#many painters are afraid | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marypaol · 2 months

Text

Piano Boy

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader’s parents were invited to a meeting at the Malfoy Manor, and while exploring alone, she finds Draco playing the piano.

Warnings: Mentions of stress, carrying family burdens, numbness, sadness, nothing much just fluffy :)

Note: No use of Y/N-And also I had to write this one I totally picture Draco playing piano! 🫶🏻

___

Her feet softly patted across the floor, the fabric of her smooth dress surrounding both her and the floor as she made her way to an undecided destination. She went wherever her brain decided, since whenever she came across a corner she would randomly decide which to go: left, right, straight, or back where she came from.

She would never go back, though, but the thought of it being an option made her feel free. For the reason of never going back would prevent her from discovering more, for going back would only make her retrace her steps and see things she’s already seen.

A soft smile laid on her lips, for no apparent reason yet deep down she felt like it was because she felt content at the moment. And her and Merlin knew that it’s been a while since she felt so, the stress from school and burdens from her family heavy on her shoulders.

But all that changed when Mrs. Malfoy invited her family to tea, having a business meeting with her parents but they encouraged her to “wonder around” as if she was a little kid and they wanted to keep her busy. It worked, nonetheless, since her curiosity and wondrous mind got the best of her most of the time. She couldn’t help but smile as a way to say ‘excuse me, while I go explore.’

So she did so, practically skipping out of the room once she was out of sight, mind already spinning on possibilities of things she could see, could touch, (despite that voice she knew would be in her head telling her not to do so) and could think.

What kind things would be in the Malfoy Manor? Would everything be gloomy and mysterious like she assumed, or would things be darkly beautiful, calling her name to come closer until she found some evil chamber that revealed their cruel plans for the world of magic?

I hope not, though I assume they wouldn’t ever do that, she thought. She believed at that moment that the thought was just something that her mind was trying to make her think to make her afraid. But it wasn’t the time to be scared, it was the time to feel adventurous and free to whatever she wanted while her parents talked away on things she couldn’t understand.

Her eyes wondered along the walls, scanning over all the paintings displayed, eyes moving quickly because she wanted to soak everything in. She somehow feared that any time her parents would turn around the corner, telling her that it was time to depart, and she would no longer be able to look, so she took the time she had to admire everything possible.

She ended up stopping abruptly at a certain painting, hanging apart from the others and the table below it holding flowers in a vase as well as a tiny lamp for decoration, the soft light flickering a little bit, providing some sort of comfort to her, the lamp lighting up the painting in the most precious way.

What was the painting of, you may ask? The Malfoys, of course. But that wasn’t what stopped her, some normal family painting in their house. For it was the boy, the one that was one between the two adults, the one that actually had a smile on his face, despite the many snarls that beheld his lips in the past years she’s known him.

But the reason for the smile in the painting was because he was young, his face babyish as his pale cheeks scrunched up because of his mouth stretch of a smile. It made her heart warm at the sight of him, showing a smile that no one really got to see, which was a misfortune for the rest of the school; they deserve to see something so beautiful. His smile was so wonderfully painted, like the painter knew it was something that wasn’t shown often and they wanted to highlight every aspect of it, every beauty piece; which was every part of it. The paint brush strokes on the painting were so delicate, her fingertips brushing over the texture of the paint beneath them, running over his green robes he was wearing. (She would touch the smile she loved so dearly but the painting was far too big, making her wonder how long they had to stand there for the painter to paint them, it must have taken so long.)

But as she looked on, she noticed that there was more family paintings for years that came and went, each one Draco’s face forming into the snarl he held today, each one his lips dipping deeper and deeper into a frown that seemed to permanently take over his facial features. She frowned herself as she walked, watching as pure happiness changed to fake happiness, to slight distraught, to numbness.

As her feet stopped at the most recent one, the one with the least amount of dust on the frame, the frown on her lips dipped so deep she could feel her cheeks hurting from the in normal movement. She knew he was slowly pulled away from pride and accomplishment, thinking back on watching in the Great Hall as his happiness slowly left him, something else, something darker, taking over his chest and taking home there for years to come. Her own chest hurt, thinking about the pain he must be in.

“He’s just a boy.”

She overhead Mrs. Malfoy saying that, not remembering when but sure that she felt just as bad for Draco as the girl did. In fact worse, he’s her son after all and she’s just a classmate that was in the same House as he was. She was sure he knew her name, he seemed to know every Slytherin’s name for the benefit of it, but they’ve rarely talked.

But she knew a lot about him just by sight and noise. But she wished to get to know the real image, not the fake image of his personality, before sadness took over his chest and before the frown took home on his lips.

She wished to know him.

Draco.

It was at that moment, that she heard soft music, piano, if you will, softly playing as if a quiet record was playing behind a closed door, as background noise to listen to to help one focus on something else that her thoughts were interrupted and the frown left her lips, replaced with a confused yet curious look.

She could no longer focus on the painting and thoughts running through her head, however, since the music distracted her from the gentle paint strokes in the frame on the wall.

Her feet stepped away from the wall, her knees hurting slightly from standing there so long thinking about the son of Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.

The music was very soft she could barely tell where it was coming from, her ears almost playing tricks on her from using them so purely. She then noticed how it was around the corner, so her feet took her there, coming in contact with a emerald door, mostly closed leaving just a crack of light from

it being open slightly, the straight line casting on the floor beneath her giving her legs some warmth.

She knew the music was coming from inside the room, the soft keys being pressed so gently-almost hesitantly- as the unknown person played.

She leaned in closer subconsciously, ear angled toward the crack so she could hear the song at its best.

To her horror surprise, her head dropped a little too far and pumped into the door, forcing it open, more light blinding her as she stumbled in, skipping over her own feet. The piano instantly stopped playing, the last note abruptly ending as the person’s fingers quickly brought themselves up off the keys.

Her head snapped up to see the wondrous player that left her tranced to the room she was mistakenly standing in, to find the last person she thought would be playing the piano secretly while his parents talked to hers about business, using words neither of them would understand.

Her eyes widened at the sight. Draco was sitting on the bench, on an all black suit-even the tie was black- and pale hair pointing to and fro, like he was running his fingers through the strands that sat on his head.

His lips formed in both a surprised and annoyed snarl.

“What are you doing here? Poking around I see?”

On her part, she could unhesitatingly say that he sounded very irritated at the disturbance.

She swallowed her throat dry but spoke nonetheless.

“Yes- I mean no, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bother. My parents said-“

“Your parents?” He said, interrupting her despite hes annoyance towards her when she did the same thing to him just moments prior. “Your parents are here?”

She was taken back both by being cut off and his confusion.

“Yes, why didn’t you know?”

Draco shook his head, locks swaying. “Does it look like I did?”

It was her turn to shake her head, looking around the room. It was gorgeous, just like the other rooms on the house but this one had a sense of comfort and melody; very fitting for a music room.

She looked over at him, and his hand was still on the keys, fingers fiddling with it like he had an urge to continue playing.

She found herself walking towards the instrument, leaning her elbows on it as her skirt fell into place at her ankles, the material cool against her tired legs.

She gazed at him as he watched her every move, wondering why she was still here when he clearly gave her signs he didn’t want to have company.

“Did you know that pianos are considered a member of the percussion family?” She asked gently, a soft smile on her lips.

His eyes glanced at hers before looking back at the white and black keys, fingers playing a melody that wasn’t a part of what he was playing earlier.

“No, I didn’t know that.” He mumbled, not seeming so annoyed anymore.

She smiled a little wider. “While now you do.” She said, careful not to leave fingerprints on the what looked like the freshly polished piano.

Draco noticed her slight discomfort, one because of her body weight switching from foot to foot, and two the simple movement of her doing so distracted him from the instrument in front of him.

He scooted over, hand patting the seat as she smiled, walking over slowly and sliding onto the emerald cushioned piano bench beside him.

She then watched as his fingers effortlessly played the instrument, his hands gliding across the keys as if it was water and he was pouring it into a glass, controlling ever drop so it wouldn’t spill everywhere. He had so much control over it, everything he told the instrument to do it would do it without another word.

She couldn’t help but admire, slightly dazed as his long fingers took over the once sitting in silence keys. The music flowed from it, the beauty of the music was all coming from his hands, and that amazed her.

He stopped, playing something that was a part if the song she just heard, and apparently it was incorrect despite it sounding wonderful, and he mumbled something under his breath out of frustration.

“I think it sounded exquisite, Draco. I didn’t know you knew how to play the piano.” She complimented, looking up at him.

His fingers halted their movements from the unexpected commentary and she took the opportunity to place her own hands on the keys, pressing whichever ones she desired and listened as the note came about into the air, spawning to life for her and his ears to hear.

His fingers came into her view, stopping her from doing anything else, and both confusion and hurt poured over her, wondering if she only annoyed him further.

It wasn’t until she felt the soft presence of his other arm around her, his other hand landing on hers as he placed her fingers on the keys accordingly.

“There.” He spoke soft, almost right into her ear and a deep flush washed over her, starting at the tops of her hair strands to her cheeks, deep in her chest, and straight down to her toes.

She then felt his fingers pressing down hers so she could play what he was playing. She smiled slightly, but the concentration on trying not to separate their fingers was the main goal on her mind at the moment.

Once the last note rang in the air, and his foot let off the petal beneath their feet, his hands left hers as his presence left her, and a cold wave flushed over her, leaving her wanting his touch back more than ever.

Silence took over for a couple seconds before she heard the music once again, this time a different song, and her eyes watched as he played.

The song sounded sad, like someone was deep into a headspace they couldn’t leave and was trying to find the light.

Her head dropped slowly, her temple landing on his shoulder, which tensed for a moment before getting used to the feeling of touch.

The soft music and his unique scent took over her, her eyes closing as she unwillingly took the time to rest.

It may have been her imagination, part of her dreams whirling with real life, but she thought she felt another head lay on hers in response, a soft smile stretching on her lips.

-Thanks for reading!

Ich liebe dich! 🩵🤍

204 notes · View notes

tragedyofdevotion · 4 months

Text

Imagine a royal au with Blue lock...

You are the princess of a country. The only daughter of the royal family and the treasure of your parents and your older brother.

Your older brother is Kunigami who is really overprotective of you. Royal balls? he is the only one you are allowed to dance with. Tea parties? you are not allowed to attend if he is not present. You sometime gets overwhelmed with his overprotectiveness but when you woke up in the middle of the night, hungry, and your servants do not allow you to eat anything because it is unladylike to have midnight snack, he is the one to go to. He will sneak into the kitchen of the royal palace skillfully and make you the sweetest hot chocolate.

Your fiance, Mikage Reo, is the Crown Prince of the Kingdom to the east of your country. Even though you will have to marry him in a year or two, you don't even know what he looks like. You have been opposing this arranged marriage as long as you can remember. Reo isn't satisfied at all with you, too. Up until this point in his life, he has gotten everything in life. So, he did not understand why he can't chose his partner in life for himself. But that's until he saw your painting given to him by his parents. It would be funny to say it but he fell in love at the first sight seeing your smiling face in the picture. Ever since that day, he slept hugging your portrait. He has heard that you are against this marriage but as he said he has gotten everything he want in life and yeah he will get you too.

Your knight is Yoichi Isagi who has been by your side since you were 10 and he was 15. It has been 10 years since then and your first impression of thinking he won't hurt a fly hasn't change. Sweet & kind, sociable & amenable. You are worried he will be able to function well as a knight with that personality. Well, actually you don't have to worry though. He can perform well, really well. Anyone who dare to even think of harming you is disposed of cleanly before you had ever a chance of harming you, of course without your knowledge. It will not do well to make his princess afraid for some pests after all. During your teens, you once heard the noble girls gossiping about you and laughing at you behind your back. You cried to sleep that day. And a week later, the girls were expelled from the social circle one way or the other because some rumors mixed with truth that spread among every single nobles and even the commoner residents in the capital.

Bachira Meguru is the fickle and eccentric royal painter. He is the one who drew the painting Reo has of you. He is also the one who helps Isagi in the act of protecting you when Isagi wants to destroy, socially, physically or sometimes both, for those who brings you sorrow. Only he knows of Isagi's worship for you and observe it from a safe place. But don't mistake he is normal either. He has a whole storage full of your paintings. Some of them, he did get permission from you to draw, but others are your candid posts which he recorded in his mind. However, a few of the paintings are made entirely from his imagination, and they featured you in less than proper postures and expressions. But don't worry these collections are for his eyes only. He won't show them to anyone, not even to Isagi.

Chigiri is a spy from the noble fraction that want dirt from the royal family. He crossdressed as a maid and infiltrated into the castle. Now he is your maid and you absolutely love him thinking of him as your one and only girl friend. Unlike other maids he treat you frankly, and unlike other noble ladies, he isn't watching your every move to get something to gossip about, or so you think, not knowing he is the spy. When he first got the mission, there were many things he was unsatisfied about but now he doesn't mind it very much because he get to help you get dressed. Isagi thinks he is sus and searching for evidence to prove that he is the filthy rat that he is.

Itoshi brothers are your childhood friends. And as childhood friends go, there is a love triangle among you three, which obviously goes like this, Rin → you → Sae.

Sae is the reason you are against the arranged marriage. You have someone you gave your heart to. How can you have eyes for anyone else, let alone marry them. Sadly, though, Sae took the heart you gave and stabbed into a million times and cut it into a thousand pieces using his cruel words and attitude. Isagi and Kunigami wants to torture him until he beg to be killed but since Sae is the genius mage who is responsible for projecting the magic circle that protects the whole country from outside attacks, he can't easily be killed. Moreover, you will likely die from heartbreak if you heard so much as Sae breaking a bone. Really, they can't figure out just why you love this bastard. And of course, Sae knows of your little crush. And he can't help but abuse you with words until tears flow from your beautiful eyes. But you, without learning, run up to him the next time you see him. Sae thinks that if he is as sadistic as people say you must be quite the masochist for liking someone like him.

