#my spanish might be rusty at best

[moonlight-prose]

eres bruja, latina y escribes fic? yo tambien soy bruja, latina (mx) y escribo fic!!!! :D

Si! Bienvenidos a la caos bebita! 😘🖤

[redstarwriting]

protected

hobie brown x o’hara!reader

request?: yes

request: “I know you’re probably busy 🙏🏽 but can I request a hobie x reader Where reader is miguels kid but from another universe and we were known as “dangerous” to the multiverse and miguel had to watch over us and we find out while hanging out with hobie and hobie has to comfort us as we try to process the fact that Miguel wasn’t our real dad and just someone keeping the mutliverse safe?

I really hope this makes sense i just don’t know how to make is make sense uk? 😭 💀”

requested by: @millerworld​

word count: 1.7k

genre: angst with some fluff

Warnings: language, mentions of childbirth death, big feelings of betrayal, probably horrible spanish, honestly a lot of angst

A/N: apologies for the wait for this one! i love writing angst though so i was rubbing my hands together like an evil lil bitch writing this. i apologize if the spanish is wrong/not how it would actually be said/worded. been a minute since i took a spanish course, so i am a little rusty. please enjoy, and thank you so much for requesting, love! :)

───────────────────────────────────

Ever since you remembered your dad, Miguel O’Hara, was there. Of course, there are certain moments of your childhood you don’t remember, as every child has, but your earliest memory is your dad picking you up and soothing you as you cried at two years old. And ever since then, he was always there. Your friends at school would always say you were so lucky that you had a dad that was so devoted to you, and you agreed. To an extent. See, he was very particular about what he allowed you to do. It wasn’t in a negative way, necessarily, he was just protective. His favorite saying and your least favorite saying in your house was ‘I just want what’s best for you, cariño.’

It resulted in you staying home from school events, friend events, and generally any type of event where your safety could have been compromised. It caused you to be a bit of a loner, always hearing about the parties, the gossip, all of it instead of actually experiencing it for yourself.

Of course, it annoyed you.

It still does.

He’s loosened up a bit eventually, though, allowing you to go to work with him. Which also meant you got to meet many spiders. Quite a few of the spider-people quickly became your closest friends, as it was simpler and easier for your dad to keep tabs on you in Spider Society. Much to his chagrin, you quickly became best friends with Hobie Brown. The two of you were around the same age, and since you were annoyed at your dad and in your rebellious era, you got along swimmingly. A little too swimmingly, actually, which Miguel purposefully chose to ignore for the most part. Until he saw Hobie sucking his little one’s face off. Regardless, Hobie was always quick to validate all your conflicted, annoyed, and even positive feelings about your father. He even helped you come out of your shell and rebel against Miguel occasionally.

Miguel didn’t like this very much, but he also knew that Hobie was still a good influence on you. No matter how many times both of you tried to convince him that he wasn’t. But sometimes, Hobie would talk you into doing things that he very much disliked. Hated, even. And this time was one of those times. While he was out, containing a particularly difficult anomaly, Hobie convinced you to search through Miguel’s personal files on his supercomputer because he bet if your birth certificate would be anywhere, it would be there. When you found a folder with your name, you expected to open it to see some family pictures, hoping for your birth certificate with the name of your mom. Your dad never really talked about your mom, just that she passed away during childbirth. You stopped asking because every time you did, he would get very quiet and a guilty look would appear on his face. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious. So you went into this endeavor excited to see what you might find out. Unfortunately, that excitement didn’t last for very long. See when you opened your file expecting these mundane things, that wasn’t what you were met with.

In fact, that was nowhere near what you found.

You found detailed notes all about you.

“What the hell,” you mumble, scrolling through the various pictures of you as an infant, with two adult strangers. Hobie said nothing, looking at all the pictures and skimming the important parts of all the files you were pulling up with a frown on his face. You stop on a specific picture of a woman holding you in a hospital bed. She was smiling.

And she was very much alive.

Tears immediately start to well up in your eyes as Hobie gently pulls your hands away from the computer. “Think that’s enough a’ that, love,” he says softly. You yank your arms away from him. “No.” You scroll to the next photo, seeing a man you’ve never met before holding you in the same hospital room, with the same strange woman right next to him. The next time you scroll, it’s a detailed account from Miguel about who you are. Notes from your dad declaring you a ‘danger’ and that you ‘must be contained somehow.’ Talk of your biological parents, their names, and how you had to be separated from them before ‘irreversible damage was done to the multiverse.’

You stare at the screen, and Hobie pulls your hands away again, successfully this time. He steps between you and the screens, blocking your view and slowly walking you backward and away from the files. You’re too shocked to say anything, the only thing you can do is quietly cry. Hobie opens his mouth to say something when Miguel’s voice rings out. “What do the two of you think you’re doing?”

The two of you turn your heads toward Miguel, and his annoyed frown turns to one of concern as soon as he sees the look on your face. “¿Qué tienes, mi corazón?” Miguel asks, his voice much softer as he approaches you. Hobie moves, positioning himself between you and your ‘father,’ and scoffs. “Think you got some explainin’ to do ‘ere, mate,” Hobie says, and Miguel looks at him confused. Then he sees what’s on the screen. A look of horrified realization spreads across his face, and he looks at you. “(Y/n), cariño, I can explain.”

“Don’t call me that,” your voice, albeit shaky, finally comes back to you. Hobie turns his attention to you, squeezing the hand you’ve been holding onto for dear life ever since he pulled you away from the computer. “(Y/n)—”

“Who am I? Who are you to me?”

“…Please, let me—”

“WHO ARE THOSE PEOPLE?!” you shout, desperately yearning for your dad to say they weren’t what was said in his reports. But all he does is frown. “They’re… they are your biological parents,” he confesses, and you make a choked noise. Hobie subtly begins turning his watch to his universe, ready to make an escape from your dad at any point. “If you just let me explain—”

“I’m a threat to the multiverse?” you choke out through your tears, “What the fuck does that mean, papá?! If I can even call you that.” Miguel’s jaw clenches. “Don’t forget who raised you.”

“How could I?! How could you?! Is this why you never let me do anything?! Too worried your querido bebecito would destroy the fucking multiverse?!”

“(Y/n). I did it to protect everyone.”

“What about me?! Did you ever plan on telling me?! How is separating me from my family protecting me?!” Hobie places an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer and keeping you shielded by him as Miguel tries to step closer to you. Miguel glares at him, and Hobie glares back. Miguel holds out his hand in a surrendering way. “It was to protect you just as much, if not more, as it was to protect everyone else. If you would just listen—“

“No. No, I’m done listening to you.”

“Cariño—”

“I am not tú cariño. I am not tú corazoón. You are not mi papá,” you say, venom behind your words. You can practically see Miguel’s heart shatter into tiny little pieces.

That was the worst thing you could have ever said to him.

Before he can say anything else, Hobie opens the portal, pulling you through and closing it almost immediately. You find yourself in the familiar atmosphere of his flat. “C’mere, love,” he mumbles, pulling you into his arms. You grip his shirt, sobbing into his chest as he rocks you back and forth, softly shushing you occasionally and rubbing your back. After what feels like hours, but was really maybe a minute, he swiftly picks you up, carrying you bridal style to his bed as you continue to cry into his shirt. He sits down, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head and rubbing up and down your arm. He can’t help but feel guilty for this. If he didn’t convince you to look at the computer…

“Don’t blame yourself, Hobie… please,” you whimper, and he sighs. “Love, you needa stop bein’ so good at knowin’ what i’m thinkin’,” he mumbles, and you look up at him with a soft smile. “Can’t help it. Even your thoughts are loud,” you say, and he snorts. “Chuffed to see the cryin’ made ya feel better,” he says and you shake your head. “I still feel like shit, Hobie,” you whisper, and he frowns. He gently wipes some tears away from your cheeks. “Reckon all ‘at cryin’ has you knackered?” he mumbles, and you nod softly. He lays backwards, maneuvering the two of you to be laying down. The two of you face each other, one of his hands cradling the side of your face while the other soothingly rubs up and down your side. You grip onto his shirt, and he places a soft peck on your nose. “‘m sorry, love,” he says, and you sniffle. “I already told you it isn’t your fault.”

“‘Kay, still feel like it was,” he says, and you sigh. “That’s not important right now,” he mumbles, gently pulling you closer. “What’s important is that I make you feel better.” You look at him, your eyes are still glossy from tears. “Never met someone who looked so stunnin’ when they cry,” he says, gently stroking your cheek. You smile softly, and he does too. “There’s my favorite smile,” he whispers before softly placing his lips on yours. It’s only for a second, but it makes all the pain go away. And you’re grateful for that. Even if it is just for a second. “Get some sleep, love.” He kisses your forehead, tangling his legs with yours and pulling your head into his chest. You relax into him. He was right. The crying was exhausting. Before you know it, you’re asleep as Hobie gently traces shapes into your skin, whispering anything and everything he loves about you to you so softly that if you weren’t really listening, you wouldn’t hear any of it. No one makes you feel protected quite like Hobie does.

And even if it’s just for a moment, thanks to Hobie, you feel like everything will be okay.

───────────────────────────────────

[asvterias]

𝖯𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖡𝗈𝗒 (𝟤)

Part 1 | Part 3

Warnings: 18+ Content, Explicit Smut, Unprotected Sex, Penetrative Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Choking, Nail Scratching, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink & Dom!Reader x Sub!Jaime

Pairings: (FWB) Jaime Reyes x (FWB) Black!Fem!Reader, Best Friend!Milagro x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: Being friends with benefits with Jamie is hard to keep undercover, in hopes of Milagro never finding out. The number #1 rule is to be strictly sexual and not explore romantic feelings for the other. What happens when that rule is broken?

Word Count: 2.2k+

Tag List: @n7cje @drqcrys @websterss @pxachy-tea @moralesszz @odiesdayoff @allthingsvicf @tinkerbelle05 @alienstardust @lemonyboy97 @alastorhazbin @writing-fanics @gay-dorito-dust @presidentbarbieirl @veronicarose20 @conicoroahre @sodacatz @chaotic-reblogger @horrorluver20 @zipporahsstuff @yutasol @littlekidsteve @illicee @everybody-hates-mills @hoshi4k @violettathewriter @mymanjaimereyes @vampire-grrl @666kpopfan @nutella-directioner-vampeete @ushygushysimp @borhapparker @tessamoreno @stitched-mouth @obrienslove @raebo0421 @loki-is-low-key @tacoreib @staraifos @avitute @dumbperson6 @idyllcy @luvly-writer @june-pop @madnesspea @chaoticbi-cheesecake @daltonshotgf @unreasonablysapphic @skittlesgirl

Author’s Note: I haven’t written smut in such a long time, so it might be a little rusty.

Spanish Translations

“mi amor.” — “my love.”

“Oh mierda, (Y/N)!” — “Oh shit, (Y/N)!”

“Santo joder, Jaime!” — “Holy fuck, Jaime!”

“Soy todo tuyo y tú eres todo mío.” — “I’m all yours and you’re all mine.”

“I don’t know..” he shrugs his shoulders, “Maybe…I’m just confused right now.”

“May I remind you that you wanted us to be a casual fuck from time to time, and besides we also agreed on seeing other people.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Yeah, but what? You want to change your mind now?”

“Actually, I do.”

You paused from doing your mascara, making eye contact in the mirror with him. Of course, you weren’t expecting that answer. His statement rendered you speechless, allowing the silence to overtake the room. You gulped silently, intently watching him stalk toward you, almost in a patronizing manner to tease you even further. You were frozen, unaware of what he might do to you and it kind of turned you on. The small thud of the mascara tube dropping on the vanity brought you back to your senses.

“…We shouldn’t do this, Jaime.” you lightly warn the boy. Jaime remains silent, making you consistently aware that he is gorgeously checking you out from behind. He made you so flustered to the point that you were stupidly smitten with him that it was almost ridiculous. It was a miracle that you couldn’t see a black girl’s blush.

“Milagro‘s gonna be back soon.” Your tone was soft.

The air was still tense as he nodded, his eyes still intently focused on your ass. Nervously, you began to play with your braids as your body squirmed under his gaze. The things that Jamie made you feel were out of this world. You held your breath, dilated dark brown eyes studying his every move that he made. It was a gust of his infamous cologne that gave his sudden presence away, noticing his breathing was lingering on you. You shudder, minor goosebumps forming on your arms.

“Then, we just have to be quick, don’t we?” You swear that you could’ve felt his hard dick straining against his pants.

“Listen here Jaime—“ You were cut off by hands roughly wrapped around your throat, raising your head, catching an upside down angle of the 22-year-old. A warm pair of lips was planted onto yours, reclaiming full jealousy as he slipped his tongue in your mouth. In a matter of seconds, the inviting kiss escalated into sexual tension, quickly heating the aura of the bedroom.

He assured you to stand up as you watched yourselves in the mirror. His mouth was attached to your neck, sucking on the exposed skin, creating hickeys. You whimper in response, spurring Jaime to continue as his hands possessively explore your body, grabbing at whatever he can.

Jaime hoists up your dress, fisting the fabric as he rubs your thighs. “You should wear a dress more often,” he breaks away from the heated kiss, “Shows your beautiful curves alongside your stunning brown skin.”

“I never actually agreed to this date..” You grew disappointed at the loss of his swollen lips on yours as he pulled away, panting when he spun you around to face him directly. Gazing into his eyes, there was lust swimming in there but also pure love. “I just wanted to make you jealous.”

It was taking everything in him not to manhandle you and have you in every which way. His thoughts were dirty, unable to be contained in his mind any longer. He needed his release and he needed it now!

“I know....” he whispers, hastily resuming your kiss again in a passionate manner. Not breaking the make out, his hands found themselves on your waist, and your hands became tangled into his curly hair.

You lift one knee to his groin, seeking his hard-on as he lowly grunts at the sensation. You replaced your knees with your hand, grabbing his clothed dick, and a surprised groan escaped his lips as you stared deep into his eyes, completely dilated with lust.

“This is mine…” your words drip with dominance as you feel his cock pulsate upon your slightly tightened grip. “Not some other bitch! It’s all mine…isn’t that right, pretty boy?”

He shakes his head in agreement, controlled by only your words. You lean into his ear, your voice raspy, “I want to hear words, my pretty boy.”

“Yes, I’m all yours…” He stutters out, clarifying your dominance over him. You desperately remove his shirt, revealing his abs and he flexes his muscles. Ever since he became Blue Beetle, he was more active in the gym, gaining a strong build. Let’s just say that you weren’t definitely complaining when you had him all to yourself.

You trail your finger across his abs, lightly teasing his nipples, drinking in his sexy body. You place open-mouthed kisses on his abs, cherishing him like this was your last time doing it.

It finally felt like forever when you two landed on the bed.

You sexily crawl on top of him, straddling his lap as you unbuckle his jeans. It was quick to take off his pants, and you were even quicker to discard his underwear. You chuckle, seeing his hard cock spring up, slapping up against his stomach.

While he was preoccupied with marking you all over, you unhooked your bra, letting him see your chest bare. It was nothing that he wasn’t used to by now.

Squeezing your clothed panty, you gasp as he chuckles looking down at you. “I haven’t even fucked you yet you’re already soaking. You’re a little needy whore for me, and only for me. No one else gets to see you like this one else gets to make you feel like this but me.”

You resisted the temptation to roll your eyes at his cocky behavior, allowing him to have his way with you. God, he was cocky and you embarrassingly praised him for it for doing your body wonders.

His hands wrap around your hips, guiding you to create immense pleasure for the both of you.

“There was no other girl..it was always you..never someone else.” He confessed.

“Oh, trust me—“ You lined Jaime’s erection and lowered yourself on his cock under his watchful eyes. He groaned as he felt your walls slowly wrap around him, witnessing your cunt take every inch of his dick, entirely swallowing him up all warm and snug.

“I knew there was no other girl.” You sucked in your breath, staying completely still. “You’re a horrible liar, Reyes.”

One of his hands trailed down the middle of your back, drifting down to the flesh of your ass, squeezing it. You raised your hips and slowly sunk back down, feeling so full.

“Oh mierda, (Y/N)!” His moans were music to your ears.

His mouth turned up at the corner, his eyes raking over your breasts as they bounced up and down. Your brown nipples were pointed proudly towards him, begging for attention. Jaime took one of the buds between his fingers and pinched lightly, eliciting a moan from you.

Your nails scratch his lower stomach, slowly dragging across his abdomen as you begin to move slowly. Finding a steady rhythm to anchor yourself with struck a new nerve in you.

“Santo joder, Jaime!”

“Soy todo tuyo y tú eres todo mío.”

Your movements were nice and slow, just a decent tempo for Jaime. Slow and passionate sex was more intimate for Jaime. He preferred passionate sex, which gave him unlimited time to worship and analyze your body’s reactions to spur your orgasms into mind-blowing ones.

You hungrily reconnected your swollen lips onto Jaime’s own, desperately muffling your moans, yet wanting to listen to them to edge you on.

To feel him agonizingly stretch you out so deliciously made you feel like you were in heaven. The room echos a mixture of panting, moaning, skin slapping, and various other sounds.

