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agentstovring · 3 months

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Know No Shame

Title: Know No Shame

Pairing: Arasha/Brianna Boho (Smosh)

Rating: E for Explicit

Notes: This started as a stupid joke I told Snel, then turned into a short crack fic, and ended up being an earnest and smutty thing of its own.

You can also find this on Ao3

Arasha was a huge fan of late call times. Whenever the call time was later than 10 a.m., the morning felt ripe with possibilities; she could go to the gym before work; she could clean her apartment; she could make her own healthy lunch to bring to the office. Not that she ever did any of that, of course; in reality, late call times just meant feeling less bad about staying up late watching reality TV.

She was never going to be motivated like Shayne, going to the gym at the ass crack of dawn to lift weights and listen to audio books; or organized like Selina, who somehow left every room tidier than she found it; or dedicated like Garrett, bringing in vegan lunches full of colorful veggies.

Instead, she came barreling into the Smosh offices at 10.02 a.m. on a Tuesday, officially two minutes late to an already late call time. It was no secret that most of the cast members had a loosey goosey relationship with time; but Arasha was still technically one of the new kids, and she was still trying to show that she respected the schedule. Thankfully, she wasn’t last to arrive, and once she’d dropped her stuff off at her desk, she headed to the kitchen for coffee.

Late call times allowed plenty of time to swing by a Starbucks on the way to the office; but did she do that? No. She slept an extra 15 minutes instead. She’d regretted making that decision countless times, and today was no different. The coffee at Smosh was excellent; even after they’d run out of My Favorite Coffee, Ian made sure they only stocked the good stuff.

However, the mug situation was dire, as most of the office had started bringing their own mugs from home. This meant that the mugs that belonged to the company rarely got replaced when they were inevitably broken, and these days there were few survivors left in the kitchen cupboard. Especially for those arriving late, as the people with early call times had already helped themselves.

Arasha was preparing for disappointment as she entered the kitchen, but what she actually got was quite the opposite. A well-shaped ass only half-covered by a pair of black short shorts; and long legs in fishnet tights and thigh-high boots with a killer heel. Then – as the owner of the beforementioned ass and legs stood up fully – long, shiny hair so perfectly platinum blonde that Arasha was briefly blinded by it.

Brianna Boho turned around, giving Arasha an eyeful of her perfectly round boobs fighting gravity in a red, corset-like top. Arasha’s eyes snapped up to look her in the eyes instead, trying desperately to not look like a deer caught in headlights when Brianna spotted her.

“Hey, Arash,” she said, sounding annoyed. “Are there actually no mugs in this entire office? If Smosh can’t even afford dishware, I’m seriously worried about my day rate.”

Arasha hadn’t quite gotten used to Brianna – in fact, she failed to see how anyone could, between her radiant beauty and outrageous personality. Not to mention, Brianna was freelance, so she wasn’t at the offices often enough to be a familiar presence. Whenever she caught herself ogling Brianna, Arasha would tell herself that her crush was just a short-lived infatuation; that she was like a kid wanting a shiny new toy.

She tried to convince herself that if Brianna were a salaried employee and permanent fixture in the office, it would be all the exposure therapy Arasha needed to not get so flustered around her. Sometimes she almost believed it.

Realizing that Brianna was still looking at her expectantly, Arasha cleared her throat awkwardly and nodded. “Mugs. Not easy to come by in this office.”

She folded her arms over her chest, then reconsidered and put her hands in her pockets, reconsidered again and let her arms hang uselessly by her sides. She clenched her fists to fight the urge to fold her arms again.

Brianna raised a perfect eyebrow. “So... No mugs?”

Arasha felt her armpits start to sweat. The awkwardness in her own voice was like nails on a chalkboard when she heard herself say, “Let me find one for you.”

Before Brianna could respond, Arasha rushed out of the kitchen, cursing her own weirdness all the way to the bullpen. She walked up to the first person she saw, which happened to be Ian.

“Good morning, Arasha,” he said, barely looking up from his phone. He was holding a thermal travel mug.

“Mugs,” Arasha said with the immediacy of a doctor in an ICU.

“Mugs was my father, please, call me Ian,” Ian said. “You look stressed, what’s going on?”

“There are no more mugs in the kitchen, and I need a mug. Ideally two mugs. Where can I find a mug?”

Ian seemed to sense that another joke would not be well-received and said, “I left my thermal at home yesterday, so I used one from here; I think it’s still in my office.”

“Thank you!” Arasha all but sprinted away from him.

Ian sipped his coffee. “Kids these days. They love mugs.”

Arasha did indeed find a mug in Ian’s office; it said SHOOT DOOD on it, and there was a bit of cold coffee left at the bottom, but Arasha carried it like it was invaluable treasure.

She reentered the kitchen slightly out of breath, holding the mug aloft. Brianna lit up.

“Oh, yay, you found one!”

“I did,” Arasha said and took the mug to the sink. “It’s dirty, though, let me clean it for you.”

“You don’t have to do that; you know I like it dirty,” Brianna giggled, then looked serious. “I’m just kidding; I would not actually drink from someone’s dirty mug. Or I guess that would depend on whose it was.”

Arasha snorted, washing the mug with warm, soapy water. “It was Ian’s.”

“Hm, not the worst. He is kind of hot in like, a divorced dad kind of way.”

Arasha rinsed the mug off and grabbed a dish towel, drying as fast as she could while still being thorough. Out the corner of her eye, she could tell that Brianna was watching her, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger. Finally satisfied with her efforts, she handed the clean mug to Brianna, who thanked her and poured in steaming hot coffee. She took a sip before handing the mug back.

Arasha took the mug automatically, surprised. “Oh, you wanna share it?”

“Yeah, it’s only fair. Unless you don’t feel comfortable.”

“No-no, I’m comfortable. I just- Thank you.”

Arasha sipped the coffee and her eyes closed on their own accord. Fuck, that was really good coffee. She swore she could already feel the caffeine spreading through her body. She gave the mug back to Brianna who just held it.

“It’s a little too hot,” she said, sounding almost awkward. Arasha had no idea she could feel awkward about anything.

For a moment they stood there silently in the kitchen, watching the steam rise out of the mug. Of course, right behind the steam was Brianna’s cleavage, and Arasha’s focus shifted there a few times in spite of her best efforts.

The fridge made a fridge noise and they both startled, then laughed at their own reactions. Arasha desperately tried to think of something to say, but Brianna beat her to it.

“Do you think me and Courtney look alike? I know you guys are friends, so I’m just wondering.”

“Uh, no,” Arasha lied, somehow sensing that that was the correct answer; but wanting to be honest she added, “Maybe in the very beginning, when I first met you. But as I’ve gotten to know you better, I realized that there are more differences than similarities; you’re not even the same kind of blonde.”

Brianna nodded, seemingly satisfied. She sipped from the mug again.

”It kinda bothers me when people compare us; I’m my own person. Also, I don’t see it; for starters, her tatas are supes small compared to mine.” She unsubtly glanced at Arasha’s chest area. “Not that there’s anything wrong with small tits; I have pretty small hands anyway.”

Arasha drew in a breath to say something, then realized the implication of Brianna’s words and froze. Forcing out an awkward laugh, she took out her phone and pretended to read a text. The whole time she felt Brianna’s eyes on her.

Alex Tran appeared in the doorway. “Arasha, we need you on set.”

“Right!” She shoved her phone back in her pocket and gave Brianna a small wave as she followed Alex out. Brianna reached out and barely brushed her arm, but it was enough to stop her dead in her tracks.

“Are you working on Friday?” Brianna asked, smiling sweetly.

“Yeah- Yes. Uh-huh.”

“Me too. You should wear a skirt.”

Arasha choked a little on thin air, then swallowed hard. “Okay,” she squeaked and speedwalked to catch up with Alex, heart pounding in her throat. What the fuck was that?!

▼

Distracted with work, Arasha made it through the rest of the day without thinking much about Brianna; but once she was in the car headed home, she replayed the last bits of their conversation in her head.

“Wear a skirt,” she said out loud to herself as she stopped at a red light. She tapped the steering wheel with her nails, frowning. “’We’re both working on Friday; you should wear a skirt’ – what?”

She kept turning the words in her head, confused about Brianna’s intention. Arasha was wearing jeans and a sweater; did Brianna want her to dress more feminine? What business was that of hers? Brianna was known for speaking her mind, but Arasha hadn’t ever heard her be critical of the way other people dressed, or even give unsolicited advice.

Besides, she’d specifically asked that Arasha wear a skirt not in general, but specifically the next time they were working together. It didn’t make a lot of sense.

All she knew for sure was, when Brianna had looked her in the eyes and said those words, for a brief few seconds she’d felt as if her knees would give out. The words themselves were completely innocuous, but the way they had sounded from Brianna’s glossy lips made Arasha feel woozy.

She put the speculations out of her mind as she pulled into the Ralphs parking lot, focusing instead on remembering the items on the grocery list she’d left at home. By the time she reached the self-checkout, she had all but forgotten her confused feelings from earlier.

▼

Wednesday and Thursday went by in a haze; shooting weeks were always exhausting, but also the best part of her job. She goofed around with her fellow cast members and the crew during the day, and all but passed out in her bed early in the evening.

It wasn’t until she was leaving work Thursday afternoon that she remembered Brianna’s request again: Friday. Wear a skirt. Arasha felt conflicted. On one hand, what a perfectly easy thing to do; she owned several skirts, and wearing one to work wasn’t weird or challenging in any way. But on the other hand, who was Brianna to dictate her wardrobe? And what was the point?

In a moment of déjà vu, Arasha once again found herself in L.A. traffic, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to the situation than fashion. Imagining herself wearing a skirt to the office, nothing; imagining Brianna’s reaction to her wearing a skirt to the office... not nothing.

Brianna was not in charge; if Arasha wore jeans and acted aloof, the worst outcome would be Brianna being mildly disappointed – if she even remembered or cared. But if Arasha complied, then what? Would Brianna praise her? Reward her efforts? Shifting in the car seat, Arasha sucked in a breath; her stomach muscles clenched, and she realized she was getting wet.

Even though there was no way the people in the other cars could know the state she was in, her cheeks still burned with shame. At the next stop light, she briefly squeezed her thighs together and a small moan escaped her, barely audible over the music playing in her car. She wanted nothing more than to get home, dig a toy out of her bedroom drawer, and drill out any confusing thoughts. There was just one thing she had to do first.

Flipping on her turn signal, she turned right at the last possible second, earning a long, angry honk from the driver behind her. “Yup, fair,” she murmured, nodding her head absentmindedly. The sound still rang in her ears minutes later when she walked into TJ Maxx.

She had browsed aimlessly for 10 minutes, unsure of what she was even looking for, and politely rejected two different employees’ offers to help. Finally, while she was already looking towards the next rack of clothes, her fingers brushed over something, and she paused. Lifting the hanger off the rack, she ran her hand over the soft black leather, feeling goosebumps rise on the back of her neck. She didn’t hesitate another second before taking the skirt to the fitting rooms.

Safely behind the door of one of the small rooms, she quickly took off her pants and wiggled into the tight skirt, zipping it up in the back. She smoothed her hands down over her thighs and looked in the mirror; it fit as if tailormade for her. It was a little tighter and shorter than what she’d normally wear, snug around her hips and stopping above her knees, but it was still work-appropriate. By Smosh standards anyway.

Turning to check the fit from all angles, she tried to see herself through Brianna’s eyes, taking in the length of her own smooth, brown legs, and the way the tight leather hugged the curve of her ass. A tingling sensation started in her stomach and crept downwards. What would Brianna do when she saw her? What do you want her to do?

Swallowing hard, Arasha leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, unzipping the skirt and slowly pushing it down over her hips, squeezing her thighs together more than she had to. I want her to take it off me. She let the skirt drop and it fell around her ankles, the lining giving off secondhand warmth. She put her pointer finger under the waistband of her underwear, not taking them off, just feeling her finger stroke across her stomach between fabric and soft skin. She imagined Brianna’s finger in its place and huffed out a small breath as she clenched involuntarily. I want her to strip me down completely. I want her to see me, touch me-

Without consciously deciding to, she pressed the heel off her other hand against her crotch. A wave of pleasure rushed over her; her thighs snapped together, trapping her hand in place; and she let out a loud gasp as her knees buckled and she fell into a crouched position. Shuddering as she tried to collect herself, her mouth dropped open in shock and arousal as she teetered on the brink of orgasm.

“Is everything alright in there?” a concerned voice asked from the other side of the flimsy door, and Arasha scrambled to stand upright, frantically pulling her sweater down in case the employee decided to come in.

“Everything’s great! I can’t believe how good I look in this skirt, haha,” she fake-laughed, fully aware of how deranged her voice sounded.

“Okay,” the employee said doubtfully, before walking away, her footsteps growing quieter until they couldn’t be heard at all.