As a fellow victim of Sae's cruel words, Rin always stay by your side and pat your back without word whenever you cries from his brother 's cold attitude. Don't worry. He is here. He will always be here, by your side. So, please..... Please he beg of you... Spare a glance at him. Notice that he is here. These are only his thoughts. He will not say them even if he were at death's door. You love him, you really do but only as a friend, as a brother. Not as a man, never as a man. And he tries so, so hard at combat training, magic training, scholar, and politics. So, he will one day surpass your fiance, your friend, your brother, your knight, and his brother...

282 notes · View notes

allthingswhumpyandangsty · 2 months

Note

I appreciate that writing angst and whump doesn't make me a bad person, but like... I'm afraid that's all I can write? I can't write anything fluffy or happy, it just turns out bad and boring. Does only being able to write angst/whump mean there's something wrong with me?

as long as you’re not going out there hurting anybody in real life, it only just means writing fluff isn’t your thing and you’re more of a whump / angst writer than a fluff writer. and there’s absolutely nothing wrong or abnormal about that. some directors only direct slasher movies and never go for comedy, some painters only make dark, macabre paintings instead of bright and cheerful ones. and some writers only write horror with tragic endings instead of romance with happy endings. and there’s nothing wrong with these people.

my point is, art (be it paintings, books, movies, tv shows or fanfiction) can come in many forms — macabre, fluff, etc — and you don’t have to be good at its every form in order to be a talented artist.

do what you love and what you’re good at, and as long as it’s fictional — aka a form of art — and you’re not hurting anyone in real life, then there’s nothing to be ashamed of.

99 notes · View notes

gothgoblinbabe · 10 months

Text

Marlboro Red 100's (pt.1)

Daryl Dixon x FemReader (No use of Y/N)

Modern/no apocalypse/no walkers AU

Word Count: 3765

Warnings: Mentions of smoking, fluffy-lovey-dovey crap, suggestive-ish, swearing, mention of slight age gap but no ages specified

(Pt.2)

A/N: This is like my second ever one shot I've posted to Tumblr pls enjoy and don't rip me to shreds <3

-------------

1:30 to 2:00

2:00 to 3:00

Then 3:30 to 4:00

4:00 to 5:00

5:00 to 6:00

Your shift dragged on and on the more you glanced at the clock, watching the hands circle around and around, painfully slow. Six more hours. You could do six more hours of this, right? Monotonously scanning items and cashing out customers, fixing displays, cleaning spills, scrubbing toilets, checking inventory; all the wonders of being a minimum wage employee at a gas station corner store. Overworked and underpaid, a sentiment shared by many.

There’s handfuls of regulars at any retail store. Some are pleasant and will make small talk with you, asking about your life or commenting on the weather. Others, not so much. Men can be creepy and some people will share every detail of their life with you, whether you want to hear it or not.

There’s rare times, though, when there's a customer that you actually have genuine interest in talking to. Like today.

The door chime rang out through the desolate store, causing you to repeat your usual “Hi, how’re you?” and turn your gaze from your shift paperwork up to the front door.

There stood a man, broad shoulders and shoulder length, dark hair. He wore dark jeans, heavy-looking boots and a leather vest over a flannel that had the sleeves torn off. His tan, muscular hands and arms were covered in what looked like motor oil. He wiped them on a red rag he took from his back pocket, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

“Hey,” his voice was low and gruff with a bit of a southern accent, “you got a bathroom I could use?”

He raised his arms, showing you the mess on his large hands.

“Yeah, uh, right in the back, to the left.” you stammered, gesturing towards the back of the building.

You’d probably die before you told anyone this, but the whole hot mechanic look some guys came in with really got you going. Not often is there a good looking guy that comes in that you drool over, but every now and then there would be a mechanic or a construction guy or a painter who just looks dirty and you wanted them dirtier. It was weird, you didn't know why, but maybe it was just the idea that they weren't afraid to get their hands dirty, literally.

You watched this one walk to the back, eyes on his biceps. Oh, how you’d like to be nearly crushed between them.

Seriously, being here so long with so little to do makes your mind wander just about anywhere and everywhere and half of what you did during your shift was daydream.

When he disappeared into the men’s room, you leaned against the cigarette wall behind the register, eyes scanning the parking lot outside the window. It was almost abandoned, except for an older man pumping gas into his Subaru and a worn-looking Harley Davidson motorcycle propped up out front.

“Of course he rides a motorcycle,” you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head with a little grin. He definitely seemed the type.

“Say somethin’, sweet ‘eart?” his voice startled you from your thoughts, noticing he’d already washed his hands and was now standing up against the counter.

You couldn’t help the light blush creeping across your face at the nickname, shaking your head and pointing outside, “just sayin’ I like your bike.”

You blinked at him from behind the register, watching his eyes almost light up at the mention of his prized possession. You could feel your heart beating faster at the scent of his cologne mixed with a little gasoline.

“Ain’t she beautiful? Just got done workin’ on ‘er, made a mess but it’s always worth it.” He grinned, glancing out the window at his bike.

“You new ‘round here? I’ve never seen you before,” you decided to blurt out, “think I’d remember ya’.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Not many new people come through here, is all.” you lied, so many different faces slid through every day, but you’d remember his because you’d think about it later with your hands between your thighs.

“Huh,” he hummed, “can I get a pack of the Marlboro red 100’s, darlin’?”

You nodded, turning around and reaching on your tiptoes to grab the pack of cigarettes from the top shelf. Had you been able to feel the way the man’s eyes traveled down from the top of your head to your heels, you would’ve melted into a puddle right there.

“Anythin’ else?” you asked, placing the cigarettes on the counter top.

“One more thing,” he said, handing you a twenty dollar bill, “what’s your name?”

You pointed to the name tag fastened to your shirt and he read it outloud, erupting butterflies in your stomach.

‘’I’m Daryl Dixon. And yeah, I’m new ‘round here. I’ll be back in though, you’ll see more of me.”

“You gonna be a regular?” you asked, crossing your arms and once again leaning against the wall of cigarettes after you handed him his change and closed the drawer.

“Hope so, only If i see more a’ you.”

You rolled your eyes and tried to bite down the smile on your lips, failing miserably.

“Uh-huh, I’m always here, Daryl Dixon,” You teased, letting his name roll off your tongue.

“Then I’ll be back for sure.” He flashed a sweet smile, tapped his hand on the counter and turned to leave.

Once he was out the door, you watched him mount his bike, raking his hands through his hair and kicking up the side stand. As he pulled away, you felt the butterflies still flutter in circles in your stomach, your thoughts still focused on him.

You would see him again. It would be Daryl’s ritual to come in every Friday afternoon for a pack of Marlboro Red 100 cigarettes and sometimes a lighter. Truth was, even if his pack wasn’t empty yet, he’d still stop in every Friday afternoon just to see your pretty face and to watch you stretch the top shelf, his eyes raking over your shape. Jesus, he wanted you so badly it almost hurt, but he had no idea how to approach you about it, he didn’t even know much about you. Small things, like your family stuff and what you did for fun, but nothing much else. To make matters worse, he had to be at least 20 years older than you. What would you want with an old man like him?

Was he really old?

No, but he felt like it.

Except for when he was lost in conversation with you.

Every time he saw you, he felt as though there was no divide and you could’ve known each other years before, old friends meeting up every Friday for a couple months straight. He’d ask questions about you, what your favorite color was, your favorite animal, favorite song, movies, foods, anything he could learn about you, he absorbed like a dry sponge tossed into water. You’d always return the questions, ask him the same, and make mental notes of the answers, the same way he was.

On one sunny, dry, hot Friday afternoon, the door chimed and in walked your favorite regular, Daryl Dixon.

“Hey, honey,” He grinned your way, but instead of walking towards the counter as usual, he turned towards the cooler in the back.

“What, no cigarettes?” you pretended to be shocked, hand over your heart.

‘’I’m gettin’ a drink, hot as shit out there,” he replied, shaking his head and disappearing momentarily behind one of the shelves.

You smiled and rolled your eyes just as the door chimed again, another customer walking in.

He was a short, scrawny guy who couldn't have been more than a couple years older than you. You said your usual greeting and he ignored you, walking up to the counter and simply stating a brand of cigarettes you assumed he wanted. Daryl got in line behind him just as you turned around and bent slightly to grab the pack of cigarettes on the lowest shelf.

From behind you, you heard a whistle.

You snapped back up, looking back and glaring at the asshole. He was chuckling to himself.

“Aw, c’mon, it was a compliment, baby, you got blessed back there,’’ He laughed.

“Fuck off,” you muttered, tossing the cigarettes onto the counter and swiping the scanner over them.

“What was that, babe?” He raised his eyebrows.

Daryl looked like he was about to explode, piping up from behind the guy, “you heard what she said, why don’t ‘cha? Fuck off.”

He nearly spat his words, seconds away from stepping between this douchebag and the counter.

“I ain’t gonna let no bitch talk to me like that,” He snarled, swiping the cigarettes off the counter.

‘’Alright, that’s it,” Daryl placed his drink on the counter and slid it to you, “hold that, sweetheart, okay?” before turning to the other man.

‘’Fuck you think you are, talkin’ to a lady like that? She ain’t no bitch, that’s you. Get the fuck on outta’ here.” He spat, roughly grabbing the younger man by the collar of his t-shirt and shoving him towards the door.

‘’She ain’t no lady-” the guy started, back to the door, but Daryl cut him off.

“She’s every bit a’ one, now get the hell out and leave ‘er alone before I kick your fuckin’ teeth in.”

The guy tried to walk forward, but Daryl shoved him out through the door, onto the pavement. He scrambled up, seemingly too embarrassed to walk back in, and sped off. Daryl picked up the cigarettes from the floor where the guy had dropped them when he was shoved the first time and gently placed them onto the counter.

‘’You alright, honey? I’m sorry ‘bout him, fuckin’ asshole.”

You were just about breathless, a pit in your stomach and a tingle in your chest. You’d hate to admit it to yourself but the way he had defended you turned you on to almost no end. Your heart was beating a million times a minute, deafening in your ears as you blinked at his baby blue eyes.

You almost couldn’t speak, “ ‘m fine.”

“You sure?”

‘’Y-yeah, thank you.”

“Ain’t gotta thank me for nothin’, I’d never let some prick talk to ya’ like that.”

“Daryl?”

You had a bad idea, it was definitely bad and there's no way he’d say yes but your tongue was on a route that your brain couldn’t stop.

“Mhm?” he hummed in response, leaning on his forearms on the counter, so engaged in anything and everything you had to say.

Which made things so much worse for you.

“What are you doing tomorrow night? Are you busy?” you blurted.

Oh, this could be so, so bad.

“What?” He replied, steading himself to stand straight.

Okay, yeah, bad.

“Nevermind, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I-”

“No, no, sorry for what? I ain’t busy tomorrow night, what were you gonna say?”

Daryl looked intrigued, if not a little confused.

“It was stupid, I was gonna ask if you, um, If you’d wanna maybe have dinner or somethin’. Like a date.” You managed to get out, picking at your fingernails with anxiety.

“I ain’t too old for ‘ya?” was the first thing from his mouth after a moment of tense silence.

“Too old?” you questioned, tilting your head, “I’m an adult, Daryl. You can’t be too old for me.”

He sighed, grinning and rubbing the back of his neck as relief filled his body.

“When you want me to pick you up, sweetheart?”

You smiled wide, feeling giddy like this was your very first date all over again.

“Let’s do six o’clock? Here, I’ll give you my address,” you find a piece of a scrapped receipt and scribble your address and phone number, handing it over to him.

He gladly accepts it, folding it and placing it in his jeans pocket.

Before you know it, it’s six o’clock the next evening and you're focused on yourself in the mirror. You’d worn your favorite outfit and done your hair, waiting anxiously for the doorbell.

At five minutes past six, it rang.

You excitedly scurried to the door, opening it to see a slightly nervous Daryl Dixon in his leather vest and flannel button down.

He shook his hair out of his eyes to get a better look at you, making note of every curve and dip that made his head spin.

“You look…real, real pretty,” He managed to mumble out, having a hard time keeping his eyes on yours.

“You do, too,” you teased, stepping out into the evening air and closing the door behind you.

You followed Daryl to his motorcycle, your stomach turning with nerves.

“So where we headin’ off to?” you inquired, watching his broad shoulders in front of you.

“ ‘s a surprise. Figured I outta’ do somethin’ special for a girl like you.”

You blushed, shaking your head and only giggling in response.

“You alright gettin’ on the bike?” He asked sweetly, placing a gentle hand on your elbow.

You could melt under his calloused touch, instinctively leaning your body towards him.

“I should be alright, I think. Just never been on one before,” you caught your lower lip between your teeth.

He noticed the small nervous gesture, reaching over his bike and handing you the single helmet.

“You’re safe with me, alright? Hold on real tight and don’t let go, trust me, ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you,' ' He reassured you.

You hesitated for a moment before tugging the helmet on and letting Daryl help you on the motorcycle behind him. You wrapped your arms tight around his abdomen, leaning your weight on his back.

He was glad you were behind him so you couldn’t see the shade of pink his cheeks had turned or the way he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face even if he tried. You were significantly smaller in stature than he was and he adored the way your smaller arms wrapped tight around him.

“You ready, honey?” He kicked the side stand up, rearing the engine of the bike.

“Sure am, sugar,” You shot back.

His smile grew wider as you both started forward, wind through your clothes sending a light chill through you. The hum of the bike filled your ears as you watched your shadows dance upon the pavement, cast by the late afternoon sun.

Before you knew it, Daryl slowed the bike to a stop and turned to speak to you.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Nah,” you tried to act nonchalant, though your heart was beating like crazy as you handed him the helmet back, “it was fun.”