You began to intensify your pace, feeling hands grope your breasts, fondling and squeezing them. Soon enough, your movements became sloppy as the intense orgasm approached.

“Oh fuck,” You stammer out, riding out your high to the brink of ecstasy. Your arms drop from his shoulder, as you tip your head back. The movement became much slower, losing its regular pace.

Jaime ran out of patience and harshly gripped you by the hips, forcing you to endure an inhumane speed. You were sure that Khaji-Da was informing Jaime that his endocrine and testosterone levels were rising at the stake but he blocked out the other voice. He was too engrossed in the moment with you, and he disregarded any interruption.

“Oh fuck, shit! Jaime, go faster!” You encourage him, letting him have complete power over your body. You rest your head into the crook of his neck, exhausted from holding your head up and your braids cascade on his back as he continues to roughly fuck you.

And he listens to your command, increasing his speed, making sure to hit the right spots to have you blabbering out incoherent words and barely keep you sore from your waist down in the next few hours.

“You’re doing so good, mi amor.”

Too fucked out by bliss, Jaime steals your attention by grabbing you in the throat and kissing you roughly, swallowing your high-pitched moan. You bite down on his lower lip, drawing a little blood as he grunts in response. Your shocked gasps broke the heated kiss and Jaime pulled you back in the kiss, demanding not only your body muster with his, but that your lips were on one accord as well. His controlled motions on your hips kept you holstered on his girth as you continued to fuck. Your sweaty bodies mold perfectly in unison, making the sex hotter.

“Oh god, Jaime! S-slow down!”

“Oh..you can take it all, mi amor. I know you can, my gorgeous girl.”

His sudden change in demeanor made you weak in the knees. You always loved it when he took full charge, noting that you were the more dominant one.

You rocked back and forth steadily, this time keeping the pace more effectively and thrilling. Deciding to edge you on more, his hands had glided to your clit and started to play with it, adding to your pleasure every time you were meeting his thrusts. You could feel your orgasm coming around his cock, continually pulsating, greedy for more. Soon enough, a wave of intense pleasure flowed through your body as a loud moan erupted from your mouth.

“Oh shit!” your body falters, jerking up still receiving the delayed reactions.

Jaime followed behind a few seconds later, shooting his cum into your cunt, immediately filling you up to the brim. Your mixed juices trickle down your legs, glistening on your thighs.

You took a few minutes to recover, the both of you heavily panting on the bed.

“How was that?” He breathlessly pants with a half-smirk. “Did it meet your expectations?”

“Still better every time.” A smirk was plastered on your sweaty face.

Pulling you into a passionate kiss, Jaime’s hand roams around, lightly tracing over your skin. All of your kisses so far had been full of lust, too rough bed too desperate. This one of the many shared kiss that was soft and sweet, without urgency. You hum in the kiss at his touch, admiring his gentle nature.

Everything seems to be picture perfect as you and Jaime viewed, all hot and bothered for the other. That was…until shit hit the fan for the both of you.

“Jaime! What the actual fuck are you doing?! And with my best friend?” That voice made your heart stop, instantly breaking out of your bubble. Thoughts of Milagro arriving back and catching you two in the act didn’t cross your mind, not even in the slightest, and you were ashamed.

You and Jaime looked at each other like deers caught in headlights as you both stumbled to cover yourselves up with your duvet.

How were you two gonna explain this to Milagro now?

likes, comments & reblogs are highly appreciated!

© asvterias, 2023. please do not plagiarize any of my works.

[mxstellatayte]

fuck me up, florida.

warnings: angst for the majority of it, sex at the end though, legal use of alcohol (reader and logan are both 23,) mentions of gunshot wounds, minor character death, based on a taylor swift song, childhood (middle/high school) friends to lovers, idiots in love, "you came" "you called," reader is half mexican (mom's side), slightly inaccurate bc i know carola wasn't at the miami gp but just go with it for the plot, reader's last name is rodriguez,

author's note: y'all i apologize if any of the spanish grammar is a little weird. my spanish is rusty, pls don't hate me for it

logan sargeant x female reader

i need to forget so

tuesday, april 30th.

you scan your ticket, the screen displaying your name and seat number. 12A. at least it'll be easy to sleep, you think.

after shoving your suitcase above your seat, you shuffle your way to the window and buckle yourself in.

are you really doing this? flying a couple thousand miles to visit your childhood best friend who, up until recently, had you convinced that his newfound fame that he'd gathered by announcing his enrollment in the williams driver's academy made him too good for you.

the only thing that made you think otherwise was the instagram dm he'd sent you five weeks prior, asking if you'd be able to make it to the miami grand prix. instead of a simple yes or no, you responded with the heaviest three words you've ever seen in order.

can we call?

logan picked up on the second ring.

"hey."

"hey."

"how's texas?"

you smile. "hot. sunny. flat. beachless."

"so... it's good?" you hate that you can still picture his facial expressions even after not seeing him for years except for on tv.

"'s okay, but it's not home, y'know?"

"definitely. it doesn't matter how much i decorate my place in england, it's never florida."

"nothing besides florida is ever florida," you sigh, looking out the window of your apartment. "how's the season been?" you don't exactly know why you're asking. you know exactly how his season's gone. you keep every single detail of every single race weekend meticulously catalogued in a journal that you take everywhere with you. no matter what, you've stayed up late or woken up early to watch every race, as if your hopeful energy would make its way across the world to him in time.

"honestly? it's been pretty shit. the car handles really badly and wasn't really even ready for the first few hours of testing in bahrain. i can't get it to perform and maybe that's just because i haven't linked with the car yet, but it still really sucks."

you sigh, hoping logan can't tell how disappointed you are with his team and engineers. "you need a better team, lo."

"i know." there's silence between you for a few moments, and every second that passes makes it grow heavier on your chest. "will you come to miami?"

there it is. the reason you called him.

"i don't know, lo. don't get me wrong, i'd love to, but it's really short notice and i don't know if i could afford the trip. i might be able to make it to austin, but i'll need the time to save the money for the trip."

"i'll fly you out," logan immediately says, his tone almost desperate. longing. "i'll pay for your flight, your hotel, everything. please?"

that last word hit you like a punch in the gut. you only had one more reason to not go and you weren't about to tell him that reason. it was a shitty excuse anyways.

you're not about to tell him that the reason you moved to texas was to give him the space he needed to be able to succeed in his career and for you to succeed in yours.

take me to florida

you're jolted awake by the force of the plane landing, if you can call the awkward limbo you were stuck in sleep. immediately, your stomach twists with anxiety. logan had offered to pick you up from the airport, but you refused.

"i'll just take an uber," you'd said. "i'm gonna want to relax a bit after the flight, y'know?"

his only trade-off? you met him for dinner. simple enough, right?

in theory.

now, standing in front of the full-length mirror in your hotel room, you debate between a floral sundress and a pair of denim shorts, a tank top, and a white button-up t-shirt with a colorful inkblot pattern.

you decide on the sundress.

fifteen minutes later, you're pushing earrings through your piercings, silver abstract shapes you'd bought on a trip to europe with your mother. you have to leave, but the situation you're in sucks. your hair won't sit right on your head, either being too frizzy from the humidity or losing any and all volume, and your makeup just doesn't seem like it'll last in the miami heat.

fuck it.

who are you dressing for, anyways?

logan's seen you at your absolute worst. he was the only one you let yourself cry in front of after your father died. he was the one that held you for what seemed like hours while you sobbed into his chest and he told you that none of it was your fault- that you never could have known that, when you hugged him before he left for the police station, told him you loved him, and slipped a note into his lunch box, the next time you would see him, he would be laying in a casket. he was the only one that could make you smile in the weeks following his funeral, dropping his entire schedule if you simply sent him a text that said "can you come over?"

the restaurant logan found isn't too far from your hotel, so you ultimately decide to walk. your walk is over before you're able to process that it even started and you're taking out your earbuds and putting them in your bag, taking out your phone instead to text logan.

i'm here.

i've got some regrets

were you always this breathtakingly beautiful?

logan's phone buzzes in his front pocket, but he knows it's you texting him. he doesn't even bother taking it out of his pocket before standing up from his seat at the bar and walking over to you, and when you see him, your smile almost makes his heart melt.

"hey," he says, and he hopes his voice doesn't waver from how nervous he is.

"hey. i missed you," you respond, dodging the hand he holds out and going in for a hug. "i've known you since middle school, logan, i'm not shaking your hand."

your arms around him and your body pressed against his almost makes logan short circuit. thankfully, he's able to regain control of his brain and hug you back, hopefully before you realize he isn't hugging you back.

when you pull back, the hug seeming way too brief for logan's preference, you're looking up and smiling with a sparkle in your eyes that makes him regret not making enough time for you. "thanks for bringing me out here."

"thanks for coming. do you want a drink?"

"sure. do you have a table yet?"

"i was waiting for you."

"in that case, lead the way." you gesture towards the restaurant, and logan shows you to a booth in the corner. soon enough, a waiter comes over to you and sets down two glasses of water and two menus.

"welcome in, y'all. do we need a bit of time to look at the menu or do we know what we want to get started?" his southern drawl is thick, and it reminds you of texas. but you're in florida now.

"i think we'll look at the menu for a minute, thanks," logan says, and the waiter nods and walks away. as you open the menu and begin looking, logan points out something you might like and you do the same for him. conversation begins to flow freely between you, and it reminds you of the times in high school when you would go out with friends.

eventually, you decide on a plate of nachos and logan gets a plate of wings. as you wait for your food, you catch up on everything: your move to texas, logan's racing career, your work volunteering with the austin philharmonic, his homesickness from living in england, and everything in between. you crack stupid jokes, share bites of food, and steal sips of each other's drinks.

it's like old times.

i'll bury them in florida

on wednesday, you and logan drive up to visit your father's headstone. it's difficult. it's only the third time you've visited him since he was buried three years ago. the first time you visited him was a year after he died. even a year later, you still carried so much anger and hatred towards the doctors and nurses that were operating on him, trying desperately to save his life after two bullets hit him- one in his leg, one in his torso.

he died on the table.

the second time was just a few months after, and you were still wearing your cap, gown, and stole from your graduation ceremony. by then, you had been able to forgive the doctors and had graduated in the top 10% of your class. four years of hell had finally rewarded you with a degree in instrumental performance and an internship at the south florida symphony orchestra.

now, the third time, you have a picnic blanket and lunch packed into the backseat of logan's car, the windows are rolled down, and your favorite playlist is shuffled on the aux. it's a beautiful day, too; it isn't too hot (even with the humidity,) there's a gentle breeze in the air, and clouds occasionally cover the sun. when logan pulls into the parking lot of the cemetery and you sling your tote bag full of food over your shoulder, your hands start shaking.

of course, logan notices.

his hand slides into your own, and you look up at him. his eyes meet yours and you smile. "thank you for coming with me," you say.

"of course. i didn't want you to have to do this alone."

you look back at the gate into the cemetery, the black bars menacingly sleek and very, very terrifying. you chew your lower lip in anxiety. "i don't know if i can do it, logan."

"i'm here with you. i know you. you're strong. you aren't the kind of person to let a gate scare you." you laugh lightly, looking down at the ground. the gravel of the parking lot, your scuffed, beat-up high top purple converse, and logan's nike dunks make up what you have to describe as a perfect picture. your phone is in your free hand before you know it, and you're lining up the shot. "still into photography, huh?"

"yep. i have some cameras in my suitcase at the hotel." when you pocket your phone and look back up at him, logan's heart melts. the shine in your eyes and the passion in your smile is enough to soften anyone's heart, but for him, as someone who's known you for years and has been there for you through thick and thin, it touches him in such a special way. "i'm hoping to get some good photos of the races. but enough delaying. let's go visit my dad."

the creak of the gates opening makes your ears bleed, and you laugh at how logan is making the exact same face as you in reaction to such a shrill sound. despite only having visited his headstone twice before, you remember exactly where in the cemetery it is and are able to find it within five minutes.

"hi, dad," you begin, your voice already wavering just the slightest and tears beginning to well in your eyes. logan's hand squeezes yours, though, and you're reminded that he's right there. he always will be. you take a deep breath and continue. "i miss you. we all do. i know i haven't visited you in a while, and i'm sorry about that. i really do have to come stop by every now and then. i moved to austin and have a volunteering gig with the austin philharmonic at almost every show and i have a job at a company that helps students with learning disabilities learn instruments. it's really fun." you pause to wipe the tears off of your cheeks, your nose beginning to drip. "sam is in his junior year of college, and he's majoring in engineering. he flew the coop, but he still comes home for the summers. he, uh, he actually got in to c.u. boulder, like he always talked about. that kid was always thinking about college, even in middle school.

"i'm actually here with logan, too, if you hadn't noticed. do you, uh, do you want to fill him in on what's going on with you, or should i keep going?"

"whatever you prefer."

"okay, i'm going to keep talking, because i think if i don't, i'm going to completely break down. logan finally signed with williams to drive on their formula 1 team last year, like i always said he would. i'm really proud of him and really regret not telling him that more, and now that i'm saying it out loud i'm promising both you and him that i'll tell him that more often. the race this weekend is actually here, in florida. miami, specifically. it's always a celebrity shit show that no one really wants to see, but it's the main opportunity for the celebrity sponsors to actually go to a race.

"what else has been going on? oh, mom is still a therapist. i can't tell you much about that because of hipaa, but she always comes home saying that she's glad that she could help someone. i'm gonna have dinner with her tomorrow night, and then i'm going back into miami to watch logan's practice sessions."

you pause your rambling, thinking about what there is to say next, but your thought is interrupted by your stomach grumbling. loud. you and logan laugh just as loudly, the sound echoing through the grass field and stone gravesites. "oh, yeah, that's another thing. we brought lunch. i also got you pink tulips, because i know they're your favorite." you delicately rest the bouquet on your father's headstone as you sit down, then pull out the different plastic containers filled with food you'd stolen from the williams hospitality. "you'd be proud of me, dad. i smuggled this entire picnic out of the wiliams motorhome without a hiccup. robin hood style."

logan laughs, and you turn to him. he's mirrored your position, sitting cross-legged on the grass. "apple?"

"nah, i'm gonna start with my sandwich. i did grab you some of the salt and vinegar chips i know you like."

the look logan gives you can only be described as pure adoration. "you," he says, pointing a finger at you in an incredibly sassy manner, "are an absolute goddess."

"i know," you respond cheekily, tossing some hair over your shoulder.

the banter between the two of you continues through your picnic, laughter and smiles erasing the dried tracks of tears on your cheeks and on logan's. you're almost able to forget where you are.

tell me i'm despicable

almost two hours later, the two of you are laying in a nearby park underneath a tree, peacefully observing the clouds that pass overhead and talking even more about any topic that comes to your mind. the question that's been gnawing at you since your plane landed in miami eventually bubbles to the surface, and it tumbles past your lips before you can stop it.

"did you ever wonder why i moved to texas?" you look to your left where logan rests, but he keeps looking up at the sky. you mirror him.

"i always assumed it was just because you needed a change of scenery. after everything that happened and your music career taking off, it would make sense that you would relocate to somewhere better suited for you."

"that's the thing, though. if i'm being entirely honest with you, lo, i hate texas. i hate the whole state. i hate how hot it is all the time without even being humid, i hate not being able to go to the beach. i hate how dry it is. i hate how flat it is. i hate the monotony of it. i hate not being here."

logan hesitates for a moment before speaking, and it's the longest moment you've ever experienced. "why did you move to austin, then?"

when he looks over at you, you're chewing your lower lip. it's a nervous tic, logan's noticed. he's not even sure if you know you do it. "honestly? i thought you moved on from our friendship. i thought everything with f1 suddenly got so big and important and famous that maybe i wasn't... enough? i thought that being a police officer's daughter from the same town as you that was studying to teach people how to understand and play music maybe just wasn't cool enough to be friends with a world-renowned formula 1 driver."

logan's heart almost shatters when he hears the weakness in your voice. you sound so broken and so alone. he knew that, when you lost your father, you isolated yourself from a lot of people, even your best friend from high school and through your first year of college. he was the only person outside of your immediate family that you spent a decent amount of time with, but when he was admitted to the driver's academy he had to move to england. he abandoned you.

"i didn't. i never forgot about you. sometimes i still look through the photos we have together because i miss you that much."

you sit up, tears pricking your eyes for the second time that day. "really?"

