#i have drawn him in a different expression before it’s just old ass art and so i didn’t post it lol

[getosugurusbangs]

from the river to the sea!

for a while i’ve been wanting to make some sort of art for palestine, but i haven’t really known what to do. but recently after seeing @fairuzfan’s new icon, i got inspired, and had to draw yuji wearing a keffiyeh <3

[maukiki1]

Ok idk who wants to read a chunk of text before someones art but.

Theres this poorly made metal fusion turkish parody i used to watch religiously as a kid and i got reminded of its existance recently because someone showed it to me and it literally unlocked a core memory and i went to watch it again thinking i wont find it funny anymore because i found it funny when i was like 4 yrs old but. Maybe its the nostalgia but this video is a work of art its so.

The ginga and kyouya wigs being cheap neon colours not even styled to look like the characters hair, the guy playing ginga’s linkin park shirt, the awkward but hilarious acting, the guy playing Ryūga constantly hunching over so the jacket doesn’t fall off his shoulders (it does multiple times) giving him a funny ass posture, the nike logo on the ginga headband, Ryūsei being ginga with a different shirt, the fact that the guy playing daidouji being the shortest one out of the three (yes only 3 people made this i thought there was more somehow) , or literally anything daidouji does ever, the expression ryuga has the entire time, the phoenix costume having a visible star wars shirt making it obvious that its the same guy playing Ryūga, one of the scenes having a visible rope attached to pegasus so its easier to make it look like its flying.. its literally a master its peak youtube ok. I wanted to draw some scenes from it bcs theyre so fucking funny to me. Its peak i fear. I havent posted mfb in a month and this is what im coming back with fuck it we ball

I was gonna draw this one properly but halfway through realized i couldnt capture the expression of the actor perfectly if i did so. Feast ur eyes upon my best work yet

Heres a compilation of clips that give some context to the pictures drawn, except the last one, it doesnt need context hes just standing there funnily

Link to the full parody under cut

Okay so its a turkish parody so ofc its funnier to someone who understands the language but surprisingly there are english subtitles and from what i checked its not translated perfectly some sentences were onviously put through a translator but none of the jokes seem completely lost i mean i made my friend who doesnt know a lick of turkish watch it and we both laughed our asses off so . I think everyone should watch this peak atleast once

[minthe-lover]

Season 3 premier Analysis

The plot of this chapter and the point are pretty simple, it's a slow down episode to basically take a breath after the big fight and end from season 2. Though, I find it doesn't really do it right. My main problem is that.. Persephone and Hades just talk to themselves most of the time.

They express these worries towards seeing each other and besides Poseidon no one chimes in?? Like for fuck sake Eros didn't say anything, a character that is built up as a gossip and is one of Persephone closest friend doesn't chime in to comfort him.

Also like I get being worried for your dogs.... But when you have a bigger worry towards your dogs then your siblings or even your partners family... Maybe maybe you don't have your priorities straight.

I honestly don't think any of the writing is terrible just the structure could be better. Have Persephone and Hades heart to heart at the beginning when their cuddling. Then have the rest of the episodes be a reunion between the rest of the characters.

You can keep the bath scenes but instead have them preparing for like a big dinner with all the characters there. That way it doesn't feel like such a massive drop in pacing, cause you can have a more chaotic but friends get together which can slow down up till a quiet moment together with Hades and Persephone.

I just don't think the whole nervous to see each other thing works when five minutes ago they where cuddling and having banter simply a moment before this.

Though that isn't the only reason I don't like the bath scenes is Hestia, she is shown to be there in the house but is only seen once in the whole chapter and it sucks cause there is very little reason.

The reason Hestia isn't there... Is cause rs only wanted three people to mirror Hades but that also sucks cause think of the emotional scene that Persephone could have had with Hestia.

Hestia walks into the bathroom to help the other goddesses prepare her. Persephone apologizes for not living up to what Hestia wanted but then Hestia comforts her, telling her it's really okay and that she is proud of her regardless of what she does.

That way we can get some closer on her regrets from the beginning of the series. Instead of them being ignored and erased. Hestia is supposed to be a representation of the life that Persephone once wishes she had then represents the life Persephone wishes to escape. Then Hestia is simply ignored... it sucks to see how many of the genuine interesting early plot lines are ignored.

So the last thing I wish to cover size difference I'm this chapter... I don't know it weirds me out a bit and I am very much someone okay with size differences. Like damn g/t is one of my main interests, and I would love a tiny gf. Before the problem with the size difference before is how it ties into other problems, though not as many of them apply to this chapter.

still for some reason in this chapter it just feels off, I have a feeling it's the big poofy outfit she wears. As most of the time her outfits are very form fitting and Persephone is very much drawn like the sexualized idea of an "adult" but this outfit hides alot of those features.

Just look how similar the face looks.

So when you out her into a outfit that hides that she really does look childlike. It's also a problem with the art style as cause the faces look the same and Persephone stop aging at 19 she doesn't have any signs of her age. When a characters only sign of being different from a kids is her breasts maybe... reconsider the outfit you put her into.

That combine with Hades being drawn alot bulkier this chapter the signature huge ass shoulders and chest combined with tiny head, that makes Hades look alot bigger.

It just... It looks really weird cause she just... Looks so child like. It weirds me out. I mean the whole "internally looks 19" is just a slightly less bad version of the anime girls that look like babies but are actually 1000 years old.

Now I don't fully mind Persephone worry over her hands, while I still feel it would be a alot better if it was like in relation to any other insecurity that brought before. Or even if her hands actually looks gross instead of just being green, have them being wrinkled or look more like vines or literally anything. though it was brought up before and is sort of paid off during this.

Last thing is Zeus! he is treated like some monster, even after he saved both Persephone and hades ass. Though my main thing is this 'amazing' anatomy, it's really sad that the bandages cover his clearly superior tits then Persephone. Combined with literal clown shoes.

[thismaydestroyme]

Little Did I know Pt. 2

summary: in this short story, harry is famous, and he moved into a town during the summer to relax and potentially write some new songs for his upcoming album. i included some song lyrics from different amazing artists, and i pretended that harry and y/n wrote it.

author’s note: i wrote the beginning of this two months ago me being lazy i picked up where i left off because i’m too lazy to read through this. so if there’s any major fuck ups then…. i did warn you that i’m incompetent

word count: 3165

“I’m a SLAVE FOR YOU!” Y/N shouts out, and little did you know Harry was front and center watching your trainwreck of a performance. 

Harry did a whole french inhale without breaking eye contact with you. “I really wanna dance tonight with you.” Y/N hears Brittany playing in the background which you pause the music, to see what Harry would say about your little ‘performance.’ 

“Really? A slave? don’t you think it’s pretty dramatic don’t ya think?” Harry says, raising one of his eyebrows. You know he’s just playing around, but you coudn’t help feeling embarrassed how he fucking witnessed… that. You don't want Harry to know that you’re embarrassed, so you did the next best thing. 

“That fucking snake was huge. Did you know she was holding an Albino Burmese Python? I bet MTV wasn’t expecting that. Do you think MTV got filthy rich from that performance? Everyone tuned in for that performance and till this day it’s still the most talked about.” You ramble and spew out random information you bet Harry couldn’t care two shit about.” Harry has a smirk on his face, you bet he was enjoying you looking like a damn idiot. 

You start profusely apologizing until Harry interrupts you, “Do you want to come over?” He says all nonchalantly and walks away without you even agreeing. You’re all stunned and weren't able to even say one single word or even move your two feet. Harry doesn’t need to turn around to see you not moving, “C’mon weirdo, don’t act all shy with me now.” He threw back. 

“Fuck.” You whisper, but your feet finally start to move and your feet are heading straight to Harry. 

Harry turned his head and started to smirk, but he kept walking which had you feeling some nerves building up in your stomach. You’re not scared per se, just you’re going to Harry Styles house. This is normal. This is fine. This is just a once in a lifetime opportunity. 

Cool. 

When you finally get to his entrance Harry is already inside and he disappears somewhere because you don’t see him. You hesitantly walk inside and shut the door behind you. When you turn around you couldn’t help, but notice the disarray this house is covered in. Your mouth gape opened, but you immediately brought your hands to cover up how shocked you are. You couldn’t help but gawk at Harry’s place. There’s a big pink couch in the center of the room which is covered in boxes and clothes. There’s a TV on the floor which doesn’t seem to be plugged in because you don’t see it even plugged in. You try not to be too judgy because he did just move in, so what do you expect?  Harry having his life all sorted out in a span of a couple of weeks? 

You almost missed the nice white fluffy carpet that’s underneath the couch. Even though Harry’s place is a disaster, you can envision what Harry is planning on doing when he has his stuff all situated. In the back of your mind you hope he might even invite you back if he does a ‘welcoming party.’

Before you could even investigate more Harry walks back in with two bottles of water in his hand. He’s already drinking out of one of them, so he handed the one that hasn’t been opened to you. You reach your hands over to grab it. 

“This isn’t safe for the environment.” You states while unscrewing the cap. 

“Well.. you belting out to Britney is an endangerment to our society, so I guess we both got the short end of the sticks.” 

You immediately start drinking your water because you didn’t have your next rebuttal. You start scanning the room and hoping it’ll have your heartbeat settle down because you can feel it through your chest. Harry moves from his spot and starts taking boxes off the couch and to make some room for the both of you. He had to take down three boxes, so you could both sit comfortably. 

Harry walks over to you, but you freeze. Harry was pleased knowing he had you all flustered. It was one of Harry’s turn ons. Harry sits and brings his arms draping on the back of the couch which would have you being in his arm if you decide to sit right there. A couple of seconds of you contemplating you walk towards Harry and hesitantly sit down. 

“I’m not going to bite.” he whispers in your left ear. Feeling his breath in your ear made you slightly clench your thighs together, hoping Harry doesn’t notice. But knowing your track record he probably did notice.

You try to come up with a conversation starter that hopefully doesn't hold all the spotlight on you. You look down at her close water bottle and scrambling for something in her head. 

“Now you’re shy. The last time I checked up you were coming for my head after that  mishap with your dog earlier.” 

“You deserved it. You were attacking Cosmo, so yeah. I was in fact coming for your ass.” You glance your eyes to Harry. You’re overly protected over Cosmo. Cosmo is your life.

Harry gave you a smirk. He couldn’t help but to admire your bluntness. He barely comes across people who lit a fire inside of him. They always try to please him because he is a celebrity, and people just want to please him- which he doesn’t mind, but he does wish they sometime bites back. Having you in his presence he doesn’t want to let you go just yet, little did he know, he wants to get to know you more. 

“What do you do, Y/N besides piercing people’s eardrums and being a dog mom.” 

“Ummm.. that’s a loaded fucking question. But you being Harry fuckin’ Styles I guess I have to come up with something to make myself more interesting and less… chaotic. Well I’m a 21 years old who doesn’t have anything to offer to this world. I live my life accepting I’ll probably be working at Newbury Comics. And on top of that I love music, but I’ll be considered unqualified because I have no talents, and all I could do is muster up some mediocre lyrics that I have stored in my notes app.” 

Harry didn’t break any eye contact when you were summarizing your sad life. That created a pit in your stomach because you never experienced anything that could ever compare to Harry’s tense gaze. 

Harry never encountered anyone in the span of meeting them baring their skin to him. He couldn’t help, but feel some sort of pride knowing he created a space for Y/N to be able to let your hair down and express herself in full detail. He feels more drawn to you because he knows what you’re feeling. The unknown is a scary thing to feel, but you’re doing that with grace without you even realizing it. Just accepting reality is the biggest thing to acknowledge, and you’re doing just that. 

“What do you have on your notes? Could you even help me write my next album.” Harry shrug glances his eyes away from you. 

You feel a surge of worries entering her body. You don't know what’s going on, and you don't like it. “What?! You barely know me. My so-called ‘lyrics’ could be shitty and cliche. What are you getting out of this? My humiliation?” You don't like being taken as a joke, but that’s all  you could come up with this peculiar interaction. Harry sees a naive little girl. 

“You’re pretty,” Harry says. And that’s all he said. He got up and walked out the room. You're left on the couch alone, and not understanding what he just said. Just a few minutes ago he asked for your help, and now just a few seconds ago he said you’re pretty. What kind of fuckery is this?!

You immediately got up and walked to whatever room you could find Harry in. It wasn’t that hard because Harry is in the kitchen. 

“Harry! I need you to explain. Talk to me, please.” You say while running her hands down your face. You thanked yourself for not wearing any makeup.

“Uh, you beg. I like that Y/N,” Harry chuckles and closes his fridge door. 

“Well…. I do find you attractive and I see a potential in you. I might be wrong or I might be right. There’s nothing wrong with finding out and seeing what you have.” Harry says. Harry isn’t afraid to look people in the eyes, but you sure do. You’re debating if you should  take this risk. Harry did say there’s nothing wrong with finding it out. 

“Fine. I will take that jump with you.” You say unsurely, but you have some faith in him and a little bit in yourself. 

“Good. Now can you stop being tense and enjoy yourself. You’re in fact talking to the one and only Harry Styles.” 

“Shut up, doofus.” 

One month Later

After Harry made the deal with you a month ago,  you guys have been surprisingly working together quite nicely. You guys wrote one complete song, and that song is now called, “Dirty Little Secret.” You can’t wait to hear Harry sing that song with his band because you’re pretty sure it will fit the band theme for his upcoming album. Harry doesn’t want to limit himself, but he does have an idea to make his third album mostly rock. 

Harry didn’t expect you to be a fuckin’ genious. Watching you in the corner jotting down lines in your beat up notebook with a pen in your hand made you start feeling someway. You always appreciate the art seeing people enjoy what they do, but Y/N is truly gifted because she has no experience with producing music. One long night two weeks ago you guys were sleep deprived because there was a week where you guys would stay up all night to write and you would stop when you saw the sunrise. Y/N found her love in music because of her father. He was a huge factor that made her who she is today. There was substance in her when she would talk about the accent in a song, how she would bounce that off with the bar while you would play the instruments. Y/N is truly a force to be reckoned with and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would be like to have her on tour with you. 

Y/N never felt more alive after her father passed. It’s like Harry woken something inside of her. You never thought you would experiment with music with Harry Styles, the artist for this generation. You’re not going to lie that you would watched all of his interviews and he would talk about when he write songs he has no boundaries, and it’s crazy he upheld that ideology because Harry made sure you know that there’s no right or wrong way, the only way is to play around and see how it goes. 

“I’m going to get some water. Do you want some?” You ask Harry dropping your notebook on the coffee table that’s covered in rolled up papers and a lot of take out boxes.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He says. You nod at him, and you got up to grab two cups of ice water for you both. 

Your notebook page flipped to a new page and Harry couldn’t help but notice to see “Bubblegum Bitch” written in all caps. Harry got intrigued, so he happily kicked the table so the book could fall, so his excuse could be, “Y/N it fell.” 

Harry kicked the coffee table with his big ass feet and the notebook happily splat on the floor. Harry reached for it and started flipping pages to see that title again, and it took him a couple of tries to find it. 

“Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll

Don't care if you think I'm dumb, I don't care at all

Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored

I'm the girl you'd die for”

Harry couldn’t help but not try to read all the lyrics. He wants to digest it all, but he knew Y/N could walk in any second. He couldn’t help but make a small gasp when he skimmed to the part of the song that had him falling on his knees 

“I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch.” 

“Harry, what are you doing?” Y/N says timidly. On the outside Y/N is calm and cool and collective, but on the inside you’re shaking and screaming. Your songs are attended only to you, not for other eyes to see. You’re still not confident with your writing abilities when it comes to songs for yourself, but knowing your idol probably read more than one line of your song is having you want the ground to swallow you up. 

“I’m not going to tiptoe around you and pretend Y/N. Bubblegum Bitch is amazing, fuck maybe fucking brillant Y/N. Shit.” Harry says he looks at you but goes back down to your notebook flipping pages after pages. 

You’re stuck where you’re standing. Feeling the condensation of two cups of water you’re currently holding is the only concept you’re able to maintain. 

Did Harry say that he likes your songs? Did he say brilliant? You’re not able to speak, all you’re able to do is walk up to the coffee table, drop the cups down and grab your notebook from Harry's grabby hands and collect your belongings. This is too much. You feel too much. You simply can’t right now. 

Harry sees you picking up your stuff and shoving your notebook and pens in your purse you bring every time you visit him. Harry couldn’t help, but feel bad that he could possibly make you feel uncomfortable. 

Harry stands up and starts walking up to where you are putting the last thing in your bag, “Y/N I’m sorry if me going through your stuff made you angry, but I couldn't help it Y/N. What I read was amazing, you’re amazing.” Harry hurrys out his words because he felt if he didn’t say it fast enough you would vanish. 

You’re trying to hold back your tears because it’s getting too much for you. The last time somebody read your stuff was your father, and right now you feel like you’re betraying the intimate moments you had with him. He was the one you would share your songs first with him. Now that he’s gone, you couldn’t put yourself out there to have someone else read it. You turn back around and you try to give a smile to Harry. 

“It’s okay, I- I just have to go. I’m sorry. We can talk later.” You push past Harry to make it to the front door, but you feel someone hand on your wrist so you immediately stop. 

