#when the chips decode around

[uglysharkistankstillcoffeeugly]

Lean like a chola

[nicksolemnlyswears]

DUDDDDE!!

I am in LOVE with your writing. I have been craving some good Han Lue works and you're filling the hole!

Everywhere is extremely lacking in quality Han Lue content bro 😭😭

But any whosies.

I was wondering if it were at all possible to request a Han work from you (from what I've seen you still have requests open so if you don't im sorry)

Specifically something about a reader who's fucking amazing at driving, and has been crushing on Han for a while, and the two decode to race (set in Tokyo) and whoever wins gets the loser to do what they want. Y'know classic setup.

You could choose where this leads to. Idc if we win or loose. All I want is a little bit of fluff sprinkled amongst some smut mayhaps. You could do this in headcannon format btw don't feel obligated to write the whole thing.

I'm just thirsting for any thing I can take 💀🙏🏼

Take your time! <3

pairing: han lue x racer!reader

words: 11.4k

warnings: some cursing and smut (pls wrap it before you tap it) don't judge my smut too much, it's been a while since i've written one

notes: hi anon! thank you for all your sweet, sweet words 🥺 i hope this is somewhere along the lines of what you were thinking of. as soon as i saw your request i was ✨inspired✨ it's been a long time since i've been so hooked by a oneshot. i have worked on it almost everyday since i received it so thank you! i changed the request just a little bit, i hope you don't mind.

trust me i know there is a ridiculous lack in han content! it's the reason i'm here writing over this man! there is not enough content for the speed i consume it, lol. i've read my own headcanons like 10 times already, excluding the times i was working on it.

anyways! might have gotten a little carried away but i enjoyed writing it so much! here you go! enjoy!

i really really hope you like it!!

Tokyo was the city where you learned how to street race. Weaving through the cars on the highway became second nature the harder you pressed the gas pedal. The neon lights turned into blurs as you sped down traffic, whether it was in search of a prize or a thrill.

You were meant to meet Han Lue. His presence became known as soon as he stepped foot in the parking complexes that serve as makeshift race tracks. He quickly became popular with the crowd, especially when he joined DK's crew.

His races were seen as exclusive, known to happen once in a blue moon. He was totally opposite to you. You took the opportunity to race any moment you could. It's what lead you to become a good racer. Practice makes perfect, after all.

'Good racer' is a bit of an understatement. You're one of the best right after DK. There's a debate about whether the second best is you or Han. Each person can take their pick. Many have suggested the idea for the both of you to race, but Han has shot down each and every one. He doesn't need to prove himself to anyone. Besides, he hasn't had anything to gain from racing you.

People like to call you 'Angel' because when you started participating in the races, you looked like an absolute angel, but soon after, they discovered you raced like the devil. You fool everyone around you, even with the way you drive. Whenever someone has to go against you, they think they have your strategy down, yet you switch it up every time.

The distinctive revving of your car alerts Han of your presence. He glances to his left, where you've parked right beside him. As you open the door and step out of your car, he opens a bag of chips, depositing one into his mouth.

You walk over to him, leaning against his car like he is. The bare skin of your back arching slightly as it touches the cool metal. "Have I missed anything?"

Han shakes his head cooly, watching his surroundings. He spares you a glance, taking in what you're wearing. A short, shimmery dress with an open back and high heels. Seems like you don't plan on racing tonight. You refuse to race in high heels. You've tried before and failed. You didn't lose, but you did break off both heels.

You feel his eyes trailing over your body, and you don't mind it. You like that you can catch his attention that way. Having a crush on a guy like Han takes work. He has every woman's attention in the racing underground. They often cling to his arms and bat their eyelashes his way, and he has gladly taken a few of them home.

"You done judging my outfit?" You say, looking at him.

"Not judging, admiring," he promptly replies with a small shrug.

That right there is what feeds into your silly little crush. Han isn't afraid of your comments or banter. If you look good, he'll say it. It's the way he says it that irks you, though. He is so nonchalant and aloof like he's commenting on the weather.

It doesn't help that he's never truly made a move on you. He considers you his friend and acts that way (most of the time, at least). You hate every moment because being his friend is the last thing you want.

"I take it you're not gonna race tonight?" He asks, already knowing the answer. He just needed an excuse to talk to you. Digging into his bag of chips, he grabbed another one to pop into his mouth.

"Not unless it's against you," you respond cheekily.

Han chuckles, "Not you too."

"Are you afraid of losing, Han?" You ask him, keeping your eyes on the race about to start. Why else would he avoid racing you?

Han props one arm on the roof of his car, facing you and saying, "If you're into racing, you can't be afraid to lose, Angel."

"Then why don't you spoil me a little and race me?" You hum, turning your head to face him. He's much closer than you anticipated, but you resist the urge to pull back despite the reddening of your cheeks. You want Han to know you like him even if you refuse to say it out loud.

"Maybe one day when I have something to race for," he responds simply, kissing your cheek and turning back to watch the race.

You release a shaky sigh and try to calm your pounding heart. Extending a hand, you dip your fingers into Han's nearly empty bag of chips and steal one for yourself. Han doesn't mind lowering the bag to make it easier for you. There's a smirk on his face as he fully well knows what he did. It's fun to make you flustered.

Han is out on the streets of Tokyo doing business or collecting his money from the greedy hands of wanna be gangsters. It's entertaining, to say the least, although sometimes it gets tedious. It's only fun when they get rowdy and want to intimidate him. They should know better than to judge Han by his calm exterior.

He's walking by the busy streets of Shibuya, the shopping district of Tokyo, minding his business. Han avoids the masses of people until he looks into a store and sees you. You're by the checkout desk, ringing out a client.

Han can't help it; he's drawn to you. Forgetting the wad money he has to collect, he enters the store. The bell on top of it chimes, prompting you to greet the customer in an abnormally cheery tone.

"Hello, welcome to-Han?" You stutter over the greeting, seeing his slightly mocking grin.

Han walks over to you and leans on the counter, there was barely anyone in the store now. Perfect timing. He assesses you and your overly pink clothes, bedazzled name tag, and glossy pink lips. It's unlike you to be so pink. He recalls you telling him you hate the wretched color.

"So this is where you work, Angel," he hums, toying with the trinkets on the checkout counter.

"Not everyone can survive with racing and sketchy side deals," You mutter. One hand on your tilted hip as you shoot him an annoyed look.

If racing made you enough money, you certainly would not be working in a store that makes you wear pink on every single shift. You could get more involved in the sketchy part of racing, but things are alright for now.

"True," Han stifles a laugh. He grabs a lollipop from the big jar filled with sweets for the paying customers and pops it into his mouth.

You extend a hand to throw away the colorful wrapping, and he places it gently on your hand, fingertips grazing your palm. You're not a teenager to be reacting over such minuscule actions, yet you do.

"What are you doing here, Han?" Han adores it when you say his name that way, pretending to be annoyed by his presence when in reality, you love having him around.

"Wanted to visit my favorite girl," he responds aloofly, carefully gauging your reaction. As he expected, your cheeks redden, and you try to hide it.

"Did you know lying makes your nose grow long," you scoff, rolling your eyes.

"Could be useful," Han says cheekily, causing your blush to deepen.

"If you're not going to buy anything, you can't be here," you shoot with a pout.

You weren't prepared to face Han this afternoon. You didn't get to repeat your affirmation as you do every night you encounter him. His constant playfulness throws you off, not giving you the opportunity to compose yourself.

"Oh no, consumerism got its claws on you," he jokes sarcastically. You glare at him and cross your arms over your chest, which only emphasizes the size of your chest. "Fine, help me find a new jacket?"

You round the counter and motion for Han to follow you toward the men's section. Your coworker will have no problem taking over the checkout counter.

You shoot Han question after question in search of the perfect jacket for him: colors, textures, durability, versatility, sizing, and so on. He responds just as quickly, propping an arm up and leaning against a rack of clothes as he watches you storm all over the store in search of the item that screams Han. He had no intentions of buying anything today but seeing how invested you got it leaves him no choice.

"I quite like this one," you beam, standing Han in front of a full-length mirror. You slide off the jacket he's wearing and replace it with the nice black leather jacket you found for him. Dusting him off, you look into the mirror seeing how perfectly it fits his broad shoulders.

"Why do I feel like you're giving me the most expensive one?" Han asks, looking at himself in the mirror.

He had to admit you picked well. He looks great in the black leather jacket. It didn't have too many buckles to make him uncomfortable, and it wasn't too warm either. The material felt nice and luxurious hence his comment.

"You asked for my help," you shrug, "It's not my fault I have expensive taste. Besides, you look hot in it." You wink at Han through the mirror.

Han tries to hide the smile forming on his lips. You were getting bolder and bolder. He knows about your crush on him; you're terrible at hiding it. Truthfully, he's felt the same from the moment he saw you race. You're oblivious, though, so he likes to tease you.

"I'll take it," Han sighs, refusing to look at the price tag. "Might even wear it on a date."

"Oh, you've got a date?" Your smile falters, quickly regretting picking such a nice outfit that makes him look so handsome. You'd definitely put out if a man wore that to a date and was as lovely as Han. All of your hard work just for another girl to enjoy it. If you catch one of Han's little friends wrapped around the jacket...you will burn it.

"Not yet," he says mysteriously, taking off the jacket and returning to the checkout counter. Han has to get going. He does have to collect his money. Especially now that you've convinced him to buy the expensive leather jacket. 'It's an investment,' he tells himself.

"She'll be one lucky girl," you huff, scanning the tag, carefully folding it, and placing it on a bag. "Don't worry, I'll apply the friends and family discount."

You watch Han go through the display window and hope he was just fucking with you on the whole date thing. You can live with your crush and have him as just a friend, but if he gets a girlfriend, you will not be able to manage it. You scold yourself silently for acting like a lovesick teenager. You're better than that. Right?

Taking the party to Han's club after a race is a must, especially after winning six thousand dollars. You won't have to worry about rent for at least six months, which is something to celebrate.

You park next to Han's car, and he waits for you to enter the plain-looking building. People greet him left and right as they go through the door that pours music and lights each time it's opened.

"You sure are popular," you tease him, leisurely walking towards him.

"Comes with the territory," Han responds without missing a beat. "Ready?" He asks, motioning for you to walk ahead of him.

"Always," you chirp. You purposefully accentuate the sway of your hips, giving Han something to look at.

Being a Friday night, the inside is filled to the brim, there isn't any space for more drunken people. Using your short height to your advantage, you easily find a way to the connecting hallway between this part of the club and the more exclusive one.

Han isn't as lucky constantly losing you from his sight. He's conscious that you are a grown woman capable of making your own decisions and caring for yourself, but he'd feel better being with you.

When he catches up to you at a point, he grabs your hips, pressing you against him, preventing you from getting lost again. You look back, startled, expecting to see a stranger rubbing against you. Noticing this, Han quickly calms you, "It's just me, Angel."

'It's just Han,' you repeat to yourself. You grab onto one of his hands, holding onto your hip, taking full advantage of the situation. Having Han wrapped around you feels like being on cloud nine. If this wasn't his club, you'd be going in circles, so he never pulls away.

With Han holding onto you, the way to the 'not-so-secret' hallway takes longer than usual. Not that you're complaining, though! Han's firm grip makes you fall harder for him. It fuels your imagination on how it would feel in other situations.

Han enjoys this position just as much as you do. He can pretend it's a safety thing as he steers you away from the sweaty bodies of drunks dancing, but it's for his selfish gain.

Having your body close to him reminds him of what he's missing and desperately desires. It started as a little innocent game for Han, knowing you had a crush on him, but then it turned into something more. He likes that you have feelings for him and wants it to stay that way. Han wants your attention on him all the time. His games are over; he wants you.

To your surprise, Han doesn't let go of your waist when you enter the hallway. Instead, he slings one arm around it as he walks beside you. "Maybe we should've taken the other entrance," he smirks.

"And miss the show?" You chuckle, finding a couple making out in the deserted hallway. Neither is willing to admit it's not about the show but about Han's proximity.

Unlike all the other times in the past you've partied with Han, he doesn't let go of you for more than two minutes. You dance all night together, just the two of you, no girls coming up to Han and no guys coming up to you. There simply wasn't a window of opportunity.

"You enjoying yourself?" He says in your ear over the loud music. Your back is against his front as your sway and roll your body to the beat. One of his hands is nursing a drink, and the other is right where it should be, on you.

"I won 6k and have a cute guy buying me drinks and dancing with me. What do you think?" You giggle, turning in his arms to face him instead. The drinks stop you from overthinking and let you wrap your arms around his neck. Faces close. You want to kiss him so bad you're not drunk enough, though, and it's not the way you'd like to do it, either.

"Just making sure," he smiles down at you, hand on your lower back.

The night is long, yet with Han, it goes by so fast. Sooner than you'd prefer, he walks you to your car, no longer holding onto your waist but your hand. There are only a few stragglers left behind who refuse to acknowledge the night is over. You and Han are two of them.

Reaching your white and red, modified skyline Han opens the door for you. With one arm propped against the open door and the other extended onto the roof, Han cages you against your car. Before you get in, you turn to face him, finding the bravery to do something you've been thinking about all night.

"Thanks for tonight, Han. I had fun," you say softly, suddenly feeling shy.

"Anytime, Angel," he responds smoothly, brushing his fingers on your naked shoulder. The jacket you wore earlier was discarded somewhere in the bar. An excuse for Han to see you outside the races.

"Well, goodnight." Gathering every particle of bravery, you stand on your toes and peck his lips softly.

It's only a tiny, innocent kiss, yet it makes Han close his eyes. It happens too quickly for his liking. You have been growing bolder, bold enough to kiss him. He needs to step up his game.

Taking advantage of his distracted state, you close your car door and rev the engine. On the drive to your apartment, you squeal in excitement. Fingers ghost over your lips, replaying the small kiss over and over again.

Another chance at a race becomes available only days after your win. Men love to challenge women, especially those who are winning, much like you are.

They hate seeing you be successful, but it doesn't bother you in the least. It's another opportunity to win cash or a car, which you can use for parts and sell what you don't need.

As you roll up to the starting line, Han approaches your window, leaning down to duck his head in.

"Come to give me a good luck kiss?" You speak playfully, lips turned up into a smile.

You two haven't talked about what happened at the club and have continued to act as you usually do. He's been more touchy with you, though, often trying to find a way to be close to you. Being the lovestruck fool you are, you've encouraged it, finding those ways to let him be close.

"We both know you don't need luck. You've got this in the bag, Angel." Han speaks encouragingly, "Tell you what, though. You win, and it's yours."

"Making me earn it, I see," you laugh, shaking your head. "Alright, you've got a deal. See you on the other side."

Han is confident you'll win. With a last reassuring tap on your door, he steps back, finding his place in the crowd.

Your opponent finally drives up to the starting line, sending you an unnecessary nasty look you laugh at. The flag girl stands between the two cars, her dress leaving nothing to the imagination. You respect it. They are a lot more confident than you are in that department.

You are off when the word 'go' falls from her lips. You knew this track by heart, having raced it so many times. You knew exactly when to hit the gas and when to press the brake to get the car to swerve. Han's full attention is on your race, and when your car disappears to another level, he takes the elevator up to the top floor, where the finish line is. Watching you race is interesting. You always come up with ways to confuse your opponents.

With a bag of chips, he anxiously waits for your victory. Regardless of your ability to race and win, your races make him nervous. He cares about you, and so many things can go wrong.

