#windows 11: not leaving a good first impression

[gailynovelry]

We got a new computer, and all I can say is this; Winaero Tweaker and Revo Uninstaller, my beloveds.

[whateveriwant]

Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc

This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright

Price

HA! Good one!

No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around

That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart

Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)

He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress

Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...

Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off

She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions

What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻‍♀️)

Ghost

When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so

You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants

But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on

You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.

The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move

You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love

His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise

But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?

Soap

If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas

You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine

Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)

You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!

For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle

But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?

Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some

Gaz

By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is

Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps

There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't

You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest

And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most

But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…

He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?

You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲

[hedgehog-moss]

The cherry tree I planted in front of the greenhouse blossomed for the first time this spring! A round of applause!

The wind always blows from the valley so I planted this tree strategically so that in spring a delicious smell would be delivered in my living-room through the windows, and around the outdoor table where I work, and it worked :) I estimate that it improved my quality of life by 11%. A light spring breeze carrying a cherry blossom smell is the kind of thing that stops me in my tracks ten times a day and makes me close my eyes and take a deep breath and think oh, life is good.

More tree updates: I talked in this post from 2021, then this one from 2022, about how I hoped to plant a 'fruit tree path' in the woods behind my house—this project is still ongoing and, well, hasn't borne fruit yet, but has finally blossomed. My Fruit Alley now boasts 10 trees, and looks like—what it is, a small opening in the woods that I have to deploy heroic and sustained efforts to keep open, because the woods try to reclaim it year after year, patiently, like a slow green tide.

The white thing in the middle is one of the tarps I've been using to smother brambles, I move them every few weeks and it works pretty well. I also use cardboard, but in the spring it's hard to keep up with the sheer rate of growth everywhere. Of course the main enemy is the army of broom that you can see in the distance, all yellow and cheerful-looking at the moment. I mostly fight them in the winter, every year I manage to push them back a few metres...

Here's a photo where you can better see some of the trees :

In total I have planted 2 apple trees, 1 quince tree, 1 mirabelle plum, 3 red plums, 1 nectarine tree, 3 cherry trees. I'm really glad that all of them survived, as I was a bit worried about damage from deer or boars. I did lose 2 chestnut trees that were destroyed so savagely I have to assume it's wild boars, but I had planted them much farther away in the woods and I won't make this mistake again. I now have two new baby chestnuts and I planted them near the greenhouse (downhill):

I think I'd never seen nectarine flowers before, they look exotic! I also discovered this year what quince flowers look like:

The only tree that didn't bloom was the smallest apple tree, and honestly that's her fault because for some reason she decided to make tender new green leaves in the middle of winter, so she pretty much exhausted herself for nothing. And you can't blame climate change and seasons being weird for this, because it was a cold and snowy week and no other nearby fruit trees were making any leaves. The confused apple tree is a New Zealand cultivar, so I suppose you could argue she thinks she's still in New Zealand, except she's never been to New Zealand in her life, she was born and raised in France, she doesn't know New Zealand exists. The only possible explanation is, I suppose, a deep-rooted yearning for their ancestral homeland among New Zealand apple trees.

I was a bit concerned when this tree then failed to produce any leaves in the spring, I worried she might be hopelessly hemispherically-challenged, but then I went back to check two weeks later and she was finally green! In a seasonally-appropriate way!

Other trees I've planted, not in the fruit tree path: a persimmon, but it died very quickly :( I will try again; a goji berry shrub, which has been here for two years and seems to be doing well, but so far no sign of berries; and in front of my house, an amelanchier (un arbre dont ma mère n'arrive jamais à se rappeler le nom et qu'elle persiste à appeler "le mélenchon"):

Finally, my last piece of important tree-related news is that I had the hazel tree near my house removed this winter:

I asked the guy who was working on the road nearby with an excavator digging a drainage trench if he could do it, and it took all of 10 minutes, like picking a flower, it was impressive!

And the reason I wanted to remove it is that there are hundreds of hazel trees in my woods and I wanted something different in this spot by the house. Unfortunately for this deserving hazel, it just wasn't special enough.

So I planted a tiny ginkgo :) And now I just have to be extremely patient as I wait for everyone to grow.

[invincibledc]

I NEED WONDER BOY READER AND HOW THEY MET DAMIAN AND JON!!

“Is that a girl?” “IM NOT A GIRL?!”

Summary: meeting the new addition to the duo, there’s already wild first impressions

Genre: fluff

Pair: Superson trio. (Supersons x Wonderboy!reader)

Damian and Jon were in the watchtower, practically there because their fathers had a meeting. But slowly the meeting felt longer, Damian and Jon sat across from each other. Jon was asleep while Damian was awake. He dared not to close his eyes and fall asleep to an “important” meeting with his father. After the adults were done talking, Diana looked over at the supersons. She smiled and points to the two boys, “Yknow, I have a child of my own. Not very social, but would make a good addition to these two.” Immediately Damian snapped his head at the Amazon woman.

Clark smiles warmly, picking up his son who is still knocked out. “Oh yeah! Y/N. I think so too.” Damian raised a brow. He didn’t want to seem curious about this “Y/N” kid he was hearing about. But learning that the child is half Amazon or fully Amazon. He smirked, another kid to join “his” team. Amazing, maybe he can show his father that he can be a true leader. As the others leave the watch tower. Bruce drives back to the bat cave as Damian looks ahead. “Father.” Bruce hummed for his son to continue. “…when will I meet wonder woman’s heir.” Bruce smirked. “Eager are we?” Damian scoffed, now looking out the window. “Not like that father. Its just..I wanna see how she is. I wanna see if she’s just like her mother.”

Bruce held his tongue. He knew whatever happens next would be a surprise for his son. “Yes, I can see your curiosity about Y/N’s personality. But I assure you that you would be shock at how she acts.”

And oh boy would the two supersons would be shocked. Now it’s a new day, Jon and Damian were in their costumes. Batman, aka Damian’s father, aka Bruce Wayne himself asked the boys to meet him in the batcave. They did as they walked inside to see the present trinity of heroes. Batman had his stoic face and Superman was smiling. Wonder Woman was standing in-front of someone who clearly had the same material outfit as her. But when the Amazon lady moved, that’s when the two boys caught the beautiful sight of the child of the Amazon. They looked exactly like Diana. But wore pants other than a skirt. And looked more masculine, but the face is what threw the super off. Along with the boy wonder. Jon pointed a finger at the kid who seemed a little older than them. 11 at most. “Is that a girl?”

……..

“IM NOT A GIRL?!” The Amazon yelled shocked. The adults let out chuckles, even the Batman let a small one out before regaining his face. Jon felt heat hit his face of embarrassment, Damian showed shock before he switched his expression. “Wow superboy. I thought you would use your x ray vision.” Jon, still flustered looked at his best friend. “X ray vision is not supposed to be used like that Robin!” The older Amazon male snickered, which brought the boy’s attention to the male. “Jeez, what a first impression.” Wonderboy says. He walks up, holding his hand out. “Sup, I’m wonderboy. Son of Wonder Woman. But honestly, I already know your identities. Doesn’t take a genius to know.” The boy says. Jon didn’t care about his identity being known as of the minute. His manners were taking over as he shook the Boy’s hand.

“I’m superboy, Jonathan Kent. But you can call me Jon when we aren’t superheroes!” He giddily says. The boy only nods, “Okay Jon. I’m Y/N Prince. But you probably heard my name already.” Y/N winked at the super, Jon felt heat hit his face again. His ears tinted red as he quickly pulls his hand back. Damian moved forward, his arms crossed looking at the boy in-front of him. “So, you know who I am?” His face hardens. Y/N snorted with a smirk, a smirk that lifted one side of his lips to his ear. “Course I do, Damian Wayne.” Y/N ruffled the hair of the tanned boy. Damian huffs and immediately pushes the male’s hands off his head. His ears are a little red but it soon calms down. “Funny how I’m the oldest of this trio. Was hoping you guys would be at least my exact age. But that’s okay.” The Amazon boy shrugged and started to float.

Jon’s eyes light up, immediately started to float off the ground. “You can fly?! I mean of course you can fly, you’re wonder woman’s son! Omg we can fly around and catch bad guys! Have flying races! There’s so much things!” Jon was so excited to have an another flying person like him. And his age range as well! Damian clicked his tongue in distaste. Damian wasn’t jealous that his best friend was practically flying around the bat with the new addition. The superson trio was so caught up knowing about each other that they didn’t know their parents had left.

As Damian stare at the flying boys, Y/N smiles down at the boy wonder. The Amazon male swooped down and lifted the bird in his arms. “Aww birdy don’t be sad you can’t fly.” Y/N coos playfully, Damian scoffs. He can feel his facade melt, Jon chuckles as the two flying boys flew around the bat cave. Damian was fully relaxed in the boy’s arms, leaning his head against the amazon’s chest.

“Boy. It’s time to go home.” The flying boys stopped their flying. Damian immediately realized his softened demeanor and pushed himself off the Amazon male. Landing on his feet like a cat, Bruce raised a brow under his cowl at the quick switch up. Damian could only just stand there as Clark and Diana came in the batcave. It seems their little meet up to hang out has ended. Jon frowns, “Awe man…” Jon looks at Y/N. “Think we can hangout tomorrow? I have these comic books I want to show you!” Y/N nods. “Sure man!” Clark and Diana fist bumped each other, smiling as Jon hugged the Amazon boy goodbye.

After the Amazons are gone, leaving just the supers and bats. Jon pulls his dad’s cape. “Could he come to our house? PLEASEE” Clark chuckled and patted his son. “Sure sport. Sure.” Damian had his arms crossed. Looking down, Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want Y/N to come over as well?” Damian stayed quiet before a curt nod was received. Bruce smiled. “Alright then, I’ll set up your play date after Jon’s.” The Kents were now gone, leaving the Waynes to their home.

Neither the less of tonight, Damian was interested in the Amazon male. His charming smile, his compassionate nature , his calming attitude that he oddly find..attractive. Jon felt the same way, his eyes were blown out wide. You would’ve seen a tail behind him wagging when he sees that the male was strong just like him. But of course Y/N is strong like him! Y/N’s an Amazon, he’s a kryptonian. Plus he loves his heart beat makes him calm. Hopefully he can get a playdate with him soon!

This trio would be legendary for the future of heroes.

[anon-188]

series: the playboy’s edition 🖤 — ch. 2

pairing: AJ x f!reader | status: ongoing | masterlist

series summary: you're an editor. he's a headache headline. and for the next two weeks, you're stuck together. what could possibly go wrong?

series warnings: sexual and explicit content (18+), enemies to lovers, bachelor!AJ, billionaire!AJ, slow burn, strong language, mentions of past trauma.

a/n: AJ West has arrived. is that good or bad??? you tell me… 😉 i rewrote this like twice lmao. i hope you guys like it!! enjoyyy 🖤

⟢ ch. 1 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 (coming soon!)

By 11:30, you were seething.

