#I did these both at work and I didn’t have my mechanical pencil the other day so I had to snag a regular pencil during break lol

[macksartblock]

Hi! Hi! Hi! Your art is beautiful and wonderful and idk how you do it (practice and talent I’m assuming) but it’s so good and I’m so envious and can you draw an oakworthy?? Like them being trans/gay together?? No pressure thank you!!!

Gossip sesh w/ his girlfriend-husband <3

[starryytales]

More Manipulative Ragatha.

ACK-

This was meant to be ~500 words and one part of a short story that went into detail of Ragatha doing different things on different days to push Pomni's boundaries, get her closer, etc. And was inspired by yesterday's ask about Ragatha intentionally throwing herself into harm's way to get hurt and get Pomni's attention.

Instead it ballooned up into a little over 2000 words and will be something of a standalone.

I would like to give my thanks and dedicate this to @miguxadraws whose enthusiasm helped push me to hit the ground running with this one!

With that said: small TW for needles (the sewing kind), and I hope you all enjoy..!

“I’m never sure how to start these things…”

I muse to myself as I tap the colorful pencil’s eraser against the empty, waiting page of my journal. Being the second longest lasting person in The Digital Circus changes how you think about information. Unlike Kinger, for example, I’m doing my best to not go insane by holding on to every piece of information until my mind snaps and I become amnesic. That means writing things down. Journal writing and compartmentalizing things. Separating the bad from the good and keeping the good close and the bad locked away.

“I suppose starting with this morning wouldn’t be a bad idea.” I flip the pencil around and begin jotting down what all happened…

Pomni woke up on me today. I didn’t bother with sleeping. Instead I just enjoyed watching her quietly snore throughout the night. God, she’s so cute when she’s asleep. She’s even more cute when she’s startled. She woke up, adorably mumbling about whatever dream she was having (I heard my name!!!), and stared up at me for a few moments. I didn’t say anything because she was clearly still out of it and wouldn’t have understood me anyway. When she realized she was using me as a full body pillow she let out wildest little yipe I’ve ever heard. She nearly hit the ceiling from jumping off of me so hard! It took a hot moment and a re-heated, leftover salmon cake to calm her down after that. I let her get dressed in peace (thank you again, God, for giving me a button eye to stealth watch with) and she left with a sweet little smile on her face.

I pause writing for a moment when I hear someone trying to stay quiet while working on something outside my door. Probably Jax. Probably with a bucket of insects and some kind of mechanical trap setup. I shake my head irritably but stay quiet. Jax would have been a lovely boy toy to keep if not for the fact he can’t stop being a punk for more than ten seconds. My single regret with him is that he only had one heart to break. The sound of his trap construction jolts me back to writing by jogging my memory.

The adventure!

How could I have nearly forgotten that when it was a huge amount of progress with Pomni?

Caine rounded us all up just like he does basically every other day.

“HELLO MY MUTANT MASHED POTATOES TODAY’S ADVENTURE BLAH BLAH BLAH-”

It was some kind of movie-like, ancient temple we had to find the treasure room of. The important part was Pomni and I took the ‘medium’ difficulty route, and we did it by ourselves. I was just about to see how well she dealt with an unprompted hand on her shoulder when I realized I had seen the hallway we were in before on a different adventure. Caine doesn’t just re-use NPCs, he re-uses chunks of levels sometimes. And I knew we were about 15 steps away from a circular saw trap that would shoot out from the wall and try to leave us with a nasty cut, to put it lightly.

My first instinct was to let Pomni walk into it. I thought it’d probably go right through her leg, maybe even both of them. I’d have to carry her all the way to the end and she’d have no choice BUT let me hold her. My better judgment got a hold of me, though. That was an awful plan. She’d hate being useless and dependent on me (at the moment, anyway). But I could still use the trap to my advantage to make her touch me…

I suddenly remembered why I nearly forgot the whole thing. Ever feel so much pain your body and brain try to factory reset?

“Hey, I think I’ve seen this hallway before.” I told her as I switched the side of her I was walking on. I picked up my pace slightly to make sure I triggered the saw without catching her as collateral. I braced myself as hard as I could without letting on something was up. A small part of me was begging to just not do this, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

“Really?”

“Yeah! From a different adventure!”

And I think she was going to ask if I remembered anything helpful about it. That’s about when a single stone beneath my foot pressed down and I let out probably the longest running censor-bleep in Digital Circus history. The saw was as quick as lightning. My left arm, right above my elbow, was effortlessly sliced off, and the blade tore through my side like I was made of paper. I screamed and fell away from the blade. I landed against the wall opposite of it and started sliding down to the floor. Good God it hurt so bad I was seeing stars. Pomni shrieked and rushed over to me, hovering over me like she’d found a murdered body in an alleyway. I was in too much pain to get her to stop screaming for a moment so I could tell her what to do, and then she said that she would go get help.

That lit quite the fire under me, because:

1. I needed to get her used to touching me by getting her to patch me up, and, perhaps more importantly-

2. I’M TIRED OF HER RUNNING OFF WHEN I AM IN INCREDIBLE PAIN.

I have to say, despite the pain I was in, I was pretty slick with my next words.

Any person scared and hurt might say ‘don’t leave me,’ but if I left it at that, she might have just offered me a platitude about being back as soon as she could be. I had to twist the knife. She managed a single step away before I lunged at her foot and seized her ankle. I didn’t need to pretend to cry, as there were plenty of real, agonized tears.

“Please don’t leave me again!”

The ‘again’ sold it like beer at a college ball game. Oh, it hurt to see so much remorse in her eyes but it’ll make her think twice before running off again in the future. She dropped to her knees next to me and sputtered a dozen apologies before going quiet when I placed my hand on her upper leg to get her attention.

I remember gritting my teeth and having to hiss through the pain to direct her to my dress pocket (conveniently on the same side I was missing an arm on, and oh my how those little hands wander in a pocket) where I had my emergency sewing kit. Ugh. I could have died from cute-overload while watching her fumble so shakily while trying to thread that needle. When she finally managed it she looked at me with huge, worried eyes for guidance on what to do next.

I pause again to enjoy the memory of her looking at me that way. It’s almost dreamy to picture her like that. So nervously hanging off my every word… I could REALLY get used to that. Where was I? Oh, right, my little jester doing doll surgery on my side.

Feeling her touching me gently was so, so nice. And she listens so well. I bet if I told her that the stitching would only hold if she barked like a puppy, she might have actually done it. I’m so used to sewing myself up that the little pricks of the needle barely registered to me, so I up-sold the pain they caused. Clenching my teeth and (remaining) fist, and scrunching my eyes while hiccuping every few seconds as if I were holding back a breakdown. She paused once and held my cheek, and told me if I needed a break she would stop. AGH. I could have eaten her alive on the spot for being so sweet! Instead I sighed, enjoyed the touch, and thanked her but said I was okay...

I love Pomni to bits but she sews like a blind grandmother with arthritis. No cut like that is ever good or easy to work with, but even Gangle manages a cleaner stitch on a bad day. Still, that meant we got to spend the rest of the adventure like that. Her pressed up against my side, trying her best to hold as steady as possible, while keeping my stuffing from falling out as she stitches me back shut. Definitely worth every ounce of pain. When she was done she even crawled over to my arm and offered to try putting it back on. Absolutely precious.

I told her not to worry about the arm. Caine could fix it when we get back, and about when I said that our AI Overlord’s voice rang clear throughout the structure. Caine congratulated Gangle and Kinger for reaching the treasure room first, and declared the adventure over. Pomni and I fell through a portal that suddenly opened beneath us, and just like that we were back in the tent.

Caine looked me over and quipped I had gotten “too adventurous for my own good,” before snapping his fingers and fixing my arm. He then said something about seashells and vanished. The others were already heading their separate ways when I walked over to Pomni and hugged her. She jumped slightly, but didn’t pull away. I thanked her as warmly as I could for staying with me, and I saw on her face that same guilt from earlier being soothed slightly. It wasn’t enough to put her at peace, but enough so she knows I will happily praise her for doing something good.

I let her go and I offered her another meal tonight – if she was feeling up to it, that is. I could see her putting real thought into it-

My writing is once again interrupted by a dainty knock at the door.

“Ragatha? I’m here for dinner, but-” I quickly slam my journal shut and hide it away again. The last thing Pomni needs to see is the contents of that book. I hop up from my chair with a spring in my step and grab the doorknob, only for Pomni to suddenly shout.

“D-don’t open the door yet! There’s a bucket full of something on the door frame. It’s attached to some kind of trigger. Kinger’s getting it down now.”

I hear Kinger scraping something metallic away from the door before the man himself speaks up.

“Oh! That’s where you’ve all been. How do my centipedes keep winding up in buckets..?”

I had clean forgotten Jax trapped the door. The thought of being stuck with a bucket on my head as all of Kinger’s little hellspawns crawl over my face is almost enough to make me throw up, pass out, and start writing a manifesto. All at the same time. Did I say earlier I only have one regret about Jax? I have two. And the second is that I can’t drown him in the cellar.

“Okay! It’s safe now!”

Cautiously I crack open the door. My eyes are drawn to the movement of Kinger walking down the hallway with a bucket full of nightmares in his arms, but I quickly focus back on to Pomni. I let out a low, tired sigh and smile at her.

“You saved me twice in one day.” I try not to swoon, but it still kind of comes out that way. The little blush she starts sporting on her face doesn’t help.

“Ah- don’t worry about it.”

God she’s so cute when she’s bashful. I open the door and step aside to welcome her in with a playful flourish.

“Well, come on in! A hero deserves her heroic feast! I’ll get on it right away.”

“A heroic feast of spaghetti and meatballs?” She laughs, the sound as sweet as wine, as she enters and steps passed me. I laugh back with her as I start to shut the door so we can start another night off right.

“And garlic bread, that’s the really heroic part!”

[burnwater13]

Grogu sketch by me. Grogu stands on the ground next to a small frog and plants, with a hill in the background (pencil on off white watercolor paper).

Grogu had overheard his dad speaking with Jedi Seb and was glad the two humans had found something to kind of bond over, but did Din Djarin forget the plot? They were supposed to go to Mandalore to go fishing! Not to Naboo. That was just a stop to pick up parts for the N-1. 

Although, fishing on Naboo would probably be a lot more fun than fishing on Mandalore. Certainly, Mandalore had promised to be exciting in that regard. The planet may have been partially glassified by the Imperium and Moff Gideon in particular, but Mandalore had giant aquatic critters and that was worth investigating.  On the other hand, Naboo had at least seven species of Scale fish and that promised a lot of educational opportunities.  Jedi lived for educational opportunities according to all of his former masters. 

Realizing the two humans were probably never going to stop talking about their children, which was weird when one of them was right there in front of them, Grogu decided to take the controls into his own hands and jumped out of his dad’s arms and over to Thirty. Maybe the little mech could help him re-direct the conversation. 

“Grogu certainly seems to like mechs. Another trait he shares with my daughter. I suppose he’d like us to focus on the problem at hand?”

At least Jedi Seb understood what Grogu wanted. 

“Yes. I wanted to go to Mandalore to track down information on a suit of Mandalorian Armor that was ‘gifted’ to me. I promised to take him fishing there. We were just packing up our N-1 starfighter and it threw an error code. Apparently the part we need to fix the malfunction is on Naboo… maybe. It can’t be flown until that’s been sorted out.”

Thirty began to chirp and beep and signal Grogu that it might have a solution. Grogu chirped back at it as his dad and Jedi Seb fell silent, just watching the two of them go back and forth. When they finished talking, Grogu couldn’t help but grin. Apparently Thirty was convinced that it could repair the part and that Jedi Seb’s daughter could fix the ship. He couldn’t wait to tell his dad.

He turned to face the two men, who suddenly seemed more alike than different from each other, which Grogu found odd, and coo’d to get their attention. To no avail. Something else was going on that took their attention away from him and the mech. 

As he followed their gaze, he saw two people enter the docking space. One was very clearly a Mandalorian. The full suit of armor was a complete give away. Lacc Straso. His dad’s friend was back and he’d brought someone with him. A tall human male who seemed to exude happiness and had short curly hair. He was wearing a simple mechanic’s coverall and a pair of sturdy work boots. No weapons. No armor. He wasn’t a fighter of any sort, but Grogu sensed that he had seen or met this young man before, but he couldn’t put his finger on where or when that might have happened. 

Jedi Seb walked right over to them and pulled the young man into a tight hug. He would have asked Seb who the young man was, but he was interrupted by Lacc Straso scooping him up and walking him over to his dad. 

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon, Djarin. And your boy as well. What’s going on?”

Typical Mandalorian, just getting right to business. Too bad Grogu’s dad hadn’t done that earlier. 

“I’ve got a problem with the N-1 and was hoping you could bring me to Naboo to look for the parts I need. I can pay you for your trouble.”

Din Djarin was clearly trying to get his goal accomplished, but didn’t realize yet that Grogu and Thirty had a better solution. He squeaked at both men to try and get their attention. It didn’t work. Again.

“Excuse me, did you say you have an N-1 starfighter? Is it near by? Could I take a look at it?”

The young man’s voice cut through everything and Grogu was about to scold the him for interrupting, when Jedi Seb began to laugh. 

“Hold on Dag. Let me introduce you first. Dagon, I’m pleased to introduce you to Din Djarin, Mandalorian Bounty Hunter, and his son Din Grogu, former Jedi youngling and currently a Mandalorian apprentice.  Gentlemen, this is my son, Dagon Jade, pod racer and mechanic extraordinaire.”

Seb was grinning and Dagon seemed a bit embarrassed, but Grogu was over the moon with happiness and jumped out of Lacc’s arms to Dagon. He’d heard of the young pod racer and was overwhelmed to meet him. Not many humans were successful in that career due to their size and nervous systems, but everyone on Tatooine had heard of Dagon Jade. 

“You’re Dagon Jade? Grogu is a great fan of yours. I don’t mind showing you the N-1, but do you all really have the time for that? It’s on the other side of Mos Eisley.”

Grogu could have laughed out loud at his dad, but he was too caught up in admiring his pod-racing hero. He had so much to talk to him about and so many questions and of course they had time to show him the N-1. How could they not? If Dagon Jade wasn’t worthy to see the ship, who was? 

“My apologies. I live in Mos Kadhus, so I have plenty of time to take a look at it, but that doesn’t mean you have time to show it to me. My enthusiasm got the best of me. I had no idea anyone had one of them operational.”

Dagon replied promptly and Grogu was just too thrilled by his new best friend. Such a polite young man. Jedi Seb had done a good job raising him.

“It’s fine. I’m just trying to get it fixed. A part failed and the closest place to get one is Naboo. I was just hoping Lacc could take me there so I could sort it all out.”

The Mandalorian explained as he removed Grogu from Dagon’s arms.  He supposed his dad was a bit jealous at how obviously thrilled Grogu was to meet such an important person on Tatooine. The fact that Dagon was Jedi Seb’s son was just more gorgs in the pot. A wonderful thing.

“Well, if you don’t mind, Seb was joking. I am a pretty good mechanic. I’d be happy to take a look at it and see if I can fabricate the part you need and uh… it seems like Thirty would like to add something to this conversation.”

Dagon spoke to them all, as Grogu noticed Thirty waving its tool controllers and beeping a rapid set of information to them all. 

“Well, Seb, what does the mech want?”

Lacc asked as no one else translated the beeps and boops. 

“I gather Thirty believes that he, Grogu, and Dagon can fix the ship. Thirty says this is a common failure mode for the N-1 and he’s repaired this problem before. I will say, this little mech led a very different life before we picked it up on Jakku all those years ago. It may be from Naboo for all I know.”

Grogu laughed at that. He knew another mech that had spent time on Naboo. He wondered if Thirty and R2-D2 had ever met and the kind of stories they would tell each other if they had a chance. The Force seemed to like bringing old friends back together. He wouldn’t be a bit surprised if his old friend Ian was the next person to walk into that docking space. Stranger things had already happened.

“I guess that means we’re going to visit Peli Motto and give you a tour of the N-1.”

Din Djarin commented to the group, causing Grogu to emit a clearly heard and understood ‘Yippee!’. This was going to be fun!

To be continued...

[winniethewife]

I'm caught up in her design, And how it connects to mine (Control x F!reader)

Part one of High water: A Southern Reach Fanfiction

A/N: Okay this might be a little different than what I usually write, as in it doesn't fall into my other fandom categories. Basically @reallyrallyauthor and @ominoose got me really into the Southern Reach Trilogy and I fell hard for the main character of the second book Authority, Control. So somewhere along the way I decided to write a one shot, which turned into a two shot, which ended up being a three part series. Either way Here's part one.

Words: 866

Control was an odd man. That much she knew from the time they met. What she wasn’t expecting was how quickly she would grow attached to him. It started simply enough, the guy who sat next to her in her sociology lecture, quiet but handsome, rarely spoke in class, but when he did it was rather insightful. There weren’t assigned seats but they both sat in the same row every class period. It was nearly a month in until one of them said a single thing to the other.

“Do you have a pencil I could borrow?” He had asked. She had handed him a purple mechanical pencil, a soft smile on her face. She got it back at the end of class with his number on a torn piece of paper attached and that was it, she was hooked. Over the next year they would grow closer, and then they would start dating, the next three years would be Christmas breaks at her parents house and her praying that they wouldn’t ask why Control didn’t go home for the holidays, or why he preferred to be called Control over John. Luckily they never did. Once they got to junior year they got an apartment together, they both got relatively okay jobs that worked around their class schedules and it seemed like things were good, but that was an outside perspective. Because really, she was fighting an uphill battle with one of the most broken men she had ever met.

It was another evening where they sat in the living room and left the radio on, while doing their school work and not talking about the problems that were so glaringly obvious that it was a shock that anyone thought them to be a normal couple. At one point she looked up from her textbook to see Control, staring at the wall. She gently sighed and stood up from her spot on the couch and wandered over to his study space over on the dining table.

“Hey, Sweetheart, c’mon time for a break.” She whispered to him guiding him away from the table to the floor in front of the couch, She sits down and he sits down in front of her before leaning back into her lap. Once his head is rested in her lap he felt the weight fall off his shoulders. She ran her fingers through his hair and hummed along to the radio softly. As he looks up into her eyes he realized how with just a simple sentence, and a simple action how easily she puts him at ease, he looks at her and realized that she was unlike anyone else in his life, in the whole world.

“I’m gonna marry you some day, and all my problems will go away.” He said softly. She wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to the idea that he wants to marry her, but one thing at a time.

“Well, I must have magic powers or something that I don’t know about because, that seems too easy.” She laughed slightly. Her nails trace patterns in his scalp. He sighs and closes his eyes.