"yeah. maybe once a week?"

when you look down at logan, you're suddenly starstruck. you can't help but notice all of his little features that you wouldn't see if you didn't know to look for them. his freckles that are so light you'd have to squint to see them if you didn't know them like the back of your hand. the mole on his chin that he'd always been self-conscious about but you've always seen it as beautiful. the lines from where his eyes crinkle when he smiles. the annoyingly perfect flop of his hair that he's styled almost the exact same way since you started high school together. an urge you haven't felt in years suddenly bubbles, white-hot in the pit of your stomach, and it's boiling over before you can stop it. your eyes are closed and your lips are on his. finally. after years of wanting, of stares that lasted just a bit too long to be just friendly, of flushed faces and nervous excuses, you're finally kissing him.

but he's not kissing you back.

you pull back immediately, panicked that you read something wrong. you turn away, hiding your face in your hands out of shame. "shit, logan, i'm so sorry. i thought-"

"kiss me again." logan sits up, and when you turn around, the look he's giving you can only be described as completely and entirely fucked. you don't question his statement, just lean forward, placing your lips on his, and letting yourself melt. he moans softly into the kiss, his right arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. when you pull away and open your eyes, your breath catches in your throat. he looks beautiful. his eyes remain closed, but when they flutter open, you see colors in them that you've never seen before. sure, you've always seen the darker rim of blue that outlines his irises, but now that you're so close to him, you can see the flecks of green and grey in them. it's the most stunning thing you've ever seen.

eventually, you break the silence between the two of you. "i've wanted to kiss you for so long," you whisper, so quiet you're not sure logan heard it.

but he did.

"me, too," he says, and after a beat of silence between you two, you both burst out laughing. the laugh he hears from you is the pure, bright laugh that logan's missed so dearly, the laugh that you only really let him hear. the laugh that has tears in your eyes and makes you snort because you're laughing so hard you can't even breathe properly.

eventually, when you're able to calm down, your head resting on logan's shoulder, your hand holding his, you're able to process what just happened. you just hope logan is processing it, too.

"we just kissed."

"yes. we did."

"how long have you held out on me?"

"since christmas of sophomore year. when you made me the chevron bracelet with my favorite colors."

you laugh, then lift your head to look at him. "i fell for you in october of that year. when you convinced your mom to drive two and a half hours for the marching band state finals. just so you could be there with me."

"god, we're idiots," logan laughs. you can't help but lean forward and press another kiss to his lips, lingering there and just breathing him in.

existing.

say it's unforgivable

the next two days fly by. thursday, you spend the day with your mother. she asks all sorts of questions as if she doesn't know the answers, and you answer each one with a smile on your face. when she asks about logan, you smile sheepishly. she figures out what the smile means.

"took you two long enough."

normally you'd still be in bed at 9:30 am on a friday, but today, you walk into the miami paddock clutching logan's hand for dear life. your neon green pass hangs from your neck, a white williams cap atop your head. you can't help but feel out of place, but someone calls logan's name and you both turn. your stomach drops when you see who's called his name. his hair is styled similarly to logan's, and he sports a papaya polo.

you'd know him anywhere. it's oscar piastri.

you're standing there a bit awkwardly as logan greets his friend, but your heart stops when oscar turns to you. "oscar, this is my girlfriend." he introduces you by your name to the mclaren driver and you wipe your hands on your denim shorts before shaking his hand firmly, exchanging "nice to meet you"s. the three of you chat for a few minutes before oscar is summoned by his pr manager.

"girlfriend, huh?" you look up at logan with a smile on your face, lacing his fingers with yours.

"i didn't mean to overstep, but i kind of assumed that's what this is now. is it?" he looks a bit nervous asking that, and if you thought your love for him couldn't grow any more, you thought wrong.

"that's absolutely what we are, lo. you're my boyfriend. i'm your girlfriend." you can tell just how hard logan's trying to not let the smile on his face show just how happy he is to hear you say that, and you stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips briefly. "you have a prep meeting to get to, don't you?"

"i do. come with me, though. i need to introduce you to alex and lily. she can show you around."

"sounds like a plan. i need to learn how to do all of..." you gesture around you, the white tents and media carts all seeming suddenly too intimidating. "...this."

logan laughs, placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the williams hospitality. when you're next to him, though, despite the cameras around you and your proximity to some of the world's biggest stars, you feel safe and protected.

after meeting logan's teammate and the thai driver's girlfriend, who you quickly realize is one of the sweetest people you've ever had the pleasure of meeting, you're shown around the williams hospitality and, eventually, the paddock. lily introduces you to the other drivers' wives and girlfriends that have made it to the weekend, and when you hear a certain last name, your ears perk up.

"martinez? is she latina?"

"yeah," kika, pierre's girlfriend, says. "she's checo's wife. i'm pretty sure she's in the red bull hospitality right now, though."

"ah, speak of the devil," lily says. you see carola walking up to the five of you, alexandra ("please, honey, call me alex," she'd said, bringing you in for a kiss on your cheek,) having walked away to get a drink and escape into the sweet air conditioning. "carola, there's a new couple on the paddock."

"you're kidding," the latina answers, her accent apparent. "who?"

"logan found himself a girlfriend. allow me to introduce her." lily turns to you and introduces you by your full name, last name and all. it seems that carola has a similar reaction to your last name as you did to hers, and her head tilts to the side.

"ya no eres la única mexicana aquí," you say, and her eyebrows raise. (you aren't the only mexican here anymore.)

"hablas español, también?" (you speak spanish, too?) when you nod, her smile brightens. "hay, chica, creo que nosotras dos nos vamos a llevar muy bien." (oh, girl, i think we're going to get along very well.)

on saturday, you find yourself back in the williams motorhome, except this time, you wear a second badge, the neon green lanyard reading grid access in bold black lettering. like the day before, you clutch logan's hand for your own comfort until, much to your dismay, he's summoned for driver duties. you place a quick kiss on his cheek, and when you pull back, you aren't sure if the flush on his cheeks is from the affection or the miami heat. probably both.

"in case i don't see you before sprint. for luck."

"oh, you'll be in the garage. that's what this pass is for," logan says, holding your second badge in front of your face. "lily will show you where to go. i'll take a kiss anyways, though." you smile, stand on your toes, and kiss him, pulling back before he can wrap an arm around your waist. (that was a trick he very much enjoyed, as you'd learned the night before. there was something in him that needed you as close to him as possible, and it covered every nerve ending in your body in liquid fire.)

"off you go. you need to get race ready. i'll see you before you go out on the grid. don't worry." you gently shove him away with a smile, and you'd stare at him longer if your ankles weren't suddenly being attacked. you look down and squeal. "hi, leo! did your dad let you run free?" you squat down and scratch the mini daschund behind his disproportionally large ears, and he barks excitedly.

someone curses in french to your right, and you look up from the little golden ball of energy to see none other than charles leclerc frantically searching around. leo barks again, and the monégasque whips around, then locks eyes on you first, then his dog.

"merde, leo. you have too much energy for it being this early in the morning," he laughs as he walks over to you.

"i apologize, it appears i've unintentionally kidnapped your dog." you stand, and leo jumps at your calves again.

"ah, no harm, no foul," charles replies, picking up his dog and holding him close to his chest. "i will say, though, you look strangely familiar. have we met? my name is charles."

"we have not." you extend your hand and offer your name, and, when charles' eyebrows furrow and his head tilts in confusion, you realize that means nothing to him. "i'm logan's girlfriend."

"ah! yes, of course! he has a photo of the two of you at your high school graduation in his wallet. that's where i knew you from. well, it's nice to meet you!" that was news to you. logan has a picture of you in his wallet? either way, you just casually met one of the most famous people in the world like it was a standard tuesday.

if this is what i signed up for by being logan's girlfriend, then it is absolutely wild.

you're able to catch another good luck kiss with logan as he's almost fully suited up, and fuck, does he look good. his fireproof suit hangs low on his hips, the arms tied together in front of him. dark blue is a good color on him, and his facial hair is grown out in just the slightest. you can't lie, he looks hot as hell.

you cross your legs in an attempt to curb the heat that creeps down your tummy and between them. it doesn't work.

you amend it that night in logan's hotel room following his p10 in the sprint.

on sunday, you try to avoid thinking about the night before as you follow the same routine as the two days before- arriving early in the day, checking in at the williams motorhome, and then killing time until the driver's parade at 2:00 PM. you spend time with your new group of friends, spending the three remaining hours before the parade in the paddock club. rebecca, carlos' girlfriend, snickers at your shocked face when you see some of your idols and favorite celebrities casually walking around, gladly taking some photos for you as you're practically buzzing with excitement.

after the driver's parade, it's a whirlwind. you're swept back into the williams garage and find logan's driver's room relatively easily thanks to the help of some of the engineers and mechanics, but one of them stops you before you can venture too far into the depths of the hallways.

"could you tell him we have the pre-race strategy meeting in twenty minutes?"

"yeah, for sure." as you approach logan's door, you have to bite down on your lower lip to stifle the grin that wants to split your face. you knock on his door, and when he opens it, you know something's wrong. "lo, are you okay?" his eyes are red and his hand shakes on the doorknob. instead of a verbal response, he just opens the door a bit further to let you in, and, as soon as it shuts behind you, he sobs, and your heart shatters.

"i'm so scared. i'm so scared that something's going to happen and i'm going to let all of these people down and-" you gather him into your arms and he cries into the crook of your neck, your williams crewneck shirt now damp with his tears. you couldn't care less.

"you're going to do amazing, logie. i know you will." with your arms wrapped around him, it's almost like a weighted blanket of safety has encompassed him, and his sobs slow, his breaths growing deeper and more even. you continue murmuring words of confidence into his shoulder, and not a single word you say is empty.

"hey. look at me." you lean back and gently cup his cheek with your right palm, and when his eyes meet yours, you know that he needed to cry that one out. "do you feel a little bit better?" logan nods, tilting his head ever so slightly to kiss your palm, his own hand coming up to rest over yours. it's a cute, sappy, stupidly romantic moment that you from three weeks ago would've probably thought was the grossest thing known to mankind, but you can't help but bask in the moment. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better right now?" your voice is a soothing balm over logan's agitated nerves, and he slowly untangles himself from you and guides you over to the couch that's against the back wall, where he sits down and you curl up to his left side.

"can you just... talk? about anything?"

"are you seriously asking if me, the person with the most rampant adhd you've ever met, can talk about something? yes, logan, i absolutely can. what to talk about, though?"

as you talk, deciding to info dump about your favorite classical music piece, logan can't help but watch it unfold. he doesn't know jack shit about music theory, but listening to you ramble about something you're passionate about brings him so much peace. you're disturbed about fifteen minutes later by a knock at the door, promptly followed by a disembodied voice telling logan that it was time for the strategy meeting.

"aw, shit," he says, leaning his head back and rubbing at his eyes. "i have that to go to now."

"yeah, sorry. i was supposed to tell you about that but we had a bigger problem on our hands." your voice is sheepish now that your info dump has been cut short, but logan leans over to you and kisses you, soft and slow, just like the first time he kissed you properly in the park. when he pulls away, he looks so much calmer than he was twenty minutes before. "is there anything else i can do?"

"go have some fun in the paddock. and please drink some water." you roll your eyes and stand, bringing him in for another hug before you slip out of the door.

almost two hours later, you're back in the williams garage with a guest headset over your ears. your stomach twists with nerves as the national anthem concludes. lily's hand is clasped with yours.

"the first lap is the worst. after that, you lose a lot of the anxiety," she assures you, noticing how you chew your lower lip.

"thanks." you pause for a moment, contemplating another question. "does it ever get easier? seeing how they go out there and drive like absolute maniacs for fun?"

"it does. it took me a couple of months, but after alex showed me all of the safety features in the car and in his fireproofs, it definitely helped."

it's the moment you've been dreading.

one red light.

two.

three.

four.

five.

and then none.

the engines roar and the race has begun. lily didn't lie to you- the first lap is excruciatingly long, but when everyone's completed their first loop around the circuit, you let yourself breathe. your eyes are trained on the screen above you, and the laps are flying by so quickly that you barely process that the race is nearly halfway over.

but then logan's car is in the wall. fuck.

as you watch the replay of his crash, you can feel white-hot rage burning in your body. after the race stewards only declare a ten-second penalty and two super license points, though, you're fuming. "two penalty points and a ten-second penalty? magnussen caused logan's race to end, and they just let him go? they just forgive him and move on? how can he get away with that? this is bullshit!"

what a crash, what a rush

the first person logan looks for when he walks back into the williams garage, his visor still low over his eyes in shame, is you. when you see him walking towards the room where you and lily watch the race, you tear the headset off of your ears and run to him. the feeling of his arms wrapping around your shoulders and hearing his heartbeat even through your musician's earplugs soothes your agitated nerves. he's okay. he's alive. he isn't hurt. "thank fuck you're okay," you say, even though he definitely can't hear you through his helmet and over the roar of passing engines. when you pull away, you press a kiss to his knuckles and hope he understands how much love you're trying to convey through such a small gesture.

fuck me up, florida!

one of logan's best friends on the grid is oscar. oscar's teammate got his maiden win after almost five years of waiting in miami.

like any sensible person, you celebrate with him.

you have no idea what the name of the club is, much less how many drinks you've had so far, but what you do know is that lando has commandeered the dj station and logan is pressed against your back, his hands resting on your hips. the air is hot and thick, your heartbeat pounds in your head. the opening notes of bad bunny's tití me preguntó begin playing through the massive speakers, and you shoot a glare up to lando that he doesn't see, his focus instead on the equipment in front of him. when the bass hits, though, you let all apprehensiveness go and your genetics take the reins. your hips sway and swing to the beat, your hands wander up and down your torso, and logan simply follows your lead. it takes you a moment to realize that, if you want to get a rise out of him, you're going to have to spin around and face him.

with your hips swaying against his and how unbearably beautiful you look in the dim light, your skin glowing with sweat and your hair up in a high ponytail, logan can't help but lean down and kiss you when you finally turn around. you reciprocate gladly, your right leg slotting between both of his, and...

oh.

oh.

he's hard.

you pull away slightly, barely an inch between your lips. "slow your roll there, tiger."

"i don't want to." fire zips down your spine at the sound of his voice, low and breathy and so, so desperate. "need to fuck you."

"should we get outta here, then?"

"i thought you'd never ask." you smile and kiss him quickly, then take his hand and weave your way through the crowded dance floor. as the miami night air hits your face, you immediately feel cooler. you sigh, taking a moment to breathe and regulate your heart rate and body temperature, but you can't breathe for that long before logan wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him and kissing your neck. you laugh, running your hands along his forearms.

"logan, not here. the hotel is two blocks away."

"i can't help it, baby, you just look so pretty," he hums, kissing the back of your neck once more before pulling away and stepping around to face you. "you look so pretty, and you're mine."

his possessiveness of you makes more heat zip down your spine, and you almost drool at how he's looking at you. his eyes, normally a beautiful mix between the blues of the sky and sea, ar"e almost completely dark, only a small sliver of his irises remaining, and the muscles in his jaw tick. "hotel. now."

by the time you reach the door to logan's hotel room, you're both out of breath from how hard he kissed you in the elevator and the arousal and need between your legs won't be stopped unless he replaces it. you stumble through the door and try to kiss logan again, matching the vigor he showed you in the elevator, but he stops you. "wanna take my time with you tonight."

"yeah?" you raise an eyebrow and inspect his face. the blinds are open but no lights are on, so all you can see is the side of his face that's illuminated by the lights from the streets of miami. it's an unusually beautiful sight.

"yeah. nothing about what i'm about to do to you is going to be fast. i'm gonna make you feel good tonight. how's that sound?"

"that sounds amazing, logan." you lean forward and kiss him gently, your lips slotting together as if you were made for each other. who knows, maybe you were. the next five minutes are a blur, but before you know it, you're laying back against the pillows on logan's bed and his face is buried between your thighs, his tongue working magic on your clit. the air in the hotel room is filled with your moans and the sounds of logan devouring you like a man starved, and it's the most beautiful mix of sounds you've ever heard. when he flicks his tongue oh-so-perfectly against your entrance, his nose brushing over your clit, you moan and pull his hair hard, which, in turn, makes him moan against you.

you aren't sure how much time passes or how many orgasms logan pulls from you with just his tongue and his fingers, but when you feel completely and entirely spent, your chest heaving and your hairline sparkling with tiny beads of sweat, you pull logan up to you by his shoulders, and he looks completely and entirely fucked. "need you inside of me," you mumble, wiping at the mix of spit and cum that coats the entire bottom half of his face with your thumbs. as if on instinct, you bring your hands to your mouth and lick them clean, and logan groans at the sight. "inside. now."

"as you wish, baby." logan's hands fumble at his boxers, the only item of clothing he was left wearing, and when he finally, finally pushes himself into you, you both moan. your hands scrabble at his shoulders and back, most definitely leaving red marks that will raise later, and his mouth latches onto your neck, biting down and then gently kissing over the red spot.

"nngh, lo-" your brain is short circuiting, logan's cock filling you up so perfectly and absolutely ruining you for any other man ever.

"yeah? you okay, baby?" he pulls back from your neck and scans your face for any sign of discomfort of pain, his sky blue eyes searching your own. the feeling of safety you get from just that one action is almost enough to make you sob from how good you feel because of him, both physically and emotionally.

"feels so good, lo. j'st... move, please."

"you sure? i don't wanna hurt you."

"positive. now please." you reach a hand up and pull him down towards you by the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard. "fuck me properly." without wasting a second, logan reaches a hand down and hooks it under your left thigh, bringing your leg up to rest around his waist, then pulling back and thrusting back in fast. the moan that rips itself from your throat is sinful, and your breath is being punched from your lungs at the downright brutal pace logan's setting. your right leg finds itself locking around his waist, only bringing him infinitely closer, and now, each time he thrusts back into you, your clit bumps against his pelvis. within minutes, you're embarrassingly close to cumming again, and through your garbled mumbling and clawing at his shoulders, he understands, reaching his right hand down to gently press against your clit.