The noisy crowd gets louder as the sound of tires screeching gets closer. In seconds, your car swerves onto the top floor, again marking you as the victor. There's not a scratch or bump in your car. Your opponent arrives shortly after with dents and long scratches in his paint.

The crowd cheers loudly for you, coming up to you to congratulate you and tell you how cool you looked. Your opponent comes up to you and hands you his keys with a scowl. You shrug it off. A deal is a deal.

Winning leaves you on a high, a feeling of invincibility wrapping around you. You've learned to control it because that feeling caused a big loss years ago. You get distracted by the people around you and forget Han's promise. It's funny because it was the only thing running through your head while you raced.

"Good job out there," Han says, catching up to you later in the night once the hype died down.

"Why, thank you!" You chirp, closing the hood of your car and leaning back to sit on it.

"I believe I made a promise," Han mentions, stepping close to you until you're face to face, only a few inches between the two of you. "You did," you nod, biting your lip.

Han notices this, bringing a hand up to cup your face, his thumb tugging your lip loose from the tight hold of your teeth. The other wraps around your waist, pulling you close. You slide on the warm metal of your car, placing a hand on his chest to brace yourself as Han settles between your legs.

"I'm a man of my word," he whispers, finally leaning down to press his eager lips against yours. Han is greedy for many things, and your lips are one of them. Ever since that night at the club, he's wanted to smash his lips against yours, to feel you close, taste you.

Your eyes instantly flutter close, fisting Han's shirt in your hand as if afraid he'll pull away too quickly. The kiss starts slowly as you both test the waters, but it soon becomes not enough. Han tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

It's an electric shock that consumes him and doesn't let him go. This is the result of Han holding himself back, and you made it worse when you gave him a taste the other night.

Han slips a hand under your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin. You gasp against his lips, arching your back as his cold fingers catch you by surprise. It serves as an opportunity for Han, his tongue pushing past your pouty lips, savoring the moment.

You gave into him, offering everything you have in exchange for this moment. His warmth wraps around you, burning you from the inside out. The need to breathe makes itself present too soon and becomes far more demanding than the need for each other's lips.

Han pulls away, your bottom lip between his teeth. You're breathless, as if you ran a marathon. You feel lightheaded, intoxicated by Han, who continues to peck your lips softly. He might be addicted already. The tips of his fingers draw soothing circles on your lower back, grounding you in the moment.

"So this is what winning feels like," you breathe out, smoothing Han's shirt with your palms. A futile way to hide their shakiness.

Han laughs, pressing his face against your neck and leaving a fleeting kiss behind. "Appears so, Angel."

A perk of being Han's friend is using his garage whenever you want. The days of paying for a spot to fix your car in a stranger's garage are far in the past. At the moment, you've spent the most part of the afternoon upgrading your car. The car you won on your last race sits beside yours with the hood popped open as you switched around pieces. He had quality parts, and his driving still sucked.

Twinkie, Earl, and the others are scattered around the large garage, working on different things and chattering. You had purposefully picked a spot away from them so you wouldn't get distracted. With work, your time is limited.

Han is on the second floor, leaning against the railing and pretending to watch the first floor and what they are doing. In reality, he is watching you closely.

You're bent over the hood of the car, working on unscrewing a tight bolt, cursing at the man who installed it initially. It's a sight straight out of his dreams. Your Nike sweatpants hung low on your hips, framing your ass perfectly. If he focused, he'd see the dimples on your lower back. His mind ran wild at the thought of pressing his thumbs against them while taking you from behind.

It's been a while since he's slept around. He cut himself off when he realized his feelings for you. What was the point of sleeping around if he wouldn't be satisfied? Those girls weren't you. They were temporary relief. Now, his pants tighten at anything you do. It's like he's seventeen again and unable to keep it in his pants.

He followed the curve of your ass to your arched back and the cropped shirt you wore. The matching crew neck sweater you arrived in is discarded in your car due to the heat. The revealing shirt rose with each of your movements, revealing the band of your baby blue bra. You tug on it for the millionth time today, annoyed.

The strands of hair you curled to frame your face stick uncomfortably to your sweaty forehead. You regret not putting them back into the two braids that fell over your shoulders.

Han needed to rip his eyes away from you before the others noticed. He's been staring for too long, fantasizing about everything he could do to you. To Han, you looked even more beautiful than you did that night with your sparkly dress and makeup. A woman who knows her way around a car is instantly a hundred times more attractive in his eyes.

As he accidentally visualizes you taking his cock from that same exact position, car included, you groan and straighten up. "I need help," you whine to no one in particular. The bolt is not budging, no matter how hard you try.

Han snaps out of his fantasy and springs into action, quickly appearing by your side. You've bent over again, wrench in hand, to give it one more try before giving up. He leans beside you, a hand on your lower back for faux support.

"What's the matter, Angel?" He says softly, one hand propping him up as he looks at the machinery under the hood. It's better if he helps you. He can't continue listening to your whines and groans.

"I need to unscrew those," you point at the bolts giving you a hard time.

Han asks for the wrench in your hands, and you place it in his hand, annoyed. You don't need the help of a man to do this, but it's Han, so you'll take it. You watch him as he places the wrench around the bolt, his arm tenses, emphasizing his muscles hidden by the short-sleeved button-up he wore over a white wife-beater tank.

His hair fell around his eyes as he successfully unscrewed the bolts. Feminism died as you lustfully took in Han, biting your lip. 'What a man,' you thought. You would've instantly refused the help if he had been any other guy.

"There you go," Han says, handing you the wrench. When he spares you a glance, he laughs softly. Good to know he has the same effect you have on him.

"Whatever would I do without you," you purr, shooting him a mischievous smile, "You deserve a reward." That's what it has come to, silly excuses to kiss Han because you're just friends. Nothing more.

Han looks at your lips briefly before snapping back to your eyes. You grin at him, leaning closer to kiss him for his 'hard work.' You know that he's been watching you all this time; you saw it from the reflective surface of the toolbox. Seeing his quickness to help you makes you believe he enjoyed the show.

Your lips brush teasingly against his, and just before Han can grab the back of your neck to stop the teasing, a loud bang tears through the room. Both you and Han pull away to see where the sound comes from, but Han bangs his head on the car's hood in the process.

"What the hell was that?" Han yells, rubbing the back of his head. He's annoyed that he's been interrupted.

"Sorry! The motor I was working on fell!" Earl exclaims from the other side of the garage, unaware of the daggers Han is throwing him.

"Best I get back to work," you quietly say with a chuckle, taking the piece you needed out of the car to bring it to yours.

"Yeah," Han says simply, reluctantly leaving to do his own thing.

Each and everyone that's in Han's garage returns to their business after the noisy interruption. Twinkie turns on a radio, blasting music to drown out the silence and clanking of tools. You work without interruption for the next three hours, giving your car all the love it deserves.

You clean your hands free of the motor oil and grease and search for Han. Your work for today was done. Now that you took anything valuable from the car you won, you had to sell it. You figured Han could do that for you.

"Hey, are you busy?" You ask him, seeing him working on a part by his desk.

"Nah, what's up, Angel?" He questions, dropping the screwdriver in his hand to focus all his attention on you.

Leaning on the desk casually, you begin speaking, "After I replace the bumper and give it a new paint job, can you sell that car for me?"

"Shouldn't be a problem," glancing at the car, Han agrees. It's a popular car in the racing world, and as soon as he gets the word out he's selling it, many offers will pop up.

"You're the best, Han!" You beam at him, pushing yourself off the desk to return downstairs.

"Angel, wait," he calls after you. Being your friend has been fun, yet he needs more. You shouldn't have to come up with excuses to kiss him; you should be able to do it freely whenever you want.

"Yes, Han," you ask softly, tilting your head in question.

Standing up from the rolling chair, he approaches you, "Do you want to go on a date?"

A grin sneaks past your lips before you even process what he said. Instantly, you nod your head, "I'd love to." You could combust at that moment. Finally, after months of pining, Han asked you out.

"Let's go," he smiles, grabbing your hand and guiding you to his car.

"Wait, now?" You furrow your eyebrows.

"Yes, unless you have something more important," he asks, teasing you.

"Nothing is more important, but I'm a mess," you shake your head hesitantly. You spent your afternoon working on cars, sweating, and getting covered in grease. You didn't think it would be in sweatpants when you pictured going on a date. Not to mention the state of your hair.

"No, you're not. If you must know, you've had me distracted all day," Han whispers the last part in your ear, trying to convince you even if it means giving himself away.

"Am I supposed to apologize?" You question, the corner of your lip curving into a sultry smile. You had been right all along.

"No, just agree to the date. Be spontaneous," Han bounces his eyebrows cutely.

"Let's do it," you sigh, hoping you won't regret it.

"Atta girl," Han smiles victoriously.

Han tries to remember the last time he had a proper date. Even with his ex, they just sort of happened. No date ever officially branded as such. It's why rather than asking you and waiting for the day to arrive, he decided to do it spontaneously. It leaves him no time to be nervous or to overthink things.

You slide your sweatshirt back on on the way out to shield yourself from the chilly Japanese night. Han opens the door to his car for you, shutting the door when you slip in. The drive is short as he takes you to a small family-owned sushi place he swears by.

"I'm surprised you eat more than chips and crackers," you joke with him as the food arrives, and he takes a bite.

"I definitely eat more than that," Han replies nonchalantly, referring to something else entirely. It's something you don't catch despite your dirty mind.

A discussion develops when you discover Han always orders the same thing in the restaurant. He's in Japan. He needs to throw himself into the culture and try new things.

Starting easy, you grab a piece of sushi from your plate, "You need to try this."

"I don't know," Han grimaces as he looks at the sushi held in your chopsticks.

"That's not an answer. Open your mouth," you groan, gently placing the sushi roll in his mouth.

You watch him chew slowly, getting a feel for the new food. "It's good," he agrees, liking whatever you had ordered. It was delicious, actually.

"Better than yours, right?" You ask him, knowingly, pointing your chopsticks at him.

"Yes," he rolls his eyes, refusing to give you the satisfaction.

"Told you," you sing, grabbing both plates and placing them in the middle of the table. Now you could each grab from both and share your meals.

The date goes smoothly. It's a wonder why the two of you hadn't gone to dinner before today. You already know Han is attentive and funny but his wisdom surprises you. He's already lived through so much, more than an average person. Despite being a couple years older than you, he retains his youth. That may be why he appeals to a younger crowd as well.

"What was your life like growing up?" You ask him, taking a drink from your Coke. Han ordered another plate of sushi to share, the one you chose earlier.

"My upbringing wasn't the best," he shrugs, remembering his life in California as a teen. "I was always in trouble."

"Why does something tell me that you were the one causing the trouble," you say, narrowing your eyes.

"I definitely was," he chuckles, "But in the end, it brought me here, and I'm happy."

Han believes in the timing of life. He's been after Tokyo for so long. Before stepping foot in Tokyo, he had to go through the Dominican Republic, Rio, Germany, Shanghai, London, and many more places. It was supposed to happen that way, or he wouldn't have met you.

"I knew it," you sigh dramatically, "I've always been into bad boys."

"What about you, Angel?" He returns the question, curious about your past.

"I grew up in a normal Japanese family. My dad's a mechanic, my mom a nurse, and my sister a pain in the ass. I went to school for engineering and graduated with top honors," you tell him, reminiscing on your not-as-impressive past.

"You say that as if it's easy to graduate with top honors," Han chides you, to which you roll your eyes. "Why work retail? Doesn't engineering make you a lot more money?"

"Don't laugh, okay?" You point at Han. When he agrees not to laugh, you continue, "I wanted to be a Formula 1 racer when I was younger. My dad signed me up to participate in smaller competitions, and I was pretty damn good. My mom was totally against it and forced my dad and me to quit.

Fast forward, I'm in college, and engineering seemed like the way to go. Learned about street racing and figured that could be a way back into my dream. It's a foolish thought. The professionals spend years in proper circuits practicing and competing. No one comes with a background of illegal racing."

Han wasn't expecting that answer. He assumed you hated engineering and did it to appease your parents. He wonders why you thought he would laugh. Your dream is nothing to laugh at. Having witnessed your racing, you undoubtedly had the innate talent. "So retail?" He prompts, realizing you didn't answer the first question.

Snapping your fingers, you say, "Right! I figured I'd always have my degree. I'd rather spend my time having fun now; when the time comes, I'll return to that. I do like it, but I'm not ready to commit to a life of 9 to 5's. I prefer spending my time in the wee hours of the night racing. Since I can't be a Formula 1 racer, I'll be a street racer. Much cooler, anyways."

"That takes guts," Han tells you, "I'm glad you're doing it."

You give him a little shrug and a smile because you were too. Despite your childish dream dying when your mom forced you to quit, you're still happy with your life. Especially if you end up with a guy like Han.

Han, being a gentleman, pays for dinner. Before returning to the car, you stop by a convenience store for dessert. Han follows you buying snacks for himself. In search of something sweet, you find a shelf filled with Pocky. You grab the chocolate-covered ones with a plan in mind.

You and Han sit at a table outside the convenience store. It was getting late, so only a few people were around. You open the packet of Pocky, taking out a chocolate-covered stick.

"Have you ever played the Pocky game?" You ask, taking a bite of the treat.

"No. What is it?" Han looks at you curiously.

"Essentially, you grab one end of the Pocky stick, and I grab the other. We have to eat it, but if one of us pulls away, they lose," you respond simply, hiding the game's purpose.

"That sounds awfully like Lady and the Tramp," Han mentions, catching onto your intentions.

Offering him a stick, you say, "Want to play?"

Han smiles at you and grabs the Pocky stick placing the biscuit end between his teeth. You hold the chocolate-covered end and tap his hand to start. You both take it slow, Han opting to stay still as you near his lips. You tilt your head when you're close to his lips, giving him the perfect opportunity to kiss you when only a small piece is left.

You smile into the chocolate-flavored kiss. If you wanted to kiss Han, you could've done it without so many sneaky plans or excuses, but it wouldn't be as fun.

"So, who won?" Han asks when you pull away.

"Does it matter?" You cheekily say, pulling him back in for another kiss.

There's no flaw in your reasoning. Han pulls you close, lifting your legs to lie in his lap. You spend more time than you care to admit making out outside the convenience store.

Han offers to drive you to your apartment since your car needs to be finished. Throughout the drive, his hand is laced with yours in your lap. Small talk flows between you as you continue to learn about each other.

Smoke coming from your apartment building cuts that conversation short. Firefighters stand outside the building, spraying water into the source of the fire. Han steps out of the car with you to ask anyone what is going on.

Noticing the building manager across the street, you approach him. He quickly blurts out all the information he knows. You're one of many of the tenants to approach him. "There's a fire on the sixth floor. We don't know the damage yet. I understand this is your residence, but you need somewhere else to say for the next few days while we asses the damage and inspect the building."

"What am I going to do?" You groan, covering your face with your hands. You worry about where you'll stay and your stuff in your apartment. You have important documents in there.

"You can stay with me," Han offers without a hint of hesitation.

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose." It's nice of Han to offer you a place to stay, but would it be too much at this stage of their situationship. Last thing you want is to push boundaries.

"You're not imposing. Let me help you," Han insists, grabbing your hand to rub soothing circles in it. It's a given he has feelings for you, but before that, you are his friend, and he's not going to leave you out on the streets or sleeping in your car.

Han offers you calming words on the way to his apartment. Your apartment is on the twelfth floor and the other side of the fire. Chances are that your stuff will probably be fine. Whether the building will close for renovations is another matter entirely.

