#he has a gun in the sketch but you just can’t see it

[evafhernee]

possessed forever…

[bitchslappin]

Figure Studies

 

Summary: Joel let's his you paint him like one of your French girls (kind of not really).

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, no implied age gap but do what you want, sexual tension, voyeur to some degree, exhibitionism kind of, M masturbation, overstimulation a little bit, fluff for sure, Joel's so in love, idk the tags make it sound lame lol

Word count: 2.5k

“Quit starin’ at me. It’s creepy.”

   Joel’s voice is gruff. He’s bent over the dining room table, summer evening sun streaming in through the kitchen window. He’s cleaning his rifle. It’s been too long, he hasn’t been keeping on top of it, it’s been long enough since he’s had to use it. He’s been at it for the better part of an hour, stripped down to his t-shirt, hands covered in a layer of gun oil, sweat starting to bead on his neck from where the sun’s been resting. His girlfriend is standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, leaning on the doorframe, just watching him. She’d been down at the Tipsy Bison most of the morning, helping Maria draw up plans for the community garden expansion. Ellie is… well Joel doesn’t actually know. She hasn’t been home since last night. But she tends to couch hop around Jackson these days, and Joel can’t say he’s mad for the alone time while she bothers other people for once. 

   “Can’t help it.” She tells him with a slight grin as she cocks her head to the side, studying him. “You look so good right now.”

   Joel snorts and flicks his eyes to her, annoyed. “Yeah, right. Sweaty and greasy and angry. What a good look.” He snarks.

   He doesn’t have to see her roll her eyes, he can feel it. She walks in slowly. “‘M serious Joel. You look good.” She murmurs softly. She’s not teasing him this time, or even really flirting, her tone low and sincere. 

   He finally looks up at her then, pausing what he’s doing. His breath sticks in this throat a little bit. Even after years together, he’s not good at this. Accepting genuine compliments in a neutral setting. He’s gotten better at the flirting, and he’s more willing to give up some control in the bedroom, but this kind of thing? The softness? He’s still a little shy about it. He just shakes his head at her and says nothing. He won’t argue with her, but he doesn’t know what to say. He turns back to his task, wiping the stock of the rifle, trying to hide the tremor in his fingers. 

   She sits down next to him, pulling her legs up onto the chair and leaning her elbow on the table, her head in her hands. She watches him silently for a little while, and it’s easy for him to fall back into the rhythm of cleaning, zoning out a bit as he works. As he finishes up, fitting the pieces back into place, she interrupts the silence.

   “Can I draw you?” She asks quietly. He looks up at her with a furrowed brow. She’s quite the artist, always sketching and even painting when she has the time. One of her new friends had somehow gotten her a set of oil paints for her birthday, and Joel loved to sit for hours and watch her paint. She’s sketched him plenty of times. He’s seen some of them because she’s shown them to him, some because he spied them over her shoulder. But she’s never asked before. 

   “You… what, now?” He asks as his brows knit together in surprise. She just shakes her head with a smile. “Yeah now. Come on, please?”

   Goddamn him he can never resist that look on her face. Sweeter than sugar. He grumbles. “Fine fine…” He rolls his eyes as she smiles in triumph. “Where d’you want me?” 

   She stands and drags him by the hand into the living room, grabbing her sketchbook off the coffee table. The light is pouring into the living room as she pushes the curtains open. “Go sit on the couch. Just get comfy.” She tells him. He huffs about it but he goes to sit on the couch, groaning, when she turns back and makes a surprised noise. 

   “What are you doing?” She asks, an eyebrow raised in confusion. He’s hovering, halfway to sitting, and he frowns at her. “You told me to sit on the couch…?”

   She makes a noise in the back of her throat and pushes on her shoulder as she goes to sit on the coffee table in front of him, sketchbook on her lap. “You gotta undress first.”

   “What??” His lips part in shock and his eyebrows shoot up. “Fuck’re you talkin’ about?”

   She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Come on Joel, please? I haven’t ever been able to do real figure studies. Please?” She’s not teasing anymore, not trying to push his buttons. She’s genuinely asking. She’d always told him that when she was little, she’d dreamed about going to art school in a big city, sketching figure models for hours. But then of course… well you know what happened. He hovers there for a minute. It’s not like she hasn’t seen it before. Hell sometimes he feels like they see each other naked more than clothed. But it’s not the same. This is more exposed, in the sunlight, with her just staring at him. 

   “Can I just… just take my shirt off?” He asks with a nervous chuckle. He meets her gaze and he can see the slight of disappointment there, though she nods and gives him a smile. “Sure Joel, that’s fine.”

   He pulls the shirt over his head and hesitates, watching her face as she flips to a clean page in her sketchbook, twirling her hair up onto the back of her head and pinning it in place with a pencil. The sunlight makes all of her look golden, the strand of hair that escapes down her neck, the freckles on her cheeks… she’s glowing and he is powerless but to give her everything. Even something he thinks is silly. He huffs and commits, unbuttoning his pants and shoving everything down like he’s annoyed, but he’s really just nervous for some reason, and flops back on the couch. He shifts a little as she gazes at him. It feels different from when they’re in bed, the way she’s looking at him now. Now, she’s looking at him like a specimen, like something to study. 

   “So… how should I sit?” He asks nervously, scratching the back of his neck. Her gaze seems to shift suddenly and her eyes get softer as she smiles at him. She sets her sketch book aside and comes over to maneuver him, her brow furrowed in concentration. She pushes him to lean back, muttering “get comfy” to him softly. He leans back, one arm instinctively going to the back of the couch, his legs falling open comfortably. She smiles at him and adjusts his arm resting on the couch, moving his hand this way and that until she likes the angle. She moves to his legs then, her hands are warm and sure as she pushes at his knees, his thighs, adjusting them a little wider. He lets out a slow breath, trying to keep his cool. ‘This is for art, that’s it’ he tells himself. But then she takes his other arm, adjusting it across his body, placing his hand over his cock, already semi hard from her attention. He bluescreens for a second, looking up at her with wide shocked eyes. She just arches an eyebrow at him.

   “This okay?” She asks, her hands hovering and ready to move him if she needs to. He looks down at himself for a half a second before back up to her. ‘Be cool, Joel. Be cool’ he tells himself and clears his throat. 

   “Yeah. Yeah it’s… it’s fine.” He nods. She smiles brightly then and leans to peck a quick kiss on his lips, before moving back to the table to pick up her sketchbook. 

   She quickly gets lost in the drawing, holding her book on her knees, her pencil skritching on the paper softly. Her focus on him is intense, almost like she’s not really seeing him, she’s looking through him. For a while, he just watches her, fascinated. The way her brow is furrowed in focus, and the way her eyes move rapidly as she flicks her gaze between him and the paper. It seems silly to think but he finds himself feeling like he’s never seen her so… intimately. There’s something about the demeanor she has while she’s creating. He feels that way when he watches her paint, too, but he’s usually sitting behind her then, watching the colors take shape, looking at the landscapes with her. He’s never been the subject. He watches her fingers, delicate to him, though she might argue after the years of post-outbreak turmoil, as she uses her pencil like a magic wand. The movement of her hands is mesmerizing, the way the light catches her skin…

    It doesn’t take long for him to start getting hot under the figurative collar. ‘Stupid caveman brain’ he thinks to himself. He can’t help it. She’s so beautiful and she's looking at him like that and he feels so… vulnerable. He tries to stay still, to hold the pose, as he starts to harden under his palm. The couch under him, the sun streaming in, his hand on himself… everything is sticky and warm and his hard is beating faster. He shifts a bit in his seat, trying to hide it, to stay still for her, but catches the way he shudders as he slides against his sweaty palm. She’s doing some shading and doesn’t even look up from her paper when she breaks the silence in a low voice. 

   “Do you want to touch yourself?” She asks softly, her gaze fixed on the drawing. His head snaps up and his eyes dart around for a minute like he thinks she’ll be talking to someone else. He clears his throat.

   “Wh-what?” 

   She looks back up at him then. Her face is open, almost confused at his confusion. “Do you want to…” She gestures with her pencil at where his hand rests covering himself, speaking matter-of-factly. He glances down at his hand, curled around his hard dick. His brain still can’t process fast enough and he looks back up at her, just staring for a minute. 

   “Do you want me to?” Is what eventually spills out of his mouth. He swallows thickly as he keeps her gaze, a flush burning on the back of his neck. He’s never done anything like that before, not like this with her fully clothed and sitting five feet away from him. She smiles at him softly, the sweet look on her face is making him feel fuzzy and warm and he squirms a little bit, trying not to gasp at the friction against his palm. She nods after a beat.

   “Yeah honey, you should.” She says simply, sitting back again and picking up her pencil. She continues sketching like it’s a simple as that, but he feels caught in limbo. He doesn’t do anything at first, just sitting there with his hand curled around his cock, in the same position she put him in, a blush burning hot on his cheeks. She looks up at him for an extra beat before nodding her head at him. It’s like a signal and he jolts into action, sliding his hand loosely over his cock. 

   It feels… way better than it should and his eyes slip closed for a second, his breath hitching in his throat. Maybe it’s the build up, maybe it’s the heat in the room, or maybe it’s just the way she’s staring at him and how easy he is for her… He keeps his fist loose at first, but quickly tightens it as the movements become slick and easy, his arousal spiking. His head drops back against the back of the couch as he starts to lose himself in the movement until her voice cuts through his foggy mind.

   “Hold your pose please.” She asks firmly, her voice low. He snaps his head up and finds her eyes trained on him, his breath stuttering. She arches an eyebrow at him seriously. “I’m not finished with my drawing. Wait until I’m done.”

   The tone of her voice, the command to wait… it’s like flames licking up his spine and he barely suppresses a whine, his eyes squeezing closed. His hand is still sliding over his cock, slick with his steadily dripping arousal. She’s nearly ignoring him and it makes him feel hotter, desperate. 

   “Sugar…!” He whines. “I don’t think I can… I’m..” 

   She looks up at him again, her stern expression making him choke. 

   “You can.” She says firmly. It’s a little encouraging, a little humiliating. “Just five more minutes.” 

   He groans but finds himself nodding. She’s not usually so direct and it’s lighting a fire in his belly. He should slow down, back off a bit, but he can’t. It feels too good as he watches her pencil gliding over the page. His hips roll off the couch just barely, trying to meet the rhythm of his hand, and she either doesn’t notice, or more likely she doesn’t stop him. He’s whining through his teeth as he holds onto that knife's edge, he can’t help it. 

   “Sugar… baby…” he mutters softly, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, his mouth hanging open as he fixes his gaze on her. Maybe it’s the tone in his voice, the needy way he calls to her, or maybe she really is done, but she sets her sketch book aside, putting her pencil down, before leaning back on her hands casually. 

   “Go on then.” She tells him softly, and he breaks. The moan that tumbles out of his mouth would be embarrassing if he could hear it, but the static fills his ears as he comes hard all over his stomach. With his head tossed back against the couch, he doesn’t see the hungry look on her face, or the way she moves off the couch and kneels in front of him. He works himself through the high, his hand starting to slow and his chest heaving when she pushes his hand away, taking him in her own. He gasps sharply and looks down at her. 

   “Baby wha..?” He stutters out as she starts to stroke him firmly. She just smiles at him, leaning in to kiss his inner thigh as she works him over. Her grip is tight and slick, hot from her skin being in the sun, much smoother than his own hand, and he moans brokenly through the oversensitivity, squirming in her grip. “J-jesus baby.. Y-you…” He stutters out between sharp chirping breaths, his eyes rolling back in his head. 

   Eventually she slows her hand as he starts to soften, her movements still firm but stilling. She holds him until his breathing has calmed down. And he looks down at her. “What the fuck was that?” He asks, his voice raspy. She just laughs and shrugs. 

   “You just looked so pretty, I wanted to join in.” She tells him as she leans her head on his thigh.

   He blushes hotly and looks away for a minute. The afternoon has left him feeling vulnerable, but also syrupy and soft, better than he has in a long time.

   “I… you…” He looks back down at her before huffing in frustration. “Just get up here.” She mutters and grabs her by the elbows, manhandling her into his lap as she laughs. He drags her in for a kiss, hot and lush, before flipping her over onto the couch, looming over her.

   “My turn.”

[anjuschiffer]

Of Forgotten Memories and A Beloved Mother

...So this was only suppose to me a oneshot but has turned into a short mulitchapter fic... enjoy!

-

Chapter 2: Dami's Whale

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They had warned him several times to never lower his guard. Never. 

To never underestimate his opponents. 

And yet he did, causing this current dilemma.

“Give it back!” Damian yelled, running after a howling Jason, Damian chasing him with a Nerf gun in his hand. 

“I’m so glad it’s only a Nerf gun in your hand!”

“You’re lucky Dad doesn’t- Dad!” Damian yelled upon seeing their father enter the foyer, scowling at the fact that he just missed a shot. “Dad! Jason won’t give me back my sketchbook!”

“Jason.” Bruce tried to say sternly but failed when a smile escaped him. He had come back from work, Alfred walking off with his coat in hand and wasn’t expecting to hear Damian call him Dad shortly after entering the manor. After all, he was always calling him Father up until a few weeks ago. “Give Damian back his sketchbook.”

“I say you look at it. You should really be getting him better materials for his drawings instead of whatever office supplies you keep getting him.” Jason suggested as he gave back Damian his sketchbook. “Like seriously, whatever you’re getting him keeps drying up the day he opens it.

So I asked an artist buddy of mine to give me some suggestions.” Both stifled a smile when Damian’s scowl softened upon hearing the words ‘art store.’ “He highly suggested Holbein gouache or Winstor and Newton acrylics for someone who paints.” Jason said with an innocent smile.

The boys watched as Bruce gave it some thought.

“I’ll ask Alfred to look into it and we’ll take Damian to pick out whatever he wants.” 

“We’re going to an art store?” Damian asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Can I get whatever I want?”

“He’d buy the whole store while you’re at it.” Jason instigated, watching Damian stare at his sketchbook.

“Dad, we have to go. Now.” Damian practically begged, lifting his sketchbook to his father’s face. “I’ve been meaning to turn more of my sketches into portraits to put around the manor.” 

“Excellent idea, Master Damian.” Alfred spoke, returning from the coat room. “The manor can surely use a more modern touch to its decor. Your paintings will add a nice touch of color to this dreary place.”

“Alfred.” Bruce tried to admonish but was met with an unfazed look from the man.

“I’ll make sure to leave a list of some nearby art stores on your desk. If you’ll excuse me, I have dinner to prepare.”

-

Calls. Bruce forgot how much he hated them. But this one was an exception.

Bruce was already halfway through settling the conditions he had set down for the art store he had planned to take Damian that weekend when the boy himself hung up the call.

Bruce watched as Damian lifted his finger from the switch hook, his eyes not once looking away from Bruce’s. Bruce listened as the dial tone droned in his ear.

“Damian. I was in the middle of finalizing the trip to the-”

“I know.”

“So why-”

“Can’t we just enter like any other customer?”

“But you’re not any other-”

“Can’t we just go? I don’t care if people see us go in just like that. You’re my dad and- people should accept the fact that you’re my dad. And just like any other dad, you’re spending quality time with his kid- me. Is that too much?”

And with that mini speech, Bruce agreed to just walking into the art store that weekend, doing his best to ignore the glances he and his son would get every now and then. 

Bruce had his share of following people around a store and trying to understand their enthusiasm regarding products. He would smile and give them nods of approval and sweet words of encouragement as they would ask him questions about items he could care less about. 

But unlike the various times he had to follow a woman around a jewelry store, Bruce found himself intrigued and actually invested in the conversation between Damian and the store employee who greeted them upon their arrival.

It didn’t take long for Bruce to completely ignore the stares and whispers that surrounded the two.

Heck, he was too busy absorbing every piece of information the store employee gave them, he didn‘t realize they had already been in the store for two whole hours.

He listened as the employee would ask Damian what media he was looking for and what type of project he was working on. 

They discussed different types of media, the types of paint and texture each variety would give him. How oil paint would give him the texture he wanted in this project but if he was on a short deadline, it would not be recommended to use.

Damian would then go on a lengthy discussion on how he didn’t have a deadline and would much rather use oil paint opposed to acrylic due to the tones he needed for this piece, considering he needed a paint that had a longer drying time frame. He also had to consider that he wasn’t set on all the colors of his painting and had found mixing oil paints was easier for him compared to acrylic paint. 

Bruce couldn’t forget the face the employee made upon hearing that.

Wrapping up the media choice, they moved on to canvases, something called gesso, as well as thinning and thickening agents for the paints. They then spent another hour at the brush aisle, Damian carefully selecting at least 20 different brushes before they made their way to the register to pay. 

