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rekrappeter · 4 years

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Over Again || r.c

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary: being best friends with sarah cameron has it’s perks, her brother is the cherry on top [the usual cliche]

**is bathroom sex low risk? idk**

note: you can thank @diverdcwn and @afterglows7b-tch13 for there being smut in this :) enjoy + please let me know what you think about this!

masterlist

gif by @ptersparkers ♡

"Sarah, be careful," You shouted at your best friend, cringing while you watched the blonde carefully step over live wires to retrieve the stuffed animal stuck in a boat for a little girl. Everyone around you paused to watch the commotion, Rose was walking away in annoyance, muttering profanities under her breath and you spotted the troubled trio watching her intently from across the lawn.

Topper was almost jumping out of his skin, his eyes widening at his girlfriend’s actions. Kelce stood beside him, ceasing his conversation to pay attention to her. And the third and final member had a intense and displeased look on his face, but Rafe wasn't staring at his sister. His gaze was glued to you and you stared back at him, feeling yourself getting hotter under the burning sun. Your attention was snapped to Sarah when the sound of her scream echoed around the river.

Jumping from the spot on the grass that you were sitting on, you rolled your eyes when she started to laugh, mocking your expression. "Idiot," you muttered under your breath, bending down to grab your beach bag to drape it over your shoulder.

"Leaving so soon?" His drawn out voice sent shivers down your spine, his palm rested on your lower back as his chest pressed into your back. He must have rushed over to you in a sweat.

You turned around to face him, your eyes narrowing slightly at the smug smile stretching across his lips. "I have plans." You retorted, starting to walk away from the crowd gathering around Sarah. You knew that Topper would look after her at this point.

"Well, cancel them," Rafe suggested, jogging to catch up with you.

"Doesn't work like that," You scoffed, walking towards your car that was parked by the Cameron's mansion. You went to open the door but Rafe's larger hand closed it just as quick. He placed his hands on your waist, turning you to look at him and he trapped you between his body and your car. "Rafe, we talked about this. It was a one time thing."

"It was fun though, wasn't it?" He smirked, leaning down and placing his lips along your jaw. Your eyes fluttered shut, your heart hammering against your chest but before you lost yourself under his spell, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him away.

"We both agreed it would be a one time thing, we were drunk." You couldn't help but feel embarrassed about the night you spent with your best friend's brother. You had known him your whole life, and despite being closer to his age than Sarah's, you still felt extremely guilty over it. Especially because you haven't told her yet.

Rafe raised up the cup he held firmly in his hand, one you didn't notice before. "I'm nearly drunk now."

"Rafe, it's barely even midday."

You looked up at the taller boy, noticing how soft his skin looked but his eyes were near hallow. The once endearing icy blue orbs were replaced by empty, dull ones. His hair was perfectly gelled back with his sunglasses resting on top of his head. His pink and blue striped shirt clashed against the pink shorts you decided to wear today. If a stranger spotted him, he'd look so put together but you knew him better than that. There was something deeper going on.

"What ya staring at?" Rafe smirked, leaning down attempting to press his lips against yours but you turned your head, making him capture your cheek. "Well, that's just rude." He chuckled, sighing and pulling away completely.

This allowed you to open the car door and create a barrier between you. "You know I'm always here if you want to talk, Ray." You were being sincere, knowing that he didn’t have much trust in other people.

"And you know I'm always here if you want to fuck, Y/N/N."

Rolling your eyes, you couldn't help your own smile that lifted onto your face. "You're impossible."

"And you're gorgeous."

"Goodbye, Rafe." You sang, hopping into your car and slamming the door shut. You looked at him, watching him signal you to put the window down. "What now?" You asked, resting your elbow on the ledge of the turned down window.

"Do you have a date to Midsummers?" He asked, his stare soft and gentle for once.

You laughed, shaking your head. "You know I don't bring dates to that, they'd have to answer to my father," you tried to play it off as a joke, but deep down, it annoyed you that you couldn't choose who to bring the Kook event of the year. Your father needed a by to by on their life history, in fear of destroying the family name.

"I get along well with your dad," Rafe hinted, he walked closer to the car, his arm leaning against the top of your door and his forehead resting against it, "Let me take you."

Your heart clenched in your chest, watching his face disappearing of any hint of that cockiness he was used to sporting. He looked vulnerable in that moment, the fear of rejection evident. He has asked you out multiple times before but to ask you to Midsummer's was something new. Something you weren't expecting.

"I'll think about it."

The beam in his eyes made your heart soar, and you waved at him, flicking your sunglasses over your eyes and start to pull away from him. "I'm wearing baby blue!" He yelled after the car, and you laughed waving your hand out the window to tell him you heard that.

The day of Midsummers finally arrived. There was no denying that Rafe Cameron occupied your thoughts over the last few nights; he hadn’t tried contacting you and you had been keeping a low profile on the island so was void of any chance of seeing him around. It didn’t bother you that he didn’t call, he never did before. But you couldn’t hide the excitement that was bubbling in your stomach knowing that in less than two hours you were going to see him again, despite turning him down multiple times. You enjoyed the games that he played, you liked making him work for you and you knew that he liked it just as much.

“You look beautiful, princess.” Your father’s voice broke through your thought process, you eyes staring at yourself in the floor length mirror that you had in your bedroom. The champagne pink dress hugged your figure, swooping out at your ankles to show off the heels you bought the day before. You styled your hair simple, clipping in small decorations to hide any bumps or frazzled pieces.

“Thanks, dad.” You followed him down the stairs, meeting with the rest of your family. The annual pictures were taken, and you eventually found yourself walking through the Island club. The smile that was plastered over you face was genuine as you greeted family friends all dressed up to the nines, the finest champagne in their flutes that they would sip on all night. You didn’t have anything against anyone here, but your mind was solemnly sought on finding the dirty blonde that has been driving your mind crazy.

The sun was slowly setting, the evening ambiance glowing around the club’s rather large patio. “Y/N!” You heard Sarah’s voice over the live band, watching her stalk away from Topper who was protesting, but shortly gave up when he knew he lost whatever argument they were having now. “You look gorgeous!” She grinned, taking your wine glass out of your hand and carefully took a big gulp, making sure there were no adult figures looking in your direction.

“As you do, m’darling. Where were you yesterday?” You questioned, watching the blush rise on her cheeks. “Is that what Topper is getting all heated over?”

“It-it’s nothing, honestly.” Your best friend sighed, taking another drink causing you to roll your eyes.

“Keep that one, I’ll get another.” You said, defeated as she finished the drink.

Sarah swayed to the music, walking towards the dance floor before turning back to you. “My brother was looking for you by the way.” Your ears perked up at that, following her and popping along to the music. “You didn’t tell me he asked to take you tonight.”

“What? He told you?”

“He did, surprisingly.” Sarah hummed, taking your hands in hers and spinning you around playfully. “Why didn’t you accept?”

“Tell me where you were yesterday.” You played, raising an eyebrow of curiosity in her direction. Her smile faltered and she narrowed her stare at you before giving up, shaking her head. You laughed at her before bidding her goodbye to find a replacement drink.

You sauntered through the party, smiling at other guests but you didn’t stop to have any meaningless conversation. You found yourself walking inside, finding somewhere a bit more quieter. Hearing the commotion outside, you relaxed on a plush that was situated outside the restrooms. You closed your eyes, relaxing your tense shoulders. “Someone had a bit much to drink already.”

The sound of his voice caused a smile to automatically appear on your face before you even opened your eyes, and when you did, you were blessed with the sight of him in a tight fitting baby blue suit, like he said. His bow tie was crooked, and there was a line of sweat on his forehead, you didn’t even want to know what he had gotten himself into at this point. You were used to Rafe and his ability to get into a fight with anyone and anything, after knowing him for so many years you just accepted it.

“N’really,” you smirked, standing up on your heels, watching Rafe’s eyes dance along your body. It brought a sense of confidence out in you, the way his eyes did a second look then a third, before his tongue darted out and licked his bottom lip in anticipation. “I was too busy looking for you.”

“Yeah, me?” Rafe smirked,raising his brow and taking a step closer to you. “You wouldn’t even wait for me to walk in together.”

“That’s what couples do, we’re not a couple.”

Rafe closed the neverending gap between your bodies, his fingers brushing your bare shoulder and he slowly dragged his fingertips across your collarbone and up to your jaw. He watched you bite your bottom lip, his cock twitching at the sight of you there. “But we’re real good together.” He whispered, his lips ghosting over yours, his breath fawning across your face. “Plus, I love those heels.” He hummed, noticing the baby blue latch keeping them on your feet. “Very couple like.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, letting him seduce your body with just his lips and fingers. You hated how you gave into him so easily, but he had you trapped under this spell that you weren’t sure you ever wanted to escape from. Your mind wandered to the previous night that you shared together, your stomach erupting in butterflies that were reproducing rapidly. “Fuck me,” You whispered, opening your eyes and seeing the smug look on his face.

“Here?” He asked, glancing around the empty corridor.

Nodding eagerly, you eventually closed the aching gap, crashing your lips against his. He didn’t miss a beat, his hand cupping your jaw and moving his lips along with yours. It was intense, eager and sexually fueled. Rafe hoisted you up on his hips, groaning when your legs wrapped around his waist and he began walking in the direction men’s bathroom. He pulled away from you, placing you on the sink counter. You scanned the room, noting no one was here and Rafe immediately locked the entrance before connecting your lips together again.

Your hands fleeted through his gelled hair, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of it and pulling him closer. His own hands bunched your dress up at your hips, knowing this is going to have to be quick but he was going to enjoy every minute of it. You kissed down his jaw, your lips finding their way to his neck as you nibbled and sucked on one spot causing his moan to echo around the restroom. Your hands started to fiddle with his belt buckle, longing to release some of the built up energy.

You dropped his slacks to the floor, lifting yourself up slightly to allow Rafe to pull your panties down to your ankles. Rafe whimpered when your hand pulled his already hard cock out of his boxers, pumping your hand up and down his length. You ran your finger over the tip, smudging the pre-cum he released. “Ugh, fuck.” He breathed out, pulling back from you to place his lips against yours. He hoisted you closer to him, having you at the edge of the counter and he lined himself up at your glistening core.

“I don’t have a condom,” Rafe mumbled against your lips.

“It’s okay.”

“You sure?” He asked, pulling back and looking you in the eye. The eye contact was intense, as if there was an unspoken bond between you. It made you gulp back a lump forming in your throat, and you only nodded, not trusting your voice. Rafe crashed his lips to yours again, and you gasped as you felt him enter you. As the shock dispersed, you moaned in pleasure, your head falling back. You left hand gripped the edge of the counter, your right hand slowly finding its way to Rafe’s shoulder.

He thrusted in and out of you at a painfully slow pace, watching your chest rise and fall. “Oh, my god, Rafe, fuck me like last time.” You breathed out, the smirk grew on his face as his pace got faster, each thrust became harder and you were riding on cloud nine again. You were losing yourself in the moment; your heavy breaths, Rafe’s moaning, and your bodies smashing together were the sounds bouncing off the restroom’s walls.

“Oh, shit, babygirl,” Rafe groaned, his thrusts becoming messy as he rested his forehead on your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around his body, bringing him closer. Your legs circled around his waist and he hoisted you up off the counter, shuffling along the floor to fuck you up against the wall.

The sound of the door attempting to open caused Rafe to stop mid thrust, pulling away from you and eying the door. His eyes were ride, amusement swirling in his orbs as he placed a finger on your lips for you to be quiet. You tried to muffle the giggles that were threatening to escape, causing your stomach to tremble. You heard muffled voices outside the door, but Rafe turned his attention back solemnly to you, his thrusts starting up again.

“Rafe-” You gasped, but he just placed his lips onto yours again, finding the perfect rhythm to bring you to your climax. The thought of someone walking in on you and catching you here with the Kook Prince excited you, allowing you to release even faster than the previous night. Your moans echoed, and you watched Rafe fuck you fast, his eyes were a deep blue now, the lust filling them.

“You’re such a good girl cumming on me, baby.” He hummed, bringing his face closer to you and hiding his face again.

“Nu-uh,” You protested, reaching for his throat and pulling him back so you could watch him cum inside you.

“You like that, baby?” Rafe mumbled, making you nod. You wrapped your fingers around his throat, watching his eyes screwed shut as you tighten your grasp. His pace picked up, he held you close and smashed himself into you, your body banging against the wall. He groaned loudly, opening his eyes to connect with yours, his mouth gaping slightly. You could feel the twitching of his cock inside you, and he exhaled. The sweat was beading on his forehead, but he still looked as handsome as ever.

Rafe let out down gentle, pulling his boxers and slacks up before going to get some toilet paper to let you clean yourself. He turned his back towards you, giving you an ounce of privacy and you bit your lip, not expecting such a gesture. “Thank you,” You mumbled, your voice soft and fragile. He hummed in response, and you told him he could turn around once you were happy with your appearance.

You were shocked when he walked back over to you, brushing some of your hair out of your face and placing a soft kiss on your lips. You smiled up at him, reaching to fix his bow tie and patting his shoulders gently. “All good now.”

He reached down to grasp your hand, pulling you behind him as he unlocked the door and scoped out the corridor before deeming it to be safe. Rafe looked over his shoulder, smirking at you and you let out a chuckle, shaking your head. When you returned to the party, the music was still playing and the dance floor was crowded with guests. Rafe handed you a glass of wine, grabbing one for himself and clicked your glasses together.

“You ready to get shitfaced?”

I’m just a sucker for my Rafe rn, honestly!

these are also literally just my fantasies oops

#rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe camerona x y/n #rafe cameron smut #smut #obx smut #the outer banks #outerbanks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfic #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x y/n

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shesawriter39049 · 3 years

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|Breakdowns & Bugatti’s| M|

***** Headcanon’s for my OT7 AU*****

Genre: Rich Kid AU/ Drama/ Suspense/ Smut/ Angst

AU SUMMARY : The story of 8 heirs, who also happen to be the children of some of the most powerful, and well known political figures in The Big Apple! This is a candid look at all of the sex, lies, drama, scandals, couture and boujee affairs that are caught both on, but more importantly off camera!

OR: Gossip girl meet’s HTGAWM? Essentially if GG was on HBO, darker, and had more depth within it’s plot! Which is no shade, I love me some Gossip Girl, but realistically looking back a lot of the “Drama” wasn’t that...deep lol! But we still loved it all the same!

Note: The first chapter is called “The Kim’s of New York” So these headcanon’s are solely the Kim boys & the OC! ALSO, I just tried to find the most discrete gif for the Y/N there is NO ethnicity for ANY of my OC’s! Also, it’s set to be a OT7 intertwined plot but the smut with the OC will prob only be 3/4 members deep!

***The sneak peek for part 1 which is Namjoon X Reader will be linked***

~~~~~~~

Name: Namjoon Kim

Age: 21 Birth place: New York, New York

Current Residence: West Village, New York/ Songpa-Gu, Seoul Korea

Profession: Heir, College student, Entrepreneur, Art lover, Smartass, Heartbreaker (Closet fuck boi)

College: NYU (Incoming Junior)

Degree: Aiming for a Master’s in Journalism & Political communication. Endgame :Political Journalism

Preferred Degree: Opinion, Trade, or Art Journalism, or a Museum Curator (Namjoon actually anonymously runs a pretty popular art based travel blog)Namjoon also dabbles in that Soundcloud life making beats under an undisclosed name...however that’s just a hobby....so he says...

Business Type:....Co-owner/founder of an exclusive, invite only, dating service....do with that information what you will!

(Bonus Question ) Licensed Business?: LMAO….sure

Net Worth : 10 Figures

Dating Status : Closet Fuck Boi! Wait, is that not an option? Okay fine. He’s single...ish…Kinda? Well to be fair it depends on the time of day honestly! Is it a Sunday? Are we going to Brunch at Society Café? Or, is it Friday night and he’s going to the “Press Lounge”? More importantly is it election season and and does his father need him to not look like a hoe!? This is all crucial information, I need meticulousdetails honestly! So for the time being I guess I’ll have to pass on the question!

Aesthetic : Tom Ford X Hugo Boss X Valentino X Dior X Tommy Hilfiger = Couture Business Casual! I.E Namjoon always looks like he’s going to some business meeting with Elon Musk, and Jeff Bezos! Even if it’s like...noon on a Saturday and your going on a day trip to Nappa...He’s still in calfskin loafers and a disrespectfully tight button up. Namjoon’s giving like...hot college professor PornHub realness...Yup His whole “Scholar Student” Aesthetic is a whole ass kink and baby boy knows it!

Political Tie: Father, Joshua Kim, New York Senator

Parents : Father : Joshua Kim, (New York Senator, son of Billionaire tech Tycoon Sang Woo Kim) Mother: Christine Kim : Luxury Event planner

Siblings : Only child

Political Party: Democratic

Actual Political Party: Liberal Daily : Matte Black Porsche 911/ Satin Red Ferrari 458/ Bugatti Veyron Matte red

Name: Seokjin Kim (Jin Kim)

Age: 23

Birth place: London, England

Current Residence: Upper Eastside, New York/ Chelsea London

Profession: Existing, Retired Editorial Model, Entrepreneur, Occasional influencer (When he feels like it) IE, the influencer that never really asked for the titile...he’s just rich and living his life! I mean let’s be real who isn't curious to see how the -1% lives?!

College: University of Oxford

Degree: Maybe he has a Master’s in Business...maybe he dropped out!

Preferred Degree: Culinary Arts...or honestly...just chillin...maybe eventually open his own modeling firm or something down the line!

Business Type:....Jin casually runs high stakes poker matches...and that’s all you need to know for right now….

(Bonus Question ) Licensed Business?:...Again...that’s all you need to know right now…

Net Worth : 10 Figures

Dating Status : Single, and not in the mood to entertain….unless you’ll like...walk yourself out after then maybe...Oh also it’s a requirement that you’re aware there’s more luxury brands than Gucci and Louis Vuitton. Show up in anything straight monogram and Jin’s going flaccid on command!

Aesthetic : Chanel X Dior X Cavalli X Dolce X Fendi = On Duty Runway Model! It truly doesn’t matter if he’s going to brunch, the movies, or sitting front row at Galliano! Jin always looks like he should be front row at Galliano! Whilst also effortlessly looking 10x’S pretter than half of the bitches in Manhattan even on his worst day! Androgyny at its finest, well Jin and Judge Parks son are kinda tied in that department!

Political Tie: Father, David Kim, Mayor’s Chief of Staff/ “Ghost” press secretary

Parents : Father : David Kim, (Retired Corporate Attorney, son of Billionaire Oil Tycoon Hyun-Son Kim) Mother: Lisa Kim, Co- owner of Hotel Shailla, daughter of Michael Lee, Millionaire Entrepreneur )

Siblings : Taehyung Kim (20), Hae Jin Kim (29) Deceased...( Allegedly)

Political Party: Democratic

Actual Political Party: Honestly, Jin could give less than a damn

Daily : Matte Pink Aston Martin One, White Bugatti Chiron

Name: Taehyung Kim (Tae Kim)

Age: 20

Birth place: Rome, Italy

Current Residence: Cobble Hill, New York/ Pairs, France (When he’s not in school...or just on the weekends)

Profession: College student, Painter, Podcast Host, unwarranted fashion critique/ Stylist! Tae lowkey thinks his IG feed is the reprise of “Fashion Police” Joan Rivers bless rest her soul..she would’ve loved him!

College: Bernard (Sophomore)

Degree: Fine Arts (Painting/ Sculpture)

Preferred Degree: Exactly...what he’s doing...he enrolled at NYU for business. Lasted all of like...5 months before he dropped out!

Business Type:....Tae run’s a very...controversial late night Podcast appropriately titled “Tae unfiltered”! It wasn’t supposed to be a job, lord knows he doesn't need one...However due to the steady increase in his audience the youngest Kim is on track to ending up on Forbes without his inheritance.

(Bonus Question ) Licensed Business?:...Yup!

Net Worth: 10 Figures

Dating Status : Single, and more than ready to mingle, Tae essentially had the same girlfriend all throughout high school! The pair broke up maybe 7 months ago when she opted to go to college in London. So let’s just say he has a lot of making up to do and he’s very much….open to new experiences…

Aesthetic : Guicci X Gucci X Gucci X Gucci X Gucci = Gucci!? Nah, actually Tae, is fond of anything that doesn't...blend in...so Moschino, GCDS, Vetements, Kenzo, Balmain= If it lowkey looks like it could've been homemade...but it cost like bare minimum 4k! Or he just highkey looks exactly like you’d expect, like a very rich, art student who loves funky. abstract, unethical, clothing! Is he going to Coachella or to the farmers market? We may never know but that’s fine! He’s also young, and well aware that he’s fine as fuck, and that’s a whole ass problem! Tae may not have a ton of experience but he’s far from shy and more than down to learn...

Political Tie: Father, David Kim, Mayor’s Chief of Staff (Ghost press secretary)

Parents : Father : David Kim, (Retired Corporate Attorney, son of Billionaire Oil Tycoon Sang Tae Won Kim) Mother: Lisa Kim, Co- owner of Hotel Shailla, daughter of Michael Lee, Millionaire, Entrepreneur )

Siblings : Seokjin Kim (23), Hae Jin Kim (29) Deceased ( Allegedly)

Political Party: Democratic

Actual Political Party: Liberal AFFFFFFFFFFFFF

Daily : Lime Green Lamborghini Huracan/ Matte Grey Ferrari F60

Name: Yn/Ln

Age: 21

Birth Place: Paris, France

Current Residence: Upper East Side, New York/ Dubai

Profession:...Taking pictures, of both herself and other people, ugh...looking attractive? Does that count? Oh being well dressed...Self taught photographer, Fashion Blogger, Creative Director,Entrepreneur...

College: N/A ...Possible freshman at NYU or Bernard or, FIT for Photography & or Fashion

Degree: N/A... IF, she went it would be for Fine Arts/ Fashion degree for Creative Direction

Preferred Degree: Honestly, none, she lives and breathes fashion and due to her lifestyle Y/n already has the type of connections that up and coming photographers would die for! BUT...said college degree would shut her father up...so it’s a possibility! However, it’s not like he considers photography or being a fashion influencer a real job anyway...sooo she mideswell just not even bother!

Business Type:....Existing? Her main job is essentially...breathing...and occasionally taking pictures of other people! Oh, and herself as well, she get’s paid to post daily content! She runs a website called “MyJobIsToBeWellDressed” Co-owner of an exclusive invite only dating service!

(Bonus Question ) Licensed Business?: Yes and...(lmao)...for the first part, where her blog and all of that is concerned, yes...she’s 1099 the full nine! The other job however...................mmm... next question?

Net Worth: 10 Figures

Dating Status :YOLO

Aesthetic : 90’s Couture meet’s “House of Yes” @ 3 AM ( Back when luxury brands weren’t afraid to have fun and be a little risque) Chanel X Versace X Dolce X Prada X Gucci X Galliano = Well kept sugar baby??? Or every time you see her your literally like “Dude where the fuck are you even going!!??” Baby girl is always overdressed, she showed up to go on a doggy date through central park with Yoongi and Holly in 7 inch Louboutin’s sooo..we love that! Owns literally every vintage 90′s runway archive you can think of...If you’ve gagged over it on Pinterest it’s in Y/n’s closet. She’s smooth as all fuck...that’s for damn sure, radiating the perfect blend of BD and WAP energy....she’s a bad bitch and she knows it! Fuck the entire upper Eastside knows it!

Political Tie: Father, Christopher L/N, New York Senator

Parents: Father : Christopher L/N, (New York Senator, son of Billionaire Automotive Tycoon/ Real Estate Mogul Gregory L/N/ ) Mother: Ashley L/N, (luxury) Interior Designer & Daughter of Hotel Mogul Michael L/N

Siblings: Only child...maybe

Political Party: Democratic

Actual Political Party: Liberal

Daily : Matte Black Bugatti Divo / Satin Purple Lamborghini Murcielago/ Any car that any of her friends are driving because...fuck that, ridding shotty all day!

~~~~~~~~

There they are!!

The sneak peek is linked below...part 1 is Namjoon X Reader

However Jin and Tae are briefly introduced...and they will eventually have induvial chapters as well!

SNEAK PEEK

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wastefulreverie · 4 years

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DannyMay20 Days 19/24: Doors/Mask

sequel to you’re bound (but so free)

Word Count: 5768

Danny was more nervous than he would care to admit. Sure, this was the fourth royal ball under his rule, but there was so much that could go wrong. Between his staff's insistence that he open the ball with a speech, the difficulties he'd already encountered with catering (seriously, how hard was it to serve purified ectoplasm?), and the strict dress code Lady Feiyan had taken upon herself to set... he was not feeling at all confident.

To make matters worse, it was going to be his parents' first endeavor into the Ghost Zone. He'd coached them as best he could on what not to do during the ball, but they could be dense sometimes. The last thing he needed was for them to insult one of his ambassadors and throw the entire party into turmoil. Or worse… find out that he was Phantom.