“Well, maybe it won’t solve my problems but, it sounds nice doesn’t it?” He commented with a slight chuckle.

“It does sound nice Control, sounds like a dream come true.” She smiled. Over the years they would find themselves back in this spot, his head in her lap, her fingers in his hair, and for a brief moment, all his problems would go away.  His mother wouldn’t be so controlling, His grandfather wouldn’t have made him hold the gun, His dad’s death wouldn’t be something he had to carry the burden of, he would have never had half the problems with Central, and Southern Reach wouldn’t exist in the first place. He would just be a man spending time with his wife.

“You know you don’t have to go see her, you don’t have to find out what hair brained scheme she wants to set you up in right?” She said as she raked her fingers through his hair again, now many years later, in their home, in their living room, with a ring on her left hand that sparkles in the light.

“I know, but I can’t help but be curious, she’s given us space for a while, why does she need me that badly now?” He said with a slightly humorous tone.

“Well, I don’t know, but I doubt she’s anything like my mother and wants to question why we haven’t given her grandchildren yet.” She tried to keep his tone, match his humor about the situation, but she couldn’t hide the concern in her eyes, not from him, not after all this time. He gave her that same restrained smile, reached out to touch her face, ran his thumb over her cheek.

“I also doubt that, but we can hope that this is all an elaborate scheme to get us to bring children into this fucked up world. At least for a little while longer.” He muttered softly. She gives him a little smile and leans into his touch for a moment.

“For a little longer.” She promised.

~

Masterlist

Next part

Taglist: @silvernight-m @boredzillenial

Second A/N: I didn't expect to finish this part in one sitting so...cool.

[typewrite-dragon]

Seeing Eye to Eye - TMA Lonely Ghosts AU

[AO3 Link]

This is set in the same universe as Ghosts Get Lonely Too. This particular story is set before that one. There are ripples now with him not encountering the Hunters nor Gerry's book. There are reasons for that. : ) Jonathan "Jon" Sims, frustrated with the lack of information to combat the Lonely, finds himself on a bus on the way home. He crosses paths with a young woman named Champagne Pailyu, an Avatar of the Eye.

Statement Begins

[Click]

The soft sounds of people speaking and the thumping sounds of what is likely the shift of clothes and backpacks fill the silence before the clearing of a throat. A soft voice voice is heard.

“Hello, is the-” The words are interrupted by a sudden surprised yelp by Jon while the owner of the other voice sighs and continues, “The seat beside you, is it taken?”

Soft panted breaths in and out and a breathless nervous chuckle, “I, yes. I mean- n-no. No it is not taken. I’m sorry I didn-”

“Didn’t See me there, I know. It happens a lot.” There is a tired acceptance in her tone, perhaps some amusement, “Do you mind if I sit with you?” “No, no I do not mind at all. Please.” Jon says it quickly, still trying to even his voice out.

“Thank you. My name is Champagne.” “Champagne? Really? I mean-” A stumbling of his words as he tries to course correct, “Jon. You may call me Jon. You ah… your parents must have been… the celebratory sort.”

There is a loud snort from Champagne, “A pleasure to meet you, Jon, and perhaps you are only half right. I never did get to ask them about it.”

An awkward silence as the voices in the background continue to fill the silence before the sound of a mechanical squeak and hiss of breaks before the engine grows louder and there is the distinct sound of a vehicle moving.

Finally, there is the rustle of fabric and then paper as the pages of something are being flipped through. The sound of a zipper follows in what is likely someone getting out a writing instrument. “Oh! You draw?” Jon suddenly asks, sounding desperate to chase away the awkward silence.

“Hm?” A moment and then Champagne adds, “Oh. Yes, I do.”

“Would you… may I see some of your work?” Jon asks tentatively, seeming to find relief in something normal for once. Yet there is a soft distortion around his words, a distant static.

There is a thoughtful sound and the tap of the pencil on the page, “I do not think you want to see my work, Jon.”

“Why not?” The sounds of static become stronger.

Silence and the static seems to fall away with an eerie sort of laugh coming from Champagne, “You are awfully new at this, aren’t you?”

Jon is clearly surprised with his own sound of confusion followed by, “New? What- What do you mean by new?”

“Oh gods, you are very new at this. I suppose I am too if we really think about it.”

“I don’t understand-”

“I suppose you wouldn’t. You should really eat soon, you are looking a bit peakish.”

“I am fairly certain food and drink are prohibited on the bus.” Jon says defensively, snapping at her without thinking. Then a soft gasp and he says in a hushed whisper, “Oh. Oh. Oh no, you’re one of-”

“Relax.” A tone that is both gentle and yet it was firm in the way it was a command. There starts being a scratch of pencil over paper, “I am an Avatar, yes. However, I have no intention to harm you. I cannot promise the same of your Strange Officer.”

Jon scoffs and there is a shift of fabric as he changes how he is sitting, “Forgive me for not believing you.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t.” Champagne tells him, “But I feel that,as new you are, you shouldn’t be looking at some of my art. You are welcome to watch me draw if you would like. This one shouldn’t be too horrible.”

“What? Do you scare people with terrible art skills?” Jon asks snaps, tone practically scathing.

“Something like that, but let’s just say I am a picky eater.” Continued scratch of pencil over paper while Champagne’s voice is calm and even, “You are not in danger of being consumed, Jon. I would like to think we are on the same side.”

“Same side? What side would that be?” The static again, but it does not sound as strong. Whatever compelling he is trying to do, it does not seem to be working on Champagne.

A loud sigh and a soft whistling and muttered sound that doesn’t sound like any spoken tongue is made by Champagne and the pencil continues to move, “New and Ignorant. Of all people to collect for the Eye. I suppose it is easier to fill an empty cup… or a bucket.”

“The Eye- Did Elias send you?” Jon demands with a hissing, growing increasingly frustrated that he cannot seem to get a clear answer. Perhaps, he is wondering everyone is under the Eye is this difficult.

“Stop trying to compel me, Jon. You have enough problems.” Champagne signs again, “I don’t Know who that is, but no one sent me. Judging by the feel of you, I imagine our… threads were always meant to cross. I just so happened to be on the same bus as you.”

A long silence and Jon finally speaks again, “You mentioned the Officer. So they are…?” He trails off, hoping for her to fill in the blank without actually compelling her on accident. He seems to be stumbling over that ability too without meaning to.

“Part of the Stranger I think. I suppose they could be of the Hunt.” Disgust in her voice as Champagne adds, “A disgustingly large number of law enforcement are. Usually they hunt in pair,s however, so I think this one is Stranger. It has that feeling of being off.”

“Yes they- they do that.” Jon admits, mollified, “Well do you happen to know a Gerard Keay or maybe even Gertrude Robinson?”

His voice was so hopeful, trying hard to find any answers at all. Champagne feels sorry for him, “No, I am afraid not, sorry. I do not know either of those people... Or Know them. I am sorry, Jon.”

A groan and a thump from Jon flopping back into his seat, “I have been trying to- you know what? Nevermind. It… no. No I am going to try to ask. You wouldn’t happen to know about the Unknowing would you?”

“Maybe you aren’t as new as I thought…” Champagne says, sounding absently curious as the sound of the pencil still working, “Unfortunately, I do not know much. I think it is a Ritual?”

“Oh.” Silence follows and then Jon continues, “Yes, it is a world ending ritual by the Stranger.” “Ew. Why did I have to be right?” The pencil on paper stops long enough to be noticed and then a soft sound of the the clicks on a mechanical pencil and the drawing resumes.

“I very much wish you were wrong. You know, I am beginning to think no one knows anything at all. I just… I need to stop this ritual.” Jon mutters and he sighs. Why was he even out here?

Champagne hums as she draws, “I know a little about how the Fears work. Not a terribly large amount, but maybe I Know something that can help give you ideas. The Stranger is rooted in nonsense and feeling off from reality. So perhaps you need cold undeniable logic.”

A thoughtful sound, “Perhaps… but if a ritual is so large… what would be big enough to stop it?”

“That is… a good question. I don’t know. It may need to be something just as large and disruptive.” Champagne shifts, the sound of fabric and paper before she continues, “Maybe some good old fashioned arson.”

A tired laugh that sounds like it is bordering on hysteria, “Maybe. Are you sure you don’t work with the Desolation?”

[Click]

[Click]

The recorder turns on again, this time the sounds of people in the background are softer. There are more distant sounds of the beeps and hisses of a kitchen. There is more scratching of pencil over paper.

Jon’s voice comes through, “Oh, it feels good to stretch my legs again.”

Champagne laughing softly, “Not used to long rides like this, are you?”

Jon yelps in surprise and pants, his tone is sharp, “How do you keep doing that?”

More laughter and Champagne’s smile is in her voice, “Inherent ability. Before the Eye grabbed me. Anyway, the previous question about long trips still stands.”

A sigh, but it is followed by a good natured chuckle. He sounds at ease for once, it surprises even him, “No, no I really am not. The fact that you can travel for hours and still be in the same state is a bit mind boggling.”

“Ah right, you all can just take a wrong exit and end up in another country and stop there for lunch before heading back in time for a spot of tea.”

Jon laughs, it is a quiet sound, “I suppose we can. The… the fear that has a problem with vertigo… falling… ah-” “The Vast.” “Yes, that. They would have a field day here. I think.” Champagne hums quietly, “I think there might be an Avatar around the Grand Canyon. I haven’t had many issues with that one though so I couldn’t tell you.”

A low hum, “You really do not strike me as- you feel so… well adjusted for someone who is… well.” “A monster?” “No! No not- you don’t feel like a monster! You are actually, well, quite nice.”

“Well thank you.” Champagne responds softly, “I highly doubt anyone I have fed on would agree with you. I tend to target unpleasant people. I think this is the longest I have held a conversation with anyone that didn’t become a snack later.”

“How did you, ah-”

The pencil scratching paper stops suddenly, “Wait.”

A tense silence and she sighs, “They are trying very hard to find you, Jon.”

“I- what- they are here?!”

“Close.” Champagne makes a sound, it seems almost musical in quality, like a whistling wind, “Should be distracted for now.”

“What did you do?” Fear is filling his voice, unease and borderline hysteria filled with a very soft static.

“Jon relax, and please get your compelling under control. It is uncomfortable.” Champagne sighs, “Look, if you really want my story, we can do that. I have a feeling this food isn’t going to be enough and if you are taking down an entire ritual-”

“Then I will need all of the he- wait a minute. Hang on. What do you mean the food isn’t enough? Are you saying I am becoming like- that I am like you? But I am no-”

A low hum and Champagne speaks firmly, “Jon, relax. Breathe for me. You aren’t entirely lost yet. You are still human enough, maybe, I know the idea of lost control is unpleasant. I am sorry, but survival is… You are going to need to decide how far you are willing to go for the sake of saving others, alright? Sometimes… it means shaving off parts of yourself to make room for new parts.”

“Okay…” Shaking breaths and he swallows audibly, “Okay, I… thank you. I think.”

“Good. Now then, let’s feed you. Outside. A small walk should do us some good.”

“I-wh- are you sure? All of the other-”

“I am sure, Jon. At least one person deserves my story, and if it helps you save the world… well that is rather compelling all on its own.

People do not tend to like their secrets ripped out of them, I know. It is uncomfortable. However… I suppose I have done it enough to people that I can, should share mine. Whatever consequences follow… I suppose I deserve it.” Her tone is sad and soft.

“Oh, yes I… yes of course. Let’s… let’s walk.”

[Click]

[Click]

It is a little quieter, save for the sounds of vehicles, albeit they sound almost distant. Muffled. The sound of footsteps is softened by the ground.

“So, Jon, how do you usually collect your… stories? Your tape recorder?”

“Oh I ah…” Jon makes a thoughtful sound, trying to find an answer. He wants to be respectful. He feels like he should be respectful, “I… well usually at the Institute I am… the Archivist… head Archivist. I… usually there is a little more formality, but yes I use this. The Statements, the real ones, do not seem to want to be digitized.”

He clears his throat, it feels awkward being outside and exposed. Yet, she seems absolutely at home in it. Whatever comfortable confidence she has out here, he wishes he could have some of it. Though he feels if he stays close he is somehow sheltered.

“Well, the world is your Archive, Mister Archivist.” She says dryly, “There are plenty of stories to be told out here. Plenty to collect.”

“Right… right you are I suppose.” A tired sigh and he huffs a small laugh, “Statement of Champagne….” “Pailyu.” “Pailyu? Your name is- I… oh god I am so sorry.” “It’s alright, Jon. I blame my mother. You don’t need to apologize for her choices.” “Yes, well um… right. Statement of Champagne Pailyu regarding…” “My background and how I became an Avatar of the Eye.” “Statement taken from source June 29th, 2017 by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins. When you are ready.”

A slow deep breath and a long exhale, “Thank you, Jon. I suppose finding a good place to start is a bit difficult isn’t it? Trying to find the things that are important and are the defining points of your life that would make seasoned psychologists nod and scribble down notes as to why you are the way you are.

My mother perhaps is a point. It always seems to start with a parent, doesn’t it? Her name was Ciara Pailyu. She was… well I actually don’t know if she was ever a good woman. If you knew what she did, I suppose you would find that she really was an awful monster. 

The Fears had nothing to do with it. She was the one who chose my name. I suppose alone, Champagne is a pretty enough name, but combined with Pailyu and suddenly I was reduced to something empty and only useful for other people’s enjoyment. To hold onto things that would only be discarded later. Temporary. Fleeting. Forgettable.

It is fitting really, and I guess that was always her intention. You see, if you have a chance to study the history of folklore and mythology, there are a great many gods and goddesses and beings out there. One of them was Carmun. She was a powerful witch, powerful enough to be called a goddess, who caused famine and rot. Perhaps… she would have gotten along well with the Corruption. My mother, apparently, was a descendant. By extension, so was I. Carmun wished to roam the Earth once more and reached out to my mother to make a deal. Wished to inhabit a body and wouldn’t you know it, my mother had a first born available. Not an ounce of hesitation in selling off her own child and in sealing away my voice so that I could not make any deals myself.

Of course I had not known that was the reason I could not speak at the time. I was an infant then, barely a personality and completely defenseless. My father, Niyol, did not know what she had done and had just assumed I was born mute. He did not love me any less and I think perhaps that was the only reason I ever survived being around my mother. Being sold to one day be Carmun’s vessel was not the only thing ‘strange’ about me. Oh no, I had to be able to see ghosts. Ghosts and spirits and gods. To be able to see the unseen and communicate with them. I could even interact with them just as easily I do you.

Most would just assume that they were the imaginary friends of a little child, but they were all so very real and so very kind. While I could not speak any living languages, the ghosts taught me how to speak the language of the dead. It is more of a breathy whistling sound, perhaps a little static sounding. When you are little and children are prone to making such unusual vocalizations, it worked out well for me. Still hurt, but I managed. I could communicate.

So I grew with my first language being that of the dead, with none the wiser. No one else understood of course, which my mother used as a reason to dismiss me easily. I think… my ability to see ghosts and to communicate with them was why I could also sneak about as though I were one myself. Out of sight and out of mind. Seen but not heard. I scared her often enough as a child when I tried to get her attention. Startled my father too, but I think he started to recognize what I was able to do. I think he could see them, but instead of the clarity I had, his was more like shadows from the corners of his eyes. That turned out to be a hereditary trait, perhaps amplified by the ritual used on me to steal my voice away.

It wasn’t until I was six that I could talk. The neighbor’s dog had passed and was now a ghost. She was a large chocolate lab named Cocoa. She was a protective sort and I loved her. Even had a little brown dog toy that my father got for me.

One day, she chose to appear in the form of an old woman to talk to me. So I did not realize at the time that she was, in fact, the dog. I was upset that I could not speak in a way that my mother understood. She acted angry and lashed out at me for being incapable of speech as though she wasn’t the one to take it away from me.

There is something powerful about unconditional love. Especially from a loyal dog. She had helped me simply to help, having been kind and patient when I was small and trying to navigate the world around myself. She took it upon herself to remove the seal, though there is still a scar left behind. A reminder.

Suddenly, I could use my voice, though I hurt, and everything was intense enough that even my father could see Cocoa. Found me outside with her. Was warned that I was not safe. So that night we left so that I could live with my grandfather on the reservation and my father promised to return soon. That he would join us. Soon became a word I no longer trusted. A promise at the end of our regular phone calls. My father died when I was eleven.

My grandfather raised me as best he could. Raised me with the traditions of our people. The stories. The practices. Encouraged me to use my voice. He was a severe man, but the gentlest one I knew. He taught me how to navigate the world that was largely unseen by most.

He was a wonderful anchor, and it was good to have someone, as the other children tended to avoid me once my novelty wore off. I was the ‘weird girl’ that talked to nothing. The one who struggled to speak and made ‘odd’ sounds. I didn’t mind too much. I had my friends, even if they were dead. The ones who had given me a voice even when I had none to begin with.

I took to art as another form of expression, perhaps inspired by the fact my grandfather ran a tattoo shop. I was always happy to watch him work. It was amazing to see how he could fill empty space with lines and colors and it could all become so coherent. He encouraged that in me as well.

I did well enough in school for him not to worry, and the additional lessons about the world outside of what I knew was to keep me safe. To keep me aware that not all things were my friends. I grew into adulthood and he… he grew ill and passed.

I mourned, though I had mourned for a while leading up to it as his memory became fragmented and his health declined. He had long given me the shop and changed the name too. The Heron’s Flower.

It was in that shop that through the door walked, well, a god. A volatile one who claimed to be looking for my grandfather. When he realized he was not there, I apparently was just going to have to do.

He did not want to give me a name to call him by and insisted I could call him whatever I wish, so I had given him one myself. I gave him the name Réalta. He was… unpleasant. Crass. Tried to get a rise out of me. I was fairly despondent by then. No anchors to really speak of.

I drew something that upset him. That hit too close to home. First Impressions can be quite upsetting. Then he decided I was attractive. I figured it was just the fleeting interest of an immortal. I would be soon forgotten or I would age and he would lose interest. Perhaps I went along with it because was just lonely. In retrospect, I really should have just adopted a dog. Animals are better than people.

I will save you from needing to listen to the details of my love life, but I did grow to love him. He actually remained with me. I couldn’t tell you if it was a good relationship or not. I didn’t have much to compare it to.

The problem was… he caused a lot of harm to others over the course of his lifetime. Comparable to the Desolation. To try and claim revenge against a literal deity is a fool’s errand, but when you are desperate and in enough pain, I suppose you will be willing to do anything. Of course, many people try for, well, an eye for an eye. I was attacked, because I mattered to him. Last year, I was attacked in a place I should have been safe, my shop. I fought back. I managed to talk him down. Learned his name and why he hurt. I found out why I became the unfortunate target for blood lust and rage. Réalta did not accept my attempts to keep things from turning to bloodshed. I tried to keep things from getting out of hand, but the one who hurt me… who attacked me because he hurt so much. Davin still held anger and Réalta did too, but only one of them had power and in the end… Davin burned.