Luckily there was no one in line and the employee who had helped them already placed most of their items into several canvas bags. Paints, carefully wrapped brushes, bottles of unrecalled liquids, palettes and containers peaked from them. When Bruce was told the whopping total of 700 and something he had to pay, Bruce just handed over his card. 

‘Pocket change,’ was all Bruce could think of when he heard the price.

As they waited for the employee to finish the transaction, Bruce realized it was already three in the afternoon. He turned to Damian to ask him what he wanted to do afterwards.

Maybe he was hungry. They had skipped lunch after all.

“Damian, what do you think about going to- Damian?” Bruce called out when he realized Damian wasn’t by his side, feeling a pit in his stomach. 

He was starting to notice the edges of his vision fuzz as he scanned the area near the counter. 

Empty, save for a single person who just realized Bruce was standing right in front of them.

“Damian?” He called out again, apologizing to the staff and letting them know he was coming back as he found himself picking up a jog as he searched the store for his son. 

“Damian.” But no response. “Damian.”

“Damian!” His chest felt heavier with each aisle he found void of his kid, his eyes darting all around as he passed by yet another aisle with no Damian in sight. 

“Damian!” He called out once again, when he came to a halt when his eyes caught sight of Damian standing near a gallery tucked in the back of the store. “Damian!” Bruce scolded as he turned the boy around to face him. “What are you-”

“She made that.” Damian cut him off, turning back to look at the wall behind him, Bruce only then realizing that the gallery was a collection of paintings. With a quick glance, he realized it was a collection of paintings put together by participants from one of the store’s events. 

A Mother’s Memories.

Each painting that hung on the wall portrayed one of the many memories that a mother who participated in the event cherished. 

Some mothers had painted their kids at a park, a family outing, visiting a farm or aquarium. Family time at home. Holidays. Birthdays.

Every painting had a child painted on the canvas, the children usually smiling back, except one.

There, on the upper most corner to the right, on a canvas no bigger than a sheet of paper was a painting of what appeared to be a bathtub filled halfway with water. A fluffy baby blue towel hung on its side, bubbles floating on the surface of the water. And there, right in the center was a lone blue whale. 

The tiny baby toy smiled right at them, as if having been waiting for them all this time.

Bruce looked back at Damian, noticing his son stuck in a trance. “She made that.” He said again, but louder this time around.

“She? Who are you referring to?” Bruce dared to ask.

“Momma did.” Damian easily answered, Bruce hearing his breath hitch. There was that name again.

Momma.

Ever since Dick told him about the day he found Damian talking about a person named Momma, he tried his best to coax an answer from Damian himself. But every time he tried to, all Damian could remember from her was the color of her eyes and her voice. 

“Talia?” Bruce asked, hoping it would jog up his memory a bit. 

Maybe this time, Damian could recover some information on the woman he once called ‘Momma.’

“No, Momma.” Damian clarified, his brows furrowed. “Mother never delved into the arts the way Momma did. She’s the one who taught me how to draw.”

“How did you figure out she was the one who made it?”

“The whale.” Damian pointed out, letting out a ‘tt’ when Bruce only stared back at him. “Momma made me that whale with her magic. There’s no other whale like that anywhere in the world.”

Bruce looked back at the whale, wondering how that exact whale didn’t look like any other baby toy on the market. “Momma even made sure to flawlessly replicate the Guardian’s Emblem at the top of the whale’s head.”

Guardian’s emblem? What was a Guardian?

“Emblem?”

“Don’t you see it?” Damian asked. “It’s right there.” Damian tried to point, but the longer Bruce stared at the whale, he couldn’t see what Damian was able to. “Dad, it’s-”

“Oh, I see you’ve taken a liking to one of my favorite pieces.” A voice spoke up, Bruce and Damian turning to see an old lady with a red ladybug cardigan. Her gray hair was short, two strands framed her wrinkly face, the curl ends reminding Damian on bug antennae. “Such a heartbreaking story that one has.” She said, tutting as she remembered the tale.  

“Heartbreaking?” Bruce asked. “Did something happen to the artist behind, um.”

“Dami’s Whale. That’s the piece’s name.

When I asked Marie why she chose to draw this piece, she told me that bath time was her baby’s favorite activity of the day.” The lady smiled when she saw Damian quickly look back at the painting.  “She told me she would do anything in the world to go back to those times, saying his squeals and laughter were all she needed to get through that part of her life.

When I asked her what she meant by that, she told me one thing.”

“What did she say?” Damian asked, returning his attention to the old lady. “What happened to her? To her baby?”

“They took him away from her.” The lady softly said, frowning. “She only loved him the way she was meant to love him. And they took her away from him.”

“They got separated?” Bruce tried to understand what the owner was trying to say.

“That I would not know. Shortly after finishing the piece, Marie suddenly got a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Damian asked, his voice warbling. “Is she okay? Where can I find-“

“You seem to be familiar with Marie, young one.” The lady looked at Damian and then at Bruce. “Do the two of you know-”

“He has been searching for other family members ever since he recovered some of his memories from his childhood.” Bruce provided. “He used to live with his mother as an infant but then lived with his grandfather when his mother couldn’t provide for him anymore.” 

“Oh dear.”

“He was brought to me by social services once he passed away as I’m a family friend and someone his grandfather trusted” Bruce struggled to say as he half-lied to the owner. “Since then, Damian has been searching for his only other living relative.

Somehow, this painting of Marie’s seems to be a clue to finding his mother.”

“I see.” The old lady softly said, patting Damian’s head. “You must’ve really loved your mother, didn’t you, little one?”

“I had a whale like that as a kid.” Damian spoke to divert himself from the commentary of being seen as a child. “I want to ask Marie some questions regarding it…if she can.”

The old lady hummed  

“Marie did tell me only a few people would be able to tell that the whale would attract some attention.”

“A few?”

“She told me to be wary of those who ask about her upon seeing that painting. But, she did tell me to do one thing if a young boy were to ever ask about her location.” 

The lady took an envelope out of her pocket and handed it over to Damian, an oddly designed wax stamp sealed on it. “Do you recognize this?”

“It is a Guardian's Emblem.” Damian answered in a whisper. “It looks just like the one on-“ he looked up to tell the old lady it looked like the one on the whale only to find her gone. 

“Where did she go?” Bruce asked, wondering what the hell happened. 

Weren’t they just in front of a gallery? 

How did they manage to be standing outside the store with bags of art supplies in hand?

Bruce turned to Damian who still held the envelope in his hands. 

Damian ran his finger over the wax stamp before deciding to open it, finding a photo of the same exact painting that was inside the store. Only, this time, he was also in the photo. 

Or rather, his baby self was in the photo. 

He looked so small. So fat. 

He turned it over, feeling a weight lift off his shoulder. 

You’ll find her at Gotham General Hospital. Best of luck, Damian. 

-Tikki

NEXT

[gluion]

i 💙 my artist — choi jiung

choi jiung & reader

wc —1.3k genre & warnings — fluff, established relationship, artist reader & jiung as your no. 1 fan, pet names, peck on the cheek, reader has a peanut allergy, unedited notes — happy (belated) birthday and graduation @sizzlingdino had to let this thing marinate with me as i was juggling thesis among other things (as you are very aware) but i really hope you enjoy this one <3 first artwork is done by Taylor McKimens and Misaki Kawaiand and the second one i couldn't find out :(( if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog and leave feedback! request to be part of the taglist! masterlist

synopsis — stressed out from preparing your exhibit, you receive news that your boyfriend won’t make it in time for its opening—until you spot a mint-haired boy wearing a headband with your name on it.

if there’s one thing you learned all throughout your years doing art, it’s that nothing will ever go according to plan. you’ll come across accidents; your sketch can look awful once you’ve outlined it, the diorama you’ve spent weeks working on can crumble from the lack of super glue, and the 3d model you’ve tried rendering overnight can fail (and you hated that the most).

you’ve learned that your vision can turn out very different in its final form—but you weren’t going to allow that now.

“we still need extension cords!” kevin calls out as he moves a softbox.

as soon as you spot a cable that could topple the light, you rush to kevin and grab hold of the neck. “careful!”

your friend sighs before shooting you an apologetic smile. “sorry, didn’t see that.”

you couldn’t blame him. with only an hour left until the exhibit officially opens, the venue is still a mess. everyone’s scrambling to fix everything; the lights still need to be placed in their designated spots and more screws had to be drilled into walls for paintings. 

“it’s fine. this light is for which?”

“the live portrait section,” kevin answers.

as you help him move the light, you spot ricky on the phone. “yeah. no peanuts, right? we can’t have that since some of us are allergic,” he speaks to the other person on the line before meeting your eyes.

“what’s the status of the catering?” you ask him, only for him to mouth 30 minutes back at you. you sigh before setting the light down at its designated spot.

kevin wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans. “do you know where the extension cords are?”

“uh, the last time i heard, seulgi was able to get a box full of them, but you’d have to ask her. i think most were used for the dioramas.” you pull out your clipboard and go through sections that still need to be fixed; pulling this off in an hour would be a miracle.

“hey, boss,” your attention is called by minghao on the other side of the venue, “does this look okay?” he points at the wall with the screw gun in his hand.

once you approach him, you look through the paintings hung on the wall. “i think so? it looks fine.”

“good, because i might’ve fucked up the measurements.”

you frown at him. “what?”

“no take-backs! you said it’s fine!” before you can smack his arm, he bolts away with the screw gun.

“yah! don’t go running around with that!”

you need everything to go according to plan, especially when all the responsibility is on your shoulders.

your phone rings in your pocket. once you pull it out, the contact name brings a smile to your face. you accept the call and bring it close to your ear. “hey, what’s up?”

“how’s my artist doing?” jiung’s voice on the other line is enough to keep your mind off of the rattling or machines and objects. “wow, it sounds very busy.”

a sigh leaves you. “because it is.” you scratch the back of your neck. “the exhibit is supposed to open in a while and we are delayed in the ingress. there’s already guests outside and the food has yet to arrive.”

“babe, i’m sure all will be okay. just from the sounds alone, i can already tell you guys will be done in time. if anything, you guys shouldn’t even be preparing this exhibit! you’re the artists!” your boyfriend exclaims, causing you to laugh. “see, i got you laughing.” he always knew the right words to say.

you smile before saying, “thanks. i needed that.” you spot ricky coming your way with a frown. “wait a minute, someone needs to talk to me.” you bring the phone away from your ear.

“i have some bad news.”

with stress evident in your friend’s features, your spirits go into a decline. “oh no. what happened?”

“so, i got off the phone with catering, and they told me that most of the food they cooked used peanut oil.” you have to be kidding me. “i asked if they could replace it but they said that if they do it now, it won’t arrive until like two hours later.”

you close your eyes as you try to process the information. “okay, that just means i can’t eat any of the food then. i mean, that’s fine.” you look at ricky who pouts at you.

“i’m sorry. i can get you some food if ever.”

yet, you shake your head. “it’s okay. thank you, though.”

once he takes his leave, you bring the phone back to your ear. “sorry about that. anyway, why’d you call?”

“babe, you know i’d do anything to be at your exhibit,” as he starts off the sentence, you can’t help but feel your heart drop, “but i’m still stuck at the clinic for the wisdom tooth removal. i think the dentist had some long procedure, so i’m only about to get it done. i’m so sorry.”

you know that jiung would never miss out on your exhibit. if anything, he’s always been more excited about it than you ever have, but with the day taking a stressful turn, you hate to admit your disappointment over his absence.

“it’s okay,” you try to reassure your boyfriend. “i’m sure i can tour you around the exhibit another time. think of it as a private tour.”

“okay, i’ll be sure to free up my schedule just for you.”

before you can say anything, he cuts you off. “wait, i have to go. i’m being called to the room. i’ll see you soon, love you!”

“bye, love you.”

the call drops along with your spirits. the only thing that could’ve saved today couldn’t even make it. still, you do your best to force a smile. 

preparations continue as planned, and somehow, the exhibit is finished in time for its opening. your boyfriend seemed to be right about almost anything.

“okay, we have a few minutes to talk with everyone before y/n’s opening remarks. once they’re done, don’t forget that we’ll be called one by one for acknowledgements,” seulgi reminds everyone. after everyone nods at her reminders, they all storm off to meet up with their guests; friends, families, and partners smile at the sight of the other artists.

yet, you were by yourself with no one to go to. 

feeling dejected, you were about to retreat to a corner and practice your speech—until you saw a familiar mint-haired boy in the crowd with a foam cutout of your name on his head. in his hand is a bouquet of flowers, and the sweater he wears has the words, I 💙 MY ARTIST, plastered on the front. and while everything about his get up should make you embarrassed, the swollen grin on his face brings you to smile.

you run to him. “jiung!” with his arms open, he brings you into a hug. “i thought you wouldn’t make it.”

“honestly, i thought i wouldn’t with how long this sweater was taking with the printing,” he admits. “but i did, and i even brought food.” you glance down to see a paper bag filled with takeout food by his feet.

when you look back at him, you can’t help but admire his whole outfit. “i never expected you to be this embarrassing.”

shock casts his features. “i’d literally do anything for you.” as he pecks your cheek, your smile grows. “i would do this any day just for you.”

your heart grows full from his words. “i love you. thank you for this.”

he tucks some hair behind your ear. “i love you, too. i’m always proud of you, and i can’t wait to see everyone be amazed with what you do.”

jiung always knew the right words to say.

(you hope your art can convey your love for him.)

networks taglist: @kflixnet @k-labels @blankjournal @kstrucknet

[tempting-andromeda]

Could you do some artist head canons with eagle flies and charles? (Maybe john and/or arthur too?) like they are the readers muse for most of their works?

(Sorry if this is too broad, i just love your work sm!)

Artist s/o headcanons

Characters: Eagle Flies, Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan, John Marston

Eagle flies

Likes to look at your drawings

Even if you don’t allow him to

Once he sees you small doodles of him he gets so flustered

Stares at it for hours

He’s exited you found him interesting enough to draw him

He doesn’t confront you about it but he does tell Paytah

Hes so excited to be like “yeah they draw! And they drew me!” And Paytah already knows because eagle flies has the worst tendency to just zone out and you take advantage of that

Gets embarrassed but now he’s like… conscious about zoning out

If you ask him to pose he does so without any hesitation!

Likes to watch you draw

Leans over your shoulder and watched how you know exactly where to place the shading

It’s all very interesting to him

He likes when you don’t hide some of his traits when you draw him

When you include the scars on his face, his sharp cheekbones, etc

He feels nice knowing you noticed those things about him

Charles Smith

He knows you draw and you’re quite the artist but doesn’t expect to be your muse

Likes to support your art but tries to keep himself out of it to not disturb you

Once he sees a sketch of himself he gets so flustered

He doesn’t feel so mean and large when you draw him

He feels soft

The main focus isn’t his furrowed brows or dark under eyes

It’s anything else but you still drew them

You still noticed them and didn’t pretend that he looked better without

Thinks it’s sweet when you draw him whom he’s working

He doesn’t see the beauty in it but you seem too and who is he to argue

Does ask for playful requests though

Has asked you to draw random animals doing human things just to humor you

Tries to ignore the warm feeling in his chest whenever you draw him though

He likes it but he doesn’t want to seem too egotistical

He just likes that you see him differently than he does

Arthur Morgan

He’s used to being pulled out of his comfort zone

Not once in his life as he ever thought “hmm I want someone to draw me”

But one day he catches you drawing him and his heart bursts

He knows a bit about art

He doesn’t use many nice things just a pencil and paper, not wanting to focus on anything all too much so he can get by

He knows art is difficult if you want to make it look good

So when he finds out you’re drawing him? He’s flattered

His hands feel clammy and his cheeks feel hot

So when you ask him to pose or if you can draw him he nearly rejects you but he quickly recovers and just asks that you don’t make it a habit

Truthfully he wants you to make it a habit

He wants to see how you see him

Is he mean and dumb looking or is he just a guy

It’s incredibly intimate to him and he doesn’t know why

He likes looking over then, lazily chewing on his nail as he looks at one of your paintings of his eyes

Will say that you’re painting the wrong man and that your picture is a different man than him but it’s special to him

John Marston

Can’t pose for shit

He’s stiff and awkward

But sometimes you catch him when he’s distracted

He’s whittling or polishing his gun and he looks…calm

He’s definitely someone you have to draw off guard

If he knows what you’re doing he’s making it awkward for the both of you

Will smile but it’s just teeth and his face is blank

But when you catch him off guard he looks so calm

Or when he’s sleeping

He likes looking at your drawings and looking at how you see him

He didn’t let you draw him because of his scars at first but now he liked seeing you draw them

You put in just as much detail like you refuse to forget them

It makes him feel nice

He does tease though

“Why didn’t you add my rugged muscles?”