Arasha looked at her own reflection once more, letting go of the hem of her sweater; it slipped back up where it belonged, revealing her grey cotton underwear. A diamond shaped stain of sticky wetness bloomed from the crotch, darkening the fabric. She took a deep breath, swallowing down the hot shame that threatened to rise within her, already making her stomach churn.

She put her pants back on, put the leather skirt back on the hanger, and left the dressing room trying to look as casual as possible. Then she took her find to the register and paid for it, not even hearing the price before swiping her card.

▼

Friday morning Arasha stood next to her bed as the clock ticked mercilessly closer to the time she had to leave for work. She was freshly showered; her hair blow-dried; her makeup done; and her teeth brushed. There was nothing left to do except get dressed; but once she did, there would be no turning back from the decision she was about to make.

She shifted her eyes back and forth between the two outfits she’d laid out: One with pants and one with The Skirt. They were both genuine options; she could just put on the jeans she’d worn dozens of times and go to work like she did any other day. And always wonder in the back of your mind what Brianna wanted. Arasha groaned, shuffling her feet; she really needed to leave soon.

“Fuck, shit, fuck,” she said through gritted teeth, grabbing the skirt from the bed. She got dressed, pointedly not looking in the mirror before leaving, in case the sight made her change her mind again.

When she walked through the doors of the Smosh offices, she felt a small sting of panic, but managed to calm herself enough to keep walking. “You are normal,” she said under her breath, stretching out the syllables.

Hoping to dress down the skirt a bit, she’d paired it with a loose-fitting graphic tee that she’d tucked in, and a pair of sneakers to really sell the look as casual. The whole drive over, she’d reassured herself that this was an unassuming outfit, and that none of her coworkers would even notice; she believed it right until she walked onto the Games stage.

“Wow, Arasha,” Courtney said, immediately staring right at the skirt with an appreciative look on their face. “What the hell, you look hot!”

“I don’t normally look hot?” Arasha replied, pretending to be offended.

Spencer grinned at her. “You should have told me it was Sexy Skirt Friday; I would have worn mine.”

“I’m sure we would have all loved to see that,” Tommy drawled as he entered the room, sounding like he wasn’t entirely joking. “Arasha, that skirt is fire.”

Arasha thanked them all in her most nonchalant tone, feeling somewhat relieved now that she’d survived her coworkers’ initial reactions. They all turned their attentions to Spencer, who was summarizing the rules to the board game they’d definitely all prepared to play for the day’s video. Just as he finished, Brianna walked in, boot heels loud against the concrete floor.

“Guys, I’m so sorry I’m late; my nail tech was telling me about her bonkers Tinder date, and I just had to hear the end of the story.”

“That’s.. fine,” Spencer said, never quite sure how to deal with Brianna. “I think we’re ready to start, so take your seats, please.”

Brianna dropped her bag on a chair out of frame and brushed past Arasha as she approached the Games table.

“Nice skirt,” she said casually.

“Thanks, it’s new,” Arasha said without thinking, then instantly regretted ever learning to speak.

Brianna stopped in her tracks and looked back at her, lips curving up in a sly smile. She didn’t say anything else, but there was no doubt that she knew what that implied. Arasha’s face burned as she took her seat, powerless to do anything but focus up and get through the video without disintegrating under Brianna’s assessing gaze.

▼

“Where exactly are we going?” Arasha asked, hoping she sounded breezy in spite of feeling anything but. It was lunch time, and everyone’s food orders had arrived; but before she could go to the seating area where everyone else had already gathered, Brianna had pulled her aside.

“I told you, silly, we’re just going to the bathroom.”

Arasha had gone to the bathroom with other girls countless times, but not at work and certainly never with Brianna. On top of that, they were headed in the wrong direction. Unless…

Arasha’s heart skipped a beat. In the other end of the building was a bathroom that no one ever used. There was nothing terribly wrong with it, but it was just far enough from both the stages and the bullpen that using it was inconvenient timewise. Arasha had only used it once, out of desperation, when the other bathrooms were occupied minutes before a livestream, and her bladder threatened to fail her.

She suspected that other people might use it for bathroom emergencies as well, so she was grateful to only smell floral scented cleaning products when Brianna opened the door and pulled her inside.

The room was weirdly L-shaped, and the sole ceiling light hung immediately above the toilet, bathing you in fluorescent lighting as you did your business, while then keeping you in ominous shadows as you washed your hands. Arasha considered all these factors with the critical eye of a dedicated Selling Sunset viewer, until she was gently backed up against the sink. Brianna’s face was inches from her own, a soft smile playing on her lips.

“Arasha, did you wear a skirt because I told you to?” she asked innocently.

“Y-yes.”

Brianna’s smile widened and she leaned in closer. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please,” Arasha breathed, and she only just managed to hold back a whimper when Brianna brought their mouths together.

Brianna’s hands found her waist, thumbs gently stroking up and down, while her soft lips moved against Arasha’s. When her tongue swiped over Arasha’s bottom lip, she let it in immediately, and Brianna rewarded her with a pleased moan. Taking this as permission to let go, Arasha responded with her own sounds of pleasure as her shaky hands came to rest on Brianna’s shoulders.

You are making out with Brianna in the bathroom at work! A voice in her head stated redundantly, but before she could properly process how bad of an idea it might be, Brianna broke the kiss.

“Tell me if you wanna stop,” she all but gasped out, but in spite of her eagerness, she waited for a response before doing anything. Arasha nodded rapidly, brain foggy with arousal, and Brianna smiled and carefully rucked Arasha’s skirt up to her waist.

She kneeled on the floor in front of her, taking in her half-dressed body with a look of hunger; her soft hands caressed Arasha’s thighs, sending pleasant chills up her spine. She hooked her pointer fingers into the waistband of Arasha’s underwear, looking up at her with an expression that could best be described as giddy.

“Can I take these off?”

Arasha willed herself not to be self-conscious and nodded slowly, holding her breath as the flimsy black fabric was pulled down her hips and thighs. Even in the half-light, the patch of slick wetness on the inside of the panties was conspicuous enough to catch Brianna’s eye. Brianna sighed happily at the sight and bit her lip, carefully removing the underwear completely and tucking them halfway into the waistband of her own shorts for safekeeping.

Arasha’s legs broke out in goosebumps as she found herself naked from the waist down, aside from her scuffed up sneakers, fully on display for the woman she’d been crushing on for going on a year. Against all odds, her nerves were dissipating, replaced entirely with the awareness of a dull but insistent throb between her legs that was begging for attention. She couldn’t remember ever being this turned on in her entire-

“Hold my gum.” Brianna didn’t wait for an answer but took her used gum out of her mouth and unceremoniously handed it to Arasha.

Holding another person’s wet, chewed-up gum between two fingers almost brought Arasha crashing back to reality, but then Brianna gently brushed a knuckle against her wet folds, instantly wiping her mind. She inhaled sharply as her hips stuttered, blushing as Brianna giggled.

Some of her bravado seemed to fade as she looked up at Arasha, holding up both hands to show off her long, sharp nails.

“I can’t really finger anyone without turning them into shish kebab,” she said apologetically, giving Arasha a hopeful look. “Can I eat your pussy?”

Arasha almost choked on an inbreath and barely managed a weak “Yes”, hands gripping the sink behind her. Brianna hummed happily and pushed Arasha’s legs slightly further apart before leaning in and giving her an experimental lick.

“You’re so wet,” she murmured. “And you taste so good.”

Arasha felt like she was on fire, and she could give no audible response before Brianna leaned back in, working her tongue in between her folds as she nudged her clit with the tip of her nose. Arasha hissed and closed her eyes, already overwhelmed by the pleasure building between her legs.

Brianna pressed closer, slipping her tongue inside Arasha’s pussy and curling it upwards in a move that had Arasha whimpering and squeezing her eyes tighter shut. It was almost too much, and yet she begged Brianna not to stop. She moaned with every clench of her inner walls, pulsing around Brianna’s textured tongue. Time and place lost all meaning; the only sound she registered was Brianna’s beautiful moans, as enraptured as if she was the one being eaten out within an inch of her life.

With her sharp nails carefully resting against Arasha’s taut stomach, she used the pad of her thumb to rub circles above her clit, while lapping up the wetness steadily flowing onto her tongue. When Arasha’s moans got more frantic, to the point where she finally slapped a hand over her mouth, Brianna instead let her lips envelop the sensitive bud and sucked.

Arasha yelped as her orgasm hit her all at once, and she rolled her hips, helplessly pressing herself firmer against Brianna’s mouth. “Fu-uck! Oh my god, oh my-“ She let out a high-pitched moan, fighting the overstimulation for another second or two before gently pushing Brianna away, knees buckling.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Brianna cooed, hands supporting the backs of her thighs. Brianna watched with eyes dark with desire as Arasha came back down to earth, resting her chin lightly on Arasha’s shaking thigh. When Arasha seemed more steady on her feet, Brianna placed a kiss against her swollen pussy lips.

“Good job, cutie,” she cooed, seemingly addressing her pussy directly. ”You came so much for me.”

Arasha’s face heated up in embarrassment, but she couldn’t help but smile softly as Brianna stood up and faced her again. She leaned in almost hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure if Arasha would allow it; but Arasha quickly closed the distance between them and welcomed the kiss, tasting herself on Brianna’s lips and tongue. She felt dizzy as the strum of her orgasm slowly faded.

She pulled back, shyly meeting Brianna’s eyes. “Holy shit…”

Brianna nodded and kissed her again. They stood there for a moment, lazily making out until Arasha broke the kiss again. “Do you want me to… I mean, I’ve never- I’m sure I could figure it out?”

Brianna giggled, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about it; we should probably head back before people start looking for us.”

Arasha nodded, trying not to look disappointed. “Are your knees okay?”

“Oh yeah, these things basically have callouses at this point,” Brianna said, then grimaced and added, “In like, a hot way.”

“Sure,” Arasha said with a grin; she has a hard time picturing anything that she wouldn’t find hot about Brianna at this point.

Brianna tucked Arasha’s underwear free from her own waistband and bent down to help her step into them, pulling them up over her legs as gently as she had pulled them off. Underwear in place, Brianna let Arasha fix the rest of her clothes to look presentable, while washing her hands and face over the sink.

“I wanna see you again,” Arasha said, absentmindedly wiping beads of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand.

“Most people do,” Brianna said in a singsong tone, reaching for a paper towel, but there was a flatness to it, like she didn’t really believe it. “You probably think I do this all the time...”

“I don’t think that. And I don’t wanna see you again just to hook up; I’d like to take you on a date.”

Brianna looked taken aback; there was something vulnerable in her eyes. “Really?”

For a second the façade slipped; the skimpy clothes were a costume, the flawless makeup a mask; and there was a glimpse of the real Brianna. An ordinary person, presumably with an unassuming real last name, and a wealth of real human feelings. Arasha wanted to tell her that she believed, very genuinely, that this person deserved a chance to be known and even loved, but it felt like too much for a post-cunnilingus bathroom conversation, so she just said,

“Yeah, if you want to. If you don’t that’s okay, no pressure; but yeah, really, I really wanna go on a date with you. If you want.”

Brianna took a deep breath. “I wanna go to Red Lobster.”

“Deal,” Arasha said with a grin.

They exchanged one more quick kiss, then Brianna opened the bathroom door and gestured for Arasha to go first. She did but paused briefly in the doorway. “Do you want your gum?”

“Oh,” Brianna unstuck the gum from Arasha’s outstretched fingers and seemed to think about it for a moment before throwing it in the bathroom trash can. “Thanks for holding onto it, but… I think I wanna keep the taste of you a little longer.”

In the seating area, everyone had pretty much finished eating and were talking and joking around, but when Arasha and Brianna walked up, a lot of the conversation died down. Amanda gave them an analytical look as they took their seats, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“Your food’s getting cold. What have you been up to?”

Arasha immediately felt panic set in, but Brianna’s foot lightly pressed against hers under the table, grounding her.

“Good thing I ordered a salad then,” Brianna said, her face and voice as calm as ever. “My Diva cup was stuck and Arasha was nice enough to help me get it out. Guess I gotta lay off the Kegels.”

Every muscle in Arasha’s body instantly tightened with humiliation, and she wondered if maybe the truth wouldn’t have been less embarrassing after all; but at least her coworkers all decided that this explanation beckoned exactly zero follow-up questions. They ate their food in silence while conversation slowly started up again around them, occasionally sneaking shy glances at each other.

▼ After evading their texts all weekend, Arasha was cornered by Courtney in the office kitchen early Monday morning. They held the last mug hostage until Arasha finally caved and told them the truth.

“I knew it! I knew that Diva cup story was bullshit!”

“Will you keep your voice down?!” Arasha said, gesturing wildly. “I’m not ready for the whole office to find out about it!”

“Then why did you fuck at work?!” Courtney squealed but did lower their voice considerably. “I can’t believe it finally happened; I didn’t expect it to happen in the weird bathroom, but-“

“Finally? What do you mean ‘finally’?”