Profiling AJ West meant too many things—all of which spun your head in different directions. It started with your job. Vivienne hadn’t just cleared your schedule for the day. She’d cleared it for the next two weeks. Just wiped it clean like it was nothing. Meetings? Gone. Interviews? Pushed. The projects you were actually invested in? No longer your problem.

And then there was Savannah—reassigned, just like that. “For the duration of your trip,” Vivienne had said, breezily, as if this were some all-expenses-paid getaway. Like spending two weeks tethered to AJ West, of all people, was something you would choose to do.

A fucking trip.

You scoffed just thinking about it.

And AJ himself? Don’t even get started.

There was a reason you’d never mentioned him in your column. Actually, you could probably give ten. But the main one? You didn’t trust anyone without a past. Not publicly. Not privately.

That was your job, wasn’t it? To look closer. To find the slant worth writing about—the angle beneath the gloss. 

So no, you didn’t trust someone who managed to make millions, no, billions, with a name that sounded like he pulled it from some online generator.

This was a man with global partnerships and more influence than half the Forbes list combined—and still, somehow, no traceable origin story that didn’t feel like it had been rewritten a dozen times and run through legal. 

How could someone build an empire without leaving a footprint? Be the face of power with none of the baggage?

Vivienne had looked at you like you were the crazy one when you pointed it out. Like AJ West was some kind of holy grail—too pristine to question.

Which was bullshit.

But what really sent you over the edge?

The car.

More specifically, the car sent to pick you up.

“Good morning. I’m here on behalf of Mr. West,” the driver had said, all polite and well-rehearsed as he stepped around the sleek front of the vehicle to greet you outside of the AURUM building. His name was Easton—first or last, you didn’t know—but what you did know was that he was AJ West’s personal driver.

He had said so. Plain and simple.

AJ West had actually sent his personal driver to pick you up.

And the vehicle? A black Range Rover Autobiography. 

Windows tinted to an almost obsidian opacity. The paint, glossy enough to reflect the entire street like a mirror. Inside, it was all smooth leather, gleaming trim, and silence designed to mute the outside world.

You shifted in the seat as Easton pulled into traffic, your eyes catching on the stitching beneath you. Immaculate, of course. The kind of detail meant to impress people who cared about things like that.

An eye roll came before you could stop it, something you had a feeling would become a regular occurrence over the next two weeks.

You had every intention of driving yourself. Like a normal person. Not being chauffeured around like some pampered accessory in a billionaire’s itinerary. Especially not for a man you already couldn’t stand.

This was supposed to be an opportunity. You knew that. A career-defining assignment, Vivienne had called it. And deep down, you knew she was right. AJ West was, by every professional measure, the kind of feature that turned bylines into brand names. His reach, his image, his name alone could catapult the January issue into record numbers.

But still—the devil wears Prada, right?

Only this time it was Dolce. Rolex. And Tom Ford black ties with matching custom suits.

“Fuck me,” you muttered under your breath, turning your head to look out the window.

“I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t catch that,” Easton said from the front, voice smooth and annoyingly polite.

“Nothing. Sorry,” you replied quickly, forcing the edge from your voice as you sank a little deeper into the seat.

You shook your head and tried to refocus.

Without really thinking, you reached into your work bag and pulled out the thin folder marked West, AJ. You’d already read it—twice, actually—but right now, it was less about the information and more about not unraveling.

So you flipped it open, fingers moving silently through the sparse pages.

The file was practically hollow. No real details, no flaws. Just clean lines and controlled messaging. A PR masterpiece and your worst nightmare.

You exhaled slowly and pushed the thought from your mind.

Not now.

Frustrating as it was, this was still your assignment. Which meant doing the job—even if every part of you wanted to be anywhere else. 

You swallowed your pride—barely—and sat back, letting the silence stretch.

Eventually, the car rolled to a slow stop in front of Lexford Tower.

AJ West’s glass fortress.

It stretched high above the city. Prestigious, formidable, and impossible to miss. The top floors belonged to West & Vale Capital, and somewhere up there—behind one of those pristine panes of glass—was his office. 

Even higher? His penthouse. You weren’t sure which word made your eye twitch more.

Easton stepped around to open your door.

“Thank you,” you said, slipping your bag onto your shoulder before stepping out and heading toward the entrance.

The front doors were massive. A revolving circle of glass and chrome set into the black stone facade. They spun slowly, purposefully, like the building itself had a schedule too important to rush.

Inside, the lobby was dark luxury in every direction—charcoal walls, deep espresso wood accents, a soft undercurrent of musk and tonka in the air. Everything was refined, intentional, and cold in a way that screamed money without trying too hard.

You didn’t make it five steps before a woman greeted you with a bright, practiced smile.

“Welcome, Miss Y/L/N.” Her voice was smooth, professional.

“Hi,” you replied, a little caught off guard that she knew exactly who you were.

“Elena,” she added, stepping to the side as she motioned for you to follow. “Mr. West is expecting you. Right this way.”

And just like that, you were moving again, heels tapping softly across the dark marble floor as you followed Elena toward the far corner of the lobby. The elevator was almost hidden in plain sight—clean lines, so understated it blended into the wall.

Once inside, Elena pulled a slim badge from the lanyard tucked beneath her blazer, scanned it against the panel, and waited for the soft beep that followed. The floor numbers lit up in a pale gold glow, and she pressed the button for the 54th floor. 

The doors slid shut with a quiet hush, and the elevator began to rise in silence. Only a faint hum of classical music filled the space—something delicate and string-heavy, probably chosen to keep tempers low and luxury high.

You shifted your weight slightly, letting your gaze move across the walls. Black lacquer. Brushed gold accents. Everything was streamlined. Elegant without being showy. Cold, but expensive.

The parallel was almost too obvious.

No unnecessary detail. No excess.

Just like him.

When the doors slid open, the 54th floor unfolded like the rest of the building—precise and deliberate. Deep colored walls. Matte black fixtures. The same weightless opulence you’d seen downstairs, only elevated. Literally and otherwise.

You stepped out, posture sharpening instantly—spine straight, shoulders drawn back. 

This was AJ West’s domain. Controlled. Luxurious. Intimidating. Every inch of space was crafted to reflect him without needing to say a word.

Elena led you to the receptionist’s desk, where she exchanged a few hushed words with the woman seated behind it—sleek bun, flawless makeup, not a single thing out of place.

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But standing this close, it was impossible not to hear it.

 “…just finishing up with legal,” the receptionist murmured, her voice crisp but quiet. “It’s a standard NDA—nothing to worry about.”

Standard. Right.

More like a morning-after clause dressed in business casual. 

You arched a brow, but kept your mouth shut.

The receptionist offered a placid smile, tapping something into her keyboard. “He’s clear now. You can send her in.”

Elena gave a subtle tilt of her head, then turned to you with a softer tone.

“Would you like me to take your coat?”

There was an ease in her voice, polite in a way that made the transition feel seamless.

You slid the coat from your shoulders and handed it over with a quiet, “Thanks.”

Then you were handed off again. Another woman appeared—equally polished, dressed in soft neutrals that matched the rest of the floor. She turned without a word and started down the hall. You followed, your heels muffled by the thick runner beneath your feet.

Finally, she stopped in front of a set of tall double doors. With one gentle push, she opened them and stepped aside.

“Take a seat. Mr. West will be with you shortly,” she said, offering a soft smile that felt just as rehearsed as everything else.

You gave a small nod, stepping into the office as the doors clicked shut behind you.

The room was draped in dark tones—muted, but rich. A continuation of the building’s aesthetic, but more personal somehow. The only real light came from the wall of windows stretching across the front of the room. Floor-to-ceiling glass pulled in the last of the morning light, casting a cool haze across polished surfaces.

The scent hit you next.

Warm and structured. There was cardamom, maybe, and something fresh. But under it all, it was grounded with a smoky pull. It didn’t match the scent in the lobby—this was different. You figured it was whatever fragrance had been chosen for the space, something intentional to match the rest of it. 

Subtle, but you liked it more than you expected to.

You moved farther in, eyes sweeping the space. Everything was perfectly placed—the desk spotless, the shelves arranged with just the right number of books and curated objects. Not a thing out of line.

If he actually did business in here, it sure as hell didn’t look like it.

Finally, you moved to one of the leather chairs across from his desk. You slipped your bag from your shoulder and placed it on the floor beside you, letting your hands rest lightly on your knees.

And in the same breath, the door opened behind you.

Reflex pulled you to your feet, hands smoothing over your clothes as you turned.

Then you saw him.

AJ West walked in like the air shifted to make room for him. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just enough for the energy to tilt, the room recognizing its owner the moment he stepped inside. His suit was black, perfectly cut, and tailored so precisely it looked like it had been sculpted straight onto him.

His hair—light brown, thick—was styled back with a lift that bordered on effortless. The warm, golden undertones caught the light when he moved, highlighting the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp line of his jaw.

He tilted his head slightly, as if responding to a thought only he could hear, then lifted a hand to adjust the collar of his shirt with a quick flick of his fingers.

And there, just barely visible, you caught it: a flash of ink beneath the collar. A tattoo. Faint, but defined. It disappeared just as fast, the collar falling back into place like it had never happened.

His expression gave nothing away. No emotion. No acknowledgment. Just the same composed stillness you’d seen in every headline photo and profile. 

But his jaw told a different story—it was locked tight. Set like control was something he wore just as deliberately as his suit.

He crossed the room without pause, every step fluid and assured, like even the floor had been built to match his pace. Not once did he look your way. He just kept moving, straight toward the corner bar by the window. 

There, he poured a two-finger measure of whiskey into a crystal glass, the liquid catching in the light as it splashed softly against the sides.

Then he turned—his back to you, gaze fixed on the skyline. One hand wrapped around the glass, the other tucked neatly into his pocket. Like the view outside deserved more attention than the person standing in his office.

You watched him. Watched the way he sipped so casually, so unaffected, and something in you tightened.

Your tongue pressed against your cheek, a dry, humorless laugh slipping out as you lowered yourself back into the chair. You crossed your legs, reached into your bag, and pulled out your notepad, setting it on your lap. The click of your pen followed—precise, pointed, just loud enough to make a statement.

And then the real one broke through—

“Whiskey before noon. Bold choice. I’ll be sure to list that under ‘eccentric habits,’” you said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm as your pen moved against the page.

The comeback came instantly, like he’d been waiting for it.

“That’s interesting,” he said, voice steady and unimpressed. “Commenting on bold choices while wearing Louboutins to a meeting.”

The glass rose to his lips again, his posture unchanged. Still facing the window. Still completely unbothered.

You let the words sink in, your mouth pressing into a flatter line as you inhaled slowly. Your eyes narrowed at his back before you let out the softest scoff.

Asshole.

The word burned quietly in the back of your mind. No less sharp just because it went unspoken.

“I wore them to work,” you snapped, the bite slipping back into your voice. “Then ended up in this meeting with you.” 

