#fake ass smiley bastard

[threestripeslider]

i started those MNMC + OMO crossover doodles as a joke with CJ bc our old men are So Silly and now suddenly there‘s a whole Peepaw Multiverse like i am literally so sorry to every F!Leo author who gets their old man featured on a doodle with this bozo

[thespiral]

OC Appearance

thank you for the tag @atomitron!! i'll tag @henbased @adelaidedrubman @bokatan and anyone else who may want!

i'm going w my favorite bastard everrrrr fesno

BODY:

Long legs. Average legs. Short legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Slender arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Lean arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Ample stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Muscular frame. Beefy frame. Curvy frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Acrylic nails. Dirty nails. Small breast. Average breast. Big breast. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Small waist. Straight waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Average fingers. Short fingers. Narrow shoulders. Average shoulders. Broad shoulders.

HEIGHT:

Shorter than 140 cm. 140-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN:

Light. Tanned. Brown. Dark. Rosy. Neutral. Olive. Golden. Pallid. Blotchy. Albinism. Vitiligo. Birthmarks. Freckles. Moles. Wrinkles. Stretch marks. Scars. Burns. Acne. Smooth. Dry. Oily. Combination.

EYES:

Small. Large. Average. Dark brown. Light brown. Hazel. Green. Blue. Grey. Violet. Gold. Other. Heterochromia. Doe-eyed. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Protruding. Narrow. Monolid. Almond. Round. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR:

Thin. Thick. Fine. Average. Oily. Dry. Neutral. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Smooth. Straight. Wavy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Bob. Ponytail. Mohawk. Half-shaved. Under cut. Buzz cut. Shaved. Bald. Hair extensions. Weave. Afro. Waves. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Braids. Twists. Faux locs. Jaw length. Shoulder length. Armpit length. Mid-back length. Waist length. Hip length. Past hip-length. Middle part. Side part. Blunt bangs. Curtain bangs. Wispy bangs. Short bangs. Side bangs. Dyed bangs. Ombre. Dyed. Grey. White. Platinum. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Strawberry blonde. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Caramel brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Black. Jet black. Clean shaven. Stubble. Sideburns. Moustache. Goatee. Beard. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows.

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS (potential):

Full sleeve. Half sleeve. Forearm tattoo. Wrist tattoo. Hand tattoo(s). Ankle tattoo. Calf tattoo. Thigh tattoo. Hip tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Rib tattoo(s). Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. Face tattoo(s). One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoos [technically cus i can't design tats lol]. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Prince Albert piercing. Industrial piercing. Helix piercing. Tragus piercing. Conch piercing. Earlobe piercings. Stretched out ears. Eyebrow piercing(s). Bridge piercing. Tongue piercing(s). Monroe piercing. Angel bites. Snake bites. Labret. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS:

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Light eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colourful eyeshadow. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Lip liner. Lip balm. Red lips. Pink lips. Neutral lips. Dark lips. Colourful lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Blush. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Dewy foundation. Concealer. BB cream/tinted moisturiser. Wears make-up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Rarely wears make-up.

SCENT:

Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Fresh. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturiser. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain.

CLOTHING:

Jeans. Tight pants. Cigarette pants. Cargo pants. Khaki pants. Harem pants. Sweatpants. Yoga pants. Leggings. Tights. Stockings. Overknee socks. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Ballerina skirt. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sundress. T-shirt/Sweater dress. Tight/Form-fitting dress. High slit dress/skirt. Cocktail dress. Gowns. Tuxedo. Suit. Tie. Waistcoat. Sweater vest. Sweater. Hoodie. Leather jacket. Denim jacket. Bomber jacket. Parka. Peacoat. Trench coat. Cardigans. Tunic. Turtleneck. Blouse. Button up shirt. Cuban shirt. Flannel shirt. Polo shirt. Camisole. Bustier. Tube top. Crop top. Tank top. Muscle T-shirt. T-shirt. Band T-shirt. Sports T-shirt. Basketball shorts. Pleated shorts. Jean shorts. Hotpants. Bodysuit. Jumpsuit. Overalls. Corset. Nightgowns. Robes. Lingerie. Bra. Sports bra. G-string. Thong. Panties. Briefs. Boxer briefs. Boxers. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Revealing clothing. Designer. High street. Thrift. Patterns. Florals. Polka dots. Stripes. Sequins. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Fur/Faux fur. Light colours. Pastels. Neon colours. Bright colours. Earth tones. Dark colours. White. Black. Heavy armour. Medium armour. Light armour.

SHOES:

Bare feet. Slippers. Sandals. Gladiator shoes. Flats. Slip-ons. Loafers. Oxfords. Sneakers. High tops. Ankle boots. Hiking boots. Combat boots. Cowboy boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Wedges. Stilettos. Chunky. Kitten heels. Slingbacks. Pumps. High Heels. Stripper heels.

[souyasbabyy]

• pairing: mikey x gn!reader, smiley x gn!reader, ran x gn!reader

• request by anon: Could you do hcs for Mikey nahoya and ran doing a prank on their S/O that ends up with them crying? Like maybe they acted like they were cheating or spilled a drink on them (gn reader please!)

• genre: hurt, comfort, fluff

• note: i love writing things about pranks, idk why lmizejr so thanks for the request <3

— mikey

you spent a bad day and you were about to tell mikey that you didn't wanted to go out with him and his friends today

yet you thought that if you did it'll make you feel better

so you joined them, picking a new outfit that you really liked, thinking that mikey would love it too

as soon as you were there, you saw mikey laughing and chasing takemichi with a bottle of water

as soon as he saw you he changed his target and splashed you with water

you gasp, looking at your clothes, now all wet and back at mikey, your lips shaking as you felt your tears coming

hearing his laugh wasn't helping "mikey!" says emma when she sees you were about to cry

he looks at her mad expression then back at you and he knew he fucked up

he removed his jacket and apologized so many time when he tried to calm your sobs

"i'm sorry baby, i thought it'll be funny, but it's not, i'm so sorry"

after that he stays with you and make sure not even a little drop of water comes near you

— smiley

smiley, this little mother fucker, adores pulling prank on you

he lives for your reaction after

and since then it was only little and innocent pranks

but today he decide he'll take it to another level

so he told you he was in front of your building one night, telling you he had something to tell you

he wait until you were there and told you "i'm sorry y/n but i can't be with you anymore"

you frown "what?", "you heard me, i want to be with someone else"

and he start the engine of his motor bike "bye" he says before he drives away

he smiles to himself as he goes back to you

his smile leaving his face when he see you're crying

"nooo baby, im joking, i swear, it's a dumb joke, theres no one else" he says as he hug you

"you're stupid" you cry as he rub your back "i hate you" you say, hiding in his neck, not even meaning it

— ran

same as smiley, he loves getting you mad and seeing your reaction to his prank

and today he decide he was going to take it a little more far

rindou looks at him with his arms crossed as he look at his older brother trying to make his pillow look like another person "i really think you shouldn't do that, they won't like it" "it's the point here" answered ran

bastard 😒

so when you arrived at their place, rindou acted like you shouldn't go to ran's bedroom

where he was fake moaning and you could hear it very well

you looked at rindou, listening to ran and you asked "is he cheating on me?" your voice breaking

rindou looks at you not knowing what to do "RAN" he yells and it made you cry

ran came out of his bedroom, acting like he was putting back his pant "oh shit y/n, what are you doing here?!"

"ran, stop it's not funny" says rindou and ran walk to you "are you crying?"

no shit sherlock

"since when are you cheating?!" you ask "i'm not cheating, here come look" he says taking your hand and leading you to his bedroom "see theres no one, i'm not cheating, ask rindou, he would've beat my ass if i was"

you look at rindou, still crying and he nods, looking back at ran you punch his arm and he wince "asshole", "okay i deserve it, now i'm sorry baby" he says opening his arms and you let him hug you

[thecl0wnfather]

Hrmm, Late Night Tokyo Rev HC shitpost

(This an unironic(?) shitpost, ion know what m' doin'... Should I say more, or less...?) /START 1AM GMT+2

=

* (1/2) Baji and Chifuyu both own a copy of Nintendogs and frequently Pictochat each other even though they live in the same building

* (2/2) Chifuyu owns the Shiba Inu version and named his Shiba Takemitchy </3

* Mitsuya is up-to-date on all of Sailor Moon and Pretty Cure for his sisters + He remembers the all of transformations

* Mikey would 100% fist fight some poor dude in a Doraemon suit

* Even though Tenjiku's Heavenly Kings (Excluding Kaku) and leader are 18+, none of them know how to drive a car

* Koko is always the banker in Monopoly, everyone knows he'll ruin the game if he isn't (Money stealing fuck)

* Mikey refuses to share his knowledge from Shinichiro's old Nintendo Power magazines

* Smiley and Angry keep doing that annoying asf 'Which twin is which' game, and nobody is amused

* Hakkai once got blue dye all over his face and couldn't wear turtlenecks for a week without being mistaken for one of the Blue Men

* Takemichi totally believes the all of the bathroom spirit legends and refuses to use public/school restrooms

* (1/2) Hanma buys shirts with English on them and they say shit like 'I Love Jerking' in bold asf letters

* (2/2) Kisaki can read English, seethes at Hanma's shirts 24/7

* Ran will purposefully grab Rindou's glasses with his fingers on the lens, even takes off his gloves to do so (bastard)

* Sanzu scares random people on the street at night pretending to be the Kuchisake-onna

* (1/2) Draken secretly owns multiple name-brand clothing given to him by the ladies at the brothel

* (2/2) The only person who knows is Mitsuya, so he gives them to him if he doesn't like it

* Peh-yan makes kids cry on train rides from his stare... Pah-chin has to console him, but they just end up screaming at each other and get escorted off

* Kazutora can perfectly replicate Dio's 'WRYYYY' and can lean back enough that everyone is convinced he's possessed

* Yuzuha works out, and even convinced Hina and Emma to do it with her

* Hina = "Excuse me! He ask for no pickles." and she's the one who leads Takemichi through the haunted houses <3

* Yamagishi and Makoto probably broke someone's window with a dildo, and it was probably Akkun's...

* Takuya and Akkun have a beauty routine with Hina and Emma, they're all so pretty (It's so unfair, wtf)

* Rindou 100% had a dinosaur phase and refuses to elaborate (Meanwhile Ran is dumping this shit onto Koko while pissing himself)

* Inui gained a weird crow-like habit of picking up anything shiny and showing it to whoever he's hanging out with, courtesy of Koko

* (1/2) Because of Hina's short obsession with detectives, she probably got Naoto obsessed with them too

* (2/2) They would watch detective shows together and Naoto guesses the culprit correctly every time, it's not even fun to watch with him

* Mikey totally abuses Draken's adult appearance, so the boys made him a fake ID just so they could go to DisneyLand or some shit

* Shion barks at people-- Kaku gets second-hand embarrassment every single time... (Mad Dog? More like Mad Toddler, sit yo ass down, boy)

* Emma will sometimes accidentally start using Gyaru slang, and the only people who understand are Draken and Yuzuha

* Baji's gachapon skills are terrifyingly good, and he somehow always gets the one he wants...

= /END 5AM GMT+2

[pi-cat000]

BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (2)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters:  Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

... PREV / NEXT

...