Courtney gave her an overbearing look. “Brianna has been trying to flirt with you for ages; I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, but she made me swear not to.”

Arasha supported herself on the kitchen island. “For ages? How did I not notice?”

“She kept saying ‘We accept the love we think we deserve’; but that was right after Shayne made her read The Perks of Being a Wallflower, so I’m not sure it was directly related.”

After securing the mug and filling it with coffee, Arasha went to her desk and sat down. She pulled out her phone and called Brianna, hoping she wasn’t waking her up.

▼ For all her confidence when she asked Brianna out, Arasha had gotten increasingly nervous in the hours leading up to the date. She had changed her outfit several times, seriously considering wearing The Skirt again, but worried that it was sending the wrong signal. In the end, she had put on a dark green jumpsuit that made her look slightly overdressed, but there was no time for regret, as she had to leave for Brianna’s.

Brianna had done a photoshoot earlier in the day, taking place in the opposite direction of Arasha’s place. To make things easier on her, Arasha drove to her place, and they would leave together from there. They could have met at the restaurant, but Brianna had insisted on driving them in her gold Miata.

Arasha had showed up exactly on time, and when Brianna had opened the door, she’d kissed Arasha with the enthusiasm of a woman starved.

Red Lobster was unusually busy for a Wednesday night, and while Arasha had felt ridiculous making a reservation, she was grateful for it when she and Brianna pulled into the parking lot. Once they were seated across from each other in the restaurant, conversation had flowed, and neither of them noticed or cared how long they had to wait for their food.

Arasha’s earlier nervousness was nowhere to be felt, and she couldn’t remember ever being this at ease on a date. They knew each other well enough that there wasn’t a lot of explaining to do; but not so well that there were no stories to tell. They got each other’s jokes and references, and they related to each other’s experiences. There were no awkward silences; when they paused the conversation to eat a few bites of their almost forgotten meals, it was comfortable.

When Brianna went to the bathroom near the end of the meal, Arasha smoothly paid the bill before she came back. She had an inkling that Brianna made more money than she did, but she couldn’t care less; she had suggested the date, and she was going to be old school about it and hope Brianna found it more charming than archaic.

Brianna did. When she returned from the bathroom and found the bill covered, along with a generous tip, she gave Arasha a heated look and shrugged her jacket on.

“Let’s get out of here, stud.”

On the drive to Brianna’s place, the conversation was broken up by longer and longer silences, as the atmosphere in the car grew thick with sexual tension. As soon as they had arranged to meet, Arasha had strictly told herself not to assume that the date would end with sex. She had wanted to have zero expectations and let Brianna lead, ensuring that there was no pressure, and that Brianna did not for one second think that Arasha only wanted her physically.

Now, sitting in the car together, Arasha felt sweaty under her collar. She observed Brianna shift in her seat, tap her fingers along to the song playing on the radio, and every so often glance at Arasha with a secretive smile, all while effortlessly driving stick. She looked as restless as Arasha felt, so when she parked outside her house, Arasha wasn’t surprised to hear her say,

“Don’t go yet.”

Arasha smiled. “Okay, I won’t. Do you want me to come inside for a bit?”

“No,” Brianna said, too quickly, then laughed nervously. “I mean, no, let’s just sit here for a bit.”

“Okay?” Arasha unbuckled her seatbelt and got as comfortable as she could. She was still feeling the sexual tension, but now confusion was starting to creep in. Brianna picked at a nail, not making eye contact, and Arasha finally realized what was going on.

“Brianna, are you nervous?”

Brianna sighed and made an exasperated gesture. “Yes, okay! You know most people I go out with just jump me at this point; I’m so stupidly horny, do I really have to make the first move? Again?”

Arasha laughed and couldn’t stop once she’d started; eventually it set Brianna off too, and they giggled helplessly for a minute or so before regaining some semblance of control. Arasha shuffled closer until her thigh was pressed against the console between their seats. She reached out and tugged a lock of Brianna’s hair behind her ear.

“Brianna, do you want me to jump you?”

Brianna pouted childishly. “No…”

“Then tell me what you want.”

“I want you to make me come,” she said shakily, looking down. “I want your fingers inside me, and I want you to kiss me.”

Arasha leaned in to kiss her and Brianna met her halfway, making a desperate sound against her lips. They stopped kissing so Brianna could wiggle out of her jacket and throw it into the backseat. The straps of her dress slipped off her shoulders on their own, and she pushed the rest of the dress down to her hips as to not be restrained. Her tits were spilling out over the cups of her bra, and Arasha couldn’t take her eyes off them.

“I know you said you wanted fingers, but…”

Brianna followed her gaze down to her chest and nodded. “I want everything.”

Brianna slipped off the straps and pushed the bra down as well, not bothering to open it. Arasha kissed her again, hungrier this time, mouth traveling down her neck to her collarbone. She paused to allow Brianna to stop her, but instead she made an impatient noise that nearly made Arasha laugh again.

She placated Brianna by slipping a hand under her dress, pressing her fingers lightly against the front of her underwear. The soft lace was soaking wet, and Arasha swore she could feel her pulse as she pressed down harder. Brianna whimpered and pushed Arasha’s hand away, maneuvering herself out of the panties with impressive efficiency.

“Keep going, please don’t stop,” she said like a prayer, and Arasha leaned down and took Brianna’s nipple in her mouth.

She sucked lightly at first, experimentally, and flicked it with her tongue, tasting sweetness and salt on Brianna’s skin. She let her hand wander back between Brianna’s legs, finding her wet and wanting, no longer obstructed by lace.

She wanted to remind Brianna that this was a first for her, that she didn’t know what she was doing, and that she might be terrible; but soothed by soft sounds already spilling from Brianna’s mouth, she let her instincts take over. Slipping her fingertips between Brianna’s folds, she gently brushed against her clit and was rewarded by a desperate keening sound. Letting her thumb stroke her clit continuously, Arasha pushed one finger inside of her, and, when she met little resistance, added another.

She pumped them slowly in and out, finding a steady rhythm that made Brianna shiver and curse under her breath. One of her hands found the back of Arasha’s neck and pushed her firmer against her chest. Arasha sucked harder on her nipple and pumped her fingers faster, keeping the heel of her hand constantly pressed against Brianna’s clit.

Brianna thrust her hips against the moving hand, moans rising in volume, and her pussy clenched tighter around Arasha’s fingers with every roll of her hips.

“Don’t stop, I’m coming,” she gasped. “I’m coming, I’m-“

Arasha remembered the other part of her request last second and pulled away from her chest, capturing Brianna’s mouth in a searing kiss instead. Her pussy clenched hard enough to almost lock Arasha’s fingers in place and she thrashed in her seat, whining against Arasha’s lips as she rode out her orgasm.

When Arasha broke the kiss, she let out a growling moan, eyes still squeezed shut, and she closed her thighs to keep Arasha’s hand in place. “Wait, wait, wait, just…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Arasha chuckled, pressing soft kisses to her neck.

She didn’t move her hand, just kept it where Brianna wanted it and let her use it as she pleased, occasionally pressing against it with a sigh. Eventually Brianna took a deep breath and shifted backwards in her seat, and Arasha withdrew her hand. Her fingers and palm were coated in sticky juices, and she felt an almost painful sting of pleasure when she put her fingers in her mouth to taste.

Brianna, who had just pulled a pack of wet wipes out of the door pocket, froze in place and watched her with half lidded eyes, making a small noise in her throat. Arasha blushed, taking a wet wipe and cleaning off her hand.

“Why do you get so embarrassed?” Brianna asked. She wasn’t judging; her tone was genuine and curious.

“What do you mean?”

“When you say something weird in a video, you always freeze up for a second; you don’t laugh it off, you let other people laugh at it instead. When people compliment you, you look like you regret earning it. And when I ate your pretty pussy…”

Arasha averted her gaze, feeling her face heat up, and she grimaced. Brianna laughed, stroking her cheek soothingly. Gently, she cupped Arasha’s jaw and turned her face back towards her.

“…when I ate your pretty pussy,” she repeated, holding eye contact. “I could tell how much you wanted it, but you were so self-conscious.”

“In all fairness, I was half naked at my job.”

Brianna giggled. “And I’ll admit it wasn’t the most elegant way I could have gone about it; but can you honestly say you would have been more confident if I had laid you down on a fourposter bed?”

“Probably not…”

“Right,” Brianna took her hand and held it. “You just made me come so hard, I almost jumped out of my seat. And you sucked your fingers, and it was so hot! You have nothing to be embarrassed about; you’re great. Not just at making me come, everything about you; I like you so much.”

The warmth in Arasha’s face started to seep down into her chest, curling around her heart. “I’m a little confused. We had a great date; you didn’t want me to come inside, which I respect; but then you still wanted to hook up; and now it sounds like… you wanna keep seeing me?”

“Of course, I wanna keep seeing you! I thought that was obvious; I know I have a reputation, but I actually don’t put out for every pretty girl who buys me lobster.”

“When you didn’t invite me inside, I guess I thought you were setting some kind of boundary.”

“Ah, no, Bryce is sleeping on my couch,” Brianna said with a small shrug. “I really wanted you to fuck me, and I knew he’d hear us if we went to my bedroom.”

Arasha blinked. “That’s why we did it here? It’s not because you’re don’t want something serious with me?”

“I don’t wanna rush into a relationship, and I don’t wanna skip over anything, but I wanna give this a shot. And if Bryce wasn’t posted up in my living room watching Golden Girls, I’d gladly invite you in.”

“Oh. Why is Bryce sleeping on your couch?”

Brianna rolled her eyes. “He and his boyfriend Gaige are fighting because Bryce spent a month’s worth of rent money on a Swarovski jockstrap.”

“We lead very different lives.”

Brianna leaned over the console and kissed her. “I know, isn’t it exciting?”

Arasha laughed. “It is pretty exciting.”

Brianna looked pleased. She leaned in for another kiss and they made out in the car for a while longer, barely registering the occasional passing car. Arasha found that she wasn’t concerned at all about being seen.

#briasha #brianna boho #arasha lalani #smosh #fanfiction #by me #smoshblr #blondeforyou #courtney miller #let me know what you think!

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firstofficerwiggles · 1 year

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Gimme the Beskar Spear

An April Fool's crack smut fic

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Rating: M/E, 18+ only

Warnings: Very bad SMUT, this whole fic is a warning, probably no one should read this, but if you do, be on the lookout for fingering, unprotected P in V sex, and terrible Star Wars euphemisms throughout. Also since “jizz” is “jazz music” in Star Wars, I have decided to use the ridiculous word “jyzz” thanks to the brilliant @tailorvizsla as we were discussing this challenge

Word count: ~1000

Author’s note: As part of the April Fools Smut Fic challenge that takes its inspiration from the Bad Sex Awards, I give you this terrible mess of a smut fic. You should read this as if you have only learned about sex through bad porn. Also please enjoy the many, many ridiculous Star Wars words and references to Star Wars creatures, food, places, animals, and what have you. Please enjoy it by laughing so hard you spill your spotchka!

Working for the Mandalorian, Din Djarin, meant you walked around like a lothcat in heat all the damn time. How could you not when you work with the hottest stud in the Outer Rim?

His broad hulking shoulders, as broad as a star destroyer, make your mouth water and those giant arms all corded with muscles like two sexy ion blasters make you wish to be their target. Not to mention his huge thighs, thicc like the gnarltrees of Dagobah, and that perfect ripe Jogan fruit ass that makes you think of all the dirtiest things in the galaxy. Din Djarin has some space junk in his trunk!

You’ve been trying to get him interested in your lothkitty for weeks now. You prance around the ship wearing the tiniest shorts and tank tops. It’s the best way to show off your sweater meiloorun melons and your sweet poma-drupe fruit. You try to bend over in front of him as much as possible, even shaking your badonkadonk or shimming your chesticles to entice him. Once you even managed to brush up against him, and as you felt that big bantha salami in his tight pants you knew he was definitely happy to see you. You just need to make a big move because Din Djarin doesn’t do subtle.

You see him in the hull of the ship, cleaning his blaster, his talented hands stroking it the way you want him to stroke you. You walk over to him, popping your hips with each step, and then climbing onto the crate in front of him. Your feet are bare and you put one right in his lap, letting it seek out his forbidden trouser Dashta eel. You rub your foot back and forth over it while you bite your lip and tell him,

“Don’t you want to have some fun for a change, my big bad bounty hunter?”

His visor pops up to look at you, “You sure you know what you’re asking for, Cyar’ika?”

You can feel him growing in his pants, the Zillo beast is awakening and it is large.

“I know I want you to give it to me, hard.”

You open your legs so he can see how you’ve soaked your panties and shorts with your glistening moistness.

“Fuck,” Din says, his voice deeper and darker than the blackest of space. He grabs your clothes, ripping them off as if they were made of only gossamer tissue flimsi. His strength makes you whine for him.