Still, he'd made it through tougher situations. He just had to stay on top of things before they inevitably spiraled out of control. That wouldn't be too hard, right? After all, Jazz said everything would be fine! He prayed to the Ancients that she was right for once.

With minutes to spare, he managed to corral his parents into the Specter Speeder. They'd been a bit put off that he knew how to drive it—especially since he didn't even have a learner's permit—but he'd played it off.

"I don't always have time for a ghost to escort me around the Ghost Zone. So, I figured out how to drive it myself. It's about as easy as my space shuttle games—"

"Those are still games, Danny," Mom reminded him.

"Yeah, but I've never crashed it, have I? You've never even noticed I've used it. So clearly, I know what I'm doing."

"He's got a point there," Dad pointed out. "Take it away, Danno!"

Mom's eyes widened. "Wait, let me buckle—"

Once they'd all found a seat, Danny slammed on the brakes. Initially, he'd wanted to take his time flying to his palace to give his parents a better look at the Ghost Zone before the ball, but they were short on time. He'd planned to leave half-an-hour earlier, but his parents had spent so long getting ready that it was essentially the eleventh hour. He couldn't blame them for fretting so much since he'd been the one to drive up their anxiety in the first place. He'd ranted about Lady Feiyan's stupid dress code five too many times and now his parents were convinced that they had to dress to the nines. In reality, the dress code wasn't that important—Danny just found it so ridiculous that it was impossible not to rant about.

Mom was dressed in a dark blue, chiffon dress that stopped above her ankles with black flats. Her hair was put into an up-do and for the half-life of him Danny couldn't figure out how she managed to pin up such short hair—but it worked. To top it off, she had a black masquerade mask—compliant with the dress code—that curved over her nose and loosely framed her indigo eyes.

Dad, on the other hand, wore his finest and only suit. He'd had to get it dry cleaned after Vlad had dirtied it at the college reunion all those years ago, but it still fit him quite well. His navy tie complemented Mom's dress and his mask was nearly identical disregarding the size. It was jarring to see him outside of his HAZMAT suit considering he wore it everywhere. Sometimes Danny was even convinced that it was melded into his skin like his own suit was in ghost form.

Alas, it was a welcome change to see Dad all dressed up with Mom. Maybe he could convince one of the ghosts to take a picture of all three of them before the night was over. Not that they could show anyone, of course. Danny was dressed in his stupid royal garb, which was really just his fleece cape, ring, and crown. Normally he'd wear them over his HAZMAT suit but since he was attending the ball in his human form he was donning a plain white dress shirt and black slacks. Of course, since it was a masquerade ball—which was another of Lady Feiyan's ideas—he had a minimalist green mask that didn't distract from his crown.

"Do you really have to go so fast, sweetie?" Mom asked. Danny had just taken a sharp turn to dodge a floating island, which in retrospect it would've been okay to fly straight through it since he was human at the moment. Still, he was expected to make the opening remarks soon and it wasn't like they could start the royal ball without the Ghost King himself.

"Sorry, but we're really short on time. If you guys want to sightsee, I'm sure I can take it slow on the way back."

"If we're not too tired from partying!" Dad nudged Mom in the ribs. For a moment, Danny's mind wandered somewhere beyond his consent and wondered if it was too late to fully die.

Mom pursed her lips. "How long do these things usually last?"

"I don't really keep track of time. It's never really easy in the Ghost Zone, but I'd say anywhere between three to six hours?"

"That isn't too long! Back in college, Vladdie and I would go to these frat parties and—"

"Dad, please stop there."

The last thing he needed tonight was to be thinking about Vlad, who was fortunately banned from ever setting foot into Danny's palace and consorting with any members of the royal staff. Back when Danny was first named as Ghost Prince, Vlad had lost his shit and had attempted to seize the Ring of Rage and manipulate the Fright Knight. Upon learning that Danny was heir to the throne, the Fright Knight quickly switched sides and teamed up with Danny to take Vlad down. It'd been a bitter victory but Vlad hadn't tried anything since. However, Danny couldn't help but wonder if his trust in the knight was misplaced after the incident in his kitchen. For the time being, he was on royal probation and demoted as Danny's advisor until he proved that he could be trusted not to blow his secret.

Soon enough, Danny parked the speeder right outside of his palace. Some of the guards seemed a bit alarmed, as did some of the guests pouring through the main entrance, but he waved them off through the windshield. Before throwing open the doors and entering the palace, he turned to his parents for one last run-through of what they'd practiced.

"Alright, what are three things you never ask a ghost? Go!"

"How they died!" Dad burst.

"What their obsession is," Mom added.

He nodded. "And?"

They both thought for a moment before Mom broke the silence.

"How powerful they are?"

"Yep! Now, what are you not supposed to do during the ball?"

"Drink the ectoplasm, announce that we're ghost hunters—"

"Go through any doors, talk with the Box Ghost—"

"Don't ask questions about Phantom, don't do the Macarena—"

"Avoid any and all ancient politics, especially Caesar—"

"And never audibly make a wish," his parents finished in sync.

"Alright, I think you guys are ready. Now," he held open the door to the Specter Speeder, "let's get this party started."

As soon as they passed through the threshold of the main hall, Danny was whisked away by some of his guards, and Maddie and Jack were left alone. Maddie was a bit put off by her son's abrupt departure but decided not to dwell on it in lieu of taking in the lively scene before her.

The dull exterior of the palace paled in comparison to its grandiose interior. It almost reminded her of castles that she'd read about in fantasy books, with ceilings so high that you could only look up and find darkness. There were hand-carved pillars decorated with skulls and iridescent drapes that appeared to catch the light of nearby ghostly auras.

Across the throng of ghosts donning masks similar to her own, there was a massive throne made from some kind of glossy black material—obsidian?—and suspended on a platform nearly ten feet above the floor. Maddie couldn't see how sitting on that could ever be comfortable, but Danny had once mentioned off-handedly that he'd made a few 'modifications' to make it much more tolerable. Maybe he'd fitted a cushion to it that blended in with the throne? She'd have to ask him later.

The ghosts themselves were much more varied and jubilant than she had anticipated. Maddie had expected to encounter the standard humanoid ghosts that had once invaded Amity Park, but many of the ghosts were far from humanoid at all! Among the crowd, she could pick out yetis donning blue kilts and headdresses that disappeared into their tufts of white fur. Meanwhile, three seven-tailed kitsunes—each brown with white coats—chased each other above the crowd. Maddie could faintly make out wreaths of red flowers and ribbon hanging from their necks.

What was really interesting was that each respective group wore some kind of mask, respective to their own culture. And to think that only a month ago Maddie had dismissed the idea of ghosts having the intellectual capacity to form separate cultures! Ultimately, she was grateful that she had learned Danny's secret and that he'd set her straight. The last month had been difficult in more ways than one, but Danny had taken the time to debunk each and every one of her misconceptions about ghosts. Now that she was actually here, in the midst of it all, she wondered how she had once been so ignorant.

"It's breathtaking," Jack marveled.

"It really is."

Near the front of the hall, someone played a trumpet. The crowd surged forward and Maddie did her best to stay by Jack's side in the chaos. Some of the ghosts took to the air to get a better view of the throne, which helped clear the floor and give Maddie a better vantage of the platform where her son was now standing. There was a tangible air of confusion among the ghosts when Danny waved, but it immediately dissipated once he cleared his throat.

"Ghosts and Ghouls, Spirits and Souls… I welcome you tonight to the tri-annual royal ball. Among others, I would like to thank Lady Feiyan of the Imperial Province for organizing this event and for all her hard work ensuring that everything runs smoothly. Uh, we have refreshments along either side of the hall so make sure to sample some of the ectoplasm. We also have a great assortment of musicians, including by much popular demand, popstar Ember McLain." If Maddie hadn't known better, he'd just rolled his eyes—but she was much too far away to tell for sure. "Feel free to mingle with some strangers and just have an all-around good time. Thanks!"

He stepped off the edge of the platform and Maddie had to stifle a gasp. Rather than careening to the floor, Danny easily drifted down with a grace only reserved for ghosts. She'd suspected that the physics in the Ghost Zone were inherently different from Earth's, but seeing it in action was a whole other phenomenon. Was the force of gravity less here? From what Danny exhibited, that was the only solution. However, it didn't feel any different than it did on Earth to Maddie. Maybe the offset in the force of gravity was subtle enough that she didn't feel it when walking, or maybe the force itself was inconsistent! That went against everything in the textbook world of physics. Oh, this visit was already revolutionary!

Behind her, someone coughed. She turned and found a humanoid ghost with mint skin and chalk-white hair. They were wearing some sort of red patterned pantsuit, which only clashed with their green complexion. When Maddie found their face, she had to do a double-take. Like everyone else, they had a masquerade mask... except theirs was fit for a face with four eyes.

"Excuse me, are you the King's human parents?"

She exchanged a glance with Jack who was just as baffled. "Yes?"

"Oh, excellent! I've never met any humans—this is just so fascinating! I'm Xerin, you could call me a bit of a bio-enthusiast. Humans shake hands, yes?"

They held out both their hands to Jack and Maddie at once. Reluctantly, she accepted the ghost's cold grip and released.

"Wow, your hands are both so warm! I've heard that humans are warm-blooded, but it never occurred to me exactly what that meant. Is it true that your blood is regulated by your circulatory system?"

She didn't know what to make of this ghost. Their interest in humans wasn't exactly flattering, but in a sense she figured it was ironic. She and Jack were very much interested in ghosts the same way that Xerin was allured by humans. Who would've thought?

"Yes!" she shot them a smile. "Our hearts pump blood through our veins. In a sense, our hearts are similar to how your core would maintain ectoplasmic circulation."

"You know, Mads and I would be happy to answer your questions about humans if you answer some of ours about ghosts," Jack offered.

Xerin's eyes widened. "Really? Oh, that would be great!"

"Well, we are biology experts on top of our ghost research."

Jack laughed. "I think that's a little considerate, honey. You're the biology expert, I'm just a guy with a knack for engineering."

They talked with Xerin for quite some time. Maddie learned that unlike most ghosts she'd previously encountered, they had been born in the Ghost Zone which made it difficult to visit the human world without destabilizing. Ghosts that had died with an anchor in the human world—a corpse, she assumed—could cross between the worlds with ease. Of course, there were always loopholes for ghosts without anchors to stay energized in the human world. Sometimes ghosts would prey on emotional energy or artificially charge themselves with ectoplasm, but most preferred to stay in the Ghost Zone.

Xerin themself longed to visit the human world one day but had no means to keep themselves stabilized. Hmm… maybe she and Jack could invent some kind of device that energized born-ghosts just enough to stay stable. Although, it would be catastrophic if something like that fell into the wrong hands.

"So is it true that the human world has—what is the word? Oceans?"

"Oh yeah," Jack said, "oceans actually make up most of the Earth."

"And—and you travel the oceans by boats? Water vehicles?"

"Well, you can. These days when most people want to travel across the ocean quickly they go by plane, but boats are still pretty common. Have you ever heard of a cruise?"

As Jack explained the mechanics of different types of water-travel, Maddie allowed herself to glance around the hall. Many of the other ghosts were conversing and dancing. Up on the platform where Danny had made the opening remarks, a band was playing what sounded like traditional folk music.

Along the opposite wall, ghosts lingered near the refreshments table. She spotted Danny tagging along with a group of humanoid ghosts. They didn't seem particularly starstruck by him like the other guests, so perhaps they were friends of his? One ghost—a slender man in purple robes—passed Danny a chalice of ectoplasm. At first, she saw Danny politely refuse the drink. When the ghost continued to insist, Danny shot a fleeting look over his shoulder and accepted the chalice. His friends raised their own chalices to him and Maddie watched in horror as Danny downed the entire glass of ectoplasm. Pure ectoplasm! What was he thinking? It would burn through his body faster than any acid! He needed his stomach pumped and now!

Before she could think, Maddie threw herself into the crowd of ghosts to try and reach her son. Behind her, she heard Jack call her name. As tempting as it was to fill him in, she didn't have any time to lose. By the time she made it across the hall to the refreshments table, Danny and the group of ghosts had vanished back into the crowd. He could be anywhere by now. What if he fell in the middle of the floor and—and—

Stop. Focus, Maddie.

Why did he drink the ectoplasm? He knew it was poisonous, he warned her as much! Maybe he had reason to believe that it wouldn't be poisonous for him because he's the Ghost King? Maybe the properties of his crown and ring protected him from poisoning! But why would he want to drink it? It's not like it would taste good to a human!

Now that she thought about it, it was unlikely that he was in any real danger. He was the King—if he showed any indication of being hurt, the ghosts would drop everything to help him. Well, at least she hoped. Still, that alone didn't change matters.

Maddie wanted answers and she wanted them now.

She spun on her heels and entered the crowd once again. It shouldn't be so hard to find Danny among all these ghosts, right? He was wearing a glowing crown for fuck's sake!

She spent five minutes scouring the main hall for Danny when she caught a glimpse of a green masquerade mask in her peripheral vision. The figure slipped into a side corridor before she could get a proper look, but she had a gut feeling. Maddie broke into a run and called his name. Her pleas didn't do her much good since they were easily drowned out by the current singer, a blue-haired ghost who had once posed as a popstar in the human world.

Finally, Maddie reached the corridor and stepped through the threshold. It was dimmer than the main hall due to the lack of ghostly auras, but she could still see quite well. The walls were lined with green torches and purple drapes, which were less impressive than the ones in the hall but still stunning. Every twenty feet or so, there would be an ironclad door… which spelled bad news for Maddie.

The corridor stretched out so far that there was no way the figure had made it to the end before she entered, so the figure—if it was Danny—had entered one of the doors. The first problem was that there was no telling which door it had been; the second problem was that one of Danny's only rules had been not to go through any palace doors. But if she wanted to find her son, she'd have to make that sacrifice. After all, he'd already broken one of his own rules by drinking ectoplasm in the first place! Fair was fair.

(At least she told herself.)

Maddie took a steadying breath and approached the first door on her right. It was a regular iron door, definitely not one that she'd find out of the ordinary if she approached it in the human world. Well, maybe a little considering that it was iron. There was a slim chance that there was anyone behind this door, but she didn't let that quell her hope. She wrapped her hand around the handle and pushed.

The hinges of the door creaked as it swung inwards. From what she could tell, the room behind the door was some kind of storage room because there were artifacts nested on shelves and tables as far as the eye could see. Hesitantly, she stepped through the door to get a better look at the room, to see if Danny was somewhere beyond one of the shelves. In retrospect, she should have just called out and waited for an answer because as soon as she let go of the door, it slammed shut behind her. And for some goddamn reason, the ghosts that had designed this place had the audacity to forget to include a handle on both sides of the door.

She was trapped in this room.

It wasn't like this was undeserved. After all, Danny had warned her not to open any doors and now she was stuck. Just great! How knew how long it would be before she was found? The last time Jack had seen her, she'd run off into the crowd with no explanation! And she still didn't even know where Danny was!

Ugh, could this situation get any worse?

She turned to the nearest shelf of artifacts to see if there was anything that might be able to open the door. A crowbar would be really handy right now. Then again, this was a millennia-old palace full of ghostly apparatuses and the chances of finding a crowbar in this room were next to none. In her search, Maddie found what looked like an old sundial, several scrolls of parchment, and a Rubik's Cube of all things. There were other objects, peculiar ones that she couldn't put words to and decidedly ignored them. She'd seen enough horror movies to know that playing with mysterious instruments never worked in anyone's favor.

Ultimately, what caught her eye was a grand tapestry that spanned the length of a full wall. Upon closer inspection she realized that it depicted Phantom of all ghosts, which was odd within itself because Danny had insisted on his behalf that Phantom was a young ghost—not older than three-years-dead. That was about all that Danny had told her about Phantom, besides that he was a good ghost and that it'd be best for everyone if she avoided discussing him at all. Apparently, he had a very controversial reputation in the Ghost Zone, and even mentioning him could throw the ball into pandemonium. She figured any ghost that barred its own kind from the human world wouldn't be very popular among other ghosts.

So it was curious that this tapestry appeared to depict Phantom fighting what appeared to be a faceless shadow ghost. She traced her thumb along the silver and black embroidery and looked from side to side. From what she could tell the tapestry appeared to be some sort of timeline of Phantom's accomplishments. Intrigued, she followed the tapestry to the beginning…

The first picture depicted a young boy entering a tunnel. Below the image, there was a short inscription that read 'the bridge between worlds'—a portal, perhaps? Maddie moved on to the next picture in the series. It showed the black-haired boy being electrocuted—blue strands of thread ripping through his body and jetting upwards. The same image showed him stepping away from the tunnel as a ghost, as Phantom. This time, the inscription below read 'halfa-born'.

Had Phantom died in a portal? That couldn't be right… Danny had said he was no more than three-years-dead. She had finished her portal three years ago. Was this suggesting that Phantom had died in their portal? If so… who could he possibly…?

On closer inspection, the boy in the portal had both black hair and blue eyes. The pieces fell into place and suddenly her brain filled with static.

Danny wasn't a ghost. Surely, this was nothing more than a coincidence, wasn't it? She'd seen him bleed, eat, and grow! Those were all human nuances that ghosts physically couldn't emulate!

Maddie shook the thoughts from her head. She was being ridiculous, surely the tapestry would show that Phantom and Danny were two separate people. So, she turned to the next image in the series.

Phantom stood in a fighting stance, wielding two ectoblasts in each fist. Furthermore, twin halos were encircling both his upper torso and waist. Between the two rings, the weaver had stitched what appeared to be a human heart, captioned 'a foot in both worlds'.

Well, that did little to dissuade her gnawing theory that Danny was Phantom. She bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to think about it because if she thought about it, she would only convince herself that it was true. It couldn't be true. She'd hunted Phantom, she'd sworn to impress inhumane forms of torture on Phantom! He couldn't be—couldn't...

Pull yourself together. This is madness! The tapestry is just figurative, isn't it? The caption 'a foot in both worlds' was hinting Phantom's loyalty to the human world.

Right.

Just figurative.

She looked on and saw that the next series of pictures depicted Phantom battling a wide range of foes. Among these pictures was the first picture she had spotted of him combating the shadow ghost. The progression of images eventually led to his battle with the former Ghost King, Pariah Dark. Danny had told her about the ghost's valiant effort against his predecessor and how he'd stepped in at the last moment to deal the final blow. Contrary to this, the tapestry omitted Danny's involvement in the fight at all. Or so she thought...

Once Phantom had locked Pariah Dark away in his sarcophagus, the picture detailed him falling to his knees. The next picture revealed Danny in his place, wearing both the Crown of Fire and the Ring of Rage.

Below the picture, the inscription read, 'The Rise of King Phantom'.

Maddie stepped away from the tapestry.

That confirmed it, didn't it?

Danny was Phantom. Not only had he lied about becoming the Ghost King, but he'd also lied about becoming a ghost! Some kind of half-human, half-ghost thing!

She hadn't even realized that she was crying until she felt the tears well up inside her masquerade mask. Disgusted, she discarded the mask and left it on the floor.

She was such a fool! An idiot! She'd actually believed that the Ghost Zone would allow her human son to become their ruler!

How was she supposed to feel about this? Was she supposed to accept that her son wasn't wholly human anymore? She wanted this to be reversible, but how would she essentially un-kill him? He'd changed in the portal whether she liked it or not.

She was hiccuping now. God, what a mess she was.

At some point she fell to her knees and sobbed into her hands. Call her melodramatic, but she didn't know how to process this. What she'd done. Crying was the most cathartic action she could take, being trapped in a room like this.

It must have been ten minutes until she heard the door open. By then, her sobs had died down considerably if not completely. Still, her face was streaked with tears and there was no way she could pretend she hadn't been crying.

"Mom? Is that you?"

She felt the air evaporate from her lungs.

"D—Danny?"

He sighed. "One of the guards told me that he saw someone run down this corridor, but I was really hoping it hadn't been you. What's up?"

She turned and met his eyes. He was still wearing his fleece cape, ring, crown, and mask. For a moment, he appeared taken aback by her disheveled appearance before regaining his composure. He quietly joined her on the floor, blind to the damn tapestry behind him.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head. What if he hated her for knowing? What if this was the final fissure in their relationship? What if he rightfully blamed her for all that she had said and done to him as Phantom?

"Nothing's wrong."

He carefully placed his hand on her shoulder. She noted that unlike Xerin's hand, his hand was warm. Alive. Human.

But he was a ghost.

"Did one of the ghosts say something to upset you?" he asked. "Was this too much? We go home if you want."

"No, that's not it. I—" she choked. "I'm okay. I just got trapped in here. I was, uh, looking for a bathroom?"

As an adept liar himself, Danny saw right through her charade. Of course he would.

"Mom, you can trust me. Does this have anything to do with why you were calling my name in the hall earlier?"

"You heard that?"

"No. One of my friends did, though. They told me and I've been looking for you since."

That didn't leave her much room to lie. He'd figure out she knew sooner or later and it wasn't like she could put off this confrontation forever.

She clenched her fists and released. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"I-know-that-you're-Phantom," she blurted.

Behind his mask, she saw his eyes widen. "What?"

"I—I saw you drink ectoplasm. Back at the refreshments table, with those ghosts. I tried going after you, but then you left and so then I looked in her and—and I found that." She pointed to the tapestry. "After everything, I didn't want to believe it, but it's the only thing that makes sense."

He looked behind him and visibly blanched. "I—I can explain."

"What is there to explain? You were shocked in the portal and now you're 'halfa-born', whatever that means. You didn't tell us because of all the cruel things we did and said and fuck—! I'm such an awful mother. I thought it was bad enough when I didn't notice that you were the Ghost King, but this too? How do you stand me? It—it was my portal that did this," she realized. "All I've ever done is hurt you."

Just like that she was crying again. Before she could react, Danny pulled her into a hug and whispered assurances that he didn't blame her. It was stupid. She should be the one comforting him! He was the one who had suffered! She was supposed to be the parent!

"... I like being like this. I don't blame you for anything, you didn't know. And yeah, maybe I was scared and—and sometimes you took it too far. But this past you've changed so much of your ideologies for me. That's all I've ever wanted, Mom."

"Stop," she tried pushing him away. "Stop, Danny. You don't deserve this burden, you shouldn't have to hold me like I'm the victim. You were hurt so much and I didn't even see."

Danny, being her wonderful stubborn child, didn't let her break the embrace. "Yeah, but this is a shock for you. I've had a month to get used to the idea that you might find out. Not that I wanted you to, but… you're allowed to be upset. I uh, expected you to be more upset that I've been lying about being half-dead for like three years."

On some level she was mad. At the moment, her anger was submissive to her despair—she couldn't help but feel miserable in light of what she'd learned.

"I'll be mad later. I can't handle it right now."

"Oh, okay." He finally released his hug and rubbed the back of his neck. "Would it help if I showed you?"

She blinked the tears from her eyes. "Show me?"

"Y'know. My uh, transformation. Phantom."

"Oh. If that's something you want to do?"

He offered her his hand and they stood up together. He took a step back and held his arms straight at his sides. Just as depicted in the tapestry, a halo appeared around his waist and split. His dress shirt and slacks were replaced by Phantom's signature HAZMAT suit while his cape remained the same. His hair was bleached white and through his mask his eyes burned bright green. Though, she had the impression that the transformation didn't go quite according to plan. Immature as it was, she had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing.

Danny crossed his arms. "What? Not as impressive as you expected?"

"Not that, sweetie." She leaned forward and ruffled his now wispy, white hair. It felt like a cloud. "It's your mask."

"My mask?"

He slipped the mask from his face and turned it over in his hands. During his transformation, the light-green masquerade mask had been dyed hot-pink. He groaned in a very Danny-like way and pushed the mask back onto the bridge of his nose.

"I forgot that happens."

He scrunched his eyes shut and the halo appeared again below his chin. It passed over the mask, changing it back to green.

"That's better," he decided. "Now it matches my crown and my eyes."

"I don't know, you looked pretty dashing in pink."

Despite his mask, she could see a hint of green blush.

"Mom."

"Though, for the King I guess you're always handsome."

"Stop it!" he huffed. "I can't believe I transform for you and all you do is compliment me. That's so gross!"

"Too bad. You've kept this secret for three years, I think I've earned the right to embarrass you."

He opened his mouth and then closed it again. "That's fair, I guess."

"So what now?"

"We could go back to the ball if you want? If not, I could probably find Dad and we can call it a night."

She was definitely overwhelmed. The reality that Danny was Phantom was still processing and she wasn't sure that she could handle facing all those ghosts. It wasn't like there wouldn't be another ball, there would be another in just four months. Still, Maddie Fenton wasn't one to just run away. Maybe it wasn't healthy or wise to stay, but she'd stopped crying. Hell, she was joking with Danny. Her mental breakdown was inevitable, but if she played her cards just right she might be able to postpone it long enough to enjoy the rest of the night.