[bullet-prooflove]

Vigil: Captain Jean Treville x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@@lovemissyhoneybee @sekretwindow @rey4kat @roschele @sassyscottishchick @aiko24k @scorpio-1357 @burningpeachpuppy @swanfan17 @@dragon85faby @angelnyx @princesschyanne @caffeinatedwomann @@missyhoneybee

When you receive the news that Jean has been shot your entire universe is thrown into turmoil. You feel the air leave your lungs as the world shifts underneath your feet because you can’t imagine a world without Jean. You don’t want to exist in a place you where you don’t see his smile, or feel his calloused hands on your skin.

Porthos reaches out a hand to steady you and you flinch at his touch because everything is too raw, too bright, too sensitive. It feels like you’re being flayed alive.

You ride the two hour journey back to Paris without stopping. Poppy, your mare is panting by the time you reach the garrison, her poor legs almost run out from underneath her. You don’t wait for Porthos to help you down from your steed, you’re already slipping from the saddle and half way up the stairs by the time Athos steps in front of you blocking your path.

“Treville is alive.” He tells you, his tempestuous blue eyes meeting yours. “Aramis and Juliette have managed to remove the ball and the fluid from his lung. He’s currently resting but they say he’ll make a speedy recovery.”

The relief is palpable. For the first time since Porthos delivered the news it feels like you can take a breath. With it comes the rage, it ignites inside of you like a powder keg because someone gunned down your husband in the street, they shot him in the back like a fucking dog.

The anguish you’re feeling, Athos feels it too with every single fibre of his being. The only reason he’s even here right now is to ensure he doesn’t end up with another tragedy on his hands, that his Captain still has a wife at the end of it all.

The three of you have been friends for a long time. You’ve fought together, bled together, endured together, he has come to know you almost as well as he knows himself. He recognises the wildness in you, the impulse to go out there hunt down the animal that hurt the man you love.

“Terese.” He says quietly, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders.  “He needs his wife right now, your love, your comfort...”

His words strike a cord deep within you because you cannot imagine the agony that Jean must be in, the terror he must have felt in those moments thinking each single one was his last.

“Swear to me.” You say fiercely, your palm coming to rest upon the patch embroidered onto his chest, the one that resides just over his heart. “Swear to me that you will find the person that did this, that you will bring them to justice.”

“You have my word.” He promises you before he inclines his head towards the door to your husband’s chambers. “Take care of our Captain, leave your vengeance to me.”

***

Jean’s chambers are well illuminated when you enter, candles light every available space like a vigil. You realise it’s because his Musketeers don’t want him to wake up panicked in the dark. The period after such a trauma is tempestuous with nightmares and half dreams, the mind can take a while to adjust. The gesture touches you because he means so much to the men that he commands, you can feel their love emanating through the room.

Jean is sleep on his bed in the corner, his back propped up against the wall with pillows because of the nature of his wound. His complexion is ashen, his breathing heavy. It tears at something inside you to see him like this, to know how close he came to death.

 It isn’t until you sit down in the chair alongside his bed that you realise he’s clasping a piece of parchment to his chest. You recognise the awful drawing of a wild flower, the one you had sketched out when you were trying to describe something you had seen  in Spain. You had no idea that he’d kept it, that he spends the nights he misses you tracing his fingers over it because he remembers your self-depreciating laugh when you’d showed it to him.

“I’m either dreaming or dead.” He grumbles, his eyes barely open as he surveys you from his position.

“You are very much alive, my love.” You say with a fond smile, your fingertips trailing over his grizzled cheek. “I’m to stay here a while, make sure you behave yourself.”

He smiles at that because you both know which one of you is the mischief maker of the relationship.

“Will you read to me?” He requests, his voice a rasp as he gestures to the book on the windowsill. “I long to hear the sound of your voice but I fear I won’t be able to hold much a conversation.”

You pick up the book before lowering yourself gently onto the bed alongside of him. He nestles against you, his head coming to rest upon your shoulder. Your lips brush over his temple before you open the book at the folded page and begin to study the words.

“Jean.” You chide affectionately as you review the title ‘Military Tactics Between 1550-1650’. “Surely you could have chosen some better reading material.”

Love Treville? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[yeahimcal]

[And you are a lithograph/Sketching my history]

[Under the floodlights you look more like god to me/You’re way too fucked up, you’re way too tough]

[Two shots of tequila to speed you up/And I guess what I’m trying to say here is thank you]

[But I go cold]

(Symbolism below the cut if you care!!)

[You are a lithograph]

Young Jason has a target on his back, showcasing how being Robin put him in danger. He was just a kid. He’s talking to Batman, looking up at him, showing how much he trusts him, all the while he has a glaring red target on his back.

[Sketching my history]

Jason’s memorial plaque with his shadow over it. The shadow has ‘history’ written on it to show how Jason has become history, how he is just a story now, he’s not even in charge of how he’s remembered. To quote Richard Siken, ‘history is a little man in a brown suit trying to define a room he is outside of. There are many names in history, but none of them are ours’. Jason is history. He’s not Robin anymore.

[under the floodlights you look more like god to me]

Silhouette of Batman with no eyes, to show how Bruce never really… saw/understood Jason. Jason died thinking that Bruce was this good man, the best man, who always knew what was right. A god. But there is no god to Jason, not anymore. The floodlights are turned off. Jason had to die to recognize the flaws of his father.

[You’re way too fucked up, you’re way too tough]

Half of adult Jason, half of young Jason. Jason can’t go back to who he was. He can’t go back to that little boy who was too tough for his age, who thought Robin gave him magic, who was so good that it hurt. Jason is way too fucked up, now. He came back wrong. Everyone thinks so.

[Two shots of tequila to speed you up]

Jason’s Red Hood mask, a crowbar, a batarang, and his old Robin mask. Two things from his new life, two things from his old. He can’t go back. He can only go forward.

[And I guess what I’m trying to say here is thank you]

Jason’s pointing a gun at his father, who still does not see him. But he cannot kill his father. No matter how many times Bruce fails him, Jason will never be able to take that shot, he will never be able to wipe away the only father he has ever had. Even if he has every opportunity, even if he wants to, he’ll never be able to kill Bruce.

[But I go cold]

Bruce covers the target on Jason’s back as the sun rises over Gotham. Because no matter how many times he fails Jason, he will always keep trying to protect him. Try to keep him intact. The night is dark and it will always be dark and no one will ever be able to wash away all the bad, but as long as the world keeps spinning, Bruce will love his children. Even if Jason doesn’t want the protection, Bruce will give it to him. This is their curse. The will never escape it.

I have some pretty. Insane thoughts about Jason and Bruce’s dynamic as a father and son. So. Yeah…….

[ronearoundblindly]

Threadbare (4)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part Four: Necking Region (see previous or series)

Summary: Chaos erupts at your Spring Show, but Steve is right there...at your feet.

Warnings for canon-level violence, Tony Stark's sass (obvi), kithes, and one hella-badass AND fluffy Reader! WC 4259

For you, handsome.

Handsome? Steve can work with that.

Even in the fresh dark, he schools his face in hopes to hide the nerves fluttering beneath his skin. Steve is determined to talk to you after the show, and he won’t get waylaid like in the fall. He’ll order three of everything that crosses the stage just to spend time with you again.

Quality time.

That he pays for.

Shoot, is he making it weird? Is that better than lying?

The music cue is deafening, and Steve jumps almost imperceptibly in his seat. 

Yikes, he’s a nervous wreck. He adjust the collar of his shirt, clearing his throat in the split second while the noise is drowned out and the place is still dark, but when the lights come back up, Steve Rogers’ heart stops.

It’s like…it’s like he’s looking into the past through one of Wanda’s magic visions.

His heart swells even as his chest tightens. There’s a sharp tingle behind his sinuses but he can’t look away. He blinks away the discomfort. 

Each silhouette triggers a long lost memory because they’re him. You would have seen him.

He remembers buying children’s clothes sometimes. For a long time, his ma resewed every seam in every pair of slacks. After she died, he just rolled up the hem and tightened his belt.

Of course, your models look nothing like that. They look striking and regal. They are meant to be seen. He can tell by their faces they want to be seen in your clothes, and Steve’s proud to even know you.

He grew up stuffing newspaper in his shoes. Now, your name and men who look like him—like he used to—will be in the newspaper. You’ll be on the cover for this.

Steve compulsively sweeps his hand over his hair and his eyes fall to his lap, concealing a dopey smile. He thinks this is the single most fantastic surprise of his life…

Then he sees the tenth model.

A slight, blond man in a crisp, collarless white shirt, navy jacket, and red pants struts down the platform, and the audience goes nuts. He’s certain a monitor would register his heart completely stopping for the entire walk, but Steve can only feel right now. He can’t think. His unfocused eyes wonder to the shadow where you were before, but he can’t even see.

The group does a whole second, swift run-through, but he’s not there anymore.

You emerge in this red, white, and blue masterpiece of a gown, perfectly complimenting the coloring of the last model, and Steve’s mind, body, and soul are on fire.

He watches you cup the face of your model and beam a wide smile, leaning down to him. You kiss that slight man’s cheek, and Steve has an out-of-body—or original-body—experience that shudders his large frame. 

His mind runs away, picturing working and relaxing beside you for all things, sketching, reading, resting, but he’s little again and your face is exactly the same. You don’t look at him any differently. He’s just Steve, either way, both ways, any way, and always. 

It’s only when the person next to him bumps Steve that he, too, pops off his seat for your standing ovation. He gets lost in the joy written all over your face, clapping his hands so hard his palms sting, but he will cheer you on until he’s worn them to the bone just to—

Your face falls as the underlying noise changes in the venue.

He knows that sound.

Steve understood why flashbulb photography triggered veterans like gunfire, but nowadays there’s no mistaking the difference. Those are bullets, and someone is pointing guns directly into your event space.

The room is already in complete chaos when Steve turns toward the intrusion. Guests scatter everywhere in every direction, some so disoriented they run at the shots.

Steve whips out his phone and yells over the din for F.R.I.D.A.Y to call emergency services, police and medical, to his location, then starts what should be an easy, ten-foot journey, but you’re practically across an ocean.

The music hasn’t stopped. People closest to the neck of the stage are still clapping, unsuspecting of the crowd knocking them down in search of two stage doors locked from the other side.

Something is off though because nothing Steve sees is impacted until he swivels back, shoved off kilter by two terrified women who tilt his gaze higher.

The panels of sheer fabric he thought were moody decor are fielding bullets like baseballs in a practice net. He’s never witnessed anything quite like it, but at least it means Steve has time to get to you. He has to move you off the stage so you aren’t so easy of a target.

Smacked around like a pinball in high speed machine, Steve hastily rushes to the rose-rimmed platform, barely missing your ankle in his reach and shouting for your attention.

He thinks you’ve heard when you spin, but it’s too late. Someone has breeched the protective panels, and any temporary structures throughout the venue start exploding from a hailstorm of semi-automatic fire.

Steve checks that the stage doors have been unlocked. Guests are getting out, but the bottleneck is slow. Your models are stuck on the stage, their path blocked by fallen scaffolding and sparking lights. You need to get the hell down, so he raises a hand to call for you again.

And then…

And then there’s an enormous arch of navy and red, centered by the glowing star on your chest.

And then a bullet streaks across the silvery mesh on your stomach.

A gunman has come around your shield, and Steve’s seeing red—well, more red—as he scans to see you unharmed.

Screw that guy.

Steve vaults over the stage, decks the gunman square in the jaw, and waits till the limp body rests motionless against a fallen chair.

He looks up to see you, not smiling but not upset. You’re waving for the trapped models to come closer to the barrier before meeting Steve’s eyes.

“Go get ‘em.“ You pull at the cuff of your filigreed sleeve, ticking your head to signal Steve should, too. “You’re dressed for it.”

He studies the buttons on his jacket, those unique ones at his wrists that hold concentric circles like his shield…or so he thought. Now he realizes, they aren’t just buttons; they are activation buttons.

He grabs his forearms to press both, feeling a gentle tingle spread.

His eyes snap back up to yours.

“Oh.”

You wink at him before all automated function of his body takes over, and Steve runs headlong for the goons with guns, wearing naught but a shockingly-useful suit separate and the ghost of his same goofy smile.

You think he’s handsome.

 Steve tucks and rolls behind one fabric screen, clocking the location of one gunman by the muzzle flare through the fabric. He rushes and drops one—two—three more until he sees a small grouping split off from a masked man’s side.

It’s Richard Fisk in a shock-white suit and with completely obscured face, but it’s absolutely ‘The Rose’ with a perfect blood-red bloom stuffed in his lapel.

The goons will stop if the boss goes down, Steve knows. He’s seen it a hundred times before, so he grabs the sidearm of the man he just leveled and fires at Fisk’s leg.

The bullet lands exactly where intended but hits like no more than a crowd-suppressant beanbag.

“Is that the best you can do, Captain?”

Great. You made Fisk a bulletproof suit, too.

Steve jumps behind the nearest screen, losing ground but crouching beside one of the other unconscious gunmen. A can of tear gas is strapped to the guy’s chest, and Steve just acts.

Fisk howls like a banshee, ripping the bizarre purple and black striped mask off his face to gasp for air and cough.

The Rose laughs, cocky and taunting. “You brought morals to a gunfight. You don’t even have your frisbee.”

Fisk sprays bullets randomly in the direction from which he saw the canister fly, and Steve sprints, sliding on his knees all the way to Fisk’s feet, arms up and shoved together as if he’s wearing his Wakandan guards. He feels some rounds bounce off his chest, hardly slowing him down, but the sound of bullets as they ricochet off his sleeves is intense. No doubt, Fisk would have landed multiple kill shots.

Armed police file in the entrance and scream for the goons to put their weapons down and their hands up.

Another coughing fit pauses Fisk’s assault. Steve chances opening his arms and swings immediately for the sneering, twisted face above him.

The man spins with the concussive force. Just before Fisk collapses in a makeshift bed of hot ammo shells and cold rose petals, Steve stands and adjusts his jacket.

“No���“ his hand smoothes over pristine and unfrayed midnight “—but I brought style.”

Iron Man swoops in to land on the other side of Richard Fisk’s body.

“Damn it, I didn’t get that on video. Can we reset and you say that line again?”

“Tony,” Steve warns.

“What?! It was so good, buddy. No seriously, I’m proud of that—“ Steve turns to check on you, watching the fabric of your skirt flutter back down to drape across the runway “—dare I say it’s my influence. I want proof you—“

“Tony,” Steve shouts again. Finally, the music is turned off from the media console.

“All clear,” Tony yells with his hands cupping his mouth. “Where’s your ‘girlfriend?’” He relaxes his arms after air-quoting and gives Steve a once-over. “Don’t think I don’t know you cut me in line for that.” 

Steve fiddles with his cuffs, attempting to swallow a blush and failing. He presses the buttons again. The tingling stops.

Tony frowns, pointing an accusatory finger as he watches Steve shrug. “That’s favoritism, and I thought you were better than that.” He turns deeper into the venue, screaming, “Sheers! You good?”

There’s no audible answer, so the pair make their way past the decimated decor.

Titanium boots crunch against the floor. “Looks more like my first dates than yours.”

“For the love of god, Tony, please…” but Steve is suddenly engrossed, rounding one last screen to see your models and several guests nervously huddled at your legs, your arms reaching out to comfort each and every one.

So strong. So soft. That’s you. That’s what you create.

“Hey,” you say with a huge breath and a soft sweet smile as Steve approaches.

He makes his way straight to your feet and holds out his hands. “Hey.”

“Hey?” Tony blurts, watching Steve lift you down by the waist like a princess. “Hey?? Yeah, sure. Cool. I love being upstaged. It’s not like I didn’t offer to fund this shit a year ago—“

“Language,” you and Steve say simultaneously.

“—or anything. No big deal.” Tony scoffs. “When else would I be perfectly within my rights to swear? We have to talk about this is my point.” He waves his gauntlet in the general area of you and clucks his tongue.

“Any other day, Stark.”

Tony, however, doesn’t need others to be as amused as he is. “Admit it. I’m an inspiration.”

“To find alternatives? To find feasible, reproducible options?” You break away from Steve’s grasp to step closer to Tony. “Yes, I did that. We can’t all be covered in nanotech.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s cost prohibitive,” you rage.

Steve stands ready to catch you, seeing the way your energy wilts after each sentence and that you can’t keep your hand up without them shaking.

Tony snorts. “What? Speak english.”

“Speak average,” you whip back, but before a staring contest can ensue, Abby pounces to swing you into a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!”

You’re distracted by your assistant while Steve scopes out the venue, noting the triage area and cops beginning to take statements from unharmed guests.