Life in his hospital bed passes slowly while he waits for his chakra to replenish. Always a sluggish process for Kakashi. With nothing to do, nowhere to go and a significant lack of motivation to find either, there is a lot of time to think. Too much time. With what was shaping up to be the fourth great shinobi war, there was no time for reflection or resting. To suddenly have this much downtime thrust upon him is throwing him through a loop. And he doesn’t even have his periodic trips to the memorial as a distraction. If only Sakura could see him now, resting and recuperating like a good injured shinobi.

Doctor Wada, the ever-attentive physician, returns a few more times to ask more questions and offer more reassurances. He seems set on his theory that Kakashi’s yet to be properly identified quirk was the cause of his memory problems. Kakashi runs through a sweet of memory and vision tests. A baseline for later testing when his eye is healed he is told.

“The police have a few questions regarding your situation. With your permission, they would like to conduct an interview,” says Wada on Kakashi’s third day of being officially awake, “Of course, as your doctor, I have the final say in the matter so if you would rather wait just say the word.”

Kakashi gives another bland smile, “Ah, you are too kind.” Police…as in, an authority the dealt with civilian conflict? “I think I’ll answer their questions. Wouldn’t want to stall an investigation.”

He had been wondering when or if he would be investigated. How similar would it be to Kohoha’s internal police force?

“Humph. If you think you’re ready for it.”

He maintains his smile. It was as good an opportunity as any to continue gathering information with the bonus of breaking up the monotony of waiting in a hospital bed for his injuries to heal. Doctor Wada spends the rest of the check-up muttering about pushy police officers and how underappreciated his medical opinion was.

..

The two men that come to question him are wearing matching uniforms which are very telling of the sort of organisation they belong to. White and dark blue. Not made to camouflage or reinforce. Restrictive seaming around the arms, preventing any extreme movement. Their shoes are sturdy but inflexible with heavy soles. Manurable but not designed for any excessive combat. Not a uniform you would give a force intended to physically subdue threats. Whereas Konoha’s police force was comprised mainly of genin and chunin, these men were closer to civilians in pure physical ability. Ah, but he is beginning to suspect that this was the norm here. The people here were softer in a way that was hard to define. 

Kakashi watches them approach, seated upright in his bed, hands resting loose in his lap, aiming it create an impression harmlessness. One good thing to have come from agreeing to this interview was getting his own private hospital room. Now there was no one around to raise an alarm if something went wrong and he was forced to act.

“Good morning,” The older one of the two starts, politely dipping his head, “Kakashi was it?”

“Hmm,” he smiles, “Morning.” There is a pause like they are waiting for him to give his last name. He doesn’t.  

“Well,” The man clears his throat, “I am officer Takata Toyokazu, currently in charge of investigating the circumstances surrounding the assault on your person.” An ID card, very similar to Konoha’s own ID cards is presented, “This is my partner. We’re from Hosu’s Central Police and we have a few questions if you don’t mind answering them for us.”

“Ah,” Kakashi eyes the ID, lamenting the fact that his sharingan is covered under a swatch of bandages and thus inaccessible without obvious movement, “I am afraid my memory just isn’t all there. Apologies in advance if my responses are lacking.”

He lets a little humour leak into his tone. It was time to do a little prodding and gauged how this place's ‘police’ conducted their investigations.

“Yes. We were informed about your memory problems.” The two share an obvious glance and there is a definite note of scepticism there. “Nevertheless, any information would be appreciated.”

“Of course.”  He easily agrees, shrugging, projecting an air of casual nonchalance.

Takata blinks “Right,” and Kakashi can practically see his brain stalling, “Well, you were found on the corner of First and Eleventh street in Hosu’s Central Business District. Would you say this is accurate?”

Kakashi thinks for an exaggerated moment, “I do remember a lot of people. I think someone called for help?”

“You were picked up in an ambulance yes. Do you remember what happened before that?”

“Hmm, I was attacked…there were a lot of trees.” He nods like he has just delivered a useful bit of intel.

“Trees?” Is the deadpan response.

“You know…tall plants with leaves and a….”

“We know what trees are. So, you were in a place with a lot of trees before you were in Hosu’s business district.”

“Probably.”

“A park maybe? There are a few around Hosu. Do remember anything else. Distinctive landmarks?”

“Ah,” he waits for a beat, “No.”

Kakashi is the subject of a disbelieving squint. “No names. Streets. Nearby locations?”

“Nope. All gone.” He says cheerfully and Takata’s brow twitches into an irritated frown.

“You were admitted with multiple stab wounds. Do you remember how you got them?”

He shrugs, “A knife probably.”

“Well, do you remember anything about who was holding the knife?”

“OH!” The two men startle at this sudden exclamation, “It was a man.”

There are a few seconds of silence. “What did the man look like?”

“I don’t remember that bit.”

This time he gets a very obvious frown. Apparently, realising that the current line of questioning is getting them nowhere, the officer motions to his partner and is handed a large envelope. After some shuffling around, a paper file is produced and flipped upright in Kakashi’s direction. It is a photograph of kunai, shuriken, senbon, razor wire and assortment of other weaponry he carried around on his person. He had wondered what the hospital had done with his stuff.

“These are the weapons found on your person when you were admitted to hospital. All confiscated. It’s illegal to carry these sorts of thrown weapons and knives in Japan.”

He scans the photo with interest. The image has his weaponry all laid out in neat lines.

“Really?” He is not even faking his curiosity this time. No one carried around any weapons at all? That wasn’t just a trend limited to the hospital? 

“Yes.” Comes the short response, “what were you using them for.”

“Oh, I don’t remember,” he says gleefully, “How scary.” And gets another round of scowls. After doggedly refusing to give more than vague answers and misdirection, the two increasingly frustrated men prepare to leave.

“If you do remember anything, please call.” A small paper card displaying a string of numbers is presented to him. “You’ll have to come down to the station and give an official statement once the hospital clears you as well so don’t forget. We’ll  get in contact if any arrests are made regarding the perpetrator.”

Kakashi knows enough about investigations to recognise that one, the two standing next to his bed were searching for some specific information and had found Kakashi’s responses lacking, and two, they had no idea who Kakashi was and knew even less about how he might have gotten here.

In the end, they just leave. No threats. No mind games. No attempts to arrest or move him to a secure location for further questioning. Nothing. Kakashi follows after the pair, pausing behind his door to listen to the two talk just outside his room. Officer Takata is obviously angry going of his slightly uneven breathing.

“That was a waste of time,” he grumbles.

“Do you think he was lying?”

“Oh, that smiley bastard definitely knows something more than he is letting on. Tch. Memory problems my ass…”

The is a pause before the younger man asks, “still think it’s connected to that Hero Killer sighting from a few days ago?”

“If he is telling the truth then no. The stabbing lines up with the Hero Killer’s MO but the target is all wrong. There is no Kakaski with a ‘sharingan’ quirk listed on the Registry or as any Hero, Sidekick or Hero agency employee. If he did have a run-in with the Hero Killer, it wasn’t targeted. Probably annoyed the guy into stabbing him if anything.”

There is the sound of footsteps as the two men begin to retreat down the hall.

“A dead-end then.”

“Yeah, looks like it.”

“What a shame. I thought for sure, what with the extent of the injuries, that this was a Hero Killer case. Perhaps it was another Villain? Or a vigilante maybe?”

“Who though? Hosu doesn’t have any active Vigilantes or big-name Villains. Not ones who go around stabbing people to that extent. You saw the hospital report. The man was seconds away from bleeding out and that head wound was obviously aimed at disabling his quirk.”

“Tch. Without any leads, we have nothing to go on. And if Kakashi is a Villain or criminal himself, there’s no evidence and nothing we can pin him with other than a fine for carrying banned weaponry.”

The voices grow fainter as the two walk further away from his room. They seemed suspicious but not overly concerned with Kakashi’s lies so it is not a huge surprise that nothing came of the interview. Despite their obvious irritation, their response had been ones of mild annoyance and moderate distrust. If either of them had had a kekkei genkai it hadn’t been used. Perhaps, their abilities weren’t suited to interrogation. Kakashi had been obtuse enough that surely, they would have been tempted if it were a possibility. It does conform to a general trend in which people underestimate his threat level, treating him  like a civilian. It was probably for the best.

Kakashi returns to his bed and stares at the paper card with the numbers. Obviously, they expected him to know what to do with it. Something to do with communication. Probably related to the small plastic devices nearly everyone in the building carried and spoke into on occasion. A radio of some sort. He had seen a few with numbers running across them. 

From the exchange, he has a few more points to consider and mull over. Villain. Hero. Vigilante. He knows these terms, has heard people in his ward mention them before and knows they are important in some way.

…

Having a new room meant he needed to relearn everyone’s schedules.  While doing so, he finally pinpoints why the people here feel so off. They lacked a level of…weariness…vigilance…that was both hard to describe and hard to notice until it wasn’t there anymore. Kakashi eyes the young nurse as she enters his room yawning, fixing her hair up as she walks, talking over her shoulder at someone behind her.

He had always thought the civilians of Kohoha lived free from most trouble. Not completely relaxed but still having a calm enough life. Well, calm when the village wasn’t being invaded. Now, he is revaluating that opinion.  When compared with these people, Kohoha civilians were stiff, suspicious, almost paranoid. Konoha’s people had hardiness to them, a useful trait when living in a Hidden-Village. They were especially wearily when it came to interacting with shinobi no matter how banally and harmless the shinobi acted. It was an attitude to be expected when there was a very real chance of deadly injury should the shinobi be unfriendly or unstable. A very real possibility with all the war and ever-present threat of enemy invasion and chakra monster attacks.  

Or maybe that was just his own experience as he never really interacted with many civilians and he his reputation wasn’t great.

“Hello Kakashi, how are you this evening,” The nurse greets him with a relaxed grin. He gives his bland smile and watches as she checks the various medical apparatus around Kakashi’s bed.

“I talked to the ward supervisor about your television. It should be working now.”

“Is it?”

Kakashi knows what a television is…they had a few of them in T&I, used for surveillance, and for a few more for monitoring remote training grounds like 44’s Forest of Death.

“Here is the remote. There are quite a lot of channels so now you’ll have something to keep you entertained.” He stares at the metallic rectangle object. He thinks that there might be a cultural difference between his understanding of a television and the nurse’s because watching an interrogation was never something he found particularly entertaining.

“Maybe it will help jog your memory as well.” The nurse gives him an encouraging smile before returning to her work.

Kakashi examines the object, bemused, “Ah, thank you Ms.”

“My name is Iori Ie I handle this ward on weekday evenings. I’ll be happy to answer any other questions if you have any. Anything to make this transition process easier.” She is sincere in her next assurance, “Just you wait, by the time your injuries are healed, we’ll have you right back up to speed.”

Television is…interesting and somewhat baffling. It’s not that Kakashi hasn’t seen examples of this sort of technology before now, it is just the availability and use he finds strange. Whereas a sensible village might hoard any new technology of its own use, here it is distributed and shared without limit. There was one of these things in every patent’s room! The same went for the information it communicated. Information so undervalued there was almost too much of it. Kakashi gives up trying to make sense of anything a few days into gaining access to the television and its hundreds of ‘channels,’ pumping out a constant stream of information. Some of it was obviously fictional, movies, entertainment, but most of the time it was hard to tell if what he was looking at was staged or if he was misreading a cultural difference. There were ‘channels’ devoted to daily status updates, delivering ‘news’ on everything from the weather, local politics, villain attacks, general crime and everything in between.

One thing he does confirm is that he is nowhere near any hidden villages or even on the continent, maybe not even in the correct world. This place was separate. This village or city as it was called, consisted of millions in a country of billions. There were more people in ‘Hosu’ than there were in the whole Fire Country. A logistics nightmare for sure. No wonder security was so lax around the hospital. Kakashi shakes his head and ends up switching off the television. Never would he have thought that having too much intel could be a bad thing.

