned over at you and you shot him a grin back, kicking the leg that was now facing him. He ducked and caught it instead, putting it in his lap just like Luna did.

A short amount of silence bestowed among you two and you dropped your other leg so both of them were draped across his lap. He placed his hands on your upper knee and asked you if this was alright.

“Is this okay, love?” He asked you and slightly shifted his thumb across your knee, not daring to go up unless you had told him so.

You grinned at the replacement of your name.

“It sure is, but just so you know, I’m almost done with these nails.” You raised your hand and waved and wiggled your fingers at him to show off the new color. They made your skin tone pop beautifully.

“Leaving so soon even when I am here? That’s just a mistake, [y/n].” 

“No, Freddie. The mistake was when you came to talk to me so late!” You smirked at your comment as you looked up from your focus. He was full-on cheesing at you at this point, and you felt as if your day was made with that smile.

You were not one to put a crush ahead of agenda, but Fred was just so bloody cute and sweet. You couldn’t help but gush at him. And plus, your legs were currently laying over his lap, slightly bent at the knee, what could you do? Not think about him?

Finishing up your left hand, you screwed the bottle shut and put it on the table behind you. You lifted up both hands to view your work and Fred did the same, his eyes following your hands. You flipped them over so they were now facing palm down on the couch.

He removed his hands from their placement on your knees and he took your hands in his, viewing the art meticulously.

You were now geeking out. Again, you couldn’t help it. It just happened. 

The common room was now only full of maybe five people or so, that included you and Fred on the couch, a kid passed out on the loveseat across from you, and a couple on the stairs just chatting.

“I should get going, Fred. Maybe I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow?” Unfortunately, you removed your hands and legs away from him and he helped you by lifting your legs up.

“Yeah, for sure.” He was visibly disappointed that your conversation was cut short and his eyesight moved down to the gorgeous chain you had displayed on your neck. It was a thin, gold chain that hung right below your neck but right above your collar bones. It was one of your favorites from Holiday a few years back and you had forgotten to take it off after your hangout at Hogsmeade. “That looks really nice on you. I hadn’t noticed it until now.”

Why was he telling you all this. You shifted your hand to touch it and you thanked him for being sweet.

You reached back to unclasp it, but it was unsuccessful. Your manicure was not dry yet, so if you played with the clasp, it would most likely lead to a smudge on your perfect craft.

“I totally forgot to take it off and now I can’t.” You huffed and dramatized the puffing of air, a deep sign escaping you which in the end both made you laugh.

“Here, let me help, [y/n].” He motioned with his hand but you refused. 

“It’s okay, Fred, really.” But he insisted.

You were not in the mood for an argument, so you complied. You shifted on your seat so your back was towards him, and he scooted a bir closer to you.

He moved a bit of your hair out of the way and his fingers grazed the back of your neck. Only then did you realize how close he was to you. He took the delicate necklace in his fingers and easily unclasped the claw, bringing it down your chest into your hands. His arms were on either side of your head as he brought it down.

You turned around and you thanked him.

“Thank you, Freddie, now my art won’t get ruined!” You were still very close to him, and it made you jumpy in a way that was new for you.

“I only like it when you call me Freddie.” He blurted out. 

You were so confused as to why this boy was being so flirty towards you. You smiled at him and began to stand up.

“Goodnight, Freddie.” He stood up with you and in a burst of spontaneity, you raised yourself on your toes a bit to kiss him on the cheek, holding it for just a second before you came back down to look at him. 

He held his hand by his cheek and looked at you in awe, and you finally realized what you had done. 

The boy was obviously going insane in his brain right now and granted, maybe this wasn’t the best decision. 

You decided to just absolutely make a run for it, and you turned around to head to your dorm room, not a chance in hell you were to look back. You went around the couple that was now making out on the stairs and you made your way up before you felt a hand surround your forearm.

Fred was smart to reach there, as he had remembered that you had just painted your nails.

“Why’d you just leave like that, [y/n]?” He was confused and you were too. He was now at the same step as you and he just looked at you with fire playing in his eyes that gave you butterflies as you looked into them.

“I don’t really know, Fred. I’m sorry.” You began to go up but you were cut off by his lips attaching to yours. You sank into the kiss, indulging in the smell and new-found memory implanted in your brain for life. You tore apart and you just looked into those eyes, again. Fred scanned your face for any sign of displacement and he shifted his hand to your waist again, the same feeling you got when he walked you down the hall.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a really long time, [y/n].” He murmured towards you. Your faces were close together and it didn’t take much to hear it. You leaned in again and kissed him softly, cursing at the fact that you ran your hands through his hair. You looked down to check if your manicure was ruined, and luckily, it was still in tact.

He chuckled at your panic towards the art and you looked up confused. Realizing, you began to laugh along, bringing the hand you checked up to his cheek to hold it. He sank into it and you smiled at the boy in front of you, still not believing that had just happened to you.

“Goodnight, [y/n]. Thank you for, well, that.” He was unusually sweet, and not as snarky as usual. Not that you missed the snarkiness Fred owned, you were just excited to see this new side of him.

He let go of you and put one leg down just as you leaned down and grabbed his shoulder.

You were being impulsive, but you truly did not want him to leave. Plus, you knew he had no bad intentions.

“Don’t go. At least not yet.” He turned around and you looked up the stairs and down the hall to your dorm. It was one of the closer ones. “Why don’t you maybe, I dunno, stay?” You were risking it all. “I mean, you’re already here, and you’re wearing that, and-” You were rambling so you cut yourself off.

“If you’ll have me,” Fred said with enthusiasm. “Can’t get enough of me in one night, can you? Sleepover it is, I suppose.” You were so happy that your plan worked so you quickly grabbed his hand, nonchalant about your maybe-dry nails, and you ran up the rest of the short stairs up to your room, where you only saw two out of the five of your roommates in your dorm. One of them even had someone laying next to the other, a result of the party, you supposed. 

You placed the necklace on your nightstand in a tray that was it’s usual resting place.

Fred shut the door behind you and you led him to your bed. Just as you were pulling back your sheets, he leaned behind you and placed his body to yours, arms snaking around your waist and his head leaning just a bit down, enough to kiss your temple, moving down to your neck, where he bit slightly but not enough to mark up.

You brought your hands up and you touched him, leaning to your left to look at him behind you.

“I’m really tired, Freddie.” You said. Your voice was now a lot more tiresome than before.

You knew Fred was strong, but this was the last thing you were expecting.

In a matter of seconds, Fred had picked you up bridal style and he laid you on the bed softly, letting your head hit the pillow and your legs to hit a part of the bed that was yet to be pulled back. He slid his hands out from under your knees and back to pull some of the duvets back to cover you up.

“We don’t want to get that manicure ruined, now do we?” You smiled at him and reached for his hand, pulling him.

“You’ll stay?” You looked at him from under and he was unsure about what you had said.

“Are you sure?” He asked you mid-stride to the other side of your bed, longing for your hand once more.

“Yes, now come on, I’m seriously going to pass out.” The window in your room was closed off with curtains, but you could still see the boy’s face in the dark.

“Your wish is my command.” He said kissing the back of your hand and sliding next to you. You let him get positioned comfortably before squishing up next to him so your head was on his chest, where you would dream for the rest of the night about the morning.

[vintage-squid]

Vulture Culture

Summary: Remus loves living in his little cabin in the woods with his two gorgeous, snarky partners. Coming home from another scavenging adventure to Virgil and Janus being their wonderful selves, Remus has a very important question to ask them.

Pairing: Virgil/Janus/Remus Rating: G Warnings: Animal bones, use of scavenged bones for art, a whole truck load of fluff

Huge thank you to @rosesisupposes for beta’ing for me! 

-----

“Ohh honey-bunny-bums! I’m home!”

The front door slammed against the wall, echoing through the house as Remus stomped inside, a wide grin spread on his face and his backpack heavy over one shoulder. Bracing the toes of one foot against the heel of the other, he aggressively yanked his feet out of his boots, laces still tied. He haphazardly tossed his jacket and toque over the back of the nearby armchair - on top of other outdoor outfits that had already received a similar treatment. With much more care, he set his bag on the floor.

“We’re in the kitchen, Re!”

“And I swear to the gods, your boots better not be on your feet when you get in here, because I am not mopping up after you again!”

“Yeah, yeah, no need to get your knickers in a twist,” Remus snorted, grabbing his backpack by one strap and slinging it over one shoulder. He made his way further into the house, following the sound of his loved ones' voices. “I’m still wearing socks, though, so no peeping at my toes for you! You’ll have to wait ‘til later for that treat.” Coming around the corner into the kitchen, Remus gave an exaggerated wink to his partner standing on the step-stool by the window.

Virgil rolled their eyes, shaking their head and setting aside the small scissors they had been using to tend to their plants. “I offer to give you a massage one time for your sore feet, and suddenly I’m the one with the foot fetish, I see how it is.”

Smirking, Virgil turned to face Remus, but before they could hop off their stool, a pair of burly arms cinched around their middle and swept them into the air.

“Remus!” They shrieked, dissolving into laughter as their boyfriend held them close and spun them around the room.