His apartment is just another level to the building he owns. Its entrance is on a more private side. Inside, it's very clean and organized, a surprise since you expect most guys to be messy. Picture frames and knick knacks are scattered throughout the space, giving you more of a glimpse into Han's life.

It's quiet between the two of you but comfortable. Han is giving you time to process what you saw in your building. He offers you his shower if you'd like, and when you brought up you didn't have any clothes, he searched for a clean t-shirt and sweatpants you could borrow from him.

A shower is just what you need as you let the water cascade down your body. Fire aside, it has been a great day, even before Han asked you on a date. Hope fills your being at the prospect of soon beginning a relationship with Han. So far, everything points out it can happen. There haven't been any red flags or hesitation from him.

You change into the oversized t-shirt Han picked out for you and the spare pair of underwear you always carry in your bag. Smart girls know to carry a spare in case of emergencies. You debate about wearing the sweatpants he left for you but choose against it. The t-shirt covers enough.

You shyly make your way out of the bathroom in search of Han. You find him in the bedroom, grabbing an extra pillow and blanket. "The bed is yours," he mentions, eyes briefly trailing your naked legs.

"Where will you sleep?" You ask, furrowing your eyebrows. If anyone has to sleep on the couch, it should be you.

"I'll take the couch," he responds, as you expected.

"Han, stop being a gentleman and get in bed with me," you say, taking the pillow from his grasp and placing it back on the top of the bed.

He offers you an 'Are you sure?' look, and you nod confidently. He doesn't need to be told twice. Han steps out of the bedroom for a few minutes and grabs a shower. Taking that time, you get on the bed to get comfortable, it's soft, and you sink into it.

You're snoozing off when he returns to the room. Han carefully peels back the sheets and gets under them. Feeling the bed dip, you turn to the side to face him.

Your sleepy mood makes you cuddle up to him without much thought. The smell of his soap invades your senses. Han naturally accepts it, throwing an arm around your waist and hugging you closer, legs intertwined. He kisses the top of your head, finding comfort in the position.

Thankful doesn't begin to cover how you feel. There's this overwhelming sense of security that comes with Han. There is something about him that makes you trust him. Deep down, you know he wouldn't intentionally hurt you.

"How are you feeling?" Han checks up on you before you fall asleep.

"I'm okay. I hope none of my things got damaged," you mumble into his chest, pressing a kiss into it afterward. "Thank you for everything, Han. Your help with the car, the date, letting me invade your bed," you finish with a soft laugh.

"Anytime, Angel," he responds truthfully. If he can help you in any way, he will. Sleep consumes both quickly after, and it becomes the best night you've both had in a while.

The following day you're the first to wake. Han's arms are around your waist, and you feel his breath tickle the back of your neck. He's warm, and you just want to sink into it even more. Your need to pee pries you out of his embrace, though. 

As carefully as possible, you slip out of his loose grasp and head to the bathroom. Han had picked out a toothbrush for you the night before, which you're thankful for. Shuffling out of the bathroom, you cook breakfast for Han as a 'thank you' for his hospitality.

You pick the ingredients you need from his fridge, careful not to make too much noise. Your progress is slower than you prefer as you get used to the kitchen layout and localize everything you might need.

Soon enough, you drop pancake batter into the pan, and while that cooks, you scramble eggs with veggies. Since it's his kitchen, you assume he'll like what you make. It's his ingredients, after all.

Just after finishing the last batch of pancakes, you hear the patter of Han's feet entering the kitchen. You turn to glance at him quickly and greet him, "Good morning! I made you breakfast, sit!"

"You didn't have to do that," Han says, coming up behind you. He traps you between his body and the stove as if having you close last night wasn't enough.

"Yes, I did! You let me stay here, borrow clothes, sleep in your bed," you flip the pancakes as you count all the nice things he's done in less than 24 hours.

Humming, unconvinced, Han kisses your cheek and thanks you. It sends a tingle between your legs as his voice is raspy and deep from sleep. Your cheeks flare up, betraying you as always.

Han follows your orders and sits by the kitchen table, waiting till you're done to begin eating. With that time in his hands, he observes you. You're wearing the t-shirt he loaned you, which swallowed your frame. Each time you flipped a pancake, it rose slightly to reveal the light green fabric of your panties. Han soaked the sight in and wondered if this was what waited for him in the near future.

His eyes continue trailing down to your thick thighs. He wouldn't mind being trapped between them. Lower and lower, his gaze went from your pretty legs to your varnished toes. Back up, it went as you turned off the stove and approached the table. You weren't wearing a bra under the t-shirt, as your nipples poked through the thin fabric.

Han's glad he didn't notice these things last night, or he wouldn't have been able to sleep a wink. Spreading his legs, he tried to hide the hard-on he was sporting. None the wiser, you sit on the empty chair near him and tell him to eat up.

Shooing the dirty thoughts from his mind, Han thanks you one more time and digs in. It's a lovely morning, with light chatter bouncing between you. Han praises your cooking every chance he gets and even finishes the pancakes you left over but not before drenching them in more syrup. When both of you are done, you clear the plates and place them in the sink to wash.

"Angel, come 'ere," Han calls from behind you.

Mindlessly you walk over to him, wondering what he wants. Han grabs your waist, pulling you to his lap. "Han, what are you doing? I have to do the dishes!" You squeal, holding onto him, afraid he'd let you fall.

"No, you don't," he speaks softly, one hand cupping your cheek.

"I don't?" you prompt, leaning into his touch.

"Let me properly thank you," he offers, lips chasing yours. Han can't contain himself any longer. You've done a number on him, strutting around his kitchen in your underwear. He wants you. He needs you.

You lean into the kiss as you always do, pouring everything you have into it. Tasting the coffee on his tongue, you bring your hand around the back of his neck, softly tugging the long strands of hair. Han groans into the kiss, having missed that sensation.

Repositioning yourself, you straddle Han in the rickety kitchen chair. You feel his hands all over your body, trailing down your back to grasp your ass in his palms. Every so often, you'd resurface to breathe but dip down again and again to continue kissing him.

Han feels himself harden as you rub your center against him deliciously. It's clear as day you want him just as much as he wants you.

"Want to spoil me and fuck me?" You breathe heavily, kissing Han's neck.

"So bold," Han chuckles, his hands wandering under the t-shirt to feel your warm skin, his nails faintly scratching your back, sending shivers down your spine. "Six months ago, you would've been too scared to ask me that."

Six months ago, you would've been too scared to kiss him on the cheek, but you've come a long way. As time passes, you realize your feelings are not one-sided because Han means every word he speaks to you despite his taunting nature. Each and every complement is honest.

"I got tired of waiting around for you," you bite back, nipping his neck and sucking a pretty bruise on it.

Han hisses at the momentary sting, "I thought I was just a friend?"

You laugh sarcastically, picking your head up to stare at him, "I don't let friends kiss me or grope my ass."

"What does that make me then?" Han raises an eyebrow, cheekily squeezing your ass as a smirk forms on his lips.

"Special," you shrug, lips pouty and swollen.

"Because?" He wants to hear you say that you feel something for him. It's a last hurrah on giving you a hard time for fun.

You realize it's time to be honest and come out with it. You stopped hiding your feelings a while ago. Hell, you even asked Han to fuck you. All that's left is to admit your feeling out loud. "Because I have feelings for you, Han Lue," you whisper, brushing the hair that threatens to fall over his eyes.

"That's all you had to say," Han murmurs, catching your lips in a passionate kiss.

The heat rises with each passing moment. Your feelings have now come to a boil and bubbled over. Han picks you up easily and sits you on the kitchen table. He leaves his touch on your naked back to trace the outside of your thighs. It's time to give you precisely what you asked for and what he has been fantasizing about for far too long.

Grabbing the elastic band of your panties, Han slides them down the curve of your ass and your thighs until they are off. He throws them somewhere in the room, the information unimportant for now.

"Han, please," you whine, spreading your legs wider and giving him access to your most private part. You beg between kisses to feel his touch where you need it most.

"So impatient, Angel." Han jabs lightly as his right-hand touches the inside of your thigh. The pads of his fingers brush over your thighs repeatedly, nearing the apex more and more with each stroke.

You gasp as he finally dips a finger into your folds, gathering the slick that formed to spread it around your bundle of nerves. You gasp, breaking the kiss and throwing your head back.

Han sucks on your neck and collarbones as you moan into the air. Slipping a finger into your tight walls, he groans, thinking about how they'll feel around his hard cock.

"Fuck, Han, feels so good," you sigh when Han adds another digit into your soaking core and presses on your clit with his thumb.

"I didn't realize I made you this wet," he says into your neck as you grind your hips into his hand. You must've been wanting this for as long as he has.

"Liar," you respond, staring at him with hooded eyes. The nights you've touched yourself while thinking about him are many. The real thing is a million times better.

Han watches you intently, catching every little reaction you have to his touch. The moans and whines echo through the room and are music to his ears. Without a doubt, there's a wet patch in his boxers as his tip leaks precum from the erotic sight in front of him.

Your walls clenching around him alert him you're close, and promptly after you make it known as you beg him not to stop, except he doesn't listen and stops just as you're about to cum.

"Why did you stop?" You complain, eyes wide in desperate need.

"Want you to cum on my tongue," he responds, stealing a quick kiss before he kneels on the floor. Wrapping his strong arms around your thighs, he scoots you closer to the edge.

His words shoot another current down your legs, no doubt making more of a mess. You wait with bated breath as Han kisses the inside of your thighs, making eye contact with you as he delves into your pussy.

He licks up from your hole up to your clit. You grasp his hair with one hand, pulling the t-shirt up with the other to better look at him going down on you. Your eyes roll involuntarily when Han wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and flicking it with his tongue. His long fingers find your opening once more, sliding in effortlessly.

You try to maintain eye contact with Han through it all. If his hair fell on his eyes, you'd quickly brush it back, not wanting to miss his lustful gaze. It spurred Han on to see you crumbling over him, biting your lip as you tried to hide the pretty cries that wanted to fall from your lips.

Han stops licking your clit and slows his thrusting fingers each time you near your orgasm. Time and time again, he repeats this when you're near the edge. Only when your arousal coats his hand he keeps his pace, and as you whine out, 'gonna cum, don't stop,' he slips his tongue into your pussy, tasting your cum directly from the source.

He makes a great example of what his nose can do as it brushes over your clit while he tongue fucks you. You trap Han between your legs as your pussy clenches, your orgasm coming in waves. As you relax back onto the kitchen table, Han continues to lick your puffy center, being careful with your sensitive nub.

When he stands, you fist his t-shirt, smashing your lips together, tasting your essence. "Let's take this to the bedroom," Han pants. You nod eagerly and squeal when he picks you up, your legs wrapped around his waist.

You leave a trail of kisses on his neck as he makes his way to the bedroom. Once there, you both fall on the bed, Han hovering over you. He tugs on your t-shirt, "As much as I love seeing you in my clothes, this has to come off."

Without the shirt, he can admire your naked body. A lone finger slides down from your neck to your sternum. It slides to your side near the curve of your left breast, where a small sakura flower is tattooed.

"This is my new favorite thing about you," Han softly says, noticing you staring at him.

The tattoo was an impulsive thing to do. You had wanted a tattoo for years but never knew what to get. After your last breakup two years ago, you got the little flower instead of getting bangs and dying your hair. It has no real meaning to you. It's just a cute flower.

"You're the first to see it since I got it done," you tell him, a laugh bubbling from your lips as his touch on your ribs tickles.

"And I hope it stays that way," he responds. It's an unspoken promise. He wants you all to himself for the foreseeable future.

His finger continues the trajectory down your tummy, lightly going over your belly button before it traces over your mound and dips to touch your clit.

You gasp at the surge of pleasure as your clit remains sensitive from his previous actions. "Gotta say it's not fair that I'm the only one naked," you moan when Han continues to circle your nub.

"What are you gonna do about it?" Han incites you to see what you'll do.

Any remaining shyness you had is long gone as lust replaces it. You kneel in front of Han, who leans back to watch you. Your chest is close to his face, so when you lean closer to grab the hem of his shirt, he sucks one of your nipples. 

"Han," you whine, arching your back," "Stop distracting me."

Ignoring his mouth on you, you grab his shirt and pull it off. Successfully making him stop his attack on your breasts. You peck his lips and kiss down his jaw.

You take your time kissing his toned chest and stomach. You wish to memorize every part of him. "You're so handsome, Han," you purr, glancing up at him.

Those simple words that spilled from your mouth made his heart flutter. Han is used to being the one to dish out compliments and praise the women he's with. To have you say that is like a breath of fresh air, and he can't wait to have more.

"Fuck, Angel," he groans, grasping your chin. You kiss his palm with a smile that's equally angelic and devilish.

You want to peel two more layers off Han's body and decide to do it all at once. Grasping the band of his pants and boxers, you slowly pull them down, building anticipation.

His cock springs out of its confines, landing on Han's abdomen. You don't hide your curious gaze as you take in his cock. It's so big it makes you bite your lip in anticipation. The tip is a dark pink as it drips with precum.

After you remove his pants entirely, you grasp his cock, feeling the warmth and weight of it. Han breathes out through his nose, a futile attempt to keep his cool. A string of saliva drips from your lips, coating his hard length. Each stroke you made caused a bead of pre to spill from him.

You take it as an invitation to taste him, wrapping your lips around his head your tongue licks the beads of white. 

Han does the impossible not to push your head down to take all of him. The thought is present, though. You've barely teased him compared to how he teased you, but Han can no longer resist. 

"I need you," Han groans, calling out your name, not the nickname you've been donned for the past three years.

You don't take it for granted. Hearing your name sends you into overdrive. Han pulls you up to kiss you and lies you down on the top of the bed. He comfortably gets between your legs that hug his waist to bring him closer. His cock brushes your wet pussy, and you both hiss at the sensation. Your pussy clenches around nothing at the thought of having Han fill you entirely.

"You ready, Angel?" Han asks you. One arm holding him up and the other wrapped around your thigh, giving you a comforting squeeze. Time stops ticking at that moment. It's just you and Han wrapped in each other. 

"I've been ready for the past month, Han. Fuck me, please," you plead quietly, your fingertips running up and down his back. 

"Just because you said, please." Han lines his cock up to your entrance and pushes past your lips into your warm center. Relief floods through the both of you, but it soon dissipates, and it's replaced by waves of unfiltered lust.

Han starts fucking into you deep, at the perfect pace. Your eyes involuntarily close as you feel Han's cock stretching you open and filling you like never before. Han kisses your temple and releases sexy moans into your ear with words of encouragement.

'Such a tight pussy just for me.'

'Taking me so good, Angel.'

'Can't get enough of you.'

You echo his words, encouraging him to keep fucking you. Your nails dig into his back as you try to hold on to anything, and your heels dig into his lower back. The closeness between you is intoxicating, your scents mixing and becoming one, his hair ticking your face, his warm skin heating up yours. 

Han slows the pace momentarily, leaning back on his knees to see your pretty cunt taking his cock. He wants to commit to memory how your pussy spreads to make way for his cock, a white ring on the base of his cock, and how your little clit is exposed and vulnerable to his touch.

The other girls he's slept with only got part of his attention and dedication. He didn't mean to make a huge impression. He only did his job, often choosing to lie back and let them do as they pleased with him. 

With you, it's different. He wants to give you his all and leave a great impression. He'll do all the work; you can just take it if that's what you want. That's the difference between you and the other girls. He lived to spoil you.

Meanwhile, you fall apart under him, moaning incoherent phrases he can barely make out. He loves hearing them, though. You reach for Han's hand as he increases his pace and grips it tightly.