"cum for me, baby, please, need to feel you cum for me just one more time, just let go, i've got you." it's logan's voice that ultimately sends you pummelling over the edge into an orgasm that makes your back arch and your vision fuzz at the edges, and you cum with a cry of his name. his hips slow and his fingers maintain a steady rhythm on your clit, but you can tell it's taking its toll on him. "where- where do you want me to cum?"

"i'm on the pill, lo. inside, baby, please," you whine, and it takes two more thrusts before logan groans, his hips coming to a shuddering halt as he cums inside of you. it's a beautiful sight, too- his eyes scrunched closed and his eyebrows drawn together, his hair a complete mess from where your hands had pulled at it. your hands run through his hair and along his back, and you patiently wait as he comes back to earth.

"hi," he murmurs, opening his eyes and smiling down at you.

"hi," you respond.

no other words need to be said. you know you love him, and he knows he loves you.

and you're both okay with that.

this took me way longer to write than i thought it would, but i absolutely love it! reminder that my asks and requests are open, and i always get excited when i get feedback! take care of urselves lovies <3

[the-faceless-bride]

In need of 'Correction'...

Summary -> You were working for the other side, and while trying to plant bugs to gather information you end up getting caught, and while you thought you would end up dead... It somehow leads to something else... It seems the ones who caught you deem you in need of correction... A sweet doe-eyed thing like you wouldn't have done something like this on your own, you've clearly been manipulated... Don't worry, they'll help you.

⚠️warnings: porn w/ little to no plot, Non-con/Dub-con, forced orgasms, squirting, double penetration, anal (reader receiving), manipulation, mind break (?), yandere behavior (if you squint), ooc task force 141, I tried my best to keep reader GN! Read is called Pretty and has a vigina, reader is smaller than tf 141, readers codename is "Bandit", smut, slapping, being held against will, forced kissing, forced touching, forced oral (giving and receiving), interrogation, threats, dark content, violence against reader, might make a part 2 if you really like it, let me know if I missed anything!!!⚠️

Characters include: John Price, Johnny Soap, Simon Ghost, Kyle Gaz, Alejandro

A/n: I'm not the best at writing in Spanish, correct me if I write something wrong or incorrect, also I've been gone for a while so I'm a little rusty, please forgive me if it's shitty, ESPECIALLY the smut. If you have any tips I appreciate it, likes and reblogs are welcome!

You woke up with a throbbing in your head, your vision slightly blurred and your skin felt gross with the amount of dried blood that had been caked onto your face under your mask. You looked around, you were tied to a wooden chair and pushed into a small table, a single bright light illuminating the small room. an investigation room?.where were you? You don't remember much but you do remember being sent to plant bugs where the information is sent and getting information on some files...

You held onto the rafters crawling across as quickly and quietly as you could. Trying to reach the vents to crawl through and get right into the main office, you needed to plant a few bugs to get important information about some files and documents.

When you got into the vents you crawled around for a while trying to remember the layout you saw on the map. But you stopped when you heard voices. "-not sure, but whoever they are, they're smart. We gotta find them. They could be useful." another voice. "Maybe they can be persuaded to join our side? Money?" another voice. "tsk- shouldn't give money to a waste of air. How the hell sells out for money?! A disgrace if you ask me." they were talking about you. they wanted to get you on their side? Why? What for? Information? Skill? Or- oh shit.

The vent creaked.

All hell broke loose. Everyone in that room from what you heard got up and scattered to block off your only exits. You had to move fast.

You thought for a moment and chose to take the long way. You kicked open the grate beneath you and drop to the floor below. You ran out of the room. Taking turns. Trying to remember the way out.

Left.

Right.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Then your luck ran out and you slammed into someone's chest. You might know all their names, but you would be an idiot to not know him.

Ghost.

Then after a moment, he held you tightly the mask over your face becoming suffocating. And your vision began to blur.

He let you go and your head hit the wall, and you finally blacked out.

You didn't have more time to think before the door slammed open and a group of men walked through. They were all eyeing you. A dark hunger in their eyes.

One takes a step forward. You assume he is Captain Price. You try not to flinch as he rips the mask from your head. You still flinched. Some parts of your hair stick to your face. You fight the urge to try and wipe it off. Not wanting to risk taking your eyes off of the group of men that stood in front of you.

"hm-" a man huffed looking at you "When I pictured you, I didn't think you'd be so... Pretty?" a man with a Scottish accent thought out loud, the man next to him chuckled. "Soap, Gaz. Please. Keep it in your pants... For now." Ghost sighed.

Soap. And Gaz. That was their names...

You looked back to Price, he pouts in mock sympathy. Before pulling over a chai and sitting across from you.

"what's your name." he wasn't asking. He was giving you a command. His voice was deep and dripped with authority. In other circumstances, you would've felt flustered. But at this moment you were just scared. You weren't an idiot. These men were all bigger than you. You were a good fighter. But you knew if you tried to fight you would lose. And you didn't want to die here.

You looked up, making eye contact with Price. "I... I'm Bandit." you tried to hold eye contact but it was difficult. It felt like he was looking into the depths of your soul. You looked at your feet. Only to jump when his hand slammed on the table.

A faint, "aw" could be heard. You felt pathetic. "well. Bandit. You don't seem cut out for this kind of work. Too soft. Too jumpy. I don't wanna have to hurt that pretty face. So why don't you just tell me what you know? Confirm who you work for, and why you are on their side. And I might think about letting you go without a scare on you."

You look from him to the men behind him, back to your feet. You couldn't tell them anything. Even if they let you go after this you'll be tracked down. From where you sit. Both end in death. You didn't know these men well. But you knew the men you worked with. They were cruel, and unforgiving, and would skin you alive and leave you for the rats to pick at. You chose to take your chances with these men.

"oh? No longer interested in talking? Fine. But you asked for it. Alejandro. If you wouldn't mind?" Price stood from his chair. And the man Alejandro walked towards you. Your heart rate picked up.

You didn't get a moment to think as a hard smack was sent to the side of your face, fuck did it hurt. You tried to hold in the tears as a whimper escaped you. Blow after blow to your ribs, cheek, legs, and hands. All dealt with the same amount of unforgiving force. Ten minutes in you were a whimpering tear-stained mess. Small gasps of "stop." and "please." you were never cut out for this pain. You had always stayed in the shadows away from the fire. Now you curse yourself for not training your body and pain tolerance.

The strikes stopped and the man named Gaz took a step forward, his hand coming up to your face and you flinch away. He coos at you. Mocking you.

"you poor thing. You just want this to stop." you lightly nod your head as he takes a rag that he dipped in a bucket of freezing water - was that bucket always there? - he softly runs the rag over your face cleaning you of the blood and sweat. Using a hand to move hair from your face. The softness makes you mean into his touch. No longer wanting the painful touch.

"If you want this to stop, all you have to do is tell us what you know. What they know and why. Okay?" your lip trembles, "I can't." you whisper. "It was just meant to be a quick cash grab. I needed to help pay off a debt and this money was meant to help. If I tell you I either end up dead or tracked down and beaten to death later." Gaz looks into your eyes for a moment before they shift to the other men. They all seem to nod their heads, having a secret conversation with themselves. "we can protect you. As long as you work for us instead."

"b-but I don't know anything important about the people who hired me. I-" he and the rest of the men let out low chuckles, "no, we don't mean that kind of work. Just, allow us to show you how you've been wrong and do some... Physical work for us."

"physical work? But I'm not as strong as you guys and I don't have that much pain tolerance when it comes to this stuff and-" you were cut off, "don't worry, you'll get more of a tolerance and you being weaker is just how we like it." you were so focused on trying to put the pieces together to notice the rest of the men closing in on you, "I can see in your pretty eyes that your confused, allow as to make it nice and easy for you to understand."

The ropes around your hands and legs were snapped and you were lifted onto the table. Soap and Alejandro held down your legs, as Ghost and Price help your arms, Gaz worked on unbuckling your belt. After a moment of shock, the pieces finally fell into their place.

You began to struggle. "wait! I- you can't! Let go! Let me go!" Alejandro laughs at your cries, "More vocal now, aren't you pequeña? Just enjoy it. It's better than the pain before isn't it?"

Your pants are now around your knees, you wish you could close your legs or cover them but you can't. "don't worry love, I'll be nice. I'll prepare you a little." Gaz smiles at you as he lowers his head. Pressing a kiss to your clit before taking a long and slow lick up your cunt. "no please!" you struggle to keep yourself composed.

He kisses and sucks lightly on your clit, coaxing more sweet slick to drip from you. You don't wanna like it. You've never felt such pleasure in this way before. You didn't have sex a lot with your job but when you did it was rushed and didn't focus solely on you. But at this moment that was the only thing happening.

You felt him push a finger in, searching for that sweet spot that would make you cry out. And after a moment a gasp from you told Gaz that he had found it. He then pushed in another finger, both pushing against that spongy spot within you, sucking your clit at the same time. Your back arches. Stop it! You don't want this. You don't want to like this. This was wrong. Gross. So why did your body respond so willingly to him?

"she's fighting it." Ghost groans out. Clearly enjoying your sounds of struggle and strangled whimpers.

"awe, com'on hen. Let go. Enjoy it."

You gasp as you feel the knot start to tighten more and more. Don't. Don't you dare. If you do they'll win! You can't! Don't!-

You gasp. you feel a gush of liquid as the knot pulls tight and snaps. You look up, your vision around you blurring as you look into the one light above you. After a beat, you look down between your legs. Gaz's lips, chin, and even his nose were covered in your slick. You felt your face go warm with embarrassment, you had never done that before.

"oh fuck yeah-" Soap groans out and the others make a sound of agreement, all of them now all over you. Your body feels numb and you don't know if you have it in you to struggle. Soap kissed his way up to your chest playing with your chest, Alejandro kissed and left marks on your hips, Price and Ghost kissed your neck and collarbone.

You heard the sound of a belt buckle before feeling something warm, soft, and round rubbing against your entrance. You whimper knowing what's coming.

"oh lovie don't whine like that, you'll almost make me feel bad." Gaz teased slowly pushing in with a soft sigh as you clench around him. He leans over careful of the others and kisses you. The kiss is sickeningly sweet and soft. The soft whine he makes also does no favors in helping you keep your composer.

Soap pulls away with a light, "fuck it" as he makes his way over to the other side undoing his belt, "Hen, mind given me a hand?" you don't really get to respond as he takes your hand and wraps it around his cock, using your hand as a fucktoy the precum oozing and making your hand slick and sticky. "oh, yeah hen~ such a good little pet~" he sighs Alejandro soon joining his making you use both hands, both men grinning as they chase their pleasure.

Gaz thrusts a few times testing to see if you've relaxed a bit more so he could slide in and out easier. Once he was satisfied he pulled away making a motion towards the other men, they all move to the side. Soap and Alejandro stroking their girths, Price and Ghost finally undoing their belts.

You were now laid onto of Gaz as he pushed himself back into your dripping pussy, Soap and Alejandro taking your hands to stroke their cocks again, Price and Ghost finally picking their spots.

Ghost pushes his angry red tip against your plush lips, his eyes giving you a warning to dare and disobey the Silent order. And Price made his way behind you with Gaz, he wasn't as kind as Gaz was he simply spreads your ass apart before spitting and letting his tip do the work of spreading the makeshift lube.

You lick your lips nervously as you slowly open your mouth for the man looming over you. He wastes no time pushing his way into your mouth and thrusting his hips making sure to touch the back of your throat each time. And Price simply pushed in, no warning, no stretch, the burn was painful. It made you whine and sputter around Ghost who was starting up an unforgiving rhythm that would surely leave your throat raw.

The mix of Pain from Price, the pleasure from Gaz and his perfectly arched cock hitting the most sensitive part inside of you, and the lack of oxygen due to Ghost's unforgiving thrusts and the dirty words in your ears from Alejandro and Soap was overwhelming. But fuck was it good.

All these feelings, the fear inside of you, the lust. You just couldn't take it anymore. Fighting would be useless at this point.

You start pumping Soap and Alejandro faster, they both let out a surprised sigh but quickly allow themselves to be taken care of.

"that's it hen, be a good little toy for us~ fuck your so hot hen~"

"Sí, así como así mi amor. Esa es una buena chica, sigue acariciándome así."

Ghost groans with a smirk, you can't see it behind his mask but if you could you'd melt.

"That's it dear, focus on sucking that cock. You like taking my cock, don't you? You'll swallow it all right baby?"

Gaz and Price fucking into you.

"Fucking Slut, you like taking cock huh? you like the way I fuck you? Fuck your tight, never taking it in the ass before huh? Well, you're gonna have to get used to it my little slut."

"Fuck lovie, you're so good for us. You'll be good, right? You'll stay and be our little cock slut? You'll play nice right? Can't wait for the others to see you like this. Such a perfect little pet for us~"

You whimper and moan, Fuck you're gonna cum again. And from the sounds around you, so are they.

In a few moments, Soap lets out a sweet moan and paints the left side of your face white with his cum. The sight made Alejandro groan, you looked so pretty, covering the right side of your face with His cum too. They pull away admiring their work.

Ghost's hips pick up in spread before he slams down holding your head in place, your nose against the ash-blonde happy trail. Cum flowed down your throat, swallowing all you could. He pulls back as you cough and suck in as much air as you could.

Your hands shoot down to hold onto Gaz's shoulders, your moans now free for all to hear. You moan as you feel yourself squirt again all over Gaz's thighs, a moment later feeling both men fill you with their cum. Price was the first to pull out with a low chuckle.

"so what do you say Lovie? Wanna stay with us? I promise we'll give you lots of orgasms~"

Part 2 ->

[pabuelito]

𝜗𝜚⋆ Hey I’m Kata!! I don’t really mind what you call me!

𝜗𝜚⋆ I’m trying out writing so I might be a bit Rusty please feel free to leave me tips! It would be greatly appreciated!! ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

𝜗𝜚⋆ Spanish is my first language(although I’ve lost it a bit over the years) so my grammar isn’t the best!

𝜗𝜚⋆ My rules Here!!(Please check this out before you send a request!!)

𝜗𝜚⋆ I do a lot of participating work/clubs/sports so I will try my best to write and get through requests please be patient with me! <3

𝜗𝜚⋆ Anons: 🎀,🍡,🫧,🌙,⭐️,🍀,☀️,🩰,🪷,🦢,🦭,🦈,🪼,💎,🎉,🧸,💗,🕯️,🍩,🍪,🍙,🍥,🍓,🍒

!Minors/Ageless blogs please DNI!

[koffeesfancy]

Rapture Ch. 1 | Koffee x Reader

Summary: After relocating to Spanish Town, you find yourself being ostracized in university as the frog-obsessed weird girl with no friends. Your educational experience is less than rewarding until you become entangled in the beguiling world of a girl from the basketball team, whose cruel and teasing nature captivates and confounds you. This unexpected connection draws you into a whirlwind of emotions and self-discovery, transforming your path in ways you never imagined.

Genre: Dark-ish romance, fluff, angst, college!au

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2907

A/N: Ah yes, another chapter fic. I worked very hard on this one, dedicating a lot of focus and skill into it. I plan on this story having more conflict, general moodiness, and sexual tension even so it has a different rating from my other stories which are intended to be more humorous and light reads. Also, this time I experimented with all dialogue (minus the reader's) being in Jamaican patois with some American spellings and vocab. Although my family and community are Caribbean, I am not, so what I've written may be rusty. Feel free to correct me. I tried to find a balance between authentic conversation and accessibility. I may come back and make changes as the story progresses. Feedback is appreciated always. Enjoy <3

Taglist: @lyfeofbilly @prettymrswright

The science department at the University of Spanish Town was where the word “academia” went to die a slow, painful death. It was lovingly referred to as a social club among the other offices and anyone who knew it would laugh at its facade of molding young minds or pioneering research. The course load was light, deadlines were suggestions at best, and professors often skipped lectures altogether. Most students were either pre-med kids with rich parents or athletes looking for easy grades.

And then there was you, the starry-eyed idealist who thought the university’s environmental science degree would be your ticket to saving the rainforests. At seventeen, you had to move to your grandparents' house in a new city and chose the nearest, cheapest college with an e-sci program. If you’d had friends in your last year of school, they might have warned you about the university’s laid-back reputation. But your social awkwardness kept you in the dark, so here you were, blissfully ignorant and full of naivety.

Orientation felt like a bad sequel to secondary school. You hoped it would be your chance to finally break out of your shell, but nope. Everyone already had their cliques, and no one was interested in befriending the weird girl obsessed with frogs and trees. Professors (though friendly) lacked enthusiasm, lectures turned into casual chats, and your burning questions about conservation were met with bored shrugs. The syllabus promised exciting research and fieldwork, but instead, you were met with worksheets and outdated textbooks. Disillusionment set in fast as you realized you were being robbed of your dream.