"I think I'm okay to go back."

"You sure?"

She couldn't blame him for sounding skeptical.

"No." She crouched down and picked up her own mask from the floor. "But I want to."

"Really, there isn't any pressure—"

"Daniel James. I want to go back to the ball and I want to spend the night mingling with ghosts. We can talk about all of this later, but I don't want to ruin what I've looked forward to for a month. So," she held out her hand, "dance with your mother."

He snorted. "That sounded really weird."

"What? Is the half-ghost Ghost King too proud to dance with his human mother?"

"I didn't say that. But fine."

He accepted her hand to dance. She was a bit startled at how cold it was now when only minutes before it'd been warm.

"So uh, what are we going to tell Dad?"

Oh right. Jack.

She'd left him in the main hall with Xerin. How was she supposed to explain that she'd trapped herself in a room and accidentally learned that their son was half-ghost? What kind of conversation starter would that take?

"I'm sure we'll figure it out later."

With that, she and Danny phased through the wall.

For all her trouble, her son owed her a dance.

#Danny Phantom #DannyMay #dannymay2020 #Hey if someone wants to draw King Phantom with a hot pink masquerade mask I would NOT complain #Danny Fenton #Maddie Fenton #Jack Fenton #Ghost King #Danny Phantom Ghost King #Ghost King!Danny #Ghost King AU #Danny Phantom Fanfiction #Fanfiction #Phicc #Phic #wrwritings

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ravnicaforgoblins · 3 years

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Ravnica for Goblins

One-Shots and Story Hooks

One thing Ravnica campaigns are rarely without is conflict. On a good day, somewhere between nine and ten of the Guilds will be having an issue with one another in some way, shape, or form. This is good for adventuring parties because it means there’s always something to do. While coming up with a session can literally be as simple as picking two Guilds and building off their general reasons for not liking each other (which is as easy as picking a fight on the internet), sometimes you need help. You need something to kickstart those creative ideas again.

Fortunately, the artists over at Wizards of the Coast have had over a dozen sets/releases to craft not just the main storyline of Ravnica, but unique little one-offs as well. They come with absolutely stellar artwork to help build the atmosphere of the City of Guilds, and wonderful bits of flavor text that are prime jumping-off points for your story ideas.

So here are four story hooks taken straight from Ravnica cards to incorporate into your campaign. You don’t have to follow these prompts exactly, but if they spark some ideas of your own, run with them.

Watchwolf

Ravnica can be lonely & intimidating for a Druid. With so much of the world made up of pavement and skyline, one’s connection with nature can feel like a long-distance relationship. You’d be hard-pressed to find a tree outside the Conclave without venturing into Rubblebelt territory. Furthermore, what animals do inhabit the big city have been almost unilaterally conscripted into service by one Guild or another. Azorius hawks, Boros hounds, Gruul boars, Selesnya cattle; to say nothing of the terrifying creations churned out from Guilds like the Simic, Orzhov, or Rakdos.

Even the rats seem to have loyalties.

I was browsing a Tin Street stall for watermelon seeds when I saw it. A wolf, staring right at me from a bridge nearby. I looked around but didn’t see anyone it seemed to belong to. Boros dogs wear armor, Ledev dire wolves are never without their rider, and if it was Gruul it would almost certainly have some sort of clan markings. Could it be a wild one?

Noticing my gaze, the wolf made its way over to me. It avoided the crowd with a comfort you don’t see in wild animals. This wolf definitely belonged to someone in the city.

A few of the merchants were staring at us. Even if it was trained, it was definitely making them nervous. The wolf nipped & tugged at my tunic with its mouth. Not with aggression, but with urgency. Spend enough time with animals, you learn to spot the difference. I bought my seeds, tipped the shopkeep generously, and brought the wolf to a quieter part of the city to speak with it.

Who are you?

Watcher

A watcher? Curious.

What do you need, Watcher?

Help

What help do you need?

Lost

You’re lost?

Watcher shook his muzzle.

Where’s your owner, Watcher?

Taken

Taken? Taken by whom?

Watcher told me.

A what?

Role Reversal

This was definitely one for the books. Even for the Senate, seeing a Sphinx up close is extremely rare. Seeing one at your desk filing a complaint about another Sphinx is unheard of.

“They are Uthlon the Wise. A model among their peers for stoicism, moderation, and sound judgement.”

“And you’re filing a complaint against Uthlon for....”

I checked my notebook.

“....Getting drunk and painting rude words on the temple of Azor.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll look into it.”

I expected a response. There’s always a response when people get angry enough to file a complaint. However, instead of shouting or threats, the Sphinx Agammemnos stepped back from my desk and perched down a few feet away. They were really going to wait there until I looked into this. My lunch was sitting an arm’s reach away. I sighed deeply. I hated this job sometimes.

Then, another Sphinx came in and approached my desk.

“I am here to file a complaint regarding Uthlon the Wise.”

I took my notebook back out.

“For the crime of shouting out ‘River’.”

I had to ask for that one again. Apparently, they were asking someone a riddle, as Sphinxes do, when Uthlon the Wise popped up and shouted the riddle’s answer. For that, I might seek out this Uthlon the Wise for the sole purpose of giving them a medal. No sooner had this thought crossed my mind when another Sphinx, this one rubbing their head and moving as though drunk, wandered in.

“I....am here to....file a complaint.”

“Regarding Uthlon the Wise?”

The Sphinx looked pleased. They do love when someone can guess what they’re thinking.

“Uthlon the Wise hit me over the head with a club.”

I’d just finished writing that down when more Sphinxes came strolling in. I’d never seen this many in one place, not even in Isperia’s court. Then I saw the strangest thing of all. A goblin came in, calmly walked up to my desk, and told me in the best Common I’ve ever heard from a goblin:

"My name is Uthlon the Wise.”

For the love of the Guildpact, what is going on here?

Mass Manipulation

There they are. I thought I made my instructions clear to dress the part. One way you can always spot a Dimir is by their shabby taste. They’re so concerned with being able to keep things hidden in their clothes that they can never wear anything that fits them properly. Orzhov assassins, by contrast, always dress to kill. We turn the art of killing into an actual art. And here this tit comes showing up at the finest diner in the Precinct wearing that awful trenchcoat. Ghosts, I should have hired that Ochran. At least they know not to be seen.

The only reason I’m resorting to this alley skulker is because I need the job done quickly and on the cheap. If this imbecile ruins my appetite, I’m docking the price of the meal from their pay. Then again, if I do that, I wouldn’t be paying them at all.

Seems fair to me.

“Dreadfully sorry I’m late.”

“If this is how you run your business, I may just take mine elsewhere.”

“Now, now, let’s not get hasty.”

The server came over to take our orders, but because of this idiot’s tardiness, my main course would have to wait while they ordered drinks.

“Would you like to see our wine list?”

“Water is fine, thank you.”

Ghosts, I should have hired the Rakdos. This whole day is already a loss and it’s only breakfast. Why did I ever think these fools could be trusted with something important?

The server poured water from the pitcher while I waited.

“So, what’s the job?”

“What’s the job? The job is everything! How you present yourself! How you treat your clients! How you behave in high society! How am I supposed to trust you with a contract when you can’t even show up on time for a breakfast?”

They just sat there, drinking their water. Not even the decency to look ashamed. I’m going to put a word in to the Judge for another purge, this is unacceptable. We shouldn’t have to put up with these dredges.

Finishing their water, they clinked their glass on the table.

The whole diner was suddenly quiet. Not the awkward, shocked quiet of society types pausing to listen. I’ve lived in this city for almost 70 years and I’ve never heard anything like this kind of silence. Every single person froze in their place, some halfway in the motion of eating or talking. Then, every single head turned in our direction at once.

“I was afraid it might come to this. I know you have things to do, so I’ll be brief. When I ask you for the job, I don’t need your background or history and especially not your personal take. I know how uptight you Syndicate types are about contracts & paperwork & details and all that nonsense. I just need the deed and the name of the person it’s being done to. That’s all.”

Every face stares at me with blank captivation. Not a single eye blinks. Not a single mouth draws breath. Including mine.

“But first, let’s talk about the pay. For starters, since the target is probably wealthy enough to afford protection, the rate will double. Second, since you clearly have trouble keeping your mouth shut, you’ll need to be kept under supervision until the job is done, so the rate will double again. Lastly, since the reason I was late was because I was debating whether or not to poison your drink, let’s double it again and call it a deal.”

I swallow hard. I should have never gotten involved with House Dimir.

“Seems fair to me.”

“Excellent. Now, what’s the job?”

Debtors’ Transport

This one will not be easy. This isn’t your standard smash & grab in the Bulwark where the Wojek are too busy busting Gruul skulls to chase after a gang of thieves. Everyone in the city has thought of it at least once; rob the Orzhov. The problem is, everyone knows what happens to anyone who tries; best case execution, worst case servitude. The air surrounding the Orzhov Guildhall is saturated with the ghosts of poor souls still paying off their debts to the Syndicate centuries after death. It’s not a fate you wish unto anyone, least of all yourself.

But still....the temptation is right there. An Orzhov transport, one of those big bloated ones that look like someone took a person, removed their bones, and then blew them up like a balloon. Walking right through the plaza. Every week, same time, same route, same cargo. An enormous sarcophagus filled with more coin than your average Ravnican citizen will see in a lifetime, and the moans of the latest poor soul who fell too far behind on their payments.

From the street separating the haves & have-nots of Precinct Two, around the Hall of the Guildpact in Precinct One, then a straight shot along Plaza Avenue to the Orzhova Church. Roughly one hour to walk five miles of city and deliver the cargo into the greedy hands of the Ghost Council.

They aren’t subtle about their business, but they aren’t subtle about security, either. At least four Advokists and Knights for a light haul, double that for a bigger one, and if they’re really hauling a score you can expect a trio of their fully-plated Giants as well. Not to mention the gargoyles they have perched on roofs for every single street along the route. And the transports themselves aren’t exactly known for being well-tempered when something agitates them.

But you rip off a score like that and your entire crew can afford to buy a mansion on a floating mountain.

Assuming you get away, of course. That’s always the rub. There are few things the Syndicate take more personally than being robbed. You rob a score like that, they don’t just send the Order of Sorrows after you, they send the Angels. The executors of Orzhov justice who don’t sleep, don’t stop for lunch, don’t stop for anything until they find you. At least when the Firemane kill someone it’s an exciting way to go. Better death by immolation than spending every night listening for the sound of feathered wings dropping a scythe down on you.

But if you did it right, made sure no one saw you, made sure no one could trace it back to you, it could be done. It can be done.

But who would be willing to take the risk?

#Ravnica for Goblins #Ravnica #goblins #mtg #d&d 5e #DnD #dungeons & dragons #dungeons and dragons #roleplay #story hooks #D&D #one shot #campaign

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madquerade · 3 years

Text

In Questo Paradiso ne Scopra il Nuovo Dì (4/10)

Rating: m Ineffable Wives (female Crowley x Aziraphale) Major Character Death, tw: illness, blood Human AU, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, just a lil fluff but like… You can read it on Ao3 @ sherwhotreksings Chapter: one two three four five six seven eight nine ten

Paris. 1851. She’s not sure if she’s real or imaginary, the girl sitting on a chair across from her bed. She sees her though: dark hair, golden brown eyes, dressed in white, Azira’s sister. She can’t be sure anything is real at this point. The only thing she knows for sure is that she’s home now and she’s dying. ~ This is just La Traviata but with the wives. I’m sorry. Antonia is a Parisian courtesan caught up in the intricacies of French society until a young madame, Azira, disrupts her whole world.

Chapter 2

Antonia is dozing in Azira’s arms, and it’s everything she’s ever wanted. She fades in and out of consciousness, comforted by the feeling of Azira’s fingers tangled in her hair and the stroke of her hand on her neck. She can tell Azira is speaking to her, but just quiet enough that she has to really concentrate in order to hear. It’s probably just idle talking, but Antonia listens anyway, eyes closed and breaths as even as possible so she doesn’t give herself away.

“This is my Eden. You are my paradise, Antonia.” Azira plants a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

Antonia’s heart constricts in fear. They’re thousands of francs in debt. It took so much to get away from her past life and their luxurious countryside estate isn’t cheap. She couldn’t deny Azira when she promised her she’d make sure she had the finest things. But, she has a plan to fix it all. If she sells everything from her past life, her evening clothes, furniture, Paris estate, she’ll have just enough to pay off their debt and keep their countryside home for a few months more. She can discuss with Azira what to do after the debt is gone.

Antonia stretches and yawns feigning her normal behavior after waking up from a nap.

“Mon Amour,” Antonia starts, “I have to speak with Marceline, but I’ll be back soon.” She heads off towards the kitchen in search of her maid.

“Marceline! Are we settled with our arrangement? It seems things are more urgent than I thought originally. The Baronne is getting impatient.”

Marceline picks up letters from the nearby table and holds them out to Antonia. “We’ve gotten a few inquiries. It’s not what you were hoping for, but sufficient enough.”

“Then please, go to Paris quickly.”

Antonia shuffles through the papers reading the offered amounts and the letters from that day. Among the offers is an invitation to Flora’s latest party in a week’s time. She hasn’t been out in proper high society since the night she intimately joined with Azira for the first time. Letting herself be free of her work was the best decision she’s ever made. She loves Flora, but she won’t ever go back.

A sharp pain shoots through her chest knocking what little air her lungs contain out of her. She tears at her bodice to try and allow more room for breathing, but the strong material and her stays don’t budge. The pain recedes and she sucks in air in short shallow breaths. Anything more than that and she’ll throw herself into a fit. The doctor says it’s important she keeps her coughing down. Her handkerchiefs say the same.

She hurries to the washroom to splash some water on her face, taking some time to compose herself, and then to their sitting room where their desk is. She puts the sensitive information in her desk drawer, but leaves the rest on top, hoping Azira won’t go snooping. As she sets down the invitation she notices a note from Azira.

Mon Amour,

I called for Marceline and a yard boy told me

she left for Paris on an errand.

I have gone to Paris to stop her and

I will be back soon.

You should not have-

A strong rap on the door echoes through the quiet house. She puts the note down to answer it, now the only one here to do so. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, but that doesn’t mean much. As a courtesan she regularly had uninvited guests appear at her door.

A tall man is staring at her from the other side, his dark greying hair ruffled from the hat he holds in his hand, his outfit accented with purple.

“You must be Mademoiselle Crowley,” the man says, voice tinged with displeasure.

She tightens her grip on the door, bolstering herself for what is to come.

“My name is Gabriel Donadieu, Azira’s father.” He pushes past her through the entryway, shoes clacking ominously on the brick.

Antonia follows behind him at a safe distance to the receiving room. She can feel the anger radiating off him. Her skillset says be cautious, but courteous. She has no idea why he’s here, but the reason can’t be good if this is how he chooses to meet Antonia for the first time.

“Antonia, Azira will be ruined if the two of you continue on like this.” He sets his hat down on the side table next to the settee, insinuating his intention of not leaving anytime soon. “She wrote to me asking for help with what you owe. You must give this up. This is no way to live. Especially for two women.”

“Excuse me, but you are in my residence and you have no right to talk to me like that. I ask you to leave now, Monsieur.” She gathers her skirts in her left hand, prepared to show him out herself if she must.

Gabriel advances towards her. “Mademoiselle-” Antonia scoffs at the honorific. “-I advise you to watch your words. It is you who has no right to talk like that to me considering what you do and that you’re une gouine[1].”

It’s not often that Antonia is shaken by something, but she visibly recoils at the insult. Instead of giving this man what he wants, she tips her chin up and sets her face into a stony mask. Hatred over who someone loves isn’t as common as it once was and isn’t a problem in her circles of society anyway. No one cares if their prized courtesan sleeps with a man one day and woman the next.

Gabriel glares at her, accenting each word with a step towards Antonia. “I refuse to let Azira give you everything she has and throw her life away.”

Antonia doesn’t let her mask fall, but is pushed backwards by Gabriel’s ever approaching steps until she bumps into the settee, which startles her enough to feel the fluttering of a coughing fit in her lungs. She scrambles for her handkerchief as she doubles over coughing. She doesn’t dare look at it once her cough has subsided, and balls it into her fist instead.

She straightens up, resolve unwavering. “And I would refuse if she offered. I have a plan as well.” She crosses to the desk, pulling out the letters and holding them out. “I’m selling all my things in Paris. My maid is going as we speak.”

Gabriel rejects the letters with a gesture, waving her off. “It’s not just that. Your past is a stain on your reputation.”

She clenches her jaw. Her past doesn’t matter to anyone she cares about. “My past was forgiven when Azira chose to love me and I chose to love her. Everything that came before doesn’t matter.”

“You and I both know that’s not what God sees. In order to be truly forgiven you’ll need to make a great sacrifice. Please, for the sake of both my children, give her up.” Gabriel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a picture, holding it close to his chest until Antonia is looking. “I have another daughter. Her betrothed has refused to marry her unless you leave and their wedding is soon. Would you take my daughter’s chance at happiness away from her?”

Antonia steps closer. The young girl in the picture has long dark hair, curled, but hanging loosely around her shoulders. A soft smile graces her lips. She’s about the same age Antonia was when she started her work as a courtesan. Her flowing light dress pools gently at her feet and she clutches the arm of a young gentleman staring ahead unsmiling.

“My family will be disgraced unless you give up Azira. We’ll be ruined.”

She looks away from the picture, unable to hold the gaze of the young girl. She can’t rip this love from the couple. She can’t let another person live the way she has for so many years.

Antonia dabs at her chest and face as she contemplates what Gabriel is saying. “Azira and I will separate then. Your daughter will be free to get married. Then after the affair is finished Azira and I will join once again.” She nods slowly, satisfied with her choice. She can give up her love for a week or two in order to protect the dreams of another. It’ll be precious time wasted when she has so little left, but the guilt…

“You don’t understand. That is not a sacrifice. You must give her up completely.” Gabriel returns the picture to his pocket and holds out his empty hand to her palm up.

Antonia inhales sharply, coughing into her handkerchief, the dark blood a reminder of everything. “I refuse. I love Azira and I won’t. She’s the only thing I have in the world. You can’t ask me to give her up completely.”

He steps closer to her from the other side of the settee, grabbing her elbow. “Only a sacrifice of this scale will allow you to have all the happiness you could ever desire. You will be made pure again in the eyes of God.”

She shakes her head. Giving up Azira would be the end. “I’m dying,” Antonia sobs, “If I lose Azira it’ll kill me faster. I can’t have my last moments be without Azira. I’ll never love another person.” She pulls her arm from Gabriel’s grasp, doubling over to catch her breath.

“You are young and beautiful, you’ll find another to love. Besides, you homosexuals are notoriously unfaithful. One day time will erase your youth and beauty and she will become bored and restless. You won’t have her lasting affection because heaven won’t bless a union such as this.”

Antonia shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.” She says one thing, but she can’t stop the sneaking doubt creeping into her mind. Who’s to say Azira wouldn’t tire and leave her? After all, she declared her everlasting love to her after their first introduction. Staying with Azira could lead to her heartbreak anyway. Will Azira stay with her through her death or abandon her like everyone else before?

“Gouine!” Gabriel spits. “Abandon this dream. Put aside your illusions. Be an angel of mercy to my family! God herself inspires my plea!”

How could she think there would be a happy ending for her and Azira? Her fate stacks against her.

Tears fall silently from her cheek onto her chest making her pale skin seem to sparkle in the afternoon light. She thanks whoever is left watching over her that it was a calm cry until now. A sob is ripped from her burning chest as she falls to the settee. Her legs and illness betray her and she crumples to the floor instead.

“So this is the miserable fate of a fallen woman,” Antonia cries to the sky, letting the cough she’s been holding back come roaring out of her throat. Little droplets of spit go flying as she continues her lament. “Never again will I have any hope in my life. Even if God forgives me, man will not.” She can see the droplets that landed on her skirt are staining it red.

She lets her thoughts flit through her mind as if on a spring breeze that she doesn’t have the energy to capture. She was stupid and reckless for thinking she could have everything she wanted and now she’s getting her punishment. Her crying is ugly. And sloppy. And everything a courtesan isn’t. Gabriel gives her the time she needs to cry, but his menacing presence isn’t a comfort.

Antonia tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice, tries to remain poised, but she’s long past that point. “If I do this, you must speak with your other daughter and tell her what I did for her. I had one ray of light left in my life and I’m sacrificing it for her before I die.”

Gabriel uncrosses his arms, but keeps his feet planted firmly in front of her. “You’ll be treated well in life because of your suffering. God will bless your noble act.”

She scoffs, but she’s too tired to fight his insistence. She’ll die before she gets any blessings. Perhaps her blessing will be a swift and painless death.

Calming, she dabs at her face and lips. She can taste the metallic tang on her lips and can tell the blood has stained their center darker. “Tell me how... How do I leave her?” She pushes herself to her feet with the help of the settee, matching her stance with Gabriel’s though he’s a head taller than her.

“Tell her you’ve come to your senses and you no longer love her.” Gabriel cocks his head, waiting for a response, like a hawk looking at a mouse.

Antonia lets another sob escape. “She won’t believe me.” She presses a hand to her face, feeling the warmth instead of the ice she’s used to. “And if I leave she’ll follow me.”

Gabriel crosses his arms once more, displeased by her lack of a solution. The devotion of the lovers runs deep.

No, in order to say goodbye to Azira, she’ll have to break her heart completely. It’s the only way Azira will let her go. Antonia glances around the room, arms wrapped around her stomach in despair. There isn’t anything she could do or say to convince Azira she’s not completely in love with her- Her eyes settle on the invitation resting on the desk, Flora’s party. If she goes back to her old life after everything they’ve done, after Azira rescued her from it, after Azira saved what was left of her soul, it might just convince her. If she wants her plan to work, she’ll have to move fast.

“I’ll do it, but you must promise me two things.”

Gabriel considers her for a moment and Antonia can’t help but feel like the mouse again. A shiver runs down her spine.

“Once I’m dead, don’t let her curse my memory.” Even as they speak, she can feel her death rushing faster and faster towards her. It seems so real now. She wasn’t ignoring it before, but it seemed so distant when Azira held her. Now she can feel how weak she actually is; how the cold isn’t coming from the open window, but rather from inside her. “And tell her of my sacrifice. Make sure she knows my last heartbeat is for her.”

Gabriel nods his acceptance, picking up his hat from the side table. “Au revoir[2], mademoiselle Crowley.

“Oh Dieu[3].” Antonia’s tears flow freely again. “We won’t see each other again. Make sure Azira is happy.”

“Au revoir,” Gabriel repeats, stepping towards the door.

“Adieu[4],” Antonia replies, watching as Gabriel shows himself out.

How can she tell Azira of what she’s doing in a way she’ll accept without question. Antonia will have to be gone when Azira gets back. There’s no way she’ll be able to do this in person. One look into her eyes and it’ll be over. One look at her lips, her hair, her body, how she smiles at her when she’s in love, hears the hearty laugh she gives when she gets home, sees the look of concern once she notices something is wrong, and it’ll be all over.

Antonia curses, “Ah Dieu, give me the courage,” and moves to the desk, pulling out her pen and paper. The chair feels harsh and unforgiving as she settles in, much like her own mind.

Azira,

Antonia stops and scratches it out. She has no right to use her name like that anymore.

Madame Azira Donadieu,

I have made a mistake. The affection I previously expressed to you was false, and I now feel that my indifference towards you grows stronger every day. I’m afraid your opinion of love was wrong. I miss my old life and have come to view you as a figure of contempt. If we were united, it would only cause a great hatred to blossom inside me. I do not have a faithful heart to offer you, nor do you have one to offer me.

She collapses onto the table, bawling. Every word is a lie. Her sobs shake her body as the table digs uncomfortably into her ribs. She loves Azira with every remaining breath she has. Her hand cramps from writing in this position, but she doesn’t have the will power to sit up.

Baronne Beelze has graciously offered me his guidance and patronage.

Not a complete lie. The Baronne did offer his patronage. She turned it down at the time, but he made sure she knew it was outstanding.

I think sincerely, and you will do me the greatest pleasure in avoiding me. I’ll excuse any lack of response with your compliance to my request.

Adieu, Madame Antonia Crowley

She finishes the letter with her signature, sloppy from the angle, and lets her head fall down onto her arm.

“What are you doing, Antonia?” A familiar voice asks.

“Nothing.” She bolts up, letter in hand, folding it quickly and holding it behind her back to conceal it from Azira.

“You’re upset. Who are you writing to?” Azira takes a step closer, holding out a hand for Antonia to take, which she ignores though it breaks her heart.

“To you.”

“Let me see!” Azira reaches towards her hand holding the letter, but she extends her arm out of Azira’s reach, hopping away.

“It’s nothing.” Antonia holds her breath, waiting for Azira to back away. She can’t do it like this.