Knowing Steve will ask, Tony interjects. “No major injuries. Mostly just bruises and sprains from people trampling each other.”

That’s incredible considering the pools of spent shells all on one particular side of those tall panels. They must be made of the same material—

“Stop fondling, Tony.” Steve smacks his friend’s hands off your skirts.

“I’ll have you know I’m fondling in the interest of science,” his friend hisses comically. He does drop the fabric though. “Fine. Then I’ll just be taking your jacket as payment.”

“Payment for what?”

“Letting you escort the lady home and bypassing the lovely, lengthy interviews the boys in blue are gonna want.“

It takes Steve all of three seconds to consider.

“Deal,” he agrees, imagining that with a crowd this size, you’d be busy until the wee hours of the morning, wringing your hands as you repeat yourself a dozen times, wrapped in a wool blanket, exhausted. He shrugs off the blazer quickly before any of the other officers come to speak with you and tucks one arm around yours to tell you the plan.

Abby encourages the escape.

Steve’s thrilled he did not walk to the event. He took a car in order to line up in the red carpet procession—as awful as he finds the practice—and luckily, the driver is still ready and able to maneuver the vehicle past a sea of police cruisers.

Seeing as most of your bodice and sleeves are sheer, you curl inward for warmth instead of lean against the cool leather of the backseat. Normally, Steve would offer his jacket, but in lieu of any decent layers to peel off for you, he drapes his arm over your shoulders. The flashing red and blue lights fade in the distance as you sink comfortably against his chest.

“So…” Steve starts, quiet and casual, “Tony wasn’t supposed to know you’d already sold Richard Fisk a bulletproof suit, huh?”

He can see your eyes are still open, staring out the window, but you don’t respond right away.

“Originally, I’d basically made a very thin kevlar, and that…wasn’t the end goal, so I made a few suits for a steep price to try for, well, what you saw tonight. Stark isn’t exactly subtle.” You shift an accusatory glance up to Steve momentarily. “Three days after Dominica delivered Fisk’s first suit, none other than the Tony Stark comes into my store asking questions. He tried to get me to develop under Stark Industries, wanted my work to be exclusive—and I’m sure completely under his own brand—so I said no. This was all spoken in hypotheticals, mind you. ‘Hypothetically,’ if I worked for him, the mob couldn’t get me, and ‘hypothetically,’ he could help speed my research along. He tried a few different times, too. I thought he was parading you in as bait at first.”

“You thought I was…what?”

“I thought Stark brought in the cute guy who looks perfect in my designs as some sort of dangling carrot to work for him.”

Steve’s floored.

“When did you know I wasn’t a plant?”

“Oh, one second after seeing your face. Nobody with an agenda is that good at looking clueless.”

He’d be offended if it weren’t entirely true. Steve had absolutely zero idea what to do or say being fitted and consulted on for civilian clothes, and he thought he was supposed to be meeting a man that whole time. However, he would not put it past Tony to have intended he be bait with no warning, and in fact, this would count as the greatest ‘long game’ Stark has ever played. Steve wouldn’t have needed more incentive to get close to you.

“Yeah, I invented the stuff,” you continue with a shrug and a yawn, “but he doesn’t own me and I like designing all sorts of things. I think that’s…”

Your voice trails off before Steve prods. “What?”

“I think that’s why he goaded me about my typical line. I told him I wouldn’t be pigeonholed into dressing superheroes, so I would look like a hypocrite if I still only made clothes for—“ you sit up and fake a deep, arrogant voice “—shiny, blond beefcakes.”

Steve’s hand slaps his forehead. Tony absolutely used those exact words.

“So I engineered the stuff alone and overhauled my entire collection in the last two weeks. That’s what Stark does, right? Control you without really controlling you.”

“It’s called being manipulative, and he and I have had several conversations about it,” Steve grumbles.

You’ve hit a second wind of energy but fiddle with your lap before asking, “what did you think of the show?”

Steve sits up straighter and clears his throat.

“Ya know,” you quickly interject, “prior to it becoming the Battle of Skylight Square.”

Just as Steve opens his mouth the car stops. The driver announces you’ve arrived at the atelier and thus your upstairs apartment.

Steve steps out and realizes the police car usually stationed at the curb is no longer there, likely called away to the scene earlier. He dismisses his driver for the evening and makes the executive decision to stay as your guard the rest of the night.

You shuffle to the front door, exclaiming that the real piece de resistance of your gown is your pockets from which you brandish your keys. Steve’s grateful you’re animated (if a little loopy) and distracted while his mind scurries to form words.

He can’t express what he saw and felt when he looked on that stage, so he hums in agreement with your rant on pockets and follows behind you, hands on your hips as you struggle to walk up the staircase.

You pause on the first step and peek at him over your shoulder.

“So…’Button,’ huh?”

He blushes furiously and focuses on your balance when you won’t. The dress train is long enough to require he lift it so he can see the stairs beneath his own feet. You two climb slowly.

“Well,” Steve blusters, repositioning the layers so one of his hands on your hip sits under your own hand that lifts the front bustle, “‘Handsome,’ right?”

One step up. You snort. “You say that like it’s odd that I’m attracted to you, but I think I thoroughly proved that tonight, mister.”

Another step up, and you’re about three-quarters of the way there.

Steve can’t hold back anymore though, not even till the top of one flight.

He uses his grip to spin you around and nudges his foot under your skirts, rising to the stair just below you. You’ve dropped all else and grabbed onto him for balance, cupping his cheeks like he saw you do earlier tonight. You have to lean down to him as his whole being screams ‘let me kiss you.’

Steve has a distinctly in-body experience, all his imaginings of touching a woman so sweetly and in exactly the way he would have a century ago come to fruition right there.

With a hard-working girl after a fight with a bully, just as it should be.

He loses track of his hands amongst the tangled yards of your dress, but your lips are soft and perfect. He ascends a few inches more by way of his tip toes and clings to the railing for balance. Steve has the fleeting thought that he might inadvertently be yanking you toward him with a palm over your ass—not on it because he can barely tell there is even a body part there—so he moves his hand up for assurances. Up is safer. Up is more gentlemanly. He teeters both on his toes and on the cusp of gentlemanly given how lost Steve is in devouring you.

Stunning and innovative as they are, your skirts are prohibitively fluffy, and Steve feels more and more of your weight resting on him, those last dregs of adrenaline draining away. He pulls back, ghosting a peck on your still eagerly pursed lips.

“Let’s get you comfy, Button,” he husks, rolling his thumb back and forth between what he now realizes are your shoulder blades.

You nod, your forehead against his, and although he’d normally think it forward, his desire to take care of you wins out, deliberately finding your thigh to coax your legs around him.

He carries you the rest of the way, nearly tripping but laughing the whole journey. “Sure it saved some people,” he jokes, “but then ‘bout took me down, so…”

He deposits you by your closet and goes to make you a very sweet herbal tea while you change. He’s surprised when you emerge dressed down with sweats for him in hand. 

“Menswear designer,” you remind him simply.

Even though it was never technically real until this moment, Steve falls back into the routine of kissing your temple so easily as he passes off the mug and heads to the tiny bathroom. 

When he returns though, you have a familiar thousand-mile stare.

He tries to change the subject, to get you talking about something other than today, tonight, and tomorrow. He draws a blank until the shuffle of paper sounds beneath his hand. It just so happens that on your dining table—or should he say, your work desk?—is a sketch for his Gala outfit. 

“Would you come with me?”

You hum softly in question.

“I mean, as my date. Will you go on a date with me? To this Hellfire thing?” 

The distance in your eyes shrinks until it’s just him and you. A smile blooms across your strained face.

“Yes. I’d like that,” you say softly before taking a huge breath that seems to physically toss weight off your hunched form. “Whatever shall I wear though…”

“Not to give you extra work,” Steve chuckles back, “but I know this great designer.”

You laugh into your tea, both hands around the ceramic, holding on for dear life.

“Should I open a window? You probably could use some more fresh air,” he offers. 

“Oh, they’re painted shut, possibly since before I was born, but we could go to the roof?” 

He’s not sure if that’s a commentary on you finding him lurking up there last week, but it’s a fine idea nonetheless. “Chairs?” 

You look around and counter. “Pillows?”

Steve takes another moment to think while you gather, and he ends up holding several cushions and your tea. As you both continue up the much tinier staircase to the access door, something occurs to him. 

“Wait, did you give me a prototype that was untested?”

You laugh nervously. “Um—“ you use your butt to open the door “—well, see, if anyone’s gonna be fine should a bulletproof and bullet repellant material fail, it’ll be a super soldier, right?” 

“So I was your guinea pig?!”

“I’m sorry,” you burst sarcastically. “You got a free, custom jacket—which you chose to wear to my show, might I add—and what would you have had ready without my ‘untested prototype?’” 

Steve makes doe eyes in the dark, ambient light pollution. “I just thought you cared about my safety there for a minute…” 

“I cared for everyone’s safety,” you chirp in retaliation for his heavy guilting. “I made those panels just in case, but I was never, ever going to cancel my whole show on the assumption Fisk would pull a stunt like that. Forgive me for not living my life in fear of what that lunatic, second-rate kingpin might do!” 

He shrugs at that, dropping his pillows in a makeshift seat pattern right beside yours. “Fair point.” 

There’s a comfortable silence while you sip your cooling tea. 

“Should have made myself one,” Steve laments in a soft breath. 

“Sweet, chivalrous beefcake,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“Tony really said that, didn’t he?” 

“I think he wanted me to know he is my competition for your affection.”

“You aren’t…” Steve stops himself. He was going to say you and Tony are not competitors at all, but that isn’t true on multiple levels. He swivels to scoop up your legs and settle them over his lap, just like he used to on the couch at the Tower, and you squeak, clutching your sloshing tea. One of his hands circles your hip to rest at the top of one leg. The other lands at the strip of bare skin where your sweats don’t touch the ankle of your slip-on shoes. His pinky flicks over the fleece lining, rounding out his mental measurements of your body. For now.

“There is no competition,” his concludes in a low, deep tone. “You win.”

You stare up at him with glassy eyes now, in awe of something he can’t see but hopes to earn. This time it’s your expression that pleads for him, and he leans in for another lingering, thorough kiss.

Steve licks the sweet taste off his lips. “Should’ve made another tea,” he repeats.

Your eyes open again slowly, sleepily, reminding him of that daydream of waking up next to you and breakfast in bed.

He sneaks another peck before you can forms words.

“Is this a bad time to tell you…that I forgot my keys and the door shut all the way?”

Steve looks over incredulously at that stupid exit and sighs, scratching his jaw.

“It’s, uh, about as bad as—“ he debates admitting what he’s about to “—well, I can, I mean I could get us back in, but…” He glances over the side of the building. “How do you feel about sleeping with a window open, or rather, no window?”

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @trudy-shams @saranghaey @darsynia @femefetalelevelingup

[Last Part]

A/N: probably not as well edited as it should be, but meh, I'm too excited to release this out into the wild! Comments, keysmashes, and asks always welcome. Thank you for reading!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[bathomet-writes]

it’s so easy

summary: Mikey and you had been secretly dating for over a year, and a lot has changed in both of your lives. The Kraang invasion, the people of New York, it all shook up the status quo. On a rooftop date, you and him spill the tea and reconnect about what's really important.

relationship: Mikey x F!reader

warnings: romantic, fluff, humor, secret dating, slight hurt/comfort, sfw

word count: 3,191

author's note: another request for @/snipersiniora!! 💕 (ngl i listened to the reel big fish cover of “it’s not easy” while writing so this is loosely inspired by it lol)

You don’t know why in all the time you’ve spent in New York, you’ve never been up on a rooftop. The view was amazing. 

There were a couple of reasons as to why. Your hatred of high places, for one. With a strong enough breeze, you could go flying off your roof and become intimately familiar with the pavement below. Sometimes your neighbors would set up lawn chairs and shoot the shit, which was fine enough. You’ve just never been comfortable enough to want to join them. Lastly, it was a little difficult to skate on. The crowded atmosphere and uneven terrain made it the last place you would want to find yourself on a nice evening such as this. 

But, the rooftop of your building had one upside: it was the place you got to see Michelangelo. 

You clicked your heels together as you sat at an empty folding chair leftover from one of your upstairs neighbors. He wouldn’t show up for at least another 30 minutes, but you couldn’t help but jump the gun a bit and wait on the roof anyway. You’ve been keeping yourself busy, drawing random sketches onto your iPad. 

Mikey and you had been friends for a while, but you officially started dating about a year ago. Not much has changed between you two, even after the Kraang invasion. 

He was his same upbeat, eclectic self. But Mikey was also a little more confident. He carried himself differently, with a knowledge and experience you couldn’t even begin to relate to. You were a human, he was basically a superhero. 

You bite at the tip of your drawing pen. Why was it whenever you started thinking about him and his brothers, you got inexplicably frustrated. 

Was it because Raph, Donnie, and Leo still didn’t know you two were dating? 

No, not really. You and Mikey weren’t really concerned with labels. You two were content to continue hanging out like you always had, just with a little extra…intimacy.

Maybe it was the fact that you had to hang out in precarious places such as your rooftop. Why couldn’t you just go to your apartment, or the lair? 

“No, that’s not it.” You grumble to yourself, tapping the pen against your cheek.

“What’s not it?”

Mikey’s head appeared right above yours. He had just landed on the top of the wooden overhang you sat under, hanging like a spider. 

Smiling, you sit up a little more straight to give his snout a peck.

“This…caricature. I just can’t capture his likeness. It’s missing something.”

Mikey blushed, dropping from his perch to sit next to you. “Allow me to offer you my artistic perspective!”

You happily oblige and show him your screen. Thinking about your fellow tenants had made you unintentionally start to draw little doodles that looked like them. You couldn’t help wanting to draw the people you knew. Your weird, human neighbors were quite the characters. Almost a little more weird than the turtles, in your opinion.

“Oh, I know this guy. Is this the one that knocked at your door at 3 AM asking for a DVD?”

Mikey pinched to zoom in on your sketch. You don’t know whether your drawing was that accurate or if he was just great with faces. Either way, you can’t help but smile even more.

“How did you know?” You snuggle closer to Mikey, leaning in. “He insisted that I had borrowed his copy of Cats. And I was like, ‘Dale, I already own it on Blu-ray. Why in the world would I steal your DVD?’”

Mikey fell into your lap in hysterics. “NYAHAHA—! You didn’t!”

You weren’t lying about the interaction having happened, but maybe you embellished the part at the end. You just loved making Mikey laugh. 

“I did!” You beam. 

“Your neighbors are so weird, even for me. And the only neighbors I have are the sewer gators.”

You set your iPad down on the patio, scooching Mikey to lie fully in your lap. 

“Her name is Leatherhead and she’s lovely. I met her family once, on the way to the lair.”

Ignoring your sly tone, Mikey curled up into you like a lap cat. He was practically purring from how happy he was to finally be in your arms. It’s only been a couple of days since he’s had the opportunity to see you like this, and he was absolutely touch-starved.

“I missed you,” he sighs. “Patrol has been intense lately.”

His tired smile told you that he’d rather not get into it right now. You hum, petting the side of his head.

“I missed you too.”

Talking about his brothers wasn’t necessarily a taboo topic, but right now was the time for Mikey to relax, to unwind. You had plenty of stress in your own life too. Maybe it wasn’t as important as keeping the city safe, but it was tiresome to you nonetheless. 

You both just wanted to forget about everything else, just be together. That was what these rooftop hangouts were for. And if that was good enough for Mikey, it was good enough for you.

But your smile faltered, if only for a moment. 

Mikey’s eyes were closed as he continued to relish your head pets, unaware of your subtle shift in mood.

“Tell me more about your neighbors.” Turning his head, he speaks softly into your hand. “I love hearing about the people you live with. They’re interesting.”

“Well, this town is kinda ‘interesting people’ central.” You shrug.

“Yeah, I know. Are humans in other places like the ones here?”

Dragging your fingers along his textured skin, you think about it. You hadn’t really gotten around much, but you figured that NYC was a little unique compared to other major cities.

Your lips ease back into a lazy smile. 

“Sort of. This place is sort of a big Melting Pot, y’know? It doesn’t really matter where you come from, everyone ends up wherever they are…for whatever reason.”

Mikey looks up at your face, his expression dripping with curiosity.

“What’s that mean?” He smirks.

“It means that people are weird. This place has a lot of people. Therefore, New York is just about the weirdest place there is!”

You two laugh, basking in each other's presence. After looking down at Mikey, you feel a little more normal. Work, life, all of that didn’t really matter anymore. Or at least, it shouldn’t. 

