#I’m gonna wake up and hate Ink’s design I can feel it

[dreagine]

Human designs for my favs!!!

I will probably change Ink’s design whenever I feel like drawing humans again, but for now he’s pretty cute. Crazy mf!!!

[ygreczed-3]

The Red Guard and the Snow Angel

Summer Falls desert concept art

Hank and Connor

Gavin and Nines meditating + thunder, snow, fire and wind seal

Gavin and the thunder spirit

More concept arts - traditional art & inking

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

When they go through the Summer Falls desert, Connor and Nines pass out fairly soon due to their intolerance to fire magic. They only get better at night, when the temperature drops, so they stay awake to watch out while the humans sleep. During the day Hank and Gavin have to take them on their horse/Sumo and walk beside them, even though the intense heat isn't making things easy for them either. They reach a village in an oasis where Connor and Nines get better, and when they realize there's a spring in it, they decide to go and rest a bit as the night arrives.

Nines and Gavin are gone meditating on a less crowded part of the spring.

Gavin : That's stupid… How can this make me stronger than my training ? Nines : Stop talking and focus on your breathing.  Gavin : Grmphh.. Nines : Can you feel the source of magic inside your body ? Gavin : … Yeah. Nines : You have to… establish a connection with it. Show him you don't fear it Gavin : But I fear it. Nines : The war spirit you host is an incredible source of power, and you can believe me, it is as bellicose as you are. It only needs a goal to aim for and you'll be able to channel its energy.  Gavin : … You know I'm your enemy… Why do you help me ? Nines, closed eyes : I know I can compete with you. I'm ready to be challenged. And it's funnier to fight a skilled warrior than a scared little boy. Gavin : … Fucker.

X

Connor and Hank in the hot spring

Connor : I think that's what your hug feels like. Hank : hm ? Connor : The hot water. I think it's what hugs feel like. Hank : You said my hugs... Connor : Did I ? I was just thinking… about how you hug Sumo sometimes. He loves it. Hank : Yeah, this big boy loves cuddles  I admit that. Connor : It must feel good. Hank : What… You've never been hugged before ? Connor : Golems do have… intimate behaviors, of course but it's not… I mean we're… not physically warm, so... (NB : I was thinking golems in this universe would be like vampires, not as freezing as actual snow but still colder than humans) Hank : ...Thought you didn't like heat that much. Connor : Warmth from human's touch is different from fire magic : it feels more… safe, less aggressive. I think I'd like that. Hank : … How do you know that ? Connor : I touched your back to heal it, remember ? Your warmth feels nice. Hank : Yeah okay, you touched me, but you don't know what my hugs feel like ? Maybe you'd hate that. Connor : I wish I could know.

They look at each other, but then Hank looks away and stands up.

Hank : It's late, I'm tired. I'm going back to the inn. Connor seems disappointed, but then Hank keeps going. Hank : You coming ?

When they enter the room they share all together, Nines is already in stasis and Gavin is snoring loudly.

Hank takes Connor's wrist silently, looking at him in the eyes as if tacitly asking for permission. Connor just lets himself be enveloped by wide arms, and rests his cheek on his collar bone.

Connor sighs, closing his eyes as he enjoys that nice bear hug. He feels that warm something in his chest growing in his body, invading his stomach with pleasing flutters. 

Connor : Hank… Hank : Shhh… it would be embarrassing to wake those two idiots up now.

Connor bites his lower lip as he silently reaches for Hank's hand, his skin turning white as he presses gently each of his fingers against Hank's. It's known to be a quite intimate gesture among golems, and the closest human equivalence to it would be a kiss. Connor is aware that it could even be interpreted as indecent given how close their bodies are, and that if Nines was to wake up at that moment he would probably choke on thin air. Of course Hank has no clue about that and just thinks it's funny.

Hank : What, you wanna dance ?

Connor realizes they're holding each other on the left side and touching hands on the right side, and it seems like they're going to waltz. He chuckles from the absurdity of the situation from a human's perspective. 

Connor : I wouldn't know how to. Hank : Good thing, I'm a terrible dancer. Connor : Ahah...hmm, Hank, I like it. Can we stay like this for a moment ? Hank : Sure.

X

One night in the middle of the desert, Gavin is on the watch as Hank sleeps in the tent. Connor is with him, but Nines inexplicably stays around the fire, silent. Gavin is bored out so he just starts the conversation. 

Gavin : I feel like the old man and your stupid brother are getting along. Nines : I have this feeling too. Gavin : Doesn't bother you? Nines : What can I do ? I asked Connor to be careful, but I'm not blind… He's shining with glee whenever Hank is around him. I can't… force him not to feel. Also, I think Hank isn't that bad of a person… for a human. Gavin : Still certain we're the bad guys ? Think about it : you were made to serve us.  You betrayed your creators and let us starve like dogs. Nines : Humans didn't create us. Kamski did, and if he had wanted to, he could have made unthinking, obedient golems. Maybe we were meant to break free. Gavin : Oh yeah, so why can't you even procreate ? Simple answer: you were not designed to be an individual species from the start. You were built with no other purpose in life than to help us survive.  Nines : Didn't that even occur to you that humans did bad things too ? Gavin : We're just trying to survive ! Nines : So we are. Gavin : … So what ? You're saying we're two evils ? Of course we are. But I have to protect my people, you understand that ?

Nines stays silent, exploring the surprisingly genuine glare Gavin throws at him. Of course he understands that. His own despise for humanity is only driven by his deep desire to protect Connor, Marcus, and his people. He looks back at the fire heating them, unconsciously processing how ridiculously similar they are.

And yet, something starts growing in his mind, the irritating sensation his relationship with Gavin has changed from the moment they met, and that he unexpectedly wanted to protect him as well.

Nines : Would you kill me ?

He can't even explain how this sentence even made it out of his throat. He already knows the answer. Gavin stares at him longingly, noticeably surprised by the question. He stays silent as he puts more wood in the fire.

Gavin : If I had to, I probably would. But I… hum… don't want to. Nines : … hm. Gavin : What about you ? Would you kill me ? Nines : I don't know. If lives were at stake, certainly, even if I'd find this decision… regrettable. Gavin : ... Oh wow, is that your way to tell me you like me ? Nines : … Don't set your hopes too high.

Gavin breathes in a laugh and goes back to silence, smiling smugly. 

X

They arrive in Nestlepeek and split in two teams, Hank and Connor go to the center of the town, where Connor hopes to find more precise information about Kamski and where he hides.

Gavin and Nines were supposed to go buy supplies, but as they head to the covered market, they are challenged by a man in the street to defeat his champion in a fight. As Nines realizes it's all for illegal gambling, Gavin accepts and finds himself in a cage, combating a birdman.

He thinks he's got the hang of it but as soon as the birdman starts flying Gavin can't touch him with his sword anymore and becomes vulnerable to his aerial attacks.

Nines : Gavin ! Summon the spirit ! Gavin : No way ! Nines : You'll lose if you don't ! Gavin : I know what I'm doing, alright !? Nines : You obviously don't ! Thunder magic gives you advantageous long throw attacks, you can't win against a flying foe with close combat techniques ! Gavin : I think I killed enough Golems to know how to fight flying foes ! Nines : You bastard…

Nines uses his snow magic to catch the champion in ice and immobilize him.

Owner : What the hell !!! Who did that ?! Nines : I did. I'll replace your champion, open the cage.

The owner is confused first but then he sees the opportunity and accepts. Nines enters the cage and gets ready to fight.

Gavin : … You wanna die ? Told you I could do it. Nines : We've been talking about this fight for ages. It's time to see what you're capable of.

They start fighting and they're pretty even for the first ten minutes. Their fight gathered a lot of gamblers and spectators.

When Nines starts to take advantage, Gavin's eyes suddenly turn bright yellow, and he charges at him : Nines can see the thunder magic halo surrounding him. He parries many strikes but Gavin has gained in speed and ferocity. Soon enough, Gavin throws him to one extremity of the cage, and as the crowd around them is screaming in excitement, Gavin holds up his dagger. He's trembling, electricity forming around his hand. 

Nines can make eye contact but somehow, Gavin isn't answering his glare.

Nines : Gavin- You hear me ?

Gavin doesn't say anything, and Nines is sure he's gonna die when the human warrior shoots down his dagger… only to hit one of the cage's bars just behind him. Gavin closes his eyes, and opens them, showing blue-green orbs again, and he straightens up, breathless.

The crowd boos them as Gavin takes a step back and drops the other dagger. He asks the owner to open the cage and leaves the place, Nines following him, still out of breath as well.

Nines : Gavin !

Gavin stops, letting Nines get closer, until they face each other again.

Nines : You did it. You mastered the spirit… Do you realize that ? Gavin : I could have killed you, then everyone around me. That's what the spirit wanted to do… Do you realize that ? Nines : But you didn't. With a bit more training-... Gavin : I almost killed you, Nines, for fuck's  sake ! Nines : … So what ? Thought you were ready to. Gavin : Listen, this beast wanted you dead, everyone dead so bad… How can I… How can I use this power when I know how dangerous and unstable it is? Nines : … But you stopped it, right ? You can control it. Gavin : You fucker, if it wasn't for you, I know I couldn't have stopped it. I would have killed all those strangers, I know that, and I'm not… I'm not a murderer. Nines : … What do you mean, for me ? Gavin : Drop it. I need some air, don't follow me.

X

Hank and Connor enter the library, Connor is looking for the archived events-records to see if Kamski came into this village (which is most likely given it's the first one you can find after the desert)

It appears that the local people can fly so the library is very high, and most scales don't even reach the top of the bookshelves.

Hank : How the hell can we reach the archives ? Connor : Wait a minute, I'll go there and take some volumes with me.

Connor spreads his wings, that widen to support his weight as he takes off to the highest point of the library. Hank is impressed by how graceful Connor looks in the air. When the golem comes back with a consequential pile of old, handwritten books, he's just there, mouth open in amazement.

Connor : Here we go… the last 10 years of history in this village… Ready to pull an all-nighter ?

Hank doesn't reply.

Connor : Hank ? Hank : You're beautiful.

Connor blinks once, his lips slightly parted from the surprise, his eyes conveying nothing else than confusion and yet, low-key content.

Connor: ..I'm sorry ? Hank : When you fly I mean… that's impressive… and beautiful. Connor : Huh… Thank you, I guess ? Anyway hum… let's… let's find a table… Hank : “Thank you” ? But do you even realize how beautiful you are ? Connor : I was created to meet some human ideal. Why would I be proud of something that isn't my doing ? Hank : Ah, don't be so modest.  Connor : … you know, I think I find humans more attractive than Golems. Each one of you is unique, and I love everything you call “flaws”.

Hank laughs halfheartedly at his last line.

Hank : You don't make sense, kid.

X

They read the archives until it's dark outside. Hank can't help but yawn as Connor lights the candles to keep reading.

Connor : You can go back to the inn, Gavin must be there already, and Nines can take over. Hank : Nah, I'm good. Connor : Hm… Hank : You okay ? You look… worried. Connor sighs : … What if we can't find Kamski ? What if… I was wrong, what if we had to go back to Detroit and Jericho with just nothing ? I don't want to return to a situation where I'll have to fight you… I just can't.  Hank : … Yeah, I understand that. I don't think I can remain a Red Guard after what we've been through… After I got to know you. Connor : If we were to fail… nothing will never be the same again. Without you.

Hank just looks at Connor with sharp eyes, as if he's got the urge to say something. At this point Hank knows he's falling for the Golem, but of course, he won't say anything, because he's sure it's only one sided, Connor is so young and handsome he can't possibly feel the same.

Actually the dark haired golem is totally in love with the man, but again, he thinks Hank can't reciprocate his feelings since he's probably into women (after all he used to have a wife), and definitely not into Golems anyways. It just feels so unfair to both of them to consider going back to their normal life when they just want to stay with the other so bad. They just wish they could stay together and run away in some romantic and lovesick lunacy. Again, they won't tell each other about it.

[ashistrashhh]

here are some fic recs!! including sakuatsu, bokuaka, kuroken and matsuhana bc i couldnt help myself

if you want, ask me about a certain ship and ill give you some recs!

-sakuatsu-

Marble and Sandstone by red_camellia

rating: G words: 12,937 chapters: 2/2 

author summary: Miya Atsumu only cares about volleyball and nothing else. That is, until he develops a strange obsession with the marble statue of a young man that seems vaguely familiar in his university's arts department. One day that statue comes alive as the very real Sakusa Kiyoomi, and they are left with the mystery of why Sakusa Kiyoomi was turned into a statue and only came back to life when Atsumu touched him. Their new-found connection and the strange mystery turns Atsumu's life upside down, not least because of his growing feelings for Sakusa.

my notes: this was a rlly cute fic!!! 11/10 would read again!!

let it go (paint my body gold) by lunarism

rating: T words: 3,272 chapters: 1/1

author summary: It becomes a routine for them. Sometimes they go grocery shopping and make dinner together, other times they end up talking until Sakusa feels like his own shower and bed is calling him. Every single time Sakusa gets home, shrugs his coat off, balls it up, and proceeds to scream profusely into the fabric for a few minutes.

my notes: pining!!! sakusa!!! also casual painter!atsumu!!! and they paint together!!!

craft a miracle with these hands, lips, (silence) by chrysanthe (sonderesque)

rating: T words: 4,252 chapters: 1/1

author summary: ‘Someone is here to ruin your night,’ his door tells him. ‘You should let them in.’ “I’M HOMELESS OMI-OMI. HOMELESS,” yells the one here to ruin his night. “LET ME IN.”

(What does Kiyoomi sell his sanctuary for?)

my notes: hnnn rlly fuckin cute,, and domestic,,,,

Clipped To You by littleboat

rating: T words: 8,174 chapters: 1/1

author summary: It starts with Hinata Natsu, of all people.

Well, if Atsumu’s being honest with himself, it started way before that, but he’s not, so that’s besides the point. And thankfully, he’s just petty enough to blame all of his problems on a thirteen year old girl.

or Sakusa starts wearing hair clips and Atsumu is more than a little obsessed

my notes: minor kagehina, bokuaka // god these fics rlly make me simp for fictional characters even more than i should. but!! sakusa!!! in hairclips!!! and a pining atsumu!!!

learn how to lay me down in something other than danger, other than fury by rosevtea 

words: 34,211 chapters: 1/1

author summary: All of the ways fellow college TA Miya Atsumu reinvents Kiyoomi's definition of normal.

my notes: god i loved this. it’s a fake dating au and like,, even though they’re “dating” sakusa keeps letting his guard down little by little around atsumu and it surprises everyone. komori and akaashi just know  that they’re were genuinely pining for eachother

among probabilities and a thousand fates by aalphard

rating: T words: 15,675 chapters: 1/1

author summary: prompt fill for “in a world where the red string of fate exists, person a’s finger always twitches when person b, who can see the string, tugs on their string” | or sakusa thought he had a tic and atsumu liked to see his confused expression when it started to happen exclusively when he was around.

my notes: i! loved! it!! so basically atsumu and osamu have the rare gift of seeing the red string of fate, so they know its real but sakusa, like most other people dont believe it exists. so atsumu gives sakusa a (kinda) hard time. rlly cute!! i love soulmate aus!

-bokuaka- 

love in the time of wifi by dalyeau

rating: G words: 4,177 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Akaashi is coming to terms with the fact that he might be romantically interested in his volleyball captain. Hence, doing what any sixteen year old with a problem should do. He asks about it online.

my notes: really cute fic about akaashi asking what he should do about his crush on a site similar to reddit. its kinda a “i didnt know it was you” kind of fic and it made me happy

steam by orphan_account

rating: E words: 8,474 chapters: 1/1

author summary:

 bokuto: why is he so hot bokuto: why am i so gay kuroo: LMAO you mean your vice captain right bokuto: yeah

The coach blew the whistle for practice to begin, and Bokuto drummed his fingers against the bleachers, awaiting Kuroo’s reply. He was about to walk away, when his phone buzzed in his hand.kuroo: i got this bro bokuto: what bokuto: wtf does that mean

Bokuto started to panic.

my notes: explicit!!! but really wholesome. kuroo is honestly the best wingman. i also think this is my favourite bokuaka smutfic?? 

just to miss the sun by rosevtea

rating: T words: 15,126 chapters:1/1

author summary: Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.

my notes: akaashi is a booktuber and bokuto crashes one of his streams. fans begin to speculate. rlly fluffy and can u tell i like bokuaka

brain fish by iceblinks

rating: T words: 12,026 chapters: 6/6

author summary: Akaashi wakes up to a string of texts from an unknown number. 

my notes: i love text fics and i love wrong number aus so u can tell how much i loved this. really fluffy and i come back to it time to time

-kuroken-

us three by honey_s

rating: T words: 5,137 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Kuroo’s gaze flits over to the utensil. His eyes bulge out of his skull. “Wh—is that a meat hammer? Put it back!” Akaashi’s head recoils back in confusion. “I don’t understand the problem here.” “Why on Earth have you got a fucking meat hammer? We aren’t going to kill somebody!” “Well,” Akaashi begins, clearly taken aback, “I apologise for assuming. I had heard Kenma-san had been hurt in school and after getting a message from both of you to meet late at night, I merely filled in the blanks and assumed we were going to beat someone up, for lack of a better term.” “Not literally! I meant metaphorically, or figuratively, or something!” “Idiomically?” “That isn’t a word, Bokuto-san.” “Jesus Christ,” Kuroo groans, dropping his head into his hands. “We're going to jail."

my notes: bokuaka and kuroo are ready to beat someone up for kenma!! and we stan!! 

Cherry Pits and Cat Tattoos by strawberryriver

rating: G words: 6,141 chapters: 1/1

author summary: 

Kuroo has been in communication with his soulmate ever since they were kids. They've known each other for so long that he never really worried about when or how he would meet them. At least, not until he meets the roommate of Bokuto's soulmate.Soulmate AU in which things written on your skin show up on your soulmate. Companion piece/same AU as Serendipty

--------------------

Kuroo Tetsurou liked to write on his arms. Despite his mother's half-serious warnings about “ink poisoning” or staining his skin, he insisted on marking his arms and legs wherever he could. Not like his best-friend-since-always Bokuto Koutaro, who had to write on his arms or he’d forget to breathe, but artfully. He’d draw designs, animals, the occasional chemical compound. The whole idea behind soulmates fascinated him: how one person could mark their arm and someone potentially thousands of miles away, would have that same mark appear. The amount of articles, studies, and books he’d read about the topic, even at a young age, could put an undergrad researcher to shame.

my notes: again with the soulmate au bc i cannot help myself. but really cute!!! probably gonna read this again later!

Boom, Toasted by protostar (hearthope)

rated: T words: 6,782 chapters: 1/1

author summary:

 FROM: yuuji any bets on who hes texting??

FROM: eita He's smiling at his phone. Kuroo, probably

FROM: kentarou Kuroo

TO: fake family Have any of you ever once considered not prying

FROM: eita You deserve it

FROM: yuuji how can we not when ur in love!!

Kenma gets a text from an unknown number. He'd be lying if he said the guy behind it wasn't kind of endearing.

my notes: again, i love wrong number texts. it focuses more on kenma’s friendship, but kenma’s pov with texting kuroo is more than him realizing feelings and stuff. really cute, ive read it multiple times. 

Japan's most subscribed by NeverNothing

rating: T words: 3,631 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Kuroo Tetsurou @blacktetsurou changed his bio : volleyball player, co-owner of Bouncing Ball Corp. and so much more ;)

my notes: i! love! social media! fics!!! really cute and basically people wondering who the mysterious kuroo is to applepi. 

MATSUHANA!!! the underrated gem

texting (with a capital S) by parenthetic

rating: M words: 2,119 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Hanamaki breaks his No Texting In Class rule, and it's all downhill from there.

my notes: honestly more funny than it suggests, but its matsuhana, they’re meme lords.

rated m for by orphan_account

rated: T words: 10,692 chapters: 1/1

author summary: He should have known that there was a Specific Reason™ why it was so absolutely vital that he and Matsukawa specifically meet for a reading of the script. He should have known that there had to be some evil catch beyond sitting in a tiny, cramped studio with his newly sworn enemy.

Hanamaki stares at the title of the script he’d so gracefully neglected the night before.

FORBIDDEN PARADISE

“Excuse me,” Hanamaki starts, raising a pen in the air while staring blankly at the packet in his free hand. “Just to clarify, you want me to record a boy's love CD with Matsukawa?”

my notes: a very good voice actor au. there is some misunderstanding on hanamaki’s part bc he didnt finish listening to matsukawa, and this is really cute and i love matsuhana. 

In A Quiet Night, All Sounds Carry by levyovochka

rating: E words: 4,794 chapters: 1/1

authors summary: “Ah, ah, Too—!”

Hanamaki hates his university dorm.

“—ru, let me cum, please!”

Hold up. That’s a fucking understatement. Let him rephrase it: Hanamaki loathes his university dorm with passion. Detest the damned abomination, abhors it—

“—ru! Coming, coming—”

It has only been a month and Hanamaki already wants to die.

my notes: as u can guess minor iwaoi // rlly well written and bottom hanamaki rights and maybe my favourite matsuhana smutfic??? and hooh boy i simp for matsukawa

call me maybe by totooru

rating: T words: 33,689 chapters: 14/14

author summary: Hanamaki texts the wrong number when trying to extort tips out of Oikawa in order to defeat Iwaizumi in arm wrestling, and then continues to text the witty stranger who had answered.

my notes: minor iwaoi, daisuga, bokuaka // god i think this is my favourite matsuhana fic overall, maybe in general, but my god is it great. this is probably a common rec, but its understandable as to why it is. basically au where makki texts matsun (who goes to karasuno) instead of oikawa for tips to beat iwaizumi at an arm wrestling match. but they keep messaging. and holy shit i love their conversations. please read this, it is 256/10

there we go!! i might go a part two with more ships (kagehina, tsukkiyama and iwaoi) but this took up way to much time lol. i have an essay due in a couple hours. but hope u like these fics as much as i do!!

[mikkomacko]

Sweet As Honey 1

Harry hasn't seen his mother in years.

The last time he looked into her eyes she was crying on the porch, firm in her decision to kick him out at just sixteen, but heartbroken at the sight of her baby boy climbing into his old car that's stacked with boxes of his things.

He hadn't seen her when he managed to complete high school through homeschooling and sent her a message that he hoped she was proud despite their falling out.

He hadn't seen her when he won his first fight in under four minutes, knocking his opponent out cold. She wasn't standing in the crowd cheering for him because she was sitting at home not thinking of him.

He hadn't seen her when Harry got his first serious girlfriend. His girl, y/n, had been invited to one of his matches courtesy of the ring owner after she helped design the new logos and posters for his underground boxing league.