“Y/N, I can’t have you leave, when I know that you’re not okay. Can you please talk to me? Please?” There’s a hint of sadness in Harry. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave him without having the answer he’s yearning for. 

You turn around and there’s Harry. His green eyes are pleading with yours, and you couldn’t help, but do what Harry is asking you to do. 

“Okay, I don’t want pity. Okay? Tell me you understand.” You ask Harry because the last thing you want from him is sympathy. 

“I promise Y/N. Would you mind if we sit down?” You nod your head and he walks you back with his hand in your hand. You both couldn’t help but feel some sort of palse running inside you both while holding each other's hands. It’s something both of you guys can’t simply forget. 

You got to the couch and you both sat down, no longer holding hands. You adjust yourself so you can face him. “Okay. My father died a couple of years ago and he was the only one I let read my stuff first. After he passed I never showed anyone my stuff because it would feel like I’m replacing him. I’m not mad that you read my stuff- I was just surprised, and I couldn’t help it but feel sadness creeping over me. Once again, I’m not angry at you, I’m just adjusting to a new milestone I just crossed without me not realizing it.” You say, and you’re hoping Harry doesn’t say, “Oh I’m sorry”  because you’re sorry to. 

“Well, I’m not sorry for your loss,” Harry says and you couldn’t help, but smile and laugh. “but I’m not sorry that I read it. You have something Y/N and I know you told me you haven’t had any experience in music industry, but fuck that. You have passion and I feel that every time we write something together in the past month, I don’t think I'll be able to forget about you when the summer is over.” Harry says. There was so much sincerity in what he just said.  

You thought it was all one sided because you felt so much being with Harry. You felt you were finally seeing a rainbow you hadn’t seen in a very long time. Harry brings so much out of you that you. Harry was always there when you were scared to take the first step. Him being there with you made it less scary because he was there every step of the way.

Harry didn’t expect he would’ve met someone this summer who would make such an impact on him. Harry thought he would do a lot of hooks up, go to parties and write for the entirety of the summer. But the universe had something planned for him. He met Y/N. He didn’t want to tell Y/N he that he found his first and only love, but he didn’t want to scare her. She could probably feel the same way or she only saw him as a friend but neither of them were ready for that big leap of faith. Even Y/N knew Harry is someone she couldn’t live without because he brings something out of you that you never felt in your entire life and that was courage and faith. 

Y/N met her faith. Only time could tell if faith would lead Harry and Y/N the soulmate they both were looking for.

“Harry, I don’t think I could possibly forget about you.” Y/N whisper because you felt if you used your normal voice the bubble you guys created would shatter within seconds.

Faith is a silly thing because faith could have you longing for something that’s impossible to grasp or faith could have you leaving you vulnerable, but that vulnerability could unlock something you never dreamt was even possible. 

[cupidsintern]

the death of hyacinthus - pt. i

this is my old renaissance au with artist!billy and model!steve so enjoy lol

The light spills out onto the floor before the window, making the worn wood of the floor look bright again, like new. The light doesn't reach Steve though. Billy set up the scene like that on purpose, closer to the center of his studio. No direct light. He wants this to be lit like it's the beginning of twilight. In his head, Hyacinth dies at sunset.

The room is silent, has been for a while, other than birds outside the window, a breeze that made the window tap against itself lightly, and fabric shifting if Steve stirs from where he is at all, draped across this haphazard construction of pillows, blankets, and a bench.

That's the word Billy used; “drape”. When Steve got to the studio Billy was kicking pillows around on his little model platform, trying to get everything set up right, hardly even greeting Steve at all before launching into his explanation of how he wanted Steve to look.

“-and he’s dying, but he’s not dead yet,” Billy walked half a circle around the platform, hands out. “So Apollo would- damn-” A pillow fell over, he pushed it back up. “Would be here. So if you can just sort of drape yourself across right here-”

Steve was stripping off the last of his garments when Billy turned back around.

“Here?” Steve finished kicking his stockings off, crossed to step up onto the platform.

Billy swallowed, looking Steve in the eyes because at least it meant he wouldn't look down, slack jawed. “Yeah, that's- that’s perfect.” Steve was already settling in to sitting down, letting his head fall back against the seat of the bench, throat exposed.

The way he was sitting shifted his weight in his hips more; Billy tried to look critically. Not appreciatively. He shouldn’t be appreciating the son of the nobleman that had decided to be his patron. Not that Steve was even supposed to be modeling for him beyond the two portraits he’d already had done.

“Tip your knee down more,” Billy stepps back, takes in the composition.

Steve drops his knee.

“Turn your head towards me.”

Steve obliges. The line of his nose looks perfect at three quarters.

Billy stepps up to the platform again, pulls some of the fabric forward, lets it fall over Steve's legs more, over his groin- good. Less distracting. More poetic or something- and the line of his thighs beneath the fabric has just the heaviness Billy is looking for. He steps back again.

“What’s the myth again?” Steve’s jaw gains definition when he speaks with his head at this angle.

“The Death of Hyacinthus.”

“I know that part.” Steve rolls his hand a little. “The part before that. How does he die?”

“He- hang on.” Billy steps close again to push things around, make the lines right. “The wind- Zephyr- gets jealous of his beauty. Apollo throws a discus, and Zephyr pushes it off course, so it knocks Hyacinth in the head. Apollo holds him while he dies.” Billy says it all matter-of-factly. He's trying not to get distracted. He picks up Steve's arm to tilt back towards him a little. His skin is warm like the sunlight staining the floor.

“That's sad.” Steve says. His arm feels relaxed in Billy’s grip. “Weren't they close? Apollo and Hyacinth.”

Billy feels a familiar warmth at his neck of this topic. This thing that always comes up when he and Steve are alone. “They were lovers.”

Steve doesn't say anything back to that.

Billy gets the composition mostly how he wants it- and he’ll probably try Steve in a couple different poses, this is only for sketching. He takes ages deciding where to set up to actually draw it- Steve makes fun of him. Billy says he’s not the one naked on a pile of old curtains. That makes Steve laugh. His stomach flexes a little when he laughs.

Billy's glad Steve can be part of his process now.

He gets some general gestures down on paper. He really nails the angle of Steve’s throat- which he's proud of. He needs the arch of the thing to be perfect. And he gets the general idea of Steve's features down quick- he’s drawn Steve's face maybe a thousand times by now. The way his arm falls is tricky- he’ll come back to that in a bit.

“Billy.”

Billy looks up at Steve’s voice. He’s sat up a little, something short of coy in his eyes. “I’m cold.” “You’re cold.” Billy says back to him. Because he never does what Steve implies. Only what Steve says.

“Yeah, like you said- I’m bare ass naked on a pile of curtains.”

“Your calling.”

Steve laughs again. “Do you think we could close the door?”

“We?”

“You. Can you close the door.”

“Who’s the revered artist here?”

“Who’s the patron?”

Billy rolls his eyes, but he drops his chalk into the lip of his easel anyway, walks to pull the door to his studio shut, separating them from the rest of the house. Steve left it open in the first place.

“You’re not my patron.” Billy says when he gets back, picks up to start drawing again.

“I’m close.” Steve only sounds a little superior.

He’s right. He is close to being Billy's patron. He recommended Billy to his family, he talked up Billy’s version of the pieta, he introduced Billy to the Influentials of Florence, got him this nice new studio, set up in one of the family houses. He was only a little superior about it.

Mostly he was nice.

Nice to Billy. Excited about the things he drew, always asking him what he was working on.

Asked to sit for him once, twice, how many more times, he was part of the process now.

This might be what having a muse was, if Billy believed in things like having muses.

Steve scratches the back of his calf with a foot, then sets his legs back down.

“I’m surprised you don’t get bored doing this.” Billy cracks two of the knuckles on his drawing hand, shakes out his wrist. He’s only prying a little.

“I like watching you work,” comes Steve's easy reply.

“Still.” Billy smudges at a stray line with his thumb. “You’re always fidgety at dinners and shit. Not here.”

“Dinners are boring.” Steve sighs.

He had expressed that sentiment before. That he found Billy much more interesting than anything his family ever did. That he’d trade his infinite wealth for the virve Billy so possessed. Only he didn't say it like that. He said “I’d trade all of this shit for whatever makes your art so beautiful.”

And Billy said “You wouldn't want to. Trust me.”

Billy, having seared the image of Steve into his brain by now, was adding more definition in places, really letting his focus slide out of his head.

And it’s quiet for a bit. Billy doesn't notice when the silence breaks- the sound of shifting fabric, bare feet on wood floor-

“Shit, that’s really good.” Steve's voice startles Billy a little, but he doesn’t let it show. Just turns a little abruptly to find Steve leaning over his shoulder.

“Looks just like me.” Steve continued, hovering his fingertips over Billy's rendition of his nose.

“You don’t have to sound so impressed every time.” Billy rolled his eyes, pushing Steve’s hand away.

“Oh, excuse me for showing some enthusiasm.” Steve hummed another laugh, still looking at the paper. He traced a finger absentmindedly down his own flesh-and-blood nose, marveling at the likeness.

Billy couldn't focus enough to continue with Steve so close. Not like he’d never seen Steve in next to nothing before. But this was really and truly nothing. And even naked as the day he was born Steve exuded wealth in just the way he stood. Like clothes were nothing but decoration on something already… beautiful.

“Can you go back to your spot, please?” Billy got out, looking away like he was annoyed.

Steve just smiled at him before padding back to his platform, throwing the fabric back over his legs.

But now the composition was wrong-

“So,” Steve’s voice carried across the sun-soaked chambers. “Why Hyacinth?”

“What do you mean.” Billy was trying desperately to collect his thoughts.

“I mean, he’s dating a god, right? Why him? What's so special about him.”

“He’s beautiful.”

“And?”

“Well, I mean, he’s a Spartan prince, he’s legendary. Apollo doesn't even really pick him. Hyacinth has, like, a bunch of people to choose from. He picks Apollo.”

Billy can’t draw like this, especially since Steve fucked up the composition- probably on purpose.

Billy gets up with an unintentional little huff and gets close to Steve again, has to adjust his legs again, avoid staring at the pinks that dust Steve’s everywhere-

“You draw me a lot.” Steve interrupts Billy’s train of thought.

Billy looks up, holding Steve’s wrist like it was his own. “You sit for me a lot-”

“What's your favorite part to draw?”

Billy’s breathing feels thicker, like his throat is coated in honey, sweet but hard to breathe. “Of you?” “Yeah.”

“Your nose.” Billy says easily, because it's safe to say.

Steve smiles. “You've said that before.”

“It's true.” Billy prepares to turn away again, to tell Steve they should get more done while there's still daylight.

Steve’s fingers hook against the palm of Billy's hand. This is playing with fire.

Steve lifts Billy's hand up, touches it to the bridge of his nose.

He can feel the sharp bone under his forefinger.

“Where else?”

Billy inhales. It's a feat. “Your jaw.”

Steve pulls Billy's hand down his cheek to touch his jawline. They’ve been avoiding this forever,

“And?” Cliche game of cat and mouse. Right now, Billy’s the mouse.

“Your shoulders.” Billy watches Steve drag his hand down his perfect neck to the slope of his perfect shoulders. “Steve.”

“Billy.” Steve mocks Billy’s warning tone just a little. “Come on, what else?”

Billy swallows again. He doesn't respond he just lets his hand wander lower, lower, down his chest, to his stomach-

Billy stops his hand, pushes back against Steve’s. “I’ve never drawn you nude, if that's what you’re implying.”

“Maybe you should.” Steve’s finger’s slide up Billy's forearm to hook under the edge of his rolled up sleeve.

“I’d need a couple different references...” Billy trails off. He knows Steve is about to kiss him.

It’s still delicious when he does. No number of days, weeks, waiting for one of them to make a move, of thinking what that move would be, what it would feel like, would have prepared Billy for the spit-sweet taste of a first kiss in the late afternoon.

-

i might do a part ii or just leave it like this lol

[the-phoenix-heart]

10 Amazing Futurama Comics

There is a severe lack of Futurama content on this and other sites (seriously, the Night at the Museum movies have more fics than Futurama). And, nobody posts about the Futurama comics. So I’m posting 10 of my favorites.

10. Attack of the 50-Foot Amy (Issue #33)

It’s actually not as sexual as the cover makes it out to be. The basic premise is that Amy mistakes the can of growth spray (that Cubert and Dwight want to use for their science fair project) for hair spray and sprays waaaay too much before her anniversary date with Kif. Meanwhile, Bender teaches Fry the wonders of video piracy, but after he gets scared by a movie home alone style he eats his disc of pirated movies and starts uncontrollably acting them out. You can probably guess how these two plots connect.

While I do list this one as one of my favorites, it’s far from perfect. The artwork is good, but the scaling on Amy is very wonky so she looks more like a twenty-foot Amy (also Dwight’s eyes are drawn weird in this comic, he looks blazed out the entire time). But I cannot help but be charmed by this comic. It’s got some sweet Bender and Fry friendship moments and actually makes me believe Kif and Amy’s relationship for a little bit. They are very sweet in this comic, although Kif does go through some pain in this comic.

Best moments: They way they resolve the plot is actually pretty funny and clever, plus Bender hopped up on pirated movies is a joy. At one point Fry gets shoved by Steven Spielbot (don’t ask) and Bender goes all Rocky on his ass saying “No one talks to my gal, Adrian, like that!” It’s very sweet and...subtextual if you understand my meaning. This one also has anti comic book piracy message at the end which was ironic for me to read.

9. Doctor What (Issue #32)

The Professor creates a time traveling port-a-potty so that you can pee in whatever time and space you want, although it’s completely random. However, Zoidberg accidentally breaks the potty, so him, Leela, Fry, and Bender have to keep randomly flushing to get back home. On each of these new worlds Zoidberg keeps accidentally saving the citizens, getting medals, and ends up becoming addicted to the fame he keeps winning. Which leads to them getting stuck in a post apocalyptic New New York.

This is the infamous Leela-Bender-Fry fusion comic, Leelan von Fry-Bot. His backstory is actually a little sad, but I won’t spoil it here. This one is pretty good, because it has Zoidberg as the hero. Actually quite a few of these feature Zoidberg as a fourth member of the delivery crew which is weird, but not entirely unwelcome. It’s also fun to see these other worlds, and now that I think about it it’s actually a little similar to The Late Phillip J. Fry, what with the time travel to different interesting worlds.

Best Moments: I actually liked Leelan’s backstory, and his interactions with his “parents” (you’ll understand when you read it) are actually pretty funny and a little cute. Fry really wants to be a dad you can tell.

8. The Simpsons Futurama Crossover Crisis II

The professor creates a device that takes characters out of their stories into the real world. Trouble is, he tells the mayor that this invention is useful because you can get slave labor out of the characters because they technically have no constitutional rights. The Simpsons end up working with the Planet Express crew, but an accident leads to the release of ALL FICTIONAL CHARACTERS EVER.

This is a sequel comic to the Futurama Simpsons Infinitely Secret Crossover Crisis (fun fact: a reference to several famous comic book arcs). I chose this one above it though because I think it understood the assignment better. The original is funny, but I just don’t think that Springfield is a good setting for a Futurama crossover. Springfield for all its zaniness, is not the future. New New York, however, is great for this crossover. We get several scenes where we see the Simpsons going through space and fighting off monsters. We even get to see the other residents of Springfield in the future, Mr. Smithers becomes a space pirate and Mr. Burns falls in love with Mom, it’s great.

Best Moments: Some of them I already mentioned, but I cannot stress enough how hilarious the Burns-Mom romance is, it’s especially good when you can hear their voices in your head. I also like the friendship the Simpsons have with the Planet Express crew.

7. Six Characters in Search of a Story (Issue #14)

This is a very interesting comic. The Professor falls asleep, so to pass the time the crew decides to look through his old failed inventions, and well, that’s a very bad idea. The most interesting thing about this comic is it’s designed so that if you want you can only read certain panels to follow one person’s story. The Futurama comics do this a lot of the time and it’s always interesting.

The shenanigans that occur in this one are really funny, and there are some great looking pages in this. Also the Futurama crew clearly took ideas from the comics, and this is one of them. You can tell from the cover art that this does have elements of “Benderama” in it, what with Bender cloning himself ad infinitum. I also really like the climax, it’s a little schmultz-y for Futurama, but I don’t mind.

Best Moments: Fry gets stuck with a Spanish speaking Bender and I don’t know why but it’s really funny to me. The professor also gets some funny moments in this one. And Scruffy. Scruffy is always a delight.

6. Igner-ance is Bliss! (Issue #63)

Yeah this is the infamous robot Leela and Fry comic. Don’t worry, like the cover says, it’s not as dramatic as it looks. The crew has to go to a world that’s too dangerous for humans, so Fry, Leela, and Zoidberg all have their consciousnesses put into robot doubles so they can make the delivery. However, it turns out this planet is a sort of getaway spa for robots, and the crew decides to party it up there, at least until Bender discovers that this is a front for an evil plot by Mom. The subplot is mostly about how Igner is not respected by his brothers.