Azira does what Antonia expects and turns away, “Forgive me. I’m worried.”

Antonia takes the few extra seconds away from Azira’s eyes to tuck the letter into her bodice, shifting her handkerchief over so they’ll both fit, and wipes at her face with her hands, desperately trying to rid any evidence of distress from her face.

Azira paces the receiving room floor. “I left to stop Marceline from selling your things and I returned to my father’s carriage waiting outside.”

Antonia takes a few hurried steps towards her. “Did you see him?” Her adrenaline is keeping most thoughts of her illness at bay and allowing her to stay on her feet though she wishes to do anything but.

“No, not yet. He wrote me a harsh letter, but I know once he meets you, he’ll love you.” She offers Antonia a reassuring smile and tries to cup Antonia’s face.

Antonia’s hand hovers above Azira’s, almost lost in the fantasy once again, but then she’s dodging her. Ah, how much misplaced faith she puts in Antonia. It’ll hurt that much more once she’s gone. Her skirt swirls around her as she lunges out of Azira’s reach.

Antonia says urgently, “You go first and calm him. Your presence will reassure him and then we can meet him together.” Her eyes light up with her internal hysterics. “I’ll fall at his feet and he won’t deny us our happiness. We can live together forever.” She holds out her hands, grasping at the air. “I love you, Azira, I love you.” Her breathing speeds up as her head starts to spin. “You love me, you do love me.”

Azira holds out her arms for Antonia, brow furrowed in concern, tears in her own eyes threatening to release.

And Antonia can’t resist. She falls into her, legs threatening to give out. Repeating, “Love me, Azira, love me,” and “I love you,” over and over as Azira frantically comforts her. This will be the last time she’ll hear it.

“I adore you!”

The emotion behind Azira’s voice shreds her. She sobs into Azira’s shoulder, jacket sleeves clutched and wrinkling in her fists.

“Why are you crying?” She kisses Antonia’s cheek like an arrow to her heart.

There’s no way Azira will believe her if she continues to act like this.

She straightens up and lets go of Azira’s jacket, letting her arms float down to her sides. Her head and her chest ache, and her lungs feel like they might explode, but she does her best to hide it all. She does her best to hide her fear and sorrow and grief.

“I was just overcome. I’m better now.” She fakes a smile, knowing Azira can see right through her. “See I’m smiling.”

Azira strokes her hair, but Antonia puts her hands on her chest and pushes her back. It doesn’t work. She doesn’t have the strength, and Azira just reaches for her again. Antonia steps back, knowing the only way to escape is by putting distance between them.

Slowly she backs towards the door, pushing down all her feelings. “I’ll be outside among the flowers, always near you.”

She turns and hurries to the door, throwing it open, but stopping in the doorway, one hand placed on either side of the frame. It hits her then that if all goes to plan this’ll be the last time she’ll see Azira, the last time she speaks to Azira, the last time she tells her how much she loves her. It’s overwhelming and she feels pulled as if tethered back to Azira’s side.

Antonia pivots to face Azira, letting all her frustration and heartbreak out. “Love me, Azira!” She stumbles closer towards her outstretched arms. “Love me as I love you!”

She throws herself into Azira’s waiting arms, ready to memorize exactly how they feel. The press of their chests together does nothing to calm her like it normally does. She wraps her arms around Azira’s neck and laces her fingers into her golden hair.

“Please love me as I adore you,” Antonia whispers into Azira’s ear.

Azira peppers heavy kisses everywhere she can reach. It makes leaving her that much harder.

Placing a hand on each of Azira’s cheeks and resting her forehead on her’s, she closes her eyes to say, “Adieu.”

Azira’s hands skate over her hips and back and shoulders, grabbing at her needily. Antonia gives her one last kiss, hoping to convey how desperately she loves Azira, before backing up and using what’s left of her energy to run out the front door.

She pulls the door shut behind her, slumping against it. She only has a few seconds to catch her breath before Azira comes out to find her father. Pushing through her pain, lungs on fire, she hurries to the nearest person she can find, a gardener.

She retrieves the letter from where it was tucked in her bodice and holds it out. “Please find Marceline and tell her to meet me in Paris, and then give this to Azira.” Her heart pounds in her chest, repeating over and over ‘go back, go back,’ practically pleading with her. Luckily she’s had enough practice ignoring the sorry begging of affected souls.

[1] A homophobic slur for lesbian

[2] An informal goodbye, equivalent to see you later

[3] “Oh God”

[4] A formal goodbye meant to be final

#ineffable wives #good omens #good omens fic #crowley x arizaphale #my fic #iqpsnd

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waitimcomingtoo · 5 years

Note

Dad! Peter Parker and Stark! Reader please??? 😊😊 Thanks love :)

It’s My Party

Pairing: Dad!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Synopsis: “I know your dad is throwing Benji the most extravagant birthday party a one year old could ask for, but I thought we could have our own little family party tonight. Just the three of us.”

Masterlist

“Alright. We got the wall of roses all set up, the cake is still being iced, and the giant bunny I ordered should be arriving this afternoon.” Tony rattled off as he waltzed through his living room. Workers were scattered across the room, setting up various party decorations. Every inch of Tony’s grand estate was or would be covered with blue streamers, Teddy’s bears, or baby blue flowers.

“Please tell me you didn’t buy another giant bunny.” Pepper groaned as her heels clicked against the cool marble floor.

“If my grandson wants a giant bunny, I’m getting him a giant bunny. Just because you didn’t like yours doesn’t mean Benjamin won’t like his.” Tony pouted. The giant bunny was still a sore topic for the couple.

“You don’t know what he wants.” Pepper reasoned. “He’s not even one.”

“But he will be. That’s what this party is for. And I have to above and beyond for my only grandson. So a giant bunny he shall receive.” Tony insisted.

“What’s this about a giant bunny?” You asked as you entered the room. You kissed both your parents on the cheek and took a look around the room. Even unfinished, the room looked incredible. Tony sure knew how to throw a party.

“Dad, this looks amazing! You did all this for Benji?” You asked as a man carrying a gigantic 7 tier cake walked past you.

“Y/n, Benji is my first and only grandson. There is nothing I wouldn’t spend, give up, do, or build for him.” Tony declared.

“Build?” You asked, ignoring the other sentimental parts of your father’s statement. “Tell me you didn’t build my one year old son an iron suit.”

“Please, Y/n. Don’t be ridiculous.” Tony pretended to be offended.

“Okay, good.” You warned.

“I’m saving Mark B for his fourth birthday.” Tony said quickly and under his breath.

“This looks great, dad.” You repeated, still in awe at his far your father was willing to go for his family. “I have to run. Benji’s bed time is soon. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” You hugged your parents goodbye and drove home.

“What’s all this?” You asked with a skeptical smile as you set your bag down. You saw your husband balancing Benji on his hip as he mumbled some baby talk in his little ear. You approached Peter as you walked through a curtain of streamers. There was a makeshift “happy birthday” sign hanging up above the doorway, as well as a few other drawings tapped to the walls with webs. It had no doubtably been colored in by Benji, with a little help from Peter. Peter gave you a gentle kiss on the lips before you took Benji in your arms.

“I know your dad is throwing Benji the most extravagant birthday party a one year old could ask for, but I thought we could have our own little family party tonight. Just the three of us.” Peter said softly while brushing some of Benjis curls off his forehead. You smiled fondly at your husband.

“I love that idea, Pete.” You said sincerely. “Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble.” Peter assured you. “Benji and I baked these cupcakes, with zero help from Benji. And then we frosted them, also with no help from Benji.” Peter sighed. “I just don’t think baking is in our sons future.”

“I’m so sorry. I know you had high hopes for his baking career.” You teased.

“I’ll get over it. I guess he’ll have to be a genius scientist like his mom.” Peter said with sarcastic disappointment.

“Or a superhero like his daddy.” You beamed as you rubbed Peters shoulder.

“We can only hope.” Peter gave you a warm smile and kissed your temple. “Shall we light the candle?”

You nodded and stepped closer to Peter. He wrapped his arm around your waist with one arm and picked up the lighter with the other. He lit the singular candle on the cupcake, a chunky white number one with a red border. The soft glow of the candle dimly lit up your faces. Benji’s eyes lit up at the sight of fire for the first time. The warm glow cast shadows on his small features, illuminating his gentle face.

You and Peter softly sang the words to “happy birthday” to your son. He was too entranced by the light of the candle to listen. It was yours and Peters first time ever singing it to him. The first time he’d ever heard it. It was a moment Benji would never remember, but one you and Peter would never forget. Benji reached for the light but you protectively held him back.

“Happy Birthday, dear Benji.” You and Peter sang. “Happy Birthday to you.”

“Make a wish, sweet boy.” You said as you bounced Benji slightly.

“Let’s make it for him.” Peter suggested. You nodded and leaned closer to the flame.

“I wish for our little family to stay like this, always.” Peter said. “What’d you wish for?”

“I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.” You shook your head at Peter for not knowing the basic rules of wishes. He laughed at your disapproval.

“My bad.“ he smiled.

You and Peter leaned in and blew out the candle. Benji laughed happily and clapped his hands. He reached out and grabbed for the smoke.

“We better get to bed. Benji has a big day tomorrow.” Peter suggested. You yawned suddenly, not realizing how tired you were until then.

“Okay. Goodnight, Birthday boy.” You kissed both your sons cheeks. “And goodnight, non birthday boy.” You kissed both of Peters cheeks.

The party went as planned. It was even bigger than you expected. Tony’s house looked like the baby shower section of a Party City. All of the Avengers were there, dressed in their finest attire. To kick the part off, Thor created a light show in the sky with lightning. Tony had spliced together every picture and video of Benji in existence and created a momentous montage of his life. You and Peter mingled with the other guests, but always managed to stay close by each other.

After cake and a few drinks, you and Peter helped Benji open all his presents, most of them being from Tony. Once you had finished and your fingers were sore from all the wrapping paper you had to rip, Benji seemed to own every baby product, onesie, and toy in the world. You and Peter were grateful for all the gifts and thanked everyone while internally wondering how you’d ever fit it all in your apartment.

“Well, that’s a wrap on presents. Coffee, anyone?” Tony rubbed his knee and looked around for takers.

“Not so fast.” You spoke up, bringing the attention back to you. “There’s one more present.”

Tony looked at you confused. All the presents had been opened. You were all sitting in a sea of torn wrapping paper to prove it.

“I’m pretty sure we opened everything, pumpkin. There’s nothing more we could possible give to Benji. If there was, I’d find it and buy him the company that manufactures it.”

You laughed at your father and turned to Peter.

“It’s not a present for Benji.” Peter cut in. “We got you a present to say thank you.”

“Really?” Tony asked. A proud gleam was in his dark eyes. He was glad to see his daughter was a giver, no matter the occasion. “You didn’t have to do that. This party was nothing. I barely spent a million dollars. Wait till he turns 16.”

“Well we appreciate it nonetheless, so we got together to make you something special.” Peter nudged you with his elbow just enough that no one could see. You nudged him back.

“Something special?” Tony quipped, suddenly more intrigued than proud. “What is it? Whatever it is, don’t hand it to me. I don’t like things being handed to me.”

“I know, dad. Don’t worry, no ones going to hand anything to you.” You assured your father. “But because it’s so special, the present won’t be here for another nine months.”

“Honey, I told you you could use my Amazon Prime account so you don’t have to wait that long for packages. Just log into OH MY GOD ARE YOU PREGNANT?” Tony suddenly put the pieces together. You put a hand over your stomach and nodded as a wide grin spread across your face. Tears came to Tony’s eyes.

“We are. Well, she is.” Peter confirmed. “And its a girl this time. Y/n is actually three months along but we needed to say “nine months” for the joke.”

“I told you not to explain the joke.” You whispered to Peter harshly.

“I physically had to.” Peter said out of the corner of his mouth.

“My little girl is having a little girl.” Tony beamed as he took your hands. You smiled at your dad and wiped a tear away from his cheek with your thumb. “Does your mother know?”

“She took the pregnancy test when she was on FaceTime with me.” Pepper, who was seated next to Tony, chimed in. It had been difficult to keep the news hidden from her husband for so long, but the look at his face made it all worth it.

“You knew about this and you didn’t tell me, Pepper?” Tony looked over his shoulder.

“What? It was nice to know more than you for once.” Pepper said smugly.

“If your baby girl is anything like your mother, teenage years are going to be rough.” Tony said as he turned back to you. You and Peter laughed. “You’re gonna have a little mini Pepper around.” Tony gushed.

“You can name her Salt.” Sam shouted from somewhere in the back. Peter shot him a look.

“We’re not naming our daughter salt.” Peter declared. Sam shrugged and took a sip of his beer.

“It sounds like a good name to me.” Rhodey added.

This resulted in a discussion among the crowd about the baby’s name. After a surplus of congratulations from everyone, you and Peter found yourselves alone in a corner with Benji.

“I can’t believe we’re gonna do this all over again.” You said in disbelief. Now that everyone knew, it was finally sinking in that you and Peter were going to have another baby. “I guess our little family isn’t so little anymore. Is that okay with you?” You thought back to the night before when Peter wished your family would always stay the way it was.

“Are you kidding?” Peter laughed. He shook his head at you. “It’s not the size that I love. It’s the fact that it’s ours.”

“It is ours.” You smiled proudly at your son. You loved your little family. Peter was like a beautiful melody and Benji was his perfect reprise.

“Hey, you never told me what you wished for last night.” Peter reminded. You chuckled to yourself.

“I wished for happy days, like this, forever.”

#endgame rerelease #iron man #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #spider man: homecoming #spiderman x reader #dad!peter parker #dad!peter parker x reader #dad!peter parker x stark!reader #spiderman: far from home #spiderman x you #spiderman x y/n #spider son #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader

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keywestlou · 3 years

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FREDERIC REMINGTON AND KEY WEST

Frederic Remington still lives. Through his works. His art, sculpturing and writings will be as famous 100 years from now as they are today.

He is a Hemingway. Eternal. Both having had a connection to Key West. Though Hemingway’s time much longer.

Remington made his fame and fortune in the old west. A transplant of sorts. He was born and raised in Canton, New York. Near the Canadian border.

Cowboys, Indians, the land and its people simply stated turned Remington on. He loved painting the old west. He is best known to day for his sculptures of cowboys and Indians. Close your eyes and see a horse standing on his hind legs with a cowboy seated waving his hat.

Nothing is forever. By 1890, the old west was fading big time. Almost totally gone.

The 1890 massacre at Wounded Knee marked the last big clash between the U.S. Army and the Indians. By 1894, Remington stopped traveling west. Everything he had known was gone. It was a new day.

Remington spent time working in his studio in New Rochelle, New York. Whether a painting, sculpture or writing, all were done from memory.

Harper’s gave him an assignment which took him to Florida. His assignment was to write about Florida’s cowboys, cattle and the land.

He disliked all. None similar to the west of old. The cowboys did not sit tall in the saddle and appear to be tough guys. None the heroic images of he old west.

The cattle were not the husky animals he viewed on the western plains. Skinny in comparison. Remington described them as “scrawny creatures not fit for a pointer-dog to mess on.”

The land the worst comparison wise. No mountains, deserts and canyons. Only scrub lands.

He returned to New York. After a brief stay, an assignment arose which would take him to Key West and Cuba.

Tensions existed between the U.S. and Spain. Spain owned Cuba. Cuban revolutionaries in the mountains were causing the Spanish havoc.

Remington first visited Key West in 1890. William Randolph Hearst owned the New York Journal. He sent a wirier by the name Richard Harding and Remington to Cuba. It took a while for them to make it. They were stuck in Key West for three weeks.

Hearst had the fastest speedboat in the world at the time. Called Vamoose. Vamoose was to take Harding and Remington from Key West to Havana for a meeting with revolutionaries.

Two reasons offered why the had difficulty getting to Cuba.

The ocean was rough. Three times the trip was attempted. Three times it could not make it and had to return to Key West. There is a second reason. The Spanish fleet had blockaded Havana harbor which prevented Vamoose from breaking through.

Only one of the two reasons is accurate. Historians are split. Some believe it was the blockade that prevented Harding and Remington from reaching Havana. A fact that Hearst’s ego and reputation could not stand. No way anyone or anything could stop Hearst from doing what he wanted.

Whatever, Harding and Remington eventually got to Cuba. They took the steam boat like everyone else.

The two spent 3 weeks in Key West attempting to make the trip to Cuba. It was a wonderful three weeks for them. Harding and Remington were “gentlemen” of the day. Brought all the social niceties of New York with them. When recollecting those 3 weeks, Remington referred to them as “three years.” Insinuating they wee that good.

They were guests at dinner parties, luncheons and informal receptions ashore and on war vessels. They were social hits! The ladies were fond of them. The two brought charm and comradeship with them. Relationships were made that lasted lifetimes.

Harding and Remington returned home.

Remington detested Key West itself. The people wonderful, the City not so. He called Key West a “dusty smelly bit of sandy coral, and the houses built like snare drums; they are dismal thoroughly, and the sun makes men sweat and wish to God they were somewhere else.”

Hearst sent Remington back to Key West. This time to await the Spanish-American War. As far as Hearst was concerned, it was inevitable.

Remington sat around for quite a while waiting for the war to begin. His job was to do illustrations of the fighting once it had commenced.

Hearst was rabble rousing the war in New York. He had the north in a pro-war frenzy. Remington while waiting had made it to Cuba. He did not believe there would be a war and was sick of Cuba. He wired Hearst: “Everything is quiet. There is no trouble. There will be no war. I wish to return.”

Hearst responded: “Please remain. You furnish the pictures and I’ll furnish the war.”

Hearst was obviously correct. The Battleship Maine was sunk in Havana harbor in 1898.

No one has ever suggested Hearst had any direct involvement in the sinking of the Maine.

Greed was the motivating factor why Hearst wanted the war. It would improve circulation of his newspaper.

Remington was there for the war. A close friend was Teddy Roosevelt. Remington went up San Juan Hill in close proximity to Roosevelt.

Remington did not enjoy the war. He personally hated war. The death and heat were too much for him. On top of which, he came down with yellow fever.

He returned home. His thirst for war and killing satiated. He said, “From now on, I mean to paint fruits and flowers.”

Big entertainment evening last night. The PBS show re Hemingway and the Championship Game of the Final Four.

I am a Hemingway fan. More precisely, fanatic. I was first introduced to his writings in college. Those works I did not read at the time, I consumed over the next 10 years.

Spending almost 30 years in Key West, I have further become familiar with Hemingway. His personal habits, tastes, etc.

I did not enjoy the PBS show. Too may facts crowded into 2 hours. Expansion of some parts was required.

My mental expansion re Hemingway hit speed here in Key West. A lot of people living here who knew him personally or who knew those close to him after his death. Those who knew him personally were children at the time.

One was Dink. He died last year. His father was one of Hemingway’s personal friends, his driver and a fishing buddy. A drinker, also. Dink died last year. He still had a room full of boxes containing Hemingway works which his father had left to him.

A Hemingway discussion generally works its way to his sexual tastes. As PBS slid over last night, his mother frequently dressed him in girl’s clothes. One of his wives was a lesbian. The question always comes down to whether he was in some form bisexual.

No one knew. No historian had ever come up with the answer.

The PBS show was at 8. On another channel immediately before the PBS show was the film A Farewell to Arms. Magnificent! Made in 1932. One of Gary Cooper’s finest performances. Emotions galore.

Then came the basketball game. Baylor/Gonzaga. Baylor won 86-70. The game interesting. No where as good as Gonzaga/UCLAS two nights earlier.

Tuesday comes around rapidly each week. My blog talk radio show tonight. Tuesday Talk with Key West Lou. Nine my time.

You’ll love it! Join me! www.blogtalkradio.com/key-west-lou.

Enjoy your day!

FREDERIC REMINGTON AND KEY WEST was originally published on Key West Lou

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Where in Fiction Would You Spend Christmas?

https://ift.tt/34FuLCB

It’s been a staying-in kind of year. That New Year’s Resolution you made to travel more? It’s gained 20 pounds, started cutting its own hair and is now in a jigsaw club with your neighbour Ken. The only marathon you’ve completed in 2020 is a Battlestar Galactica rewatch. The only mountain you’ve climbed is the metaphorical one it takes to shower daily. That beach trip you’d planned? It went okay actually. You made some bells by selling coconuts to Nook’s Cranny and dug up a bunch of Manila Clams with a flimsy shovel.

For obvious reasons, escape is on our minds this year more than most. So we started thinking, if you had your wishing socks on, where in the collected imaginations of everyone who’s ever dreamt up a film, TV show, game or book, would you spend the holidays? On the holodeck of the Starship Enterprise or roasting on an open fire with The Simpsons, exchanging gifts with Ewoks or witnessing Scrooge McDuck’s transformation from miser to philanthropist first hand?

To get things started, here’s what our writers picked…

Alec Bojalad would spend Christmas … reveling with the Sterling Cooper staff on Mad Men

If I’m to indulge this hypothetical in which I’m torn away from one reality and thrust into another, one thing is very clear: I will have to be extremely intoxicated to avoid my heart exploding from the stressful terror of it all. Thankfully, I know exactly where in pop culture to go to get absolutely blitzed: Mad Men. In terms of sheer debauchery, a Sterling Cooper Christmas party probably falls somewhere between a Bacchanalian orgy and Valhalla itself. As Don, Roger, Bert, Peggy, and company gather together to celebrate another successful year schmoozing clients and sexually harassing one another, I will don my finest 1960s attire and infiltrate the festive event.

As Don Draper wonders who this soft-bodied weirdo in an ill-fitting suit is, I’ll catch up with Harry Crane about television. Then I’ll ask to see Bert Cooper’s weird tentacle porn painting. Sometime around my 9th J&B Whisky on the rocks I’ll visit the secretarial pool and beg them to demand better treatment because “you’ree ssssooo strong and eleganttt. Don’t listen to thessseee men. They’re Mad Men.” Hopefully I’ll be taken away to an old-timey hospital at that point, given electroshock treatment, and return back to my own continuity.

Ryan Britt would spend Christmas… at Deanna and Will’s cabin from Star Trek: Picard

When Jean-Luc Picard uses the spatial projector to zap himself and Soji across the galaxy to the planet Nepethene, the result is a cozy pizza dinner with Will Riker, Deanna Troi and their daughter Kestra. For those who had been pining for more ‘90s nostalgia in this Trek series, the episode ‘Nepthene’ delivered, but with a strong shot of realism. Although Picard was written and created before the Covid-19 pandemic, the idea that Riker and Troi would leave the busy and crowded life of Starfleet, and retire in a remote cabin to protect their family is a choice many have actually faced in 2020. As people around the world have fled pandemic epicenters and tried to put shields around their own families, the peaceful and remote home of the Riker-Trois represents the optimistic ideal of Star Trek with a quiet, and very close-to-home twist.

Spending time with the Riker-Troi family would mean great conversation, great music (oh the jazz!) and, above all, great food. I would happily put my own family in their ‘pod’ if only so Kestra could teach my three-year-old daughter the best way to construct a bow and arrow, and of course, how to learn that secret language of butterflies.

Then, after the kids were in bed, having a glass of wine or some Romulan whiskey with Will out on the porch sounds pretty damn perfect. 2020 has been tough. A bear hug from Riker seems like the perfect Christmas gift of all.

Caroline Preece would spend Christmas… at The Muppet Christmas Carol’s Penguin Skating Party

Ever since young-me set eyes on the ultra-festive world of The Muppet Christmas Carol I’ve wanted to visit. I can’t imagine a better way to spend Christmas Eve than in the cuddly version of Dickens’ cautionary tale, helping Kermit and his co-workers tidy up Scrooge’s office for the holidays, dancing down the snowy London streets and attending the Penguins’ annual Christmas skating party as the ultimate topper to a perfect evening.

As well as being super-merry and joyous (‘tis the season), judging by Kermit’s performance on the ice, they let anyone take part.

It could just be the general lack of socialising and festive frivolity in 2020, but Bob Cratchit’s hopeful walk home from the office (remember the office?!?) on the night before Christmas has always epitomised the idea that the anticipation of Christmas Day is the best part. Add to that a trip to the market to pick up some singing vegetables, or the cosy Cratchit dinner with Miss Piggy and their gaggle of pig and frog offspring, and it’s a version of old-timey festive cheer that will always hold a place in my heart.

Louisa Mellor would spend Christmas… with the strippers in Hustlers

This choice won’t reflect well on me. It’s neither edifying nor improving and has a core of savage capitalist consumerism, which is probably what makes it so Christmassy. Midway through Lorraine Scafaria’s Hustlers – a film about a group of strippers who right the wrongs of the 2008 financial crisis by drugging Wall Street guys to run up their company credit cards – there’s a scene that’d make anyone’s heart grow three sizes.