Harry hadn't seen her when he moved in with y/n, the both of them purchasing an apartment in the middle of the city, close to his gym and the stadium she worked at. Even y/n's mother, who hadn't always loved Harry, came and helped the couple move.

He hadn't seen her when he sent her the wedding invitation, the delicate ivory paper covered in evidence that Harry may be a fighter, but he's still more of a lover.

Likewise, he hadn't seen her at the wedding either. His mother didn't help him tie his tie or give him a pep talk or see him tear up when his beautiful y/n walked down the aisle to him.

But most importantly, Harry didn't see his mother on the day he became a father. She wasn't in the waiting room to hug him and meet her grandson. She didn't get to see up close that Harry was still gentle enough to care for a newborn. She missed the greatest day of Harry's life.

He had come to terms with it. He had messed up, it wasn't right of him to hide his love for boxing from his mother. It wasn't right of him to finally tell her after he'd beaten the hell out of her selfish boyfriend because Harry's temper had flared after the man was mean to his mother.

Harry knew one day he would be near her again, he just hoped it wouldn't be the day he'd being burying her. But every attempt he made to reach out to her was futile and he had a lingering fear that she wouldn't be seeing him the next time he saw her.

But God was merciful for not only had He given Harry a beautiful wife and son, he gave Harry the surprise of his mother in a place he'd thought he'd never see her in.

~

Harry's pulling into his reserved parking spot when his phone rings, cutting off the Weezer song his phone was playing.

"Morning darling!" Harry answers.

"Morning H." Y/n greets, her voice filling his car. But that's not the only sound spilling through the Bluetooth. The SpongeBob SquarePants theme song is muffled in the background, over powdered by the high pitch wails of a certain baby.

"Oh no," Harry gasps, frowning at the sound of Arlo in such distress this early. His baby should still be sleeping, not crying his little heart out. It's too early for tears. "Why's my little man crying?"

"Someone's very upset because daddy left this morning without giving kisses." She scolds, tone light despite the crying baby.

Harry's heart plummets, guilt creeping up in his chest. "M' sorry love. You two were sleeping so well, didn't want to wake you." He says apologetically.

"You're gonna have to make it up to him," She warns. "poor baby just wanted to see you this morning."

Harry's heart falls even more, a disgruntled feeling sitting like a rock in his belly. He knew he should've just woken them, given Arlo a soft peck on the cheek even if waking him early makes him cry. Harry would be able to calm him in minutes, tucking his baby back into his crib and kissing y/n before heading out.

"I can come back right now." Harry offers, already reaching to put the car in reverse. "Haven't even gone inside yet."

"No!" Y/n exclaims, her giggle filling the car. "I can handle the little monster until lunch time."

"You sure?" Harry presses. "Don't want him fussy because I'm a wanker."

Y/n laughs at that, the joyous sound making him grin. The grin grows when he notices that Arlo isn't crying anymore.

"Hey!" Harry cheers. "You calmed him down!"

"Told you I can handle him." She teases. "Now get inside and punch some things. I'm expecting a knockout on Friday."

"Yes ma'am." Harry replies, his dignified tone breaking as he chuckles. "Love you sweetheart."

"We love you too Harry."

Harry waits for her hang up, hooking his gym bag over his shoulder and exiting the car.

Inside, Harry notices that it's not packed, the morning rush having just left. Happy to have the gym to himself so he can focus on training, he heads towards the locker room.

"Styles!"

Mark is at the desk leading to the public locker rooms, waving Harry over. Lightly sighing at the delay, Harry changes course and crosses the cement floor to greet the man he's known for years.

"What's up?"

"Lady came by," Mark chirps, rapping his knuckles on top of the sign in desk. "was asking for you."

Lips pursed, Harry racks his brain for any clue as to why a lady would be looking for him. He used to get that a lot back in his early twenties before he was married. Woman would show up and ask for him, claiming to be family friends but just trying to convince him to take them out.

Once he publicly announced his marriage, the visits lessened and when the city caught sight of Harry's first born, they ceased completely.

"Did she say why?"

Mark shakes his head.

"Alright," Harry clicks his tongue. "if she stops by again tell her to contact Nick, I don't take drop by visits from people that aren't family."

Mark nods, the conversation coming to an end as Harry thanks him and marches back towards the private locker room.

Who could possibly be trying to get a hold him now by stopping at his gym?

~

"I miss our little bugger." Harry states, heart aching for his baby.

Even though Arlo's already 7 months old and has been sending every other Friday with y/n's parents for quite some time, Harry always misses him terribly.

Y/n misses him too, often out of habit placing his water bottle further back on the table in his room to keep out of reach of a baby or making sure Harry doesn't leave stray equipment laying around because Arlo could trip on it.

But this is his private room on Friday on a fight night. Arlo has never stepped foot in this room for more than a few minutes and has only been at the ring for an hour at most. There's no need for either of them to be taking the precautions of having a newly crawling (wiggling) baby but they still do.

And following these habits only makes it so much more gut wrenching when they realize their baby isn't even there with them.

Y/n gives him a small smile, looking up from where she's delicately taping his fingers to give him the same bittersweet look he's sure is present in his eyes.

"It's only been a couple hours." She assures, looking back at Harry's knuckles. She tears off the roll of tape, firmly patting the end down and moving on to the next finger. "And he loves seeing his nana."

"I know," Harry mumbles. "and I know he's been going over there every other week for the past few months but I still miss him. S'our baby, feels weird to not have him here, babbling about something."

Y/n nods, bringing Harry's hand to kiss the tattoo on his ring finger in good luck. She starts taping over the thin band inked into his skin.

"Don't want him here anyway," Y/n comforts, gently squeezing his fingers like she can physically transfer a sense of ease into his veins through his fingers. "the fighting's too much for him."

Harry hums in agreement. "Sometimes I don't want you here either."

She doesn't look up or verbally respond, but the quirk of her eyebrow tells him to expand.

"Hate when I'm getting my ass beat or the fight's gotten really bloody. I don't want my sweet girl to have to see that, it's bad enough you have to see my all banged up after. Least I could do is try and make it an easy fight."

"I knew what I was asking for when I met you," She says softly, finishing up the tape on his last finger. "and when we started dating," She kisses his knuckle. "and when I married you."

Smiling to himself, Harry cups her jaw in his taped hands and brings her toward him until their lips meet in the middle.

Somehow, she's managed to spread her grace into him with a simple kiss.

~

He's limping down the sidewalk, the bitter cold air stinging the open wounds on his knuckles and eyebrow but slowly numbing it to just a throb.

Y/n is pressed into his side, arm around his waist and the other pressed into his sore abdomen to provide him with some stability.

Harry winces when she presses into his tender side, the burning sensation telling him that he's probably cracked a rib.

"Sorry Harry." She mumbles, voice a lot duller than he's used to.

It's not until they're sat in his bathroom in his apartment, the lights showing him her pale cheeks and bitten bottom lip, that he realizes she's freaking out.

He's sat on the edge of the tub, ice pack pressed to his bare side that's blossoming with purple spots. Y/n is dabbing at the dry blood on his eyebrow, careful to not disturb the wound as she tries to clean him up.

Her eyes are wide with sadness, flickering over his face every few minutes just to make sure he's ok.

His body feels heavy, his head throbs painfully on his forehead and his chest burns when he inhales but not of that compares to the ache in his heart from the defeated look on his girl's face (he hopes she's his girl).

"M'sorry," He croaks, vision blurry around the edges. He's not sure if it's from exhaustion or emotion. "sorry you're doing this. You're too pretty to be cleaning my bruises."

The edges of her lips quirk up slightly. "You're too pretty to be getting bruises." She responds, voice a little croaky.

Harry forces a humorless chuckle. "I'm serious. You didn't sign up for this. It's selfish of me to make you take care of me like this. I'm so sorry love." He's sniffling, something wet dripping down his nose and inching towards his top lip.

"I don't care." Y/n says simply, using the sleeve of her jacket to wipe over his lips and gently under his eyes which he assumes are crying. "You love boxing, I can see it in your face when you're in the ring. And yeah, I didn't sign up for this, I hate seeing you hurt but if you're hurt, I want to be the one that takes care of you. "

Harry's certain he's crying when a small sob leaves his chest, painfully vibrating off his sides. This is the first fight he's lost since he started dating y/n, the first time his wounds were bad enough to scare her, and the first time he's cried in front of her.

But he doesn't care, he's certain that she's a God send and knows that she would never think less of him fur blubbering into the sleeve of her jacket.

"I signed up for you Harry," She cups his jaw in one of her hands. "bruises and all. I'll gladly hold the ice pack and clean up the blood because it's all for you."

He manages to nod, not knowing what to say but feeling better at the content look in her eyes. He leans forward, ignoring the burn in his side and fits his lips to hers.

~

"Please welcome to the ring, Harry Styles!"

Y/n follows close behind Harry, holding onto his wrist as he pulls her through the crowd and towards the ring.

Cheers erupt around them, fans reaching over the barriers to encouragingly swat at his shoulders. He shakes them off, pulling his wife towards her special seating area.

They make it to his corner, the cheers dying down but the energy in the room is still buzzing excitedly.

"Tell Nick if ya need anything, all right?" Harry says, mouth close to her ear so she can hear him.

She nods, hands squeezing his forearms in assurance. Tucking his gloves between his thighs, Harry reaches over his shoulders to unclasp the necklace that's holding his wedding band and fastens it around y/n's neck.

She gives him a smile, helping him tug on and tightly strap his boxing gloves. Harry gives her a peck on the forehead, his way to telling her he'll be fine.

Y/n squeezes his hands through his gloves. "Good luck baby." She murmurs, giving him one last smile before turning on her heel and heading to the stands.

Liam, Harry's corner man, slips his mouth piece in between Harry's teeth. Together, they slide through the ropes and into the ring, Liam rubbing out Harry's tense shoulders.

He's giving Harry a pep talk as Harry looks around the sea of people. His eyes meet y/n's and Nick's, both of them looking at him with a mixture of nerves and encouragement.

Harry fails to notice the two pair of eyes that are peering from behind his wife, the only emotion in them being fear. He fails to notice that those eyes are new around here but they're not new to him, for they belong to Harry's mother and sister.

~

Anne is clutching tightly to Gemma's hand, biting the inside of her cheek as she watches her son take another blow to the cheek.

Harry stumbles on his feet a bit but he shakes it off, retaliating by firing a spurt of rapid jabs to his opponents ribs.

The man falls back against the ropes, crowd cheering around them as Harry's quick to charge the man and deliver a punch to the side of his head.

"He's doing good." The man in front of Gemma praises. "Real good. Especially after his last fight."

The woman next to him, the one that had kissed her son and held his hand, nods. "His week off was good. He spent a lot of time at the gym, watched some of Rosario's other matches. He was ready for tonight."

"I think the other man is Rosario." Gemma whispers in Anne ear, obviously listening in on the conversation Harry's girlfriend is having. Anne nods, focusing on the ring but keeping her ears trained on the pair in front of them.

Harry takes a harsh punch to the jaw that has Anne audibly wincing, reaching up to cover her grimace with her hand. She waits for her son to topple over, to fall to his knees and for tears to well in his eyes as he gazes up at her just like he did the last time she saw him.

But he's not sixteen anymore. He's not just a boy picking a fight with the man that was filling in for his late father. Anne is shocked to see him grit his teeth, shaking out his arms and charging after Rosario.

"Oh he's pissed off now." The man in front says giddily. "Harry's going to ruin him."

The girl shakes her head in disbelief. "He promised me a knockout." She says, slightly laughing. "After how bad he was last time, he told me he'd make tonight an easy fight."

As if the woman's words were magic, Harry crushes his right fist into the side of Rosario's head. His head snaps the other way only to be met with Harry's left fist and then pushed back when Harry delivers a final uppercut.

Rosario falls like a game of Jenga, knees buckling and crashing to ring. The stands erupts into cheers, hundreds of people shooting to their feet and jumping around.

Anne heaves a breath of relief, glad to see Harry steadily walking back to his corner. He's greeted with a hug from his corner man, not bothering to look back as they carry an unconscious Rosario to his corner.

The pair in front of them stays seated, watching the warehouse slowly empty as everyone rushes home or to the front booth to collect the money they've won.

Taking cues from the two that obviously know Harry, Anne and Gemma wait. Nerves bubble in her gut. What is she supposed to say Harry? She doubts he'll even talk to her, not after all she's done. She kicked out her own son over a man that she now knows wasn't treating her right. Harry had been right this whole time and she was to broken to see it.

The pair rises from their seats, descending the few steps until they reach the floor. Security opens the gate, allowing the two near the ring.

Harry's climbed out of the ropes, wiping at the sweat on his face and neck. A cocky smile lifts his lips, bringing out a familiar set of dimples when he spots the girl walking towards him.

It makes Anne's heart ache when he drapes the towel over his head, snaking his arms around her and pulling her into his damp chest. The girl's giggle is audible from here, heartwarming and bubbly as Harry silences her with a quick kiss.

"He looks happy." Gemma croaks next to Anne, voice on the verge of a sob. Anne's not sure if that statement is supposed to make her proud or guilty. She's missed out on so much of her son's life.

Anne nods, eyes watering slightly. She's wiping away a tear when Harry pulls the towel off his head, eyes ghosting over the girl and meeting Anne's for a second before continuing on.

But she notices him freeze, arms considerably tightening around the girl and he returns his gaze to his mothers, no hint of happiness on his face at all.

Anne freezes too, staring back at her son. She's not sure if she's supposed to smile or not. If she's supposed to wave or greet him in any kind of way. She feels Gemma squeeze her bicep and Harry's eyes flash over to his sister.

He gives her a warmer look than he did his mother, but he's still glaring at them, the bruises on his cheekbone making him appear even more sinister.

"Gemma?"

~

Harry's fingers feel numb as he stuffs the last of his clothes into his duffel bag. He doesn't recognize the room around him. It's devoid of posters and pictures, of his books and records. There's no scattered shoes or stray school bag. There's no mess on the floor or soccer game on the TV. The room is completely empty, empty of him.

Harry zips up the bag, tossing it over his shoulder. He keeps his gaze away from the empty walls as he leaves the room, stopping to close the door and continue down the hallway.

He pauses in front of the door to the restroom, knowing Gemma is inside cleaning up the man that Harry had beaten bloody a few hours ago. He lifts his hand to softly knock, chest aching as realizes he's about to say goodbye to his sister, to the person that's always been his best friend.

"They don't want to see you." His mom cuts him off. Harry freezes, dropping his hand. He doesn't look away from the door.

Gemma doesn't want to say goodbye? She doesn't want to give him one last hug, comfort him one last time? She doesn't want to ruffle his hair or pinch his cheeks one last time? Tears well in Harry's eyes as he realizes the last time she hugged him was at their father's funeral.

Harry nods, turning away from the door and walking to the living room. He looks up, ignoring his mom's eyes as he looks around the room. Pictures of them seem to be everywhere, on the table, on the fireplace, on the desk, on the bookshelf. All of them displaying his happy family.

Harry waits, the tears and the pain in his chest growing as he prays for his mother to take it back, for her to cry and pull him into her arms and let him cry. For her to kick out her boyfriend and tell Harry's she sorry.

Instead she says, "You should go before he comes out."

Harry sniffles, wiping the tear that's fallen down his cheek. "Mum," He whimpers, finally looking at her. Her eyes are full of tears but cold, looking at him in anger.

"Now Harry." She hisses. He gazes at her helplessly, begging her to change her mind, to realize that he was protecting her from a man she's too good for. She points towards the door.

Harry's chest is tight and his stomach hurts as he exits his childhood home. He's slow to get to his car, dragging his feet in hopes to give her more time to call him back. She doesn't.

He tosses his bag in the passenger seat, eyes welling even more at the sight of his life in the backseat of his car. He gazes back at his mom who's now standing on the porch.

She stares back, raising a challenging eyebrow. Harry sobs into the sleeve of his sweater, climbing into the drivers seat and starting the car.

He wipes his eyes, looking out the window as his mom just watches. He calms his breath, putting the car in drive and circling the driveway.

Harry takes his phone out, dialing Nick's number. He brings the phone to his ear, glancing in the rearview mirror to see his mom disappearing back into the house.

"Harry?" Nick's answers, catching on to the sound of him crying. "What's wrong?"

"I need help."

~

Harry can feel y/n eyeing him cautiously, waiting for him to burst and lash out at his mother and sister.

He wants to. He wants to scream at them, he wants to throw his glass of water at his mom, he wants to cry, and he wants to know why the hell they decided to find him now.

But he can't. As much as they hurt him, fucking broke him, he's a father now and if roles were reversed, he'd want Arlo to hear him out.

So he stays quiet, eating the peas on his plate. He grimaces in disgust when he accidentally stabs his fork into a green bean.

"Ya want these love?" Harry asks, breaking the silence as he offers his wife the vegetables that's he's never liked.

As usual, she nods. "Thanks." She chirps, sliding her plate to Harry so he can scrape them on to the plate.

"You've never quite liked green beans." Anne says, her voice tight and timid.

Harry nods, not really appreciating her bringing up his childhood. He's glad his wife is such a saint and swoops in to answer for him.

"So it's a life long thing then?" She laughs, doing her best to smile at Harry's family. "I always thought it was him being a picky diet-er."

If possible, Harry's love for her grows. She knows he's never liked green beans, he told her on their first date that even as a baby he'd throw a tantrum if he had to eat them. Even today, she blamed Arlo's dislike of them on Harry.

But she refuses to have Harry hurting more than he already is and she's going to do all she can to make this dinner easier for him.

"Oh," Gemma pipes in. "What are you dieting for?"

Harry looks down at his plate, dipping his fork into his baked potato. "Boxing," Harry states. "gotta keep my weight down or I get a moved up a class."

"So you're always dieting?" She questions.

Harry nods, chewing on his food slowly. He wants to talk to them, to find a way to fix their family but he can't bring himself to even look at them again. He's afraid he'll start crying in the middle of the restaurant.

The table falls silent again, the chattering of the rest of the restaurant seeming deafening.

"How long are you two in the city?" Y/n asks politely. Harry perks up a bit, his mind had been wondering that for a while now but he didn't want to ask.

"Oh... uh, we're not sure." Anne says. "I guess for as long as..."

Harry knows what she wanted to say. She wants his permission to be here, she wants a sign that he's ok with them coming back into his life. And he's not sure what to say.

"Well, I hope we get to see more of each other before you have to leave." Y/n fills in.

"That'd be really nice." Gemma agrees. They continue to chat, most of the conversation coming from y/n and Gemma rather than Harry and his mom.

Harry pays for dinner, thanking their waiter and ushering y/n out of the booth. He grabs her hand, lacing his fingers through hers as he does his best to silently thank her for everything she's done tonight.

Gemma and Anne follow behind the couple, not really knowing what they're doing tonight. They were hoping they'd have more of a chat with Harry but he wouldn't even look at them and now their chance is over.

"Where are you staying at?" Harry calls over his shoulder, digging in his pockets for his car keys.

"The hotel on Lincoln Street." Gemma answers.

Harry's Range Rover chirps to life, the sleek black metal elegantly reflecting the city lights. "The one by that shitty coffee shop?"

"Uh, yeah."

Harry huffs a bit, raking his free hand through his hair. They approach the car, Harry opening the door for y/n and nodding for her to get in. She does, kissing his cheek in thanks as she climbs in. He closes the door, opening the one to the backseat.

"Get in." He grumbles. Gemma and Anne scramble into the car, impressed by how fancy the interior of the car is as well.

Harry closes the door behind him. Before he can make it around the car and to the drivers seat, Y/n quickly speaks up.

"Just give him a bit, he'll come around."

They both hope she's right.

~

Harry pulls up to motel, grimacing at the dingy color of the walls and they people lingering in the parking lot.

He circles the parking spots, pulling up in front of the doors. "Go get your things." Harry says, not bothering to look back at them.

Confused but not willing to question him, they both get out, closing the door behind them and hurrying into the hotel.

"I can't let them stay here." Harry says, voice softer than it's been all night. He looks over at y/n, brows furrowed and takes her hand in his.

"Then it's a good thing we have such a big house, yeah?" She smiles, already knowing what he was going to ask.

A tiny smile pulls at his mouth as he brings her hand up to his lips. "You're the best." He whispers. "I love you so fucking much."

Y/n gives him a sad smile. "I love you too Harry, and I'm so proud of you."

He can feel the stinging in his eyes and he's not ready to break down yet so he squeezes her hand, releasing it to unbuckle.

"I'll be right back baby."

Harry enters the motel, heading straight towards the front desk. He pays for his family's room, realizing they've been in the city for almost a week. Harry's disgusted to think they've been staying in this dump for that long.

He's tucking his wallet in his coat pocket when Anne and Gemma exit the elevator with their bags. He nods to the doors. "Room's taken care of."

"You didn't have to do that Harry." Gemma tells him, catching up to walk by his side. Harry feels himself leaning into her, wanting to lean his arm on her shoulder like he would as a teenager.

He forces himself to take a step away from her, ignoring the way Gemma's face falls in defeat. Guilt pricks at his heart.

"It's not a big deal." He responds, hoping they'll take it as his way of welcoming them back into his life, at least for now.

~

Anne knows Harry's made quite the life for himself. She had always worried that he'd struggle with money, illegal boxing isn't a very well paying job. She knew she had been wrong when he easily paid for dinner and the hotel and climbed into a Range Rover. But that didn't prepare her for the sight of Harry's home.

She had assumed he lived in an apartment, most likely with y/n, in the center of the city. Somewhere celebrities would live when they came to visit the city for a few days and then would leave empty for months at a time.

She was completely wrong.

They pulled up to an iron gate, Harry typing a code into his phone that had the gate swinging open. A stone driveway led to a garage big enough to fit four cars, Anne now having no doubt that each door held it's own car.

A two story colonial house made of bricks connected to the garage, looking like a classic American home next to the big lawn of grass.

Harry parks in front of one of the closed doors, shutting the engine off. Motion lights on the house spring to life and when Harry opens the car door, the sprinklers in the grass shut off.

They all get out, Y/n smiling warmly at Anne and she's grateful. She has no doubt that Harry's told her their past and instead of being cold and defensive like most would, she's been nothing but kind to them.

The air smells of wet dirt and the honeysuckle plants that are lining the flower bed. Anne smiles sadly, hoping Harry was thinking of the honeysuckle plants at his childhood home when he planted those.

Harry's already unlocking the front door when Anne makes it up the stone steps. The beeping of an alarm system greets them and Harry's quick to punch in the code as y/n turns on the lights in the entrance way.

"Sorry for the mess," Y/n calls over her shoulder, leading Gemma and Anne into a big living room. "it's been a busy week."

Anne looks around the room, painfully realizing that the only mess in the house is the scattering of baby toys and a basket of neatly folded clothes, baby onesies stacked at the top.