Even when I asked… begged for him to not be. I risked being burnt myself. I still have the scar, shaped like his hand on my arm like some sort of brand. It made drawing for  myself the first few weeks near impossible. I was stubborn however and worked through it.

I had considered just… walking away from him. From everyone else. Everything inside of me told me to leave. Screamed at me to run, but I loved him. I felt that he deserved for me to tell him in person that I needed space away from him. To breathe. To think. Though if I am being honest, that house was still home to me. One of the few things, aside from the shop, that was mine. A shared space at the time, but the house was still mine. Never have I done well in a cage, Jon, and being told I belonged to him like some sort of property did not sit well with me. So I went back to the place I called home. I really wish I hadn’t. Maybe things would have ended differently.

Maybe waiting would have just been delaying the inevitable. I had thought that perhaps all of the trepidation was simply because I did not enjoy confrontation. I was someone who had to work not to vanish from perception. I often wonder if the Lonely had also wanted a piece of me… perhaps it still does. The Fears have always been so… isolating. Probably explains why there are so many cults tied to the Fears. People desperate for connection.

Ah sorry… I am rambling. Running and hiding from the point. I guess this is the part that I…

Gods… I always forget how much it still weighs on me. The clarity that remains in my mind. In my nightmares… I walked through the door of my home and heard Réalta arguing with the shade of a woman. One who was old and powerful. I did not know who she was yet, but I could feel that some part of me had a tie to her. It felt unpleasant like the vitality of every nearby thing would slough away and leave only rot as evidence of her existence.

I was not present for the entire argument, but when I came across them in the kitchen there were scorch marks on the floor as Réalta was arguing, again about how I belonged to him. I didn’t want him to destroy the only home I really cared for, and I remember yelling at him and I demanded to know what he was doing. I forgot to be afraid of the woman beside him.

Everything else happened so fast once their eyes were on me. You see, the inherent ability I have to just… fade into obscurity, it doesn’t work if someone is constantly trying to track me. Someone has to make a conscious effort to remember I exist. Had to make a conscious effort to follow me and keep their eyes on me. If they became distracted then maybe I would have a chance to escape. Except the woman was Carmun. The very goddess I was bound to. The one I was to become a vessel for. Apparently I was ripe for the picking and she wanted her body now.

All eyes were on me and even without a pencil in hand, the clear Impression I had gotten from them was burned into my mind. She was going to oust me from my own body. She was going to take all I created and make only rot come from my fingertips. Festering blight and famine and no one prepared to stop her. The other… fire and destruction and somehow he too was linked to Carmun, although in that moment I did not know how.”

Champagne has to pause then, her breathing shaky despite herself. Reliving this moment in sharp detail as she often did hurt her. “Champagne, are you-” “I’m fine, Jon… just… let me finish this. It needs to be said. Someone else needs to Know what I did.” Her voice is sharp but quiet and she takes a few more breaths before she continues.

“Statement resumes I guess. Heh. So… Carmun turned on me and in that moment Réalta turned on her. Flames again trying to lash out, except it also was going to consume and destroy my home. Destroy one of the few links I had to the one anchor I had grown to rely on.

For a long terrifying moment, I stood frozen in fear. I did not want to be seen. I did not want their eyes on me, wild with wanting control over me or my body. I did not want rot to spread from my fingertips. I did not want to burn in the ashes of the emotions of a man I foolishly thought loved me.

I had tried to run, thought that perhaps maybe if I got outside that they would follow. It was such a stupid idea: To run. To try to save the house, my grandfather’s house, before my own life. It is possible that I had been worried that house would be the place I would die in. That the last memories in a home that was full of love would become one full of terror and loss and destruction.

No matter my reasons, I ran. I ran and made it as far as the living room before I felt that wretched witch grab my hair and try to wrench me back. I had long learned to deal with ghosts and spirits by then and I went down onto the floor kicking and screaming to get her to let go. At the same time, flames erupted and Réalta had started to try and burn her. She let go, though my hair suffered in the process. I was scrambling to find anything to defend myself, scrambling across the floor towards one of the end tables I kept some tools in. The two were fighting behind me while I practically ripped the drawer out and the contents scattered. In the process, I knocked loose a false bottom on the drawer. I do not know how I spent so many years not knowing this thing was in my house. It was old and dusty. Older than any pen like that should have been. It was a long thing and a pale lavender in color and it… It called to me. It scared me. Part of me Knew I had a choice to make. I could be killed and my body taken over to rot the world with impunity. I could be trapped by destructive flames that simply wanted me to be a possession. Branded and eventually burned to ash if I tried to stray too far or if something else coveted what he owned or… I could take this tool before me. I swear the world went still as my hand hovered over it. The fighting seemed so distant. I had a choice and I had been so certain that I had known enough to maintain control over my life even with whatever… force that was tied to that pen. A force that felt like an endless pit that wanted to simply consume. That would never be full.

Yet… at least it would be on my terms.

I could make that choice.

I grabbed the pen.

Everything was suddenly intense. The world was now a terrible awful brilliant clarity that would make any artist weep. The flames were hot twisting ambers and yellows and reds and the soot left behind was ashen black threatening to turn into the brilliant colors of flames. The same carpet was rotting and the wood and paint of the space around them had begun to peel and warp between the heat and the corruption fighting one another. Discolored greys and sickly yellows fighting with intense flames.

Not only that, I could hear yelling about a deal that was made. The Eye wanted to Know. I wanted to Know. I wanted to know what this deal was.

I grabbed the nearest book, an address book I think, and flipped it open and started to draw. I had no control over my hand and while part of me desperately wanted to stop because I felt I was about to do something awful, I also needed to know what they wanted with me.

The world warped as ink became a scribbling swirling chaos that formed distinct shapes on paper. The area around is twisting and warping around us as the scene became something familiar and yet not. My childhood home from before I could speak. As the paper was filled with ink and inexplicably was changing color as I went, there were two bodies on the floor of what was once my bedroom.  Mutilated and rotting as though they had been forgotten and abandoned for a long time.

By then, Réalta and Carmun realized something was wrong. That they were suddenly on a stage and the memory versions of them both stood beside the bodies. They both realized what it was, but the one who reacted first was the man I thought loved me.

They had made a deal. They had made a terrible and awful deal. Carmun wanted him to hand me over. My father’s death in an effort to protect me from my mother’s choices and my grandfather had done his best to shelter me from a storm that was still threatening to take me. Réalta had not come to my shop by accident. Had not come to simply find someone willing to place ink on his skin. He came to kill a man who was no longer there and had decided instead of honoring his deal, he would keep me all to himself.

I was angry. Angrier still as I watched the scene play out, as I watched Carmun consume my mother’s soul. I Watched her consume my father, claiming their existence to fuel her own with no chance for me to ever call upon them. Ended. Gone forevermore.

I watched as the bodies lay rotting and then were burned away by the fiery god who only knew how to destroy what people loved most. I watched and watched and watched as though I was there in that moment in time. The scent of burning rotting bodies filled my senses, the heat kissed my flesh and threatened to take me with it. Even though I cried, I could still see it all so clearly.

Réalta begged me to stop, pleaded with me and tried to tell me it was all a lie. That he loved me. That he was never intending to follow through. That he was so so sorry. I was too angry with him to believe him. Not until it was too late as I turned the page and filled it with more detailed scribbling art. His most painful secrets and vulnerabilities torn from him and put on display for me to see and for him to relive.

It was too late and the irony is that he did love me. It was not enough to save him, and with that burned out and his very existence devoured by the ever hungry Eye. A delicious main course, but of course it wanted dessert.

Centuries upon centuries of vulnerabilities and all Carmun could do was watch in horror and wait for her turn. I filled that book with their secrets. With their screams. With their deepest most agonizing pains.

I filled every single page with fire and rot. With countless deaths and loneliness by their hands or the cost of their own actions. I watched every single moment of that terrible montage as the Watcher gorged itself upon the Fear of gods. I watched with sick delight as I made Carmun suffer for what she had done to me. To countless others before me.

I was delighted, I was terrified, I was sobbing and angry and tangled in memories and emotions not mine. I was lost.

Then it was done. I do not know how long I stayed in that space, but when I came back to reality I was suddenly dizzy and trembling. My hair was burnt and destroyed. There were scorched patches on the rug twisted with the warped rotten wood. As though I had drawn the rest of the home back to what it should have been, but that single mark of both remained. A coffee stain on the canvas of my life.

I wanted to collapse there, but some stubborn part of me pushed through. I was weak and yet energized by what I had done. As though the Eye was rewarding me for a job well done. I cleaned the house as best I could. All save the mark on the floor and the book remained as physical evidence.

I burned the book, but the memories still live in my head. Flooding me with terrible knowledge of centuries. For a long moment, I was lost in that as I wandered the house. I would find myself sitting in places Réalta once did. Displaying his mannerisms with the terrible truth of killing someone who did truly believe he loved me.

I would speak ancient and old tongues that were lost to colonization and time. I would look for sons I did not have. I would look for lovers that no longer were there. It was not until I found one of my sketchbooks that I came to myself. A solid anchor wrapped in leather and one of my first pieces I had drawn in it. An Impression.

Another ability that perhaps was why the Eye won out in its claim of me. The first Impression I get when I meet anyone. An urge to draw things I did not recognize nor had any importance to me, but had great importance to those that they were drawn for. Sometimes great changes would cause a new Impression to be made. Always more detailed and I would better recognize who they belonged to if I knew the person better.

It was my grandfather’s Impression. Drawn after we had gotten the call that my parents had died. A terrible accident, they claimed. We had both known better, but knew better than to investigate then.

The drawing was of a nest of twigs, bones and branches in a tree and within was a worn and dented bucket whose handle was held by a large blue heron. Inside the bucket was a brittle brilliant orange orchid that seemed half-way towards death. Bones of the dead that made the nest. Rot threatening the trunk as much as fire was trying to. A shadow of a predator circling. Red splotches that must have been blood. A protector determined to shelter his flower from the world that was too much. Colors splashed all over in a way that was nonsense and yet… I realized it was me that he was protecting. That my grandfather had put so much of himself into protecting me from the world beyond. Tried to teach me as best he could.

I suppose it was not enough in the end, he could only protect me for so long and the bucket was no doubt upended by now, but… I found myself. I fed the Eye enough to make it… amenable to my terms. I would choose who to feed it. I would feed only the worst and most terrible at the cost of myself, filling that empty bucket with terrible things and memories in an effort to keep any more of it from spilling out into the world.

There are a lot of terrible people and I suppose, in reality, I am one of them.”

There is a shuddering breath and at some point Champagne must have started crying. Soft sniffles as she tries to calm herself. There is a rustle of fabric as Jon starts making sounds of concern and panic. “Oh my god, I am- hold-hold on here I… I have a napkin in my pocket somewhere- I uh… st-statement ends.” A soft ah-hah and Jon holds his hand out to her. He sounds worn out as well, but also sounds far more steady than before, “Here. I… I think the bus is going to leave soon. We should go.”

“Thank you… and yeah. We should,”

[Click]

[Click] The sound of a busy airport in the background. Though with the clinking of glasses, it sounds a lot like they are sitting in a busy restaurant.

“Are you absolutely sure you do not want to come with me?” Jon asks earnestly, worry in his voice.

Champagne laughs tiredly and there is the sound of a glass being lifted and glass clinking inside as she knocks back her drink and sets the glass down, “Not really, but I think I am more a danger to your mission than not. Besides, someone needs to distract the Stranger so you can get home with your skin still attached to you.”

Jon groans and sighs before taking a sip of something, “Hopefully I can find answers when I get home. Cold Hard Logic sounds like a tall order when it comes to these Fears.”

“It does, but I am sure you will figure it out.” Champagne and the sound of a shift of clothes and the sound of bumping her bumping shoulders with him, “And don’t become a Stranger yourself. You have my number now. Reach out once in a while. Provided you don’t forget about me.”

“How could I possibly forget the person who fed Gods to the Eye? Or snuck past the TSA?” Jon muses at her.

A soft snort from Champagne and silence before an announcement is made over the loudspeakers and she hums, “Sounds like you should get to your gate, Jon. Thanks for the drink. I genuinely wish you the best of luck. Please try to take care of yourself and trust your anchors.”

“Oh! Yes, well I make no promises…” A sound of confusion as he trails off, “I… what was I saying?”

The shuffle of paper being slid over to himself and picked up and another sound of confusion, “What is this?” Another muffled announcement over the loudspeakers and realization seems to seep in when Jon gasps.

[Click]

[thelolzblog]

Putting the "Pen" in "Pencil"

I do not like to write with pencils. I will, when needed. I try to avoid it as much as possible, though. I’ve tried different “models” of mechanical pencils, including those that boasted pen-like casings that coworkers recommended. But none quite worked for me. 

Until this week. Or weekend really. Let’s not get pedantic here.

I prefer pens, and a really good, smooth pen? *chef’s kiss* I have horrible handwriting, and I cramp up very easily (fingers, hands, wrist, you name it). But a really good pen can transcend its job as a writing instrument and become the tool that harmonizes your hand with the paper. 

My primary pen of choice for over a decade has been the BiC Atlantis. Its price makes it more of an economy class model, but that’s okay because I need them in bulk so I can bring them to work, too. Additionally, my purse, bags, and desk drawers are where pens go to die — or at least hang out in limbo until they’re unearthed on the archaeological expeditions that are decluttering attempts. 

Because of how much I prefer pens over pencils, I have always done crossword puzzles in pen. It’s not usually a problem, and I didn’t even think it was that big of deal until others pointed it out to me. I love crosswords. I love pens. It just made sense. (Semi-brag: friends have handed puzzles over to me they get stuck on so I can finish it.)  I also have tons of crossword books, and they’re a great stress relief that also wakes your brain up — the good part, not the part that is going Chicken Little in the moment. Most are “easy” NY Times ones, and the one actual Sunday puzzle collection I bought was just too tricky for me to try and figure out. It now remains in my spare room just in case I need to rip it up for cat litter in an emergency. 

A friend recently gave me a (very late) Christmas present: an NYT crossword book. Hooray! I kept it at work to do a couple clues between tasks to feed my ADHD and keep me going. However! These are medium-level puzzles. And they mean it! I realized after a few that doing them in pen was probably not the best thing anymore. It was time to admit my puzzle prowess was weakened. It was time to admit that I needed to get a good pencil. You always remember where you were when these kind of life turns happen, and I was at my desk wondering if my friend purposefully got me the harder book to mess with me. 

But finding the right pencil for crosswords was…wait for it…the real puzzle to solve.

The search began, and unfortunately Google kept giving me results for pens that write like pencils, and not the other way around. (Okay, okay. We GET it. There are erasable pens. Papermate has been on top of that since I was in school. I’ve also used some that wrote well, but the erasing is really just applying heat through friction. Which means things disappear if your paper gets hot. ANYWAY.)

I just started searching on my next grocery order. BiC had some promising options — smooth and hard-to-break. The store ended up being out of one type, but they did have the .9 (thick) Velocity Max. I tried them, and they weren’t bad. The large eraser is convenient. It both comforts and mocks you: “We know you’re going to make huge mistakes, and we don’t want your arm to get tired trying to remove them. Here’s your big eraser, you big screw up!” They even come with extra lead and erasers. How thoughtful! The problem is the grip: the softer, gel-like part is too high. I did manage to slide it down lower. It looks odd, but it’s more comfortable. The bottom part is just too narrow and has nothing added to it for comfort. Not ideal, but doable. Even if one of the two colors they came in was orange, and we all know that orange is a color that tries too hard.

Luckily I tend to go into hyper obsessive research and testing mode. This usually just wastes my time away, but this time it came in handy! While looking online, I saw an item that I couldn’t help but add to my cart. A Wish List is no place for a pen like this. It was a 4-color BiC pen, with 3 ink colors and 1 option for pencil. It was a sleeker, multi-functional upgrade from those multi-colored pens I adored in childhood: it was the pen version of when the Power Rangers all put their vehicles together and made the big, large thing. Megazord. It was the Megazord. I couldn’t pull it out of my memory, but that’s to be expected from my pencil-for-crossword-needing old brain.

I am happy to report there was a fairy tale ending here. The good, non-messy kind that doesn’t leave a dead witch, giant, or talking wolf in its wake.  (I can confirm no fantasy beings were harmed in the testing of these pens.)  The grip on the 4-color pen is wide and feels great, much better than the Velocity model. The grip and lead make for a truly smooth writing experience, and I have tested it out on at least 10 crosswords at this point. 

And what of the actual pen colors on it? This thing could’ve settled for just being a good pencil, but no. BiC said, “We don’t stop here. We keep going. We make this pen worth every penny.” Which was nice of them because it is not cheap, and it will run you between $5.50 to $7 — more than 1 dollar for each option. (They do throw in extra lead and erasers, just to note.) The width makes for a great writing experience for all colors. I actually used it at work yesterday to color code some notes, and it is definitely going to be in regular rotation for more than just the pencil part.

Very happy I purchased it, and I also bought some new highlighters. But that’s a review for another day.

[dorefasolsido]

12. No Recess

***credits to the original creator***

1. Pen: Did the ink ever smudge across the paper when you used to write?

I’m sure that happened many times. It would smudge all over my hands all the time.

2. Highlighter: Did you highlight everything or just the super important details?

I rarely highlighted anything, but when I did, only the important details.

3. Pencil: Did you prefer mechanical or regular pencils?

I think regular ones, idk.

4. Markers: Did you prefer to use the fat or skinny markers?

Skinny, maybe.

5. Crayons: How many crayons came in the biggest box that you brought to school?

Oh idk, I don’t remember ever bring crayons to school.

6. Colored Pencils: What’s your favorite color?

Most shades of blue, black, and purple.

7. Erasers: What’s one mistake from the past that you’d like to erase?

I don’t want to erase any particular act, but I would love to have been able to erase my social anxiety in high school. Constant worry about what everyone’s thinking was a nightmare, and looking back on it all now, it just wasn’t worth the stress.

8: Glue: Which is better - stick or liquid bottle, and why?

Liquid bottles always worked better for me.

9. Scissors: Who was the last person you cut out of your life, and why?

A very good friend who was very bad for my mental health, and I don’t think I was good for hers either. We were fighting non-stop, stuck in this weird friends-but-maybe-something-more situation, until I realized it’s stupid and exhausting to continue that way. That being said, cutting her out was one of the more difficult things I’ve done in my life.

