#switched pens mid way too

[snarksparks]

I draw them so much I physically got ill the other day

[gumims]

extra sweet | choso x reader

for the @phantasmaebg event

wc: 1190

the doorbell chimes. it’s soft, a little uneven, but enough to pull your attention toward the entrance. the late afternoon light spills in as a familiar figure steps through, shaking off the last drops of rain clinging to his jacket.

choso.

you don’t need to look up to know it’s him. he’s been coming in every day for the past three weeks, always around this time, always wearing that same slightly-too-big jacket and an air of quiet exhaustion.

“iced black coffee, two pumps of vanilla?” you ask before he even makes it to the counter.

he pauses mid-step, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “you remember.”

“you make it kind of hard to forget.” you grab a cup and start writing his name.

that’s another thing—his name. you learned it on his fourth visit, and not because he told you. he’s not the type to offer extra details about himself. no, you spotted it scrawled across his credit card when he handed it over to pay. choso kamo.

he watches you as you scribble on the cup, your marker squeaking faintly against the plastic.

“you ever think about switching it up?” you ask, glancing at him.

he raises an eyebrow. “switching it up?”

“you know, trying something new? caramel macchiato, maybe? or how about a vanilla latte? same flavor profile, just… better.” you gesture toward the menu board with a grin.

choso tilts his head slightly, like he’s actually considering it, before he shakes his head. “i like my routine.”

you knew he was going to say that. still, you chuckle as you pass the cup down the line.

“anything else today?”

he hesitates. it’s subtle—a slight shift of his weight, the way his gaze drops to the counter before flickering back to you. usually, this is the part where he says no, pays, and waits by the pickup counter.

but today’s different.

“actually…” his voice trails off, quieter than usual. he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a napkin. it’s crumpled, like he’s been holding onto it for a while, and when he slides it across the counter toward you, his fingers linger on the edge.

“for you,” he says softly, his eyes darting anywhere but your face.

your brows knit together as you pick it up, your heart skipping a beat at the slightly messy handwriting scrawled across the surface:

thanks for the coffee. what’s your number?

your first reaction is to glance up at him. he’s standing there, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, looking anywhere but at you. the tips of his ears are red, his expression unreadable despite the tension in his posture.

you can’t help the smile spreading across your face. folding the napkin neatly, you reach for a clean one and grab a pen from your apron pocket. your fingers tremble just a little as you write down your number, making sure it’s legible despite the rush of adrenaline.

“here you go.” you tuck the napkin under the sleeve of his cup before handing it over.

his fingers brush against yours as he takes it, the touch fleeting but enough to send a spark racing up your arm. his eyes meet yours for a split second, and there’s something there—something soft, almost shy.

“thanks,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the hum of the espresso machine.

you nod, trying to keep your expression neutral even as your heart pounds in your chest. “have a good day.”

choso nods back, lifting his coffee. as he turns to leave, he hesitates, glancing over his shoulder.

“i’ll text you later,” he says, his voice carrying just enough weight to make you believe it.

and then he’s gone, the doorbell chiming softly in his wake.

the text comes that evening.

hey, it’s choso. hope this is the right number.

you stare at your phone for a moment, grinning like an idiot. your fingers hover over the keyboard before you finally type out a reply.

you got it right. does this mean i finally convinced you to try something other than black coffee?

his response is almost immediate.

don’t push your luck.

you laugh, the sound echoing through your empty apartment. leaning back against your couch, you type out another message.

you’re missing out, kamo.

he sends back a simple: maybe.

the next day, choso shows up at the café like clockwork. but this time, when he steps up to the counter, there’s something different about him.

“iced black coffee, two pumps vanilla,” he says, but there’s a hesitation in his voice, like he’s waiting for something.

you raise an eyebrow, grabbing a cup. “not gonna try the caramel macchiato?”

“not today,” he replies, but there’s a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

as you’re scribbling his name on the cup, you decide to push your luck. “so, did you regret texting me?”

he blinks, caught off guard, but he recovers quickly. “no. did you regret giving me your number?”

“not yet.” you hand him his coffee, sliding it across the counter.

this time, when your fingers brush, he doesn’t pull away as quickly.

“good,” he says softly, and for the first time, his smile reaches his eyes.

over the next week, the texts become a daily thing.

it starts small—simple exchanges about his coffee order or the weather. but soon, the conversations grow.

do you always work the afternoon shift?

mostly. why? you wanna come in earlier?

no. afternoons are fine.

or:

do you ever get tired of coffee?

never. it’s like asking if you get tired of your routine.

touché.

every day, he comes into the café. every day, he orders the same thing. and every day, you find yourself looking forward to those few minutes you get to spend with him, even if they’re fleeting.

one evening, just as you’re about to close up, your phone buzzes.

what time do you get off work?

you glance at the clock. just finished. why?

his reply is instant. come outside.

your heart skips a beat as you grab your jacket and head for the door. sure enough, there he is, leaning against the side of the building, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“choso?”

he straightens up when he sees you, his expression a mix of nerves and determination.

“i, uh…” he rubs the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to the ground. “i was wondering if you wanted to get coffee. not here, obviously. somewhere else.”

it takes a moment for his words to sink in, but when they do, you can’t help but smile.

“are you asking me out, kamo?”

his ears turn red, and he looks away, mumbling, “maybe.”

stepping closer, you tilt your head to meet his gaze. “well, if you are, my answer’s yes.”

he blinks, clearly caught off guard. “really?”

“yeah. but on one condition.”

he frowns slightly. “what?”

“you have to let me pick your drink this time.”

for the first time, a real, full smile breaks across his face. it’s small, but it’s there, and it makes your chest feel warm.

“deal.”

[thewandererh]

what if why we didn’t see the doctor’s primary black-cloaked vessel ingame is because it’s his last resort? what if it’s where his heart is stored? or even where all the last copies of all his vital organs are kept safe?

an active consciousness can still stem from a backup of his brain, which his primary vessel holds. so, after his physical brain goes belly up (literally😭) the network of transmitting consciousness to each of his bots is still active. just transferred to a weaker method.

following the “murder” of dr harley sawyer in chapter 4, perhaps he scrambles back to this old vessel whereever it is. maybe it’s been neglected, a plan B dangerously collecting dust, or it’s sitting pristine in a sterile room on life support. nevertheless, harley finds himself in it after croaking his “last words” mid-transfer, and struggles to breathe. he forgot about this vessel. he’d cast it aside because it held the scars of his initial transfer into machine and the containment that followed. it was his first body. and it was so weak. but now it is his last chance.

however, he’s not properly adjusted to the whole having organs thing, and this vessel needs to be properly taken care of. so with bated breath and the struggle of calming his mind, he summons one of his metal corpses from his brain’s tomb. it takes a few agonizing minutes as it arrives to wherever he is, but eventually it’s close enough that he can actively switch bodies with it. consciousness transferral relies on proximity (this is why we only see the bots around his brain ingame).

revived and disoriented, the doctor must now look after himself. the fact of being reduced to this husk eats away at every atom of his being, but he’s simply too weak. he failed. he failed and he’ll be killed for it. but he’s not afraid.

when the splitting headaches cease and he gets used to being alive he can kill something again.

soon, but not yet.

…

…

info ramble & sillies under cut!

au idea, ayo?? early titles are ‘mechanized-mind’ or ‘inside-the-mind-of-harley’ or even ‘dry-bones’ but i’m still brainstorming X]. i love putting my characters through emotional agony <33 but this time it’s an au of an existing character i have to analyze to get right so that’ll be fun. now for the drawing, i really like both medical concepts and making stuff up so maybe only some of the function would actually work, but i do not care. the idea was that harley’s primary vessel had a more meshy, detachable plate in his chest to give room for his heart and probably-disproportionately-sized lungs. here that plate is removed in order to help his heart beat. tons of other tubes are wired into his ventilation vents to keep him running to. my running idea for why the sarley hawyer (clone bot, aka secondary vessel) here doesn’t have a cloak is because maybe he had to take it off due to contamination. or it got snagged on the way here. but honestly i didn’t want to cover up the cool anatomy of my neat design i’ve been playing with, so he is naked once again 😔

this was the big flipaclip harley piece i mentioned in this post while trying to animate something. this idea arose instead, and slowly came to fruition as i found an elaborate way to color while listening to some lethal company and ppt 3 & 4 vids. pen pressure is really new to me and i’m on my knees thanking it for this neat coloring texture and technique i will probably never use again 🛐😌🫶 thank you apple pencil ilysm

anyways, here’s some funny wip shots, and general doctor sillies i found today!! ^_^ it’s been another doctor day

once again, astralspiff is a very cool guy guys 🗣️🔥🔥

but alas. adios amigos 😵‍💫🫡 goedenacht!

[venus-vault]

On Earth As It Is In Heaven

Mr. Reed x Fem! (Mid-20s) Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Pt. 1 - (y/n) is fulfilling her religious obligation to a very... curious older gentleman...

⚠️TW: Percieved Heresy (duh), Mentions of Catholicism, Possible Vague & Obscure Spoilers for 'Heretic' (2024), Age Gap, Condescension, Loss of Virginity, Raw P in V Penetration, General Smut.

A. Reed is the latest on my visitation list to request information on the faith and -poor thing- has a 'severe form of agoraphobia that won't let [him] leave [his] home'. This is common amongst middle aged and elderly people, so today should be quick, easy, and pleasant. Just a few small notes on how the faith will beautify his life and purify his soul, then I leave him to explore catholicism of his own volition and enjoy the reward of life everlasting when he passes in 4 to 7 years.

I make my way up the gravel driveway to the house and give the door a few quick knocks. I wait a few seconds "Mr. Reed?" I call. "My name is (y/n), I'm here to educate you on the catholic church?"

I wait.

Nothing. I decide if he takes over a minute, I'll just go. Come back another day. Enjoy some time to myself.

Just then, as I'm about to turn and leave, a rustle of some sort from the other side of the door. I straighten my jacket and practice my smile.

"Coming! Coming!" calls a muffled voice from the other side of the door. I hear some shuffling, a series of switches and clicks, and I'm greeted by who I can only assume to be one A. Reed. He's a tall, lanky man I estimate to be in his late 50s or early 60s, with well kept short grey hair, wire framed glasses, bright blue eyes, and a warm smile. He's wearing a quirky multicolored cardigan over a grey button down with corduroy pants and sneakers that allude to a more active lifestyle than I understand him to have. I can tell that when he was my age he'd have been very handsome, and that quality hasn't faded over his years. There's something modern, yet classic about him. Something young and cool. Something... attractive.

"Mr.... " I glance the visitation request form on my clipboard "Reed?"

"Yes! Yes, come in, please."

He ushers me past the small foyer and into the living room, making sure the door closes securely behind me.

"Hello" I smile and stick out my hand for him to shake, which he does.

"Hello dear, your name again?" He beams.

"(y/n)"

His eyes explore me "(y/n)! Lovely name, suits you well. Please, come, sit, I'll take your coat."

I take a seat on the small settee nearest the door, slipping out of my coat and handing it to him as I straighten out my skirt and sweater. He takes it to what I assume to be his coat closet and returns a moment later, shuffling into the cozy living room excitedly and planting himself on the chair across the coffee table from me.

"Now," he says, rubbing his hands together eagerly "let's get into it, hm? ; what's so great about catholicism?"

I give him my usual schpeel, feeling even myself lose interest in the trappings of the faith as I finish my (entirely too long) monologue of the catholic doctrine. I take a breath, satisfied that I've summarized our beliefs well enough.

"Can I answer any questions?" I offer.

"Y-Yes, actually," he gives me a close-lipped smile "I've just got... one question, although it may be a tad uncomfortable. Will you indulge me?"

"Oh, Gladly. Shoot."

"Well, Ms. (y/n)... as a catholic... do you personally believe that masturbation is sinful?" I feel my mouth grow dry as looks at me fondly, as though he's just asked to borrow a pen at the bank.

I hadn't anticipated... this. Especially from such a sweet, kind-seeming older man.

"Uhm... I... that's- well it's- yes, because you see, Mr. Reed, God puts lust before us as a test. We're meant to resist it until it's time for us to create a family. This ensures our passage to Heaven." I simper, hoping he can't sense my panicked improvisation.

"Ah, yes, I see. Very well. Indulge me further then, will you?"

"Sure...what's up?"

He chuckles at my casual address "(y/n)... good catholic girl that you are, have you masturbated before?" He leans back in his chair, smiling innocently, crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands over his lap.

I mirror him, crossing my legs and straightening out my skirt, trying desperately not to make eye contact. "Mr. Reed, I'm not sure that's appropriate to say..."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I did warn you my questions might be uncomfortable." I feel his eyes bore into me, wandering my face and body. I finally meet his gaze.

"Yes, but..." I sigh, keeping my smile to the best of my ability "that's just sort of...personal."

"Oh? Then let me ask you this ; do you belive in an omnipresent god, a God that can monitor your actions at all times?"

"Yes, of course, God watches over us always."

"Right, Right. So then, if you *had* masturbated, and God was aware of this, as we've established he is. Everywhere. Always., " he gestures around widely "you'd be disqualified from the race to heaven for the sin of... experiencing pleasure?"

"I-Yes, Lust is one of the seven deadliest sins a person can commit, after all..." I swallow, feeling my face flush.

"So you have then."

"What?"

"Masturbated."

My brow furrows and I stutter, unable to summon words. I take a breath, caught off guard. He smirks.

I watch Mr. Reed quickly make his way around the coffee table and take a seat next to me on the settee, angling himself toward me. He rests his glasses on top of his head.

"And I'll assume," he asserts in a lowered tone "you had an orgasm...yes?" He gestures to me to answer the question.

I shift in my seat, acutely aware of a faint tension in my core.

"I-That's not-"

"So that's a yes then," he goes on, eyes locked on mine, not skipping a beat "And (y/n), you just have to wonder, Why would a God who gave you a body, " his eyes dart down to my chest momentarily "a perfect... perfect, body, capable of experiencing the rapurtous pleasure of an orgasm, then punish you for your enjoyment of that gracious gift?" He raises his voice " Does God not want us to enjoy ourselves and the abilities he bestows upon us?" 

"He...does, just not in... that way?"

"Then in what ways, (y/n), does God approve of us enjoying our lives?"

"Through... worship, through service of those in need..."

"So we can only gain pleasure from actions that directly benefit God's good reputation then, hm?"

"Uhm-"

I gasp as I feel his hand rest gently over my knee, giving it a cautious squeeze.

"Mr. Reed-"

"I'm sorry, sorry, I get overly passionate on these matters, forgive my tone," he cringes to himself "I just think, don't we all deserve to feel... Good? Even just for a moment?" He scoots closer and I feel the outside of his thigh brush against mine.

I know I should move his hand from my knee. Shrink away. Say something. I should leave. But I don't. And as his bright blue eyes flick down to my lips, I don't want to.

I feel my breath catch as he delicately pushes my long skirt to just over my knees... then retracts his hands.

"(y/n), you've been so honest with me, and so generous with your knowledge and your time. Will you answer one last question for me?"

I swallow, "uhm... sure..." I manage shakily.

"Are you a virgin?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment.

"I don't see how that relates to anything" I squeak.