Han slips his cock out of you, wanting to make his fantasy a reality. You shudder at the empty feeling and whine, "No, don't stop." 

"Come on, Angel. Get on your knees," Han coo's at you, kissing your pouty lips. "Promise you'll cum soon."

Han positions you on your knees, your back arched as your tits rub against the bed sheets. You huff through it all, desperate to have him pounding into you again. He smacks your ass when you wiggle it to get him to do what you want.

Han enters you in one smooth motion, this position amplifying your pleasure as he hits the spongy spot inside of you more directly.

"Han!" You cry out, fisting the sheets underneath you. 

"I'm right here, Angel," Han breathes, snapping his hips rhythmically. 

Just as he visualized, he grabs your hips in his large hands and digs his thumbs into the dimples on your back. With a tight hold, he thrusts into you unrelentingly, and you push back onto him just as eagerly. Your cries are muffled by the pillow you're hugging to your face.

Your pussy swallows him with each thrust, even as it clenches to prepare for orgasm. He can't hold back any longer as his balls clench with each faltering thrust, and your walls squeeze him tighter than ever.

" 'm cumming," you squeal, your legs tense up and shake. Your walls contract and release in a rhythmic motion that sends Han over the edge, your name on the tip of his tongue.

Han pulls out of you, helping you get back onto a comfortable position, and lies beside you, catching his breath. He turns to look at you, and you do the same. You can't hold his gaze long as you furiously blush.

Han laughs, grabbing your hand to lace your fingers together. "You can't get shy now!"

"I can't control it!" You exclaim, hiding your face with the same pillow as earlier. 

The rest of the day is spent in bed. Han ignores his daily responsibilities and stays in, getting lost in your touch and making promises he hopes to keep.

One Year and a Half Later...

You drive up to the empty parking complex. It's similar to the one you spend your nights on. Driving up the floors, you find Han where he told you he'd be. He leans against the familiar orange car, a bag of chips in his hands. A nice lather jacket covers his arms, making you smile when you remember how he got it in the first place.

"Hey, you wanted to meet me here?" You question, getting out of your car.

Approaching him, you kiss his salty lips and wait for an explanation regarding the random meet-up spot. In the entire year and a half of you dating, he's never asked you such a weird request.

"You feeling up to race?" Han asks you, holding your hand in his.

It's been years since the two of you met, and for the same amount of time, people have been pining you two to race. He denied every request, including the ones you threw every once in a while.

"It's about time," you exclaim, excitement filling your body. "What's at stake?"

There is something up Han's sleeve. You know that much. There is something he wants from you if he suddenly wants to race you. He could just ask. You'll give him everything he desires. You play along, though.

"Winner gets the other's car," he offers, pushing himself off the car to wrap his arms around you to hug you, his thumb soothingly brushing over the spot where your tattoo is. He last saw you when you left for your new engineering job early in the morning.

"You're willing to sacrifice your car?" You chuckle, implying you are going to win.

"It's only fair," he shrugs, kissing your cheek.

With one last peck, he lets you go and gets in his car. You follow his lead, lining up your car to the imaginary starting line. Han sets up a timer, and once it went off, both cars lurched forward at high speeds. 

You focus on the race, forgetting it's Han you're competing with. You've been dying to go against him for so long, desperate to find out who was the better racer between the two. 

As expected, Han makes it hard for you. The race is neck and neck as you drift up the floors of the building. Whenever Han takes the lead, you find a way to get ahead. You see the end near, and Han threatens to surpass you, but with one last boost, you keep your position, winning the race.

You leap out of your car, feeling the high of the race. No one has kept you on your toes for so long. It's a satisfying win. Han walks out of his car more calmly, smiling, happy to see you celebrate. It didn't matter to him that you were better. You deserved it.

"I can't believe I won," you exclaim, jumping into his arms as he spins you around.

"I can, and I'm so proud," Han says, kissing all over your face.

The race's prize is forgotten as you celebrate, but Han reminds you by handing you his keys, "A deal is a deal." You take the keys from him as a mere formality. You're not taking Han's precious car. Racing him is enough for you.

The weight of the keys is strange to you. They tend to be much heavier. Opening your palm to inspect them, you see that his keychains and spare keys are missing. In their place is a diamond ring.

"Han, what-" you stutter, whipping up to look at him.

"My car is yours. I figured I could be yours too. Will you marry me?" Han takes the keys from you, getting down on one knee and removing the ring from the holder. 

From all the possible scenarios you had in mind from this clandestine meeting, Han's proposal was not one of them. Nevertheless, you have your answer instantly.

"Yes," you nod, choking back a sob.

Han grabs your hand and slides the ring onto your fourth finger. It's a perfect fit, just like Han. You drop down in front of Han, ignoring the dirty floor, to kiss and hug him.

Han kisses away your tears, a smile permanently etched on his face. He never thought he'd see the day he would settle down, but this past year has been near perfection with you, and he doesn't see himself with anyone else.

"Did you let me win to set this up?" You ask him later that night. His arms are wrapped tightly around you as you lie on his chest.

"No," he answers simply, kissing your head.

"You let me win," you then say assertively.

"No, I did not, Angel," he answers again, hiding his smile in your hair.

"I don't believe you. We have to race again," you tell him, lifting your head to glance at him.

"I don't have a reason to. I've got everything I want right here. Take the win, Angel," Han tells you sweetly, his fingers playing with your ring.

"For now," you huff, settling back down and cuddling up to him.

Fin. 

thank you for reading! i didn't mean for it to be this long although i'm sure you guys are not complaining!

this was so much fun to write. guys like i am in love with han lue, i've spent hours on tiktok watching han lue and sung kang edits. i need help! tell me i'm not the only one like this!

requests are still open ❤️

[kenmakodz]

˖˙ ᰋ ── the yap temple ˖*

introducing the main cast of "inamorata"! , an inumaki x reader smau.

⤷ our mains !

inumaki and y/n. both second years at tokyo jujutsu high.

toge inumaki, a semi-grade one sorcerer, who uses his inheritance of cursed speech to his advantage. seems like a quiet one, but is actually extremely talkative.. whether through rice ball ingredients or text. it takes quite a smart cookie to decode the meanings in his words, but being with him every day has gotten you mostly accustomed to it.

“toge, maki said if you ate her chips she left on the picnic table she’s going to find you. i don’t really know what that means.”

“FISH FLAKES”

y/n l/n, a grade one sorcerer, who also uses one of the five senses to her advantage, that being her eyes. this technique is called the ‘three stars technique.’ the three stars are identified as time manipulation, teleportation, and telekinesis. to put the time manipulation simply, focusing on a target allows the user to move much faster than seen in real time. essentially, slowing down time for themselves, but nobody else. can be used as a support or a main damage dealer in fights, making it quite useful. (concept created by iwa970 on reddit !)

[ adding onto this, although y/n can control the technique at will, she opts to wear glasses her mother gave her as a child while not fighting, that have been said to "keep others safe". she doesn't know just how true that actually is, but for loves sake does it anyways. often snags one of maki's weapons even if they're not really necessary, either to take dead weight off of panda (if he's around), or to test them out because honestly why not? (does she find it amusing? no sometimes.) ]

⤷ the second years !

yuuta okkotsu, a special grade sorcerer who can copy any ability at will, and utilize them with ease. can come off as a scary guy, but is actually the clumsiest, shyest, awkwardest, nicest person you'll ever meet. trains with maki often, but tries to frequent y/n as well. (he usually gets fed up and tells her "you're too fast! quit it!"

maki zenin, a fourth grade sorcerer who has been horribly mislabeled. one of- if not the most agile students at jujutsu high. she's flexible, quick on her feet, and easy to teach any of the few things she doesn't already know. you're in trouble against maki, not only on the battlefield but if you insult her or one of the people closest to her? in the words of panda, you should probably run.

panda, he's a panda. (jk). a semi-grade 2 sorcerer who is a goofy, cuddly guy most of the time, but can be quite intimidating if you're around him when he swaps his build. not as swift as the other students, but makes up for it with his strength. likes to say he's the "bodyguard" when in reality most of his friends will use him as a pillow.

⤷ the first years !

yuuji itadori, a semi-grade one (newbie) sorcerer, unarguably the physically strongest out of all the students. aside from his first mission, yuuji utilizes hand-to-hand combat like no other. quite a sight to see him lift and break things that nobody around him could ever fathom the strength of doing.

"yuujiiii?! i dropped something behind the fridge again! come move it please?"

nobara kugisaki, a grade three sorcerer who's inherited the straw doll technique. she relies on this technique for the majority of combat, similar to that of a 'voodoo' doll, one could say. picking fun at her is always funny until you realize your fate could (quite literally) be in her hands. she says she isn't strong, but you've witnessed her somehow cause itadori to fall down an entire flight of stairs. sorry shoko.

megumi fushiguro, a grade two sorcerer, inherited the ten shadows technique via the zenin family. often calls his shikigamis out during combat, but similar to maki is skilled at wielding weapons as well. sure, the demon dogs can be.. deadly, but who is he to say no when his friends are practically pleading for pets?!

all main characters unlocked!

masterlist is in progess, please be patient :)

previous , masterlist (wip) , next

taglist is open!

⤷ © kenmakodz

[ab121500]

FO4 Companions React to a Blind!Sole

Sole being blind Pre-war (TW for Ableism) 

I've never written one of these before, but my most recent  Sole is blind so I thought I'd put my idea of how I think the companions would react. 

Cait: Doesn't believe that Sole is blind at first. They're too good of a shot, too aware of what's going on to be blind. But she notices that Sole does struggle with things those with sight wouldn't even bat an eye at. They often face the wrong way when being told to read something, they also are terrible at keeping watch. She at first is mad that she has to "pick up the slack" but she quickly gets over it after Sole treats her with kindness and understanding. Doesn't take long for her to stand up for Sole in every situation.

Codsworth: Sole's blindness was something that he got used to not long after being purchased. As a Mr. Handy, he has software that allows him to assist those who are disabled. It never affected how Sole treated him, nor his perception of them. In the post war setting, with the world being so different from what Sole remembers, he tries to assist in even more ways than he used to. Going with Sole to Concord for example, or at least wanting to when they denied his request. He doesn't treat Sole any differently from before, and tries not to handle them with kid gloves knowing how much they hate that.

Curie: Sees Sole as a curiosity. At first she often tries to run little tests to figure out the severity of their blindness and the extent of their capabilities. She's a doctor, she wants to know the extent of their blindness and what she can do to potentially assist. That being said, after being called out she knocks it off and switches her focus on listening to Sole and what they want. She wants to be helpful, unaware of how condescending she can be at times.

Deacon: Thinks Sole is extremely interesting from the moment he sees them the first time. Their ability to get around without much trouble and handle the wasteland without sight is fascinating. He appreciates that Sole can't see him following them around, and when Sole comes around to get the courser chip decoded he still vouches for them. Still, due to the nature of the Railroad and the fact they use road signs and need to keep an eye out he worries Sole won't be a good agent. He doesn't want to risk any synth getting caught or hurt because Sole didn't notice the danger. Overall he respects Sole, but thinks Sole is best on Railroad jobs with him or Glory by their side. He does get annoyed that their PipBoy has voice to text on, as it gives them away when sneaking but he can look past that.

Danse: The fact that a citizen came in guns blazing to save him and his squad got his respect, but once he noticed their blindness he instantly feels like Sole is a liability. People being blind wasn't the most uncommon thing in the brotherhood, but those who were blind often weren't allowed on the field anymore. More often than not they were asked to more or less retire to not put their teammates at risk. He tries to tactfully get Sole to leave, but he knows he needs the extra firepower to get the transmitter. He appreciates the help but is wary about sponsoring them even if they proved their capabilities. After becoming his newest charge, he acts like they are the same as any recruit. That being said, it takes him a long time to not handle Sole like a helpless child. He knows Sole can handle themselves, but he can't help but treat them a little differently. It takes being pulled aside and called out before he realizes he's even doing that, and he apologizes and tries his hardest to knock it off.

Dogmeat: Confused at first but he's a good smart boy. Happy to be Sole's eyes instead.

Hancock: At first, he thought Sole was just a cold, badass bitch. No reaction to a man being stabbed in front of them, AND no reaction to him being a ghoul? But the realization hit him quickly after, and he didn't know how to feel. Sole was clearly street smart enough to not be taken advantage of, but that didn't mean people didn't suck. Honestly, if anyone belonged in the town full of misfits who look out for each other, it was Sole. He treats them like they treat him, like a person that is just like everyone else. He is guilty of subtly moving things out of Sole's way or tapping them so they face the right direction, but it's never really noticeable. It's similar to moving something out of someone's way when they are distracted or tapping someone's shoulder to get their attention.  

Maccready: He assumed that he was being hired to be a bodyguard. After all, being blind in the wastes was not easy and they'd need protection. Didn't take long for him to realize Sole is a damn good shot and is able to take care of themself. He deduces that Sole hired him not as a bodyguard, but as a companion, someone who was company on the road so they had someone to talk to. And if he just so happened to notice if someone was trying to rip Sole off he'd be able to call them out. He doesn't treat Sole any differently, before or after his quest. Before, they're his employer he's not saying shit and after they're his friend and he's not going to risk that relationship. 

Nick: He knew something was up the moment Sole didn't even slightly react to his appearance. Didn't panic seeing him, nor asked what his deal was. The fact they were able to get him out without being able to see, using a terminal and all got his respect. But he was still nervous that a blind person was using a gun, or he was until by some miracle Sole landed at least 6 head-shots in a row. Once being free, the interview to try and find Shaun was difficult. No physical characteristics to go on, the guess that it was Kellogg was honestly just lucky. Regardless, Sole treated Nick like a person from the moment they met, and he'd be lying that it wasn't nice to just be seen as normal. It's only fair he returns the favor.

Piper: Sole was already extremely interesting to Piper, but add on the fact they can't see and she's instantly more interested. What's life in the Commonwealth like if you can't see it? What was life like before the bombs? How do you use your weapon so effectively? She overcompensates for Sole's lack of sight by being reckless, especially when they first travel together. She probably forgets often that Sole is blind, often being like "Hey did you see that Blue?" And then remembering and apologizing. She does get better with time, and definitely publishes papers calling out people/businesses who try to take advantage of Sole. Any papers in the Publick that Sole is in she reads out loud to them.

Preston: He's just relieved that someone came to help them in the Museum. He couldn’t give a shit that Sole is blind, he cares that they're willing to help. The only hiccup is getting the fusion core in the basement since Sturges can't get it and Sole can't get it either. They offer to try and are lucky enough to get it first try and grab the fusion core. After meeting back at Sanctuary he opts to not mention it as it's none of his business. By the time he feels comfortable enough around Sole to ask about it, they're friends and he doesn't want them to be uncomfortable so he never brings it up. He's the type to gently point Sole in the right direction if they're looking the wrong way in conversions or moving stuff out of the way if they might trip on them. He also makes sure that Sanctuary and the Castle are as consistent as possible so that Sole has an easier time navigating them.

Strong: does not appreciate the puny human not being able to see. How can they help him find the milk of human kindness if they can't even see it? He sees Soul as a weakling and refuses to travel with them.

X6: Doesn't care that Sole is Father's parent, Sole is a liability and cannot handle themself as well as a person with sight can. He doesn't like being paired with Sole.

Old Longfellow: Honestly he kind of envies them. They never have to see the horrors of the fog like he has. But he's aware that one day he might lose his sight too. Besides, the thickness of the fog even having sight isn't much of an advantage. He helps Sole the same way he helps all travelers to Acadia, with the added bonus that Sole can defend themselves. 