“Ms Iori how would I go about getting something to read,” he asks the next day. She seems to be genuinely happy about his sudden sudden request. Kakashi hasn’t spoken or interacted much since waking, to busy trying to gauge whether the people surrounding him were threats.

He ends up with a pile of old manga volumes detailing the heroic adventures of some up and coming Hero protagonist and a stack of thin ‘magazines’ belonging to the nurse’s grown up son. The magazines are full of Hero analysis, speculation, and rumour like some sort of super detailed self-defeating bingo-book.  He just…doesn’t understand why anyone would let this sort of information circulate.

At least now he has a better idea about what a Hero and Villain was. A Hero was this word’s shinobi equivalent- if shinobi went out of their way to draw attention to themselves- acting more like a police force in that they managed threats to civilians instead of taking commissions and repelling external threats. Actually, they were nothing like Shinobi apart from their use of blood line abilities in combat. A Villain was like a missing-nin, hiding among the ridiculously large civilian population…sort of…

He needs to start working on a way home because he definitely doesn't understand this world.

...

NOTE: When Kakashi discovers the internet his brain will explode. 

PREV / NEXT

[its-dark-girl]

Purple Eyes

Fandom: Dream SMP

Genre: Light Angst and a bit of fluff

Trigger Warning(s): Panic Attack

Character(s): Purpled/SMP, Dream/SMP & Ponk/SMP

AU(s): Purpled and Dream are brothers

Purpled stared at his reflection in the water.  He wrinkled his nose in disgust.  He hated it.  He hated his eyes.  They were unnaturally purple.  And they glowed; he was sure of it.  His eyes contrasted with his pale complexion and he hated that.  He grabbed some dirt and tossed in in the clear water.  The reflection rippled.  He got up and left.  He remembered what his older brother had told him.

~Flashback~

"You could wear a mask and hide them." He said, giving Purpled a porcelain smiley face mask.  Purpled held the mask, seeing how heavy it was.  Then he tried it on.  It felt weird.  He didn't like the extra weight it added to his head.  He took it off hand gave it back to Dre- to him.  Yeah, he gave it back to him.

"Fine then." His brother ruffled his hair "You have your own way of making things better."

~Flashback over~

He gasped, coming out of his mind.  He was at the entrance to his UFO.  He steadied himself, using the glass as support.  He entered, knowing that damn well no one would enter the intimidating build.  He walked shakily to the bed.  Hah, his 'brother'.  What a joke.  That bastard stopped being his brother when he rid himself of all attachments.  He could care less when Dream got locked in prison.

Dream...

He sharply inhaled, gripping the side of the bed hard.  No, he would not spare a thought for that man.  That man who'd left him broken, who'd torn up his mind with fake promises.  But with intrusive thoughts, they always come back.  

"Hey Purp," Dream greeted nonchalantly.

"Hey Dre." Dream nudged him playfully.

"What's with everyone calling me 'Dre'?" Dream asked jokingly.

"Because that's how it appeared in an MCC competition as they say." They both snickered.

Purpled blinked tears out of his eyes.  How he longed for the old days.  The days where he would patch up Dream after a nasty fight.  The days where he and the original Dream would talk for hours on end, till their eyes closed.   He took in a breath.  Dream still cared about him, right?

Right?

He drew in a shuddering breath.  Only one way to find out.

_____________

After spending close to an hour going through security measures, Purpled was in front of the lava barrier that separated Dream from him.  He was overcome with nerves and doubts.  What if Dream never cared?  What if it wasn't really Dream he was visiting?  What if Dream hated him?  What if-

"You sure you want to do this?" Sam must've sensed his nervousness.  Purpled nodded his head.  Sam flicked a lever which shut off the lava.  Purpled stared at the ground.  He couldn't look at the obsidian box that he was being kept in.

"Stand on the stone brick platform," Purpled stepped on it "Once I flick this lever, move with the platform so you won't fall off.  Once you reach the cell, the platform will be taken back and the lava will flow from the ceiling.  Then I'll lower the barrier.  Once you are done with the prisoner, message me and I will send this platform back. Okay?"

"Okay."

The platform bit was easy for a bedwars pro like him.  It reached the obsidian.  He stepped off, hearing the pistons work to bring it back.  There, in front of him was Dream, the person who hurt him the most.  He stood in front of a clock, but Purpled knew he was looking at him in his peripheral vison.  The Netherite barrier lowered.  Purpled stayed near the lava.  

"Ah, Purpled, long time no see." Dream said in an overly-sweet tone.

"Cut the crap.  You don't get to say that after leaving m- leaving all of us for power." He growled.  Dream seemed to notice his slip-up.

"I left you?  I did?  It doesn't feel like that.  You didn't even try to help me-" Purpled interrupted him.

"You wouldn't listen!" Purpled hated how Dream's words could bring him to tears. "You wouldn't listen and look where you ended up!"

"Maybe your brother wouldn't be here if you had helped him instead of playing that silly game, what's it called again?  Oh right, that silly bedwars game." Purpled clenched his fists.  He pulled the 'brother' card then insulted bedwars?!

"I just have one question for you Dre." Dream turned to look at him, eyebrow raised.

"Did you ever care?"

"What do you mean?" Dream was feigning ignorance.

"Did you ever care about me?  Did you?" Dream's answer was simple.

"No.  Not once." That was the final blow.  Purpled's eyes watered, tears falling uncontrollable.

"You- You mon-ster!" Dream just chuckled at Purpled's misery.  He messaged Sam.

"Your purple eyes never fail to amaze me." Purpled froze.  Was there something to his purple eyes that He knew of?  It was too late to ask as the lava lowered and the platform came.  He furiously wiped away tears as he went back.

"Did Dream do anything?" Sam asked, seeing Purpled's state.

"N-No," They both knew that was a lie.  The security measures afterwards took a fraction of the time they did coming in.

____________

Purpled was back at his UFO.  His breathing was fast and erratic.  Dream never cared, he never cared, he never cared, he never cared, HE NEVER CARED.  He curled up as tightly as possible to stop the aching feeling in his stomach.  He wanted to scream, to cry out for someone, anyone.  But he couldn't. He wiped off sweat from his forehead.  Since when was it so hot?  And since when was breathing so difficult?  He took out his communicator and messaged the first person that popped up; Ponk.

You whisper to Ponk: cme too ufo

You whisper to Ponk: pls hrry

Ponk whispers to you: omw

______________________

Ponk was worried.  What situation had Purpled gotten himself into?  Was it something or someone threatening Purpled's life?  Who's ass would he have to kick?

He quickly made his way to the UFO, and his heart broke at what he saw.

There lay Purpled, curled up tightly on his bed, sniffling and struggling to breathe.  From the signs, Ponk had a good guess of what was happening to Purpled; he was having a panic attack.  Ponk knew what to do, but he hasn't exactly helped someone with a panic attack, you see.

He made his way over to Purpled.  He tentatively put his hand on Purpled's shoulder.  The boy shuddered and turned to look at who it was.  Purpled tried to say something, but couldn't.

"Breathe with me, okay Purp?" He just nodded his head.

"In," He inhaled.

"Out," He exhaled, with Purpled following his instructions.  Once Purpled's breathing calmed, Ponk held the crying boy, rubbing his back till he was ready to speak.

"Dream," He said weakly.  What did his 'brother' do?

"What did Dream do?"

"He- he said he n-never c-cared..  Not ev-ven once," Purpled burst out in tears.  Ponk continued rubbing Purpled's back.  If he ever saw that bastard, he would kill him for hurting his friend.

[jlf23tumble]

1D Day: Hour Four

Over the past few years, I’ve seen people try to insinuate that Zayn wasn’t into 1D Day, that he was moody or distant or some other adjective that implies he was on his way out the door, and to those people I ask, did you actually watch any of this, especially hour four? I mean, seriously, watch Zayn over the course of the whole day, but hour four is a revelation if you’ve ever had that notion. He’s witty, charming, happy, smiley, completely on board with every stupid game, and so professional with the fans and the rest of the team that he makes Liam look like an asshole (and Liam is so very far from being an asshole, like, ever). 

In fact, both Zayn and Liam are naturals as hosts; they’re a dream broadcasting team, and for all the (justified, mind you) attitude Louis and (especially) Harry throw down as the day progresses, it’s the complete polar opposite with Ziam. I could watch hours and hours of these two because they manage to convey that fake on-air TV personality chirpiness with a sincerity that’s endlessly compelling. They’re also off-the-charts HOT on this here day (Louis, too, but Jesus CHRIST have mercy on us in hour four). Let’s break it down under the cut.

Hour four kicks off with Zayn and Liam skateboarding onto the set, and Liam is honestly me with his plaintive “I’m really rubbish at skateboarding” as he basically stands on a board that somebody literally pushed in a straight line into the shot.

Zayn’s all excited that this is his first hour (like, he’s literally pumped up for it, and some could argue that he’s as coked up as Harry appears to be, but he’s not as aggressive, he just seems legit happy to be there). Liam’s an old pro by now, and the general mood is positive and calm, in spite of the mega fuckups in hour three and the immediate in-ear issues they’re both already experiencing. Help, they're so hot:

The first segment is about invention ideas from fans, and joining them in the Google+ Hangout (lmaoooo) is Peter Jones (Liam: “a very rich man”) from Dragon’s Den, aka the UK’s Shark Tank, and for all of his cash and presumably all of the D’s, this feels VERY low rent. Way to sell this Google ad, team…maybe that’s why Google+ is a total failure, hmmmm, makes you think. Anyway, the first invention is a 1D Kube, and noah fence to this fan, I’ve made better merch, c’mon, people think outside the box:

Because Peter’s gross, he suggests using nude body parts of the boys instead of their faces, and me as Liam, completely creeped out by that suggestion. The next idea is a 1D pillow, where you go to sleep, and the pillow pipes two 1D songs directly into your brain before powering itself off, but Liam wisely says this might be more distracting than soothing. Peter’s right there with the idea that it should instead offer up soothing pillowtalk (Zayn, take notes!), which instantly worries both me and Liam because it’s weirdly sexi instead of sexy sexi.

The final invention is fart pants, which boils down to deodorized boxers for people like Niall who practically shit themselves when they fart in closed tour buses (paraphrasing). Naturally, Peter likes this idea a LOT, and asks Liam a low-key invasive question about someone stealing his underwear, which leads to a riveting tale of the missing pants and a nervous Liam asking Peter exactly how he knew about this incident. Peter laughs it off as something he found online to embarrass Liam with, but try harder, asshole…they answer worse questions than this before breakfast.

Next, we get Julian “I can’t bother to find out how to spell his last name,” one of the D’s cowriters, in a cringe VT about picking up girls with 1D lyrics. It’s so fucking gross that only Ben Winston could have come up with it, and it goes on FOREVER, even though nothing about it is interesting or cute or witty or anything other than tedious yikes for the women involved. Even Julian knows it’s creepy, and he seems like a guy who’s pretty comfortable with creepy.