This one is fun, and I love a comic where Bender has to be the voice of reason. It is clearly killing him to be the responsible one, but I love it. Also, I have a soft spot for Igner, so it’s nice to see him get thrown a bone for once. This also has some really fun jokes with everyone, but Zoidberg in particular gets some bangers. I think my only problem is it ISN’T as cool as the cover makes it out, but like I’m happy with what it is.

Best Moments: Fry beats up Bender at one point and wins, I think he deserved it. Also, y’all know Admiral Ackbar from Star Wars? He makes some cameos in this one. Also all the robots (sans Bender) make a Japanese style mecha and it’s the coolest thing ever. Plus everything I’ve said about Igner I love in this one. Oh also Fry beats Calculon at poker and I really love that.

5. Who’s Dying to be a Gazillionaire? (Issue #5)

This one is sweet. The IRS is threatening to bankrupt Planet Express, and if they can’t think of a way to make a million dollars they will go out of business. No one really has any ideas and doesn’t even really care, except for Fry who is determined to save Planet Express. He gets the idea to go onto Who Wants to be a Gazillionaire to make the money, even though it’s a trivia show and if he loses he will die.

This one really warms my heart, it’s Fry at his best, just doing what he can for the people he loves. Even the professor is great in this one. I don’t want to spoil it, but trust me when I say it’s good (god I hope I’m not building this up too much).

Best moments: The end panel. But also the resolution of the story is great, and I really appreciate this comic for Fry as a character.

4. Rumble in the Jungle (Issue #38)

This is a fine comic. Leela is mad that she’s not being respected by Fry and Bender, and it’s bad enough that they don’t believe her when she says they’re going to crash into a planet. They end up parachuting down and getting separated. Leela ends up as queen of some workers in the “Amazon,” meanwhile Fry finds Bender’s corpse and goes off to avenge him.

This one is fun, and another fun one for Fry, because he’s determined to avenge Bender and works hard for it. This also includes the original Frender, not the ship but fusion. Leela and Fry even have a fight scene against each other and it’s honestly great.

Best Moments: Fry is great throughout the entire comic, and Leela spends most of her time beating up random animals. Bender also using a lead parachute he made out of toys he stole from children is funny, especially because I’m always a sucker for Bender doing dumb shit.

3. Don’t Go Taking My Heart! (Issue #69) (nice)

Mom only has a couple weeks to live, unless she can get a heart transplant. It’s revealed that Mom uses the cryogenics lab to get new body parts for herself, and that Fry was supposed to be her heart donor! Unfortunately, because he was unfrozen she now has to get him to work for Mom Corp to make sure his heart stays intact for the procedure.

If you can’t tell I love the Fry-centric comics, and I also like the comics where Mom is the villain. Of course this comic doesn’t go completely how you expect it to go, it’s actually REALLY sweet. I also love the fact that in this comic Fry actually makes a great intern. He basically has the job of a secretary and he’s GOOD at it. And I love seeing when Fry is good at things. The reason why I put this at only 3 is because it doesn’t really have a subplot. Bender gets a job at mom corp to but it’s only there for a couple pages, and Leela’s new crew gets two panels and that’s it.

Best Moments: The moments with Mom and Fry, but also guess who Mom’s doctor is? I’m actually not going to reveal it because it’s so random but also hilarious.

2. Boomsday! (Issue #58)

The Professor builds Bender his own parents, as a way to placate/discipline Bender. However, these parents decide that Fry is a bad influence on Bender, leading to them kicking him out. Meanwhile, the Professor’s doomsday devices are all stolen, and he has to go find them.

Both of these plots are funny and good. Bender’s plot is also really sweet what with his friendship with Fry, and his wish for parents. Meanwhile the Professor’s plot is just really funny and I do love seeing the Professor in his element. The ending is mostly heartwarming.

Best Moments: Everything with Fry and Bender, and Bender has a sweet relationship with his fake parents. Also, the Professor uses Issac Asimov candles on the robot mafia which I found a great joke. Oh, and the Professor’s first doomsday device was made when he was four years old and I love that. The end of the comic also has very nice message.

1. Rotten to the Core (Issue #27)

The world’s weather has gone kerflooey, and the Professor has figured out that his invention that can drill into the center of the Earth has been used. It conspires that Bender sold it at a yard sale to some aliens call the magmoids. The magmoids are trying to steal magma from the Earth’s core and the crew has to go and stop them.

This is my favorite because it’s a great character comic. All of the main three have great moments, and it’s also a great science comic. The Earth’s core is incredibly magnetic so of course Bender starts spouting out folk songs, and also SECRETS. I can’t believe no one has used the fact that canonically magnets make Bender incapable of telling lies. Anyway, it’s just really fun.

Best Moments: Way too many to count. Bender and Fry are told to cut out the “Brokeback Moanin,’“ Leela and Fry are bitter at the end, Fry tells story about his childhood, Bender has some great secrets to tell, the Professor gets a really fun ending, Bender has a rare moment of generosity, and the entirety of the climax is all kinds of fun and sweet.

[tothemeadow]

THE REQUEST ARE OPEN AGAINN!! AHHHH CONTINUATION OF PILLAR BODY SWAP THANKYOUUUU

‘switch ‘em up pt. 4′ / Pillars x Reader (now with the Kamaboko Squad!)

warnings: none

words: 2,243

(a/n): I just wanna thank the lovely anon that gave me the idea to this plotline; it helped a lot!

-

for reference: Giyuu/Shinobu | Gyomei/Mitsuri | Obanai/Tengen | Sanemi/Muichiro | Kyojuro/you

-

“I’m not sure I understand entirely,” Tanjiro confesses, his eyebrows furrowing. “So you’re looking for some special type of herb?”

“Precisely,” Shinobu says.

Overhead, birds chirp and flood the skies, hopping from branch to branch and competing each other with their harmonies. A delicate breeze sweeps through the area, carrying loose leaves and the crisp smell of nature. On any other day, you’d love to come back; however, considering the circumstances, you’d rather not be here.

After much discussion on what should be done to return everyone to their normal bodies, Shinobu voiced an idea that may work – finding a special herb and using its medicinal properties. It’s a bit of a longshot, but it’s not like anyone else has any other better idea. And whether the others voiced it or not, everyone is secretly wishing that this magical plant will bring a miracle.

As such, you and the rest of the Pillars take the trip to Mount Sagiri; Tanjiro insisted he tag along since he knows the area well, plus he wanted to help. Of course, this meant traveling with his two friends, Zenitsu and Inosuke. Truthfully, it’s quite a crowd you’re traveling with, but it should prove to be useful to have extra eyes searching for the herb.

“Giyuu knows this area as well, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find it!” Tanjiro chirps, looking to his friend. Although Giyuu is still stuck inside Shinobu’s body, he looks away, a light blush dusting his face. “Plus, Urokodaki-san should be able to help us!”

“Wait, that old man who used to be the Water Pillar?” Tengen questions.

“Don’t disrespect him,” Giyuu abruptly snaps. The muscle in his jaw ticks. “That is all I ask.”

At that, Tengen lets out a drawn-out whistle. “Damn, alright. Don’t tear my head off, waterworks.”

“Waterworks? What kind of name is that?” Sanemi speaks up. “I think you’ve been inside of Obanai for too long, Tengen. Your insults are starting to turn lame.”

“Fuck you,” Obanai mutters.

“It’s not my fault Obanai doesn’t possess a flamboyant sense of humor!”

With a sigh, you watch on as Tengen, Sanemi, and Obanai start bickering. Frankly, you don’t know why they’re even putting in the effort. Everyone is stuck in a situation that they don’t like, so what’s the point?

Beside you, Zenitsu wrings his hands, an uneasy expression crossing his features. “Uh… Kyojuro? Wait, wait, sorry – (y/n)?” You hum in response. “Are all the Pillars this… tense? Like, normally?”

“Heh. Well, not really. Sanemi’s always got a stick up his ass, and Obanai’s just naturally edgy like that,” you tell him. As you look to him, it strikes you as odd to have to look down at him. You’ve otherwise grown used to the height difference, but it still takes you aback sometimes.

Zenitsu snickers. His unease melts away, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “When you put it that way, it sounds just like that moron Inosuke.”

“Oi! Who the fuck are you calling a moron?!” Inosuke barks.

Quirking an eyebrow, Zenitsu shoots you a bored look. “See what I mean?”

“We’re here!” Tanjiro exclaims.

Having been distracted from the short conversation with Zenitsu, you’ve completely ignored your surroundings. Cursing yourself internally for being so careless, you look ahead, taking in the sight of a small home with an even smaller garden next to it. So this must be Urokodaki’s home, huh? How quaint.

“This doesn’t really look like much,” Muichiro voices. Shifting his attention to Giyuu, he cocks his head. “So this is where you were trained?”

Giyuu nods stiffly. The look on his face – Shinobu’s face – is, well, vulnerable. You haven’t seen him show so much emotion before, and it’s a bit startling. If you’re being entirely honest, it looks as though he’s ready to throw up everything that’s inside his gut.

“It’s just as I remember!” Tanjiro chirps. “It’s nice up here, don’t you think? The air gets thinner from here on up, so please be careful when scaling the mountain.”

As if on cue, the door to the house slides open, revealing an elderly man with a tengu mask adorning his face. The air about him demands respect; it’s more than obvious that this very man was a Pillar, and a strong one at that. You watch on as Tanjiro and Giyuu step up towards the house before dropping into respectful bows. Tanjiro’s movements are much more fluid, more comfortable. Giyuu’s are more… wooden.

“Tanjiro, my boy!” Urokodaki greets. Ushering Tanjiro closer, he greets the young man with a hug. “…Who’s this fine lady with you?”

Tengen laughs.

“Urokodaki-san, it’s me,” Giyuu grumbles. “Giyuu…”

Although you can’t see Urokodaki’s face, you have a pretty good idea of what it’s like. The man falls silent, glances from him to Tanjiro, then he scans over the group behind him. Sure, you can’t blame him for being skeptical; a random swarm of people showing up to your house unexpectedly is bound to raise some questions. However, these are all Pillars he’s dealing with. This isn’t something to take lightly.

“Urokodaki-san,” Tanjiro begins, “we need your help. We’re not entirely sure how, but all the Pillars switched bodies with each other. It’s been like this for a number of days now, and we don’t know how long it’s supposed to last.”

After another moment or so of silence, Urokodaki sighs and crosses his arms. “Listen, kid, that seems a bit… much, don’t you think?”

“It might be some sort of Blood Art!” Tanjiro rushes. “Please, Urokodaki-san!”

Again, another sigh. “So everyone is in another body than their own? Haven’t heard of an ability like that before, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.” Nodding in Shinobu’s direction, he says, “So, that’s Giyuu’s body, but it isn’t him?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Shinobu tells him. “Believe me when I say I don’t want to be in Giyuu-san’s body more than I have to.”

“Ehhh?! What’s with all the talking!” Inosuke bursts. “You guys said you wanted to find a plant, not talk to some old coot!”

“Inosuke!” Tanjiro scolds, but he’s too late. In a blink of an eye, Giyuu practically materializes right before Inosuke, his fist colliding with Inosuke’s gut. There’s a loud groan of pain as Inosuke drops to the ground, his hands clutching onto his stomach. To the side, both Zenitsu and Tengen break out into fits of laughter.

“I told you not to disrespect him,” Giyuu grunts.

“Ohoho!” Kyojuro booms, just as loud as always. At this rate, he’s going to blow out your vocal cords before you can get them back. “How loyal, Giyuu! I’m impressed!”

Rolling your eyes, you break away from the group, opting to join Tanjiro. “Urokodaki-san,” you greet, giving a polite bow, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. Listen, I know this is a complicated situation, but we really need to find this plant. It’s crucial that we do.”

Urokodaki hums. “I know you – you’re Rengoku Shinjuro’s boy, aren’t you?”

“Huh? Well, technically – but I’m not Kyojuro. I’m (l/n) (y/n), the Wild Pillar.”

“You’re not? Figures. This whole “switched body” conundrum is making my brain work in ways it hasn’t worked in years.” Urokodaki waves a dismissive hand at you. “Whatever. If all of you are willing to look for such a plant, feel free to scale the mountain to your heart’s content. I’ll get dinner started.”

“Thank you so much!” Tanjiro chirps. After Urokodaki slides the door shut behind him, the two of you turn back to the others, smiles plastered on both of your faces. “Everyone – it’s time! Let’s turn you all back to normal!”

-

After hours of searching, no one has come up with anything. Granted, a vast variety of edible plants line the mountain – all of them useful in one way or another – but it’s not the dreaded silva you’re looking for. Shinobu said it was vine-like, with delicate leaves shaped like bells. The only you found worth of any interest was watching Inosuke eat almost every mushroom he could find and crack open acorns like they were nothing.

Soon, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of peach and berry. The view was simply breathtaking, and you had to stop to take it in for a few moments.

“It’s always been like that,” Giyuu says quietly. Stopping next to you, he gazes at the setting sun, a wistful gleam in his eyes. “Most of the time, we were too busy training to watch it, though.”

Now that you think about it, Giyuu has been acting weird ever since arriving. Call it intuition, but you’re almost positive that he was feeling guilty about something. And he said we instead of I, so that only confirms your suspicion. Glancing around, you imagine a younger Giyuu descending the mountain, panting like crazy in the thin air, narrowly avoiding the numerous traps Urokodaki set up. If he experienced anything like the pain roaring in your back and sides right now, you’re amazed he dared to set foot back on this very mountain.

“Thinking back to simpler times, huh?” you ask, voice soft.

Giyuu scoffs. “The training was far from simple, but yeah. Things were a lot more different then.”

As if acting on its own, your arm slings itself around Giyuu, tugging him closer and holding him against your body. With him in Shinobu’s body, he’s so small, his head nestled against your chest. At first, he tenses up, but then slowly relaxes in your hold. Ever since switching bodies, you’ve noticed Kyojuro’s personality starting to bleed into yours. Hell, even his body is trying to one up you.

“I miss him,” Giyuu whispers.

Your heart drops to your stomach at his tone. “…Who?”

“Oi! Are you two just gonna stand there or are you coming back down?” Sanemi snaps.

Muttering a curse under your breath, you pull away, but you keep a hand on Giyuu’s forearm. “You’re helping me down, got it? This mountain gives me the creeps and I don’t want to get rammed by another damned log. Seriously – how did Urokodaki-san even set them up?”

Despite the saddened glint in his eyes, Giyuu manages to crack a smile.

-

The inside of Urokodaki’s house is cramped, but it’s also very homely. Scattered around the living area, each person more or less sticks to themselves, too much in pain to engage in lively conversation. Shinobu treats to the wounds, making sure bones are intact and intestines didn’t take too much of a beating. The only ones completely unaffected are Tanjiro and Giyuu, but that much is obvious.

“So what now?” Mitsuri asks. Still in Gyomei’s colossal body, she’s probably one of the Pillars that’s had the most trouble adjusting to her new form. “We’re not going to give up looking, are we?”

“I didn’t think it was this rare,” Shinobu admits. “Perhaps we were looking at the wrong spots on the mountain? It’s possible.”

“Take a breather before springing back into motion,” Urokodaki says. Sitting before the hearth, he absentmindedly prepares some tea. “Think, plan, then go about your business. A mindless game of hide and seek isn’t going to produce any results.

“Mmph! Mmph!” Nezuko agrees (or you think so, anyway). You’ve only met her a handful of times outside of her box, but you enjoy her company very much.

“Wait,” Shinobu suddenly says, snapping upright. “Urokodaki-san, what’s that you’re grinding up right now?”

Setting down his mortar and pestle, Urokodaki busies his hands with plucking apart wildflowers. “It’s silva. It grows right out here in my garden.”

At that, Shinobu’s draw drops. “By the gods-“ She facepalms, then, and groans. “That’s the herb we were looking for! You’re telling me that it’s been down here the entire time?!”

“Why didn’t you say what you were looking for?” Urokodaki says. “Could’ve saved a lot of time.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sanemi curses.

“That wasn’t very flamboyant of you,” Tengen chimes in. “I agree with Sanemi – this is bullshit.”

Urokodaki shrugs. “And how is that my fault? You’re all Pillars, are you not? Shame on you for being unobservant.”

“Urokodaki-san, please,” Tanjiro says.

“Alright, alright, fine.” In a couple of minutes, he prepares the tea as planned and pours it into a number of ceramic cups. “Since you’re all on my ass about it, drink up.”

“Uh, should we really be drinking this…?” Zenitsu squeaks, staring down at his own cup.

“Stop being a pussy!” Inosuke cackles. Tipping his head back, he downs his tea in one go.

Everyone more or less follows suit, taking sips of their own tea. As you set your own cup down, you feel the beginning of a warm, pleasant sensation in your lower tummy.

“Hey, Shinobu?” Tanjiro asks. “Is the herb supposed to make you feel sleepy?” At his words, Nezuko slumps to the floor. One by one, all the others drop like flies, yourself included.

Some time passes before your eyes crack back open. The inside of Urokodaki’s house is dark; from the crickets chirping and an owl hooting nearby, you quickly realize that it’s nighttime, and it’s probably late. With a groan, you sit up, dragging a hand across your face in the process. Wait… that’s not your hand, and it’s not Kyojuro’s either. Squinting through the darkness, you’re able to make out slight details, but it’s enough to make your heart sink. The herb didn’t work.