He chuckles "Oh, (y/n), this relates to... everything." He leans in, speaking softly into the shell of my ear "you can tell me... it'll be our little secret. God doesn't need to know all, hm?" I feel him smirk and I shiver as his arm snakes around my shoulder, his thumb massaging patterns into the outside of my sleeve.

"But he does know all," I protest, shivering as his lips brush my ear.

"Then there's no harm in confirming what he already knows... aloud, is there? Like I said...just between us... you, me and...him" Mr. Reed looks up briefly, acknowledging God's presence, then gives me a sweet smile.

"Are....You.... A Virgin? Very simple. Yes or no."

A beat.

I mutter an almost silent 'Yes'

"Hm? I'm sorry, the old ears, they're shoddy, come again?"

I close my eyes "Yes, Yes. I'm a virgin." A wave of shame washes over me at the admission despite knowing it's exactly God's plan for me. I look down, fussing with the hem of my skirt in an attempt to seem nonchalant.

"Oh...Understood. You do seem quite... sensitive to touch, mm?" He squeezes my arm and I jolt a bit. Mr. Reed snickers "Aren't you just the most gorgeous catholic angel? The polite, pretty, soft spoken girl, touches herself, refuses the touch of others, its all in God's plan... but don't you ever wonder..." his fingers trace lightly over my knee again, raising my skirt just an inch or two higher up my thigh "how good it can be?"

He lifts my chin so I have no choice but to look directly at him.

He's more attractive up close, the way his eyes radiate warmth, the softness of his smile, the thickness of his hair, the faint smell of his cologne...

I force a shaky breath.

"N-no," I sputter

"Don't. Lie to me." He looks me over, still holding my gaze  "You're an awful liar, and your body betrays you," he sing-songs, a self satisfied smirk playing at his lips.

"You're flushed, you can't sit still, your pupils are dilated, your nipples hard, but you sit here; so innocent, weak, pure and pliable, letting the silly old man in the checkered sweater touch your body, the most sacred possession a person has, while you confidently call yourself a devoted catholic and dedicated virgin. Now that is faith..." his fingertips trace slowly up and down my inner thigh as he says this; I gently place my hand over his wrist, squeezing my legs together, "Mr. Reed," but he doesn't stop, instead ghosting over the tops of my thighs, inching the skirt even higher. "What would God say... about this?" Each of his hands come to rest on my knees, slowly guiding them apart, sliding my skirt the last of the way up my legs, the front of my white cotton thong now visible... and visibly wet. I moan quietly as his fingers skim up and down the drenched fabric, a look of pure delight on his face as he traces over my clit then brings them back to his mouth to taste.

"Could it be that you'd *like* this to carry on further, (y/n)?"

I bite my lip, my brow furrowing as I struggle for an answer. Everything he does feels so good, so right, and entirely wrong all at once, everything he's saying... makes sense... and I'm so drawn to him...

I can't.

"Mr. Reed, may I please have my coat?" I stammer out quickly.

He removes his remaining hand from my knee, standing up. "Of course, dear, I'll just be a minute," he smiles politely. As he turns to leave the room I glance the way his partially stiff cock tents the fabric of his pants and feel myself tremble with want. Gathering all my restraint, I stand and walk toward the door, and a moment later Mr. Reed meets me in the foyer with my coat.

"One coat." He smiles, and walks back into the living room, settling in with a book as if nothing just happened.

I wrap the coat around myself and turn the front door's handle to push it.

It doesn't budge. I pull instead. It's stuck. "Mr. Reed, the- the front door is stuck here-" I call, silently panicking as I try the handle again, and again. I look it over to realize...there isnt an inside lock.

Mr. Reed makes his way back to the foyer, seemingly nervous before a realization apparently dawns on him. "Oh, goodness, I forgot to reset the timer after letting you in. All the locks in this house are on a timer.  Especially the front and back doors. My deepest apologies, (y/n) dear. Ugh. This sucks, hm?"

"Uh... yeah. Sorry I'm not sure I understand. How long is this... timer?"

"Twenty-four hours I'm afraid" he exaggerates an wince.

"Twenty-Four hours?"

"Yes, that seems to be the situation we've found ourselves in. So sorry, (y/n), I feel like such an idiot"

"You're not..." I trail off quietly

"Agh, but I'm so so terribly sorry. Can I possibly interest you in some pie while we wait it out? Absolute least I can do." He puts his hands together in prayer, begging my forgiveness.

"Uh... sure, yeah. Pie ... sounds great." I'm confused, terrified, and still somewhat aroused as Mr. Reed heads to grab our pie. What have I gotten myself into?

I make my way back to where I had been sitting just moments earlier, ignoring the moisture between my legs as I settle into my seat and lay my coat over the back of the settee.

He shuffles hurriedly back into the room holding two plates of freshly microwaved pie, whose smell fills the room instantly.  He hands me my plate and spoon and settles back into his chair across from me with his own.

I take a small bite of the pie. Blueberry. It's delicious, the best I've had, and before long I've scarfed the entirety of the slice down. I look up at Mr. Reed, realizing how I must have just looked wolfing down pie like I've never eaten before. "Oh my god, my manners" I giggle, covering my mouth as I finish the last bite.

Mr. Reed laughs. "Oh don't worry, that's the typical reaction I get with this recipe" he smirks proudly.

"I bet" I smile. He stands up and clears my empty plate.  I can't help but notice he's barely touched his own.

When he returns, I sit up straighter. "Mr. Reed, wouldn't it be possible to reset the timer?"

"It's old tech, none of this digital crap you're used to. It's fixed to operate on a rigid schedule.  Without exception." He says flatly, sitting down again.

"But I may be able to fiddle with it some," he leans in "for a small price."

"Price? I don't carry much money with me on these visits, the best I have is a bus pass, so-"

He laughs loudly "Oh-ho, no, no dear. Not money. Never money. I'd want you to give me something much more meaningful. More important."

"What then?"

"Your virginity." he states plainly, smiling innocuously.

"You want me to give myself to you?"

"Well, yes. And in exchange I'll see what I can do about the hold on those awful, sticky, locks. "

"And no one," he glances upward  "has to know.... a thing" he winks.

Mr. Reed extends a hand to me and before I can stop myself, I take it. He leads me through winding hallways lined with paintings, sculptures, artifcats, and ornate doors.  We arrive at the bottom of a wide hardwood staircase. I follow him up the stairs and down another long hallway. At the end, warm light pours from an open door. Mr. Reed steps inside and I follow closely behind him.

The master bedroom is large, almost too large to believably fit in this house. It's floors are dark stained hardwood and covered in layers of expensive looking carpets, while its walls are lined with overflowing and intricately carved bookcases of what I estimate to be every doctrine of religious text. A gilded chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting dim, mellow light over the room. The entirety of the back wall is lined with backlit stained glass portraits of saints, angels, demons, and notable religious figures. In the middle of the room, a four-poster bed sits atop a double tiered wooden platform. It vaguely reminds me of the altar in a cathedral, the bed adorned in intricately patterned sheets and a multitude of different sizes and shapes of pillows...

"Now then," Mr. Reed says, slightly out of breath "I'd like you to walk to the edge of the bed for me, and bend yourself over it."

I open my mouth, willing myself to protest, to no avail.

"Go on, quick as you like"

I obey, slowly making my way up the steps to the bed and bending at the waist in front of it, letting my upper body rest against the silken sheets and closing my eyes tightly. This isn't happening. Is this how it happens? It can't be. I'm dreaming.

Within a moment I feel Mr. Reed's presence behind me, his hands positioned on my sides. He picks up my skirt and pushes it up over my hips, exposing my ass to him. I let out a moan of anticipation as I feel his hands roam over me, squeezing hard. "Mr. Reed..." I mewl, my body tense with need. He brings a hand between my legs and pulls my panties to the side, gliding his fingertips expertly along my folds, humming at the warmth and slickness of my vulva. He chuckles. "You really haven't been touched this way before, mm?"

"Never" I almost whisper

He slips a finger inside me, steadily dipping in and out. I feel myself spasm around his fingers involuntarily, eliciting a low groan from him "My god, so sensitive. So... tight. Christ,"  he continues working me at a leisurely pace, and after a few minutes I'm pushing myself back onto his fingers, craving more of him.

"Mr. Reeed" I whine, flushing at how wrong this all is. I want it. I need it.

I hear the sound of a belt unbuckling, a zipper unzipping and my eyes snap open. Oh my god. I can feel him lining himself up with my entrance. "You're ready then, pet?"

I give a hesitant nod, and immediately feel him pushing into me. I moan and gasp and feel so completely full of him, I can barely take all of it.

He doesn't move at first.

He rests his hands on my hips and takes a deep, shaky breath. "Look at you, all filled out." I crane my head to look back at him and he smirks at me.

Without warning, he gives a singular, hard thrust into my core and I yelp. He allows me a second to recover before falling into a steady, commanding rhythm.

Our bodies clap against eachother and my mind goes hazy as he fucks me, the sound only heightening the sensation of him moving inside me.

"Mr. Ree-eed?" I gasp hotly.

He looks up, slowing his pace somewhat "Yes dear, enjoying yourself?"

I nod again. "Yes, so much, but could you maybe... undress me more?"

"Oh of course, how crude of me!" He slips out of me with a wet pop and I gasp at the loss of contact. His hands grip my hips roughly and he turns me over as if it's nothing. He's older, but clearly not weak. He tugs the thong down my legs swiftly and helps me slip my sweater over my head. He looks my chest over, clearly pleased with my lack of a bra, and moves to unzip the side of my skirt before yanking it off my legs and tossing it aside with my other clothing. He removes my shoes gingerly, and I lay before him in just my knee-socks, flushed and panting.

I hungrily take in the sight of him. His body is nothing like I had assumed it might be. He's slim and muscular, with a touch of sagging skin in the places that make sense. If his hair color didn't betray his age, he'd be nearly indistinguishable from men decades his junior. His cock is thick, circumcised, and appears from this angle to be what I assume is a manageable length?

"Ohh, you are just the most gorgeous, breathtaking little thing," his hands slip under my knees and he pushes my legs forward, folding me in half, holding the backs of my thighs in place as his eyes rake over me. "Thank y-"

"Gorgeous things are to be cherished, no?" He interrupts me and before I can even think of an answer, he sinks into me fully again, more easily this time, and I. assumed. wrong.

I let out a strangled noise somewhere between a yelp and a whimper as I feel him impale me, my body tightening around him, aching with need. 

He gives me a moment to adjust to his size and then continues rocking into me at the same pace as before. He brings two fingers to my lips and I let them in, sucking enthusiastically, keeping my eyes trained on his.

He lets out a low hum,  contented with my impatience. "Atta girl,"

As I suck his fingers, he brings his opposite hand to my hip and kneads his thumb over my clit in slow, attentive circles. He removes the fingers from my mouth and runs them delicately over one nipple, hardening it instantly and sending a jolt through my body. "Mmmh, Misterr, Reed, I-" I gasp as a shudder runs through me. In response, he slows his thrusts to an agonizing pace, looking down at me expectantly. "I'm close," I pant.

He continues his slow, shallow thrusts and circles over my clit "Aww, and so soon? You are a virgin, aren't you (y/n)? So. Fucking. Delicate..." He teases, punctuating each word with a forceful buck of his hips. I whine. He gives a few quicker thrusts, and I squeeze my knees together as I feel myself clenching and pulsating around his girth. My vision goes white as I come, and I hear myself mewl weakly as I go limp beneath him.

As he pulls out, his eyes are hungrily trained on my body, and he strokes himself steadily for a moment or two before letting his head tilt back as he pulses out thick ropes of semen onto my stomach and chest with a low, labored groan. I gasp at the sudden warmth and blink up at him, panting, defiled, and entirely undone.

As Mr. Reed recovers from his orgasm, he huffs, drinking in my disordered state.

He reaches out, smiling proudly as he grazes a thumb over my cheek. "Wait here a minute, I'll be right back" he pads out of the room, returning seconds later wrapped up in a plush robe, holding a towel out to me "here we are," he beams. I take the towel from him, simpering, and wipe away the aftermath of his release.

I hold a pillow over myself as I sit up, hiding my exposed form to the best of my ability.  He situates himself on the bed next to me, his eyes searching mine "Now then," he takes a breath "how did that feel?" I nod slowly, still dizzy from my climax. "Words. Use them."

"It felt...hot...dirty...transcendent." I exhale.

"Transcendent." He echoes. "And does it seem your soul has been eternally damned??"

"No..."

"Do you feel dirty? Or wrong, generally?"

"No."

"Mm. So you had sex, for the first time -shock horror- with the kooky old man from the visitation list..." he trails his fingertips up the side of my arm "and not only did it not cause your immediate eternal damnation, but took you in the exact opposite direction, to the height of sensation, if I'm not mistaken."

"It..did..." I look away from him, feeling my face grow hot.

"And you still believe that a God who loves us, who wants us to enjoy all life has to offer, would deprive us of something so... transcendent?"

"N-no Mister Reed. I don't. Not anymore."

His eyes widen.

"Oh, changed your mind have you? How will you ever get to heaven without that... core belief?"

"I believe we may be able to bring it down to earth, actually..." I smirk up at him.

"We?"

"We."

Part 2》

[krewekreep]

2.6K Words. College AU, Study Partner to Lovers AU, GoldenRetriever!BF, Dumbo Hot Boy needs study help.

When he is the kid in school who just can’t keep up. And not for trying but the fact for whatever reason school just isn’t on his side. You end up being in the class he has the most struggle in. The professor now avoids him cause of all the after class conversation and visits to office hour. He’s more endearing than annoying but his persistance gets grating. He watched over time as you’d receive your results and praise yourself silently. Over time he became curious how well you actually had to be doing for the professor to always smile happily at your raised hand and responses. He began to sit behind you and almost laughed aloud in self contempt seeing your Canvas sitting with a huge 98% in the center. That meant every class you could’ve been signed up for you were practically ace-ing. He knew it best to seek further assistance and the bounce of your breasts at continually doing well made his dick harden the slightest. He mustered up the strength after class and fumbled his way into a conversation you were having with other classmates, shyly scratching the back of his head agreeing with the displeased about how hard it seemed to get higher scores.

He mentioned he just seemed to continually get stuck on three of the topics closest to mid-terms. The defeat in the fall of his head and his almost eerie stare at the ground made you pity him. “Hey, I know that’s stressful, I’ve been doing pretty well with those parts of the curriculum and I’m down to study with you if you wanted?” His entire demeanor switches. “Really!?” He’s a glowing bubbly awkward mess and a flush rises up your neck. You quickly turn into your phone pulling up your messaging app. “Here. Just give me your number and we’ll coordinate a time, okay?” When you look up to pass your phone his smile is ear to ear, eyes squinted, and his hair bouncing. Golden Retriever. Your stomach almost explodes. You shake away the growing feelings of a crush at first site. And lowkey thank whatever God made him this bad at the class work.

When you met up it was the Friday of the same week you both agreed to become study partners. Both of you a bit eager to become acquainted. When you arrived at the library he was leaned against the wall near the entrance asleep. You were able to absorb his physique more with his height extended and his arms crossed. His loose t-shirt flexed around his biceps and torso. You couldn’t say you ever paid much attention to him before but you kinda kicked yourself he had been sitting in class for so long, looking this good, struggling while your ace-ing, and only now you saw the opportune time to see what he was about. You walked up to him and he must’ve sensed you somehow because before you could say anything he slowly opened one eye and stretched groaning loudly as his shirt rose to show his hip bones, lower abs, and belly button. Oh wow.