10. Notebook: Were you more comfortable using a separate notebook for each subject, or did you use one notebook for multiple different subjects?

I had separate notebooks for each subject until I came to uni. Then it was all in one.

11. Binder: Did you buy plain-colored binders, or ones that had pictures/characters on them?

Definitely with pictures or characters.

12. Folders: What was the one color folder that you were expected to have but could never find in the store?

Uhh, I have no clue, it’s not like anyone ever expected me to have any particular folders.

13. Clipboard: Did your teacher ever require you to use a clipboard as an alternative to your desk’s hard surface?

Nope.

14. Stapler: Have you ever accidentally stapled yourself before?

Lol it sounds like something that would happen to me, but no. Probably because I didn’t use staplers very much.

15. Sharpener: Did you used to like to sharpen pencils (especially colored ones) at both ends?

Oh I definitely did.

16. Hole-Puncher:  Do you prefer the 1-hole punch or the 3-hole punch one?

Tbh, no preference?

17. Sticky Notes: Do you prefer plain yellow Post-Its, or all different colors?

Different colours!

18. Index Cards: Did you study a lot or just try your best on the day of a test?

I studied, I was a pretty good student.

19. Paper Clips: How often during the school day were you unable to hold yourself together? What about school would make you upset?

I just hated my class and the general vibe of high school. And people often said high school days would be the best time of my life, which made me pretty miserable, because, you know, fuck me then. Luckily, that’s 100% not true; uni was around 1000 times better than high school in every possible way.

20. Reinforcements: Who were your friends throughout your years of school?

I had a little group of friends, but I’m friends with only one girl out of the six now. They never felt like real friends to me, and by the time we were seniors, they pretty much excluded me and the other friend from the group. So, when high school ended, I changed my phone number and didn’t bother contacting any of them later on. 

21. Dividers: Did you have separate binders for each subject, or use dividers in one large binder?

I didn’t use binders regularly.

22. Supply Box: Do you prefer a supply box or a pencil case? Why?

Pencil case, just because that’s what I used to carry to school.

23. Book Covers: Did you buy the colorful stretchy patterned kind, or cover your books with a brown paper grocery bag?

I only used these very early in elementary school, and I always had the patterned ones.

24. Backpack: Did you ever use a rolling backpack before?

Nope.

25. Lunch Box::What was the best snack to be traded at lunch?

Lol we didn’t actually have lunch at school. Our parents would give us some cash and then we could buy a sandwich from a shop near the school or something else to snack on. We never had a proper cafeteria, and our “lunch time” was only 15-20 minutes.

26: Ruler: How tall are you?

163 cm.

27: Paper: How long is the longest paper you’ve ever had to write?

Idk, I wrote a lot of long papers. My master thesis might have been the longest one, but I can’t look for it now to check how long it was.

[parkpavilion]

Scriptor Honoratus Senex

How many writers, living or dead, have had an active, acclaimed publishing career that extends for almost seven decades? The number might be as low as one, but fortunately that one is still with us, still writing and still publishing. John McPhee is the cream of the crop where literary non-fiction is concerned, having won almost every award possible for his work, including the Pulitzer Prize. He’s also been a mentor to multiple generations of younger writers who themselves have become award-winners, thanks to his life-long connection to Princeton University. 

His most recent book, Tabula Rasa, is his 32nd (discounting many other recompilations of his work), and it chronicles many (though hopefully not all) of his writing projects that did not turn into finished, full-length products. As soon as I heard about its imminent release, I knew it would be the subject of intense discussion between me and another major McPhee fan, writer and friend of Madison Books Matthew Fleagle. Our conversation about the book (as much of it as I thought blog readers would tolerate, anyway) is below.

--James

—————————————————

James: The more love you feel, the greater the risk of heartbreak. Which is why I was both eager and hesitant to read Tabula Rasa. Maybe you felt the same way? Our love for John McPhee is well documented and well earned–the man has won the Pulitzer Prize, published more than thirty books, and written millions of words, not one of which was placed on paper without the utmost care. But the man is 92, and understandably isn’t undertaking projects as grand or ambitious as he once did. Still, when I read that in his new work he “looks back at his career from the vantage point of his desk drawer, reflecting wryly upon projects he once planned to do but never got around to,” I worried (heck, I assumed) that this would be a binful of substandard pencil shavings. Keeping the old man busy and helping him clear some long-accumulated clutter is the least we can do after all he’s given us, right? Those were my thoughts after obliging another of our mutual nonagenarian faves, John Barth, with a read of his most recent collection. Rueful reminiscence and mild disappointment was not what I got from Tabula Rasa, though. McPhee hasn’t played all his cards yet, and has some tricks remaining.

Matt: I was certainly eager. If I had thought to be worried going in, I'd have dropped that anxiety pretty toot sweet. As always, McPhee roped me in right away. I happen to be working my way through a box of old letters from the previous two generations of my dad’s family to determine what should be done with them (the letters) and so McPhee’s mechanism of the “letter in response to a daughter" as an opening to this journey through his file cabinet of writing project ideas– “Dear Jenny: I didn’t go there with Tim and Wendy. We drove from France straight to northern Portugal . . .” –quite grabbed my attention. Once lasso’d, I was fully wrangled by the third piece’s conceit of the unfinishable project as a means of extending an old man’s life. As you know, that’s the sort of thing I stew on while doing dishes, weeding or performing really any activity that requires me to respire but not necessarily think much about what I’m doing. So I was immediately engrossed.

I kept being startled at first by the brevity of these works. This book seems a little like a printed blog. The pieces are about that long and like good blog posts, they just get you fully interested and then they end, leaving you wishing for more, or in my case propelling me on to the next one. McPhee binging. Most of them end abruptly but they end elegantly, often with a zinger quote. But there is clearly much more in most of these pieces that could be researched and presented, so it's easy to see why McPhee had been holding onto them. I say most, not all, but we'll get to that. How about you? Did you find these stories satisfying though they were such short outings?

James: Very. That’s the most invigorating aspect of this book–even in the twilight of his career, there’s novelty. He made his bones with a kind of writing that’s been described (in a phrase I love and have quoted before) as “requiring a certain readerly patience.” Meticulous descriptions of people and place, methodical accumulation of information, powerful conclusions built with time and pages  . . . in McPhee’s house there are many mansions, and you don’t hurry through them. But in Tabula Rasa he’s quicker, lighter, and snappier. The entries here aren’t truncated versions of his older essays, they have a form of their own, and he’s as dextrous with it as he has been in his more expansive books.

With that dexterity, we get the unexpected zingers you mentioned. Who knew McPhee could throw off punchlines like Henny Youngman? The bit about environmental activist Edward Abbey is the best example, I think. What a putdown. I guess Abbey gets credit for the remark, but McPhee knows exactly how to structure the anecdote for full effect. I hadn’t thought about Abbey for years, but it made me want to read more about him. Sounds like you felt the same way about most of the subjects, but you mentioned some exceptions? 

Matt: I did, but I only meant that I suspect some of these stories were never intended to be longer. McPhee introduces or extraduces a lot of these pieces with notes about having intended to do a full treatment of the subject and why he never did (profiles of Meredith Willson or of his mother, Mary, for instance, or explorations of Bing cherries or river deltas), but others are little anecdotes standing on their own feet, proffered without a word about any erstwhile plans for them. “Outcroppings of Washington Road'' is one such; it’s just a little story about a number of different things, and the piece can be said to be loosely wrapped around McPhee’s magnum opus, Annals of the Former World, which is a project he most definitely did get around to. “Outcroppings'' is in my view the perfect little McPhegian outing–it's like a canoe trip among tall reeds; there's a beginning, a sudden 90-degree turn, an apparent dead end and restart that makes you wonder where the old man is going, then an unexpected twist, and a final rejoining of the main stream as the ideas come braiding together at the end. McPhee's mastery of structure and timing, as you say, is never more evident than in these snack-sized pieces.

And I don't mind at all the professor just remembering out loud. To pursue the metaphor, I can imagine sitting in a slowly drifting canoe with the author’s voice behind me (he would be the aft paddle, naturally) occasionally breaking a mosquito’d stillness with one of these little stories, each a delightful non sequitur from the one before.

James: The image of this author as an excursion guide is perfect, first because he’s spent so much time being in and writing about America’s still-wild lands, and second because his work always gives the impression that you’re accompanying him on a journey. He’s a wise cicerone of the great outdoors who shares knowledge as well as the experience of obtaining it.

Hmm, the praise is getting a little treacly. Is there some reservation you want to express, lest we sound too sycophantic? 

Matt: McPhee can occasionally pitch low and inside. I haven’t yet fully forgiven him for expecting me to agree that no one knows or cares who Wilford Brimley is while simultaneously tossing off references to people I’d never heard of, undermining his own point that you shouldn’t make references in your work to people or things your readers have never heard of. That was a different book, but “points of reference” can still be an issue for me. I spent the whole of this book’s “Time-Out on the Floor” chapter waiting for him to explain to me what time-out on the floor meant, which he never did. I got an idea by the end, but let’s just say readers who follow college athletics or were reared or schooled in the East will have a slight advantage when sports is the topic or when Princeton names are dropping. A significant number of these pieces revolve around athletes, professors, administrators and other figures from McPhee's long career as an educator and even longer life as a sports fan. Still, McPhee usually makes quick work of getting the reader up to speed, and I found myself invested in every story even when I felt some initial disorientation.

I'd like to mention some highlights that I particularly enjoyed but I'm hogging the page and we may be running out of room, so you first. Besides the Edward Abbey coup you mentioned, what were some of your favorite moments?

James: You’ve cited one already. As a Northwesterner, I felt a swell of pride when I ran across “Bourbon and Bing Cherries.” Plenty of good stuff in there about McPhee’s edible and potable interests, but the fact that the most popular cherry cultivar in America was named after the Chinese foreman of an experimental orchard in Oregon, and was so labeled in the 1870s, just as America was gearing up for the racist Chinese Exclusion Act, is the most compelling part. Reminds me of how Seattle’s white founders were able to stretch their imaginations far enough to respect and name their city after an indigenous leader. I was also fond of the productively rambling longer pieces, including “Sloop to Gibraltar” with its portrait of the ancient merchant mariner Captain Washburn, and “The Dutch Ship Tyger,” which links a 17th-century trading vessel, future senator and former basketball player Bill Bradley, and the start of McPhee’s career with The New Yorker. But enough of that; hit me with your highlights.

Matt: So many, but off the top of the old bean:

"December 19, 1943” –It's difficult to say anything about this piece that isn’t a spoiler, except that McPhee doesn’t take this story in the direction that he could have taken it and might even have been expected to take it, but takes it somewhere else, which is why he’s John McPhee and the rest of us are not. 

“Ray Brock” –This is one of those delightful little bundles of facts that make you think you know something, but McPhee never explicitly makes the call. This story is about both Ray Brock and Ernest Hemingway, but when it’s about which is the question and he doesn’t directly answer it, only gives us a fact that pushes us toward a certain conclusion. 

"Joseph Henry House" –This is a great collection of little scenes set in the eponymous house, just the thing I like. Within a few sentences McPhee moves from architectural history to an intimate little memory and then to the large and sweeping thought of Princeton being visited and honored by colleges hundreds and hundreds of years older than itself. In this piece and several others, McPhee doesn’t seem to be trying to keep the ideas linked and tightly controlled; they seem to be like spirals, like flowers opening or like fireworks exploding.

"Walking the Province Line" –Out of nowhere, this! It’s a longer piece, and next to these little tarns it feels like one of McPhee’s oceans. One wonders as one is reading it why it’s in this book of unborn pieces, because it feels dense and researched. I was all over maps following this one, the way I follow Robert MacFarlane when he goes a-walkin’.

I'd say the same about "La Torre Pendente," which feels a little more like a “normal” McPhee piece. Of course it’s much shorter, but the treatment seems to be a longer look. More research was done, most of it long ago. The details all seem to be there. This one, like so many in Tabula Rasa, makes me imagine McPhee as a Texan defending the Alamo, opening up one musty manila folder after another, loading everything into the chamber each time, all the gunpowder, all the details, whether it is much or little, and pulling the trigger. For an old McPhee fan, there are very few misfires here.

James: A martial metaphor fitting for a writer who has long pursued his craft with military discipline, here commanding squads and platoons instead of his usual brigades and divisions. Although that sounds darker than I intended. Reading this collection is fun, as if McPhee is letting us play with a nice set of vintage toy soldiers.

We’ve pretty well established how rewarding Tabula Rasa is for his established fans (McPhegians, you called us earlier, which I much prefer to an appellation I’ve seen elsewhere, McPhinos), but as a bookseller, I have to consider how it comes across to someone for whom it really is a blank slate. I’m confident that utter neophytes (McPhledglings?) will be entranced by it. Each bite-sized chapter is tremendously satisfying, yet even devouring them all at once leaves one hungry for dessert. I’m not sure how he pulls off this rock-skipping magic, making weighty substance move with light and airy charm, but it must have something to do with the way time has distilled his vast experience into a potent, efficient brevity. A good lesson for us–as enjoyable as this conversation is, we should probably suspend it to give people a chance to read Tabula Rasa instead of our yammering.

Matt: Yup. It’s all in his wrist.

[shelbgrey]

Love Story(Jackson Avery X reader)

Paring: Jackson x Sloan!Reader

Summary: Jackson's mother is paying him and Seattle grace a visit. Y/n also has to meet her boyfriend's mother dispite her fears of Catherine's disapproval.

Warrings: none. Catherine talks trash a bit but that's all

Greys MasterList

You really don't know what someone else is going through till you walk in their shoes. Y/n was a simple person. She didn’t really care to become a top tear or known person in the surgical world, she just wanted to help people. That's what made her different from the other residents and her friends. She was also different from her older brother Mark. While he worked hard to make himself big in the plastics world she planted her roots in the OBGYN world. She liked helping babies. They were pure and innocent in her eyes, she also wanted to help mothers. It was a coping mechanism for her because she didn't have a mom to call her own…like ever, Mark raised her and so did Derek’s mother.

(1st pov)

Me and Jackson were both still young in both the medical and mentally when we both met. We were also expected to be sworn enemies the moment his hospital merged with mine. When he first joined my friends looked down upon him and his friends. To Mer and the others the Mercy westerns were invaders in orange scrubs. They weren't to me….well Charels Percy and the Reed girl maybe.

The day Jackson got paired up with me was quite impressed. Not with his looks or the fact he was an Avery but because of his skill set. I also felt bad about the presser that was clearly on his shoulders. He stood there carrying the Avery name expecting the best. I grew a soft spot and I started showing the respect he deserved.

Since this is our story I might add the first thing I noticed about him was his eyes. He had beautiful eyes. And his smile…when he smiled i couldn't help but smile too, he had that effect on me and everyone else seemed to notice the effect we had on each other…everyone except us at the time. At the time not too many people didn’t want to believe it and even tried to sabotage it at times.

Mark and Derek were the first to accept it, them being my brother and best friend why wouldn't they. The two were also the first to see me have my little freak out about a certain woman coming to visit the hospital. The night Jackson told me his mother was coming to the hospital I didn't sleep the rest of the night, I just couldn't. I thought about the disappointment on her face when she was the type of girl Jackson chose to be with. I was smart and pretty, yes, but I didn't come from a wealthy family like Jackson did and I didn't have a last name everyone knew. I also wasn’t obsessed with winning a Harper Avrey award like most doctors my age. I kept asking myself ‘what if she hates me?’ I didn't dare ask Jackson that because I knew he’d just tell me what I wanted to hear despite his fear of his overbearing mothers arrival.

The day of Catherine Fox’s arrival I was quieter than usual. Jackson noticed first as I got ready. He even questioned why I was doing my hair and make-up differently. My hair was usually in a pony-tail but today it was down and slightly curled. When we got to the hospital Jackson kissed me good-bey once the elevator opened and we parted ways.

As the day went on I successfully avoided her. But I also hadn’t seen Jackson all day, which probably meant Catherine found him and is dragging him around despite his pleas of being left alone. I was quietly doing charts at a nurses station when Mark came up to me with a confused face.

“What did you do to your hair?” he asked. I sighed and started nibbling on my pencil, a nervous habit I had since the 2nd grade.

“Jackson’s mother is here” Mark rolled his eyes.

“So I've seen, she was quick to say Jackson was wasting his time in plastics” Mark sighed. I knew Catherine’s snide commits about the Plastics industry might have gotten to him a bit. Some people miss the fact that my brother does more than just face lifts and boob jobs.

“I haven’t run into her yet…” I said carefully not wanting to jinx myself. It's not that i didn;t want to met my boyfriends mother, I just kept imaging the worst when she meets me.

🔺🔹🔻🔹🔺🔹🔻🔹🔺

“You want to scrub in on a surgery? Mark said you needed something to do” Derek said coming up to me and handed me a chart with a smile. Derek and I are thick as thieves. Don't tell Mark but me and him have always been a bit closer.

The patient would be needing a OBGYN on stand by(meaning me) and a neurosurgeon both. The mother had been in a car crash and had suffered a brain bleed while being 7 months pregnant.

“Sure I’m not busy” Derek smiled and we both headed towards OR3. We scrubbed in and I tied my Ravenclaw scrub cap on while Derek grabbed his furry boat one.

Not long into the surgery the women I've been trying to avoid joined our little surgery with Bailey. Me and Derek shared a quick glance as Cathrine put on a pair of gloves. “I heard about this poor girl and I had to see if you needed a hand.”

Derek being the head surgeon of this surgery he looked up then nodded. “Sure, why not”

Cathrine nodded and put a mask on. She unknowingly chose her spot next to me. I froze up slightly as I watched the fetal monitor for the unborn baby.

(3rd pov)

Since filled the OR except for Derek’s occasionally mumbling and the beeping of the heart monitor. Breaking the silence Bailey looked among the other doctors and spoke. “Does anyone know about her husband?”

y/n looked up from the fetal monitor and spoke. “We're trying to contacted him now, we haven't had an answer for over an hour”

The doctors later found out the woman was divorced and the father of the unborn child couldn't care less. With Derek being the family man he was, it didn't set right. y/n looked at the sonogram of the baby sadly knowing what it's like not to have a dad around.

Bailey sighed. “I couldn't imagine being left by the one person i thought loved me”

Catherine was next to chime in. “it's a shame but sadly not all relationships last forever” she glanced around again and continued. “Are you married, Dr. Shepherd?”

Derek glanced up. “Yes I am” he smiled through his mask at the thought of Meredith.

Somehow the conversation shifted back to Catherine and she brought up Jackson and his girl. She was unknown to the mother and had no idea y/n was standing next to her. All she was to Catherine was a resident surgeon in a ravenclaw scrub cap.