“I’ve got a Virgil!” Remus hollered, bouncing them both as he giggled. Even in play, Remus was cautious not to spin too fast and actually upset Virgil’s nerves; it was a delicate balance, one he had perfected over the years. Both of them were snickering breathlessly when Remus finally came to a stop and set Virgil’s feet back on the floor, though his arms remained snug around their chest. The pair faced Janus, who was smirking at them with a raised brow.

“If the children are done playing in the kitchen where I am currently working over a hot stove?” Despite her tone, Janus’ smile softened fondly as she flicked her wrist to cut the heat. The fire witch stepped forward and planted a smooch on Remus’ nose, her hand following quickly to cup his face and smooth her thumb over the boisterously grinning chub of his cheek. “Welcome home, possum. I’m glad to see you’ve returned safe and sound, and not covered in pond scum.”

Remus only grinned wider and hugged Virgil a little closer, much to their grumbling delight. “The grime feels so good, though! Oozing between your fingers and squelching when you bend your knees! Come on, you have to admit that my skin was so soft for, like, a week after I fell in last time!”

“I will admit to nothing, other than that you smelled like a rotted fish for that week too,” Janus retorted. “I still think you did that on purpose; there’s no way a water witch wouldn’t be able to bathe himself properly to get rid of that odor.” Pushing up onto her toes, she pressed a tender, lingering kiss to his lips. “I, however, much prefer your natural musk.”

Leaning in to Remus again, Janus yelped as Virgil suddenly grabbed her by the front of her shirt and tugged her into a searing kiss that made bursts of colour flash behind her eyelids. Melting against their mouth, she gripped Remus’ forearm with one hand while the other ran through Virgil’s long hair over and over, dragging them back for more when they tried to pull away. When the pair finally parted, panting heavily, Janus couldn’t help the lazy satisfaction that settled over her when she was greeted with Virgil’s smile.

“What?” They asked innocently. “You gave Remus kisses, and I wanted some attention too.”

Janus rolled her eyes, thumb tenderly rubbing the back of their neck. “So needy, I swear.”

Remus snorted, gently depositing Virgil into a dining chair and scooping his bag off the floor where he had left it in favour of his favourite tiny plant witch. “You’re one to talk, mixter-”

“Ah, she/her now, darling, changed about an hour after you left this morning. I just haven’t had the mind to swap out my necklaces while Virgil and I have been working in here. Sorry, possum,” she murmured, fiddling with the sparrow’s skull resting at the hollow of her throat from a braided rope.

“Well, princess,” Remus adjusted smoothly, kissing the top of Janus’ head and petting over the buzzed side of her hair. “First off, you have no grounds to complain about me being needy, Miss clings-with-all-four-limbs-every-night. And secondly,” his voice softened, “you never have to apologize for expressing whatever gender feels best for you, ever. Okay? Do you want me to grab Trip for you?”

Laying her hand - slimmer than his, but still larger than Virgil’s - atop Remus’, Janus nuzzled into the calloused warmth of his palm. “I would appreciate that, possum. I think I left her on the smaller bookshelf in the bedroom.”

“Anything for you, dandelion. Lemme take Kee, too.”

Obligingly, Dee lifted her hair, long only on the right side of her head and curlier than a pig’s tail, to allow Remus room to remove her current necklace. She glanced up, feeling a tingle down her neck that had nothing to do with her boyfriend’s wandering fingers. Virgil was seated at the table across the kitchen, their cheek propped on one fist, a dreamy haze over their normally snarky features.

“See something you like?” Janus asked with a snort.

“Only the loves of my life,” Virgil replied, grinning wider when Dee scoffed to hide her fluster. “Ohh, you thought I meant you two? No, no, the coffee machine and a bag of chips are on the counter behind you, babe.” They cackled as both their partners squawked in indignation, hiding their wide smile behind their sleeve.

Janus rolled her eyes, stepping away from Remus and lightly kicking the leg of Virgil’s chair before sitting across from them. “Ha ha, you’re so funny, V.”

“I knew it was only a matter of time before you recognized my true genius.”

“Alright you gaggle of gossiping gophers,” Remus cut in, dropping his bag on the table between them. “Why don’t you have a look through what I found today while I get Janus’ necklace and change into something a little more cozy.” He exaggerated a wink at his partners, taking their snorting laughter with him as he swaggered off in the direction of the bedroom.

Virgil and Janus shared a look before diving for the ties on the bag. Janus worked the flap open, allowing Virgil to reach their hand in for the first discovery. Their eyes lit up, with a sparkle that had nothing to do with the green magic flowing through their veins, as they pulled out a neatly tied bundle of watercress, the pale roots intact and cleaned of any potentially parasite carrying soil.

“Ah! Where did he manage to find this!? I’ve been needing more since that doe and her fawns have started coming by,” they murmured, bringing the bundle up to their face and inhaling deeply. “Mother Earth, there is no better smell in this world.”

“And of course you’re selflessly going to plant it all outside in the pond for our little ungulate neighbours without keeping some as a snack for yourself,” Janus drawled while reaching into the bag herself.

Virgil finally looked away from the watercress to smirk at their girlfriend, plucking a plant free from the bundle and nibbling on it like a rabbit. “I never said anything of the sort.”

Heart throbbing fondly, Janus snickered and pulled out the next of Remus’ finds. Her fingers wrapped around a small burlap bag and she squealed. Pulling it out, she eagerly opened the drawstrings and carefully dumped the contents onto the tabletop: a grey, spherical rock, seven small vertebrae of assorted shape, and three colourful, river-polished stones. Janus cooed, smoothing the tips of her fingers over her new treasures, eyes wide with wonder and ideas for her latest art project.

When she looked up to share her excitement with Virgil, they were already rifling through the next of Remus’ gifts, a collection of plucked flowers spread out across their side of the table. Their wide smile softened as they glanced up and made eye contact.

“Reme really went all out today, I can’t believe some of these blooms he managed to find at this time of the year!”

“I wonder what we did to deserve such a spoiling?”

“You two were absolutely perfect, that’s what.”

Virgil and Janus perked up, turning to look at their returned third. Both seated witches felt their stomachs lurch with affection as Remus stood in the doorway dressed, for once, in a clean shirt the same colour as his intelligent blue eyes. It was buttoned up only halfway, his burly chest exposed to the warm air of the kitchen and his partners’ hungry gazes. Both hands were held suspiciously behind his back.

Virgil recovered first, trying to appear nonchalant by tousseling their fingers through their shaggy bangs. The effect was betrayed by the glowing vines that had begun to creep up their forearms like living tattoos, pulsing in time with the rapid fluttering of their heart. “Whatcha got there, possum?”

Biting his lip, Remus couldn’t stop himself from breaking out into a wide grin as he shrugged one shoulder in a not-answer. “We all know that Janus is usually the sappy one among us-

“Hey!”

“So, I’m sorry sunshine, but I’m about to borrow your role for a second.”

Virgil and Janus exchanged a glance as Remus paused again to exhale slow and deep, almost as if he were running through one of Virgil’s breathing exercises. What could have made their fearlessly boisterous possum so uncharacteristically nervous? Their attention snapped back to their third as Remus stepped forward, stopping at the head of the table between the seated pair.

“Most of the people I meet in my life haven’t been overly enthusiastic to meet me in turn. Lotsa people don’t want to put up with my magic or my brain, or really anything about me, and even among those who do, most of them just don’t really get me, y’know? But... but you two...”

Remus looked from Virgil to Janus, love welling in his eyes like the rising tide he so adored. His hands tightened on the objects still hidden behind his back.

“You two not only understand me, but you encourage me to be myself and are actually fucking comfortable being around me? Like, holy shit. I don’t even have the words to explain to you what that means to me - and I usually have no problem describing anything! Like how some sharks are so gluttonous they will gorge themselves and then throw up everything they just ate so that they can keep eating! Isn’t that so cool!?” As he got more and more excited, his shoulders began to hunch and roll in a mimicry of his usual out of control gesturing. Somehow, he managed to hold onto enough sense of mind to keep hidden his hands, and the precious cargo they held.

Janus leaned forward, tapping one manicured nail on the table to draw Remus’ attention back. “C’mon, possum, you can tell us all about vomiting sharks after you finish our surprise speech.”

Shockingly, a faint blush coloured Remus cheeks. He cleared his throat and glanced to the side with a sheepish grin. “Ah, right.” Looking back to the loves of his life, Remus set his shoulders square and dropped down to one knee, delighting in his partners’ gasps and widening eyes.

“What I was trying to say, is that I love you two so fucking much, and I wanna spend the rest of our lives together. So…” Remus brought his hands out from behind his back and held them up.

In front of Janus he presented a gaboon viper’s skull, meticulously cleaned with the top few vertebrae still attached at the jaw hinge so the mouth could remain propped open to show off the elongated upper fangs. The larger bones were intricately carved with runes for love, protection, and strength all twined together. Looking closer, the grain of the pattern wasn’t rough, as it would be if the markings had been made with a knife, but smooth and even like a stone polished by the endless waters of a river.