“So you’ll let me take ya’ out on it again?”

“Well, I’ll have to if we’re gonna go on any more dates, huh?”

Daryl smiled at your quick response, hopping off the bike and helping you do the same.

You checked out your surroundings, a green and desolate park, open lawns with freshly mowed grass and large oak and willow trees.

“You take me here to kill me?” you joked, watching a dragonfly hover over the cement near your feet.

“Nah, cmon,” Daryl chuckled, waving his hand to motion you to follow him, “got somethin’ set up for ya’. Hope you don’t think it’s stupid, I ain’t ever really…’guess I’ve never been on a real date before, so I, uh…I don’t know, hope you like it, is all.”

His nervous babbling as you followed in his direction into the field of grass made you smile wide.

“I’m sure whatever you got up your sleeve is -”

Words failed to form as you saw what he was leading you to. A blanket was laid out under the shade of a beautifully full weeping willow tree. Containers of all sorts of delicious foods were spread out along with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

“Oh, Daryl, you did all this? For me?”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to kiss him right there for being so damn sweet.

“Of course, for you,” Daryl smiled, taking a seat on the blanket and tapping the empty space next to him, “what other sweet lady would I do this for?”

You couldn’t hide the large smile spread across your face as you plopped yourself down next to him, taking in the array of foods.

“Wow, this is…you really out did yourself. This is perfect.” you assured him, taking note of the way he was scanning your features to see what you thought of his gesture.

“Think so? Just wanted to make it ‘nice as I could.”

“Perfect, all of it.” You smiled and opened a container of strawberries, popping one in your mouth and offering some to Daryl.

He took one appreciatively, doing the same.

You had a mischievous idea and picked up a strawberry, offering it to Daryl, “Now is this the part of the date where you feed me strawberries like in the movies?”

You thought he’d laugh, shake off your joke in slight rejection and change the subject.

Instead, he gently took the fruit from your fingers, hovering it in front of your lips.

‘’Yeah? Go ahead.”

Your stomach did back flips and you could’ve sworn it tied itself in knots at his words.

Daryl was glad you didn’t seem to notice the way his hand started to shake.

You leaned in, slowly, and caught the fruit between your teeth. You kept your eyes on his as you bit down, pulling away to wipe the juice from your lips.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, that was one of the hottest things he’d ever experienced in his life and he immediately went for the wine to calm his nerves.

You watched him uncork the wine in his lap, noticing the slight bulge in the front of his jeans as he tried to hide it with the bottle, though it didn’t do much.

The way you had to do almost nothing but exist in his presence to make him excited had you biting down a smile, watching his hair fall in front of his face as he finally uncorked the bottle. As he poured your glass, you reached a delicate hand forward and brushed the hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear. His eyes shot up to yours, lost in the way the sun hit them and made the color even more stunning.

You were beautiful, ethereal, an angel on earth he had been blessed to be touched by.

And you made him spill the wine.

“S-shit, sorry, I shoulda’ been lookin’, too distracted,” He laughed a little, glancing at the stain of red wine on the blanket.

‘’Distracted with what?” You teased, grabbing the bottle from his hands to pour him his own glass.

“How am I supposed to pay attention when there’s a pretty girl like you lookin’ at me like that?”

“Like what? I’m just lookin’ at you!” You giggled, going to hand him his wine glass.

“Like that!” he exclaimed with a smile, gesturing with his free hand as he took the glass from you, “with them beautiful damn eyes and that pretty smile and that gorgeous face, drivin’ me damn near insane.”

“Oh, please, you say it to flatter me,” you shook your head and laughed, taking a sip from your glass.

“Nah, but if you wanna feel flattered, I’ll sure keep tryin’,” He said, doing the same, “but it ain’t flattery if it’s true.”

You playfully rolled your eyes and had another snack. Daryl sat back against the tree and watched you intently, your lips, nose, jaw, hair, hands, every bit of you.

“You wanna know somethin’?” He said, gaining your attention.

“Hm?”

“I don’t really go through a pack of smokes a week. I just come in every Friday to see you. I like seein’ your pretty face and I like seein’ you reach up to grab ‘em from the top shelf. It’s cute.”

It felt like he knocked the wind right out of you. He really was too damn sweet.

“And I like talkin’ to ya’, like knowin’ more about ya’. Could talk to you for hours.” he added in admission, smiling in adoration at you.

It was almost too much.

“Daryl?”

He sat up, leaning towards you, “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I want you to kiss me,” you sighed, watching his eyes change, “please, kiss me.”

He wasted no time in placing a gentle hand on the back of your neck and connecting his lips with yours. His lips were soft against yours and tasted of strawberries and wine and cigarettes. His breathing was soft against your cheek as he deepened the kiss, placing his other hand on your waist and absentmindedly tracing circles with his fingers. Your hands were both in his hair, twirling his locks around your fingers. You both eventually broke apart to gaze at each other, breathless and giddy like teenagers.

“I like you a lot, Daryl.” you admitted, again playing with his hair. He leaned into your touch.

“I like you more.” He smiled, fingers still tracing patterns on your waist.

“Oh, you wanna start that fight?” you teased.

“Only if we can make up at the end,” He smiled.

You kissed him again, this time adjusting yourself to be nearly square on his lap. His breathing hitched and he gazed up at you, swiping gently at the hair that had fallen in front of your face.

“Show me how much you like me.” Was all you had to say to have Daryl’s tongue in your mouth, swiping lovingly and softly.

His hands caressed from your shoulder blades down your back to the sides of your hips, kneading your thighs while you tangled your fingers in his hair. He pulled away just an inch to kiss along your jaw and down your neck, biting and sucking softly, earning small mews and moans from you. You mumbled his name in ecstacy, making him groan against your neck. He continued to kiss back up your neck and jaw to once again meet your mouth, using one hand on the back of your neck to keep you as close against him as you could get.

When you two finally broke away from each other, reluctantly, neither of you could wipe the smiles from your faces.

It was no surprise then, when he dropped you home later and walked you to your door, that you both agreed to a second date.

-------------

wooooo pt2 coming eventually!

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl x reader #the walking dead #daryl x you #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion imagine

177 notes · View notes

johnwickb1tsch · 6 months

Text

Imagine for a john wick x reader fic i can't get out of my heeead:

You are Helen's baby sister. She was a photographer but you're a painter. Her dying wish was for you to make a collaborative piece with her photographs after she's gone. She leaves you boxes of them, and so many are of John.

You haven't seen him since the funeral, but you've looked at him a lot. You were always insanely attracted to him, the silent dark tower of a man at your family gatherings, but of course you never did anything about it. His devotion to Helen was Complete and Total and you were so happy for her.

But then you go to Helen's graveside to take her some daisies on her birthday, and John is there like a dark dream. He's never been touchy feely but when he finds you crying he puts his arm around you. You're afraid you'll ruin his suit but he says he has an excellent dry cleaner.

He says he was going to Helen's favorite restaurant for her birthday. He asks if you want to go. You know it's probably a bad idea but of course you want to go. He offers to pick you up but you say you'll meet him there because you're a mess.

It's a swanky place in Manhattan and when you get there you're worried about your dress even though it's the nicest thing you own. But he's waiting for you outside, dressed in one of those black suits that crosses the wires in your brain, and when he looks at you like he might like to take a bite out of you, you feel beautiful. He offers you his arm and when you go inside the maitre d' knows him by name.

When John pushes in your chair his fingertips brush your back. You can't tell if it was an accident, but it sends a guilty thrill down your spine. You catch him watching you out the corner of his eye while he's reading the menu. You know you must remind him of Helen in the low golden light, and you know this is such a bad idea, but you're going to do it anyway...

#john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick #john wick fic #john wick x you fic

83 notes · View notes

mi-rae07 · 14 days

Text

Choi San : Promise

Pairing : Choi San (Ateez) and named character (Kim Seori)

_______________________

Synopsis : San and Seori has been having a friends with benefit situation for some time now, despite san's wishes to be something more with seori and her agreeing to take san to her manor. But san does not want to go there, as seori is a single viscountess known for the many muses she brings to her scandalous manor. San does not wish to be one of her men like that despite being a poor painter who struggles for his own living. He wants to be special, her only one.

But will she ever accept him in that way given her views on life and men?

_________________________

A/n : sort of an open-ending with many untied strings but this will be a one-shot as I think it has a finishing to it which goes with it's title. I'll just be writing a few one-shots now until my ongoing Seonghwa series come to a conclusion in my drafts. I just need a bit more time for it.

____________________________

San let out a breath as he was banged against the wall, seori holding onto his collar as she kissed him without giving even the slightest break for oxygen. Her lips fought hungrily against his, beads of sweat running down san's forehead as he weakly clutched onto seori's waist corset. They had been at it for 15 minutes now, seori's hands running all over san's body, radiating fire. She had missed him, it was evident. But there was only so much san could take.

San : seori, please wait-

Seori : there is no time.

San let out a struggled moan as seori went back to kissing his neck instead, his eyes closing as san said in a strained voice

San : is this all-all you want to do when we meet? Kiss? Do you not want to…to talk?

Seori chuckled against san's skin as she said

Seori : talk? What do we have to talk about, san?

Seori was once again about to go back to her work when san pushed her away from him, stepping back as well before saying sternly

San : I want to talk.

Seori let out an annoyed breath, fixing her hair as she said nonchalantly

Seori : then talk, you have three minutes.

San : seori you told me you loved me.

Seori : I did? Good for us then.

San : is this how you love? Showing up once or twice a week to this market, just for you to ruin me all night and then leave at dawn without notice. Is this what love is for you?

Seori : I told you I could take you to my manor, san. I told you I could shower you with everything there, money, flowers, paints-

San : seori you are a viscountess! And you are known to…to…, look-

Seori : known for the many muses I have? The many men I have slept with and brought to that scandalous place of mine?

San looked at the ground as he said

San : ye-yes.

Seori smirked as she moved closer to san, him moving further backward as she said

Seori : you're afraid you'll become one of those many muses? Juggled around with other men?

San gasped as his back hit the wall, seori being this close to his face as she whispered

Seori : you want to be special.

San : who…who doesn't want to be special to someone, viscountess?

Seori : you are a painter, san, a very handsome one at that. You could've gone to court, made the queen fall in love with you. You would've gotten anyone, any woman. You would've been special.

San : I don't want the queen, or any other woman. I want you, only you.

He was being romantic, she was not that. She did not deserve that. Seori stared at san as she said

Seori : do you know how I maintained my status as viscountess and my freedom both together? By not marrying, san, by not having someone special. Because all men are the same, they make us fall in love, and then they take everything away from us. They destroy as much as they love.

San : I will never-I could never do-

Seori : oh they all say this, san, but none of them really mean it, not after they get a taste of power. I will not marry, and you knew that about me before all this and you still agreed. If anything, this is on you.

San : I agreed for love, seori. Do you not…do you not love me?

Seori chuckled as she asked

Seori : love? What is love to you, san?

San : knowing the difference in shades of the same color, being able to see through the painting in front of you, through all it's beautiful colors and distractions.

Seori : I am not a poet.

San : you-

Seori : do you know what love is to me? Glass. When they are intact, they are beautiful, shiny, even perfect. But then they fall, they fall and they crash into a million different pieces, each of them capable of killing you. So what do you do with those pieces? You throw them away.

San's breath hitched as seori ran her nails along the base of his throat before whispering

Seori : right now you are intact, a beautiful mirror that reflects the best parts of me. Harmless. But it will not be so when one day you break, and hence we cannot be together the way you want.

San stared at seori as she took a pouch filled with coins before giving it to san as she stepped back with a small smile

Seori : same time next week, my beautiful painter. Try to keep yourself alive with those coins.

Saying that seori disappeared into the market, leaving a teary eyed san behind. Will he ever be treated nice in this miserable life of his? Will he always just be a ball that people could throw around as they desired?

_____________________________

Seori entered her manor as she removed her boots at the entryway, mina walking towards her as she said

Mina : back from meeting with him, sister?

Seori : which him?

Mina : you know which one, the one for whom you've thrown every other 'him' away. The manor used to be filled with men once, now it's blatantly empty and all of us know why.

Seori frowned as she threw one of her boots away, mina rolling her eyes as she put it in place at the rack

Seori : are you complaining?

Mina : I'm saying you're getting better.

Seori : I am not-

Mina : you have that glow again, sister. That's how I know you've been with him, only he gives you that kind of happiness.

Seori scoffed as she kept her other boot away before muttering

Seori : happiness.

Mina : ah, as a matter of fact one of your old muses is currently sitting in the drawing room, waiting for you.

Seori : what?

Mina : he doesn't like the fact that you're discarding him, he used to be your favorite.

Seori : I had no favorites.

Mina : tell that to him, he's insufferably crying.

Seori let out a groan of annoyance as she said to mina

Seori : go sleep, it's late. He'll be gone by morning.

Mina watched as her older sister walked past, heading towards the drawing room. Mina sighed, she had always wanted seori to find love, she deserved it after all that she had been through. When their parents had been killed, leaving the two young daughters vulnerable it was seori who had fought for them, it was because of her that mina hadn't been sold off to some brothel or married off to a rich ugly old man.

It was because of her they still had their titles, proud and strong. She knew san was the one for her, but seori still had no idea it seemed.

Seori opened the door to the drawing room as minhyun quickly stood up, tears immediately filling his eyes as he rushed towards seori. Before she could say anything more he hugged her, making seori let out an annoyed breath. She hated when they did that.

Minhyun : I missed you.

Seori : can't say the same, you don't just enter a lady's house like this whenever you wish, minhyun-ssi.

Minhyun : this is my lady's house.

She hated belonging to someone, she hated being anyone's. Seori slowly pushed minhyun off of her as she said, slight anger in her voice

Seori : your lady? I am no one's, minhyun, and definitely not yours.