Your fingers tightened around your pen, but you didn’t look away. “You walk around in pressed Armani suits, but what—draw the line at red soles?”

That made him chuckle—quiet, brief, and completely devoid of warmth.

“No,” he said, setting the glass down on the bar with a clink that somehow sounded final. “I draw the line at people who think fashion statements mean substance.”

Then he turned.

No longer just a figure in the room, he faced you fully now, stepping away from the bar with the ease of someone who never second-guessed their own presence. His eyes—blue and unflinching—locked onto yours as he moved toward you like the rest of the room didn’t exist.

You reached down, placing your notebook onto the leather chair beside you, and rose. Not out of politeness. Not out of professionalism. You stood because something in you refused to be looked down on. Especially by him.

“Funny,” you said, voice cool but edged in disdain. You met his stare. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

He stopped just a few feet away, his eyes dragging over you in a glide that was too practiced to be casual, too unhurried to ignore. A flicker passed through them—calculated, exact, and gone before you could place it.

“This isn’t going to work,” he said, flat and certain. But his voice had shifted. Darker. Slower.

You didn’t step back. “Why?” Your chin lifted. “Afraid I’ll tell the world exactly who you are? Arrogant. High-handed. A fake.”

AJ stepped in without hesitation.

And in that quiet—when the room felt too still and too close—you caught it again. That scent. The one you noticed the second you walked in. 

It wasn’t the room. It was him. 

That warm, smoky sharpness threaded with something smoother. Spice wrapped in earth. Polished wood and expensive heat. It settled into your senses before you could stop it.

Undeniable. Unavoidable. Like everything else about him.

Then, his voice pulled you back.

It came low and cutting, the kind of tone that didn’t rise to meet the moment—it made the moment come to him. 

“What makes you think I care what you have to say about me?” 

You raised a brow. “You hired me.”

“No.” He corrected you without blinking. “My team hired you. Publicity, PR, whatever bullshit justification they made up.”

His tone didn’t waver.

“Don’t confuse that with me wanting you here.”

You held your ground, a slow burn building in your chest.

“You act like you’re so above it all,” you said, leaning in, your voice dropping just enough.

“But doesn’t your whole empire hinge on how the world sees you?”

His jaw ticked again. The same way it had when he walked in. A small tell, but a tell all the same.

Then—

“I don’t give a shit what people think.”

The words didn’t lift, didn’t snap. But there was weight in them, measured and heavy, like he’d said it a thousand times before but never meant it more than right now.

His next words came slower, each one cutting its way out. “People don’t want real. They want digestible. And I don’t care about either.”

Your gaze held his, taut and unwavering, neither of you willing to yield first. It wasn’t just tension—it was ego against ego. Fire pressed to steel.

“I’ll be sure to quote you on that,” you replied, your voice calm but biting, a perfect mirror to his.

Just then, another voice slipped into the room, breaking the standoff between you two.

“Please don’t,” the voice said, a soft laugh tucked beneath the words—its tone laced with the kind of light charm that made disruption sound like poise.

You turned on instinct, caught off guard—you hadn’t even heard the door open.

A woman was crossing the room, her heels nearly silent against the floor. Dressed in crisp cream and black, hair tucked neatly behind one ear, her smile was polished, knowing.

“Camilla,” she said as she approached, extending a hand. “PR director.”

You reached out slowly to shake it. Her grip was firm but kind. Still, you barely looked at her—you couldn’t. Not with AJ’s gaze anchored to you the way it was.

His eyes hadn’t left you. Not once. 

There was weight in the way he looked at you—as if he were cataloging everything from the way you stood to the curve of your mouth.

And when his eyes met yours again, they stayed.

“Mr. West, your publicist will join us when he’s finished wrapping up a phone call with the venue in New York,” Camilla said, trying to redirect the moment. “Would you like to get started without him?”

He didn’t answer. Just kept his eyes on you.

“Mr. West?” she prompted again, the calm in her voice thinning just slightly.

His response came slow, like he hadn’t even considered giving her the courtesy of a reply until now. But when he spoke, the words weren’t for her. 

They were for you. 

“Print whatever you want. Just don’t expect me to play nice for it.”

You blinked once. Not because his words got to you—but because it gave you the second you needed to lock it all back into place.

Then came your voice: measured and honeyed, weaponized in its politeness.

“With all due respect, Mr. West—which is none—if you were capable of playing nice, I don’t think your team would be this desperate for a feature.”

Your lips curved at the edges, soft and scathing all at once.

AJ didn’t flinch. But that jaw tightened again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Camilla go still. Her lips parted like she meant to intervene, but the moment sealed itself too fast. You caught the faintest trace of dread in her eyes.

Like she finally realized this was a match made in hell.

Because it was.

Camilla cleared her throat—a final attempt to steer the moment back on track. She stepped in closer, her gaze flicking between AJ’s unreadable expression and the sharp edge still lingering behind your own.

Then, gently, with a smile just tight enough to betray the nerves beneath it, she tried again.

“Shall we?”

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[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DP x DC prompt. ~“Unstable connection”~ Dead on main.

Part 9.3. "A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you." — Elbert Hubbard

~~~~~

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7.

Part 8. Part 9. New: Part 9.1. Part 9.2. Part 9.3.

Part 10. Part 11. Part 12. Meme break №1. Part 13.

Roy: Look, I’m deeply flattered that you decided to talk about your feelings with me because you bats are allergic to them, but you’re seriously telling me that you’re texting a guy from out of Gotham? What for?

Jason: Do I need a reason?

Roy: Usually not, but I know you’re paranoid.

A cookie flies straight into Roy’s head.

Jason: Shut up. I know how to relax. He’s just a guy. No harm from boyf- a friend.

Roy: What you see in him? No, I rather have to ask how he tolerates you. I deserve a reward for being your best friend.

Jason: Hey, actually, I like Bizarro a lot more, just so you know, jerk. And we actually have more in common than it seems. He gets along with dead people who hang out in his town a lot. And.. I don’t know, okay? It’s just easy to talk to him, and he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would yell if he found out about me something weird for any other stranger. He feels like home. Safe one. I can rest when I talk to him, you know?

Roy: So you trust him? With everything?

Jason: I’m not an idiot and I’m not going to reveal everything until we talk offline. I don’t even know if I want to. Of course he’s not afraid of the undead from his town and he didn’t convict Hood for his actions when I asked him for his opinion, but talking about a specific person and some vigilante from the shadows is different. I don’t want him to be afraid of me or be disappointed in me. But somehow part of me believes that he will take this side of me. I sent him a picture with knives on my thighs, and he didn’t care. And one time, I messed up the chats and I sent him a threat that was meant to check on my new guys. He yelled at me. Because I could be reported to the police.

Roy: Well, if you like him, just try not to screw it up.

Jason: I’m trying. And by the way if Dick finds out about our conversation, I’ll throw you in the river.

Roy: Dude, you’ve known me for years! I bet you don’t threaten your lover like that! Have some trust.

Jason: Okay. So, I don’t know what to do, Roy. Fenton is perfect. But he’s a civilian. Phantom looks dead handsome but I know almost nothing about him. And what I know I learned from Danny. And now the fic that I’m writing is full of adult-rated scenes. Of course, I don’t add them to my work on ao3, but it’s still so weird.

Roy: Have you tried sending this to Fenton? With any luck, he’ll take it as flirting.

Jason: What? Hell no! He thinks I’m a mercenary for Red Hood. He’s gonna think I have wet fantasies about my boss and I’m gonna lose all self-respect, and he’s gonna block me and...

Roy: Okay, okay, slow down a little. We both know you’re weird, but you’re not that weird. And he’s not even your boyfriend. So his opinion doesn’t really matter.

Jason *whispers*: He's my husband. And it does.

Roy: Dude, I mean, I support your vibe but isn’t this guy supposed to know that he’s gonna have the title of the husband of a crime lord first.

Jason: Fair.

~~~~~~~

~Next morning~

Dick: So, I heard my Little Wing has a boyfriend. What’s his name? When are you bringing him to the family dinner?

Jason:…I’m gonna kill Harper. ~~~~~~~

Bizarro *on his way to tell all to Artemis and impress his good friend’s boyfriend*. First, he can leave a Red Hood doll by the window of a couple of his friend. It’ll help him understand that Bizarro isn’t dangerous and then the boy will want to be his friend too. Good plan, Pup Pup!

[jukkaricity]

Rook Appreciation Week - Day 2 - de Riva

I actually wanted to write this thing out for a while, so thank you so much for this opportunity! This is before Viago became the Fifth Talon and there's about 13ish years of difference between him and Hugo I imagine, so Viago would be about 24 here.

@rookappreciationweek prompts for today: de Riva: Poison | Treviso | Resistance

Viago de Riva was, must have been, the scariest man alive. Scarier than the Crow instructors, any Heir or even the Fifth Talon himself. If asked at that moment, 11-year-old Hugo would have probably said that he’d rather face the Maker in the flesh than this suspiciously calm and glaringly overdressed man. The sentiment didn’t truly leave him for years—though the reasons for it shifted faster than a court debutante’s affections. 

To make matters worse, he was soaked to the bone — a trail of tiny puddles followed him from the window he used to sneak inside. His curls were uncombed and possibly still had leaves sticking out of them, not making his case any stronger. The other fledglings, now huddled at the edge of his vision, were all snickering, waiting for a show to be made out of him. Suddenly his carefully devised plan to awe the rising star of House de Riva seemed incredibly stupid and childish. He was eleven already. He should have known better. 

His grip around the armful of delphinium flowers tightened and he glared at the tips of Viago’s polished shoes as if they were responsible for the whole ordeal. Or as if he could see his future in their nearly unnatural shine.

None of this was supposed to happen this way. He intended to sneak past the training ground and change but he must have taken even longer than anticipated, because Viago was already there when he arrived, a gaggle of the trainees lined up around him, trying to offer him a gift and garner his attention. Viago’s birthday had been the talk of the fledglings for weeks. The opportunity to be his direct protégé–a promise of immediate elevation in the strict hierarchy. 

No one wanted to miss a chance like this. 

“So? Speak up or stop wasting my time.” Viago scoffed, tapping his ornate cane against the wooden floor with a loud click. Hugo barely managed to keep himself from jumping up. Right. He had said he could explain. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. The first impression was already ruined, but maybe he could still salvage it. Or at least avoid getting punished.

“Master Alessio told us it’s your birthday. And that we should impress you,” he recited and Viago’s brows came together in a deep frown. He looked deeply displeased, but said nothing. Instead, with a tired sigh he schooled his expression back into a picture of cold disinterest. Not a good opening sign. “I… I heard you talking about needing to restock your poisons. Something for paralysis?” 

Hugo looked up at Viago hoping to gauge his reaction. The man's face was entirely unreadable, however, to quite a disturbing degree. If Hugo was to hazard a guess, he’d call him bored, but he’d been with the Crows for long enough to know that this usually meant anything but the lack of interest. He kicked the heel of his shoe into the floor a couple of times and continued, words escaping him faster and faster the longer he spoke. 