You guys walked to the study room he reserved and for the first couple sessions you guys just got to know each other and where he had the most trouble. He began to get the hang of things and you realized he’s just the type who has to be more confident in his knowledge. You learned he was an athlete on scholarship and didn’t come from much. He really had had only himself especially for critical moments of development. Everything you learned of him made his frustrated chuckles, flurry of apologies, and tendency to glance over at you for approval all the more heart-melting.

He became your little student. Obedient and ever willing to make you as happy as you wanted. You were never the kind to indulge in that behavior, it seemed belittling and mean. Yet, a sliver of dominance would color your tone when you corrected him. When he’d get too many in a row wrong (more times than not simply his nervousness or psyching himself out) you would reprimand him with a soft hit of your pen against his hand. The little twitch of his fingers turned you on and he wouldn’t admit your commitment to his improvement made him want to prove himself to you more. You weren’t known for initiating much of anything but his willing and nervous energy was something of a turn on you unlocked the more you toyed with him. He got another answer wrong and you both know he knew it. Teasingly you said, “Now you know you know this,” reaching for his thigh and giving it a soft but assertive squeeze. He jumped and his leg began to shake uncontrollably. You laughed aloud at him and he flushed red. “I’m- im sorry.” You rubbed his thigh and his leg was over the moon. You leaned your head into your free hand pouting at him. “Now how are you supposed to pass if you keep doubting yourself?”

Although you were sending him sultry eyes you had to hold your gaze against his as it was no longer nervous or self-conscious. They were lidded and low, peering what seemed farther into you than you could ever do to him. Your stomach rattled and you wanted to falter but without a word he closed the distance with kiss. You gasped a bit before he met your lips and the gap was enough for him to solicit your tongue which you gave him eagerly. Both you wrestled in your seats fighting for dominance until he became frustrated with the conflict. He grabbed your legs firmly lifting them enough be on either of his sides. It caused you to need to support yourself so you wouldn’t fall back. With your hands busy, he pulled you flush to his lower abdomen. You were warm and slightly dazed. His grip on your lower thighs sent hot pulses to your pussy. He was as eager as you letting his grip move closer to your ass. You don’t know how far it would’ve gone had it not been for the attendant that loudly and profusely knocked on the glass showing the both of you to the rest of the lounge. You hid your head in his shoulder as he laughed sheepishly pulling the blinders down. Without a word you packed your things and left together. You weren’t ashamed just embarrassed (and kinda still in the mood). You got a few blocks away before he burst into laughter. You joined him. And as the air cleared he looked over at your disheveled clothes. “Hey,” his dick grew hard (never really went soft) when your doll eyes looked up at him all lusty. “Back to your place?”

After that every study session was had in your respective dorm rooms. Always ending in fucking each other brainless. He was loud and a bit clumsy but you’d come even harder once his thrusts knew how to hit your core bringing you to loud crescendos that made your roommates make last minute plans every time either of you walked through the door. Neither of you had much experience (and for him lowkey too many weird ones) so you ended up studying how to fuck too. His confidence grew immensely as you praised him for how good he fucked you. “Baby—Ah,” your hips rocked together seamlessly. He had a bad habit of staring right into your face wanting to soak in every bit of how gone he had you. “You feel so good. Please keep fucking me like this.” You threw your head back as your pussy began to tingle building towards an orgasm you wanted to achieve badly. “Oh my—please.” His moans grew louder but his gaze on you never wavered. “Tell me how good I feel beautiful.”

He slowed down to position his hips so his dick drove the farthest he had ever been. You yelped clawing into his upper back. “Too much?!” But before he could shift to anything softer you bounced against him. Different feeling than when he moved as your pussy felt sweet gliding up and down his cock. A shock of pleasure caused you to lightly convulse and his abs flexed inwardly so hard it seemed it hurt. “Relax baby.” You repositioned widening your legs, accepting the spread of his girth as your pussy muscled around him abundantly wet and barely able to keep him in. “I got you.” You took hold of his face bringing him into a kiss as you rocked up and down on him. He met your thrusts with his own and a sloppy sound filled the room as he became so undone his groaning and pleading almost drowned you out. “Baby doll I need to cum.” He sounded so innocent and ready. “I really need to cum—uh,” his pace almost stalled as his arms shook, his waist buckled, and he shot his load into you. Feeling his cum squirt all in you made you claw into his back. His cum was so warm it made you feel full and visceral. He went to pull out but you halted him “Baby, can we cuddle?” He beamed so hard at you. “You don’t want me to pull out?” He felt concerned about any roughness and the elephant in the room of him not using protection. “Eh,” you shrugged. “We already have been pretty irresponsible, and I like feeling you in me. Youre…still hard?” He and his entire face and neck went red. “It’s okay,” you laughed. “But I am a bit worn out.”

“Of course, I’m just—I really like this…thing we have going on.” He hid his face with his hair at the admission, turning away futilely. Neither of you mentioned labels out of a deep fear of rejection, only really stalling the inevitable. But in this moment you pulled him to your chest. He had to pull out a bit to readjust and upon inserting himself to the hilt both of you began to slowly rock back. You really did want him again but a sliver of pain pierced you. Your face contorted and he stopped again immediately. “I’m so sorry Y/N.” This time he did pull out, slowly. And pulled you into a cuddle where your head rested on his arm and you felt the fullness of his pillow-like muscle. You began to drift to sleep pretty soon after. Before finally succumbing to your exhaustion he whispered against your neck: “Thank you for everything.” His breath low indicating he also was soon about to fall asleep. “I’ll let you keep me warm another time.” He placed a kiss to the back of your neck sending a sensitive ripple of pleasure through you. You hummed in agreement then you both, bare and fulfilled didn’t awake until his early practice alarm went off.

Midterms came and went. There was no doubt in your mind both of you passed but he sat nerve wracked until the results came in. Not only did he pass he had actually scored higher than you. He felt guilty that you spent so much time worrying about him you didn’t focus on yourself because you obviously deserved the better grade. Upon telling you this you grabbed him by the wrist without a word and led him into a bathroom towards the end of the building. You knew that hey if it wasn’t occupied there’d only be one or two people and you didn’t quite care at all. You brought him into the empty bathroom (thankful something somewhere was okay with you getting your rocks off) and into the farthest, largest stall. He did nothing but submit the entire time and only yelped when you set him against the wall, untying his sweatpants. He grabbed your arm when he saw you beginning to kneel but you looked up at him with an intensity that scared him in the sluttiest way possible. He then assisted you pulling his attire down until his cock somewhat swung up hitting him against his lower sternum. His length was intimidating but you gleefully took him into your mouth.

Although your first time you asked your friends and watched videos. Practicing was a bit embarrassing but you ended up getting into it thinking how well you’d draw all of him into your mouth. You were so excited you had to remember to watch for your teeth but surprisingly he muttered “Mmm what the Fuck. Bite me baby.” You had to swallow a genuine laugh cause this man was really weird sometimes. But you flattened your tongue against the bottom of your mouth bobbing your head with an amateur but passionate pace. “Hey,” you looked up to him peering at you with lust consumed eyes. “Can I help you? Put your hands on my thighs.” You put your hands on either of his thighs, shifting your kneeling to a squat. “Smart girl.” He set his hand reassuringly against the back of your head, leaning his hips up from the wall so his dick was more comfortably set for you. Given he had an angle he knew better than you that continually hitting your cheek like that might become bad feeling. “Take your time, I can be quiet.” With one hand on the back of your head and the fingers on his other hand lovingly gripping either side of your chin he guided you with a knowing pace. He choked on his moans but never broke eye contact.

Something in you expanded as you felt bold enough to reach a hand under to cup his balls. “Waa-where did you learn that?!” You paid him no mind determined to bring him to climax. You’re awkward relationship developments seemed to always lead to public displays of affection. You were especially dismissive towards shame once your eyes soaked up enough of his image, it was almost compulsive how dire you had to get him between your fingers. You finally defeated him as his head fell back and his eyes shut. His Adam’s Apple bulging and flexing as his grip tightened in your hair. You knew he was about to cum. So you bobbed on him with more intensity, letting his tip meet the back of your mouth entering your throat the slightest bit. He became an undone mess of moans. “Y/N you feel so fucking good. So fucking—“ his breath hitched when a rougher mindless thrust had him slip down and gag you ever so slight. A sensation to gag was overcome as he soon came filling the bathroom with expletives and thank you’s.

When you released with a loud pop of your mouth, you looked up at eyes that declared you owned him now. He pulled you up surprisingly aggressive slipping his tongue into your mouth sharing his taste with you. “We need to get out here.” He says with a dark glint in his eye. He threw his hoodie over your head and walked out as if it was nothing. The girls in the bathroom could only snicker and blush, confused and jealous at the hot boy hiding you from exposing yourself. Once out of the bathroom and outside he tells you to keep his hoodie until he sees you again. He kisses you on the forehead. “Umm,” he says rubbing the back of his head. “So we are like? Dating now, right?”

Who: DENJI, NARUTO, Jean, Tamaki, YUUJI, CHOSO, ARMIN (I think him more nervous if anything ), ICHIGO + any other sweet idiots.

[hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog]

Happy Monday Everyone! So I have a new series for you that I will be dropping either one chapter a week or multiple chapters this week, I am still deciding.

This series came way of a message/ask from @hobby27 she asked:

"I would love something with Jensen and reader. He sees her when he’s at a convention and he’s bonkers for her. She isn’t so interested in a relationship with him because of the fame. So he has to woo her. Make her understand that he’s not a typical movie/tv star. Slow burn."

So I give you the Limelight series- It's a Jensen x reader (plus size, curvy girl) story, Jensen meets the reader in a bar, he falls fist, she is reluctant of course, but secretly she fell for him the second he walked through the door. So can a small town girl and a celebrity make it work?

Warnings for the whole series: language, multi-pov and switching between the pov mid chapters (sorry I can't help it), Jensen coming off aggressive for a hot second but then cooling off. Some douche side characters and some lovable ones, body shaming, angst, fluff, swoon, Jared is there and Micha is mention.

This story takes place an AU where Jensen is not married but Jared is and has kids.

This chapter is 2K+. Feedback, likes and reblogs are always welcomed. Please don't post as your own work, this is my work.

Thanks!

Chapter 1

You weren't sure what possessed you to come out tonight. The city is a small lakeside tourist trap in the height of summer. It's Friday night, so it's already going to be busy. Add the fact that the first-ever Supernatural convention is taking place in a town over, and there are rumors that some cast members might appear in small-town Haven. Has every woman, single or not, out looking to catch the eye of Jared Padalecki or Jensen Ackles.

You, on the other hand, couldn't care less. That's not to say you didn't think both men weren't great actors. You're the first to put your 'Supernatural number one fan card' against anyone. You watched the show religiously, even re-watched it whenever you needed comfort or a break from the world.  You had also fallen into reading and writing a few fanfics under a pen name. 

You also weren't immune to their handsome good looks; both are sexy men in their own right. You lean more towards Jensen than Jared if you had to choose. Something about those hypnotic green eyes  and the 'Dean voice.' God, that got you through some lonely nights, for sure.

So why aren't you going boy-crazy at the fact that your celebrity crush was just one city over, or for that matter, could be in the same bar as you right now? One, you are a realist: the likelihood of him coming out, or you actually seeing him, is slim, if not nonexistent. Second, the idea of celebrity life - living in the limelight, having all eyes on you, never getting a moment to yourself - no thank you. You will take being an anonymous nobody and being able to look and act however you want without ending up on the front page of the gossip rags.

Pushing your way through the crowd of the local dive bar, you survey the crowd to see the overabundance of female to men ratio. You finally squeeze past and grab the last open barstool at the corner, next to where the wait staff come to grab their orders. Saying hi to the waitress as she loads up her tray, you take a seat and wave over at the bartender. 

"Well, look what the cat dragged in." The bartender, James, gives you a smile and wink.

Stuffing the bar towel in his back pocket, he walks to you and tosses a cardboard coaster. "Didn't think you would be one of those desperate celebrity chasers." He jokes.

He places his hands on the bar and leans towards you. His lean, muscular frame is accented by his dark denim jeans and black button-down, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing off the nice tan he's been working on.

Shaking your head at him, "Now, James, I wouldn't knock your guest too loud; God knows you're not mad at the extra business…or the female clientele." You quip, picking up the coaster to fiddle with. 

You survey the room and guess it's a two to five-ratio of guys to girls in the bar tonight. "Besides, I wanted a drink." Letting out a sigh, you try to convince yourself that's why.

Not buying it, but not having the heart to call you out on your bullshit this early in the night, James gives you a nod, "OK, sure, so the usual?" He asks as he grabs the tequila to make you a margarita.

"You know my weakness."

"That I do."

Later that night

You felt good and relaxed over an hour in and two margaritas down. The day's stress dissipates, and you're glad you came out. Besides chatting with James every time he had a few minutes, you also got to reconnect with some of the other bar staff you hadn't seen. 

The crowd has started to thin out, with news that the cast members were staying in the city to party. Sightings of them all over at the more trendy bars had the sober guests heading out and the not-so-sober ones heading home. James let the last waitress clock out early, leaving only you and James. James made his way back over to you.

"So, you're still here. Thought you would have hightailed it to the city by now." He jokes, running a hand through his dark, short locks. His blue eyes locked with yours.

"I told you, I just came out for a drink, not to hunt down a celebrity. Besides, we never get to hang out anymore.  Why is that?" you question, pushing your empty glass toward James in a not-so-subtle attempt to have him refill it. 

He takes the hint.  Grabbing the glass, he slightly laughs at this, "Come on, Y/N, we see each other. I mean, yeah, not as much anymore, what with me taking over this place and you working in the city more on your art. How is that going? Are you happy with your decision?" He asks, saying so much with those questions. He finishes up your drink and sets it down.

You were happy with your choice; it was for the best. Even if it meant you gave up half of the bar and steady income so you could pursue your passion. You're about to answer him when the sound of the front doors opens. Looking over, you can't believe your eyes when you see, fucking Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki walk through the doors. 

You snap your head back after staring at them both for what seems like forever. Fuck, they both look even better in person.

"No fucking way!" James almost screams out. You look up at him to see he is nearly hyperventilating.

"OK, James, you got to calm down." You counsel, slightly put off by him freaking out when he, on multiple occasions, would tease you for liking the show. Watching him flap his hands and pull out the bar rag to wipe the sweat from his forehead as his cheeks red. 

You had to call him on this. "Are you a fan?"

He looks over to you, sees the twinkling of mischief behind your eyes, and sighs, "OK, fine, yes." He quips back in defeat that his big secret is out.

"I watched the show, and so did you." He tries to defend himself.

"Yeah, and I was open about it. You were the one that made fun of me every time I talked about it. Bitch."

"Jerk." James quips back out of reflex, which gets you to point at him.

"Hey, can we get a pitcher of whatever the house draft is?" Deep and smooth, his voice hits you like a freight train, pulling James and you out of your impending tiff and back to reality. A reality where Jensen Ackles is standing ten feet away from you, on the other side of the bar, wanting to get a pitcher of beer. 

He is standing there in well-fitted light-wash jeans and a faded blue T-shirt. Sunglasses hang off the v-neckline and a baseball cap tuck in his back pocket. Your eyes lock with his, and the rumors are true—they are green like a fairy princess.