Minhyun : but you are his, aren't you? That filthy painter?

Seori glared at minhyun, he had stalked san.

Seori : I would watch that tongue if I were you.

Minhyun : see how you defend him, viscountess? You don't even let me call you by your name-

Seori : get out of my house, minhyun, you're getting annoying.

Seori was about to walk past him when minhyun held her wrist, looking at her with teary angry eyes as he said

Minhyun : you do not want to upset me.

Seori raised her eyebrows in part amusement, minhyun was the son of the grand duke, the youngest of his ten children. He got the least amount of attention growing up and it showed in his manner, seori even pitied him for it. For him to think she would ever be scared of him, impossible.

Seori : really.

Minhyun : I can do whatever in this world that I want, viscountess. I have been kind to you because I love you-

Seori : love, hmm. Love me in what sense again, minhyun-ah?

Minhyun : I would give you everything you wanted, gowns, balls, crowns-

Seori didn't bother hearing the rest, she knew what he was going on about.

"Knowing the difference in shades of the same color, being able to see through the painting in front of you, through all it's beautiful colors and distractions"

Minhyun : I would have children with you-

Seori : okay, great. What if I don't want to have children with you, minhyun?

Minhyun : which lady wouldn't want to have kids, it is in their motherly blood to have kids.

Seori chuckled, patting minhyun's shoulders as she said

Seori : I must be a lord, then. Now leave, minhyun, I'm not taking you back.

Minhyun : what is it that I lack, huh? What does he have that I do not have?

Seori : do you not get it, minhyun? This isn't about him, or anyone, it's about you. I don't love you, I never will. So get out of your little boy delusions and do something worthwhile with your life.

Minhyun watched as seori walked towards the door before saying, her voice stern and loud

Seori : I do not want to see you here in the morning, minhyun, or ever again. Because the next time you decide to enter my manor while my sister is alone, I won't be giving you a chance to go back alive.

____________________________

Seori entered her room as she sighed in tiredness, removing the pin that tied her hair together as it came loose. This was the only time of the day she'd let her hair come loose, when she was alone. She hated when other people would see her with her hair down, because her mother had always told her it made her look delicate and vulnerable. Back then it was a good thing, but now, in this world where she was utterly alone, it was the last thing she wanted.

She had always wanted to marry when she was younger, be the lady of the house. But as she grew up she realized how cruel men were, and that none of them were going to fulfill her desires. And then her parents had been killed, and she was suddenly the lord of the house. It was up to her to protect the family name, and she'd vowed to give her sister everything she could never get.

Seori sat down on her bed as her eyes went to the bedside table and the paintings that were kept on it, paintings that san had given her through the past 2 years. San probably thought she'd thrown them away in the trash but they were too beautiful to be kept even in the attic. She wanted those to be the first and last thing she saw during the day. If san were from a high value family these paintings would've been sold off for millions, he was too talented.

Seori looked at the first painting he had given her, it was on the new years and was a picture of her. He had gotten everything perfectly, the fierce closed off eyes and the way her tied hair was always perfect with not a single strand out.

Except her lips had a smile, something she'd never shown him. And so when he'd given her this he had said

"I drew the smile imagining what it could look like, since you never smile at me I don't know how you actually look like when you smile. I wish you could show me one day, but until then I suppose imagining them will do".

And the funniest part? He'd gotten even that right.

____________________________

San sighed as he leaned against the brick wall, his eyes closed in tiredness. He had been walking around the entire town, asking for anyone who could buy any of his paintings. He still had the money seori had given him, and it would last him for another month of lavish living. But he didn't feel right spending it, not when he knew the reason she'd given him the money. Was it for his body? For pleasure?

??? : choi san.

San opened his eyes as he looked up at the man in front of him, his face covered with a mask. San quickly stood up as he asked

San : yes?

??? : so it is you.

San frowned and was about to ask something when he was suddenly banged against the wall, a punch landing on his face. San groaned in pain as another punch landed on his stomach, a hoarse cough falling from his dry lips as san said

San : pl-please, I have done not-nothing-

San cut himself off with another moan as the man used his knee to kick san's gut, making san fall on the floor as he tasted blood in his mouth. And through the next fifteen minutes or so the man repeatedly beat san up, not answering any of his questions as to why he was doing this. San felt blood drench through his clothes by now, his vision blurry and pain seeping through all his joints.

Just as the man was about to land yet another punch on his face san felt someone pull the man away from him, the sound of a knife unsheathing ringing around the empty alley as a female voice said

??? : is it choi minhyun?

There was only one lady who had a voice as sharp and deadly as that. San looked at seori with hazy eyes as he saw her punch the man, holding him up by the collar as she said

Seori : you dare touch him, you vile bastard.

Before the man could answer seori punched him again, the man groaning in pain as seori repeatedly punched him. San could see how bloodied her knuckles had become, he wanted to tell her to stop. Her blood was not worth his.

But just then seori brought her knife to the man's right wrist and cut it off, making san shut his eyes with a flinch as the man screamed.

Seori : go to that coward, and tell him that this time this was your hand. But the next time, it'll be his.

The man let out a weak whimper as he scurried to his feet before running away, holding his severed hand in pain. Seori quickly turned to face san, dropping her knife as she kneeled down next to san before holding him up by her arms

San : se-seori, you came.

Seori ran her eyes all along san's body as she felt more anger rise in her, his blood drenching her silk. How could they make someone as kind and pure as san bleed?

Seori : you have to come back to my manor with me.

San coughed as blood trickled down his lips, seori getting reminded of the way her parents had died in her arms as she felt her heart beat faster. Seori shook her head, brushing san's bangs away from his face as she held his upper body even closer to her.

Seori : this is my fault, I should've known.

San had never felt anyone hold him so delicately and so lovingly, and he had never expected seori out of all people to be doing this. He placed his hand on seori's cheek as he whispered

San : your knuckles, they're bleeding.

Seori : san, do you hear yourself? Stop caring about me when you're so wounded.

San : I can't come to your manor.

Seori : san please, I can't take care of you from here-

San : you don't have to, leave me to die here.

Seori : what?

San : there's no point of me living, seori. I have no one to live for, no one to buy my paintings. God has given me no talent, no one to love. My life is too pointless to be saved.

Seori : god may not have given you all that but I will. I will give myself for you, san.

San stared at seori in part shock as she said

Seori : love me, paint for me, take care of me, live for me.

San : but you will never do any of that for me, will you?

Seori : is that what you want? If I do this will you come back to the manor with me?

San stared at seori, not knowing what to say as she let out a breath before grabbing the knife and bringing it to her palm. Before san could say anything more seori sliced through her palm, drawing blood as she let it drip down, her blood mixing with his as she said

Seori : I promise to not have any man enter my room that isn't you, I promise to not pursue any man for purposes other than work. I promise, to not so much as even look at any man in the way you look at me.

San : se-seori…

Seori : as long as this blood runs through my veins, my promise will stand.

_______________________________

27 notes · View notes

almondwolfberry · 6 months

Text

FUCK THE GAME AWARDS HERES ACTUAL GOOD GAMES TO PLAY

BOMB RUSH CYBERFUNK

GOD TIER ART, GOD TIER MUSIC, GOOD STORY, FUN GAMEPLAY. ITS TONY HAWKS PRO SKATER MEETS JET SET RADIO BUT ACTUALLY GOOD GHOSTPIA: SEASON ONE

I CANNOT GAS THIS SHIT UP ENOUGH. ITS A VN ABOUT DEAD PEOPLE REKINDLING THEIR FRIENDSHIP AND TRYING TO ESCAPE A LITERAL GHOST TOWN. THE CHARACTERS ARE WRITTEN FANTASTICALLY, ITS SIMULTANEOUSLY FUCKED UP AND HEARTWARMING, AND DID I MENTION ITS INSANELY GAY??? VOLCANO PRINCESS

ITS PRINCESS MAKER WITHOUT THE KID DIDDLING. YOU RAISE YOUR DAUGHTER IN THIS MEDIEVAL FANTASY WORLD AND HAVE TO RAISE HER TO BECOME WHATEVER CAREER PATH YOU CHOOSE. YOU CAN BE A KNIGHT, YOU CAN BE A PAINTER, YOU CAN THIEF, YOU CAN BECOME SATAN???? ITS ALSO SUPER GAY, AND YOU CAN MARRY 2 GIRLS AT ONCE NICKELODEON ALL STAR BRAWL 2

HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHAT A MASSIVE UPGRADE FROM THE FIRST GAME. THE VISUALS ARE FANTASTIC, THE MUSIC IS FANTASTIC. ROMAN CANCELS AND EX MOVES ARE SICK AS FUCK IN A PLATFORM FIGHTER. NETCODE IS DAMN NEAR FLAWLESS, AND WITH A BULKY SINGLE PLAYER. EASILY ONE OF THE BET IN THE GENRE HANDS DOWN VIVIDLOPE

ITS A CUTE PUZZLE PLATFORMER ESQUE KINDA GAME WHERE YOU HAVE TO CHANGE AS MANY TILES AS POSSIBLE TO YOUR COLOR. IT OOZES ITS Y2K AESTHETIC AND ITS NOT AFRAID TO GET BRUTALLY PUNISHING

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST THE GAME OF THE YEAR EVERY YEAR SERIAL EXPERIMENTS LAIN FOR THE SONY PLAYSTATION

#ghostpia #nickelodeon all star brawl #volcano princess #bomb rush cyberfunk #game of the year #lgbtq #indie games

56 notes · View notes

magistralucis · 5 months

Text

Miniature Painting Retrospective (2023)

2023 has been a hell of a year, but it had one upside to it, namely that this was the year I got into miniature painting. The downsides are money spent on plastics and paints and my ever-increasing piles of shame, but what mini lover doesn't deal with that 🤣

I'm a relatively new painter. I began painting in the second quarter of this year, and I haven't exactly done it every day or even every week, though I think I've improved greatly nonetheless. This is a retrospective post with some examples I've painted this year, what I learned, what I'd do better, and goals for the future.

-----------------

April 2023

Despite the many pages of ramblings on my blog, I did not actually get into miniatures because of Warhammer 40K, it was Dark Souls that got me to pull the trigger 😂 I love, love, love Dark Souls, when I realized there was a boardgame and people painted the plastic figures that came with them I had to get me some of that. I've actually posted these before on my DS sideblog, so if you've seen them around somewhere else 'twas I who was responsible, but these are the very first minis I've ever painted.

Siegward of Catarina was painted almost entirely with contrasts and metallics. I wanted to give him the really rusted look like Catarina Armour has in DS3. Solaire was painted similarly, except I didn't really get how to 'paint white' or 'paint yellow' or to use ink to fill in the sunface, so his chest is woefully incomplete. I thought of stripping him to start over, but have since decided against it; what I'll likely do is to get another Solaire and do the better job with that one. It's good to see where you began. Gives perspective.

-----

May 2023

I began properly looking up painting tutorials around this time. Coincidentally, this was the first time I began to really feel like I knew what I was doing 🤣

Eygon of Carim was painted almost entirely with drybrushing, save for the brown cloth, which was my first attempt at wet blending + adding wear and tear and scratches to simulate realism. He was drybrushed with a gunmetal grey then tinted with Black Templar for the majority of his dark armour, then drybrushed with silver to highlight the edges. His shield and mace followed the same procedure, except they were sponged with bronze later.

All of the models so far remain unbased to this day... I am not very good at remembering to base my models

-----

June 2023

Got into 6mm historicals (Anglo-Saxon/Vikings) during this period, which I don't have a picture of as those are currently in a storage box we stashed away for the Christmas holidays (guests staying over 😖).

Had another go at painting an Onion Knight, however, this time of Catarina Armour than Siegward specifically. Siegward has a longer Zweihander and a more detailed look. I wanted to give this version a clean look, and he was painted in a much more traditional style, following the base + shading + highlights + edge highlights method. No contrasts nor drybrushing, though the shield was mildly sponged with black. I'm proud of this one.

-----

July 2023

Got into Warhammer during this period. Had a break from painting as I tried to read and digest WH40K necron lores/novels, then became attracted to some of the full-size models, as well as building an army for Epic Armageddon. Shown above are some 6mm necron warriors, Immortals, Flayed Ones, and pariahs I painted as an example at this time. They are very, very small and very delicate and I love them your honour

I'm especially happy with the Flayed Ones. I'm actually using those to make a small Twice-Dead King diorama atm, I'll get some more made for the actual army. The pariah models have that warscythe design with a hole (?) in the middle but I... don't??? like the hole??? so I just filled them in with milliput and painted them up similarly to glaives instead

I also obtained a larger Dancer of the Boreal Valley model. She is in the pile of shame. I am afraid to begin painting her now that I've been staring at her for so long 😖😖😖

-----

August - September 2023

I............. ghghgghgghggg

The pile grows. At least I gave Orikan his green marble interior design???

Started doing 28mm historicals in early Sep. When it comes to the actual gaming aspect of this hobby, I have played way more historicals than I've ever played Warhammer or the Dark Souls Boardgame; I play SAGA with my sig. other, and he got me into Chain of Command, though I'm playing solely with the models he painted for that one (since he has been in this hobby for many, many more years than I). Here's a berserkr I painted and based up. NMM chainmail and glazed fur detail, the rock/ground based with cork.

-----

September 2023

Still doing historicals. My Viking warlord, rock based with foam, need to add some grass on there or something. Otherwise very very happy with how he turned out. I keep going back and forth between giving him a shield, since I love painting shields, but I also don't want to obscure the main details of his body. All metallic details are NMM.

Note the scabbard and the glint of his sword. I'm not super good at NMM yet, but I can do tiny glints and details like these.

An example of general warriors, huscarls, etc. I have about 50 men in varying states of completion. These are all Victrix models. Every one of those shields are freehanded. They make for very good practice because they're a nice, well-defined flat surface. I'm really proud of those.