"Don't apologize," Harry speaks up, entering the room. In the good lighting, Anne notices that his bruise has gotten worse and his lip is a bit swollen. "it's better than that motel."

Y/n gives him a scolding look, smiling halfheartedly at the guests.

"He's right," Gemma says. "you're home is wonderful and we're so grateful to be here."

Harry nods in acknowledgement, disappearing around a wall and turning a light on. The sound of a fridge opening and water running fills the room.

Anne examines the room, eyes welling with tears as she spots the dozens of photos in the living room alone. A picture of y/n and Harry, standing in Times Square in the snow, both clad in winter coats and hats. Harry's resting his head on top of hers, practically beaming with his red nose and dimples, a child like glint in his eyes.

The next one is a photo of young y/n and Harry, standing on a boat out on the ocean. The sun is setting behind them, casting both of them in an orange glow that Harry's white trunks and her white bikini reflect. Y/n has got her arms draped around Harry's not-so-tattooed abdomen, facing the camera while laughing with her eyes squeezed shut. Harry's holding her waist, playfully biting at her cheek.

The next one is a wedding photo, something Anne wouldn't have been shocked to see if she had paid attention to the similar black bands they both have tattooed on their ring fingers.

They're outside, standing under a gazebo covered with vines and fairy lights. Y/n is wearing a gorgeous wedding gown, her hair longer than it is now but curled the same way. Harry's next to her, wearing just a bow tie and a white button up, one side of the shirt untucked.

Both of their smiles are covered in wedding cake, some sticking to his eyelashes and some dangling in y/n's hair. Either way, they're both grinning like fools, eyes twinkling with love and the reflection of the lights.

The last photo on that shelf is just Harry. Or at least that's what stands out until Anne notices that he's cradling a baby in his arms.

His hair is long, pulled into a messy bun and he looks absolutely exhausted, eyes swollen and red but he's positively cheesing at the camera. And in his arms, snuggled in a familiar baby blanket is a baby, whose eyes are closed and features barely noticeable but that doesn't hide the fact that the child has Harry's button nose.

Her Harry's not only married, he's a father. He's got his own little baby running around somewhere, scrunching up the nose they got from their father when they laugh, completely oblivious to the fact that they have a grandma and aunt they've never met.

Y/n notices Anne's tears and the way she's looking at the photo, heart swelling at the broken look in Anne's eyes.

"That's our son." Y/n speaks up softly. Anne looks away from the photo, meeting y/n's gentle gaze. How could she have not noticed earlier? The ring hanging around her neck and the matching one on her finger. The unconditional kindness and smile that only a mother could have. Y/n has been so kind to them because she's got a child of her own.

"I-I didn't know." Anne whimpers pitifully. She wipes at her damp cheeks. Gemma soothes a hand up and down her mother's back, her own tears welling up.

Y/n disregards the fact that she knows Harry sent a wedding invitation and texted her the news of their pregnancy. Obviously something has happened along the way that kept Anne from knowing and by the look on her face, y/n knows Anne wishes she could take everything back.

"It's alright." Y/n soothes, stepping closer to Anne. She should be ashamed of the way she breaks down, falling into y/n and Gemma. She's sobbing into the fabric of y/n's tee-shirt, wishing it were her son's arms that were wrapping around her instead.

Y/n slightly rocks Anne back and forth, letting her mother-in-law cry and smiling sympathetically at Gemma, who's on the verge of her own tears.

"We thought it'd be easier to find him." Gemma whispers. "After she kicked out Jack, we tried to contact him. His number had been changed and so had ours, we couldn't risk Jack contacting us again. We had to change everything and no one seemed to know where Harry had gone. If we'd have known-"

"It's ok." Y/n shushes. "You're here now, there's time to fix this."

Harry returns to the living room, ice pack against his cheek and wet rag on the swollen lip. He stops, noticing that his wife is currently mashed between his mother and sister, the concerned motherly look on her face that tells him all he needs to know.

She's taking care of, comforting, the people that kicked Harry out of his home and left him to fend for himself. Anger flares in his chest, his sore jaw clenching in frustration.

Gemma is the first to pull away, wiping at her eyes and smiling gratefully at y/n. Anne follows, face red and damp as she hiccups. She gives y/n an embarrassed smile that Harry thinks is deserved. She should be embarrassed about what she's done.

"Harry," Gemma croaks, dragging Harry's attention away from his mother. He meets Gemma's gaze, glaring at her. "we're really s-"

"I don't want to talk about this tonight." Harry interrupts, looking away from her. He focuses back on his wife who's watching him in apprehension. "I'm going to call mum, alright?"

"Harry," His mom whimpers and it sounds a lot like the way he called out for her before he left. He turns on his heel, heading for the stairs.

"Good night."

~

Harry's glad he showered back at the warehouse instead of waiting to come home because he's so exhausted he doesn't think he could stand up long enough to even rinse his hair.

He's laying in bed, scrolling through emails on his phone when y/n enters their bedroom. She kicks the door shut, already ridding herself of her shirt as she pads to the walk in closet.

"They sleeping downstairs?" Harry calls out.

Y/n hums a yes, voice muffled by the walls of the closet. She uses the door connecting to the bathroom, grabbing a face-wipe and brushing her hair out.

She returns to the bedroom, wearing pajama shorts and a tee-shirt that used to be Harry's in high school with her face freshly cleaned.

Harry locks his phone, tossing it the bedside table and motioning his wife over. She happily skips over to the bed, crawling up from the foot of the bed and into his lap.

Pressing a kiss to her head, he tugs her into his chest, making him giggle.

"How's Arlo?"

"Was asleep but mum said he'd been perfect all night. Didn't fuss once and shared mac and cheese with dad." Harry tells her, chuckling a bit at the last part.

"I miss him." She hums, snuggling in closer to Harry's chest.

"Me too." Harry responds, tickling his fingers up and down her back.

"I know it was hard for you but you did really well tonight." Y/n says quietly as if she's afraid she'll set Harry off. Harry just hums, not sure how to answer. He doesn't feel like he did well tonight.

"I'm serious Harry. You didn't have to buy them dinner or pay for their room or invite them to stay with us but you did and I'm so proud of you."

Harry stays silent. He should have done more, said more. He literally walked in on Anne and Gemma sobbing into y/n's shoulders and ignored them. The only peace he'd offered between them was allowing them to stay at his home.

At his silence, y/n changes the subject.

"And you kicked Rosario's ass tonight."

Harry snickers, pride swelling in his chest. "Yeah?"

She nods into his chest.

"I promised you a knockout didn't I?" He pecks her forehead. "Couldn't just let my girl down."

She giggles, lacing her fingers through his. "I love you."

"Love you too." Harry whispers, grinning. He really loves his little family.

[kyberphilosopher]

Revenge of the Gray: Chapter 24

Description: Operation Ilum begins. 

Chapter Twenty Four

“Keres,” Aheka whispers in the dark. “Keres, wake up.”

          I stretch out, determined to keep my eyes closed in sleep. Regardless, I can feel my body slowly start to wake up, no matter how hard I keep my orbs shut. I hear Aheka shuffle away tiredly, entering the bathroom and putting the door into a near close. I peel my eyes open slightly, noting the room is still dark despite both of us being awake. My first thought is to ask what’s going on, if everything is alright. But then I know why she’s woken me up- we’re nearing the Mustafar system. Soon enough, Operation Ilum will be a go.

          I wince silently as I climb down the latter and choose my outfit for the day. The black, flexible tunic and pants that don’t require a bra. I put on socks and the supple, dark high kneed boots, tying my hair back into a braid. Aheka finishes in the bathroom, coming out topless and looking for today’s clothes. I’m too preoccupied with my own thoughts to really take in the sight.

          I splash my face with water in the bathroom, reapplying eyeliner for a small sense of style. It’s only after I reapply that I realize how stupid it was, but don’t bother to take it off because that would be even more stupid.

          Aheka and I leave the room both tired and alert. Silence sits between us, and not the comfortable kind. It’s the kind of quiet that comes before something terrible, something unsaid, something nobody wants to acknowledge. All of those things are true. Operation Ilum was terrible, neither of us wanted to think about it, so we didn’t acknowledge it. We probably should have, in hindsight. But we didn’t.

          “Hey Circe,” I say as I approach him in the control room. He sits in his chair in the cockpit, Mandalorian helmet on and gloved fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. Circe nods to me silently in response, sharing in the solemn mood we’ve all grown to possess in response to today. “Are we almost there?” I ask quietly.

          Circe stiffens, then slowly turns his head towards me. I can’t see his face, but I can feel the look in his eyes. It’s one of grief and pain, but silent strength like he can’t be the one to admit it as he tries to hold it in. He nods slowly before turning back to the swirling blue tunnel ahead- hyperspace.

          I slowly back away, feeling the deep rooted darkness that’s washing over everything. It fills the pit of my stomach with emptiness and silence and gloom. I didn’t know what it was then. Now, I do. Too bad it doesn’t help me so much anymore.

          “Keres, come on,” Aheka insists, gently pulling my hand as I struggle to take my eyes from Circe’s back for whatever reason. I follow her to the cafeteria, which is filled with everyone participating in the mission.

          “Let’s go find a table,” Aheka says as she begins walking to the right. I scan the tables and the line for Adamus, finding him towards the back eating alone. As I suspected, he got about no sleep last night. The circles under his eyes, posture, and bedhead say it all. He hates himself for doing this. He doesn’t want to do this. And yet, he’s made a decision- I can sense it from across the room.        

          Aheka leans down next to him and says something before going off to join the line for food. I take my seat across from Adamus, whose eyes raise to meet mine. He doesn’t say anything, just stares, trying to hide the blame he feels towards me. He’s not hiding it well enough, of course, but he’s trying. It’s the thought that counts, right?

          “We still have the last meeting this morning, right?” I ask softly, dropping my gaze.

          Adamus nods and puts his fork down. “Yeah, in a few.” His voice is gravelly and low from tiredness, something I actually enjoy listening to for whatever reason.

          I would ask if he was okay, or how he slept, by I already know the answer to both questions. Adamus looks back down to his bowl of mush, then slowly back up at me. It’s almost like he wants to say something, but I know I can’t bring it up. He’s angry at me, so angry.

          “I think I’m gonna skip breakfast,” I almost mutter, “just go to the meeting room early. I’ll see you in a bit.” I start to get up but Adamus’s voice stops me.

          “Keres, wait.”

          I meet his eyes mid stand, watching them flicker between mine carefully. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

          “Alright,” I say, a little too casually for the depressing vibe between us.

          He takes a minute before he begins. “I think I’m going to be the one to stay behind.” I’m about to open my mouth, but Adamus continues. “I’ve already talked to the Admirals about it. Oden was very relieved.”

          “Are you sure you-”

          “Yes. My decision is final.”

          He holds my eyes, daring me to look away. The thought crosses my mind and stays there, lingering as I watch him and repeat his words in my mind. That was when I made my decision, but I couldn’t let him know. Not after he just told me he was going to have today be his last.

          “Alright,” I say evenly.

          “Once it’s done,” he says, “you’ll become the only General. I trust you’ll be able to handle it.” I nod. “You always did have a knack for strategy.”

          “Anything else?” I ask curtly, using my old apathetic tricks to keep him from reading my thoughts.

          “No,” Adamus replies, equally as serious. There’s another few seconds of silence between us as we look into the others eyes. “I’ll see you later, Keres.”

          So I move along, feeling my decision solidify itself in my mind.

          Adamus joins me and the Admirals in the room shortly, interrupting a conversation between Sirsal and myself.

          “So, today’s the day,” he had said as he approached me, hands clasped behind his back as he puffs his chest out sensibly. I said nothing, only eyeing him with clear distrust.

          “I would like to thank you for your commendable attitude,” he said, voice unwavering but still snobby.

          “Really?” I genuinely wonder, raising my eyebrow. Sirsal nods, standing silent. The air between us is respectful for once. But then Adamus enters the room and does his usual greeting of “Good morning men,” and Sirsal and I take a step apart.

          “To go over the plan a final time,” Adamus begins, zooming in on the image of the three Star Destroyers above the holotable. “Soon, we’ll be in the vicinity to the Makers Thrall. While the other two destroyers are focused on our troops, General Vagor and myself will take our battalion and retrieve whatever information we can find in the control room. After that, I’ll stay behind to take the ship out, as well as the base on Endor.”

          There are no questions.

          The coms crackle overhead, and then Circe’s voice rings out across the ship. “We’re coming out of hyperspace. General Adamus has given the order for all troops to report to their stations for attack. I repeat: all troops report to stations for attack.”

          Outside the door, the muffled sound of feet hitting the floor floods my hearing. Adamus sighs out tiredly and stands up. “An honor to serve with you,” he says, meeting the eyes of the men in the room.

          “And you,” Sirsal says, serious but meaningful. The two exchange a curt nod, and then Adamus and I leave the room.

          As soon as the door slides closed behind us, my hearing implodes. Everything is louder, closer. My heart beat echoes throughout my ears like a bell ringing over and over. Adamus examines the last soldier jogging down the hallway, adjusting their aviator gloves as they do so. “Come on,” Adamus says, following them.  

          We make it to the control room, which is filled with everyone who won’t be involved today. I can see Circe’s back in the cockpit, and hear the hum of panicked conversation. The ship rocks as the blue shades fade out from the large window, replaced with one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.

          The horizon is dotted with stars against the black ink of space. In the middle, a planet sits, bright and violent. The orange-red planet glows with brutality. I can see every individual stream of lava and heat clash and blend together, roaring with intensity and darkness. In front of it, three Star Destroyers hover- gray, still, serious. The biggest one- the Thrall, looks menacing even from the distance, although it’s not so different from the smaller ones. I don’t know why, but the sheer strength and might of the whole scene is so appealing to me. It’s all so… contrasted. Violent, abhorred, hated, uniform. It’s the Empire.

          “We’re here,” Circe says over the coms. I’m about to step forward to him, talk to him- but the ringing in my ears makes everything seem so slow. My legs, feeling like jelly, move in slow motion. My hearing grows dull and slurred together, followed by a long, high pitched ringing that I don’t fully process as annoying.

          “Keres.”

          I keep my eyes on Circe, watching his head turn over his shoulder to acknowledge me. Mur?

          “Keres!” A hand wraps around my wrist, another snaking around my forearm. I whip around, the ringing in my ears abruptly stopping as I see Aheka’s pale green eyes. I am taken aback at the sight of her after the ringing and the slow motion feeling that just engulfed me. She appears to have no memory of it and instead looks into my eyes.

          “You weren’t really planning on going out there without saying goodbye, were you?” she asks, tone both joking and curious. Goodbye?

          “Of course not,” I decide, shoulders relaxing as I take in her features. The red skin, the regal white diamond design. The full lips, tall horns signaling her coming into her own. The long lashes, the stark white medical uniform. She looks beautiful, as usual. I never realized until that moment how much seeing her comforted me.

          “You’ll be safe, won’t you?”

          Aheka has stunned me again with her words. I know I should be used to it by now, but how many people have I encountered that actually showed me kindness? Aheka makes me stop and pause, question everything I think I know about people. She gives me an example of the good- the pure good- and takes no credit.

          “Only for you,” I say, smiling playfully to reassure her. While the gesture seems to calm the feeling in her heart, it does nothing for my own.

          She looks like she wants to tell me to shut up, but chooses different words instead. “I’ll see you soon, right?”           “Yeah,” I say. “Soon.”

          The air between us slows. In that moment, there is no one else in the galaxy but her. I almost want to say something romantic to her, something about how much I really care about her, or how much I owe her. The words don’t come out. Instead, Aheka reaches her arms around my neck, pulling my body to hers in an embrace.

          My eyes go wide for a second, then slowly relax as I breathe in her scent. It has not changed since the day I first met her: cinnamon and warmth and medicine. I stare off into space lowly as I wrap my arms around her in return, adjusting my head as to not hurt her lekku. And then I know what it’s like to not want to leave someone. I want to beg her to let me stay, to have me forever but I know better. How crazy would I appear if I did that right now? No, I won’t mess up this memory for her. I squeeze her waist a little as I melt into her arms.

          One word comes to my mind. Friend.

          I see Adamus turn around some paces ahead and looks at the scene. I meet his eyes and reluctantly pull away from the Togruta. “I’ve got to go,” I say, hiding the emotion I feel. Aheka smiles softly, reading right through me.

          “Stay safe, Keres,” she says. I peel away from her, feeling the warmth leave my skin as I begin walking away. The jelly leg feeling spreads to my stomach, and I almost want to double over and vomit right there.

          Adamus and I begin our jog again. I throw my head over my shoulder to get one last glance at the Circe, to find he’s already watching me. He nods seriously, acknowledging me. It’s a silent, vague salute that tells me he knows exactly what’s going through my mind. I don’t have the time to do anything in return though. We’ve already entered a new hallway that will lead us to the hanger.

          We reach it. I look around at the room, now busy and full as people climb into ships. The ships are a little janky, but they’re quick. It’s not like we can afford too much better anyway. Above us, the door we’ll be exiting through is closed and shiny.

          “This way,” Adamus says. We trade our jogging for brisk walking, making our way all the way to the back. Two Jedi fighters wait for us, one blue and white and the other deep brown and white. They have the same swirling kind of pattern painted on, though it looks a little old as the paint is chipping slightly. I recognize the ship from all the times I scrapped them back on Bracca.

          Oh, how silly of me it seems to have called Bracca my home for so long now.

          Adamus jumps into the blue and white fighter, pressing the buttons necessary to make the glass top slide over and into position, sealing him inside. I follow his movements, remembering all the controls Circe taught me. I place my headset on, Adamus’s voice crackling through my ears.

          “Alright,” he begins. “Opening hanger doors in ten seconds. Begin tagging in.”

          “AV-1, standing by.”

          “AV-2, standing by.”

          I switch on the engine, getting ready to put the thrusters into acceleration.

          “AV-7, calling in.”

          “AV-8, standing by.”

          I breathe out slowly, attempting to calm myself as my nerves explode a million times over. Above us, the hanger doors begin to open as warning noises flood the speakers.

          “AV-11, standing by.”

          “AV-12, reporting. Over.”

          “Alright, battalion,” Adamus says. “Today we show the Empire who they’re messing with. Everybody ready?”

          There is silence, then a male voice breaks it. “Ready to follow you, sir.”

          I look over to Adamus’s ship, and see him freeze up. Then a small, glad smile spreads across his pink lips. He reaches up and smooths his soft locks back out of his face, even though they fall back into place again almost immediately. “May the force be with you.”

          The ship shakes and trembles as the doors above fully open. I can see the stars and one of the lesser Destroyers overhead. “Sector one, engage,” Adamus commands. A large group of ships some leagues ahead of me raise into the air and zip out of sight. These are the ones acting as our distraction, which Adamus insists will be okay. “Let’s go, battalion. Engaging in three, two, one.”

          I press on the accelerator, pushing my steering wheel up and flying into the air. The ship shakes slightly, but that’s normal for this model and age. My fighter exits the hanger, revealing the destroyers and the stars and the Mustafar system. The distraction ships fly rather erratically, and it doesn’t take long for the ship to my right to take notice. A swarm of tie-fighters spill out from below, swiftly drawing closer.

          Ahead, the Thrall sits. I can see my entrance point- the blue shield to their own hanger. I know they won’t send anybody out though- they’ll leave the lackey ships up to that.

          “On your right, Keres!” Adamus warns in my ears. I glance in the direction, seeing a tie-fighter heading straight towards me, ready to flank. Green streaks fly out from the sides.

          Trusting my instincts, I push my wheel down and dive. “Keres!” Adamus yells.

          “I’m alright,” I promise. “I can shake him.” I change my position and roll my fighter over, avoiding the stream of shots. Then, effortlessly, I flip my fighter back behind the fighter and zip away. Adamus has given me, personally, direct orders to only take evasive action in the skies. At least I can respect that, right?

          I rejoin the battalion and continue making a straight line for the blue shield of the Thrall.

          “We are nearing our target. Be ready.” Adamus presses his fighter to surge forward, me close behind.

          “Copy that, General.”

          “Adamus,” I say into my headset. “We’re moving too fast. We won’t be able to slow in time for a clean landing.”

          “What do you suggest then?” Adamus replies, eyes focused ahead.

          I can’t help the small, almost sadistic smirk that crosses my face. “Crash landing.” I put my fighter into full speed, and in the blink of the eye I pass through the Thralls shield and scrape against the floor.

          The sound that comes from it is absolutely terrible. Adamus’s ship follows mine, sliding just as roughly but hitting the wall. The rest of the ships follow, none of them crashing like we did.

          I blink once, twice, listening to my beating heart. Did… did I really just do that? I flew across space in a Jedi fighter, just to crash into an Imperial mothership. It’s exciting, horrifying, and everything I love. Not to mention, completely destructive.

          “We’re in,” Adamus says. He throws his headset off and slides his case open. Hopping out, he jogs to meet the soldiers who spill out of their own ships. I follow his lead, heart fluttering with excitement.

          “Everyone alright?” I call out.

          Adamus sighs. “No. Is your arm alright, Janus.”

          “I, uh, I think it’s broken,” a young man moans. I would feel more guilt for my reckless suggestion if he had actually died instead of just hurt his arm, but alright.

          “Stay behind,” I tell him. “Signal us if you see anything off. Adamus, we gotta go.”

          Adamus nods and addresses the rest of the men. “Operation Ilum is a go,” he says. I see his eyes flicker across all of his soldiers, taking in their features because he thinks it’s the last time he’ll ever see them. I don’t tell him that he’s wrong, and to relax.

          “Let’s move out,” he says, removing his lightsaber from his belt and switching it on. The purple light casts the color across his features. It shows off his soft skin, his faint freckles, and the determined look in his eyes. He looks exceptionally handsome- I don’t even deny it.

          I smile, proud to follow him.  

[slytherhell]

(drarry) headcanon friday + weekend ! / #12

HIGHKEY HEADCANON THAT, HARRY JAMES POTTER, DID IN FACT, 

Get that Hungarian Horntail Ginny mentioned back in the sixth year, tattooed across his chest.

The idea to do so was sudden, so mad to the point where it only made sense to do it.

He’d have blamed the decision on a few too many drinks on a night out, but it came to him one morning as he sat up from a dream he couldn’t quite remember.

But as he rubbed his eyes awake, and with it seared into his mind, from that point, Harry was intent on getting that tattoo.

He was never much of an artist - that was something more within Draco’s field - but one Saturday morning, already having cooked breakfast and waiting for Draco to wake up and come downstairs, Harry sketched out the dragon as best as he could from memory from when he and the other competitors gathered around the bag and drew out a dragon from the tournament in fourth year.

As he focused and bit down on his lip in concentration, bent over his desk by the window, his pencil danced along his paper; at first forming basic circles and shapes, but as he continued, they formed the head of the dragon and its wings outstretched - a flame of fire bursting out of its widened mouth.