Cradled in his left hand for Virgil was a delicate crested gecko skeleton. Every minute bone was present, complete down to the tiny claw tips on each foot. With the tail slightly raised, and the front right foot lifted in step, the tiny skeleton looked like it was moments away from coming to life and skittering up their arm. Only the skull was large enough for the carved depictions of hyacinths to be visible - Virgil’s favourite flower. They had always favoured constancy, after all.

“Will you marry me?”

Though Virgil covered their mouth with both hands, it couldn’t hide the smile crinkling the corners of their watery eyes. Sniffling, they nodded rapidly. “Y-Yes! A million times yes!” Reaching out to cup the fragile skeleton in their hands, they brought it up to their face to briefly admire the little bones. By the time they had carefully set it aside on the table, Janus had already slid out of her chair and into Remus’ arms on the floor. She was pressing kisses all over his face, and the snake skull was resting on the countertop above them.

Quickly dropping to their knees and squirming their way up under Remus’ free arm, Virgil joined Janus in covering their third in smooches. The flurry of joyous affection softened as lips finally met in languidly. They traded off, kissing what they could of the other two when their lips were free.

Both smaller witches suddenly squealed with laughter - though they would aggressively deny it later - as Remus cinched his arms around their waists and rolled to his feet, easily hoisting them up and spinning them around.

When he finally slowed to a stop, Remus was speechless at the sight of their flushed cheeks and wide smiles.

“I love you both so much,” he whispered.

Janus smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek once more with a loud smack of her lips. Virgil was quick to mirror her on the other side, tucking their face into the crook of Remus’ shoulder and neck afterwards with a content hum.

“We love you too, possum.”

“Always and forever, Reme.”

----

Janus' pronoun charms are three necklaces, each a different skull on a rope chain that Virgil braided. Sparrow skull - Kee - they/them Salamander skull - Trip - she/her Squirrel skull - Riz - he/him

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Come Alive

A huge thank you to @kiragenta for letting me write a fanfiction based on their incredible art! 

Masterlist, Kiragenta's art that inspired this fic (please go check it out and give it some love!), Kiragenta's Tumblr;  passerotto means little sparrow: someone who is learning how to fly

This was honestly the most fun and probably one of my favourite pieces to write. And, with their permission, here is one of the two panels that @kiragenta​ did!

Percy Jackson leans his head against the rough stone wall of the coffee shop and sips the café con leche he had taken to go. The streets of Rome are just starting to wake up and people rush around each other and into various shops. It seems a Friday morning in the city is a hive of energy before the slam of the weekend. Yet something inside him feels uncharacteristically dull. In fact he has felt like this since the beginning of this trip and frankly it is starting to piss him off. Nobody should be able to make him feel like this. And especially not his dick of a father who decides when and where to drop into and out of his life without warning. It was a new low to abandon him in a city he knew nothing about but to his credit he's only a little surprised.

Now he drains the rest of the coffee and chucks the cup in a trashcan nearby, punching the air when it lands inside with a rattle. The cobblestones under him press into the soles of his shoes as he picks a direction and starts down it. He doesn't have a destination so whichever way he goes he'll land up where he needs to be. Or at least that's what's supposed to happen. So far his wanderings have led him to a dried up fountain, a little cottage on the outskirts of town with more vines than wall, and just yesterday a café that admittedly sold delicious gnocchi and unbelievable coffee, but was not a life changing venture as he had hoped.

The flowers spilling onto the sidewalk from the outside of every shop make him want to become a florist, just so he can spend his days amongst them. He stops in front of a box of daffodils and brushes his fingers against their soft petals. Gods he loves flowers. He loves their colours, and how two flowers on the same branch don't even look the same but they're both gorgeous nonetheless. A woman comes out with warm brown eyes and a kind smile.

"You like them?"

"They're beautiful," He nods.

"Then you must have one,"

And before he can protest her hands are already reaching for the bloom and gently breaking the stem. "When people look at my flowers the same way you do," She hands him the daffodil. He puts it behind his ear. "Their souls are made of sunshine."

A tiny kernel of gold unfurls in his chest. "How do you know that?"

Her smile is warmth and sweetness and full of compassion, "Only the people who care about things that do not serve them can have that look."

"Thank you," He touches the flower tucked behind his ear, "For everything."

"Something is going to change to day passerotto," She looks into him then, her molten brown eyes staring into his ocean green ones, "The winds of the sea say so."

Percy would have called her crazy but for some reason he believes her, can feel it to. He just nods trying to wrap his head around the day and the conversation and, and, and...

"Come back for coffee this afternoon. We have the best americanos on this side of the square."

"I will," He promises preparing to head off in his destination-less direction, but something stops him, "Do you—" He swallows, "Can you recommend a place I should visit?"

"Have you seen the Grazia Salvatrice yet?"

He shakes his head, intrigued.

"Walk a ways, past the fountain in the square and over the bridge. There is usually a big crowd there but it should be relatively empty at this time."

"Thank you," He smiles, bright and hopeful for the first time in a while, "And I'll come back at the end of the day."

"Goodbye Perseus." She gives a motherly pat on his cheek before disappearing into her café once more.

It's only when he's past the fountain that he realises he never told her his name. But suddenly he's standing in an archway and there's a group of people excitedly chattering near him and he feels like he's known the world since he was stardust. He feels...alive.

He moves out of the archway and into an open space with little else save for the statue and small orange tree, just starting to ripen. He makes his way around until he can see the statue in all its glory. And gods is it glorious. It's as if someone draped a blanket of stone over a person. It looks so real. He looks real. A strong jaw and a fierce expression. Fists clenched like he's ready to fight, or holding back. And shoulders that look big enough to carry the world. Percy wants to know everything about the statue. Wants to know why it’s there, who it is, why they chose that gorgeous grey stone instead of bronze or brass. He wants to know the story. The group of people who were cooing over the statue moments ago now disperse until only a couple stood there, hands joined and eyes looking hopeful as they stare at the hardened expression.

He sits down on the bench and watches them, not expecting much.

But then one of the ladies drops a flower at the statue’s feet and he finally notices the small pile of brightness collecting there. Curious still, he looks at them and watches with wide eyed fascination as she swipe a thumb over the cool stone of his chest and then gently, ever so gently, place a kiss to his lips. The other girl does the same ritual and then they giggle and kiss each other.

His feet are moving before his brain has time to think and suddenly he's standing in front of them.

"Hi," He waves, "Sorry to interrupt."

"Hello," The girl with dark brown skin and braided hair grins at him, her black eyes sparkling. "How are you?" American, he deduces.

The other girl, tawny skin with white patches across her chest and on her cheeks, looks at him inquisitively but offers nothing but a smile.

"I'm good thanks. I just—" He looks past them at the statue, which was so much closer now. Close enough that he felt the strange warmth it emitted. "I just wanted to ask why you left a flower and kissed the statue?"

"Oh," The American girl laughs brightly, "Apparently if you leave a flower the statue will grant freedom. If you swipe its chest you will be granted love. And if you kiss it you will find home."

"And you can just do all three?"

"According to my girlfriend here," She points to her right.

"It is true." He can here the girl is native Italian. "Many people have found what they are looking for at the Grazia Salvatrice." She nods deftly.

"Okay," He offers them a smile and hopes it doesn't reflect the butterflies racing through his stomach. "Thank you."

"Bye," The American says before lacing her fingers through her girlfriend's and tugging them both away.

The little area is weirdly quite, save for the coo of a few birds and the bustle from the street there is nothing and no-one. He takes a deep breath and turns to the statue. There's something about its eyes he cannot get over. It's the way they burn. No that's not right. They almost...... crackle. It reminds him of electricity, lightning, storms. And the air around the stone is charged, makes the hair on his arms stand up. His eyes graze over the piece and catch on the clenched fist. He wants so badly to unfurl those fingers and interlace his own with them. 

He's surprised by his reaction but something is drawing him to this ancient stone that he cannot, will not ignore. Taking another deep breath he steps closer until his hoodie brushes against the greyed chest. He doesn't even care about the dust that marks the blue fabric because suddenly the world disappears and the only thing he can hear is the crashing waves of an ocean and the rolling thunder of a storm. Slowly, carefully, he takes the daffodil from behind his ear and drops it by their feet.

"For freedom." He whispers.

And then a shaky brown hand is reaching up and he swipes a thumb over the stony chest.

"For love."

He looks at the sculpted cheekbones and sharp brows and reaches up to touch the perfectly styled hair. He wishes he could run his hands through it. Instead he let's his hand fall to the statues neck, cradling the back of its head softly.

"For home."

And then Percy Jackson sears his lips to the stone and light bursts from his chest. Rays of sunshine radiate from their bodies, but his eyes are closed and he is lost to the world. The statue moves beneath his fingers and he pulls it to him. He doesn't want this to end.

The stone is soft under his palms and he tugs at the warm skin to get them closer, together. This kiss will last for—

He jumps back with a gasp. The stone moved. The stone is moving. It is soft. And moving.

He collapses to the cobbled ground as he watches the statue come alive. The rays of light spilling from his own chest go unnoticed. Slowly the grey tinge bleeds away to reveal golden skin, and faded black pants, and hair that he is sue is spun from sunlight, and eyes the colour of topaz, of brooks, and oceans, and the sky.