“So I, well, I looked up some recipes and then I remembered I saw the flowers from one of them in the gardens of Villa Otranto, so I went there, but they keep hounds on the ground and I couldn’t get in, but the lady there hosts a luncheon every Thursday and the hounds are caged then…”

“It does not explain why you look like… this.” Viago seemed to reach the end of his patience as he interrupted the story, the tip of his cane drawing a little circle in the air pointing out to his less than perfect attire.

“I thought that the party would start earlier, but the dogs were out the entire morning. I’ve been waiting for them to get locked up and then it was already too late for a change of plans,” he admitted. There was no point making up an excuse. “I had to avoid the guards. Ended up hiding in a pond.”

“And they didn’t see you?” 

“No… No, I don’t think so.” 

The room fell silent as Viago weighed the story in his mind. He compared the clumsy, if at least tangentially useful, gift of Delphinium to the array of offerings ranging from offensively plain daggers to a ridiculously impersonal collection of sonnets. All things considered this could have been the best thing anyone ever offered him, even if the bar was already extremely low.

Viago scowled, looking Hugo up and down. The fledgling was rather graceless and heavy-handed, possibly yet another failing of the House under the current leadership, but at least he had some brain between his ears. And if the still reigning Fifth Talon saw fit to name Viago a “Young King” and insisted he needed “a court” to abide by his every whim… he may as well make the best of it. 

Viago adjusted the straps holding his gloves in place and taxed Hugo with a final, judging look. Small and scrawny. Didn’t flinch, though. With the right guidance… he might still turn out acceptable. 

“First lesson: Never put all of your eggs into one basket.” Viago said, still looking down at Hugo from the tip of his nose. The young elf could swear however that the perfectly still features on the assassin's face eased off just a little. Almost imperceptibly so. 

“And the second?” he risked asking, before really considering potential consequences of speaking to a Master without permission. 

“How to extract the poison out of these plants. If you thought all you had to do was drag them here you were wrong.”

He spared the elf no further looks and moved towards the staircase leading up, to the quarters of the fully fledged Crows. Hugo trotted right behind him, flowers still tightly pressed to his chest, not wanting to give him any reason to regret his decision. 

Whether Hugo was about to spread his wings and fly or have them mercilessly clipped was yet to be seen. 

[swan-angelyc]

💚 Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x MC Headcanons

Sebastian Sallow x MC x Ominis Gaunt, Gender Neutral MC, your house is left ambiguous, MC is based off of my own MC to some extent. CW: Mentions of fighting goblins, being injured AU: Everybody is 18+, and Hogwarts admits 18+ year olds instead of 11 year olds. Idk, little kids using magic doesn't sit well with me lol. If you gave 11 year old me magic, I would have turned everybody into toads. There isn't an 18+ section in here, but still. This contains spoilers for the game; read with caution if you have not played or finished the main story to its entirety. Enjoy!

Introduction —

Your first official day at Hogwarts was spent attending classes and meeting people; If you are Slytherin, you met both Sebastian and Ominis after waking up that morning. Despite their demeanours, they are quite nice to you, welcoming you and offering to help in any way they can.

Sebastian's reading a book; you catch him off guard, and he spits a "Can I help you", until he realizes you're the new student. After some friendly banter, he wishes you good luck, and resumes his reading.

Ominis, on the other hand, is smugly listening to first years trying to locate mermaids by the window. He smiles a little at hearing them cheer before he notices you standing by.

His kind nature was somewhat surprising, seeing as Slytherin wasn't known for its kindness, but him sympathizing with you about the dragon attack was more than appreciated.

It was safe to say both had liked you already, but if you're in another house, it's a different story. You gain Sebastian's respect and like of you after beating him at a duel; he's amazed that you beat him, and he commends your skill. He's chosen to take you to Hogsmeade, and he, yet again, commends you after you take down a troll.

Ominis doesn't quite like you yet, and he only does once Sebastian feeds him information about you. "You know there is such thing as trying too hard," he'll sneer as he walks past you. He's hard to impress. After the Undercroft incident, he threatened to exploit his father's relationship with the Headmaster. It was clear Ominis was not your biggest fan.

It takes a few adventures with him and Sebastian for him to like you, however. Ominis is not one to trust people so easily.

It takes a while before the feelings arise, but they propose a polyamorous ordeal. After all, the three of you are as thick as thieves, and nobody should be the awkward third wheel.

And so it was settled.

General —

— You are definitely the warrior of the group; your abilities make you a powerful ally, and whilst Sebastian is strong, you're much stronger. Ominis is your silent cheerleader. You won't hear him loudly shout praises, but you will be praised after any fights that take place.

— These fools cheer you on in any class. Charms, potions, whatever the case. After all, you are still new, and you'll need assistance. They're willing to give you a helping hand if you need it.

Ominis will offer a thumbs up. Sebastian's the one that loudly shouts about how well you're doing and how proud they are of you.

— Sebastian and Ominis differ in terms of personalities; they're still Slytherin, sure, but they have different traits. Sebastian's bold and charismatic, pulling you in with his occasional obnoxiousness. Ominis, on the other hand, is quiet, calm, and enigmatic; being an enigma is enough to make people want to know him.

This carries on into their love lives; Sebastian will haul ass and sacrifice himself for you...when it comes to getting in trouble. He will take the blame for you if you need to get into the restricted section, which is often. His loyalty is undying, and he won't leave either of your sides.

Ominis, on the other hand, is protective and excellent with his words. He will talk people out of hurting you or even yelling at you. Do not let his blindness fool you, he is an absolute master when it comes to being a wordsmith.

— You take constant trips to Hogsmeade. Non-alcohol butterbeer is so worth the walk, despite sometimes being tedious. Because you have a ton of galleons from your adventures, you can buy pretty much anything, and they always marvel at that fact.

Sebastian - "Can we buy the entire stock at Honeydukes?"

Ominis - "...Sebastian, no. [Name], don't."

You - "I mean...I've been tempted before..."

— They are more than fascinated by the adventures that you take, but both become concerned about your safety. They dislike it when you leave for more than a few hours. If you have to leave for days without end, it becomes a requirement that you send letters so they know you're okay. Sebastian doesn't doubt your safety. You beat a damn troll!

But Ominis is like a mother hen. He stays concerned until he hears your voice and touches your skin.

— Due to your constant travels all over the land, you become friends with many creatures. Some are mountable, others are brought into the Room of Requirement for materials and for a better life. Sebastian's amazed by the things and creatures in your bag, eventually growing eager at the fact that-

"YOU HAVE A HIPPOGRIFF ON YOU?"

Ominis cringes at Sebastian's excited tone, but the blind man simply raises a brow, "Is that true?"

Which then leads to rides on Highwing. Well, Sebastian rides her. Ominis facepalms as you snicker at Sebastian's excitement.

Ominis, however, does enjoy petting your Puffskein. He claims it's like a "walking pillow".

Both are shocked at the fact that you have a family of Thestrals in your Room of Requirement.

— You don't always wear the Hogwarts uniform; when you come back wearing a black outfit with a cape, Sebastian whistles. "Damnnn."

Ominis loves feeling the material; it's surprisingly soft.

— Outside of classes, you three spend your time together, always. The undercroft and Hogsmeade are your favourite places to go. However, sometimes, one of you is busy; you have battles to face, Sebastian has Anne, and Ominis has to worry about his family back at home.

On the days where only you and either boy remain, activities vary. Sebastian will roam the castle with you, talking non-stop. Talking is something he enjoys quite a lot. Sometimes you visit Anne and wish her well. Other times you duel. He knows he won't win against you, but it's fun regardless! Besides, you're partners in Twisted Wands, he needs to practice.

Ominis enjoys more quiet activities. A nice walk through the gardens as you hold hands, letting him read to you...

His wand allows him to 'see', but only shadows. He can't see proper colours. He'll ask you to describe them to him, though.

— The three of you click, as you are all suffering hardships; you are fighting 2 different factions at once whilst balancing schoolwork, Ominis despises his family and his name, and Sebastian's sister being sick, alongside his uncle being a prick aren't helping him whatsoever.

It becomes even worse when you lose Fig; the battle at Hogwarts lead to his demise, and you gave all of your strength to keep Ranrok at bay. Whilst the professors and the headmaster gave a speech about Fig, Ominis and Sebastian held you close.

— Being injured isn't a common occurrence to you; you have Wiggenweld potions, Edurus potions, and you're basically agile. During the occasional times when you ARE injured, they make sure you stay and rest. Whether in bed, or with them.

— Ominis sometimes has to keep you two in line, seeing as you're a glutton for adventure, and Sebastian loves sneaking into places he's not supposed to be.

But he wouldn't have it any other way.

[little-forest-goblin]

First impressions pt.11

Regency!five x reader

Synopsis: In the regency era every woman wanted to marry a man that was wealthy and had good status. there was little time to get to know one another. But you Y/N L/N are the most reluctant to these whole marriage to random men you don’t fully know.

———————————————————————

———————————————————————

maggie…maggie is a lesbian? you had no clue but now that you thought about it it made sense. She never was really interested in any of the guys. She always was with girls, hardly sparing a glance to a guy except for Colin since he is the brother and of course father. dad was looking at the letter with furrowed brows “Maggie, are you a lesbian?” he said softly. Mom chimed in “Honey why didn't you just tell us? We would and still would support you w-“ mom stopped upon seeing maggies face. It was hung and shrouded in darkness so it was hard to tell what her face was like. Oh boy did that change fast. Maggie's head snapped up “NONE OF YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KNOW!!!” she screamed. Her face streaked with tears, your eyes widened “maggie-“ she cut you off “DON'T MAGGIE ME! I TRIED TO KEEP ONE THING TO MYSELF THAT MADE ME HAPPY AND THIS IS WHAT I GET?!” she slammed her fist against the wall making people jump. You swallowed “Maggie i was just worried about you i didn't know!” maggie shoved you “BECAUSE YOU JUST NEVER KNOW DO YOU?! I TOLD YOU NO AND YOU STILL DIDNT LISTEN!! THIS IS WHY FIVE WONT WRITE YOU ITS BECAUSE YOU FUCKING SUCK!! YOUR PERSONALITY IS BULLSHIT!!!” mom tries to jump in “Honey maggie please w-“ maggie went off on her to “FUCK YOU TOO MOM!! ALWAYS SO UP EVERYONE'S ASS ABOUT FINDING LOVE YOU ARE SO PUSHY AND ANNOYING!” Before Colin could even speak she went off on him too “DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON YOU!! KEEP YOUR FILTHY LETTERS TO YOURSELF! YOU AND PENNY ARE SICKENING!!” Everyone was shocked at seeing this. Mom began to cry and dad took her and led her out of the room “Okay kids come on everyone out maggie needs some time” maggie threw a book at you as you tried to leave “YEAH DAD GIVE EVERYONE ADVICE TO LEAVE! IM NOT ALLOWED TO BE HAPPY AND THINKS ITS WEIRD WHEN I AM BUT THE SECOND ANYONE ELSE IS HAPPY EVERYONE ELSE IS HAPPY!! FUCK YOU GUYS!!! FUCK YOU!!!”