Once feeling that it was complete or at least decent enough for one to look at it and create something out of it, Harry rose from his chair; stretching out in the morning light, a bit of his stomach showing from underneath the red sweater and above his grey sweats.

Hearing a small laugh float within the room, Harry caught a half awake, half sleeping and hair-tousled Draco standing on the steps; playing with the rope of his dark, green robes as he continued to watch the scene in amusement.

Stashing the sketch away in a place that was both safe and in one he’d remember, Harry took ahold of Draco and went into the kitchen with his partner; wanting to make the design a surprise.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this, Harry?” Draco asked the very next Tuesday as threw on his business-suit jacket, re-adjusting hit tie in the mirror before looking back over at him.

“Most definitely. I mean, I know it was a joke in the beginning, but you can totally see that on me, right?”

Draco scoffed, and gave him a one over, “Sure. But you better not get an ugly design,” Draco’s lips curled up, “I’ll have to see it every night in bed.”

“No,” Harry grinned, “You’re gonna like it.”

Draco looked at him. “Simply because you’re agreeing with me, I already know that I’m going to hate it.”

“You’re not, I promise. Might even be something you’re familiar with...”

Draco paused narrowed his eyes, “What are you playing at, Potter?”

“I’d let you know but then you’d be late for that important meeting.”

With realization crossing Draco’s face, Harry used this opportunity to move Draco towards the fireplace; both not wanting him to be late, and also trying to get him out the house as quckly as possible so he, himself, still have time to spare for the evening.

“I’ll be back, Potter!”

“Of course you’re gonna be back, Malfoy. You live here to!”

Harry didn’t miss the smal smile the spread across Draco’s face before he took a handful of powder and threw it into the flames of the fireplace, dispapearing soon after.

With a glance down at his watch, and noticing that the clock was edging onto six o’clock, Harry picked up his own jacket off the couch and tugged it on, jogging over to the other side of the room as he remembered the sketch. 

And folding it down into a square and placing it into his backpocket, he, too, left the house.

Harry got it made down in a muggle tattoo shop, telling the artist that he was an art student, had created the idea for this creature in the middle of class during  lesson and had wanted it brought to life across his skin.

The artist took his design, looked at it for a good minute then nodded; telling him to remove his short and to take a seat back in the chair close to her desk.

With years having passed, being properly fed and with his time of playing Quidditch having pre-toned his body, Harry was rightfully fit by the time reached his twenty-second birthday.

And Harry, despite never getting a tattoo before in his life, thought the process went quite well; it wasn’t as painful as he originally thought, and he even managed dozed off in the black, leather chair he’d sat in.

Once it was announced that his tattoo was finished, Harry sat up; crossing over to the mirror on the wall once he realized that he couldn’t quite see it well from where he was loking down at his chest.

Harry froze as he approached the mirror.

A maroon red dragon sat on his chest; and he was amazed at how realistically the artist had captured it, at the vivid streak of colors she’d creativly weaved and crafted into her creation.

Paying the amount due, and even tipping a bit more, Harry shrugged on his shirt and headed out the glass door; his smile never leaving his face.

“Guess who’s back?” Harry questioned into Draco’s ear as he crept up behind him within the kitchen later on that night.

“I’d say my answer, but that would just terrify us both, so why don’t you just say it, Harry?”

“You could’ve just played along,” Harry mumbled, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist as he came up to kiss him.

“I could’ve,” Draco replied, pulling back, “But I didn’t. So get over it.”

 “Sometimes, I wish you weren’t such an ass.”

��You know, I could say the same about you, but unfortunately, we don’t all get what we want - so here we are. And there’s no such thing as the perfect partner, so I’m stuck with you.”

“Sometimes, you go a bit far with that.”

“Go big or co home, right?”

“If that were true, you’d have went home a long time ago.”

Draco scoffed, “You weren’t saying that the other night.”

A pause.

And then the two burst out laughing.

“Why are we like this?” Draco laughed into Harry’s shoulder.

“The hell if I know!” He replied back, and let their laughter subside before saying, “I’ve got to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I got the tatoo made today.”

Draco grinned, “You’re joking! I thought you would’ve waited weeks to get it.”

“Weeks?” Harry shook his head. “I couldn’t have possibly waited weeks. Alright, now. Step back,” Hary warned, pulling his shirt off his head, his glasses sliding off of his face and hitting the ground. 

They were placed back onto his face just in time for Harry to see Draco’s eyes widen upon seeing the inked design.

He ran a single hand across Harry’s chest, smiling.“A dragon,” He whispered in awe.

“Yeah. Not only that, a Hungarian Horntail dragon.”

Draco paused then looked up at him, brows furrowed in thought, “Why does that sound so familiar..?”

“The Triwizard Tournament,” Harry told him “That’s where you remember it from.”

“Right. Well, why didn’t you get this made in the Wizarding World?”

Hary blinked. “They make these here, too?”

“Yes, Potter! While we might not have an exact replication of everything from the Muggle World up here, we do have tattooing parlors.”

Draco went on to describe just the tattoos within the Wizarding World were practically animated; having the ability to move across a person’s body as if it were a video. 

Harry listened on further; hearing how some of them would even change colors, spit out mini designs, and would even make sounds against a person’s body.

( Harry took a seat as the list further extended, but all throughout the while, Harry couldn’t help but to wonder: how did Draco know all of this? ) 

[ek-ns]

home’s where the heart is

Gift for @2021e for @wlw-fma-giftexchange! I hope you like it!

Summary: Resembool has long nights and incredibly clear mornings, the perfect weather for pining.

(Post-FMAB + winpan = disaster lesbians)

Dear Paninya,

You know I’m usually not the type to write letters, but the phone line to Rush Valley seems to be broken and I have good and bad news for you.

The good news is that Ed and Al have their bodies back! Well, not necessarily Ed, since he’s still gonna help keep Rockbell Automail in business with that leg of his, especially considering he’s been growing like a weed over the past year or so, but he has his arm back! The bad news is that I’m going to be staying in Resembool for a couple more months. I’ve already sent a letter to Garfiel explaining the whole situation, but I just need to be with Ed and Al right now. They’re like brothers to me, plus Al needs to recover, since his physical body is pretty malnourished. He was in the hospital for a couple days after The Promised Day, even. I still need to get exactly what happened that day out of Ed, but I hear that he was the one who… saved Amestris? I’m not sure, but at least he gave me back my earrings. They had started to close up. Point is, I need to stay with my family right now. I’m sorry. I’ll miss you a lot. We’ll catch up fully once the phone lines have been restored, ok? I look forward to it!

With love,

Winry.

Winry finished writing and slumped down, head in arms as she let out a noise of frustration. Sunlight flooded through her bedroom windows, the scent of Granny Pinako’s coffee wafted through the house, and there’s nothing Winry wanted more in that moment than the ounce of sleep she wouldn’t be getting unless she perfected this letter. She could barely lift her head in response to the knock on her door, or even the subsequent creaking of unoiled hinges and mismatched footsteps on the old floorboards growing steadily closer.

“What do you want, Ed?”

“Hey, Winry, isn’t this a little too formal for your crush?” Edward said, completely disregarding her previous question in favor of the folded, ink-stained piece of paper sitting before her. “Aww, and you think of me as a brother!” Winry could hear the smirk in his voice. “It is, and yes, I do, no matter how much I despise it… wait, she isn’t my crush!”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Ed practically sung. “You signed it ‘with love’, Winry. You like this girl.”

“… Maybe so, but that doesn’t change anything and you know it. It’s not just about her.” “I know.” He rubbed comforting circles into her shoulder blade, somewhat easing the tension there. She recognized it as a technique she had taught him long ago, to ease the aching in his right shoulder.

“It’s just… I feel horrible leaving Rush Valley, and Paninya, but I would feel worse leaving you behind, especially after what you’ve been through.” Winry sighed and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed behind her head. Edward sat down adjacent to her.

“It’s a tough choice. You belong both in Rush Valley and here, with us, in Resembool. You’re a mechanic for two successful automail businesses, it’s okay to feel torn between them.” Ed then said in a less somber tone, “Anyway, I think you should send that letter. Rush Valley isn’t horribly far, it should get there in a couple days, a week at most.”

“It’s not good enough, Ed. I can’t put what I’m feeling into words. I just…” Winry paused, then said, wistfully, “I just wish that the two of us could be together, always. I know it can’t happen, but we work so well together, and I also just really like her as a person. It’s hard to explain.”

“You really have it bad, huh.”

“I do not! Or maybe, just a little...” Winry blushed, knowing full well that she does, in fact, “really have it bad”.

“Well, regardless, you should send the letter this afternoon, then maybe you can catch up on the phone once the line’s been restored. I’m sure she’d be glad to hear from you, Winry, even if it is so mind-numbingly formal.”

“Ed, you used to work for the military. Talk about mind-numbingly formal.” Winry yawned.

“I hated every second of it. Don’t make it sound like I enjoyed being a pawn. Also, when’s the last time you slept? You look like you just crawled out of a grave or something.”

“You don’t want me to answer that question.”

“Sleep. I’ll deliver this for you in secret and tell Granny that you spent all night trying to design weird add-ons to my leg so that she won’t get mad at you for spending so much time on a girl.”

“Granny’s a romantic at heart, she’d understand.” “Win, at this point, I think all she cares about is automail, Den, and our collective well-being. Romance doesn’t fit in with all of that stress. Get some sleep, please.” He rose from the chair, patted her head, and made his way to shut the curtains.

“I will, I will. Don’t worry about me, Ed.”

“You’ve worried about me plenty, it’s time I return the favor. Sleep. Now.” He said, peeking out the door, and shut it promptly. After a few minutes of contemplation, Winry rose up and stumbled the few feet to her bed, flopped down, and immediately entered a deep, dreamless sleep.

“Winry? Winry, wake up!”

Winry’s eyes squinted open, as Alphonse’s ever-cheery voice rang out from the other side of the door. She blinked a couple of times before gathering up the willpower to sit up in her bed.

“Hrrng, why’re you bothering me so early?”

“Winry, it’s dinnertime, Granny’s making stew!”

“Fuck yeah,” Winry moaned tiredly, unable to stop herself.

“Language,” Al said. “Anyway, I’m going to help Granny set the table. See you downstairs!”

It was times like these where Winry was grateful that she woke up quickly. After a couple splashes of cold water onto her face, she was ready to confront Granny, but more importantly, half the pot of her world-famous stew, when a thought crossed her mind:

‘Why is Granny making stew in the middle of summer?’

Her question was answered when she saw the excited smile on Alphonse’s gaunt face. This was his first stew he’s had since he regained his body, after all. He had already crossed a few things off of his “To Eat” list, but Granny’s stew was one of his favorites growing up. The fact that it was hot enough outside to sear a steak didn’t matter if Al’s face alone was bright enough to rival the sun.

Winry sat down at the table, her place clearly set by Alphonse (no other human being was that neat), and was immediately confronted by Pinako.

“Winry, you should know better than to stay up all night working your ass off! You should be taking care of yourself rather than worrying about some girl!”

“I know, Granny, I know, but…” Winry looked over at Ed, who was staring intently at his stew.

“She caught me mailing the letter, and you know I couldn’t lie to her,” he said sheepishly. “She thought I was writing to Mustang at first!”

“I know the military doesn’t have any more use for a runt like you anymore, Ed, and you know that I know this!”

“I’m not a runt anymore! I’m as tall as Win now!”

“Being as tall as the girl you had a crush on when you were five is not a good measurement of height or lack thereof!”

“I never had a crush on her!” “Yeah, right.”

“I’m telling the truth!”

While Ed and Pinako were bantering, Winry turned to Alphonse, who was happily swirling a piece of bread in broth.

“Are you happy?” She asked.

“Happiest I’ve ever been.” He answered, truthfully.

About a week flew by in a blur of tinkering, working on the house, and laying around in the summer heat. Nothing really happened, other than Ed stubbing his (metal) big toe on a table, and Winry had to attempt to bang out the dents, and eventually, replace it with a brand new one.

“Well, it’s not like I really need another toe anyways.”

“Shut up Ed, this is going to match the rest of your scrawny metal limb if I die in the process.”

“You don’t need to go that far, Winry. Besides, couldn’t Al just transmute it?”

“No, he can’t. He really can’t.”

Winry wakes up when the sky’s still pink and the sun’s not quite risen.

Today’s just part of this new routine, this new life that’s built up around her so quickly that it just feels right. Just as right as when she’s with Paninya.

It goes like this: Winry wakes up at dawn and follows the scent of a freshly made breakfast downstairs to where Alphonse is cooking up a storm, while Edward reads a complicated-looking book and sips a mug of coffee with three sugars and no milk. Granny, having already made herself breakfast, is already in the shop, working on who-knows-what. Winry sits down across from Ed, makes small talk with both the brothers, and is served her meal- today, it’s a stack of delicious pancakes. After eating, she heads upstairs to get herself ready for a day of hard work, and heads back downstairs to help Granny with whatever she’s doing. As soon as she opens up the shop door, she’s-

‘Oh, wait.

That’s different.’

A cheerful face framed by a halo of short, humidity-frizzled hair smiled to her from across the room. Her hands gripped the edge of the workbench while Granny meticulously examined her pair of scuffed automail legs.

Paninya.

‘God, she’s beautiful.’

“Ms. Rockbell, I really don’t need an examination, I live in Rush Valley, I’m fine!” Paninya insisted.

“Shush. There’s a reason I don’t operate in Rush Valley- nothing can compare to a good old country doctor, like in the good old days-” Granny glanced slightly towards the doorway. “Oh, good morning, Winry.”

“Winry!” Paninya exclaimed.

“Paninya! You’re here!”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave you here, you said that you missed me. Besides, I had just enough saved up for a trip to Resembool anyways!”

“Paninya, you really, really didn’t have to.”

“Isn’t seeing you a good enough reason? I missed you too, just so you know.”

“Okay, enough talking. Winry, help me over here, a screw is loose in her ankle.”

“On it.”

Winry worked on Paninya’s legs with Pinako for about half an hour, while the three of them exchanged light conversation.

“I meant what I said,” Paninya said as soon as they were done and Pinako had left the room. “I really did miss you.”

“I missed you too, Paninya.” Winry replied, as Paninya swept her up in an enormous bear hug.

“You have no idea how lonely it was in Rush Valley with just Garfiel and his posse of boyfriends.” Paninya said, into Winry’s shoulder. “They’re all good people, don’t get me wrong, it’s just a bit awkward being the only lesbian in a roomful of gay guys. Anyway!” Paninya held Winry out by her shoulders so they were face-to-face. “Don’t ever let me go without you for that long!”

“I won’t.” Winry said, smoother than she anticipated. Judging by how hot her face was, she was probably redder than Ed’s favorite coat.

“Gay!” Edward shouted from the door, causing Winry and Paninya to spring away from each other in a surprised panic. Speak (think?) of the devil.

“Shut up!” Winry shouted back. Ed laughed and slammed the door behind him, warranting a “Don’t destroy the house!” from Granny.

“I, uh, don’t know what he meant by that,” said Winry, who was fully aware of her flushed cheeks and how close they were a few seconds ago, but her brain just couldn’t comprehend any of what just happened besides her sweaty palms and the painfully awkward silence between the two of them. Suddenly, Paninya muttered,

“I just had an epiphany, wow.”

“Huh?”

“I know what he meant by that.” Paninya said, more clearly. Winry’s heart was pounding in her ears.

“He meant that we’re lesbian disasters. Can you believe that I didn’t know I actually, really, like-like you too until right now? Cause I do. Like you, I mean. Romantically.” Paninya said, also red-faced.

“So you weren’t flirting with me all that time?” Winry teased.

“Stop being mean, I just had an epiphany!” Paninya pouted. It may have been the cutest thing Winry’s ever seen. “It’s okay, Paninya, I like you too. Romantically.”

“I know. I’ve known since I read that letter so I booked an overnight ticket to Resembool ASAP.”

“Okay, good.” Winry said. “So, just. Um. Do you want to be girlfriends?” She stammered hopefully.

“Of course I do! Who wouldn’t?”

“Lots of people.”

“Oh. Still, lucky me!”

“No, lucky me.” Winry said, softly. Paninya stared at her adoringly, then planted a kiss on her cheek.

That afternoon, Paninya and Winry cuddled, made out, cuddled some more, and then decided to be active and go on a walk to test the new calibrations on Paninya’s legs. Winry generally didn’t like being unproductive, but was cuddling with her girlfriend really not doing anything? Of course not. However, she did want to finish up the calibrations, so, regretfully, they had to get up and go on a long walk around town.

“Do we really have to walk this far?” Paninya complained. “Yep. Sorry love.” Winry said, horror dawning her face as she realized what she just said.

“Did you just call me love?” Paninya asked with a mischievous smile.

“I-” Winry stuttered.

“I don’t mind, honey.”

“Paninya!” Winry screeched.

“I hope you know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart.”

“I’m too gay for this!”

“Okay, I’ll lay off on you, babe.” “You’re killing me here, Paninya.”

“Good.” She smiled with all her heart.

In that moment, Winry felt complete, like she was finally home after a long journey.

Because she was.

Eventually, she’d worry about how she’d keep in touch with Paninya, or if she’d come back to Rush Valley, and then worry about keeping in touch with Granny and the brothers, but right then, none of that mattered. She and Paninya would come home to the Rockbell family home and enjoy a meal prepared with love by Granny and Alphonse, and they would share an energetic conversation with Edward about his stories from his crazy Fullmetal Alchemist days.

And most importantly, she wouldn’t have to choose between the two places where she belonged.

The best of both was right at her fingertips: a bronzed, callused hand outstretched, connected to the most amazing person she’d ever met. So, of course, she took it, and she grasped back.

Home.

[hoyoungy]

Stimulant | RM/Namjoon

genre: comedy, soulmate au, tattoo artist au | tattoo artist!namjoon x reader summary: with immense pain comes immense pleasure, and that was definitely the case when you could feel everything your accident-prone soulmate feels word count: 2722 a/n: i had a lot of fun writing this lol. warnings include swears, mentions of sex/masturbating, and that it’s a dialogue-heavy fic. as seen on my ao3

You hated your soulmate. You absolutely hated your soulmate, and you haven’t even met him yet.

You didn’t start feeling what he felt until recently. The very first thing you felt was a cut on your hand and you started to bleed. A memorable first impression, to say the least. Then you developed more cuts, some bruises, and even muscle soreness. You thought that maybe it was all completely normal. You thought that all of this pain came with the package of finding your soulmate. But when you asked around how long until the bruising disappears, your friends just looked at you like you were crazy.

It was then you realized that maybe your soulmate was either accident prone or a masochist.

Or maybe they were both.

You would go about your normal day being extremely cautious and prepared for all the pain you would have to endure. Sometimes you would wake up thinking that maybe today would be the day your soulmate wouldn’t hurt himself. Sometimes you even sympathized - or was it technically empathized? - because there were times you had to go see a doctor when the injuries were more severe, thinking to yourself honestly, fuck you for bringing me here, but I hope you’re all right, too.

The scarring and bruises weren’t even the worst part of all of this. No, the worst part about being able to feel what your soulmate feels was the random bursts of pleasure that made you go insane. It was fine when it was night time and you were in the comfort of your home - at least that way no one could see your blushing face. But when you felt it in the middle of the day while you were at work, getting lunch, or even just fucking grocery shopping, you had to run to the bathroom so your soulmate could finish.

This morning you had a, uh, pleasant start to your day. You woke up panting, sweating, and flustered, trying to come down from the euphoria your soulmate caused all too frequently.

“Is my soulmate a chronic sex addict? For God’s sake, it’s seven in the morning!” you muttered bitterly. A shower was necessary to wash away the shame you felt for your partner.

In the shower, you enjoyed the peace and serenity the warm water gave you. It was a peaceful ten minutes that you thoroughly enjoyed until it was ruined again only moments later.

“Ow! Fucking christ!” you screamed. You saw some redness forming on your hand from inflammation caused by something. From your previous knowledge, it looked like it was from a burn from cooking breakfast.

How incredibly annoying was it that you already knew the reason for the burn?

“I’ll show you a burn.” You turned the shower handle to the hot side of the spectrum and endured the 0.2 seconds of scalding water all over your body. The pain you felt was worth the satisfaction knowing your partner’s probably cursing you out right now.

Did that make you the sadist? Or did that make you both masochists?

It was a constant battle of stimulation between the two of you that you didn’t even know what was accidental and what was on purpose anymore other than the infinite shameless times he’s had sex. Maybe he thought the same about you, too. What if he thought you were the clumsy one and he was doing the exact same thing by hurting himself to get back at you?

Kind of fucked up, huh?

“Rough morning?” your roommate asks, raising her eyebrow at you. She probably guessed by the sour look on your face as you exited the bathroom.

“Woke up to my soulmate having sex again and a burn from when he was cooking. Who the fuck has the time and energy to fuck this early!?”

“You’d be surprised,” she smirks. “Maybe he’s not having sex, maybe he’s, you know.” She gestures to you a juvenile attempt at a hand job.

“Either way, it’s annoying and embarrassing, like does he not have any shame? I can’t remember a time where I’d go at least three days without having an orgasm because of him.”

“He’s just not embarrassed to touch himself like you are, obviously…”

“Shut up.”

She wasn’t wrong. You haven’t had sex nor have you touched yourself because honestly, you’d be thinking about your soulmate the entire time, and it was embarrassing.

“You need to relax and just do it, _____. You’ve been so irritable lately, it’s driving me insane.”

“I know, I’m sorry, ok. I’ve just been so preoccupied trying to find him for months, but I’ve had absolutely zero luck!”

“Maybe that’s why. You can’t just go out looking for someone with no leads. You have no idea what you’re looking for.”

“I don’t, and I’ve never felt so lost,” you pout. “But maybe I’ll find him after today.”

“Why, what do you have in mind?”

“He’s going to hate me so much after today that he’s bound to show up.”

The malicious smirk on your lips caused your roommate to take a step back from you. “You’re not gonna, like, fling yourself down the stairs so you’d go to the hospital, are you?”

“What, no,” you said. “I’m going to get a tattoo.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“I am not! If anything, he’s the psychopath!”

“You two are meant for each other.”

“Honestly, that’s so sweet of you to say.”

“Ow, shit!” Namjoon curses. The oil from the pan pops and hits his hand, giving him a small burn.

Immediately, a running Jin snatches the chopsticks away and pushes him aside. “What did I say about cooking!?”

“But I’m hungry…”

“Just ask next time! Look, you’re not even cooking it correctly - you’re supposed to scrape the ice off the dumpling before you put it in the pan so the oil doesn’t pop. You’re also not supposed to use olive oil for frying.”

“Ohhh…”

“I feel sorry for your soulmate. How are you even alive and functioning?”