“I'm not saying love is a waste of time but I have yet to meet this girl my son seems to be so infatuated with…” Catherine said, making Derek and Bailey both look at y/n.

“Dr. Sloan is a good surgeon…Avery and her make a good coupe” Bokie smiled through her mask as she handed Derek another tool. y/n smiled softly at the older women but not ready to introduce herself to her possible future mother-in-law.

Catherine raised her eyebrows, surprised at the last name the girl shared with another certain plastic surgeon. “Oh she's a sloan” she didn’t mean to sound the way she did, we’ll give the benefit of a doubt but she sounds annoyed and possibly disappointed.

“Can only imagine what she’s like,” Catherine continued. Derek and Bailey shared glances as y/n kept silent. While Catherine believed Jackson had more potential than just plastics her mind geared towards the thoughts and feeling that y/n was a distraction for Jackson and someone who convinced him to go into plastics. The last one may be true but she only supported jackson on what HE wanted to do.

Derek knew y/n wouldn’t speak up and he wasn't gonna stand by while a woman who he did respect tarnished his best friend's names. “y/n is en excellent surgeon and trust me your son and her are meant to be”

Catherine scoffed at that. “All due respect dr. shepherd i think jackson is a bit too naive and i believe that she maybe a distraction”

Distraction…is that all she saw her as? y/n thought for a moment and all the old insecurities came flooding back into her mind. y/n looked back at the fetal monitor gulping nervously. She started tapping her foot as the anxiety started to get to her.

“love blinds us” she said like she was speaking from experience.

Derek sighed in frustration and y/n quickly shook her head to shut him up. He took a glance at their patient then back at y/n. “How’s the baby doing doc?” he repreced from saying her name but it was safe to say he was talking to her.

She looked up and adjusted her ravenclaw scrub cap. “B-baby’s heart is getting stronger by the minute.” she stuttered.

As they continued Jackson walked into the gallery to see what his girl was doing. He smiled happily at her as she continued to watch the baby’s heartbeat. I didn’t seem like much but he was always proud and would point out the talented OBGYN he got to call his girlfriend. Him being up there was unknown to both her and his mother. What was unknown to him was the comments his mother was throwing to the girl she didn’t even know was there.

Jackson then frowned when he saw his mother down there too. She had pestered him most of the morning and he feared she was doing the same to y/n before he could even introduce her to Catherin.

Derek just shook his head as he listened to Cathrine harmless but also off hand commits about Jackson and the relationship that probably won't last. Her words not anyone else's.

After the successful surgery was over y/n delivered the baby and took the little girl to the nursery while Derek and bailey closed up. y/n smiled softly as she cleaned and dressed the new life and put her in the nursery with the rest of the babies. After she was one she watched the baby through the nursery window for precaution.

“Hey baby” Jackson whispered and wrapped his arms around her from behind. She sighed and rested the back of her head on his shoulder while rubbing the muscular arms that were around her.

“How’s the baby?” he asked, looking over her shoulder through the window. y/n smiled and pointed out the baby. “Pretty strong for a 7th month old…she’s right there” she chuckled.

Jackson smiled and kissed the side of her head. “Did my mother play nice?” he asked. Her mood quickly changed and it didn’t go unnoticed by Jackson. Jackon sighed and turned her around to face him.

“What did she say?” he asked, placing his hands on her shoulders. She didn’t meet his eyes and looked everywhere except for him. “N/n?”

“She didn’t even know i was in there…but i guess she already a had a pretty good idea of who i was” she knew if she told him anything more he’d only get more pissed and the last thing she wanted to do was break Jackson’s relationship with his mother.

Jackson took a deep breath and looked down. “I'm sorry-” y/n started but Jackson cut her off with a soft kiss. He held her face in his hands and kissed the part of her forehead that was still coerced by her scrub cap.

“I don't care what my mother thinks, I love you and that's what matters” he spoke softly.

From afar Cathrine was walking alone till she stopped suddenly at the sight of her son with a girl. Not just any girl, it was the girl with the ravenclaw scrub cap that was with her in surgery. She quickly hid behind the corner and peaked behind it just as Jackson gave her a kiss goodbye.

She sighed realizing the things she said in front of her. She watched her son leave and y/n started to walk towards her direction and that's when Catherine hid around the corner letting y/n pass. As y/n stood at the nurses station filling out a chart for the baby girl Cathrine approached her.

“Hello y/n” she said softly. y/n gulped and awkwardly smiled.

“Oh hey Dr. Avery, how are you?” Catherine shook her head with apologetic look.

“Dear call me Cathrine and I want to apologize for my actions” she put her hand on y/n’s shoulder and smiled. “Why don't we start over hm? Clean slate”

y/n nodded and smiled. “Sure, i’d love that”

Catherine nodded. “If it's alright with you i’d like to take you and Jackson out to dinner tonight…I'd like to get to know you better” y/n nodded with a smile still slightly afraid of her disapproval. She nodded and told her she’d pass the message to Jackson.

🔺🔹🔻🔹🔺🔹🔻🔹🔺

Later that night y/n stood outside under the entrance arch sheltering herself from the rain. The sound calmed her as she leaned against the was waiting for jackson.

“Hey beautiful” Jackson smiled and leaned against the wall next to her watching the rain fall. y/n smiled and rested her head on his shoulder.

“You nervous?” he asked, referring to the dinner they were supposed to attend with his mother.

“Kinda, are you?” she asked. Jackson gave her a serious expression. “I'm not, no matter what she think won't change anything between us”

She smiled lovingly at him then looked back at the rain until Jackson tugged her arm pulling her towards the rain. She giggled. “What are you doing?”

He pulled her into the partly empty parking lot and twirled her around in the rain. “We're dancing it out, come on” he laughed. She laughed and danced along with him as the rain fell around them.

She danced with him a little longer till she bumped into his chest, shivering. Jackson chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Okay, come on, you're shivering” he pulled her into his car and turned up the heat. Silence fell until they looked at each other. Both in their Navy scrubs soaking wet. They burst out laughing savoring the moment.

“Well let's go get some dinner” he said, letting his laughter die down. y/n’s eyes widened.

“Jacks, I can't meet your mother like this! I smell like rain and hospital” y/n slightly laughed.

Jackson kept one hand on the wheel and sniffed the inside of his elbow. He looked at his girlfriend and shrugged. “I do too”

y/n sighed and rolled her eyes with a smile. “Trying to prove a point or something? I want to at least look decent”

Jackson shrugged and placed her hand on her knee. “Well, we're doctors, she'll understand,” he said simply. He simply didn’t care about their appearance at this point. Yes he does want his mother to like y/n but then angina he doesn't need her approved. Hell love y/n no matter what anyone else says. But he also wanted his mother to see exactly who she is. The kind and laidback girl he fell in love with and them going to dinner in the condition they were in showed that.

[cerisemorte]

“Apologize” Chris Motionless/Cerulli x Reader (fluff, one shot)

Helloo! I’m back with something extra sappy today. I thought I’d write about Chris comforting you when anxiety gets the better of you and being loving. Feel free to give me any requests or ideas!

*No smut or anything triggering in this story.

You let out a rueful sigh, the stuttered rigid tics of your mechanical pencil sound in your room amongst other things; the clock ticking, rain pattering on your window pane, the gusty dry heat from the furnace, it was almost too much. Your stress feels like an already full glass overflowing with more responsibilities. How much more could you take? You wanted a hobby since you recently graduated from university after trying many new things but left them at the drop of a hat. Knitting was too time consuming, cooking meant you had to stand in one place for too long with your aching back, and instruments were too difficult to learn when you’re impatient so you settle on writing - but it doesn’t seem to be going as smooth as you would hope. Nothing seems to be coming to mind no matter how hard you try, there’s just no substance you find suitable to write about and the disorderly noises in the house were of no help.

You put your head in your hands, smearing them down your face in frustration, elbows digging into the top of your desk. You flick the disobedient pencil away for constantly rolling from its spot and attack the open journal beside it with a swift smack.

“Why isn’t anything working?” you almost exclaim in a bout of annoyance.

There’s a soft trudge through the ringlet carpet, sizable hands gingerly landing on your tensed shoulders, “what isn’t working?”

You jump slightly, retiring your pitiful position of stress to turn towards the voice. It’s Chris, peering over your short build to the mess you’d made on your once orderly desk. He offers a loving squeeze, then stooping a little lower to kiss your forehead. It’s a nice sentiment after struggling to feel any kind of comfort, leaning into his charming touch. His milky skin close to yours and offering a warm buzzing sensation against your own skin.

“It’s uh nothing. Really, it’s nothing.” you laugh with a bit of daze, shaking your head in your own defeat. It sounded silly to admit to someone, who was constantly busy with their own sort of hobby, that you couldn’t stand your new distraction because there was too much noise. It sounded weird to someone who was encapsulated by noise for most of their life, if not all of it. Instead you watch him as he situates in your bed and making himself comfortable on your newly made comforter. He enjoyed it when the furnace wasn’t boiling him at night and your body wasn’t adding to the searing heat.

“I mean, I could graduate a big school but I can’t write a stupid story?” you hop into bed with him, making yourself a nook under his colorful arm. Before settling in he rubs his furrowed brows, laughing, “well I can’t say those two things are anything… similar?”

“Oh my god.” you groan into his shirt, feeling helpless. Since graduating it’s been tough finding a job. There were plenty of places hiring in your field, that wasn’t the problem, it was something deeper in your heart. You couldn’t find a job because you were afraid of missing out on everything. Everything such as seeing Chris and the band at their shows when you come with them, being home for the times you didn’t join them and waiting for him to return, or times like this when you both had nothing better to do than enjoy one another. It was almost paralyzing to think of it in greater detail. You were afraid that having a life of your own would make him eventually turn away from you. Would he want someone who could support themselves and not have a job simultaneously? Would you not be available enough to him if you did find one? So you thought occupying yourself with a hobby in the meantime would make up for it, but it wasn’t working. There were so many things mentally that blocked you from forming a decent thought. You let a tear slip from your eyes, then a few more. Your shoulders shuddered slightly as you were conscious of yourself being upset. You really didn’t want to ruin an evening of laying around with being anxious.

Although, it was already too late. While you were being buried alive by your own intrusive thoughts he had noticed the shift. He carefully slid down the comforter to your height, bringing your body in to where your head rested under his chin and held your back with one hand, head in another. Chris was so very caring when it came to you. He never had such a sweet spot for someone before and made it very clear to you. He almost didn’t have to explain it I’m pretty words, you could feel it, you could see it very plain. That didn’t stop him from placing equivocal professions of his love to you in some of his songs. You felt so much tenderness from him and you knew those thoughts were almost laughable, but they were genuine worries.

“What is it?” he murmured.

You bid no reply, only forcing yourself further into his embrace.

“You’re so upset,” Chris sounded on the verge of panic, so concerned for your sudden change in demeanor, “what’s bothering you, my love?”

“I can’t Chris,” you wept, sniffling before taking in a chalky breath, “I can’t tell you. It’s so stupid but it’s so real… so very real. I just feel pathetic. You’re so much more than I am. You’re all I could be, and I’m just all you ever could be, just a mess. That’s all.”

Your lament caused him to tense up for a moment. He kissed the top of your head before trailing them down to your tear coated face, his palms now holding both sides of your face. Wiping the stray tears from your eyes with the pads of his thumbs, Chris was leaning his forehead to yours. You both stayed still for a moment, your breath stuttering and his nearly inaudible.

“You think so much of me. You think lowly of yourself, thinking that you’re what rock bottom looks like,” he pushes the small of your back in a hug, “you’re all I could ever want, and all I could ever want to be. I fell in love with the person who holds their heart out so vulnerably to me, your smarts, your wit.”

Chris seems choked for a moment.

“In another life I would pick you from a crowd at any moment. I’ll always remember you, all of you. I’d feel your love from a mile away. Do you think I wouldn’t?”

You confess that you’re afraid of him leaving, possibly finding more in someone else. You feel guilty for admitting it after him spilling his heart to you but keeping it in would only cause you to shatter entirely. Not that Chris would ever judge you or be irritated over your insecurities, that you know, but what if the patience isn’t for you? He rolls the two of you over, hovering over your meek body, gliding your hands together to clasp fingers. He looks down at you lovingly, ivory skin prominent in comparison to yours, except for the miles of color that’s been added to his flesh. Pairs of eyes flickering in a dance with one another, glossy and raw. You offer an “I’m sorry,” as it’s all you can muster.

“I’ll take you to my grave, I’ll take you to whatever is after this life, I’m keeping you now and forever,” he kisses your soaked cheeks, using the pad of his hand to remove the stained tears, “I love you more than anything.”

Steadfast he explains that no matter your situations, there won’t be a time that you will be left behind. The motion of his devotedness gives you the much needed reassurance. It’s a struggle giving the darker pieces of your mind to someone else, especially when you love them so dearly but fear has a tighter grip. Chris continues to keep himself close to you, always holding you in one way or another, never leaving your side in the bed until he knows you’re okay with moving. He brushes his fingers through your hair that makes a comforting audible sound in your ear, rubbing your aching head. The moment is paused when your black cat makes a hearty trill, jumping up to nuzzle the two of you, causing a relieved laugh to erupt.

“Even Binx isn’t interested in leaving you alone,” he laughs, pulling you both up to sit and greet the warm feline.

“I think he wants food.” you chuckle.

“There’s something to keep the both of us busy, our full time job,” Chris starts to laugh as he scratches under Binx’s chin, “taking care of our little family.”

You look at the man beside you, admiring him as he’s lost in his own activity. There are so many sweet memories between the both of you. The fear of missing out could never be permanent because he makes so much time for the love of his life. Lost in gazing, he turns to you with a shy smile, as if he has something on his mind.

“What?” you ask, pulling your sleeves over your hands, twiddling your fingers.

“Would it put your mind at ease and solidify what I said, or freak you out, if I said I’d like an addition to our family some day? No matter what our job is.” he extends his hand to yours.

Maybe those haunting thoughts were just in passing. It seems as though your hobby isn’t so little, and it is the perfect job; loving him so sweetly as he does for you, even in another life.

[luthiest]

can you do a stationary/drafting tool tour some time? I love your posts! :)

stationary, i can do !

drafting is a little more questionable because, well.. we don’t do a TON of drafting in violin making? the most i’ve done so far is use squares/protractors/compasses to make templates, but once i finish this instrument i can probably do an update of all the templates and drafting tools used to make them!

anyways, here’s my current stationary lineup:

i have a moleskine notebook (black leather), a midori md notebook (cream), and a rhodia notepad (black staplebound pad). they’re all a5 and 5x5 dot grids, which means there are 5 grid squares per inch or 2 grid squares per cm

the moleskine, i use as a formal lab book/diary for violin making. i hate the paper, but i like that the outside is durable and it can take a little throwing around the bench

the midori md is my personal notebook. i don’t like using it around my bench just because of how quickly it starts to look worn on the outside even with the plastic cover, but the paper is great and it’s lovely for journaling/drawing/keeping an agenda

the rhodia dot pad, i use for taking rough notes. the paper quality is great, so i don’t have to be as careful about smearing when i’m jotting stuff down quickly in pen, and it’s perforated at the top. i dont love how bright white the paper is—the moleskine and midori are both a creamy off-white color—but everything else about it serves my purposes to a tee

i have an a5 6 ring binder that i fill with that same 5x5 size dot grid loose leaf sheets, which is where i like to keep my notes on tool making/maintenance, since i’ll probably update them over time as i learn what works for me. the binder is from a 3 pack on amazon, same with the loose leaf paper, but i think muji has the same stuff.

the lovely white, almost lavender post it notes are my all time favorite color for stickies !!!! i bought an 8 pack in high school and have not been able to find them since. it’s pretty tragic. the brown ones are from muji though, and i like the size even if they aren’t super sticky.

the eraser i use is a milan 430 (??) it’s green and i like green and it erases, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

the ruler is a starrett c635 tempered steel w the cm/mm on one side and cm/0.5mm on the other. i didn’t pick this one out, but my teacher did and i’ve gotta agree w him, the weight and size of it really helps get accurate lines and distances.

the writing utensils from left to right are:

dixon ticonderoga pencil hb no. 2

staedler pencil 4b

uni kura toga mechanical pencil 0.5mm (the lead rotates as you write, so you get a really nice, consistent nib that breaks less !!)

muji white pen body with black 0.38mm ink refill

muji pen dark blue 0.38mm

sakura pigma brush tip archival ink pen

staedler triplus fineliner from the neon set (yes, i have tried the stabilo fineliners, no i do not like them. the tips are like.. cylindrical? so if you write at an angle, like most people, you’ll get inconsistent lines as you change direction. they’re cute to look at but not great to write with)

mildliner light grey highlighter

that about covers it? i do have a pilot .38mm pen [edit: pentel energel 0.3mm needle tip] that doesn’t smear as much as the muji pens, [but i don't like how the shape of the pen affects my handwriting] which i’ll add an edit for when i get home since i don’t carry them w me.. but yeah ! thanks for asking me, i love talking about stationary lolol

[nanatsumu]

HIGH SCHOOL!SUKUNA x F!READER

thinking about bad boy itadori sukuna who all the kids at school try to steer clear from because they know he’s bad news and if you get involved with him then you’re bound to be tied with bad luck for as long as he lives. well, that is everyone except for the president of the student council who so happens to be his childhood best friend turned lover.

this is mostly written for my own self indulgence and to project my fantasies of having a boyfriend onto sukuna but feel free to treat this as any other headcanon! ps i am pretty sure canon sukuna would kill a baby at any given situation, but this is going to be a revamped version of sukuna written by yours truly ;) and its a high school au so sukuna won’t be a complete menace to society and will actually have a heart heh

also i didn’t realize how long this was going to be??? this is kind of all over place too because i just wanted to throw all of my thoughts onto this post so there might be some plot holes in this LOL

i feel like sukuna would be the type of bad boy who isn’t necessarily a bad boy but everyone at school just paints him as some kind of delinquent because of all the tattoos and piercings he has.

he actually shows up to school more often than you think he would (but that’s only because you’re in most of his classes so long story short: you’re his only motivation for attending class)

“forgets” to bring his work books to class more than usual (in reality he does this on purpose so he has an excuse to be near you) so he requests to sit next to you the entire class period so he can share with you for the meantime but whenever the teachers not looking he’ll go back to admiring your face.

his older twin brother, itadori yuji, is very fond of you since you three grew up together and you both had your chances of being a victim to his antics!

exhibit a: in middle school when you and yuji were watching tv together, the show you two were watching would keep switching to some wrestling match broadcasting on a sports channel and no matter how many times you turned the tv on and off, it just would not stop. but it wasn’t until you heard snickering from the kitchen that you realized sukuna had a spare remote and was the mastermind behind the whole thing.

exhibit b: sukuna and yuji’s mom was the owner of a bakery so every now and then she would have either one of the twins come deliver freshly baked pastries to your household! oh how wrong was she to trust her youngest. sukuna was now a freshman in high school, and by now you would’ve thought that sukuna would have grown out of his childish phase, but WRONG! sukuna was still a menace in your life even past childhood. so when you bit into one of the macaroons, instead of being hit with the overwhelming taste of [favorite flavor], all you could feel was the burning sensation of wasabi kicking into your tastebuds.

yeah after the whole wasabi macaroon freak accident, you stopped accepting everything sukuna offered to you and opted to only eating pastries out of the boxes that yuji delivered to you. (sukuna eventually caught onto this and was just TEENSY bit upset but he would rather down a whole tube of wasabi than to tell you upfront)

now, how did you two even end up dating??? oh boy now that is a story

you see, yours and sukuna’s dynamic growing up was similar to that of tom and jerry’s— you being jerry and sukuna being 10x worse than tom of course

but it wasn’t until a confession after school behind the cherry blossom tree that was known for bringing good luck to successful confessions that sukuna finally realized that maybe he really did like you just a little lot bit

sukuna overheard the boy who was planning on confessing to you talking to his friend group about how “sweet and caring” you are (although sukuna could argue otherwise, you were a little brat. *LIKE HELLO?!&:&:& YOU WEREN’T THE ONE WHO ATE A MACAROON FILLED WASABI**) and obviously his ears perked up at the mention of your name. he grew up with you after all so naturally he would be interested in a conversation that revolved around you.

but then the boys started going on about how “you looked like an easy catch” and how “your body was bangin’!” yeah no, that’s where he drew the line. sure sukuna was an ass and talked shit about you most of the time (in his defense it wasn’t like he was doing it behind your back) but if he ever caught someone else talking about you like that then he would be sure to give them a hard time.

he hid behind one of the bushes near the cherry blossom tree while the boy was professing his love for you. funnily enough, for a moment sukuna forgot why he was originally there because he was too busy trying to stifle a laugh as he watched the boy stumble over his words.