Gage: Helps sole at first because he can't tell they can't see, instantly turns on them after they become overboss due to blindness being a weakness.

[what-even-is-thiss]

My dad and I were talking about the original Star Wars movie and how knowing what we know now about technology some stuff in it makes no sense. Specifically the bit where the heroes have to physically move information around even though they have holograms.

My dad started talking about how Leia could’ve moved the Death Star plans between servers or something when I stopped him and went hold on a minute. How much did you know about computer servers in 1978?

And he was like. Well I didn’t know they existed. I knew absolutely nothing about wireless communication or computer servers.

And it’s like. Yeah. The reason Luke has to physically move the droid with the plans in it around and a chip has to be physically inserted to decode the info is because the movie came out in 1978. You can try to come up with in universe explainations all you like, and Rogue One certainly did, but the fact of the matter is that the people who made Star Wars couldn’t have anticipated how information would be shared even 20 years later.

[klutzyroses]

IkeVamp HCs: Feminine Energy Reader

How do they react to a feminine reader who is classy, mysterious, magnetic and also plays hard to get?

Suitors: Mozart, Arthur, Theo, Galileo

Mozart

Upon first meeting her, he was his typical icy self, but even so, he could still tell there was something...oddly beguiling about her.

Granted, his initial coldness is met with elegance as she gracefully turns on her heel and leaves the exchange confidently.

An example of this is when he tells her on her first day that he despises her and the commotion she has made with her arrival to the mansion, she merely blinks very slowly, her long lashes brushing her cheeks before those lovely lips parted to coolly respond with;

"Blaming me for not being unable to focus on your work seems to be your own issue of lacking the resolve. You might want to do something about that."

Before turning around without giving him a chance to respond and walking out, her head held high as he stares after her.

He finds it...appealing how she conducts herself with so much poise, yet with full confidence within her femininity.

It actually makes him feel a little...guilty for treating her the way he has. Especially since now, the beautiful woman is acting almost as frosty as himself, yet different. Less outwardly rude and more...classy, so to speak. It gives the impression that he offended a princess or something of that nature.

Her detached politeness is slowly chipped away when he clears the air himself and she very slowly begins to trust him.

Learning different aspects of her personality becomes surprisingly stimulating to the musician as she lets him discover her little by little. The fact that she doesn't offer too much of herself at once made her something of a mystery.

He in turn, opens up a little to her in reciprocation, silently curious to uncover more of her and learn her like a song he has yet to decipher and play. He figures it wouldn't be so bad if he could decode her just a little more...

Arthur

Arthur is intrigued right away. Her gorgeous looks brings the initial attraction, but its her demeanor that hooks him.

Her feminine allure, her delicate body language and soft spoken manner is something he finds quite fetching.

He learns firsthand what a challenge she would be when he first started flirting with her. She had gazed upon him somewhat impassively before her fingers gracefully move the hair framing her sweet face and responding with his flirtation with a prim;

"No thank you, Sir Arthur, I'm sure you can ask one of your admirers. Good day."

Straight shut down. Calm and classy, without being overly cruel or rude, before walking around him to be on her way.

Surprised as he was, that little exchange cemented his interest in her.

After all, being surrounded by women who threw themselves at him was the norm for the mystery author but her? No.

She was far more...composed, enigmatic and effortlessly exuded feminine class.

She never falls all over herself to get his attention, she never has to. She naturally inspires curiosity with her gentle, mysterious charisma. She, without words, lets him know that she is not one to offer her heart at the first sign of interest.

He finds himself enjoying the chase. Pursuing her begins to be quite the fun challenge, especially because Y/N herself tends to tease him by making him work for her trust and rewarding his efforts with little glimpses of her innermost heart.

He finds pleasure in how she allows him to pursue her and her subtle expression of her interest in him by figuratively "dropping the handkerchief" was both encouraging and enticing to Arthur.

She is like a beautifully intricate puzzle box and the author is definitely up to the challenge of unlocking her heart.

Theo

So...he definitely got off on the wrong foot with the mysterious beauty.

Theo being Theo, wasn't quite expecting her to be like this when he first spoke to her. He very quickly learns that, despite her pretty face, Y/N is not to be spoken to like any average woman.

The way she carries herself, dainty and girly, elegant and confident gives him pause. Makes his insults and barbs rest in his head for a little longer than any other woman would.

He feels a little more respect for her, even if he will never say it, but soon, he has little choice in the matter when he first started addressing her as "hondje". When the Y/N caught wind of what that meant, she was quick to issue him an ultimatum.

She turns those soft eyes toward him, without breaking eye contact, in response to whatever rude thing has come out of his mouth and she speaks in a short tone of finality, hinting at her offended disposition.

"Mr Van Gogh, if you have a problem speaking to me with respect or even remembering my name, I suggest you don't speak to me at all."

She turns her lovely self around, smacking him in the face with her hair, though unintentionally, as she walked away, her hips swaying slightly after putting him in his place, without ever raising her voice.

Since then, Theo learns that if he wants the girl to even give him the time of day, he's going to have to pull some verbal punches....alot of punches.

He won't say it, but he respects and admires her for her quiet dignity, her charming confidence and self worth. She isn't arrogant or self important, but she clearly has self respect, he will give her that.

To be so overtly and unapologetically feminine in a mansion full of men is respectable in itself.

Even as they get closer, he is not quite sure what is going on in her beautiful mind, what she is thinking behind that enigmatic smile of hers.

He would like nothing more than the scrub away the paint to uncover just what she is hiding.

The man is an art dealer, so obviously, his philolocalist mind is set on opening her up to him.

Galileo

Being as standoffish as he is, he will admit that the woman is a beauty, more as a fact than something that actually moves him. Even then, it wasn't something he would state aloud.

When he first met her, his first reaction was to tell her to leave, that she was in his way. The woman did not get upset or flustered over his harsh wording or delivery. She doesn't snap at him or pout or fall into an apologetic frenzy.

Instead she leveled him with a strangely inscrutable look in her eyes, quiet for but a moment before those delicate, manicured hands push the girl upright as she stands and speaks evenly.

"I apologize for intruding. Pardon me, Monsieur."

Her soft, calming voice is the only sound in the classroom before she walks away, brushing past him slightly by mistake as she leaves, her intoxicating presence unfortunately left behind as the silent Galileo watches her leave.

He is no fool, he knows full well, despite how composed she was, that the woman was offended by him. Had he been anyone else, he probably wouldn't have realized that because of the respectful and almost regal behaviour she possessed.

Clearly not a woman that wears her heart on her sleeve. He finds himself mildly wondering what she had been thinking when she hadn't responded to him right away. In that moment, she was a mystery to him, a sweet riddle with a lovely face.

He may find himself thinking every now and again of that lovely face with the strange... soft femininity that he found a little difficult to forget.

The world is full of many mysteries, but that woman is just one more to add to the complexities he thought about.

🌸

[the-monkeies-girl]

Thanks to my slutty friends on Discord ( thank you all i love you ), I'm trying something new. i am not leaving the planet of the apes fandom i promise JUST EXPERIMENTING.

❗❗Below content has HEAVY SPOILERS FOR DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK IF THAT IS A GODDAMN PROBLEM I'M NOT RESPONSIBLE IF YOU SPOIL IT FOR YOURSELF. THANKS. ❗❗ If you guys like this, i can write more if not then we're leaving this as is lmao.

Channing Tatum!Gambit x Female!Reader.

The exponential way that he flicked cards between fingers was amusing, the lightened shade of purple captivating your senses that it was difficult to quite pick out where the Ace of Hearts was going to land despite it holding itself stagnantly with sheer force of motion.  There was a smile on your face as a card, not the one that had been playfully teasing its existence literally weaving its way through Remy’s right hand, finally slid in front of you on the hardened and not polished wooden bench used to play. Not exclusively, you stared at the Mutant in front of you with a smug smirk as you plucked the card that slid along the coarse surface with ease due to his power sauntering it to you. 

The table was also used to eat when you were together and feeling chummy, the slower days in the sad existence of cast-outs when the others were not there and you and Remy were forced to be lookouts together. Never fun, the accent was difficult to decipher and you would blow through an entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s just trying to decode the phrases he used. Mixing in and out of Cajun French never helped, but it always left you feeling oddly comforted when the brunette referred to you as ‘Bele’. The table used for explosives here and there when a card had found itself too close to your hand when you reached for the playing deck to draw.

Playfully, you knew that he’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you after being in the Void for over a year now, but there was never certainty in the existence beyond time and away from actual realities. Counter-intuitive, it was used to knives embellishing themselves and carving our bits and pieces of chipped splinters from your first encounter with the  Mutant known as Gambit when you were found in the woods after being casted from your own safety net of a Universe.

“You know, my mom told me never to play cards with a thieving backstabber.” There was a cut in your voice that drenched Remy’s ear with minor flirtations, sharper than even a knife or his favored card to use to slice and dice. Narrow green irises that appeared darker, almost red in the firelight that crackled nearby on your expression, casted shadows of disillusion playing against them as he placed himself a card down.

“M’ Momma…” His head tilted to the side, the quaff of hair moving adjacent with the muscles in his neck, exposed for once to cater to your feasted eyes, skin that was not often left for the taking. The cowl of his head piece, the mirroring face plates around his ears and sweeping against his forehead were forgotten in place of comfort in the dead of night. Remy was handsome, and he knew it. At least, he appeared at times when you two were alone. It begged the question of what his true ability was. Charisma? Maybe, if you could understand him more frequently.

Allure? Most definitely otherwise you wouldn’t be there playing cards with him to begin with and you’d have joined Elektra on night patrol as you so often did to get away and get fresh air.  “Well, if I knew tha’ woman…” The left dealing hand rose itself up as he made a nonsensical gesture with it, swirling through the air before falling back onto the deck of cards and with one strategically placed shuffle, his hardened but teasing expression was alit with lavender cased with more pinkish hues to tease the smile that had ridden against his cheeks, “She ha’ told me… Neva… To play them cars’… With Bonne a rienne.”

“You know I can’t understand you when you talk like that, it’s all a slurred blur. You sure you need to be drinking that?” It was evident that what he had said was meant as a insulting intrgue. Pointing towards the freshly cracked bottle of Whisky next to the stocky build of Remy with your nose, you smiled as he trailed and mimicked your stare with a chortle.

“Tha’ makes m’ sound more clear. Bele,” He leaned inwards, the deck of cards that always sought his favor falling straight onto the table, face down. “Y’should know tha’.”

“Hm,” It was your turn to lean in, the holster that held your knives shifting with your weight as you drifted upwards, “Still can’t understand a word, you Cajun Bastard.”

[littlecrittereli]

catching up on all the chapters of decoded and i'm literally tweaking out. your writing has so much imagery and you're able to capture the reoccurring themes and emotions of healing, anxiety, desperation, and disorders like PTSD even if you're not specifically saying it (like the knife imagery, and how chris feels like he's walking on egg shells around the crew whenever he feels like he's trying to earn their trust back, or trying to get that label of mentally stable back on him). it throws me for such a loop anytime i see some of the words you use. "invasive" really stuck out to me when you were describing the chip in chris' arm, and (as an older sibling) you capture the complex of an older brother perfectly. i feel like such a fangirl, but you're able to place the reader in everyone's shoes (besides diego n anyone not on the crew), from chris struggling to heal and feel trusted--and survivors guilt, to martin just wanting his brother to feel secure (and struggling to cope with the change), to aviva, koki and jimmy all caring for him. I also LOVE how you show little instances into chris'.... well.... i guess memory gaps? or i guess his time in the suit? I don't know how exactly to word it, but you ride the line between telling too much, and telling to little-- it's just enough that it's disturbing and leaves so many questions. and the pure symbolism in chris scarring martin while in the suit, the branding and ownership imagery, the loss of self-- its all so amazing, im enamored! it's honestly a work of art and honestly i'm obsessed with how the story's evolving. just AAAAAA if i could read your fic for the first time again, i would. if I had the time to write a dissertation on it, i also would. keep up the amazing work!!! im so excited to see all the things yet to come with your writing (you should totally write a book at some point!!) (and your art is amazing too!!!)

-sincerely, a college english major (who's also sick with brain fog so sorry if this isn't as clear as it should be)

This is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me wtf

HEKSHSJ IM SO HAPPY YOU ENJOY IT AHHHHH im so insane for them and everytime someone matches my insanity i jump around in my enclosure

This is honestly the first thing I’ve written thats over 20k!! I have never been super confident in my writing capabilities, sticking more to art and comics. But I really wanted to give it a try, and I’ve been learning so much and having so much fun with it!

I will definitely be writing more stories in the future, but Reprogrammed is really special to me in a lot of ways. There’s a lot of symbolism and deeper interactions that I don’t usually explore. It’s honestly been really refreshing and healing to me in a way :]

[molly-ghuleh]

Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 7

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: You slowly chip away at Elizabeth's diary. Copia takes you for a little break to clear your head.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: Hey hi hello!! Thank you once again for your incredible patience with these chapters. You all are so very close to my heart and I cherish every single like/reblog/comment (I cry when people say nice things to me, help). That said... let me know your thoughts!!

Warnings: possible mention of anxiety (very brief), Sister Imperator being shady, mentions of ritual sex (no graphic depictions)

AO3 / 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

You live in limbo for a full week. “A few hours” of working in Copia’s office had turned into a full day and well into the night. Then one day turned to two, and two to four, and then you found yourself in his office without him asking, simply because it would save time. 

The atmosphere between you and Copia during these days is oddly comfortable. You’ve always preferred to work alone, feeling that any noise or talking would be a distraction. Your translations would always turn out more eloquent and faithful to the original text when you could place yourself into the author’s headspace, and that requires near silence or, at most, the ambience of the room around you. 

With Copia, though, you find that you’re able to focus even when there is noise or talking in the corridor outside his office. Part of you wants to believe that it’s just the change of scenery. His office is opulent, as the rest of the Abbey, but understated. The wall to the left of the door is lined with bookshelves filled with books and little relics or knick knacks. The desk you work at, which sits nestled in the back corner of the room, had been piled with papers and books which you’d helped him organize (a task which he insists he owes you a favor for), but now it houses your own materials. His desk is still fairly cluttered but since you’ve started spending the days in his company, he’s made a significant dent in the work. 

He’d said that having a study buddy helps him stay on task. You’ve always thought you were the opposite, but perhaps you’d never found the right person. It’s as if Copia radiates this aura of calm and focus that you can inhale by just sitting in the same room as him. Your notes are clearer, you can decode letters faster, the Latin flows from your pen smoother. 

That’s not to say you always stay on task. 

There have been times when a little observation or comment turns to an hour-long conversation, or an invitation to the refectory for lunch turns into a walk through the gardens to take advantage of the warming weather. Or a little glance his way turns into watching him work, memorizing the pattern of his pen’s dragging across a signature line. Watching the little cowlick he tries so desperately to keep in place as it falls back over his forehead. Spotting a tiny smudge in his black paints and remembering how his face had looked, soaked in rain and bare and flushed at your touch. 

Yes, you have been living in limbo between being Copia’s study buddy and being something more. 

You know, he’d said. You must.

You do know. If the past week has shown you anything, it’s that you know, more surely than you’d expected to, that you’re dangerously close to falling in love with him and that every day you tip further and further over that cliff. The abyss below is deep and if you fall you have no chance of climbing back out. 