You look away and see Jared sitting with two other guys at a table. They are not actors from the show; they must be friends or bodyguards. 

"Umm…Yeah, man, coming right up. Just the one?" James stammers as he reaches the well to pull the pitcher. 

"Umm…better make it two, Jared's a big guy and all." Jensen jokes. Pulling his eyes from you to the bartender.

"Umm…you got a kitchen back there?" He questions, trying to keep the small talk up so he can stay here for a few more minutes. There is something about you; he can't place it, but it's like he's drawn to you. 

"Yeah, but our cook bailed on me tonight," James replies. Setting the pitchers on the bar. Scrabbling when he sees Jensen's slight disappointment in the lack of food.

"But I am sure Y/N wouldn't mind going back there and whipping up something." Turning his attention to you and giving you a shit-eating grin.

Your head snaps up to look over at James and Jensen. "What?" You question, wondering why he dragged you into this.

"Yeah, she's an excellent cook, chef really, she actually…"

"I am sure my cooking wouldn't match your sophisticated palate." Cutting off James before he can give Jensen your life story, giving him a stare down that conveys 'shut the fuck up.'

James has a habit of making your accomplishments sound grander than they were. He takes up the role of a proud parent, which you never ask him to do. 

Y/N, hmm, beautiful name. Letting the name roll around in his head. Jensen takes this opportunity with your eyes, shooting daggers at the bartender to let his eyes take you all in. She is in light-wash jeans, tall black boots, and a leather jacket over a vintage concert t-shirt that hugs her curves in all the right places. She's giving off a 'don't fuck with me vibe,' but he can tell it's just a front.  

"Darling, don't let celebrity status fool you. We're just a group of guys out for a few drinks and looking for good local food." Giving a smile to seal the deal.

His voice pulls her attention back to him, and he can see the front crumble away, her cheeks tinting pink.

"Jared there will eat just about anything you put before him." He says, thumbing back towards the guys. 

You look over his shoulder to see Jared and the two other guys watching your interaction. Jared gives you a half smile.

"Jensen, stop harassing the girl already. I can't take this guy anywhere." He jokes and turns his attention back to his buddies.  

Getting up from the barstool, you put some money on the bar, "I should be going, night James." Keep your voice low and as even as possible.

You can feel yourself becoming embarrassed by the seconds with all the attention on you. Unfortunately, you must walk past Jensen and his friends' table to get to the door. As you walk past the table, one of the anonymous guys pipes up.

"Seriously, I am starving. Why did we even come out this way? Dumb bitch, not like she doesn't know her way around a kitchen, just look at her." He spits out. 

You know you should keep walking; it's not like you haven't heard your fair share of fat jokes and comments about you before. Especially from drunk, pretty boys. Something about this time, though.  Maybe it's because it's in front of your celebrity crushes. After all, you have a few drinks in you as well. Whatever it is, you turn on your heels so you can face the douchebag.

"Oh, real original, ass. God, you must be the brains of the group." You spat back. Placing your hands on your hips to really show off your frame. 

He doesn't say anything at first. He is your typical frat boy, with short blonde hair and brown eyes staring back at you. You can see the wheels turning in his head. The other anonymous guy sitting next to him is a carbon copy of him, but he is looking across the booth to Jared for some kind of help.

"Dude, Evan, come on," Jared says, giving him a look of dismay that he just said those things. Turning his attention to you, "I am sorry…" He starts to apologize to him.

You hold up your hand to stop him. "It's fine, really." You reply, giving him a half smile. You're tired, and dragging this out any longer is not something you want to do tonight.

"Yeah, Jared, it's fine. A bitch like that, this is probably the most attention she has had from a guy in a long time." Evan jokes and playfully punches the guy next to him, wanting some backup on his 'stellar' dig at the local girl. 

Turning away from them, shocked that he is still talking, you just want to escape. Your eyes lock with Jensen, but his attention is on the table. He's fuming and looks like he is about to punch Evan. He starts the short walk towards the table.

"What the fuck…" he yells.

Stepping in his path, he stops just inches from you when you put your hand on his chest. The feel of your hand on him, you standing right before him, snaps him back.

"Well, we wouldn't want you boys to starve now, would we?" You say sweetly. Your voice is low and even. Knowing that you need to diffuse this situation before a bar brawl breaks out and somehow the gossip rags hear about it. 

The feel of his shirt under your fingers as you lightly tap his chest is soft. You would give anything to stay like this for a bit longer, taking in his smell of whiskey and leather. That's the one thing the fanfic girls and guys got right. Maybe they got other things right, too, your mind wonders.

You give Jensen a smile and turn to face the table. "Do you guys have any allergies I need to know about?" Your question, "Don't need to have anyone go into anaphylactic shock and have the media all up in my ass."

The two unknowns say nothing and seem interested in the countertop, then looking up at you. You don't blame them. Seeing the fury that Jensen was in, you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that.

Jared also looks pissed at them, glaring at them both before replying. "No, I think we're all good."

Giving a short nod, you turn back, seeing Jensen's eyes lock on you now. He has calmed down a bit, but he also looks slightly disappointed. You cock your head to the side.

"Hey, you OK?" You question, your voice low, only for him to hear.

He takes a second, giving you a nod. He clears his throat. "Yeah, umm…I am sorry…" he starts apologizing, but you stop him. 

"It's fine, Jensen. If you haven't noticed, I am a big girl in multiple ways." You wink at him and pat his chest before side-stepping him and heading back towards the kitchen.  

Back to the bar, you shuck off your jacket and toss it to James. "Good because, honestly, I don't care." You quip back to let them all know you could give a rat's ass what their dietary needs were.

This gets a laugh out of Jensen, pulling him back into a better head space. He can see more of her; the short-sleeved gray t-shirt contrasts sharply with her deep purple hair. Letting his eyes roam over her beautiful curves, god, he wishes he was the only one that came out tonight. She is feisty and can hold her own. Her voice is heaven, and he wants to listen to her talk all night.

"I'll have some food right out." Saying over your shoulder as you push open the kitchen doors. 

To Be Continued.....

[bingbuang]

My venture overwatch hc's ♡

Alr first off these are my fanon headcanons, so they're only my opinion. These are also very random, so just bare with me lmao

Bro is an absolute fucking BEEFCAKE. Like, I'm talking Zarya buff. They just have a sleeper build under all those layers.

Speaking of layers, they are ALWAYS hot. They're used to it, though, and generally pretty sweaty, but it doesn't bother them. This is also why they eat ice cream so much.

While underground and by themselves, they have a habit of taking off their sweater if they get too hot. They know they probably shouldn't because of falling rubble, getting scrapes, but they insist it's fine.

They have some ROUGH ass hands. They're touching rocks all day, holding that drill, and yeah, ik they have gloves on, but still.

They have pica. Pica is kind of an eating disorder where you have urges to eat non-edible things like ice, chalk, *cough cough* rocks. They don't just eat rocks, they love chewing on everything and anything. Give them a pen for 5 minutes, and you probably won't want it back.

They are autistic. Look me in the eyes and tell me bro isn't autistic. Their stims are (stereotypically) arm flapping, and tapping on stuff rhythmically. This isn't really a stim, but they like fidgeting with their eyebrow piercing.

They regularly make themselves sick by consuming only ice cream, rocks, ice, and occasionally paper. Their teammates have had to put their paper in very obscure places, like under someone's bed, or on top of the fridge, because Venture keeps eating it.

they are pansexual, and don't have a preference. They also are completely oblivious to being hit on.

They can sleep everywhere, and anywhere. The floor, a cave, or on top of a rock (their favorite obv).

Sometimes while on expeditions to bring artifacts to museums, they forget what they were supposed to be doing, and grab cool rocks. I imagine they have a sack they carry around, and just toss in cool rocks whenever they see them.

They love Star wars. You put that on the TV, and they're staring like a 4 year old. They like it less for the plot, and more for the cool effects.

They have a gyatt. That's it tbh

sometimes they switch Spanish and English mid sentence when they forget a word or their brain just goes a little too fast. "Hey guys, que haces hoy? Estaba pensando we could ir a la restaurante Chinese" or sm

They're really good at dancing + very flexible. They've gotten flexible from having to worm into tight spaces at the wayfinders society, because most of their other workers are bigger.

They don't drink, because they think most alcohol is too bitter. They prefer savory things.

They used to smoke when they first started at way finders at 16, as they weren't as eccentric and loud as they are now. Because of this, they got a little pressured and started doing that. Then they eventually stopped after joining overwatch.

They are down bad for Brigitte. They don't know what it is, but they can't help but want to be by her. That's why they're so polite to Torbjörn, tryna have a good impression.

They have an EXTREMELY high pain tolerance, sometimes not even noticing injuries (like chipping their tooth.) one time they broke their nose and the next day they were like 'man my nose is stuffed or sm'

They have an unspoken hatred for Kiriko. They try to be nice, they try to be polite, they try to be funny, but they get kinda pissed. You'll understand if you know the interaction like K: 'I like your nickname, who gave it to you' V: 'oh I did' K: 'isn't that tacky' V: 'lmao yeah' like kiriko stfu at least they were creative you literally used ur name (I don't like kiriko either tbh)

They LOVE big dogs. Like pitbulls. They need all the puppies. All. Of. Them.

You'd think being literally INSIDE the earth would get them used to insects? Partially true. HOWEVER. Millipedes and Centipedes freak them the hell out. Hate them. They don't mind spiders, snakes (ik they're reptiles but still) scorpions, etc. but not centipedes. they will scream. They're not exactly scared, they're just severely disgusted.

While underground drilling, they have the weirdest music taste. They don't care about playlists, they'll have Rob Zombie and then Taylor Swift. They're not a swiftie (thank god) but they can enjoy some of her older songs. And lots and lots and lots of old Spanish music.

They speak a little Mandarin, as they have canonically lived in Singapore before. They're not the greatest, but they can get a point along. They like to talk to Mei sometimes in Mandarin, and they listen to Chinese music together. :)

Juno and Venture are BESTIES. I might make a small short story about them meeting idk lol. Venture was like 'sigh if only I could have a mars rock' and Juno was like 'i got you 😎' and Venture returns the favor by showing them cool rocks, landmarks, etc.

Venture gives very good hugs. They have super strong arms, and they have lots of layers, which tends to make them a little squishy. They're also very warm, which makes it better.

That's all for now love y'all <3

[homeslices]

College GF Ellie Headcannons

A/N: First time writing headcannons lemme know what you guys think or if there’s anything else you guys wanna see.

Summary: No thoughts, just college girlfriend Ellie

Pairings: College!Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 763

Warnings: Smut headcannons but nothing too graphic

Meeting Ellie Headcannons:

Ellie and you met in one of your college classes

You were late to class one day, totally not your fault, so instead of talking your usual spot up front you sit in the last row a few seats down from a really hot girl

Said girl happens to forget a pen that day, so of course she asks you, the pretty, quiet girl who never sits in the back, for one

You, being the prepared person you are, gave her one of your extras with a teasing comment, she gave you a snarky one in response and by the end of the lecture, neither of you took any notes, too busy talking to one another to pay any attention.

So while the two of you were packing up, she ripped out a piece of paper from her notebook, which is hardly ever used, wrote out her number, and gave it to you along with the borrowed pen

(You messaged her as soon as the both of you parted ways)

General GF Headcanons:

Will sit by you in every class the two of you have together, and while she usually doesn’t bother you and pays attention to professors, she will try to get you play tic-tac-toe during boring lectures sometimes

Ellie definitely seems like she would be big in pda. I mean why wouldn’t she? She has a beautiful girlfriend, so she definitely wants to show you off.

Holding hands, arm around your waist, putting her hand in your back pocket, kissing you (i.e. cheek, neck, lips), she would be fine with making out with you in public. However, if you aren’t that comfortable with pda, she won’t push it and 100% respect your boundaries.

This girl is a cuddler. I also think she enjoins being both the little or big spoon depending on what mood she’s in

Definitely seems like the type to smoke a joint whenever she gets a little too stressed. Which in college, would happen a little more often than not.

Always offers you some, but if you don’t want to smoke, she would ask you to just stay and hang with her while she does. Smoking is one of her stress relievers, but you’re her favorite

Loves it when you lay with her and just play with her hair. She swears it’s one of the best feelings in the world

Smut Headcannons:

Speaking of hair Ellie loves it when you pull hers. She basically lives in between your thighs

She worships the ground you walk on everyday, it’s no different in the bedroom

“Pretty girl” “good girl” “attagirl” are all phrases she uses constantly

Loves making out with you. Usually all of your sexual encounters start with a make out session with her.

She will not stop kissing you until you ask her to stop or one of you is whining to get fucked.

I see Ellie as a switch leaning top in the bedroom. She loves to take care of you, but sometimes she needs the one to be taken care of

Y’all have a plethora of sex toys, which includes Ellie’s favorite purple strap. (If your honest, it’s yours too)

Very into experimenting.

If there’s something you wanna try, “yeah let’s go to the bedroom right now.”

If one of her or your friends mentions trying something that works for them, she’ll literally say in front of them to you “babe we should try that.”

If you’re both watching tv and a steamy sex scene comes on, she’ll turn to you mid scene, “wanna do that right now?”

Seems like the type to be into edging until you’re a complete mess, then overstimming you until you’re fucked dumb.

Something she won’t tell you is she wants you to do the exact same thing to her

Communication is a must with her

Y’all use the stop light system (I.e. red = stop, yellow = slow down, green = go)

10/10 aftercare

She’ll wipe off any bodily fluids on either of you, get you changed into some sort of clothes (if that’s what you prefer), change the sheets, make sure there’s water for the both of you, and lay there cuddling you whispering words of praise as you come down from your high

Speaking of communication, once the both of you come out of the post-sex bliss, the both of you will talk about what either of you like or didn’t like

She will make mental notes of everything you say

Overall Ellie is an amazing girlfriend, loves you more than life itself, and would do anything for you

[biblio-smia]

Hey can we get one where Clapton has a crush on you and does anything and everything to be close to you????

oh how i love loser men

clapton cuts through the cafeteria, throwing himself into the seat opposite sander sanderson. "dude, switch with me."

"what?" sander is caught off-guard and still mid-chew.

"physics, dude! come on, you have to switch with me!"

sander stares, eyes rolling practically to the back of his head as he catches up to what clapton is talking about. "as if you have the balls to make a move."

it's clapton's turn to roll his eyes. "you'll get to sit with riley for the rest of the semester!"

sander takes a long time to consider this; agonizingly long, at least for clapton. finally, after sander has finished another bite of his disgusting tuna salad sandwich, he sighs.

"fine. but don't think you don't owe me, davis."

the next day, clapton slides smoothly into his new, fought-for seat next to you.

you do a small double-take, sure the boy sitting next to you today isn't the same one from last time - though you two didn't talk much (save for a brief introduction and an awkward handshake). it was easier to believe your mind was playing tricks on you.

"sander has a thing for riley. so i let him switch with me." the boy, definitely new, tells you with a nonchalant shrug. there's vague recognition on your face as you look at him, eyebrows pulled slightly together - you remember he had a funny name.