"What the—" He splutters, "Who— How—"

His brain is on fire, underwater, buried alive. This is not real.

"Hello," The voice is gravely, naturally or from disuse he doesn't know.

"You were a—" He gasps, "And now you're a—"

Words. He needs words. What's language? What's the alphabet?

"Where am I?" The statue— no, boy—asks.

Percy cradles his head in his hands and tries to form a coherent thought, any thought.

"I'm sorry," The golden boy mutters, staring at the buildings and streets and everything. "Could you help me? I don't know where I am?"

"Yes," He answers rawly, "Apparently neither do I."

"What's going on?" He can hear the frown in the boy's voice.

"You were a statue, about one minute ago. And now you're... well a human?" He chokes out.

"I was what?" Those eyebrows knit in confusion.

"Yes. See that stand there?" Percy points to the empty block of polished bronze with a small plaque on it. "You were standing there a few moments ago, as stone."

"I don't understand."

"Welcome to the club." He groans, running his fingers through his already messy black hair. "What's your name?"

"Jason." He whispers, staring at the space he once stood in disbelief, "Jason Grace."

"Hello Jason, I'm Percy Jackson. And I just made you come alive."

[unstoppableforcce]

golden

CHAPTER ONE: simplicity

pairing: Poe Dameron x oc! Anya

next part | masterlist | oc art

a/n: this is set before the Force Awakens and is a rewrite and expansion of one of my first fics. it’s a big one, this part is 6.7k which might be the longest thing i’ve ever written lol, but i love my oc and the relationships and the plot of this, i hope yall do too bc i can’t wait to write more!!! 

He had forgotten how beautiful the galaxy could be. 

Before him, through the clear windshield of the dilapidated transport ship, laid an expanse of towering mountains of green, thick like the jungles of Yavin IV he knew so well, and vast like the breath of the galaxy he was only beginning to familiarize himself with. In the valleys that sat between the intimidating heights of the jungle were ponds and lakes, illuminated by the contrast of their soft pink hue and the sunlight from three suns beating down on them overhead. And within each jaw-dropping landscape they flew over, the lanky jungle trees stretched high and interwoven with each other and the depths of the gentle pink lakes, he caught glimpses of the hidden civilization. 

Stone buildings of dark brown granite hidden beneath the twisted green vines and thick, overgrown tree trunks, windows of reflective glass cascading like waterfalls built back into the shape of the mountains. From as high as they were, flying above in the shaky transport ship, he could make out the movement of the people through the trees and on wooden crescent boats out in the milky pink water of the lake, working as the suns bore down on their backs. 

Flying in his X-wing, he had mission objectives and responsibilities. He travelled from point A to point B and never lingered in one place for longer than he needed to, not with the First Order patrols cracking down across the galaxy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had travelled so slow, the last time he got to truly see the colors of the universe around him which normally passed in hyperspeed blurs. 

He had forgotten how beautiful the galaxy could be. 

“Wow…” the awe fell from his lips unconsciously as his eyes stayed wide, scanning the horizon not only out of necessity given their flight path, but because he couldn’t look anywhere else. The D’Qar jungle was said to be beautiful, as beautiful as this, but for the past months he had been tasked with growing their new base there, he saw the inside of buildings and the burn of haunting fluorescent lights more than he did the real greenery and sunlight. 

It was… breathtaking to say the least. 

“I thought I misremembered,” the calm and collected voice of the General sounded off over his shoulder as he slowed his speed to navigate a lofty bit of cloud cover that surrounded the tops of the mountainous valleys he navigated between. “I convinced myself somehow that no place in the galaxy could be as beautiful as I remembered but I was wrong.”

He couldn’t blame her. If he wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes as his hands gripped tight to the controls of the ship, he wasn’t sure he would have believed it either. 

Waterfalls of the lightest pink hue, the sparkling of the natural granite deposits in the rock which shined equally as bright as the city construction as they continued over it, the polished rock made into skyscrapers which rivaled the surrounding mountains in height, the natural overgrowth of green vines and thick canopy tree tops… the more he saw, the more Poe found himself overwhelmed by the beauty. 

“How far until the palace?” He hummed with a brief quirk of his jaw back over his shoulder to Leia as his eyes stayed trained on the intricate habitational design and fields woven between towering structures which shadowed over smaller homes which led to more fields and rivers, rocks and jungle. 

“Not far, it’s impossible to miss.”

It hadn’t made sense at that moment, but he refrained from asking her to expand, trusting that whatever she meant would be clear to him as they kept going. Within the following minute, his trust proved itself. 

The nose of the ship lifted slightly to get them over a particularly tall mountain top, and as the clouds cleared away while he nosed back into the valley below, he found the most gorgeous architectural and natural displays he had ever laid his eyes on. Built, like the hidden structures he had seen earlier, into the most commanding mountain of sparkling brown granite in the landscape before him, the palace was a delicate, yet proud masterpiece with spires as high as the clouds and a bustling marketplace pouring out the front of it, spilling towards the shore of the pink ocean before it. 

Banners of colors brighter than he even knew existed fluttered in the wind coming in off the coast throughout the marketplace, and as he brought the ship in to a stop at the surrounding rim of the mountain above the palace’s top spires where all the other ships sat, he began to notice the vibrant crowd which flowed from the boats in the water all the way through the palace gates. He loved his home with all his heart, but this was the most beautiful place in the galaxy. It had to be. 

He and Leia quickly unloaded from the non-descript ship, and Poe made sure to leave his blaster secure in the cockpit as Leia had instructed him earlier, taking only his jacket and communicator with him. A jacket he quickly realized he would not be needing as the two of them stepped out amongst the ships atop the mountain and felt the overwhelming heat from the suns above them. 

“Don’t be too in awe, we are here for a reason.” He glanced back from where he stood near the edge of the flattened mountain top to see Leia stood as regal as ever with her hands linked behind her back and her stare that of a careful mother. “An important reason,” she minded once more and he had no choice but to nod. 

As he reluctantly pulled away from teh edge and joined her at her side while they drew closer to the nearby lift and the mindlessly chatting guards stood around it, he couldn’t help but voice the one thought he couldn’t get out of his mind,“I can’t imagine a place like this ever allying with the First Order.” 

With a voice lowered closer to that of a whisper while they passed the guards, Leia carefully minded him again, “There is a complicated history to Haiki, as beautiful as it is.”

“All the briefing memo said was that they were great allies during the war, pacifists, but great allies.” He responded in an equally hushed tone until the doors to their lift shut and they began descending deep into the dark, sparkling rock. “You said their leader was a friend.”

“Their King and Queen were friends of mine while I was still living on Alderaan and fighting with the rebellion, unfortunately the queen died shortly after the Empire fell and their king has been sick for almost as long.” She explained as the thick walls of granite passed quickly by them as they continued to descend. 

“Who are we here to meet with then?”

The lift came to a stop at the bottom and the doors opened to a dense crowd of people, all dressed in vibrant colors of thick woven fabric, skin decorated with thick strokes of black ink in intricate designs that varied from body to body. But as much as Poe wished to step forward and immerse himself into the lively crowd of the market, Leia’s firm grip on the elbow of his jacket pulled him in the opposite direction, towards an open doorway outlined by beautiful branches and bright flowers as her words quickly pulled him back to the reality of their mission there. 

“We’re meeting with the Princess,” Leia answered as they continued down the hall illuminated by windows which brought cascades of bright light into the halls as they travelled in a direction which seemed to Poe as if it were going deeper into the rock of the mountain. “I’ve met her before, but she was young, now she runs the whole planet and, from what I can tell, is not as eager about our alliance as her parents were.”

“You think she’s fielding threats from the First Order? You said they were pacifists--”

“It’s not about weapons or defense, it’s about supplies.” Leia sighed as the two of them came to a halt in the middle of the hallway, allowing the few locals who were walking behind them to pass in front and leave them alone with the bright sunlight. “We need their support, the medicine they create, the food they grow… If we don’t get it, I don’t know how much longer we can survive.”

Poe nodded, his overgrown curls bouncing with the nod of his head as he glanced around the empty hall and began pulling his jacket off his already sweat-slicked back. 

He knew they were there for support, but the briefing memo had been vague on purpose. No one else could know they were there, no one could know why they were there. If there was a leak, if the First Order somehow found out that the Resistance was reliant on Hakian support to survive, they’d decimate the entire planet, strip mine them for their resources and slaughter their peaceful population. 

He trusted their people, and he knew Leia did too, but he also understood why he had to be kept in the dark until now. This was just too important. 

“When we get in to see her, you’ll call her only ‘princess’ or ‘dekka’, never by her first name unless she gives you permission. And make sure you keep your distance, be respectful,” Leia warned as they slowly began walking again, turning a corner and entering another well-lit hall still travelling deeper into the mountain it seemed. “They are sticklers for tradition here and we can’t afford to play around.”

“What does ‘dekka’ mean?” 

“Respected one.” She answered quickly, keeping her voice close to him as another person came into view at the end of the hall. 

The man towered just like the mountains they flew through did, taller than any human man Poe had seen in person, nearly wookie height if he was being honest. But there was nothing intimidating about him, he merely flashed a bright smile and opened his arms in a welcoming stance. 