“Yeah, how have they not tracked you down to kill you yet?” Hoseok teases, pushing Namjoon further away from the stove.

“She’s probably smart enough to know that doing so would kill her, too,” Yoongi scoffs.

“Shut up - HOLY FFFFFF -”

Namjoon couldn’t finish his sentence as he hunched over on the floor feeling like he was on fire. He struggled to turn on the faucet to run cold water on his minor burns. His inked skin was flushed a painful pink.

“What happened…?” Jin asked with wide eyes.

“I think my soulmate burned me on purpose!”

“That’s what you get for being so careless. I’m surprised they haven’t done so earlier.”

“They have! Every time I hurt myself, they hurt themselves back so I can feel it. Can you believe that!? Who hurts their soulmate on purpose!?”

“Oh, I definitely would if you were my soulmate,” Yoongi said. “I’d be pissed if my partner was chronically accident prone.”

“You guys are great friends, you know,” Namjoon said sarcastically as he dried himself off.

“Thanks!” Jungkook chimes.

“I’m going to the shop.”

“What about your dumplings!?”

“Fuck ‘em, you eat it.”

“Don’t hurt yourself too much today!” Jin calls as Namjoon walks out the door.

“Welcome!” the receptionist at the tattoo shop greeted you. “How can I help you?”

“Do you accept walk-ins?” you ask.

“Yes, Namjoon is available once he’s ready - speak of the devil.”

The door chimed as it swung open. A very tall, very good-looking man walks through the door with disheveled hair and a grumpy expression that was all too similar to yours, but somehow made him unbelievably handsome. His expression melts as he sees you and shoots you a quick wink with a dimple-y smile as he passes you.

“He’ll be your artist today. Now, because you’re alone, I assume you haven’t met your soulmate yet?”

“I haven’t. Why do you ask?”

“Those who have met or feel their soulmate need to have a cosigner that states they consent to the feeling of getting a tattoo.”

“Really!?” you said a little too loudly.

“Yes, it’s the law. So have you felt your soulmate at all?”

“Uh, n-no,” you lied. “Not yet, surprisingly.”

“Ok, well, then you need to sign these forms that state that if you’re caught lying, we have the right to report you to the authorities.”

“R-Right,” you stutter, reading the forms thoroughly before risking hundreds of dollars in fines and possinly jail time.

“All right, then you’re all set! Namjoon will call you when he’s ready.”

You sit in the waiting area impatiently tapping your feet. Your nails dig crescents into the palms of your hand unapologetically, with you not worrying about if your soulmate could feel it. To be honest, you were completely terrified about getting your first tattoo. You thought about the design in your car for like, ten minutes and thought up a bullshit reason in case they asked.

It’s not like you were going to tell them you were getting a tattoo out of spite. How crazy would that make you look?

I mean, of course you were crazy, but you didn’t want anyone to know that.

“_____?” The man named Namjoon asked.

His arms were now exposed as he settled into the shop, showing you nearly a dozen or so on his sleeve. Even from far away, you could tell how intricate they were, telling you that it must’ve taken hours to complete each one. Your eyes widened, sympathizing with his soulmate, that poor person…

“Are you ready?” he asked you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, hesitation evident in your voice.

“Scared?”

You take a seat and watch him prep his needles and ink. Why were there so many tools…

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter. “Does it hurt…?”

“Oh, yeah, like a bitch,” he chuckles. “No matter how many tattoos I get, they all hurt as much as the last, although the very first one is unforgettable.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m just being honest! You’re here now, no use turning back, right?”

“I suppose… Has your soulmate ever felt any of those?”

Namjoon sits across from you and gives you another smile with his heart-stopping dimples. “No. I got these way before I even started to feel them. I haven’t gotten one since the day I started to feel.”

“How come?”

“Well, I haven’t met them yet. I’m also an extremely clumsy person, so they experience enough pain from me,” he chuckles. Man, did you definitely related to his soulmate all too well. “I could never ask them to go through with a tattoo if they’ve never had one yet.”

“That’s very considerate of you.”

“I suppose it is. It’s the least I can do.” Namjoon rolls his chair close enough for you to smell his intoxicating cologne. “So what am I drawing on you today?”

“Just an outline of a crescent moon.”

“Simple. I like it.”

“To be honest, I thought of the design in the car,” you said, scratching your arm nervously. “I just want to get the feeling out of the way before I meet - feel my soulmate.”

“That’s cute,” he chuckles again. “All right, this shouldn’t take longer than five minutes.”

He put on some nylon gloves and shaves the part of your arm where you want the tattoo. His hands are warm and comforting, easing your nervousness, although it quickly came back when he buzzes the needle.

“Oh, shit,” you whisper. Were you making a big mistake? Were you taking your pettiness too far?

No, you had every right to…

“Ready?” he asked.

“No.”

“Good enough. It’ll only hurt for a few minutes.”

When the needle touched your skin, you nearly blacked out.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” you screamed.

“Ow, fucking hell!” Namjoon screamed, too.

You both swung your heads to look at each other with wide eyes. At first you were extremely confused. The only reason Namjoon would be screaming in pain is if his soulmate was doing something reckless. Was it a coincidence that he felt pain as you were getting a tattoo? But then it clicked in your head that it was, in fact, you who was being the reckless soulmate.

“You!” you both said, pointing to each other accusingly.

“You’re my soulmate!? Are you fucking kidding me?” you sigh. “Boy, do I have a lot to say to you.”

“You have a lot to say to me!?” You look at him with a blank expression and your glad to see that he nods his head understandingly. “Ok, yeah, I probably do deserve a mouthful…”

“Yeah, you do.”

“But ~ you did just lie about not feeling your soulmate! I could report you!” You silently slump in your seat with a pout on your face. “But you’re really cute, so I won’t.”

“Normally, I’d be flattered, but I’m a bit angry at you at the moment.”

“All right, let me hear what you have to say about my clumsiness.”

You sighed, collecting all of your thoughts. “First of all, how?”

“It’s an innate gift I’ve been given.”

“Do you see all of my bruises?” You rolled up your pants to expose your purple shins. “And this cut?” You point to a healing scar on your cheek. “And this burn on my hand from this morning? What were you even making?”

“The, uh, dumplings had ice on them, so the oil sparked.”

“Frying ice, of course my soulmate would do that.”

“I’m not good in the kitchen, ok,” he frowns.

“Second question, do you have a girlfriend or significant other or enjoy frequent nights out in the town?”

He raises a curious brow at you and you try to suppress any current thoughts about his handsomeness that distract you from seeing him as anything other than irritating at the moment. “Are you making sure that I’m all yours?”

“No, I’m asking you why you have sex almost every day at the worst times.”

“Oh, that!” he said, bursting into a fit of laughter. How he was not even at least a little embarrassed amazed you. “Well, to make things clear, I don’t have a girlfriend, or significant other, or enjoy midnight reandezvous.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing - Oh…” You paused. If he didn’t do any of those, then that meant… The growing smirk on Namjoon’s face only confirms your assumption. “Really? You masturbate every day!?”

“Relax, it’s not every day. As you said, I do so almost every day.”

“Do you know how embarrassingly frustrating and also hilariously ironic it is when I’m picking up an eggplant at a grocery store and I can feel you doing your business?”

“But you like it, don’t you?” Namjoon leans his face close to yours. Close enough that you could feel his breath tickle your cheek. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Of course it feels good, it always does, but I like to plan my orgasms, thank you.”

“But that was the beauty of it, my dear. Knowing that as I’m touching myself, somewhere out there, you were enjoying it as much as I was. It’s intoxicating.” He licks his lips and suddenly your mind became hazy. “Didn’t you enjoy it this morning?”

“Yes,” you stated plainly, though blushing deeply.

“Of course you did. In fact, I can already feel that you’re aroused just by the mere thought of it,” he teased. “Imagine the euphoria we could feel together. It’d be twice as ecstatic, wouldn’t it?”

“If you’re that curious, let’s find out.”

“Wait, Really!?”

“After this tattoo.”

“I’ve been meaning to give you a mouthful about that, too,” he said. “How dare you hurt yourself on purpose just so I could feel it. Does that make you the sadist between the two of us?”

“You know, I’ve thought about it before, and I think me getting a tattoo done by you confirms it.”

“After all the pinching, shower burns, and nail-digging,” he paused, showing you the indented crescents on his palm. “I think so, too. Though of course, I will admit to being the fuel to the fire.”

“So long as you acknowledge it.”

“Let’s get this tattoo over with so we can get to the real fun, shall we?” he smirked.

“Can I get some lunch or dinner before that, at least? Where’s the chivalry?”

“How rude of me. I’ll need the energy, anyways, I skipped breakfast this morning.”

[agent-7-at-your-service]

Future Plot: Project Prometheus - Chapter 6 (Part 2)

(( Sandra (Not in this chapter), Telemachus (Not in this chapter), Justinian (Not in this chapter), and Chaodis/Pyrrhus belongs to me

Camille, Lee, Depiction of Callie, Janine, Malina (Not in this chapter), and Pacling (Not in this chapter) belong to @inklingleesquidly

Nebula  (Not in this chapter) and Wis (Not in this chapter) h belong to @myzzy and @agenttwo  

Mysteeri  (Not in this chapter) belongs to @dreadangel

Designs of Marina and Wish belong to @teamuntyblue

Emerald and Sapphire  (Not in this chapter) belongs to @twelvetailedkitsune and @son-of-joy

Celeste  (Not in this chapter) belongs to @alpinesquid

Arsenic  (Not in this chapter) belongs to @a-demo-of-a-hero

Jovana  (Not in this chapter) belongs to [classified] ))

Pyrrhus and Jovana were still walking around the Parthenon, patrolling.

"So all this time you were just an unlucky prince of Thessaly that moved to Japan?" Jovana asked.

"I had no claim to rule that part of Greece, and that claim is too old to take. Afterall, Greece is a republic now. My parents brought me to Inkopolis, Japan, to have a fresh start. When I wanted to be a racer, they never spoke to me for the whole middle school." Pyrrhus was looking at the stars. "And I already told Camille about how I just keep moving forward with a smile no matter what. Kept positive."

"And then the Titanomachy came," Jovana pointed out.

"Yeah... I think Camille is still mad at me for wasting that emotional moment in the underworld." Pyrrhus scratches the back of his head. "At least I'm alive and well, and we can start a fresh new relationship--"

"Camille is somewhat a strange girl when it comes to love and trust." Jovana has been chatting with Camille a bit too much. "But she is able to make things work without 'slowing down'."

Pyrrhus stops and looks at Jovana. "Do you think our new relationship won't last?"

"I think it's going well." Jovana then gave this uncomfortable and somehow threatening smile. "Just don't go around breaking her heart."

"Ummm... Okay?" Pyrrhus steps back.

The conversation continued as they continued their patrol.

Back at the Gazebo, Camille is in her silk hammock, about to sleep. She slowly closes her eyes and relaxed. As she falls into a deep sleep, she opens her eyes, finding herself with a caravan that is The Hunt.

The caravan was heading towards Athens.

From the last trials, Camille has received only one ally of the Hunt: Telemachus. Other than him, there's Lee, Callie, Janine, Emerald, Icarus, Cedalion, Morpheus, and Prometheus.

Icarus was gliding over Camille, and he landed by her side, chattering something to her. Camille was still trying to understand the animal.

"Uh..... hey." Camille carefully got up.

"You're up, that's good." Prometheus is riding his horse close to the cart that Camille is in. "We're approaching Athens Parthenon. Let's hope Athena's blessing is still with you."

Camille can see the Parthenon from a distance.

"Also, your grandmother, Janine, is still asleep." Prometheus nods to another cart in the caravan. "And so is Emerald and Telemachus. It seems their personas, Atalanta, Telemachus, and Hyacinthus, will be out of this Trial if they don't wake up once we arrive."

When The Hunt arrives at the Parthenon, the Acropolis around it is already showing signs of turning into ruins. Dinner is being prepared using grains, olives, olive oil, apples, and a few proteins; Lee and Callie were cooking this time.

Morpheus and Prometheus were on the lookout, making sure the opponent faction arrives.

Icarus and Cedalion were fighting over something. The bronze automaton demi-god has his helmet feather plume missing. the flying squirrel has it in his mouth. Camille decided to intervene, kneeling down.

"Woah, alright guys, what's the going on." Camille separated them in case they fight.

The flying squirrel began chattering.

"Princess Camilla, Icarus stole my feather plume for my helmet, and he won't give it back!" Cedalion pointed his sword at Icarus.

The flying squirrel chattered in reply. Cedalion reacted in annoyance.

"You take that back!" Cedalion wanted to get closer.

"Okay, okay, okay!" Camille looked at Icarus. "You need to give the feather back to Cedalion, Icarus."

The flying squirrel still didn't want to give the feather plume up. In second, he reluctantly has the feather plume back to Cedalion. Cedalion attached the feather plume back on his helmet before walking away with a "hmph".

Later, the stars of Constellation, Auriga the Charioteer, illuminated and aligned. The next trial is coming, yet the opposing faction hasn't come. The Judges of the Underworld, Aeacus, Rhadamanthus, and Minos, aren't surprised that a faction is late.

"How incompetent of the opposing faction," Aeacus stated in annoyance, "They're late."

Camille leans against a pillar. Prometheus stood close to her, holding his orb of fire.

"I can sense them coming..." Prometheus detected.

"Wait, here they come... it can't be...," Rhadamanthus stated.

"Is that...?" Mino is also surprised.

An inkling woman arrived, dressed in finest silk chiton and cotton cloak and adorned in gold and bronze. She has auburn hair and light skin; she is blind with her eyes closed with a calm look. She carried with her a satchel attached to a storage jar -- a vessel that once carried something eldritch and vile.

Beside her is an adult inkling in a tunic and cloak with his ink hair is beige. His eyes are orange, and his skin is light. He is armed with an ax. He looked foolish yet positive, and he's different from the clever Prometheus. However, there was a trace of guilt and weakness in his smile and laid-back eyes.

"Pandora," Prometheus addressed grimly before looking at the inkling beside her, "Brother... Epimetheus."

The inkling named Epimetheus look at Prometheus. He then looked down, not wanting to speak. Pandora sighed.

"This relic of the Pantheon, according to The Hunt, is responsible for tampering with the Trials, "Aeacus speculated, "Sadly, there is no way to punish her for this is the first time it has happened."

"It's been awhile, Prometheus," Pandora began.

"It has, Pandora..." Prometheus is staring at Epimetheus. "Brother, you don't need to follow her."

"But she's my responsibility," Epimetheus argued.

Prometheus didn't leave a comment. He shook his head. He knew what else was left in Pandora's vessel, but it was opposite of evil. He used it before.

"So......,." Camille steps in, ready to perform the trial, "What should we call your faction, Pandora?"

"You'll see," Pandora replied.

"So be it!" Aeacus boomed. "The Hunt shall face Pandora and The Penitence. You all know the sin of this woman, and it's mortifying that you'll face her."

"And I am not alone... I can sense Morpheus is among your faction." A shadow walks around Pandora, standing by her side.

The shadow reveals itself as a centaur adorned with grey rags. The human half is an inkling with black messy inkhair, pale ashy white skin, and hollow eyes with a glow deep in the darkness. The stallion half is that of a black mare. He wielded a scythe and lantern.

"Icelus Phobetor.... brother of Morpheus," Prometheus addressed, "God of Nightmares."

"Brother..." Morpheus didn't look too glad to meet him.

Icelus didn't say anything, but he did point his scythe at Camille. His look was that of hostility. Camille can feel that vibe hit her, but she tried to overcome the fear it brought. Her glare made Icelus stop.

"An interesting trial," Aeacus observed.

"This is the first time factions faced each other in a trial with both under the guidance of gods or goddesses," Rhadamanthus stated.

"Still, Morpheus and Icelus cannot participate," Minos reminded, "It's the rules."

"The Trial this time is a return to simplicity," Aeacus stated, "With a twist."

"A twist?" Camille questioned.

"Yes, Princess Camilla, a twist," Aeacus replied, "This shall be the Trial of Duels."

"One-on-one?" Camille raised an eyebrow and crosses her arms. "That's it?"

"But it's just not one-on-one with weapons and all." Aeacus is then heard clapping hands once. "In this trial, you will not just have your own weapons and magic at your disposal. The Pantheon's assets are yours for such a battle."

"But the assets you'll earn depend on the deity you'll swear your pledge to," Rhadamanthus specified, "Or at least have already sworn to."

"Pick your champion, factions," Aeacus commanded.

Pandora steps forward, having already decided it should be her. Prometheus began to step in to face what is legally her sister-in-law. However, Camille and Lee pull him back to consult with the other members of The Hunt.

Janine, Telemachus, and Emerald were still asleep in this dream realm, meaning they're still awake outside. The only available members were Lee, Callie, Icarus, Cedalion, and Prometheus. Morpheus, again, can't participate since he's a dream god.

"Emmy, Telly, and Grandma Janine aren't gonna wake up any minute, so now what?" Camille asked.

"I want to do this," Prometheus volunteered.

"No way." Lee can tell the family tensions between Prometheus, his brother, and Pandora. "It doesn't feel right to step in just to settle personal conflicts."

"And it would hurt your brother more if you end up defeating Pandora," Callie rationalized.

Prometheus knew the risks, but it was a hard decision that he needed to rethink. It was either defeat the woman created out of his "sins" or crush the hope of reconciling with his brother. He shook his head.

"I'll leave it to the leader of the party then, as always." Prometheus looks to Camille. "Who shall go?"

Camille looked at those who are available. She doesn't want to put either of her parents in, and she didn't want to put herself between Prometheus and her brother and his brother's wife. It would sound cruel to send Icarus in, worrying that he would end up as ashes. And she hates to imagine Cedalion ending up as scraps.

Morpheus then informs her about Icelus.

"Camille-- I mean Princess Camilla." Morpheus look over his shoulder to look at Icelus. He then looked at Camille. "Their dream god, Icelus, works for Moros. He's part of the Children of Nyx."

Camille quickly decided. "Then I guess I'll go."

Afterward, Camille steps forward to face Pandora. She looks over Pandora shoulder and gave a death stare are Icelus.

"You judges know who blessed me, and she's the one I pledged to," Camille played along as Camilla.

"My pledge is to Zeus," Pandora declared. Then her hands emit lightning from the elbows to the fingertips.

"And just before you fight," Aeacus lectured, "The games ends when the fighter collapses first. Now go!"

Camille puts on Camilla's helmet before having the bronze spear and wooden shield out, and owl wings sprouted from her back. She flapped them gently and flew in midair. She narrowed her eyes.

"I've fought your kind before," Pandora stated, "The Amazons are quite superior to mortals. Orion should've gone for one rather than raping--"

Camille wasn't impressed and quickly cut her off. "Oh shut up!" She threw her bronze spear down at Pandora.

Pandora sends a lightning bolt at the spear, breaking it into pieces. She then whipped lightning strikes at Camille. Camille uses the wooden shield to deflect the bolts. Instead, the wooden shield ends up burning, so she unequips it and disposes of it. She took out a bow and some arrows.

"Take this!" Camille fire three arrows with the best aim she has.

Only one arrow was able to hit Pandora, and it only left a small cut on her ear.

In response, Pandora shoots arrows into the sky which in turn sent smaller bolts down on Camille in the form of rain. This forces Camille to stop flying.

Camille took this as a chance to deliver an attack during her landing. She takes out Camilla Penthesilea’s signature bronze ax and lands towards Pandora. Once she's close she was about swing downwards with the ax.

Pandora steps back to avoid getting hit. Camille then took off her helmet and threw it at Pandora which leaves her opponent getting out of balance. This simply made Pandora fall back.

Camille knew she won, but then glaring upwards -- specifically staring at the Judges of the underworld.

".......That was too anti-climatic, is it not?" Aeacus asked.

"We need to work Athen's trial, Aeacus," Minos concluded.

Pandora got up and giggled. "But know this, Judges! I came to tell you that I have control over the Trials now. I've changed the rules."

This left the three judges surprised and outraged.

"How could this be?" Rhadamanthus commented.

"How dare you, Pandora!" Aeacus boomed.

"We still hold the responsibility to spectate and inform the factions," Minos replied.

Prometheus, Morpheus, Camille, and Lee run over to stand by Camille's side. Icelus and Epimetheus stood by Pandora's side again. Callie and Lee grab Camille and bring her back to The Hunt's caravan.

"You're doing this to get a better chance to rejoin the Pantheon," Prometheus accused.

"I belong in Olympus," Pandora stated.

"I suggest you relieve your control over the trials back to the judges before you hurt the chances of the other factions," Prometheus urged.

Epimetheus steps in. "Leave Pandora be, brother."

Camille looks up and noticed the next constellation. She took out her sea glass spectacles and watch the stars align. The next constellation revealed itself, Hercules, aligning its stars. Its brightest star, Beta Herculis (Kornephoros), beams a light down northeast and into the mountains. The next trail was in a waterfall in a land called Scythia which is quite far. 

 The name almost made Camille laugh, but she was in the center of a somewhat-heated conversation.

Morpheus and Icelus leave both factions after that conversation.

When Camille was going to leave the dream realm, she can feel the dream become clouded with nightmares. This annoyed her at first, but that annoyance turned to fear. She tosses and turns, but was soon calmed by a gentles touch.

Callie and Lee were there, but they were also asleep, leaving the dream realm.

Janine was awake.

"You can't hide behind the mask forever." Prometheus entered the tent.

Janine looks behind her and at Prometheus.

[illumynare]

Red vs Blue Fic: Lavernius Tucker and the Tattoo Conspiracy

Summary: The first rule of Blue Team is Be Cool and nobody is letting him be cool.

(Or: the AU where everyone except Tucker has glowing tattoos.)

Parings: None.

Warnings: Lots of swearing, mentions of torture, everyone gets naked except Tucker. (It’s surprisingly un-sexy.)

Notes: Also available on AO3!

RIP my dignity. We had a good run.

Huge, huge thanks to @a-taller-tale, best of wives and best of women beta readers. She really went above and beyond for this one.

Caboose starts it, or anyway, he's the first one Tucker finds out about. One day he gets peanut butter all over the inside of his armor, and Tucker doesn't call "not it" fast enough, so he has to hose him down. First Caboose throws a temper tantrum and doesn't want to take his armor off at all, and then he strips stark-ass naked—which is actually a good thing, considering how far the peanut butter had gotten.

And that's how Tucker sees the tattoo.

It's huge, covering the whole of Caboose's back, geometric designs interlocked with lines of a weird script that Tucker recognizes, after a moment, as Sangheili. The lines are a deep, cobalt blue with an opalescent sheen—crisper and more vivid than any tattoo Tucker's ever seen—and then Caboose shifts a little, turning his back out of the sunlight, and Tucker realizes the tattoo is actually glowing.