We get back in the studio to some actually attractive people who have chemistry together, and, no, it’s not Julian and John “I can’t bother to find out how to spell his last name either” (they make sure to sit far enough apart to maintain their extreme masculinity):

Liam has some good interview questions for these two, such as, “What’s your favorite song that you wrote on for this album,” and John thinks he’s clever by saying it’s both “Little Black Dress” and “Little White Lies,” but the real gem here is the audio of Liam creating “Better Than Words” out of thin air. Look at this fondness while we all listen to Liam’s genius (it’s kind of embarrassing, this whole bit):

We move to fan selfies, and Liam does a terrible Irish accent to request potato selfies for Niall. Moving on to the call box of doom, the two Larries currently rocking out in there seem to dig “Strong” the best (as you do), and Zayn, valiantly battling someone in his ears, politely whispers, “You can crack on listening,” before shutting the door softly.

The VT of randomness from New Zealand prompts Liam to ask, “Zayn, what did you get up to in New Zealand?” (the answer is getting a snake tattoo that’s one of Liam’s favorites on him, in case you’re wondering). But before we can ponder any of that too closely, it’s time for opera singer Rebecca to return for the excruciating opera version of tweets.

Scott’s on the scene to point out the obvious, i.e., Ziam makes it all look so easy, but this next segment is not for the faint of heart. The boys have to blindfold each other (!!) and then feel up crew members to see if they can identify them. Whyyyyy is this so tender:

Someone else blindfolds Liam after he does Zayn (Liam, after it’s done: “Nobody touch me”), and there’s a brief moment where they can feel each other, and Zayn says, “That’s you, Liam,” and fuckkkk me up, wowwww, it’s a lot to take in:

 Anyway, they go on to feel up a lot of doughy white guys to see if they can blindly identify them, and AGAIN, it’s gross because Scott keeps encouraging them to feel this person up below the waist, too (note, they don’t know if it’s a guy or a girl). Fortunately, it’s a parade of doughy white guys until they get to Lou Teasdale, and Zayn identifies her immediately because she’s so fidgety.

We head over to another Google Hangout, and god, words cannot express how good Ziam is at this because even though the same shit happens here as it does in the last hour, these two handle it all like pros. I live for Zayn’s, “Have you been watching the whole show? Are we doing a good job?” with an intense amount of sincerity, and thank god these girls give him the thumbs up because they truly are.

My fave part of this segment is the girls who ask them what their first CD and concerts were. Liam says Linkin Park for CD and Gareth Gates for concert, which earns him boos from the homophobes in the studio, but warm hugs from me. Zayn, who answers this fan question to Liam instead of the girls who asked it, says he can’t remember his first CD, but his first gig was JLS with the boys, and wow, the first date realness here:

Zayn’s genuinely sweet throughout all of these fan segments, asking questions and being invested in the answers, dawwww. The last question is about where they get the inspiration for their dance moves, and Liam says he blags its, but Zayn is here to kill us all by saying, “My inspiration for dancing comes from you, Liam (Louis in the background: “hahahahaha”) because you’re such a good dancer,” and god, I’m not ready for this right now, tbh.

There’s a BSE VT from the fans before a bingo spin to figure out who to follow (again, just follow them all, what does it even matter at this point, ratcha fratcha). But the most annoying part of this bit is that even *I* can hear the in-air buzz of chatter from Ben’s team, so I cannot even imagine how annoying it is in actual ears, holy fuck.

Next up is a live link to Finland, to say hello to the fans who created a massive fanbook that Zayn carefully flips through and sincerely thanks everyone for creating. The VT he introduces next is Louis playing footie, and YES, look at this angel who’s only 22:

Naturally, there are LOADS of technical problems and fuckups, but it’s so refreshing to hear that “hahahahaha” in a massive, empty arena, and to see him practicing a sport he clearly loves.

We’re back with the poor bastards running the Guinness Book of World Records, this time with Liam’s ass smashing balloons (Zayn: “If he wins, do we get our names put down as well?”). The first time is a bust (ha) that ends up hurting Liam’s balls (how, I don’t know):

Everyone agrees they can do better, but Zayn’s not having any further fuckups as he literally coaches Sandy in the background about how best to hold the balloons so that Liam’s ass can smash them in the most efficient manner:

Sadly, it’s not enough to smash the record, much to everyone’s chagrin, but there’s no time to fret or redo, we're off to Stan teaching Zayn’s school to sing (ooops, the VT is incorrect, it’s Scott teaching the X Factor staff to sing “What Makes Your Beautiful,” and they’re the shittiest singers ever, so go off on judging people, I guess).

As per usual, the highlights are fucking horrific. Can’t wait for hour five!

[vanus]

Bold What Applies To Your Muse - Galaino Drethan

Tagged by @nemettabris (ily) thank you I love doing this stuff

Tagging @eat-your-toothbrush @transindaenir @veyareleth @valsirenn @divaythfyr @quaranir

I'm doin Galaino bc I'm a bastard

BODY

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Toned thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Toned arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Beefy/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Small waist. Average waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Narrow shoulders. Broad shoulders. Average shoulders. Underweight. Average weight. Overweight.

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

Pale. Rosy. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Moles. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scars. Birthmarks.

EYES

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Blue. Violet. Pink. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Afro. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Past hip-length. Buzz cut. Bald. Weave. Hair extensions. Jaw length. Mohawk. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Faux locks. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. (Was) Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Dyed. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows.

TATTOOS / PIERCINGS

Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. One tattoo. Face tattoo. Hand tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercings. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Top of the ear. Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretched out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Nude lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears war paint from time to time. Wears make up regularly. Wears makeup time to time. Rarely wears make-up.

SCENT

Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturiser. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Fur. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain.

CLOTHES

Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/Form-fitting dress. Cardigans. Tunic. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tanktop. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Leather jacket. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sun dress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Waistcoat. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers/Boxer-Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sportsbra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Light colors. White. Black. Dark colours. Fur/Fauxfur. Revealing clothing. Heavy armor. Medium armor. Light Armor.

SHOES

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stripper heels. Bare feet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes.

[recallback]

tagged by @crowscream who is a bastard. i also have no one i can tag so like tbh, if u see this and wanna do it as from me then go ahead! Also can't bold on mobile, so I'm gonna do in caps everything that applies to my lovely tree boi oc, Avery! BODY (LONG LEGS.) Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. (TONED THIGHS). (SKINNY ARMS.) Soft arms. Toned arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. (LEAN FRAME.) Beefy/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. (TONED ASS). Bubble butt. Small waist. Average waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Narrow shoulders. (BROAD SHOULDERS).Average shoulders. (UNDERWEIGHT.) Average weight (for their height). Overweight. HEIGHT Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm.171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m. (BRO IDK THAT CM TO FT BS) SKIN (PALE). Rosy. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. (SMOOTH). Moles. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scars. Birthmarks. EYES Small. Large. (AVERAGE). Grey. Brown. (BLUE). Violet. Pink. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Squinty. Monolid. (HEAVY EYELIDS.) Upturned. Downturned. (ALSO ONE RED) HAIR Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. (SHINY). Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. (WAVY). Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Afro. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Past hip-length. Buzz cut. Bald. Weave. Hair extensions. (JAW LENGTH). Mohawk. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Faux locks. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. (GINGER). Red. Auburn. Dyed. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. (THICK EYEBROWS.) Plucked eyebrows. TATTOOS / PIERCINGS Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. One tattoo. Face tattoo. Hand tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. (NO TATTOO). Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. (EARLOBE PIERCINGS). Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Top of the ear. Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretched out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings. COSMETICS (EYELINER). Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Nude lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. (CONCEALER). Wears war paint from time to time. Wears make up regularly. Wears makeup time to time. Rarely wears make-up. SCENT Floral. Herbal. (EARTHY). (FRUITY). Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturiser. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Fur. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. (BLOOD). Fire. Metal. Rain. CLOTHES Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. (YOGA PANTS). Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/Form-fitting dress. Cardigans. Tunic. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. (SPORTS-T-SHIRT) Sweatpants. Tanktop. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Leather jacket. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sun dress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Waistcoat. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers/Boxer-Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sportsbra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. (LIGHT COLOURS). White. Black. Dark colours. Fur/Fauxfur. Revealing clothing. Heavy armor. Medium armor. Light Armor. SHOES (SNEAKERS). Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stripper heels. Bare feet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes.

[hellomissmabel]

Debut part II/II

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Someone being called a slut. Fluffiness overload.

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: You’re a small town actress catapulted to fame when you land a role in an immensely popular TV show. After turning down the flirtations of the lead male character, the media paints you as a bitch and you end up being bullied by his fans. Struggling to stay true to yourself, you find comfort and friendship in one of actors who makes his debut on the show.

Find part one here

All Sebastian Stan’s characters & fics can be found here

A/N: Written for @bbparker aka @bxckybxarnesstar

You can hear him playing the piano even with the door closed, the melodic movements of his fingertips creating an ecstatic atmosphere, never mind if it’s a slow or sad song. Yesterday you caught him playing ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham and today he’s playing ‘All I want for Christmas’. He doesn’t stop when he notices someone opening the door, continuing with marvellous rhythmic intent.

When you sit down next to him on the bench, he eventually nudges your side and stops playing with both hands, his left hand resting on your knee while the right finishes off the song and ebbs into another one of his own creation. The silly tunes make you giggle and with a quick peck to his cheek, your fingers ache for the same workout and you join in to the best of your abilities.

“What took you so long? You’re nearly half an hour late?”

With a deep sigh, you tell him the break-up scene. You gave Brady shit about how he started seeing Dixie behind your back, yet Brady also had a field day barking at Harley for kissing his half-brother August. The necessary dramatics ensued and Harley slapped her now ex-boyfriend right across the cheek.

“I didn’t enjoy hitting him, you know. Even though he deserved it,” you admit to the brunet as you miss a couple notes, noticing how he’s smiling from ear to ear. “He called me a slut.”

He stops playing as he notices the melody you’re playing is horrendous. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I thoroughly enjoyed making out with you.”

Caressing the keys of the piano with absent-mindedly, you think back to the moment where he confesses his love to you. It’s the plot twist of the entire fifth season and supposed to feed the fans throughout the entire sixth and seventh. You didn’t rehearse your first kiss with Bucky like you did with Steve, because you actually like Bucky and didn’t want all the kissing to dull down the special moment between Harley and August.

And maybe you were a little bit selfish too, because you’ve been taking piano lessons from Bucky for almost four months now and you’ve only grown fonder of the brunet with the baby blue eyes. “Me too,” you chuckle, leaning your cheek on his shoulder and listening to him play song after song. “You never did tell me why you started playing the piano,” you ask him after some time has passed.

Humming along to the melody, you feel the soft press of his lips to your hair. “I’ve never told this to anyone before, so…” He drops his hands to his lap and coughs. “My mother, euhm, she’s… a music teacher. I never really had a taste for music, didn’t consider myself to be very musical either. Until she passed away… Then music became a way to stay in touch with her.”

Looking up at the pianist, you cradle his cheek in the palm of your hand and smile sadly. He gives you a tight-lipped smile in return and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry about me, babe. Worry about your lack of rhythm.” His warm lips find yours again with a tiny wink. “Which song do you wanna play next?”

“I do my best but I’ve never really had a sense of rhythm,” you smirk in a teasing tone, your fingers rapidly conjuring up the first song that pops into your head. “How about –“

“Cut! Cut, cut, cut! Cut!”

Tony comes barging in on the set, pushing past the camera crew and elbowing his way towards where you and Bucky are sitting at the piano. “I need more chemistry! Y/N, Harley just left the guy she’s been seeing since first year for his brother, the love of her life. I need you to be more broken up about it. And you,” he turns to Bucky, pointing a stern finger at him, “You have to be more charming! You just stole your half-brother’s girlfriend! I wanna see you flirt your way into her pants for God’s sake!”