“My neighbor’s aren’t all that interesting, Mikey. They’re just your run-of-the-mill folks, day drinking and sitting on the stoop.”

“Woah…” He gasps, sitting up. “Day drinking?”

Internally, you chide yourself. “I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

“Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me!” He smiles, zipping his lips shut.

“I shouldn’t gossip…”

You roll your eyes a bit before they land on Mike. His eager, expectant expression was just too cute. Who could say no to a face like that?

Suddenly, you’re filled with bubbly energy.

“Okay, okay! Liz told me that Bill said that Debbie’s grandma was apparently—“

You whip your head around, making sure the coast is clear. You never knew who might be listening in, your neighbors were terribly nosy.

“She snuck Hennessy into the apartment meeting. Last Sunday, when we got together with the building manager, they had coffee and stuff…”

Mikey quickly scrambles over to grab a free chair before sitting directly in front of you. Enraptured, he places his head on his hands. 

“And she added a little extra somethin’ into her mug? How scandalous!” He wiggles his eye ridge, fully getting into the story. 

You launch forward and gesture wildly with your hands. “No, that’s the thing! She put the booze…in the coffee pot.”

Mikey’s smile dropped. 

“You don’t mean—“

Grimly, you nod your head.

“I mean a whole room of people, shnackered at 10 AM. On God’s day.” You chortle. 

He covers his mouth in genuine shock. You chuckle, looking at his wide-eyed expression.

“And I know that Liz was the one who ratted her out, the bitch. She of all people would know what Hennessy tastes like, I saw her drink 5 whole cups with my own eyes!” 

Mikey moves his hands away, his voice hushed. “She sounds like a bitch.”

You kick your legs up and recline farther in your chair. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Liz was your next door neighbor. She always had a knack for being right outside your door whenever you stepped out to go to work. You left early everyday just to accommodate for the inevitable one-sided conversation. She was old, and very lonely, so you didn’t mind her chatting your ear off. 

But she was also very bitter. Even more so after the Kraang invasion.

“I swear, I keep seeing those…frog men. They flip around my windows at all hours of the night, whooping and hollering up a storm! Who do those punks think they are?”

You’ve seen a lot of different reactions from people after the turtles officially became public knowledge. Usually, it was just casual disinterest or disdain from the more conservative crowd. Old people, cops, etcetera. 

But for some reason, the people you lived with just happened to be either really old or in law enforcement. They hated all mutants, and they didn’t have any problem letting you know about it.

You nearly get lost in your own thoughts before Mikey nudges your knee.

“I think she’s the one who threw a flower pot at my head that one time.” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his noggin.

Sighing, you lightly knock his leg with your foot. “Yeah, that’s Liz. If rent wasn’t so good here, I’d move out in a second.”

“Aw, they’re not so bad!” Mikey shoots a toothy smile at you. “It’s not the worst thing someone’s thrown at me.”

You meet his grin with a small frown.

“How do you do it?” 

Mikey cocks his head. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Ugh, no? Yes?” You lean back and stare up into the sky. It was a clear day, not a cloud in sight.

“You’d think people would be a little more thankful to the guys who saved their asses from alien invaders.”

You seethed, thinking about all the nasty side comments and quiet whisperings you’ve overheard in your hallways. 

“Hey, don’t get angry on my account.” Mikey reaches out and gives you a good-natured pat on the leg. “My family’s used to people wanting to kill us all the time, so a flower pot is actually a nice change of pace.”

“I guess so.”

Then, you realize it. 

This was why you were so stressed out. Whenever you think about the turtles, you can’t help but associate them with all the negative energy you’ve been surrounded in at home. You thought you had thicker skin, but you feel your heart start to sink. 

“You know, it’s funny.” 

Mikey sighs, musing to himself. 

“Sometimes I think about how weird it’s been lately. Splinter always told us it was important for us to not be seen, to stick to the shadows. It was because of the ninja thing, mostly. But I know he was trying to keep us...”

He picks nervously at his palm, tracing the lines of his hand. 

“Safe?” You ask. 

“Sheltered.”

There was a sadness creeping into his voice. You hated the sound. It was just too bittersweet for you to handle. You cautiously look back to Mikey, waiting for him to finish.

“But, then there was April. And Casey, later on. I thought there might actually be a chance for us to make it out in the human world. The whole yokai/mutant thing with Draxum was…well, a whole thing.”

Mikey briefly looked back up to make sure he wasn’t boring you too much. Not that he didn’t like to talk with you about stuff like this, it was just a little hard. 

When you give his hand an encouraging squeeze, he sighs. 

“But, I knew we kinda wouldn’t have a choice to stay in the shadows anymore. After the Kraang, that is. Leo told us we wouldn’t exactly be  getting the red carpet treatment.”

“Humans are stupid.” You huff. 

“You’re a human, and I don’t think you’re stupid at all.”

Mikey squeezed your hand back, a sad smile forming on his face. 

It wasn’t like he needed the entirety of New York to accept him and his brothers. With April, Casey, and especially you, he had all the human approval that he could ever want. He searched your face, and he knew that you were starting to slip. 

You try to swallow down the lump in your throat before speaking up.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up all this.” You run your thumb along the edge of Mikey’s.

Mikey sits up, puffing out his chest. “That’s enough. I will not have you getting sad because of me!”

Suddenly, he stands up, bringing you along with him.

“I’m not sad, I’m mad!” You scoff, rubbing your nose on your sleeve. “I ought to throw ceramic vases at Liz, see how she likes it.”

Tutting you, Mikey leads you out into the middle of the roof. There was a concrete slab next to the door that led back into the building, where you had placed your backpack earlier. You watch as Mikey sneaks around, dipping behind your back, to dig through your bag.

“You know a good way to get rid of all that anger?” Mikey whispers, rising up.

“What are you scheming back there?” You cross your arms and spin around. “Stop messing with my—“

When you turn around, you see Mikey holding up your trusty pair of skates right up to your face. He held them by the shoelaces, a cheeky grin peeking around them. 

“Skate the hate away, baby!” 

“That’s a beautiful thought,” you smirk. “But I couldn’t.”

“Oh, then let me help you.”

You gasp, feeling Mikey drag you over to your chair to push you back into it. Once you fall, he moves down to pull off your sneakers and lace up your skates. 

Blushing, you watch him lovingly guide your feet in. He sticks his tongue out as he ties little bunny-ear knots.

“Mikey…!” You giggle, his fingers tickling your ankle. “This is too much.”

Whenever you started to become sad, you could always count on him to lift your spirits back up. You tried to stay as endlessly positive and go-with-the-flow as Mikey, but it was difficult sometimes. The inner optimist in you was finding it more and more hard to navigate the nihilistic world you found yourselves in.

“There! Now c’mon.” He smiles. 

Mikey lifts you back up, pulling you to glide over to the concrete by the door. 

You can’t help the goofy smile that creeps in when he spins you around. The flat surface was just big enough for you to skate a couple of inches away from him. 

Your shoulders slump, all at once feeling happy again. 

“What did I do to deserve you?” You fold your hands behind your back and circle Mikey. 

Chuckling, he tries following your face as it spins around him.

“Nothing. You were just in the right place at the right time.”

He stood there idly watching you elegantly sail past him. It was fun constantly making him have to twist around to keep eye contact with you, and you feel laughter begin to bubble up.

You snatch his hand, forcing him into an awkward dance with you. 

“Care to join me?” 

You grin from ear to ear, placing a hand upon the small of his back. Or rather, his shell. 

Surprisingly, Mikey is caught off guard by your bold move. You watch with glee as his face flushes a bright pink. He stutters, a little bashful at being led around by you instead of the other way around. 

“I g-guess I don’t have a choice?”

You pull him closer, pressing up against his plastron. “Nope!”

The two of you spin around in lazy circles for a while. The blazing sunset on the horizon brought a new feeling of warmth and comfort, a heavenly glow lighting up your eyes. The entire city looked like it was bathed in orange, Mikey’s signature color.

It was a good look for New York.

“Wow…” You sigh, marveling at the beautiful world around you.

“I know.” 

Mikey shifts a bit, managing to stand an inch or two higher than he usually is. You were both about the same height, at least that was what you kept insisting to him. But he wanted to look down at you for once. He wanted to hold you like you held him. 

“You make me feel accepted, you know.”

You blink against the light of the sun before looking back at Mikey. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You just let me be me. That’s all I need. You make me feel all…sparkly.”

You bite your lower lip, holding back a chuckle. 

“Sparkly, huh? That’s a unique adjective.”

That was the best way Mikey could describe it. You and him had so much in common, mostly in terms of your hobbies and your personalities. But there was just something about being around you so much that showed him how different you were. In a good way, obviously.

You were human, he was a mutant. There was the ninja-ing as well. You both had wildly different life experiences. 

Slotting your head between his neck and his shoulder, he hugs you tightly. 

“What about you?” 

His warm breath makes you shudder, practically melting into his hold.

“You make me feel…”

You move your skate to engage the rubber stopper. The world was seriously starting to spin.

“Shiny.”

“Hey, are you copying me?” 

Playfully scoffing, Mikey picks you right off of your feet and spins you around again. You laugh into each other's embrace, and you hold on for dear life as he pins you securely to his chest.

“It’s true! You make me feel all shiny and new.”

For a second, you feel your thoughts wander back to your earlier conversation. You don’t like having to shift into serious mode, but you needed to say just one more thing. Mikey moves away to get a better look at your face.

“I know it’s not easy. Having to save people when they don’t even—“

“No, it’s not. But when I think about all the people who do care, who do understand me…”

Mikey smiles, tipping your chin up slightly to look at him. He always wanted to do that to you. 

“It’s easy. It gets easier everyday. All I have to do is have you right here.”

Then, your heart flutters in your chest. You didn’t notice it before, but Mikey stood a little taller than you now. You don’t know if he had a growth spurt or something, but there he was. Looking at you, his eyes sparkling in the sunset, you knew there was a lot more to Mikey than anyone thought. 

Even you.

“I love rooftops,” you sigh, moving up to brush your lips against his cheek.

Angling his head around, he leans into you. 

 “I love rooftops too.”

taglist: @saspas-corner

[starl3ght]

//~John “Soap” MacTavish hcs~//

A/N: Oh this man something else. Johnny gets all the baddies👁👄👁. I’ll probably make a weekly schedule at some point. König oneshot is coming soon too. I’ve been feeling sick so imma leave this here but I’ll get better.

Drop down requests and follow!!

Contains: sex, drinking/drunk soap, comfort, some little angst, Ghost being annoyed, chaos

MINORS WATCH YOURSELVES!!!

Enjoy!<3

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• Oh this cocky bastard

• You liked him first. He knew and teased you or flirted with you a lot

• But he would never make you feel like he was playing with your feelings

• So if he misbehaves or says something dumb in public you probably hit him and tell him to be quiet

• 141 feels sorry for you. Ghost is grateful you put Soap in his place

• When he gets home from a mission he will literally wake you up with no hesitation. Walks into the room and turns on the lights.

• “Bonnie, wakey wakey love I’m home!”

• You groan in annoyance with your eyes still closed. “Johnny it’s 2 am, but god…screw it”

• You get out of bed then jump onto him and he places his hands under your thighs and kisses you.

• If he sees you crying or just mentally exhausted he’ll wrap his arms around you. Will try cracking a joke or just anything to make you laugh

• Doodles or sketches in his time. It’s a fun hobby and for his creativity. Buys notebooks or sketchbooks at the store there’s no more space to put them

• He’ll get drunk and it’ll be the most fucking hilarious thing ever

• Ghost has to bring him home because he can’t be on the street. Absolutely not

• “Ghost?” You look next to him and see your boyfriend clinging to the masked man.

• “Take him. Mate had too much bourbon” Ghost is clearly tired and annoyed

• Soap would look at you and loudly whispers to Ghost. “She looks like Y/N, wait you were supposed to take me home L.T.”

• You’ll laugh at him for sure. Ghost throws him onto the couch and he’s already knocked out

• Oh how it’s hot in the bedroom 🧍‍♀️

• He’s a switch. Likes seeing you in control at times.

• If you have something sexy or new on then forget it. He’ll rip it off and get to action. (R.I.P your money)

• Praises you well and how he moans because of how tight it is for him

• Aftercare? He’ll most likely fall asleep on your chest when you’re done

• Please look after him when you shop

• You might need to put a leash on him

• Wanders around the stores and you can’t find him the next 30 minutes

• You were in line with the cart waiting for him once and he brought a NERF gun.

• “No, put it back.” He won’t stop. “Pleaseeee bonnie, it’s a new edition!!”

• You look at him with an almost offended look

• “You have a job with real guns and explosives is that not enough for you? Put it back.”

• yeah…

• You gave in and bought it for him

• Nightmares are present at times. Like 3-4 times a month

• You found him in the bathroom once against the wall hyperventilating

• You kneel in front of him and pull him to you. His response was to wrap his arms around your waist and he tries to catch his breath

• “Breathe Johnny…you’re safe with me baby, c’mon let’s go back to bed yeah?” He’ll nod and you lead him back to the bedroom

• You’ll give him water and lay next to him and he falls asleep hugging you with his face in your chest

[toastsrambles]

chapter 77 review! (so spoilers)

ok immediately props to the translation team!!! love y’all and tysm \(^^)/

upon seeing the ‘translucent crystal and white powder’ i immediately said ‘is that crystal meth?’ upon further research, the components of meth were first synthesized in japan by nagai nagayoshi in 1885, however was first turned into methamphetamines around 1919/1920. additionally, mycroft mentions that this mystery substance is ‘categorized as a treatment for neurosis’, and methamphetamines are used in the treatment of mental illnesses, so that tracks, too. moniepeny also name dropped a scientist called nagai, so that is also accurate. the time frame is off by a few years, and germany’s intervention is kinda sketch, but i suppose they could just be shoe horning drugs into the lead-up to wwi. mtp is not a good replacement for actual history, as we have seen.

sherlock is conspicuously absent. i predict we’ll start with him in chapter 78, but his absence was particularly felt, especially because he wasn’t even mentioned. but that first page what???? i don’t know if it has any plot significance… it almost seems like a ‘what if sherlock was a criminal?’ or even a ‘what if sherlock was the lord of crime?’ bit, but i could be wrong.

william and the paint gun is a reminder from the writer that no matter how good a leader louis is and how smart he is, william is smarter. however, raw intelligence does not equal situational competence. i predict (or maybe hope) we see a situation in which louis is the only moriarty brother capable of fixing it. i think it’d be a good way of showing how louis is capable of standing on his own.

that being said, he is absolutely the only one with common sense in that family. ‘i checked his pocket for his train tickets to find where he worked’. william ‘shakespeare is an acceptable script for crimes’ moriarty could never. but on a serious note, i think that is primarily what separates louis from william and albert. he is far more practical and less idealistic, which i think are his main strengths in relation to his brothers.

the difference in eye color between william’s damaged eye and his undamaged one implies some degree of vision loss. we could probably have predicted this given the eye patch - and it might’ve been confirmed, but i can’t remember - but it’s nice to see actual confirmation.

’i barely recognize him. i’m proud of my younger brother’ AHHHHHHH. but my damaged heart aside, i really hope we see william and louis reconnecting. the two of them sort of lost sight of each other, as shown by that moment in hunting of the baskervilles. i’d say william doesn't really know louis as a person due to both his absence and his obsession with protecting louis that unintentionally damaged their relationship. (on a side note, does louis actually have hobbies? he cooks but that seems like a necessity because his brothers can’t. he had fish that one time i guess??? at least william had math…)

louis and bonde’s interactions were put there purely for me. in case you were wondering.

they’re definitely teasing world war one here, and this drug issue seems to be setting the scene for it. there was also the remark the man made at the beginning about the struggling economy, which also works to establish growing tensions. this is a strong introduction to this new part of the series: while the first part was about tearing down society so that it could be reborn into something better, this second part is about protecting the peace they’ve managed to build. louis will, i think, be having a strong personal arc this time around, where he didn’t really have that in the first part. i can’t wait to see how the story develops from here!

btw: should i keep doing chapter by chapter reviews? i think it’d be fun ^^

[delayed-affection]

Chapter two

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"Look, for nine months, everyone’s tried to get me to believe that my dad's dead. They say I'm in denial. Whatever. Denial's underrated. You should try it sometime. It's highly effective, and it's only denial if you're wrong."

" It doesn't make any sense. My dad is the last guy who would ever get lost a sea. This compass coming back to me, my father's compass, which was passed down for generations, it's a sign. My dad's still alive, and I'm gonna find him."

•

John b slips into the Cameron's yacht, scuba gear in hand. Sarah lies about four feet away from him, that means he has to be quieter than he anticipated.

She puts her hand on her face, "Wheezie, shut up."

He bumps into something making her gasps.