“W-what’s the point of all this?” you once blurted out during another wasted lecture. Your voice was louder than you intended, cutting through the quiet chatter of the room. All eyes turned towards you, and you immediately felt the heat of a few dozen stares. Your cheeks burned as you realized what you had done. Professor Thomas looked up from his game of Candy Crush, raising an eyebrow with a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Di point?” he echoed, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Mi nuh know- fi mek sure yuh stay outta trouble fi three years?"

The class snickered in unison, the professor’s nonchalant tone adding to your discomfort. You fidgeted in your seat, wishing you could sink into the floor and disappear. The feeling of being exposed and out of place washed over you in waves.

"Trouble? I just want to save the planet," you said, your voice coming out more defensive than you had intended. You could feel the tension in the room change as your classmates looked on with curious amusement.

"Save di planet?" Professor Thomas chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Yuh fi start wid di school first. Yuh ever see di state a di atrium?"

The class erupted in laughter, and your heart sank. You couldn’t help but feel immense regret for your outburst. The momentary courage you had felt evaporated, leaving behind a deep sense of embarrassment. You stared down at your notebook, the lines blurring as tears of frustration welled up in your eyes.

Why did you have to say anything? You berated yourself silently. The professor’s mocking tone and your classmates' laughter played on repeat in your mind. You felt small, insignificant, and utterly alone in a room full of people. The dream of making a difference seemed so far away now, buried under the weight of ridicule and self-doubt.

As the laughter died down, the professor returned to his game, and the class resumed its usual dull rhythm. But for you, the sting of embarrassment lingered. You scribbled aimlessly in your notebook, trying to distract yourself from the gnawing feeling of failure. At that moment, the idea of saving the planet seemed not only daunting but almost impossible. How could you make a difference in the world when you couldn’t even stand up for yourself in a classroom?

From then on, you spent your breaks, like today, alone in the atrium while other students hung out in the canteen or on the lawn. The atrium was a small, gloomy courtyard with a wild assortment of shrubs, flowers, and a few young trees. No one had thought to maintain it in years, so vines covered virtually every surface and few of the light fixtures worked. The little jungle had become a place of solace for you amidst the alienating environment of the rest of the school. 

You sat on one of the vine-covered stone benches, knees drawn to your chest as you concentrated on sketching a scientific illustration of a Panamanian golden frog. The little frog waved her four toes, a common strategy to distract predators. You admired her bravery, wishing you had the same confidence to scare off your own bullies. 

Even in college, you were still the target of ridicule. Classmates snickered at your cozy fashion choices, making snide comments about their grandmas owning similar shoes or skirts. Your books had been hidden more than once, and your ideas were almost always shot down as doing too much during group projects.

You became utterly lost in illustrating the world of the little frog, your pencil dancing across the page as you brought her delicate form to life. Each stroke was a whisper of your own soul, etched in graphite and paper. Maybe in some ways, she was like you- a tiny creature fighting against a world that didn't understand her. She and her family were critically endangered, their vibrant green world shrinking day by day due to loss of habitat. You, too, had lost your home, forced to move in with your grandparents in Spanish Town for your final year of secondary school. 

By now, you had named the frog Bertha. The name felt right, a sturdy, old-fashioned one for such a resilient little being. Bertha had been uprooted from her home, just like you, and moved to a foreign terrarium in a desperate bid for preservation. You imagined she felt as lost and alone as you did, staring out at a world that seemed strange and unwelcoming. 

As you added the final touches to the picture, the jarring creak of the heavy iron door and voices shattered the tranquility of your sanctuary. Your head jerked up, heart pounding painfully in your chest. Your eyes darted to the entrance, partially obscured by the overgrown foliage that draped like a tattered curtain. Two figures stumbled into view, their shadows stretching long and distorted across the stone path as the bright light from the hall spilled into the atrium, casting an eerie glow.

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the shifting light, but soon you recognized the intruders. Mikayla, a sophomore on the basketball team, and Gabriella, a senior biology major, were locked in a heated argument. Their voices were low, yet their words carried a weight that hung heavy in the air, each one dripping with frustration and tension. Mikayla's lean, athletic frame was rigid with barely contained anger, while Gabriella's hands gestured wildly, her usually composed demeanor fraying at the edges.

"Wah deh wrong wid you?" Gabriella demanded, her voice a mix of anger and desperation. Her dark curls framed a face etched with worry, eyes wide and searching. Even across the path, you could see the lines of stress and fatigue on her face.

Mikayla shrugged, her posture nonchalant, almost dismissive. "Nothing de wrong wid me. Yu eva deh overreacting," she said, her tone dripping with disdain. She folded her arms across her chest, her stance defensive and closed off.

Gabriella's face contorted with hurt, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Overreacting? Mi overreacting? Mi cyaa manage dis—mi cyaa manage wid yuh! Mi ave grad school applications, exams—"

"Yeh, and mi ave basketball," Mikayla shot back, her tone turning sharp and icy. "Mi cyaa manage wid yuh drama all di time."

Gabriella took a step back, her expression crumbling. "Mi? Mikayla, yuh know seh dis important fi mi," she said, her voice breaking. The desperation in her tone was clear, each word laced with pain.

Mikayla's eyes flashed with irritation, her jaw clenched tight. "And mi tired a be somebody secret. Duh yu even know o dat feels? Fi act like everything good all di time wen mi a go crazy?" Her voice was rising, anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

Gabriella’s eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head, unable to form a response. She turned abruptly and hurried back into the building, her sobs echoing in the stillness left behind. The sound tugged at your heart, and you realized with a shock that you hadn’t known they were dating.

For a moment, Mikayla stood there, staring after Gabriella, her short frame silhouetted against the dusty windows. Shadows danced across her face, emphasizing the tension settling into her features. She clenched her fists at her sides, then, with a frustrated curse that echoed through the corridor, she kicked a rock lying on the stone tiles. The small stone skittered across the ground and rolled to a slow stop right by your foot, disrupting the fragile peace of your hidden sanctuary.

You held your breath, heart pounding in your chest, praying she wouldn’t notice you. But it was too late. Her sharp eyes, glinting with a mix of anger and surprise, locked onto yours. Time seemed to freeze, tension thick in the air. The silence was a heavy blanket, smothering and suffocating, as Mikayla's gaze bore into you.

She walked over, each step deliberate and measured, the sound of her sneakers echoing on the ground like a drumbeat in the quiet space. When she stopped in front of you, her gaze dropped to your sketchbook. For a long, excruciating moment, she just stood there, staring intently at the detailed drawing. Her expression softened, the harsh lines of anger and frustration melting away, replaced by something almost like curiosity, or perhaps some form of disbelief.

The silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable, as if the very air was holding its breath. You could feel the weight of her presence, the heat of her barely contained emotions radiating off her in waves. Finally, Mikayla straightened, her cat-like brown eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of something—recognition, perhaps, or maybe just a hint of understanding—in her gaze. It sent a wave of heat through your body that settled into the pit of your stomach. 

Her lips twisted into a cruel smile, the metal of her braces catching the dim light and glinting menacingly. It was a smile that held no warmth, only a cold amusement. She said nothing, her silence louder than any words could have been. Instead, she casually turned on her heel in a relaxed motion and left the atrium, her footsteps fading into the distance, leaving you alone once more with your thoughts and your sketches.

As her footsteps faded, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The atrium seemed to return to its quiet self, but something had shifted. You glanced down at Bertha, her tiny feet perfectly drawn on the page. Maybe, like her, you could have found a way to stand up for yourself just now.

Why didn’t I say anything? Why did I just sit there like a scared rabbit? you thought, frustration bubbling up inside you. The encounter left you rattled, but also strangely intrigued. You also thought about what could have driven Mikayla to such cruelty and why had Gabriela been keeping their relationship a secret. Furthermore, you wondered why Mikayla looked at your sketchbook with such intensity. 

The questions swirled in your mind, mingling with the lingering echoes of their argument. You gathered your belongings and stood, brushing off your corduroy skirt. I should have done something. Said something you berated yourself. The atrium felt different now, as if the air itself had absorbed the tension of the confrontation. You took one last look around before heading to your next class, your mind still buzzing with the unexpected drama you had witnessed. In a place where you often felt invisible, today you had been a silent observer to a moment of raw human emotion, and it pathetically left you feeling more disconnected and confused than ever.

It had been days since the encounter in the atrium. Today, the sky was blanketed by gray rain that drizzled steadily outside. You sat in the corner next to a window, your tray of lunch untouched beside you, engrossed in sketching a white-lipped tree frog. The rhythmic patter of rain against the glass provided a soothing backdrop to your thoughts, lulling you into a comfortable daze.

The canteen buzzed with the low hum of conversations, but you were lost in your own world, the frog's delicate form taking shape under your pencil. You meticulously added the tiny ridges along its back, the subtle curve of its legs. The drawing was almost complete when your peace was abruptly shattered.

Three trays clattered down on the table, and you jerked your head up in surprise. Mikayla, along with two other girls from the basketball team, had joined you. Lila, a cool senior who always seemed to be the center of attention, and Jaz, a junior who was perpetually giggly, were already deep in conversation as they approached. The three girls brought a whirlwind of energy with them, disrupting the tranquil bubble you had created.

"Eh, de sumady here?" Lila asked rhetorically, plopping down without waiting for an answer. Her auburn ‘fro was pulled into a puff, and her cheeks were still splashed with rain from outside. She glanced at your sketchbook with mild curiosity before dismissing it entirely. 

Jaz slid into the seat next to you, her tray clinking with a loud metallic scrape. Mikayla, her dark locs parted into two French braids, sat across from you. She gave you a brief nod, her expression unreadable. You hadn’t seen her since the strange encounter in the atrium and felt antsy being so close now.

They continued chatting and eating as if you weren't there, their laughter and banter filling the space between you. Lila was recounting a particularly amusing incident from practice, her hands animated as she spoke. Jaz laughed heartily, her voice ringing out above the din of the cafeteria. Mikayla smiled a bit but seemed more reserved, her eyes occasionally drifting towards you.

You felt a pang of anxiety, your mind scrambling for a way to escape the situation. Just as you were about to gather your things, Lila turned to you.

"Yu waan that?" she asked, picking up an apple from your tray with a mischievous grin. The green fruit was polished to a shine, and its crisp, tangy scent wafted over the table.

Before you could respond, Mikayla scowled at Lila. "Lila, yuh too rude! Yu cyaan jus thief from di gyal!" Her voice had a sharp edge to it, and her eyes flashed with a warning. Then, with a dramatic flourish, Mikayla snatched the apple from Lila's hand and took a bite herself. The crisp crunch echoed in the brief silence before the whole table erupted in laughter, the sound ringing in your ears.

You forced a smile, your heart pounding. The conversation shifted again, leaving you feeling even more out of place. Lila and Jaz resumed their animated discussion about the upcoming basketball game, their voices blending into the background noise of the cafeteria. Just as you were about to retreat back into your sketchbook, Jaz turned to you.

"Yaah a come tuh si wi tonight?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and she leaned in closer, her braids falling in loose waves around her face.

You hesitated, glancing nervously between the three girls. "Um, I wasn't planning to," you mumbled, your fingers tightening around your pencil. Your sketchbook suddenly felt like a flimsy shield against the social whirlwind.

"Nuh, yuh a guh ave fun- mi swear yuh a guh fulljoy it!" Jaz encouraged, her smile genuine. Her eyes were warm and inviting, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of hope.

Mikayla chuckled, the sound making you flinch. "Yeah, yu haffi come. Yu shud try mek friend dem fi once," she said, her tone teasing. Her eyes met yours briefly, and you saw a flicker of something—was it amusement or something else entirely?

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The rest of the lunch break passed in a blur of awkwardness and forced conversation. The girls gossiped about their teammates, shared inside jokes, and included you in their banter a few times, though you mostly nodded and smiled, feeling like an outsider looking in.

Eventually, Lila and Jaz stood to leave, tossing casual goodbyes over their shoulders. Mikayla lingered behind, her eyes fixed on you. The cafeteria seemed to fade into the background, the noise dulling as she looked at you with a seriousness that caught you off guard.

"Mi expec tuh si yu tonight, Miss" she said directly, her voice holding a note of challenge. "Mi waan fi si yu deh.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving you with a swirling mix of emotions. You sat there for a moment, staring at the half-eaten apple on the table. Why had she invited you? What did she want? The questions gnawed at you, making it hard to concentrate as you gathered your things and left the canteen.

Table of Contents

Next Chapter

[dusk-outlaw-gaming]

Following up with my previous post, here's the full scene.

I'm a bit rusty in terms of writing but I hope it's still alright to read.

With that said, happy reading

:)

***

"So... do you have a crush, Noceda?"

Luz turned her head to look at the witch with her eyebrows raised, "what?!"

"A crush," Amity quipped, "you know, someone you-"

"I know what a crush is, thanks!"

"So- who is it?" the witch asked, a teasing gleam shimmering in her golden eyes, "anyone I know?"

Luz snorted, "wouldn't you like to know, Blight?"

"I'm just... curious."

"Why? What's it to you?"

Luz was kind of taken aback by the rather odd questions; until now Amity Blight has never shown any sort of honest interest in the human's life or anything regarding her really. So to have Amity be this nosy all of a sudden was a completely new experience, maybe even a bit suspicious.

"No particular reason," Amity responded, halting Luz's train of thoughts.

"Uh... okay?"

"Do you?"

Golden eyes stared intently into hazel ones.

For a brief moment Luz thought she could see something in those eyes; something she couldn't put her finger on but it was enough to make her avert her gaze.

The brunette sighed, staring up at the ceiling. She gulped, a familiar warmth rising in her abdomen, traveling up to her chest as her heart began to beat faster, accompanied by a fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach.

"I... I do." A blush infiltrated her cheeks.

"Uh huh?"

Amity sounded... hopeful?

"But I'm not gonna tell you," Luz quickly added, a wide grin spread on her face.

'Nice safe.'

Unfortunately the Dominican-American got a bit too carried away by her supposed triumph over Amity, distracted enough to not notice the pillow being flung towards her, hitting her square in the face with a thud.

"Ow! What the fuck, Blight?!"

"Be glad I only threw it... suffocating you with it was actually my first impulse."

Luz grumbled as she pushed the pillow aside, shaking her head, "you and your-"

"I got a crush too, you know" Amity blurted out, the ivory skin around her cheeks tinted in a soft, rosy color.

Luz blinked, her heart skipped a beat. Was Amity trying to-

No.

No, it can't be.

Not her.

Not Amity Blight.

That just wasn't going to happen.

'Don't get your hopes up, Luz.'

Afraid of what the witch might be able to read from her reaction, Luz resorted to what she knew best, to what had been their dynamic for years.

Or call it lack of better judgment.

"You?!" she scoffed, "you of all people? Didn't know that heart of yours knew feelings."

As soon as the last words had left her lips, the brunette instantly regretted what she had said; it had come out a lot harsher than intended.

She watched Amity's frame stiffen as she wrapped her arms around herself. The witch's expression hardened, in her eyes a clear reflection of how those words hurt.

"Y-yeah," Amity voice cracked, fingers digging into her arms, "I know, right? How could I possibly have feelings for someone? I'm expected to be a cold-hearted bitch with no emotions, right?"

'LUZ! YOU FOOL!'

"A-Amity, I-"

"I know I always act like I don't care!" the lavender haired witch barked, blinking back tears, "but the truth is I'm scared and confused!"

Amity's hands fell onto her lap, fingers clenching around the hem of her skirt.

"Scared because I fell in love with someone despite pledging to myself to never let that happen again! To not be vulnerable anymore," Amity hiccuped, her grip tightened, "confused because that certain someone managed to sneak into my heart so... effortlessly!

All because I think it's adorable how she pulls her beanie into her face when she gets flustered, because I like the way she makes my knees go weak whenever she speaks Spanish and because I like how her laugh causes my heart and stomach to flutter!"

Luz froze.

She stared at Amity, wide eyed with her mouth agape.

She was used to outburts like these but they never had been so emotionally charged and... sincere.

Did she really just-?

Guilt began to creep up on the human, it paralyzed her. She hated making others cry. It was one of the reasons Luz felt so insecure about herself and why she thought all she was capable of is failing.

She messed up.

Again.

The word echoed in her mind, merging with Amity's sobs.

Luz acted on impulse.

Throwing caution to the wind, well aware she could risk a broken nose if she followed through with the thought roaring loudly in her head, she finally moved.

It was worth a try.

She owed it to her.

"Amity..."

The addressed woman's body tensed further as she felt a pair of arms wrap around her trembling frame, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"I'm terribly sorry, Amity," Luz murmured, her voice hushed but full of sincerity, "it wasn't fair of me to disregard you and your feelings like this and be a dick about it. I shouldn't have said that. I'm... so sorry."

Luz braced herself for a punch to the gut at the feeling of the lavender haired witch stirring; instead she found herself astonished as Amity sank into her body, her own arms wrapping around Luz's midriff, face buried into the human's shoulder.

With that, Amity crumbled. Her entire body shook as tears fell freely, hands clutching the back of Luz's army jacket, sobs and hiccups filled the room.

