So I was at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando. Now, I am a Slytherin. So I bought my robe and wand and already had a tie. I strode off that train like the badass I was.

But everyone was a douche to me. At first, they chided me about skipping class. But then, when the caught sight of my colors, they were downright suspicious. “Don’t cause any trouble.” And “oh no, a Slytherin.” Rude, right?

It started to bug me for a little. But then, as we strode through the halls of Hogwarts to get on the ride inside, the man (all the people who work that ride are dressed as students and yes, Gryffindors were assholes to me) who held the height stick stopped me.

The Hufflepuff next to him almost thought he was going to be mean. “She’s a Slytherin.” She whispered. “You’re supposed to be nice.” That’s when I realized that this super hot dude was also wearing green. He then grabbed my shoulders, fixed my tie, and adjusted my hood to show off the green. “I know. I’m just making sure she’s showing off our pride.” And then he rolled his eyes and muttered “Hufflepuffs.”

And that’s when it dawned on me: fuck everyone who’s mean to me because of my House. We’re fucking awesome.

tales-of-nexus asked:

Gonna send another since I love your writing so much! Pucker up!: Your choice for Asiux!

ooc; Thank you!  Here’s Perseus and Asiux, with the random roll of 53. Rolling Tongue Kiss

The drinks settled in his veins like a sluggish fire, their numbing salvation dulling his thoughts enough to make the ache of his field performance hurt less, although the ache remained. Perseus slid his forearm across the counter, his knuckles pushing the glass toward the bartender in a wordless request. As the man scanned the milling crowd around him, his gaze flickered toward a towering mechari standing beside the doorway. After a moment Perseus raised his hand as a vague greeting toward the other man. Asiux stayed still for long enough that it seemed he had forgotten Perseus, before the mechari silently strode across the wooden floor and slid onto the stool beside him. The mechari crossed his hands on the table in a strange mockery of Cassian customs. “Colonel Asiux Sigmavelox,” Perseus said, the foreign name sounding strange on his tongue. “Several weeks past, we encountered one another during our speeches at the Dominion War Memorial.”

"Captain," the mechari replied, his voice a melodious humming sound, all mechanical. The mechari tilted his head to the side, just enough for his beaded jewels to chime against each other behind his exanite. After a long period of silence, when the mechari simply stared at him, Asiux added, "Ford, of the Crimson Legion." Each word seemed spoken with careful precision, his intent masked by a polite veneer of indifference unmatched by the intensity of his stare.


His fingers traced the underside of Asiux’s jawline, the chrome plating smooth as silk against his skin. Perseus pressed a kiss against the mechari’s lower mandibles, his arm curling to wrap around the mechari’s neck for balance as he balanced his weight against the edge of his stool. There Perseus hesitated, his lips barely parted from the warm chrome plating, before he ventured a quiet, “Asiux?” as doubt began to insidiously thread through his thoughts.

A mechanical hum built in the mechari’s chest, his obsidian plating rumbling gently against Perseus’s hand, which the man pressed there for balance. As Asiux tilted his head downward, no other movement made, Perseus surged forward to meet him, his lips pressed heatedly against the plates between the mechari’s parted mandibles. Warm chrome fingers wrapped around his forearms, each large finger curling so harshly around his skin, yet those hands held him in place; they did not push him away. A sinuous series of plates pressed against his lower lip, and Perseus lightly scraped his teeth against the metal tongue before he withdrew from the other man. His hand slowly slid across the mechari’s chrome arm, his fingers squeaking lightly against the chilled metal, the coolness spreading a wave of heat throughout his chest. Perseus felt his teeth bite the inside of his lower cheek as his gaze flickered up toward the mechari’s pale white eyes. “Asiux,” he repeated, his voice carrying all of the professionalism that his thoughts had long since abandoned.

"You require rest, Captain."

"Yes," the man said, his voice lowering as he turned his head from the mechari. Perseus gathered the remnants of his scattered professionalism around him like a gilded shield. "You are quite correct. Goodnight."


I met him fifteen years ago. I was told there was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding, even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong. I met this six-year-old child, with this blank, pale, emotionless face and the blackest eyes… the devil’s eyes. I spent eight years trying to reach him, and then another seven trying to keep him locked up because I realized that what was living behind that boy’s eyes was purely and simply… evil.