You shriek his name as your nipples turn so hard and pointy like two shards of transparisteel in your chest.

He chuckles as he plucks your sweet binkberries. The roughness of his leather gloves adds to the sensation, the feeling of the work worn material moving over your downy flesh makes you cry out again.

"Shit! Din, your hands are the best, I want those trigger fingers in all my tight places."

"You like my hands, I see you, licking your lips with that slutty Gungan-like tongue as you stare at them," Din’s voice rasps through the modulator, “And as for your tight places, that’s exactly where I want to stick them.”

You moan obscenely as he slams two of his fingers deep inside your wet cavern of mystery, pumping them with a vengeance. His other fingers rub your pleasure nubbin turning you into a bawling mess for him. You grip his biceps, crying out,

“Din, what big blasters you have!”

“All the better to make you cum, my dear,” he tells you, his fingers pounding your secret hot spot making you ooze even more girl juice around them.

“I’m cumming for you right now!” you yell out as you shake hard and blow up like a Deathstar of desire.

Din brings his fingers up under his helmet and you can hear the sexiest slurping sounds, like he’s enjoying a delicious fried crispic as he cleans your feminine secretions from his gloves.

“Mmm, I knew you’d be tasty,” he says, “And now it’s time for the main course. You ready for a heaping serving of man meat?” He undoes his trousers and finally you get to see that big, girthy blaster cannon of his.

“Yes, my sexy metal man, gimme your beskar spear,” you coo at him.

In one forceful turbothrust, Din stuffs your special box full to the brim like you’re a Life Day roasted porg and you scream with pleasure.

“Fuck yes! Ride me hard like a blurrg!” Your cries of ecstasy bounce off the walls of the ship.

“Yeah, take it, baby, take my real Darksaber,” Din growls at you, pounding into you so hard your tits practically slap you in the face.

“Yes, it’s the most powerful sword in the galaxy, everyone wants it, and when you wave it around, they’ll follow you anywhere!” you shout your enjoyment of his legendary weapon.

Your hips are rolling like the waves crashing against the shores of Scarif. Each rise and fall brings you closer to another sonic charge climax. Din pushes your legs up high, bending and twisting you into a pleasure pretzel. His hips shift into lightspeed as he humps you like a draagax in its frenzy, determined to spread his love seed into your weeping hole.

“Fuck yes, cyar’ika, I’m gonna bring you in warm!” Din yells.

“Do it, my hot hunter, make me melt with your twin suns of spunk!” You cry out.

Your bodies undulate as you both chase that delicious release. The place where you’re joined is creating a friction and heat that is more overpowering than the Mustafarian lava fields. Convulsing together, you both explode in orgasm simultaneously. You feel Din’s searingly hot jyzz filling your precious Dagobah meat flower, so much that it seeps out of you. It’s mixing with your own vag sap, creating a blend of love nectar that is uniquely you and Din.

“Mmmm, Din, you really are the best in the parsec,” you moan out, so satisfied and happy.

“Cyar’ika, I’m gonna show you I’m the best in all the parsecs,” Din tells you with a tilt of his helmet and an electric jolt of his hips.

You feel his one eyed Krayt dragon swelling inside you, and as he takes off again like an X-Wing on the run from a Tie fighter, you soar with him into a galaxy of pleasure far far away.

Thank you for reading this nonsense, I hope you enjoyed it and are not currently trying to gauge out your own eyes.

I'm almost embarrassed to tag people in this so to my loyal supporters, I apologize: @onabouteverything @boomtowngirl @kavecika @beskarprincessjenny @startrekkingaroundasgard @writeforfandoms @kazthedestroyer @ladykatakuri @noodlesfics @the-good-shittt @princessxkenobi @jewfro24 @vaderthepotater @pinkiemme @elinedjarin

#AprilFoolsSmutfic #april fools #crack fic #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #18+#smut fic #smut crack fic

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loriahlikeswriting · 1 month

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Hi! I recently started writing fanfic again. With Hazbin Hotel finally getting a season I was really inspired to dabble into writing something pertaining to Angel Dust, and so I really got hooked on the idea of a human alternate universe taking place in modern times following not only Angel’s struggles but Alastor’s as well! It’s really just a character analysis and me trying to write different characters (one being kinda loony) but regardless I put a lot of effort into each chapter and would love to get feedback! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

I’ve also drawn some pictures of all the characters here and will post some art I have made pertaining to this fic.

I’ll attach a link to ao3 story after the summary and snippet of the first chapter <3 thank you so much for taking your time to read this post and I hope you enjoy!

Am I Making You Feel Sick?

TW: abuse and violence, disordered eating, death, abuse of a minor, SA

Summary:

Anthony Di'Angelo wasn't always like this, he had dreams like any other kid. Yet here he was at the ripe age of twenty, a crack whore with a shitty ass pimp and an even shittier means of living. As far as anyone was concerned this life would consume him and leave him to rot on the streets like many of those before him. His decline is ever apparent, especially to his next door neighbor who just happens to be a novelist from New Orleans who after many successes has begun to lose his spark. A wannabe lyricist who is damned to live life as a whore stuck in poverty and a twisted writer aren't quite a match made in Heaven but maybe the heavens weren't meant for them anyway.

Chapter 1 Snippet 🫶

Anthony’s life wasn’t really one worth living if he was being honest. He had a lousy apartment, lousy job, lousy friends, lousy attitude- he himself was simply lousy. Recognizing just how miserable he was did little to change anything, though, so he kept going with some weird faith that things may somehow, some way get better. Between being disowned by his family only to be taken in by a pimp disguised as a lover he wasn’t sure what else could possibly go astray.

He’d lost another ten pounds, which meant another size or two down, and another shopping spree which would soon enough result in spending funds he really didn't have right now. Maybe he shoulda picked up sewing like Molly- that perfect little angel- just so he wouldn’t have to waste time getting shit retailored. Staring at what became of himself in the mirror was fucking trippy. What stared back at him were large muted blue eyes smudged by smeared eyeliner and mascara, sunken in freckled cheeks, pale skin which was once sunkissed now tainted by bruises, a thin frame no longer toned and instead starved. Mobster to crack whore- what kinda transformation was that? A laughable one. Damn, if only Pa could see him now. Naw, Anthony didn’t wanna imagine it if he was being real honest.

Pulling off the slightly loose sticky latex one piece, the blonde reached over into his dresser for a tattered old tee he managed to convince Val to let him keep. He had to let Valentino know if he could wipe his ass for fuck's sake, God forbid he had a shirt the man didn't fuck with. Sliding on the shirt and some boxers which loosely fit his frame, Anthony quickly flung himself into bed. His mattress was stiff and his blankets were thin, but at least he managed to get a place to call his own. Moving out of Valentino’s was such a step forward- no more nightly beatings, no more degrading insults outside of work, no more being used and abused whenever wherever. Sure, he dealt with allat on the clock but the minute his shift ended he had somewhere to return to that was his own. He hadn’t had something to call his own in a long fucking time.

Staring up at his ceiling, Anthony couldn’t help but toss and turn, his head pounding and begging for attention. The boy was a mouthy one, and mouthy ones get put in their place real quick. Today was extra humbling for the blonde, his eye was puffed up and colored purple, a testament to his treatment. It wasn’t just his eye, he’d gotten a full body beat down today, but that meant he could stay out of work for a day or two til they gradually lost their color. Two days of lazing about? Fuck yes. He could really use the break.

Huffing, the thin blonde shoved his blanket aside as he stumbled onto his feet. Grabbing his lighter and a pack he kept ready at his night stand, Anthony made his way to his small balcony. The crisp air burned the blonde’s nostrils, a sensation he'd learned to adore as time went on. Shivering, he made his way over to the iron rails. He was hardly dressed, but that was something he was used to. Shutting his eyes, the blonde let himself feel the night’s frigidity, wanting to succumb to the numbness which would eventually overtake his limbs.

Lighting his cig, the boy scanned the night sky for some type of reassurance when the cold hadn’t done its job. Disappointed, the blonde knew the stars couldn’t give him any answers no matter how much he bothered them. So he pressed his lit cigarette to his lips, breathing in a burn which would warm his rotting core. The first huff wasn’t satisfying, nor was the second. Anthony was used to more nasty shit, nic did little to ease his mind. Well, it did help with the headaches, but the dancer was itching for something stronger tonight. Flashes of his last client wormed its way into his skull and Anthony could feel his shoulders tighten in anger and resentment. Clenching his jaw, the blonde rubbed at his eyes aggressively wincing in pain once he was reminded of the bruise that bitch left behind. That motherfucker was extra sleazy on the floor and in private, and he was a recurring patron. Lucky him, huh?

Frustrated, the man put forth all his weight onto the railing, letting his forehead rest against the cold metal, hoping some contact would relieve the pressure. Rubbing his forehead against the bar, Anthony felt his eyes burn familiarly. A pain settled in his throat, an achy pain that continued to increase in strength. His face burned in shame as he felt himself begin to sniffle. Ah God, he hated these types of nights. Everything was just too fucking much and he was just so tired and in so much pain. Whiny bitch he was, but at least he was a whiny bitch by his lonesome.

“God, I can't do this shit sober.” The blonde huffed, as he finished up his cigarette. Putting out the cigarette onto a used up ashtray, Anthony pushed himself off the railing. He just got through his last bottle of booze and he was aching for more. What? Cheap shit was all he could afford when he was away from Val. Matter of fact, Tony came to crave that shit simply because it signified he wasn't anywhere near that fucking cunt. He promised himself he wouldn’t spend any more pocket change on shit that was bad for him, but that obviously wasn’t going great. Nothing was ever going great, so drink til he got crunked was what he was gonna do. Slipping on some fuzzy light pink slippers and grabbing a coat, Anthony wrapped himself up real tight. Rummaging through his nightstand did he find his house key, some change, and his ID. Aw fuck, he had to get that shit updated. Staring back at him was his wide eyed seventeen year old self. If only he knew there wasn't anything in life to look that excited for. Smiling slightly at the picture of himself, Anthony shoved all that shit into his right pocket, shaking any longing that started to yank at his heart strings. He'd cry after he got fucked up.

Shutting his door and quickly locking up, the lithe dancer shoved his shaking hands into his pockets. His apartment complex was nice, not necessarily cozy but livable. Making his way down the stairs Anthony lost himself in thought. Nights like this he reminisced on back to when he didn’t rely on substances to feel warm, before he was labeled a deadman by his father, before his mother died. He thought back to sibling banter, Sundays post church, elementary school playgrounds. The blonde could feel himself getting choked up again, but he couldn’t stop himself from spiraling. If the man was being honest, dysthymia was such a comfort. Being sad was all Anthony knew how to do properly, and that in itself reassured him. The tightness of muscles when he was on the brink of a meltdown felt akin to the ghost of a hug, something the man was desperate for. Funny thing was, he got hugs all the time- none of them were fucking genuine though.

Making his way down the staircase, the boy felt a bit of his mind dwindle with every step. His mind was going numb, instead he focused on his breathing and the way his bones felt like they were being suffocated under his skin. He focused on the way his hips ached, and his eye burned, barely able to keep itself open because of how swollen it'd grown to be. He could feel every spot that man touched him, like his finger tips were pressed so deeply into his skin they left a mark not just on skin, nor fat, nor muscle, but on his fucking nerves. He could see the way the man looked at him in a disgusting lustful haze, and how he had to pretend he liked every second of getting his ass handed to him. He saw himself, and he saw himself drowning deeper into the pit he had created for himself the second he got disowned. He could feel just how much it hurt to breathe, so Anthony forced himself to gasp heavily like a fish out of water. The sting was nice, he wished that was all he could feel for forever. His body on autopilot, the dancer was met with a light which dimly lit up the corner store before he knew it. Cheap liquor? Not his favorite, but it did the trick. It made his brain fill with static. And static was all he wanted to hear and see for the rest of his shitty life.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #angel dust #niffty #charlie magne #fanfic #fanart #human au #modern au

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hanarchy · 9 days

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top 5 skz songs to sing along to? and top 5 of your favorite dishes? and top 5 songs you’d like han jisungie to cover in full? sorry for sending fifty billion things i just love your insights and would love to hear your thoughts and opinions 💖

aah ana ilysm ok cracking my knuckles, lets go

top 5 skittles song to sing along to:

1. Topline (always and forever, i screamed so loud i nearly passed out)

2. Cheese (click clack, bang)

ur gonna laugh at me for the rest of these but

3. wolfgang (graaow we go wild)

4. gone away (ssshhh dont tell anyone that i like a skz ballad)

5. miroh (its a must, stray kids woo)

favorite dishes

1. bolognese pasta (am i 5? maybe)

2. bibimbap (i love how everyone makes it a little different, i love the variety of flavors, i love how indulgent it is without being super greasy)

3. frankfurter grüne soße (‘green sauce’ its technically a super simple dish, its usually just served with eggs and potatos. but its very specific.

theres herbs in it that are barely used nowadays, very old german cuisine vibes. and if you get the ratio exactly right and the herbs are in season it has such a delicate and specific flavor. a little sweet, a little mustardy, very refreshing. it’s hard to describe. also is excellent with white asparagus and young potatoes (in season at the same time) or surprisingly a really ripe avocado. anyway its hard to find most of the year in most of germany but since i am from frankfurt its a matter of pride)

4. sashimi or maybe a really good ceviche (i love raw fish but ceviche has become such a trend thing that its usually just not great here)

5. can i just say salad? like maybe its bc its getting hot but a really nice salad maybe with some haloumi or avocado or some grilled fish and some really nice bread is sooooo good.

ok top songs i want hanji to cover. now this is why i put this ask off for so long top 5 is SUCH a high bar to clear. ok that being said though i have some directions i would looooove him to explore.