It was clear that Amity has had all these feelings bottled up inside her for quite some time, the added pressure of keeping up an image with a nonchalant demeanor must've been exhausting.

The brunette's heart squeezed painfully at the realization. She took a quivering breath, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

Luz internally cursed herself; this was her fault. She was the one who had been insensitive about the whole thing to begin with.

She had to fix this.

She needed to.

She wanted to.

And Luz knew how. Or at least she hoped.

The dark haired woman shifted, placing her legs onto either side of Amity's thighs so she could pull her closer. Cautiously Luz moved one hand to the back of the witch's neck, drawing soothing circles into the ivory skin with her thumb, letting the other do the same on Amity's back.

To Luz's surprise it seemed to have immediate effect, the heavy shaking and erratic breathing calmed gradually.

"Y-you know... the one I fell for-" Luz gulped, "she uh... has this habit of twirling the hem or the sleeve of her shirt in between her fingers whenever she's nervous. I think that's adorable.

She's... super cute when she's deeply focused. She does this spinning trick with her pen... I still haven't figured out how she does it but... she looks so fucking cool doing it."

Luz could feel her cheeks begin to burn, by now her heart raced; it became harder and harder to remain calm and collected.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought she heard Amity gasp.

"She uh- she's got such beautiful eyes, the most wonderful, magnificent golden eyes I've ever had the pleasure to gaze into and... lose myself within."

Silence emerged between the two of them, each passing second made Luz grow more anxious.

By now Amity's sobs had died down, replaced by soft snuffles.

The witch eventually moved and wiggled out of Luz's embrace, hands gliding along the smaller woman's back, sliding beneath the jacket to come to a rest at her hips.

The warmth of Amity's hands seeped through the fabric of Luz's t-shirt and caused her heart thump eagerly in her chest.

Slightly reddened eyes stared up into hazel ones, darting back and forth in between them.

Luz swallowed, bringing both her hands up to cup Amity's face, gently running her thumbs across the witch's cheekbones to wipe away her tears.

The digits lingered, shyly caressing the rosy cheeks as she gazed into Amity's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Amity," Luz stated, her voice at the verge of cracking, "I'm sorry I-"

"D-did- did you- did you mean all that?"

The witch's voice was small, almost nothing more but a mere whisper.

"I am sorry, yes. I really did mean-"

"N-no... what you... said about-"

A small but gentle smile found it's way onto Luz's lips, her response emphasized by a shy nod and a quiet, affirmative hum.

"Mhm."

It felt like time stood still as their eyes locked onto one another, Luz's hands still resting on the other woman's cheeks.

She noticed Amity's eyes briefly dip down, saw her swallow, heard the quivering breath the lavender haired witch released.

Something lingered in the air and it made the human's heart palpitate, making her head swim but strangely, it elated her.

Gathering all the courage she had, she took action.

She reached to tuck a strand of hair behind Amity's ear and slowly, she leaned in.

Their lips brushed against each other in a shy manner, nerves seemed to get the better of them. They were so close already, breaths mingling and quickening in anticipation.

"Luz..." Amity breathed and shifted, wrapping her arms around Luz's neck, which prompted the human's arms to drop, circling around Amity's waist.

The lavender haired witch pulled Luz in to close the gap and finally their lips melded together.

Tension released, causing both women to sigh into the kiss as their bodies relaxed.

Long lasting, suppressed affection bubbled to the surface, finally breaking free from imaginary shackles and allowed two hearts to soar.

Their lips separated, albeit briefly, eager to find each other once more.

And again.

And again.

One last, lingering kiss got shared before their lips parted with a soft sound, breathless but happy chuckles filled the room.

"I guess," Luz whispered, forehead resting against Amity's, "that answers your question?"

Amity laughed softly and gently caressed the back of Luz's neck, stealing yet another peck.

"It does."

A comfortable beat of silence passed in between them, enough time for their breathing to return to normal.

"You uh... wanna go for some coffee?" Luz asked, her usual shy demeanor making an appearance.

"Are you asking me out, Luz Noceda?"

"W-well, I-" she cleared her throat, hand subconciously reaching for her beanie to pull the accessory into her face, "y-yes?"

Amity chuckled and reached to push the fabric back up to meet her eyes, "I'd love to have a coffee with you."

The human beamed and excitedly jumped to her feet, slightly staggering from a head rush.

"Luz, are you okay?" Amity inquired, having noticed the wobble in the brunette's legs.

"Yeah, just got up too fast. It's fine," Luz responded with an embarrassed snicker, offering a hand to the lavender haired witch who gladly accepted.

Luz threaded their fingers together, holding Amity's hand tightly.

"Shall we?"

"One more thing..."

"What is-"

A loud thud broke the silence of the room as Luz's shoulder got aquainted to Amity's fist.

"OW!"

"That's for making me cry," Amity remarked and grinned widely, baring her fangs.

"Yeah... yeah, okay. I deserved that one," Luz hissed, rubbing the aching spot on her shoulder.

***

And that wraps up this one.

If you made it to here: Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read through all of that. I really appreciate it. Hope you'll be having a fantastic day! :)

And hey, I don't bite. If you wanna talk, shoot me a message :)

[jeahreading]

(Right I think It's time for me to finally get this over with )

Helloo and Welcome to my Blog, This is Primarily a Writer/readerBlr, but there are other things too(Particularly listening to podcasts ) since I can't be bothered to make a side one.

My reader side - I am an avid reader and am almost always in the middle of a book, I will be updating here on which books I'm reading

Current read list -

Dracula (Bram Stoker)

The Screaming Staircase (Jonathan Stroud)

A Dance with the Fae Prince (Elise Kova)

American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer (Kai Bird)

The Silver Birds (Apolline Lucy)

That Night (Nidhi Upadhyay)

The Complete Adventures of Feluda, Vol 1 (Satyajit Ray)

The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown)

The God of Small Things (Arundhati Roy)

The War of Lanka (Amish Tripathi) (YES I CAN FINALLY TAKE THIS OFF MY LIST I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED THIS I CAN'T BE HAPPIER)

City of Bones (Cassandra Clare)

Circe (Madeline Miller)

The Housemaid is Watching (Freida McFadden)

And that's all I can remember Right about now , Yes I'm reading 10 books or more simultaneously, no I do not have an explanation to that.

My main Genre is Historical Fiction, Fantasy, Mystery and thriller, But I do love widening my scope so do recommend me any books you might think may pique my interest. 😁

My reader side also includes me obsessing over podcasts, I'm including my Favourite podcasts here too, and I assure you they are amazing!

Podcasts for you - I usually listen to them on Spotify and love True crime, mystery, Murder mysteries etc. Here they are -

Rotten Mango by Stephanie Soo (True Crime) - I wouldn't suggest you listen to this if you get disgusted or scared easily, I usually am not affected by these kinds of things and I was still very disturbed, The first 2 episodes are quite... I would suggest you research about it more before you listen to it.

Baking a Murder by Stephanie Soo (Books and movies) - This podcast is again one of my favourites, the way she explains the movie is just so immersive, if you want to understand a story but don't have time to sit down and read the book/watch the movie then this is for you.

7 Suspects by Cryptic Radio(Murder Mystery ) - OH MY GOD, holy- this is probably one of the best mystery podcasts I've ever listened to, tbh you think you know what is going on and till the very end that is kinda sorta true, but then in the like the last 5 moments the plot twist so intense you are left sinking on to the floor thinking "What just happened", listen to, right now.

Magnus Archives by Rusty Quill (Story? horror? not sure what it comes under) - I've started listening to it after getting intense FOMO and can confirm it's going pretty well, I mean I have a LOT to catch up to, but I can say, it's caught my interest.

Murder in HR by Caspian Studios (Murder Mystery) - Again OH MY GOD, again, this is one of the best mystery podcasts I've ever listened to, I mean yeah, the gym ad thingy gets a little bit annoying but the rest of the story compensates for it, again, you think you know where you are going, again up until the very end you just don't know what the hell is going on, and again (Do you see a pattern) when the mystery hits you you are flabbergasted, soo I suggest give it a listen(also kinda obsessed with the soundtrack).

Murphy's Inc. by 97toNow Productions (Scifi mystery) - This is one of the better ones, I'm still listening to it and it's just actually really good, It's kinda the thing you listen to once a day, kinda relaxing (for me at least )

Ok, so this one is a bit different, there is a podcast Caso 63: Enigma: Spotify studios but it's in Spanish which I still haven't quite learnt and I didn't know this existed. I was recommended 2063 theke Esechi by Spotify Studios which is in Bengali which I do, in fact, understand. It was voiced by one of my favourite actors and I was absolutely in love with it, It feels like I wasn't listening to a podcast but a movie and there is so much confusion and so many twists. This podcast has been made in other languages as well, the other two ik are Case 63 (In English) and Virus 2062(In Hindi). So check it out!!

Treat by C13Features (Horror, gory) - This is like a podcast movie, it's around 2 hours long maybe? this is pretty good I would say, you can give it a listen.

Welcome to Night Vale by Night Vale Presents (Absurdity?) - I really don't think I need to say anythi_-_- HAIL THE GLOWCLOUD.

Morning Cup of Murder by Morning Cup of Murder (True Crime) - True crime yk...

The Sounds of Nightmares by Little Nightmares - Bandai Namco Europe (Horror, gore, mystery) - Uhh it's a little unnerving how detailed the actions of characters are As if they were compensating for the fact that there are no visuals, but it was pretty good I would say(Also like the soundtrack)

My writer side- My most popularly known name is Jeah (jee - ah) and I'll be using that here, I am a new author getting started on writing. I still have a looong way to go but, I enjoy writing very much even though my mind and body are definitely not on par with my will to write which is why my second unintended hobby is procrastination. Most of the time that I'm here on Tumblr I am supposed to be doing some other work, like right now.

Anywaysss here are my current WIP's

Mirror My Way - This is my first and only properly published Book. Tbh Not very proud of it, I did it in a hurry, because I took part in the school's Writing program, did nothing the whole year, and finished it in the last week, I honestly think It had potential but I kinda ruined it trying to finish it within the deadline. I wouldn't recommend you read it, It was supposed to be a part of a duology or trilogy but I think I'm just gonna let it sit in the corner for now, let it be there, think upon its mistakes, it did wrong 😤.

Tots and Coffee - Now this one I like better, this was actually inspired by the Scam Caller post here on Tumblr. Kinda had a sudden burst of inspiration and Wrote the first Chapter and since then it's still going pretty strong. Unlike the previous one, it is there on Ao3 if you wish to read it 😁.

I dunno what to call this but I occasionally write short stories in the replies of Pinterest pins when I come across writing prompts. This isn't a wip exactly but , I once posted the starting of a story and jokingly wrote "Continue-!" at the end thinking that would be the end of it, but someone did eventually continue it and that led to a string of events and a very weirdly Eledritch, beautiful Frankestine story formation, I'll be posting it slowly here on Tumblr as well, so keep checking!

Forgot to put it in earlier, but check out @the-writers-corner-inc It's a group blog I initiated, and you can find lots of fun stories, prompts, visuals and more!!

And that's about it, I don't what else to say, but while you're here, grab a cup of coffee or tea, pick out a book and read a page, I'm right here on the other side with a book as well, let's be booky buddies 😄😄😃😃🍵☕

[randobisexual]

hi! do you think you could do headcannons for being lilys friend? shes one of my favs atm😇

aight, bet. I'll give it a shot

Platonic headcannons for Lily Hawk!

•aight, so she is an extremely friendly girl

•she is wholesome

•she'd love to have a friend, especially if you are from a different culture

•she'd love to learn about your different cultures, she's a curious girl

•she would also love it if you showed interest in her culture

•she'd also like to teach you about the spirits, and she'd also like to introduce you to Toyno'Ikonoi

•she would also love to show you around the thunderfoot clan

•one of my headcannons is that she also has a giant sweet tooth like chun-li, since her favorite gift is a giant gummy worm, so if you get her some sweets that you yourself grew up with or something, you'd immediately be tackled into a hug with her constantly thanking you. Congrats, you got a new best friend

•if you speak Spanish, she'll love to converse with you, in order to make sure neither one of you got rusty in it. If ya don't, then that's fine. If ya want to learn, she'd absolutely love to teach you.

•if you want, she'll help train you in street fights. However, if you're a beginner, she'll be holding back a lot. She doesn't want to seriously hurt you or discourage you from getting better at fighting

•she will slowly stop holding back depending on how you're improving, and will also be cheering you on while training, and also will try and give you pointers on ways you can improve on your fighting style

•when you eventually beat her in an actual match, she will try and organize a celebration for you

•she will try and even hook in the rest of her tribe for the celebration, if you managed to already meet them

•she would also have you meet singing wolf, and would have you introduce yourself to him

•she would also be quite happy to meet any pets you have

•also, one of the headcannons i have for her is that animals absolutely love her, and she loves animals as well.

•she is a nice friend to have

(Might have flacked up on these, since its 12 AM, so hope I did ok!)

[toomuchracket]

you and matty being milf & dilf whilst drinking sangria and playing with your baba in the Spanish sun is everything

it's just such a dream, isn't it? i actually think you'd probably get stopped in the street a lot, and not because people know matty - just these little old spanish people being like "que linda familia tienes" (if that's wrong i apologise lol my spanish is RUSTY) to you and matty and cooing over the baba. but like genuinely - holiday matty with a baby? dilf. DIIIIIIIIILF. and he honestly cannot get over how incredible you look, all motherhood glow and sunshine-exposure glow - it's taking everything in him not to get you pregnant again, especially after he's had a couple of sangrias lol. anyway, you take lots of pics of the two of you and the baba and the scenery, and send them to your groupchats like "we honestly might not come home lol" - you're just having the best time ever <3

[spanishskulduggery]

Just found out that for my spanish course this semester we will be speaking with students from Mexico who are learning English once a week. It’s a 50 minute session and 25 minutes is devoted to speaking totally in one language while the other 25 mins is for the other language. I’m incredibly rusty with Spanish since it’s actually been a long while since I’ve used it/taken any spanish courses so I’m having major anxiety.

Thankfully, we’re able to use google translate and talk about whatever we want, but I’m still scared of freezing up and my mind going blank. So, I’d like to ask what might be the best way to prepare for something like this.

Should I have some set phrases written out beforehand? Should I just cram whatever vocab and whatnot that I can? Or should I just try and listen to shows in Spanish to better my comprehension? I mean all of those options are probably good, but I only have until either this Tuesday or Wednesday (haven’t gotten my set time yet), so I was wondering which option you might think is best to focus on in this specific scenario or if you have any other suggestions of what I can do to prepare.

I think it's a good idea to maybe have some set phrases on cards in case you feel like you don't have anything to talk about, or to write down some vocabulary you think might be important

It might be a good idea to have some phrases for greeting them and introducing yourself, and maybe asking about them - and if you understand them and you're feeling more confident you can ask follow-up questions like where do you live, how is it there, what kind of place is it, how big is your family, what music do you like, what movies do you watch etc.

You can try listening to shows in Spanish for your comprehension too, though I think you need to feel more confident speaking as well. Don't be afraid to take a deep breath during the thing to concentrate

Keep in mind that they are probably just as nervous as you

So I personally think you should do whatever would make you feel the most confident and also practice speaking; whether that's repeating things you hear/see in shows or practicing asking questions so you feel less awkward responding

You might also listen to interviews in Spanish and see if it helps (though idk if they have subtitles sometimes) but it does help with some phrases or conversations

[theartistknownaslymond]

Whumptober 2022 day 10

Taser | Whipping | Waterboarding

This got waaay too long. Never let it be said that I am normal about Jerott Blyth at his worst.

Tekke scene equivalent, sort of.

CW: casual bigotry about Native Americans, drug use (mescaline), hallucinations, non-con touching and kissing, that is, SA, followed by use of an electric prod on another person.

Also big aaagh I don't have a sensitivity reader for this but it's late and I've got to sleep. Concrit will be accepted and acted upon.

---

Working for Professor Gilles reminded Jerott a lot of the early days of breaking ground on the ashram, only he couldn't do the physical labour with his wrist encased in its makeshift plaster cast. Instead he spent the days watching over the workforce Gilles had recruited to make sure no one was pocketing what they dug up. The workers were a dusty bunch of surly, silent men - mostly from the Moapa reservation on the other side of the I-93, though some had come up from Mexico and spoke exclusively in Spanish when on site. Gilles was uncharitable towards them at best, and he'd insisted on furnishing Jerott with a cattle-prod and a rusty old shotgun to maintain discipline. Nevertheless, Jerott hadn't had occasion to brandish either, and hadn't seen anything but hard work from the men on the archaeological site - even with a potent distraction present.

Toiling among them, Marthe was like a white peahen, elegant even in her cut-off shorts and baggy cheesecloth shirt, always ready with a comment that would make the men nod in approval, or a wry aside that brought forth a laughing response to Gilles' speeches and rules. As often as not, she spoke to them in her lilting, fluent Spanish.