You’re in Giyuu’s body instead.

[itsmespicaa]

Regrets

Summary: A deeper look into Cassandra Cain's life after the Anti-Life virus struck the whole Universe and her interactions with her family.

(Alternatively: Cass gets the hugs she deserves in DCeased)

Note: The art I drew for this fic is here.

Read this on AO3

There was no time to lose.

There was still so much...life in this building. So much to protect. Cassandra is beyond glad they‘ve all decided to stay—these children...are not like her. Or Jason. Or even Gordon-

"Jim," he sighed, wistful and...sad. Eyes briefly lost in what was no doubt a shrapnel of memory that cuts and pricks deep into your chest, pushed aside to focus on the present—to survive—no matter how painful it digs into your soul. She understood. He glanced at her and smiled. "Jim’s fine, Cass. We’re all family, right?”

These children needed them, and...perhaps a part of her needed them too. They all needed each other now, one way or another.

Nights are...the worst.

Sleep has never come naturally for her, even before...everything. Before their whole world fell apart. She was not unfamiliar with loss, but this- there was no time to mourn or- or even breathe. No time to look back and realize just how much was taken from them.

Survive. Move forward. Survive, kill, survive. Keep each other safe.

Her mantra—the only thing that mattered now.

She did not allow herself to think of Barbara‘s kind eyes, or the last time she heard Dick laughing in the manor. She did not think of the fistbump she shared with Tim on their last patrol together.

She did not allow herself to think about Bruce, of the comforting weight on her shoulder after another successful night a few days ago. An easy night—quick and simple. So...different from the nights now that her chest ached and ached-

Nor did she allow herself to think about Stephanie, who wasn't even supposed to be in Gotham now. Her mother too...surely...?

(But Batman was supposed to be invincible, and yet, and yet—)

No. No time to look back. No time for hope or questions with no answers.

Nights are the worst.

Beyond the stillness of the night, beyond the quiet of the sleeping children...the monsters lurk and scream. She could hear them, clear as day—sleep did not come to them...so nor would she.

Instead, she sat in a corner—not too close that she could be spotted instantly, but close enough to aide should anything happen—silent and watchful over the children now in her care. It soothed her, seeing them so peaceful. Their innocence not yet fully stolen from them.

A night without one of them waking up from a nightmare was all that she asked for.

"Cass."

She did not turn to the voice. As she waited, her brother finally came to sit beside her, knees drawn up to his chest as if to mimic her.

On a better day, she would‘ve smiled at this.

She didn't smile.

"You really should rest," murmured Jason after a while. "I‘ll watch over them tonight. We need to be in tip top condition if we plan on protecting them."

Facing him, face impassive, she signed: You? Sleep?

A huff, eyes dim. "Touché."

They sat there, side by side, watching the faces of those more vulnerable than them for a long time, the noise from beyond the walls momentarily cut out as her focus zeroed in on the children.

"I buried them," said Jason suddenly, breaking the fragile peace. Cass does not stop, doesn‘t have to ask who he meant.

"I should‘ve told you sooner, but with everything going on..."

Words were never her allies, and they weren't one now. Cass swallowed the lump growing in her throat, along with whatever words she was about to say.

I know, she touched her cheeks twice instead, trusting in her brother to see it.

Jason definitely noticed, because the next moment he was slowly wrapping an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. Like a puppet cut loose from its string, Cass melted into his side, finally allowing herself a small moment to just-

Mourn.

She and Jason were never as close as her and Tim, but they understood one another, possibly better than most in the family. They would spent rare moments reading together in the manor‘s library, comfortably co-existing. Now-

No more words were spent that night, the two of them silently supporting each other as they accept their new reality. She did not move to wipe the few drops of tears tracking down her cheeks, and Jason said nothing.

How cruel is it that the ones to survive are the people who had touched death before?

...Damian? Alfred? Her hand moved as she looked at him, mouth pressed in a thin line. The only ones left. And their youngest sibling. The expression that reflected back at her was just as grim, but the lines on his face were noticeably lighter, and Cass can tell from the loose grip on her shoulder—from the set of his jaw that it was not a bad news.

"Both are still alive in Metropolis last I checked yesterday," he said, fingers picking at a loose strand on his jacket—nervous, "and hopefully they’re with other heroes too. I...try not to check too often. Gotta save the energy of the car, y‘know?"

And I‘m scared to know, was unspoken, but she heard it. Saw the fear in his creases, the anxiety in his sunken eyes.

The regret.

Cassandra understood. There were regrets she would have to live with now too.

She nodded, looking back at the children again. A sense of tranquility finally settling in her chest, the anguish she felt not completely extinguished...but there was only so much she could bear at a time. These children are her priorities now, her new family, and...

Little brother, she tugged and signed at Jason before resting a hand on his back. "Keep you safe," she emphasized each words, tugging on his red hoodie—now splattered in different shades of red.

That...startled a laugh out of him. A small quirk of lips, but Cass saw it as what it is and beamed too, subdued as it was.

"I don‘t know about me being the younger brother," he chuckled softly, "but I'm glad I have a kick-ass sister like you. I have your back too, Cass. Always."

She would not lose any more of her family if she could help it. New or old.

Even if she had to sacrifice herself.

Her mother. She was-

Cassandra watched as the children exit the bus and can’t help the bittersweet smile tugging the edge of her lips.

She was a hero.

In the very end, she died a hero. Protecting the life of innocents and...her family.

Her heart felt too heavy to maintain it however, and after making sure all the surviving children are accounted for and comfortably settled in their new home, she wandered over to the newly chiseled statue the Green Guardian—Ivy had bestowed upon them as a token of respect. A gift.

She stood before the likeness of her mother, her last moments playing over her mind like a broken cassette.

Her eyes burned and she blinked, rapidly.

"Hey."

The white-haired lady. Moved with quiet grace almost as good as her. Almost.

She nodded back in lieu of a reply.

"Complicated parent issues?"

"...Yes."

A sigh. "Same."

They stood there, side by side, both lost in thought as they gazed upon the legacy their parents have left.

"Despite everything..." whispered Rose, "We still love and miss them, don‘t we?"

"She was...not a good mother," began Cass, trying to find the right words to describe the turmoil of emotions warring within her. "But she loved me. And I...loved her. In the end...that‘s all that matters."

A curt nod. "I get it. Really.

"I know loss is inevitable now," continued Rose, hand seemingly wanting to reach out before pulling back abruptly, "but...I‘m sorry you had to see that yourself. I‘m here if you want to uh- talk and all that. Or even just my company."

Cass was...touched. It was a sweet gesture, considering they haven‘t had much time to get to know each other before arriving here.

Smiling quietly at her, she pointed at herself and signed: Conversation. Not good. Rose‘ sign language skill isn‘t on par with hers or Jason, but it’s enough.

She smiled back, laughter in her voice: "So we won‘t have to speak. I can be a good listener when I need to be."

At that moment, Cass decided she liked this girl. Suddenly grateful to have her here—that her brother had her too.

It was probably that thought that prompted her to get her attention, her hands moving quickly: You. Jason. Happy?

Surprisingly, that brought on a small blush on Rose‘s already rosy cheeks, and Cass‘ smile widened.

"We- haven‘t made it official or anything but...yeah. Yeah, I think we are." Rubbing the back of her neck, bashful eyes cast downwards in a rare show of vulnerability, she reminded her so much of Stephanie that she had to bite down her lips to keep it from wobbling.

Instead she gave her the warmest grin she could muster, focusing on the person in front of her now. "Good," she said, before pulling her in for an earnest hug.

For a while Rose just stood there, letting Cass do all the work—but then she grasped her back just as tightly, finally realizing that the hug was for Cass herself as much as it is for her.

They both lost their parent, now truly orphans like everyone else, and Cassandra‘s...grateful she wasn‘t alone for this.

"I see you two are bonding already," came a familiar voice.

Lo and behold, Jason appeared from behind them with a smirk. He and Rose exchanged a look and before he even turned to her, Cass already knew what he was about to do.

She returned her brother‘s embrace, accepting it for what it was. I‘m sorry, his body screamed—sad, sad, sad. Sad for...her.

Standing toe to toe, he dwarfed her in comparison, and Cass was all of a sudden struck with the memory of the last time she hugged their father (Bruce, not Cain. Never Cain.) A sharp twinge of pain swiped at her chest, a simple wish that...she could‘ve hugged her mother too.

Physical affection did not come easy to Jason either, but Cass knew he was tired of regretting, tired of letting people go when everything you loved could be taken from you at any moment and...she felt the same.

Regrets seem to be the only constant in their life now.

After pulling away with a playful shove, she pointed at Jason then Rose, tapping her two 'K' hands together. Take care of her. She glared pointedly at Jason for a few seconds before her face broke into a smirk.

A cheer of laughter erupted from the three of them at Jason‘s indignant 'Of course!' sign.

It was definitely the highlight of her day.

---

Weeks later, when night fell and the world ran a little slower, Cassandra watched over them all as she always had.

Her small family is safe now—her brother and sister-in-law somewhere outside of prying eyes but still near enough for her to reach (Jason had reassured her himself). The marriage itself was nothing as fancy as the movies she watched with Tim and Steph had shown, but it was...festive. Magical. Beautiful. Ivy had gifted them with beautiful garlands and flower chains that grew from the earth, vibrant roses uncurling at every corner to celebrate their union—a symbol of hope that could flourish amidst the dreariness of their reality.

The sheer joy she felt and saw from the two newlyweds was enough to assuage her constant state of alertness. She kissed both of their cheeks and hugged them close, lips pulled wide on the happiest moment she had felt in a very long time, a comfortable warmth curling in her chest. Their happiness was infectious.

Yet now—

"You should rest, kid."

She wasn‘t the only one restless.

"...Jim. Rough...night?"

A puff of cigarette. "Something like that."

Silence reigned over the living garden, the stars above brighter than it had ever been.

"You were close with my daughter?" asked the Commissioner all of a sudden.

"...Yes." Her reply was careful—while time had done its magic, a balm to gaping wounds on the soul, their memories of Barbara were still fresh on both of their minds. It still...hurt, and no doubt even more so for him. "She was my...mentor. She was like...like a..." Mother, she did not say. Before Shiva, before Bruce truly stepped into his role as a father.

But Jim picked it up nonetheless, nodding to himself. "Good. That‘s- really good."

For once, she genuinely wondered what the aim of their conversation was.

"We might not be close, Cassandra," he watched the puff of smoke that formed around him, casual and honest, "but you‘re Batman‘s daughter, and my daughter...knowing her, she undoubtedly loved you too like one. So that's more than enough to make you family."

Nodding, already connecting those particular dots together, she tilted her head. And?

"And I would do anything to keep my family safe," he turned to her, pain in his eyes reflected in her own. "But you understand that more than anyone else, don‘t you?"

Cass looked away, his intention finally dawning upon her.

"I- don‘t want to lose them too," she whispered to no one, her fear carried over in the silence of the night, the huge vines and trees providing a shelter from the horrific wailing of the monsters lurking just outside the garden walls.

They‘re the only ones I have left, she did not say.

Instead of a reply, Jim squeezed her shoulder in solidarity.

Cass is eternally grateful he did not try to console her with empty words.

"SHAZAM!"

Electricity and raw, undiluted power surged through her, tingling in her veins with the telltale sign of ancient magic.

Fury. White, hot blistering fury.

She did not waste a blink at the corpse now lying beneath her, eyes already roaming to find Jason who- no.

No.

Rose knelt beside him, sobs rocking her frame, every inch of her body screaming pure sorrow and Cassandra reached out, denial on the tip of her tongue- before a hand stopped her.

Damian.

Now an adult, creases wrinkling his forehead so much like his father. He shook his head, still gripping her arm and unwilling to let go. Cass could push him away despite his strength, especially with her newfound powers, but—but she didn‘t.

Cassandra Cain, blood daughter of Lady Shiva and David Cain, adoptive daughter of the Batman, fell to her knees and hung her head in her palms, holding back the agony clawing at her inside out. Hollow, hollow, empty.

No.

She promised-

What good was all this power if she couldn‘t even save her own family?

No tears came forth despite the stabbing wound in her chest, an ugly rage building up in the back of her throat, threatening to lash out with the pulsing energy in her fingers.

"Cass," Damian‘s soft plea snapped her out of her haze of red and self-destruction, and she finally looked at him, truly looked at him—his locked jaws, the tremble masking his own shock and anger, and- she blinked, vision clearing. Stopped.

Nothing could bring him back. Not her anger, nor revenge.

She stood up to her full height, Damian on her elbow, and locked eyes with Constantine standing right across from them, hoping the daggers she sent him from her gaze alone is enough to convey the amount of hatred she felt at that moment and floated over to Rose, her cape billowing behind her.

Someone else needed her now—move now, mourn later. Rinse and repeat.

---

The last remnants of warmth lingered in Jason‘s crushed body as she gingerly carried him out of the pocket dimension, and Cass felt her resolve weakening for a brief second, her powers slipping and she- nearly dropped to the ground. No one noticed, everyone lost in their own thoughts at what had transpired in so little time.

Her grip tightened.

Flying over to an area she knew was designated for the ones who...passed, she laid him down as gently as she could, brushing away a strand of hair on his forehead with light fingers, despite how heavy it felt to lift them. Wiped away the blood on his face with care, her movements mechanical like the time she had to dress a corpse of a dead boy they had failed to save.

Then she waited.

And waited.

Jason wouldn‘t want to be by himself. All alone.

She sat there, waiting.

When Rose finally dropped noiselessly beside her, Cass stood up and walked away, giving them the privacy they deserved. Ignored the silent tears wrecking the younger woman, and the instinctive need to console and support her.

Let her grieve, she reminded herself.

Her youngest brother stood behind a large boulder just outside the area, gaze pointedly directed at the ground.

"Cassandra."

She stopped right by him, shoulder to shoulder, facing the opposite direction. Waited.

His fist clenched tightly, teeth scrapping harshly against each other- "If I had known this would happen, I would never have—"

Gloved fingers grasped his shoulder tightly, and his mouth clicked shut.

"Please. Do not blame yourself," she murmured, calm and quiet, so unlike the weight dragging her down to the earth, burying her under. The magic that coursed through the blood, singing and wild, untamed as the raging sea.

Her fingers trembled.

She did not cry.

"I wish...I wish I could have talked with him more before. Know this Jason better," spoke Damian again after a long pause. It was an admission, hushed, voice laced with a regret so potent, it was impossible to dismiss.

So much regrets. Always. Always, always.

Finally, he turned to her with his cowl taken off, the pain in his eyes open for the world to see, for her to see, and she-

"I‘m so sorry, Cass," he whispered, broken, "I‘m so sorry."

Maybe it was his understanding, the honesty a huge contrast from the young, haughty boy who would hide his emotions behind a wall of anger and righteousness all those years ago. Or maybe it was the way his hand hovered beside him, a language as natural to her as breathing itself. Whatever it was...it unraveled the last string keeping her together, and she—

Not again.

Somewhere between then and the ground, her mask had been pulled down, and Cassandra finally let the weight in her heart crush her soul to dust, Damian‘s arms somehow around her and holding her close. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her tears creating a wet patch on his shoulder.

It was so tempting to call upon thunderstorms and lightning to put an end to all their suffering, an end to the anti-life once and for all—but she didn‘t. That was not their mission. Instead she let her eyes run dry, heaving quiet sobs into her brother.

The last two siblings held each other, grief and sorrow amplifying the desperation Cass felt growing within her.

It was a necessary sacrifice, she would know later.

But all she felt then was the despair of losing another family. The only one she had since their whole world turned upside down.

Damian was a solid weight that kept her grounded, and she was...thankful. Rose deserved to be supported now, rather than have another mess of emotions thrown onto her lap after all.

She felt her not-so-little brother bury himself into her shoulder and knew he needed this too.

It wasn't fair. It wasn’t fair.

...but nothing was.

Later, they would give Jason a proper burial. Later, they would be there carve the loving words of the life their brother had led. They would pay their respects, just as he did for their late father and brothers in the cave.

Later, they would continue to fight for humanity.

But for now-

"Damian," her voice cracked, too soft, too strained even for her ears. "I‘ll keep you safe. I promise."

A finality. An oath.

Not just to herself, but to Jason—whom she had failed. To their father, who entrusted the Bat mantle to the both of them, in his own ways. If it meant him surviving...

Damian froze and she knew what he wanted to say: Please don‘t make promises you can‘t keep.

But he didn‘t. Instead, he breathed out just as solemnly, the timbre of his voice octaves lower than it was a lifetime ago:

"...Right back at you, Cass."

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

One + One is Two

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: Please listen to Sam Cooke’s (What A) Wonderful World while you read this, or at least during the last scene. It was the brain child of this story & will make your heart happy, I promise! Word Count: 7K Warnings: There’s a tiny bit of smut in here, but it’s me writing, so when is that not the case? Summary: 

Dissatisfied with his life as a book publisher in Seattle, Peter heads across the country to take a teaching job in High Rock, North Carolina. The town is beautiful and the new job is everything he could want - yet, true contentment comes when a saucy drama teacher sits down next to him at a staff meeting.