“Alright, let’s just take a break first, okay?,” Peggy saves the day. “We’ve been shooting since 5 a.m.”

You and Bucky slide off the bench and both head into different directions, Bucky being called to the wardrobe department because Tony doesn’t like the way his jacket fits around his shoulder. Natasha and Maria as well as the other dancers aren’t on set today so you feel a little lost without your usual crew. You can’t exactly go sit with Sharon and Steve, their mutual scene up next after you finish up with Bucky.

So you head over to the makeup department where you find Wanda scrolling on her phone, checking out guys on Tinder. “Hi there,” she pipes up, a little startled when she sees you leaning against the door frame with a knowing look in your eyes. “Just… checking my e-mails. How was your scene?”

“Checking your e-mails, hm?,” you wink knowingly. “With that big of a smile? Come on, Wanda, please…” Sitting down next to her on one of the chair for the makeup artists and hair stylists, you look over her shoulder at the guys she’s checking out.

“You’re not with Bucky?,” she asks you after swiping left on a certain Sam Wilson, the millionth aspiring actor on Tinder, the perks of finding a boyfriend in Hollywood. “You usually practice in between scenes and never spent any time with us anymore.” With a fake pout, she nudges your side with her elbow and smiles cheekily. “Is there something wrong in paradise?”

“No, he got called to wardrobe for a new fitting,” you grin as you poke her back in the ribs. “And there’s nothing going on between me and Bucky.”

“Right,” she chuckles dryly as she locks her phone, the face of a certain Clint Barton vanishing as she closes the app. “Now, missy, you get your ass to the rehearsal room and text Bucky to join you. Tell him you wanna practice the scene again to please Tony and so that you can all go home early.”

Pushing you out of the room, she stands her ground and even pickpockets your phone to do the dirty work for you, sending a quick text to Bucky who immediately replies with an ‘OK’ and a smiley. “You can thank me later, Y/N.”

With a soft groan you make your way down to the rehearsal room at the far end of the hallway, right next to Peggy’s private office. You arrive just in time for you to sit down at the piano and start playing the show’s theme song, the only song you know by heart, before Bucky gets there too and stands behind you with his hands on your shoulders and his lips pressing an affectionate kiss to the crown of your hair.

“You did great, you know. Tony’s just on edge because there’s this new show airing tomorrow that supposed to be the next Pretty Little Liars. Now we’ve all got to be more sexy, more scheming, more dramatic,… More fake if you ask me…,” Bucky chuckles dryly.

You stop playing as soon as you feel and focus on his touch. “But I thought we were the next Pretty Little Liars?,” you feign sadness as Bucky takes a seat next to you.

“No, Y/N, we are the next Gossip Girl,” he corrects you with an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Huuuuuuuuuuge difference!”

Ardently he erupts into a play of tones and tunes, trying to impress the girl next to him. “You know, I did enjoy kissing you, Y/N. Too bad it was only on set…,” he throws his bait at you to see if you’ll bite. “And I’m not saying that just because we’re supposed to be the new power couple on the show. I’m not Steve.”

He glances at you from the corner of his eye to see a small smile break through your stoic, surprised façade. “C’mon Y/N, at least admit you liked kissing me, too.”

You place a hand on top of his and he halts his movements, looking at you with curiosity and hope in those beautiful baby blues. “I really liked kissing you, Bucky. And I never really thanked you for teaching me how to play the piano, so…”

Leaning in very close, you give the brunet the impression you’re going to kiss him. There’s chemistry in the air and an electrifying pull between you and our co-star, yet as your lips just about brush his, you lean back again and start playing the piano. “But first, practice!,” you chuckle with a girly giggle.

Bucky’s lips chase after you when you leave him hanging mid-air, his eyes already fluttering closed, and when he figures out you’ve played him, he laces his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. His fingertips tickle you, drawing high-pitches squeals from your lips as you’re very ticklish.

“Practice? Practice, hm? I’ll show you some practice?,” he chimes in a sing-song voice before the soft press of his lips on yours catches you off guard. Instantly you melt into him, hands splayed on his chest and gently fisting his shirt while Bucky cups your cheek in one hand and holds your neck with the other.

Gasping slowly when the pianist elicits a low moans from your lips, he deepens the kiss and caresses your tongue with his. “How’s that for practice, babe?,” he chuckles as you are both panting slightly.

“Practice makes perfect, they say. So let’s try again, even if it’s just to keep Tony satisfied with your charms,” you joke playfully, a seductive tone to your voice as the piano lessons are long forgotten and another searing kiss from Bucky takes your breath away.

Tag list: @melconnor2007 @learisa @mrshopkirk @dont-speak-just-read @buckyappreciationsociety @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep @lovemarvelousfics @pleasantdreamqueen @petersunderroos @movingonto-betterthings @palaiasaurus64 @ssweet-empowerment @lovemarvelousfics @rrwilson66 @petersunderroos  @reniescarlett   @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @barnes-heaven  @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival  @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven  @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @a-little-hell-to-raise @knittingknerdy  @winterboobaer @hymnofthevalkyrie  @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @howlingbarnes  @themcuhasruinedme @buchananbarnestrash @hollycornish   @delicatecapnerd @tomhollandzs  @aletheladyinred @xbergiex @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @pegasusdragontiger @salty-holographic-stickers  @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @autijahnerd13s-blahg @sophiealiice @sarahmatthews7 @lumelgy @kudosia @daringtodreamawake @moonbeambucky @suz-123 @breezy1415 @always-an-evans-addict @thegreentgirl @yourtropegirl @4theluvofall @curvybihufflepuff @caplansteverogers @amrita31199 @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @pineapplebooboo @thefridgeismybestie @supernatural508 @supernaturaldean67@cant-decide-at-this-moment @mehrmonga @specs15 @kanupps06 @imnotinsanehunny @sarahgracej @jasura @nerdyandproud9 @geeksareunique @jesspfly @badassbaker @whenallsaidanddone @ailynalonso15 @thebookisbtr @animechick725 @wheneggsymetbucky

[retroreaderr]

Until Then (Sherlock x Reader drabble)

“So you guys write some awesome Sherlock one shots and since you guys posted about wanting to write for more than just Gaston I have a request. Maybe like John finally drags Sherlock to the grocery store and John sends him to find some things with a list but he gets lost and bumps into the reader. Sherlock insists he’s fine but ends up reluctantly accepting help from them? Thanks and sorry if it’s too specific you can always just do the general idea! 😂 — @221b-johnlocked-x “

I wasn’t sure how my response would work in the format you sent this in, so I didn’t want to take any chances! This is an adorable ask and I am beyond excited to get this up! Enjoy! (After finishing this, I realized how long it’s been since I wrote Sherlock and he’s sooooo ooc and I just want to delete it all, but it’s 12:32am so i’m gonna queue it anyways)

Word Count:1312

“You’re forgetting something,” Sherlock muttered with a dull tone as he glanced out the window as dramatically as his upturned collar and dramatic cheekbones would offer.

John, having read over his grocery list at least twice before dragging this brooding butthead out of the flat, scoffed. “I am not.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, blinking slowly as he turned to look at his friend. “John.”

“Yes,” John sighed, lowering his head with closed eyes as habit dictated when Sherlock was being a pedantic ass. “Sherlock?”

“You’re forgetting something.”

With a deep breath, John  wondered why he’d even bothered dragging Sherlock away from that damned couch. “No, Sherlock, I’m not.”

“Your eyes are shifting, your foot is tapping, and you haven’t let go of the list in your pocket since you stepped into the cab,” Sherlock quipped, looking to John’s fidgeting hands as he ran the folded paper under his thumbnail. “Check again.”

“Look, Sherlock, for the last time, I did not forget anything on the list!” John opened the paper and listed off all the groceries to prove his point.

“I never said you forgot something on your list.”

“Then, Mister Detective, what exactly did I forget?”

“How to button your shirt, apparently.”

Looking down, John saw he had indeed misbuttoned his shirt. “Dammit, Sherlock...” John hastily unbuttoned his damned shirt then did it properly this time, the amused smirk on that bastard’s face not going unnoticed.

“You know what you’re getting, yeah?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, this was the third time John had asked him this since entering the damned Tesco. “Toilet paper, dish soap, varied deli meats- whatever is on sale- block of cheddar, off-brand bread loaf, Chamomile, instant rice, chicken breasts, bag of sugar, and shortening; yes John, I remember very clearly.”

“Good,” John patted Sherlock’s cart with a sense of finality before taking his own. “Off you go then, meet you at the machines in half an hour.”

Deeply sighing, Sherlock went off to find where on God’s green earth they stocked the toilet paper.

“The ladies love us... when we pour shots,” you muttered under your breath, one earbud blaring your latest bop. “They need an excuse... to suck our- wait what am I looking for?” You chuckled, adjusting the basket on your arm and looking at the scribbled writing on your forearm. “Ah yes, the ever-in-season nilk, good penmanship (Y/N).”

"Why on earth does he need shortening?" You hear a smooth voice complain aloud from behind you, the loud wheels on his cart near hurting your ears.

"Maybe he's self-concious about his height," you chuckle to yourself, the wheel squeeks coming to a stop echoing behind you. Oh shit. You froze, hoping your didn't offend this tall stranger. You could fainly hear the collar of his coat shift, you assumed he'd turned his head around to look at you. You heard a short exhale of amusement before his footsteps began again.

Realizing he'd probably found your comment funny, you thought at least a touch of advice would be helpful. "Isle four," you called out, tilting yuor head back. "Should be beside the flour, towards the middle."

He was silent, another exhale, this one obviously less amsued, and his footsteps and rickety cart wheels fading to isle four. Shrugging, you looked back to your hand to remember what you're supposed to be looking for. "Ah yes, nilk."

"Toilet tissues," a familiar voice says calmly from the end of the isle. "And Chamomille."

Ignoring the stranger, you continued scanning for the cheaper price. You heard him walk closer with that infernal squeaky cart, his shoes squeaking just as loudly on the tiled floor. He cleared his voice a few paces beside you. "Did you not hear me?"

"Pardon?" You chuckle in a confused way, turning to view these unusual man. He was tall, as you'd expected, impecably dressed with a long coat that didn't belong in a Tesco. Speaking of not belonging in a Tesco, those cheekbones seemed better suited for a museum, his eyes a painting done by masters, and boy if that hair didn't ride the waves of the ocean. But enough poetry, this dude was hot. In a kind of alien-blending-into-humanity way.

"You seemed helpful enough before," he gestured to the shortening in his cart, fixing the collar of his coat even though it didn't seem out of wack. "I have a deadline, you see, my flatmate is expecting me soon."

"Hm," you humph, giving a sigh. "Well, if you ask politely maybe I'll help you."

His eyes were unamused, a small sigh escaping his lips as he began to turn around. "On second thought, I'm sure I can handle myself, thank you for your time."

"Oh yeah?" You chuckle, taking a step to follow this odd fellow. "Alright, Big Guy, what is shortening then?"

He was silent for a moment, obviously debating on whether or not this little interaction was worth his time. "A baking product."

"Obviously, but what is it for?"

You were met with sealed lips, his nostrils flaring a bit and shoulders rising as though you'd ruffled his feathers.

"Exactly, now you said Chamomille and toilet tissue?"

"So then I told that fucker if he wanted to see it so bad, he'd have to show me his first," you laughed as you tossed the final item into his cart. "And that's how I ended up with the broken finger, I'm still shook you even noticed it! I thought it healed so well!"