~Timeskip~

You felt like the biggest piece of shit. You were just worried about her but now you made everyone upset because you worried. You didn't mean to pry like this into something super personal. You just were worried by the sudden change in attitude and the staying out all the time and obviously the guy in the alley way. It all worried you. Maggie was usually quiet and sweet ans was just sorta there but now that she had something to be happy about AKA violet than that meant you took the one thing ahe was most happy about and crushed it under your sole. God you really blew it this time. the next day maggie didn't even look at any of you and just left the house without a word. Mom would break down and cry and head to the bedroom where dad would follow. Colin picked at his food. Trisha was confused and tried to ask but it was a touchy subject considering you guys learned it against her wishes. You told her you would tell her kater which she complied too. you stayed by the window in your bedroom looking out it wondering when maggie would be back if back at all. You felt horrible for what you did. God you hoped maggie is okay.

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Hi i hope you like the story so far! more is on the way! i love you guys be safe! 💋 😘

[ekrochford]

Maul x femreader NSFW self-insert fanfic (part 11/11)

[Here it is the final chapter! To be continued...?]

Chapter 11

Outside your small window, the desert night is pulling back under a curtain of lilac half-shadow. Dawn is still a ways off, but you’re up and dressed. You rest a finger on the switch of the table lamp, taking a final look around the corners of your hotel room.

It hasn’t been an hour since Professor Tak Norr commed to announce the team’s arrival in port; he received your prompt response with some surprise, but the matter of when to meet was resolved quickly. If most of the preparations to travel from town to site could be made in the cooler morning hours, all the better. No time to lose. You’ve got on your boots and cloak, your packed travel bag is over your shoulders. Out onto the road again.

You open the old sliding door (another creaking whoosh into the wall port) and step out into the darkened hall. To one side, the narrow stairs. To your relief, you hear noise clamoring up from the cantina. You hesitate and look the other way.

Room 6, just next to yours, is closed and quiet. Was part of you hoping that he would be out in the hall, waiting to say goodbye? Silly. You shake your head at yourself.

Maul was… something. You thought at first he may have just been an agent of a cartel. No—at first you thought he was just mafia muscle. At least you guessed quickly that Maul was too smart, too sly to be just a thug. But you’ve come to realize perhaps you underestimated him even more starkly than you thought.

If you hadn’t felt it in a brief, vivid flash yesterday, you would think that your danger intuition had failed altogether. You didn’t consider that a Force power at all—just the worldly wisdom and things that you’d seen, coalesced in the pit of your stomach to give you warning faster than your mind could compute reason for.

Why didn’t it ever ring a warning when Maul looked at you? Even the first time, long before you’d talked or flirted or gotten naked together. Why not?

Living outside the law certainly wasn’t enough to make someone bad, per se. After all, some cultures outlawed eating meat—but only on certain days. Or punished the picking of the state flower. Tariffs and taxes and shipping codes were, technically, laws that were broken daily.

But you know it’s more than that with Maul. Even if he was only the agent of a crime syndicate, he was still clearly a killer for hire, but you’ve begun to suspect that he is beyond even that infamy. He’s something you don’t have an explanation for. Something loud and red and intense, battering on your nascent Force sensitivity…

The look on his face after he kissed you, the feel of his arms carrying you upstairs. Your feet wander to his door even as your mind muddles in circles.

The best and smartest thing to do would be to leave as quietly as possible and hope that he doesn’t notice until you and the University team are a hundred kilometers from here. And still, here you’re standing, thinking of how carefully he settled you in bed last night, and that kiss.

You make a deal with yourself. I won’t ask him about it. There. Simple. You’ll knock, he’ll answer, you’ll say your goodbyes. It was a sprawling, huge galaxy, but you never knew who you might meet again; it paid dividends to leave a good impression when you could. That was it. That was the only reason you were raising your fist to knock on his door.

Although your fist was up, poised to knock, you hesitate still.

We’re not asking him about the kiss. We are not asking him about that kiss. No.

You nod to yourself and take a readying breath.

Your fist freezes in midair again, but it’s not overthinking. Not this time. Sweat breaks out over you as a familiar sensation beats against your skin—no, it beats against your energy, the Force around you, agitating like an opposing electromagnetic field. Opposing, and much, much stronger.

The same wardrum pulse, the same impression of furious red waves of power, like the crashing ocean under a crimson sky. Like sound that’s so loud, you feel it strike your skin and rattle your bones.

Its source is just on the other side of the door.

You know. You’ve known it was him. You’ve known he was something else. But here, now, he’s no longer a blank space in the energy field—he’s like a supernova. Without the door in the way, he’d be close enough to touch. Too close.

And the anger. The rage. And yes, the hatred, too. You can hardly conceive that all of it could have fit inside him. No wonder some of it stuck to his saber.

The lightsaber… A terrible thought starts to form. You’re standing so close, hand still raised to knock. Why would he reveal himself to you like this… unless he expected it wouldn’t matter?

You’re frozen in fear—did he sense you listening yesterday? Does he know you heard what little snippets that you did? Is even that too much? Too dangerous to forgive?

You’ve heard the sound that lightsabers make often enough. Jedi demonstrating or lecturing at the University, and, once, a padawan shyly explaining the mechanics of his crystal-powered weapon to you. It’s a unique sound—a sort of snap, hiss, and then the hum of the energy blade.

Is it going to be the last thing you hear? How many times have you flippantly thought to yourself that he would be the death of you?

This man might really…

You wait, too afraid to move. The sound of your death never arrives.

The red, raw power breaking over you recedes. The tide slips away, further and further, losing violence and power as it washes back under the guise of nothingness.

Before you lose contact with your body again, you take a step back. Another. And another. You back away down the hall. You back to the top of the stairs and creep down without taking your eyes off his door, and when your line of sight is broken you watch the stairwell until you step down into the lobby.

With one eye on the stairs, you square your account with the Weequay hostess, who still won’t look at you. You can hardly blame her, more so now than ever. You add an extra few credits to your bill as a tip and an apology, and then you stride briskly out into the dawning Tatooine morning.

You pretend you don’t feel eyes on you from an upstairs window. You don’t look up to see.

[If you like it, leave a tip!

See you next time!]

[pugh-bug]

No.42 Chapter 7

Art Donaldson x reader slow burn

If you’re still reading this series I appreciate you so much 🫶🏻 this is a pretty angsty chapter - vague implications of an eating disorder.

Part 6

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You had twelve texts, mostly from Liam, with the most recent being:

11:49am - Text from Liam

Thanks for coming you looked great haha

get home safe ok ;)

The wink you barely registered in your exhausted morning state, instead you rolled over to see Art asleep on your floor. He was in last nights clothes, as were you, and curled up in the foetus position. The temperature outside had finally dropped enough degrees to let a light breeze through your open window, brushing Art’s curls off his cheek. He looked angelic.

‘He might need you more.’

What did he need you for? He had Art for friendship, Liam for rivalry, his family for financial stability and himself setting his future aspirational lifestyle in motion. All of these thoughts swam in your head like hunting gators as you listened to Art’s peaceful breathing. What was he dreaming about? You hoped something good, your recent dreams had caused you nothing but high blood pressure.

CLANG!

Ah…Patrick. Morning coffee time.

‘Hmmm?’ Art mumbled, opening his eyes slowly. The poor boy must have the worst hangover of anyone’s life (you’d say of his but it was likely Art’s first real one). ‘How are we feeling?’ You cooed, sitting cross legged on your bed staring down at him. For a moment you received no response other than groaning, as Art clambered to a seating position. His eyes were still foggy when he cleared his throat to ask what time it was.

‘It’s 12.’

Another groan. ‘Shit…where are my - I’m sorry why am I in your room?’ He looked around frantically for his phone or water, so you gestured to your nightstand which stocked both. You smiled slightly at Art’s sleepy, confused voice. ‘You tell me,’ you shrugged, trying to remember. ‘We probably got out the Uber and just collapsed in here instead of your room cos it’s closer…Pat’s slept on the couch maybe?’

Art ran his fingers through his hair, straining his neck up with wide but distant eyes. He looked, for a moment, like he’d stopped breathing. Like he’d severed the oxygen to his brain and he was going to sit and wait to crack. His nails were even starting to dig in on his own arm.

‘Art.’ You snapped your fingers in his face and he seemed to come back from wherever he’d been. ‘Are you okay?’ Art solemnly took in your concerned frown for a moment before standing up and saying ‘Thanks for looking after me.’ on his way out.

——————————————————————

Art had been too exhausted to go to practise but not too exhausted, apparently, to do press ups in the kitchen. You walked in, after your shower, expecting to find the two of them watching tv not working out - well Patrick wasn’t. ‘I know I know, you try telling him.’ Was all Patrick offered in response to your look of total disbelief.

‘Twenty six…twenty seven…twenty eight…’

Any other day you might have been impressed but this? This was ridiculous.

‘Art, what are you doing?’

‘Twenty nine…thirty…thirty one…’

He was sweating, not as much as when he played tennis but he’d need a shower. His lips, in between counts, were trembling ever so slightly from the effort as he pushed and pushed to fight against sleep. It was a sad sight, one you wished to dissolve one way or another.

‘Art, this is fucking ridiculous. You’ve barely slept you’re hungover you just need one lazy day.‘

No response.

‘This isn’t normal.’

Patrick gave you one last look of defeat before going for his shower, clearly desperate to leave the room. You hesitated before kneeling on the floor beside Art’s head.

‘Thirty seven…thirty eight…’

His body was giving up on him - just screaming at him to let it rest.

‘Thirty…nine…’

When he got to forty you hoped you’d see a flicker of satisfaction on his face, followed by a prompt end but no. No, he just kept going.

‘Forty two…forty thr’

‘Fucking stop!’ You yelled and he did. Finally. Art dusted off his hands and sat up, staring at you in complete silence. He looked almost horrified at the intrusion.

‘I’m not your Mum but you need to look after yourself, you’re never going to win matches if you turn up to them half dead because you refuse to relax.’ You sighed, heavily, waiting for the lengthy disagreement Art would throw at you. The defensiveness. It never came.

‘I know.’ He pulled his knees up to his chest and stared at the poorly woven carpet, looking lost. ‘I just…I can’t afford to take days off I’m not Patrick. I have to work and work and work at it constantly. If I get into the habit of taking days off whenever I feel a bit shitty what will that get me? It won’t get me into Challengers, it won’t make me win any Opens. I won’t win Wimbledon Y/N,’ Art looked up at you, his eyes glassy. ‘What will it have all been for if…if after everything I’m just average?’