Much cuteness ensues.

Or, the one where Tony serenades Peter & we all go awe.

Read on AO3 here.

For the first time since his own high school days, Peter felt nervous.

Moving to the small little town of High Rock was one of the best decisions of his life – Peter knew that without having to exist in the masses of it for very long. While Seattle was gorgeous, and home to many, many book publishing agencies, it didn’t feel like home. And after almost ten years in the business, editing and selecting the next newest best seller just didn’t do it for him, anymore.

Instead, Peter found himself drawn to both a new career and a brand-new place.

When Peter first started college, he initially wanted to be a teacher; the education department at Columbia ranked amongst some of the best in the nation. After a bit of writing success, however, Peter changed his tune and started down the publishing career track, instead. He let himself get lost in the mess of creative writing and editing, his love for the art quickly taking on another shape. And for a time, it worked – honing in on different skills brought about a different love for the subject as a whole.

Things started to change when Peter took a step back and really looked at where he was. Though successful in his career, Peter spent most of his time making everyone else’s writing better, and no time on his own. The apartment he lived in since graduating college was gorgeous, yet it never screamed home the way he wanted it to. The social scene and foodie experience were great but lacking the sense of fulfillment that little pleasures like that should bring.

The perfect opportunity to change things up came in the form of a call from a friend he hadn’t seen since leaving Nag’s Head so many years ago. Ned, now the principal of a high school in High Rock, needed an English teacher – and was willing to look past the immediate lack of credentials. It didn’t take but a beat of silence for Peter to say yes – the decision made before he could think about it.

How natural it felt – that said something.

In the time between uprooting his life in Seattle to moving back to North Carolina, Peter took care of the certifications he needed and brushed up on teaching theory. His head was so stuck in the literary world that every step away, back towards his original passions, made his heart pound with excitement; a feeling so foreign, Peter almost didn’t recognize it.

Life in Seattle was great but being in High Rock was amazing – for the price of his apartment’s rent, Peter found a three-bedroom house with three times the space. The town resided around a lake, and to really drive that delicacy home, the weather was good enough to visit whenever the fancy struck. The everyday flow of life was different – a change of pace that Peter appreciated from the very second he walked into it.

Now, finally on the cusp of what could be considered to be his “dream job”, Peter felt nervous. Not the bad kind of nervous, where his stomach felt like it could drop out his ass at any minute. It was the kind, instead, that made his palms sweat with sweet apprehension – like the start of something totally new.

The reality of his fresh start didn’t truly set in until he pulled up to High Rock High School and parked in his employee parking spot a week before the start of school. The rest of the parking lot was relatively empty at the moment, but soon, all of the spaces would be occupied – taken up by young minds that Peter now had the opportunity to shape. It felt so real as he walked through the front doors and anxiously navigated himself to his perfectly decorated classroom. He pulled in a long breath and let the potential of what could be settle over him.

He took his time reacquainting himself with the room he put together a few weeks ago when the teachers were allowed access during summer break. After a lot of thought, Peter meticulously used his calligraphy skills to make hangable quotes from the books he couldn’t wait to cover throughout the year. His desk, though smaller than what he was used to, stood proudly in the corner he made for himself – the bookshelves he brought from Seattle set up along the walls were already stuffed to the gills with books and resources.

For the first time in what felt like ten years, Peter felt a sense of home that settled him – his chest finally loosening after such a long time.

That settled feeling followed him all the way into the cafeteria, where the first ever staff meeting of his career was set to take place. In the book world, meetings with clients and supervisors were always stuffy, filled with sucking up and holding back little truths that would change the interaction if known. Transparency wasn’t anywhere close to the name of the game.

Not knowing what to expect from these, Peter felt the apprehension start to creep back in.

Might be a good thing, Peter thought – nerves kept him on his toes and in this new start, he wanted to put his best foot forward. Never having taught before, Peter wasn’t sure what that actually looked, but the best intentions were there.

Taking a seat at the big circle of tables already decked out in coffee fixings and donuts, Peter let his eyes roam around. Despite being more than ten years removed from high school, the lunchroom looked exactly like he pictured the one he spent so much time in during his school days. The old smell of large pan pizza and disinfectant even seemed the same. The familiarity of it, despite the newness of the space, brought that feeling of comfort rushing back.

Suddenly, the smell of woody outdoors and musk and man filled his nostrils. Turning his head in the direction of the smell, Peter was surprised to see the seat next to him now occupied. The man (though Adonis would be more fitting) sat up straight with a warm and welcoming smile on his face.

It took Peter a second to register the fact that social protocol usually demanded something from him at this moment in time. His attempt to pull in a deep, calming breath was thwarted when the exhale brought in that delectable scent. Feeling his cheeks pinken, Peter ducked his head, the lack of eye contact just enough to get his shit back under control.

“Uh – hi! I’m Peter. Peter Parker,” Peter finally said in greeting, his hand moving into the space between them. If things weren’t awkward enough, Peter’s nerves were back through the roof – though this time, they brought a sort of warmth that could easily be intoxicating.

A warm hand slipped into his own, the man’s grip tight without being too overbearing; eerily right in the sense that their joint contact didn’t feel forced at all. “Hey there, Peter Parker. I’m Tony Stark – resident drama teacher.” He pulled his hand away from Peter’s to gesture at himself.

Not completely out of his mind with surprise any longer, Peter took the rest of Tony, resident drama teacher, in. His goatee, while not entirely thick, was styled within an inch of its life – the edges were sharp, and the corners came together in a severe angle at the start of his jaw. A waistcoat sat over a dark salmon colored shirt that was delightfully finished with a black striped bow tie. Peter wasn’t sure what shouted drama teacher about the ensemble, but he nodded anyway – he enjoyed the open invitation to take more of Tony in without the whole thing feeling a bit creepy.

“Dramatic,” Peter finally added, the free-range movement of his eyes probably too much without at least a little continuation of the conversation. “It’s English for me – I’ll have the junior and senior AP kids.”

Tony’s nose scrunched up adorably, his face suggestive in its emotional expression – dramatic, after all. He shifted a little closer, the space between their seats not much now that they sat shoulder to shoulder. If he really tried, Peter could feel the warmth of Tony’s arm drift just barely under the surface of his skin.

Briefly, he wondered what the warmth would be like if that skin was bare.

Then, Tony’s melodic voice pulled him from his inappropriate thoughts. He bumped their shoulders, a smile on his face. “If you’ve got the juniors, that means we’ll get to work together pretty closely. We do a stage rendition of Hamlet to take the Shakespeare out of good ole Willie’s work. It seems to help with the comprehension.”

Face lighting up, Peter felt his heart thump a little harder – his love of Shakespeare was what brought about the English passion to begin with. The fact that he already had reason to spend time with the enigma of a man next him barely even registered. “I love that. His plays are meant for the stage, after all.”

“They are – and totally accessible to modernization. If you’re on board, we can put together something fun and educational.” Tony’s lips were pulled into a smirk, Peter’s lack of verbal and emotional filter giving away so much more than he truly wanted.

Blushing, Peter brought his hands together, lacing his fingers for the tactile distraction of the movement. It took him a second to hold back the blurt, his brain working overtime to process the words Tony said and respond accordingly. Just because he was now in a high school, didn’t mean he needed to act like one of its inhabitants.

“As long as you don’t expect me to be in it, I think it’ll be great.”

Tony laughed at that, the already adorable nose scrunch making its way back onto his gorgeous face. He ducked his shoulder into Peter’s again, that same smirk on his face. “What you don’t like to make a fool of yourself?” Tony asked as he pushed back from the table to get up.

“Speaking of,” Tony trailed off, the man now completely out of his seat and making his way to the front of the cafeteria that was now quite occupied with his fellow teachers and administrators alike.

With wide eyes, Peter watched as Tony stood in the middle of three other middle-aged teachers, their shirts and bowties noticeably coordinated now that he was paying attention. As if waiting for Tony’s arrival, the room went silent. With a few well-timed snaps, a cluster of voices started in what could only be described as a jazzy barbershop quartet version of the school’s fight song.

Peter watched in awe, his eyes glued to Tony – the moves he brought to the table were fancy and smooth, completely in sync with the subpar performers around him. They didn’t matter, that was easy to see. Tony drew everyone’s attention, his big personality and undeniable talent noticed by just about everyone in the room. Despite these people probably having seen this little song and dance before, they still watched with rapt attention.

Unable to stop himself, Peter clapped when the cacophony of voices came to an end. He got up from his chair with little finesse, his body way ahead of the heavy thing that existed between his shoulders. The rest of the room looked at him oddly for a second, then added to the applause.

In terms of first impressions, Peter was totally winning.

Thankfully, the rest of the meeting went without a hitch. Peter got a couple of minutes to introduce himself and talk a little bit about his previous experience. He knew he brought an interesting perspective to the table, both as a teacher and someone interested in making the student’s lives as easy and enriched as possible. When it came time to sign up for volunteer chaperone opportunities, Peter cleverly put himself in a couple he thought might attract Tony’s attention, too.

Because, for some reason, Peter’s brain decided that Tony Stark needed to be in his life in some way. Though he forced himself to not name the way he wanted it to be, Peter understood all too well what a crush felt like. There was a lot of time between his last flame and the surge of that old familiar feeling rushing within him – and despite barely knowing him, Peter knew potential when he saw it.

Of course, his next chance to see Tony outside of the classroom setting didn’t come until several weeks into school. Decked out in his new High Rock gear, Peter tried not to look out of place at the gates of the football stadium where he signed himself up to take tickets for the first half of the game. Some of the students that recognized him waved and tried to make small talk – an art that Peter hadn’t fine-tuned in quite some time. Everyone else cast him a sidelong glance and went about their way.

An internal groan radiated through him – it felt silly to be so frustrated about these young kids not liking him, and yet… most of his thoughts revolved around bridging the gap he knew existed. Not for the first time, Peter figured the skill was one he would’ve learned in the education program he so carelessly threw away. Book dealers and authors were a stuffy sort – the extent of wanted conversation existed within the bounds of how good (or sometimes, how shitty) their latest piece was. And profits – always profits.

“If you just relax, they’ll be way more receptive.”

Turning to find the source of the words, Peter didn’t even try to stop the smile on his face from blooming when he realized who it was. A sudden gratefulness settled over him – in his many attempts to dress for the evening, Peter put on his newest (and nicest) jeans. They were both comfortable and fit him like a glove. The secret of his crush wasn’t much of a secret – why try to hide anything else (especially his nicest assets)?

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Stark – you ooze cool from your pores,” Peter remarked, his eyebrows waggling cheesily. “In all seriousness, I’m trying. The shift in mindset has been a challenge. Kids want realness and that sort of thing would’ve landed me on my ass not too long ago.”

The low sound of Tony’s laugh rang in Peter’s ears, the octave of it so rich in its depths that a shudder ran down his spine. He wondered, not for the first time, how the musicality translated to other more melodic things.

“None of that Mr. Stark shit from you, Peter Parker – it’s bad enough the kids call me that. I’m just a regular, single gent outside of the classroom.” As he spoke, Tony narrowed the space down between them, their shoulders once again within brushing distance. “Why don’t you try not trying? I’ve taken a peek in your classroom during a lecture or two – you know your shit and have passion for it. Let a little more of that seep into the everyday stuff and you’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“Is that what you do? Let all of the bubbliness pour out until they can do nothing but admire the hell out of you?”

Peter pulled his bottom lip between his teeth to stop the sound that threatened to fall from his lips when Tony laughed again – it shouldn’t be legal, being that goddamn adorable all the time.

“That’s exactly what I do. I enjoy every second of my job and let people see that. Being genuine goes a long way, Pete.”

Sucking in a breath, Peter felt those words hit him square in the gut. Were there truer words in existence?

“In an attempt to be genuine, would you possibly be interested in a drink later?” Feeling his eyes bulge at the words that effortlessly came out of his mouth, Peter tried to backtrack. “I mean – I – “

Tony cut off the splutter with a hand on Peter’s shoulder, his touch that same warmth he remembered. “I’d love to. I wasn’t sure you were going to finally pull the trigger – I planned to ask you out myself if you didn’t soon.”

Peter’s cheeks flushed, the heat of them burning so hot he had to be as red as a tomato. Between the flame and the stretch of his lips, Peter wasn’t sure he’d see the end of the night with all of his face intact – smiling his way to an early death.

After that, the rest of the game flew by in a whirlwind of easy conversation, student monitoring, and one too many hot dogs. At one point, Peter bought them both another just to see Tony open his mouth – the literal thirst he felt towards the drama teacher something Peter wasn’t sure existed before meeting Tony Stark. There was just something about his lips…

By the time the last two minutes of the fourth quarter were ticking down, Peter was more than ready to get the hell out of dodge. The thought of having his students witness his awkward mating dance made his skin crawl. He loved being back in the high school atmosphere – that time of adolescence was an exciting one. At the same time, the wagging gums of the gossip mongers were hard to get used to. There were things he knew about some of the kids that passed through his door that no other human should know, let alone the simple, unsuspecting English teacher.

When the game clock finally dwindled down, Tony bumped into his shoulder. Realizing that was Tony’s way of drawing his attention, Peter looked over at him. Tony stood casually against the fence, both hands in the deep pockets of his jacket.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before there’s a huge sea of teens heading right for us. If they spot us, it’ll be ages before we’re in the clear,” Tony remarked, his right hand slipping out of the pocket to grip onto Peter’s elbow, instead.

It didn’t take anything more than that to kick Peter into gear. He allowed himself to relax into the touch and walked with sure steps towards the exit. Now that his duties were done for the evening, Peter felt a different sort of contentment wash over him – the rest of the night was for himself, and if things went really well, a slice of Tony Stark, too.

“There’s a nice wine bar about twenty minutes outside of High Rock’s city limits that’s got a great chardonnay – want to follow me?” Tony asked as they approached the parking lot, his hands already tossing his keys around the ring over and over.

The man’s inability to stay put was easily one of the things that Peter felt immediately attracted to. There was a reason for it, and he couldn’t wait to find out.

“Yes, please. For such a small town, it’s surprisingly difficult to navigate.”

“They do that on purpose. Small towns, I mean. It discourages the infiltration of outsiders.” Tony shot him a look, the mirth in his eyes hard to decipher. If it weren’t for the telling smirk on his lips, Peter never would’ve gotten the joke.

“You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?” Peter asked, affection lacing his voice. “And a transplant too, isn’t that right?”

“The nicest asshole you’ll ever know.” He looked up; surprise evident on his face. “Very clever, Peter Parker – doing your homework. I grew up on the upper east side in New York and went through Tisch’s theater program. Thought I’d be a star.”

Peter chuckled at that – the entirety of the school idolized Tony. It wasn’t the biggest stage to be the center of attention of, but stardom wasn’t something that Tony lacked. “You are. I’ve looked in your door while you were teaching, too, y’know. Every person in your class watches you with this look of awe in their eyes. That’s star power, my friend.”

“Do I smell a bias?” Tony joked back quickly, the words covering up the flash of unnamed emotion the man refused to let settle across his features. “If my campy spiel is enough to rope you in, I can’t be too upset.”

Not giving a shit about revealing too much of himself the same way Tony did, Peter let the beaming smile play along the seam of his lips. His cheeks were pinching with overuse, burning and a little tingly. It felt great – enjoying life and someone else in it so much.

“Bias or not, it’s the truth.”

Tony threw his hands up in concession, the earnest way Peter spoke obviously too much for him. His cheeks were a little red, and the tiniest bit of blush on cheeks was unmistakable. It was unfair really; how attractive someone could make just about any emotion seem. Shy and demure, or rambunctious and fiery – Tony owned them all. Peter had to work very hard to stop from admitting that outright. Instead, he ducked his head and let out an overwhelmed breath.

Getting to the winery felt a little like floating on air – Spotify hit all the right jams and before Peter knew it, they were parking in front of a rustic looking building. There was outdoor seating with people milling about, the soft orange of the light such a good marketing technique; one look and Peter immediately felt at home.

To order, they had to walk into the storefront that opened into a small bar area. The chalkboard leaned up against the wall held the menu with a vast expanse of wines that would be overwhelming if he wasn’t going to parrot Tony’s order. A few people milled about waiting for their drinks, and in the mellow atmosphere, soft music played to top it all off.

Peter took a moment to soak it in – an aura of atmosphere that was everything he didn’t know he wanted settled in, the beautiful man next to him really driving it home.

They waited for a few minutes to order, the two of them chatting back and forth about the game and their excitement for the weekend. Tony leaned into Peter while he talked, a whiff of delectable cologne wafted into Peter’s nostrils with every press of his body. The whole thing was intoxicating, the head-spin almost like he was already drunk – high on the rightness of all the things.

With a glass of wine each, Tony led them back out towards the scattered seating outside. They took a seat in a couple of chairs that sat at the edge of the little fireplace in the middle of the setup. Though the night wasn’t too cold, the warmth was welcome – the flicker of flames casting Tony’s skin in a golden hue not hurting, either.