"clapton davis," he fills in for you. "your new physics partner."

he doesn't hold out a stiff hand like sander did, but he manages to pull a smile and a little introduction out of you. the bell rings and mr. kendall is prompt, jumping into today's lesson so quickly you rush to pull out your notebook.

clapton smiles to himself, table in front of him empty, not a pencil in sight for him. he's too busy stealing glances at you to do any note-taking.

it only takes a few days before clapton decides it's time to make a game plan. the charm he usually prides himself disappears around you, his mind always going blank. he has to think about his words carefully before he says them, three times each.

that won't do. he reminds himself of what he's always done. keep calm and have a casual conversation.

"no way, i have that exact same pen!" clapton exclaims one day before class.

you look down in front of you, recalling what pen you had brought to class that day - it's a bic pen, the most generic one out there. this pulls a laugh out of you, as stupid as it is.

"you know, clapton, in the two weeks we've been sitting next to each other, i've never once seen you take out a pen."

"you've been keeping track?" clapton says with an easy smile, his heart stammering wildly in his chest. he's closed the distance, arm on the table supporting his head as he stares, attention dedicated solely to you.

you roll your eyes but there's a smile on your face. "you can always look over them, if you want," you offer, directing clapton's attention to the open notebook in front of you. "not to brag, but i'm a pretty good note-taker."

"i'd like that," clapton admits, surprising himself with how much he means it.

"okay," you nod, trying not to grin.

"would you wanna have lunch in the library with me?" clapton asks, eager to set a time and date to... look over your notes?

"sure," you manage to say just before the bell rings.

clapton doesn't get another opportunity to talk to you for the entire class period; it's quiz day.

he finishes his quiz in seven minutes flat, bubbling in C for all the questions before putting his head down. the quiet cocoon clapton has built with his arms at least gives him at least another 45 minutes or so to sit and reflect.

a part of clapton is pissed with himself for asking you to study with him out of all things. usually, the courage to ask someone on a date would never suddenly flee him like it does with you and it's beginning to throw clapton in for a loop. though, on the other hand, at least he made it work with the opportunity that had presented itself... right?

and now, of all things, clapton is beginning to feel insecure about the grades he hasn't kept up with since about middle school. he wonders if you'd paid attention to how quickly he turned in that quiz. did you only offer to help him because you thought he was stupid?

clapton's beginning to lose his head (and run out of air), so he picks his head up and places it on top of his arms instead. he glances at you, just now going to turn in your quiz, and he sighs.

in an hour and a half, the two of you will meet for lunch and clapton would look over your notes. he can already see himself faltering; there's no way he'll be able to impress you in this situation.

as you turn to head back to your seat, clapton averts his eyes. he's set himself up for complete failure.

and, as a part of him wonders why exactly he cares, clapton drops his head again as he realizes.

he totally has a big fat crush on you.

masterlist

[mintmatcha]

the pursuit of silence (and all the noise along the way)

nanami kento x reader

part two: fissures (and where they shouldn't be)

CW: cisfem reader, Space AU (vaguely Star Wars. Vaguely), reader has a cybernetic limb. slow burn. Reader has an established nickname and is referred to using Miss and Mrs.

JJK AU MINORS DNI

masterlist

The ship you’re ushered to is much nicer than anything you’re used to flying. It’s sleek and polished like a dream-- there’s even that stiff, earthy, chemical smell of newly processed leather. Haibara and Itadori must be absolutely buzzing with jealousy; you've never touched anything this advanced, let alone either of them. 

 It takes a second for you to marvel over the system before you take your seat. Luckily, manual controls for all flying vehicles are pretty much standardized, so you easily flip yourself into gear, then the star ship. The engine hums, a tape of music crackles to life and you almost feel normal.

But this isn't like any of your normal loads. You’re used to cargo that doesn't move or talk, piles of who knows what that sit in the back. Special passengers are usually reserved for pilots that have that shine in their eyes, that desirable something you just don't have.

When you were new, they had you fly a Jedi to some forest planet. He was a man with hair darker than the sky and earlobes stretch wide enough your finger could have slipped through. He had ducked himself into the back of the ship without a word, not even sparing you a parting glance when he departed hours later. It was like you weren't even human-

or, based in the whispers around him, too human. 

Back then, the disdain that surrounded him cut deep, but those wounds have long since healed and the scars are thick enough to guard your feelings. 

Nanami boards, walks directly to you and says. "Thank you, I'm ready whenever you are."

Like it’s nothing.

He stands there, a bound booklet in hand, waiting for you to respond. A delicate pen is tucked into the binding, nib red with ink. That pen has touched papers more important than anything you’ll ever do with your life.

Nothing proper comes to mind, so you just nod to the Senator, kurt and quick.

The only other seat in the cockpit is to your right. You think that he can’t possibly want to sit there, so close to you, but then he does, buckling himself in like he could ever possibly belong here, with you. The trim of his coat brushes against your leg. It’s a simple, innocent touch, but  your brain immediately betrays you. It goes blank mid pretest, sputtering over the fact Nanami Fucking Kento is less than four feet away from you. A bundle of papers is tucked under his arm, a delicate pen trapped into the binding, and your heart soars at the sight of it. 

There’s a crackle over the transmission giving you clearance for take off. That’s just enough to snap you back into place. Work, you remind yourself, this is just work. You mumble a confirmation into the receiver and force a couple of even breaths.

A couple of switches and calmly flashing lights are all it takes to embark. Thrusters off, traction down, engines on and clear-- before you know it, you’ve slipped  out of the hanger and into the gravity free drift of space. Then, with a couple more steps, the slipstream of hyperspace pulls you in. 

Despite Haibara and Itadori’s protests, flying truly isn’t difficult. It’s a groove you slide into, a space that your brain clicks into, a version of yourself that just activates when you need it. Flying makes sense, more than anything on the ground ever did. 

Most importantly, space is quiet. It’s eerie, how it almost crackles with nothing, a fog of sounds that pass by too quickly for anyone to ever make out. It’s peace, it’s joy, it’s everything you wish you could hold in your fingers-

Senator Nanami sighs to himself and you are immediately, violently uncomfortable with the lack of words coming from your mouth.

“I’m sorry for the lack of official transport, sir,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

“Don’t be.” Nanami doesn’t look up from the paper he’s reading. His glasses sit above the ridge of his nose, angled low. It reminds you of an old man, but in a charming way. The angles of his face are classic and sharp, familiar in ways you’ve seen before and long to see again, but his nose is off kilter, bumped slightly at the top from a break that happened years ago.

“Haibara speaks highly of your abilities, Mrs. Nine,” he continues, tapping his pen against the paper. He pauses slightly, then circles something in bright red. The delicate curve of his wrist, the way his thick fingers so carefully hold together: how the mighty have fallen-- you’re finding this erotic somehow. You need to get laid the second you get back on base.

You’re staring. You snap your attention back to the front.

“Mei Mei also had good things to say about you,” he continues, “So far, I am not disappointed.”

Your ability to get off the base impressed him. The Senator must have low standards.

“Thank you, Mr. Senator.” You manage to keep your voice even and professional. Despite how strange your chest feels. 

“Nanami is fine, Mrs. Nine.”

“Miss.” You shift in your seat and the leather creaks under you with an embarrassing sound,  “It’s, uh- Miss. There's no Mr. Nine or anything.  Nine’s not even my name- it's just a call sign.”

Your hand slips off of the control. Your whites have gone pale from the pressure of squeezing. 

“‘Cause like, I’m Pilot 333, and three plus three plus three is nine. So, they call me Nine. Sometimes Niney.” You’re talking, but your brain has left the building.  “It’s stupid. Haibara came up with it when we were newbies and it stuck. I don’t even think people know my real name, to be honest.”

He hums a sound and it immediately silences you, jaw audible snapping shut. "It suits you, Miss Nine."

Your cheeks might be on fire. This is everything you ever wanted, and yet your brain is betraying you. The Senator -- no, Nanami, he’s letting you refer to him casually-- is so far about your station, so much better than you by employment alone, and yet he’s looking your way, expression neutral and yet, almost, perhaps, soft-

"I really like jizz,” you blurt out. 

Nanami slowly looks up over his glasses, eyebrows raised so high that his forehead creases a million times over. He parts his lips and then closes them with a befuddled sound, then opens them again.

"Excuse me?"

"Jizz?" you gesture around the cockpit, "The music-- it's called jizz."

"Oh," he clears his throat twice, then a third time, "On my planet, that is a colloquial term for- never mind. The music is fine. Please, don’t say jizz."

The next seven parsecs are almost completely silent, covered only by the upbeat swagger of jizz.

Lighting yourself on fire might be a less painful experience. 

The next four hours are marked by only a few distractions. Hyperspace is filled with the silence you used to crave, but you can’t focus on that. Instead, you’re lost in how the pit smells like some sort of sultry, woody tone, almost like Spice but with an herbier finish. It’s just a drop in the air, something that you almost have to search for, and that gives it that luxurious edge that most men miss. Restraint, you think, it’s applied with restraint.

You want to ask what scent he’s wearing, but you can’t find the nerve to speak again. 

You’re going to have to ask Haibara what jizz means.

Judging by the Senator’s pink cheeks, it’s nothing good.

Does jizz smell good?

Nanami hasn’t written anything for the better part of two hours when you blink into the outer orbits of his planet. The fall out of the pocket is a bit abrupt, bad enough you both get caught by your seatbelts. Mei Mei will scold you about that when you return. Usually you’re so smooth with it-- you blame the fact this is a new ship.

From a distance, the planet is just a dark, blanketed ball, hanging around a singular red sun. It’s massive, easily three times the size of your own planet-- twice the size of Coursant! A moonless planet, forever alone in the sky, it orbits all on its own.  

Somehow, you’re disappointed. This isn’t the jewel you were promised. There’s no strings of lights or flashing megas cities like the other vacation planets you’ve seen. It’s just quiet, simple, and storming.

“We are arriving.” You stress the ‘are’ a bit to be playful, but it doesn’t sound natural. He hums an agreement and you dive down.

The atmosphere is thicker than you imagined, but it’s no issue. Clouds have their tells- bumps where pockets of pressure are waiting to tilt your ship, smooth bits where the air is much colder than the rest. You’ve known how to speak their language since you first sat in this seat, so you listen and descend. The Nav systems buzz and crackle with an irritating amount of static, so you manually flip them off.  They weren’t going to get used anyway.

The clouds give way and you emerge into the planet proper. 

“Oh, Maker.”

“What's wrong?" Nanami’s head shoots up, grabbing his seatbelt in preparation,"I told you the Navs wouldn’t work-"

“No,” you cut him off, “It's just beautiful.”

Rolling hills go on as far as the eye can see, crescendoing into mountain ranges and wooded peaks, powdered by drifting white flakes. Snow. You've never seen snow in person before. Even through the quilted sky, fragments of sunlight illuminate golden soil, painting the world with a spectacular depth. A long time ago, on Naboo, you had seen someone bathe their entire canvas with ochre, brushstrokes so thick  the cotton canvas’ texture was lost. Then, with a mastery you didn’t think possible from droids, let alone organics, he built the scenery on top, forming art with only a backlight of sunshine. That art, purchased with too many credits and carried home wet, was nothing compared to this.

The craft hovers as you drink it in. Night is approaching, touching the edges of what you can see.

“I thought it was going to be like Canto Bight.” You swivel to get a better look. There’s dots of lights, simple towns scattered across the landscape like glow worms on their strings, “But it’s not at all.”

“The bigger cities are starting to look that way, but we’ve been passing legislation to protect the natural aspects.” Nanami’s voice is warm. He’s moved to the edge of his seat, straining and watching as if he’d never seen any of this before. “Our main revenue is tourism and it’s done our world so much good, but it means nothing if we lose the core of what this planet is.”

Snow vibrates in the air, carried upwards by the draft your vessel has created. It’s like hyperspace with its swirls and streaks, a simple beauty you forgot could exist. In the distance, beyond the curve of  the world, a blue glow tinges the horizon. A city, cloaked in the night that rolls in. It’s nothing compared to what’s in front of you, you’re sure.

"It's nothing special."

“Are you kidding?" you breathe,  “It's a gem.”

“Thank you.” You can see him turn to you in your peripheral, lingering for a long while before speaking. “Can you believe this is considered our worst season?”

“How could it possibly get better?”

Nanami doesn’t turn away, silently studying your profile. You can make out how his eyes, just as pale and sapphiric as the frozen landscape, bounce back and forth, searching for something in your features.

He doesn’t turn away.

Why doesn’t he turn away?

Panic that you’re being weird sets in again. Was that childish? Did you embarrass yourself without even knowing? Suddenly, your clothes feel coarse and cheap against your skin and the air feels unbearably hot. As much as you try to escape it, the scent of it must cling to you- that Outer Rim nobody stench.  

Of course it's strange that you're marveling. Thousands of tourists visit every year and you can bet that none of them care about the landscape. 

Oh, Maker. Nanami Kento is the one behind the spike in tourism. Insulting the city like that must have come off as an insult about him.

You long for the rainy surface of home, where the only thing you could smell was the iron rich mud. 

“Where should I land?” You try to regain your composure. The rims of your eyes burn a bit as an unknown cacophony of emotions begins to rise up. 

The man lingers a second more before sliding back into his chair, neck rolled back to watch the ceiling.

“Sixty clicks behind us.” 

His voice isn’t sweet anymore. 

The burn grows stronger. You never let your hopes rise, and yet they fall further still, dug into the ground under the boot heel of disappointment. 

. . . . . . . . .

The landing pad is carved out of a stretch of mountains. The dusted blanket of snow is pushed aside into uneven piles as your craft settles down, only slipping slightly against the iced over stone. The engine hums with an uneven thrum, pulsing then sputtering in a way you expect from a motorbike, not an advanced transport vessel. An unsettled feeling sits in your stomach as you flick through the power down procedures, sliding off the traction and turning off the friction reducers, cutting off fuel and limiting battery. 

Errors aren't common. There might not even be one, but something sticks in your gut like glue, refusing to be digested. 

Nanami seems unaffected. It's easy to chalk the uneasy nature of the landing to pilot error. He ghosts a finger over the papers once again, pretending to proofread once again. You doubt there's anything left for him to even discover in that text.

 Everything on the dash is green, happily blinking in placid paces. If something were wrong, you'd be seeing orange lights, stroking, or--

“Oh, shit."

Or that. You shoot up to examine the gauges more closely. One strip of lights right above you is completely dark, the lights burnt out. One of the fuel meters is powered all of the way down, arrow pointing past empty.

 Spaceships don't consume fuel the way a gasoline based engine does, they run partially on hypermatter: fragments of planetary core, augmented and altered in ways engineers couldn’t even begin to explain to you. The resulting thick slurry produces energy with such a high frequency that a ship can then enter lightspeed in hyperspace. Most ships can run on a sliver of it for lightyears, but the power supply isn’t endless. Cores do still need to be replaced quite frequently, especially nicer vehicles like this one. 

According to this little meter, yours should have been replaced a long time ago. “Oh, shit.”

The Senator sits up, gripping the arms of his chair. When he realizes you’re on the ground, he relaxes, but only barely. 

“Nothing major, just-” God, he’s going to think you’re incompetent. How did you not notice this before? The Out Station is one of the few places in the Inner Rim to easily refuel-- there’s no way you left with a battery so low.   “Uh-”

You’re trying to think and talk at the same time, but failing at both. You had to have checked this before you left. You had to. You had to.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.”

Apparently, you aren’t convincing. 