(for convenience, a shortlist without my rambling:

1. kacey musgraves - golden hour/slow burn/ butterflies

2. the internet - get away | just sayin/i tried

3. paramore - misery business

4. arctic monkeys - leave before the lights come on/do me a favour

5. the strokes - is this it)

1. intimate acoustic guitar country songs like kacey musgraves did on golden hour (god i was obsessed with that album) this whole album has such a sunny warmth to it, and such a specific cleverness in the songwriting i think jisungs voice would just be so pretty on it. my top choices would be butterflies or golden hour or slow burn i think

2. jazzy, slow a little funky rnb like the internet used to make (rip to that band i will miss u forever) plus their breakup songs have a pettiness that just gels with jisungs vibes so well. i wouldnt really want a straight cover but like if he put some additional vocals and a little laid back rap verse on get away or just sayin/i tried uuuugh a perfect fuckin idea.

3. obvious one but paramore misery business but i would accept any of their like. earlier actually kinda emo stuff.

4. self indulgent but my favorite arctic monkeys song is leave before the lights come on i would LOVE to see what he does with that OR possibly do me a favour. again, petty but like… suuuuch great storytelling that i think would fit him

5. the strokes is this it idk i just think its a lazy existential dread/petty relationship sort of vibe that would fit him if he was allowed to make music like that lmao kind of similar vibe to those arctic monkeys songs but this is just the music i grew up on so i am biased

(if i could be self indulgent with songs that DONT fit him i would love to see him do patti smith because the night OR like. a fuckin hole song like doll parts OR theres this korean dj/producer(?) called cifika who did a remix for seulgis solo and i would loooooove to see him work with someone like that, her stuff has turned very futuristic and moody/dark lately OR because i cant /not/ mention him make the boy do tougher than the rest by bruce springsteen, it would be the cringiest fuckin thing in history and yet…. if he put his own production on it…. could be a vibe)

#duuude man wow #this took me several hours sshhhh #ask me #anyway thank u soooo much asahh

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cellias · 2 years

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haunted by your name

percy jackson x gn!reader

warnings: mention of raising children, maybe bad grammar

summary: percy doesn’t remember anything from his past life except for one person, and even that’s vague. but the one thing he knows for sure is that they’re worth every step of his journey. (set in HOO: son of neptune)

word count: 782

a/n: this isn’t the best but I wanted to write something and I’m bad with titles 🙏

When Percy woke up, his mind was like a white wall. Nothing, nothing, nothing, except for maybe a few bumps and cracks in the paint job. Some things the painter forgot to go over smoothly. And in this case, there was one significant crack smack in the middle.

And that crack was Y/N.

Maybe crack wasn’t the right word, but cut him some slack, okay? He lost his memory. And he wouldn’t exactly have time to think of the fact, given he had nothing to remember, if it weren’t for Y/N. The name that had been haunting him for the past 2 months. It was his only real emotional connection to his past. His old friends, if he had any other than Y/N, his parents, his life. Maybe his pet. Who knew? Not Percy.

It was difficult, at first. For about the first couple of weeks he was frustrated. Every single time he thought of their name, there was a flash of their face, — a really, really, good looking face, by the way — then he’d remember their favorite fruit, then a flash of a memory that seemed so far away he could barely grasp the concept of what was happening. A hug, a kiss, a laugh, they held his face close, and he had no idea what was going on but it was nice. After that, they’re sparring, and it’s fun and carefree. And then that feeling would come. The feeling that it was all going to come back, everything was in his reach, on the tip of his tongue, it was so, so, close, and then… gone again.

It sucked. Like, a lot.

But he learned to cherish it. Every replay of those memories pushed him further. He was going to complete his training, make it out alive, find the camp, and find Y/N.

Every single time he had to face Beano, her cheese n’ wieners, and her sister — Muriel? — was worth it. Not that he was really enjoying that particular endeavor, or that he wasn’t completely exhausted, but even the slightest chance of reclaiming his old life was motivating enough.

So when he entered Camp Jupiter, he couldn’t say he wasn’t a little disappointed. It was great, beautiful even, and Frank and Hazel were awesome, but there was no click when he saw the place. This wasn’t it. Y/N wasn’t here.

Alas, he stayed. He was here already, apparently brought bad news to this place, and made some good friends along the way, so why not help protect these guys? It’s where Hera, the painter in his perfectly crafted analogy, led him anyway, and who was he to deny the path provided to him by a literal goddess? He was going to go and help with whatever he could, in spite of that “graecus” stuff the ghosts were spitting at him. And the fact that they were going to do the impossible in less than a week. But he had a feeling that’s something he’s had to do before.

At their first stop, right before leaving for their quest, Percy looked at New Rome. The legacies, the older demigods, watching their children run around and occasionally looking at the barrier with concern, as if another gorgon was going to appear. And he had to remember: this was also what he was fighting for. The safety of this community that achieved what he thought he would never be able to think about. That whole married with children, and maybe a hellhound playing in the backyard, thing. That’s the possibility he was fighting for, that chance for every demigod who hadn’t known peace since they turned the ripe age for monsters.

He’d help his new friends, Hazel and Frank, and they’d succeed. They’d come back and save the camp, and then maybe…

He’d finally find them. Y/N. And he’d show them New Rome — the symbol of a future that could be theirs too. And then he’d remember. Because something told him: no matter if he never got his memory back, or got it sooner rather than later, seeing their face would still either be the grounding he needed or the starting point of a return to his life. Whichever it was, he was ready as long as it was with them. The person with the name that haunted him as much as it excited him. Somebody that memorable had to be something else; evidently, not even the most powerful force could keep them from his heart, intentionally kept in his memory or not. And he knew every step of this quest would be worth it.

#percy jackson x reader #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy jackson imagine

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urmultideadfandomperson · 2 months

Text

Dahlia's Relationship with... (Part 1)

Character/s: Dahlia Rosenheim (OC), Arcturus, Spica, Pollux

Genre/s: Fluff, Cracks

Warning/s: None

Summary: Dahlia's relationship with the Guide sorcerers.

Requested by: None

Note: Hello, everyone! This is my first fanfic about Arcana Twilight, and I decided to do the first three of the cast. I had fun writing this, and I hope you all would not mind my writing style. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the read!

Arcturus

Arcturus and Dahlia are close to each other, and many can see that in each different angle. These two are spotted together in almost every place possible. There is no confirmation if they have been dating, however, though some sorcerers believe they have seen some clues that they were indeed dating. Nobody was actually certain.

In Dahlia's point of view, she is very fond of the cheerful sorcerer. This is because she has admitted that she is attracted to extroverted men, ones who love to speak loud and bringing color into an environment. The Mid Eartheim person is an introvert; a quiet and reserved one. She believes his charisma attracted her to him, therefore opposites attract.

Dahlia deeply trusts Arcturus. After seeing that he was reliable and open, Dahlia comes to him sometimes in order to let out some complicated feelings. She was never known to express these feelings, and she is lucky that the sorcerer was kind enough to listen. Arcky never judged; he was willing to help.

They share a couple of similar hobbies such as cooking, helping others, and strolling in the garden. Dahlia would occasionally join Arcturus in the greenhouse, where she would help him tend the fresh vegetables. It felt like a fresh start for Dahlia, since she is not always into outside activities. But when she met Arcky, maybe having fun outside would have its own benefits.

"Arcky!" Dahlia calls the sorcerer, running towards him.

"Dahlia?" He replies with a smile, waving at her as she sprints faster. He asks, "Is there something you need?"

After running, Dahlia stops in front of Arcturus, panting as she tries to control her breathing. Once she is now stable, she tells him. "Not really, but, I just saw something—the vegetables are ripe!"

Hearing this, the sorcerer's orange eyes sparkle in delight. "Really?!"

"Yeah!" She replies to him, though Arcky looked like he was about to burst from the flow of happiness in his veins. Dahlia takes his hand, holding it in hers. "Let's take some and cook in the kitchen!"

Seeing Dahlia's hand grabbing his, a soft blush was dusted on Arcturus' cheeks, his eyes locked on their intertwining hands. He immediately looks up, seeing the same little blush on Dahlia's cheeks and the same joy in her eyes. He smiles, nodding at Dahlia.

"Alright! Let's go!" He says with a grin. With that, they both run to the greenhouse with laughter, their hands never letting go.

Spica

Ah yes, these two are known as the introverted bookworms in the library.

Spica and Dahlia get along in the power of literature, chattering about books and poetry whenever they are in the library. The sorcerer goes to the library for research, and the human heads there for the good novels in the shelves. There are moments where Dahlia would mention a specific topic in a textbook and compare it to how it is in Mid Eartheim, which Spica would listen with high interests. It makes him closer to the human.

For Dahlia, she views Spica as a responsible sorcerer (he already is) who knows how to handle problems and mediate other clans. She is also amazed at Spica's ability to handle stress, though she is often concerned when she discovered his destroyed sleeping schedule. Spica may be strict and stern, but she believes he can be kind in his own way as well. Dahlia can see it in her eyes that he truly cares about Alpheratz despite the fact he is irritated at the latter's laziness.

Dahlia and Spica trust each other a lot. Just like with Arcturus, she would sometimes rant to Spica, yet Dahlia chooses to suppress her feelings since she knows Spica is always busy in everything. Even so, it was Spica himself who actually helped Dahlia in how to express her feelings. He taught her how to do it in healthy methods, and the human is grateful for his kindness. In return, Dahlia would serve Spica a cup of chamomile tea and biscuits during his all-nighters.

Aside from literature and poetry, they share one more thing: a love for animals. Dahlia was always fond of animals, holding the same love as Spica does. And of course, both of them are dog lovers. Dahlia occasionally joins Spica to his animal sanctuary that his late mother used to tend, admiring the mythical creatures and learning more about them. Similarly in mentioned before, Dahlia would sometimes compare the animals to the ones in Mid Eartheim.

"Spica?" Dahlia knocks on the door of the committee room twice. "Are you in there? I apologize if I am disturbing,"

"Ah, Dahlia," Spica replies in the other side of the door. "You are not disturbing. I am vacant at this hour. Come in,"

Once she knows that Spica is not working, she opens the door and walks in. Spica looks at Dahlia and sees that she has a book in hand. However, it is no ordinary book. It looked like it came from somewhere. Could it be?

"I found this book in my bedroom," she says as she closes the door behind her. Dahlia starts walking towards the sorcerer, sitting down beside him before putting the book on the table. "It's all about life and culture Mid Eartheim. I read it, and it's all accurate and true."

Spica nods, his expression full of interest. "I see," he replies, "it would indeed be pleasant to know more about the life in Mid Eartheim. I am not surprised that the book is thick,"

Dahlia laughs softly, nodding her head. "No doubt there," she agrees before speaking again. "It's not just that. The book also includes the countries, the beliefs, and the bizarre happenings across the years!"

"Is that so?" Spica smiles softly at hearing such topics, taking his reading glasses and wearing them. He then says, "let us read then. Tell me everything that I see in this book,"

With a happy smile, both Dahlia and Spica read the book. Spica was highly intrigued at the concepts and histories that happened in Mid Eartheim. The human was more than glad to explain the complex parts of it, and Spica felt like he has known more things about Dahlia.

Pollux

If you think these two would not get along at all, then you are entirely wrong.

Pollux and Dahlia are actually very close, often hanging out during spare hours by walking around Contell Academy and chatting for hours. Whenever Arcturus is too occupied to be with Dahlia, Pollux steals takes his place to keep the human entertained all around the place. It is now no longer a surprise how they got so close to each other.

Pollux is like a sibling for Dahlia, as his behavior and playful personality reminds her of Ray Rosenheim, Dahlia's younger brother. Since Dahlia is attracted to extroverted men, she also gets well with Pollux. Dahlia thinks that Pollux is fun and amusing, her interest in him adding up when she hears he is the top in their Potions class.

Dahlia trusts Pollux, just like the other Guides mentioned. He already reminds her of Ray, and Dahlia promises to herself that she will do everything to protect him. The human pities the sorcerer for his bad luck, wondering why somebody amazing as Pollux would receive such misfortune. Whenever Pollux needs a shoulder to cry on, Dahlia is always there for him.