“okay shows over” sukuna thought as the confession was reaching its conclusion, but just as he was about to step in and give the poor boy a piece of his mind, he stopped in his tracks when he heard you roaring with laughter.

“did you really think that i wouldn’t hear about what you and your friends said about me earlier? you’re really pathetic if you think any girl would be easy enough to fall to her knees for you because news flash! you’re a disgusting pig and you deserve to rot in hell for speaking about a girl’s worth like that.”

“it’s kind of sad too, i thought you were a nice boy and i probably would have given you a chance but it seems like you’re even worse than scum! damn it, to think there was somebody out there who’s even worse than sukuna.”

of course sukuna was not pleased to hear that last bit, but he did have a proud grin forming on his face as he watched the boy run away, flustered from your rejection and the embarrassment he was put through.

“sukuna i know you’re hiding behind the bush.”

“huh? i came here way before you got here, there’s no way you could have seen me.” he said as he stood up to his full height.

“well, your laughter isn’t exactly the quietest, plus i can spot that hair of yours from a mile away.”

lets just say, sukuna was glad you didn’t ask him what he was doing there because he wasn’t sure if he could spare the embarrassment of telling you that he was planning on ruining the confession.

after that whole fiasco happened, sukuna started to feel(!&:&::&) things

like he started to notice how you styled your hair differently one day and how you switched to a new perfume that smelled like spearmint (was that weird? for sukuna probably not. he just excuses it as being highly observant)

you weren’t dumb either, you had a feeling sukuna was there that day of the confession because he too had overheard the conversation between the boy and his friends as well (you knew he was prideful and if you brought it up then he probably would’ve denied it)

so from there on out it was just mutual pining at the point except... well.... not really??

i feel like it was just an unspoken agreement between you two that you guys were “together” but not “together together” because he started to treat you differently than he would before. like for example, he’d carry your bag for you whenever you guys would walk home (yuji was confused by this at first because if anything, it would have made more sense to see sukuna make you carry HIS bag, but he eventually caught on to sukuna’s feelings for you because they were twin brothers after all), he started walking you to class more often even though his class was all the way on the other side of the school (you asked him why but he just shrugged and said he was just “killing time” so that he wouldn’t have to go to class and then you ended up scolding him), and there was also that one time you miraculously found a $20 bill in your backpack after mentioning to sukuna that there was this cute top you saw at the mall the other day but didn’t have enough money at the time to purchase it (you asked him about this but he said it was probably yuji, but you didn’t want to pry any further since you wanted to cherish the fact that sukuna cared that much)

but eventually you got sick of this whole push and pull game that you physically had to tug the collar of his school uniform and pull him in for a kiss (he was visibly shocked at this because he never would’ve imagined you as the assertive type. not that he was complaining though)

“oya? didn’t think you liked me this much kitten.” he said laughing while you rolled your eyes.

“as if, i got tired of you being a wuss so one of us had to wear the pants in the relationship.” you snorted, causing him to irk.

to be honest, your relationship with him is smooth sailing because you both were pretty chill people and you didn’t have to worry about him sneaking behind your back to see other girls because 1. literally all the girls at school are terrified of him and 2. he knew what you were capable of doing to him if you were to ever catch him cheating on you so he wants to stay on your good side

jealous and possessive don’t exist in his dictionary because he is the epitome of those two words. remember what i said about how your relationship is smooth sailing? i kinda lied.

he’s easily jealous like for example: when you were in english class and the teacher had you guys jot down some notes, you realized you forgot to ask for your pencil back when you lent it to your friend last period.

so you asked sukuna to borrow a pencil but instead of giving you a pencil, he called you an idiot for being so forgetful.

this makes you mad so you turn to your male classmate since he was sitting on your opposite side and ask him for a pencil instead.

sukuna was practically fuming the entire class period and once the day ended and you two were back at your place, he made sure to mark you real good. (oh he also went out to buy a pack of mechanical pencils to sneak into your backpack so that next time you forget your pencils, you’ll have 10 extra pencils sitting in your backpack as backup)

he’s not a big fan of pda in public, but on the chances he will show some of it, the most he will do is wrap an arm around your shoulder or waist whenever some dude is trying to hit on you.

BUT IN PRIVATE? better buckle up because your in for a ride wink wink

really likes putting hickeys on you to a fault! but will never put any visible ones on your neck because he doesn’t want your parents to view him as some kind of animal (but he has nothing to worry about because your parents really like him and are grateful for the fact that he’s very loyal to you, and you guys grew up together so it’s only natural that your parents are accepting of him since they already know he has a good heart underneath that tough facade of his)

oh, and yuji starts learning how to knock whenever you come over (or shuts himself in his room for the meantime if he thinks it’s unsafe to step out of his room) because chances are, you’re probably making out with sukuna in his room or smth.

now onto the spicy stuff

when you and sukuna first started dating, the first thing you told him was that you weren’t ready to have sex yet because you were nervous and sukuna understood and told you that he was willing to wait for whenever you were ready.

but when you were ready though, it was kind of spontaneous and you weren’t even wearing a matching pair of bra and underwear that day

you two were chilling in your room watching some stupid (according to sukuna) animal documentary when suddenly you felt his hand on your thigh

dating sukuna and all, it was normal for him to have his hands on some part of your body (whether it be your thigh or your waist) while you two were in bed.

but you were feeling a bit bolder HORNEE than usual so you began to leave a hot trail of kisses starting from his jaw all the way down to his neck.

sukuna obviously got the memo but before those kisses could escalate into something more daring, he asked you once more if you were completely sure you wanted to do it and once you gave him the green light, he was quick to tug his shirt over his head and pounce on you.

he started getting really into it though and accidentally bit your thigh which made you loose your high and scold him for it, but he let out a hearty laugh and muttered a quick apology before getting back into business

sike i lied, remember what i said about it being spontaneous? yeah, you technically didn’t loose your virginity to him that day because after he finished prepping you, you both came to a realization that you didn’t have a condom.

oh well, there’s always next time!

i think sukuna is a sucker for pet names: his favorite thing to call you is either kitten or princess and that’s it LOL he finds calling you baby or babe is a bit too cheesy for him

but he likes it when you call him baby or babe ;)

date nights consist of either staying in and cuddling in his room, going out for a walk at night (but very very late though. there’s still lamp posts that guide your way through the streets but it gives you the heebie jeebies to be out walking outside so late. sukuna always reminds you that nothing bad will happen as long as he’s right by your side), or just spending time with you and your families.

but if you’re really down to do it, he’ll probably initiate a make out session that’ll lead to y’all fucking one way or another (he only ever does it if he is 100% sure that you’re feeling it because he knows you get easily embarrassed if he asks you straight up)

(this part is mainly written for me because i love the idea of sukuna being over at family functions, but it can be applied as part of the general hc heh) if you took him to any of your family functions as your plus one for the first time, all the aunts and uncles would be a bit wary of him at first due to all of the tattoos and piercings he has (sukuna swears he has never felt so self conscious before) but after they strike up a conversation with him and find out that he’s actually a good guy who knows what he wants to do in the future and is very loyal to you, they start to like him more.

your little cousins adore him and love it when he comes over because sukuna is a very tall high schooler which makes him the perfect candidate as a monkey bar

so when you noticed that all the little ones started to climb on his body and mess around with his hair, you were quick to react because you knew your boyfriend was easily irritable which prompted you to think he hated kids

but there was nothing to worry about because when you saw him playing around with them and even crack a smile, you felt your heart grow fuzzy at the sight and you knew right then and there that you wanted to stick by sukuna’s side for the rest of your life

and in the unfortunate circumstances that sukuna is too busy to make it to one of your functions, the first thing everyone asks is “where’s your boyfriend?” or “where’s ‘kuna? i wanna play with him!”

so you have to facetime him and let him know that everyone is wondering where he is (your phone is dead by the end of the night because after the adults get their turn at saying hi to your boyfriend, the kids snatch your phone and end up talking to him for the rest of the night)

but in conclusion, everyone is waiting for the day he gets on one knee to propose to you and your parents are itching to get to get call sukuna their son-in-law :))

also don’t forget that your parents want two grandchildren: one boy and one girl!

[raindownforme]

Hey! I’m back with another request!

Reader and Ted practicality have all the same classes and whenever they have to do projects or work in pairs Ted without fail or shame is always like “Can she work with me! Please!” Even in front of the class So he can flirt with her during the project

She/her pronouns pls :D

Also I LOVED ORBITING JUPITER I NEVER HEAR ANYONE TALK ABOUT IT

An Ode to You

Ted Nivison x reader [she/her used]

The teacher, Mrs. Statham, smacked a stack of papers on her rolling cart. She lined the edges of them up to make it straight, then held the stack in her off arm. She turned to face the class, smiling kindly as she stood tall in her professional shoes.

“This week, we’re starting a project. You and a partner will be writing poetry based on prompts and discussing your different styles of writing. Your partner will be randomly assigned-“ the class groaned, some shutting books in protest. “Hey. It’s 9am, you think I want this either?” The class grew quiet. “Exactly. Now, I’m pulling names from a hat. First is…”

y/n leaned into her open palm, closing her eyes for a moment. She could hear students shuffling around their chairs, tennis ball covered legs scraping the cheap cement. She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back to stretch her back over the cheap school chair.

“YES.” Someone stood quickly in the opposite corner of the room, the scraping and falling sound of the chair making y/n jump. She opened her eyes to see her classmate Ted standing up in the corner with his arms upright in a cheering motion. He smiled widely, looking over towards y/n. He quickly realized his outburst, dropping his arms and pushing his glasses further onto his face. “Should I pick up that chair?”

“Yes, Ted. Then go move over to your partner.” Mrs. Statham shook her head, going back to the task she’d been working on before hand. Ted gathered his things, placing the chair back to where it belonged, and headed across the classroom to where y/n sat. He pulled the chair next to her out and sat down, smiling widely.

“Hey, come here often?”

y/n rolled her eyes, trying to hide a small smile. “Good morning Ted.”

“Good morning gorgeous.” Ted looked away from y/n, sorting through his backpack for a spiral notebook and a mechanical pencil. He turned back to y/n, intending to say something, but Mrs. Statham spoke first.

“All partners have been assigned. On the board are types of poetry and some one-word prompts. Yes you and your partner must pick the same type of poem and prompt. If you have any questions, I’ll be up here grading. Go ahead.”

The students began chattering as Mrs. Statham went to her desk. y/n huffed, staring at the board. She wasn’t well-versed on types of poetry, and the list was quite long.

“How about an Ode? You know like an Ode to something?” Ted gestured with his pencil as he talked. “I’ll let you pick the category.”

“An Ode to…” y/n scanned the board, looking for the right word. “Does that say darling?”

“No?” Ted squinted as he looked at the board as well. “I think it says daring. But I like darling! An ode to darling.”

y/n smiled, turning to begin writing in her own notebook. The rest of the lesson went on with only a few scattered comments from Ted.

“What color are your eyes?”

y/n looked up at him, confused. “Why?”

“Never mind I got it.” Ted furiously scratched at his paper, y/n returning to her own.

“What season is your favorite would you say?”

“Fall.” y/n set down her pencil, smiling kindly at Ted. “I like the leaves and it’s usually a nice temperature out. You?”

“I’m a late spring early summer kind of guy.” Ted taped his pencil over and over in a slow rhythm he could only hear in his head. “I mean, unless you have a pollen allergy.”

“Why?”

“I can’t take you out if you’ll be sneezing and coughing the whole time. I don’t know, maybe the fall could be a good time.” Ted waved like he was getting rid of an idea. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay?” y/n thought to herself for a moment, then ignored Ted’s question to go back to her work.

“Hey what’s your-“ Ted was cut short by the ringing of the school bell. He groaned dramatically as y/n stood to gather her things. “No! Stop.”

“Why?” y/n didn’t stop, instead zipping her bag shut and throwing it over her shoulder. Ted grabbed onto the edge of her shirt, tugging slightly.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Ted, I have a class across the school. I’ll see you tomorrow.” y/n gently pulled her shirt from Ted’s grasp. He sighed, standing up.

“Fine. Let me walk you there at least?”

It took Ted all of a minute to gather his things. He shouldered his back pack and led y/n out of the classroom. He let his hand fall to his side, gently taking y/n’s middle finger and wrapping his own finger around it. He looked down at her, smiling softly, and held on tighter when she showed no sign of discomfort.

The two walked in silence across the school, taking y/n to her science class. Ted stopped her before she walked in, keeping her finger is his grasp. “Can I see you later?”

“Ted, we have class tomorrow. I’ll see you then.” y/n patted him in the arm, politely excusing her self. She watched him walk backwards down the hall, and turned to walk into the class.

“I’ll be thinking of you!” She rolled her eyes at Ted’s outburst, avoiding the peering eyes of her classmates.

———

The next few days continued the same way; Ted endlessly flirting while y/n write her ode. The writing came easy to her. She wrote about the stars, about the constellations and the night sky. It was a basic topic she knew, but it was easy to write about and it fit the prompt. She wasn’t sure what Ted had written about, but by now everyone had finished their poems, and it was time to present.

“Alright, Ted and y/n?” Mrs. Statham sat behind her desk, yawning into her mug of tea. “Please state your type and prompt.”

“We chose an Ode, and I miss read the prompt so instead of daring we chose darling?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the grading sheet in front of her. “I like it. Go ahead.”

y/n cleared her throat. She looked over at Ted, waiting to see who would go first. He gestured to her, offering her to go first while smiling kindly. Oddly enough, for it being the first class of the day, Ted seemed to be the most awake in the classroom.

“For darkness around you, a pattern to make do…” y/n read robotically from the sheet of paper in front of her. The poem lasted only ten seconds, letting her quickly set it aside and awkwardly smile at her classmates. There was light clapping from the crowd, complimentary almost.

“Very good.” Mrs. Statham scribbled on the grading sheet with a blue pen. “And what was that called again?”

“An Ode to the Stars.”

“Thank you. Ted you’re next?”

Ted nodded eagerly, straightening himself. He smoothed down the front of his shirt and looked expectantly at Mrs. Statham. “Do I-“

“There are no extra credit points for memorization. However, if you’d like to, go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Ted turned back to y/n, smiling widely. “I’m encaptured in your loving stare; My darling girl, my lady, fair.”

Ted went on for a long minute, leaving y/n a flustered mess. Every stanza, Ted found a new way to look at her. A new way to gesture to her. A new way to emphasize the lines he spoke. And after that long minute, the class fell silent for a moment before clapping loudly for Ted’s display.

“Thank you both. Class, did we notice any differences in Ted and y/n’s writing?”

Someone y/n didn’t know the name of put their hand upwards, prompting Mrs. Statham to call on them. “Well, y/n wrote about an object, Ted wrote about a person.”

“Good. Is there anything else we can infer class?”

“Oh!” Someone in the back classroom sat up straighter as they shouted out. y/n couldn’t quite see who it was. “y/n wrote kind of factual? Like things that we could all see. But Ted sees the person differently than we’d normally… perceive them?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Alright good job you two, go ahead and take your seats.”

Ted followed y/n to the shared desk in the far corner of the classroom. Another set of students went up to present theirs, and y/n kept her eyes glued forward on the pair, avoiding looking at Ted.

“I really liked yours.” Ted leaned over to whisper in her ear. She jumped a bit, surprised by how close he sat. “I think it was beautiful.”

“Thanks.” y/n chewed at the inside of her lip. “What was yours called again?”

“An Ode to You.”

“Sorry?” y/n tried to swallow the heat rising to her face, trying to not be flustered in front of Ted.

“It’s called An Ode to You.”

“To me?”

“No— well.” Ted twirled a pencil around in his finger tips. “It’s called An Ode to You, not like An Ode to y/n, I mean technically it is about you-“

“Me? What, are you flirting?”

Someone snorted in the seat in front of y/n and Ted. “You just noticed?”

y/n watched Ted’s face turn bright red. “I mean, they’re right. You just noticed?”

“I assumed it was a joke.”

“Why would I be joking?” Ted looked at y/n with concern etched across his face.

“I don’t know! Are you not joking?”

“No.” Ted very gently took y/n’s hand in his. “y/n, my darling. I would never joke about you.”

“Well Ted, honey, it’s 9am and you’re flirting with a tired teenager.”

“Can I flirt with you some other time?”

“Yes.” y/n yawned, stretching her arms upwards. “Any other time.”

“Tonight then? 7 o’clock?”

“Why 7-?” y/n stopped, her face becoming increasingly heated as the realization came to her. “A date? You want to take me on a date?”