“So, tell me a bit more about you, Pete – what brought you to High Rock?” Tony asked after a couple of long sips of wine, the silence and overall mood hovering between them so much more than enough.

Peter stuck his nose in his wine and took a deep breath, thinking for a moment about how to express himself. “A lot of things,” he said softly, his eyes roving across the flames of the fire in front of them before meeting Tony’s gaze. “I think I got caught up in the excitement of being young and veered off the path I truly wanted. I was happy enough for a long time that it didn’t really matter, either. And then one day, I blinked and dissatisfaction with just about everything in my life was there, plain as day in front of me. When Ned offered me this job out of the blue, it just felt right.”

Tony watched him while he spoke, his eyes trained first on lips around words, then on the expressions flitting across Peter’s face. It felt a little unnerving, being so seen by someone, but Tony simply smiled at him, a small smile on his face. “Wanderlust. I know what that’s like. All I wanted to do was be on Broadway – then all of the sudden, working sixteen hours a day just to be broke in the chorus wasn’t all that fun, anymore. I spread open a map of North Carolina, closed my eyes, and picked a place at random. I love High Rock – it was the best decision of my life.”

“I like it here, too. And I like teaching. I like being able to sift through the books I loved so much growing up, watching the kids learn how to love them, too. It’s… it’s really nice.”

The conversation went on like that for a while. Tony told him horror stories of his first couple years or teaching, and some of the better times in his stage experience. In return, Peter described some of the worst plotlines ever put in front of him, and the story behind the long scar that took up residence on the back of his right hand.

While he regaled Tony of his epic adventure with a printing press, the older man reached over, his fingertip running along the length of the sensitive skin. Peter came to an abrupt stop, his brain emptying of everything other than the sensory experience of warm skin and gentle exploration.

There was a second where Peter thought he might not ever catch his breath again – the adrenaline pumping through him from such a small thing shouldn’t have been so exciting. The idea that someone, anyone, could make him feel like that, so caught up and overwhelming, it should’ve been scary. Instead, it felt exhilarating. Like he didn’t have the patience to see what happened next, he just wanted.

“Since being genuine is the name of the game, I’m going to admit that I wouldn’t be opposed to getting out of here and continuing this at my place… or yours,” Peter admitted, his previous train of thought completely out the window. Whatever they were talking about before didn’t matter – not when the firelight made Tony’s eyes look like molten amber in the dark of the night.

Tony’s gentle laugh pulled a chuckle out of Peter, the air suddenly filled with a tranquil sort of tension that would only get better the longer they nursed it. Peter felt that in his very bones.

Without saying anything, Tony tucked his wine glass back and tipped the rest of the wine into his mouth, his lips shining with the excess when he pulled away. Peter felt his tongue dip out, the tip running along his bottom lip the same way he wanted to do to Tony. The wine was magnificent and had the capacity to only get better off of Tony’s kissable skin. It took every ounce of power within him to stop Peter from closing the distance.

Have some self-control, Peter Parker.

“I’ve got some wine that will piggy-back nicely off of what we just drank,” Tony said as he stood, his movement beautiful relaxed. The offer was nice, but they both knew another glass of wine wasn’t what the rest of the night would entail.

Getting up himself, Peter shot Tony a saucy grin, the soreness in his cheeks reminding him just how good their time spent together was and certainly seemed like it was going to be.

“Lead the way.”

Surprisingly, Peter’s impatience was easily overridden by Tony the second they were through his front door. Peter didn’t get any time to take in the place, his entire being instead focused on the warm chest and plump lips pressing against his own. Trim hips were in the palms of his hand, and nothing else mattered.

Peter didn’t really know Tony all that well, but what he did know was that Tony did everything with his entire being. Dancing, teaching, even having a simple conversation, Tony focused on the task; and kissing wasn’t any different. His long fingers took up residence in the length of hair at the back of Peter’s neck. His lips, both soft and slightly chapped, pressed confidently against Peter’s with gusto – he took and gave, his head turning to deepen the kiss when tongues slid together in a sensuous dance.

They took their time shifting from surface to surface during the journey from the front door to Tony’s bedroom. The impatience of a quick fumble dulled considerably when a few things registered – Tony’s touch was magical, their bodies fit together seamlessly, and when combined it all felt like something Peter never felt before (and didn’t want to ever not feel again). Something in the way things played out so easily between them said this wouldn’t be the only time like this, tangled up and caught.

By the time Peter pushed Tony back against the bed, boxer briefs were the only thing separating bare skin. Settling between spread legs that were lithe and clenching with muscle, Peter filled all of Tony’s empty spaces with his body – their chests pressed together and when Tony wrapped his legs around Peter’s hips, there was no telling where one ended and the other began.

Peter kissed a path down Tony’s jaw and neck, across the span of a surprisingly hairy chest, and further along the length of his toned stomach – the slightest swell of a belly right along the edge of the soft waistband a lovely contradiction. Tony painted a gorgeous picture and the smallest “imperfection” played in contrast so deliciously.

Hooking his fingers under the waistband of Tony’s underwear, Peter glanced up to catch the lust filled, hazel glance. Tony answered the look with a nod of his head, his mouth opening in a silent moan when Peter finally removed the last barrier. He made quick work of his own drawers in an attempt to finally knew what Tony truly felt like.

The first brush of Tony’s warm skin against his own brought Peter’s hips forward, a soft gasp falling from his lips when cock brushed against cock. The level of excitement spoke for itself when the slide was easy, both heads already leaky with pre-come. Peter ducked his head in Tony’s neck to avoid embarrassing himself – it felt too good and the edge felt so close already.

“What do you want?” Peter asked, his lips pressing against the moist skin of Tony’s neck as their hips rolled together. He used his free hand to hike the muscular thigh higher around his hip, the move making the angle even better than before. “You feel so good, Tony. Tell me what you want – I’ll give you anything.”

His words brought a groan from deep within Tony’s chest – Peter felt it before it sounded in the space between them. He felt Tony reach up to grip his bicep, the man’s fingers digging in tight.

“God, you’re better at this than I imagined. Your words feel like liquid fire against my skin. I want you, Pete – anything and everything.” Tony finished his words with a kiss against the side of Peter’s head, his lips just barely brushing the shell of Peter’s ear. “We have time for that, though. Tonight – I think you should fuck me.”  

Peter pulled back then, his hips stalling for a second. Their eyes locked and for a second, his heart felt like it was stuttering through its cycle, systole and diastole suddenly out of sync – was there anything sexier? Drawing his lower lip to stop any rogue words from falling out before the time was right, Peter nodded, his cock throbbing at the very idea.

With a quick kiss on the lips and a fumble with the bedside table, Tony shifted onto his stomach, arranging himself in a glorious position. His legs were spread and every time he leaned forward on his forearms, Peter watched Tony’s hole fluttering, the muscle clenching and unclenching with every move.

Unable to decide whether he wanted to dive in face first or just get prep over and done with, Tony made the decision for him – the lube hit Peter square in the chest when Tony tossed it at him.

“Please, Pete.”

The words were directive enough. Peter flipped open the cap and poured a good amount into the palm of his hand. He let the slick warm up before letting a little drip down Tony’s ass cheeks, the lube sliding across his twitching hole enticingly. Using his thumb to spread it around, Peter forced himself to take a deep breath before pressing the tip of his point finger in. He was met with no resistance, so he slipped forward until the webbing of his finger stopped him.

That same rhythm went on as Peter entered a second, and then finally a third finger in, each new digit loosening Tony considerably with every push and pull, in and out. His skin was covered with sweat and every moan Tony made let Peter think he could cum without ever having touched himself. Things were intimate, each touch like making memory. If they went on like this forever, Peter could die happy.

“Okay, okay – I need you to fuck me. I could cum just from your fingers and I planned on pulling you over with me.” Tony panted out, the words a little muffled by Tony’s forearms, where the man was leaning heavily.

Understanding the sentiment, Peter slipped his fingers out carefully. He immediately wrapped them around his own cock, spreading the excess lube around. While he tried to piece himself together enough not to come upon first touch, Tony fumbled in the bedside drawer again, a condom hitting his knee a second later. His skin flushed and with shaky movements, Peter picked up the foil packet, ripped the edge with his teeth, and quickly got the damn thing down his length.

With a little more lube, Peter was finally pressed against Tony’s entrance, the muscle giving way without much of a push. He made himself slide into Tony’s tightness with one steady stroke – if he pulled back at all, the whole thing would be over. When he was finally seated fully, Peter came to an abrupt halt. Breaths were hard to come by, his entire being on fire. The few seconds Tony needed to adjust gave Peter a second to lean his forehead against Tony’s back and simply breath.

Tony clenched his hole around Peter in invitation, the pulse of the muscle there immediately dragging Peter’s hips forward. A loud groan echoed around the room, neither knowing (or caring) who the noise belonged to. It felt too good, and as Peter set up a steady rhythm, both men got lost amongst the haze.

Peter’s body took over, the neurons in his brain operating on fight or flight. Long fingers dug into Tony’s hips; his grip tight. There’d be bruises there later, Peter using the touch to pull Tony back against him. Thrust after thrust, the tip of his cock brushed more frequently against a sensitive prostate, and once Peter knew where that pleasure center was, he didn’t let up.

As the end drew near, Peter changed his approach. Plastering himself over Tony’s back, his hips slowed down a little, and with a better grip, Peter thrust in deeply, his arms around the trim chest pulling Tony back hard. Now, every thrust hit Tony’s prostate dead on – the sounds coming out of the man’s mouth magnifying the feeling for them both. The helpless groan of pleasure-pain was delicious – Tony clenched with each dead-on hit, the grip so fucking tight around him.

A soft groan of Peter’s name was the only warning he got before Tony was cumming; the flutter and tightness pulling Peter right along with him. Peter shouted his surprise and pulled Tony as tightly against him as he possibly could. The world felt like it was melting around him – that little death fucking earth shattering.

When he finally came to, Peter felt Tony’s hands petting over him, his touch providing a tactile support that helped to ground him and prolong the sensitive pleasure. He loosened his grip up a little but didn’t let go until the need to dispose of the condom became too necessary to postpone. A pathetic little groan slipped from his lips when he pulled out, Peter’s body already missing the connection.

They cleaned up before the stickiness of their skin made the next morning more crusty than necessary, then fell back into bed – the two of them avoiding the wet spot instead of changing the sheets like any normal people would. Peter felt his limbs start to give up on him, the soft mattress and warm man promising a sweet sort of sleep that couldn’t be resisted.

Settling in with Tony wrapped up behind him, Peter let himself fall asleep – the future bright in front of him.

----

Things developed between them so easily after that. Being with Tony felt like getting to hang out with his best friend every day, and without any hesitation from the man, they spent practically all their time together. The fact that it felt like nothing but the best things changed in his life said a lot – he introduced a whole ass person into his space and time without any problems. Most people took years to find the sort of comfort that existed between him and Tony.

Because of all the time they spent together, it didn’t take long for the secret to get out. When Mr. Parker started to spend all of his lunch hours in Mr. Stark’s office, the rumors started. By the time Peter finally just pulled Tony into a kiss before they split up in the morning to shut everyone up, the ideas the students came up with were hilarious. Many people speculated that they’d been married for years, their sense of ease together too perfect to be as new as it truly was.

When Peter got to High Rock, he wasn’t looking for love. The idea of a change included a new job and a new place to explore, not a person who he suddenly couldn’t live without. Though he didn’t set out for it, love found him all the same.

Around Valentine’s Day, Peter felt the itch to finally tell Tony what they both already knew. Despite spending almost every available second together, the words were never said, even though the feeling was so transcendent it was stupidly hard to miss. They had the sort of connection that didn’t need a name – and once the genie was out of the bottle, Peter wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop saying the words he felt so wholeheartedly.

On one hand, he wanted the whole thing to be special. A night where they wine and dined, talked into the early hours of the morning, and then, when they were sated and close to passing out from marathon love making, he’d press the words into Tony’s skin. It fell into the dramatic category that Peter knew Tony would absolutely appreciate. Yet, the feeling existed between them from the very get go – did putting a name to that feeling really matter all that much?

The answer came a couple of weeks later. They were in the heart of AP test preparation, so he had after hour study sessions on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. After taking Tony’s advice and relaxing a little, students actively paid more attention to his class and the seats were almost always full during his get-togethers.

They made great work on some of the imagery that encompassed the Scarlet Letter, and Peter left his classroom more than satisfied. The thought of simply walking down the hall to see his favorite person didn’t hurt his mood, either. Tony sometimes spent the couple of hours after school in his classroom waiting, and today was one of those days.

For the first time since the end of the holiday school musical, Peter heard music playing in Tony’s classroom. They were in the depths of play season, so Tony’s mind was usually elsewhere. Yet, the closer he got to the door, the louder the music became. The smooth sounds of one of his favorite Sam Cooke songs picked up the pace of his steps – the dopamine of good music and Tony spurring him on.

What he found when he walked in the door was so much better.

Down to his white shirt and black waistcoat, Tony was counting out steps as he sang along with the music. Instead of Sam Cooke’s voice, Tony sang the cheesy lyrics with amazing clarity. The last time they listened to this song, Peter was dumbfounded by the deepness of his voice – and now was no exception.

He must’ve been in the zone, because Tony didn’t acknowledge him at first. The music played and a well-practiced dance followed. Peter watched with rapt attention, the whole thing the best thing he’d ever seen. By the time Tony noticed him, Peter was closing the space between them, his voice echoing the last round of the chorus.

A look of surprise passed across Tony’s face, his years of experience not letting it show anywhere else. He smiled at Peter, dancing into his arms until they were chest to chest – finishing the song looking into each other’s eyes.

Delightful red flush covered Tony’s cheeks when the music stopped, his eyes still wide with surprise and delight. “You weren’t supposed to see this yet,” Tony admitted, a sheepish look on his face.

“I’m glad I did. I love watching you like this. In your element.” Peter gripped Tony’s face in his hands then, fingers digging into the long hair at his temples. Even if he wanted to, Tony couldn’t break the eye contact between them. “And gosh – I love you. So much, I almost can’t stand it.”

Tony’s eyes roamed over his face for a second, the honey-hazel glance obviously taking in the genuineness in his words. When he found his answer, he leaned forward, taking Peter’s lips in a passionate kiss. He didn’t linger, however – their eyes locking again just seconds later.

“I love you too, Pete. It’s so easy and being with you – it finally feels like I’m right where I should be.”

Grinning, Peter brushed their noses together, his lips ghosting over Tony’s lightly.

“We both are.”

[bubblewonderabyss]

Drawing apex

I got an anon ask forever ago about my secrets to drawing apex. I didn’t know how to answer that back then, and I kinda still don’t, but I’m sure gonna try. I kept trying to condense it down but my neurodivergent ass can’t do that, so have ALL my rambling under the cut!

First off, fur placement There seems to be some confusion about where the hair actually goes so let me clear that up real quick (fig. 1)

As you can see, apex do not have eyebrows. Old official art depicted them as such, but the current art does not (fig. 2)

That means they can’t be expressive as people with eyebrows right? Well, not for me. I just give them flexible brow ridges that do basically everything eyebrows can. If you’ve ever drawn Sonic the hedgehog you know what’s up! (fig 3)

Moving on to features, let’s talk faces Apex, despite their lack of nudity taboo, tend to dress pretty modestly due to their militaristic fashion sense, so the first thing you’re likely to notice about an apex that sets them apart from a human is their face. The most important part? Sideburns. Beards are somewhat optional but sideburns are not, and the more pronounced it is the better! YES this includes the ladies, especially the ladies. -All in all you want every apex to have: sideburns, a lack of eyebrows, colored sclera, fangs, their mouth to sit lower on their face, and their nose to stick out a bit. Here’s a comparison sheet for some of my human and apex noses. (fig 4)

Another thing to keep in mind is that apes have thicker and looser skin than humans do so don’t be afraid to add some wrinkles along any given wrinkle lines! (fig 5)

Note: If you’re struggling to think of face shapes, look up pictures of apes for inspiration. My boy Roberik is loosely based on an orangutan.

Still with me? Cool. How about we have a snack break? All these figs are making me hungry.

Before we move on from individual features, let’s take a look at tactile feet It’s a hand, it’s a foot, it’s a hand-foot! And LET me tell YOU, as someone who is a bit terrible at drawing human feet, this is a nice break. -Basically, draw a slightly shortened version of a regular human foot until you get to the toes, then sub those out for fingers, and place the thumb about 1/3 in so it’s near the heel without interfering with it. Note that while your apex may be reluctant do de-shoe in formal settings or on dangerous terrain, they probably love to go barefoot where they can. Human shoes were not made with apex in mind. Examples below: (fig 6)

Note: Real apes do not have such a defined heel, you’re free to draw it more “realistically” if you wish, but that will make it much harder for your apex to walk upright for extended periods of time, so keep that in mind. (fig 7)

Now that we’ve got the specifics out of the way, let’s talk general body types You don’t want them to be too skinny, but don’t make them too curvy either. You want them to be solid looking, large, strong. That’s not to say there’s no room for variation though! For instance you can freely vary shoulder width, fat distribution, limb proportion, and muscle. Like any living thing, there can and will be exceptions, think of this as more of a guideline than a hard rule. Examples of some of my own apex's body types below: (fig 8)

Last but not least, temperament Apex carry a lot of tension in their bodies, constantly vigilant and paranoid, it’s very hard for them to feel safe. As such they may have very stiff posture, back straight, shoulders either perfectly squared or pulled upward. Fun fact: Roberik habitually covers the top of his cup while drinking so nothing can fall into, or be put into, it without him noticing. (fig 9)

They also have a reputation of being stoic, as being overly emotional is culturally seen as weakness and any weakness will be exploited. Different apex have different levels of stoicism but all of them struggle with that cultural norm.