“I will be worrying about it, so please just tell me.”  Nanami closes his book with a clap.

“I think the hypermatter is almost depleted,” you admit, flicking the meter as if it’ll make the arrow move.  “Or there’s something wrong with the generator. I’m-- I’m not sure.”

“You aren’t sure?” Nanami parrots, voice pressed and deep.

“I’m a pilot, not a mechanic.” You try to walk away, stumbling over your seatbelt on the way. Above the doorway is a tiny toolbox, simple but effective for minor emergencies. Minor being the keyword. You can tighten a bolt, not fix a warp drive. “I’m just guessing."

The door slides open and the bite of cold air immediately eats into your cheeks and peels your lips, but you press forward, ignoring how your body immediately protests. Both your planet and the Out Station are tepid all year round; you knew snow was cold, but you didn’t realize cold could be painful. Those romantic snowflakes are crystalline weapons in the wind, cutting into your face. No wonder this isn’t considered ‘peak season.’ The cold snatches the breath from your lungs and the flimsy material of your fly suit does nothing to stop it as you jump to the ground. Snow is also slick and you just barely save yourself from falling on your ass. It takes everything in you to walk normally to the hull and begin unscrewing the flap.

Boot steps on the bridge surprise you. Wind tousled and perfectly bracing the weather, the Senator stands at the door, peeking down at you. He’s pulling on a thicker coat and gloves, things you didn’t even know he packed, as he tucks his chin into the fur trim. 

“It’s okay! I’ve got it covered!” you call. The weather might crumple him if he's not careful.

Nanami narrows his eyes as if he knows what you’re thinking and then jumps as well. He handles the ice with much more grace than you with no sign of shivering. Right- this is his home. You’re the one from a hot planet. 

“I just gotta look and make sure it’s not leaking, but I really can’t do anything beyond basic repairs,” you explain, teeth chattering between words, “Do you know any engineers that could possibly…?”

“The only place would be in the city," he says, coat pulled tight. He leans over to inspect, then shakes his head; the law is his wheelhouse, not this. “And I’m afraid that would cost you an arm and a leg.”

“Well, I can’t afford another leg," you blanch, "This one was 200 credits."

He stares at you blankly.

"Because my--"  Bad joke. Instead of explaining, you go back to work.

A couple more twists and the hull pops off suspiciously easy in your hands. Not a good sign. The wiring isn’t neatly draped as it should be, but tangled, the plastic casings cracked and faded. When you push them aside, bits of red and blue crumble into your palm and even more descend into the depths of the engine.  Your legs are bouncing with shivers, the muscles twitching desperately as you scramble for answers. When the way is clear, you shimmy your torso into the hole, moving more bits and pieces until the hyperdrive is fully exposed. 

“Be careful,” The Senator warns. 

The parts of a spaceship are complicated, filled with superconductors and alluvial dampers and inertia controls. You aren’t entirely sure which part is which, but you know the hypermatter core.

And you know it’s not supposed to look like that.

Fragmented glass still holds its shape, but the broken bits are opalescent with pearled beads of liquid. You dip a finger into it and your skin vibrates, physically shaking so hard that the edges of where you begin and the world ends are untraceable.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Your breath curls up as you speak, “Yeah, she’s leaking. Damn.” Cursing makes you feel better, “Damn, damn, damn, shit, it’s eaten into the stellar fuel container too."

There's no way this thing can run. It can't even hold fuel.  Hopefully it holds heat well enough that you don't freeze over before help can come. On second thought- maybe it would be nice to freeze to death. Sounds better than dealing with Mei Mei when you get back.

"It must have been on the fritz and the last slip out of hyper must have pushed it over the edge," you reason. 

“I’ll contact your Out Station and have them send over a new ship to get you home,” Nanami says, shuffling closer. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

A chill has already set into your knuckles, stiff and harsh. You peel back another panel, the metal almost crumbling in your weakened grip. Maker, you almost killed a fucking Senator. If this trip was any longer, you could have been absolutely space dust. 

“It’s okay, sir, I can handle this,” you lie as you blindly twist at spark plugs and knock against the chipped core. Yup-- that sound means this is way above your paygrade.

“You don’t have a jacket and it’s freezing.” Nanami steps towards you, bending over to see for himself,  “Besides the point, hypermatter is toxic. If there’s a leak, you shouldn’t be- well, don’t touch it.”

You pull back your hands from the glass. The Station’s probably been leeching this shit into your water for years; a little more can’t hurt you too much, but the blonde doesn’t seem to agree. He’s on you in three wide strides, taking you by the jumper’s pocket and firmly pulling you from the hull. When you’ve been freed, he clutches your elbow and half bends, just enough to grab a handful of snow and dump it into your bare hand. At first, you feel nothing but fine grit, but as he quickly brushes away the snow and melted bits to replace it with another, the buzzing in your skin pauses. The following chill drives into your senses like a knife. You curl on to your toes reflexively with a whine, but his grip holds you in place. Your other hand clamps down on something as your whole body clenches, curling in towards him reflexively. Maker, you might actually freeze to death; the panic that was keeping you warm was faded, draining through your now sopping wet hand.

Nanami isn’t fazed by your antics. He stays focused on cleaning your hand with handful after handful until he’s satisfied. With every huff and grumble, a smoke of his breath whisps away, brushing by your nose. It’s how you realize you’re so close to him, practically breast to breast. 

“You’re worse than Haibara, I swear,” he chides and his warm breath tickles your cheek again. His teeth close on the leather of his free hand and tug, popping it off of his hand. Rather awkwardly, he jams it on to your hand, none of the fingers finding their holes, “Touching literal poison-- do you have a death wish?”

You're frozen in place and you're not sure you can completely blame the weather.

 “A little,” you manage.

He shoots you a glare. Frost litters his eyelashes. 

“Come on,”  he tugs, “We're going."

"The ship-” The hull is open and collecting snow, the metal already cold enough for ice to stick. 

"-isn’t going to get fixed today." he finishes, “Standing out here isn’t going to fix that.”

“I--” Objections don’t come to mind. The weather must be eating your brain cells too.

“Fine,” you relent, “We’ll call inside.”

“Good.” Nanami nods, “Now Iet go.”

It takes you a second to process. What?”

Nanami gestures down. “Let go of my coat.” 

You realize your hand didn’t clutch the air, but him. Your joints protest as you force your fingers open, releasing the front of his coat, but Nanami doesn't immediately pull away. His gloved hand finds yours, smoothing the knuckles in an overly tender act.

"Your skin is already chapped," he notes under his breath. He frees his other glove and slips in onto you, then goes for the zipper of his coat. Before you can protest, he's gathering the hide and fur in his hands. 

“I couldn’t possibly-” 

“I am the Galactic Senator of this planet,” Nanami says firmly, but with no bite. He throws the jacket over your shoulders. It's oversized and long on him; on you, it trails the ground.  “And I insist that you acquiesce."

Without protection, the weather is getting to him, stripping his cheeks pink. The fog of his breath sticks to his glasses, crystalline patterns forming across their plane. The cold has reclaimed its beauty once again.

“I don't know what acquiesce means," you say, "But okay, Senator."

Fine lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes. “I told you to call me Nanami.”

“Yes, Nanami.”

 He slides the zipper of the coat up. "Let's go, Miss Nine."

part one | part three

[lovethytendytenderly]

Is there an au you'd like to write someday?

Also what's your favorite sentence/paragraph you've written recently? 👀

I think I’d like to write either a soulmate au or a daemon au. I think both of them would be interesting.

I’ve tried coming up with ideas and looking at prompt lists for soulmate aus and I got nothing. So much of soulmate aus is centered on the meet-cute/instant recognition aspect of it and generally my hockey ships tend to come with some flavor of “have known each other and/or been pining for years.” So hard to explain in a believable way to myself the miscommunication of it all. Maybe but Jars and Tanger know about their names on each other’s wrists and Tanger is rejecting Jars anyway cause he’s not ready but that’s less interesting. I guess I could go full au but my inspo tends to strike in terms of near-canon or *mumble* season so non-hockey is less interesting. My ship that’s known each other the least amount of time is Ned/Jars but I’ve got two(?)-three(?) wips I haven’t made any progress on set during training camp 2023 so idk if setting a soulmate au fic last year would do anything.

As for daemon au, it is how you say, the autistic urge to put things into categories or perhaps lists. (It will fix me and totally not make me worse— I promise). Look. I think Ren and I would lose 3 days making a spreadsheet for common hockey daemons and also assigning every pen from the last 10 years (+the 09 cup team, Mario, and Jagr) an animal for their daemon. That isn’t a plot though that’s just the neurodivergence purring at being given a task it can win. So not worth the effort rn, especially cause I am not animal fact-pilled and would struggle figuring out where to start.

As for favorite scene/paragraph probably gonna have to go with this:

“Safeword?” Sid asks, his tone brooking no argument.

Tristan scowls. Leave it to Sid to do a check in at a time like this. He already knows Tristan’s safeword. He’s got the safewords for the entire team memorized, sub, switch, and dom. This is Sid’s way of reminding Tristan that no matter what happens if he wants this to stop, Sid will make it happen.

Im adding the paragraph for context but the favorite line is He’s got the safewords for the entire team memorized, sub, switch, and dom. Cause I like the idea that Sid is looking out for everyone including paying attention to the little details like knowing everyone’s safeword. Also I’m still laughing that I wrote a check-in in my consensual-non-consent scene. Sid is being a hard dom to Jars rn and he was still like okay that thing we just did was abrupt and intense, we are taking a breather right now and if you want this to stop it will immediately. Tristan is like fuck you keep manhandling me please I will struggle and it will be good for my mental health. Fuck you for thinking I’m not into this.

Which. Neither one of them is turned on but maybe I should add that in on Tristan’s end. Hmmmmm. Sometimes I’m too ace to remember that oh yeah stuff like this is maybe supposed to get them off even though like mid practice forced submission shouldn’t be hot even tho it probably is a little bit

[yourpenpaldee]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ WHEN ART TALKS: ANIYAH HOPE

“‘I need the balance between peace and chaos. Between logic and emotion. Light and dark. Once that scale tips too far on one side, I lose alignment with myself until the scales are balanced again.’”

ANIYAH HOPE has always kept to herself, finding more comfort in poetry than she ever has in people. She never wanted to cruise through life in the shadows, but she couldn't take another rejection of friendship due to superficial judgments. When she discovered poetry, she found the safe haven she needed to explore every little piece of herself. Because she couldn't connect with others as easily as she hoped, she'd put the pen to paper and write down all the things she wished she could say. Her heart desires nothing more than to have these words spoken through a microphone. Unlike the boy who sees the world as his playground, she just isn't ready to let her guard down.

BASICS

FULL NAME: — Aniyah Dahlia Hope NICKNAME(S): — NiNi, Nia, Ny AGE: — Nineteen BIRTHDAY: — May 20th (Taurus) EDUCATION: — Sophomore in college OCCUPATION: — Part-time bookseller at Coffee-Stained Pages Café

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Aniyah stands at 5'3 with a mid-size, pear-shape build. She has dark brown eyes and brown skin with freckles that are dotted across her nose and cheeks. Her light brown hair is styled in braids with beads at the ends, but she likes to switch it up on occasion. She wears glasses and has a gap between her two front teeth. When she smiles, a dimple appears on the her left cheek. BODY MODIFICATIONS + TATTOOS: — Both ears double pierced, small stud nose piercing on right nostril, septum piercing, belly button piercing. No tattoos, but has plans for them in the future. FASHION STYLE: — Earthy bohemian

PERSONALITY

MBTI: — INFJ-T (Advocate) ENNEAGRAM: — Type 4w5 (The Bohemian) LOVE LANGUAGE: — Quality time METHOD OF MANIPULATION: — Isolation. Aniyah disappears without a word and withdraws herself from the situation (and the world) until she's ready to face the conflict at hand.

MISCELLANEOUS FUN FACTS

— NiNi is a nickname only her younger brother calls her. He used to struggle pronouncing her whole name, so he’d say “NiNi” if he needed her attention. — Aniyah will always find a way to incorporate green into her life. Her room, wardrobe, jewelry. Not only is it her favorite color (especially muted, earthy greens, such as sage and olive green), but it soothes her every time she's surrounded by it. — Aniyah always dates her journals for the sake of remembering the era of her life she was in, even though she never needs to seek for it because she knows from the journal’s cover. — If you need someone to keep a small secret, Aniyah isn’t the person to go to. She will never intentionally tell, but she will accidentally slip up when she yaps away. She does it with her own secrets all the time because it eats away at her when she doesn’t share. — Aniyah will always have a fan on, even during the winter. She needs the sound to help her sleep, and it's the perfect excuse for her to bundle up in a cozy hoodie and oversized sweatshirt.

PLAYLIST

Here's the playlist on YouTube for those who don't use Spotify.

EXTENDED MOODBOARD (coming soon!)

TAGS: @pixies-love-envy @honeybewrites ♡

[redlighttokyo]

Cherry Cola

Chapter 2: Dark Avenues

Word Count: 2.4K

Picture above is Riley (You)

Author’s Note: Sorry this wasn’t uploaded on Monday, I got swamped with school work and didn’t have time to edit it. See you guts next week for Brahms’ story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, this is tonight’s homework. I expect it to be done by next class. Take one and pass it down,” Mr. Handley, your calculus teacher, explained from the front of the class as he handed each person at the front a small stack of papers.

Despite being able to hear your surroundings, you were far away in your mind. It was the only way you could escape the mounting pressure of missing a few weeks of school and then switching schools mid first semester. Although, it wasn’t much of an escape. You could still feel the pressure building with each class, but you were numb to it at the moment. Almost like you switched off your emotions. You did switch off your emotions. You’ve been able to do it for a while now, no one’s even noticed. No one really notices you; you were a background character in your own life.

You couldn’t get what your mom said about your dad earlier – you knew it was true but it still hurt. Although, your mom has some part to play in why your dad isn’t really a part of your life. But that’s beside the point; if he wanted to be here, he’d be here. But he’s not and that was like a dagger to the heart.

Your dad hasn’t returned any of your calls since…. You couldn’t blame him either – you were embarrassed by what happened but your dad, he must’ve been crushed and humiliated. He could never look you in the eye after that. Again, you didn’t blame him for his reaction and the distance that came directly afterward. Even though it hurt like Hell.

You’ve lost count how many times you left him a voicemail in the last few weeks; especially since you moved here. You wanted to be able to say you tried to have a relationship with him after…..

The distance was killing you – you were such a daddy’s girl. Before all this, you and your dad had an amazing relationship. Even though your mom and dad were divorced and shared custody of you, you had a really great relationship with your dad. You two constantly communicated; talking on the phone, or writing letters to each other, or even hanging out together. So for him to give you the cold shoulder like this was like an icy stab to the heart.

“Riley,” Mr. Handley called, catching your attention immediately. His beady brown eyes found you before he gestured for you to come see him. You silently sighed then got up from your desk near the back of the class. The late morning sun poured into the classroom as your peers quietly spoke to each other while busy doing class work.

You stopped in front of Mr. Handley’s desk with a neutral expression and body language; you were slumped forward slightly with your arms by your sides carelessly. This was your way of getting under peoples’ skin – they never know how to react to your completely neutral demeanour.