"When reaching for the Chamomille, it didn't bend with the same elasticity as your other fingers so I made an assumtion," the handsome stranger responded with a barely concealed smirk. "It's unnoticable to the unobservant."

You cocked a brow, an incredulous tone in your voice. "Is that so?" His cocky eyebrow bump was enough response to elicit a breathy chuckle from you. "And you're "the observant"?"

"The best in the world, as it were," he followed your hand gesture to out of the isle towards the check-out counter.

"Well then, Smarty-Pants," you huffed, "Observe me."

"You say that as though I haven't been for the past seven and a half minutes."

Pleasantly surprised by the near flirty tone he held, you bumped your shoulder against his arm. "Then, if you don't mind, I have a prediction of my own."

"Fire away, it gets tiring always proving my point," Sherlock teased, faking a bored sigh.

"I deduce that you, Mister Observant-But-Can't-Find-Eggs, are flirting with li'l ol' me."

"And if I am?"

"Then I'd venture to say you're efforts are proving effective."

"I'd love to persue further, but it appears my flatmate is having another row with the machine," Sherlock huffed, looking off to a rather short bloke yelling angrily at the loud machine. "Unfortunatly, a common thing for him."

"He's a big lad, seems like he can handle himself for a minute more," you say in a sing-song voice, nibbling your lip in thought before doing something pretty stupid.

"Why, do you have something that could distract me from helping my friend?"

"Perhaps," you mutter, looking coyly at the tall man and holding up the item you'd swiped from his coat pocket. "I have something I'd like to add to this, if you'd be so kind as to imput the password."

"Impressive," he quietly praised, taking the phone and unlocking it. "Very impressive."

"I try," you chuckle, imputing your number into his phone and shooting yourself a simple smiley face text, handing it back to him with a cheeky wink. "Well then, Mister Detective, you go off and help that angry bloke." You tip an imaginary hat and take a step away. "Until we meet again."

Sherlock watched as you walked away, realizing there was a bit more sway to your hips than there was before, and a bit more bounce to your step as well. "Until then, I suppose."

[tessatechaitea]

Doomsday’s Cock #1

Why is Rorschach on the cover of Doomsday's Cock #1?

Uh oh. Trump fans are going to be upset about this comic book. Of course, they'll pretend they're upset about comics making any kind of political commentary. But they're really just upset that the story portrays a world falling apart because the president is an obvious Trumpian disaster.

News reports indicate that Veidt's plan was exposed as The Great Lie. He's now considered a terrorist being hunted by everybody. It was Rorschach's journal that exposed the truth, a journal which disappeared not long after. I guess Rorschach did survive somehow and decided to get back to journaling. And then there he is. Rorschach has survived, reappearing to comment on how the world has gone to shit so that comic book Fanboys everywhere can fuck themselves silly.

Oh wait. Scratch that. They're more likely to rage about pandering until their heads explode.

Rorscach recruits the Marionette for some secret mission he's on. I don't remember The Marionette but I'm sure it was some villain that Rorschach nearly killed. They have three hours to find Doctor Manhattan since America has launched their nuclear missiles. The world is about to end which probably means The New 52 is about to begin. For some reason. It'll all be explained in time! Probably. I mean, it'll probably be the way Doctor Manhattan saves the world. Or something. Before leaving prison, The Marionette and Rorschach pick up The Marionette's husband, the Mime. They're the perfect team to catch Doctor Manhattan! She'll pull Jon's strings and he'll trap him in an invisible box. Even a fucking omnipotent blue naked guy can't defend against that. It turns out Rorscach is working with Ozymandias to find Doctor Manhattan to save their world. But when Ozymandias last saw Doctor Manhattan, he was leaving the Watchmen Universe to find one less complicated to live in. Or to find one that was fairly complicated and fuck it all up so that it didn't seem, at first glance, complicated at all. But like every continuity reboot, it was actually way more complicated than if things had been left alone. The issue ends with Clark having a nightmare about his prom night. I'm not sure if the scariest part of the dream was when his parents were killed in the traffic accident or when he saw Pete dancing. Lois wakes up and he tells her, "I don't think I've ever had one." Oh, um, the one refers to a nightmare. I didn't want to change the quote and I didn't want to add more dialogue. Instead I decided to write all of this extraneous and awkward crap. The night Superman has the nightmare is probably the night Doctor Manhattan arrived and changed the past because he didn't want to have to learn seventy years of DC history to understand the world he was now living in. The issue ends with a few lines from the poem, "Ozymandias," because why not? That's a pretty easy quote pull! Especially because it mentioned aliens and appeared after the Superman scene! Doomsday's Cock #1 Rating: It was huge.

[jj-ktae]

Tipsy Love (1/2)

Title : Tipsy Love

Genre : Drama / Angst-ish / Fluff

Author : Myself

Pairing : Jackson Wang x Reader

Summary : You have one bad addiction. Jackson is an instructor in a center for people with health problems and bad mental state. How will the addiction acts upon the two of them ? Will your forsaken self be able to change your mental state ?

It’s a One-shot. Part two will be up very soon ;)

PART 1

The street was crowded. Clouds were everywhere, like a ticking bomb over the salarymen's heads. Seoul is a huge city. Each person is only a tiny little part of the human presence in the island. One's goal is the same as his neighbors’. There's only one within four millions of men, women.

No wonder you felt so empty.

It was 4 A.M, and you were trying to walk down the alley leading to your house (you weren’t sure if it was the good street though). Your evening had been calm and filled with clouded memories of countless glasses scattered around the bar of your brother's pub. The sound of glass, and the noisy people around you, telling it was just okay to drink too much, since tomorrow you wouldn't even remember a thing, and gather the courage to speak to the beautiful man watching you with deep, dark envy. Like a vivid dream printed in your mind, you could only remember some parts of that big, insane moment of your life. Another one.

Life could be so useless sometimes. You hated how you just wanted to jump out of the first window after these evenings of false happiness and joy. It's not like you couldn't do anything about it though. You loved it, every aspect of it. Only, the aftermath was just hell.

As you passed by a little store, you finally recognize the big, white building in front of you.

''Finally...." Was all you could say before opening the big door, (after almost five minutes of looking for the good keys.) You had always wondered why you had so many, since your apartment had only two locks.

It's not like you cared right now anyway.

As soon as you entered the stifling flat, you felt it.

The nausea.

You ran to the toilet and emptied herself in the cabinet. You felt everything leave your stomach. Like a tornado twirling your organs, a fire burning your lungs, everything was going out in an endless spurt. This was the worst for you. When reality dawned upon you. When alcohol left your body. When gloom took the place of giggles and glassy smiles.

You couldn't stand up, you just couldn't. How many more days will you have to live to finally realize that you were ruining everything? But you couldn't do  anything.

You were simply addicted.

~*~

Just as the alarm clock rang in the big room, Jackson woke up from his deep slumber. He simply hit the little noisy cube and got up, feeling his stomach growling. When the doorbell rang, he wondered just who could come here this early. He just had time to shower, and he hoped he'll be able to, or else he'll be cranky all day, again.

The doorbell rang a second time, and right now Jackson wanted to chop whoever's head was behind the bloody door.

"I’m coming!" He yelled as he almost crawled to the door

"Hurry up, fat ass!" could be heard from behind the door. And now Jackson knew whose head was going to be cut and served as a dinner tonight.

Jinyoung. The bloody, noisy and arrogant Jinyoung.

"What the...?" Jackson said as he opened the door, facing a way-too-smiley Jinyoung in a tuxedo.

"Am I hot? I think I am, but I’m not sure, what do you think?" The young guy said. He was young, and had a cute face, surrounded by thick brown hair.

"It's 6.30 A.M., I’m fucking late, and you came all the way here to ask me if you're hot or not? Seriously man, you've got a problem." Jackson cried as he was already going back to his room.

"But you think I am? I mean, hot" Jinyoung tried again. Jackson just looked at him and went back to the bathroom, yelling a frustrated "I think you should get the fuck out!" before closing the door with a light thud.

Wang Jackson was a rather normal person. He'd just finished university and passed his degree in psychology, specialized in group and behavior therapy. He had finally found work in a big society where he could help and advise people. He was an open-minded and outgoing person. Always smiley and listening to other's problems. Maybe that's why he decided to make it his job.

Offering better lives was worth getting up at 6 A.M. every day. That's what Jackson thought.

Unfortunately, he was the type of man who was always mistaken for a player. His look had always been his biggest problems.

The reason of his poor and mediocre love life.

Jinyoung was in the kitchen, trying to eat something that resembled to a piece of cake (quite old, if you ask Jackson) and singing a very old Korean song when Jackson came back, hair still wet and completely dressed. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a white tee-shirt, showing his bulging features.

"So tell me, why are you like this?" Began the latter as he took a mug and poured some of the fresh coffee Jinyoung had just made for both of them.

"Got an Interview today; a big bank from Switzerland. Gotta get this job!" Retorted the young man as he took another sip of the hot, black liquid.

"Oh, and that is why you decided to come this early. Well just to let you know, I have a life, and I do have work. So I’ll be going." Answered Jackson. His work was at the very end of the city, and since his car was being fixed by a friend, he had to go by train.

"But, but, that's why I came! My interview is like what....5 minutes from your job? Want me to give you a ride?" The tuxedo man sang, still sipping his coffee.

"Well....I guess you're quite useful sometimes." Jackson uttered as a 'thank you' before grabbing his keys. "But we still have to go, moron." He added.

"How dare you speak like that to your super-hot-in-tuxedo best friend!" Jinyoung yelled as he faked indignation.

"Let's go?" Jackson winked at his pouty friend. "If you're a good boy, I’ll even buy you some ice cream! Chocolate flavored! Your favorite ~" He added.

"Fuck off, bastard" Was all he heard before Jinyoung tried to kick Jackson out of the flat.

~*~

After months and months of nagging and badgering from your two best friends, you had finally decided that you needed help. That you didn't have enough will to stop this vicious cycle.

Your friends had already enrolled you in a special program that was supposed to be one of the most efficient programs among all these group discussion available nowadays. At first they wanted you to go to a psychiatrist, but you immediately declared that that was "for mentally handicapped people" and preferred a weird group where you talk to people with the same problem as you.

It has been two years, and you were still as addicted to alcohol as you were in the past. It had begun in high school during parties, and it became more and more frequent. Now you couldn't go home without buying some of that precious liquid, or even stop in a pub to drink until you blacked out.

"So it's your first day now…are you nervous?" Choi Youngjae, your best friend asked. You were in a café near the emplacement where you had to go. 

The latter was drinking a cafe latte with a gloomy face.

"Well....I don't know. I don't expect anything from this. You forced me to go." You answered. You had a fucking huge headache, and you couldn't even think clearly, but then again, you wondered when was the last time you were able to do so was, anyway.

"Yah! You have to try at least! You need help! We’re all trying to cheer you up….but we won't be able to do it forever. Someday, you'll lose all your friends if you don't stop this." retorted Youngjae, while trying to figure out what exactly was wrong with his friend.

He never really understood how you began drinking so much. But at first, he didn't want to believe that you were addicted. He thought it had something to do with youth, or even challenge, rebellion. He only discovered it when he saw his best friend trying to kill herself with sleeping pills and some whiskey caramel. She was begging Youngjae to let him end his life. That she wouldn't be able to stop. That's when he knew his friend was in big trouble. Since then he had try everything, even weaning. But he failed miserably. Most of their friends didn't want to hang out with them anymore, mostly because you were always drunk, and you were able to completely ruin an evening. Youngjae and your other best friend, Mark, had then decided that you would go to these group therapies. Just to try.