"Whoa, dude, what's that?"

"Oh, that is from my best friend," says Caboose.

"Church gave you a glowing tattoo written in Sangheili?" Tucker says. "Dude, I do not believe that. Also, if you call him your best friend again, I think he's gonna shoot you."

"No," says Caboose, "that is from my old best friend. When I was on a team that fought the aliens."

"Wait, you actually fought in the war?" asks Tucker, slightly envious. It's not like he wanted his head shot off by Covenant forces, but he'd thought that being in a few battles and getting some cool scars would help him pick up chicks. Instead he got pulled straight out of Basic and sent to the ass-end of nowhere without a single woman in sight.

"Yeah, we went to a planet that had some stuff, and we were supposed to do things with it, but then the ship crashed, which was definitely not my fault because I did not touch ANY of the buttons, and everybody died in the explosions."

"Wait," says Tucker, "then how—"

"Or they died in the lava. Or the quicksand. Or the psychokinetic carnivorous plants. Or the shooting from the aliens, who were also dying. Yeah, everyone was dead after that. But there was one alien left and we built a house together and went fishing and became best friends forever! So he gave me a tattoo instead of a bracelet. And then I went home."

Okay, clearly that story is 90% bullshit, but Tucker doesn't want to spend the next three hours asking Caboose increasingly simple questions to sort out what really happened.

'Whatever," he sighs, and hits Caboose with another shower from the hose. Caboose twists his head, happily trying to drink the water out of the air.

Tucker does tell Church about it later. Church is not interested.

"Oh my God, Tucker, I do not fucking care how Caboose got a dumbass tattoo on his back."

"I'm just saying, it's kind of—"

"Seriously, why do you care what Caboose has on his naked body?"

"Okay, don't make it weird."

(Much later, when Church is still an asshole but also Epsilon and made out of numbers, he’ll tell Tucker about hacking the extremely classified file that is Private Michael J. Caboose’s one and only real combat mission before getting shunted into the Simulation Trooper program, and Tucker will think, Well, damn.)

Everybody on Blue Team has a role: Caboose is the idiot. Church is the asshole. Tucker is the cool, good-looking one.

Which is why it's so unfair that Caboose gets the alien tattoo that glows in the dark and looks completely sick. Tucker's the one who could actually work it around the ladies . . . if there were any ladies in Blood Gulch besides Tex, who isn't a lady so much as a female velociraptor, and that's on one of her good days.

The point is, Tucker wants in on this game. When he agrees to go with Crunchbite on his stupid quest, half the reason is that he's hoping he'll get a glowing tattoo out of it.

Instead he gets knocked up, and that's—well, Doc does remember to give him anesthetic before starting the C-section, but there's no curtain or anything, and sometimes Tucker really wishes he could forget what it looked like.

Junior, though. He's weird and he smells, but the first time he leans against Tucker and lets out a quiet blargh, all Tucker can think is, My kid. Fucking worth it.

But he still doesn't have a badass glowing tattoo.

And then it turns out that everyone else in this fucking canyon does.

Okay, so Church never had any glowing tattoos on his actual body back when he was alive, which Tucker knows because he asked.

"I'm Jewish, you dumbass."

"Yeah, so?"

"Oh my God, you don't know anything, do you?"

"Hey, you didn't know I was black."

But now he’s a ghost and he can glow in the dark so it’s pretty much the same thing.

Then there's the time that the Reds attack, and when Church starts cursing because he still can't aim with the sniper rifle, Caboose shouts, "I can help you, Church!" and runs up onto the roof with a fucking grenade launcher.

That's loaded with paintballs, because of course it is.

"We are so screwed," Tucker sighs, gripping his rifle. He's the only member of Blue Team who's currently able to (a) hit anything (b) with actual ammo, and that means they're not 4v3, they're 4v1, and Tucker is still too pretty to die like this and disappoint all the ladies.

Except Caboose hits Simmons with a paintball.

And it's blue paint.

"Son of a Manchurian Candidate!" Sarge yells. "Those dirty Blues are trying to brainwash Simmons. The only way to save him is immediate amputation."

"WHAT? But I feel fine! Suck it, Blues! See?"

"The paint is on his torso," says Grif. "I don't think he can survive without his lungs. Wait, does he even have those anymore?"

"As much as I hate to admit that this moron has any reasonable point, it's clear that there's only one solution. We have to field-strip Simmons."

"But Sarge—" Simmons's voice is cut off as Sarge tackles him.

"Oh, boy," says Donut. "I have got the best theme song for this."

As Sarge rips off Simmons's armor, Donut starts singing "Take it Off" while performing a dance routine with a lot of hip-thrusts.

"Wait," says Church. "Did Caboose just . . . save our asses?"

"Shit, don't tell him that," Tucker mutters.

"Yes, well, I didn't want to mention it, but since you insist, I did save us all. Stupid Tucker."

"Heheh, yeah, Caboose is more useful than you today, Tucker."

"Seriously?" says Tucker. "I'm the fucking chosen one, dude. Caboose is just an idiot with blue paint."

"And the blue paint just saved our asses."

"He said it."

Below, Sarge has already gotten Simmons completely naked. It's the first time Tucker's even seen his face. He's a scrawny, ethnically ambiguous string bean with olive skin, black hair, and a lot of chrome.

And a tattoo.

A fucking bright red, glowing tattoo in the pattern of a circuitboard all over his back.

What the fuck.

Like, obviously the tattoo is part of whatever turned Simmons into a cyborg, and Tucker's never wanted to get any of his limbs or internal organs replaced, but it looks . . . cool, okay, it is fucking cool, and the Red Team nerd should not be allowed to look cooler than Tucker does. At all. In any way.

Shit, the tattoo's even pulsating, little glowing specks running down the lines of the circuit, and it's just. Not fucking fair.

"Saaaarge!" Simmons wails, hunching in on himself. "You know I'm shy!"

"Sorry, Simmons, but operational security comes first. Can't allow anyone to be compromised by the Blues."

Simmons responds with a wordless moan.

"I mean, I know it's weird to keep watching," says Church, "but he's suffering so much I can't look away."

Down below, Grif says, "Gosh, Sarge, I think I saw a little bit of paint on you too. Right . . . there." He points at a spot on Sarge's back, where Tucker can see there is definitely not a single drop of paint.

"Horseshoes and hand grenades! So that's their villainous plan!"

Even Tucker has never managed to get naked that fast. He'd be impressed, except he's too busy staring at the giant glowing Red Team snake tattooed on Sarge's back. How did the old fucker even get that tattoo? He probably did it himself with experimental ink that’s radioactive and making him impotent, but Tucker is still a bit jealous.

"Hey, Reds," Church yells. "Looks like half your team is naked!"

“Hah!” Sarge bellows. “And so your plot is foiled again, scumbags!"

Church hefts the sniper rifle, and the Reds retreat while Tucker contemplates how it is fucking bullshit that Sarge and Simmons have glowing tattoos while he doesn't.

Tucker finds out about Donut's tattoo when the Reds mount Operation Weaponized Birthday Cake, and just. The less said about that, the better.

(But sometimes Tucker wakes up in the middle of the night and wonders. You’d need some kind of mad science or alien technology just to make a glowing tattoo. How the hell do you make a tattoo that glows and throws out sparkles?)

Grif's tattoo is different.

Tucker still feels guilty, when he remembers seeing it.

What happens is this: Tucker finally has some free time, and sometimes, when a man has free time, he just really wants a chance to enjoy some nude sunbathing. Without his asshole CO screeching at him or his idiot teammate wanting to join in.

There's this one little nook of the canyon that Church and Caboose don't seem to know about. Sarge and Simmons don't seem to know about it either, because Tucker knows that Grif goes there sometimes too. There have even been a few times they even hung out together—not naked, okay, that would be weird—but sometimes, a man wants to spend time around an asshole who isn't one of the assholes he has to live with every day. And who thinks this war is about as much bullshit as he does.

So one day, Tucker goes to the spot. Caboose tried to cook at 2 AM the night before, which meant the base caught on fire, which meant no one got any sleep, which meant Tucker just really wants to stretch out in the sun and not think about anything for an hour.

Except apparently, Grif had exactly the same idea. He's flat on his stomach, face down, snoring loudly. And stark-ass naked.

What Tucker's staring at isn't Grif's ass, though, it's his back.

It's a work of art.

And it's a war zone.

Because Grif is tattooed the same way Caboose is—different symbols, but the same glowing blue lines, obviously Sangheili—but the skin around the tattoos is ridged and puckered with scars. Somebody ripped Grif's back apart before decorating it, and shit shit shit, Tucker’s suddenly remembering that Grif fought against the aliens before Blood Gulch—something about colony destroyed and only survivor—and he doesn’t know exactly how that left Grif's back scarred around glowing Sangheili symbols, but he does not want to ask.

He backs away silently, and never, ever tells Grif what he saw.

Nothing will ever make Tucker admit it, but he never actually gets lucky with Kai, and the whole reason is the fit he pitches when he sees that glowing golden tramp stamp.

(It’s not fragile masculinity, it’s this fucking CONSPIRACY of tattoos around him. The first rule of Blue Team is Be Cool and nobody is letting him be cool.)

There's one thing that Tucker likes about Wash right from the start:

He doesn't have any tattoos.

Okay, fine, Tucker's never checked. But even if Project Freelancer was dumb enough to let its super-secret operatives have glowing tattoos, there is absolutely no way that Agent "I love drills and protocol" Washington would have gotten one.

The loser probably doesn't even have any piercings.

Maybe that's why Tucker actually feels like he can complain to him, one evening at the crash site, after he's done ten fucking million squats and hates everything.

"Seriously. Literally everyone has a glowing tattoo except for me. It's not fair."

For once, Wash has not only his helmet but the entire top half of his armor off. Does that mean he's decided to relax and be less of an asshole? No, it just means he can pinch the bridge of his nose at Tucker.

"I don't think that's very important, Private Tucker."

"Fuck yeah it's important! Tattoos are cool, and the first rule of Blue Team is be cool."

"Well," says Wash, desert-dryly, "I'm Blue Team leader, and I say you can be on Blue Team even if you're not cool."

"Ugh, like I care what you think." Tucker slouches back in his chair, wishing for the hundredth time that Church was here. Even though Church would probably just say, Shut up, Tucker.

"You know," says Wash, "if you actually tried at all, you'd be a pretty cool soldier."

"Shut up, asshole," Tucker groans, but he can't help smiling a little because, y'know. Wash may be a complete loser but he's also a Freelancer. Who thinks that Tucker could be cool.

It's not a tattoo, but it's kind of nice.

Then there's Felix and then there's Locus, and then Wash calls, Freckles, shake.

In the days and weeks after, the New Republic soldiers stare at Tucker like he's some sort of badass rock star god, and all Tucker can think is that he never wanted to be this cool, not like this.

Not at this price.

When Tucker wakes up in the hospital after fighting Felix at the radio tower—well, the first thing he thinks is my feet are shiny, because holy fuck, Grey has him on a lot of drugs.

But once he stops having conversations with his IV, and once the good news sinks in—that they won, that his friends are all alive, that the Feds and the New Republic have an alliance—

One of the first things that Tucker thinks is, Well, I guess it's back to being Private Tucker.

Except. Wash calls him "Captain," and doesn't order him to run laps when they disagree. He doesn't boss Tucker's squad around, unless they've been sent to him for training.

Slowly, Tucker starts to realize that Wash believes in his rank, is trying to support him, and it's just. He has to go sit next to Grif and wordlessly drink a few beers, that's what it means to him.

He swears to himself that he's going to live up to this.

Tucker's going to die soon.

If he's lucky.

Because Felix grabbed him . . . Tucker isn't sure how long ago, but it's been far too long and now he hurts more than he ever thought possible.  And he tried not to scream, he tried to be brave, he really fucking tried—

But.

Well.

In the end, when Felix stuck the camera in his face and said, Ask them to come for you, Tucker choked on a sob and said, Wash, please.

He's been alone since that, lying in his own blood on the floor of this cell. Felix didn't bother restraining him again, because he knows that Tucker's too broken to fight anymore. He can't even bring himself to sit up; all he can do is lie here and think miserably of how fucking disappointed Wash is going to be in him.

Everyone will be disappointed—Carolina and Kimball and stupid Palomo—but Wash is the first one who believed in him, who said, You just need to try, and Tucker tried and tried and now here he is, broken and begging on command so Felix can use him as bait.

At least he knows that Wash will stop Caboose from watching the message. That's something.

There's also this: Wash is going to kill Felix. Tucker knows that, and even if he isn't going to be around to see it, he finds it pretty comforting. Wash is going to make Felix regret that he ever leaned close and said, Y'know, this is basic RTI training for a Freelancer. But I guess even that's too much for you.

Tucker remembers what happened right after Felix said that, and he shudders and wheezes and fuck, everything hurts.

He doesn't want to die, but he really, really wants this to stop.

The door of his cell opens.

"Oh, hey there, Tucker. Ready for some more fun?"

Just the sound of Felix's voice makes him start shaking now. It's Pavlovian and it's fucked and Tucker hates it.

He wonders if he could manage to barf on Felix's boots in revenge.

"Yeah, I've gotten pretty bored with our little chats too." Felix hauls him up—Tucker bites back a whimper—and drags him out the door. "But you see, somebody's melodramatic Freelancer boyfriend decided to turn up with a bomb and a deadman switch, so it's time for you to be useful."

"He's not my boyfriend," Tucker mutters. He can barely keep his feet under him; he’s pretty sure that if Felix wasn’t dragging him along the hallway, he’d fall over. Felix is a fucking artist with his knife, but Tucker’s still lost a lot of blood by now, and he hasn’t eaten or slept since they grabbed him.

Then Tucker’s brain catches up, and his spine turns to ice as he really understands what Felix said, and all he can think is Oh shit oh shit he actually came.

Wash wasn't supposed to come for him. Tucker had been so sure that he wouldn't obey Felix's "come alone and unarmed" message.

That's the only—well, Tucker would like to think that's the only reason he broke. Because Wash has lectured him about negotiations with hostages and terrorists, Tucker knows what the protocol is, why the fuck does this have to be the one time that Agent Washington doesn't want to follow protocol?

Felix drags him through the base—there are mercs everywhere, Wash is never getting out of this alive, and Tucker wonders dizzily if he can get Felix to shoot him somehow, but then Felix drags him into a room and there's—

Wash.

Helmet off, no gun, holding a crooked bundle of wires and flashing lights that has to be the bomb.

He looks like shit, the circles under his eyes worse than ever, stubble on his chin and his mouth set in that line of "I've just woken up from a nightmare about my whole team dying and I'm sure it will come true."

That expression used to mean that Tucker was going to do worse drills than usual, and now it means that Tucker is going to watch his best friend die.

And it will be all his fault.

Fuck.

"Don't—" he manages to rasp out, and then Felix has him forced to his knees, one hand gripping Tucker’s dreads, the other pressing a pistol to the base of his skull.

"Okay, Agent Washington, here's your little friend. He's alive and he's even going to stay that way, if you do what I tell you."

There's a glorious moment where Tucker imagines Wash saying, Fuck no, and backflipping across the room while he pulls out two rifles and then dual-wields his way through a slow-mo, totally awesome battle that ends with Felix and Locus both dead.

But Wash just says, "Okay," and he drops the bomb.

"Well, that's a good first step," says Felix. "Now take off that armor."

And Wash does. He pulls it off piece by piece—Tucker can count on one hand the number of times he's seen Wash totally unarmored, and now Felix is making it happen and it's like. The worst and most depressing stripper show ever.

If Tucker somehow survives this, he will never forgive himself.

When Wash is stripped down to his kevlar undersuit, Felix laughs and says, "Really? It’s that easy to make you give up? Locus is going to be disappointed, I gotta tell you."

"Let him go," says Wash, staring at Felix with the same unsettlingly direct stare as when he told Tucker, You just have to stick with what you think is best. "I did what you wanted."

But Felix laughs and shakes his head. “Oh, no, no. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—see, I read your psych profile. I know you have far too much tragic backstory to bring a secret AI like Tucker did. So you’ve obviously got some other surprise hidden on you. You want me to believe you’ve surrendered? You’ll have to get naked."

Shit, he’s probably right. The plan’s gone wrong, and Wash needs to get out while there’s still time. Tucker finds his voice and says, "Wash—stop—"

But Wash is already peeling off his undersuit.

And Tucker sees Wash's skin. His shoulders and his arms and his chest.

There are glowing blue lines everywhere.

"What the fuck?" says Felix, and it takes Tucker a moment to realize it wasn't just him thinking it, because what the fuck.

Wash is covered in glowing blue tattoos, from wrist to throat to navel. They're not Sangheili symbols like Grif and Caboose, and they're not a circuitboard like Simmons, and they're not Blood Gulch symbols like Sarge. They're Greek letters and swirls and lines, and they say Epsilon and they say more, Alpha-Beta-Delta-Sigma-Omega-Gamma-Theta-Eta-Iota, and Tucker's regretting every time he made a crack about Wash staying in his armor. Because the whole painful history of the Freelancer AIs is written on Wash's skin and Tucker has no right to see this, he doesn't want to see this, but he's looking at it just the same.

And then Tucker realizes what that means: Wash had those tattoos all along.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" he howls.

He knows he's having hysterics. But this is it. This is how he dies. Not from Felix's torture, not from a bullet to the brain, but from Agent fucking Washington and his fucking glowing tattoos what the fuck.

"Wow, Tucker," says Church, appearing in front of him. "I had no idea you were so insecure." Then he flickers up into Felix's face. "Oh, yeah. I've been hacking your base. No biggie. Seriously, you didn't think I could be in Wash's armor instead of his implants?"

There's an explosion from outside, and the next moment, Wash is right there, kicking gun out of Felix’s hand, then dodging back when Felix lunges for him.

"And it wasn't a bomb," Wash calls out smugly, bouncing on his toes. "It was a homing device.”

“For the reinforcements,” Church adds. “Bitch.”

Felix lets out a scream of rage and charges Wash. Who is, wow, actually really good at fighting naked. Tucker wonders dizzily if that’s a thing they trained at in Project Freelancer, and if he can get Carolina to give him lessons, and then suddenly he just doesn’t have any strength left and he falls over. Everything is a blur of pain and what the fuck, and Tucker hears Church say, "Okay, seriously Tucker, this isn't funny," but he's lost the ability to speak.

Gradually, things stop hurting. There's this wonderful cool, floaty feeling. Tucker realizes it's the healing unit. He's lying on his back, the healing unit is running, he's not dead and therefore Wash kicked Felix's ass.

Sweet.

He opens his eyes. Wash is leaning over him.

"You fuck," says Tucker. "You have a tattoo."

Wash makes this weird noise that's almost like a laugh. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Dude. Not fair."

Wash is back in his undersuit, because nothing will make him less of a prude, and Tucker is—

—Tucker is alive, he can't believe it, he's alive and he's safe and Felix isn't there to smile and say, Well, actually, as he slides the knife in and. 

And then Tucker remembers that if Wash is here, then he watched the message. He knows how weak Tucker is.

"Sorry," he mutters. “Guess I really fucked up.”

He has a feeling he's going to be saying that a lot, when he gets back.

"It's fine," Wash says soothingly. "Everything's okay."

And that hurts, somehow, more than any stern reprimands to Private Tucker possibly could.

"It's not," says Tucker. "I—I broke, okay, I begged when he told me too, and—and—"

"Tucker," says Wash, and it's that voice, the extra-calm Freelancer voice, the one that Tucker can believe even when he's totally panicking, that he could follow into any sort of danger. "You survived. That's okay. That's, uh. Pretty cool."

"Yeah, it's more than most of the Freelancers managed," Church adds, appearing by Wash's shoulder.

"Epsilon," Wash growls.

"What? Comms are down, so is security, Carolina already took out Locus and Felix McFuckface here is not going to wake up for a while. Relax."

". . . I can't believe you have a tattoo," Tucker mumbles.

"Yeah, it's, uh." Wash stops.

"Wow, I just realized I should be literally anywhere else," says Church, and disappears.

“Side-effect of the implantation," Wash finishes with a sigh.

"So Carolina also has one?"

Wash cracks a grin. "Nope. She has two."

"Ugh. That's so unfair." Tucker tries to sit up, and the world swims around him. Wash sets a steadying hand on his back.

Tucker can hear crashes and screams and explosions in the distance—the cavalry, obviously. Lots of them. Shit, did everyone come on this mission?

"Tell you what," says Wash, his voice only a little bit condescending. "When you get out of the hospital, I'll help you get a cool tattoo.”

Tucker hurts everywhere. He's not okay. He doesn’t want to think about how long he’ll be in the hospital, or how many of his friends heard him beg in that recording, or how soon he’ll start dreaming about Felix.

But Wash's hand is warm and comforting against his spine. Tucker’s alive, and everyone came to save him, and Wash isn’t ashamed of him. And he thinks . . . maybe he’s going to be okay, eventually.

“Oh, like you know anything about what's cool," he says, and Wash laughs.

[lukearmitage]

Alec Rodriguez

You can learn a lot about someone by where they are from and where they have chosen to be. Some people never leave their hometown, some people leave as soon as they can, but every once in a while someone will stay and develop their existing community into something beautifully distinguished.

Born and raised in Orange County, Alec Rodriguez grew up with a big family surrounded by nice weather, cars, and tattoos. Due to his love for art, his desire to leave a mark, and the culture he grew up in, it was only a matter of time before he fell into the career he is now fully immersed in. Alec specializes in a popular style of tattooing called ‘Black and Gray realism’ which has it’s roots in East LA’s Chicano culture.

In the 1960’s many people had to get their tattoos done behind closed doors because it was mainly seen as taboo and illegal in some parts of the world. This form of self expression was mainly reserved for outlaw bikers, sailors, and lifers in prison.

Around this time, various groups of Mexican Americans created their own street culture which developed into what was known as the ‘Pachuco lifestyle’. This eventually evolved into the ‘Cholo’ culture where they began drawing and tattooing various images that pulled from a rich Latino catalogue of symbols, designs, and script lettering.

Tattoo art flourished in prison because there was so much time to share ideas and innovate. Prison officials found that they could reduce conflict by allowing inmates to have cassette players. With the motor from a cassette player, pen shaft, and the E string of a guitar, rotary tattoo guns were more prevalent than ever. The inks were made from the ash of burned magazines mixed with water to create different shades of ink. This evolved black and gray realism due to the enhanced quality and dimension of the art.

In those days, a majority of individuals would get their stuff done at the Pike in Long Beach where ‘traditional’ tattoos were popularized by sailors and rebels. However, in 1975 Charlie Cartwright and Jack Rudy opened a shop in East LA called Good Time Charlies where they popularized the distinguishable black and gray style with the help of Freddy Negrete that had started in prison. The shop was eventually sold to Ed Hardy who helped them grow the business and evolve tattooing as whole.