The school bell rang and Ted stood from the desk, placing a folded piece of paper in front of y/n. “Text me, I’ll come pick you up.”

She watched Ted walk away, then looked down at the paper. On it read a phone a number that she assumed belonged to ted. When she unfolded it, however, was a hand written poem with a title reading, An Ode to y/n.

[mystic-sky]

|✨Part 1✨| |✨Part 2 ✨| of the Friends with Benefits Series.

Your relationship with Suguru started off somewhat unexpectedly. A new semester romance, however it was unwanted after dealing with Satoru Gojo just last year. You tried not to blame yourself for the situation unraveling the way it did. You did your best to make Satoru comfortable with you- at least you thought you did.

He cut you off as soon as you made your feelings apparent. You wondered if he somehow did it for your own good, or maybe there was something deeper that went along with it. No matter, you remained optimistic. You were young, and bound to make mistakes. This was just a story to tell your children about in the future if you ever felt it was necessary.

But back to Suguru, who had wiggled his way into your life somehow. He wasn’t a random guy actually. More like a familiar face you’d seen in a few of your classes because you both were in the same major. Just so recently, he decided to talk to you.

You weren’t expecting to hit it off with him so easily. He was sort of scary looking, which led you not to engage with him in the first place. He never tried talking to you before 5 months ago. And neither did you, considering you thought he was so handsome he’d break your heart too somehow.

His arms were sleeved with tattoos that would bridge at his chest. The tattoos would sometimes peak out of his wide collared shirts if he chose to wear one that day. He had a thing for wearing these huge ear gauges that had his favorite anime on them. Though, you never noticed until you sat close enough to him to see the designs. It was a rainy day, and both of you ended up sitting beside each other in your sociology course in the back of the classroom. You were both late, having come in just after the other.

It was weird seeing him this close. He never did come late to any class you’d ever been in with him. Even if you wanted to sit with him, like Satoru, he never had any available seats beside him. He didn’t disturb you until the lecture ended, commenting on one of your anime themed mechanical pencils. That sparked your first conversation with him, and he wasn’t shy to ask you out for coffee right after.

He’s been keen on you since, and you just barely give him the time of day in the beginning. You were just cautious, after the whole Satoru situation. Suguru was fine with whatever you wanted the situation between you both to be. But you will admit, the conversations he’d keep you up with at night made it hard to not fall in love with him.

He’d take you out to dinner, study with you, and sleep with you from time to time since the sexual attraction between you was hard to deny. You think your favorite thing about messing around with Suguru was how he’d always pick your brain after sex with manga theories and better endings than the canonically debuted ones. He was a really good cook, and you often challenged him to make your favorite dishes. They were excuses to invite you over to his place, so he gladly took each one with merit. It was friends with benefits but with far much more substance to hold onto.

He never poked you about getting serious. Whatever you both had was still young at barely 5 months. He could tell you’d been going through something mostly because of how you sexed him. Sometimes you were the dominant one- you’d throw him on the bed and bounce yourself on his length until your knees were far too tired to go on. Other times, he’d steal the show from you, showing you just exactly what he was capable of.

He spread you onto the desk in his bedroom, face deep into your folds. He also loved to spoil you, like Satoru, but you did your best not to think of him when you both were together. Suguru had so much more hair to grab, considering his tongue work was so good it scared you.

“Be a good kitten and cum for me.” He said between sucks on your clit. You often couldn’t think, and that was a good thing. He numbed you in plenty of ways, he knew he had been helping you get over something. He had been doing the same thing but you could care less.

“Actually, I changed my mind.” He tore his mouth from your steaming sex, wiping his chin. You gasp as he lifts you up off the desk, holding your body without leaning against anything for support. You felt weightless, feeling his length prod at your entrance. You tried to hold back a giggle as he smiled smugly at you.

“You ready?” His eyes were sincere, asking for your consent again as he was aching to sink you onto himself.

You nod, feeling a bit nervous. “Stuff like this is about balance. Start flailing around again and I’ll drop you.” He teased. Your hands found some of his hair again, tugging on it a bit.

“Just fuck me.” You roll your eyes as he slams his length into you, making you cry out and clutch your arms around him. His large hands firmly grasp underneath your thighs, using the way your ass recoiled against his thighs to keep a steady rhythm. He’s immersed in the way your broken moans pour into his ear, fueling his stamina. He’s a stickler for teasing you the entire time, praising you for taking his length so well.

“Such a good kitten, you’re taking it so well.”

It was the third time he’d ever held you up to fuck you. After letting go of the fear of him dropping you it became incredibly easy to focus on the pleasure.

“You’re gonna cum aren’t you? Don’t worry about the carpet baby, make a mess for me.”

He knew how to mix things up the way you needed. On your rough days he’d sex you slowly, more passionately and generously. If you were happy and feeling frisky he’d fuck you accordingly. He was pretty good at reading your body just after the first few fucks you had. You hated comparing the two men, but it did happen from time to time when you were in solitude, plagued by your own self-deprecating thoughts every now and then.

It was weird how they emanated each other’s personalities in certain ways. And then you found out that they used to be good friends in high school until something happened. You never poked Suguru about it, since he’d seem to get irritated when you were around groups of friends and Satoru’s name was mentioned. You did your best to be satisfied with what you had. He was handsome, smart, and possibly wanted to be your boyfriend in due time.

But you couldn’t help but think about Satoru. Not only was your experience with him a wild one, but he was fucking everywhere. It’s always like this for you. It’s not until you’re trying to avoid someone do you begin seeing them absolutely everywhere.

You stared at Satoru over Suguru’s shoulder, poking your cheek with your tongue. The audacity he had, showing up in the cafe where you both first met while you and Suguru were on a routine study date. Well, it was a hotspot for a lot of students, so who are you to say he can’t come in here.

“I think I’m overworking myself today, we can go eat now.” Your mood change was evident to Suguru, but he couldn’t put his finger on why at first. He watched you get up and pack your things before shortly following.

As you tossed your bag over your shoulders, he took hold of one of your hands, squeezing firmly. He pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

“Is it something I can cheer you up from when we get back to my place?” Suguru was a bit smug about it, and also painfully intuitive about your emotions even though you’d been close for such a short time. Your cheeks went red, eyes burning holes through the floor.

“It’s nothing, really. Let’s just get out of here.” You manage to look back at him, just barely glancing at Satoru who probably had been looking in this direction. Suguru pressed another kiss to your forehead, wrapping his arm around you and leading you out the cafe. He nearly touched shoulders with Satoru and his own dame, smirking just loudly enough for him to hear.

Suguru wasn’t dumb, finally having noticed your energy change just a few moments after Satoru Gojo entered the cafe. This was your favorite place, and he hated how someone could ever ruin that for you. He felt urged to do something about it- with or without your consent. He doesn’t poke you about it until you’re in the car.

“Random question, but do you know Satoru Gojo?”

The question like a pin in your spine, making you visibly un-slouch in the drivers seat. He doesn’t look at you, feeling that would make it easier for you to talk. You take this the wrong way, and feel even more tense.

“I do, we were a thing at one point.” You manage not to stutter. You had no idea why you felt scared or touchy about the subject- you shouldn’t be. His entire vibe had changed, and he didn’t have his usual grin peaking at the corners of his lips.

“Oh,” he says simply. The longest ten seconds of silence reign throughout the vehicle. You’re anxious to turn on the radio, anything to rid the first bit of awkwardness the two of you had ever shared.

“He’s an asshole, isn’t he?” He randomly chuckles heartily, somewhat calming you.

“Yeah,” you’re exhaling properly now, “he really is.”

“We were best friends for about four years. I know him like the back of my hand. Granted, he’s probably changed a lot since high school.”

“But you’re both so-

“Different?” He chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

“If he was an asshole then, he’s multiplied tenfold.” You roll your eyes. “You both don’t talk anymore?”

You knew they didn’t, but you took the opportunity to ask anyway.

“Nah, he’s a slimy bastard. I hope karma turns him rotten.” You’d never seen Suguru scowl before. He must really hate him, you thought. Still, what a small world; first Satoru and now his ex best friend.

“You still talk to him?” He pokes again. His tone is just barely playful. God, you changed your mind. You didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

“No, we don’t talk anymore. It ended pretty badly.” You say simply. You also decided not tell Suguru that the both of you messed around just before you started messing with him.

“Sorry about that. If we were friends sooner I’d have told you about him.” Suguru is apologizing for something you weren’t entirely ignorant about in the first place. You knew what you were getting into.

Satoru never tried to convince you the situation was anything other than what it was— until the end. The sweet things he started saying to you during those final months often echoed in your head- like he meant all of it.

The sex developed into something that it shouldn’t have. Sex that passionate should be forbidden if you aren’t already in love. And the things he said to you the last time he dropped you off didn’t make it any better. You wanted to slap his stupid, pretty face.

“I’m over it now.”

Suguru pans his gaze to watch you nonchalantly staring out the window. He knew better than to ask anymore. He was more elated that you didn’t interact with him at all. He didn’t need Satoru painting a picture about him in your head before he could first.

What sucks the most about dating people you go to school with is how often you’d see them. Satoru was fucking everywhere. The local restaurants, the library, the cafe, and he’d registered for two of your classes this semester. He didn’t speak to you at all, but he was always just there. Perhaps he’d always been around but since you’d been involved with him you were more aware of his presence.

You were standing in line in the library, attempting to return some books. He entered the space, and walked up behind you, standing on the line and giving your space. You turn your body slightly, peering up at him. You thought to leave, but just because you resented him didn’t mean you were going to cower every time you had to be around him for a while. You let out a sigh as you tip toed to peer in front of yourself; at least the line was moving.

Both of you had made it to the front, talking to separate librarians beside one another. When they both got up from their seats to head towards the back, he spoke directly to you, without actually looking at you.

“(Name), word of advice— I’d steer clear of Getou Suguru if I were you.”

Anger poured over you; you did your best to keep your voice low and eyes forward when saying this.

“That’s the first thing you say to me after almost a year? Go fuck yourself.”

He bites back a witty response, poking his cheek with his tongue. “Whatever. Find out the hard way.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve. Why the fuck are you telling me this?” You’re whisper-shouting, considering it’s a library.

“Because,” he turns to look at you, “I care about you.”

“What a load of shit.”

Satoru Gojo doesn’t care about anyone, you learned that the hard way.

He let out a sigh. He knew he had no right, but even if he couldn’t get you back, he wanted you to know what kind of guy you were seeing. He couldn’t say anything, he knew you wouldn’t listen. Not like this anyway. Both librarians returned, and gave you back your borrowing passes. You quickly departed, refusing to give Satoru another opportunity to speak to you. His words stuck with you on the way home. You didn’t have any reason to be afraid of Suguru, right?

Two months had passed since Satoru had “warned” you about Suguru. And nothing has happened to lead you to be cautious of him. Satoru hasn’t spoken to you either.

You’re sitting in the guidance counselor’s office as it’s the end of the semester once again. You typed away on your phone, telling Suguru you’d see him for dinner in a bit before throwing your head back and shutting your eyes. The heaviest sigh left your lungs, you were thankful the semester was nearing its end. You had quite enough of studying and needed to unwind.

You feel a presence on the end of your bench, making you open one eye. You see white tresses, and you catch the scent of familiar cologne.

Satoru doesn’t look at you, but he’s quite aware that he’s sitting beside you as well. You almost scoff, only crossing your arms and legs. Noticing the undone laces of your boots, you lean forward to tie it. Your loose bag on your shoulder which unfortunately wasn’t zipped, spilled small notebooks and pencils all over the floor. Spare change rolled across the walk way along with other items.

“Fuck...” you muttered. His head snapped towards you as you let out a sigh and bent down to pick up your things. Your phone that was your on your lap hit the ground as well. You saw his hand in the corner of your eye reaching down to help.

“I got it.” You say sternly, and shamelessly picking up your things. He retracts his hand, and instead gets up to pick up the items that were further away from you, ignoring your request not to help.

He sits back beside you, handful of change and pens. He holds it up towards you quietly while you attempt to fix your bag back to the way it was. You turn to look at him for what feels like the first time in forever, blue eyes pouring into your own (eye color) ones.

“I didn’t need you to do that.” You say, taking your things. You initially thought to take your things from him without a word. He went back to staring in front of himself, waiting to be called. You shifted uncomfortably, and fidgeted with your fingernails. You forced yourself into to pay attention to the soft music playing from the back of the office until he spoke.

“How have you been?”

For some odd reason though, you wanted him to say something to you. You had a lot of things to let off your chest considering the way things ended. You thought of giving him a piece of your mind right there in front of all the staff members, but you restrained yourself.

Instead, you found yourself saying “I’m doing great.”

“That’s good.” He says nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t even sound sure of his own response. A few minutes of silence resumes after. You’re a bit startled when speaks again.

“I’m definitely out of line right now, but I’ve been wanting to talk to you about some things.”

“What could we possibly have to talk about?” A lot. You were bubbling over.

“There’s a lot of things, at least for me, that I’ve never really told you.” He’s looking at you now. “Can we talk somewhere quieter? Whenever you’ve got the free time, and only if you want to.”

He was offering closure to you a bit too late. Or maybe all this time you’d convinced yourself you’d moved on. You often found yourself replaying the morning he brought you home and all the things you should’ve said in that moment.

That’s not exactly moving on. Unfortunately, you also found yourself comparing him to Suguru more often then not. That’s not moving on either.

“Okay,” you said. “Later on today. Round 8pm.”

He looks thankful. Just as he spoke, your counselor called out to you to come into their office. You stand up, looking down at him.

“Cafe then?” He suggests.

“That’s fine. See you.” You shrugged. You didn’t care that much for the place. You heard him say goodbye as the door shut behind you.

You had half a mind to never speak to him ever again. Though both of you were using each other, he knowingly crossed a line, making you feel things for him in a situation where feelings weren’t supposed to be involved. And he never gave you a chance to truly address the situation. Now, almost a year later, he’s ready to speak to you on his own terms. You’d be sure to tell him you had no intentions of making amends with him. If you personally didn’t have interest in what he had to say, you wouldn’t bother gracing him with the ability to explain anything to you.

You would’ve made him suffer. He’s lucky you’re still a bit distraught about the situation. Any longer into your situation-ship with Suguru and Satoru wouldn’t even have the slightest chance at something like this.

Dinner with Suguru was transparent. He could tell something was on your mind but he didn’t pry much after his first attempt. The last time you both talked about Satoru he turned into a different person, and it didn’t sit right with you. You did your best to brush it off, assuming he was just protective over you. But Satoru’s warning in the library echoed in your subconscious more and more. Just what happened between them, and would it be okay for you to ask Suguru about it?

He wasn’t your boyfriend either, but you suppose he wanted to be? You hadn’t brought up the dating conversation in while and you probably wouldn’t until you situated the Satoru thing.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Suguru’s holding your face, brushing your hair out of your eyes. His smile is incredibly gentle and you feel guilty for keeping this from him.

Perhaps you should hold Suguru accountable too, for being so sweet to you like this. He informed you he wouldn’t up and leave unless you wanted him to and that he’d never say anything he didn’t mean. But after dealing with trauma from past relationships, affection like this was always perceived cautiously.

“I know,” you say, feeling his lips press against your forehead again. “It’s just not easy to talk about right now.”

“That’s alright,” he assures you. “I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

His lips connect with yours while his hands slide down your back. He feels you relax a bit, and that makes him smile. How could he possibly be a bad person?

“I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

You nod, watching him part from you and get into his car. You never did come to understand how he could afford it; a black Mercedes Benz-Coupe. You assumed that and his nice apartment were inherited wealth from his parents.

You wave at him before going into the station. Luckily he had things to attend to, and you didn’t have to bother making up anything about tonight. It was just barely any of his business, right?

You had an idea of what to expect from Satoru when you got there. You were rehearsing things you wanted to say in your head, some of them incredibly mean. You wanted to hurt his feelings too, if you had it in you. It didn’t take you long to get to the cafe, and you’d arrived early, already finding Satoru in the very back, furthest away from people. You gripped your bag strap, before sitting across from him.

“Hey, you’re early.” He says surprised, looking up at you from his phone.

“You’re the early one.” You say, not even cracking a smile.

“How are you?”

“Same as earlier. What did you want to talk about?”

He’s visibly gulping, and you’ve never seen him this nervous. He places his phone face down on the table, turning the sound off. You cross your arms.

“Right,” he lets out a heavy sigh. “Where should I start?” He attempts to gather his thoughts, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“I’m not the kind of guy who really addresses his feelings, if you couldn’t already tell at the time we, you know... I’ve been fucked over a lot. I don’t have a lot of actual friends, and I’m constantly aware that people cling to me for my money or looks.”

He never acted like his entourages bothered him per se, but you did notice that he never bothered being around people anymore when the two of you were a thing. You prompt him to continue with your eyes.

“The only best friend I’ve ever had used me until I realized what was going on and cut him off. The first girl I ever really loved chose him instead of me shortly afterwards. Obviously, it’s not a legitimate excuse to have treated you the way that I did, but I guess what I’m saying is that I’m cautious of people and have been for a long time now.”

“But I never tried to use you,” you interjected. You felt a bit insensitive for spitting it out like that, but he really did hurt you.

“I know, and I realized that a bit too late.” He sighs. “But more importantly, I realized that I didn’t talk about or convey my feelings correctly. I know I confused you a lot, and you didn’t deserve that at all.” He tried to keep eye contact with you when he spoke, but your lion like force was pretty strong.

“And when I dropped you off— I shouldn’t have said those things to you. You were so much more than a warm body to me. You were the first real friend I’ve had in a long time. Things got so cloudy for me since we were sleeping together. I didn’t know how to address it, and it freaked me out when you told me you wanted more. I should’ve been elated, but I suppose I didn’t want my heart broken again either.”

“So basically...” He breathed out, “I’m really sorry. I’ve got some messy emotions, things I’m gradually learning to deal with. I’m not making excuses for myself. It’s just I never did talk about myself much when we were a thing, so I wanted to tell you something at least, and apologize. I hated the way I left things. I know it’s long overdue for an apology but...”

“But?”

“I still have feelings for you. I never stopped. The more time passed, the harder it made it for me to apologize and tell you how I feel. And then I noticed you were going out with... him, so I thought it was too late. But I still wanted to try, I guess.”

He looked so awkward, you almost laughed. Apologies were definitely foreign to him. You could tell he meant it, but even so, he wouldn’t be getting a relationship out of you, if that’s want he wanted.

You let out a large sigh. For some weird reason all the angry things you wanted to say wouldn’t come out. You wanted to be angry at him but you just couldn’t. And your heart was swelling at the idea of him still having feelings for you. Did he really mean that?