-----

October - November 2023

My beloved Tea Space Marine brothers 😂☕ I've posted about those before (x, x, x) - the Arizona Tea dude is not yet done because I actually need to give him a banner and paint up his base, and during December I was too occupied with other creative activities to work on him. They are the first Space Marines I've ever painted and tbh I don't find them the easiest to paint (???) but they're some of the best fun I've had so far!

I want to make a whole series of those, not just of Space Marines or even the Imperium. I might do more porcelain, they're really fun to pose next to tea-things. The teacup Marine was painted a gloss white (after being primed not-white 😨) then freehanded with royal blue, with Retributor Armour being the gold. The Arizona Tea Marine was painted emerald with pink edges, tinted in places with Magos Purple, then freehanded with various shades of plum blossom-esque colours. Still wondering what design his banner ought to be.

-----

That's it for 2023. Next year I want to do the following things.

Finish up the Epic Armageddon necron army, complete with vehicles (300-400 points).

Finish the Dancer of the Boreal Valley statuette (because that's what she is at that scale, she's the biggest model I have, it's part of why I got intimidated lmao).

Get better at NMM.

Apply aforementioned NMM techniques to necrons on the pile of shame that are not painted.

Learn how to airbrush.

Obtain at least 6 points' worth of guys for a SAGA Viking army, then paint them up and base them properly.

Base my minis properly, full stop 🥴

Looking forward to some fun painting sessions next year!!! 💖

#warhammer 40k #dark souls #miniature painting #miniature #mini painting #freehand #epic armageddon #not included in this retrospective is the fact i'm building a plane with sig. other at the moment #1:72 scale nimrod. it's quite a lot for people who've never built a plane before but we're managing 😂#no pictures of that because we haven't put on wings yet

45 notes · View notes

sleeplessdreamer123 · 1 year

Text

Fanfic Idea! (Modern, sort of, Lucemond, Aemond is a painter)

Lucerys truly didn't mean to ruin it. He swears up and down he didn't see the uncapped paint on the floor. He really, really, really was sorry.

He knew how important that painting was to him, it was that of Alys, his ex-wife, though he wasn't sure why they divorced. He knew he loved that painting of her, draped in blue robes that are a bit translucent, with jewelry and embroidery, how he saw it as a challenge to paint an exquisitely detailed painting of her that took days to finish before giving it to her on her name day. She returned it after the final proceedings, saying she didn't want it anymore.

And now it had a splatter of black paint on it, covering the extremely detailed painting of jewelry and lace, some small parts even landed on her face. He did try wiping it off with tissue paper in a panic, hoping to wipe it off before the paint sets in, but the paint just spread, the details were skewed, and parts of the tissue paper where on the canvas. He then tried wet cotton balls, but it somehow managed to also take parts of the original paint off.

By the time Aemond returned, the lower half of the painting was unrecognizable, and Lucerys was damn well close to tears.

They were just getting better. They were finally in speaking terms again, Aemond even offered to help him learn how to paint, the very reason he was even allowed in Aemond's private painting room, something that, according to step-grandmother Alice, was a rare offer from Aemond. And now his mistake might have caused their entire fragile relationship to break into shambles again.

His started to cry when he saw Aemond looking at his ruined work, mumbling a mixture of sorry's, and I didn't mean to's. He continues to stare at his painting, with an expression Lucerys can't pinpoint, and that made him turn back to the anxious little boy he once was, afraid of rejection, afraid to be hated by his favorite uncle once again.

He didn't expect Aemond to cup his crying face so gently, nor did he expect him to wipe his tears with his thumb. He expected many things, but he didn't expect his uncle to comfort him.

"It's just a painting, what are you crying for?"

That just made it worse, curse his over reactive tear ducts. He tried calming himself, and cursed himself again when more tears were produced instead.

"I...I'm sorry.." He whispered, fearing that if he spoke any more louder, his voice would crack. "I ruined it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to..."

Damn these tears!

If it had been before, he was certain Aemond would call him a cry baby, a man of nine and ten, crying over spilt paint. In fact, he was so sure, so certain that that was what he would do now, besides angrily shouting at him for ruining his work. He heard of him shouting at Alys, his model and then wife, for moving, because he felt it ruined his vision. He didn't, though. Surprisingly. Really surprisingly. He was calm. Or he acted calm. Lucerys is in too much of a mess to notice the small details of Aemond.

"Yes, that you did."

Lucerys really, really should stop crying. Stop it. Stop it for gods' sake!

"That's alright. You can just help me recreate it."

Lucerys looked at him, trying to stop his hiccups, confused. He didn't even know how to paint, and that was Aemond's greatest work so far. How in the seven hells was he supposed to help him recreate the painting?!

"I'm afraid you might be mistaking me for a genius, uncle." He sniffed. "I barely know how to paint an alright flower."

"Oh, not in painting. No, I think you've shown just how disasterous that can be."

Lucerys fought to keep the pout off of his mouth, the hiccups subsiding a bit. Now that wasn't fair. It was an accident. Just because he didn't notice the uncapped paint on the floor before stepping on it, doesn't mean he would be horrible with a brush.

"I'm thinking more of...modeling."

It took a few seconds before Lucerys connected the dots, face burning as soon as he understood the implication. He glanced at the painting, at the slightly translucent robe. Surely his uncle wasn't thinking of putting him in that thing. Surely.

He glanced at Aemond, hoping to see a rare expression akin to an "I'm joking" face. He wasn't. He was serious.

"Uncle, I'm..I'm alright with modeling, but perhaps I can model something else? I'm sure you'd like to paint something different from-"

"Lucerys, you don't seem to understand. I don't mean to fully copy my original, I mean to expand, to better the old. And I do like challenging myself to make a better version of my masterpiece."

He felt himself relaxing a bit. So it wouldn't be like the original? He wouldn't need to wear that type of clothing?

"So, what exactly would you change, uncle?"

"Come tomorrow, and you'll find out."

------

Lucerys couldn't even look at himself in the mirror, too embarrassed, as Aemond fixed the jewelry wrapped around him. He thought it would be embarrassing to wear Alys' slightly translucent robe. He would actually be glad to wear it now rather than the sheer monstrosity of the robe and everything else he was made to wear.

What his uncle brought out was fully transparent, (though it was rather soft, nice to the touch), and that wasn't even the worst of it. He was even made to wear bejeweled underwear, for the extra challenge of detail, his uncle said. By the time his uncle fixed the rest of the outer jewelry to exactly as he wished it to be, he headed to the sofa, where Alys posed, but was stopped by Aemond.

He leads him to the bedroom instead.

Aemond had already set things up, and only asked Lucerys to lay on the bed, fixing his pose. Though a bit uncomfortable, being in Aemond's bedroom and all that, he followed his uncle's orders.

"Place your hand a little higher...that's it. Beautiful, nephew."

He blushed a bit, not wanting to admit how much he enjoyed the praise.

"Now, don't move. If you're feeling tired, tell me, and we'll take a short break."

"Yes, uncle."

So he laid there, determined not to move, as he felt his uncle's eye roaming around his body. It was quiet, save for the sound of their breathing and Aemond painting.

When the first session was done, Lucerys sat up, careful not to accidentally move the jewels around as much. Aemond helped him up to his feet.

"Well done, Lucerys."

This continued on for days, with Lucerys slowly becoming more and more comfortable with the transparent robe, with Aemond's eye on him, taking in every detail, the way an artist would.

During his final session, he was a bit sad to part with the robe. He built up a bit of courage to ask for it, and his uncle looked up him funny.

"This is the first time I've ever modelled, and I'd like to have it as a remembrance of sorts, please qybor?"

".... Alright."

When Lucerys was meant to leave, Aemond stopped him. "Lucerys, what do you think of modelling for my next painting?"

Lucerys was surprised with this. But, thinking about it, it was rather enjoyable. It made him feel...pretty, though he has yet to see the painting, (his uncle insists he would show it once it was ready) he liked the feeling of being treated like a piece of art. So he agreed.

When it was time for Aemond to reveal his new masterpiece, he only called for Lucerys. This made Lucerys both excited and nervous. It was his first time modelling, and he was also curious. How did the painting look like? Would it match up to the one with Alys? Would it be better? Or did he make it worse? Is that why he only called for him?

When Aemond revealed the painting, Lucerys gasped. It was beautiful. It was detailed. He can see now, why he only called Lucerys to see it. Had he called the entire family today, Lucerys would have exploded. His step-father would have tried to kill Aemond. His mother would have called him beautiful, while simultaneously cursing her half-brother to the ground. Aemond's mother almost fainted when Aemond showed her the original work with Alys, she might start chanting prayers if she saw this one.

"Quite a beautiful model you are, nephew." Aemond whispered in his ear. "Such a provocative body, with such an innocent face."

"I look forward to having you as my new muse."

-------------

I reposted this because I forgot to add tags last time. 😅

If anyone was wondering, this photo from Twitter inspired me.

And I have to admit, it's a bit rushed😅

So, thoughts? Violent reactions?

#aemond targaryen #aemond x lucerys #lucemond #lucerys velaryon #lucerys x aemond #aemond one eye #model lucerys #artist aemond #painter aemond #muse Lucerys

192 notes · View notes

ivyprism · 3 months

Text

My Outcode Skeleton Boys (Info Dump: Revamp)

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of death, killing, violence, etc.

------

Tusche - Ink Sans (Variant)

Personality: Tusche once awoke in the antivoid with his brother as a baby's bones. He has no remembrance of his AU before waking up. He became the universe's guardian because he was committed to safeguarding his sibling. He is a gentle and sweet skeleton who strives to do the right thing, but he is often misguided. He is terrified and apprehensive when he feels numb and wants to avoid getting dust on his hands. He can be a little naughty and cruel, but it's not intentional. He appreciates the creators and wants to know more about them. He enjoys pranking people, but not very often.

Appearance: Tusche has a bunch of dried ink bloches on his bones. He has creative changing eyelights. He also has a tan scarf that has rainbow ends.

Acrylic - Inktale Papyrus (Variant)

Personality: Raised by his brother, he has no desire to know his former AU. He, like his brother, is a prankster and mischievous skeleton. He works hard and is willing to fight people if necessary. He spends his free time painting and blending acrylic paints. He enjoys reading writers' works. He is a bit of a dirty painter, frequently getting paint on himself. To his brother's dismay, he avoids generating problems by spending the most of his time with Virus. He thinks creators are cool and hopes to meet as many as possible. He primarily talks and sketches. He chooses his fights very carefully.

Appearance: He is a skeleton monster with acrylic paint on him and ink.

Lenovo - Errortale Sans (Variant)

Personality: Lenovo awoke in the anti-void with a younger brother not long after Tusche did. They created a fierce competition with the colorful skeleton. He's a nasty, merciless skeleton. He shows little interest in the AUs. He is ferocious and protective of his loved ones, despite his icy and harsh exterior. He despises being touched without first asking permission. He prefers to be alone and makes few acquaintances; when he does, it is entirely inadvertent. He may build and destroy, but he primarily destroys. He recognizes the need of maintaining a balance and makes an effort to do so.

Appearance: He also has a blue scarf on his neck. He has blue marks on his cheeks. His jacket has ripped and resewn patches.

Virus - Error Papyrus (Variant)

Personality: He is a cold and aloof skeleton, but he is incredibly curious. He gets easily lost and lacks sense of direction. He's mainly interested in meeting new people and speaking with them. He feels nervous around others and dislikes social events. Mostly, he has a tense connection with his brother. He is inquisitive about many minor details and adores and admires the AUs, whom he would prefer not to damage if possible. He also guarantees that his sibling never tampers with particular items. He also enjoys crocheting. He contributes to Lenovo's fight. He doesn't care to learn about his old au.

Appearance: He is a tall skeleton with orange markings on his face.

Bliss - Dream Sans

Personality: A very kindhearted and sensitive SOUL, working to make amends with his sibling. He feels terribly sorry, but he knows that he cannot blame himself because he was unable to protect his brother from the locals and was unaware of the cruelty. He is working hard to make apologies and bring his brother back into the light. He understands he will never see his brother again, but he expects to see a resemblance of him. He isn't afraid to hurt people in order to protect his loved ones and wishes to stop his brother, but he recognizes that he requires negativity as much as optimism to survive.

Appearance: He has gold spots all over his bones and he has freckles. He also has wings, but he prefers they stay hidden.

Dusk - Nightmare Sans

Personality: A nasty and cold-hearted man who, in reality, is really loving and not as frigid as he appears. He adores his brother but can't forgive him. He's not sure why he can't let go of something Bliss couldn't stop, but just thinking about it makes him angry, and his main dread is revisiting the terror of what happened to him with the people. He bears profound anger toward Bliss. Despite appearances, he can be really nice and has a soft spot for some children. He knows he needs negativity to survive, therefore he thrives on it with the help of his group.

Appearance: Dusk is a goop skeleton, but it's entirely optional. He prefers to be in his goop state to intimidate and scare off foes and only shows his normal passive side to his partner.

Comet - Dream Papyrus

Personality: He's a cheerful, eager skeleton. He adores his family and wishes to mend the rifts among his brothers. He is gentle, kind, and caring. But don't be fooled: he can and will flirt with you till you're red-faced. He genuinely cares for his brothers and will go to great lengths to protect them. On the other hand, he is typically shy and withdrawn because he is not a fan of inflicting harm on others. He is constantly looking at the stars and enjoys drawing. He enjoys creating his fantasies and doing his best to look after his siblings. He truly cares about each of them and simply wants to help them.

Appearance: He is a skeleton monster. He has golden positivity on his torso. He has wings that he hides. Comet has a simple small scar on his left cheekbone.