A dozen lap dancers gather for Christmas in a high-end apartment, their daughters and a grandmother in tow. Dressed in luxe loungewear and chunky gold, their skin glowing like a sucked butterscotch, they swap gifts, smile and sing and dance and thank the lord for their sisters. Expensive elegance is everywhere. Someone gets a fur coat, somebody else a pair of animal-print Louboutins. The woman who dips the dancers’ tits in bowls of ice before they go on stage is given an iPhone 4. Mostly though, they give each other affirmation. Without a natural hair colour, nude fingernail or a man in sight, it’s a dream family Christmas. Picture a Norman Rockwell painting with Jennifer Lopez in gold lamé, a cashmere Santa hat and a balcony bra. Feel-good festive perfection.

Michael Ahr would spend Christmas… secluded in Hogwarts

Some may have found Harry Potter’s winter holidays without his friends rather lonely, but I can think of nothing more magical than having the vast empty halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry all to myself. Why let the staff have the warm, dry, magical snow that fell annually in the Great Hall all to themselves? Not being of school age myself anymore, I might choose to share a butterbeer (or perhaps a hot buttered rum) with Dumbledore and Hagrid by a roaring fire.

I might even be tempted to make the trip to Hogsmeade to see all the shops decked out with lights and blanketed in snow. I’d still be able to enjoy the comparative solitude without all the kids running around, but I’m almost certain there would be a group of carolers wandering about the square, never mind the singing enchanted suits of armor back at the school. And of course, if I could pick a particular present, I’d choose to receive the same amazing gift Harry received that first Christmas from Dumbledore: his father’s Invisibility Cloak. I’d likewise pass it along as a family heirloom to my own children on some Christmas morning to come.

Jamie Andrew would spend Christmas… in a Deep Space Nine Holosuite

At first, I entertained the idea of spending Christmas in Baltimore with the denizens of The Wire, mainly because I liked the idea of children running up and down the streets hollering, ‘Omar’s coming!’ moments before the shotgun-wielding Robin Hood of the Hood came swaggering down the street wearing a big red coat and a white beard, tossing out bank notes and whistling ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’. Then I realised that the chances of me ending up a corpse inside a boarded-up derelict building before the turkey was even cooked were surprisingly high, so I thought I’d try Christmas with Frasier Crane and family instead. Unfortunately, my foreknowledge of Martin’s and Eddie’s deaths would cloud the occasion, and I’d probably spend all night slumped crying in Martin’s recliner, unable to tell anyone why I was so upset without violating the temporal time directive.

Best, then, to spend Yule time on Deep Space Nine. Christianity and its associated festive traditions don’t appear to exist in the 24th Century, so after saying hello to Sisko and co., and maybe playing a bit of Dabo at Quark’s, I’d probably spend the rest of my time in a faithful Holosuite reproduction of a 1990s Irish bar on New Year’s Eve getting absolutely wasted with fellow Celt Chief O’Brien. Now THAT’S what I call Christmas.

Juliette Harrisson would spend Christmas… in Narnia

Not, of course, the White Witch’s eternal winter, when it’s always winter but never Christmas, but a regular Christmas in Narnia. It would, of course, be a white Christmas because otherwise, how would Father Christmas come and deliver presents to everyone? So I could spend the season in a snowy woodland surrounded by magical creatures, and be in with a chance of a really good present. Or possibly a sewing machine.

Movies

Why Chronicles of Narnia’s Santa Claus Celebrates Christmas with Weapons of War

By Juliette Harrisson

Movies

The Rod Serling Christmas Movie You Never Saw

By Chris Farnell

On the first moonlit night when there’s snow on the ground, Narnian fauns, dryads, and dwarfs perform the Great Snow Dance, with the fauns and dryads dancing around while the dwarfs throw snowballs that don’t hit them (an often forgotten detail from the book version of The Silver Chair!). I would join in, although possibly not throw any snowballs as my aim isn’t that good. Then I’d go back to Mr Tumnus’s for sardines and cake on Christmas Eve and talk to him about his somewhat dubious taste in books (just what is Nymphs And Their Ways about, eh Tumnus?). I’d spend Christmas Day up at the castle of Cair Paravel, eating and drinking like a Queen, and then I’d go visit Mr and Mrs Beaver on Boxing Day for a feast of leftovers and maybe a little light ice fishing.

John Saavedra would spend Christmas…celebrating Life Day with Star Wars’ Poe Dameron

No one has ever cared so much about Life Day, the Star Wars galaxy’s own version of Christmas, as much as ace pilot Poe Dameron does in the Lego Star Wars Holiday Special. From decorating the Millennium Falcon and choosing the right Life Day sweater to roasting the traditional tip-yip (also known as Endorian chicken), Poe shows there’s something much stronger than the Force in the Star Wars universe: holiday spirit. Who knew the Resistance hero best known for his knack at blowing stuff up had such a soft spot?

Hanging with Poe on Life Day would mean chestnuts roasting on an open exhaust engine, drinking whatever passes for cocoa in the Star Wars galaxy, hanging out with Wookiees on their homeworld of Kashyyyk, singing festive carols in Huttese, and finding just the right Life Day tree for the Falcon. It’d also mean dancing to the hip tunes of Max Rebo’s drum (the rest of his band is unfortunately no longer with us) and partying with Lando Calrissian, Finn, Rose, Rey, Jannah, Mon Calamari, Jawas, Rodians, Ewoks, and maybe even Chewie’s son Lumpy. If you’re not sold by now, your taste in holiday parties might be bantha poodoo.

Elizabeth Donoghue would spend Christmas…. at The Office’s Classy Christmas

Dunder Mifflin has many memorable Christmas parties, but Steve Carell’s final festive special includes some of my favourite things about The Office; weird Gabe, Michael’s enduring hatred of Toby, and Michael and Holly’s adorable relationship.

After Toby announces he is taking a leave of absence for jury duty (‘Thank you, Scranton Strangler. I love you. You just took one more person’s breath away’) Michael learns that Holly will be returning to Scranton and demands that Pam’s regular Christmas party must get classy. What makes a Christmas classy? A backwards Kangol-esque Santa hat, a red velvet smoking jacket and a quarter of a jazz quartet of course.

I would actively enjoy watching Dwight take down Jim in their snowball fight (total bully, needs to be taken down a peg or two), get drunk with Kelly and Meredith, dance with Phyllis and Erin and learn more about the enigma that is Creed. And although it is slightly more subdued than their Benihana and Moroccan Christmas parties, I’m sure we could keep the party going at a Poor Richard’s after-party.

Kayti Burt would spend Christmas … on Themyscira

The Amazons’ decision to opt out of the “Patriarch’s World” has always been a relatable one, but never so much as in The Year 2020. Historically, I’m not really a beach person, but Themyscira, aka Paradise Island, has a lot going for it: warm weather, a supportive community, and live sporting events where you don’t have to worry about some drunken dudebro spilling cheap beer on your toga.

As far as I can tell from the Wonder Woman movies, no one (besides Young Diana, who’s usually working through some stuff) ever seems to be having a bad time on Themyscira. And why would you? The pre-Crisis comics incarnation of the island (which I am going to choose to accept as my holiday canon) includes indigeneous kangaroo-like creatures called Kangas that the Amazons ride like horses. Diana’s is called Jumpa; mine will be called Jimmy Hoppa, and we will explore the island’s cascading waterfalls and cliffside terraces together. In the evenings, I will attend performances at the Themysciran amphitheater with my new Amazonian friends or, if I’m feeling introverted, catch up on my book reading and crossword puzzles.

Listen, I wouldn’t want to spend forever on Themyscira—I’d miss my friends, family, and TV shows (Themyscira doesn’t seem to get a good wireless signal)—but a few weeks (or months, especially as I will be quarantining for my first two weeks) for Christmas 2020? Bring me to the enchanted feminist utopia.

Alana Joli Abbott would spend Yule… at the coven house from the Nightcraft Quartet

Witchkind, as presented in Shannon Page’s Nightcraft Quartet, don’t celebrate Christmas, but they do love a good Yuletide celebration. Page’s witches and warlocks are separate from humans, long lived, and magical. Young witches train in the magical arts at a coven house, living there like a dorm; the adult women of the coven (always numbering thirteen) may be involved in scientific research (like protagonist Callie), medicine and healing, or reading Tarot, and they teach their specialties to the young witches. The coven house is a central place where women gather to live, to practice magic together, to celebrate, and to honor traditional rituals. While Callie’s coven in San Francisco has their problems, the community there is caring and genuine, full of both youthful energy and centuries of experienced witchery.

One of the perks of editing this series is that I get sneak peeks into parts of the story readers haven’t seen yet—including Yule decorations. Rather than cutting down dead trees, witches coax living fir boughs to weave along the walls and mantles, accented with red ribbon and gold—coins, beads, chains. I can imagine the cozy San Francisco coven house filled with witches all rushing to perform their tasks to make the perfect celebration, some of them convincing the fir boughs to expand in just the right ways while others brew hot chocolate or prepare the feast. I picture them eating in the large hall, voices lifted in joyful chatter, and then making their way out to the grounds beyond the house to celebrate beneath the stars, singing midwinter songs and looking forward to the next year. After months of 2020 with smaller communities and less human contact, being surrounded by such a vibrant, magical group of women sounds like just the right way to end my year.

Rosie Fletcher would spend Christmas… with the Roy family from Succession

Go hard or go home, they say, so since I can’t go home this year, I’m going round the Roys. That is, of course, the family at the centre of Succession, a show peopled by the very wealthiest and utterly worst. Festivities would be held at the home of patriarch Logan Roy. His children and their partners would be obliged to attend. Logan would hire a chef to cook, waiting staff to serve, some of whom he would abuse. I would give them sympathetic “I’m sorry” looks but do nothing, secretly thankful Logan’s ire wasn’t focused on me.

In all likelihood I would be a figure like Greg (the egg), or Tom Wambsgans – mostly tolerated, vaguely despised and very much the second class citizens of the Roy clan, skulking on the periphery as Kendall, Roman and Shiv compete for Logan’s love and oldest son Connor comes up will another entirely ridiculous life plan – I dunno, maybe this year he’s decided that his next career move is to become Santa Claus.

The food would be extraordinary. The booze the very finest – how long before, like Greg, I would be claiming the bottle of vintage rose champagne I had just motored through was ‘not my favourite’? And the dinner table conversation would be electric. Electric like an electric shock – sharp, painful, disorientating, unexpected.

So Christmas has become too commercialised? Fine, fuck it. I’ll take the eye-wateringly expensive gift that’s grudgingly bestowed on me, I will gorge on the finest cheeses known to man and coat my tongue with port made from molten rubies, knowing I am on my way to moral bankruptcy and doing it anyway. Go hard or go home…

Kirsten Howard would spend Christmas… singing along in the closing moments of Scrooged

You’d be hard-pressed to find a Christmas movie that feels as genuinely uplifting during its climax as 1988’s Scrooged. Bill Murray’s arrogant TV boss Frank Cross, having been visited by the Ghosts of Christmases Past, Present and Future, disrupts a live broadcast of A Christmas Carol to rant openly and honestly at the cast and crew (and eventually you) as he makes a passionate case for a life less invested in exploitation and capitalism, and eventually kicks off a collective singalong of Annie Lennox and Al Green’s version of ‘Put a Little Love in Your Heart’.

That’s where I’d like to be this Christmas. Not just to sing along with Bill, but to be around people immediately swept along by the much-less-explored altruistic route of ‘no fucks given’.

Also hanging out with Bill Murray, though, of course.

So much of the last few years has been a public race to the bottom of Nothing Matters Mountain, but even if it hadn’t all been so demoralising and forced so many of us to reevaluate our priorities, Frank’s message of redemption in love and living as well as we can, while shrugging off our own heavy expectations of success, still feels really special.

This Christmas, there is light at the end of the tunnel. We may not be able to grab the nearest stranger and sing “put a little love in your heart!” at them right now, but we CAN carry that feeling with us into 2021. As Frank says: “There are people who are having trouble making their miracle happen”. We can always try and find time to stop focusing on our own for a while and to help them.

David Crow would spend Christmas… chilling with Harold and Kumar

Not many people are aware of this, but A Very Harold and Kumar Christmas is the best Harold and Kumar. It may not have the pop culture cache of their medicinal-fueled quest for mini-cheeseburgers, but it does have something very special, indeed: Wafflebot. If you’ve had the misfortune of living your life oblivious to Wafflebot’s existence, allow me to introduce you to a greater world of wonder and magic.

Wafflebot is the best Christmas present to ever come out of Santa’s Workshop. Displaying an eerily sophisticated artificial intelligence for a toy meant only to cook delicious breakfasts, Wafflebot can make you waffles any time by just popping the top and letting that batter drop. But he can also do so much more! Vaguely aware of the concept of friendship, this brunching Frankenstein can learn how to love and appreciate his owners… and defend them from any threat with scalding hot projectile syrup!

With the ability to serve breakfast, save your life, be manipulated into dangerous attack mode, and learn how to see the real you, all while playing a mean drum solo, Wafflebot would make any Christmas a sweetly warm experience. And then Harold and Kumar, and I could also steal a Christmas tree from NPH or something.

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Text

The Man That Got Away

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Leaving the most wonderful woman Bucky’s ever met was the biggest regret of his life and he never expected to see her again. But magic tends to have a mind of its own.

A/N: This is for #SherrysFallIntoYouChallenge ( @sherrybaby14 ) and yes I know “The Man that Got Away” was released in 1954 with A Star is Born (ft. Judy Garland and you should watch it), but we’re going to pretend it was released nine years earlier so this story makes sense. Okay? Okay. Also, I finished this in a caffeine haze so judge me.

My Masterlist

...

The street lamps of the city seemed to radiate a cheerful glow now that the war was over. Couples started roaming the streets again. It wasn't like the mayhem of victory, but the steady normalcy that existed before. It all seemed like a blurry dream to Bucky; familiar but odd. Foggy as the dream was, the city's air had alluring magic in the air tonight which pushed Bucky towards his destination. He hoped he was heading in the right direction. Steve hastily wrote the note and slipped it under Bucky's door during his morning jog. It listed the party, the address, and instructions on how to get there. Bucky hadn't attended many parties since his return home, but for Steve, he'd make an appearance. Besides, it was Halloween and for the new Shield group. If not now, then when? The bar was along a street with other bars and clubs in Brooklyn. Like the rest, it was decked for Halloween. The fuzzy illumination of the sign obscured the readability but Bucky made out the name Enchanted; how fitting for the season. Caricatures of witches, cats, ghosts, and ghouls decorated the outside. When he stepped in, it was just as seasoned. Jackolanterns lined the carpet entrance. The club's atmosphere was dimmed by lights covered in red and orange shades. Along with the fog and smoke, it created a mystic and romantic feel. The smell of smoke was thick but cut with the crisp scent of fall every time the door opened. This was the kind of place Bucky would take his dream girl; if he had her.