“Princess Leia, it is an honor to see you again.” The man bellowed out, meeting them at the end of the hall where it let out into a gorgeous room of tall ceilings and windows that stretched from the polished granite floor all the way up to the tallest rafters of twisted vine and tree root, letting in an electric amount of natural light. 

Leia quickly unlinked her hands from behind her back and wrapped them around the man, who stood at nearly twice her height, in a solid embrace. “Elias, it’s an honor to see you as well.”

“I had no idea you were coming, whatever can I help you with?” His thick accent continued to cut through the air, louder than Leia could muster by several dozen decibels. His command over the basic language wasn’t too strong, but he certainly made up for his shortcomings with heart and confidence.

However, no amount of strength of heart could overwrite the confusion outlined by his words, leaving an unsettling feeling in Poe’s gut. Judging by the slight deflation in Leia’s commanding stance, it was clear he wasn’t the only one. 

“No idea…” Leia chuckled nervously, trailing off with a brief shake of her braids. “We were meant to meet with Dekka Anya-Va, is she not here?”

Elias’ chuckle was equally as unsettled, something was wrong. 

“She hasn’t been in all day,” he added as another rough chuckle escaped his lips, “I didn’t know she had schedule, she didn’t tell me…”

Seven hours. That’s how far away Haiki was from D’Qar when travelling as fast as possible in the only non-resistance ship available, an old, deteriorating transport ship. He spent seven hours behind the controls on a trembling, shaking ship, and the Princess they were supposed to be meeting with to secure necessary supplies for the resistance was not there? Was this some kind of joke?

If it was, he didn’t find it very funny. 

Leia glanced back over her shoulder, finding the waiting confusion that covered Poe’s face and turned back to Elias wearing a very similar look. “She hasn’t been in at all?”

“She’s been… cutting me off, isolating herself from her advisors… I don’t know…” He stuttered over each and every word, clearly pulling them from a particularly painful place in his chest. 

And on any other day, Poe might have cared about the way the towering man’s intimidating voice trembled in his explanation. The overwhelmingly empathetic heart that beat steadily in his chest was accustomed to feeling for anyone from anywhere across the galaxy, but in this moment, the weight of the resistance was too apparent on his shoulders. 

If Leia said they needed this Princess to save the resistance, then that was that. They needed this Princess, and hearing that she was circumventing her advisors as much as she was avoiding their meeting only increased the nerves in his unsettled stomach. 

“You are welcome to wait for her in the throne room, I will send her your way whenever I find her…” Elias made a desperate attempt to relight the smile that had fallen from Leia’s diplomatic lips, but it only succeeded somewhat, as much as Leia could muster, feeling the same weight that Poe felt sitting heavy on her shoulders. 

“Thank you, Elias.” Leia bowed her head, and Elias quickly did the same. 

But the second Leia turned away from him and began nudging Poe back in the direction they came from, her diplomatic disposition fell away, returning her harsh, commanding stare. 

“She’s avoiding us?” Poe was quick to question as their pace hastened back down the brightly illuminated halls leading back to the busy marketplace. 

Leia shook her head, keeping her voice low as the two of them walked, shoulder to shoulder. “Remember when you asked if I thought she was fielding First Order threats already? I think we just got our answer.”

“What do we do?”

As the two of them entered back out into the dense crowd of the marketplace, Leia gave a brief shrug, still tugging him along with her as she fought against the flow of tattooed people. “Now, we have to find her.”

“Do you know where to look?”

The stare Leia gave him was one he was all too familiar with. It was the same look he got when he asked questions about procedure he already knew the answer to, the same look he got when he asked questions he knew she wouldn’t answer. It was a look that meant one thing. The simplest answer, the easier answer, the obvious one that was punching him directly in the face, was the answer he should be looking for. 

And with Leia, when it came to asking if she knew anything, the answer was without a doubt, a resounding ‘yes’. 

Following the banners, each one a color more vibrant than the last, Leia continued to push him through the marketplace. As they exited the front gate of the palace, the market grew impossibly larger and the crowd more dense, every soul moving with a specific purpose, from stall to stall with shoulders carrying heavy bags and faces bright with electric smiles. 

Poe couldn’t remember the last time he saw so many smiles in such a densely packed region.

The sun was beating down hot on his back, slicking his curls to his forehead in a light coating of sweat, but everyone around him seemed oblivious to it, either too distracted by the spices piled high in the booths, wafting a plethora of new scents around the beautiful square, or the swaths of fabrics covered in intricate stitches and designs. Was this what life was like where the war didn’t touch? 

People could walk around, fully immersed in their own vibrant culture wearing smiles brighter than the multiple suns which hung above them, seemingly without a care in the world when it came to the slaughtering and genocide happening around the galaxy at the hands of the First Order? Did they even know? 

Did the parents who let their kids run around with tightly woven baskets piled high with spiky blue fruit even know about the children across the galaxy who were stolen from their families and conscripted as nameless troopers? Did the elderly who sat off to the side even know that just last week, a village of respected elders on Nantoo were mowed down indiscriminately by First Order officers looking to set up base on their sacred land? Did any of them even know about the war?

If he lived here, maybe he could understand it. Maybe… 

But Stars, was ignorance really bliss when millions were being slaughtered? 

“I knew she’d be here…” Leia sighed, pulling Poe’s attention back to her pursuit as the market began to thin out closer to the pink translucent shore packed with crescent shaped boats of dark wood unloading at the docks. He didn’t know where to let his stare fall however, the water immediately took his attention, but as Leia kept walking, he fought to both find her stare and follow it in the same direction. 

The shore wasn’t packed, but there were just enough bodies to keep him guessing even as he followed Leia’s focus. Where was she looking--

He found her.

Nothing had changed, he still didn’t know exactly where Leia’s stare was directed nor did he have any verbal confirmation that he was looking in the right direction, but he was sure of himself, overwhelmingly sure of himself as his stare landed on the detailed tattoos that covered the back of the lone woman sat on the damp shore, isolated from the crowd. 

The thin interwoven fabric of the maroon dress that cascaded down her form was exquisite in it’s intricately stitched details, but nothing compared to the thick, jet black ink stripes that crested over her back and arms, the extent of the skin he could see from the angle they were approaching with. Everyone he had seen so far on this planet had some form of similar markings, be it extensive designs sprawling up their arms or small delicate images drawn on their hands or necks, but none compared to what he saw on her skin. 

It was like the dark ink was woven around her, like a vine crawling it’s way up a tree. Or maybe more aptly, it was a web, drawn by a diligent insect or maybe even claw marks from a creature, thick where the wounds ran the deepest and thin at the start and ends of each mark. 

Haiku itself was one of the most beautiful planets in the galaxy, but the woman before him was more beautiful than even that. 

It took an elbow in the side from Leia to snap him back to reality. 

“Why don’t you let me do most of the talking, yeah?” She countered, a knowing quirk to her brow as she nudged him again with her elbow. 

He wanted to argue back but Leia had already begun walking ahead of him and the second he moved to catch up, a large guard stepped up to block their path. 

This man was tall, like Elias back in the palace was, but he didn’t wear his intimidating height the same way. He was much broader in the shoulders, much wider in his stance, effectively blocking any line of sight either Poe or Leia had towards the princess. Yet unlike Elias, there was no friendly greeting, no real acknowledgement at all besides his narrowed scowl down towards the two of them. 

For a planet of self-proclaimed pacifists, Poe wasn’t really feeling at peace. 

Not until the soft hum of her voice flowed in from the gentle lull of the shore. “It’s alright, Xia, let them through.”

The wall of a man quickly stepped aside on her orders, revealing the exhausted collapse of her shoulders while she began to pull herself back up to her feet. The languid pull of her muscles was obvious with the delicate cut of the maroon dress across her skin, which contrasted the blood color of the fabric with a dark brown glow, not unlike the sparkle of the magnificent granite mountains under the overhead suns. 

“Dekka Anya-Va…” Leia addressed carefully but was quickly cut off by the return of her coarse hum of a voice. 

“I was hoping by not being at the palace that you would get the impression I didn’t want to meet with you,” her accent was thick, much like Elias’s but her comfort with the language was much more evident as it flowed much smoother from her lips despite the natural raspiness to her tone. It was a mesmerizing sound, complemented by the dulcet tone of the gentle waves, making it something he could easily get lost in if it wasn’t for his ability to still hear the words for what they were. 

Condescending. Nearly mocking if he was being honest. It just didn’t sit well with him, not when directed towards Leia. 

“We got the impression, we just ignored it,” Leia countered, pushing her careful tone to the side in favor of the tone she used when addressing her Commanders, a tone that commanded respect, even if the Princess seemed too aloof to provide it. 

She let out a rugged chuckle at that, jagged at the edges where it seemed to have fought through her throat and out from her perfectly shaped lips. “We…” she hummed, “I wasn’t aware you were bringing friends.”

The pointed tips of her words were sent like daggers with her stare as she turned from Leia to where Poe stood right beside her, hands linked behind his back and still holding his jacket in a tight grip. But as personal an assault it seemed, when he opened his lips to respond, Leia was quick to cut him off. 