Copia… Copia is already plummeting. There’s a pleasant heaviness that settles in his chest at the thought of you, increased tenfold at the sight of you. Just existing in the same space as you makes him content with how his life has been, like every moment he’d spent alone only led him to you. Oh, yes, Copia is hurtling downwards at terminal velocity and it’s a long way down.

Somewhere within the last few minutes, Copia noticed you’ve stopped writing. Your eyes stare blankly at the letter grid, one hand pointing to keep track and the other holding your pen a few inches off the notebook page. You must be lost in thought. 

“Tesoro?” Copia calls gently. A small smile plays on his lips. He’d gone for the informal paints today after staying in his office far too late to complete some work the previous night, and not at all because you’d accidentally let slip that you like his freckles during a particularly sunny walk. “Where did you go just then?” 

At the sound of his voice, your eyes flick up towards where he sits at his desk, watching you. You blink. “Mars, I think,” you say with a little laugh. “I’m stuck on this one phrase.” 

Copia rises from his desk chair, stretching his arms above his head, and you try not to stare at the little sliver of skin exposed when his shirt rides up. “Would you like another pair of eyes on it?” He asks. 

“Here,” you nod, pointing at the line in your notebook where you’d written the deciphered phrase in Latin. “Collige virgo rosas. Literally, ‘pick, girl, the roses’.”

“Ah, so… what is that phrase? ‘Stop and smell the roses’, yes?” 

“Yes, exactly,” you say. “But in the context of this, it doesn’t make sense. She’s not talking about something good.” 

Copia’s brows furrow as he rounds your desk and comes to stand beside your chair. He leans over to read what you’ve deciphered in your notebook. The words of Latin slide effortlessly off his tongue as he reads your work out loud, and not for the first time, you’re reminded of how smart he really is. Not that you ever doubted it—he’s proven time and time again through answering your questions about the Ministry’s history that he’s Papa for a reason—but it’s a quiet intelligence. The two of you could be joking about something entirely inconsequential and then suddenly he’s telling you about the theistic anti-religious undertones of the works of Marcus Aurelius and somehow he makes the transition make sense. 

“Oh! I see,” Copia says with a jaunty little snap of his fingers. “Here. Further down, read this part.” 

Your eyes follow his gloved finger down the page of your notebook to a passage you don’t quite remember deciphering. Using the letter grid is mindless now. After spending a week doing nothing but mapping and mapping and mapping every single letter in Elizabeth’s diary, you’ve learned how to let your mind drift just enough that the translation is still accurate but your mind is elsewhere. 

In horto moribundo, elige rosas sanas, Elizabeth had written. 

In a dying garden, choose healthy roses.  

You continue to read the rest of the passage, and yes, now that first idiom makes more sense. It’s oddly… optimistic, for Elizabeth. 

“Huh,” you say dumbly, suddenly all too aware of how close Copia is standing. “I don’t remember writing that at all.” 

“Because you were on Mars,” Copia laughs. “Come back down to Earth and we can go for a walk, si? You seem to be, eh… zoning out.”

You smile at him. His eyes are already on yours. From this close you remember that, on top of his intelligence and kindness and wit and charm and empathy, he’s devastatingly handsome. And then you remember how you feel about this man, and how this man feels about you, and your heart kicks up a gear. There haven’t been any romantic declarations or passionate kisses, but every time you pass the romance section of the Library on your way to return Elizabeth’s diary to its lockbox at the end of the night, you’re tempted to borrow a book or two, just for the catharsis of it. 

Carefully, you close the diary and wrap it in its linen to protect it while you’re away. Copia moves back to his desk and fishes his key out of the top drawer. “Let’s go to the front gardens today, cara mia,” he says.

“How come?” You ask as he opens his office door for you. 

He shrugs. “It’s something different. And the sun is over there right now.”

He doesn’t mention the conversation he’d had with Terzo the night before. How he’d approached his brother, the master of romantic gestures and wooing, and asked how exactly he might tell someone he has feelings for them in a way that won’t leave anything in question. He doesn’t mention how Terzo had (embarrassingly) made him roleplay how his confession might go. He also doesn’t mention that, at Terzo’s suggestion, he’d gone to Primo to ask where the prettiest places in the Abbey gardens are, and Primo had told him that the front gardens are full of Japanese camellia bushes on their last leg of blooming for the Spring season. Copia doesn’t mention how, after that, Primo had lent him a well-loved copy of Linguaggio dei Fiori. 

When you’re finished organizing your materials, Copia leads you out his office door with a warm hand placed on the small of your back. The touch, little as it is, makes you shiver. 

“I haven’t been to this side of the Abbey,” you tell him. “Not since I arrived.” 

Copia watches you as you speak. “The front of the Abbey is very, eh, overlooked. Most people prefer the back gardens because they are bigger. There is more to look at.”

He seems nervous, you notice. You can hear the creaking of his leather gloves as he wrings his hands behind his back. And despite his calm facade, his voice sounds… different. Not weaker, but less sure. 

“Copia,” you say quietly. You always say his name with such softness and it makes his heart pound. “Are you alright?” 

He smiles at you but it isn’t very believable. “Oh, yes, tesoro, I’m alright,” he says too quickly. 

You tilt your head. 

“Well…” 

You can read him like a book, he knows. Fitting—you can read almost any book in the Abbey’s library, no matter the language, and you choose to read him. And he can read you, too. Like scholars with their manuscripts. Cheesy, he thinks. I’ve been talking to Terzo too much. 

“It’s alright,” you say after a pause. “We can just walk, if you’d like. But you have my ear if you need it, or if you need some time—” 

“No, no, I…” Copia gently takes your hand as if you’d drift off if he didn’t. “Please, walk with me. There are just… things on my mind, which I need to sort out.”

You squeeze his hand, relieved. “Okay. I’m with you.” 

Sathanas. You’re with him. Copia breathes in and out again, shakily. You’re with him, it’s just you. Nothing to be nervous about. 

It’s just… you. 

You, who he’s about to bare his soul to. You who came into his life and who will stay for such a short time. All he has is a few months with you, and he’s been kicking himself for a week, trying to tell you that he can’t bear to waste any more time, not when you’re both well aware of the feelings you each hold. He can’t go another hour without knowing how it feels for you to know. He knows you know, of course, but you don’t know—

The hallway seems too long. Copia’s working himself into a spiral. His brain keeps telling him you’re as good as gone already. That if he tells you how he feels, you’ll reject him and he’ll lose you. But he’s going to lose you anyway, and he needs to know if he can have these few months with you or no time at all. 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, he thinks. And sorry I could not travel both…

The two of you come to the front door of the Abbey. The old wood creaks when you push it open with your free hand, your other still holding Copia’s. You emerge outside and you hold the door open for him to follow after you. He gives you a small smile, not entirely present. Perhaps on Mars, visiting where you’d been.

The front of the Abbey is picturesque. You remember seeing it as you rode up the driveway that first afternoon. It had been so imposing then, gothic and ancient and huge compared to Marseille. These things are still true as you emerge into the sunny lawn, but in the sunbeams, with a breeze that holds only a little bit of bite compared to the air when you arrived, it begins to feel safe.

Your mind reels against the Abbey being a safe place. For your entire stay thus far, you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you don’t like it here, that you aren’t absolutely titillated by Elizabeth’s diary, that the massive Library doesn’t make your mouth water. This is just a temporary work placement, nothing more. Nothing can keep you attached. Not even Copia. 

You almost have to laugh, because you know immediately that you’re lying to yourself. You’re already attached. The thought of leaving the Abbey burns in your gut, but the thought of leaving him almost makes you crumble. 

You squeeze Copia’s hand. “Still with us?” You ask gently.

Your voice brings him back to this realm, but he’s already mostly through his mental recital of The Road Not Taken, and it’s better if he finishes it. It helps him breathe. Decide. 

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

“Yes,” Copia replies after a moment. “Still here. Sorry, cara mia.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be. Would it help to talk out loud?”

Copia turns his head and looks at you. All the words he’d practiced with Terzo are suddenly lost to him, nowhere to be found in his brain. Now he just sees you, feels your presence in his chest, and he knows he can’t use some rehearsed line with you. That’s not him. And more importantly, that’s not you. 

The two of you walk along the blooming camellia bushes. You recognize them from the first time you’d walked in the back gardens with Copia. They’re the only flowers in bloom at this time of year, bright white and pale pink on a backdrop of evergreen. You wonder why more Siblings don’t spend time in the front gardens, especially at this time of year. The flowers are big and supple, if not just on the verge of wilting for the season, and the springtime breeze carries their sweet scent on a hint of warmth to come. 

“Tesoro,” Copia begins, his voice soft and quiet, just for you. “I, eh… well, I wanted to… tell you that I, eh…” 

You wait patiently. Your heart kicks and you think you might know what he’s trying to say, but you give him time. Neither of you have spoken the words out loud, and in your head, it exists only as the thing between you. The thing that is happening, the thing you feel.

Instead, Copia turns the subject. “I read about camellia flowers recently, you know,” he tells you. “Primo leant me his book, Linguaggio dei Fiori, the language of flowers—well, eh, you must already know that, of course, you are fluent…. Anyways, I was reading about camellia, and I learned that this kind is native to Japan, isn’t that interesting? They only bloom in late winter or early spring, and go dormant in the summer, but they don’t die because they are evergreen shrubs, which means—”

“Copia,” you interrupt gently, “breathe.”

“Right, yes…” He takes a deep breath and his shoulders drop. “What I mean to say is that these flowers will be gone soon, when the warm weather comes. I wanted to take you to see them before they were dormant.”

You stroll along the line of camellia bushes, observing the large blooms closely. The sun almost makes them glow against the dark green leaves. There are a few early bees gathering pollen for their stores, until it’s time for the summer flowers to blossom. You reach out to brush your fingertips against the outer petals of one pink flower, feeling the satiny texture and the dewdrops still clinging from the morning. “They’re beautiful,” you say softly. 

“They remind me of you,” Copia replies. 

Oh sweet Satan, you think, your heart suddenly pounding in your ears. 

He continues after a brief pause. “In that book, Linguaggio dei Fiori, it said…” he clears his throat. “It said that camellia symbolize admiration and affection and desire.” 

You look at him then, and he meets your gaze. Admiration and affection and desire. 

“And longing, for someone who is far away.”

Copia steps closer to you. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, as if to tell you that it’s alright, he won’t ambush you, that these are those feelings and now he’s saying them out loud. Your eyes stay locked on his own, watching as his green eye grows more vibrant against the backdrop of the camellia bushes’ leaves. His other hand lightly runs down your arm to take yours. 

“I’m not far away,” you whisper. 

“No, you are not,” Copia says, and he’s close enough that his breath wisps over your face. You have to tilt your head up slightly to hold his gaze as you stand nearly chest-to-chest. “You are here, and the camellia are getting ready to close their flowers.” 

“And when I go, they will bloom again.” 

“Yes. And when they do, I will long for you, Camellina.”

Camellina. Little camellia. His flower, his blossom in the cold. Here until you’re not. “Copia…” 

He reaches up and brushes a stray hair from your forehead, then traces his fingers down your cheek until he cups your jaw tenderly. “I don’t want to keep dancing around each other,” he tells you softly. “If we only have so much time, I don’t want to waste it.” 

Your eyes flick back and forth between his own, and you’ve committed your own cardinal sin. You’ve gotten attached. So very attached. Incredibly, deeply attached, and you’re terrified, but Lucifer below, how can you be scared when he’s looking at you like that. Like he might already love you. 

“No,” you say. “I don’t want to waste it, either.

“Then please, camellia mia, let me kiss you.” 

He waits for just the slightest nod of your head before he draws you in and presses his lips to yours. 

It’s really not a kiss at first, just a light brushing of lips together. He wants to know you’re sure that this is what you want. And when you don’t run, or disappear, or turn into a frog like some fairytale bastardization, he kisses you for real. Your lips fit together like they were cast from the same mold, built as the perfect opposite by Satan himself. He kisses you like you’re ethereal. 

His hand on your jaw pulls you closer while his other hand slides around your back, and your own find his shoulders to keep yourself upright. He tastes like overly sweet coffee and whatever the refectory had served for breakfast and something else you can’t really place, but has the same distinctness as how he smells. The subtle oakiness of his cologne fills your nose as it sweetly bumps against his. His thumb gently pushes your jaw up, tilting your head to kiss you deeper at a better angle. You feel his tongue swipe along your bottom lip and you don’t even have to think before you let him in. 

Your hands trail down from his shoulders to his chest and you press slightly, feeling the warmth of his body under his vest. You can feel the quick pounding of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips and you know from the thundering in your ears that yours is paced the same. 

When he pulls away, it’s barely far enough to stop the embrace. With every slight movement, your lips brush together in the lightest touch possible, an echo of the kiss you’d just shared. 

“Impie… seigneur des ténèbres en bas,” you breathe against his lips. It seems the only words that can escape you now are those thanking your Dark Lord for the man standing before you. What else can you say when Copia has just drained your brain of any coherent thought? “Embrasse-moi comme ça pour toujours.” 

Copia laughs, the puff of air brushing against your lips and cheek. “I’ve broken her, I think,” he says. “She’s lost her English.”

You swallow and try to suppress the heat rising to your face. “I, uh… merde, I can hardly think. Maybe you did.” 

“Is this a good thing, camellina?” Copia asks, his thumb brushing against your cheek. He’s still wearing his leather gloves but you wish that he’d take them off. You want to feel his palms against you. 

“Oui—sì, er… yes,” you stumble. 

Copia laughs again and presses another kiss to the apple of your cheek. “You know, I thought I was going to be the one tongue-tied,” he says with a little smirk. “But I’ve rehearsed this in my head about a million times, so perhaps the shock hasn’t set in yet.” 

“Oh? It hasn’t?” You ask, finally coming back to your head. You lean up and kiss him again, simply because you can. 

“N-no, not yet. Sathanas, do that again.”

You oblige, and kiss him once more. This time you linger, your fingers gripping the fabric of his vest and pulling slightly. You feel him smile into the kiss. He’s still smiling when you pull away. “I don’t think you ever finished your thought,” you say, remembering what he’d said before… all this. 

“No, I did,” Copia tells you. “I had this whole speech planned, telling you how much I adore you, but I kind of… stumbled through it.” 

You smile, imagining what his rehearsed speech might’ve been like, but it doesn’t feel right. You can’t imagine it going any other way than it did. “I adore you, too,” you say softly. “And your speech was perfect. Very you.” 

“Awkward, long-winded, but somehow made sense?” Copia asks. He draws you into his side and takes your hand again, resuming your stroll through the front garden. 

You laugh, and Lucifer below, it’s the sweetest thing Copia’s ever heard. “Exactly.”

Oh, this is bad. Maybe you would’ve gotten away with a mild heartbreak when you left if you hadn’t kissed him. But you had, and you know that when you leave you’ll be devastated. Kissing him, allowing yourself to finally feel the feelings you’ve been desperately pushing down since you first met him, is just digging yourself deeper into the hole you find yourself in. 

But how comfortable and warm and perfect this hole is. 

You remember the passage from Elizabeth’s diary you’d been having trouble with. In a dying garden, choose healthy roses. Find the good within the bad, the light in the dark. 

When you spare a glance at Copia as the two of you continue strolling through the front gardens, you find that there’s a dimple on his cheek that hadn’t been there before, and little crinkles beside his eyes. He’s smiling. You smile too, and look forward again. 