A hostess caught his attention and took his coat. On his request, she directed him to Steve, who was off chatting with Peggy and some men from the government agency. They were all friends, not bureaucrats. They faced away from the stage and the Bing Crosby cover artist who occupied the stage. The night's host came into the light, but Bucky paid no attention to entertainment. He quietly joined the group and after the hellos, pats on the back, and a hug from Steve, Bucky molded into the background of the group. The next singer was announced and the group began shifting and looking over as the host began chatting up the entertainer. They wanted to watch the performance so they slowly migrated away from the bar and to a booth with a view. The host raised his hand in the direction of the circular spotlight. "Ladies and gentlemen, please show your love to the bewitching Ms. Y/N!" Bucky's throat knotted. Outstepped the most gorgeous woman alive. She dawned a form-fitting black dress that could have come from the set of "I Married a Witch." Like Veronica Lake, it slinked over her body like water. Though it was long-sleeved and touched the floor, the fit and the cuts in the chest and leg left little to the imagination. When she moved, the fabric caught the light and moved on its own. It matched the headband that sported a small witches hat, fitting for the vixen. Her hair was curled in long waves which framed her face well. It brought out her sparkling eyes and bright red lips. She dripped magic even before she began to sing. Y/N was the femme fatal. The grand piano struck chords like lightening and the band followed. It was a dragging jazz symphony with independent saxophones. The band gave a condensed version of the melody before she began to sing. But oh, when she did Bucky was lost. *** Bucky was in a coma for a month following his fall. When he woke up, he heard Steve saved the East Coast. Along with the rest of the Hollowing Comandos, he was closing in on Berlin. The war would be over in weeks, but Bucky was missing all the action while stuck in his hospital bed. Three days after waking up, he was moved into a common room filled with fellow casualties. Granted, miraculously, all Bucky had was a rapidly healing but torn up arm. He insisted to the deaf ears of his doctors, that he was fine. He could be moved to processing so he could return to his buddies. The moment he felt he had the strength, he surged out of bed. He hadn't realized a month in a coma would leave his legs limp. He tumbled over and onto the floor; causing a small scene to all those around. The most beautiful woman rushed to his aid. She was dolled up in a dignified trench coat and khaki dress. It was governmental in look, but she wore no colors. Her makeup was done, unlike other female army officials. She had cherry red lips, that in spite of Bucky's foolishness, curled most fondly. Her hair was curled in the modern, starlit fashion. If he put her against the wall, she'd look like a pin-up. The British soldier she was previously conversing with was annoyed, and despite the obvious flush of embarrassment on Bucky's cheeks, he didn't regret the fool he made out of himself. Once her hands touched his chest and back in support, a jolt of electricity ran through his body. There was a tingling sensation creeping into his body from the spots her hands met his skin and it livened his body. He felt warm for the first time in weeks and without the need of help, but the eager acceptance of it, Bucky got up and sat down in his little nook. "What's the rush soldier?" She elegantly placed herself next to Bucky on his cot. He didn't know that sitting could be so gracefull, especially while supporting a goofy soldier. She held onto him until she was sure he was alright. "The war's not missing ya." Her voice was light but not too chipper. She was soft and alluring with a voice that dripped like running honey. Bucky huffed. She was clever and he had a difficult time with a clever woman. "I'm sure the war isn't, but my buddies might be." He bit the inside of his cheek, punishing himself for sounding so brash. "Aha, well America's finest has written some letters. Maybe if you weren't as stubborn as an ass, you'd notice them in your table drawer." She leaned over and snatched them. She handed them over with a wink and her hand brushed Bucky's. It was so soft but electric. Bucky opened his mouth to speak but quickly pinched his lips together. He already looked like a fool, he didn't need his words to confirm it, again. He turned over each envelope. There were three, all unopened, and all from Steve. "He's glad you're getting well." She patted his hand with the envelopes. Bucky blinked and shifted his glance to the mystery woman in front of him. "You know Steve?" She chuckled a melodic chuckle with her head tilted back. She acted like everything was so obvious, even a child could figure it out. It didn't make Bucky feel too confident and he blushed. "Oh love," She placed a gentle hand on his. "I'm a girl with a way about her." "Ain't that the damn truth." He thought to himself. With that, she stood up. Bucky followed the sway of her hips as she moved around his bed, habitually tidying it a bit. "Get some rest and catch up with Captain Rogers. You'll be back to your reckless choices in no time." The light her smile radiated dimmed the further she walked. Down the long line of cots, the specific charms of her faded, but she still lingered like a candle flame in the dark. She waved and joked with other men she passed. All their attitudes brightened as she passed; more so than they would for any other woman passing by. She was more than the nurses to them. Eventually, she was a blimp in the background but Bucky could see her stop at another soldier's bed. It was odd. The only females allowed around soldiers were nurses. He wasn't in a stateside infirmary, otherwise family could visit. Yet here was a goddess amongst a string of injured wolves, but she had no fear. She roamed the lines of cots like she owned the damn place. Bucky rolled his shoulders back thinking they were sore but to his surprise, they weren't nearly as bad as they'd been the day before. He chalked it up to the schoolboy rush he felt. Within minutes, that enchantress had her claim on Bucky's heart. *** Some couples swayed in dance. It was a good song to get close to a dame, but Bucky remained on the outside with Steve. Surprisingly, he wasn't out there with Peggy. They could hardly keep their hands to themselves these days. "And all because of the man that got away. No more his eager call. The writings on the wall..." Her voice was strained and pulling in the emphasis of her despair. Despite the pain, the song glossed over the crowd like a siren's melody. It pulled the couples closer and made the singles itch for someone to touch. A spell had been cast over the crowd. "Isn't she great?" Steve whispered in Bucky's ear, which made him jump from his enchantment. Steve snickered but continued. "She's Peggy's friend; known her since the start of the war. They've got a long backstory." Bucky nodded along with Steve but maintained his distant guard. "Yeah, she's someth'n man." *** The rolling hills of the Normandy hospital were breathtaking. He imagined if the roles were reversed, Steve might enjoy his stay. He could recover while drawing and painting the landscape. Instead, Bucky was trapped with little to do other than listen to grumbling Brits and Americans complain about being bedridden like him. Though they were seeking to be sent home, not back into the thick of it like him. He was called out of his solitude by an overly amused voice. "If your intent was hiding, you need to work on your hiding places." In a poof of fabric, the girl from a week ago sat down next to Bucky. She took to nature like she was a part of it. The sun gleamed off of her like the ancient statues he saw in Greece. Her fingers wove into the grass like tree roots. Her whole body relaxed. "If anything, I'm looking for a means of escape." He quipped, looking over her with a raised brow. She was the most curious creature he'd ever encountered, and he'd met a lot of women. "Now Sergent Barnes," She warned playfully. "The boys aren't that bad." Bucky snorted. "You're not stuck with them all day and night." Then he paused, frowning in thought. "How do you know who I am?" "I deliver your mail." As if on cue, she chucked another letter from Steve over to him. He carried on. "And how do you know Steve?" "Mutual friends." She replied as if it were just that obvious. "You know, girls aren't usually allowed in the infirmary with the soldiers." He teased, looking to stir a reaction. She nudged him with her shoulder. "Well, I'm not any girl." Then she looked around for any nearby person and leaned in like she was going to share top-secret information. "I'm a woman." Bucky's face deadpanned, looking straight at her. She combusted into a laughing fit and fell back onto the grass. It took her a minute to calm herself enough to prop her head upon her elbow. "You're impossible." Bucky huffed again. "Quite the contrary Sergent Barnes." She flashed him a Chesire grin. "I'm very easy if you just ask." He nearly choked on his own spit and she was sent into another laughing fit. "I can see why you're popular amongst the other soldiers." With her head back on the grass and gaze on the clouds, she sighed. "I'm popular because I'm a woman who's attention is on them and not their temperature or blood pressure. I see them and they appreciate it. I don't need to be so flamboyant with them to gain their attention." She turned her head to look up at him with thick lashes. Her hair draped over her chin and veiled her lips. All Bucky could think of for a moment was pushing her hair back and smoothing a finger over her lips. "So you do go out of your way for me?" He met her eyes and tilted his head in question. "I was asked to check in on you, but you don't exactly make it easy." She sighed, but her cheeks raised with a growing smile. "D'Steve ask you too?" His accent thickened with the idea of his Brooklyn pal. She began playing with the grass, continuing the conversation in her own little world with Bucky. "No, I've actually never had the pleasure of meeting Captain Rogers or corresponding with him. A mutual friend asked on his behalf. She was concerned about him." "Peggy?" He asked. She hummed a yes in response. He went on to ask."And how do you know Peggy?" "Peggy knows all the spies of course, and when I retired from my spying because I was no longer needed- thanks to your Captain, I turned my war efforts to helping the soldiers where I could." Then she shrugged, trying to conceal her disappointment. "I may not be allowed to fight, but I can give comfort." "Mmm.." Bucky thought on that. "So what? You travel around infirmaries and comfort the wounded?" "About that." She nodded her head in agreement. "Between stops, I'll do shows for nearby camps. That's what I did before I became a spy." Bucky was puzzled. She was a performer, but he didn't recognize her. At least, he didn't recognize her at first. Then it began to piece together. The lips and the trending fashion, her quirky cheerfulness, being a performer- she was Y/N, the ex-patriot Hollywood starlit. All the tabloids said she was lost to the war, but here she was in front of him. Bucky groaned at himself and his stupidity. "I'm an idiot." "Well yes," She said bluntly. "But I don't mind it. You make up for it in your good looks." His eyes shot wide and to her. No other dame he'd encountered been as forward as her. First, he thought it was her fame, but none of the tabloids talked about any other female celebrity's brazen attitude. "Beg your pardon?" He chocked on his words as they came out. "Called you handsome, soldier." Her brows peaked, but not in annoyance, but questioning. "What has the war taken away your ability to flirt with a woman?" "No." He quickly shook his head. "You're just something else. You're...wonderful." *** She crooned on. Every sentiment, she made eye contact with another person, pouring her emotions into them. "The man that won you has run off and undone you. That great beginning has seen the final inning. Don't know what happened. It's all a crazy game" Howard came up next to Bucky and patted him on the back. "God, isn't she the greatest performer that you've ever seen?" He straightened his tie up and smoothed over his suit. Bucky knew that attitude. Stark was looking to bag her. Bucky swallowed back his annoyance with the first drink he spotted. He wanted to ring Stark out for pursuing Y/N, but he had no justifiable reason to even stop Stark's advances. *** There was a town less than a mile away from the hospital. Even though it lacked many of the goods it had before wartime, Y/N always made her way back from the small but growing market with treats for the boys. For some it was cigarettes that didn't taste like government-issued cardboard, others bake goods, and some asked for little gifts or pressed flowers to send home to their girls or families. She went twice a week so everyone who needed or wanted something got it within two weeks. For Bucky, whatever he asked for, he got that day. Once he asked for playing cards because the decks belonging to the other soldiers were either incomplete or rigged. If he had to pass time, he might as well do it with something semi-entertaining. To his amazement, she came back that day with a beautifully printed deck of cards. "Where the hell did you swipe something as good as this?" Bucky went off without thought as he was caught up in the cards. "Not hell," Her signature Cheshire grin crept onto her face. This time, it was illuminated by the sunset dying on the horizon and the candle on Bucky's bedside table. Her eyes dazzled in the glow like they were lights themselves. "That's for sure. I have my ways. A little bit of magic." It was light-hearted, but Bucky's gaze shifted to her suspiciously. "You know..." He began. "My shoulder's gotten a lot better over the past few weeks. I'd say it's back to what it was before my fall and I have complete dexterity throughout my hand." "That's great Sarg." Her voice swayed like sweet garden charms. Maybe the bells from the town sounded off as well, but he could have sworn he heard layers to her voice. "That means the doctors are doing their job and all the rest I'm forcing you to get is working." "Yeah, maybe you're right. My sleeping has impr-" He caught himself as his train of thought moved without him. Suspicious, he eyed her but not out of mistrust but genuine curiosity. She was already a compilation of mystery and he was trying to solve one layer. "Ever since you came into my life, my health's improved. It's like you're a lucky charm or someth'n." He could have sworn he heard her say "or something," but her lips didn't move. She batted her lashes a few times and her smile shifted from cheeky to sincere. "I do think I've helped you get better, by kicking your sorry butt into gear so you'd listen to your doctors and rest." Bucky snorted at her suggestion. Man was she one powerful woman, and in all fairness, she had kicked his butt into shape despite himself. "Yeah, some magic your foot's got there. One powerful kick." She chuckled at his insinuation. Her hand landed on his knee and again a bolt of contagious electricity shot through him. Suddenly, he was laughing with her. "Oh Barnes, kicking boys like you around is what I do best." There was a mutually shared exchange of fondness between them that was magnetic. If there weren't so many prying eyes around he would have taken her into his arms there and kissed all the air out of her. He'd save that for later that night when they could sneak off to their own little corner of the world. Then she shook her head and pulled herself out of the moment. Her throat cleared and it pulled Bucky back to the world around them. "I'm gonna go drop off the other goodies. When I get back, I'll kick your butt again, but in poker." Bucky grinned as he already began shuffling the cards through his fingers. "I'd like that." He smiled up at her an eager smile. *** "Good riddance, goodbye. Every trick of his you're on to, but, fools will be fools. And where's he gone to?" She cried out. Pain and agony morphed into bitter confusion but no one other than Bucky seemed to notice the song was more than a song. It was a release. He noticed Peggy shift her eyes to him. Maybe she saw it for what it was aswell. Yet, in her eyes, pure confusion turned into confused acceptance. She could see Bucky's attachment. He shrugged her off as he was pulled back into the song. He could swear there was something otherworldly to it. Knowing Y/N, maybe there was. What was clear, was the distress in the performance. There was a call to it of "Someone notices me. Someone really notice me." *** Immediately following the war, Y/N was sent to DC. Peggy, Steve, Stark, and other war leaders were called to DC. Bucky, being healthy enough to travel could follow Y/N and join Steve with the other Howling Commandos. Y/N acquired one of the few passenger planes running from Europe to the US. She preferred that over traveling with a bunch of caged up soldiers who hadn't seen a woman in months. Bucky traveled with her and they arrived in DC together a day before the meetings began. They had private time together in Normandy, but nothing like the freedom of DC. They didn't have to sneak out and sneak around officers to be alone. In DC, they can walk down the street holding hands and go out to dinner. They were a magical fifteen hours and Bucky knew it was all too good to be true. A telegram arrived at Bucky's hotel room the night before the meetings. The army rerouted a post intended for Europe to Bucky. The original letter was addressed to one of his camps from many months prior. Steve moved the Commandos around so it was normal to receive letters later than the stationed boys. This was nearly three months late. He read the emotionless typewriter font despite the confusion and then, despite the denial. He hadn't seen Dot since the holiday relieve Steve was able to acquire for him. He wanted to assure his Ma that he was alright. Unsurprisingly, he saw Dot; or rather, Dot found him. Upon hearing of his stay over, Dot appeared on his doorstep. And well... he was a man after all and he hadn't seen a dame that spoke English in over a year. So yeah, they slept together. Now Dot was pregnant, with his child. Bucky's gaze shifted to Y/N who patiently got herself ready for bed while waiting on Bucky to join her. She had her second stocking midway down her leg and even though she was undoing herself for the night, the intimacy of it all was the sexiest thing Bucky had ever seen. He was entirely and happily bewitched by her. But it was because he loved her, that he had to break her heart. God knows he didn't want to. He wanted to burn the letter and never think about Dot again. He hadn't thought of Dot since the second he laid eyes on Y/N, but his mom would box his ears in and Steve would kill him for leaving a child without a father. "Y/N?" He cooed softly from his place by the door. "Hmm?" She replied from her place at the vanity. She peered up at him through thick lashes, bent over, taking care of her stockings. The slight actions were mesmerizing. Bucky's throat croaked with the hard gulp he made at the sight, but it pulled him out of the moment. "Y/N sweetie." He strode over to the bed's edge by the vanity and plopped down. Noticing that something was off, mainly that Bucky hadn't pounced her yet, her confused eyes searched and landed on the telegram. "What's wrong?" Her brows knitted together as her concerned gaze met Bucky's somber eyes. "I received a well-delayed message from New York." His hand scratched the growing locks near his neck that Y/N loved to toy with so much. There would be no sweet sentiments now. Suddenly, Bucky popped up and began quickly pacing the floor. "I just, I don't understand. It was one time and I was so careful. In all the letters nothing is mentioned...even ends things!" He swiftly turns back to Y/N, exasperated. "But this one, the one that comes late, that's the kicker!" He dramatically huffs and collapses on the bed. Y/N crawled up next to him and sat on her knees facing him. She looked over him worried and pulled his head into her lap. "James," Her voice was smooth and hushed. A wave of focussing calm washed over Bucky. "what's the matter?" "Dot's pregnant." He admitted blatantly. When Y/N's hands retracted and she began to move away, Bucky propped himself up to catch her. "I'm so sorry Y/N. I'm so, so sorry to do this to you. If I had known I never would have..." She shot him a wicked warning of a glance and he shut up. "Never would have started something with me. I know your character Bucky. You're not like that. It's why I allowed myself to grow fond of you." Fond. Not love, but fond. Already she began detaching herself and it scared Bucky. Desperately, he clasped her hands in his. He was upright now and kneeling with Y/N. "Say the word and I won't go. I won't leave you and we can run away from our responsibilities. We can go out west for your career and I'll never step foot in Brooklyn again." Her hands slipped from his grasp and against his best efforts, he couldn't chase after her as she left the bed. "We both know that if I let you do that, you'll hate yourself for the rest of your life. I can't let that happen." Quickly, she began stuffing her stockings and the other attachments she had taken off in her bag. She had her own room with the rest of her things. "The pain'll be worth it though," He declared meekly. "If I got you." His eyes were tear-filled as were Y/N's. He was a man pleading on his knees for his sugar girl, dynamite, enchantress to stay. She dashed back to him and for an instant Bucky had hope. Her soft lips planted on his forehead like they were imparting a seal to send away. He knew then that it was over. "And my pain will be worth it if you keep your soul." She then pulled away and wiped the tear streams from her cheeks. "You're going to go home and live a wonderful life Bucky. You may be afraid and angry at first but that'll all change when you meet your child. Yes, it'll hurt but you'll find someone else who makes you just as happy if not more. And everything will be magical again." She leaned over and gave his lips the sweetest kiss; filled with passion, love, and starlight. With only mere seconds of touch, he was out of breath. "This," She whispered against his lips. "I promise." Bucky couldn't fight for her as she walked out. He was frozen in place and forced to watch the most amazing creature walk out of his life. Once the door closed, he pounced. Able to free his limbs from their slumber spell he darted out the door but Y/N was nowhere to be seen. He spent a few hours pleading and pounding on her door. Eventually, security gave him the option of going back to his room or being kicked out. He chose his room. He had hoped Y/N would still participate in the post-war meetings, but as he suspected, she was gone. When he broke the news to Steve, he was uncharacteristically silent. Though the conversation was between the two men, word got back to Peggy. Knowing Steve, he probably blabbed without any pressure. He couldn't keep a damn thing from that woman. For the rest of DC Peggy did everything but smile in Bucky's direction. Hell, if she wasn't surrounded by higher-ranking officials she may have shot him. He did deserve it. *** Bucky shook himself out of the fog of memories when Steve elbowed him in the ribs. "Straighten up Buck and be a gentleman. Peggy's com'n back with her friend." "Gentlemen," Peggy nodded to Steve, Bucky, and Howard who all clumped together in a semicircle. "I'd like you to meet the best spy the Allies I had." Outstepped Y/N from behind Peggy. Before Y/N could speak, Howard jumped at the chance to take her hand. "Miss Y/N, after hearing all about you it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Howard Stark, the best contractor the Allies had. What a coincidence to have to of the best assets to the Allies in one room." After a kiss, Howard allowed Y/N to take her hand back. Only Bucky could see the sparkle of amusement in Y/N's eye that masked her desire to burst into a laughing fit at Howard's antics. "Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark. And Steve!" Her attention enthusiastically shifted to Steve. "I'm so glad to finally meet you after the storm Peg's talked up about you." Steve side-eyed Peggy as slyly as he could. "Is that so? And what has she said? She's a mystery to me some days and I'd love a few clues." Peggy blushed and after playfully swatting him, linked their arms together. Y/N's smirk was feline as she shifted her focus to Peggy and then back to Steve. "That you're the sweetest and most handsome idiot this side of the Atlantic. Steve's jaw dropped in astonishment as the rest of the group burst into chuckles, snorts, and giggles. Before Steve could give a retort or anyone else comment, Y/N shifted her attention to Bucky. "Hello Sarg," Her rich voice washed over Bucky's ears like another melody. She was poised with one hand on her hip and leg bent. "It's good to see you again." Steve's jaw closed and he cocked his head to the side. "You know'r Bucky?" It was directed towards Bucky but his gaze was fixed on Y/N. Peggy frowned up at Steve. He was the biggest idiot this side of the Atlantic. "Yeah," Bucky nodded slowly in agreement. However, he was too transfixed with Y/N to turn in Steve's direction. " Y/N delivered mail to all the boys in my hospital. She did a bang-up job at keeping all our spirits up." "Some were easier than others." Y/N fondly grinned while talking to Steve. "Your pal overhear was a difficult nut to crack." "I wasn't exactly the happiest patient until I had something more important than getting back to my pals." He nodded in agreement. Noticing that he had no chance of getting anywhere and feeling coerced into silence for long enough, Howard interjected. "Well, I'm going to go get a drink." "I think I'm in the mood for a Manhattan." Peggy seconded the drink idea and nudged Steve along. Bucky and Y/N could hear Steve grumble. "But you already got a Brooklyn." As he was dragged away. The exit wasn't all too smooth. Y/N's and Bucky's attention slowly drifted back together. "How's it been soldier?" "Y/N-" Bucky began to plead but she stopped him. "How's the baby?" She followed up. "Baby?" Bucky's thoughts were lost for a minute in Y/N but he was suddenly hurled to the reason why they were parted. "Oh, the baby! He's fine, healthy, and better yet with his parents." Y/N gave him a quizzical look so he continued. "Dot and her husband have a house on Statin Island. They're there with the baby." "Bucky," She warned. "You didn't?" "I have blue eyes, Dot has blue eyes, and the baby has brown eyes. As cute as the kid is, he's not mine." Bucky shrugged nonchalantly like the entire ordeal hadn't ruined his life. "Dot slept with another officer right before I returned home. Some Italian commander and he's a good guy, and when she called him up with the news he came and took my place." For the first time since he met Y/N, she was silent from a lack of words. A million thoughts raced across her face. The disbelief lasted the longest, then a wave of anger that calmed into acceptance. "I need a drink." She blurted out. "A strong one." She mumbled to herself as she strode away from Bucky and to the nearest bar. "Gin tonic. Light on the tonic." She nodded to the nearest bartender who nodded in response. Bucky snuck up behind her. "Make it two." He stood behind one of the bar stools and his arm draped across the gap Y/N was standing in and rested on the other stool. She was trapped by him. Y/N narrowed her eyes in a disapproving manner but Bucky didn't allow it to crawl under his skin. "What?" He asked casually. "Bucky," She warned. "We shouldn't be doing this." Her arms folded over her chest and though it was meant to show her caveat, it didn't help with how it pressed her breasts up. "What?" He questioned again with pretend naiveness. "Two old friends getting a drink?" "We're no friends." She quickly corrected. Bucky looked down with a suggestive smirk. "You're right, we're not." Y/N huffed in increasing annoyance. "God I wish I could turn you into a dog. It'd fit how you're acting." Bucky snorted. "You wouldn't." Then he took one over hands in his and his expression morphed into something sincere. "Even if I have a lot of begging to do." "Bucky..." Y/N began warning him but her resolve had weakened. "I know it's selfish to ask, because I hurt you so much, but do you think you could forgive me one day? I know it won't be today or even tomorrow, but hopefully one day you can see past how much of a punk I am and let me love you again." The club suddenly felt empty to Y/N. Despite the crowds pushing around it was just her and Bucky in the entire place. For someone who always knew what to say and when, her voice was locked away. Her head hung low from trying to conceal her expression. Bucky brought his free hand to cradle her chin between his large fingers. He tilted her chin up so he could look in her eyes. Now, he could clearly see the agonizing mix of emotions that were masked by the stage lights. "I can't have my heart broken again." Her eyes wouldn't meet his and he pleaded. "Y/N." He cooed and her eyes glanced over his before settling. "I won't hurt you ever again. It'll be you and me like it was always meant to be. No war, no baby, no interruptions. I promise." "How can I let my heart trust you again?" She wondered allowed. Her eyes sparkled in the dim lights of the club. Rays of color reflected off the tears in her eyes. "I don't know." He replied earnestly and honestly. "But I'm willing to do whatever you need so you can let me back in." Y/N reached up and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. There was nearly no resolve left, and when he turned into her touch all of it was gone. She knew how to play with fire, but this was hellfire. Accepting his touch was scorching her to the bone but the thought of his love was an aching sweet relief. She wasn't certain who leaned into who and who initiated the kiss, but soon they were in a searing lip lock. They didn't need the roaming of hands or intertwining of limbs, yet, to feel the reverent passion held for one another. The kiss said it all. Eventually, Bucky parted from her. His lips were a swollen red from the kiss and his cheeks deeply flushed. Y/N however, looked as manicured as before. Her lipstick remained unsmudged despite the fearsome lovemaking. Bucky cleared his throat once he had enough air. "We... we-ah should go somewhere where we can talk." "Talk," Y/N smiled mischievously and pushed Bucky stumbling back so she could walk free from his trap. She snatched his beefy hand in her dainty one and pulled him along with her. "Sure, soldier. Let's go talk." Together, they made their way past prying eyes and to the coat check by the entrance. Bucky helped Y/N put on her dazzling designer number before he shrugged his on. He may be kiss whipped, but he was still a gentleman. Then they made their way out the exit of the club. The chill of the night air didn't seep into his bones anymore and Y/N appeared to thrive off of it. The autumn moon and the walloping gusts of wind softened around the couple just like magic. They were like any other couple walking down the illuminated street. They both were bundled up in layers except for their hands which were interlocked. The warmth that this generated radiated enough to keep them warm. Occasionally, Bucky would twirl her around in a little romantic dance or pull her flush against him and give her a quick peck on the lips that lingered into a full-blown kiss. "You know I could have taken us home. My rides flying around here somewhere." Turning from Bucky's embrace, Y/N searched the night sky for a dark outline. With a booming whistle, a broom came soaring down from the sky and into Y/N's outstretched hand. Bucky's chest erupted into a booming laugh and it reverberated against Y/N. At seeing her confusion, he kissed her nose and twirled her out of his hold and back into a walking position. "Not tonight dear, let's enjoy the leisurely stroll in your witching weather." Bucky didn't have to look at Y/N to know the secretive smile which she tried to hide with the press of her lips. He did catch the smooth movements of her fingers that were quickly followed by a gust of wind wrapping them up and pushing them together for a kiss once again.

...

Happy Halloween!

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diveronarpg · 5 years

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In fair Verona, our tale begins with KATARINA DU PONT, who is TWENTY-NINE years old. She is often called KATHERINE by the CAPULETS and works as their SOLDIER. She uses SHE/HER pronouns.

What is DOOMED to look on forever, admired and sparkling and forbidden from participating in the fancies and follies of man? Stars, strict-upright roses in a crystalline vase, girls in pearls, and a painting hung over the fireplace. What is Katarina Du Pont? Not a star, a bouquet, or a godforsaken fucking PORTRAIT. From the time she was born, the girl was a pearl in reverse: instead of coming from a thing tightly bound and rough to the hands of man with the beautiful thing beneath, she was the unbreakable, opalescent gem with something sharp and coarse melted inside. Every child is meant to be a story, and with each day that Katerina aged, she took her plotline further away from the synopsis her parents had intended: in the beginning it did not matter much that she was a precocious, serious child, nor that the fits she threw - unlike the average spoiled, silver spoon-poisoned youth - were not only a matter of unreasonable want, but indisputable ARGUMENT. All that mattered in her beginning years was that she was a pretty representative of her last name, willing (albeit contemptuous) enough to put on the frilled dresses that were asked of her when the monthly dinner parties rolled around. When years later, her younger sister – the princesse – would stamp her ball-jointed ballerina ankle for a new toy and dew her eyes until the product was achieved, Katarina had made a habit of presenting undeniable reason as to why this thing was owed to her with aggressive FERVOR and a sophistication well beyond her years.

Katarina was a girl that had forsaken METAPHORS by the time her high school English teacher leaned over her pretty porcelain shoulder and whispered an allegory about the colour of her eyes during an exam on Wuthering Heights. She had him fired for improper conduct 36 hours later, and received a 98% on the test. Following a brief interlude after class with the substitute, she had argued her mark up to 101%. In place of metaphors, the soft-silk innuendos and allegorical whispers of other blue-blooded girls her age, Katarina was all skin, bone, and vein. She felt things VISCERALLY, did things with her body, and made no apologies or excuses by pretending what had been done - usually something awful, usually something with teeth - was because of an iridescent shimmer inside her forged by the mating of wealth, intelligence, and beauty. The simpering faux-ignorance of socialites and the general stupidity of men enraged her to an unnatural degree, and her seeming inability (read: unwillingness) to clear her face of evidence when these feelings of disdain crossed her was a blaring LIABILITYfor the Du Ponts. As she aged from girl to young woman to tempest, her parents were faced increasingly often with the embarrassment of finding their eldest daughter had insulted a potential business partner and their second-largest shareholder within the time it took her to finish her first cocktail. There was a bitterness inside her whose origins she could never quite place; it seemed that for as long as she had existed, there had been some mean black stone inside her named resentment, called RAGE.

Just as if she had been a man, Katarina had been indulged in the finest education and the highest expectation - to inherit the family business and continue its greatness - and perhaps that was the fatal FLAW in her raising. Even if the woman had been left unattended and locked away as a child, her mind would have forged itself into the glass-edge it was now on its own – after all, all it takes to make a sharp piece of glass is to break a mirror. But instead that intellect had been honed into something even larger than her heart and more dangerous than her face, and shatter the looking glass Katarina did, along with glass ceilings alike: upon finding out that the ascent to company CEO was meant to be hailed as little more than a poster-girl and placeholder, leaving the decisions of the Du Pont bank to the board of aging and bigoted white men, Katarina’s path changed VICIOUSLY. While this was not the axis upon which her entire life upturned itself, it was the last push that the pendulum needed in order to swing. And so like all aspects of her life, Katarina did what would unnerve the greatest amount of people, and subsequently give her the most pleasure: she took the most literal blue-collar job possible.

She joined the police force.

Men in particular - whether they be criminals, affluent businessmen, or both (the two are not mutually exclusively) - have had a fondness over the years of questioning how a BEAUTIFUL daughter of money had found herself in such a pedestrian aggressive job. And Katarina always answers the same manner; in the most CUTTING way possible, decrying the individual for their attempt to pinhole her and chopping down their own frivolous career in the process. Despite the shock factor of her vocation choice, there is a swelling, even dangerous pride that Katarina fosters from knowing she is a source of dynamite and justice in such a damning city – and in the knowledge that she’s potentially the best shot in all of Verona. True to her teenage self, Katarina is still no metaphor, nor is she a trope, an archetype, or one slim edge of a preset dichotomy: she is a WHIRLWIND, everything at once, and a danger from every angle. She makes no concessions and cuts no corners of herself, donning her uniformly pressed work slacks at daybreak and Harry Winston diamonds by night — and Verona can be sure she that Beretta Model 92FS strapped to her hip shoots with as much ACCURACY as the wicked pink slip of her tongue.

BERNADETTE DU PONT: Sister. In the rule of righteousness, it is the younger sister that should spend her life in her elder’s shadow – and yet Bunny has seemingly been born backwards, casting her shadow in front of her rather than behind. Though the primary emotions slanted towards her sister are annoyance, distaste, and regret for all the things her kin could have been but never will be, there is also a mean sliver of resentment under the nails of Kat’s soul. While the attention of her parents - or anyone at all - has never quite been a driving force for Katarina, that her intelligence and ambition should have favour lost to the falsely doe-eyed ministrations of her sister sets her alight. Katarina’s bitterness has always been her defining factor, and no more so is it present than when conversing with darling Bunny dearest.

MIKAEL FALCO: Achilles Heel. Kindness does not come easily to her, whether it be by word or action. But no one can say that she isn’t a generous soul. When she sees a bird with a broken wing, she can’t help but give a small cluck of exasperation and do what any other might – which is to say, nurse the fallen dear back to health. Perhaps there is something within her that calls out to the Falco man, something just as broken as he. But when the two talk, it is as if that hum of pain is drowned out, momentarily, briefly, fleetingly, but drowned out all the same. Her logic tells her that a wounded creature is a creature meant for slaughter. Her heart tells her that their stories are the same, somehow, some way. Verona isn’t kind to those who show weaknesses. When it comes to the Falco man, she can’t help but guard both his and hers.

LILLIAN WEN: Best Friend. They had grown up on opposite ends of Verona, yet found their way to each other as if tied by red string. In their younger years, when her fire was especially potent and without control, here were times that Kat had felt as if Lillian was the only existence in all of Italy that she could tolerate. The pair has been an unconquerable and known duo since childhood, and together they form a diamond: Lillian the glisten and shine, Katarina the sharp-cut edges unbreakable content. More recently tension had arisen between them due to their discrepancies with each other’s career choices, and while Kat will never quite understand (or like), Lillian’s status as a living clothes hanger, it’s better than the shadow-clad second job Katarina has turned a blind eye to for as long as possible – her best friend’s status as a Capulet consort. Perhaps there had always been an expectant part of her longing for her best friend to be the only consort she would ever know…

LAWRENCE VERNON: Old Friend. He abandoned her, left her for desolate at a time where she would such abandonment most keenly. Since then, she has forcibly forgotten what secrets were passed between them, what tender moments were shared. It would be nice to say that she can rise above and forgive, wipe away, repair. But, alas, not even she, with all her righteousness, can do such a thing. Friendships that have been abandoned by one side, are often to be resented by the other. She cannot help that it rises in her, nor can she stem the flood of old aches that quickly follows. A Capulet and a Montague, what bitterness always follows – and they? They are simply another chapter to add to the book that holds so many tales.

Katarina is portrayed by SARAH GADON and was written by TARYN. She is currently TAKEN by VICTORIA.

#margot robbie fc #rp #rpg #mob rp #cap #katarina du pont #t #tw #w

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maplefiasco · 5 years

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All of the Fire I've Swallowed

Holy crap, I actually kinda finished something. And have it ready to go for Scoundress Saturday and everything! Title comes from “Take Me To War” by The Crane Wives

Han/Leia. Rated T. Pre-ESB. Three times Leia took something she wanted.

(Posted below, or if you prefer, you can read it on AO3 or on FF.N)

The first time she kisses Han is a mistake. Yet another in a long line of bad impulses she seems to have around him.