They surprisingly have a lot in common: a love for sweets, a family with siblings, and the interest in various entertainment. Dahlia introduced YouTube—that was somehow found in her Stella Tab—to Pollux, and now they binge every random video in the internet. Dahlia also has the talent of drawing, and she is currently teaching Pollux the basics. For the siblings, Pollux is rather jealous at how Dahlia is the eldest in the family, knowing that she holds the power amongst her siblings. Little did he know, Dahlia is also envious of Pollux, knowing that the youngest most likely gets what he wants. Not to mention, they are lovingly spoiled by the family. Lastly, the sweets. Yes, these two are confirmed to be sweet tooths. Pollux loves candies and chocolates, and Dahlia feels the same. So whenever they pass by a sweets shop, none of them hesitate to spend their money over the delicious treats.

"Dahlia, Dahlia!" Pollux calls out to the human, who was just reading a novel in an empty classroom. "Look what I got!"

Dahlia looks up from her novel, genuinely confused as she hears Pollux calling her out. "Hm?"

Now that Pollux has Dahlia's attention, he grins proudly as he shows her his newly bought art supplies. "Tada~!"

"Woahh!" Dahlia gasps in surprise and joy as she puts down her novel and rushes to Pollux. She observes the art supplies carefully, her expression lightening up. "Poll, these are high quality supplies! Where did you get these?"

Pollux laughs in delight as he says with pride. "I just ordered them online like how you taught me! Besides, I am going to practice a bit of the basics of anatomy and perspective,"

"Bro, that's amazing!" Dahlia says with happiness for her friend, clapping her hands like a little kid. "Do you wanna draw with me? I'll teach you what to do. And maybe, your art skills will surpass mine,"

Hearing her suggestion and compliment, Pollux blushes hard, his heterochromatic eyes wide. "E-Eh?! W-Well, I'm not gonna deny that, but don't take this the wrong way!"

The human simply laughs in return, going back to her seat. Once she sits comfortably on her armchair, she calls out for Pollux. "Sit beside me, Poll. Let's doodle!"

Although the sorcerer remained to be a tsundere towards Dahlia, he did not show any signs of refusing of doing so. When he finally sat down the seat beside hers, they have fun drawing different things with Pollux's new art supplies.

And guess what? Dahlia was very proud at how talented he is in arts.

#arcana twilight #arcana twilight arcturus #arcana twilight spica #arcana twilight pollux #arcana twilight summoner #arcana twilight nation #arcana twilight fanfiction #arcana twilight fanfic

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pink-bear · 1 year

Text

NSFW Alphabet: Guido Mista

Pew pew

Stuff under the cut. Character is depicted as 18+

THIS IS 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

“Hold on a sec, I got you.”

He loves giving and receiving aftercare, especially with romantic partners. He’s got a special snack stash and everything.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves his torso. He works very hard to stay in shape, and he obviously loves showing off his muscles. Especially his tummy.

As for his partner, he’s totally a hand guy. He loves looking at them, holding them, and seeing what kinda fun stuff they can do~

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Cums a normal amount that’s rather pungent. His diet is healthy enough (okay, it could be better) but it’s just naturally like that.

He’s just as happy cumming all over someone’s face as he is inside them. It’s gotten into people’s eyes several times...turns out his aim isn’t the best when it comes to that-

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves taking nudes, and will totally send a dick pic if asked. You don’t even have to know him that well, he’ll just be like “sure” and send one your way.

He’ll never send one unsolicited...unless it’s one of his close friends for the lulz-

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s slept with a few people, but only women. He’s totally down, and really wants to fuck a guy, though.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything that can get him really deep, he loves to go balls deep in his partner~

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

THIS BOY IS SILLY SMH...

Even “serious” sex will probably end with him doing something to make his partner laugh, it’s just how he likes to express his affection. He won’t constantly crack jokes if his partner isn’t into that, but if it’s fair game he’s going for it.

Oh, and he can’t help but giggle at funny sounds. He’ll apologize if it embarrasses his partner bUT YEAH-

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s a hairy boy! And rather proud of it too, actually! He has a healthy amount of chest hair that travels down his navel, leading to a happy trail, that ends with a nest of dark brown pubes. If asked nicely, he’ll keep things tidy down there, but will refuse to shave it. He likes feeling and looking natural.

Oh, and he has a bit of a hairy ass too-

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s not romantic when it comes to flings, it’s all about the pleasure. But with those close to him, especially romantic partners, he loves to show his affection for them. When he’s found the one, he brings out the big guns, and can be a real romantic deep down.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Oof, he jacks off a LOT. Several times a week, unless he has a steady fuck buddy/partner. He’s got a lot of pent up energy, and a lotta cum in his balls-

He doesn’t do anything special, he likes to just crank them out. He doesn’t have the patience to edge himself, he wants to cum as soon as possible.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’s got a bit of a scent kink. Not only does he like it when people enjoy his musk, he likes his partners being a little on the ripe side as well.

Not in the “hasn’t showered in 4 days” kinda way, more in the “showered earlier in the day, but was busy and a little sweaty” way.

He prefers a natural scent over perfume/cologne.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Honestly, anywhere with the possibility of getting caught. He loves the thrill. He also loves doing it in other people’s bed. Yes, he has fucked in the other’s beds, and Fugo kicked his ass for it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It doesn’t take a lot to get him going. Sometimes all it takes is a look, and he’s raring to go.

What never fails is caressing, especially his cheeks and stomach. Do that, and you’ll find yourself bedded in no time.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Nothing unhygenic, you know how it be.

But he really doesn’t like having his hands tied and eyes covered. He’s always on guard, and anything that can debilitate him stresses him out. He’ll gladly do it to his partner, but will adamantly decline it on himself.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves giving and especially receive it. Getting head is his favourite way to unwind after a hard mission.

He’s a pro at eating pussy, but needs a little practice with sucking cock. He has a bit of a gag reflex, but he’s also extremely stubborn.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He prefers to go fast and rough, letting off his pent up energy. With the right person and setting, he can be very slow and sensual, but it always ends up with him fucking them raw by the end of it. He goes hard and cums harder, what can I say?

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are the best, and what he usually does the most when it comes to sexual encounters. He’s usually on the move, so a little quickie can get the blood pumping and energy flowing.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

STINKY NAUGHTY BOY...he gets off to doing it in public hardcore. If his partner doesn’t want to he’ll respect that, but if they’re game he’ll be dragging them to the nearest alleyway/empty bathroom and going ham.

Has he been caught? Yes. Does he feel ashamed? Absolutely not.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He’s got pretty high stamina, being as high energy as he is. He can keep up with his partner, even the well experienced ones. So far he hasn’t been beat, but he eagerly awaits to be challenged.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

This guy loves butt plugs, and if he isn’t fucking someone’s ass, he’ll often insist on having them wear one. Or anal beads, those are cool too.

He likes using other toys too, mostly on his partner, but having something up his ass every so often is great fun.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh man this guy can be a fucking prick when it comes to teasing. If he has a feisty partner, he’s bringing on the sass hardcore. Nothing pleases him more than having them finally break and begging him to fuck them.

His patience, on the other hand, is pretty low. He’ll be voicing his annoyance pretty quickly if thing aren’t going the speed he wants.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s usually not really loud, mostly just quietly grunting with a bit of dirty talk thrown in. But if his partner wants him to ham it up a bit, he totally will. In fact, he’ll often not shut the fuck up if that’s what they’re into.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Sex Pistols has interrupted his intimate moments several times. To most people, it appears he’s yelling at nothing, to which he just says “don’t worry about it” while getting up to get them a snack.

5 cries every time he sees Mista naked, which the others make fun of-

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Length wise it’s pretty average, around 6 inches, but it’s nice and thick. Uncut, and points downward slightly.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Mista loves sex, probably more than anyone else in the group. He doesn’t always have access to it due to his work (unless he has a FWB with one of his peers) but he’ll jump at the opportunity to roll in the hay any time. He’s not picky with gender or body type, either, just as long as they’re consenting adults and take care of themselves.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

For flings he usually leaves after a while, since his work always has him on the move. But with romantic partners/people he’s comfortable with he’s out like a light pretty quick.

And yes, he snores. Loudly.

🌸🌸🌸

First Jojo character hOPE YOU LIKE IT! Feel free to request a JJBA character (I’m most familiar with part 5 however)!

Hope you enjoyed! And if you don’t agree with any of these, that’s fine! These are just my personal headcanons!

Alphabet template

#guido mista #jjba smut #headcanons #jjba lemon #smut #do not tag as kin #nsfw.#jjba

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bionicle-ramblings · 7 months

Text

Some Matau x Vakama stuff because I'm bored and the potential is so ripe

For starters, Matau fell first. Was it Vakama's devilishly good looks? No. Was it Vakama's sheer skill and leadership? No. Was it the fact that Vakama was always alone and looked like he needed someone at his side other than Nokama? Kind of, but not really. It was the fact that, when push came to shove, Vakama was a force to be reckoned with and seeing the fire-spitter be a badass when he was in "leader mode" and a good shot with a disk launcher. There was also the fact that Vakama really isn't a pushover, not really he's just got VERY good patience

Matau is absolutely the one to do the flirting and Vakama misses it solely because the flirting does not come across as flirting. If anything, Matau's pick-up lines fall flat because Vakama does not notice his flirting at all, or at least it takes a while for him to realize it

There is no huge, "I'm in love with you," confession. It's more of a silent thing between the two of them that they acknowledge one night while the rest of the Toa team sleeps. Maybe Vakama hums or sings to himself and when he realizes Matau's listening, he stops. Matau, who has slipped up by previously coming off very mockingly when he first heard it, opts for singing back, which surprises Vakama at first before they sing together, careful not to wake the others. There's also smaller things like the two curling up and sleeping while holding each other because Vakama has the tendancy to just curl up when he sleeps and Matau falls asleep SO FAST in Vakama's arms

When Vakama fully realizes that Matau actually does care, it's not an emotional weepy moment. Instead, it just hits him when Matau actually says it, and then Matau realizes that he would have gotten a lot further if he was more direct with the fire-spitter rather than getting him warmed up by flirting. Very much a, "Wait, THAT'S what you meant? Why didn't you say that sooner!?"

The two of them flying together, because Vakama can use his disk launcher as a jet pack and Matau can use his swords to soar around. Just imagine Vakama flying to clear his head and he looks and sees Matau soaring close by, maybe lounging as he flies. Vakama is not really amused, but isn't arguing as Matau started flying around and away from him and the two essentially had a flying date, "How to Train Your Dragon" style, though it's with two flying Toa, not dragons. The two fly around, forget their worries, but the awe comes in when they're above the clouds and see the sky. When they return, Nokama asks that they do not leave the group again because they need to stick together

Matau can easily pick up Vakama, and does so as much as he can, much to Vakama's chagrin. It's not so bad when Vakama has a particularly bad vision that leaves him very weakened, if anything he's happy "awaken" either in Matau's arms or on his back. Matau was skeptical and maybe a little teasing/mocking at first, but when Vakama has more intense reactions to his visions and needs to be carried, Matau "welcomes" him back to them all

On the flip side, Vakama, who deals with crippling anxiety and self-worth issues, sees Matau trying to keep similar issues in check. It's something Vakama recognizes as he sees Matau crack jokes, sees him be as talkative as possibly, show off, talk about himself, anything to garner SOME KIND of reaction. One instance, when the team has a chance to rest, Vakama finds Matau standing away from the group and having a panic attack, possibly the first one he's ever had, and Vakama helps him calm down. What ultimately helps is sitting beside Matau, having an arm around him, and helping him breathe through it, maybe even either talking about something like mask making or how a friend of Vakama's(guess which one) once got in trouble in Le-Metru because he ended up falling in the test driving track. Maybe Vakama even talks about his own experiences in tool-making and moving his way up to mask-making and how he was just good at what he did and other Matoran didn't like that, or him, even though he tried to keep his head down. Regardless, it's enough for Matau to calm down

Matau will verbally call Vakama out if he's getting too caught up in himself. Vakama's method of stopping Matau is usually a hard stare and shake off the head, no words spoken

Matau knows JUST the right buttons to push to make Vakama annoyed, start laughing, and/or even cluster, because the Toa Metru of Fire can be an open book sometimes. Vakama only gets Matau when he least expects it, and the results Anaya leave Vakama smirking because he knows he got Matau back

The averge reaction Vakama has when Matau blatantly throws a flirt his way: "...Sir?😳"

If there was an occasion to dance, Matau is cutting the rug, he can totally dance, and he will pull Vakama up to dance with him because it's one nore thing that playfully annoys him

Matau kind of knows how to repair his own armor, but still asks Vakama to do it because Vakama has more experience, but also because Vakama uses his elemental power to fix armor and the heat feels good. And it's a good excuse to get close to Vakama, subtlety be damned

I might make more Vakama x Matau posts. I'm starting to love these idiots

#bionicle #vakama #matau #toa metru #ramblings #long post #ships #alright fine i ship them #they can be cute together sue me

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hylianengineer · 3 days

Text

Another Percy Jackson fic from my drafts - this is kind of an exploration of possible children of Demeter powers.