"I know. I’m doing this for you." You almost whispered, but Youngjae heard it anyway, and as he smiled brightly at you, it felt like maybe this was worth spending some time in there.

"Glad to know that there’s still some sense in that big head of yours." Youngjae laughed, and he knew you had no intentions of stopping, but it was his last card, and he had to believe in it.

"So I’ll be going. I hope I won't be surrounded by psychos." You snorted. You were not really in the mood today, so no chit-chat.

You left your friend and went straight to the building, wondering what on earth you were doing.

~*~

"Ok guys! That's it for today!" Jackson yelled at the men in front of him. His third meeting was for emotionally shocked people. This was the most difficult one, because they were not really talkative. Sometimes even Jackson felt uneasy around them.

Now he had to go to the next meeting. Jackson hated to admit it, but this one was the most delicate.

The Alcohol Addiction meeting.

The room was empty as he came and proceeded to place the chairs in circle, as he usually did. Everyone could talk to others and participate in a big discussion. Contrary to what one might think, this wasn't the usual whiny group discussions that people saw on television. In his groups, Jackson always tried to talk a little about the problem, and a lot about other things, because dwelling on misfortunes was not his forte, and also didn't really help people.

He even tried to organize little trips, or even walks in Tokyo. That was why his program was one of the most appreciated by his boss and he was rather proud of himself for that.

He often had visits of people coming back to him and thanking him for his help when they needed it the most. That was pure bliss for Jackson.

As people entered the room, Jackson was reading the list of persons registered for today. A new program meant a new group of alcoholics were here.

"So, to begin with, my name is Jackson Wang, and I’ll be your instructor during this program. I know this might be a little "weird" for some of you, but this won't look like anything you’ve seen on TV" He began. He was pretty confident in this, and had already prepared a whole month of activities and talks for his new "friends".

"First, I’m just going to ask you to do a little introduction of yourself, just to feel at ease. I know it's difficult to talk in front of strangers, so no need to talk a lot, a simple thing will do, we'll have plenty of time to learn about each other." Jackson continued. Everybody was silent and listening to him, as usual.

"So, who would like to begin?" asked the instructor. To his surprise, one man lifted his hand. He looked like he was in his 40 and was wearing shorts with a green shirt.

"So, my name is Yoon Hyun Jin. I've been drinking since the age of 20....I haven’t been able to stop since then. I realized, after I lost my wife and son, that I needed to stop this. I’m quite the violent type"

Jackson nodded. He'd seen this case to many times. He asked someone else.

"My name is Kim Baek Sun, and I began drinking last year. I’m 24, by the way. work in a pub, so it's pretty easy for me to drink non-stop...I think I’ll be fired if I don't stop, and my parents can't stand the idea of me drinking shots and shots of alcohol. I’m quite lost to tell you the truth."

Everybody was listening with attention to what the others had to say and they almost all talked once, one after another, smiling, blushing and trying to explain their situation to everybody, knowing they won't ever be judged by people like them.

When it was your turn, the last one, everybody turned to you. You suddenly felt so small that if you could you'd have dug a hole and hid in it.

"I…have nothing to say. Sorry". You knew you should have said something else, but you couldn't.

"Come on, I’m sure you can come up with something. Your name, if you know it, that is." Jackson said, and everybody laughed a little at the comment. It wasn't said in a mean way, but rather in a friendly gesture, though you didn't like it at all.

"Y/N. Happy?" You shot back. Jackson was a bit surprised to see such behavior but he didn't flinch.

"Very much so." He simply said, and began talking about their first little walk near the Han River with big enthusiasm.

~*~

"And then? I mean, you ran and... fell into the pool?" Jackson was laughing so hard. Today was the "funny memories" session and everybody was enjoying some iced tea with a, big, brown chocolate cake made by one of the member.

"Well....it moved suddenly, I was so scared! I ran off and the next thing I knew.... I was in the water....and it was freaking cold!" The old man declared. Everybody laughed again and Jackson continued after he swallowed another piece of the delicious cake.

"What was it finally?" He asked.

"......My son...playing hide and seek..." Answered the old man, clearly embarrassed by the ridiculous situation.

Jackson burst out laughing and everybody followed, while the old man felt himself blush at his own past stupidity.

Only you were in a corner and trying to think about everything except what you had been avoiding for the past week. It was hell, and you were trying so hard not to break and go in the nearest bar to get wasted again. Jackson saw it and went near you  as everybody was laughing at someone's story.

"Not feeling well?" He tried calmly. Jackson knew that some people couldn't support this as easily as others, and he saw that you just needed to drink right now.

"Why do you care?" You found yourself asking, frustrated. "You just have to entertain us, make us forget what we shouldn't do...how I’m feeling doesn't have anything to do with you." She spat.

"Well...I do care about all of you. I need to know how you all feel, so I can help better. That's why I’m here." He said. He was talking as if a 5-year-old boy was facing him. He tried to be as gentle as he could, but honestly he was getting tired of your behavior already. He ignored you at first, thinking that maybe you were just going through a hard time. But as days passed, your mood was getting worse and worse, and Jackson just wanted to wake you up from your living dream.

"I’m not a retard you know, stop talking to me like my teacher at kindergarten did. I know why I’m here, and if you want to know, I stopped drinking the day I entered the group." You reluctantly admitted.

"You know, sometimes I feel like you're here because someone forced you. You won't get anything out of this if you don't even want to be here in the first place. I may help people, but I’m not a magician. I can't change people's mind and way of thinking. If you're not going to help us and talk, then don't, but you're wasting your time here. When people try to forget about their addiction, I can almost hear you think about what alcohol you'd like to drink and how you'll get drunk again." sighed Jackson. Every time people like you came, they left after 10 days, and went back to clubbing and alcohol as soon as left the center. Jackson knew this type of girl. Young people wasting their lives for some ridiculous, sour beverage.

As if it made some sense in your head, you suddenly became calmer. "It's not that I don't want to change...but I’m really not doing it for me...I don't want to lose people around me...but I’m not strong enough to stop by myself." You whispered.

"That's why I’m here. If you want to change, then that's a good start." Jackson smiled. So, she wanted to change after all. He nudged you a little. "Come on, smile! Everybody's trying hard, no need to ramble, just try to participate. And I swear, this cake is just heaven!" he continued.

You smiled and tried to ignore the warm feeling going through your body while Jackson was already cutting himself another piece of cake.

~*~

"So yeah...basically, the idea is that we go camping near Noeul Park." Jackson began. Everybody had just arrived and he was already preparing the little trip that was happening in a few days.

"I know it's sudden, but I got the idea yesterday. I know I suck. But we'll have fun! And we need to evaluate everybody's situation. And I thought that camping would be a great idea!" Jackson tried to cheer everybody, and some people were into it. Some of them couldn't go because of work, but almost everybody was ok with the idea.

You were more than reluctant. Camping has never been what you liked the most, even when you were a member of the scouts –another bad life choice-. Since then you had completely forgot how to live without a real bathroom, a bed and all the commodities.

"So hmm...Y/N, are you coming?" Jackson asked with a bright smile. You suddenly felt uneasy and out of control. Jackson smile was even brighter than the sun and you couldn't help but smile back shyly.

"So yeah, here's the list, please write your name down, and then we'll proceed to the preparation." Jackson went to the little black board on the wall and explained to everybody how everything was going to happen.

You simply sat low in your chair, wondering what the hell you agreed to.

~*~

"You did what?" Youngjae and Mark were both shocked when you announced them that you were going on a little camping session.

"I didn't have a choice...everybody was staring at me...I just.... nodded? And this is part of the program. I haven't drunk anything in two weeks now...I’m on the verge of breaking down. I think I need some fresh air." You sighed.

"Well...from that point of view.... sounds pretty decent to me." Youngjae said and you took another sip of soda.

"So, how are you feeling...going without alcohol...isn't it too hard?" Mark asked cautiously. It had always been a tense topic between them since you had never admitted that you had problems. Now that you were following the program, you were always clean, and even if your mood was not the best, at least you didn't feel like shit all day and night.

"Don't ask me...you don't want to know. I told you, I’m going to break down soon..." You leaned on the wooden table. Why was it so hard? You felt like no one could understand you. Not even your best friends. It looks so easy to stop from an exterior point of view, but in fact, it's even harder than trying to stop smoking. Hell on earth.

As you came back home that day, you tried so hard not to think about the bottle of whisky, untouched, in the kitchen.

~*~

"You did what?" Jinyoung asked, dumbfounded. Jackson had just announced him that he was going to camp with the group. He was more than surprised to see his best friend in such a high mood.

"I want to go camping with them. The boss didn't lie when he told me people where even harder to handle this month. Everybody's on the verge of collapsing." Jackson whined.

"Well, you know one month is not enough for most of them" Jinyoung concluded. He had never been a pro in these things, but he certainly knew that alcohol was a tough topic. Even tougher than when he tried to stop his addiction to reading.

"I know, the program lasts one month, but everybody comes regularly to ask for advice. They almost all have my phone number. I follow them all, don't worry." Jackson answered as he went to the oven to take his freshly made lasagne.

"Any rebels? There's always one 'tough' person who acts all posh and cold." Jinyoung snorted.

As he asked that, your face appeared almost immediately in Jackson's head, but he brushed it away.

"Nope, everybody's good to me~" He sing-sang.

Jinyoung laughed. Jackson has always been everybody's professor, father, brother, friend. He was really kind when it came to his 'friends' and he knew these people were lucky to have such a good person taking care of them.

"Ok, my fat friend, I gotta go, Swiss banks don't joke with money!" He took his dark blue jacket and went to the door, yelling ‘good luck’ to his friend before closing it.

Jackson sighed again and proceeded to go to the living room to eat in front of another stupid television show, before falling asleep.

PART 2 

[rockscanfly]

Concept: the little eel faces on Kaldur's hands change their expression depending on his mood

Being a good archer means having a good eye for detail, and Artemis has never been anything but excellent.

So it’s understandably galling when she realizes, three years into their friendship, that Kaldur’s tattoos are more than they seem.

They’re at the annual League Winter Solstice Party when she first notices, snatching his wrist as he’s about to hand Harper (on a short break from his fruitless quest to find whoever-the-fuck, Speedy, the first Roy Harper) a glass of mulled wine.

“Why are your tattoos happy,” she slurs, squinting through the pleasant buzz of alcohol. The Watchtower falls under international rules when it comes to alcohol–everyone eighteen and over is legal, and like any self-respecting American teen, she’s taking advantage while she can.

“Can they be happy? Harper, hey, Roy,” she says, and shoves Kaldur’s hand in Roy’s face. She gestures to the smiling eels that adorn Kaldur’s hands. “Am I drunk? Why are his hand snakes so, so smiley?”

Roy hmm’s, faking intrigue while shooting Kaldur an amused look. He probably thought Artemis didn’t see it, which she totally did, because detail, but she chooses not to mention it. Because, well, answers.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Blondie,” Roy says, smirking. “Does someone need a glass of water, kiddo?”

“Fuck your water,” Artemis murmurs, dropping Kaldur’s wrist. She steals the mulled wine first, downing it in one gulp to prove a point.

Roy throws his hands up in mock defeat. “Careful, Kal,” he jokes, “Looks like we got a badass over here.”

Kaldur smiles, warm with amusement at their antics. “A badass who I sincerely hope doesn’t think that a hangover will be getting her out of training tomorrow,” he teases gently, eyes dancing.