“Yes?” You flatly greeted. Mr. Handley looked you over once, trying to find a hint of personality. He fidgeted with his pen as he tried to find the words he wanted to say. This didn’t faze you though.

“How are you finding today’s work? Is it too difficult, or too easy? Do you already know all this and think I’m the lamest person ever to make you do this all over again?” Mr. Handley quirkily asked in hopes of fishing a hint of emotion out of you – he got none. You remained completely neutral. You decided that if you stay neutral then you couldn’t get hurt again. You didn’t want to get hurt again. After everything that’s happened you couldn’t afford to get hurt again.

“I’m actually a little further along than this but I don’t mind getting more practice in,” you stated monotonously. A faint smile formed in your mind but you maintained your poker face. Mr. Handley stammered, stumbling over his words or lack there of.

“Okay, if you want to redo the unit then by all means go for it, but I don’t mind giving you the unit you’re actually on,” he offered kindly, a friendly smile crossed his elderly face. Mr. Handley was close to retirement; hell he was passed retirement. This man passed it up three times before finally agreeing to it. This was his last year teaching pre calculus. It was his last year teaching, period. He said he’d still tutor though. He loves teaching and there’s nothing that’s going to stop him from doing exactly that.

“No, I don’t mind at all,” you retorted honestly even though your voice was still flat. “–Is that everything?” You asked curiously. Mr. Handley nodded his head, sending you walking back to your desk. For the hundredth time this morning you felt eyes on you as you made your way back to your seat.

Before you could sit down the jarring sound of the lunch bell ringing filled the school – it was chorused by your peers chit chatting as they filed out of the classroom into the halls for an hour of bliss.

You sighed heavily as you added yet another worksheet to the pile in your notebook then tossed everything in your bag. You hooked the bag over your shoulder as you left the classroom and was met with eager teens figuring out what to do for lunch, forming massive groups in the hallway and making it next to impossible to navigate.

You headed towards the front entrance; keeping your head down as you sifted through the crowd. Being the new kids meant having observing eyes on you at any given moment. Having someone stop you to introduce themselves and make small talk was your worst nightmare. You already had to stand in front of your home room class to introduce yourself first thing this morning.

That’s why you kept your head down as you navigated your way through the halls towards the front of the school. You weren’t sure as to why though, it was a half assed idea that most likely backfire on you. But thinking of your dad made you miss him even more; you wanted to hear his voice and have a conversation with him. You wanted him to know how sorry you were about everything that’s happened recently.

You shuffled into the small phone booth in the foyer, closing the door behind you for privacy. You set you bag down on the small shelf underneath the pay phone then fished a couple quarters out of your change purse. Anxiety rattled you as you fed the coins to the machine once you picked up the receiver. You held the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you dialled your dad’s phone number. You knew he was at work right now so you called there first. Your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to break your ribs.

The phone rang a few times before stopping; you half expected it to be his answering machine.

“Gunnery Sargent Jeremy Devins,” you dad’s voice greeted flatly. All the air fled your lungs; you felt like you were drowning without water. It’s been weeks since you last talked to your dad; or even heard his voice. It broke your heart to know that he no longer answers the phone with joy in his voice. You knew he didn’t know it was you so he answers the phone like that now. Like a broken man. And it was all your fault.

“Hello?” Your dad said after a moment of silence. You didn’t realize you’d just been standing there blankly. Guilt felt like a tidal wave crashing down on you; its mighty force throwing you around like a rag doll.

Without saying anything you hung up the phone. Stress tightened your body as you let out a shaky breath. You were in disbelief that you just did that. You couldn’t believe you just called your dad and then hung up without saying anything. You had so much to say to him but the idea of having to face your dad after everything that’s happened made you gag. You couldn’t do it. All because of a stupid mistake that wrecked your mom’s life and destroyed your dad completely. They always told you to make smart choices, to use your head. You didn’t use your head, and it cost you everything. You didn’t exactly weigh the pros and cons when…

Another shaky breath passed your lips as you came back to reality. You quickly gathered your belongings and turned to leave the small phone booth. You damn near jumped out of your skin when you turned around to see someone standing directly outside the booth staring at you. It was the guy from earlier in the office. Mr. Loomis. Asshole.

You collected yourself once again before opening the sliding door to the booth.

“You’re Riley, right?” Asshole asked right off the bat. You felt yourself cringe as your worst nightmare was made reality.

‘Who is this guy? Freddy Krueger?!’ You thought as you stood in the small doorway of the phone booth. You wanted desperately to remain neutral, but you couldn’t maintain it. Something about him was getting under your skin; you didn’t know what it was but it unnerved you greatly.

“Yeah,” you drew out in hopes he’d say more than just that, but he didn’t. There was a long pause between you two.

“Sorry, did you need the phone?” You apologized sheepishly. His sparkling eyes lacked personality and emotion – they reminded you of shark’s eyes.

“No,” he replied, causing you to furrow your brow confusedly. “–I was waiting for you,” he added with a slight smirk. The crease between your brows deepened as you gave him a confused and slightly concerned look. You gave him a once over; he was tall with medium build. His sandy blond hair was haphazardly tousled away from his face. He was clothed in a pale blue polo that was left unbuttoned to reveal the white shirt underneath. He wore baggy jeans and mucky sneakers.

Your eyes travelled back up his body to meet his gaze again. His blank brown eyes glimmered down at you. You felt a shiver run up your spine when an alarm bell started ringing somewhere in the back of your mind.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” You asked after a moment of processing what he said and trying to get a read on him. He was just…. –blank. It was unnerving.

He gave you a shy smirk as his hands sank into the pocket of his jeans.

“I’m Billy Loomis, we met this morning in,”

“–In the office, yeah I remember you,” you interrupted as you stepped out of the booth, standing at least six inches shorter than him. “–Why were you waiting for me?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Billy chuckled nervously as he stumbled over his words. You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to have lunch with me and my friends,” he finally got out. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. Nobody’s nice to the new kid for the sake of being nice. From experience, the new kid has to get hazed. Is that what’s happening here?

You narrowed your gaze at him as you carefully weighed the pros and cons. This was a new habit you picked up; so far, it’s a very useful habit to have. You quickly listed every pro and con. If you accept then it opens the doorway to friendship, which is something you both desperately needed and made you cringe at the idea. It’s not that you didn’t want friends – you have plenty of those. Or at least, you had plenty of those. After everything came to light a couple weeks ago, they stopped interacting with you; your calls went unanswered, your IMs went unread, and you sat alone at lunch. They completely abandoned you.

Now the thought of making new friends and having them find out about your past only for them to turn their backs on you too, made you queasy. You couldn’t go through that kind of rejection; being completely outcasted by your peers. If you didn’t make friends then you didn’t have to worry about your secret coming out.

But the pros were completely selfish; like most pros are. The pros of this situation you’ve found yourself in are: maybe you can keep your secret a secret while making friends, then perhaps this lonely feeling that settled on your shoulders would dissipate. And finally, and let it be the most sinfully selfish pro in history, but you found yourself attracted to Billy. Not romantically. Not platonically. You wanted him biblically. You knew there were some dark fantasies stewing in the depths of his mind; his eyes didn’t say much but his demeanour told you everything. That was the part that scared you shitless because you know how dark you can get – you’ve been to the depths of your own primal depravity. You’ve done things that’d land you in a hospital indefinitely. Either that or prison.

“Where are you having lunch?” You questioned, trying to seem less desperate than outright agreeing.

Billy’s thin pink lips turned upward into a smile.

“We’re going to the water fountain, enjoy the last days of sunshine,” he chirped a reply. You pursed your lips together as you pretended to think about it. You’d already made up your mind. Your selfishness won by a long shot.

Shyly, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear as a weak smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“Yeah, I’ll join you guys,” you told him. Billy clapped his hands together in victory as a wide grin overtook his features. But a split second later he tried to play it cool; running his fingers through his hair as he gave you a casual shrug.

“I mean, unless you have better plans,” Billy said casually. You felt a smile form inside you but it didn’t translate to your features. You merely stared at Billy blankly. You pursed your lips as you pretended to think, then shook your head.

“No. No better plans,” you uttered. Billy flashed a smile as he nodded his head.

“Cool. They’re waiting for us at the fountain so we should probably…”

“–Go. Yeah, let’s go,” you chirped happily.

[braveclementine]

Chapter 3

Warnings: None, Readers under 18 can read this book. It is solely fluff- nothing sexual

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

.❤️.

𝕴 𝖜𝖔𝖐𝖊 𝖚𝖕 on a Thursday morning in mid-July to the screeching of an Owl. That was normal, it meant Owl-post. Dad took out subscriptions for the Daily Prophet. Personally, I thought it was a waste of money. But, it also seemed like the only wizarding newspaper out there.

I slid out of bed and made my way downstairs, not bothering to get dressed. It was way to early for that.

Dad was smiling when I reached the dining room table. He turned at my approach and held up in his fingers a thick cream colored envelope with green ink on the outside addressed to me. He flipped it over to the other side to show a large red seal.

I froze mid-yawn. Then my face lit up into a smile. "No way! My Hogwarts letter is here!"

I grabbed it from dad's hand and plopped down in the empty chair next to him. I reached for the letter opener and slid it under the wax seal. I pulled out two pieces of parchment. It was fancy stuff too. Thick and cream colored. We'd never had parchment like that here before.

The first piece of paper was a letter from the deputy headmistress:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Kane, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Your sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress

I quickly pulled out a Muggle pen and pulled out a piece of parchment. I wrote that I would be attending Hogwarts and I signed it with my name. Then, I attached it to the Barn owl that was waiting there and it flew away, out the open window.

I glanced at dad who was busy reading the student necessity list. His brow was furrowed and he was chewing on his quill. Why did the magical world still bother with quills? Muggle pens and pencils were much easier to use and less messy.

I placed a hand on his own. "It's okay dad, honestly. I can get a lot of stuff second-hand probably."

He glanced at me. "Money shouldn't be a problem. You're old enough now that you can open your Gringotts vault."

I looked at him, blank faced. I wasn't stupid. I knew what a Gringotts vault was, but why would I have one? Families shared vaults which meant that I would be sharing Lupin's vault and I knew we didn't have much. Or did he mean the Potter's vault? Did my parents have a lot of money?

"When do you want to go get your stuff?" He asked, sliding me the piece of paper he'd been reading, and I took my mind off of the money.

"Ummm." I didn't answer as I read the sheet.

UNIFORM

First-years will require: 1. Three sets of plain work robes (black) 2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear 3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please not that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) 1 set glass or crystal phials 1 telescope 1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

I frowned, "Why do I need Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them if I'm not taking Care of Magical Creatures for another three years?"

Dad laughed and then shrugged. "No idea. I've always wondered that. I think it's because magical creatures are talked about in Herbology and Potions."

"Let's go tomorrow." I said. "I have work today, but I don't tomorrow. Is that fine?"

"Sure." Dad said, standing up. He was wearing his best Wizarding clothes. "I'm going to see if I can get a new job. I'll be home in time for dinner."

I stood up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Love you dad."

"Love you too sweetheart." He strode out the back door so he could apparate without the neighbors seeing him.

Meanwhile, I ran upstairs to get ready for the day. Tomorrow was going to be a blast.

.❤️.

𝕯𝖆𝖉 𝖜𝖔𝖐𝖊 𝖒𝖊 up early the next morning so that we could get to Diagon Alley by floo powder. It wasn't my favorite way to travel but it was faster than most other forms of transportation. I was really much to anxious to get there any other way anyways. Wow, ain't that a tongue-twister?

I took off my glasses that Dad had repaired and put them in my pocket. I grabbed a handful of the powder and stepped into the fireplace. Throwing down the powder, green flames rose around me. I closed my eyes and said "Diagon Alley."

I felt the spinning sensation and opened my eyes, waiting for the right moment to get out. When I saw the inside of the floo powder station, I leaned forward and stepped out into the station. A moment later, Dad came out of a nearby fireplace. He wiped away soot that had ended up on my cheek and then we started to make our way to Gringotts.

I had been to Diagon Alley many times before. Dad had always taken me whenever he had an errand to run, so I had a good direction of the place.

Walking up the large marble steps, I felt a strange giddiness inside me. I was going to be checking my very own vault! I also felt a little nervous because of the goblins, and felt a little confused about how I had a vault when I wasn't 17. Which family vault was I going to be getting my gold from?

If mum and dad had wanted me to be a secret, would I really have a shared vault with them? The minute I showed up at Gringotts everyone would know that I had a key to the Potter's vault. The conclusion therefore would be I was their daughter that no one knew about.

But did I really mind that? I mean, yes my parents hadn't wanted anyone to know that I existed but they were gone now, and I was going to tell Harry I was his sister at Hogwarts this year anyways. I was going to invite him to come and live with Dad and me and we were going to be a family. So did it really matter that much if the goblins found out I was Elizabeth Potter before Harry did?

And yet, maybe there was a very good reason that mum and Dad had kept me a secret from everyone- including Dumbledore. Shouldn't I respect that decision, no matter how bonkers it seemed? I just wish I knew why.

I held the key even tighter in my hand. The grooves were uneven and the metal was bronze. It was gold colored, even in the darkness of my hand.

We stepped into the building which was much cooler than outside and I felt quite refreshed. My father led me over to a counter and I reluctantly handed up my key, waiting for confused looks or questions, but there was nothing on the goblin's face except boredom, and we followed another goblin through another door.

It was even colder down here, the grand marble floor turned into stone. It was a large network of intersecting caves. Stalagmites and Stalactites grew and hung from the floor and ceiling. Stalagmites were the ones that came up from the ground and Stalactites hung from the ceiling. I've never really understood how people got confused between the two. Just remember "Stalagmites might reach the ceiling someday."

The cart flew down the track faster than I had expected. I'd never been to a vault, Dad had never visited one when he took me. I clutched the cart side, feeling as though I was on a roller coaster at the school fair. Just with no safety straps.

We reached vault 718 and the cart stopped.

"Vault 718." The goblin announced unexpectedly- and unnecessarily. I climbed out, unsteadily, grabbing onto my dad's arm as I stumbled. I'd never had the best balance.

The goblin took my key and stuck it in the lock, unlocking it. I heard the rumbles of other carts going past on the tracks above. The goblin pulled the door open and then stepped back. I blinked a number of times, wondering if perhaps this was just a lovely dream. This was all mine?

I stepped forward, uncertainly. There was more gold here than I had ever seen in my entire life. I swiped a quick look at dad. He looked just as surprised as I did. Perhaps he hadn't known that my parents had this much gold.

Aware that the goblin was waiting to take us back up, I hurried and stuffed the bag full of gold. Perhaps about 700 gold Galleons. (Might be an exaggeration). It didn't even make a dent. I put the bulky bag back into my pocket. I took my glasses off on the ride back.

Dad and I didn't talk until we left the bank.

I started, "Did you know?" I asked quietly. He knew exactly what I was talking about.

"No." He finally said. "I never looked."

I nodded, feeling a little better.

"I wish I did." He added. "At least when you got older I wish I had checked. I could've given you so much more."

I shook my head, feeling much better than I previously had. I placed a hand on his arm, "No. I'm perfectly content with the way things are. You're the one who deserves so much more, I haven't done anything worthwhile." I smiled up at him.

He smiled back down, "Nonsense but we shall agree to disagree, correct?" That was his famous saying whenever we got into money arguments. I nodded- as I always did. "Alright, where to first?"