A child of Demeter with an instinctive sense for the uses and dangers of any plant they come across. Mint and ginger for nausea, don’t touch that it’s poison oak, that’s a stinging nettle it’ll hurt if you touch it, that one’s good for basket weaving, hey that’s an edible mushroom, etc.

“Here, this will help.” She wraps a few broad leaves around their hand. “It’s nicknamed the band-aid plant.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” She leads them to the base of an enormous tree, grown over with moss and kudzu vines. Reaching out a hand, she beckons to the vines to grow towards her until they’ve formed a dense curtain around the base of the tree. She sweeps a section of leaves aside: “Go on in, I’ll just finish up the camouflage out here before I join you.”

“Why are you eating random vegetation?”

“I’m not. These are wood sorrel, you see them all the time around here.”

They sit with their back up against the concrete wall of their shelter- a drainage pipe almost large enough to stand up in. “We’re gonna have to risk a supply run before long. We’re almost out of food,” they warn as they cut open one of the four remaining cans- spaghetti o’s again, they note with disappointment. Cheap pasta is all well and good, but the canned stuff is unpleasant when it’s cold. Slimy.

“Hold your pegasi, I’ve got a better idea.” Her eyes glint mischievously, and they’re certain that whatever this plan is, she knows they won’t like it.

“Your ideas make me nervous.”

“Just trust me.” She unfolds herself from the mossy ground and brushes the twigs from her jeans. “I’ll be back soon.”

Sighing, their friend settles in to wait. Her plans can get a little out of control sometimes, but once she’s got an idea in her head there’s nothing to do but brace yourself.

She returns an hour later and flings her backpack to the ground between them, already unzipping it and talking a mile a minute. “This is even better than I’d hoped for- walnuts, blackberries, wild leeks!”

They eye the heap of plants dubiously- other than blackberries, they recognize none of it. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Of course, I’ve been doing this with my mom for years - my other mom, not Demeter. She’s an expert on foraging, and pardon my ego but I’m no rookie either. It’s safe, I promise.” And to demonstrate, she bites into something from her haul- a broad-leafed plant with a long, deep pink root.

Cautiously, they follow suit, taking a tiny bite from the root end. It tastes like an overwhelming version of garlic, like fire on their tongue, and they try to swallow it as quickly as possible so as not to taste it more than necessary. “Gah, what is that?”

She's still munching away at the thing, apparently not bothered by its heat, and she looks amused by their reaction. “Ramps, also called wild leek. Sorry, should’ve warned you they’re strong - kinda a love it or hate it sort of plant. Here, have some blackberries.”

They take a handful of berries, grateful for anything they can recognize, and pop one into their mouth – juicy, sweet, and perfectly ripe.

“This is nice and all, but I don’t think berries are gonna put much of a dent in my appetite.”

“Oh! That’s what the nuts are for- I should’ve led with that.” She pulls yellow-green spheres from the bottom of her bag- they don’t look like any nuts they’ve ever seen. “We’ve got walnuts and butternuts, just gotta crack them first. Here, I’ll show you.”

They watch as she carefully peels off the soft outer layer with her fingers- “Careful, this stuff will stain your clothes AND your skin”- it’s thick and fleshy, not at all something one expects to see around a walnut. But beneath it is the familiar hard shell, which she breaks open by smashing it with the hilt of her dagger. “And that’s all there is to it. Dig in.” She tosses one half of the nut in her mouth and offers them the other, they take it gratefully, relieved to taste something familiar amongst all these strange plants she seems to know like the back of her hand. Then they take out their own knife and start cracking shells with all the enthusiasm of someone who’s been eating canned ravioli cold for the past two days. Since, you know, they have.

#percy jackson fanfic #pjo fic #hylian writes fanfic #behold the depths of my drafts folder #this is several years old. i don't even know how many.#percy jackson

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usafphantom2 · 10 months

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Fighter pilot shares Top Ten Myths about 1-v-1 Air Combat

Hush KitAugust 6, 2023

10 things you shouldn’t believe about air combat

A lot of bollocks is talked about air-to-air combat, so in an effort to dispel some popular myths we approached former Air Warfare Instructor Paul Tremelling to separate the wank from the chaff. Paul is a former Sea Harrier, Super Hornet and Harrier pilot and author of this book. Over to Paul.

I’ll be honest with you. I may not have read the question which is a cardinal sin. Air combat could well mean just about anything to just about anyone. When asked for my thoughts my mind immediately went to 1 v 1. Usually assumed to only occur in the visual arena; sometimes termed Air Combat Manoeuvring, sometimes termed Basic Fighter Manoeuvres (following the usual trend for pointless rebranding), once upon a time called a ‘Dog Fight’ because ‘Cat Fight’ was already taken. That’s what came into the mind’s eye. Probably because (with the notable exception of watching a Leopard tank drive over a house one day) manoeuvring close in is probably responsible for the most compelling and exciting things my eyes have ever been asked to take in. It’s also responsible for significant periods of my eyes not working…

The idea of 1 v 1 combat is an amalgam of various threads. It makes sense that in a field where there could be a winner and a loser that there are grounds for competition. It makes sense that if one is interested in a certain technology or a given profession, then you might want to know what or who is the best at it. It makes sense from a historical stand point that one could get a relatively accurate idea about warfighting prowess in a much simplified event that closely resembled a sport. This is how we got jousting and in a historic echo this is probably why we refer to Air Combat Manoeuvring as ‘the sport of kings’; despite the very low propensity of the royals to actually give it a crack. All this combines to make 1 v 1 air combat a ripe breeding ground for all kinds of myths, misconceptions and outright lies – because the picture we have in our heads is of duelling knights obeying the rules of chivalry; going about their business to prove a simple point; probably in peacetime on largely similar mounts, on a flat field, in nice weather, both armed with the same long pole. This is a petri dish for nonsense because all sorts of things happen when lives aren’t at stake and when we try to make some incredibly complex terrain fit our ineptly simple map. 1 v 1 combat is actually about killing the opposition, who happens to be in an aeroplane. It’s about lethality, survivability, g, power, lift, speed, sensors and countermeasures. Air combat should really be viewed as jousting but where a knight is on the ground breathing his last having been shot by an archer (pun possibly intended) he knew nothing about…

A few myths for you to consider.

10. It’s all about the jet ‘God doesn’t play Top Trumps’

This is of course nonsense. We know that it’s nonsense. We even prove to ourselves that it’s nonsense by using phrases such as ‘if flown by equally talented pilots’ when comparing aircraft to show that we understand human ability has to come into the equation at some point. So how do we get ourselves into this irreconcilable piece of the Venn diagram? It’s because we have favourites. Usually based on some bias or ignorance. Which is fine – we probably mean that it’s mainly about the jet. We can probably agree that the aircraft as a weapon system is critical, but the weapon system is the aeroplane, the cueing system, weapons, the sensors, the countermeasures, other stores and the fuel load. All of which can vary dramatically from mark to mark, country to country, unit to unit and day to day.

9. These jets can always take a pounding ‘Fragile jetsculinity’

Think about an aircraft’s construction. How much of it is unnecessary? Probably very little. Unnecessary stuff costs money and adds weight. I take the point that people build in redundancy into warplanes such that they can take damage. Some warplanes can take one hell of a beating. The A-10 springs to mind. The Super Hornet had so many redundant systems that learning them was a pain. But what do you actually want a weapon fragment or 30mm (or so!) piece of metal to do? Hit something vital. How many flight paths are there through a warplane that a 30mm hole can take without hitting something? Not many. How many jets can take a missile hit in the cockpit area and survive with an intact pilot? Not many. Think about it from a weapon designer’s standpoint. He/ she wouldn’t really be earning their pay if it couldn’t crack the one job it had. Obviously things change. In World War 2 aircraft being full of a whole heap of nothing could, and did, take hundreds of rounds on occasion. The point is simple. One shell can be enough. Particularly in modern aircraft. I lost a friend to an accident that to the best of my knowledge was caused by ingestion of a single pebble – a 30mm shell is going to do more damage than that. Even if a single shot isn’t fatal – it could lead to one that is. The obvious corollary to this is that pretty much no weapons deliver a perfect kill per shot. Some fail on the rail, some in flight…and that’s before we get into weapons launched a little outside max range, a little inside minimum range or with a little too much alpha or crossing rate…those ones may not won’t work at all!

Buy The Hush-Kit Book of Warplanes here, and support Volume 2 here.

8. Rear hemisphere guns ‘Mauser bowser’

The gun is dead handy. It is a very effective weapon so long as you can use onboard sensors, aiming symbology, skill and luck to get your bullets into the same bit of sky as an enemy. There is a myth, or at least a very clear but erroneous picture in our minds of guns kills being scored from the rear hemisphere. Of course they are and of course that is common in training. Why? Because training rules prevent you from executing a head sector shot for reasons of collision risk and because ‘slashing’ guns kills are hard to validate on tape. A kill is a kill.

Credit: Syairazie Sabiyar of Malaysia Military Aircraft Photograph

Every head sector pass is a guns kill begging to be taken. Invariably in training we will brief something along the lines of ‘Take pre-merge shots but only post merge shots to count’. This is due to the need to get into the training but in so doing we are making things significantly artificial as a good game’s a fast game and if someone’s trying to kill you then removing them sharpish is a great idea. Removing them before the fight’s even got going is a brilliant idea. I’d dearly like to engage in Basic Fighter Manoeuvres but not quite as much as I’d like to gun you in the face. The same is true of the slashing or waiting guns shot.

This involves thinking or suspecting that the enemy is going to fly through your HUD and firing with the correct amount of anticipation such that they and your deadly shot string arrive at the same time. As above…it may only take one.

7. Medium range weapons ‘Bring a cricket bat to a boxing match’

1 v 1 combat can obviously be practiced at any range you want – it just gets a little more fruity as the range decreases. This means fights can be made to fall into two buckets – beyond and within visual range. Our vision of 1 v 1 tends to be within visual range. This division is straight forward but has a number of draw backs as rules and exceptions appear neatly stacked. For example: If I know exactly where an enemy aircraft is because I can see them with my own eyes but we have yet to manoeuvre aggressively in relation to each other – has anything changed spectacularly from a second ago when I knew exactly where he was because my radar was kind enough to tell me? No. Obvs. Just because I am manoeuvring visually with an opponent does that mean that my medium range weaponry is useless? No, of course not. Some medium range weapons are truly fearsome in the visual arena and actually (think about it) have more energy than their shorter range cousins so may turn out to be the weapon of choice. It is more than possible that your medium to long range weapon is useless in a short range fight because no-one told the designer that you’d like it to work there…or the designer took the presence of the short range weapon as an excuse to over look that part of the envelope. It’s worth checking. Long and the short of it (see what I did there) it’s worth checking because your medium range weapon might well be the weapon of choice.

6. Flares work ‘Who flares wins?’

Yes of course they do. Sometimes. Do they work all of the time? No, they are clever but so are seeker heads. RF countermeasures work as well. Sometimes. They may even accidentally cause a weapon to detect a target that isn’t there and prematurely detonate. But that’s a bit of an outlier. I’m sure that most readers of this would understand that Infra Red Countermeasures don’t work at all against guns and RF guided weapons. I speak as someone who deployed IR Counter Measures against a Surface-to-Air threat that I knew was a visually aimed gun…but doing nothing felt weird. Doing something, as it turned out, felt stupid. I never really got it straight in my own mind whether or not to use counter measures pre merge – on the grounds that in my small and camouflaged aircraft, not moving relative to the enemy – I would also be unleashing dazzlingly bright magnesium. As a wise USAF head said to me one day ‘Better to be seen than be dead’. That’s true, but it’s also true that if you’re not seen they may find it harder to kill you. The counter-counter argument is that weapons are so damn fast these days that holding onto your flares until you see a launch may produce sub-optimal results. Countermeasures may work. It’s not guaranteed and one thing we can all agree on is that they will definitely run out! Shall we just leave it at that?

5. Opinions ‘Zero G contract killers’

I wanted to put this first, but thought better of it as you may give up at this point and at least you’ve read half the article. Your opinion doesn’t matter. Neither does mine so don’t get upset. What matters is the science, the context and the pilot’s ability. Too many people feel the need, or exercise the right, to talk about 1 v 1 combat without knowing what excess power is, what instantaneous or sustained turning rates are, what the actually weapon engagement zone of a specific weapon is or what sensors the platform can use to throw what shots. We’re back in that silly part of air-to-air top trumps and assignment of fighter capability based purely on what somebody said at an airshow. My brother went to a wedding once. Just about as relevant to the conversation as most opinions. Opinions need to be based upon facts. Facts to which one has actually applied conscious thought and refined with experience. Then you get an opinion. And it may still be bow-lacks.