It’s a look that she doesn’t get to see on him often, Artemis realizes with a pang. Suddenly nostalgic, she throws her arms around the both of them, drawing them together.

“We should dance,” she asserts firmly, gesturing drunkenly with one heel-clad foot at the impromptu dance floor. Zattanna and Rocket are already up there, swaying drunkenly to Nat King Cole. “C’mon.”

She manages to pull the two of them to the floor, all three rocking gently in awkward tandem before Wally comes and pulls her away for a dance of their own–Kaldur I can understand, but don’t tell me you’re leaving me for Harper of all people, babe–and as she’s pulled away she sees Roy throw Kaldur’s arms over his shoulders as he leads the other man in a drunken waltz.

As Wally spins her around the room–he’s had three times the number of drinks as her, at least, but speedster metabolisms and so on–she catches a glimpse of Kaldur’s face tucked over Roy’s shoulder, blush flushing his high cheeks bones. She can see the little eels, too, grinning, where they rest on the strong muscles of Roy’s neck.

Well I’ll be damned, she thinks, and resolves to tease the two of them with this story when they finally get their shit together.

Its two years and a hundred leagues under the ocean later, and no one’s shit is together, least of all Kaldur’s.

Then again, Artemis thinks ruefully, exhausted, watching helplessly while he trembles apart next to her on their shared bed, caught in yet another nightmare, what could you expect?

Gritting her teeth, Artemis grabs her own wrist, restraining herself from touching him. The last time she tried that, tried shaking him awake by the shoulder, it didn’t go well.

The bruises from being flung against the wall hurt, yeah, but not as much as his face did when he woke up and realized what he’d done, or the way he shied from contact with her for a whole week afterward. She’s touch-starved enough as it is, down here, away from Wally and his fever-hot body, his Speedster warm hands. She doesn’t need Kaldur’s guilt driving him even further away than the distance he already kept.

Sighing, Artemis forces herself up, out of the bed, and pads around to Kaldur’s front. Kneeling, she tries calling his name, hoping that will wake him from sleep. “Kaldur,” she says softly, voice too rough and too gravelly in her own ears. “Kaldur, wake up, it’s okay, you’re here.”

He twitches wildly, hands coming up to cover his mouth, muffling a hoarse scream. She thinks, exasperated, that it’s just like him to silence his own pain, even in dreams.

Her eyes flick to his hands, and she notices the eels are snarling, twisting and writhing in agony. Small shocks of electricity leap from finger to finger, and she backs further away.

“Kaldur, Kaldur, wake up,” she hisses, desperate. His face is a snarl of misery, brow drawn tight. “Kaldur—” she yells, and his eyes snap open, wide and terrified.

He sits up instantly, chest heaving, gills flapping in dry air. “Tula, Tula–epanélthei, na epanélthei, parakaloúme na érthei píso–Artemis–”

“–Is dead,” Artemis says quickly. She’s too familiar with the shadow’s to believe that there aren’t at least seven bugs hidden in this room of their quarters alone. “You killed her, you avenged Tula. Its okay, Kaldur, I’m here. You’re home.”

Kaldur looks up at her, shaking his head, clearing the clouds. He straightens, shoulders going firm and tight in a way she hates. “Of course,” he says, breathe slowing. “Thank you, Tigress.”

She grabs one of his hands in hers, pulling him in for an embrace. This, the need to comfort him, is one of the only things she doesn’t have to fake down here, and she treasures the cool press of his skin to her own. “Anytime, Kaldur’ahm,” she says, and it’s one of the only things she’s said in a month that wasn’t a lie.

—-

By the time the Invasion is over Artemis considers herself an expert in Kaldur speak. The secret, she will later divulge to Zattanna, who drunkenly asks her just how the hell she always seems to know what’s really going on in their stoic friend’s head, is to look at his hands.

Two weeks after Wally’s death and the expulsion of those bastards from her planet, it’s this little known fact–that the faces of his eels will always reveal the emotions that Kaldur himself buries under ten metric tons of emotionally repressive rock–that tips her off to the fact that Kaldur is not okay.

They–meaning herself, M’gann, and Conner, who are at the moment the only members of the original team who are really coping with what’s happened–have gathered the original team together for a beach day. Like old times, M’gann says, as she lays a plate of snicker doodles–Wally’s favorite, Artemis remembers with a hollow pang–on the picnic table.

As therapy days go, it isn’t bad, but it’s also isn’t great.

“Come on, fishsticks,” Artemis shouts across the net to Kaldur. It’s him and M’gann against herself and Conner. Dick sits on the side, ostensibly playing ref but in reality brooding over a strawberry margarita. “Spike it! I dare ya!”

Kaldur smiles at her, challenging, and does exactly that. Conner, as expected, manages to dive low, catching the ball with a fist. It goes soaring, high, high, before an invisible force catches it and drives it back into the sand on their side of the net.

“Hey!” Artemis shouts, pointing at M’gann. “Blatant cheating!”

M’gann grins, eyes fading to their normal color from their tell-tale glow. She turns to Dick. “What does the ref say?”

Dick, the brooding idiot, looks up from trying to find the meaning of life in his margarita. “Umm. No foul?” He says uncertainly, guilt written across his face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Artemis mutters, and trudges through the thick sand to Dick’s spot underneath the umbrella. “Okay, break time. Let’s get in the water, bird boy,” she says, pulling him out into the sun.

Dick hisses, pulling non-committaly against her grip. “I thought cats hated water,” he gripes, and she can’t help but grin. It’s a stupid joke, yeah, but it’s also the first one he’s made all day.

“Tigers actually love water,” Connor interjects, pulling his shirt over his head. Casually, he wrests Dick from Artemis’s grasp, holding him over his head and walking calmly over to the sea. M’gann floats sedately after them, shifting her cloths from a shirt and shorts to a one piece.

“Traitors!” Dick yells, laughing despite himself, wriggling pointlessly. “Ruffians! Kaldur, help!”

“This is a battle you must fight alone, my friend,” Kaldur says solemnly, sitting down in the sand to watch the chaos.

Artemis settles beside him, watching as M’gann and Connor pull their struggling friend into the water. The scene quickly devolves into a splash fight–a fight in which Dick, who lacks both super strength and the ability to psychically create walls of water, is hilariously outmatched in.

“Why don’t you join them?” Artemis questions, not unkindly. “You’d kick all of our asses in a water war.”

Kaldur sighs, crossing his hands over his chest. Her eyes flick down to the eels, noting with a sinking stomach that, despite his relaxed demeanor, their expressions are twisted in anxiety and, she thinks, sorrow.

She looks back up as he prepares to speak, something sour building in her throat as she sees that none of these feelings are portrayed on his own face.

“I feel that would be unfair,” he says with a gentle smile.

Artemis frowns. The smile manages to reach his eyes. Anyone who didn’t know about the eels would buy this, hook line and sinker, and she hates how good he has gotten at acting.

“They would love to have you,” she prods, gesturing. “I’m sure Dick would appreciate the backup.”

Kaldur’s smile tightens, but doesn’t drop. “I am sure he will be fine,” he says, evasive.

Artemis frowns. “The point of this whole thing is for us to have fun together,” she says, standing. She leans down, reaching for his hand. The eel’s expression twists tighter, though Kaldur’s smile remains the same. “C’mon,” she wheedles. “Join us.”

Kaldur flinches away, finally allowing the smile to drop. He goes blank, showing nothing. “It would not be a good idea,” he says, firm. “But thank you.”

It’s not until later, when she overhears an argument between Black Canary and Aquaman, that she learns that Kaldur has been exiled from Atlantis and is no longer welcome in any ocean.

—

“You’re an idiot,” she tells Roy Harper, while they sit on a roof top and watch the sunset behind Star City’s horizon.

“What’s new,” he grumbles, throwing back the last slug of his beer. It’s the only one he’ll have tonight, responsible adult that he is now. She thanks the universe every day that Lian has him as a father.

Now if only he’d be as good a boyfriend to her best friend as he’s been a father to her neice, she could rest easily.

“Seriously though,” Artemis gripes, poking him in the side with her own beer. It’s her third, because she doesn’t have a kid to look after, and it is a Friday. She dodges his half-hearted swipe at her head, grinning. “Why don’t you go for it? He’s been in love with you for years.”

Roy sighs, lying back on the warm concrete, legs kicking in the open air. “It’s not that simple.”

Artemis kicks his shin. “Yeah, it is.”

Roy props himself up on his elbows, squinting at her in the fading sunlight. Small lines crinkle in the corner of his eyes, signs of age brought on early from a life hard lived, and she kicks him harder. “Fucking ow,” he gripes. “Look, it’s not–It’s not about what Kaldur feels. He doesn’t want it.”

Artemis scoffs. “The fuck gave you that idea?”

“Do you know anything about Atlantis?” Roy snaps. “Like, at all?”

“I know his tattoos smile whenever you’re around,” she snaps back. “That doesn’t happen for just anyone, asshole.”

“Not about Kaldur, you doof, about Atlantis. In general.”

“Not really,” Artemis shrugs. “I know they exiled him for a while, like, a couple years ago. And that Garth got the exile repealed. I know about Purists. What else is there?”

Roy sighs, curling his body back up to look her in the eyes. His gaze is tired, and she suddenly feels a little bad for disrupting what was probably one of the only relaxing moments he’s had in days, at least.

“Atlantis isn’t the greatest, when it comes to people like you and me,” Roy says, blunt. “We both know Kaldur’s as queer as a three dollar bill, same as, like, half the fucking team. Atlantean culture? Not so cool with that. Kaldur’s gotten better, but he still has issues.”

“Atlantis is homophobic?” Artemis repeats, honestly shocked. “But Garth, and Tula, and La’gann—“

“—Don’t know,” Roy finishes for her. “He’s not exactly vocal about it. How do you even know?”

“From the way he looks at you,” Artemis replies, something cold settling in her stomach. “And back in twenty-fourteen, at that Solstice party. His tattoos gave it away, more than anything, the way they grinned while you were dancing with him.”

“You’re annoyingly observant, you know that?” Roy grumbles, thumbing the label off his beer bottle. “Look, you’re probably one of the only people in the whole League who has noticed either of those things. And Kaldur—he’s gotten a lot better, than he used to be. He doesn’t hate himself like he used too. Can’t, considering who his friends are. But I don’t know if he’ll ever be in a place where he wants to act on this…thing, we’ve got.”

“What about you?” Artemis presses, nudging her foot gently against Roy’s own. She looks over her shoulder, eyes widening briefly. Carefully, she raises her voice ever-so-slightly. “How about you, Roy? Do you want a relationship with Kaldur?”

Roy scoffs, eyes fixed on the horizon, the setting sun. He doesn’t notice Artemis’s distraction, and raises his volume automatically to match her own. “Of course I do. I’ve been in love with him for years. If I thought for a second he’d go for it—“ Roy finishes with a shrug. “You’d never get me off of him.”

Artemis grins over her shoulder, feet kicking against the roof’s ledge in glee. “That’s great,” she says, cat’s grin curling her lips, smug. “Kaldur? What do you think?”

Roy curses, twisting.

Kaldur stands on the roof, six-pack clenched in one webbed hand, the other covering his gaping mouth. He’s blushing furiously, and the eels on his hands have half-moon grins.

“I—“ he stammers, and Artemis jumps up, taking the six pack easily from his shocked grip.

“It looks like the two of you have a lot to talk about,” she says smugly, and saunters back down the fire escape.

The next day, during the weekly League Council meeting, she can’t help but notice, detail oriented as she is, that the eels are still grinning.