That’s all my notes! Hope it was helpful!

[wistfulkitten]

i dream you'd love me again (2) || jk

sadness, guilt, regret. all things jeongguk felt after reading her letter.

genre: angst and fluff? childhood friends, cheating, sisters boyfriend au

pairing: jeongguk x reader

word count: 2.3k

posted: 200518

warnings: longing, infidelity, profanity (kinda), mentions of sex, probably inconsistent punctuation 

a/n: theres probably gonna be minor grammar issues because grammarly is shit and im tired. n e way i tried making this longer, it took me like four hours believe it or not. funni how i can make time for writing but not for my hw. silly me. i tried explained why he did what he did and im sorry if it was crappy. thank u to yall who read the first one. if you guys have any requests or ideas feel free to send me something in my inbox or message me. tyty:))

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sadness. sadness is what jeongguk felt at the end of ___’s letter. sad that he hurt her enough to the point that she thought of herself as anything but perfect. sad that she doubted his feelings for her. sad that despite everything he put her through, she still loved him and still wished him the best. he always knew she had a big heart. it's one of the many reasons he was drawn to her in the beginning, but it was also one of her biggest weaknesses. her heart was too big for her own good and it scared him. ___ was always too quick to forgive and forget and most of the time it came back to bite her in the ass.

 he saw it time after time when her dad had left. he had had an affair and left his wife and two kids for a younger woman and yet she never got mad or ever blamed her father in contrary to yoona. while yoona never gave her father the time of day after the separation, ___ always made sure to set time aside for him even when he never put in enough effort to interacting with his daughters. he was a pretty crappy father, content with his new life. and though it made her sad that her family was no longer whole and her mother was practically always crying herself to sleep, it made her happy that her dad was happy. she was just about twelve then and still, she never gave into childish grudges. thirteen year old jeongguk found her slightly stupid for this trait but as they grew up, he found it quite endearing. 

guilt. after the sadness had settled in, a great wave of guilt washed over his being. while he was here, newly married with a whole life ahead of him, you were somewhere out there living the life you always wanted sad and lonely. too heartbroken to even enjoy it properly. he didn't deserve it, the comfort and security his new marriage gave him, he didn't deserve it. 

 jeongguk was merely seventeen when he fell in love with a sixteen year old ___ all the while he dated yoona, her older sister. he’d known them practically his whole life and it was such a small town that it was simply impossible for you not to know anyone and everyone. everyone went to the same schools and hardly anyone moved out of the godforsaken town. he and yoona started dating in the sixth grade. much too young to be dating but their families were long time friends and saw it appropriate for the two to start early. so that one day the two families would unite. jeongguk hadn’t minded at first. he was eleven at the time but yoona had always been a good friend. they played together all the time so nothing really changed except for the frequent hugs and occasional kiss on the cheek.

 as they grew older they graduated into more mature ways of affection but it never bothered him too much. though he was friends with yoona, he was always closer to ___. sure at first, he had trouble expressing but afterward never once did they ever feel reserved towards one another, only ever honest with every bit of their being.  while yoona was more reserved and occasionally bratty, ___ was outspoken and adventurous. always willing to try something new even if it wasn't exactly encouraged. she never shied away from speaking her mind and that was something jeongguk always aspired to be. she was everything he wasn’t.  she expressed herself in every possible way. hair color was constantly changing since the start of high school. she pulled off any type of style you could think of. you could pick her out of any crowd in an instant. she painted, wrote poems and songs, sang, played various instruments, even took up photography. she turned any type of art form into a way for people to understand her, every single part of her. she was good at so many things and jeongukk, jeongukk was good at one thing. basketball. yet she never made him feel bad about it, instead she went to every game. cheering him on. she was mesmerizing in every single way. 

 while they had their good moments, yoona had a knack of patronizing him for every fault and imperfection. when they started high school she had tried so hard to be looked at as the perfect couple. she made it a point to show that they ‘never fought’ and were always ‘happy’. he never spent too much time with his friends because ‘every boyfriend had to put his girlfriend first’. this is the exact reason jimin never liked her and why jin always referred to her as a pain in the ass. it was safe to say his friends weren't exactly fond of her either. she was so different from ___ which was good or bad, depending on who you were asking. 

yoona was pretty, though jeongguk would say ___ was prettier. soft features, soft personality, light colors were a constant, skirt never too short, hair never too long. she was a straight line kind of girl like the majority of girls in town. grades never faltering. she always believed in the whole study hard, get a good job, have kids plan everyone stuck to and it was always so suffocating. 

he wanted more out of life, he wanted to explore places, explore himself. he wanted to get to know himself in more ways than one because he had yet to know all of it. all of him. but by the time he was sixteen, jeongguk already had a career to work towards and a girl everyone was so sure would be his wife. it was like his life was a book and everyone but him was the author. he had no control and he started to dread the future. he was running and he knew what would be at the finish line, so he slowed down. while yoona was running full speed, he was jogging at most. he started faking a persona in front of his family and yoona because they simply didn’t get it and they never would. 

when he couldn’t exactly talk to his own girlfriend about his feelings and problems ___ was always there to listen. she was good at that. listening. she never judged, instead always reassuring him that when the time came he’ll know what to do. she had an easygoing way of living and he longed to live like that too. though her mother didn't agree and favored yoona more, she simply took it as it was and cherished what she had for the time being. her love for her mother and sister never faltered even if their love never measured up. ___ had a way of looking at the world that could get her far, far away from here and jeongguk envied that. she said all his feelings were valid and no one should be mad at him for simply feeling. once he had slowed down enough for the once blurry images to become clear, he’d realized that running with yoona was far too tiring and that walking with ___ was far more fulfilling.

 jeongguk was merely seventeen when he fell in love with a sixteen year old ___ and it was the most exhilarating feeling ever. it had started out as just a friend being there for a friend, but one day it turned into something more. they had been out on one for their many infamous nightly drives when they had stopped at a cliff, a pretty view of their small town in sight. pretty lights below and above. the stars were out that night just like them, watching the rest of the world sleep. she’d looked into his eyes, simultaneously looking into his soul. with anyone else, he would’ve felt naked and exposed but with her, he wanted her to see everything and to understand everything. he realized he only ever wanted one person to do that and he wanted to express it in the best way possible. he kissed her. really kissed her and she didn't shy away. he knew it was wrong, they both did, but it felt so good. so good that it felt right. right there, in the back of jeongguk’s first car, clothes disappeared one by one and they wrote love poems into the bareness of their skin. so passionate, so raw that it was impossible to stop afterward. they did it again and again behind closed doors, behind the curtain they drew in the depths of night. it was nothing they ever felt before. when they weren’t tangled within each other they explored as much as the city would let them. talking about anything and everything. no boundaries. 

___ planned on leaving once she graduated, didn’t know where to but the farther the better. she hated it here and so did he. it made jeongguk sick to even think about a life without her in it. he was selfish, he knows. he had them both and it was very clear which of them he loved more yet it saddened him that the one he favored more would ever leave him here. alone. that was until she asked him to come with. she asked him to run away with her. he swears if he wasn't deeply in love with her then, he was now. of course he said yes. running away and seeing the world with his favorite girl was a dream. a dream he truly wanted to become reality. 

they planned it out. jeongguk and yoona graduated and while ___ finished her final year in high school and yoona stared college, jeongguk took a gap year waiting for ___. waiting for their dream while working jobs here and there, financially preparing. he also took a business internship so that his family would get off his back for working instead of college. it was full proof, even the boys knew. though they thought it was risky, they supported them both. they had grown fond of ___.  they’d both work jobs to add onto their savings and the day after ___ graduated they’d leave and never come back. that was the plan, the dream. and yet they never made it.  

regret. he regretted it so much. the faithful day came but jeongguk didn’t. she waited and waited but he couldn’t do it. he watched from afar, luggage in hand. watch her wait. watched her cry when she realized. he cried with her. he was just so damn scared. a coward is what he was. he was scared of the unknown, something he craved so much and yet he was scared of it. and that's exactly how he felt for ___ at that moment. he craved her so much, loved her so much, and yet he was scared of her. scared that her spontaneous ways would one day be the end of them. he thought of yoona, at least with yoona he knew what he was getting. knew exactly where they’d end up. he wanted certainty and that's why he watched her leave. but to his surprise, she didn't leave, not yet. she stayed and waited, waited long enough for everyone else to find out. she was then branded as a little slut that wanted a taste of the forbidden fruit, the one he didn't choose. it was far from the truth but its what everyone believed. and so she left far far away and he didn't chase after her. god did he regret it. every day since that day he’s felt nothing but regret. he was back to putting the mask on trying to appease everyone. surprisingly no one reprimanded him and for that he felt anger, anger he’d only felt towards himself.

___ was the love of his life so it hurt. it hurt to see that she didn’t think of herself like he did. he wasn't aware she felt that way. like she was in yoona’s shadow. to him, it had never been like that because she’d been the one he sought to look at first in every room. it hurt to see she thought so low of herself but you could say he wasn't any better. he was newly married and yet he was miserable. it had only been a few months since he and yoona got married and people were already asking when they were having a baby. straight out of college and things were moving so fast. he was nauseated and lived life in such a lethargic manner. he needed her. 

she said she still loved him. maybe it wasn’t too late. maybe he could turn things around and fulfill the dream they never reached. so he picks up the phone and dialed the number he used to call every night. it was so familiar that he didn’t need to think twice about it.

it rang once, twice, and finally, on the third ring, she answered.

“gukk?”

he cried at the sound of her voice. he missed her so much. after a while, he could hear soft sniffling from the other line.

“can i come home?” he asked, voice so hoarse it hurt.

“you are home… aren’t you?” voice strained, sounding confused.

“no no, you’re my home ___. i need to come home. “

with that jeongguk couldn’t help but cry harder.

“shhh shhh gukk, it's ok. everything will be ok.” she cooed familiar words he hadn’t heard in a while. “ok, come home. come to me baby.”

he booked the first flight he could as soon as she said where she was and packed up as much as he could. he was gonna stop living this lie and start living for himself. something he should have done four years ago. and in a few hours, that’s exactly what he was gonna do. live the life he dreamed of with her, no holding back. he needed to stop being afraid. he was on his way, without a care in the world. jeongguk loved ___ and ___ loved him. that's all that mattered.

he’d send the divorce papers over tomorrow.

[quidfree]

Hi! I saw that you wrote some prompts, I’m hope I’m not too late... could you do a James/Sirius prompt 11? Hope you’re not tired of writing about them I saw you got a lot of requests for that pairing

i never tire of these two x

11: i almost lost you (heavy stuff lol)

in many ways it is the first time they face him. 

sure, there had been the recruitment offer, midway through seventh year, like that was going to go anywhere; sirius' mocking laughter and the both of them staunchly unafraid, the handful of them (the year’s best and brightest, as it were) all comparing notes to lessen the slightly hysterical awareness that their last year of high school had included job offers from the dark lord himself. ignoring the fact that some of them had accepted.

that had been hogwarts, however, and though in age they are not far from that time this is markedly different. james has been in duels before, obviously; james has been in nasty ones at that, mainly with various members of slytherin house. the irony of the situation does not elude him as he ducks a sectumsempra curse. fights with the order are not the same. there is an unshakeable urgency to them, and the knowledge that all around you people are afraid, or dying, afraid of dying.

this fight is worse, too. there is a feeling of grim awareness coursing through him before he even knows why, and when he knows why it feels obvious. 

“the bastard is here!” moody had shouted, two, five, ten minutes ago, vanishing in a flurry of spells. james has lost track of him since, though he thinks he saw him crack someone’s jaw open with his wooden leg at some point. but the bastard is here, indeed, in flesh and blood, if tom riddle still has those. 

now, as he stands stock-still, wand raised, nerves singing, all of those ridiculous rumours they’d invented in school seem less implausible. 

“james potter,” lord voldemort says, coolly, advancing a little. they’re not close, but there’s an open space between them, largely unobstructed by the fights taking place around them. james spares half a look for the death eater he’d just knocked out, verifies he’s unconscious, then meets the man’s cruel, removed gaze. 

tom riddle had been handsome, in that uncanny aristocratic way that a vein of slytherin purebloods are, dark and charismatic and not all-together unfamiliar, though not the type of bloke james’d like a pint with. voldemort’s eyes are an eerie red, and his skin is reptilian, stretched tight; he looks like the sort of thing james had firmly pretended not to have nightmares about when he convinced his parents he was old enough to be read the warlock’s hairy heart. 

“tom,” james echoes, with a genial smile. “small world.”

the faint smile flickers; the man’s snake-like eyes don’t blink. “what a waste of a fine wizard. would you not be spared, potter?”

“spared a lecture, sure,” james retorts. they’re circling each other now, slowly; his pulse is thundering in his ears, throat tight. “otherwise, i’ll pass.”

“no? not even if it would spare your mudblood girl? it seems such a shame for you to lose her and your dear parents in such rapid succession.”

“she can handle herself just fine,” james says, through the throb of how dare he making him see red. his parents’ funeral was barely a month ago. “and my parents clearly raised me better than yours did.”

he just about manages to stop the killing curse very casually flung his way, quidditch reflexes rebounding it harmlessly skywards, then blocks three hexes in rapid succession, twisting sideways to launch two of his own back. voldemort stops them with ease, of course, but it gives james the time to move, pull away from the fray where anyone behind them might get hit, draw the man towards a hallway instead.

he’s a good dueller. near top of his year, even. but he’s eighteen, and six months into the order, and way out of his fucking league for an extended one on one with the dark lord himself.

it doesn’t matter. adrenaline carries him forwards, courage in his veins. he side-steps two crucios, throws out a hex voldemort has to twist to knock away, ignores the lightning-speed of his opponent for his own reflexive reactions. this is a fight like any other, at its core, wand against wand, wizard against wizard; he will kick as much ass as his magic permits, despite the sick thudding in his gut.

“very good,” voldemort calls, mocking, over the explosive sparks between them, robes flapping as he turns. “i expect you excelled at defence against the dark arts in your n.e.w.t.s.”

“i expect you failed,” james shoots back, faux-curious, then has to trip over himself to miss a curse; it gets him in the shoulder, burning like flames, and he swallows a yell to fire a quick block against the next volley, using the spare seconds to finish the curse before he has to duck and roll ahead of the next flash of green light, which catches his robes as he goes. 

from the floor he slams out several curses of his own, one particularly annoying binding spell managing to require voldemort’s full attention as he jumps to his feet. his arm is no longer on fire, but the whole shoulder area has gone fully numb, and the smug look on his opponent’s face says he knows this. 

he’s seen the same thing on too many’s people faces not to theorise. no doubt it’ll spread down his arm, loosen his grip at the worst time. 

well, fuck it. he wasn’t an excellent team captain for three years for a lack of ability. 

he tosses his wand from one hand to the other, and enjoys the momentary surprise on the dark lord’s face as he volleys a massive incendio his way. delightfully, it actually ignites the bottom of his robes. 

in the seconds where he can afford to, he listens to the sounds of the room drift in through the ringing in his ears: screams, and crying, and spells being thrown dizzyingly from all sides. mad-eye, somewhere, hollering strategies. the tell-tale cracks of apparition. 

someone is retreating. if he had the time- if he was someone else, he might have disapparated the moment he saw lord fucking voldemort had his sights set on him. for better or for worse he isn’t, though, and he might as well see this shit through until either camp leaves.

he’s not sure how long the next batch lasts. it feels like quidditch at its worst, like time is suspended and drawn out at once, a million manoeuvres going nowhere, not hoping to win so much as not to lose. he forgets everything of the outside world except the two of them, red against green, so closely knit amongst the chaos that they’re almost locked in a weird dance, pacing each other like animals.

he gets in two good hits. voldemort gets in three. 

the third comes as a direct response to his second, and really he ought to have expected that the man’s ego would respond so violently to successful mockery, but the moment his hex lands on his skin, bubbling comically if painfully under it, voldemort’s eyes flash viciously and james can tell, with the inevitability of watching the quaffle slip through the keeper’s fingers, that he’ll be seconds too slow with his next block, shifts course as best he can so he’ll be ready to heal himself-

he barrels to the floor instead, and sirius yells “motherfucker!” as his body explodes into cuts, blood bursting from him with almost comedic timing.

james manages to shield them on instinct alone, his heart pounding with misplaced adrenaline and pure visceral shock, vision locked on the red seeping from sirius’ body where they’re still half-crumpled in a heap on the floor.

he’s still seeing nothing but red when he twist, half-raises himself, and fires off three curses in such rapid succession that he is almost knocked back over by the intensity of his spells. one of them hits, maybe, based on the lack of response; he whips back around, says “sirius” with extreme conviction and no idea what he’s saying exactly, only that- shit, that-

“vulnera sanentur”, sirius grits out, finally audible, though he must have been saying it before; his voice got lost in the buzzing in james’ ears, or else he was practicing non-verbal magic. he is still bleeding. 

james pulls them both up to their feet mechanistically, shields with one arm, supports with the other, and feels the killing curse ripple through his protective spell as he looks towards voldemort, close now and smiling broadly. his heart is in his throat; for a moment he could kill. 