“I--”

“This is my pilot, Commander Dameron.”

As unamused as the princess seemed to be, she still did a lot of stone-faced laughter, and that theme held true as her stare held on Poe’s furrowed and focused face. “Does the Commander have a first name?”

With a quick glance to Leia, then back to the Princess, he finally spoke for himself, answering “Poe,” simply. 

He didn’t know what he thought throwing his name into the conversation would add, but he couldn’t determine any reason why not to add it, not until the Princess turned her stare back to Leia and shuddered her shoulders back into a steady stance with her chin raised. “Would you mind telling Poe he can go wait by your ship, I don’t imagine it will be a long conversation.”

There it was again. Aloof, condescending, mocking even. Poe couldn’t stand it. 

“Excuse me--”

“Actually, Dekka Va, I brought him so he could join our talks,” Leia explained, one of her hands shooting up quickly to keep him in place by her side as she felt the heat of his temper rise with her words. 

“He doesn’t seem like he’d be much for conversation.”

He realized his natural disposition may not have been the most diplomatic, he also realized that hot-headed and cocky weren’t necessarily the best qualities for negotiating delicate alliances, but if she was allowed to talk to him with the tone she was taking, he was having a hard time understanding why Leia was keeping him silent. Why even bring him along?

It was infuriating. She was infuriating. She wouldn’t meet them in the palace, she was hiding on the beach, she was biting back with each and every one of her responses. He understood the alliance between her planet and the resistance was important, he really did, but why in the kriff was he even there--

“Dekka Anya-Va, I assure you, Poe is one of my most trusted Commanders and when our discussion eventually turns to shipment methods, he is the only one I trust for routes and numbers--” Leia began, still holding her hand out carefully in front of Poe only to drop it the second the Princess shrugged her shoulders and cut her off the same way she had been cutting Poe off. 

“There will be no shipment discussions.”

“Dekka--”

“I apologize for avoiding the meeting, but it wasn’t accidental, I truly have no interest in meeting with you, General.” She continued, using the brief second they stood silent and frozen in shock to navigate around them and back towards the market. 

Leia was the first to break out of it, Poe trailing behind, but he still remained quiet, holding back his boiling temper as the General continued to argue. 

“It’s a rather important conversation that we need to have.”

The princess continued forward as if she barely noticed them following, and as the density of the market's population began to increase the closer they moved to the palace, she made no move to slow her careful and practiced step through the crowd to accommodate their trailing. Again, condescending and aloof.

Leia broke his train of thought again as she fought with a quickened pace to find her way to her side and continue her argument just within range of Poe’s ears. “A face-to-face meeting will allow us to discuss our deal more intimately, take away any fears you may have and--”

If she cut Leia off one more time, it wouldn’t matter that she was the most respected being on this planet, Poe wasn’t going to be able to keep quiet for much longer. 

“I’m not afraid of anything, General.”

Before either Leia or Poe, with his temper steadily boiling over, could mount another argument, the princess pulled one of her guards aside, retrieving a small pouch of golden coins from him and turning back to the stall that had caught her eye in the first place. It was the stall they had passed earlier, filled with children and the spiky blue fruits which had caught his eye as he thought about the rest of the galaxy. 

And it was exactly where the princess was kneeling down. 

Her rough tone of voice, coated in it’s natural raspiness, flowed out much easier in her native tongue as she let a genuine smile take over her lips. The kids running the booth were bouncing out of their boots as she lowered herself to their level, and their excitement only grew as they began talking to one another in the Hakian language. It would have been heartwarming if Poe weren’t so frustrated. 

He didn’t understand what they were saying and it was clear as he glanced toward Leia and saw her focused brow that she didn’t understand the words being spoken either, but from the shared interactions, he had a pretty decent idea what was transpiring. 

She asked a question, the kids nervously responded, shaking their heads and trying to offer their product for free before she convinced them to accept her coin. Again, a heartwarming display that he didn’t have time for. 

The sun was hot, boiling hot down the back of his neck, and the anger bubbling from within his chest was heating him up from the inside out, making the whole experience ten times worse. He didn’t need to see any heartwarming display, he needed to say something, and he was becoming increasingly overwhelmed with the feeling that when he did, things wouldn’t go well. 

Yet the moment seemed to be drawing closer and closer as the Princess stood back to full height with a bag full of the spiky fruit, passing her coins back to her guard. He was ready to open his mouth, to unload on her with the same hot-headed cockiness that Leia feared he would lead with, but he was again denied the chance as she silenced him by turning her back to the two of them and reentering the crowd, heading back towards the palace. 

It wasn’t until they were down an isolated hallway of the palace that she turned back, opening the bag of fruit and pulling three of the spiked fruit out easily. 

“Dekka--” Leia tried, but the princess silenced her, sticking one of the fruits into her hand before carelessly tossing one in Poe’s direction. 

She was making a point, and they had no choice but to stand there and take it. 

“This is Mewe, one of our planet’s sweetest fruits,” she hummed, holding up one of her own and turning it gently for them to admire even if all Poe could manage was a subtle roll of his eyes. “They cannot grow anywhere else, they require massive amounts of sunlight, and they are one of the most versatile fruits that exist anywhere in the galaxy, edible on their own, full of health, easily fermented, their juice can soothe sore throats and upset stomachs...”

Puncturing the tough, spiky skin with one of her nails, the vibrant teal juices began to drain quickly out of the shell, too quick for even her quick mouth to catch as she brought the fruit to her lips. The following bite she took was effortless following her brief struggle with the dripping juices, and as much as Poe hated whatever point she was trying to make with this display, as Leia followed her lead and took a bite, he had no choice but to do the same. 

And as desperate as he was to stay boiling with anger when he looked at her, even with teal juices dripping down around the corner of her mouth, his mind was flooded with a delicious distraction the second his tongue touched the inner meat of the vibrant fruit. It wasn’t enough for Haiki to be the most beautiful planet in the galaxy, nor was it enough for her to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in person, they also needed to have the most overwhelming natural fruits. 

Each hesitant chew he took sparked flavors across his tongue, wild, exotic, unlike anything he had ever tasted before. It wasn’t just that his diet had consisted of bland ration packs for the past few years, the taste was truly sweeter and more complex than anything he had ever had on his tongue. 

As much as he hated giving her the satisfaction, while he looked up from the greenish inside of the skin to find her careful stare, he could see that he was doing little to hide his overwhelming satisfaction with the flavor given her increasingly smug smirk. 

“Haiki is a special place, I don’t think you realize that.” The Princess continued carefully, shifting her stare back to Leia directly. 

“We do, Dekka, however--”

“I don’t think you do.” She was quick to counter. “You would have me pledge my sponsorship to your futile movement and sacrifice my planet and the millions of souls who live here to the wrath of the First Order with nothing to offer me in return. You must think my planet worthless.”

Leia shook her head, taking a brief second to swallow the rest of the fruit she held in her mouth and regain her composure in order to fight back, “We can offer your planet protection from the First Order--”

“Because that worked so well for Alderaan, Raysho, Cardota and Courtsilius?” Again, the princess, without hesitation, cut her off. And this time, Poe was done holding his tongue, the heat finally sending his anger boiling over. 

“And pledging your allegiance to a sociopathic regime of murderers is preferable?”

It was exactly what Leia had feared. It was the exact reason she had tried so hard to keep him quiet. Not because she feared he would shoot and miss, but because of his tone. 

Each word drenched in a level of disrespect he hadn’t earned with her, stepping over a line he didn’t even realize, but one Leia couldn’t help him back from, even as she reached up to grab hold of him to prevent his anger from carrying him closer to the Princess and making things worse. 

“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my planet.” She held her stance even as Poe stepped up, making no move but the slight uptick of her chin as he got closer. “As a peaceful planet, we have no options to arm ourselves outside of diplomacy and the First Order is being far more convincing.”

“Whatever they’ve said is lies, you can’t seriously consider trusting them.” He spoke like a man with no knowledge of his actions, entirely oblivious to the way her guard tightened their stances the closer he got, too blinded by his anger as she continued to argue back against him. 

“Because the resistance has never lied to us? Because you can be trusted implicitly on your word?”

With another step forward, eliminating any space between the two of them, Poe effectively cut Leia and her futile attempts to get him to back down out of the conversation. “What have they promised you? Safety? Isolation from the war? It’s only a matter of time before they are enslaving your people and stealing your resources--”

“They’ve promised me protection and have been nothing but cordial, unlike you and your failing resistance.” She scoffed, shaking her small bun of greying hair enough to let loose a few strands as she refused to back down. “So you’d do best to mind yourself before you overstep a boundary you can’t walk back from.”

There was a sense of finality to her tone as she ended her sentence, one Leia picked up on immediately, but even as she moved to grab more forcefully at Poe’s arm to pull him back to reality, he continued to fight his way out of it. Hot-headed, stubborn, cocky. She should have known better than to bring him along. She should have known things would go the way they were going. 

“You want me to play nice? People are dying.” 

Everything that happened next happened all too fast. The words came spewing from Poe’s lips and as the Princess turned away, no longer requiring herself to be subject to his cruel intonation, he reached out and grabbed her arm before he could be stopped. 