“We’re not together. Not yet anyway— it’s complicated.” You crossed your legs and leant back in your seat. Suguru probably would’ve been your boyfriend already if you weren’t so stuck on Satoru.

“Oh,” he said quietly. You’d never seen him look so small, it was definitely out of character for him.

“I forgive you,” you lean forward, holding your head in your hands. All this time and you still had soft spot for him.

“Really?” He’s surprised. Your friends will be too after you tell them this story.

“You want me to take it back?” You’re pinching the bridge of your nose.

He chuckles nervously. “No ma’am.”

“Are you... doing okay though?” He probes after noticing the stress in your brows.

“I can’t stay mad at you. And I want to so bad. It’d make my life simpler. Now I’m conflicted.” You drag your fingers under your eyes, before smooshing your own face, stressfully so. He thought you were cute, but he felt bad being the source of your distraught-ness.

“So I take it you still have feelings for me?” His voice is regular now, and just barely his normal cocky tone.

You won’t even look at him. “I mean...”

How do you explain to him that the only reason you’re messing with someone right now, who just so happens to be his ex-best friend, is because you were trying to forget about him in the first place?

“I get it if you don’t.” He says. “It’s been a while.”

“I do.” It’s almost instinct for you to correct him. “That’s the problem.”

“Ah, I see.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck again. You wished you could start over with a clean slate. School and dating shouldn’t be this difficult.

Satoru thought to warn you again about Suguru in that moment, but he held his tongue. He didn’t want to make it seem as if he was badmouthing him so you could favor him more, he wanted you to lean towards him naturally, if possible.

Silence reigned throughout your little booth in the cafe. The sound of rain hitting the window screen made it easy not to talk so much. It also made it hard to see a certain black, long-haired male in his Mercedes Benz, parked just across the street.

Suguru threw his cigarette out the driver’s window, continuing to watch the both of you inside. He shook his head disappointedly before starting his car.

“And that reminds me,” you say, making Satoru swallow hard and shift in his seat.

“What was that nonsense two months prior, about Geto Suguru?”

[moregaythanyourealized]

First Impressions

Otto Octavius x reader

Working with others wasn’t your strong suit. People think you’re vulgar and rude. You like to call yourself brutally honest. This job wasn’t an exception. A science company that needed engineers, mechanics, and strong minds like your own. You had only been working here for a few months when gossip about a new super project was being passed around. No one bothered to tell you, of course. You just overheard it on your coffee break. Apparently some great scientist was coming in and taking over the entire lab.

Usually you’d be excited for an advancement in the world of fusion. But this new rich snobby scientist meant that for however long this project took you’d have; No office, Less working hours (meaning less pay), and worst of all....small talk

It was the day the new scientist was supposed to come in, you now knew his name was Otto Octavius. Your desk and your co workers desks were moved out of the lab and into a much smaller space. Cramping you all together like rats. You wore your usual attire and annoyed look as you entered the building. Although today you dawned some stylish eyeliner. Not for him of course, everybody was working extra hard to look presentable and professional. You passed by a co-worker who you didn’t really hate as much,

“Yo, Kathleen, is that guy here yet? Or do you think he’s too busy getting the windows on his lamborghini re-tinted?” You snorted at your own joke waiting for her response,

“Uh, he’s upstairs I think...in the lab.” You thanked her and walked up the steps. You pushed through nerds and geeks trying to reach your desk. A folder of your ideas carefully sealed with colorful clips sat in your drawer.

“L/n!” Turning around your boss was at the end of the hall stomping his feet,

“You were supposed to be in the lab by 7:30!” You glanced at the clock on the wall, 7:46,

“My apologies sir. I didn’t realize everyone would have a stick up their ass this morning. Besides traffic on the way here is always shitty.” You absentmindedly looked through your folder and took one page out pinning it to your cork board, until your boss grabbed your wrist and turned you towards him. His breath was heinous,

“Listen L/n, on a normal day I’d let you get away with being like this. But this is too important for you to fuck up.” glaring at you he released your arm,

“Get your shit together.” He spat. Waiting until he rounded the corner you groaned and tugged at your hair. Today just wasn’t your day. Taking a deep breath you smoothed out your shirt and walked to the lab pushing the door open and continuing inside. The colder air made you relax a bit. Hoping you’d be able to get some work done you sat down on a metal table in the corner. Crossing your legs and looking over blueprints for the next big thing in New York. The above ground bullet train. Sleek design and smooth riding on the rails...you hoped.

Kathleen walked in and shyly rapped your shoulder,

“Did you meet Mr Octavius?”

“He hasn’t come in yet.” You replied glancing her way, admiring how nice she looked even when she wasn’t trying,

“He’s right over there.” She points to a hunched over man in a red sweater. You got off the table and stared,

“That’s him? I thought he was like a janitor or some shit.” The man looked up raising a brow.

Fuck...probably said that too loud.

Waving awkwardly you grabbed Kathleen’s arm and dragged her over to the main table with you,

“Hello, I’m Dr Octavius. I believe we’ll be working together for the next few weeks.” He smiled sweetly and stuck out his hand which Kathleen accepted greatly,

“Actually Dr,” You chimed,

“You’ll be working with people from the east wing. They’re just letting you invade our entire office.” Kathleen stamped down on your foot lightly before turning back to the doctor,

“Y/n was just going to get me some coffee, do you want any Dr?” He nodded and you walked out making sure to slam the door. Stupid jerk, wearing a cute fucking sweater, trying to act all innocent. Trying to play god and mess with whatever sanity I have left. Pouring two cups of coffee you sighed, watching the steam spiral from the cup in a calming manner. Putting milk and sugar into one and nothing into the other.

Re-entering the lab Kathleen was no longer there. A disturbing silence made you want to turn on your radio. Octavius was still leaning over the desk writing things down. You held the drink infront of him,

“Oh, thank you sweetheart.” Your eye twitched. That was the final straw. You yanked the coffee back spilling it a bit,

“My name is Y/n L/n, I may not have your money or title but I expect the same respect you’d give any man on this team. Do you understand me?” He stood up quickly. You didn’t realize he was so tall,

“Now wait a moment Y/n, just a few minutes ago you were cursing and accusing me. Respect is about the last thing on my mind when I think of you.” Ah shit, he was kinda right. You weren’t mad at him. You were just mad at the world. Still you had bad energy in your system,

“But I apologize for calling you sweetheart. It was a crude mistake.” You set both coffees down gently and folded your arms looking at your boots. Saying sorry was the right thing to do, even if it sucked,

“I’m sorry for the way I acted Dr, I guess I’m just a little upset with the pay cuts.” He paused,

“They’re cutting your pay?” You nodded and sat down in one of the metal chairs,

“Everyone here who doesn’t work 24/7 alongside you for the next month gets their pay cut in half until you’re out of here.”

“But you didn’t choose to work less, that doesn’t seem right.” You sighed and rested your head on the table,

“Tell me about it.” While enjoying the feeling of cool table on your cheek you noticed one of his papers. You grabbed it and a pencil before erasing some of his math. You could feel him focused on you,

“Staring is rude.” You said not taking your eyes off the equations,

“You seem to be as well.” Chuckling a bit he sat down and tapped your hand drawing your attention to his soft features,

“I think I know what’s bothering you.”

“I already told you what’s bothering me.” He shook his head and clicked his tongue,

“No, not that. When you left for coffee, Kathleen and I had a small talk about your behavior” Jesus, he sounds like a high school principal,

“She told me that you act like this a lot around other people. And it’s my personal hypothesis that you are intimidated by others who you believe to be smarter or better. You’re afraid of losing your job and not being able to prove yourself. I’m assuming that started in your childhood, either with an absent father figure or bullies at school.” You sat in disbelief. No one had ever really laid out your problems and made them seem so simple. Your face heated up and you clenched your hands. Why did this make you feel so stupid? Why did he think he knew more about your feelings than you did?

Standing up you turned away. Once a demanding and harsh voice was now quiet and small failing to hide your distraught,

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

————————————————

The rest of the day was slow. Your desk felt like a prison where time never moved forward. Rethinking what he said. The repeated movie in your brain of him lecturing you, All of it slowly morphed into him not making noise at all. His mouth moved but no sound, it was wonderful. You just imagined him, dark eyes, large stature looming over you, soft hands....

“Y/n?”

“Fuck!” You hit your head against the wall and turned to see Kathleen. She leaned in to make sure you’re okay, her perfume hit your nose and you tried not to seem like you were enjoying the moment too much,

“What do you need Kathy?”

“Dr Octavius asked me to give this to you.” She handed you an envelope and hastily exited the room. The crisp paper unfolded in your hands. Reading the letter was like fiery kisses to your skin. Words pouring out like water from a faucet.

Y/n,

We obviously got off on the wrong foot. I do not think of you as a subordinate and I certainly hope you do not think of me as a threat. We both overstepped personal and professional boundaries today. I apologize sincerely for making you uncomfortable. What is science if not testing the waters though? To show my attitude towards a better future working together I invite you to lunch tomorrow downtown. I will pick you up outside at 12:30

All the best,

Dr Otto Octavius

Pinning the letter up next to your project on the cork board you admired it smiling. Perhaps second impressions will set you both straight.

[songbirdsingingthings]

Midnight Revelations - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

MHA Masterlist - Main Masterlist

WARNINGS: Fluff, Swearing (It’s Bakugou, so, that’s kinda a given)

Requested by @luluwiie​ :

Given your gift for writing, I'm honestly utterly surprised your box is not already full :o but this is my chance ! Kuhuhu * robbing hands *

May I request a Todoroki or Bakugo one shot (Just choose whether you feel more inspired with one, another or both) where they are just sharing some moments with reader, and like, they enjoy their time with Reader and when they come back to their dorms, alone in their bedroom, they just realize how much they care for Reader? Like, more than their close friend and partner in crimes ? Like, more in a pining way? I just love emotional epiphanies 😳❤

Tysm if you do this ! CANT WAIT TO READ YOU MORE ❤❤

- Luluv

A/N: YOU’RE LITERALLY THE SWEETEST ❤❤❤. I had a lot of fun writing this one since Bakugou is such an interesting character, so I hope you enjoy!! (Also, the song “True Love” by P!NK was playing nonstop in my head while writing this.)

Word Count: 1.9K

If it was within his control, Katsuki Bakugou would be fast asleep in his own bed by now. It made sense to him - the sky was completely dark making the stars clearly visible and it was already past 10:30 p.m., so why on earth was he awake? The short and simplest answer yielded the same result; you. How you had wedged yourself in between him and his strict sleep schedule, Bakugou had no idea, so here he was, sat with a grimace on his face as you tried to work out the last math problem on the long homework sheet Ectoplasm had assigned.

“Wait, so when it’s a hyperbola, it’s a²- b² = c²?” You ask, glancing in between the blonde-haired boy sat next to you and the sheet full of conic section equations. Bakugou just looked at you with a mixture of a tired and dumbfounded expression.

“No, idiot, it’s a²+ b² = c² because the standard form uses subtraction. It’s the other way around for ellipses.” He explains gruffly, taking your mechanical pencil and writing down the equation roughly. However, due to the sheer force of his hand on the poor little pencil, the led snapped off. You laughed a little at the outburst that followed shortly after.

“Bakugou, don’t press so hard, the lead is thinner.” You say, taking the pencil from his hand gingerly. He simply scoffs in return.

“Yeah, well, normal pencils don’t do that. Get better ones next time.” He hurumphs, leaning back in his chair and letting his head hang off the back. He remains like this for a few minutes while you scribble down the rest of your equations, ultimately coming to a solution.

“Okay, I think I got it! Is it… (y+5)²/9 - (x - 4)²/25?” With a hesitant voice and a hopeful expression, you push the homework sheet in front of Bakugou to hopefully gain his approval. You wince as he scans your work carefully, raising his eyebrows on certain occasions. Finally, he sets the paper down and slides it back over to you. “Well?” You ask, a little exasperated.

“Yeah, that’s the correct answer.” With a sigh of relief you slumped back into your chair with a smile on your face. However, that only lasted for a few seconds. “Wait, then what the hell were those facial expressions when you were looking at it?” You ask, taking the math sheet and putting it in a folder that was then shoved into your school bag.

“Your handwriting is shit.” Is all Bakugou had to say as he stood up and stretched his arms out. You roll your eyes and glance at the clock.

“Damn, it’s already 11:15.” You murmur, letting one of your hands card through your hair, massaging your head and releasing the tension that was built up by doing several pages of pre-calc. “Thanks, by the way. You didn’t need to stay this late to help me out, so I really appreciate it.” You say, expressing your gratitude to the blonde. Bakugou rubs his eyes before slinging his bag over his shoulder, letting his blazer stay unbuttoned and his tie loose around his neck. You had to admit, his somewhat disheveled look did look quite attractive on him, but if you told him that he would either never let you hear the end of it or get pissed off for commenting on his fashion. He already got enough of that from his parents, apparently. 

“Yeah, I didn’t, and now thanks to you I’m gonna be tired as hell in the morning.” He complains, opening the door to your dorm to exit.

“You know, a cold compress does wonders for eyebags.” You say, a mischievous grin on your face. He narrows his eyes and flips you off. “I enjoyed spending time with you too, Bakugou!” And with that, the door to your dorm was closed.

Katsuki felt like a zombie by the time he got to his own dorm. He didn’t even bother putting his school bag on his desk or arranging his shoes by the door like he usually does. Instead, he just let the brown shoulder bag slump onto the floor as he fumbled to get his shoes off. Why the hell had you made him stay for so long? He finished all of his homework hours before you did, and still, he had to remain stationed at that wooden low table as he had to keep himself busy while you plugged away at your own work. After about an hour, looking through his phone got incredibly boring so he moved on to looking around your room, taking in all of the things that made it up. Of course, he wasn’t doing this to try to get to know you more, he already knew all he needed to… right? But as his eyes raked over the photos and decor of your room, the more glimpses he got into your personal life, so he stopped immediately.

Bakugou did make an effort to change his clothes. Peeling his blazer from his arms and hanging it up haphazardly in his closet along with his white button up. He tugged on a random black shirt and swapped his uniform pants for pajama ones and finally, finally, clambered into his bed. And, although he tried hard to make his brain shut off and just let him enter a dreamless sleep, his mind began to wander. He blamed his delirious nature for letting his neurons take him from place to place, situation to situation, until they finally projected an image of you into his head. It was a simple display of you and a recent one, too. Just Y/N L/N, sat at the little wooden table with her head perched on one of her hands with a stupid mechanical pencil in her hand. Did her hair always kind of frame her face like that? He wondered, scrunching his closed eyes. It didn’t look as horrible today, he supposed. Bakugou let his eyes flutter open, only to see that his digital clock read a clear 12:04 a.m. in electric red. He sighed and let his gaze fall on the ceiling right above him. Why was he thinking of you this late in the evening? And, to his surprise, he realized that he felt much more at home in your dorm room than he did right now, in his own space.

“What the hell…” He muttered, turning on his bedside lamp. His room was shed in a soft light, illuminating only the nearest furniture and himself. If he wasn’t able to go asleep, he sure as hell wouldn’t let this time go to waste. Picking up the book on his shelf that he was most recently into, he flipped through the pages to find his place and started reading again. He would never admit it, but Pride and Prejudice was turning out to be a much better read than expected. Bakugou found the main heroine to be much more likeable than any others he had read about. Her charisma and wit satisfied him where other characters were lacking, and the way she refused to be phased by an arrogant and sometimes brash guy who pushed her buttons constantly… He let the book fall to the ground without so much of a care as realizations flooded his brain. You put up with him. Whenever he was acting rude or was teasing you without relent, you would just simply roll your eyes and fire back. He put up with you, too. All your unreasonable habits, like staying up way too late, he was still by your side. Why?

“I…” Katsuki forced himself to look into the mirror. He saw his reflection to be way out of the norm. His eyes were wide, his posture was perfect, and his cheeks were red. “I like her.” He let the words flow freely from his mouth. With one more glance to the clock by his bedside, he grabbed a hoodie and shoved his head through it while opening his door and heading straight to yours. He knew from all of the prior knowledge on you stored in his brain and the light that shown beneath your door that you were, in fact, still awake. With three soft knocks, your door swung open to reveal you. Clad in soft looking pajama shorts and a flimsy top, your hair was a mess and your eyes were drooping. Bakugou never thought you could look so beautiful.

“Bakugou, it’s way past your bedtime.” You quip, your voice mimicking a doting parent. Bakugou shoved his way past you into your room and began to lightly pace. Your once joking smile fell into a confused frown, your eyes starting to swim with concern. “Seriously, Katsuki, what’s up? You’ve never stayed up this late except for that one time I insisted you did because a once in a lifetime meteor shower was on full display. I mean, you complained about it of course, but I knew you actually liked it because your eyes-”

“Just, shut it!” The blonde finally says. You pull back slightly, surprised at his words. “You write your twos and sevens weird, some of your habits tend to be unproductive, and sometimes I just can not stand you, but I like you.” The two of you are silent for a moment before you take a step towards him.

“You have feelings for me?” You ask, your voice soft like velvet and your eyes twinkling. Despite all of his reservations, his hard exterior and the sneer he always wore melted.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” You shook your head and took another step forward.

“Don’t answer it like you're confirming that I correctly solved a math problem. Answer it like you love me.” Bakugou’s cheeks flamed at your sudden confidence, but he took a step forward so that your bodies were almost touching.

“I love you Y/N.” And with that, a wide grin spread across your face. Your arms wrapped themselves around the blonde’s neck and you leaned into him, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss. It was slow in pace but fierce in passion as he grew more comfortable, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you closer so that you were flush against his chest. Breathless and red in the face, Bakugou finally pulls back to see your ecstatic face. “Oi, what’s with the face?” He says, flustered.

“Nothing,” you say, going into your bathroom with a little towelette. He raises his eyebrows. “I told you before, a cold compress works wonders for the inevitable eye bags that you will have in the morning, and this is the perfect size.” He huffs in amusement and plucks the towelette from your hands. “Plus, you’ll have to return it to me. It gives you another excuse to hang out with me.” Bakugou finally earns a little confidence and his trademarked smirk spreads across his face.

“I don’t need an excuse to hang out with you. You’ll need my help again on the homework.”

“Always the charmer,” you quip, walking with him so that he was standing in the hallway and you in the doorway. “See ya tomorrow,” you smile, pecking him on the lips.

“See ya, Y/N.” His blush was still prevalent, but his eyebrows narrowed and a scowl replaced the smirk. “And throw out those mechanical pencils, they’re absolute shit.”

“Anything for you, Lover!” You joke, closing the door. Lover, he thinks. He can get used to a nickname like that.