Pick, girl, the roses. 

~~~

“You remember what we talked about, I’m sure?” Sister Imperator asks Secondo, who stands in her office rather against his will. 

“Yes.” 

“And you have kept it a secret?” 

“Yes.” 

He hasn’t. 

No, in fact, he’d done the opposite of what Sister Imperator had asked him to do, just to slight her. He’d told you exactly how old Elizabeth’s diary is, and what he knows about Prime Movers. Although it seems like Sister Imperator knows more than he, if she’s so adamant about keeping it hidden. 

“Good,” Sister nods. “We wouldn’t want some little French girl getting any ideas.” 

Secondo huffs and looks out the window of Sister Imperator’s office.

There you are, walking hand-in-hand with his younger brother, looking quite cozy. From the second-floor vantage point, Secondo can tell the two of you are talking, but he can’t tell about what. The window is situated at Imperator’s back—she’d given herself the corner office, of course—so she can’t see what’s happening just under her nose. Secondo’s lips quirk up at the corner at the sight. From the little interaction he’s had with you, he knows you’re not some naive little French girl. 

“Sister,” Secondo begins, “I do not understand what is so important about it that it has to stay a secret.”

Sister Imperator is irked. “Because it must,” she says, as if that’s a good explanation. “We can’t have just any Sibling with a womb vying for Papa’s attention because they heard a silly rumor. Not everything is full of sunshine and butterflies.” 

“And what rumor is that?” 

Sister sighs. “Being a Prime Mover is not glamorous, Secondo. The role is barbaric and dehumanizing, and I would not have any Siblings think otherwise.”

Secondo turns to leave with a huff. “I was hoping you would tell me something I did not already know.” 

“Ask your father,” Sister Imperator says, and perches her reading glasses on the tip of her nose in dismissal.  

~~~

March 29

I woke up in Papa’s bed this morning, alone. I do not fool myself when I say I had not hoped differently. 

Mother says the ritual went well. She says the candelabras in the garden chapel stayed burning all night, a sign of approval from the Dark One. She says that candles lit from the fire of burning ritual bedsheets will burn until the sun takes over, but I think it is just because the candles were large and extra care was taken to ensure the chapel is not drafty. 

He was very gentle. He was very… skilled with his hands and mouth. He treated me like a lover when we were alone in the chapel. It was as if the ritual bed was my own, and all I could focus on was how I felt and how he felt. Whispered words and praises and caresses on my skin. He was human for those moments. He became Papa once more when the knocker sounded. 

Mother said to be glad that he was gentle at all. She said, ‘pick, girl, the roses.’ 

I want to believe that Papa hates this as much as I. He seems kind. Perhaps a man obligated by faith into such a demeaning practice, but kind nonetheless. I want to believe he cares for me in some regard. If not now, I hope he will grow to, as we will be spending much time together. But he was kind, and he was gentle. In a dying garden, choose healthy roses.

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

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[andmaybegayer]

Hello. So what's the deal with computer chips? Let's say, for example, that I wanted to build a brand new Sega Genesis. Ignoring firmware and software, what's stopping me from dissecting their proprietary chips and reverse-engineering them to make new ones? It's just electric connections and such inside, isn't it? If I match the pin ins and outs, shouldn't it be easy? So why don't people do it?

The answer is that people totally used to do this, there's several examples of chips being cloned and used to build compatible third-party hardware, the most famous two examples being famiclones/NESclones and Intel 808X clones.

AMD is now a major processor manufacturer, but they took off in the 70's by reverse-engineering Intel's 8080 processor. Eventually they were called in to officially produce additional 8086 chips under license to meet burgeoning demand for IBM PC's, but that was almost a decade later if I remember correctly.

There were a ton of other 808X clones, like the Soviet-made pin-compatible K1810VM86. Almost anyone with a chip fab was cloning Intel chips back in the 80's, a lot of it was in the grey area of reverse engineering the chips.

Companies kept cloning Intel processors well into the 386 days, but eventually the processors got too complicated to easily clone, and so only companies who licensed designs could make them, slowly reducing the field down to Intel, AMD, and Via, who still exist! Via's CPU division currently works on the Zhaoxin x86_64 processors as part of the ongoing attempts to homebrew a Chinese-only x86 processor.

I wrote about NES clones a while ago, in less detail, so here's that if you want to read it:

Early famiclones worked by essentially reverse-engineering or otherwise cloning the individual chips inside an NES/famicom, and just reconstructing a compatible device from there. Those usually lacked any of the DRM lockout chips built into the original NES, and were often very deeply strange, with integrated clones of official peripherals like the keyboard and mouse simply hardwired directly into the system.

These were sold all over the world, but mostly in developing economies or behind the Iron Curtain where official Nintendo stuff was harder to find. I had a Golden China brand Famiclone growing up, which was a common famiclone brand around South Africa.

Eventually the cost of chip fabbing came down and all those individual chips from the NES were crammed onto one cheap piece of silicon and mass produced for pennies each, the NES-on-a-chip. With this you could turn anything into an NES, and now you could buy a handheld console that ran pirated NES game for twenty dollars in a corner store. In 2002. Lots of edutainment mini-PC's for children were powered by these, although now those are losing out to Linux (and now Android) powered tablets a la Leapfrog.

Nintendo's patents on their hardware designs expired throughout the early 2000's and so now the hardware design was legally above board, even if the pirated games weren't. You can still find companies making systems that rely on these NES chips, and there are still software houses specializing in novel NES games.

Why doesn't this really happen anymore? Well, mostly CPU's and their accoutrements are too complicated. Companies still regularly clone their competitors simpler chips all the time, and I actually don't know if Genesis clones exist, it's only a Motorola 68000k, but absolutely no one is cloning a modern Intel or AMD processor.

The die of a Motorola 68000 (1979)

A classic Intel 8080 is basically the kind of chip you learn about in entry level electrical engineering, a box with logic gates that may be complicated, but pretty straightforwardly fetches things from memory, decodes, executes, and stores. A modern processor is a magic pinball machine that does things backwards and out of order if it'll get you even a little speedup, as Mickens puts it in The Slow Winter:

I think that it used to be fun to be a hardware architect. Anything that you invented would be amazing, and the laws of physics were actively trying to help you succeed. Your friend would say, “I wish that we could predict branches more accurately,” and you’d think, “maybe we can leverage three bits of state per branch to implement a simple saturating counter,” and you’d laugh and declare that such a stupid scheme would never work, but then you’d test it and it would be 94% accurate, and the branches would wake up the next morning and read their newspapers and the headlines would say OUR WORLD HAS BEEN SET ON FIRE. You’d give your buddy a high-five and go celebrate at the bar, and then you’d think, “I wonder if we can make branch predictors even more accurate,” and the next day you’d start XOR’ing the branch’s PC address with a shift register containing the branch’s recent branching history, because in those days, you could XOR anything with anything and get something useful, and you test the new branch predictor, and now you’re up to 96% accuracy, and the branches call you on the phone and say OK, WE GET IT, YOU DO NOT LIKE BRANCHES, but the phone call goes to your voicemail because you’re too busy driving the speed boats and wearing the monocles that you purchased after your promotion at work. You go to work hung-over, and you realize that, during a drunken conference call, you told your boss that your processor has 32 registers when it only has 8, but then you realize THAT YOU CAN TOTALLY LIE ABOUT THE NUMBER OF PHYSICAL REGISTERS, and you invent a crazy hardware mapping scheme from virtual registers to physical ones, and at this point, you start seducing the spouses of the compiler team, because it’s pretty clear that compilers are a thing of the past, and the next generation of processors will run English-level pseudocode directly.

Die shot of a Ryzen 5 2600 core complex (2019)

Nowadays to meet performance parity you can't just be pin-compatible and run at the right frequency, you have to really do a ton of internal logical optimization that is extremely opaque to the reverse engineer. As mentioned, Via is making the Zhaoxin stuff, they are licensed, they have access to all the documentation needed to make an x86_64 processor, and their performance is still barely half of what Intel and AMD can do.

Companies still frequently clone each others simpler chips, charge controllers, sensor filters, etc. but the big stuff is just too complicated.

[autocrats-in-love]

Passion Under Stars

The hero pulled the villain in by their tie. The villain, to their credit, succumbed to the kiss for only a moment before breaking off.

"Do you want to get caught?" they whispered.

The hero gestured to the ball room. People spun around in the room in a complicated pattern of clacking shoes and swishing clothes. High, fast music came from various violins, flutes, clarinets, and a cello at the front of the room. Two figures in dresses flitted past the hero and villain. Their long skirts were squished because of how close they were, but neither tripped as they continued their elegant dance. The villain stopped staring and saw the hero still had their tie in their hand. The villain tried to pull it back, but the hero held on tight.

"Why are you wearing this? you hate suits."

They gestured with their free hand to the villain's attire. Heeled shoes, pants, dress shirt, blazer. The villain wasn't very comfortable, they would admit. They shrugged.

"It's what people wear to these things."

The hero got too close again, and the villain thought they were going in for a kiss once more. The hero saw the villain's face--a mix of panic and excitement--and smiled.

"Relax," they said. "I'm just doing this."

They loosened the villain's tie before yanking it off completely and tossing it to the side, in the direction of the refreshment table. Then, they undid the first two buttons on the villain's shirt. Finally, the hero flattened out their collar and stepped back to inspect their work.

"That's better. Leaves less to the imagination."

"Stop it." the villain did their best to control their blush. "Someone's going to to notice."

The hero did a lazy scan of the room with their eyes. "They seem pretty distracted with their dance."

"If we get caught, we can kiss our jobs goodbye."

"Our jobs wanted us to come here."

"They didn't want us to make out!"

"It was a quick peck!" the hero exclaimed.

They smoothed down their hair and shot the villain an annoyed look.

"See how you're riling me up? We'll be fine."

The villain picked at their already chipping nail polish. They were here to learn this dance. There was a code imbedded in it, the villain's superiors were sure of it. Sending messages through steps. They must be right, because the hero agency sent two counter agents. One of whom had just said they liked seeing more of the villain's skin.

"Do you even know the dance code?"

The hero brought their forefinger and thumb close together. A little bit.

"Honestly, not my department." they replied.

The villain sighed. "How am I supposed to decode it in one night?"

"You can't." the hero responded. "You won't be allowed in to one of these twice in a row. It's a doomed mission."

Great. Then what had been the point of this? The villain's mind gave them an answer in the hero's playful smile. The hero took the villain's hand.

"Come on. Let's get some fresh air."

It's not like they would be missing anything. The dance could be planning their own assasination, and the villain would be none the wiser.

"Sure."

The villain followed the hero to the other room. Here was less crowded, with just a few people laughing on fancy couches with thin champagne flutes in between their fingers. On one side of the room were glass double doors that gave a view of the shimmering moon. The hero forced them open, and pulled the villain after them into the night. Stars twinkled in the sky as the villain and hero ran down the back porch stairs. They discarded their shoes at the bottom steps, and let grass tickle their bare feet. The villain saw a tree facing the moon and casting a shadow under its leaves.

"Let's go there."

The hero grinned. "Aye, aye, captain."

The villain rolled their eyes. They sauntered towards the tree, still holding hands. The music was still audible here, though quiet. More of a whistle through the trees. The flute clashed with the cello in a way that seemed discordant at first, but when you listened for a few more seconds you heard how they flowed around each other beautifully. The villain reached the shadow first, and tugged the hero after them. They leaned against the tree's trunk, and the hero did the same next to them.

"What will your boss think? When you come back with nothing?" the hero asked softly.

The villain let go of their hand to graze their fingers along the low hanging leaves above.

"He won't be happy." the villain admitted.

They bit their lip. "But I'm more worried about him finding out about you. Everything else seems small in comparison."

The hero shifted to face the villain. "Aw, you think that much of me?"

The villain's arm wrapped around the hero's waist. "Yeah, it's embarrassing."

The hero smiled. "Is it weird I'm not worried?"

"About getting caught? Really?"

"I just think we'll figure it out. We can always run away." the hero admitted.

"We have lives here."

"We'll just leave them temporarily. We'll come back."

The villain shook their head. "You are something else."

"I know. It's great."

The villain could barely see. Their eyes moved randomly until they saw the hero's lips. Glossy and slightly parted. They leaned in. The hero responded eagerly and they were kissing. The hero's fingers slipped under the villain's shirt and ghosted along their collarbone. The villain held the hero's face with one hand, and the other squeezed their waist. This night was decidedly not a waste of their time. So distracted was the pair with each other, they didn't hear the approaching footsteps.

A bright light illuminated the hero and villain. They jumped away from each other like they had been burned. The villain's eyes adjusted to the light. There was the hero's sidekick, the other agent sent to stop them, zir hand clutching a flashlight. Ze looked horrified.

Part 2

[yurozo]

HI ALI!! MY SWEET! MY LOVE! I love reading your work so much. I can’t stop giggling every time I visualize the goofy things you write for the RE characters. This isn’t really a request but you can totally expand on them if you’d like!

For the university AU, Chris seems like the type of guy that carries change around and it just clatters in his fucking pockets. The sole reason for this is because he LOVES buying things from vending machines. He gets so pissed when a bag of chips gets stuck. He’d give it a hard kick from frustration and now it’s raining down with everything the vending machine has. Chris starts panicking and feeling guilty, so he grabs all of it and stuff it in his bag. He’ll give it to the people he sits next to in his lectures.

Ada’s the type of person who will NEVER EVER pay for a parking pass because of the insane prices. It’s not that she doesn’t have the money, it truly just pisses her off. It’s been a few semesters in and she still hasn’t gotten caught. The only reason why she had to pay for this semester was because Luis said it a little too loudly that she’s been off the hook for too long. AND OH BOY SHE WAS ANNOYED, so he becomes the sober designated driver after parties for months as punishment.

Leon’s the type of guy who never misses class so you tend to ask him for notes when you get sick. But his handwriting is absolute dogshit and it doesn’t help that he doodles with blinding highlighter colors. Sometimes, there’s mysterious food stains on it after crying over a math problem and the only thing that would make him feel better is a king sized kitkat bar.

ERM ANYWAY, I’ll be sending more random thoughts as they come. LOTS OF LOVE!! 😲💝

MY HEART!! i read this on the train home and i was giggling to myself like a maniac it made me so happy :D please please send me your personal headcanons, or anyone else for that matter, they mean so much to me. together we can overtake capcom and make it canon chris also strikes me as a guy who just throws things into his backpack, so you can always hear him coming down the hall because his pockets and bag are jingling like crazzyyyy. i know that man has to keep a high protein count to supply those muscles so he's always chewing on something during lecture. i feel it in my bones that he just pulls out an entire tupperware of chicken and rice while the prof is talking and starts chowing down.

and ada driving to campus is so real, and she definitely has a super nice car. i firmly believe that she had a fling/flirts with a frat guy for the sole reason of being able to park her car in front of their house so she doesn't have to pay for parking (totally not inspired by irl experience). ada and luis friendship just means so much to me.

i literally love when people headcanon leon as being kind of lame because so many people overlook that aspect of him. the blinding highlighter colours is soo real, like leon would either have super neat writing or it looks like someone is writing with their mouth. i think because leon is really intelligent that his notes are always kind of chaotic and messy, like there's no linear path to the way he writes. there's arrows and random circles everywhere and he is the only person that can decode it

[yourfellowhuman07]

Where Do We Go Now?

A She-ra: Princess of Power 2018 fanfiction

The war is finally over. Prime is dead, the hive mind is broken, and everyone is reunited with their loved ones. However, there are some questions left unanswered. What will be the fate of Catra and Hordak? What are these new memories Wrong Hordak has? What is Etheria's place in the wider universe? Where do we go now?