I thought about it for half a second. I really didn't need to think about it- I'd been planning this day since the moment dad had told me it would come. "Wand shop."

He led to way to Ollivanders. I walked inside, dad decided to wait outside. There was no one in the darkly lit shop. There were rows upon rows that went so far back that I couldn't see the back of the shop. There was one chair in the corner. There was one vase on the counter of the shop. It had pink roses in it. They were nearly dead, already drooping over the edge of the vase.

I had the feeling that I was being watched but it took a moment before someone approached me. A man came out of the shadows quietly. "Ah Miss Kane, how are you?"

He had a shock of snow white hair atop his head that stuck out in every direction. Perhaps he had been playing with to much electricity. Oh wait, no he wouldn't. He wasn't a Muggle. He had wide blue eyes that seemed to look into my soul. He knew my name? Then why perhaps had he not said Miss Potter? I was to confused to take it any father than that.

I smiled uncertainly. "Er, good, I think. Umm how are you?"

His smile became bemused and he didn't answer me. "Wand arm?"

"Right arm." I said immediately. A measuring tape appeared out of thin air. Mr. Ollivander disappeared into the back of his shop. Then, he came back with a box. "That is your dad out there?" He asked, pointing to Lupin. "Remus Lupin?"

"Er, well he's my adopted dad." I said truthfully.

He pursed his lips, taking the wand out of the box, and handing it to me. "Perhaps this will not work, then. But you may as well give it a try."

I took the wand and waved it around but nothing happened. Mr. Ollivander took the wand from my hand and stared at me for a minute. "Hmm." He murmured to himself. Then, he left for the shelves again.

Coming back, the wand was already out of the box. "This is a Cypress wood wand with a dragon heartstring core. 12 1/2" and it has a swishy flexibility. It's a good wand for Charms."

'Lupins' wand was Cypress wood' I thought, taking the wand. 'And Mum's wand was good for Charms as well'. I felt a strange warmth creep up in my fingers and it spread through my whole body. There was a swirl of dust that transformed into purple butterflies and exploded back into dust.

Mr. Ollivander looked at me even longer this time and then put the wand back into the box. I paid 8 galleons for the wand and hurried out of the shop, feeling slightly unnerved. Was Mr. Ollivander always like that? Or was it because he might know who I was?

"Well?" Dad asked casually as I exited the shop. He had a paper bag under his arm that wasn't there when I had gone into the shop. "What wand did you get?"

"Cypress wood, dragon heartstring, 12 1/2". Apparently it's good for charms, like Mum's was." I recited off. "And it's Cypress just like your wand is."

Lupin was quiet for a moment and then, grinning, said, "I'll be honest, given your height, I did think you'd get a much smaller wand."

"It's half an inch larger than an American ruler." I said gloomily, not realizing that he was making a height joke. "But I don't think it matters much. I'll grow."

"No, perhaps not." Dad said, though he seemed to be thinking of something else. "I already got your apothecary ingredients." He added on at the last second, holding up the paper bag. "Where do you want to go now?"

We went to the other wizarding shops in order. The fact that I'd been to these stores a couple hundred times meant the errands were done quicker. I got new robes and I made Dad get two pairs of new robes too because all of his wizarding robes were shabby. I wanted him to have something nice for a change. He didn't want them but I said they were to make up for ten years of Birthdays that I made homemade gifts.

Really, he was quite ungracious about accepting them. He didn't want them, he didn't need them. He wanted every Galleon, sickle, and knut to go to me. And yet, I refused to let him leave the store without the robes.

"Compromise." I said with a smile. He finally chuckled, muttering something about how backwards my compromises were. But regardless, he got the robes.

We went into Quality Quidditch Supplies and looked around. I didn't buy anything though. Dad was looking at the toy models and he laughed.

"Remember when you had this broom?" He asked, smiling down at me.

I looked at it. It was the plastic kind, meant for kids between one and five. It was the pink version, the one I'd had. Lupin had gotten it for me when I was three or four at Christmas. I'd ridden it nearly every day until I outgrew it at Seven and a half. I was smaller for my age. After that, Lupin asked if I wanted another broom but I said no because even at such a young age, I understood the money problems.

I could've bought a broom now and Dad understood that. I think he wanted me too as well. I think he felt bad that I hadn't had the childhood he'd wanted me to or that my parents probably would've given me. However, I left the shop without buying anything. I wasn't going to waste money on a broomstick. I didn't need one- Hogwarts didn't allow it anyways so what was the point?

We also visited Eeylops Owl Emporium. I wanted to bring a pet to Hogwarts, preferably an Owl. That way I wouldn't have to use a Hogwarts owl whenever I wanted to write to Dad. My eyes immediately went to a large Snowy owl sitting in a cage. She was a magnificent bird and I wanted her right away, but something inside of me said no, she was meant for someone else. I wasn't sure why I felt that way but I was usually pretty good with following my feelings so I reluctantly turned away from her.

There was a Northern Saw-Whet owl which was about the size of my hand. It was adorable but it was too small. There was the long-eared owl, Great Grey owl, Burrowing owl, and so many more. Eventually, I decided to go with a female spotted wood owl.

She had dark, spotted feathers and an orangey yellow face. Her underside feathers were just a lighter shade than her face feathers. She had great big black eyes, kind've like the kind you'd see on a stuffed animal. Glassy almost, but beautiful. I paid about 12 Galleons for her.

I sort of wished I'd decided to go to the Owl Emporium last, because I still had the bookshop to go to, and I knew I was going to spend a lot of time in there.

I raced to Flourish and Blotts, laden down with my packages of robes and ingredients and telescopes and multiple other things. Dad trailed behind with my owl. I headed into the store, looking around.

Books were stacked floor to ceiling, neat stacks and sloppy stacks, and books of all kinds. There was a rainbow of book bindings everywhere. There were huge books and small books and books that made noises. There were books shoved into every crevice and space that was possible. It looked something like my bedroom.

I loved books. They were what I got for my birthday and Christmas and every other holiday that gifts get given. My dad gave me Wizarding books about Wizarding history or Magical creatures or Quidditch. My friends gave me Muggle books which I loved nearly just as much. Fascinating books like The Color Purple and lots of Stephen King books. I also liked Muggle mysteries like the Hardy Boys or The Boxcar Children. Also Roald Dahl wrote a lot of good books with creative illustrations. Sure, they didn't move, but that was the magic of Muggle books.

Now, I had extra money in my pockets, so I could buy a couple extra books. I darted around the store, picking out my school books and, if I spotted something interesting, I'd read the back and see if I would potentially want to read it. If I did, I added it to the pile. I chose history books, and extra Herbology books, and multiple books on Magical creatures. There were also books on jinxes and curses and I wanted it so badly but decided against it.

In the end, I was carrying about twenty books home. I smiled sheepishly at dad but he just looked amused and carried one of the bags for me.

"I forgot to ask." I chirped as we made our way back up to the Floo station. "Did you want a book?"

Dad chuckled but didn't answer. He looked quite happy and I wondered if it was because I was happy or if it was because he had gotten the job already. I wasn't entirely sure but I didn't ask in case the question ruined the mood.

At home, I let the owl out of her cage and watched her as she flew out the window, going out to hunt. I was going to need a name for her, but I couldn't think of anything good. Perhaps there would be something in my history books or something. I wanted to find a name for her soon. It would be hard calling her 'owl'.

I started to prepare for Hogwarts.

I took out my clothes and wrote my name carefully and neatly on the tags just like the instructions said. I put the brass scales, glass phials, and telescope neatly into the trunk I would be taking with me to Hogwarts. Dad taught me the enchantment for the cauldron so it would fit into the trunk and how to undo the enchantment when I got to Hogwarts.

My books were stacked around my room, taking turns reading bits of them, and studying their contents. There was just so much interesting stuff to learn. I took my Herbology textbook to the pool because it didn't have moving pictures in it and Herbology could be seen as a Muggle hobby in planting- just with plants that didn't exist in the Muggle world.

Eventually, I decided to name my owl Sadie. I've never been particularly good at naming anything but Sadie was a good name- at least I thought so and Dad didn't make fun of the name so I was sure that it was a good name.

I spent a lot of time with Trang when I wasn't studying or working. I was sad that she was going all the way to America but in the end, I thought, it wouldn't really matter since I was going to a boarding school as well.

Trang had asked me where I was going to school and I said that Dad was either going to homeschool me or I was going to go to a boarding school in Australia. She was surprised with both options. I said I would write to her often.

On the day of my birthday, Dad took me and Trang to the zoo. It was one of my favorite places to go. I'd asked dad to take me back to Gringotts so that I could trade some of my Wizarding gold in Muggle money. This is what my dad used at the zoo.

He was amused with the Wolves (as always), but I personally preferred the Cheetahs and Tigers and Lions. Cheetahs were my favorite animal of all time. When I finally was able to produce a Patronus, I was sure that it would be a cheetah. Trang liked the seals and penguins.

I bored both Trang and dad silly with facts about all the different types of animals there were at the zoo. I hadn't even read the info boards, I just knew this stuff. I loved researching all sorts of things, especially when it came down to animals.

The day after my birthday was quite eventful as well, although nothing personally had happened to me.

Dad was reading the daily prophet with a look that I had never seen on his face before. I paused in the middle of making toast.

"What's wrong?" I asked, pushing down the lever and coming to look over his shoulder.

He handed me up the newspaper. "Someone broke into Gringotts break."

"WHAT!" I snatched the newspaper out of his hands and scanned the article. They'd broken into the bank yesterday. . . Vault 713. . .nothing was taken because the vault had been emptied that same day. . .no more details. . .

That vault was very closet to mine. Only five down really. . .

I tossed the newspaper on the table, "They don't know much about it, do they?" I went back over to the toaster, so dad wouldn't see the fear on my face. The toast was sitting up and I shakily put it on the empty plate.

"Elizabeth, are you okay?" Dad asked me.

"Well I mean, how do they know it wasn't. . .wasn't. . .I mean what if Voldemort's back! They don't know anything and they can't tell us anything!" I took off my glasses, something I always did when I got frustrated. I hated that I got frustrated easily, and I had never realized how frightened that I might have been with the idea of him returning.

But could I really be blamed for feeling that way? After all, he had murdered my parents and separated me from my brother, hadn't he? And he and his followers hadn't just murdered my parents. . . there had been so many deaths at his hands. And people who had been affected afterwards like the Longbottom's', who were Aurors tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, and many others. It had been an old newspaper that dad had. He kept old newspapers for me to read when I got old enough to read them. I learned a lot from them.

I walked back to the table, avoiding Lupin's gaze.

"I don't think he's back Elizabeth." He said gently, picking up the Daily Prophet, folding it, and setting it aside. "It would've been better planned out, a date before the vault was emptied. This work is to sloppy."

I just nodded, biting into the dry toast. I spit it out immediately. I'd forgotten butter. I hopped up and ran to go get it as Dad laughed heartily the entire time.

Well! At least he was amused!

⬅️➡️

[mocchite]

menety -> mocchite (+update)

hi y'all, i'm back to this account (and with my actual pen name). it's been a long time and idk if any of my followers are still active here, but i wanted to talk a little about the reasons behind my absence

(tw for mentions of depression, epilepsy/seizures and other brain diseases)

so uh. my last post on here was in mid 2019, and between that time until mid 2020, the main reason behind my absence was due to me switching fandoms (from touhou to kpop lmao).

still, in 2020 i suddenly started having seizures. after getting an mri docs found inflammatory wounds in my brain, and the cause was unknown. after that i took several appointments with several doctors in hopes of getting a diagnosis, which was no easy task. the easiest and fastest way to get a diagnosis would be through a brain biopsy, which had been suggested by doctors, but other doctors said that would be too risky considering they'd have to remove a sample of abnormal tissue from my brain, and the easiest areas to get the sample from could potentially my ability to see or perform movements from the left side of my limbs (which includes the hand i draw with). so i picked the long path, which was getting a diagnosis by the process of elimination.

after several failed treatments, it took me almost a year to get a proper diagnosis, and another entire year to get the specific treatment i needed. during said time, i fell deep into depression due to all the uncertainty going on in my life. aside from the uni-related projects i needed to do, i've barely drawn anything at all.

fortunately, my condition has stabilized by now, and i've managed to graduate from uni and get my degree on animation design (woo!). though i'm still getting treatment, i'll be doing my best to become active again. i'll keep drawing touhou but other fandoms and OCs of mine might pop in at some point. anyways, i hope you'll like my new artworks and thank you for sticking with lil old me 🤧🤧💕💕💕

[f1]

'It was painful' Norris describes McLaren's straight-line speed struggles after surprise P7 finish in Belgium

Lando Norris admitted it was a “good surprise” for him to find himself finishing seventh at this weekend’s Belgian Grand Prix, after a “painful” afternoon behind the wheel of the MCL60 struggling for straight-line pace. Norris started from seventh on the grid, but his struggles saw him lose places early on, as he dropped outside the top 10. A switch from the mediums to the hards didn’t see much improvement, before going on to the softs dropped him to the back of the field. MONDAY MORNING DEBRIEF: How the mid-race rain rescued McLaren's Sunday in Belgium However, he managed to make his way back up the order before holding off the late challenge of Esteban Ocon to take seventh place. And after the race, Norris explained why McLaren struggled so much compared to their rivals. Asked what had happened with the car, Norris said: “Nothing, I was just barely making eighth gear, we were that slow in the straight. I just couldn’t defend, I couldn’t attack. It was impossible to overtake; I didn’t overtake one person on the straight today. We were too slow. This feature is currently not available because you need to provide consent to functional cookies. Please update your cookie preferences Norris hails McLaren strategy for vaulting him up into the points from ‘not far off last place’ “I think I only overtook two or three people today and that was all in the corners. It was painful. The beginning was so painful, but we tried and to go on to the hard and we got done over again. The hard was not a good enough tyre. “So, we had one thing left to try and that was put a soft tyre on. This was already on Lap 24, 25. So I was expecting to box again for another soft at one point. But we were somehow in seventh, we undercut like 10 cars, I think, which I was pretty surprised by. Good surprised of course. FACTS AND STATS: Win 12 for Red Bull heralds most successful season start in F1 history “I thought I was going to be boxing again, and they were like, ‘Okay we are going to try and go to the end.’ I pushed the tyres so much in the beginning, I thought my race was going to be over again and I was going to start to struggle too much. “But we kept the tyres alive and still managed to finish P7, stay ahead of Esteban, who was closing quite quickly in the last couple of laps, so I’m happy.” Norris struggled for pace especially in the early stages of the race in Belgium Sharing an example of how much he struggled in the straights – with Norris receiving a number of conciliatory pats on the back from his fellow drivers in the pen – Norris said: “Everyone was overtaking me before the DRS activation zone. Honestly, I had a run on Alex [Albon] out of Turn 1. I was coming at him out of Turn 1, I had new tyres, he had old tyres, and I think by the end of the straight, he pulled, like, three or four car lengths on me. READ MORE: What the teams said – Race day in Belgium “This was me with DRS, using overtake. It was just painful. I actually could not overtake a car on the straight today, no matter how good my exit was. We got it wrong; I think we've admitted it already. “We got it wrong, we were way too high on downforce, and it didn’t help us in pretty much any way, so we’ll review and make sure we do a better job next time.” via Formula 1 News https://www.formula1.com