‘You’re telling me you can’t win Wimbledon if when you’re hungover you watch tv instead of working out?’ You rubbed your face, studying his for any negative reaction. ‘Sometimes one small set back is all it takes.’ He looked utterly defeated, you’d never seen someone look so low. It was hard for you to understand the tennis obsession but of course, like most things, you knew it wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

‘Have you eaten yet?’

He shook his head.

‘Well, you really should - actually you will. There should be leftovers.’

You managed to convince Art to eat and drink plenty of water before he resisted. ‘Maybe go back to bed?’ Was your advice - which he did not take. Patrick was half gaming half texting girls and only chimed in to make the odd sarcastic comment. He didn’t hear what Art said next.

‘Y/N,’ When you took your eyes away from your coffee you saw Art’s hand trailing closer to yours, his eyes apologetic. ‘I think you’re kinder than anyone I’ve ever met.’ Before you could say anything he was coughing, interrupting himself before he could share further. It took a while for his diaphragm to ease up but by then the moment had passed. His hand had returned to his side of the table.

Chapter 8

Masterlist

Taglist: @gatorgirl007 @imblushingrn @soy-garbage @blahhucantmakeme

[jezabelle9299]

Drive In S.R x FEM! Reader

Overture- Every year the drive in theater shows old movies for Halloween, and this time a guy caught your eye

CWs- Overdressing because of insecurity, Reader wears glasses, dresses, and tights, note passing, carrying pepper spray (but not using it)

A/N- Day 11, trying to get caught back up! This one is a little bit longer though.

Once every fall, in the middle of the week the drive-in theater near your house showed old movies. This year it was sun-down to sun-up of some of your favorites. You drove up to the little box office to get your ticket, since this place was so old they barely had a website, you couldn’t get your ticket in advance. After thanking the super cool goth girl working there, you found your spot. 

This particular theater, while the medium was a little outdated- usually only showed new releases, and usually only one or two a night on weekends. For this event though they go all out, concession prices are marked down to what they were in the 50s, and old cartoon ads count down the first movie. 

You got your trunk setup, turned the headlights off, and set the radio to the right station. Then you could finally head to the concession stand for a soda and a popcorn, before settling in for the night. 

While you had definitely made improvements in terms of self-confidence, hell a year ago you never would’ve been able to come to something like this by yourself, you couldn’t exactly match the standard of dress everyone else had on. Typical fare for something here was pajamas, or at least sweats. And you made an earnest attempt. You must’ve tried on all the pjs you owned, every combination of sets, t-shirts, mismatched and coordinated. But the thought of other people seeing you actually wearing them made you feel so, so vulnerable. So you went with your most comfortable dress, complete with black tights and a sweater. More comfortable than jeans, and a little easier to imagine being seen in. 

Realistically, no one cares. But when you walked across the lot, in front of maybe a dozen other cars, your self consciousness was a little quieter because you were wearing regular clothes. Your decision cemented itself in your brain as the right one when you saw a particularly cute guy, also overdressed in a sweater, button up, and dress pants walking the opposite direction. The brief window of what could be called confidence ended near immediately, as you promptly dropped your phone, glasses coming off as you bent down to pick it up. Awesome. That’s just awesome. 

“Shit!” you wince, turning your attention to the man who was now right in front of you. And clearly just witnessed all of that. In theory you could see relatively well without your glasses, but it was getting dark out and in the fumble to get your phone, you didn’t notice him grabbing them for you. Once your phone and the last of your dignity were secured, you looked up to him pulling a glasses wipe from his pocket, cleaning them off before handing them back to you. 

He had a nervous smile and immediately after handing your glasses back to you returned his hands to his pocket with quite frankly, impressive speed. 

“Oh, um, thank you-that’s really, thank you. Sorry about-” You gestured vaguely to the ground and started shifting nervously in a little 2x2 box of your own making. 

“It’s no problem, really. I like your glasses by the way. Did you know that glasses were invented in 1284 in Italy, but the idea of glasses was said to exist as early as 1000 BC?” You did not know that. And it was actually pretty interesting, but you unfortunately were caught off guard by the melodic sound of his rushed history lesson. You bit down on your inner cheek in an attempt to keep from beaming up at him while you tried to find a response, but he clearly took that as disinterest. 

“Sorry–I–um, have a good night.” He gave a small wave and started walking past you. But you couldn’t leave it at that. He seemed like a sweet guy, and he thinks you just totally weren’t listening. 

“I didn’t know that–about the glasses thing, I mean. That’s really cool that you just knew that.” In case he didn’t like you like that, you decided to back off. You gave him a smile, and mirrored his little wave before turning back around to keep walking. 

You got your drink and popcorn, your head swimming with every possible other outcome from that conversation. Everything else you could’ve said, how he might have reacted, how other people would’ve acted in your place. It was a long line. There was a lot to think about. 

When you began the walk back to your car in the blue glow of dusk, you noticed the car sitting next to yours. You hadn’t paid it any mind before, only briefly noting it as an interesting vintage car. But there was no one inside at the time, so you didn’t think much of it. But now there was someone inside. Windows down, stepping out of it to grab something from the trunk. The mystery man from before. 

He looked as taken aback to see you as you were to see him. He must’ve walked away before you pulled in, so you just missed him. And you were going to be 8 feet away from each other, all night. So you settled for a small wave, more of a hand raise than anything, and he responded the same, still wearing a confused look, but smiling. 

At this point you were pining.  You didn’t even know his name, and you were pining. The first movie was starting though, so you put all of your focus on the screen. It was dark now, so even when you did give in and steal a glance (or a solid minute of intermittent staring) it was only by the glow of the projected screen. 

The first movie in the lineup was the original Frankenstein, with the movies getting newer as the night goes on. When the credits started rolling, flashes of light came as families started leaving for the night. You grabbed the pepper spray from your keychain, it was late after all, and while the place was far from empty, it never hurts to be prepared. You made your way back to the small building to use the restroom and generally freshen up. Applying another thin layer of bug spray in a vain attempt to keep the summer bugs away. When you got back to your car a small folded piece of paper was waiting for you. Neatly placed on the ledge of your trunk. 

I read about the history of glasses in a book on renaissance medicine. I can lend it to you sometime if you’d like. 

-Spencer

Spencer. So that was his name. And maybe he did like you too, even after the couple of times he definitely did notice you looking at him. But you just averted your eyes immediately after, not letting yourself wait to see his reaction. 

He was gone from his car now too, so this was the perfect chance to respond. You practically dove into your backseat to find a piece of scrap paper and a pen. 

I’d like that, but I think I’d like it more if we just watched the next movie together.

-Y/N

You had to force yourself not to let out a little scream of anticipation. You’d never done something like this before, but he left a note first, so that made it a little easier. It was only halfway through the 15 minute intermission when you saw him out of the corner of your eye stopping a couple feet away from where you were sitting. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi. Do you want to sit?” 

You moved closer to the side of the car, and he carefully sat next to you. 

“So, renaissance medicine, huh? Are you a doctor, or just a big reader?” You shifted toward him, so you could look at him easier. 

“Both actually, I have PHDs not an MD. But with my job, it’s good to know random information sometimes.” 

“What is it you do then? Now you’ve got me curious”

“I do behavioral analysis, I work for the FBI. It’s actually pretty interesting, it used to be called behavioral science, the BSU. But they changed it to the BAU, and it’s now part of the National Center for Analysis of Violent Crime.” It looked like he had more to say but he just looked down sheepishly. 

“That is interesting, I didn’t even know that was a thing.” You gave yourself a second to process all the information he’d just cited as if he was reading aloud. 

“I think so, but I’m sorry I have a tendency to ramble.”

“It’s ok, it’s interesting I think. The next movie is about to start though, do you want to watch it with me?” You asked him in your note, but honestly you just wanted to hear him say it. 

“I’d like that.” 

[lyra-r05e]

Hi! I thought it would be fun to post a little teaser of the upcoming chapter.

Chapter 11 - Priorities will be posted this Sunday (Oct 6).

The excerpt below is not explicit, but the fic definitely is (minors be warned).

What Friends Are For

Fandom: Stardew Valley

Rating: Explicit (Smut, Graphic Depictions of Violence)

Genre: M/F, Friends with Benefits / Friends to lovers

Pairing: Sebastian x Female Player ('You' perspective)

Summary: You finally finish up the first major arc in your Solarian Chronicles campaign with Sam and Sebastian.

Notes: The characters refer to "you" as "Farmer" in this story. It can be interchangeable with y/n or her nickname.

“The dragon’s fire narrowly misses you both, just barely singeing the ends of your hair as you dodge its fury. It raises its head, and lets out a roar of frustration when it sees you unharmed,” Sebastian snaps his fingers, pointing at Sam who does his best dragon roar impression.

You giggle at his sound effects, breaking character. It's the final boss of this arc in your campaign, and it's been a tough fight so far. No time for giggles, gotta strategize.

“The dragon takes a defensive stance, arching its neck and flicking its tail. It opens its wings wide, looming over you. Both of you, roll an intimidation saving throw please,” Sebastian rolls a die behind his game master screen, taking notes.

“16!” Sam reports.

“Oof, only 11 for me,” you say.

“Samwise is not rattled by the dragon’s body language, but Rancher is shook. You won't be able to move this turn,” Sebastian looks at you over his screen.

“Uh oh. Samwise, I don't think I can dodge another fire breath,” you gulp, looking at Sam, “I could use some of your unearned confidence right about now.”

Sam looks back at Sebastian. “Can I try to inspire her to overcome her fear?”

“Sure, what do you say?” Sebastian grins at his enthusiasm.

Sam turns to you, getting in character. “Don't worry, Rancher. We got this! We've come so far to get here, and we’re so much stronger now. This scaly bastard is slower than us, as long as we anticipate its fire breath there's no way we’ll lose!”

You exaggerate a deep breath. “You’re right, we got this. We’ve already worn it down so much.”

“Good work. Rancher, you get advantage on your next skill check,” Sebastian scribbles another note.

“Can I move now?” You ask with hopeful eyes.

“Too late,” Sebastian says, “the dragon is already preparing its next attack. It bares its teeth, retracting its neck and eyes up Rancher as its next target.”

“Uh oh. I want to move in front of Rancher, waving my arms and trying to get its attention on me instead,” Sam chimes in.

“Go ahead,” Sebastian nods to the map on the centre of the table.

Sam moves his miniature on the grid in front of your character. “So I'll split my movement, stopping here first to do a bonus action. I'll yell at the dragon ‘HEY! I'm the tastiest snack in this cave, feast your eyes on THIS!’ And then turn my ass towards it, waving it in its face.”

You and Sebastian laugh. Sam is so much fun to role play with.

“Alright, the dragon snarls and switches its target to Samwise.”

“Sweet! I'll move to draw its attention away from Rancher,” Sam starts to move his miniature again, but you interrupt him.

“Oooh! I have an idea, don't go too far away from me. Try to bait it so its face will come within range of my light spell,” you say excitedly.