She looks up to find John B and not her sister, "God. You're not Wheezie."

He sighs, "Correct. Yeah. I'm sorry."

“What are you doing?" She asks

"Uh... I'm just dropping off some scuba gear." He answers, "What are- what are you doing... here?"

She makes a face, "It's our boat. It's also the only place with air conditioning. Did you, um... top up the tanks?"

"Uh..." he pauses, "No. No, power's down, so the compressors were off."

"So, you're sneaking onto our boat at 5am with empty tanks?" She questions, "I'll make sure to tell Ward."

He nods setting down the gear, "Okay. Okay. Cool. Cool. Just drop these off."

"Yeah, yeah, the middle of the room is fine." She snarks

"Yeah, this is pretty much what he told me to do." He claims

"Bye." She says

He goes to walk away but stops, "Actually, you know, what- what exactly were you going to tell your dad?"

She shakes her head, "Nothing much. Just that you poached our scuba gear."

He huffs, "Okay, fuck. I borrowed it for a few hours. Okay? And then I brought it back intact and unharmed."

"Minus air." She adds

"Look, please don't tell me. Okay? He'll fire me." He tells her

"So what are you gonna do?" She asks, "Pull a gun on me?"

"Okay, I didn't know JJ would do that." He confesses

"That's convenient to believe." She scoffs, "Maybe you should get better friends."

"Well, maybe you should get a better boyfriend." He argues

She chuckles, "Like one who doesn't poach?"

"Look, please, just don't tell him." He begs

"Relax." She says, "I'm not gonna tell him anything. Your secrets safe with me, John B. Okay, you can leave now."

"Right. Yeah. Uh.. I'll leave- I'll leave that right there." He tells her walking out

Little did they know a little someone was listening to them the entire time.

•

JJ pounds on the door, "DCS! I know you're in there!"

John B rolls over on the couch getting jumped scared by JJ at the window.

JJ laughs, "Gotcha, slick. You should have seen your face. Your face was like..."

Y/n smacks JJ's arm, "Stop being such an ass."

•

"I'm just saying, I don't understand why you don't at least try with Kiara. She clearly likes you. She's like, 'Oh, John B.' She's sketching about you diving then she kissed you." JJ says

JJ turns in his seat, "Y/n, please tell him that Kie likes him."

She shakes her head, "I can't."

"Why not?" He asks

She shrugs, "Cause I don't know."

He narrows his eyes at her, "Yeah right, she tells you everything."

John B doesn't see the big deal, "Look, she kissed me on the cheek. It's not like we were makin' out."

"Low hanging fruit." He tells him, "Don't pretend you don't notice. I see it in your eyes. You're like, 'I kinda like that.' and you start blushing and shit."

"I blush?" He asks

"Yeah." He answers trying to pick up the compass.

John B starts grabbing at him, "Hey, don't-"

"I was just looking at it." He justifies, "I gotta admit, your father's compass in Scooter's boat, that's freaky."

"Yeah. That's why we're going to talk to Ms. Lana, figure this whole thing out." He replies

"I'm sure she would just love to talk to us. It's not like her husband drowned or anything." He quips

•

"You know what this house looks like?" John asks getting out of the car.

"Whoever lives here smokes too much weed." JJ answers

Glass shattering inside the house puts them on edge, they slow down.

A man yells from inside, "Bullshit!"

"Maybe we should come back." Y/n says

"Yeah, it's a little too soon." JJ adds

"No, no, shut up." John B tells them

"Tell me where it is, or I'll fuck you up." The man threatens

Lana gasps for air are loud.

"I'll sink you in the fucking-" the man can barely finish his sentence before he hits slams something.

Lana screams, "You're hurting me!"

The trio crouches down and John B ushers them to get closer.

"Where the fuck is it, you bitch?" The man continues to shout.

They make it to the side of the house, pressing themselves against the wall.

Lana sobs, "I don't know!

"Is it here in this house?" He asks, "Is it somewhere else?"

Lana tries to plead for mercy, "Please! I- I didn't-"

"You still think we should stay?" Y/n whispers

"The compass wasn't in the boat!" The man bellows, "Where is it, Lana?"

"I don't know!" She answers

Paint chips fall into their hair with every crash that comes from the house.

JJ ruffles his hair, "Is that paint?"

John B does the same, "Yes, it's paint."

"Let's get the hell out of here, man." The man orders

"We should just go. He's got smuggler... smuggler written all over him." JJ whispers

"Shut up." John B says moving to the corner of the house.

He falls back to the side when he spots a man walking out of the house, peeking around to watch the other leave as well.

They all watch as the get into a boat.

"Dude, those were the guys that shot at us." JJ points out

"Go back, go back, go back." John B tells them

They all scoot back to their original position, right under the window. They wait for the men to drive off and quickly head for the door.

Lana's sobs fill the beat up house.

"Ms. Lana?" John B calls leading them into the house.

They find her in the floor.

John B flies to her, "Ms Lana? Hey. Hey! You okay?"

"Dude, she's tweaking." JJ comments

Y/n smacks the back of his head, "She's scared you asshole. Do you need a doctor?"

John B looks up to his friends, "Let's call the sheriffs department."

"No cops, please." She cries

JJ reaches for John B, "Mm. That's not good. Come on, dude. Let's just go."

"You shouldn't be here." She tells them

"That's enough for me. Come one." JJ declares

John B waves him off, "Wait, wait. What do you know about these guys?"

"They were looking for something." She croaks

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the compass, "Does it have anything to do with this? Do you know anything about this? This is my father's, and Scooter had it. Why?"

"Scooter didn't have it, okay?" She says, "Don't tell anyone you have it."

"Okay, that's enough." Y/n voices

JJ pulls at John B, "Come on."

"Why?" He questions

"They can't know that you have that!" She exclaims, "You've gotta get out of here!"

"What do you know about the compass?" He asks

JJ pulls him up, "Come on. We gotta go. Let's go."

"Go! Get out!" She shouts

•

Topper and his two friends walk into a yard.

"Jeez, man, this is nuts." Topper marvels

"Agatha's a bitch." boy 1 comments

Boy 2 chuckles, "Damn right, she is."

Topper wipes his face, "I mean, I just- I can't get it out of my head. It's just on repeat. 'Your move, broski'."

"Bro, he had a semiautomatic pointed at your head." Boy 2 tells him

"That's what I'm saying. It's insane." He says

"Safety off." Boy 2 mentions, "That Pogue."

"They're freaking Pogues, man." Boy 1 chimes, "You know you should get a piece."

"What do you mean?" Topper asks

"You gotta fight fire with fire and defend the homestead." He replies

Boy 2 taps Toppers chest, "It better than being caught without one."

"Listen, guys. I-I'm gonna get him back, all right? I'm making a little project of mine." He tells them

Boy 2 looks off into the distance, "Yo, that Sarah."

Sarah is talking to a little girl, "Oh, so you left her in the boat. Okay, can you tell me what she looks like?"

"She has a trunk and blue ears." She answers

"Okay. I'm gonna get her for you." She assures

"Be careful of electricity." The little girl cautions

Sarah stops of the board walk, "Don't worry. I'll be okay."

"What is she doing?" Topper asks

"Watch her fall and make a big drama out of it." Boy 1 mumbles

"Hey, there's 14,000 volts in those wires." A woman yells from the house.

Sarah smiles trying to balance on the fallen tree.

"Hey, Sarah, be careful!" Topper shouts

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me, Sarah, get down now!" Another woman orders

"Rose, come down. I'm an athlete. I got this." She assures

"You're gonna get electrocuted! Get down!" She commands

"She just wants attention." Boy 2 comments

Sarah starts to do a little dance to poke fun at the people that worrying.

"Oh my... No." Rose groans

"Sarah, that's not funny." Topper informs

"When I tell your dad about this, Sarah..."Rose threatens

Boy 1 takes off his sunglasses, "Little fried Sarah."

"Rafe, your sister's crazy, man." Boy 2 states

Sarah gets to a tipped over and inside she spots the girls toy, "I see her!"

She steps into the boat and slips. She screams, causing everyone to freak out. She lays in the boat with her hair a mess.

Topper runs over, "Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!"

She turns her head and waves around a cable. Boy 2 and the little girl find this very amusing. Topper and Rose feel like they just had a heart attack.

"It's disconnected." She laughs, "Absolute sucker. Topper you should see your face."

"Yeah. Okay, yeah, I'm sorry that I care. All right guilty." He stresses

"Congrats, pussy, you're officially her bitch." Rafe tells him, "Officially, did you know that? You're officially her bitch, all right?"

•

Wheezie walks with Topper, "You're worried, like a normal person. I mean, she could have died. She does scary stuff like that all the time. If you say something, it'll be like you're trying to tell her what to do, and you'll end up like Denny."

"Wait, Denny? What are you talking about? What happened with Denny?" He asks

"She cheated on him." She claims, "And the guy before that. You know what that means? You're next. You're the next sucker up. You should have seen her flirting with John B this morning."

This information shocks him, "John- John B? The guy that works on the boat?"

She nods, "Yeah. Yeah. She caught him stealing stuff off the boat. Did she tell anybody? Nope. She was all, 'John B, what are you doing here?' "

Sarah walks up to them, "What's up, Top? Hey, sneezie."

"That's not my name." She replies

She stands in front of Topper, "No way. Hey, been looking all over for you."

She gives a kiss, one he does not return.

Wheezie walks away, "Ugh. God."

•

JJ stands outside the Château, playing out the situation for Kie and Pope, "And we were right outside like this. And all we hear is just, 'Bam!Bam!Bam!' Knocking paint off the wall, G! From the inside. All right? And I'm just looking at him, like-"

He cuts himself off and takes off his hat, "Wait, first off, look at this shit. Look at it."

He runs his hands through his hair, shaking out any remaining paint chips.

Pope scoots away, "The house."

Kie looks at him with disgust, "That's dandruff, disgusting."

Pope pushes his head away, "Okay, thank you."

"Look at all that. All right?" He says, "That's paint. At that point, I was just like... I'm waiting for death."

"Oh, okay, so you saw the guys that shot at us, right?" Pope asks

"Did you get a good description of them?" He questions, "What did they look?"

"Anything. Anything is helpful." Kie adds

"Anything we can bring to a police report?" Pope asks

"Burly." He answers

"Burly?" Pope repeats

He tries to explain, "Yeah. You know, like-"

"That's not very helpful." Kie tells him, "Y/n?"

She leans forward in her seat, "Two white guys, one was taller than the other. I couldn't see much, sorry."

"They were like the type of guy at my dad's garage. I mean, you guys know he made cargo hides for smugglers." JJ chimes

Kie nods, "Yeah. Yes. No, we know."

"I can tell you with full confidence, guys, these boys, these killers... they're square groupers." He assures

Pope puts his head in his hands, "Square groupers, like narco square grouper? Like Pablo Escobar square grouper?"

He nods, "Yeah, man."

"You guys, not everything is a kingpin movie." Kie says

"Okay. So, what does this square grouper look like? Specifically?" Pope asks

"You weren't there, bro!" JJ snaps

"Apparently you don't know what to look for." He argues

JJ taps the side of his head, "Dude! I wasn't taking little mental Polaroids the entire time, man! I was under duress, okay? But I can tell you..."

He pauses, "I can tell you by the way that Ms. Lana was screaming... that these guys were serious, serious hombres, man. It's a heavy vibe right now, okay? Im not liking this very much."

"Why would they want the compass?" Kie asks

"It's a piece of shit. You couldn't pawn it off for five bucks if you wanted to." Pope says

That earns him a light elbow to the side from Y/n.

"No offense, John B. I know it's in your family." He adds

"The office." John B blurts

"What?" Y/n questions

"My dad. My dad's office." He answers walking into the house making everyone follow, "He always kept the office locked because he was worried about his competitors stealing his Royal Merchant research. We used to laugh at him like he was going to find it. But now that's he's gone, I've just kinda... I just left it as he kept it."

He stops in front of the door, the others surrounding him.

"Yeah, for when he gets back." Kie says

He unlocks the door and tries to find what he's looking for. The others walk in not going too far.

"I've slept over here like 600 times, and I've never seen this door opened." Pope confesses

He grabs a board and places it on the table, "Here, look. This is the original owner, right here."

"Robert Q. Routledge. 1880 to 1920." Kie reads, "There's the lucky compass, right there."

"Actually, um... he was shot after he bought it." John B admits, "Then the compass was shipped back to Henry. Henry was killed in a crop dusting accident when he had the compass. After he died the compass was given to Stephen. Stephen had the compass with him when he died in Vietnam."

"Let me guess, he died in action, right?" JJ asks

"Sort of." He answers, "Uh, a-actually, he was killed by a banana trunk. In- in country. Anyways, after that, Stephan passed the compass down to him, my dad."

JJ hums, "Sounds like there's a reoccurring theme here."

Pope agrees, "Yeah, you have a death compass."

"I do not." John B replies

"Well it's not a lucky compass, I can tell you that." Y/n comments

"Get rid of it." JJ insists, "It's cursed, and it's made its way back to you."

John B sighs, "Look, my dad used to talk about the compartment in here. Soldiers used to his secret notes."

He twists off a piece of the compass, shaking it to see if anything comes out.

Kie notices something on the piece he twisted off, "What's that?"

He faces it towards him, "That wasn't there before. This is my dads hand writing."

"How can you know that?" Pope questions

He shows him, "Because he does these weird Rs with the- See it?"

"Can I see it?" JJ asks taking it, "Red- Rout- No, I think that's an A."

Y/n looks at it, "It says Redfield."

"Right." He says

"Okay, well, what's Redfield?" Kie asks

"Besides the most common name in the county." Pope replies

John B looks up to his friends, "Maybe- maybe it's a clue. Maybe it's a clue to where he's hiding."

They all murmur in response.

"A clue? Come on, thats-" Pope pauses receiving glares from the two girls, "But if it is a clue maybe it's an anagram?"

John B shoots up, "Yes. Perfect. Anagram. You need paper. Here you go."

"How can you concentrate with that thing crowing at you?" Pope questions, clearly fed up with the rooster outside.

"JJ loves the rooster." He answers

"I love the rooster." Kie adds

John B writes at a desk letting his friend question this so called anagram.

"What about Ritalin?" JJ suggests

John B sees a car pull up to the house, "Guys. Guys! Somebody's here."

They all stop talking and walk over to him, looking out the window.

"Guys, guys, is that them?" Kie asks, "Is that them."

"This is suboptimal." Pope comments

JJ walks away from the window, "John B, told you. Why does it always-"

John B grabs him, "JJ! Hey, look at me. Where's the gun?"

"Gun? I, uh, I can't-" JJ sputters

"Now you don't have the gun, the one time we need the gun?" Kie chides

John B taps him, "You're backpack."

"It was in my backpack, and then I-" he tries to remember what he did.

John B points out the door, "On the porch."

He agrees, "It's on the porch."

He goes to runs out the room to the porch.

Man 1 swings open the porch door, "John Routledge! Come on out now!"

JJ only makes it down the hallway before he turns back, running into the office and closing the door.

"Where's the gun?" John B asks

"They're on the front porch, guys." He informs

Y/n wraps her arm around the distressed Kie, "We gotta get out of here."

"Get out here!" Man 2 shouts

Man 1 walks into the house, "Routledge! Were you at, boy?"

"Guys, window. Window." Kie tells them

JJ and Pope pull up on the but it doesn't budge.

"Sack this place!" Man 2 orders

"What- what's happening? Why is it taking so long?" Kie worries

"It's painted shut, okay?" JJ snaps

"I'll check the kitchen." Man 1 calls

Kie starts to pace around the office, John B keeps his back against the door, and Y/n rummages through draws for something to help them.

She pulls out a pair of scissors, "Okay, guys. Guys. Here, I got it."

Man 1 absolutely trashes the kitchen, "Where the hell's that compass? Hey, check the back room."

Kie takes the scissors and starts to break the seal.

"Come on, come on, come on." JJ rushes

"I'm going as fast as I can." She says

John b hushes them, "Be quiet."

Man 1 grabs the door knob, trying to get it to open, "You better not be in there!"

He starts to kick at the door making John B bounce. The frame falls off and the door starts to give way. John B and Pope move away from the door.

The man shoots at the lock, the other draws his weapon and meets him at the door. He kicks it in and finds no one.

They look through Mr. Routledge's things.

Man 2 pulls out a map, "Ratter, check out these blueprints of the ship. The mother lode."

They take every piece of information he has collected and piles them into their truck.

John B watches them from the chicken coop, the rooster crowing just as loud as it was earlier.