In the back of his mind, he could still hear the echoing warning Leia had provided him, telling him to keep his distance and speak with nothing but respect, but the flashes of war echoing in his head and the fire burning in his chest were crackling too loud for anything else to matter. A part of him knew it was out of line, that same part of him was begging for him to stop, and yet his hand still found the smooth, tattooed skin of her forearm, holding her in place as she moved to turn away in frustration. 

Leia took a strong hold on the sweat-soaked back of his shirt and yanked him back, but the damage had already been done. “Stand down, Dameron,” she tried out but by the time he released her arm, the guards had already descended upon him, gripping him by each arm and kicking the backs of his legs in to drop him to his knees. 

“I think the damage has been done, General.” Her voice was firm in her resolve and equally firm as her language switched and her tongue released a flurry of orders towards the guards who held the stubborn, fighting Dameron on his knees. 

“What the kriff-- I barely touched her--” He fought as their grips grew tighter, forcing him frozen where they held him. 

Leia tried again, this time not to hold Poe back but to carefully convince the princess, “Dekka Anya-Va, please…”

But her mind was made up and nothing either of them could do would change that. 

“We’ll let him think himself over with a sleep in our cells,” she explained to Leia as her stare then fell back to the squirming form of the curly haired and now defenseless pilot. “You can leave with him in the morning.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“No, but it seems you might be.” The rough, raspiness to her tone which had been so distracting as it filtered out her accent shifted to something nearly playful, as if the whole display before her was amusing. He was being restrained by a towering guard of thick muscle on each side and she had the audacity to chuckle so plainly in his face, only making him fight more even if he knew it was futile. 

Leia stepped forward carefully towards the princess but before she could muster any last defense, the princess gave a wave of her hand and the guards, with shoulders wide in intimidating bulk, heaved the fighting pilot to his feet and began backing him up, dragging him in the opposite direction. 

“Dekka Anya-Va, let me apologize for his actions--”

“Mensha?” Her raspy voice interrupted the General before any real defense could leave her lips, ushering a young maid out from the small crowd which gathered around the display. “Please escort the General to a room where she can wait, give her anything she needs.”

“Dekka Anya-Va--”

“I’m not my mother, General, the sooner you learn that, the better for all of us involved.”

The long walk back into the depths of the granite palace was all too lonely as the Princess dismissed each and every member of her staff which approached her, even waving away the genuine concern on Elias’ brow and leaving him in the halls as she continued to the throne room. Her back was screaming out from the straight form she maintained with each and every step, but she held her stance and walked on, shoulders firm and chin up, just as she was taught. If anyone passed her, they had to see her as what she was, their leader. 

And leaders didn’t waver, no matter how strong the vacuum of emptiness swirling within their chest was, not when there were eyes to see. 

But the second the towering doors of intricate dark oak shut behind her, leaving her alone in the expansive and empty throne room, her shoulders fell in, collapsing her perfect form as her chin fell to her chest. The weight which settled there was too great, and the hollow gorge that tore through her heart was too powerful. 

Did he really think it was that easy?

Her throat burned with the heat rising out of her chest and her legs grew weaker with each step until she collapsed back against the exquisite throne of dark, sparkling granite consumed by overgrown vines, the words from the hot-headed pilot echoing through her mind, latching onto every thought. 

Did he think it was all that simple? Did he think she saw the blood on the hands of the First Order and so easily ignored it? Did he think it was that easy?

A sociopathic, murderous regime… did he really think she didn’t realize what they were? 

The bubbling in her gut continued on as her thoughts swarmed with a buzzing around her mind and her head fell forward into her hands where her elbows rested on her knees. Her fingers made furious circles of her temples but it made no difference, his words were there, haunting her mind and inescapable. 

Did they really think she didn’t know right from wrong? 

With the responsibility for millions of souls resting heavy on her back, the fate of her kind in her hands, it just wasn’t as easy as good versus bad. No matter how badly she wished it was. 

“Dekka Anya-Va,” the faint voice of one of her staffed maids entered her thoughts as the small woman carefully tiptoed into the room. “The prisoner is… angrily shouting for a meeting with you.”

Her back straightened on instinct, sending a shooting pain up her spine with the quick pace of the change. A pain she could barely mask with her regal tone as turned her stare towards the young woman, “we’ll leave him to calm himself down for now.”

“Of course, Dekka.”

As the door shut again, leaving her alone with her thoughts again, a sigh of insurmountable exhaustion fell from her lips and she collapsed back into the uncomfortable shape of stone. 

If only things could be that simple...

tags: (open)

@cammisanders @rogueonestan @blacksquadron-rougetwo @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @trust-dreamcatcher @mistermiraclee @witchyavenger @randomness501​ @buckstaposition​

[nikibogwater]

FINALLY MORE PEOPLE PLAYING NI NO KUNI!!!! How you liking it so far!!!! It's my favorite game of all time <:D

HI NEW FRIEND!!!!!!! Welcome to my cottage, I see you saw the Ni No Kuni signs on the lawn. 😂

And I LOVE IT, thank you for asking! I knew it was very well-liked by most critics and gamers, but I still wasn't prepared for just how good it is. There is so much polish and detail put into every little aspect of the game. I love that I can feel how much passion and effort went into making it. I think my favorite aspect is the visuals--I constantly find myself thinking "They could've told me this game came out last year and I'd believe them." The art style is so timeless, and the environments are so gorgeous and immersive. I haven't yet found a place that I didn't want to just stop and look around. When people said it feels like running around inside a Ghibli movie, I sort of thought they must be exaggerating--but nope! It legitimately feels just like I'm playing out a Studio Ghibli film, and I love it!

I also really love the storytelling and general vibe of the game. It's fairly lighthearted, with a lot of cute little jokes and character interactions, but it's also very tender and even sad sometimes (I mean, the game literally starts with Oliver's mom dying, so yeah, that much is obvious). It seems like every new story beat I uncover leaves me feeling all kinds of things, and as much as I love storytelling in video games, there aren't that many that can make me this emotional. My favorite character is definitely Swaine.

I didn't even know the game existed until a couple of weeks ago--I grew up a Nintendo kid, and didn't watch my first Studio Ghibli film until I was an adult--but I'm soooooo glad it came to my attention. It was my brother who let me know it was on sale for Switch, and it was easily the best $13 I've spent all year, haha. I imagine I'll be revisiting it a lot in the years to come. I am sort of thinking about trying out NNK2: Revenant Kingdom, but I may save it for a Christmas/Birthday gift ($60 is a lot of money for a Niki, and anyways I feel like I've spent too much money on video games this year already 😅).

Thank you for dropping by for a visit, @the-nyan-cat-x3! ✨

[ghosttotheparty]

cotton candy skies always look better in person

2. also available on AO3 chapter one

Lucas does his friends, he does.

But if anything, he feels more real in Antwerp. More like him and less like a statue of him. Not that he doesn’t feel safe or loved with his friends, of course he does, but walking around Antwerp with just a camera and camera bag in hand, he feels more like he can do anything. He’s not afraid of bumping into people he knows, not afraid of people recognizing him.

He’s started wearing rings, necklaces. He’s grown his hair out, into actual curls that fall down the back of his neck instead of halfway across his forehead like some sort of pathetic fringe. He’s painted his fucking nails, for God’s sake, even if most of them are just clear polish, blue and orange covering his left pinky and index fingernails, he feels bold. Unstoppable.

Maybe Noah has something to do with it. Noah, who somehow Lucas has been talking to more than Kes, Isa, and Jayden. Noah, who Lucas ran into in an art supply store two weeks before he left. Noah, who Lucas trusts enough to become one of three people in Utrecht that knows about him. Lucas had told him the third time they’d hung out, told him about his former hopeless crush on Kes, and sworn him to secrecy. (Noah had pretended to lock his lips, drop the key in his mug, and drink it.) After enough conversations, Noah had been able to change his mindset completely. “You can paint your nails and be masculine. You can paint your nails and be feminine. You can do whatever the fuck you want, and you can be whatever the fuck you want. Just don’t be a poser.” Lucas had laughed.

Ralph also knows. Lucas told his over a cup of coffee too, and even though he knows Ralph would be supportive if he told him he was moving to fucking Antarctica, he was still scared. Ralph had squealed and clapped when he said it, and Lucas had smiled, but when Lucas began to cry, Ralph scooted his chair over to him and held him while he told Ralph he was scared. Scared of what he saw in the news, scared of what he saw in the streets. Scared to look gay, scared to be gay. Ralph had held his head close to his chest, combing his fingers through his curls like his mother did when he was little. Ralph whispered to him quietly. “It’s scary. It is. But it’s not your fault. You’re not the problem. They are. You just have to live, okay?” Lucas has taken “to live” to heart. He’s done just surviving. Ralph gave him a little rainbow enamel pin and a kiss on the forehead before he left. (The pin now lives on the strap of his camera bag.)