What was once a sign of rebellion has morphed into something that is beyond just another way of self expression.

Alec is the product of that evolution in the flesh. Behind his glistening rolex, wide frame, and intimidating tattoos is a hardworking artist who is both humble and grateful for the opportunities he has. I spent some time with Alec at his studio, along with a couple homies (Joe and Gordo), his two dogs (Chubbs and Ruca a.ka. Sad Girl), and his 64’ Chevy Impala convertible (8-Ball).

His friend Joe casually mentions “we would always just be hanging at his house.” Alec chimes in “This was before cellphones too so you would have to cruise by and see who’s bike was out front. My spot had no rules too.” Joe jokes about Alec having 20 dogs and 20 cats. Alec interrupts him with “naw, 3 dogs and 2 cats” with laughs. “I had a big family. Four siblings. There was always someone else living with us. Always had to take care of somebody else’s kids too. I’ve always been around people, so now when I’m alone, it’s nice, but at the same time its somewhat strange to me.” Which is somewhat ironic because he grew up down the street. All his friends live down the street as well. And when they get off work, they stop by. It has a similar vibe to a club house at times. Even though everyone seems to have a rough exterior, everyone is kind and respectful, which makes for a nice environment to spend time.

So you were born and raised here correct?

Yea, born and raised here. I grew up like right down the street. My mom still lives there.

Has it changed a lot since then?

It’s changed a lot. Definitely not the same as when I was growing up.

Do you miss those times?

Well yea, everybody misses the good old days you know?

In one of your interviews, you mentioned how your pops brought you into a shop and at the time you weren’t really interested, but eventually you came around. Can you talk a little about that?

Yea, when my pops took me into the shop to try and get me into it, I remember watching the whole process. There was puddles of ink, couldn’t see anything, perfectly straight lines, and it just looked like too hard. At that time I was pretty convinced that I couldn’t tattoo. But then a short time after that, I had some friends that I had grown up doing graffiti with, They had bought some tattoo guns and started tattooing out of their garage. And I thought to myself, well, if they can do it, I can do it.

Did your pops always have a lot of tattoos?

Yeah, he has been getting tattoo’d since he was like 14.

Did most people around you and in your family have tattoos growing up?

On my dad’s side, yeah for sure. On my mom’s side, not so much.

When did you start getting into the car culture stuff?

Ever since I was a little kid. My dad had a Cadillac growing up and I just always liked cruising in it. I would always bug him because I wanted to hop in a take a ride somewhere. This is when I was like 10 or 11. I never really thought I’d own one, but I always liked classic cars.

Do you enjoy being involved with it? Can you talk a little about it?

Yea definitely, It’s huge you know? But like anything it’s so political you know? It can be kinda controversial. So I dunno, I just kinda wanna drive my car. I don’t give a fuck about this and that. Don’t really want to get too involved. Like politics and stuff.

Like street politics?

Yeah, street politics and all that. Everyone wants you to get their approval.

Growing up, was it hard to stay out of trouble at all?

I mean, it’s never hard to stay out of trouble, just like it’s never hard to not party, you know what I mean? And then shit gets real and you end up in a place where you’re saying to yourself “aww, I shouldn’t have done that”.

Did tattooing help you stay away from all the bullshit?

Yea definitely, when I was about 18, I was fresh out of high school, my mom was like, “you have to get a job”, and I was “but I have a job” and she was like “I don’t really care, you have to go to school”. But I was frustrated because I had just graduated, I didn’t want to go to school. So I ended up taking a bunch of art classes because I liked it and just needed to meet the minimum requirement for my financial aid. So I was doing that, taking a bunch of bullshit classes, didn’t really know what the fuck I wanted to do. And then came the story with my pops and he took me to the shop. That was all during that whole process.

And at this time you were 19?

18. I got my apprenticeship with Goodfellas when I was 19. I was just a little-ass kid right there at Goodfellas Tattoo Shop with the big dogs. 19 Year old kid spending time with grown-ass men.

How did that make you feel?

It was intimidating as fuck. I was super intimidated. Especially because I knew who Steve Soto was and I looked up to him. And then to like be working for him it was just some starstruck type shit.

You seem like someone who really cares about the art, based on your stuff and your skill level. How were you able to learn so fast?

I get asked that a lot and some people say to me “oh you’re just naturally talented”. I feel like it isn’t so much talent as much as it is trial and error, practice. I always just enjoyed it and wanted to get better at it on my own. I was never really in competition with anyone or anything, it was more for myself. I just wanted to be a great artist.

What do you think was the driving force behind that?

As a kid, I just always loved art. It was just for myself. I wasn’t getting paid for it. I just genuinely enjoyed it. Then I got into graffiti from like 14-17 and I thought I was gonna do that as a career. Got arrested a few times and kinda realized that it probably wasn’t gonna work out.

How did you develop your style and technique? I feel like graffiti is way different than your aesthetic?

Total opposite right? Total opposite. I tell a lot of people, to this day, that I love abstract art and people don’t believe me because of the style that I do. I’m a big fan of it because my roots are from graffiti. But when I was taking all my art classes I was taking life drawing, the teacher was teaching us how to draw the models face, and I started becoming obsessed with making shit look real as fuck. And it just kinda snowballed from there.

You mentioned Steve Soto, are there some other tattoo artists or just artists in general that inspire you?

There were some local big graffiti crews that I was into MSK …CBS. Those guys were the shit.

What inspires you to wake up, do your thing and keep coming to work everyday?

I mean besides all my bills telling me “you gotta get the fuck up and go to work homie,” um, I dunno, I just enjoy what I do. If I sleep in and I’m running late, I just text myself that I’m gonna be late.  

You feel like you’re doing what you’re supposed to do. Like being an artist is your purpose in life?

I think so yea. I sometimes have feelings of wanting to do something else inside the art realm. I just love what I do and I have been drawing since I was a little kid. I love leaving my mark on things. I used to do that. I used to carve “Alec was here” on stuff and my mom would beat my ass. She would be like “Alec, did you do this?” and I would be like “no” and she would just sit there like… “it’s your name dumbass…. what do you mean you didn’t write it?” But I just love leaving my mark on stuff. Which is funny because now I do it with tattooing everyday.

When did you open your private studio up?

Just hit a year.

What was the reasoning for wanting to do that?

I get asked that a lot actually, but I dunno, it was just like an inner feeling that I was just ready to do my own thing. I always have to be close to work. I hate commuting. I was there seven years, so I was just kinda ready to have my own space. Spread my wings.

What was the inspiration for the interior design?

If you were in here the day I opened the doors, it is not the same. I change shit up consistently over here. But I dunno, I just always liked a lot of artwork on the walls. Just a lot of stuff to keep the people entertained while they are here. I always liked the super clean look, just very minimal. Not too cluttered.

A lot of people get tattoos after significant events in their life? Do you feel like a therapist sometimes having to talk to people during the tattoo process?

You know what, I call that ink therapy. I go through those phases myself. It really is therapeutic getting tattooed. I tell these guys here all the time, I joke around like “yea I’m a tattoo artist and a part-time therapist”. Just cause you know, I’m sitting next to the client for like 10 hours. That’s just one session. You get to know someone pretty well, especially after a few sessions. You’re literally sitting there touching their skin. I am helping them tell their story through their skin. I interpret it through my artwork.

The view on tattoo culture is more mainstream now?

Yeah most definitely. And it’s good for me, but everything has its pros and cons. Since it’s more acceptable, I have people with 9-5 jobs coming in here and getting tattoos which is great. But you also have kids going and getting tattoo’s on their face looking like a kindergartners sketch book. I’m glad it’s more acceptable, but some people take things too far.

Do you feel like you’ve changed a lot since you started?

When I was 19... I mean, shit, every 18/19 year old thinks they know everything, but I started working at a shop with grown-ass men with kids and families… and they kinda let me know how things are. They shaped me in a good way you know what I mean? I grew up real quick, just being around them.

Did they humble you?

Yea, most definitely. That’s why I was so grateful you know? Like a lot of people at that age don’t have influences like that. A lot of people have parents who say things like, “don’t do that shit, you’re gonna get arrested”. But you kinda just disregard their opinion. But when it’s somebody you look up to or respect in a different way, you tend to listen a different way. We all have love and respect for our parents obviously. I was just more keen on what the fuck the guys at the shop had to say. Even though it was the same shit my mom used to say. With your parents, sometimes you think they are just trying to control you, but with a friend and a coworker, they are really just looking out for you.

In one of your prior interviews you mentioned the word respect quite a bit. Can you talk a little bit about that and how it applies to you?

Respect is a huge fuckin’ thing you know? If you can’t go into somebodies house and respect it, that just says a lot about your character you know what I mean? If I was to go up in your house and I was to put my feet up on your couch and shit, you’re gonna be like “what are you doing?” Like respect my house, you wouldn’t do that at your mom’s house you know? Your mom would slap the shit out of you. Respect, you know what I mean?

You know what it comes down to? I got it tatt’d right here. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Treat other motherfuckers how you would want to be treated.

Last time I got one of my tattoos from you, your brother was starting to apprentice with you? But now it looks like he’s tattooing full-time and doing his own thing?

Yea yea, he works here with me. He’s still here.

Have you been able to take him under your wing and kinda show him what’s up?

Yea yea, I let him do his own thing. I’m here for him, I try to help him develop his craft as well. But at the end of the day it is up to someone personally to take the initiative and develop their skill, technique, and overall craft. I can only say so much. You know what I mean? I tell him like, “you literally have to get up and do the work. But if you have any questions along the way, I gotchu”.

Were there some struggles and difficulties you had to overcome to get to where you were? Or did everything flow pretty smooth for you because you feel like you took the right path?

I mean everything flowed pretty nicely for me and I am grateful for that, but of course there was trial & error periods and hardships. Just like everything, it has its politics. You are looked down upon at first because you have to start somewhere, you’re not good, or you’re not qualified. So you have to pay your dues for a little while.

Would you change anything?

Naw, I wouldn’t change shit. I’ve been so blessed to be where I’m at and to have gone through what I’ve gone through and still be here.

If you weren’t tattooing what do you think you would be doing?

*Deep exhale…. Stares off in the distance…  Honestly, I don’t really know. I don’t even really want to know. I’d hate to see an alternate reality where I could see myself without tattooing. Before tattooing I was just working at Stater Brothers and shit… you know? Just going nowhere fast.

What’s your future looking like? What are your plans? What do you have lined up? Traveling?

You know what, I used to travel so much. Honestly it’s really nice to not have any travel plans coming up. Knowing that I am just going to be home. I love traveling, I love all the places I’ve been to, I’m blessed to have been able to go there, but traveling is just so stressful. It’s a bitch and a half. So I’m content right now with just being here and doing my thing.

As far as like the long run, the future, I don’t really know. Where do I see myself in five years type thing, I don’t really know, I’d like to eventually have a more walk in type of shop environment instead of a private studio, hopefully, but only time will tell.

I imagine a lot people come from out of town to get work done from you?

Yea, the guy I tattoo’d yesterday was from Australia. People come from everywhere you know, Canada, Germany, Wherever you know? I had a guy come from Japan.

If they want to book an appointment, what’s the best way?

Just email me or go through the website.

alecrodrigueztattoo.com alecrodrigueztat2@gmail.com @alecrodrigueztattoo

Sources: Schwartz, E. (Director). (2013). Tattoo Nation [Video file]. United States: Visions Verite. Retrieved April 24, 2019, from https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2207870/

[nc-ten-scenarios]

Request: Hiya:) can I request a Johnny fluff where he gets his first tattoo as his birthday gift. And you start teasing him because he was whining about how much it hurts? Please Thank you 😊✨

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

Another day another dollar was the motto of Seoul tattoos, a hidden gem among the Gangnam area. You started working there at the age of 18 starting off at a decent wage, but quickly working your way up through the ranks and landing yourself in the top five tattoo artist in your area.

The shop you worked in wasn’t very big, only having room for about 7 artists in total. Not a ton of availability, especially for you. Yes being in the top five was an incredible achievement, especially with you only being a couple of ears into the business, but it came with the not so great perks. Being booked months upon months in advance, sketching designs non-stop for customers day in and day out, waking up at the ass crack of dawn to finish a sketch, buying tons of erasers, pencils, paper, and markers because of how many of each you’ve gone through. It was exhausting in a way, but it was all worth it because of the immense satisfaction you got when the colors were blended and lines were smooth pulling together the design and the customers smile and words “I love it” were what made it all worth it.

~~~

“Hey y/n how are you? Long morning?” Your coworker and good friend josh greeted you as he came in for his afternoon clients. Josh wasn’t your typical tattoo artist guy. Sure he was over six foot and had plenty of tattoos visible that gave him the majority over your own tattoos, but beneath the ‘tough’ exterior was a literal puppy. He looks intimidating, but equals like a little girl when he’s scared and 'secretly’ loves cats and chihuahuas. In a summary he’s a huge fluff ball and softy.

“Good afternoon josh it’s been going well thanks for asking. Had three clients just this morning and I got one more this afternoon before I get to go home and relax.” You replied flashing him a quick million watt smile before glancing back down at the sketch pad of your nearly complete design.

“I thought you had that done weeks ago. You k ow when he scheduled it?” Josh peered over your shoulder to glance at the magnificent sketch you had created for your afternoon client.

You shrugged. “I thought so too. But you know me always not satisfied. I’m just adding a few more details to really tie it together you know?”

“Yeah I know miss precision.” He folder his eyes before sauntering off into the employee room.

You heard the distinct crinkle of your bag of snacks from the employee room.

“Josh dont you even think about it!” You shouted as his head popped out form the doorway and a pot already adorning his lips.

“Aww please y/n? I just want one snack!” He whined loudly causing you to roll your eyes at his dramatic facade.

“Fine! But just one bag I’m saving those for tomorrow!”

A squeal left his lips as he proceeded to rip the bag open and steal a small bag of chips before prancing down the hall to his station.

You sighed at his weirdness before turning back to your sketch to add the last couple of pencil strokes.

You had just set your pencil down when the bell on the door dinged making you aware of the client now inside the parlor.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.” You announced before ducking behind your station to grab your client book. You popped back up, book in hand, and proceeded to walk toward the waiting area all while flipping through the book to your afternoon appointment. Your eyes scanned the page until the landed on that one name that was scheduled for 3 o'clock pm.

No. Way.

You blinked a few times at the name scribbled on your page, thinking you had misread it. You counted to three eyes closed and opened them and yup the name was still the same.

Sprawled out in neat handwriting was Johnny Seo aka your ex-boyfriend. You two hadn’t ended in bad terms per say. They just weren’t ideal terms. Long story short you had dated before his debut and when he did debut he was forced to break up with you and you haven’t talked since. To be accurate it’s been only a few months since the break up, but it was still fresh in your mind the way he had asked you to meet at your favorite cafe as a couple one evening. You could tell he was nervous as his hand were wrung together on the table and his eyes wouldn’t meet yours. You remember the way you placed your hand in top of his, trying to get his eyes to meet yours and when he finally did, you could tell something was gonna happen. He took a deep breath and told you straight up “Y/n we need to break up. Management thinks I would be more appealing if I was on the market.” The shock you felt was unbelievable. Your emotions just went numb as you released his hands as if the words he said were a force shoving you back. His eyes stared into yours in sorrow silence, waiting for you to say something. You stayed silent processing the information before standing up flashing a weak smile that said it’s okay as he tried To apologize and you turns and walked out of the cafe not looking back. Once you had gotten home the waterworks switch flipped as the realization of being in a relationship was gone, shattered to pieces like your heart.

Back to the present your head snapped up to see the same lovely smile adorning his lips as he looked back at you.

'Don’t smile at me.’ You thought. 'It’s only going to make me realize my feeling I still have for you.’

You cleared your throat, forcing the lump down and flashing a million dollar smile that could fool anyone. “Mr. Seo, 3 o'clock appointment?” You surprised even yourself with how strong your voice came out.

Johnny nodded his head in affirmation before you gestured for him to follow you back to your station.

You sat down in your artist chair before motioning for him to sit across from you in the client chair. “Okay Mr. Seo first tattoo in black and white, no filling, no color. Is that correct?”

Johnny nodded an affirmative again hoping you would just look up at him.

“Me. Seo I’m gonna need your ID and would. You like to pay now or later?” You busied yourself with grabbing the calculator for price and your other notebook full of transactions.

Johnny didn’t reply, he just stared at you. How did you the girl who was so bubbly and bright and absolutely hated formalities form into the girl you were now?

You waited for a response that wouldn’t come. You sighed as you mentally counted to three before looking up and seeing johnny’s intense stare directed at you. You two had a stare down until he finally broke the silence.

“What’s with the formalities? You never called me or anyone by their last name or surname before. What’s changed? Where’d my y/n go?” He whispered staring intently into your eyes not allowing you to look away and face the question head on.

“I’m in a work place Mr. Seo and I always use formalities with a client-”

“No you don’t. You’ve never used formalities with a client because you make them feel comfortable. So why are you using them now on me? We’re still friends y/n.” He cut you off.

You sighed knowing he wouldn’t let you continue until you called him by his real name and you wanted to be out of the parlor by 5.

“Johnny. Can we please just get to the tattoo-”

“Say it again.” He interrupted once agin.

You blinked owlishly at him. “What?”

“Say it again. Sag my name again.” He repeated.

“Johnny I don’t have time for this. I need your ID and form of pay please so I can start on your tattoo.” You turns to grab your notebook and when you spun back to face him a grin was adorning his features in the most adorable way. Without a word he grabbed his wallet handing you his card and ID watching as you scanned them before returning them to him. You went to return your notebook but felt a grip on your hand, soft but firm, hold you there.

A thumb caressed the back of your hand slowly as if he was transferring he feeling of your skin to his memory to cherish.

You slowly pulled your hand free from his grip and returned your supplies before grabbing the stencil and laying it on his arm, the place where he desired the design to be. You slipped York gloves on and filled the machine with black ink to start. You made sure the needle was working before taking a peek at Johnny’s face that was trying to be calm. You smiled lightly as he tried to act tough before laying a gently gloved covered hand in his arm.

“Johnny are you alright?”

“Yeah I’m fine. Why?”

“Well I haven’t even started and you are starting to look nervous. Are you sure you want to do this? You know it’s there forever.”

“Yeah I’m sure. Now or never right?”

You grinned at his facade before patting his arm and starting up the machine to start tattooing. You brought the needle closer to his arm before glancing up as his face seeing his eyes squeezed shut waiting for the unavoidable pain. You quickly reached behind you grabbing your blue stress ball and leaving it in his palm. His eyes opened at the feeling of a squishy object in his hand and he turns to you with a confused expression.

“It’s to help distract you from the pain. Squeeze as hard as you would like. I’m gonna start now alright?” You said watching as he nodded and rested his head back before inhaling and exhaling deeply to calm down.

With his affirmative you whirred up the machine and began to tattoo his desired design onto his skin.

~~~ “All done.” You announced as you took a cloth and began to wipe off the remaining ink and blood that wasn’t supposed to be there.

“It’s over?” Johnny questioned eyes opening.

You glanced up at his face and was surprised to see his eyes rimmed light red and the tears misting about. You took off your gloves and reached up to wipe at his eyes to clear the tears.

“It’s over. You made it through Johnny. How do you like it?” You asked as you grabbed a mirror to show him the finished design.

“Wow it’s incredible. Thank you y/n.” He gawked at the mirror hand hovering over the design.

You gently grabbed his hand and moved it away form the red skin before wrapping the tattoo and handing him instruction on what to do for the next week.

“Make sure you don’t get it wet for a few days then wash it after the third day. Put this cream on it afterwards and don’t put it in salt water. Come back if you have any problems okay?” You questioned ha ding him the bag of things he needs to ensure it healed properly.

He nodded and stood up. “I will. But what if I don’t understand what to do?”

“Then you can come back in or call one of us.” You replied wiping your hands on your jeans.

“So I can call you? You didn’t change horn number right?” He asked slyly.

You shook your head no a slight smile crawling onto your lips.

“Well then miss y/l/n how about some dinner then? I know I was your last appointment and I kept you longer than you should’ve stayed. Let me make it up to you.” He flashed his million watt smile at you that you couldn’t resist.

“What’s with the formalities Seo? I thought you didn’t like them?” You teased as he grinned at your playful tone before leaning down to your height.

“Thought I’d make it fair and use them in you. So how bout dinner? I’ll pay.” He held his arm out to you.

You rolled your eyes playfully before closing down your station and grabbing your purse before spinning back toward the awaiting male. You grinned mischievously before sauntering in his direction, walking past his form and out the door before turning slightly to see his gobsmacked expression.

“You coming or what? I’m starving Seo.” You teased slyly watching as he laughed before bounding after your form, linking arms and heading to dinner just like the old times.

~Nik

[writingismyhappytime]

Baby Daddy

Ryan Sitkowski x reader 

Warnings: language, angst, mention of abortion

You giggle, bumping Ryans arm with yours. You throw your legs into his lap, nudging him, hoping to distract him, leaning in to him and wiggling. It works.