"Do something, Pope. Shut him up." JJ urges

"What do you want me to do?" He asks

"Pet it or talk to it. I don't know." Kie cries

"Just please get it to shut up." Y/n whispers

Ratter shuts the bed of the truck and takes notices loud crowing. John B backs up from the chicken wire onto the wall.

Ratter draws his weapon slowly creeps toward the coop.

"Do something." Pope urges

JJ grabs the rooster by its neck, he starts to strangle it. Until he unfortunately breaks its neck.

The crowing stops and so does Ratter. John B places a reassuring hand on top of Kies.

"Ratter, the hell are you doing? Let's go." Man 2 shouts

Ratter walks back to the truck, tucking away his gun.

JJ has yet to let go of the lifeless bird, Kie tries to silent her sobs as Pope and Y/n breathe heavily in the corner. John B watches as the two men drive off with his dad's work.

•

Sarah sits on top of the roof of her house, "You're lookin' a little unstable there."

Topper carefully sits next to her, "All right. It's worth it for this view right here."

She points to the water, "Oh, you mean, that?"

"Oh, you too. No, you too." He flirts, "Oh, man. Hey, uh... I heard you had a Pogue kinda sneakin' around here this mornin'."

"Who told you that?" She asks

"Oh, it doesn't matter. Um..." He pauses, "It's just like, you gotta be careful. These Pogues are all just lowlifes, I mean..."

"Don't say that, Topper. You don't know them." She scolds

"Oh, okay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that, uh... I'm sorry that they put a gun to my head." He chuckles, "You know what that feels like?"

She rolls her eyes, "No, I don't. But to be fair, Topper-"

He cuts her off, "They're dangerous."

"To be fair, you threw the first punch." She argues

"Oh. That's my bad." He says, "That's my- I deserved that."

"I didn't say that." She clarifies

"Shit. You realize I'm just trying to protect you?" He voices

"I know, and I appreciate that. I get it." She assures

"I don't think you're gettin' it. You just gonna go hang out with them?" He questions

"Topper, John B works here." She reminds, "What do you want me to do?"

"John B. Yeah, yeah." He marvels

"What do you expect from me? Hand signals?" She asks

"I don't know. I'm sorry that I just- just care about you." He replies

She shakes her head and gets up to go back inside.

"Yeah, just- you're just gonna walk away." He chides

She climbs into the window, "Yeah, I am. I can't deal with this."

•

Topper walks through the Cameron's yard.

"Hey, Top?" Ward calls, "How'd your family come through? Is the house okay?"

He walks over, "Yeah, we're doing all right, sir. We, you know, had a few leaks and a tree come close to the house, but, yeah, we're doing all right."

"Glad to hear it." He smiles, "Hey, listen, what's this I hear about a, uh... kid with a gun at the point? Did that happen?"

"Yeah. Yes, sir." He answers, "Uh... You know how those Pogues are. You just gotta watch 'em. Hey, sir, sir. Actually, one of the, um- I just want to say , one of these kids you gotta watch for, he works for you."

"What are you talking about?" He asks

"It's- it's that John B kid." He says

"What ab- He's not the one that had the gun, is he?" He questions

"No. No, sir." He assures, "I heard he likes to kinda help himself to gear. So, I'm just-"

Ward interrupts him, "What gear, Topper?"

Topper grunts a chuckle, "I don't want to be tellin' stories, sir. It's just, you got a lot of nice things layin' around. I'd just make sure everything's nailed down. Good to see you, Mr. Cameron."

Topper drops the conversation and walks away, leaving Wards mind racing with thoughts about what John B could have possibly taken from him.

•

"I mean it's obvious, right?" John B asks driving down a dirt road, "A family heirloom. What better place to hide a message? He had to know it was going to get back to me, right?"

Kie nods beside him, "Yeah. It's possible."

Pope dangles the compass in his face, "I could also be possible that you're concocting wild theories to help, you know, deal with your sad feels."

"Bro, you know how I process my sad feels." JJ states

"Dank nugs and the stickiest of ickies." Y/n replies almost as a question

He pats her leg, "You know me so well."

"Guys, I'm not concocting, okay? My dad's trying to give us me a message." John B asserts

"If it helps you believe, John B." Kie soothes

"Look, I- I don't need a therapy sessions, okay? Im not trippin' out." He tells them

"It's okay to trip, bro, but-" JJ comments

But John B sticks to his guns, "Look, my- my dad is missing, okay? Missing. You don't know what it's like to have the person closest to you vanish and then have no idea what happened. Just wake up every morning wondering."

Kie glances at the others, "It's been almost a year."

"Hey, he could've been kidnapped. That's definitely a possibility." JJ suggests

"Yeah, could be in a Soviet sub getting interrogated by the KGB somewhere." Pope chimes

"Absolutely." Y/n agrees, "Or taken by Pirates... and he's helping them find their own gold."

"Look, what do you think the message is?" Kie asks

"Redfield." He replies, "Redfield lighthouse. That's my dad's favorite place."

•

Coming to a stop, the teens file out of the van.

John B points to JJ, "Okay. Here's what's going to happen. Right. You're gonna post up and look out for bogeys, okay."

JJ looks around, "Wait... why me?"

"Because you're not coming." Pope answers

"Why?" He questions

"There are independent and dependent variables. And you're an independent variable. We don't know what you'll do." Pope states

The two of them start to bicker.

"Shut up!" John B, "Listen to me for a second. Just listen. Pope and Y/n, you stand look out with JJ. Okay. If we get split up, we meet back a JJ's house."

Y/n rolls her eyes, "Great. I'm stuck babysitting."

"It's not babysitting if you're having a good time." JJ winks

She looks at John B and Kie, "Just hurry back, please."

Kie gives her a nod and walks off with John B.

"I'm gonna work in my merit scholarship essay, and I'm trying to keep felonies to a minimum." Pope tells them

JJ plays with a happy sack, "All right, would you just shut up already?"

Y/n huffs, "Come on, Pope. Maybe you can read me your essay?"

He smiles walking to the van, "Really?"

•

Kie looks up to the never ending spiral staircase, "Remind me what we're looking for again."

John B follows her gaze, "We'll know it when we see it."

They start trudging up the steps, until they reach the top.

John B knocks the light keepers door, "Nobody home."

A man opens the door slightly and stares at them.

"Um... we're here for the lighthouse." He says

"The lighthouse is closed." He informs going to shuts the door in their face.

"Actually, we... we aren't here about the lighthouse." He reveals, "We're here about the, uh... the Royal Merchant."

With that he opens the door again, "You came to the right place."

He leads them to the outside rail of the house, "I know more... Watch your step here... about the Royal Merchant than anyone else in Kildare County. Now, the Merchant disappeared in the graveyard of the Atlantic in 1829."

"With four hundred million." John B comments

"Correct." He replies, "You're a bit of a Merchanteer yourself, huh?"

He looks to Kie, "Uh... somethin' like that."

"Well, follow me." He says, "I wanna show you somethin'. I've been workin' 30 years up here. The views never changed till two days ago."

He points off to the distance, "The Point's almost gone. One more storm like that, it'll take the lighthouse. I'll go with her. Now, the trick to knowin' where the merchant is... is knowin' whether she was on the north end or the south end of the storm."

He continues, "Now, most experts believe that she was on the south end. Now, she's on the south end, the bend from the hurricane would have pushed her back out to sea. But I don't believe that. I think she was on the north end of the eye."

He chuckles, "Which means the bands would have pushed her..."

"Closer to shore." John B chimes

He nods, "That's right. Now, by my calculations, the Royal Merchant is about ten miles thataway. Come on. Come on."

He leads them back inside, "Right here is where the point used to be. My calculations say the Merchant's right about there."

He points to map on the wall, "And down about a thousand feet."

John B taps the wall, "That's what my dad used to say. Yeah, I- I know this is weird, all right? But do you know anything about this?"

He pulls out the compass and the man's demeanor completely changes.

John B twists off the cap, "Look, it- it says Redfield in the back in my dad's handwriting. And, I don't know why I'm here, but I feel like I'm supposed to be here. Do- do you have anything to give to me, or to..."

The man suddenly walks away.

"Where are you going?" He asks

The man pushes up an opening and climbs up.

John B follows, "Wait a minute. Look... Look, man, I know this is weird. I just thought, hoped, maybe you would know something about this, all right?"

Kie is right behind him, "Sir, you wont believe what he's been through in the past 24 hours. I mean, threatened, shot at, home invaded."

"Home invaded?" He asks

"My rooster was killed. Look, man, my dad wanted me to talk to you, okay? So if there's anything you could think of that would help us, please, just tell us, okay?" He pleads grabbing him, "Look, man, Please!"

"John B." Kie worries

He continues to beg, "If you know anything, just- just-"

The man picks up a walkie, "Wanda, I got two kids on drugs up here at the lighthouse. Call the police."

John B freaks out and grabs his hand, "No, no, no!"

"Let go!" He yells

He smashes his hand into the glass.

"What are you doing?" Kie asks

"I was an accident, okay?" He replies

"John B, we have to go." She tells him

He looks at them man, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

They rush down the flight of stairs and the man picks up the walkie, "Wanda, I'm bleeding. I've been assaulted."

•

Police sirens make the now happy friends rush into van. Kie and John B come out just in time to see them driving off.

"Seriously?" Kie pants, "Shit. This way. This way."

They jump over the short fence and into the tree line. Running until they are in the clear.

"Hey, look. You've- you've got to admit, that was kind of promising." John B says, "I mean, my dad, the Royal Merchant, the ranger, the Royal Merchant. I mean, coincidence? I don't- I don't think so."

"It's his job to know about shipwrecks." She argues

"Okay, but the Royal Merchant?" He asks

"That's like the most famous shipwreck of all time." She answers, "Redfield's one of the most common names in Outer Banks. That could mean anything. Look, as wild goose chases go, this was a really good one."

He stops in his tracks, "Look, I don't know. Maybe we missed something at the lighthouse. We- we should go back. You believe me, right? Right?"

She looks down, "I think there might be some light to moderate concocting going on at this point. Look, uh... I get it. You miss your dad. I know. I just don't understand why he would put a clue on a compass."

"Cause he knew it would come back to me." He replies

She pulls him into a hug, "You're losing it. You gotta pull it together."

She goes to pull away from him but he makes a quick decision and kisses her.

She pulls away, "Uh... What was that?"

"You." He states

He shakes his head, "Shit, I'm- I'm sorry. I- I-"

"It's okay." She claims

"Oh, god, I'm an idiot." He tells himself

"No, it's okay. No, it's okay." She assures

He fumbles with his words, "It's just- I'm- It's because I'm freaking out... about my dad and the DCS stuff. I can't breathe sometimes."

She tries to calm him down, "No. Stop. It's okay. I get- I know. Look, I don't even mind."

He drops his tense shoulders, "What?"

She smiles, "It's the rules, you know? No Pogue on Pogue macking."

He nods, "Yeah. Yeah. Right, rules."

Tires scrape the dirt and man calls out, "Routlegde. I got you, son. Now, why don't you just be chill and not make me chase you."

Kie moves behind him and he slips her the watch.

"Hands were I can see em." He orders

•

"I feel for you, kid. I really do." Sheriff Peterkin says, "I know since they never found your dad, a part of you think he might walk through that door someday. I don't blame you. But goin' on fandangos ain't gonna bring him back. He's been missin' at sea for nine months. Your father's dead."

John B lightly shakes his head, "You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do." She replies, "And as hard as it is, it'd be best for you to accept it and move on. You've been runnin' around gettin' caught up in things, that do not involve you. And now you in a heap of trouble. It's not just foster care we're talkin' about. It's assault, battery, JD time."

She walks around him, "I can still help you out, but we gotta do a little tit for tat. And this time, you gotta tat a whole lot better. I know you've gotten hold of a compass."

He keeps his head low, "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"I know you took it off the wreck." She informs, "There ain't much that happens in the OBX that I don't hear about eventually."

He finally looks at her, "Okay, what do you want with this compass?"

"It's evidence in an investigation." She responds, "I'm gonna need it, son. Otherwise, I'm charging you."

He stares forward, "I don't know what you're talkin' about. I don't have a compass."

•

Kies dad walks them out of the station, "If you skip out on your bail and I lose my money, I'm gonna hunt you down and skin you."

"Dad!" Kie scolds

"Cut it." He chides

"Thank you, Mr. C." John B chimes

"Don't thank me." He tells him getting into his truck.

Kie and John B stand to the side, she gives him the compass back. Her dad rushing her to get in the car.

When she gets in he scolds her, "I told you. You hang out with trash, you get dirty."

•

John B washes himself off with a hose.

A man calls to him, "Hey, employee of the month, where the hell you been? You takin' some me time? Ward C's lookin' all over for you. You know he don't like to wait."

•

Ward sits across from John B on his yacht, "You dotted your eye?"

"Surf- surfing accident." He claims

"You've had a hard year, John. A very heard year. I feel like I've done what I could to help you. Would you agree with that?" He asks

"Yeah. Yeah. Yes, sir." He answers

"I told you, you could always come to me if you ever need anything. Is that true?" He questions

"Yeah. I mean, you said you'd help me with my DCS case." He replies

Ward sighs, "I need you to answer a question, and I need you to be straight with me. Did you take gear off the Druthers yesterday?"

John b thinks before answering, "Yes, sir, I did. Look, Mr. C, I'm - Im not a thief, okay? It was two dollars' worth of air. You don't want your daughters..."

He cuts him off, "John. It's the principle of the thing. I cannot have employees that I cannot trust. I don't want to do this, John, but you have made me do this. I have to let you go."

•

"Hey, John B." Sarah greets

However, she gets no response, he just brushes past her.

"I'm- I'm sorry, that's it?" She calls, "Not a, "Hey, how you doin'? Or 'Kiss my ass'?"

He walks back to her, " 'Your secret's safe with me'?"

"What secret are-" she pauses, "Oh, that secret."

"I just got fired because of you." He informs, "And I know you can't imagine that, but some people need jobs so that they can eat."

He smacks the bag she was holding onto the floor.

"What the fuck?" She shouts

He seethes, "You are exactly who I thought you were, Sarah Cameron."

•

Now on the streets of figure eight, a black truck pulls up next him.

The passenger rolls down their window and it's the two guys that shot him and raided his home.

The passenger cocks his gun, "Time's up, boy."

John B looks at the gun and takes off, the passenger jumps out of the truck and chases after him.

He runs down the street and into someone's front yard. He goes into the back yard and tries to jump the fence but it falls over sending him onto the ground.

He groans getting up, the man close behind. He grabs the back of his shirt and John B flings him off.

He makes it back into the street, the brakes of the truck squeal in front of him.

He turns onto the connecting street with the truck and man chasing after him.

He jumps onto a metal fence and it sparks, shocking him. He falls the ground still feeling the electricity surging through him.

The man on foot puts his gun away and walks over to him, "You gotta watch those live wires after a storm."

He stands over him, "Now, you're gonna give me what I want."

A police siren whirls and the sheriffs van pulls up, and out comes Peterkin.

The man moves away for from him and walks back to his partner.

•

Peterkin looks at John B, "So, how's it workin' out, kid? It's a whole lot safer if you give it to me than anybody else."

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the compass and placing it in her hand.

"This thing probably saved your life. Concentrated the shock. Lucky." She tells him

He steps out of the van and watches her drive off.

•

"Maybe my friends were right. I should let it go. Move on. Pull myself together. Pick up the  pieces. Stop living in denial. Leave the past behind. And bury the dead."

•

John B sets fire to dads things but sees something on the cork board. He grabs a stick and slides it out, flames still live.

He stomps it out and looks at a name, 'Olivia R. Redfield'.

•

He honks his horn at Pope and JJ, who sit on the side of a building.

"Let's ride." JJ says

"This better be good." Pope chimes

•

Y/n walks out of the wreck, "She said she's not coming!"

"Why not?" Pope asks

"What'd you do to her, John B?" JJ questions

"Shit. Hang on. I'll deal with it." He replies

Y/n heads to the van, stopping at JJ's window, "What's up with him?"

"He fucked up." Jj responds watching his friend.

"What'd he do?" She asks turning to see him walk into the wreck.

JJ sighs, "I have no clue."

•

John B nervously runs his hand through his hair, "Hey, uh, what- what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" She answers

"Spackling can wait." He assures, "We're- we're about to make history."

She jumps down from her stool, "Are you concocting again?"

He follows her as she walks away, "Yes. Yes, I'm concocting. I'm concocting more than I've ever concocted in my life. Look, I know you're just being a good friend, and- and I know you're not trying to enable me in my delusion, but... And I know your dad doesn't want you to see me, but listen to me, please."

He grabs her shoulders, "Look, you are my best friend, and I need you right now. And I'm sorry about the kiss thing. That was super weird, and I feel awkward about it, and... Listen, I need you and I'm begging. I'm begging you. I am begging you. And I just wanna talk-"

She finally cuts him off, "Oh, my god. Shut up! I get it."