Umbra - Nightmare Papyrus

Personality: He has a rough yet frigid personality. He is a modest yet powerful man who adores his friends and family. He often looks after his brothers and his loved ones. However, he is on the verge of becoming enemies with certain individuals. He is soft, pleasant, and flirtatious, but he is genuine. He may not have as much goop as his brother, but he does have some. It's only that it's hard to see and just affects his torso. He typically keeps it buried until absolutely necessary. He adores his brothers and avoids getting involved in the quarrel between them.

Appearance: He is a skeleton monster who has a large chunk of negativity goop on his torso and arms. He also has a scar on his left eye that is diagonal.

Spiro - Killer Sans

Personality: Killer is thoughtful. He works hard and is really flirtatious. He really adores battles. He adores killing and inflicting pain on others. He defends his loved ones when necessary, and he is not hesitant to go for the throat. He despises being insulted and is a typically bad character who will fight till the end. He is more at ease with the truce and is more willing to make friends. He feels genuinely sorry for what he has done (deep down) and is quite unstable depending on the scenario, but he learns to push through it. He strives to ignore and dismiss any remaining thoughts of guilt.

Appearance: He is a skeleton with a large scar on his left eye. He has black markings on below his eyes.

Dagger - Dust Sans

Personality: He is a very sorry and rather disturbed individual. When someone attempts to touch his brother's scarf, he becomes aggressive and upset. He is overcome with remorse and struggles to get through the day. He can be homicidal and has a grudge toward the bulk of mankind (particularly genocide perpetrators). He is refraining from causing harm to others as part of a truce. He doesn't admit it, but he does occasionally envy others. He is working to get through his guilt and anger. He is learning to deal with what he has done.

Appearance: He has a void face and a scar on his left eye.

Wraith - Phantom! Dust Papyrus

Personality: He is a relatively cheery and serene skeleton. He maintains Dagger cool and appears to have a deep hatred of violence. He truly cares about his brothers and will go to great measures to protect them. His emotions have been softened by his death, yet he still feels them and wants his brother would let go. He cares about his sibling and is continuously concerned about him. He is stern and frigid when it comes to direct threats, yet he does his best to believe in others. He believes in humanity, but reluctantly.

Appearance: He is a skeleton with a large scar on his chest. You can touch him, but he's cold to the touch.

-----------

Ink Sans by Mye Bi (Comyet) Error Sans by Lover of Piggies Dreamtale by Jokublog Killer Sans by Rahafwabas Dusttale Sans by Ask-DustTale

19 notes · View notes

cowboyjen68 · 1 year

Note

how do you size men’s jeans? i always feel like they fit weird because i’m plus size and i wear almost exclusively womens pants

It has honestly been so long I don't remember how women's sizes translated.

Men's pants have clear measurements. The first number is your waist size, where the band of the pants wrap and the second number is then inseam. From your crotch to the where you want the cuff to land on your ankle. It looks like 32 (waist) x 30 (inseam).

When I weighed around `180 I wore 36 x 30. Your inseam does not change. Right now at about 150 34 x 30 are loose. But all that can depend on your body size, shape, height etc.

Loose fit or casual fit are better than those that say "tapered". Wrangler cargo pants are cheap for the regular wear pants and come in a loose fit and boot cut (wider cuff). Farm Supply stores are great places to start. They sell their own brands and a fair amount of farmers are stocky and short so they tend to carry a wide range of sizes. Off brands like Tractor Supply brand are cheaper, sometimes less than 15 bucks a pair.

The common styles are cargo, painter, and casual. Cargo have the wider thigh pockets, painter have narrower "tool" side pockets and casual are like regular jeans with the two front and two back pockets. I love cargo for the room and pockets but everyone likes different things.

There is denim (jeans) , cotton (casual or daily work/dress pants) and canvas (sturdy work pants) in most brands. Canvas can be heavier but very sturdy. Jeans can be heavy but depends on the finish and cotton can be versatile and cheap.

Don't be afraid to shop in the big and tall men's section. They sometimes have lots of sizes you can try on for fit. Wrangler pants go as large as a 60 waist on their website. Jeans up to 66. Tractor Supplies website has casual style work pants for 15.00 and they go to a waist of 44. A very affordable option to try out.

There are more companies coming out with pants made for women that are formed for active (work or play) women. Many of these specialized pants are really expensive (150.00 or more) and are way out of my budget. But for women who need very protective gear and maybe have a "work wear budget you can check places like https://redantspants.com/ https://sheflyapparel.com/ https://dovetailworkwear.com/

For me a pair of Wrangler (flannel lined in winter) cargo pants and a P-Style in the pocket is cheaper and works fine for me. AND i am ROUGH on pants between my three jobs and my acreage. I would love to test drive and support these companies products but my budget says "NO".

I hope some of this helps. Thrift stores are an option once you know what to look for but you can waste a lot of time searching until you've pinpointed what you like and what fits. I strictly wear Wrangler (this is not an endorsement of the company in any way ) because they are widely available locally, affordable, fit comfortably and hold up reasonably well to my life for the money.

#men's pants #pants #britches #cargo pants #jeans #lesbian #butch #masculine

129 notes · View notes

frostycatblr-fandom-files · 3 months

Text

Poets and Painters (Golden Dawn Part 1) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss. Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet. **The referenced 302nd Legion is an OC unit, led by my genderfluid Jedi OC named Caelen [they/them used for clarity].**

Word-count: 7,650

“I am Plo Koon.” The Kel Dor Jedi introduces himself carefully, speaking in slow and unhurried timbres to ensure no one will mishear him. “What is your name, little one?” She does not divulge her name, instead she takes Plo’s hand. She might be no older than five, maybe six. She's slightly taller than anticipated next to the Jedi as he kneels in the soft grass, nearly eye-to-eye with him.

Screwing up her little, rounded features in an expression of utmost concentration, she takes his hand between her own, a little firmer now, to scrutinize. A quiet minute elapses as she examines the Force-user’s hand, the nail-cap, and the arm-guards he wears. The thick glaze of twilight, the lack of the moon’s light, does not appear to make her inspection difficult in any sense. Unfortunately, you and most of the battalion miss most of the delicate beauty in the micro-expressions the Kel Dor will see.

When she speaks, it's a soft, awed voice. “Wow. You're a different kind of star person!” comes out in a peal of giggles. “So are they!” she adds, pointing to you and the commander next, then many of the men in formation behind you.

Dozens of voices parrot ‘star person’ with a great deal of confusion and speculation behind their general, behind you and Commander Wolffe as you stand so close together.

The backs of your hands are close enough to touch, knuckles nearly grazing with the other’s.

Someone hisses a sharp reminder for quiet! as the rumbling wave of voices begins to grow in volume - no doubt either of Wolffe’s sergeants. The 104th falls silent, tongues loosened in nervousness reigned in at once. Everyone still must tread carefully right now. Peace can still be so easily broken if offenses have been spoken, and disrespect has been shown.

Your tentative situation here cannot allow for that.

“That's right, little one, we are different…” General Plo chuckles in agreement up to that point. “But I am afraid we don't know what you mean by star people.”

The Chossi elder, same as before with the bent back, offers slight clarification to diffuse the confusion. “Young Mir means we are made of what stars are.” While the girl, Mir, is called back to who must have guardianship of her, Tack bravely steps forward with his datapad in his hands, seeking permission from the Jedi to offer his insight.

“Um, General, if I may?”

Permitted to speak his thoughts with a promising nod by the Wolf Leader, Tack takes a great deal of care in his words, projecting his voice to be heard by all. “The Chossi might mean we are all ‘star people’ in a very poetic sense, but, scientifically, they are right. They are star people. So are we, given that we’re also carbon based lifeforms. Stars are made of hydrogen, helium, and traces of all other known elements including carbon, to, ah… really simplify everything…” The initial confidence and bravado peters out near the end with a particular look crossing over his face, seconds before a hard swallow.

Shit. Feel like I spoke too much, it reads to you.

He likely wants to slink back to the line-up, and just keep his mouth shut for a while. Another Chossi elder, a kindly-looking woman with smile lines this time, her hair laid in many braids over the right shoulder, bids him to wait. “We are just the universe trying to make sense of itself, aren’t we, young…?” She speaks so kindly to him that it halts him in his steps. He’s been asked for his name; it would be rude to refuse to answer. Tack swallows again, less hard than before.

“Tack. My friends and brothers call me Tack.” the researcher answers.

She smiles, and there’s such a radiance to it, such a profound sense of kindness found within. It puts Tack a little more at ease than before.

“Then we shall too.” Her name is Solladara, you learn; but as she admits, the name is a bit of a mouthful, and all are welcomed to call her Dara, or whatever is easiest. Adding as an aside, she asks that you’ll have to forgive any communication blunders. “Your language is not quite alike our own. Similar, yes, but… the structure. It can be difficult to grasp for some of us, born long ago.” Dara says with a mild laugh. (Amusingly, there’s a sympathetic murmur of agreement from Plo Koon. Either through rumor or an instance of accidental eavesdropping, you’ve heard that he’s three-hundred-eighty-something years old, but you aren’t certain if that’s in any way the truth.)

In any sense, it comes as further relief to you, when murmuring from the corner of his mouth Commander Wolffe says “Truly so much for your sketches.” with the slyest of smiles.

“And so much for some of your… preparations, I’m guessing?” you return with a smile just as small, just as sly. You still haven’t the slightest idea what any of those preparations are, nor why Plo Koon had been so cryptic in his delivery. You don’t really know that you want to know the probabilities they prepared for. Falling under attack is a prudent assumption, but beyond that… Had they begun to prepare themselves for death? For the loss of someone in the chain of command, if things went askew?

Had Wolffe been preparing himself for some small chance he may die, accompanying and defending his general? He had certainly shown no hesitation when he had thrown himself on top of you because of the blow darts fired from the treeline; gentle flesh and noble plastoid serving as a shield. There are no doubts he would not do the same - and more - for the one who raised a blue kyber-blade to defend him and the surviving remnant of the 104th over the planet of Abregado.

Commander Wolffe does not verbalize anything, but he confirms your suspicions with a slight dip of his chin. The way he grits his teeth, sets his jaw, there’s some comment he likely does not feel it is the appropriate time to say.

“... maybe we should thank the Maker for that too, then.” you offer with a skyward glance, fixing an errant strand of hair back in place. “And the Force, to play it safe.”

The smile he offers is ephemeral, snuffed out by distraction.

There is an invitation issued by the Chossi elders posed to General Plo - extending to the whole of the company - to return with them and their people through the forest to their settlement. There, things will be discussed and questions will find answers. Ritual and practice to partake in and show you, they say.

When it’s decided the Jedi will go, and the Wolfpack shall follow, you know you’ll need to - want to - stick close to the Commander after everyone has ensured belongings are gathered; like his helmet, still laying in the grass where it has been dropped on the hill.

You may be ‘just Arcadia’, but without regard for how the whole of his battalion would see him in that climactic moment, Commander Wolffe had been prepared to jeopardize his own safety to ensure your own when the image of the moon had been swallowed in cloudcover… He had forgone the most important part of his armor for you to increase the odds of reaching you before any harm came upon you.

Stooping, you pluck the helmet from the lush bed of grass it had fallen in. Relief floods your lungs to find the visor uncracked when he admits he may have thrown the damn thing rather than dropping it when you go to collect it together. “No, it looks okay.” you assure him, surrendering the sunbonnet into his hands. “Maybe it’s just the internal HUD to be worried about now. Here you go.”

This next grin, full of cautious relief and gratitude, feels sweeter than any million-credit smile as he situates his bucket against his hip. “Thank you, Arcadia. Not to worry; I can work with a bad HUD.” They have training for that, both official and unofficial, he explains. These little insights into the long-rooted tactics of the GAR have been a great fascination, today.

And though you yearn to learn and understand more, you will not push for it.

What you’ve been invited to see is a privilege, you know that.

So little is their own. Their blasters, their names, their breath. And a budding, secretive culture. Several troopers appear to be speaking in a kind of code as you and the commander make your return to the awaiting group, the tail end of some conversation being something that makes Wolffe’s lip curl with disapproval.

It’s Waves from earlier - even in the low lighting conditions, you can plainly make out the extra length of his curly hair he draws his namesake from - who gets the brunt of Wolffe’s questioning. “Care to repeat that, private? Who’d you hear that from?” The commander’s voice is less of a disgusted snarl than you might’ve assumed from him, if what Waves said had really been so offensive.

“I-I heard it from Orchid, sir…?” is explanation enough, for the time being; the commander only sighing before taking this young soldier by the shoulder to offer him a word of advice.

“Don’t repeat everything you learn from him, without looking it up first, you understand?”

With the nod of an embarrassed man, the private apologizes. “Y-yes sir. Sorry, sir.” Waves’ bottom lip is set in a pout before he resets his helmet.

Waiting until you’ve gotten a little further ahead while tailing Wolffe to ask what had happened, you press only once for what had been said. “Another of Orchid’s sexual innuendos?” Maker alive, his wealth of knowledge… Someone paid a little too much attention to the health and body lessons. Though… maybe the medics are grateful for that. Wolffe doesn’t provide you with any answers, only amused chuckles for your trail of thought.

“It didn't sound like Basic, either,” you note in a whisper, “was it something in Kel Dor?”

This the Commander answers. “No. Not Basic or Kel Dor.”

“Strange…” You decide to let it go, figuring that now wouldn't be the best time to dig for details with the whole of the battalion following after Plo Koon and Commander Wolffe, where you have been invited to walk side-by-side. He lets another moment elapse in silence before he realizes you aren't prodding.

The brow cloven in two by the stripe of scar tissue lifts rather subtly. You're not going to ask? All you offer is a minute shake of your head. With the company of Clones, the Jedi just in earshot, you certainly wouldn’t. Not now, anyways. Not when the Chossi elders kindly lead you back to their settlement.

The adolescents, on the other hand, are not quite so warm; but at least they are civil, and warn you of dangers in the dark. “Root here. Take care not to trip.” one particularly brusque Chossi announces, thumping the end of a bo staff thrice on the aforementioned root to make his point. “One bad step, you’ll be hobbling in the dark.”