___________________

Hello, this is the first fic I have ever written so please take this with a grain of salt. I tried my best so I hope you like it. This will be a very Entrapdak-centric fic, but there are plenty of appearances of the main cast. This fic will also contain many ocs and a lot of my personal headcanons, which are mainly pre-series. If there is anything I get wrong or I could improve on please tell me.

I hope you enjoy it! <3

____________________

Chapter 1: Seeing Stars

The stars shone a million colors as Hordak gazed upon them. While he had been back in the wider universe for nearly six months, it was like seeing them for the first time. 

However, no star shone brighter than the brilliant princess beside him.

Entrapta and Hordak sat beneath a flowering tree away from the celebrating crowd. The day moons were chased away beyond the horizon, letting the colors of twilight paint the sky. Entrapta sat babbling about her adventures in space while Hordak sat beside her, listening intently. He wished that he had been with her through all her adventures. He had often dreamed of showing her the stars; he had dreamed that her face would light up with excitement, and she would be bouncing around the ship, recording every detail as the two floated in the endless void of space alone.

Alone. 

He was so alone when she left, although, at the time, he would never admit it. Now that she was back with him, he did not know what to feel. Regret or sorrow on how he let Catra take her from him, almost killing her in the process? Relief that she was back. No, he thought, it is love you, idiot! He loves her. When she stepped foot in the Fright Zone, she had stolen his heart, and it took him a long time to realize that. 

Too long, he thought. Maybe, if I realized it sooner, she would have never been taken away from me. Maybe, Prime would have never come to Etheria. Maybe-

“Are you ok?” Entrapta looked at him intently.

Shades, Hordak’s face had betrayed him. 

“I am feeling alright.” He straightened his posture, desperate to cover the regret previously covering his face.

“Are you sure your ears are drooping, and you were frowning?”

“I am fine, Princess, I assure you. Also, I thought you could not read facial expressions?” Hordak quirked one of his brow bones up with a small smirk.

“Well, after re-joining the Princess Alliance, I had to to study facial expressions further to interact with them. They are not as blunt as people from the Fright Zone. Also, since I’ve spent so much time with you, I can read you easier.” She grins at him.

Then something came to Hordak’s mind.

“How did the princesses treat you once you rejoined their forces?”

“Scorpia is still my friend, and Bow was always friendly. Everyone else was busy with the war, so I didn’t get to talk with them unless it was about Darla or Prime’s chips. I don’t know how they feel about me. Even after all my research, it’s still hard to tell what they’re thinking. ”

“In my experience, most nobles are cryptic with their feelings.”

“I know, right? They expect me to know their mood from the tiniest facial movement and never just tell me how they feel. I always feel like have to decode their every movement just to have a conversation! It’s so inefficient!”

Hordak’s green eyes were wide with shock. He had never seen Entrapta angry, let alone frustrated. She was always able to find the good in everything, including him.

“I’m sorry. I’m ranting. The princesses, while confusing, are nice. I can count on them when the time is right.”

Then a question popped into Hordak’s head.

What are the princesses going to do with me?

“Oh, I'm sure you’ll be fine after I explain everything to them.” 

Shades, I said that out loud.

“Besides what little I know about the princesses, I doubt they are the type of people to deal out death penalties. Even if they do decide that, I can just kidnap you and start another war.” Entrapta then broke out into a fit of giggles. This eventually broke Hordak down to where he released a low chuckle that made Entrapta stop. 

“I didn’t know you could laugh.”

“I am full of surprises.”

This made Entrapta break out into a second fit of giggles, but this time Hordak did not join. Instead, he notices how her hair shines from the light of the stars as it blows in the warm, mid-summer breeze. How her beautiful smile caused her nose and eyes to crinkle most adorably. How she bounces around in the air, bringing brightness and happiness to every room she enters. How she oozes kindness and intelligence in every syllable she speaks. She is a wonder who deserves to be worshiped.

“You are beautiful.”

Entrapta stopped dead, her eyes stuck on Hordak. Her cheeks were flushed, and her pupils dilated.

“Really?”

“Princess, I have been witness to countless galaxies. Seen the sparkling effects of a supernova and have seen the grand power of black holes; however, none can compare to the star I see before me.”

Entrapta stood still like a deer in headlights until determination flooded her body. She grabbed Hordak by his shirt collar and… kissed him.

[hackeocafe]

Elon Musk’s Neuralink looking for volunteer to have piece of their skull cut open by robotic surgeon

Elon Musk’s chip implant company Neuralink is looking for its first volunteer who is willing to have a piece of their skull removed so that a robotic surgeon can insert thin wires and electrodes into their brain.

The ideal candidate will be a quadriplegic under the age of 40 who will also for a procedure that involves implanting a chip, which has 1,000 electrodes, into their brain, the company told Bloomberg News.

The interface would enable computer functions to be performed using only thoughts via a “think-and-click” mechanism.

After a surgeon removes a part of the a skull, a 7-foot-tall robot, dubbed “R1,” equipped with cameras, sensors and a needle will push 64 threads into the brain while doing its best to avoid blood vessels, Bloomberg reported.

Each thread, which is around 1/14th the diameter of a strand of human hair, is lined with 16 electrodes that are programmed to gather data about the brain.

The task is assigned to robots since human surgeons would likely not be able to weave the threads into the brain with the precision required to avoid damaging vital tissue.

Elon Musk’s brain chip company Neuralink is looking for human volunteers for experimental trials.AP

The electrodes are designed to record neural activity related to movement intention. These neural signals are then decoded by Neuralink computers.

R1 has already performed hundreds of experimental surgeries on pigs, sheep, and monkeys. Animal rights groups have been critical of Neuralink for alleged abuses.

“The last two years have been all about focus on building a human-ready product,” Neuralink co-founder DJ Seo told Bloomberg News.

“It’s time to help an actual human being.”

It is unclear if Neuralink plans to pay the volunteers.

The Post has sought comment from the company.

Those with paralysis due to cervical spinal cord injury or amyotrophic lateral sclerosis may qualify for the study, but the company did not reveal how many participants would be enrolled in the trial, which will take about six years to complete.

Musk’s company is seeking quadriplegics who are okay with their skull being opened so that a wireless brain-computer implant, which has 1,000 electrodes, could be lodged into their brain.REUTERS

Neuralink, which had earlier hoped to receive approval to implant its device in 10 patients, was negotiating a lower number of patients with the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) after the agency raised safety concerns, according to current and former employees.

It is not known how many patients the FDA ultimately approved.

“The short-term goal of the company is to build a generalized brain interface and restore autonomy to those with debilitating neurological conditions and unmet medical needs,” Seo, who also holds the title of vice president for engineering, told Bloomberg.

The brain chip device would be implanted underneath a human skull.

“Then, really, the long-term goal is to have this available for billions of people and unlock human potential and go beyond our biological capabilities.”

Musk has grand ambitions for Neuralink, saying it would facilitate speedy surgical insertions of its chip devices to treat conditions like obesity, autism, depression and schizophrenia.

The goal of the device is to enable a “think-and-click” mechanism allowing people to use computers through their thoughts.Getty Images/iStockphoto

In May, the company said it had received clearance from the FDA for its first-in-human clinical trial, when it was already under federal scrutiny for its handling of animal testing.

Even if the BCI device proves to be safe for human use, it would still potentially take more than a decade for the startup to secure commercial use clearance for it, according to experts.

Source: nypost.com

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 2: Uninvited Guest

Narrated by Netga.

Narrator: Blinking neon lights lie haphazardly in the corner. Optical fiber wires are scattered around the ground like nets.

Narrator: It’s hard to sense the passage of time in the enclosed garage. When I wake up, it’s already noon.

Narrator: The music I forgot to turn off last night is still booming in my workshop. I down my canned lunch in one gulp.

Narrator: How I miss restaurant-made black truffle soup. If I don’t get any orders soon, I won’t be able to afford even canned food.

Narrator: As I check the monitors on the control panel, I turn on the holographic projector to see a bounty on the news.

Newscast: ...The digital stimulant is now available on the black market. If used in mecha battles, it’ll lead to cheating.

Newscast: This stimulant is capable of speedily increasing the reaction speed, willpower, and deadliness of mechas.

Newscast: The suspect is said to be a former advanced researcher in an unnamed institute on Ruins Island.

Newscast: His expertise in neural connection allows him to collect stimulated brainwaves from animal experiments.

Netga: Create neural connection data packs to sell to mecha battle participants? That’s cruel!

Newscast: The suspect is on the police’s wanted list for illegal stimulant trade and cheating in matches. A generous reward will be offered.

Netga: A generous reward?

Narrator: The reward amount scrolls past the bottom of the screen. I look closer, counting the zeros, and inhale sharply.

Narrator: If I have that much money... I can have truffle soup every day and update all the hardware and materials in my workshop!

Narrator: Too bad this reward will never be mine. I sigh, sinking back into the couch.

Narrator: Bang!

Narrator: From the control panel comes the sound of equipment falling over. I leap up from the sofa again.

Narrator: The sound of objects toppling over like dominoes follows. Is someone looking through my possessions? A thief, perhaps?

Narrator: If it’s a thief, he’ll definitely be disappointed. All I have are unwanted mechas.

Narrator: I still pick up my laser melding gun and head towards the source of the commotion with cautious steps to investigate.

Narrator: Shoving aside some stray parts under the window, I find a small bunny. Next to it, the power cord it broke is still fizzling.

Narrator: A bunny?

Narrator: I’ve never seen any fluffy, soft, live animal on this island before.

Narrator: The bunny stares up at me with innocent, round eyes, then bounces to the side and begins to explore my workshop.

Netga: Hey! You!

Narrator: The small bunny squirms a lot, but I still manage to catch it after chasing it all around the place and cornering it by a wall.

Narrator: It won’t stop kicking its legs in my arms, but still...

Narrator: So soft to the touch!

Narrator: I start running my hand down its body, and it soon calms down.

Narrator: It’s rare to see an actual live animal on this island. Perhaps this fluffy bunny is a good imitation?

Narrator: I lift it onto my work table and scan it for electronic signals.

Narrator: Nothing out of the ordinary. Except...

Narrator: The device beeps loudly. An unknown chip has been detected behind an ear of the bunny. It’s an encrypted data pack.

Narrator: Studying this cute intruder sitting on my table, I’m suddenly reminded of the news I just saw.

Narrator: Did this bunny escape from the lab where the animal experiments are performed?

Narrator: Heart rate picking up, I connect my devices to the Internet and begin tracing the source of the data.

Narrator: It’s not that hard, though it can take time.

Narrator: After hacking into the core system of the chip, I find an IP address and soon gain access to heaps of trade records.

Narrator: The money seems to go in and out of several forged accounts owned by one single person.

Narrator: After some decoding, a set of coordinates behind multiple faked identities finally appear like an island in a sea of data.

Netga: Locked onto the target!

Narrator: The coordinates point to a spot in the crowded streets in the city center. Perhaps it’s where the suspect’s lab is located.

Narrator: Night falls and colorful holograms light up the streets. I walk unnoticed behind the groups of mechas and pedestrians.

Narrator: As I weave through the crowd, I remember the series of zeros I saw on the news. Enticing rewards await me!

Narrator: I should get down to business tonight before anyone else can catch up!

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

[mysmestranscripts]

00:18 Strange alarm (Non-Participant)

Seven Route, Day 5

[Background: Early morning]

[Music: Mysterious Clues]

Yoosung: Anyone here?

Yoosung: I was just playing LOLOL

Yoosung: but my phone rang so l came in,

Yoosung:

Yoosung: but nothing seems to be out of the ordinary.

Yoosung: It must be a bug…

Yoosung: Seven, I think

Yoosung: [Cloud box with stars] you need to check my messenger later lol

Yoosung: I need to get it checked so not only I can continue with this messenger

Yoosung: but with my games too!

Yoosung: Then,

Yoosung: Imma go back

Yoosung: to LOLOL.

[Yoosung has left the chatroom.]

Story Mode: Seven

[Background: Seven's bunker]

[Music: Mysterious Clues]

???: Hello. How can you sleep right now?

???: Don't make me say wake up again. Where did I put my taser… Oh, here it is!

Seven: Huh? Aarrgh!! Ms. Vanderwood!

Seven: Madam! Please put that taser away! That's for torture.

Vanderwood: Don't scream… You're hurting my ears.

Vanderwood: And quit calling me madam.

Seven: Then Sir Vanderwood!

Vanderwood: …Stop joking around.

Seven: No.

Vanderwood: Do you want me to hit you?

Seven: No!

Vanderwood: Did you finish work?

Seven: No!

Vanderwood: Are you doing that on purpose?

Seven: No. But when did you come in? The gate question changes at midnight… You managed to come in!?

Vanderwood: I carry around an Arabic dictionary because of you… And don't change the subject.

Seven: No.

Vanderwood: Oh, I guess you're not afraid of my taser gun then.

Seven: Alright alright. You're the boss and I'm the servant, right?

Vanderwood: Just answer my question. Why haven't you finished work?

Seven: Because I didn't work.

Vanderwood: …

Vanderwood: My arm is having a very hard time trying not to take out the taser gun.

Seven: Oh my god! I can't believe I didn't finish work! Oh no! What should I do??

Vanderwood: Is it because you got paid with potato chips last time? Your performances have been really bad after that.

Vanderwood: The boss told me that you haven't been doing very well lately.

Seven: I said I don't care since I like those chips. So the Honey Buddha Chips have nothing to do with my recent performances.

Seven: But… I do have a prediction report saying that I'll do really well if I get compensated with cars. Do you want to see it?

Vanderwood: Cars? If you get anything from an intelligence agency, you're just going to be traced. I wouldn't take it for the world.

Seven: Oh, right. Cancel that.

Vanderwood: Why don't you ask them to give you a maid instead? Why is your house like this all the time? Empty soda cans, potato chip bags...

Vanderwood: And why did you shred up all that paper? Do you have ADHD or something...? I can't believe you manage to get work done here.

Seven: I was just about to say. My house is so dirty that I'm always distracted… The boss will understand once we give him a picture of my house.

Vanderwood: Yeah yeah, what a great excuse. He'll totally understand… Ugh! Your sofa smells like soda.

Seven: It's the lovely scent of Ph.D. Pepper. I get really focused once I drink it, but once I'm finished, it just makes my house more dirty.

Seven: Since my house is like this, I can't help but imagine decoding all the dust particles that fly around here… Huh...!? Decoding it in my imagination is making me hallucinate all the palm oil particles from the Honey Buddha Chips multiplying exponentially!

Seven: I want to eat them…! Oh god… I see corn starch and honey particles floating around over there…!

Vanderwood: What the hell are you talking about, you weirdo...? Alright, I'll clean up the house so just get back to work! You idiot.

Seven: An idiot...? Aren't you being too harsh to a genius secret agent right now?

Vanderwood: I barely stopped myself from calling you a cockroach. Since your house is always like this, I don't know if I come here to keep an eye on you or be your maid.

Seven: Alright, Vanderwood the 3rd… Sorry I treat you like a maid all the time. But will you first sweep the floor?

Vanderwood: Are you kidding me?

Seven: No. If you're not going to clean, then I need to play a round of LOLOL. I'm serious.

Vanderwood: What? God, seriously…

[Background: Seven Album 3]

Seven: Huh? What? But why did my screen freeze...?

[Music stops]

Vanderwood: How can you play games right now!?

Seven: Vanderwood... Come see this.

[Music: Dark Secret]

Vanderwood: …Hey, I think you got hacked.

Seven: Me...? Hacked? This is… this is the RFA Messenger server…

Vanderwood: Turn on the log. Hurry!