Their mission had been quick and simple, just her, Han, and Chewie picking up a shipment of medical supplies. But it was still a surprise when it turned out to be one of those rare missions that go smoothly. No unexpected Imperial checkpoints to shoot their way out of; no bounty hunters ambushing them at some key moment.

It's just so damn rare to get a win these days. When they actually do, it feels like the whole galaxy is hers to conquer, shape, do with as she sees fit. Today, a couple crates of bacta. Tomorrow, the galaxy.

Chewie's busy in the cockpit, so it's just the two of them in the main hold, both flush with adrenaline and a strange light giddiness. Han had even hugged her after the jump to lightspeed. Even more alarming, she had hugged him back. And now, watching him re-scan the cases for tracking devices (can't be too careful, sweetheart), she tries to remember why it is she goes to so much effort to avoid him, keep him at a distance.

If Leia is being truly honest with herself, which she usually is. Though not on this subject. On the subject of Han, she is coy and elusive with herself, watching herself from a safe distance with a silent smirk most of the time. But for this one brief moment, she allows herself to be open to the possibility of admitting to herself that maybe, possibly, theoretically... kissing Han Solo is the kind of thing she wants to do.

And why not, this new carefree and confident voice in her head asks. If she wants to kiss him, she can. It doesn't have to change anything or ruin her life or break her heart. Like any other mission, she can have an objective, achieve it, and then get out before it gets dangerous. Not everything in her life has to feel like the end of the galaxy. Or maybe it should, given her particular lifestyle these days, in which case she should seize every moment, right? Either way. This feels like a moment. An everything-is-good-and-also-maybe-there's-no-tomorrow moment.

Han is oblivious to her epiphany and how it will shortly affect his mouth. He gives her a good-natured wink and turns off the scanner. We're officially not being tracked. Told ya you were being paranoid as if it hadn't been his idea to do the second scan. Propelled by lingering adrenaline and newfound resolve, she takes a step to close the space between them and kisses him. Whatever she lacks in buildup or seduction, she thinks she makes up for with straightforward enthusiasm.

(Once, when she had been nine or ten, young, but old enough, she had joined her parents on a tour of Isata, a continent far from Aldera and its vibrant hustle. Every day that summer, they visited farms and villages, posed for holos with the locals that would later be broadcast across the planet. It was the first time in her young life Leia had felt on display. Commodified. Today the royal family saw the largest auberal harvested on all of Alderaan. Why it's a few inches taller than our little princess. Up next, your weekend weather forecast.

They had been touring yet another a village, stopping to meet the owner of a frozen joral cream shop. The midsummer sun had hung high and oppressively bright. Leia's elaborate braids had been damp and heavy against her neck with sweat, the hairpins jabbing her scalp every time she moved. The shop owner had offered her a joral cream, any flavor. It would be my honor to serve our sweet princess something as sweet as she. Just name your flavor, your highness.

She had been trained for this. Repeatedly. She knew her line by heart. Thank you, but I could only enjoy it if you give it to a child in more need than me. All summer she had parroted her script and curtsied to Isata's finest confectioners, toy makers, and bakers. What generosity! How compassionate and unselfish the princess is! And then she watched them pull their temptations out of her reach. She hadn't minded, mostly. The affectionate pat on her head from her father was a reward in itself.

But that day, the sun, the constant pressure of being on, all of it, had bested her. She had stood there, boiling in her dress's heavy puddle of fabric. Across the shop sat a girl about her age. Her bright hair swept back in a loose braid, her simple dress breezy on her skinny limbs. She was barely paying attention the royal procession in front of her, so enraptured in her half-melted joral cream. Leia had watched her devour the frozen treat with envy, how she caught the stray drips of melted juice before they could trickle down the cream's flimsy stick and onto her tight fist. Her lips were stained purple, and when she slurped on the cream it echoed all the way across the shop, each a satisfied pop of tangy, cool fruit that Leia could feel on the back of her stale tongue.

At that moment she had so longed to be that girl. Why could she, princess and therefore (as she understood it at the time) most important girl on all of Alderaan, not be as free and natural as the next village girl. She felt her parents' keen eyes on her, waiting to hear her well-rehearsed line. But wasn't she just as hot and hungry as any other girl? The day was already so long, and yet so far from over. Didn't she need a respite as much as anyone else? Why couldn't she, just once, have the simple pleasures that everyone else got to have? The sudden longing and unfairness of it all overrode her royal training. Starblossom flavor, please!

Her mother had laughed and smiled her most diplomatic royal smile, the one that didn't entirely reach her eyes if you really paid attention, thanked the shop owner profusely when he stretched across the counter to bestow Leia with the stick of sweet frozen cream. But when she met her mother's eyes, she knew she'd pay for this defiance later; a stern speech about how one behaves and what one represents that will undoubtedly go on for too long, stirring in her equal parts guilt and boredom. But at that moment, it had only made the joral cream taste all the sweeter.)

So yeah, she kisses Han. And for a single, endless moment she tastes icy sweet starblossom.

The moment after that one, however, is flooded with cold reality. The rational part of her mind, having finally wrestled control back from her giddy idiot brain, went into overdrive. Every very real, very logical reason why this is a very bad idea hits her all at once. A wave of electric panic shoots up her spine, the tang of fruit and summer replaced with ash in the back of her throat. Already cringing, she opens her eyes.

He's standing perfectly still, eyes wide in surprise. This close she can watch the color in them change, from bright green to dark gold, literally watch his mind process what's happening while his face catches up.

The panic takes a quick jaunt through her entire body before settling in the pit of her stomach. Kriff damn hells.

She pulls back stiffly, the way one is supposed to back away from a feral sabercat if they cross paths with one in the wild. Maintain eye contact and don't show weakness. His lips curve up in something between a smug grin and a surprised O. She'll never hear the end of this.

Maybe if she looks aggrieved enough, she can act like what just happened didn't actually happen. Maybe she tripped. Maybe his kriffing ship bucked and bounced her mouth onto his mouth. Because that happens, right. Maybe–

He's full-on grinning now, so no luck there. "Why, Princess–"

"Shut up." Not her most diplomatic tactic, but her mind's blanking on anything more articulate.

"I haven't even said anything yet!"

"Well don't!"

"Hold on, you're the one who just kissed m–"

"No, I didn't, so don't even start." She stomps to the crew quarters and spends the rest of the trip working, definitely not just reading the same page over and over and avoiding him.

This seems to do the trick, because when they land and she finally emerges, he's carrying cargo down the Falcon's ramp, only nodding when he passes her. It's an offhanded, same-shit-as-always kind of nod. Nothing that would indicate that he now knows the taste of her lipgloss or the smell of her hair, which he almost certainly must.

He doesn't say anything and obviously she doesn't say anything. After a while, it's almost enough that she can convince herself it didn't actually happen.

The second time she kisses him, however, he's ready for her.

Remembrance Day was as good an excuse as any for the entire base to celebrate and let off some steam. Some low-grade cabin fever had been making the rounds at Echo Base; the remote location making everyone itch with isolation and anxiety. Why not bring out a few cases of alcohol and let the base run wild for a night. Shake off the nervous energy.

It's noisy and chaotic, the base a barely controlled riot of merrymaking. But in that good way that makes Leia's heart ache. Enthusiasm and camaraderie and everyone here, brought together by a shared mix of fierce dedication and naiveté to believe they can change the course of the galaxy all by themselves.

She's tipsy, not drunk, for the record, because royalty doesn't get shit-faced. A small crowd has ended up in the main briefing chamber. Not completely separate from the partying out in the hall, but adjacent to it.

By day, she's Commander Organa, down in the front of this chamber, presenting intel and passing out mission assignments like some school teacher of war. But now there's a forbidden thrill to being in this room at night, being in a purposeful room without purpose. The usual stresses and duty she associates with this room on pause for the night. It reminds her of playing tea party in the formal banquet hall as a child. Sipping air at the same seat her mother often led state dinners and entertained the galaxy's leaders.

They're holed up in a back corner, the harsh overhead fluorescents off, so the room feels dim and strange. Han doesn't share her reverence for a good briefing chamber. He rearranges the chairs with a casual disregard until they're better suited for social drinking and bullshitting.

She chats for a while with Shara about the pilot's current difficulties. Which are mainly adapting speeder engines for Hoth's temperatures, and getting a strong enough signal to call her parents regularly. (Not that her infant son is much of a conversationalist, but it's the principle, y'know? If he doesn't hear her and see her often enough, how's he going to remember who she is?)

Han and Wedge seem deep in something, their Corellian flowing too rapidly for Leia to pick anything up in the snatches she hears from across the room, especially in Han's thick Tyrenan accent. Luke's in between the two of them, nodding a lot, which means he's either better then she is with Corellian, or he's somehow even worse. At least it sounds lyrical, whatever they're saying, like all Corellian does. Every now and then Han catches her eye across the small crowd. He smiles and cocks his chin towards her ever so slightly. Like they're co-conspirators. Like the two of them share some precious secret only they know about. Her cheeks burn at the presumed intimacy of it. Not embarrassed, but something close to it.

It's well after midnight before the crowd starts to thin out. Shara and Kes had stumbled off in search of Endrolian ale and never returned. Luke, ever the farmer and habitual early riser, had called it a night. Slowly, then all of a sudden, it's just the two of them.

Leia doesn't miss the carefully effortless way Han approaches her, stretches and yawns, then drapes his arm across her shoulders, pulling her close. As if they do this every day. As if tucked under his arm is where she belongs. He's close enough she can smell the whiskey on his breath. "Well honey, you throw a pretty good party." He looks younger when he's not scowling, as he so often is. Softer.

She's far gone enough to enjoy this, thrill slightly at his domestic make-believe, even if a scant few hours ago she would have sooner bit his hand off. "I think it was actually Mon's idea."

"Then tell her she really knows how to run a Rebellion next time you see her." It's high praise from the man who usually only has two opinions about Mon Mothma. One, she's an idealistic fool. And two, she pays too well. But don't correct her on that count.

"I think you like our little Rebellion."

Han sighs before he answers as if it takes a moment to build up the courage to relent and say, "I guess I do." He catches her gaze, smiles his achingly Han smile. "Don't tell Leia, though. She'd be insufferable if she knew." Leia retaliates with a sharp elbow to his ribs. Enough to register, but not hard enough to actually hurt.

"Stars forbid we have one nice moment. If you could just be nice for–" she's gesturing sharply until he catches her hand, kisses the back of it, quick and amiably. A gesture of apology for the words he'd just said, and the ones he knows he's going to say next.

"See? Already insufferable."

She laughs despite herself. It's nice, this. Fighting for fun. (There's a word for that. Flirting. But admitting to herself that that's what they're doing right now is one step too far for her, even now.) It's a struggle to pinpoint the last person who teased her, treated her like Leia, as opposed to Commander or Princess. She knows it was before, before– well, even Luke still has a hint of awe in his voice when he talks to her sometimes.

It's as close as she's gotten him to admit to caring about the Rebellion and she wants to savor this victory. And it shouldn't be a turn on. She's on a base literally filled with sentients who care so damn much they're ready to give their lives to the cause. But it is. Because everything right now feels warm and soft. Because it's him. Because maybe she likes her men like she likes her political revolts. Hard-won and more difficult than they should be.

If she's thinking about kissing him again, it's his fault. For having that stupidly beautiful smile, and directing it at her while admitting he cares about the cause, saying he likes the rebels in a way that really means he likes her. It's not fair. Who grins like that, warm and somehow indecent all at the same time.

So really she has to kiss him, if he's going to have that face.

And it's like he's been waiting every moment for the past three months for this. For it. Again. Like he needs to prove himself after last time when he'd just stood there dumbfounded. Without hesitating, his hand cups her jaw, guiding her closer.

It turns out Han kisses the same way he flies, the same way he argues with her, the same way he does everything in life. Focused and intense and just a little bit carelessly pleased with himself. It's just as impressive and infuriating as anything else he does. He's... unhurried. Less interested in conquering her and more simply exploring, mapping her unfamiliar constellations so he can navigate by them in the future.

She leans further into him, doubling down on her own boldness as if that's the way to somehow regain control of the situation.

He only responds with an arm around her waist, until their bodies are flush against each other. This got away from her so fast. It's dangerously close to something she can't take back, if she even wants to. She feels lightheaded and fuzzy on the exit points.

A loud crash out in the hallway, followed by the sound of glass breaking, shatters the spell between them. Outside, people laugh and carry on, like everything's still normal.

This time her this-is-a-bad-idea brain is slower to pipe up, struggles to gather enough righteous indignation to push him away. He doesn't look offended when she does, though. He looks about as far from offended as possible. "Sorry sweetheart, but I think this time you have to admit you kissed me."

"Don't worry, it won't happen again."

He doesn't look convinced. But then, she didn't sound convincing.

They go three weeks and two days without any more kissing incidents. Not that she's keeping track.

It's either very late or very, very early. If anyone ever asked, not that they did, she would say she spent so much time on the Falcon because it was warmer than the rest of the base, short of her hanging out down on the fuel reservoir level, warming her hands against one of the large fuel pipes that keeps the entire base running.

But everyone seemed to know better than to ask.

Han had spent the evening replacing a motivator in the Falcon's shield generators. She was there under the pretense of needing somewhere warm and relatively quiet, somewhere with an endless supply of kaff, to review reports. Except most of the night had been her sipping kaff while passing tools to Han and watching him work. Grease-stained white shirt with sleeves absentmindedly pushed up to the elbows. Bare feet.

Working on the Falcon is a physical undertaking; throughout the evening he's done everything from dangle half of his body into an open panel in the floor, to bury himself in the sea of wires and circuitry that live behind the main hold's command station. Over the years, she's heard him declare that his blood and sweat are what hold the Falcon together. But it's fascinating to watch the act, the ritual offering of himself to his ship's wellbeing, see for herself how his declaration is in no way metaphorical.

She's on her seventh dossier (and fourth mug of black kaff) when he sidles up to the table, wiping his hands with a deeply stained rag. "Don't you ever take a break, sweetheart?"

"The emperor's not taking breaks. Vader doesn't take breaks."

He plops down next to her on the bench, his body close enough she can feel its warmth. "And isn't that what separates them from us? How we value life and," he waves his hand vaguely. "–actually getting to live it?"

"I promise to live my life after they're dead, how's that for a compromise?"

A wry smile graces his face as if he doesn't want to disturb the quiet of the ship by laughing out loud. "And what about the next Vader? And the Vader after that Vader? And the–"

"Alright, I get it." She pushes her mug of kaff around the table with great interest before she finally answers. "Someone has to do it."

"But ya don't need to do it single-handed, Leia. What about what you want?" He adds before she can answer, "And I mean you. Not what the Rebellion wants."

Maybe there's not enough left of herself for herself. She remembers who she was like one remembers a distant relative you met only briefly as a child, at holidays and weddings. 'Leia Organa' is just an abstract concept to her, another chunk of rock and dust floating around what had been Alderaan's atmosphere. If your home, where all the experiences and memories that made you you, is no more, are you no more as well? If you can't go back home, can't find those places again, can you ever reunite with yourself? Or are you destined to wander the galaxy as Not Yourself, until you eventually become someone else. If so, she's still getting to know this someone else who shares her name, who has no one and nowhere to return to, whose anger always boils just beneath the surface, who hangs out with dangerous men on their smuggling ships in the middle of the night.

She doesn't– can't say any of this. So she settles for turning her attention to him. "You can't talk. You're up same as me, still working."

"Ah, that's different. I'm working on my baby," he reaches out to pat the hold's wall affectionately. "Which is never really work."

She's witnessed enough times when 'working on his baby' was mostly just cursing and hitting it, then cursing at Chewie, then Chewie cursing at him, to know that wasn't true. But it's too late for pesky things like facts and reality.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low and unfamiliar. He determinedly stares in a direction that is not her's. "Hey, y'know how you keep kissing me?"

Kriff.

"No, I–"

"Because y'know, if it's just getting caught up in a moment. That's one thing. I mean, I get it." He gestures to his lean, stupid body that she will very shortly push into another trash compactor. Then he adds, because he can't help himself, "I know how irresistible this package can be."

He leans closer, now firmly in her space. Surely they had an unspoken pact to never speak of this, and here he is, blatantly speaking of it. "But if it's not. If you somewhere deep down actually like me–" He doesn't even have the decency to wait until they're in some heightened, life-or-death situation. Or drunk. He really thinks they're going to have this conversation politely, at the table, over cold kaff.

She cuts him off in the tone she learned from her mother, her I'm royalty and you're not tone. "Of course I like you. Don't–"

"You know that's not what I mean. Come on, Princess." If he'd had a fraction of her diplomatic training, he'd know the proper protocol was to dance around the topic for a couple more years without ever directly addressing it.

"I– I like how involved you've become. With the Rebellion." His jaw clenches in silent aggravation. Too bad. He won't let her lie her way out, fine, but he's not provoking her into some heartfelt confession. "You have! You run missions efficiently... most of the time. You're reliable. Riekeen can't stop singing your praises–"

"I'm not talking about being another dedicated soldier for your cause. You have Luke for that. What you're describing is Luke. Is that what you want?" The air of betrayal in his voice is only half-teasing.

"I do not!" Invoking Luke is out of bounds and he knows it.

"You want Luke, but you don't want to scare him off. So you're using me as a cheap substitute."

"That's absurd. Don't you think I'd be with Luke right now if I wanted him? I don't want Luke."

"Then prove it," he challenges. It's a stupid dare to get her to kiss him again, she gets that. But he doesn't actually think she'll do it, does he? He can't. Which would mean he'd be so surprised if she did actually kiss him. She could kiss him, quick and cold, to shut him up and wipe the smirk off his face. That's fine. That's just beating him at his own stupid game, right. She takes a moment to pride herself on her own strategic ingenuity, then presses forward.

Damnit.

Apparently, he did think she'd kiss him. His mouth meets hers easily, his lips slightly open and encouraging. It's like the last time they kissed, but more. More intense, more real. Sharper and in full color. Her ingenious strategy immediately forgotten, she leans into him, kissing back.

She should–

She moves her arm to better reach him, sink her fingers in his hair. In the process, she elbows her forgotten kaff mug. "Shit," he hisses under his breath. Han reaches and fails to catch the mug before it tips and spills across the table.

"Is kaff on all my files?"

"And getting into the dejarik table wiring. Great."

"If this table wasn't so damn small–"

Han's already turning his attention back to her, muttering, "Forget it, I'll clean it later."

"–and surrounded by junk–" she stretches and shoves a box of tools off the edge of the bench behind him. If they're being messy and destructive, might as well go all in.

He catches the handle of the toolbox before it can hit the ground, only to throw it across the room. "Are you seriously starting a fight right now?! We coul–" A loud clanging stops them as a rogue hydrospanner falls down an open panel, hitting something down there with a sickening thud. A second later, smoke drifts up from the panel. "Okay, that's definitely the hyperdrive."

"You just broke your hyperdrive?"

"I can fix it later!"

"It's on fire!"

"Barely!"

The reality of their ever more compromising situation hits her. The sudden absurdity of it. How will she explain to Riekeen, Mon, Luke for crying out loud, how she died in a fire on the Falcon, in the middle of the night. Or maybe they'll survive, evacuate out into the hangar looking disheveled and compromised, where she'll only be able to wish she was dead. Or maybe nothing more will happen than Luke will stroll aboard in the next moment, hiding out and warming up before his early shift. All possibilities feel equally catastrophic. "That's it, I'm out."

"Because of a tiny mechanical fire?!"

"That's not it." Leia struggles to extricate herself from the table, his arm, the mess of tools and exposed paneling. All of it. Finally, she storms towards the Falcon's gangplank. "You can't go five minutes without breaking something." Hyperdrives. Ships. Nice, peaceful moments they were having. Unspoken agreements to kiss sometimes and not ask each other follow-up questions about feelings. Their whole tenuous friendship. The list goes on.

"Oh come on. You're not as blameless as you like to imagine, Your High and Mightiness."

"Don't try to pull me down to your level."

"Is that– fine leave, before I dirty your royalness with my level and my fire."

"That's not what I meant!" It's impossible to articulate what precisely she did mean, though.

"Great! Come back when you know what you want."

"It won't be you!"

Tomorrow morning she'll pick up her kaff-stained reports. When she does, she'll call him captain and stare at the bridge of his nose rather than make any real eye contact. She'll pretend she can't see his expression oscillate between wounded and annoyed. Then she'll get back to work. And if she finds herself entertaining any more bad impulses when it comes to Han, she'll sternly remind herself that it only leads to destruction and doom. Literally.

In the meantime, she ignores the fact that to her rattled, tired mind, the smoke in her hair smells like starblossom fruit.

#scoundressaturdays #han x leia #fanfic #my fic #fanfiction

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goodnightkisseu · 5 years

Text

Lee Daehwi - Banquet

Requested By: anonny~ (“ HOLA MI CHICA! can i request a Lee Daehwi fic where liKe it's kind of a romeo and juliet thing? where they like meet at a party and kiss but then he shows up by her balcony? ”)

Genre: Fluff, kind of cliche but it’s cute ;A;

Note: So at first I was thinking this would all be fine, but this fic got more involved than I was expecting. I’ve never really written royal!au type fics before, and this is kind of like that as it was requested for a Romeo and Juliet type of setting? Anyway, I hope that you all enjoy it! I hope that my struggles weren’t in vain xD As always, feel free to let me know what you think! ^^

Enjoy~

Because of the situation with tumblr links, please check my bio for links to my masterlist~

- goodnightkisseu’s admin / ashley <3

No matter how many times you attended these types of parties, you were never going to get used to them. Everyone was dressed to the nine, flaunting their gorgeous gowns, elegant overcoats, and finest jewelry. This wasn't the world that you were born into. So, each time, at your cousin's request, that you were put into a tight bodice, hair pulled back and styled, draped in a dress that was far more than anything your parents could afford with a year's worth of their pay, you always felt out of place. You were by definition, in every way, a commoner. You were a young girl born to two working-class parents. Your mother was a seamstress, and your father worked at the docks. You worked at a bakery in the middle of town, and in your eyes, there really wasn't anything extraordinary about you. You were just an average girl.

But tonight, you were dolled up, paraded around as if you were part of the elite.

You weren’t here because you wanted to feel the thrill of being at a big fancy party. You were here because of your cousin, Yuna. Unlike you, she was part of one of the most revered families in your tiny town, your aunt having married into the Duchess' family. She had everything she could have asked for. Wealth, the royal title, the ability to do whatever she wanted, and many other things. In contrast, you worked day in and day out to just afford necessities. Even though the two of you were very different, you were also very close. She never saw you as lowly, someone that was beneath her. Instead, she saw you as an equal in every way. The two of you would often spend any free time you had together. Which was also why you knew about her current dilemma. She was soon to be married, and you were the first one she came running to.

"I've barely thought of what I'm going to do when we travel to the next town over next week, and they want me to start thinking of marriage?! They already have everything planned out too!" she whined as the pair of you sat on her bed. Yuna pulled her legs up towards her torso, face buried in her pillow as she let out another muffled groan. You remained at your spot on the edge of her bed, straightening out her dress that was draped on the nearby chair.

“Do your parents know?” you inquired, flattening out the fabric before looking over at her. You heard her groan again as she nodded.

"They are most definitely aware. The issue is that my say doesn't matter. My father gave me the talk about how it's time for me to start thinking about the family's power, about expanding our roots. My grandparents think much of the same. My mother understands my concerns, but she also believes that it's time for marriage. Apparently, she also married around this age as well," Yuna explained, a pout forming on her lips. "I'm aware that people of my status are to be married off, to start their own families. Yet, there are things that I want to do for myself. These things don't occur to them..."

You gave a small nod in understanding. Truthfully, you could understand where here frustration was coming from. Though you were a couple years too young to be worrying about this just yet, your mother had been bringing it up more frequently. She told you of the time when girls were to be wed, about the process of finding the right suitor, and how the entire thing could be quite stressful on families. You would have preferred to meet someone by chance, but you knew that wasn't the world that you lived in, and that something similar to what Yuna was going through, but with less fanfare, would also be in your future. If you were lucky, you'd still end up with a nice boy from your town. "Is your marriage happening soon?" you asked.

Yuna let out a defeated sigh. "Unfortunately for me, it's happening very soon. They want to start introducing me to available suitors next week. The plan is to have five eligible young men from the surrounding towns come here to meet me. They want to through a large banquet, make a festivity out of it, just so I can see which one I'm compatible with, that we may be able to move forward with. I'm worried that I'll feel isolated, that I will not know anyone there. These are usually parties for people of our parents' age, not our own..."

"But your friends will be there, won't they? You won't be completely alone," you reminded her.

"They will, but I'm sure their parents will want them looking out for their best interests as well. They're my friends, but they are also carrying their own family's pride as well. It has me worried and nervous. What if this goes downhill?" she confessed, muddling over the event in her head. However, an idea seemed to strike her, and she sat up straight. "I know! Why don't you come to the banquet too!"