“I like the way you think, Farmer. I mean, Rancher. I'll move here, bracing myself to dodge its attack,” Sam moves his figure a few spaces away from yours, leaving a small window for the dragon to attack.

“Alright, Rancher’s next in initiative, but I assume you'll hold off until after the dragon goes?” Sebastian looks up at you, and you nod to confirm. “Okay. The dragon isn't quite ready for another fire breath, so it's going to attack Samwise with a bite,” Sebastian rolls a die, “you'll need to beat 17 with agility to successfully dodge it.”

You inhale through your teeth, glancing at Sam nervously.

“Come on, come on,” Sam shakes his dice extra long in his fists for good measure. You cross your fingers as he rolls it. “YES! 19, almost perfect.”

“Yess!” You high five Sam.

“Nice. Samwise expertly dodge-rolls the dragon's attack, its teeth snapping shut between you both,” Sebastian looks to you for your next move.

“Right, now that the dragon is in range, I want to use my light spell to flash in its eyes to try and blind it!” You say enthusiastically, and Sebastian motions you to roll your die. “Oh right! Oh SHIT!” You rolled a 2.

“Noo,” Sam groans. “Oh wait! You have advantage!”

“Oh yea!” You roll again, watching the dice with hopeful eyes. It lands on 18, a sure hit. “YES!” You and Sam both cheer.

“The dragon winces its eyes, crying in shock. It's completely stunned for the next round of combat, so Samwise, your next attack will hit as long as you don't roll a 1.”

“Don't jinx it like that!” Sam throws his die, “Okay, it's a 6.”

“Lucky break,” Sebastian grins, “go ahead and roll for damage.”

“Alright, my sword is a d12 plus 8. Moment of truth…” he shakes his dice, and you do a drumroll on the table. “WHOO! Max damage, I got 12!”

“No way, we might beat it right now!” You squeal.

“So that would be 12 plus 8, so 20, and since the dragon is paralyzed it's an automatic crit. You just did 40 damage,” Sebastian looks over his screen to your hopeful eyes, pausing for dramatic effect. “Samwise, you did it. Please describe your finishing blow.”

You both gasp with excitement, and Sam clears his throat. “Okay, okay. As the dragon starts to retract its head from the brightness, I grab onto one of its horns and draw my sword. As it shakes its head to get me off, I let go to get some air above it, and swing down with all my might, slicing its throat with my sword. I do a superhero landing on the ground as it falls, its head landing right in front of Rancher.”

You and Sebastian give him a round of applause, and he bows to you from his seat.

“I run up to Samwise, tackling him with a hug. ‘WE DID IT! Now let's loot the body,’” you say in character.

Sam and Sebastian laugh. It's been a running joke that you always try and collect everything from each corpse or chest you find.

“Well done, team! That's a wrap on act one. I wrote down a list of treasure you'll have for next time. Including anything you can take off the dragon’s corpse,” he winks at you. “How do we feel about that?”

“Great. That was so satisfying,” Sam says.

“Agreed! Though I always feel weird about the whole ‘slay the dragon’ trope. I'd rather make friends with the dragon and use it for fast travel,” you say with a twinkle in your eyes.

“If dragons could be farm animals, you'd find a way to get one,” Sam laughs.

“Only ONE!? I'd want one in every colour!”

The boys chuckle, and the three of you start to pack up. This has been super fun, but the campaign ran later than you’d have hoped. Even with the extra sessions last month, you still needed today to wrap it up.

“Thanks for playing, guys. I've wanted to do this for a long time,” Sebastian smiles warmly.

“Thanks for running the game for us! I know it's a lot of work,” you reply.

“Yea, thanks bud. And you too, Farmer. Having you to play with has been a blast,” Sam flashes you a toothy grin.

“Awe, thanks!”

“No pressure, but let us know when you think you can start this up again,” Sebastian looks at you, a bittersweet hopefulness in his eyes.

“I will, I promise. I want to play, but I'm just trying to be realistic. I'd rather not have to cancel or be too tired to give it my all,” you give them an apologetic smile.

“We totally understand. It'll be worth the wait!” Sam grins, standing and stretching his shoulders. “Do you guys wanna get pizza?”

You check the time before answering. “Well, considering you obliterated that dragon so quickly, yea I'm in!”

“Sweet. I'll text Abby to meet us there,” Sebastian pulls out his phone.

“Do you think she'd join us next time?” You ask.

“Maybe, depends on how busy her classes are this year. I know she's interested,” Sebastian says.

“Yea, it would be a blast with all four of us!” Sam grins, leading the way out the door eagerly.

[queerlilchinchin]

Chinchin's Ask Meme

Reblog to your blog, receive some asks! Answer some questions. Help your readers get to know your characters with unique questions you don't see in every ask meme.

01. When your characters get home, are they the type to wear shoes in the house or do they take them off at the door (or do they have house slippers)?

02. How many times has your character fallen in love? What happened with each time?

03. How many blankets & pillows does your character sleep with? Do they sleep with the window open or with the fan running? Do they like silence or white noise or music in the background? Do they prefer a light on or total darkness?

04. When your character was a baby, were they deemed a cute or ugly baby? What were people's general response to them growing up?

05. What is the worst first impression that your character ever made on someone? Did that person's impression ever change? What did they do to leave said impression?

06. What is a story from your OC's past that they repeat to everyone they know?

07. Which room in your character's house is the most heavily decorated? Is it also the room they spend the most time in? What made them decide to decorate it more than the other rooms?

08. What color is your character's front door? What color(s) are their bedroom walls? Do they alike accent walls or do they prefer a room to have all walls of the same color?

09. What topic would you say your character is the most of a "snob" about?

10. What high school group was your character in growing up? Now that they're older, would they still socially fit into that group or have they grown out of it? If they've grown out of it, what group would they fit into now?

11. If your character had all of the money and means in the world and got engaged, what gemstones would they use to design their engagement ring and what kind of design would they cut it into?

12. What rumor was spread about your character that 100% does not fit them at all? Was the rumor ever disproven or are there still people that believe it about them?

13. Tell us a fact about your character that seems like it wouldn't make any sense or fit them at all but is actually true.

14. What emoji - or string of emojis - do you feel suits your character's personality the most? If your character was alive in our time and world, what emoji(s) would they overuse in texts?

15. Does your character prefer to converse over texting, instant messaging, phone calls, in person or snail mail?

16. Has your character ever had a penpal? If yes, what would they write about? How old were they?

17. What is a topic that once your character starts talking about it, they struggle to stop?

18. Does your character like to talk about themself? What is their favorite thing about themself to talk about?

19. What would be your OC's favorite fidget toy? Feel free to post a picture of it if you struggle to describe it.

20. If your character was having a baby, what would be their favorite part of prepping for the baby? What part would be the worst to them?

21. What makes your character absolutely impatient? What are their biggest pet peeves?

22. How good is your character about drinking enough water? Do they keep up with it? If they struggle with it, do they have any way they remind themself in order to keep themself healthy?

23. What animal does your character relate to?

24. What bird feather is your character the most intrigued by? What is it about the feather that draws them in?

[ars-matron]

The Last Sun Reread: Chapters 11

Chapter 11: Addam Saint Nicholas

Rune and Addam have to slip out of the cell before the Opendoor spell fizzles out. Their dash to freedom is derailed for a moment, though, by the appearance of a small skeleton army.

Addam throws his stick at the door, Rune thinks it's a panic response, but the stick activates the door's trap, and destroys the closest skeletons. There are still several standing, so Rune uses his shatter spell to take them out. This is when Addam starts calling Rune 'hero' instead of asking for his name or anything. But he's obviously flirting so, it's cool

"He gave me a smile. "I am unaccustomed to being upstaged by a proper hero. That was very good spellwork." He winked, turned and retreated. "This way, Hero."

Addam leads him to 'secret exit', they have to pass through a torture chamber to get there. But the exit is just a dark, creepy tunnel that leads underground. So Rune uses his teleportation to get them out. They are instantly. But Ciaran is already out by the car waiting for them.

Rune calls Brand to let him know that he's fine, he has Addam and he'll be home in a few hours after he's seen Addam to someplace safe. Brand doesn't think it's safe, "dead man" is still out there, still functional if he's sending skeletons. Rune thinks he'll be fine. A very angry Brand says he made cookies, when Rune asks what flavor he hangs up.

In the car, Addam sits in the back and Rune put front. Ciaran wants Rune to call the Tower right then. Addam thinks there isn't much they can tell him. He certainly doesn't know what happened. While they drive Rune's phone buzzes and it's Brand. He starts drilling Rune about safe routes to there destination and Rune realizes that he must be right behind them.

He is. On he motorcycle. He's upset that Addam isn't taking point and looking out the windows. Addam, who can hear the whole conversation starts doing so. Rune looks out from and to the right Addam out the back and to the left. This also means that Addam heard it when Brand called Rune by his name.

Addam has a condo in Edgemere. When they arrive Ciaran leaves to go tell the Tower everything that's going on, and Brand and Rune follow Addam up to his condo. Addam asks if Brand would be more comfortable waiting outside and Brand delicately rips him a new one. Addam learns that Rune and Brand have a slightly different relationship than most bonded companions.

Brand and Rune walk through the apartment to look for anything amiss, and ask Addam about who has access to the condo. He management, in case of emergencies. Lilly, and his family. Not his co-workers though. Addam is under the impression that Rune is working for his mother, Rune tells him that it's actually the Tower who hired him. and Brand takes the opportunity to try to get a hold of the Tower's companion, Mayan.

Rune tells Addam about Quinn and he gets very emotional. Calling the hospital and getting information about Quinn, where he is, how he's doing. Afterwards he rushes to his computer. Because sometimes Quinn will leave him an email if something bad is going to happen. There are two emails.

"It says, 'Most of the time I'm okay. don't worry about me. It's after you.'" and "He sent it right after the first. It said, 'No, it's after him now.'"

Addam goes off to shower before they do anything else. Rune goes after Addam who is just kinda standing around dazed. Rune tries to make him feel better by pointing out that Quinn is coming to people in their sleep, which has to count for something. He's still having trouble believing that something was targeting him and not his mother. He offers to repay Rune by showering together and Rune leaves. Very fast.

Back in the main room Rune finds a bunch of searches on Addams computer on tourist info on Brazil. The portal stations don't check the IDs of people leaving New Atlantis. whoever set this up wanted it to look like Addam had left for Brazil and just didn't tell anyone. And since his co-workers didn't have access to his condo, it was either Lilly or a family member.

Addam realizes this means they were probably going to kill him. They weren't going to ransom him, they weren't just going to wait around until they got what they wanted and let him. They were planning his complete disappearance. He tells Rune to follow him to the bedroom and takes out a belt full of sigils. Rune asks him whats on there and it's mostly telekinetic spells. Addam says that Rune is no longer working for the Tower, but for him. Addam wants to find out who is doing all this.