And his mother knows. Lucas had had a full-blown panic attack in his room before telling her, but she claimed she already knew. (Which, of course, wasn’t the reaction he’d expected, nor was it the reaction he’d wanted, but he’ll take what he can get.) While he cried, she’d reassured him that God loves him. And he’d cried harder. “God loves you and whoever you love,” she’d said, “and I do, too.” There were tears in her eyes, too.

He’d never doubted that she loves him. She made it clear she did. She got him his camera, she’d bought all the art supplies he needed. She’d bring home “surprises” when he was little, usually stacks of printer paper from her office, or a new marker set. He’d just worried that maybe God wouldn’t love him. That his mom would gently tell him to repent, would send him to a camp because she wanted the best for him. The possibilities were endless. The day after he came out to her, Lucas had gone to Ralph’s to tell him, and they’d celebrated. Lucas felt loved.

After coming out to her, their relationship went back to the way it was when he was a kid before he realised he’s gay. They’d started having movie night every weekend, started cooking together. Lucas told her he used to like Kes, and she’d giggled like a schoolgirl. There were no secrets between them. And everything was fine.

Until all that shit happened.

The shit that landed her in an institute and him forced to make the choice between staying with his father in Utrecht or moving to a completely different city in a completely different country, with a cousin he hadn’t seen since he was eight. He’d chosen the cousin in a heart-beat, obviously.

When he’d gone to say goodbye to her, she was laying in bed, covered in crisp, white sheets, looking up at him through dripping eyes, scared like a child. “You’ll call me, won’t you?” “Of course, mama.” “Promise?” He’d taken her hands between his and held them to her heart. “Promise.”

He’d walked out of the building with her wedding ring around his ring finger. The ring she’d told him, she only kept because his name was engraved in it. “What about you?” he’d asked, He had her ring now, but that did that leave her with? She’d patted her belly, and although he didn’t know if she was referring to her stretch marks or the c-section scar, he’d laughed tearfully with her.

The ring he often forgets about, unable to feel it on his finger after he got used to it. But he still twists it when he gets nervous or anxious.

Like now.

He’s leaning against the wall of the convenience store, headphones on, music blasting, twisting the ring quickly. (He’d texted his mom the night she’d given it to him that it fit him perfectly. Loose enough to twist easily, but not so loose he had to worry about it falling off.) The sky is soft, everything he could see washed in a golden-pink light. For a moment, he regrets not bringing his camera with him.

He stands up straight when the doors to the studio building open. This is the seventh time he’s stood here at this hour, hoping the pretty boy in tights would make his way to the door. Not that Lucas would tell anyone.

His hope starts to fade now, as the stream of dancers slows down, longer gaps of time between the door shutting behind someone and opening for someone else. He analyzes everyone’s face. None of them is him.

What if he doesn’t come weekly? What if he only comes once a month or something? What if last week was a one-time thing and Lucas never sees him again? The questions swirl around in Lucas’s mind as he cranes his neck slightly, still searching.

Then, by some miraculous sort of divine intervention, the swings open almost a full minute after being close, and he walks out.

Fuck.

He’s fucking gorgeous.

Lucas takes his headphones off, sliding them around his neck, a smile creeping across his face. The boy is talking to a girl who Lucas recognises from last week. She’s missing the dark, almost theatrical makeup, but her dark red hair is hard to miss. They’re both laughing, the boy shoving the girl to the side, and she kicks him, throwing her leg up high so it hits his shoulder. He pretends to grab at it, and she drops her leg, scrambling backwards and omitting a “No!” loud enough that bystanders turn to look. He hushes her, his eyes wide with amusement, and Lucas smiles.

He doesn’t feel like approaching him yet, not with his friend right there, even though he’s been longing to just see him since last week, So he waits, watching, trying not to look creepy by pulling out his phone and holding it in front of himself. He pauses his music, realising he left it playing.

They go back to fighting, the girl throwing punches, missing, and the boy managing to hook his arm around her neck in a faux chokehold.

Other dancers around them watch before rolling their eyes and looking away, and Lucas laughs to himself. After a few seconds, the girl breaks away, shoving the boy away and kicking his back for good measure. They exchange a few words, soaked in laughter, that Lucas can’t hear, and after a minute, Lucas becomes anxious again, wondering if they might leave together. Maybe they’re dating, he thinks, his heart dropping. He keeps watching them, his fingertips tapping his knuckles, torn between waiting a bit longer to see if she leaves, like last time, and missing his chance if they leave together.

Lucas looks away, down the road, sighing, before looking back. The girl is looking at her phone, holding the boy away from her with her other hand. After a second she says something to him, sticking her phone in the pocket of her jacket, and shakes his hand. She punches him one more time before making her way down the street, and he flips her off as she waves.

Lucas watches as the boy looks down, pulling his phone out of his pocket and adjusting the strap of his bag. He looks like he could be waiting for someone.

Now or never.

Lucas takes a deep breath before making his way down the sidewalk. He passes in front of an alleyway, glancing down it to make sure no cars or bikes are coming. He’s still twisting his ring as the boy gets closer, and he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

Up close, Lucas could see that there’s a mole right next to his eye, a detail that doesn’t show up in the photo he’d taken last week,

Fuck. The photo. What if he thinks it was super weird? What if he was creeped out by it? But the way he smiled… Lucas has never taken a photo of a smile like that. It looks real. Genuine. Honest. Maybe he doesn’t think it was that weird.

The thought of it pushes Lucas forward until he’s standing right next to him.

“Hi.” His voice is small. The boy startles and lifts his head, looking at Lucas. His eyes are a rich brown, his lashes dark. And Lucas’s stomach feels like it goes through a whole gymnastics routine as the boy smiles slowly, recognition sparking in his expression.

“Hey.” His voice matches his eyes.

They stare at each other for a second, much like they did last week.

“I was hoping you’d be here today,” Lucas says, rocking back on his feet as he takes in the boy’s face.

“Every Thursday,” he responds, still smiling.

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Good to know.” Lucas hopes he sounds bolder than he feels. The boy tucks his phone into his pocket, facing Lucas completely. His hoodie is a light cream colour, his jacket a dark brown, almost matching his hair. (Which looks ridiculously soft. Lucas doesn’t think about combing his fingers through the mess.)

“What’s up?” the boy asks.

Lucas takes a breath before answering. This is really happening.

“Nothing. Just wondered if you wanted to hang out.

The boy’s smile takes over his face again and Lucas stares at it.

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Unless someone is coming to get you,” Lucas adds uncertainly, almost interrupting him.

“My mom just told me I’m on my own tonight, so… I’m all yours.” Lucas notices the boy’s cheeks become pink and he has to suppress another smile. “What were you thinking about doing?”

“Uhm…” Lucas pauses before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a joint. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The boy tilts his head to the side quickly, beckoning him. Lucas follows as he leads him to the alleyway. Most of the dancers are gone by now, the street quiet. “I’m Jens, by the way.”

Jens.

It feels like the sky opens up around him.

“Lucas.”

“Where are you from?” The boy, Jens, turns into the alley, dropping his bag to the ground and jumps up onto the dumpster. Lucas watches as he brushes his hands in front of himself before sticking the joint in his mouth and copying him. After brushing his hands off, he takes it out of his mouth and answers, realising Jens has been watching him.

“Utrecht.”

“Ah.” Jens watches as Lucas pulls a lighter out of his pocket and lights the joint, blocking it from the breeze. “That explains the accent.”

Right. Lucas forgets how he sounds different to everyone around him. To him, Jens is the one with a cute accent.

Lucas takes a drag, nodding, and holds it out to Jens as he exhales. Jens (and everything else, but Lucas is only looking at Jens) is covered in pink, like God put a pair of rose-coloured glasses on the sun.

“How long have you been in Antwerp?” Jens asks, turning to look at him, pulling a leg up in front of himself.

“Just a few weeks. I moved in with my cousin.”

“Mm. Trouble at home?” Jens leans forward and passes the joint to him. Their fingers brush together and it’s like he just touched a live wire. He sighs, tilting his head back and forth.

“You could say that.” He lifts the joint to his mouth, feeling Jens watching. “How long have you lived in Antwerp?” he asks, changing the subject.

“All my life.”

“Same house, same everything?”

“Yup.”

“Sounds boring.”

Jens snorts, looking at him. Lucas is on fire.

“It was.”

By the time the joint burns down, the sky is a glowing kind of dark blue. Lucas finds out that Jens has been dancing since he was a kid, that his little sister is going to start next year. He learns that Jens is good at math but despises history. “The only things I can memorise are combinations and routines.” Lucas tells him he’ll do his history homework if Jens does his math. It’s a deal. They shake on it. (And Lucas feels like he’ll be shaking for the rest of time.)

Lucas tells him he’s been into art and photography for years but only really started about a year or so ago. Jens asks if he still has the picture he took of him last week.

“Of course, how could I get rid of my only picture of my model?” he says, realising that they’re flirting.

“We can take a better picture next week.”

Next week. Lucas feels like his soul is smiling.

“Thursday evening photoshoot?”

“Perfect.”

Jens giggles and Lucas thinks it might be his favourite sound in the world.

That night, his cousin asks how his day went. Lucas tells him he wandered the city, taking pictures on his phone, which is true. He thinks about telling him about Jens, but doesn’t.

He wants to keep this for himself for now.