Your eyes widened as you tore your eyes away from the dress you were trying to work the wrinkles out of. This seemingly harmless conversation just turned into something more intense. “M-me? W-w-why would I go?!” you exclaimed, now in shock over her proclamation.

"Because we're close and I trust you. Look, everyone else that's going to be there has some sort of agenda. My parents are trying to marry me off. My friends will be trying to find someone for themselves. You're the only one who I know will be impartial during the entire process. Come on, as my cousin, please do this for me? I’m going to be nervous as it is and having someone that is both family and a familiar face there is going to help a lot. Please?” she urged, and that's all it really took for you to say yes. Within the week, your aunt helped to get you fitted for a dress. On the night of your aunt and mother worked to doll you up, much like they had your cousin.

Both your mother and aunt worked to make sure that you didn't outshine Yuna, and you were okay with that. After all, you weren't there to be noticed that night. You were there to be support for your cousin. You stood by her side throughout the night, listening as she conversed with suitor after suitor. From time to time, they would address you, and you were very quick to divert their attention back to Yuna. You listened as she giggled softly while speaking with three of them, giving them each a chance to woo her, to appeal themselves to her. You watched over her fondly, glad that she was starting to loosen up, not seeming as nervous as she had earlier in the evening. Though she gave you a scare earlier, by almost fainting, to see her now, talking happily with the young men, it made you happy, happy that she was finding her place.

Although tonight was about Yuna, about finding her a suitable husband, you felt a pair of eyes following you around all night. You knew exactly who it was, yet you couldn't figure out why he seemed so interested in you. Still, you looked away from your cousin for just a moment, just long enough to lock eyes with a gentle figure that had been glancing at you from across the ballroom. And at that moment, you realized that all it took to be enraptured by Lee Daehwi was a simple glance...

You had met Daehwi earlier in the evening. Your cousin had been conversing with her friends about things that didn't concern you. So to give them some privacy, you slipped away, wandering around the large ballroom to try and find a place to yourself. After weaving through the large crowd, greeting those that greeted you first, you found yourself in a far corner. It was just far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the crowd, but close enough where you could make your way back to Yuna if needed. The quiet was nice. It gave you a chance to collect yourself... at least until a voice to your side made you jump.

"I take that you're also trying to get away from all of the excitement?" He watched as you turned to him, eyes wide. He found your reaction amusing, eyes focusing on the way your demeanor quickly shifted.

"O-oh... well, I suppose you could say that," you replied with a light laugh. "I'm not really accustomed to banquets such as this one..."

The male quirked a brow at you. "You seem like a lady of high status. Don't you go to these types of events often?" he inquired. He had found you very lovely at first, but hearing that you weren’t used to this type of thing made you even more interesting to him.

You regretted the words as soon as they left your lips. Tonight, you were supposed to be one of them, to be regal like the other people in the room. Yet here you were, blabbing to a stranger that you weren't what you seemed. It was a bit too late to backtrack now, however. He would only grow suspicious of you if you did.

"You see," you started slowly, choosing your words carefully. "My cousin is Lady Yuna. Unlike her, I'm not part of the elite, but the two of us are fond of each other, we grew up together. I'm here tonight to give her emotional support while her parents introduce her to suitor after suitor." You realized that your words could be construed as false as if you were some commoner that just snuck in to enjoy the festivities, but you hoped that he didn’t take it in that way. He seemed kind enough. He wouldn’t… right?

The young male's brow furrowed at your words, yet as he thought of them, they felt plausible. After all, there was no way a commoner could sneak in dressed as well as you were. No, there was no way they would be able to afford the extravagant gown you had, the jewelry the adorned you. These were all tell-tale signs that someone wanted you here, and he was not about to question that.

"Your secret is safe with me," he reassured you. He watched as your lips curled into a smile, the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. At that moment, something struck his heart. It was a feeling that the young man had never felt before. Yet, he tried to ignore it for the time being. “My name is Lee Daehwi, and you are?”

You quickly told him your name as he gingerly took your hand and gave it a kiss, making you blush at the sudden contact. “Are you here to court Lady Yuna as well?” you inquired.

He shook his head gently. "I am not... currently. My parents sent me here to see who had sent their children to court her. They are interested in a marriage with her family though. They just don't want to rush it yet. You said you were close with Lady Yuna, yes? Maybe you could tell me a bit more about yourself, and about here as well?" he suggested. Though it was a little painful to know that you were a means to an end to get to know your cousin, you agreed. Because the truth was that you found the male before you entrancing. You found him more interesting than anything at this party.

You spoke with Daehwi for what felt like an eternity. At first, it was simple things. You talked about your upbringing as well as his own. You spoke a bit about your cousin, but the conversation quickly shifted off of her and back to you. You learned a lot about each other, things that you liked about each other. This no longer felt like a chance to gather information. It became about getting to know someone you had a connection with. But, before much could come of it - though you were sure nothing would - one of Yuna's maids appeared before you, requesting that you follow her. Your cousin had been looking for you and sent her maids around the ballroom looking for you. With a nod, you agreed to head back with her, and as fast as you had arrived in Daehwi's life, you were gone.

The majority of the evening from that point on was spent at your cousin's side. You often steal glances at Daehwi while he talked with other party attendees. To say that you felt something while the two of you talked would have been putting it mildly. You had grown fond of Daehwi. You had a bit of a crush, puppy love, for someone you knew didn’t feel the same about you. You pushed it aside as best you could, hid it behind a wall as your cousin told you of her evening, the people that she clicked with immediately as well as those she would like to avoid.

As the night drew to a close the ballroom floor came to life, each suitor offering their hand to Yuna for a final dance. You stood by, watching the spectacle in front of you before you felt a tap on your shoulder. Thinking it was one of the maids, you quickly turned, only to come face to face with someone you weren’t expecting.

“Daehwi!” you exclaimed, surprised to see him there with a smile on his face.

“Would you share this dance with me?” he asked, extending his hand to you.

You were hesitant to take his offer, knowing where you stood with him, but your heart told you to take the opportunity while you could, and you let him lead you into the crowd. He was quick to lead in the dance, holding you by the waist as he let you adjust to the tempo of the song. You had never been much of a dancer, but Daehwi was patient. Once you had found your way, he led you around the dance floor, holding you close as you moved amongst the other exquisite ladies and gentlemen.

"How has your night been?" Daehwi asked gently.

"It's been as expected. Been keeping Yuna company while she meets with person after person," you told him. Yet, this was when you realized something. "But, Daehwi, I realized that you haven't spoken to Yuna all night. I thought you were here to introduce yourself as well?"

A smile formed on his lips, obviously amused that you hadn't said anything about his absence earlier. “May I tell you the truth?”

You gave a small nod and he leaned in a bit closer to tell you his secret. You were on edge, but you wanted to know, your curiosity getting the better of you. “I was here to meet Yuna, but I believe that I met someone better… and she is here in my arms now.”

When his words resonated with you, your face turned a brilliant red, making the young man before you laugh. “Did you not notice that I would often purposefully avoid her?”

"I-I did, but I thought you were just biding your time," you admitted. "But Daehwi... you know the truth about me. You know that I'm no well-off. I work in a bakery. My parents work in the town..." you reminded him.

"I'm aware, but it's also what I like about you. Your outlook on life is completely different than girls that grew up as part of the court. You're kind, you're gentle. I've never met anyone like you." Daehwi knew that his words could have been taken as strong, insistent, but he couldn't help it. He liked you, and he didn't want to miss the opportunity to make it known.

“Even so, you can’t tell your parents that you fell in love with a commoner. They'll be upset.”

You were right. His parents would be livid. He came here to meet a noblewoman, and instead fell in love with a woman of a completely different class. “I know, but I… I want to make this work. Please let me try to convince them?”

Though reluctant and wary, you agreed. As you nodded, you felt a soft pair of lips against yours, sending a warmth straight to your heart. And that was how your night came to an end.

========

The festivities ended late into the evening, Yuna suggesting that you should stay with her and leave in the morning. You knew she wanted to do it to hear about what you thought of such a party, as well as to tell you who she had planned to meet again amongst her suitors. Noticing the change in your demeanor, how much happier you seemed, she also managed to weasel out of you the source of your smile. Nervously, you told her of her own run-in with a boy that had captured your heart in such a short amount of time. She kept telling you it was love at first sight, a true love, and you only brushed her off saying that she was being silly. There was no way. He would go home and completely forget about you.

While Yuna went to get ready for bed, you took the chance to wander out onto her balcony, needing some fresh air. Your mind wandered back to that dance, to that kiss, and you couldn't help the light flush that came to your cheeks when you realized how effortlessly your first kiss had been stolen.

As you looked below, watching as the other noble partygoers got into their carriages to head home, your eyes caught sight of a familiar male. He was about to get into the carriage just below your balcony. Feeling eyes on him, he looked up and locked eyes with you as he waited for his turn to enter. "Did you have a good night?" he called out, simultaneously making you smile and blush like mad.

“I did, thanks to a very special person,” you said back.

“I think you’ll be seeing that very special person again soon. Just keep your eyes peeled,” he told you, before disappearing into the carriage and riding off into the night.

It was weeks later, without hearing a word from him, that a large carriage appeared at your home. Daehwi stepped out from it and greeted your parents. He told them who he was, of his noble family and how he wanted to take your hand in marriage. He arrived with offerings to appease your parents. The rest of it was history. Because of that chance meeting away from the crowd, because of that connection you had with him, that was how the two of you could live happily ever after...

#lee daehwi #wanna one #wanna one imagines #wanna one scenarios #kpop scenarios #lee daehwi scenarios #lee daehwi imagines

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

Text

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Nine: It Is Elegant ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: To Rule Them All ] [ AO3 Link ]

A knock sounds against the door, lifting Hinata’s eyes from the book she’s reading.

“My lady? It’s time to be fit for your gown.”

The words spoken beyond her room earn a soft sigh. Another ball, another gown. “Very well. You may come in.” She dog ears the page to mark her place, standing from her desk and watching as a team of seamstresses enter.

Over and over she’s had new gowns made over the past several months since her coronation. All in an effort to pretty her up for all of the parties her father throws in search of a proper suitor. His eldest daughter is of age, now. The sooner he can have her married, the better, in his opinion.

But as of yet, she’s not met any who’ve caught her eye...nor, apparently, she theirs. There have been no talks of marriage or even courtships.

...though that may have something to do with her knight.

The same day she took the title of lady after seventeen years a girl, so too was Hinata appointed a knight: one pledged to her and her alone. Her bodyguard, her sword and shield. The younger son of the main Uchiha line. While the elder may have had the birthright, Itachi’s persistent illnesses meant a frail body...so he instead took to developing his mind. He now sits on her council, instead.

And that left Sasuke as the first in line.

Clearly proud of his heritage, Sasuke had stepped up to the mantle with dignity. While most might have shied from being withheld from battlefields and glory, he’d known that being chosen to guard one of royal blood was all the glory he could ask for.

And the day they’d met, she’d asked him to promise her something.

To protect her from all threats...including those perhaps not quite so dire.

Hinata knows well enough she can’t avoid marriage forever. But to be thrown so quickly into what will likely be a match made more in politics than affection makes her feel so...hopeless. Her youth may not last forever, but a bit of time to enjoy it first is all she wants.

Hence her plead.

And his agreement.

As per their arrangement, he lingers with her every spare moment...including the many galas Hiashi has hosted since their meeting. Ever hawkish, he’s looked every suitor over with a keen eye, clearly conveying one thing: this is the woman he owes his utmost allegiance. Harm her in any way - including ways of the heart - and he will not hesitate to act.

Needless to say, it’s been rather effective thus far.

But, for now, she has yet another party to endure.

She’s carefully peeled out of the layers she’s already been dressed in today until left in her barest of clothes. Measurements are taken along every limb, around every curve, until there’s nothing left of her they aren’t privy to.

All the while, the details of the guest list are rattled off to her...as if any of it matters. Half a dozen eligible heirs are coming, each with high hopes of being matched with the princess. Hinata doesn’t even listen. It doesn’t strike her: the only thing she’ll care about is their manner, and she won’t know that until they meet.

And if it should go poorly...she’ll simply have Sasuke drive them off.

How quickly she’s come to rely on him. Though she tries not to overwork him, he’s nonetheless attentive. At first she assumed it merely out of duty: a thing he already took quite seriously. But there was a quick, unspoken attachment in their airs. Similar in some ways, different in others...and in all, thus far, aligning quite well. He swiftly grew used to her mannerisms, able to read most of her thoughts and ideas without a word. She, too, can glean a great amount from just the hold of his brow.

Though strangers mere months before, they’re nigh on inseparable now. Fitting to all edges without much effort.

In truth...it makes her wistful that a knight were of a rank suitable for a throne.

She, of course, can’t assume his feelings. Nor is she sure hers are so bold. But there’s something so...effortless in how they’ve come together. Hinata can only dream of finding a match with such chemistry.

True, knights have hard-won a princess’ hand before...but it is rare, and only after acts of great valor that prove his worth as both a knight, and a man. One worthy of ruling a kingdom he already swore to protect.

Either way...there’s little point in wondering. Her father would surely disapprove...and there’s no telling they’d be happy in such an arrangement, anyway.

For now...she will simply endure.

Measured and noted, Hinata is redressed and left to her own devices for the time being. Two weeks remain to have the gown finished for her to don at the gala. Until then...she can only dread it.

And like many dreaded things, it comes quickly.

It takes nearly an hour to dress and make her, corset laced tight and every wrinkle banished. Admittedly, it’s beautiful. Crafted of only the finest cloths, it varies from pale lilac to deep amethyst: an array of violet shades that bring out the shine of her dark hair in the light, and tinge to her eyes.

Once prepared, she’s given a moment to collect herself, instructed to report to the ballroom posthaste. Left alone, she takes in her image in the mirror.

...a knock then sounds.

“You may enter.”

A pause, and then the door clicks open. Donning his dress uniform, Sasuke peers in, a decorated rapier at his side...mostly just for show. “...Hinata?”

Relaxing a hair, she sighs. “...I’m coming. Just...taking a moment to b-brace myself.”

Stepping in and letting the door close behind him, he stands at relaxed attention. “Are you all right?”

“As right as I can be. Just dreading the night. Are all of the suitors here…?”

“They are. None stand out to me as of yet.”

She gives him a weary smile, tearing her gaze from her reflection. “Well...I suppose it could be worse.” A glance down to her gown, and then, “What do you think?”

Dark eyes, given permission, drop from her face to look her over. “...it is elegant.”

That earns a breath of a snort. “Please, you don’t need to be so...stiff.”

“It’s true. Your gowns are always...pretty.”

Her lips twitch. Clearly he’s not well-versed in fashion...not that she blames him in the slightest. “Thank you...as much as I dread these nights, I always love the dresses I’m made. I hope Father pays them well…”

“I’ll speak to Itachi. Surely he’ll change that if not.”

“I’m glad.”

They stand in a pained silence.

“...well, no avoiding it,” Hinata then sighs in defeat.

“No, there’s not.” Sasuke offers an arm, which she daintily takes.

“...if not for you, I’m not sure how I’d weather these shows of wealth and all these preening peacocks.”

Sasuke can’t help a huff of a laugh. “I’m sure you’d fare just fine. You don’t give yourself near enough credit.”

“You’re the only one of s-such an opinion, I assure you.” Sighing yet again, she dares to lean wearily against him for a moment. “...thank you...for all that you do. No matter what else might come to pass...I can face it, knowing you’ll face it beside me.”

He gives her a glance. “...you’re welcome. Shall we go…?”

“....we shall.”

Goodness it's late and I've a long day ahead of me, so I'll be brief! This is a sequel to day sixty-seven: where Sasuke was anointed princess Hinata's personal knight! They've done a little bonding since then, seems like :3c Surely a knight can marry a princess, can't they? Maybe he just needs to scare off all those suitors first... Anyway! That's all for tonight - today was busy busy, and so shall tomorrow be! I'll see you then - and thank you for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #to rule them all [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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sartle-blog · 5 years

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Good News from the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco

Last week, Sartle was invited to the Director’s Breakfast at the de Young Museum in Golden Gate Park, held in celebration of Thomas P. Campbell’s first year as director and CEO of the umbrella organization that oversees the de Young and the Legion of Honor. They gave us the scoop about upcoming events, but also shared some exciting news about their latest efforts to better serve their community.

Campbell spoke candidly about the pressure museums are under from various forces, from the politics of patrimony to the consuming, attention-diminishing powers of technology. Museums across the world are being forced to grapple with the question of what the role of an art museum in contemporary society should be. Campbell believes, as he eloquently phrased it, that art museums are “engines of empathy,” and as such, are essential in this time of polarization, identity politics, globalization, and existential peril. Perhaps now more than ever museums need to be accessible to people of all ages, incomes, and identities.

All of this is why the museum has decided to extend free admission on Saturdays to residents of all nine Bay Area counties! Starting on October 19, 2019, general admission to the Legion of Honor and the de Young will be free on Saturdays to those who live in Alameda, Contra Costa, Marin, Napa, San Francisco, San Mateo, Santa Clara, Solano, and Sonoma counties. (Just be sure to bring a photo ID or postmarked envelope with your home address when you go.) This is all thanks to a generous gift by Diane B. Wilsey, Chair Emerita of the Board of Trustees.

Furthermore, the museum is pleased to be unveiling a number of new internships for high school students that will be paid. Yes, paid, and with real money! And they are taking steps to make more paid internships in the future. The fact that most museum internships are unpaid has forced only people of a certain economic bracket to be able to take them, thus perpetuating elitism in the art world. It seems this venerable institution, now in its 125th year, is making some serious strides for equality and accessibility.

The Fine Arts Museums also announced their upcoming 2020 special exhibitions, many of which have unique connections to San Francisco, and all of which further cement FAMSF’s reputation as a world-class art institution. There’s a lot of excitement brewing about these shows, so if you’ll be in San Francisco any time in the next year, there’s sure to be something worth seeing.

Upcoming Special Exhibitions

James Tissot: Fashion and Faith at the Legion of Honor (October 12, 2019 - February 9, 2020)

Put on in conjunction with the Musée d'Orsay, this lavish exhibition is the first in the United States in over twenty years to cover the 19th century society painter James Tissot. Boasting fresh scholarship and a full reassessment of his work, this exhibit features over seventy drawings, paintings, and objets d’art that operate as a fantastic lens into Belle Époque society and the artist’s own extraordinary, unconventional life. There will certainly be paintings of debutantes wearing decadent dresses, but there will also be séances and spiritualism, and deeply religious works, too. An artist who can’t quite be placed among the Impressionists (despite his friendship with Degas), but who doesn’t fit squarely into any other art movement, Tissot is thoroughly deserving of the nuanced, fresh take Melissa Buron and her fellow curators have no doubt prepared.

If you can’t make it to San Francisco, you can read all about it in the sumptuous exhibition catalog. (paid link)

Soul of a Nation: Art in the Age of Black Power at the de Young (November 9, 2019 - March 8, 2020)

Organized by Tate Modern, this internationally celebrated show promises to be powerful, provocative, and relevant. This exhibit features over 150 works of art by African American artists made between 1963 and 1983, a turbulent time which saw the height of the Civil Rights and Black Power movements. Over sixty artists will be represented, including Faith Ringgold, Romare Bearden, David Hammons, Elizabeth Catlett, and Barkley L. Hendricks, and in the De Young’s version of the exhibit, works with close ties to the San Francisco Bay Area will also be included. Long marginalized, the artists on display worked to give a voice to the African American community, promoting self-determination and empowerment for their brethren, and often drawing upon European aesthetic traditions only to subvert them. Giving a thorough, timely analysis of an important part of the American experience, this exhibit will be an absolute must-see.

You can find the exhibition catalog here if you can’t make the trip. (paid link)

Uncanny Valley: Being Human in the Age of AI at the de Young (February 22 - October 25, 2020)

The de Young will be the exclusive venue of this groundbreaking new exhibition, the first ever in the United States to consider Artificial Intelligence as something other (and more) than just a tool. Examining the way our behavioral patterns are shaped by AI, and questioning what it even means to be human as technological innovations change our identities and societies, this show is urgently needed, particularly in the Silicon Valley area. It brings together the works of contemporary artists like Ian Cheng, Martine Syms, Stephanie Dinkins, Lynn Hershman Leeson, Hito Steyerl, and Trevor Paglen, and also explores AI’s master-slave dialectic and the myth of technological neutrality. So please, Tech companies, PLEASE bring your employees to this exhibit for a field trip. The question is not whether you can afford to go, but whether you can afford not to.

Frida Kahlo: Appearances Can Be Deceiving at the de Young (March 21 - July 26, 2020)

In the last few decades, Frida Kahlo has transcended artist and celebrity status and truly become an icon, her image instantly recognizable, heavily reproduced, and everywhere adored. And yet, the Frida underneath it all is continually full of surprises. This new show brings together a variety of her intensely intimate paintings as well as personal items that had been sealed away in her home, La Casa Azul, now Museo Frida Kahlo, until 2004. It will also highlight her connections to San Francisco--where she depicted herself in her Tehuana-inspired attire for the first time, and where she married Diego Rivera for the second time. Viewers can expect to see intimate photographs, clothing and jewelry, and even her orthopedic corsets, which she wore every day to hold her spine in place and which she decorated herself, often with revolutionary and reproductive imagery. The exhibit will offer a glimpse into the ways politics, gender, sexuality, trauma, and heritage affected her creative output. All signs point to this show being colorful, intimate, and very, very popular.

Judy Chicago: A Retrospective at the de Young (May 9 - September 5, 2020)

This exciting show is the very first retrospective dedicated to the work of legendary Feminist artist Judy Chicago. You probably know her from that famously vulvar Dinner Party, which premiered in San Francisco forty years ago next year, but her career has spanned almost six decades and has encompassed a shockingly large variety of themes and media. There will be over 150 works of art (from ceramics and paintings to needlework and performance art) that prove how revolutionary she was and still continues to be. Though her artwork comes in many forms, one thing that can be said about all of it is that it is shaped by a commitment to radical empathy--for women throughout history, for those who suffered in the holocaust, for the polar bears who are losing their habitat, etc. This celebratory show coincides with the one hundredth anniversary of the Women’s Vote in the United States, connecting Chicago’s legacy to a long line of women who broke barriers and defied tradition.

New Acquisitions on Display Now

The Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco were also pleased to share new acquisitions the museums have recently made. All of these can be seen on the second floor of the de Young.

The Turkmen bag

The de Young’s textile department, which boasts one of the nation’s finest collections of carpet weavings, is absolutely thrilled to be displaying a set of Turkmen Storage Bags. These bags were used by the Turkmen people, who dwelled in the Central Asian steppes for over 10 centuries. Rugs were essential to their way of life, as their nomadic lifestyle did not permit the use of furniture. Instead, they furnished their yurts with carpeting for floors and these portable storage rugs (called chuvals) hung from two slats to hold utensils and other goods. Who needs a cupboard or dresser when you have these bad boys? Chuvals made up a substantial part of a girl’s dowry, along with other woven goods like floor carpets and pouches, and were often made by the girl herself. The de Young’s display of these bags touches upon their anthropological, as well as aesthetic, significance. And while they are very tempting to touch, you probably shouldn’t.

The Turkmen storage bags will be on view now through November 15, 2020.

in Pursuit of Venus [infected] by Lisa Reihana

This seventy-foot-long, animated video installation is unlike anything you’ve seen before. Artist Lisa Reihana, who is of both Māori and British descent, was inspired to create this panoramic vision after viewing a set of 19th century French wallpaper titled Les Sauvages de la Mer Pacifique (Native Peoples of the South Pacific) that depicted Captain James Cook’s voyages in the Pacific and the peoples he encountered there. The original wallpaper (which is also part of FAMSF’s collection and can be seen alongside Reihana’s work) is full of paradise scenes depicting natives prancing about like Grecian goddesses in a Botticelli painting. Reihana challenges the Imperialist viewpoint expressed in the wallpaper by creating her own, animated version of the wallpaper that gently drifts across a large screen from right to left, showcasing vignettes and backgrounds inspired by Les Sauvages de la Mer Pacifique. Only she uses actual Pacific Islander actors engaged in traditional rituals and dances, and the vignettes are not all happy little hula dances -- they drift into moments of violence, of floggings and trade for sexual favors, shedding light on the dark truths behind colonization. This unique work is a must-see, astonishingly well-researched (she read extensively about Cook’s voyages from the point of views of both the Europeans and Pacific Islanders), mesmerizing to watch, and essential to current conversations about imperialism, race, and patrimony.

in Pursuit of Venus [infected] is on view now through January 5, 2020.

If you're feeling overwhelmed by all these wonderful looking shows coming up, don't worry! You're not alone. We're looking forward to them, too. Stay tuned for our exhibit reviews in the coming months, and maybe we'll see you at the museum!

By: Jeannette Baisch Sturman

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