She kisses him on the cheek, "Friends?"

He nods, "Friends. Yeah. Back in the friend zone."

They do a little handshake and head out.

•

"You mind if I just relax on this one?" JJ requests, "It's been a long day, and a lot of weird stuff's gone down. I'm just gonna lay low."

He holds his joint out to Pope and Y/n, "Oh, did you want a hit of this?"

"I keep the signal clear." Pope states

"You know I think you should relax on this one." Y/n tells him

"Yeah?" He questions

She pats his leg, "Yeah, I think you're feeling a little tense right now."

He puts his hand on his chest, "You care about me, that’s so sweet.”

“Look, I- I know I was wrong about the lighthouse, all right? And wrong about everything else going on. But I- I was right about one thing. Okay? My dad was trying to tell me something.” John B voices

•

John B ushers them into the cemetery, “Come on, hey.”

“I’m coming. This place is scary.” Kie tells them, “John B, what are we doing?”

He shushes her, “Shut up. You know how you’re trying to remember a song and you can’t remember who sings it? So, Redfield. This whole time I thought it was a place, right? But it’s not a place. It’s a person.”

He shines his light onto mausoleum that reds ‘Redfield’.

“Voi-effing-là” JJ says

“See, my great great grandmother Olivia Redfield. That was her maiden name.” He informs

They all stand in silence just looking at it, wondering what on earth does John B have planned.

“Help me with the door. Come on.” John B beckons

Pope sighs and goes to help, but to no avail the door doesn’t budge. JJ moves in to try to help but it doesn’t move.

“We didn’t come this far to get this far, all right?” JJ groans, “We got this.”

“Maybe there’s another way in?” Kie theorizes

A snake pokes out from a crack and hisses at them, making them jump back. It slithers to the ground.

Kie laughs nervously, “Or not.”

“That’s a moccasin, all right.” JJ states, “Ye olde Dr. Cottonmouth. Death in tall grass.”

JJ then starts to bark at it as it slithers away.

“JJ, shut up. Shut up!” Y/n scolds

Pope slaps his shoulder, “You’re gonna wake the dead, man.”

“They’re afraid of dogs. Everyone knows that, man.” He argues, “Wait, hold on. If there’s one, there’s probably dozens.”

“Stop. You’re scaring me.” Kie complains

JJ starts to barking again.

“Stop barking at the snakes.” John urges

He tries to justify himself, “Just making sure it’s clear.”

“Shut up. Shut up.” Pope stresses, “John, Look. We’re not gonna get in there, all right? It’s not budging. We should probably just go.”

“I can get through.” Y/n notes

“What?” John B asks, “No, no, no, no. You think you’re going to fight through the hole? That hole?”

Y/n nods “Look, this is about your dad and you deserve to know the truth. And if I die, hey, I’m already at the cemetery.”

She moves in front of the boys, “come on.”

They help clear the way for her and JJ kneels down to help her up.

He cups his hands together, “I’ve seen it in the movies several times. Ready?”

“What are we looking for again?” She asks

“You’ll know when you see it.” John B answers

“Right.” She sighs stuffing her flashlight into her hoodie pocket.

“All right, so put your hands right there.” JJ directs, “Your foot. All right, on three.”

“Be careful.” Kie tells her

She pushes herself up on JJ’s count and drops into the mausoleum.

Pulling out her flashlight, she sweeps the area.

“You alive? You got like, a- a heartbeat and everything?” John b worries

“I’m fine, B.” She assures moving forward, “I need some more light.”

He puts a lantern into the hole, “Yeah, yeah, here. I gotcha.”

“Did you find something?” JJ asks

Her eyes land on something, “Oh, my god.”

[chococustard]

Soooo many questions about the new kids I’m gonna ask them all (feel free to ignore me if they’re annoying)

“Share one brain cell” refers to which group- the not-exactly-babies trio or the teenage duo? I ask bc both sketches are close to the words

I loooove the otters watching Pri! Also, is Pri colorblind? Or does Neuvillette not have the right genes to pass that on since some forms of color blindness are recessive and idk if Wriothley’s form is

I love the “put a knife on a parasol and she can have both” YES and then carrying through by using both guns AND social expectations as weapons YES good for a doted-to-submission adopted child

Siegewienne with Pri? Somehow I wonder if she’s the one that gave Pri the handcuffs

It took me a minute to realize what “it’s the shirt” was referring to- Zari’s still insecure about getting the least bumpy gene combinations from her parents I see…

Who is that making cake with Pri? Navia? Sorry I can’t tell…

Diluc, don’t be racist against dragons. And if he’s talking about the friends being kids of famous/powerful figures, he’s got no room to talk as Mr Uncrowned King of Mondstadt (and Darknight Hero)

Not Furina stealing her Iudex’s baby. She trying to show up Morax at the archon get together or something?

All in all I love these kids!

HI HI THANK YOU FOR THE ASK

here is them, the 1 brain cell trio yes

i havent played wrios sq yet (not even nv's lol) so idk if that's canon that he has it?? but girls tend to inherit colorblindness less than boys

FUN FACT, old timey women in fact, actually used parasols as weapons for self defense lmao SO YEAH WHY CHOOSE WHEN YOU CAN HAVE BOTH

you're still young honey dont worry about it

it's navia!! they make sweets together often!! the joke is that clorivia and wriolette basically co parents both of them theyre so close//SHOT

no but like, can u imagine being diluc tho? ur kid keeps attracting DRAGONS for friends. not just dragons, those dragons are kids of a harbinger and a duke. if anything happens to those kids who knows what'll happen.

auntie furina wants to show off her beloved niece that's all it is. she loves her. absolutely smitten. she can and will show her off whenever possible

HUE HUE THANKS AGAIN

[ewingstan]

Sylvester, for the character ask game?

First Impression: Took me a bit to fall into Sy's groove. At first it seemed like wildbow was going "alright, I've written a conflicted morally grey antihero protagonist, I've written a largely heroic but outwardly monstrous antihero, now I'm gonna write a proper bastard of an antihero." His initial defining traits were "misogynistic", "manipulative", "willing to play the fool" and "desperately desiring to be respected." It was an interesting sketch of a character, but also described the psychological profile of the average adolescent boy on the internet circa 2014, so I wasn't sure how much mileage wildbow would be able to get out of him. But that opinion started to change once Sy's relationship with the rest of the lambs got fleshed out.

Impression Now: I still think Sy might be wildbow's best character, and its entirely because of his relationship with the lambs. Having a manipulative protagonist is interesting, having a manipulative protagonist who is all-too-aware of his tendencies and actively struggles against it when dealing with his loved ones (because when you have a full psychological profile of someone, how can you have any non-manipulative interactions with them?) is enthralling. I talked before about how I expected Sy manipulating Mary onto the team to be a time-bomb. But Sy eventually revealing the truth because he felt guilty, and Mary deciding to stay because she was already too enmeshed with the lambs for leaving to be a plausible option, felt honestly like a much bleaker result. Sy at times feels almost haunted by his own ability to avoid consequences; his relationships with Mary and Lillian especially feel like bones with old breaks that were never properly set. They function, with intense feelings on all parties, but it would probably have been healthier for everyone if there were clean breaks with the chance of reconciliation. But Sy can only be forgiven, and so clean breaks like that are impossible, even when he physically breaks away from the group (or, during the Evette debacle, psychologically breaks away).

Favorite Moment: The whole of 13.11. Even though his mental decline only just started and would get much worse, this still felt like Sy's nadir. He thought he'd found a way to make things work with the Lambs and still be the type of person he is: just be Robin Hood by way of Snidely Whiplash! Be the villain setting up the plot-to-be-foiled-of-the-week, ride by the seat of your pants in setting up zany plots for your friends to navigate. You can steer them towards adversaries so you can have an excuse to fight together, you can kidnap Lillian so you can both continue your relationship while she has plausible deniability! And you get to do it all with your best friend and life partner helping to steer the ship and keep you stable. Finally, you can be as wild and manipulative as you like, you can fight the good fight against the academy, and you can keep your friends while doing it!

But then, just when it seems like things with Lillian are going perfect, like he’d really managed to pull it off—it falls apart. And you see despite how much of a psychological profile he has on Lillian, how much he knows what she wants, he is completely unprepared by how much she hates herself for wanting it. He suddenly comes to terms with the difference between giving people the ability to refuse something and stringing them along with what they can’t deny themselves, and realizes how horribly concieved everything’s been from the start. And he has no way to deal with it, he has to call for Jessie’s help. After so many arcs where Sy’s mad genius and mature bravado are on full display, where it seemed like there was no situation Sy couldn’t get on top of, it suddenly feels like we’ve been watching a kid play with his fathers gun and its just gone off. We’re sorry, we didn’t know what we were doing, we don’t know what to do, oh god, we don’t know what to do.

And then the kick in the teeth with Jessie. The charming back-and-forth we’ve fallen in love with getting recontextualized as a refusal for one party to seriously emotionally engage with the other. Both parties suddenly feeling like the last few months were spent under false pretenses. It all comes crashing down for all the reasons you’d expect, but so late into it that you thought they could get away from the consequences, and now they’d run so far up without it happening that they have an impossible height to plummet from.

Idea for a Story: Let Evette out for a spin! Have Evette take control of Sy again while he and Jessie are handling their army. Let full chaos ensue as Jessie tries to get Sy back in the drivers seat.

Unpopular Opinion: Still unsure on how I feel about where he ended up, but that goes more towards my feelings on the odd place Twig ended as a whole.

Favorite Relationship: Gotta be with Jessie. Deeply touching while also allowed to be a little fucked up.

Favorite Headcanon: Simon still finds ways to “sneak” Lady Helena cakes even when they’re both two of the most powerful people on the planet and can just ask for desserts like normal adults.

[ask game]

[foxofsunholt]

Not sure if it's been asked (I'm sure it has been honestly) but what's the technology like? I can't stop imagining my mc staring wistfully at a picture of Addie during the timeskip and sighing dramatically and being like "no, she's moved on"

It has I think but honestly I’m Katy Perry hot and cold, you never know what my next thought is going to be. One second I say everyone is elephants actually and the next I say there are no elephants in the lore.

The technology is far more medieval leaning (I use Regency and Victorian inspiration for the social season and designing the nobility) with obvious quality of life changes like indoor plumbing for all and and less sexism and actually I murdered homophobia in the streets. Some cities have electricity (fuelled by magical rocks). Most cities don’t or wouldn’t bother wasting such a limited and expensive resource on their people (you might see electric lighting in a castle for example but not at your local pub). There are mages employed by kingdoms for infrastructure; why bother with technology when you can get Gary over there to magic it? But technology is advancing in The Domain and even depending on your choices in act 1, you can see a dramatic technological shift in act 2.

There’s no cameras; Mars notably carries around a drawing of Sir Snuggles that he had commissioned (it is very common practice to commission sketches to personally carry around). Guns haven’t been figured out yet because do you know how quickly they would just murder everyone with them? For the sake of logic in this fantasy story, there just is no gunpowder. Combat is very medieval. I drew Seventh with a gun initially because those pirate guns are super cool but then I realized that if gunpowder is real in this world armies could and would absolutely destroy each other and why the hell does the MC have a sword when John over there can use a musket.

Most of the convenience in the world is brought upon by magic. There are stones that can do it for you, probably. Message stones are very popular (the MC gets some to use as well) which are like answering machines between two tethered magic stones. One person records a message. The other person’s stone glows and they can hear the message back as many times as they want, and send a message in reply. The stone can store 3 messages before it will wipe all previous messages once a new one comes in. The messages are verbal, again, like an answering machine. The downside to them is that they only work in pairs and can’t be re-attuned once paired; some nobility have a whole collection of stones for all their friends but most people choose to just send letters instead.

Gossip magazines are weirdly popular even if people use them as toilet paper. For some reason people would rather get their news from probably incorrect tabloids than the poor town crier who is trying really hard. There’s an epidemic of ignorance in The Domain; someone should really help the information flow. And idk I can’t think of anything else off the top of my head. If you have a specific technology in mind, let me know! And I can tell you what the situation is

[twilightknight17]

Yesterday on P3R: like three hours in Tartarus, Secret Meetings, and spending more time with Koromaru than anyone else.

I have made it to floor 100! It was like floor 109 by the time I left, but I was very proud. And kind of surprised that there was nothing weird on floor 100. But hey, bringing Koromaru along is reward enough.

Also did a bunch more persona fusions, so I’ve got a new fusion spell. All of my fusion spells so far other than Orpheus’s are Frosts. It’s very silly. XD

He’s so big. XD

Anyway, it’s been like 3 hours, everyone is low on stamina, time to head back and get back into the social link grind.

...are you serious??? We were literally there ALL NIGHT, when did someone wander in???? Ffs. X’D

Oh well. Later. Right now we’re going out for ramen with my rival track bro. Apparently every single restaurant in the mall lets him eat for free.

Dude, seriously, what the heck? Although… I’m getting some vibes that this guy probably doesn’t have a great home situation. So it’s probably a good thing that he’s at least getting regular meals. There really are good people in this city.

Junpei is off hanging out at the mall, and has noticed someone new and interesting! There’s a girl sketching, and she basically brushes him off and tells him to move out of the way when he goes to see how she’s doing.

She wasn’t with Takaya and Jin when they locked us in the military base, so poor Junpei has no way of knowing that this is one of Strega’s members. :/ He has a point about her outfit, though. Even Mitsuru was complaining about how hot it is today.

I arrived home to find Aigis engaged in a stern discussion with Koromaru about how he is not allowed to take himself on walks. Apparently Akihiko was supposed to take him, and has not returned home yet, so because Aigis ALSO can’t go out without supervision yet, it falls to me to take him.

Which is not a hardship at all because he is the bestest boy.

However, on our walk, we ran into Takaya, who is just… openly wandering around without a shirt and carrying a gun even during normal hours. Koromaru doesn’t like him instinctively, but he says he just wants to talk, so we head up to the shrine. He wants information.

It’d be a lot more fair if you’d get your hand off your gun. I know that one is real.

But, he says I can ask him a question first.

Well… they don’t really seem to have some grand goal in mind. And they’re getting in our way because they don’t want us to destroy Tartarus and the Dark Hour. So…

Hahaha, very funn-- Okay, actually, he’s joking, but it would be funnier if it was true and only Minato thought he was shirtless.

Basically, he wants to know why we’re so determined to throw away our powers. He says that if it’s because of the shadows, that’s the wrong way to look at it. He explicitly compares shadows killing people to car accidents. Plenty of people die in car accidents every year, but we’re not trying to destroy cars.

(Which is a half-valid point if you ignore the fact that the Dark Hour only exists because of mad scientists, and also some of those people who die during the Dark Hour are because of Takaya shooting them.)

...funny you should say that, since out of everyone in SEES, Mina is the least likely to care about anything, at least in the beginning.

Not wrong, technically. Like, yeah. You don’t have to help. But you’re also not the sole arbiters of what to do about everything, and your opinion would probably have more weight if you hadn’t already locked us in an underground facility to starve to death.

He does note how special Minato’s power is compared to everyone else. He really doesn’t get why Mina, specifically, would want to give all of that up.

……it’s not the blessing you think it is, my dude.

Anyway, he hands off a piece of paper with some info as repayment for helping him out before, and heads out. He really did just want to talk, which is… refreshing. Like, Strega is not a bunch of indiscriminate madmen. We’re still going to be enemies, but they’re not monsters.

“Test subjects”, huh? So Grandpa Kirijo was into human experimentation, too. Great.

Fuck it, I’m going home to brush Koromaru.

He’s soft and shiny~ But we can’t stay here all night, sadly. Time to stop, boy.

...okay, fine, a little longer.

The bookstore isn’t ready to rank up yet, so I head out again with Mamoru. I’m learning a lot more about his family situation.

I’m assuming he’s pushing himself so hard because he wants a scholarship. I get the vibe that the family doesn’t have much money. And unfortunately, his father is dead. Which, dude, I’m so sorry. That’s terrib--

…………okay I might be going to hell because I snorted a little bit. It’s just so abrupt. A cliff? Where are there cliffs?? X’’’’D I’m still sorry for your loss but omg.

Having Koromaru in the dorm means you can pet him and shake paws. 10/10, no notes.

And I opted to spend the next day with him, because he likes to chill out front and people-watch.

An old man who used to be friends with the priest came by, and he told us that Koromaru had been taken in by someone else once before, but he always kept going back to the shrine. Now that he’s staying with us, it’s because he’s chosen to be here. We’re his family now.

He makes us promise to take care of each other, and… I can do that. For sure.