Rune agrees that they'll go to the hospital before heading to the Tower's..ugh, tower. It isn't far to the hospital so they walk. And Rune and Brand spend the whole time trying to get Addam to accept that someone close to him has done this. To think of reasons why someone would. While Addam shows that he doesn't must like Ella and her choices, he still thinks that she likes him. He absolutely refuses to entertain the idea that Quinn was involved.

Addam tells Rune that he raised Quinn. That his mother didn't have time to take care of baby, and Addam was old enough to do it by then. Addam talks about living in Russia during the unsettlement. Which was in the 60s. SO he''s....60ish? Which means he was about 45ish when Quinn was born. I certainly hope that was old enough to take care of a baby.

At the hospital Rune leaves Addam in Quinn's room. Brand pretends to examine a vending machine and Rune paces before a large window. Then Micheal Saint Talbot, looking disheveled, steps out of the stairwell. He's very unhappy to see Rune. He threatens him a bit, saying he and his business partners can take care of Addam's disappearance. He nearly threatens to dual Rune, which Brand thinks is hilarious.

It is

Then in a tiff, Micheal says this.

"Who do you think you are? You're nothing. You're hired help. Neither of you are anything. You think playing detective makes you important again?"

I get technically they are all princes and the Lords are all Kings, but this is...interesting. Important again. Was the Sun Throne exceptionally important? We don't really see much before it fell.

A rumpled Ella Saint Nicholas steps out of the elevator and Rune connects the dots. Micheal nearly attacks then, but sees Brand holding a knife and decides to just leave. They go to confront Ella.

She claims that she was there to check on Christian. That her aunt is nearby. She denies even knowing who Micheal is. Exceptionally unlikely. She gets a bit mad when they point out that she has another brother in the hospital she could be checking in on. And then Addam is there.

She instantly starts fake crying, acting beside herself until Addam learns that she not only wasn't going to visit Quinn, she had been there with Micheal. She cries for real and rushes out of the hospital. Getting the security to hold Rune and Addam up so they can't follow her.

Chapter 12: South Street Bridge

Brand herds Rune and Addam into the hospital's public Sanctum. Which isn't great, but at least they can refill some of their sigils. Rune sits and meditates while Addam dances. Once he's finished Rune watches Addam dance. Brand watches Rune watching Addam.

Rune likes men who dance.

Brand ties to get Addam to understand while Ella and Micheal being in a relationship is a big deal. He's still reluctant to see it as anything but some budding rebellion from her. Something she does on her own without their aunt knowing. Like going on shopping trips alone, or visiting the Westlands. Which is definitely a red flag for Rune and Brand, but Addam is so so trusting.

I looks like Brand might be ready to spell it out for him, but then the Tower pulls Rune into a memory.

They are on a very old Spanish ship, the Tower is dressed like Navel Officer and looks a lot younger than Rune has ever seen him. The Tower then tells him about this particular expedition of his...youth? That it was just some exploration or the Amazon, until they came across a village being tormented by a lich. The Tower was able to kill the lich in the end, but not without days of magical prep and the decimation of the village and probably a lot of forest around it. He tells Rune to come to him, and then pushes him from the dream.

The three of them start walking towards the Pac Bell, Rune doesn't tell Brand or Addam what the Tower said about the lich, not wanting to worry them before they are somewhere safe. Brand, however, knows something is up and asks, though Rune doesn't say at first.

They walk along under tunnels of South Bridge, Rune drools over a coffee stand and Addam offers to buy him a coffee. Brand goes to the side to contact Queenie. And Rune confronts Addam about calling him Hero instead of his name.

"Addam, you know who I am. you used my name with Ella." Addam shrugged. "Lord Tower is my godfather. You are his protege. It's not so unlikely I'd know who you are."

There's a snow fea ahead of them, from Russia, and that gets them talking about Irkutsk, which is where Addam is technically from.

"Quinn has only briefly lived outside the city. I was born in Irkutsk, and lived there for many years while New Atlantis was built. My older brother Christian sounds like me."

Again, we don't get actual dates or anything, but he's got to be nearly twice as old as Rune and Brand.

Talking about Christian leads back to Ella and how she might have made him sick and helped in Addam's kidnapping. Brand startles them, and is mad that Rune is so tired he didn't even notice. Rune orders while Addam and Brand give each other looks, and Addam asks about Brand saying that Ella and Micheal being together makes sense. Though he's still insisting that she is easily misguided and wouldn't be able to do anything sinister on her own.

Rune points out that the whole catch to this situation was why would anyone from inside of Moral Confidence, Addam's company, want to take him out if it meant they would lose his connections and court influence. Well, with his sister dating one of the owners of the company they wouldn't.

Everything really points to it being Micheal and Ella all the way. Micheal wanted to take the company into more riskier directions, Ella wanted to rebel. Rune says.

"For what it's worth, I really wanted it to be Ashton. He's such a douche." "Ashton isn't nearly as indolent as he pretends," Addam said. His eyes lit as if this a better alternative. "Lord Strength is a stern man. He made Aston train at a Wasteland camp. Ashton knows how to hurt perople-he knows strategy."

OOOOOH!! Oh man! I just had a thought!!! I just a THOUGHT!! Okay, at the end, when Rune and Ashton have their little chit chat, he says that Rune ruined his life before. And Rune has no idea what he means. It isn't like a school yard conflict, Rune seems to have no prior knowledge of Ashton. Not like Geoffrey. So what could he have done that ruined Ashton's life? Well, what if it wasn't something he did directly. What if he had to go to the Wastelands to train because of the whole plot against the Sun Throne?!?! Lord Strength has always given me pauses. He does not seem like a good guy. He doesn't do anything about his son and the accusations. Is it because he accepts that his son did awful things, or is it because he can't risk them bringing Ashton's soul back to tell all?

Okay, we'll stew on that and come back to it.

Rune is still very much under that assumption that Ashton sucks at fighting. Brand leads Rune off a bit and asks what the Tower said in his dream/summons and all Rune says is that the Tower thinks Rurik is a mythological monster and tries to blow it off. Addam joins them with Rune's coffee and Instantly the guy in motley Rune thinks is part of the Fool's court drops dead next to them.

I think this is one of the only times we see someone in motley for the Fool's court. In Hourglass Throne and Eidolon they just wear bands of color to show they belong there.

People all around them start dropping dead, the gaurda are running around because people are dying for no reason. Rune has a bad feeling they start for an exit. Eventually Addam and Rune feel a very powerful spell release and spectre pops up.

Spectres are very hard to fight and it takes almost all of Rune's spells to take just one out. But there are four under the bridge so they run for it. Once they are out they see that there is a giant black cloud that is actually a hoard of spectres flying towards them. They run to the Pac Bell. Addam uses his telekinetic powers to push people to safety and obstacles out of their way.

Rune tells Addam to run inside the tower and get help, while he and Brand stand their ground out front. Addam runs inside but the people milling around the Pac Bell come to attention. Everyone forms a circle around Rune and releases a huge, jointly controlled, Bless-fire spell. Brand, however, is outside the protection.

When the woman in front of Rune won't let him pass to get Brand, Rune's aspect emerges. Stronger than it's ever been. His eyes are on fire. He's able to push her away and grab Brand, pulling him back inside the protective barrier just as the spectres are on them.

During the battle the flesh on one of Rune's arms was mangled, he's now fighting massive blood loss and exhaustion. When Rune admits he needs a nap Brand pulls out an oatmeal raisin cookie for him. The Pac Bell unlocks and they are able to go inside.

And that's the end of that chapter. I'm going to go think about some things. Until next time!

[mizutoyama]

The First-Year’s New Clothes

A/N: My entry for today's prompt "New Clothes" for @usernoneexistent "Back 2 School Chaos Challenge". Enjoy!

“Andre!” shouted his mother. “We’re ready to leave for Diagon Alley. What are you doing?”

“Making a list of the new clothes I need!” shouted back Andre.

“New clothes? Honey, we need to get you your school supply for Hogwarts. You have all the clothes you need already.”

“Not if I want to give a good impression,” replied the boy as he walked out of his room with a piece of paper tucked in his pocket.

His mother looked up at the sky. She sighed, resigning to the fact that there was no point in arguing with her son now. "Just grab onto the Portkey so that we can go," she said softly.

Andre hesitated for a moment, staring at the old vase. He wasn't a big fan of Portkeys, as he always ended up looking a bit green after using one, which clashed horribly with his purple Pride of Portree scarf. Then again, if he wanted to go to Diagon Alley, it's not like he had a choice. He finally made up his mind and grabbed the edge of the vase.

Suddenly, he felt a strong pull and he and his family were jerked into what Andre felt was a tornado before they finally landed in a small alleyway next to Diagon Alley.

“First, we’ll head to Ollivanders to get you your wand,” said his mother.

“Ok, while you do that, I’ll go see the new collection at Twilfitt and Tattings,” replied Andre as he started to walk away.

His grandmother caught him by the collar of his shirt. "Sweetheart, you have to be there for the wand to choose you."

And so, Andre followed his grandmother and mother into Ollivanders. He never imagined finding the right wand would take so long, but he finally ended up with an ebony wand with a unicorn hair core. He thought the color of the ebony made his wand look particularly chic.

Next up was Flourish and Blotts, where he once again tried to evade his family, but his mother gave him a pile of books to hold before he could even step away.

Next up was the cauldron shop, but thankfully Andre was allowed to go look at the window display of the Quidditch store with his grandmother. He knew he wouldn’t be able to play this year as no first-year ever made it onto the Quidditch team, but he couldn’t wait to be a great Quidditch player like his grandma. A very stylish future Quidditch player if he could just get some new clothes. With the right clothes, he could already get noticed by the captain of the house he’d be put in, which would most likely help during the tryouts during his second year.

Lost in his thoughts, Andre followed his mother and grandmother to Madam Malkin's shop.

"Are you here for your uniform?" asked a squat witch dressed in mauve, as she measured a girl around Andre's age.

"And maybe some extra outfits," added Andre.

"No," interrupted his mother. "Just the new uniform."

"But, Mum!"

"Andre, you don't need new clothes. You have everything you need at home, and you'll be wearing your uniform most of the time," scolded his mother.

"Well, if I don't make any friends because I look unstylish, I'm blaming you," pouted Andre, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I highly doubt 11-year-olds care about that," muttered his mother, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Andre's grandmother looked between him and his mother, then at Madam Malkin working on the girl. Suddenly, an idea struck her. She knelt in front of Andre. "What if I got you some materials so you can make your own clothes, exactly how you want them?"

Andre rubbed his chin, thinking. "I guess it could work. And with the magic I learn at school, I could make them even better!"

"You're not allowed to use magic outside of class," his mother reminded him.

"Pish posh! It's a magical school. Do you really think students don't use magic outside of class?" retorted his grandma.

But Andre was already lost in his imagination. He was already imagining all he could probably achieve by making his own clothes. He could make clothes for his friends, and even become a Quidditch player by day and a fashion designer by night.

Yes, he would definitely look amazing in his new clothes.