His car goes crashing into the side of the screen, and you laugh as he cusses, the screen announcing his death again. This is the third time you’ve made him kill himself in Grand Theft Auto and he’s starting to see the trend. “Cheater,” he accuses you, setting his controller down. “You keep distracting me!” “I think you’re a bad driver,” you inform him promptly, grinning. “Don’t pay attention to the road.” “Just like a woman, right?” “Ryan!” He laughs as you swat playfully at him, and you quickly lean in to kiss him, your lips melding into his. The two of you are sitting in the floor of his bedroom, and you’ve been playing video games for the last two hours. The two of you haven’t been dating long, only a few months, but you seem to get along great. You like Ricky, he’s pretty cool, and he doesn’t seem to mind you sleeping over a lot. You know he and Ryan both rent the house they live in, where as you have your own apartment, and you adore all the cats running around. You have a few tattoos, but nothing extreme, and your messy hair is its normal color, not a stark black or bright red. You’re just… you. And that’s why Ryan likes you so much. You’d known of his music when the two of you met, but you hadnt fangirled over it or made a big deal out of meeting him. You had just been chill, and he’d quickly warmed up to you, eventually asking you out and not long after to be his girlfriend. You don’t ask to meet the rest of the band or for them to sign merch for you, you don’t hint around that you want free concert tickets or special passes to  anything — you’re dating Ryan for Ryan, not his music, not his band — and most definitely not his beard. You tug on it lightly, just enough to make him sigh as you lean away with a grin. He likes to grow it out when he’s not on tour, and you don’t mind at all, it sort of makes him look rugged. You’re into that. Plus it’s soft, and he takes care of it so it’s not gross or scratchy. “You gonna stay the night tonight?” He murmurs, letting his eyes run over you. You’re not uptight about your appearance, your hair is tousled and a little wild, he hasn’t seen you wear makeup since he met you, but he likes that. You’re in a big white t shirt and a pair of shorts, sitting cross legged in his floor, the Xbox controller held loosely in your hands. “I can, if you want. I just have to be out by eight so I can make it to work,” you shrug, curling a strand of hair around your finger. You’re crazy about Ryan. He’s sweet, he loves animals, and he’s actually talented. His eyes are a green you like, framed by long lashes and wrinkles when he smiles. His hair his short and black, and right now his favorite thing to wear is a ball cap. He’s adorable. Ryan nods, leaning back against his bed, letting his arms stretch out across his black comforter. His room is almost like a teenage boys, guitars and stuff about music everywhere. “Cool. I’ll set an alarm, you’ll be up in time.” You smile at him. So sweet. You’ve not been dating long enough to even have a fight, and he’s not been on tour or away from you for longer then a week. Other then work, you generally spend all your time together. You’re always eager and excited to see him, that hasn’t gone away,  and you hope it doesn’t. You lean into the curve of his arm, pressing your lips against his scruffy cheek. “What’s that for?” He asks, reddening slightly. “Nothing. I just wanted too.” You let your head rest on his shoulder, and he curls his arms around you, shaking his head. He’s really done good with you. ~~~~ You stretch as you hear the alarm go off, loud and blaring in your ears. You’re not ready to get up, you’re really tired. Staying up most of the night with Ryan isn’t exactly leaving you well rested in the morning. You feel him shift behind you, his hand on your waist curling tighter into the sheets. Ugh. You probably need to turn that off, but you don’t want to move, let alone open your eyes. It’s too early. Ryan sighs as he reluctantly opens his eyes, shuffling so he can reach over you, hitting the snooze for the third time. You’re sleeping hardcore this morning, he almost hates to wake you but if he doesn’t you’ll be late. “(Y/N),” he shakes your shoulder lightly, and you groan, shaking your head. “Come on, you gotta get up. You’ll be late.” “Uh uh.” His lips twitch. “I’ll make us breakfast.” He sees your lips purse, and then slowly you open your eyes, cutting them in his direction. “Fine. Pancakes?” “Pancakes.” You exhale heavily, and then slowly push yourself up, your hair matted to the side of your face. Ryan chuckles, reaching to run his fingers through the tangled mess. You’re not a very good morning person, not like he is. “Go take a shower, I’ll meet you downstairs,” he tells you, and you nod, sleepily watching him get up. He sleeps in sweat pants, sometimes anyway, and you always like looking at the ink on his skin, all the different designs. It’s cool. You watch as he disappears out the door, leaving it open so that light floods the room and makes it impossible to go back to sleep. You sigh, supposing you should shower. You stagger to your feet, grabbing your clothes out of the chair you normally toss them in as you head for the upstairs bathroom, rubbing your eyes. You hear a door open, but you don’t pay any attention as you absently step to the bathroom, the door open. “Uh, morning, (Y/N).” “Mhmpf.” Ricky half grins, watching as you zombie walk into the bathroom, barely grunting acknowledgement at him. You’re not a morning person, not until you’ve had breakfast. You’re normally full of smiles and positive thoughts, generally more well kept; right now you look like you’ve been rolling around outside, your hair is terrible. Ricky shakes his head as he hears the shower start up, and he quickly takes the carpeted stairs down to the kitchen, hearing Ryan ambling around already. He and Ryan are in the same band, have been close for years. He doesn’t mind you sleeping over, you’re like having another roommate and you’re always considerate of his or Ryans things. “Zombie made it to the bathroom,” Ricky says as he enters the kitchen, yawning. “Fifteen minutes and she’ll be a person again.” Ryan chuckles. “Don’t bet on it.” Ricky snorts, sitting down at the table, watching the coffee pot percolate. He leans back in the kitchen chair, stretching his tired limbs, long dark hair brushing his shoulders. Eventually you wander downstairs, hair damp but mostly dried, skin still red from scrubbing. You sit at the table, yawning. “Morning, Ricky.” “Morning. Sleep well?” “Mhmhmm.” You prop your chin on your hand, eyes half closed again; man you’re so tired! Usually you’re bouncing by the time you’ve taken your shower. You feel a little nauseous too, and now you’re starting to wonder if you haven’t caught something. “Here.” Ryan slides a plate of pancakes your way, soaked with syrup and butter, and you take them with a smile. He quickly piles him and Ricky platefuls before sitting down beside you, the three of you having breakfast together, it feeling incredibly normal. “So how’s your shop doing? Anyone donate dildos yet?” You snort, your cheeks heating as you shake your head. “Not yet, but if they do I’ll be sure to gift it to you for Christmas.” Ricky grins at you. You run a shop downtown, just odds and ends, stuff you’ve collected and bought, and you do pretty well. You try to find something for everyone, from essential oils to sports memorabilia. So far you’ve been doing well, and you hope to keep it that way. “Thanks, I’ll regift it for your birthday,” Ricky says, reaching for his cup of coffee. “Just for when Ryan can’t do the job.” Ryan chokes on his breakfast, and you laugh, hastily patting him on the back so he doesn’t choke. You wipe quickly at your eyes as Ryan glares at Ricky, threatening him with a piece of pancake dripping with syrup. “You okay?” You ask, just to be safe, and Ryan nods, clearing his throat, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, fine.” “Good. Shit, what time is it?” You gasp, starring at the clock on the wall. You hastily scramble to your feet, most of your food uneaten as you sprint from the kitchen and back upstairs to get your things. Both men blink. “Did you ever tell her that clocks an hour fast?” “Uh… no.” Ryan waits a moment, and starts to his feet just as you come thundering down the stairs, your jacket slung over your arm, struggling to get your sandal on all the way. “I’m gonna be late,” you gasp as you make it to the bottom of the stairs, your hair thrown into a messy bun. “I gotta go.” Ryan steps into the living room. “Uh, act —.” “I’ll see you later!” You tell him, darting a hasty kiss against his cheek before you stride for the front door. “Bye, Ricky!” “(Y/N) —.” The door slams shut. Um. Okay. Ryan sighs, shaking his head as he turns back for the kitchen. Ricky is grinning, shaking his head as he watches you run for your car parked at the street, freaking out when you realize you left your keys hanging on the hook by the front door. “Three,” Ricky starts to count down as you whip around, looking frazzled. “Two.” You’re making a mad dash back for the house. “One.” The front door is tossed open, and Ryan sees your frantic fingers grab for your eyes. “(Y/N), wait —-.” “Can’t wait, gotta go, bye!” And you’re gone again. Ryan half grins, he and Ricky watching out the kitchen window as you make it to your car again, only nearly falling into the bushes once. You throw your car door open, toss your things inside, and finally crawl in. “When do you think she’ll realize she’s way early?” Ricky asks, slowly sipping his cup of coffee. “Fifteen minutes when the radio says what time it is.” “I say when she gets to her store.” “Fine. Loser does dishes.” “You’re on.” ~~~~~ You feel incredibly scatter brained. You sigh as you sink down into your office chair, rubbing your face. You’re a little embarrassed you’d freaked out so badly that morning when you’d thought you were late, and when you’d gotten to the store and realized what time it was, you’d felt so foolish. When you’d called Ryan, he’d been doing the dishes so he hadn’t been able to talk long. So now, you’re sitting, relaxing, listening to your store attendant man the front while you take a much needed break. You reach down, pulling your sandals off as your feet begin to ache. Normally they don’t bother you but today it’s different. You really just don’t feel good today, you’re not sure why. Your stomach rolls slightly, and you clench your jaw as you lean back in your chair, the taste of syrup suddenly sour in your mouth. Did you seriously catch a freaking bug!? Not cool! You’re too busy to be sick! Watching after the store is a full time job, you have all of your money tied into it. You can’t afford for it to fail, so you spend a lot of time there. Even though you have someone working the front, you still have to organize the merchandise shipments and payroll and —. Fuck, you’re gonna be sick. You rise immediately,  almost tossing yourself into your small office bathroom, slinging the door open as you fall into the toilet. You lose your breakfast quickly, and you shudder, curling your arm around your clenching stomach. Ugg. This so isn’t cool. You give it a moment, and grimace as you raise your head, quickly wiping at your lips. You don’t want to give your attendant a bug, if she calls in sick you’d never be able to get anything done by yourself. Yet if you leave you’ll be so behind…. Your stomach clenches again, making the decision for you. You’re going home. ~~~~~ You: I can’t come over tonight, I think I caught a bug

Ryan: bug? I’m sorry babe!

You: :( tell Ricky I miss him

Ryan: ……

Ryan: He says he misses you too… should I b worried?

You: nooooo.

Ryan: *suspicious face*

You: *angelic smile*

Ryan: dammit u win. Do u need anything?

You: nah its just a bug it’ll be over soon I don’t want anyone 2 catch it

“So (Y/N) caught a bug, did she? Probably from all those weirdos that visit her store.” Ricky calls from the living room. “Oh, yeah, man. It must be all the well dressed folks of the upper side.” Ryan jokes, plopping down beside his friend. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.” “Yep.” Ricky pops open the tab of his soda. “Now tell my baby girl I love her — ow! Why you always gotta hit me!?”

Tags: @isaxhorror   @lucifersnudes @allthepeppercorn. @iknightwriter. @miss-mcbotty.  @my-gothic-doctor.  @little-h0rr0r @imaginemiw

[purplesurveys]

194

Have you stayed up past 3 in the morning this week? No. I’ve turned ancient, I can’t even do that anymore. I automatically shut down by 11 PM. What does the soap you use smell like? Like...soap-y. It’s a basic soap smell. Do you prefer to wrap gifts or use gift bags? Paper bags because I never said I could wrap my presents. The last person you spoke to, do you know their eye color? Yeah, a vast majority of Filipinos have very dark brown eyes. The few ones who are different probably just have a little lighter shade of brown. Does anyone you know have their hair bleached? Yes, I think I know a couple people.

Is there anyone you know by the name of Frank? I don’t. Do you own a trenchcoat? No use for that here, so nope. Have you ever written with a pen that had pink ink? Sure. Do you remember the last thing you took a picture of? Heh, I took a photo of myself on the webcam. I had fire noodles yesterday and for some reason my skin always, always gets better when I eat spicy food so I took advantage of that and took some selfies hahahaha. From where you’re sitting, can you turn the lights off? I can’t. When was the last time you accidentally slept in? Last Wednesday. I stayed out late the night before and I couldn’t wake up, with all the noise in the world, before 8 AM–my first class that day was at 8:30. I decided I’d just have to cut it until I saw a last-minute announcement from my prof, saying he couldn’t hold class that day anyway. I got so excited and went back to bed ha. Tell me the last thing you searched on the internet? I was searching for surveys :c The last argument you had, who started it? My girlfriend did.  Do you wear a ring on your left hand middle finger? Nope. Are you currently in a smoking environment? No, my bedroom is not a designated smoking area and never has been. Can you remember the title of the song you last sang aloud? Forgiveness by Paramore. No pun intended but please forgive all the Paramore answers I will be giving in the next few weeks, I am so so so so so stoked for their concert back here and I can’t listen to anybody else but them. If a stranger smiles at you, do you smile back? Well it’s gonna depend on the smile I guess. Some people give out friendly smiles; that’s the one I tend to reciprocate. Some are just creepy; my usual instinct is either to ignore or, if I’m in an already bad mood, give them a scowl. Tell me the current time? 9:19 AM. Are you currently listening to music through earphones? Nope, I can’t keep my focus on answering surveys if I do that. What color shirt are you wearing? Is it your favorite color? Black. It’s one of them. Do you own a pair of rubber boots? I don’t. Does anyone you know own a bird that can talk? Not anymore. My great-aunt used to have a parrot that can say “You’re ugly” in Filipino but it must have died when I was maybe about 10 or 11 when I stopped seeing it at their house. What make-up are you wearing currently, if any? I haven’t worn makeup since the last debut I went to...and that was in January. Name one thing you are glad you accomplished today? My lazy ass finally give me a shower this morning. Name one thing you wished you accomplished today but didn’t? Dunno, it’s pretty early in the day. We’ll see. Have you ever been afraid to call someone, even if you knew them well? Always. Calling is just not my preferred mode of communicating. Do you ever not speak to someone because you’re afraid you’ll annoy them? Also always. Is there any drama going on in your circle of friends? There technically is ongoing drama but since I don’t need that high school bullshit I disassociated from the group many months ago. I stay in the group chat for formality’s sake but I don’t see or talk to most of them anymore. Have you ever known a guy who caused a lot of drama? I know lots of guys who have caused drama. That’s rich kid culture in Metro Manila, dude. Is there anyone you know who wears their hair in pigtails regularly? No. That would be...weird if I knew anyone from my age range. Personally, do you think you have a nice smile? Yes. Do you have a nervous twitch? Not really. Have you ever taken care of a drunk friend? No. I’m sensitive about way too drunk people so I let my other friends handle them. I’m fine with tipsy friends, though. How about a hungover friend? I haven’t. Does the idea of snow-peaked mountains and a large lake sound appealing?  Absolutely. I’ve never been in that environment so I think it would be a pleasant breath of fresh air if I suddenly woke up to that. Pick any number that has personal significance to you? 23. Have you ever lost your luggage at an airport? No. It’s happened to my dad several times though. What’s your opinion on people who go hunting for sport? No. Have you ever been on a rollercoaster that actually scared you? I have a fear of rollercoasters as it is so when I tried a small one in Universal Studios that’s not even supposed to be scary (worst 30 seconds of my life) it just proved my point that I’ll never get used to them. Do you know anyone who can fluently speak more than two languages? Yep. My professor in Filipino studied in Korea for a while so he’s fluent in Filipino, English, and Korean. Athenna knows Ilocano aside from Filipino and English. The last person who texted you, have you ever fought with them? Many times. All a part of a relationship. How many windows are open on your computer right now? Just one, I don’t like to keep my laptop too busy. Do you have a fairly fast or slow internet connection? Fast in terms of the general Philippine net speed. Pretty fucking slow compared with the rest of the world’s. Have you ever gone in a sauna? Noooooo no not my way of relaxing. I hate feeling hot. Out of these colors, which appeals most to you: orange, blue, or green? Blue. Have you celebrated your birthday yet this year? Yes. Is there anything you’re saving up for? Christmas gifts for my loved ones.

Are you taller than most of your friends? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA I’m smaller than all of them thank you for reminding me. Know anyone with a really annoying laugh? I don’t find laughs annoying. Have you ever punched someone and broke their nose? I didn’t break the nose but I hit Gabie’s face once and since I did it pretty hard the bridge of her glasses cut her nose :( I felt bad and never played rough with her after that. Have you ever been someplace tropical? I live in a tropical country... If given the opportunity, would you act in a commercial? No. You see an ant on the ground, do you squish it? Usually. Have you ever baked a pie? I had to in I think that was sixth grade. Home econ class. What is your favorite social networking site?  Twitter. Who was the last person to call you? Gabie. Does anyone in your family tell funny stories? Not close with my family so I find none of them funny. The one with the funniest stories was my grandfather, but he passed away two years ago. Do you believe in finder's keepers in most situations? I guess that works for other people. I just feel guilty. Is there a war memorial where you live? There isn’t. I’m sure there are in the provinces and in Manila where majority of the wars took place, but not in my city. Has anyone in your family fought in any of the wars? Yes, my great-grandfather has a portrait up in our old house. He’s clad in his uniform, badges and all. Would you make any changes to your current bedroom? You bet I would. I’d repaint the walls, reposition the bed, get a TV, a desk, and a bookshelf. Has a stray dog ever tried to bite you? Nope, they’ve all been friendly to me thus far. When riding a bus, do you prefer to sit up front, down back or the middle?  I haven’t ridden a bus for public transport, but in the few times that I did for school trips I always opted to sit at the front. I get dizzy easily, and the crowd is usually noisiest from the middle aisles up to the back. Have you ever been on a cross-country train ride? No. Are you normally a person to tell people off? No, unless I had the business to. Name an object that most would consider odd that’s special to you? a poster? Gab’s sisters got me a small bear figure before for Christmas two years ago. They knew I love Baymax, so it means a lot that they thought of me and the gift has stayed with me since. What animal have you always wanted as a pet but couldn’t have? I already have a dog, so. Do you currently have any bug bites? Nope. Is there currently any caffeine in your system? No, but I feel the need to have some. I’ve been reliant on Starbucks for the past few weeks but now that classes are suspended for a week, it feels weird that I’m suddenly not having my usual. :( Look around, are things organized? In my dreams. Know what you’re planning to do after this? Another survey!!!!!!

[chelsorz07]

kinda rare-ish

1: What do you put on hotdogs? Cheese, ketchup, mustard, dill relish (because sweet relish is gross).

2: Do you say “anticlimatic” or “anticlimactic”? Anticlimactic. 

3: Do you check flyers before grocery shopping? Uh no. I used to read them for fun or to help my mom shop but I have no use for them because I get the same shit every time. Lunchables, pizza rolls, bread and eggs, and a shit ton of beverages.

4: Blue, black, or some other colour pen ink? Black.

5: Do you use your parking brake? I don’t even know how. 

6: Look to your left. How many framed pictures are on the wall? There’s none on the wall because I’ve lived here for two years and still haven’t unpacked all my decorations but there is one on the end table. It’s my sister’s junior year school picture.

7: Do you know how to play chess? Yeah but I suck at it.

8: How often do you clean the interior of your car? Every three weeks so my husband can’t tell I’ve been smoking in it. Since it’s new he doesn’t want me to but I have no self control.

9: Do you ever read the last few pages first? Of books, no. But I do look up plot summaries of shows and movies on wikipedia to see if they’re even worth watching all the way through.

10: Ever fallen in the shower? Not in a very long time but yes.

11: On a scale of 1-10, how likely are you to swear at other drivers? 136.

12: What’s the worst thing you’ve ever called someone you care about? I mean probably the single worst thing you can call anybody is a cunt but if it’s true it’s true.

13: Do you have a Snuggie? I DO! Penn State mothafuckaaaaa

14: Are you allergic to anything? Okay this one lights my hate fire. I am allergic to exactly ONE thing. That I’m aware of. Otezla. And it’s the only psoriasis medication in pill form so I wanted it to work so badly.

15: Do you have any TV shows on DVD? Supernatural seasons 1-3, all four seasons of Instant Star, the entire Gilmore Girls boxed set, seasons 1 and 2 of the Golden Girls, seasons 1 and 2 of Jersey Shore, season 1 of The Hills, season 5 of Shameless, season 1 of GoT, and Degrassi seasons 1-12.

16: How many times do you hit the snooze button before finally getting out of bed? I always set four alarms, each five minutes apart, and hope to Lucifer that one of them will wake me up.

17: Ever driven away in anger? I’m gonna say no because I’m already afraid of driving so I wouldn’t want to put myself in danger by throwing a temper tantrum behind the wheel of a motor vehicle.

18: What’s your favourite freezie colour? Red.

19: Are you a vegetarian? I BARELY eat vegetables. Usually it’s corn. Which doesn’t even have nutritional value.

20: Do you have a garbage receptacle beside you? What’s on top? I don’t have a designated receptacle in this room but my husband seems to have adopted the end table as such, and there is a massive stack of receipts on it.

21: Do you cross out your mistakes or erase/whiteout them? Cross them out or start a new page entirely. Because I only write in pen and I want my paper to look pretty.

22: Ever torn something up that you instantly knew was too important for such treatment? On the last day of 9th grade I got home and destroyed all of my pictures and art projects from that year. And I kick myself for it every. single. day. because one of them was a sketch of the Titanic that I did and it was freaking amazing, best thing I’ve ever drawn in my life, and I wish I still had it.

23: Do you think that things will get better? Probably.

24: Do you have an unpopular opinion? What is it? I have many.

25: What’s your favourite quote? “Maybe it’s not my weekend, but it’s gonna be my year.”

26: Did you/are you going to go to prom? Prom was ten years ago. And no I didn’t go.

27: What’s the most physically painful thing you’ve ever experienced? Gallstones and the subsequent recovery after having them removed.

28: What’s the most emotionally/mentally painful thing you’ve ever experienced? Adolescence.

29: Have you ever legitimately saved a person’s life? Not that I know of.

30: What’s your favourite book genre? Young Adult don’t judge me.

31: Did you like “Gigli”? Be honest. I’ve never seen it because I don’t care for Ben Affleck and REALLY don’t like Jennifer Lopez.

32: Have you ever walked out of a movie at the theatre? No. I barely ever go to the theater.

33: Do you peek between your fingers during the scary scenes? Scary scenes are the best. I don’t cover my eyes. Unless it’s something super gross like bugs, snakes, or someone getting their teeth pulled out.

34: What was your reaction to Tatum getting killed whilst stuck in the pet door in Scream? Hilarious. 

35: Do dogs like you? Yeah but I don’t like them so I have no idea why.

36: Would you say that you project an air of authority? I’m bossy but nobody listens to me.

37: Do people listen when you speak? Haha well. Already answered that.

38: How are your elbows? Are they okay? They’re fine?

39: What is one thing that you do exceptionally well? Be honest. Make people laugh and memorize stuff.

40: Do you use torrents? I haven’t illegally downloaded anything since I started paying for my own internet service six years ago.

41: When was the last time you paid for music? Like three months ago when I bought Yellowcard’s last album. I always pay for my music.

42: Are you addicted to technology? A little bit.

43: Pick a person (you don’t need to give their name). How do you feel about them? Be as honest as you can get yourself to be. I don’t think this person will be in my life forever because they don’t really care about me at all and I’m getting sick of carrying every single interaction we have. Or just talking to myself.

44: Do you check your computer’s dictionary for the definition of words you’d otherwise feel confident about using during in-person interactions? Just to be sure? I have a really good vocabulary on my own.

45: How heavily do you rely on spellcheck and autocorrect? Hardly at all.

46: Have you ever gotten into an argument on the internet? Did you win? It’s pointless to fight the trolls.

47: Do you pause movies/TV shows if you have to go to the bathroom or the kitchen, or do you just let them keep playing? Pause if I’m seeing them for the first time, let them play if it’s like Supernatural because I’ve seen them all a hundred times.

48: If you use a regular alarm clock, do you have it set to music or that obnoxious beeping? I mean this applies to phone alarms too. But yeah I need the beeping. Music won’t wake me.

49: Peter Pan? No. Just no.

50: How often do you fall up the stairs? Used to all the time. Now because of my knee and hip I have to go up on my hands and feet so it’s pretty hard to screw that up.

51: Do you pronounce “anti” as ant-eye or ant-ee? (Example: “That scene was very anticlimactic.”) Ant-eye.

52: Do you pronounce “via” as vee-uh or vie-uh? (Example: “We can get there via Tremont Street.”) Vee-uh.

53: How often do you forget to close your parentheses? I don’t.