She'd told Jerott that she'd come at Francis' behest, just to make sure that Jerott was alive. She'd said there was no need to hurry back - Salah had got out with the message Jerott hadn't managed to escape with, and soon Francis would have back-up. Other than this, she endeavoured not to speak to Jerott.

That was until late one evening as he smoked outside his tent, gazing across the darkening desert and wondering, miserably, what was going on back at the main part of the ashram and why Francis didn't consider Jerott a necessary part of the back-up.

Marthe stomped up to him in her heavy work boots and looked down her fine nose. Her arms were folded tight over her oversized shirt and her eyes were a narrow, unreadable squint. "You really want to go on a spiritual journey?"

Jerott looked wearily up at her. He met her eyes, recognised the contempt there, and dropped his gaze to her scuffed knees. He gave a shrug. "You know about spirituality, now?"

"My friends do."

He snorted. She sure made friends quickly when she chose to.

"Come on," Marthe said. "You might find it has more in common with what you were actually looking for than with what Graham Reid Malett offers."

Jerott sighed, but he stood up. He wasn't interested in receiving some lecture about colonialism from a stranger who knew nothing of Jerott's own background - but he was being invited by Marthe, and that still counted for something. He stamped his cigarette butt out and left it in the dirt, and Marthe's lip curled at the gesture, though she said nothing.

The Paiute men and the Mexicans nodded at Jerott as he joined them in the circle they'd formed away from the main camp. Marthe took a seat on a folded picnic blanket and murmured something in Spanish to the man next to her.

Jerott gazed indifferently around the circle and rolled his eyes. "Well? I thought you didn't show this stuff to foreigners."

"What stuff is that?" one man smirked at him. He was rolling a cigarette, but Jerott was frowning at the man next to him, who was stirring something in a kettle over the fire.

Jerott's brows twitched and he shook his head, unimpressed by this coyness. "All your mysterious rituals, of course…"

The Paiute man sniggered. "We're not doing any rituals for you, boy. This is just a social event."

Jerott looked at Marthe like this was some kind of gotcha moment, his brows up: I told you so. He laughed too, and scratched the black hair that was now thickening on his jaw. "Right. So you say it's for the rituals, but it's actually just because you all like getting high…" he flicked a finger at the kettle.

Some of the men shifted and Jerott sensed he had annoyed them - but not as much as he'd annoyed Marthe, who was staring at him with open dislike. He took out one of his own cigarettes - Gilles had called the supply Jerott's advance - and tilted his head to one side. "You're right, Marthe: that is like the Rajneeshees."

"Aren't you one of them?" one man asked him with a prickly tone.

Jerott snorted around the filter of his cigarette. As a gesture of goodwill he offered the packet around, and it came back nearly empty. "I was. Turns out…" he frowned at the fire. He remembered a bonfire he'd made on the shingle of St Mary's Loch. He'd burned his clothes. It had seemed really important to do so. Geetesh had given him a beating in order to teach him a lesson about humility, and that had been the end of Jerott's life as a sannyasin. "I made a mistake."

"Your mistake was following a white man, brother," one Mexican said to him, saluting with one of the cigarettes Jerott had just handed round.

He shook his head. "Rajneesh is Indian, pal," he looked around the group and added, with some uncertainty: "From India."

Marthe was watching him. She hadn't taken a cigarette, but sat with her knees drawn up and her arms around them, her heavy eyelids low, her mouth fixed into a nauseous kind of smirk.

There was a reasonably good-natured response to his clarification from the group, but the guy in charge of the kettle quirked an eyebrow. "You still followed that blasphemer in the mountains. They wear the face of a living man as though he was a god. How can anyone put another man above them like that?"

Jerott worked his jaw. The question needled him, finding a precise pressure point in between the defences he was more used to maintaining against others' criticism. He'd worn the mala himself, after all, with the photo of Rajneesh in it - he'd found it hardest to give up, of all the trappings from his years in the movement. "It's a way of reminding yourself that…structure is man-made…it's meant to be ridiculous." He muttered the old line he'd been given, and thought about how it - and everything else he remembered from Rajneesh's discourses - was so banal as to be meaningless. It was like astrology - you already had to believe in it, and then it could mean whatever you wanted it to mean.

"Ridiculous, but at the same time you are actually worshipping him?"

Jerott shook his head and laughed hollowly. "No, I never…we never worshipped Bhagw…" he stopped midway through calling Rajneesh by the title he had chosen for himself. It literally meant deity, after all. "Anyway, it wasn't a religion to begin with."

"They only became one for tax purposes," Marthe added, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Jerott glared back at her.

The man with the kettle dipped a cup into it and swilled the liquid around. "Good job we kept our practices secret, or some guy might come along and make a whole new tax-dodge out of it."

"Keep the spiritual bit a secret, but share the drugs?" Jerott's gaze was drawn back and forth between Marthe and the cup. "No wonder people get the wrong idea about you, you never give them a reason to take you seriously."

Marthe let out a bark of laughter and said something drily in Spanish to the others.

"Está hablando de sí mismo."

"We share the drugs because it's fun, brother. You learn something about yourself when you sit and have a quiet smoke, huh? Think about the world, or empty your mind - it's all a form of meditation. Ritual." The first man who had spoken to Jerott gestured with his own roll-up. "You learn something about yourself when you have your first cup of coffee in the morning? When you reach the bottom of a bottle of whisky?"

Jerott swallowed. He longed for the taste of alcohol. He'd been able to get hold of weak beer on the ashram, but it barely did anything for him those days. He scratched his eyebrow with his thumb and laughed uncomfortably.

"You learn something about yourself with peyote, whether it's in church or out here, with your friends," the man added. "If you're open to it, you even learn something about the world."

"Your god would speak to me?" Jerott needled, annoyed by the man's arrogant tone.

Around the circle, the Paiute men laughed and muttered.

"Unlikely," the man with the roll-up shook his head, smiling as he took a drag. "But you'll hear something speak to you."

The man who had drawn the cup took a sip, frowned, and then took a deeper draught. He passed it to the man with the roll-up.

Jerott watched the vessel approach him, and when the smooth wooden cup was in his hands, he thought about all the other mouths that had touched the rim already and pulled a face.

"What does it do?"

The Mexican next to Marthe nudged her with an elbow and said something he seemed to think was unspeakably funny. Marthe quirked a brow, looking at Jerott, and nodded agreement, a wry smile moving her lips.

Annoyed all over again by what seemed to be a joke at his expense, Jerott knocked back the biggest mouthful of the liquid he could manage and gulped it down. It tasted bitter and green and it made his stomach flip unhappily, but he swallowed the reflux that followed and passed the cup along, trying to hide his grimace behind a drag from his cigarette.

The other men chatted amicably about the day and their finds, and Jerott listened with increasing interest. Gilles had plenty of wild theories about what was in the ground here, and the more Jerott heard of them, the less he understood how the man had gained his teaching position. Gilles believed in alien civilisations that linked the ziggurats to the pyramids; lizard men who brought knowledge of irrigation techniques; dinosaurs worshipped as saints - it wasn't worth engaging with any of it. But the Paiute actually knew what the site was, how it had been used, by whom and why.

It was lucky it was interesting, because the astringent flavour of the drink had left him feeling queasy and done nothing to alter his consciousness. He gritted his teeth together against the nausea and hoped the meal he'd had a couple of hours ago stayed down. A couple of others belched and spat, and Jerott wondered if they were all feeling it - had someone in the group passed on some fast-acting stomach bug via the rim of the cup? Or was the guy with the kettle having a joke at all their expense?

Marthe seemed to know a deal about the finds, too. As she talked, Jerott saw her take something from her pocket and turn it over between her long fingers. She was sitting on the other side of the low fire and he watched her through the flames, admiring the way her features were thrown into shapely contrast by the light, the way she looked with wonder and joy at the object she held. Oh, to be looked at like that by cornflower blue eyes.

While he watched her, Marthe seemed to look up and smile at him, a beautiful, curving come hither of a smile, and Jerott blinked in surprise.

No, she was still looking at the object in her hands. Had she taken it from the site? He was meant to stop that...

The cup of peyote tea came round again and Jerott took another drink. He turned to his neighbour. "It doesn't taste any good and it's not doing anything - what's the deal?"

His neighbour seemed, momentarily, to be wearing red robes, and Jerott looked around the others in startled bewilderment. They were all sannyasins! They'd been teasing him earlier - now he saw that they all wore malas of their own and linen kaftans the colour of the fire.

His neighbour said something in reply to Jerott's complaint, but it wasn't very clear. "Your Urdu's crap, buddy," Jerott shook his head.

But he smiled beatifically when one of the sannyasins got a guitar out and another produced a small drum that rested between his knees. Jerott's fingers itched and he longed for his own instrument, but he looked down at his stiff wrist and remembered that it was encased in a block of ice and he could do nothing about that. It was frustrating, but he would just have to enjoy what the others played instead.

The playing was solid, even if Jerott knew he could do better. Someone was singing a kind of low, droning chant like they used to do after discourses in Pune, and Jerott missed the way people had twirled and whirled together in the big tent as the music played. You could crash into people, stumble, or just take someone's hand and sway, and it was all a cause for joy and laughter. The body was never lonely on an ashram - touch was free and easy and undemanding.

Jerott closed his eyes and leaned to one side and he found Francis sitting next to him: shirtless, sweaty from a long set under hot stage lights, chuckling easily at Jerott's touch. He ruffled his hair and pushed him to take his own weight again, and Jerott sat up and sighed.

On the other side of Francis, Baron Morgan and Kiaya Çalışkan leaned forwards to grin at Jerott.

Francis extended a hand: "Don't let me turn you against me."

Jerott looked dumbly down at his own hand in its ice block and shook his head apologetically. Behind him, or somewhere nearby, he heard Geetesh laughing and spun around, trying to identify where it was coming from.

It echoed around him and then disappeared, and Jerott was distracted once more by the music. Some of the sannyasins round the fire had got up to dance, and at the sight of their joy, Jerott forgot about Geetesh. He laughed and slapped his knee. The dancers were hopping and stamping their feet, shaking their hips and pumping the air with their fists. It seemed like a sacred dance - what was that one he'd read about once, the Ghost Dance? They were dancing a new reality into being. Dancing a new ashram in the desert, dancing it without Geetesh this time. It was a worthy cause for celebration, and he thought he should join in - but he didn't want to dance without a partner! He stood up, swayed for a moment as he blinked down at his own rust-orange kaftan, and looked for Marthe.

She was standing too, fixed on the other side of the fire, and she seemed to Jerott to wear something of pure white that covered her from her neck to her ankles.

Like a wedding dress, he thought in amazement, his heart beating hard enough to make him wince.

"Marthe..." He stumbled around the fire towards her and noticed her eyes widen. They were so blue. Blue like nothing else, nothing natural.

"C'mon. C'm 'nd dance..." He reached for her hand.

She was reluctant at first, a dead weight, fixed muleishly to the spot.

"C'mon. Dance!" Jerott whinged, grinning and tugging at her.

To his surprise, she relented, and he stumbled back a couple of steps, dragging her with him, bringing her close to his body.

She was in his arms, in her white dress, soft and sweet as a marshmallow. The feeling of her warmth against his made him gasp, and he tangled his arms around her waist and nuzzled her hair, nuzzled her ear with his face. He couldn't quite follow the beat of the music anymore, but he didn't think he needed to: they could make their own rhythms.

He held her close, swaying, feeling the tentative weight of her hands on his shoulders, her cheek leaning against his. He ran one hand, the one not encased in ice, around her side and up her body, ruffling cloth like he was stroking a pelt the wrong way, pushing up and over one of her breasts until he reached her collar. He drew back to look at her, wanting to confirm the same need he felt in her expression, but her face was an alabaster mask, hard and trepidatious.

"I love you," Jerott heard his voice slur. He hooked his fingers in the high neck of her collar. There were pearl buttons down the front, rounded like drops of fresh dew, and he imagined them firing off in all directions, ejaculated from the cloth as he tugged the dress open down the seam.

Her throat was white silk and the dress was white silk - but what was underneath? He was hungry and he needed to know.

Jerott tightened his grip and gave a brief yank so that cloth opened up, revealing her throat and the ends of her collarbones. It was as he'd thought: pure white drifts of skin like vanilla ice cream. He bent his head to kiss the v at he base of her throat.

"I love you," he repeated. "Not...anybody else. Just you. Ok?"

Marthe's body was a knot of furious muscle now, not swaying with him in the dance, not reciprocating - barely breathing, despite all the ways he tried to show her he loved her. But she patted at the newly plunging neckline of her clothes and kept an arm around him. "Ok. Why don't we go back to your tent then?"

Jerott's brows rose and he pulled his head back to look at her. He had to blink a little to bring her expression into focus, but she looked sultry and inviting and bit her lip for good measure.

He led them away from the campfire, leaving behind the dancing and the music. At his tent he couldn't wait to get inside with her but, first, gave in to the building need for touch - to feel body heat and the softness of a woman beneath his hands. He pawed at the front of her clothes again and more buttons gave way. He could feel the cotton of her bra over her sternum, under his fingers. A small movement one way or the other brought him into contact with flesh that gave at his touch, plump and so very separate from his own physical existence. He moaned and kissed her neck.

"I don't love anyone else, do I, Marthe? Just you. D'you not love me?"

She pushed him back, down, and he shuffled awkwardly inside the tent, trusting that she would follow.

And follow she did, but as his hands reached for her and he sought to kiss her lips, and found himself arrested by a sharp pain in the ribs.

Jerott sat back on his own bedroll and grunted, looking at the stick being jabbed against him with confusion.

"Whass this?" he mumbled.

"It's your own toy, provided by Gilles," Marthe told him, though her voice sounded distant, like she was speaking from the other side of a thick membrane that lay between them.

He frowned and grasped the prod, intending to sweep it aside and drag her close again.

Instead, Marthe increased the pressure of the tip against his body and activated the current.

Jerott fell back like he'd been kicked by an elephant, his whole body suddenly thundering with pain. He twitched and juddered against the floor of the tent, his body as helpless as that of a landed catch on a riverbank. It felt like a hot drill against his side, where the prod was in contact with him, and he thought he smelled his clothes scorch. Marthe's hand was over his mouth, silencing his screams, and it took him a moment to realise when she'd removed the picana from his skin.

He blinked and felt liquid on his face - sweat, blood or tears, he didn't know which. His heart was racing now, and his vision was blurred. He wasn't certain it was Marthe...he flinched and took a swipe at the prod as he thought that maybe he'd been mistaken and it was Geetesh kneeing over him in his own bed, poised to strike another blow.

Marthe didn't let him knock the picana aside though, and she dipped it to his skin again, pressing the tip into the flesh just above Jerott's collarbone - close to the area where he'd been kissing her only a moment ago.

A choking sound escaped him before her palm slapped down over his mouth again, and he felt white hot pain in every bone of his body. The only thing it could be compared with was the shock and agony of trapping a fingertip in a heavy door - only it was his whole body that was trapped beneath the crackling demand barked by the picana, and this time Marthe wasn't going to let up until he lost consciousness.

It was easier, Jerott's exhausted body conceded, to do as she told him to.

[abyssalhuntersnerd]

Guess who has to work these holidays? <- This bitch.

Guess who won't probably have time to draw and write these holidays? <- This bitch.

Guess who won't be able to rest after this hellish semester? <- This bitch!

Sighs. I really wanted to do something for Christmas but to be honest, I really really wanna do something like a drabble collection? Just post all of my random drabbles in either a chapter format or a collection in AO3 and gradually add more and more with time. I have stuff that are just random paragraphs and all- I don't know but I like them all enough to share and I really wanna start practicing more my damn English grammar because being trilingual is hard and my mother language is not English. I am Spanish. For some reason. Please help, I hate grammar.

I'm really rusty and I feel like drabbles will be help me get back on track with things. So that's the plan whenever I have some time for myself. Hell tomorrow I might write in class if I'm not doing anything, we will see.

But hey! This semester was hell but I got through it! But never again! Never again! I think I passed everything too, which is something that I'm super proud about cause more than 80% of my classmates did not and I'm part of apparently the best 3 students in class, so. ;; Suck it high school teachers- Ok no. But yeah. Now I sleep. Hopefully I'll get to start working on things soon enough. I really want to. ;;

[marsmarvel02]

"What Manny Can't Fix" Review: Introduction and Chapter 1

So, after over a year of not doing anything, I’m back to reviewing bad fiction written by random strangers on the Internet!

Today’s offender: A Handy Manny fanfic that… well, read and see.

The fanfic, written by WeAreOneGames on DeviantArt, consists of 34 chapters shoved into a single deviation… and, if that isn’t enough, it also begins with a long as-all-get-out author’s note.

A little while ago I got Disney Plus and decided to rewatch Handy Manny first since I loved it as a kid (I rewatched a few episodes a year back and still loved it, but now with Disney Plus I have an easy way to watch the whole show.) I started developing backstories for the tools in my head and I decided to write about them. Each chapter will focus on each Tool’s backstory: Turner, Rusty, Felipe, Pat, Stretch, Dusty, Squeeze, and Flicker, and how it affects them during the episodes of the show.