You thank him, and take a little extra care in your footing going forward. Would be bad to twist your ankle all the way out here, so far from the gunships at this point, for a number of reasons. Not only would it suck to get injured in the first place, it’d put a damper on making the most of this invitation for everyone; with an injured civilian, the opportunity would have to be cut short. They’d likely determine they need to go back, take you to the LAATs and some poor sap besides Clone pilot Warthog gets saddled with escorting you back to the Triumphant… The typical duties of their performance as a relief and recovery unit.

And, dutiful man he is, it’d likely be Commander Wolffe doing it of his own volition, silently adding to an ever-growing pile of stressors on a day it was hoped he could relax, before General Plo even had to ask.

After all, you think, the kind of look Sergeant Sinker was leveled with when he (in a well-meant fashion) offered to give you a lift since you were struggling to see well in the dark from the flint-gray commander had to mean something other than just back off.

There were a lot of curious murmurs as Wolffe took you by the hand; to better lead you through the forest, you assume.

There is a subtle shift in the clouds covering the face of the moon by the time the one-oh-fourth makes it to the Chossi settlement, a sweetened change in the wind so deep in the forest. It’ll be hard to go back to the oxygen-recyclers installed aboard the flagship and not feel suffocated by comparison after this. There’s a whispered word of concern somewhere in the sea of Kamino’s sons for General Plo that you catch somewhere behind you, a note of anxiety about the anti-ox mask’s capabilities to properly filter everything as it should. The brothers around the worrier tell him he won’t need to be concerned, the Jedi will be fine.

You think it’s sweet of the soldier to be so mindful of the differences in physiology.

At the invitation of the general and commander, you’ve been invited to sit among those making up the forefront of who stands across the large gathering-fire from the Chossi peoples, those who will be watched closest.

“Unless, you’re not comfortable with that.” Wolffe offers you the opportunity to melt into the shadows while everyone is moving themselves in position, a soulful expression of understanding and sympathy. You’re not required to do anything here, like him. You do not have the same levels of expectation to perform any particular way, like him. When you kept sticking your foot in your mouth by continuing to address the native peoples of Little Archossi, it was out of panic and the ingrained norms of larger society to introduce yourself to people unknown to you.

“You have a choice, here, Arcadia.” Wolffe reminds you, doing a near-perfect job of masking his envy. Commander Wolffe is not afforded many of these same choices… The leash around his throat binds him to his responsibilities. (You suspect it would take more than simply freeing him of the lead held in the hands of the Grand Republic’s army, too.)

Under the scrutiny of his eyes, the cybernetic making notable, periodic adjustments as the Chossi stokes the gathering-fire so it burns brighter, you deliver your verdict.

“I stayed on Little Archossi because I wanted to be here when General Plo made contact with the people of Little Archossi… The choice to go to the settlement was kind of made for me, but I… I think I will stay.”

He had been hoping you would say that, as evidenced by the subtle release in his tensing brow, and the freer nature of his next inhale in such close proximity. You can hear the unspoken question when the scarred brow lifts, just long enough, and just for politeness sake.

Are you sure?

And the truth is, if you told him, you aren’t. (You’re still a bit of an absolute nervous mess after provoking the Chossi warning, even though nothing negative came of it in the end.) But it’s knowing how unfair it feels to you that he does not have a true choice in this matter that makes you agree to stay by him and the Jedi. It’s knowing you would not like being ditched were you in his boots that keeps you rooted to his side.

If you thought of him as a new friend, shouldn’t you damn well act like it?

You will stay. And you do your best to ignore the curious looks it earns you from most of the battalion; their dark eyes as unfathomable as the ocean burning through your uniform with every possible thought under the blanketing of stars in the galaxy. Wolffe’s men and brothers will have their attention drawn from you soon enough, you know, aside from perhaps a few.

There’s a soft clearing of the throat behind you and to your left, vying for a chance to speak before things begin. “Commander? Hey, Commander!” Soapsuds calls in a muted whisper, just an arms reach behind you. Wolffe doesn’t turn at the waist to look, not with the bright eyes of the adolescents of the settlement held fast to him and General Plo most of all, but he still does acknowledge his brother.

“Yes, Suds?”

“I’m sorry about the flare gun, Commander. I panicked.”

Wolffe offers a near imperceptible nod to show he’s heard his soldier, eyes trained on an elder’s hands as they repeatedly lift and lower things in and out of the reach of flame. The silver-haired sergeant theorizes to the Kel Dor in a low whisper that what they’re putting in and warming are some kinds of crude vessels for drinks, but he can’t get a great look. Boost is ready to whisper something back to Soapsuds to cover for Wolffe’s silence, maybe some soothing sentiment that he’d have done the same too (because it would make only too much sense that of the four survivors of Abregado, the brothers would be fiercely protective of those other two kin) when the commander gives a curt, but emotional reply.

“I panicked too…”

That’s all he can afford to say before Dara and the man with the bent back - who she’s just called brother, his name Row - signal for things to start, a collective hush falling over this new clearing like a favorite blanket. There are giddy, excited giggles from the little ones on the Chossi side of the fire that’s proving helpful for keeping the atmosphere from growing too tense for everyone seated around this symbolic gathering place. Dara and Row wait patiently for the children to settle down, again, turning a blind eye out of kindness to some of the responsibility falling on the Kel Dor’s shoulders for being more than a little distracting. Drawing from a well of infinite kindness and compassion for all, Plo Koon has made sure no child’s greeting has gone unanswered, no matter how brief, or shy it had been.

It’s remarkably easy to forget for the moment he’s one of the sage members of the Jedi Council when you have the opportunities to witness how he interacts with children, with his men. Today he’s been so… different. Different in a way that’s difficult to articulate. You wonder for a moment when a little Chossi child curiously toddles around the fire and determinedly plops himself in the Dorin-born Jedi’s lap, if this has ever happened at the Jedi Temple, seeing the effortless nature in how he helps the child into a more comfortable position. The child looks as content as can be, happily tucking tiny fingers around a singular digit of Plo Koon’s right hand. The Kel Dor’s expression softens, something fond and amused all at once.

“Friends and strangers,” Row begins in a captivating tone, “before we invite you into our settlement, our home and heartlands, we have gathered you here not only to answer the questions of the one who calls himself Plo Koon, but to offer you promises of peace.” There is a shaky gesture from Row, asking for someone with steadier hands to assist in this next part. “Traditionally, this means a drink is offered to the visitors.” Row elaborates as a clay cup is extracted from the edge of the fire. “But, since there are so many of you, it will suffice to have only one accomplish this: partake by proxy.”

Courageously, a Clone you believe to be named Kwill - a sort of ‘cultural communications expert’ or something if you recall - steps forward and takes the offered cup in the outstretched hands of Solladara’s brother. “Thank you, I'll take this to my Commander.” The Chossi elders find this acceptable and allow for the earthenware cup to be taken with a small word of guidance.

“Sip only.” Row and Dara advise with sage nods, their copper jewelry swaying in the firelight.

Commander Wolffe hesitates to take the cup from his soldier, a clear look of why me? etched in every feature. The resulting conversation is hissed, and urgent.

“What is this, Kwill?”

“Symbolic offer of peace, Commander. General can't drink it with the anti-ox mask. Has to be you, sir.”

He already knew that much, star’s sakes, he was hoping Kwill could tell what this drink was. He resists the urge to roll his eyes, no matter how subtly he believes he could pull it off. Wolffe understands he needs to show the utmost respectful behavior possible, or risk sparking offense and discourse.

He wouldn’t dream of disappointing General Plo like that.

“Kark. Smells something awful.” the complaint comes under his breath, nose creasing with the first whiff of the pungent contents.

Sitting next to Commander Wolffe, it smells like someone ripped up a handful of grass - mud and roots included - and threw it into a bucket of seawater, and then dumped everything into a blender before turning it on for two seconds. You can't fault him for complaining, and only feel admiration when he grits his teeth and follows the siblings’ instructions.

Sip only. A full mouthful, and you wouldn't be surprised to find anyone immediately retching afterwards. It’s a long, tense moment after the very deliberate swallow Wolffe makes where he tries to find his voice.

“... thank you, for the offering.” the flint-gray Commander chokes out with some minor prompting from Kwill. “Very, um, gracious.”

Without a word, the Jedi takes the remaining drink and opts to hold the cup in his free hand for the remainder of the proceedings. Politely, Plo Koon addresses his own thanks not just to siblings Dara and Row, but to everyone sitting on the Chossi side. “As already said by my commander, we thank you for your gracious offering and the invitation that was kindly extended to all of my men, whether they be soldier or crew.” Here, he also takes the opportunity to make apologies and further elaborate on why the battalion is on Little Archossi. “I sense there is still much distrust and suspicion, regarding our presence here. We had never meant to cause any alarm when it was decided to visit your planet.”

“And why did you?” comes the curious question from a third elder, the patina of her copper jewelry not quite so deep like Row or Dara’s. “What brought you to our planet, perhaps so far from your own homes to the heart of our clan?”

It’s a very good question. One the 104th has been trying to needle out of the Jedi from the start, and now, he finally provides the full truth.

“I had hoped this day would prove relaxing for my soldiers and crew, a minor change of pace from our typical day to day. But I felt called to this sector of space, and came to investigate.” Drawn by the Force, he explains, after peculiar dreams. Visions filled by verdant seas of swaying trees, specklings of the color blue, and other things that had been obscured by a cloud, for the moment. But here, in the heart of their settlement, he feels a familiar presence. “The Force feels strong here, perhaps amplified by crystals I have noticed many of the children wearing.”

The cup is set aside so he can comfortably hoist the clan-child higher, and Plo Koon draws attention to the small bangle of copper that encircles the wrist, inlaid with a semi-milky white stone.

“Kyber, is it not?”

Tack looks like he's itching to get a closer look from where you sit, hearing that the general suspects it's kyber. Later it'd be explained to you that the heart of a ‘saber is something Tack has wanted to see for a long, long time now, but it's a desire he's kept pretty secretive.

“You're familiar with kyber?”

Plo Koon bobs his head in response to the question, carefully settling the child back into his lap. “Kyber is what powers a Jedi's weapon, after they are of age, and have completed the Gathering.”

The word Jedi sends murmurs of recognition from many of the older Chossi inhabitants, and a few children. Conspiratorial whispers are sown into the wind as Row and Dara confer with other community figureheads. Haven't they heard that word before? Isn't that what one young family believed their child to be? You steal a furtive glance at the child’s bangle, the cloudy stone, and ponder quietly. If you can commit enough of the detail to memory, you imagine you could capture the likeness in graphite and ink some other day.

Discreetly as you’re able, you slip the sketchbook from your belongings and scribble down a couple of notes on the very last page by the amber glow of the fire. The breathy skritch! of the ink stylus is noticed by Wolffe, catching his attention like it had this morning. It does not take him long to decipher the Aurebesh scratchings, a lip curling with masked amusement. Maybe curiosity.

“‘Like a piece of a star’, hm? Are you sure you’re not a poet, too?”

“Shh…” you warn him, casting a nervous glance over to the opposite side of the fire. “Trying to be discreet.”

Worrying you’ll be noticed is needless; the Chossi are more focused on sussing out other matters with Plo Koon, asking him if he knows of a child who was taken to Coruscant many years ago now. He is given a name and a general description of their young clan member to discern for a moment. It takes him a small measure of silence to work out the perplexities. “I recognize the name, but if I recall, this individual does not claim it as their own any longer. Jedi Knight Caelen is the only one who fits the rest of the description. I must admit, I was unaware they hailed from Little Archossi.” As a further kindness, General Plo promises that this Caelen who leads the 302nd Legion of the GAR is in good health, and if it would be of interest to the clanspeople, some sentiment from Caelen’s homeworld can be passed along to them in due time.

Force-sensitive children may be taken from their homeworlds and raised on Coruscant, but they do not have to sacrifice their cultures and customs.

And sensing this will take some time to complete, Plo Koon suggests he confer with the elders without holding a large audience for it for the remainder of the night. Though obedient, patient men, the General does not want to keep the Clones from exploring, or perhaps making connections with the inhabitants that have invited them to the heart of the forest, where the star-people call home.

“Yes, a wonderful idea,” Dara agrees, her smile-lines deepening, “perhaps… some of the children would be interested in helping our guests explore in the moonlight?” Indeed, the cloud-cover previously obscuring the silver glow of the moon has nearly and completely dispersed; the night vision would not be necessary to any who stray beyond the reach of the gathering fire, now that people are free to stay and listen to the discussion, or go and explore.

The little ones don’t need a second suggestion before they’re breaking away from their side; more muddling of the boundary between stranger and friend without reservations. Clones find themselves climbing to their feet, following after their beckoning, tiny tour guides, leaving their helmets where they’ve sat.

You’re considering staying and listening to the discussion, then going and having a look around the settlement afterwards. But Sergeant Boost has another idea for you, and Commander Wolffe, when Wolffe says he’ll join you in exploring later, assuming that’s what you’ll be doing, telling Boost he’s free to go, too.

“Heh, I don’t think so, Commander,” Boost replies with a defiant smile and cheek in his tone, “I’ll stay and listen for a while. Have fun exploring with Arcadia.” He won’t budge, either. He tunes out Wolffe’s insistence to get up, maybe keep an eye on Orchid, much to the frustration of the flint-gray commander. Not even trying to bring the General into it works; the Jedi offers that since Commander Wolffe took the symbolic cup, he agrees with Boost that Wolffe should have a brief reprieve. And you should too, Plo Koon adds.

Sithspit, guess you’re kind of forced to go exploring, now...

Wolffe has been quiet and partly withdrawn for the past five minutes; save for the muted crunch of gravel and twig under his feet, he is little more than a silent ghost beside you, sometimes behind you, as you move through the settlement. You don’t - can’t - blame him. But you just want to make sure he’s okay, seeing his face set in something of a moue.