4. It’s academic ‘If LERX could kill’

It won’t be. I was speaking to a wonderful senior officer from the USAF the other day and he co-located the nail and the hammer’s head very well. We agreed that despite the various air fleets of the free world spending years airborne and billions of pounds of aviation fuel in training – when the fight comes, it’s not going to look like an academic set up. We’re not going to charge at each other from doctrinal ranges. 1 v 1 is highly, vanishingly, unlikely to occur from being in parallel fuselages, at an agreed height and speed, confirming that both aircraft are ‘Tally’ before executing an outward and then inbound turn. Simply never going to happen. The reason we do it is the opposite. We train and train and train because when 1 v 1 happens it will be ad hoc, no notice, unscripted, unusual and fleeting. We need to be able to cope with that and the best way to do so is to give the young warriors of the free world every single opportunity to see just about every sight picture there is – so that when we do actually get into a 1 v 1 they fight and win. Quickly. By killing their opponent. If you ever hear anyone start a sentence comparing jets with the words ‘Well in an academic set up…’ feel free to get on with your pint.

3. It’s uncomplicated ‘Everything Everywhere All at Once’

By this I mean that there is a myth that one can separate 1 v 1 combat from everything else that’s going on. Air Combat is necessarily complex in itself. It’s complicated by everything else. Even if there were no other fighters knocking around, or SAMs playing you’d still have to think about distance from home plate, the weather and other factors. No real point winning the fight and crashing on the way home for lack of fuel. Actually that would be a really good way of getting a Martin-Baker tie and ensuring that you were wined and dined by the weapon manufacturer for ever. This point also talks to the environmentals that no aircraft designer can really account for. From a visual perspective what is the effect on both aircraft of having cloud around. Does it seduce IR weapons? Can it mask a fighter for a critical second? How about looking down over farmland, would that suit a particular camouflage scheme. Is it better to be up in the crystal clear blue stuff or down in the industrial haze? It’ll all depend on your system, proficiency and sometimes just a preference. It may sometimes be similar, but it’ll always be different. We’ve all been in situations where we simply cannot see the other aircraft despite knowing exactly where it is – and we’ve all had the reverse, the lucky spot on a canopy glint. We’ve all tried to run for home and been shot. We’ve all shot a runner. At least one USAF kill in GW1 was down to the enemy fighter flying themselves into the ground. They all count.

2. It’s protracted ‘Time ain’t on your sidestick’

I actually fell out with a USN buddy over this. Not in a fisticuff sort of way but rather a fundamental belief sort of way. This hero, and he was a hero, believed that 1 v 1 combat was a continuum in which one flowed from one manoeuvre into the next. I was very much of the mindset that I would do anything I could to get the first shot off even if that left me poorly placed for a follow on encounter. My rationale was that there wouldn’t be one.

You need to get the nose on ‘HOBS choice’

Typhoon pilot wearing the ‘Warty Toad Hat’ (WTH). Electric hats have changed the game.

Nope. Not anymore. Not for a long time. Helmet mounted displays changed the game a long time ago. Early versions were fielded by the South African Air Force and then on aircraft such as the MiG-29. We all got incredibly bunched about the threat’s ability to throw an off boresight shot at us, before we remembered that we could throw one a similar angle off boresight (away from straight forward) using the radar. Then we got bunched again because working the HOTAS and watching a screen whilst manoeuvring hard isn’t quite the same ‘User Experience’ as some form of evil eye attached to your bone dome. The fact is that helmet mounted cue-ing systems changed the game and in many ways wrote a cheque that High Off Boresight (HOBS) weapons cashed. Why strive to get into the Control Zone (that bit of sky behind the enemy from which he cannot eject you kinematically) when you can simply look at the enemy and unleash a AIM-9X or other similar weapon? These weapons are extraordinary. Some can be launched over 90 degrees off boresight. Just picture what that looks like as compared to the WW1 experience of getting to height, finding the enemy and starting to circle. It looks like anything in your bit of airspace to be shot. We no longer need to stop at HMS either. How about targeting an aircraft that you can’t see other than as a track being passed to you via datalink? Can you imagine how annoying it would be to be in danger of winning a 1 v 1 only to soak up a shot that was cue-ed using a data link track from a third fighter?

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these-velvet-comforts · 7 days

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it's you that i lie with (III)

It was—what, midnight? —when you had survived the encounter with Dudley. That alone sapped the energy out of you until the next day, where you finally stirred awake when the sun is almost at its peak. But the morning has treated you well. Mrs. Figg left in the early hours to do who knows what at this point, leaving you with a pantry stocked full of treats and the buzzing TV to play anything your heart desires. The cats have even ventured off into the unknown and left you to your lonesome, except for Mr. Tibbles who cannot bear to leave the house now that he doesn’t need to stalk Harry.

All of the windows’ shades are shut, locking you inside away from the outside world of your own accord. The pantry is ripe for the taking as the TV beckons you forth with cartoons and drama. Even Mr. Tibbles is ambivalent, letting you pet him without rebellion.

In other words, this afternoon will be the peak of laziness–-

Knock knock knock.

“Nooooo,” you whisper to yourself, sluggishly sliding off the couch, trying to squeeze between the couch’s legs and the coffee table, “no, no, nooooo, not now.”

Knock knock knock.

“...Hello?”

You groan as you recognize the voice. Betraying your inhibitions, you begrudgingly get up and stumble towards the door. For a moment, you are self-conscious about the fact that it is two in the afternoon, yet you are still wearing beaten up plaid bottoms and an all but disintegrating, cartoon mouse clad, mysteriously stained shirt. Then you remember that you don’t really care what he thinks about you.

Now less of a shaken leaf and more of a stiff board, Dudley stands before you as you crack the front door open.

“You…You said you’d help me."

"Yes," you give a defeated sigh, opening the door and allowing Dudley to come in, "yes, I did."

The teen bully awkwardly sits in the middle of the couch–-the couch you had beautifully dented while trying to nap not so long ago. Goodbye and goodnight, perfect napping spot. It went far too gently into that good night, you lament to yourself.

As you mourn, Dudley takes in the outdated wallpaper and furniture with a bouncing leg. After a pregnant pause—one where you waited for him to speak, and he waited for you to—you give in and break the silence.

"So, what did you want to know?"

"There's a lot," he says, sheepish at the fact. You respond with a casual shrug which causes Dudley’s shoulders to relax a bit.

"It's a whole new world for you so it is natural. No shame in it."

He nods with an embarrassing look still plastered onto his face.

"What is Hogwarts?"

"Uhh…it's a school for young wizards and witches?"

"Yes, I know that. But what…what is it like?"

"Oh, um…" You somewhat understand what he is asking. Despite Dudley's vague question, you reply in an almost Wikipedia style rambling. "Hogwarts is a castle built for teaching young witches and wizards everything possible about magic. Potions, Charms, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and more. They also teach subjects that focus on the non-magical like math, history, and culture. Hogwarts was established several hundred years ago by four founders, who each established their own student houses. Students can only be sorted into one house and the sorting is mandatory–"

Dudley stares at you with wide eyes and scrunched lips, as if he was constipated.

"--Too much at once?"

"...Yes." Dudley admits reluctantly.

"Alright, what did you get–-if anything?"

And so it goes, you spend the rest of the afternoon trying to tutor a boy that's probably never touched on a fantasy novel, much less a historical textbook.

A few of the most memorable moments are:

"What are the Dark Arts?"

"Dark magic. You know, evil stuff."

"I thought that was all magic?"

"nO–"

….

"How can wizards be racist?"

"What do you mean?"

"They're all the same, right?"

"...I’m going to let you think about that statement."

….

By the end of the 'session,' it's 8 pm and the tutoring has devolved into you reclaiming your throne on the couch as a crappy horror movie plays on screen. Dudley is sitting on the ground with the posture of a ragdoll, slouching over with an elbow on his knee and fist pressed against his cheek. Remnants of your tutoring lays across the coffee table in the form of furiously scribbled on scratch paper. The notes are covered in short phrases, doodles of Hogwarts and its house symbols, and bright red arrows pointing to different sections and doodles. They covered history, culture, and everything else related to magic. Anyone else would’ve thought that they were a madman’s ravings, or a writer’s frantic story plotting and world building in the very least. Overall, the coffee table was more of a conspiracy theorist’s pinboard than anything else.

Now make it three getting institutionalized.

You cackle at the thought, which breaks Dudley from his stupor. It draws your eyes to him, and the teen is almost just as pitiful as before. There’s a hint of color in his cheeks now, but it’s obvious how shaken he still is by the pasty white bleaching his skin.

“…I don’t blame you for being scared of magic.”

“Really?” Dudley turns to you with those same wide eyes.

“Yeah. Magic is sort of a…phenomenon. It hasn’t been explained why it exists to my knowledge, but it makes the impossible possible. So, it’s natural for you to be afraid of it—but that doesn’t justify letting that dictate how you treat others—”

“—The first time I met a wizard, he gave me a bloody pig’s tail!” Dudley yelps out.

“Yeah, that’s pretty bad. But that shouldn’t define how you treat others. I mean, if I turned out to be some wizard, how’d that change your perspective of me?”

Dudley remains silent, processing your words.

“I mean, wizards can be everywhere, and you wouldn’t notice. They look like anyone and everyone. If any of them were out to get you then they would’ve done so by now—”

“But that ghost reaper thing—”

“You were in the way. It didn’t want you, it wanted Harry!” You hiss out a bit louder than intended, frustration etched into your tone. Dudley flinches. Your shoulders drop, tension leaving them for the moment, “…Sorry. I should’ve controlled my tone.”

You rub your eyes until static appears behind your eyelids. Dudley is still watching you with a now scrunched up mouth, ready to stay quiet.

“All I’m saying is that wizard and witches are still human, like anyone else.” You sigh, ready to finish this conversation and fix your gaze on the tv. The buckets of fake blood spill out of a victim in the b-grade horror movie which is more soothing to watch in comparison to holding Dudley’s gaze, “They aren’t boogeymen or unexplainable, just people. And people are complex.”

You see him nod out of the corner of your eye.

“That makes sense, I guess. It’s just…how can someone do that?” You don’t know exactly what ‘that’ is, but still answer.

“People are weird. Good, bad, cruel, kind…Magic is just an extension of that for some. Another tool or weapon at their disposal.” On screen, a character finds the now dead victim and lets out a scream—so far the best acting you’ve seen in it.

He nods—little more than tilting his head up and down—but you write it off as him being lost in thought once more. Dudley lets out a sound closest to a squawk and a grunt as he scrambles to his feet.

“It’s almost nine! Dad’s gonna have my head—”

“Wait, what, really? I thought you were their, I dunno, favorite kid?”

“I’m their only kid, and Mum will be hysterical if I stay out too late ‘cause of, you know…the d-die mentors.” His pronunciation is off, but he’s got the spirit. You give him an ‘okay’ sign with your hands from your position on the couch, too comfortable to move. Dudley brightens up at that.

“D-do I--?” Dudley stammers and gestures to the notes strewn across the coffee table. For a long moment, you consider getting up and organizing the notes for him, saying something like ‘I’ll hold onto these until next time!’, cheerily ushering him out of the door—

“…Not my responsibility,” you shrug and wiggle deeper into the sofa’s cushions. You close your eyes to finally take a nap. It’s quiet for a moment before the sound of papers being frantically shuffled together and then quick, heavy steps towards the door fill the air.

“Hey,” the footsteps stop, “tell your parents you were studying for advanced placement or something. To get ahead in life.”

“…Thanks. F-for everything.” The words sound foreign coming from him. You just nod and utter a soft ‘no problem.’

The front door creeks shut. The noise revibrates in the air for several long moments before the air settles down again. Your body remains somewhat tense for a minute, prepared for something else to interrupt, but nothing comes. Finally, finally, you can doze off--

Knock knock knock.

“Nooooo,” you whine softly to yourself, “not again.”

Knock knock knock.

You stumble off the couch and tiredly slink over to the door. Half asleep, you crack open the door and lean against the doorframe, both from tiredness and blocking the annoyance at your doorstep. It’s dark and your gaze is bleary, but you respond to the person with a softly spoken but sharp-tongued greeting, “Did you forget something? If it’s a couple of braincells, I can’t help with that--”

“No, I’m afraid that I lost my mind long ago.” A new voice responds, full of mirth. You immediately straighten up, more awake with some tiredness still lingering, to take in the stranger. He’s tall with half-moon glasses that catch light escaping from the doorway. Velvet robes with silky details reflect the low light, and you resist the urge to smooth the fabric with your fingertips.

“…I-I think I have too.”

#harry potter x reader #harry potter #hp #hp fanfic #x reader #ao3 #ao3 fanfic

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