I’m shocked that this is grammatical and spelled correctly. (Note: The 34 chapters that currently exist only contain up to Felipe’s backstory.)

I don’t speak Spanish (I only know a few words and phrases right now. I’m currently learning American Sign Language and have started to practice Spanish on Duolingo, and with Youtube videos, language learning games, and a Spanish learning book I’m compiling all the words into a virtual flashcard deck too to practice. I also wrote down some vocab to practice while at work. I’m also playing Stardew Valley , my favorite game of all time, in Spanish and I’ve picked up a few words doing this. I want to be fluent eventually, although it will take a while)-

Is all this information on how you’re planning to learn Spanish really necessary?

-and I realize this is a Spanish heavy show, so there’s a few things I’ll do. Google Translate I know isn’t the best, but I’m going to use it for simple words and sentences.-

I’ll Google Translate them back just to see how bad the translation was.

-However for longer sentences and things that would be hard for me to translate, the text will be italicized “like this .”-

Well, this is awkward, as I’m using italicisation to denote the text of the story as compared to my comments. I think I’ll make text that is really in Spanish but which we’re hearing in English italicized and bold like this. I’ll also use the same format for dream and imagination sequences.

-(This is a huge help specifically for Flicker’s backstory since he and Uncle Hugo only speak Spanish. I’m glad they do though, it makes sense for the show to have characters who can only speak Spanish, I’m surprised they didn’t use the concept sooner.) My friend told me about Reverso when I was working on my never finished Into The Spider-Verse fanfic so I could include Miles and his mom having conversations in Spanish, I’ll try to utilize this too. I’ll also be relying on the closed captions on Disney Plus.

We don’t care how you’re translating this! Just get on with it!

This story will also be going through all the episodes of the series and show the tool’s thoughts and feelings during the episodes, mainly relating to their backstories.

Every episode? Seriously? Handy Manny has… let me check… okay, sources are inconsistent, but the number of episodes appears to be somewhere around 200.

(Also, that should be “tools’ thoughts and feelings”, as there’s more than one of them.)

I’m going in the order that they are on Disney Plus to make it easier. However that may cause the order to be off, since sometimes Disney Plus has trouble with the ordering of episodes of some series, *cough* Out of The Box *cough*.-

I have no idea what this is referring to.

-However some episodes that are after the episode “Flicker” will be put before that chapter, since they were probably written earlier in production and don’t feature Flicker at all.

Some might be closer to direct retellings of the episode, and others might focus on an original subplot.-

Could this author’s note end already?!

- I’m going to try to change it up enough so you’re not just reading a novelization of the series. Also I might fix minor continuity errors such as Lola calling Manny her favorite brother, and Manny responding he’s her only brother. (This was retconned in Season 3 with the introduction of Manny and Lola’s older brother Reuben.) 

Also I started writing this during a hard time emotionally in my life, and it’s been cathartic to write this.-

Oh my god, there’s already cheap emotional manipulation and the story hadn’t even started yet.

- Handy Manny is extremely comforting for me (As is Disney in general) so writing this and rewatching the show was nice. Motorcycle Adventure probably helped me the most.  (While writing this author’s note I’m currently binge watching Out of The Box which makes me happy too!) This also helped motivate me to practice Spanish more, I want to be fluent in it one day.

Eh, respectable goal. I want to learn German, myself.

I hope you enjoy!

Umm… we’ll see about that.

What Manny Can’t Fix

Finally! The story is starting!

Part 1: Turner

Chapter 1

A flathead screwdriver-

Wait, I thought they were called “slotheads”? //Checks Google// 

- was always the most important tool in a handyman’s arsenal.-

So, it turns out that they can be called either “flathead” or “slotted” screwdrivers. Not “slothead”, unfortunately, so there’s an easy TBLT joke down the tubes.

-Well at least in Turner’s head that was the case. He was always placed in the first loop of Mr Grover’s toolbelt.

Shouldn’t “tool belt” be two words? 

Next to him, the next loop over a small Open End Wrench sat, and next to him a Ball Peen hammer, then finally a small pair of Hand Pliers. Turner was prideful of his position in the front, before all the others.

Oh, some random capitalization. 

And what the heck are “hand pliers”? 

I looked it up, and it seems to be just what some people call normal pliers for no apparent reason. 

Mr Grover-

Hey, you’re missing a period after “Mr.”.

- leaned over the broken cabinet door sitting on his workbench, scratching the scruff on his chin in thought. “Hmm…. looks like we’ve got to replace some old screws.” 

Turner smirked, looking over at the other tools. “And that’s me, naturally .”

It’s weird how there’s a space before that period, but honestly these errors aren’t very gratuitous and I’ve made similar mistakes in my own work. Compared to the other stories I've reviewed, this is a masterpiece.

“Of course it is.” The wrench said, rolling his eyes slightly. “It’s always Turner, isn’t it?”

And here comes some bickering. Gee, this makes me think of a cabin in the woods for some reason…

“Oh come now, it’s not always Turner.” The hammer replied as she leaned over towards him. “He used you recently.”

“Yeah... two weeks ago! ”

TBLT and Toy Story fans unfamiliar with Handy Manny, prepare yourselves for a rude shock. 

Mr Grover frowned and looked at his tool belt. “Stop it! We’ve just got a lot of repairs that require new screws.”

Yeah, the humans know about the tools’ sentience. Not only that, but the world of Handy Manny has both living and “normal” inanimate tools, with no explanation offered.  

“And what, you think Claspy there, can do it?” Turner joked, looking at the pliers at the end of the belt.

Okay, that second comma is completely unnecessary. 

She looked annoyed. “Yeah well, who got you out when you fell into that pile of plywood, hot shot?”

Turner smirked even deeper. “You’re just jealous.”

Dang, a TBLT joke I can’t make because “slothead” was just a mondegreen.

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

Is that grammatical?

(Sorry, my mother is an editor and it kinda rubbed off on me.)

“Stop fighting!” Mr Grover groaned, grabbing his temple. “We need to get this repair done and your fighting isn’t helping!”

“Yeah, if you’d just let me do my job, we would be done by now!” Turner said. The other tools grumbled as Mr Grover unscrewed the old screws and replaced them. He placed Turner back into his toolbelt and took out the hammer next. 

“Now it’s Plunker’s turn.” Mr Grover said.

“Plunker”? Seriously?

Well I guess it’s a bit fitting that the tool with the worst name is a BALL-PEEN hammer.

“Oh how will Turner survive?” The wrench asked.

 Best line so far.

“Bolt, be nice.” Plunker said gently. 

“But he’s the one not being nice!” Bolt protested.

“Then don’t sink to his level.” Claspy said, annoyed.

“Please, we need to work together.” Plunker sighed softly. “Or we won’t get anything done…”

Another Toaster joke I can’t make…

Mr Grover hammered the cabinet door back into place and put Plunker back with the others. “There, we’re done.”

If you reattached the screws, shouldn’t it already be in place? 

He exhaled sharply. “I need a coffee.” He slung his toolbelt over the counter and headed towards the door. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

“Yep another job well done..” Turned said, leaning against an old oil container, relaxing. “All thanks to me .”

Since when is there an old oil container? Describe the surroundings a bit, please.

“And Plunker, hot shot.” Claspy pointed out.

“Oh sure, sure, she helped… a little, but I did all the hard work.” Turner said.

“I’d like to see you hammer something in with your head.” Bolt mumbled.

I love Bolt.

Too bad he’s a secondary character who we’ll probably never see again once Turner’s part is done…

“What was that?” Turner asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing, nothing….”

“No, what did you say!?” Turner demanded, bouncing over to him.

“Like I said, nothing…”

“No! You said something!” Turner said, leaning in closer to him.

“You need to chill!” Claspy said, getting in between both of them. “He didn’t say anything!”

 Claspy then ruined the lie by scolding Bolt for what he didn’t say.

“Please.” Plunker sighed. “We’re supposed to be a team, remember?”

“Well, Turner isn’t much of a team player.” Bolt pointed out. “He just thinks he’s better than us.”

“I... I don’t think that!” Turner sputtered out. “I.. I just think that I’m...important, that’s all…”

“Smooth hot shot, smooth.” Claspy said.

“We’re all important.” Plunker said. 

“Yeah, but Mr Grover needs me more than them!” Turner protested.

“That doesn’t mean any of us are less important.” Plunker said. She sighed a little bit. “Listen, I’ve been working on hardware teams for twenty years and it’s important to work together.” 

You know what? Language is what we make of it. I can say “slothead screwdriver”, and I can say that Plunker is more slot-headed than an actual slothead.

She glanced over at Claspy and Bolt. “You’re all still pretty new to this, but trust me…” She looked back at Turner. “You’ll all learn what it means to be a team over time.”

Fun Fact: There exist like 30 separate childrens’ books about living tools, and pretty much every single one has the exact same “teamwork is important” moral. 

Turner rolled  his eyes. “Enough of the mushy stuff, Plunker.” He said as he bounced back over the oil canister to rest again. “We don’t need a whole spiel about working together, we just need to get the job done. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a nap.” He snuggled into a more comfortable position. “Wake me up when Mr Grover gets back.”

“A nap doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea right now.” Plunker said, looking at the clock hanging on the wall. 6:35  She yawned as she headed back to the toolbelt.

“I hate such early repairs.”-

Early? It’s only ten minutes before I’d be waking up for schoo-

Well, I guess that is kinda early.

- Claspy groaned, getting into her position in the toolbelt. Bolt nodded in agreement and got in as well.

Plunker opened one of her eyes and saw Turner still leaning against the oil canister. “Turner?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to join us in the toolbelt?” She asked.

“Nope, I’m nice and comfy right here.” Turner said, sighing happily. 

I’ve got a bad feeling about this. 

“If you say so…” Plunker said, laying her head down and slowly closing her eyes.

The tools dozed off as an exhausted Mr Grover opened the door, holding a coffee  in one hand and grabbing the toolbelt with his other. “Ugh...I hope I don’t have any more calls today….or they wait until it’s at least past noon…”

He pushed open the door and headed back to his truck. He started it up and drove off, back to his shop.

Saw that coming.

And that's the first chapter. You can read my commentary on the second chapter of "What Manny Can't Fix" here.

[supercaliwhat]

WallyGallery Archives Volume 3: Posts 2/1/Intro

It's the final countdown...

1

Post 2: Is June a Polyglot??? 04 08 2023

Dear Someone Reading this (Who might not speak more than 3 languages):

Hello hello hello! Today, I feel jolly and accomplished, as I started, or experienced something new. Or is it new? I, I mean my mom decided to start Latin. However, I was deeply concerned for two reasons. The first and most obvious reason is because I learned too many languages before. A small bit of Spanish, modest Chinese, and obviously Korean and English. This would make me sort of a polygot, a person who knows 5 languages! Another concern was that I had less motivation to learn Latin, ultimately because it was a dead language. To begin with, I learned all the languages I 'speak' because they are and would be useful in real-life, as in reading texts and making important conversations. However, no one uses Latin and therefore had no merit. I also felt concerned because I had to learn through Zoom, not the best way to learn anything but Zoom. Nonetheless, my concerns disappeared, only after a cup of suspicion and a class learning random Latin words. I bravely (or foolishly) asked the teahcer, "Why should I learn Latin?", and he was thankfully waiting for that question. For ten minutes, I heard the teacher saying about English words with Latin roots, and many questions related to it. To my surprise, he wasn't a liar! As I read through the vocabs, I saw many familiar words: fugit for fugitive, portat for prepare, via for via, and in for in! I also learned that these Latin words influenced other languages, such as Spanish. The word mortem (Death) sounds like the Spanish word muerte (Death), and its pronunciation was overall similar. But the best part was fun. Reading classical Roman text with obscure words truly made it a fresh and unique experience, and made me feel like a kid reading a picture book. However, don't be fooled! The dead langauge offers only old literature for practice, and that had some historical information and philosophical ideas, all of them which I liked. Overall, my first Latin lecture felt a bit overwhelming. Despite me thinking that Latin would be boring and useless, I realized its links to other languages (as an Indo-European and former-dominant language) and its use in classical text. As the Romans were the most powerful people for a not-so-brief period of time, it is genuinely worth it to be able to learn all these old text by learning its language. I now wonder: would English be dead? Would the future consider English just like Latin today? What if Latin and English were to co-exist or not exist? Despite my endless questioning, I think it's best for me to stop asking questions, and do my weekly homework. Now I have two: This diary, and my Latin homework!

From. A person who isn't an expert in Latin but knows better than 99.9875 percent of the world, since only 1 million in 8 billion of us even remotely knows Latin.

2

Post 1: Python Test Day! 04 03 2023

"Another test day?", I might ask myself. However, this test was far more important and exciting than most others, a test where I had to show my full pontentials and creativity. I was totally wrong on both claims. After a tough 10 weeks of practice, I may have assumed the title 'Best Pythoner', but I needed to take on a real challenge, So I can truly become a coding master. And here I was (or were), right now (or a few hours ago), I sat on the same rusty desk and opened the digital test. First glance, the test was odd. Instead of me writing a program that would show my inner beast, the test was composed of 30 MCQs, and were very dull. I might have to add, that my friend's frightened face showed how learning 2000 SAT words a week didn't help this. But I was kind of ready, and solved most of the questions. However, I was obviously uncertain of a few (30 percent of the questions), especially because this was a one-time-only exam. By the time I was finished, I was still thinking. The time limit was over, and the 30 percent of uncertain questions were gone. I had two things on my mind: I would get at least 70 percent, and what if I get under 70 and fail this test? Thankfully, or shockingly, the results came seconds later. I got a very low score, but I could barely pass. I got 70 out of 100, with a passing score of 70! I doubted the test, and thought I would get disqualified becuase the score was probably a rounded number. Despite my cynical expectations, I got my certificate, and people congratulated me. I got my official certificate, and it was because my score was rounded. And I realized one thing: People like to be lazy (e.g. oversimplify numbers), and they all benefit me. Nonetheless, I happily took the digital certificate and remembered that my coding teacher (who managed to see this whole thing) REQUIRED a score of at least 80 percent would get me to take the higher class. That was his (little early) April Fool's day joke thing. Overall though, I felt never this overwhlmed, surprised, and grateful to my life than this moment.

Simple Version: Another test? Really? Yes. This time, it was for my python (coding) certificate. I have seen the previous "doomed expressions" of my friends, and now it was time for me. I took my laptop, and ready, set, sit down! 30 questions, 70 out of 100 to pass, the test seemed simple. However, the questions were the complete opposite of the ones I've expected. Instead of creativity and wit, it was about MCQ and guessing. I took the enitre 30 minutes and I couldn't finish my test. I had two things on my mind now: "70's a piece of cake, like listening to ABBA music", and "I'm not gonna get 70, just like how Billie Jean's not my lover". To my surprise, (I think) I got a 69.6666.... However, the test gratefully rounded my grade, and I got a 70! I was so shocked, overwhemled, and glad at the same time, and the same was to my new certificate, digitally. I could now stand up and relax at the same time!

3

Introduction: Who is June? (By Peter McGuire, definitely not the pen name of June, I mean it is...)

Unless you were living under a pineapple house (or not from BCC), you'd probably be familiar with June. He seems to show everything he has, wants, and hates, but he might be more mysterious than that. In fact, I have finally managed to collect 10 facts about June that get HARDER to collect and know gradually.

1. June has 2 siblings, both are twins. And by the way,

2. June seems to like everything, and that results in shorter passion-spans.

3. June has a seemingly endless passion for old music, games, and socializing, a nicer way of saying talking endlessly.

4. June takes some words seriously, too seriously sometimes! He subscribed to a newspaper just because of a recommendation, without even thinking about it!

5. June has an expertise in various places, but CODING? He made this website using it!!!

6. June actually is grateful and happy about a lot of stuff: family, money, health, and that golden yacht he owns in his game.

7. June is loyal to all (excluding close friends at times) but is pretty ambitious. Like, he goes to all of these competitions for fun!

8. Contrary to popular belief, June surprisingly has a thick resume, including multiple certificates, volunteering, and I might have to cross this one out.

9. Contrary to popular belief, June is not a Communist, Socialist, Robber (okay it only counts if you rob and don't return it after 10 seconds), nor is a crook.

10. Although June never touched Non-Asian soil, he is still interested too much in American stuff, such as Politics, Music, TV, and everything. Except for guns. He needs more than that.

11. Despite his younger age, June regularly listens to: ABBA, The Beatles, The Bangles, The Monkees, Bonnie Tyler, Culture Club, Rick Astley, Bon Jovi, Cyndie Lauper, Tears for Fears, Toto, Laura Branigan, Berlin, F.R. Davids, Phil Collins, Louis Armstrong, Madonna, Gloria Gaynor, Whitney Houston, Dolly Parton, Air Supply, Lionel Richie, Tina Turner, Chicago, Aqua, Juice Newton, Olivia Newton-John, John Denvers, Neil Diamond, Blondie, Frank Sinatra, Bee Gees, George Michael, Wham!, Roxette, The Carpenters, Elton John, Sandra, A-Ha, Stevie Wonder, and Michael Jackson. Sorry Elvis Prestley, I'm not that old!

The End.