“Hey… Wolffe?” You pause under one of the trees in order to talk to him, somewhere out of the way, off the path. “If you want to go back and listen, you can. You don’t have to follow after me. I’ll be okay.” The attempt to be assuring and dispel his concerns feels a bit lame once you’ve said it, but the brevity should do you more favors in the long run. “I can find Soapsuds, Orchid and Tack, stay near them, if-”

“That’s not the problem.” Commander Wolffe cuts in, wasting no time. “It’s what was said at the gathering fire. General Plo brought everyone here for more than one reason, just as I thought.” The tone is… difficult to discern here. With such a heavy thought weighing on his mind, the mild and bitter tang of anger in his voice is expected, but there’s distress here too. An undercurrent of vindication. A gossamer-thin disturbance in the utmost trust in his general.

“You must be upset with him.” you postulate, to which Wolffe is quick to shake his head no. “Hey, it’s okay if you are. I’m not about to go off and tattle like a fucking child if you admit to being upset, or angry, or even feeling betrayed that General Plo didn’t tell you - his damn second in command - what it is we came here for. You’re human, for star’s sake, you’re allowed to be angry. I almost want to be for you!”

You’re regarded quietly, thoughtfully, by the Clone commander following the increasingly emotional admission that you feel frustration for him in this situation. Full lips remain pursed together until the fire in your tongue has calmed and quieted itself, his ever-observant eyes half-lidded once he finally speaks.

“General Plo must have had his reasons, Arcadia…”

“You don’t sound certain of that.”

With a slackening in his shoulders, it speaks more truth than any singular agreeable word could. A heart’s beat of silence fills the space between you and him before he allows himself the short confession.

“It’s a hope, for the time being.”

Until the 104th makes it to the durasteel halls of the cruiser, Wolffe will not have the opportunity to confirm any of these suspicions. Before he can have a discussion at-length with the Kel Dor Jedi about what’s transpired here today, he intends to keep his comments to himself. Plo Koon will take the commander to his personal quarters to have the conversation uninterrupted, most likely; a small but meaningful act of compassion and respect for the concerns of a war-scarred soldier. His second in command.

Yes, maybe you were right. Maybe the General should have told him.

For now, he reminds himself that he’s here, and this is where his focus needs to be. With his brothers. With you.

On you.

“That’s… fair.” you decide in a quiet voice, dodging the potential for eye-contact with a wayward glance into the Chossi settlement.

Many tall huts populate this area, each built around large, mature trees. You see the similarities to Comet’s sketch from before the late afternoon of the decaying house, where moss had grown over every shingle in a blanket of life, and the roof had begun to sag under the green weight of it all in the absence of the key-holder. (Where had the homeowner gone, to never return and leave the wilds to reclaim the structure?) These stand as humble testaments to wood-working prowess, and a great respect for the trees themselves, too. Care has been taken in building around low-hanging branches, rather than lopping them off, in some of these Little Archossian homes.

Curiously, hanging off the eaves of each hut, you notice windchimes made of kyber and copper.

Are these abundant resources on Little Archossi?

“Look,” you say, directing his line of sight to one set of chimes slowly spinning in a gentle breeze, “that’s got a lot of kyber in it… Do you think those had anything to do with the strange flutter General Plo felt when he approached the settlement?”

“... twenty-seven pieces.” Wolffe counts.

“On that one chime?”

“On all of them.” comes the awed answer.

The number must have some significance to the people here, likely either cultural, religious, or rooted in superstition. Tiny little clues to a rich, inner life glimmer and glitter in the moon’s cold glow, throwing subtle fractals of light all around you. Twisting and turning to take it all in, the commander’s DeeCee tucked into the belt of your uniform begins to work itself loose and threatens to drop. You’d grown so used to the weight of it in such a short time, you’d nearly forgotten it was there. With care, you resettle Wolffe’s weapon, assuming he’d prefer you kept it on your person for some peace of mind. For both of you.

Traditional weaponry cannot be underestimated, but you have no reason to believe the people of Little Archossi are of any threat to you and the soldiers of the Republic. (If anything, your concerns are turned to wildlife.) Several soldiers walk by, children of the settlement perched on their shoulders grinning bigger than nexus. Soapsuds is one such soldier, carrying one child on his back with a second and third clinging to his legs, all three of them giggling in delight with every careful step.

“Oh, Arcadia! Commander Wolffe! Didn’t think I’d see you there.” The child on his back gives you a polite wave, which you return with laughter of your own.

“Aww, making friends, Suds?” you tease.

“I guess so! I lost track of Orchid and Tack - been trying to look for them.”

“And your six new eyes are helping you look?” the commander muses, the sarcastic question bringing a brief smile out of him. Suds only offers a sheepish grin, his shrug softly bouncing the child perched on his shoulders. He can’t be sure. Plus the little ones would probably have trouble determining the differences that marks each man apart from his brothers.

It certainly proves difficult, but not impossible.

Through broken Basic, intermingled with the native language, you and Commander Wolffe are able to navigate the settlement in search of the soldiers you’ve made better friendships with today. The children prove less of a hindrance to Suds’ movements than you would have expected, as well; he’s able to keep up with Wolffe’s brisk pace, probably to the latter's growing annoyance. What had been giggles before is now full-blown laughter from each of these boys, who are holding on surprisingly well. They must be strong like the Clones, or just possess particularly firm grips.

Even in the mingled moonlight, Commander Wolffe sees many Chossi children comfortably perching themselves in the branches of the trees with his soldiers. Some pairs have found themselves in rather lofty boughs, even, but his brothers hardly seem phased. More concerned about these children falling out than themselves.

“That would make me too nervous, I think…” you admit after seeing Comet climb into one of these trees with a woven bag full of soft fruits slung over one shoulder. You understand the soldiers of the GAR possess rather well-muscled physiques, capable of great strength and stamina that make for great stories to listen to from your workstation, but it’s the speed that Comet climbs with that makes you maybe more than a little nervous for him.

One of the boys clinging to Soapsuds’ legs decides they’re getting off here, and both climb into the tree after the Clone with two ovular markings on his helmet. It’s the fruit they’re after, calling it “hash-sah” when Comet offers some to them too. Seeing Commander Wolffe, he tips the bag in silent communication, offering some to you too. You decide to take one, but Wolffe declines.

“No thank you. Comet, have you seen Orchid and Tack?”

Comet first tosses one of the hash-sah fruit down to you, large enough to fill both of your hands, suggesting maybe you can share it with the commander in case Wolffe changes his mind. “Last I saw them, they were two trees to the northeast from here, sir.” He’s fairly certain that’s where they’ll be, anyhow. He throws two more hash-sah fruit down to Wolffe, saying Orchid and Tack may want to try the fruit, should you find them there. “Oh and the kids are saying not to eat the seeds, the seeds are bitter!” he calls after you as the three of you begin heading northeast after thanking him for the fruit.

It does not take long to find the brothers Soapsuds lost track of, exactly where Comet told Commander Wolffe they’d likely be. Huddled at the base of a tree, Orchid and Tack are having a closed conversation between themselves, discussing the 302nd as you draw near. That was the legion of the GAR General Plo had claimed this Caelen led, as you recall. And recalling further back still, this might be your answer to where Tack’s researcher friend is stationed, too.

“Can’t you ask Cypher? You’re friends with him, aren’t you?”

“I am,” begins Tack, scratching the back of his head, “but, he’s often a bit slow to reply to my questions… It could be a while before he tells us what’s up with their general and unit.”

Like trying to pull rancor teeth, you recall. “Could you try sending Cypher a nice picture of a bug and then follow up with questions?” Behind you now, Suds says that’s awfully clever, and surprisingly sneaky. Soapsuds still has the little Chossi child clinging to his back like a Kowakian monkey-lizard, slender fingers having found stable purchase in the Clone’s armor. Nothing will make the girl let go, either. Not even for sweet-rations, when Tack offers some as a bribe.

“Looks like you’re carrying her around for a while.”

“Kids tend to weigh less than a typical field kit. I’ll be fine.” Suds says with a smile as he takes the sweet-ration and breaks it in half, reaching over his shoulder to offer a portion to the little girl. She gives it a curious sniff before stuffing the whole of it in her mouth, crumbs dusting her cheeks. “Hah, you really liked that, didn’t ya? Here, little one.” Suds gives her the other, uneaten half of the treat, kindly sacrificing his portion. It’s eaten just as eagerly, more crumbs littering her face.

“Think the girl likes chocolate as much as you, Suds.” Orchid remarks with a gentle laugh, helping the child clean her face by offering her a wetted cloth he’s pulled out of his kit somewhere. Dropping his voice into a low whisper, he asks his brother if that was the last of the chocolate he had.

“Yeah. It’s okay, though.”

Chocolate, true chocolate, is a rarity among the allotment of sweet-rations they get. It’s a rarity for you too, but you can at least get your hands on artificial chocolate as a special treat to look forward to once a month; you have no idea how often the Clones get it… You rattle down a note in your datapad that when you make it back to the Triumphant, you should see what you have to offer to Soapsuds. You’re quick to tuck the tablet back among your things just when Tack gets a return message from Cypher.

Hold on: you’re currently WHERE?

The air practically punches out your lungs with laughter when the next message reads “Who snitched about the bug trick?” in all capital letters, and Tack tells his friend that if he wants to know, he better answer the rest of the questions he’s been sent. He’ll have enough time to give Tack answers, too, since one of the Chossi children approaches the little group that’s been formed with an invitation.

“Gray one?”

Though everyone here wears gray, with the slate of your uniform and the flint of the 104th’s paint, everyone figures the child must be using the same manner of address that Elder Row had in the clearing, speaking to and singling out Wolffe. Recognizing the girl, he responds promptly.

“Yes? Mir, wasn’t it?”

Nodding, Mir points behind her. “My big sister wants to show you something.” Wolffe’s eyes fall upon you first, before his brothers. You can almost see those clever cogs stirring up some strategy to convince the child to allow you and the three soldiers to come along with him, if she really does mean just him, but there’s no need to worry. “They can come too.” Mir promises, grinning brightly as she reaches to take Wolffe by the hand.

Perhaps you imagined there would be more hesitation, but Commander Wolffe is quick to give the girl his hand, and allows Mir to guide him through her community, slowing his militant stride to avoid rushing her. It’s practiced, you know. You wonder how many relief and recovery efforts he’s engaged in where he’s walked hand-in-hand with a child, perhaps ushering them from their war-torn homes… leading them to safety. Did all their hands feel so small?

When he had held your hand, better leading you through the twilight than before, you had once again felt how wholly warm he was. But what had also been noticed was how his hand compared to yours; the map of calluses that lay beneath those raven dark gloves, and the grip-strength with every finger that wrapped around your own… Well you’re almost ashamed to admit it, but your mind turned back to that dirty holonovel you’d mistakenly opened earlier with the pilot throttling both his steering controls and his junk at the thought of someone special to him.

Mir has taken Wolffe, with you, Tack, Orchid and Suds (the girl still on his back all the while) trailing after him, to one of the many shallow depressions in the soil that the community utilize as firepits, calling to her sister that she’s brought the gray one and a few others to come watch. Mir’s sister pauses in fanning the low-burning fire to greet you all, “Welcome. Come sit, come sit. Mir insisted that we show you something.”

Once more, you and Wolffe find your places around the fire beside the other, palms planted in the rich soil. Your fingers brush against his momentarily, and you hastily apologize in whispered tones, hoping the light of the fire does not betray the color in your face that has nothing to do with heat-flush.

You imagined those hands - again thinking of that holonovel - stripped of those gloves, and Commander Wolffe, rid of the rest of his armor… and the under-armor too… carefully pinning you to a bed somewhere, his private quarters perhaps. His touch flows between being velveteen and slow to rough and ravenous, some product of conflict in his need to satisfy certain sensual demands.

In fact, the mental images are starting to get a little more vivid now, the longer you’re near this fire. You swallow heavily and focus on the laces of your boots while you reign in your imagination, but it’s proving immensely difficult.

Maker alive.

Mir’s older sister listens to the young girl’s curious babblings with patience, waiting until her sibling stops. “We imagine you have seen the little blue flowers that grow here, yes?” she asks, corners of her mouth curled in a smile.

“We’ve seen ‘em.” Tack answers with an eager nod, “Dinocaeruleus anthos.”

Mir whispers something, and her sister hushes her. “I’m getting there, Mir. We call them twilight troubles, here. They can be harmful, when handled incorrectly, or taking honey from the wrong harvesters. But they can also be… helpful.” Her mouth quirks in another smile as she looks over everyone. “You’ve all been here long enough to become covered in twilight pollen.”

There is nothing visible to your eyes at least, but you don’t wholly doubt it with how many of those flowers you’ve been around today. The laundry sector of the Triumphant is going to become very busy decontaminating a whole battalion and crew’s worth of blacks, undergarments, and uniforms.

“What makes them helpful?”

“Gi says it makes you creative!” Mir exclaims with excitement, no longer able to contain herself.

With a long-suffering smile, Gi confirms that though it’s putting it a bit simply, her sister is correct.

The poets and painters of Little Archossi use the pollen and other botanical byproducts of the twilight troubles to encourage their natural creativities and spur their inspiration. If you’re patient, she can ask Mir to go get some examples of their local artistry while she prepares something special for everyone since you are guests here on her planet.

Thinking of others before himself once again, Wolffe makes a quiet remark that he imagines you and Tack would be happy to see samples; Gi’s offer is agreed upon.

Golden Dawn is the last segment, I promise! Just splitting it into parts. If you would like to add yourself to my tag list for any future fics, the form can be found here.

Taglist: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Midday] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night] [Here]

[Golden Dawn pt. 2]

16 notes · View notes