“enjoying the show?” sirius demands, caustic, unafraid always, even now, and james believes it wholly, because sirius is never afraid of things that could kill him, not like this. “purer blood than yours, tom.”

they are close, and it’s too late to disapparate, james registers distantly; if the fight has turned against them there’s no way out now. but does it matter, really? it’s him, and sirius, against some bully who thinks he’s all that. they have no choice but to give him hell.

voldemort spins two curses their way, and james doesn’t block; james weaves, dragging sirius after him, and sends two right back, grins violently in his direction, ignores the heavy weight of his best friend against him. voldemort doesn’t quite deflect the second in time, and he staggers back, grimacing in distaste, but then sirius is twisting urgently and throwing up a shield and there’s a second mask-less death eater nearby with a recognisably unhinged grin.

“resorting to dirty tricks, bella?” sirius snarls, which explains where he’s been all fight, really, and james just- fucking hell, he hates family reunions with the blacks.

“you’re one to talk about dirty, little sullied cousin,” bellatrix leers, and skips closer to her master, expression going exaggeratedly bashful as she twirls her wand. “my lord, i’m afraid i’ve come to curtail the fun somewhat. many of our ranks have fled before the paltry forces of the order; we are wasting time here.”

“very well,” voldemort says, unruffled, glancing towards the back of the room, where shouting is loudest. “say goodbye to your sweet cousin.”

james knows no small satisfaction in that the end of his sentence is cut short by his having to quickly deflect two hexes, but they get no further; bellatrix is spinning curses in their direction with a manic laugh before he can so much as blink, and it is only sirius’ jerky upwards motion that sends them through the ceiling instead, james following the motion with a blow of his own as he watches voldemort smile, dead eyes taunting.

"look at the state of you,” bellatrix scorns, “and not a scrape on the dark lord.” she too is unafraid, eyes wild and arrogant as their spells collide mid-way. 

“his robes look pretty stupid, though,” james retorts, watches her scowl as sirius snorts into his shoulder, itself devoid of feeling. her responding spell is more convoluted, nearly outpaces his twice before he gets a feel for it and rebounds it elsewhere. not far behind them he can hear voices again, and this time he recognises moody, back-up, safety. he is finding it hard to process through the haze, but he knows they are close to survival, so long as he stays alert.

he knows before he moves that it’ll be too much to fend off. voldemort spins green, bellatrix red, and the brute impact burns through his fading shield; the cruciatus curse skims along his leg as he shoves sirius out of the way, and it buckles, searing pain spasming through his muscles as he automatically barrels a hit back. it hurts so much he can’t think, but he throws his weight onto his functioning leg and yanks sirius behind him, watches bellatrix laugh and spin as their bodies begin to blur into nothingness, watches another two spells course through the air that reflex alone won’t be able to stop, and grits his teeth to shield jerkily even as he sinks downwards.

sirius’ free hand knocks into his, wands in perfect parallel, and the shield burns a brilliant white, parting blows collapsing harmlessly into nothingness. 

a spell hits his leg and he jolts, but the curse has stopped ravaging him; he pauses, turns.

“are you out of your fucking minds?” mad-eye roars, and james blinks, registers the quiet, registers the smoke fading, the handful of prone bodies and the exhausted disbelief on the faces around them. the many faces, he thinks. “have you ever paid attention to a word i tell you? it’s a bloody miracle you’re not both dead!”

“t’be fair, moody, was james’ fault,” sirius slurs, and that more than anything snaps james out of fight-induced focus, makes him twist to his knees to where sirius is now half-sprawled on the floor, pale and still blood-drenched and wildly, dangerously irresponsible. 

“merlin all-mighty, you fucking wanker,” james chokes out, ripping his shirt open to have at his torso, ignoring the convulsions of his leg. sirius shivers, flinches, smirks. his spell sealed many of his cuts, but there’s one jagged wound through his stomach still sputtering wetly, making james’ head spin.

“have some decency, prongs, really-”

“you absolute maniac,” james continues, conjuring dittany from frank longbottom’s bag and smearing it on with a vengeance, his hands shaking like the curse got his arms instead. “you could have just- fucking hell, you could have just shouted, or shielded, you-”

”all right, god,” sirius mutters, grimacing at the sting. “wasn’t fucking- thinking ahead, was i, would a little gratitude be too much to-”

“shut up, the both of you,” moody growls, fury in his hawkish eyes. “the order is moving out of this building. now! if you can’t walk, crawl, and if you can’t crawl, we leave you to die. ‘s what you bloody well deserve, for your antics.”

“could just say you were worried like a normal person,” sirius manages, lost in the irate clanging of wood on tile; he swats james off to drag himself upright, clicks his tongue at his leg. “idiot, what’d you go and get crucio’d for?”

“you,” james begins, suddenly impossibly overwhelmed, and thinks he might kill him, or laugh hysterically, or cry, the latter alarmingly probable, which must show on his face because sirius’ expression registers something like panic.

“prongs?”

“just-” james starts, stops, adrenaline crashing, his hands still fucking shaking. “don’t- don’t do that, don’t throw yourself into the line of fire for me, it-”

“oh, please, like you didn’t stand there and do the same for five minutes after i got a couple of paper-cuts,” sirius retorts, eyes flashing dazedly. “’s what we do, moron, ‘s what i’m here for.”

“no, it’s not,” james says. dumbly, he knows, numbly, and he knows why, actually, understands now that he’s shaking from the aftermath of shock, that when sirius went down he had the brief and violent thought that he’d died, that after his parents nothing seems invulnerable anymore, not even sirius, and he’d not known that until now, no matter how stupid that is. “you’re here to be here, you’re not...”

“oh,” sirius says, noticing his hands, maybe noticing his tone. 

he hasn’t cried once for james’ parents. not at the news, not at the funeral, not in the months since, and james knows it’s because he’s a complicated bastard who somehow thinks he can take the pain unflinchingly for his sake, even though james never asked him to, never wanted him to.

“bastard,” he says, out loud, and tries not to cry, drags himself to his feet, pulls sirius up after him, both of them shaky on their legs. they need to leave the building, and then mad eye’ll see them off, and once they’re home there will be time to heal wounds, wait for the next round.

he is so very tired, all of a sudden.

sirius stills him when they’re both standing, oddly serious now, chews on his lip and then lets go of his hand. james has barely refocused on his face through smudged lenses when he leans to kiss him on the forehead, like james does to him sometimes, like his father did, when they were younger. 

james inhales, sharp, and then starts crying. predictable, really. he’s done a lot of it the last while.

it’s all right, though, probably. they’ll be out of the building soon enough. he can walk and cry at the same time.

sirius ignores it, generously, or maybe just cautiously. when james starts walking he walks so close to him that james can smell him through the blood and dust, which makes him cry harder.

he can’t ask anything of him, is the thing. he can’t ask any of them what he wants, which is that they let him go first. parents aren’t meant to outlive their children; sirius will always die for james as long as there is a james left to die for. all he can do is protect him as best he can, in return, hope that between the two of them they cover all their bases.

he thinks of the shield, bright and powerful and effortless, and smiles wetly, rubs at his glasses. still smudged. his hands haven’t stopped shaking. if they were different he might’ve grabbed sirius’ hand.

they stop outside the doors, near last, and james gets a glimpse of the others- tired, appreciative, sympathetic- until sirius snatches his glasses off him, visibly surrenders some of his pride to lean heavily against him as he cleans them, shoves them back on with unnecessary roughness, just to be annoying. 

moody is saying something, gruffly, and the longbottoms are counting heads, and sirius says: “he’s an ugly fucker, isn’t he?” and james laughs, not shaky at all, ignores the glare moody shoots them and laces their hands together after all, pays no mind to the brief outrage on sirius’ face.

“godric, yeah. d’you reckon he took a bludger to the nose, at some point, or was i imagining the family resemblance with goyle?”

“oh, i think it’s innate,” sirius says, scoffing with unshakeable haughtiness. “looks sort of lizard-like, doesn't he, and we’ve all heard about his dubious parentage..”

“what, mrs riddle fucked a dragon?”

“dragon is generous, prongs, maybe a newt or something.”

“that feels unfair to newts,” james says, seriously, and hums. “limax, maybe. ohh, d’you think that would explain-”

“the robes?” sirius completes, eyes sparkling despite his feverish pallor. “body of a slug underneath. makes sense.”

“potter, black,” moody barks, “if you could spare us the speculation...”

they’ve lifted the mood, at least; he sees alice struggling to restrain a laugh near him as she wipes her brow, smiles winningly at their grumpy commander. 

“sir yes sir.”

tomorrow, if the urge strikes him, he’ll kick sirius in the shin to lower him. today, his leg is shaky, and sirius is the sort of steely he only gets when he’s about to collapse, so he just tugs on his hand, and sirius comes, obedient, brow furrowed in light curiosity. james kisses the side of his face, self-indulgent, squeezes his fingers unforgivingly.

“takeout tonight?”

“as long as it’s not indian again,” sirius replies, easy, and james nods feelingly and doesn’t let go of his hand for long enough that it stops being a lifeline and starts being funny.

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 16

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This time: A moment of balance between Thrawn and Eli.

Next Time: Thrawn and Ezra receive their orders. Tensions rise.

-/

It was late. Even for a Chiss. Very few lights were on, as the majority of those within the manor are able to see well enough into the infrared not to necessitate lights, though ornate candles burn at different points down several of the halls. It was a decorative choice, sure, but it also was meant to cater to the human whose rooms were directly across from his. In a way, Thrawn could appreciate it like this, the way the yellow-orange light flickered and splashed across the halls, highlighting historical, ornamental art.

But at the same time, he found he much preferred the remainder of the estate in its natural, unlit fashion, the purple black skies, hazy with clouds visible from the floor to ceiling windows in the main lounge that overlooked the front of the manor. Everything was dark, and even with the ability to see into a superior spectrum, most everything had cooled thanks to the temperature regulation systems.

A flicker of lightning danced across the sky, visible through the windows. After a moment followed the deep, rumbling thunder. Thrawn stopped just inside the lounge, head tilted toward the window. It was not yet raining. More lightning flashed, the heat of it lingering long after the light disappeared. Soon.

He did not entirely dislike this place. It was far more appropriate for his brother than he, but it was symbolic that they’d been chosen. That both he and Thrass were destined for far greater things. It was not home, however. His place was aboard a ship, in the inky darkness of space, hurtling across the stars. He could appreciate any number of planets and their peoples, but more importantly, their art - but it would not compare to what drove him. What defined him. He was never going to settle down in this place and live out the rest of his days.

The sound of footsteps from another hallway drew his attention. They were not loud nor tentative - not an attendant, then. They were measured. Even. More thunder crashed. They did not break pace, so he knew it could not be Thrass.

“Surprised you’re up,” Came the casual greeting, the smooth-tone voice that belonged to Eli Vanto. He approached the wall length windows with a sense of wonder, hands going to his hips and eyes turned skyward. “Gonna be one hell of a storm,” He said, words lilting with the mildest twang in Sy Bisti. “Kinda reminds me of summer storms on Lysatra.”

There was a long pause, nearly an entire minute of lightning and the successive thunder before Thrawn spoke. “Do you miss it?” He asked, his Sy Bisti accented ever so slightly with Cheunh.

“Sometimes,” Eli admitted. “But not as much as I expected.” He turned his head, giving Thrawn a once over, though he could only really see the Chiss’s left side. “What’re you doing up at this hour?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Thrawn fired back, glowing eyes casting the slightest haze on his cheeks. “The hour is not entirely scandalous for a Chiss, as you no doubt know, but I do not believe it is an hour a human strives to be conscious for.”

Vanto conceded the point with an embarrassed smile. For a second, Thrawn found his eyes drawn to the curve of the other man’s mouth, then shifting up to see the similar softness in his eyes. This was the facial expression of a man Thrawn knew. He recognized Vanto’s sheepish embarrassment and knew immediately what it was. In this, at least, he knew his old comrade. It was a boon that he clung to.

“You were up working on research,” Thrawn appraised him, seeing the lingering dampness of his hair on the next lightning strike. “Your sleep cycle hasn’t reset.”

A purse of Eli’s lips indicated that Thrawn was right.

“Three days?”

“Two and a half,” The human clarified. “But technically, I was up for around four.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” Thrawn advised. “The human body is not designed for such-” He broke off, realizing he’d slipped right into command-tone, speaking to Eli as though he were the other man’s superior. It was habit. Instinct. Completely uncalled for, but the words had left his lips and could not be taken back.

Vanto turned to face him bodily, looking up at him now. He smiled, again, and Thrawn froze. “You’re right.” Then, laughing to himself, a small huff of a thing, he added, “Sometimes I think I’d kill to be an ensign again. Only time I get a solid eight these days is when I pull kriff like this.”

Thrawn hummed, pensive. He watched Vanto’s posture, intent on being sure there was no lingering discontent from his words. “I had not meant to reprimand you,” He said. “I was merely-” Merely what, exactly? Thrawn wasn’t entirely sure how to continue. Concerned? Surely he knew Vanto could take care of himself. It was unlike him to speak so carelessly.

“I know. I’m not angry.” He shrugged. In fact, he seemed amused.

It only confused the Chiss more. “You are more expressive now,” Thrawn explained. Then, he added, masking his frustration with his usual cool, “I do not understand.”

“You’re thinking too much.” Lightning flickered, and for a moment Thrawn could see the deep cinnamon-brown flecks in the depths of Vanto’s dark eyes. “I’m goin’ to go down to the kitchens and kick out whomever your dumbass brother has on duty for no reason at o’three hundred. I like makin’ my own breakfast when the situation allows. Want to join me?”

“That will undoubtedly upset Thrass,” Thrawn said. “He will-”

Vanto’s eyes sparked mischievously, one brow rising. Thrawn swallowed hard, taking in the nuance, cataloging it for later reflection. The complexities that he’d layered on, the way he was the same Eli Vanto, and yet at the same time this confident, collected Captain Ivant, all of it was overwhelming, heady. Enticing. “Tell me you don’t like pissing off your brother,” Eli prompted.

That was all the convincing it took, not that Thrawn had been planning to turn down an invitation to make further amends with his current commanding officer. “I have no idea what you mean, Captain,” Thrawn said, facial expression neutral and voice smooth as stone.

“Right,” Eli drawled. “C’mon, Commander, let’s see if I can’t turn out a decent meal with whatever delicacies the chefs keep on hand.”

“Lead the way.”

-/

“One thing I will say about the Chiss is that y’all certainly have better taste in breakfast foods than the Empire ever did.”

“You did not find their powdered protein rations enjoyable?” Thrawn asked dryly, cutting a piece of omelette with his utensil and tasting it. It was good. Not purely Chiss cuisine, but not like anything he’d eaten throughout his time with the Empire, either. It was a fusion of the two.

“I’m a Wild Space hick, remember? My people ate real food they grew, not powder and gel.” Thrawn hummed. Eli plucked a pot of some kind of jellied sauce off a tray in the center of the expansive kitchen island and spooned a generous portion over his own. “You have this stuff? It’s kind of spicy, definitely not meant for this kind of dish, but it’s good.”

Thrawn gestured for it and Eli passed it over. “You’ve cooked in this kitchen before,” He mused, as he followed Eli’s lead. He’d had this sauce before, but it was meant for expensive and exotic meat cuts, not an egg scramble with common vegetable greens. He tried it, and found the spice to be agreeable but not overwhelming. It brought out the buttery flavor of the egg-wrapped greens.

“Yeah. Kinda spent some time here after I got back from Grysk Space.” He didn’t elaborate. Thrawn didn’t expect him to.

“So I was told,” He agreed. They ate in silence, both watching the storm through the window. The silence between them was comfortable. Familiar, with the charge of something new. “My brother considers you a friend,” He said slowly, after a while.

Eli shrugged. “That bother you?”

“Not at all,” Thrawn said, and Eli frowned. “I believe he was baiting me.”

“No doubt he was.” The human turned on his stool, facing him instead of the window in front of them both. “He was worried about you, before I went away.”

Thrawn got the feeling ‘away’ was the mission that got him and Vah’nya captured, but ignored it in lieu of keeping the mood light. “He is not all bad,” The Chiss admitted. “More infuriating than anything.”

“You can say that again,” Eli agreed. “Though I think I’d take infuriating and obtuse over genuine. The few times I’ve seen that were freaky, even for me.”

“Now I know why he likes you,” Thrawn didn’t smile, but there was a sort of warmth to his gaze, a fond quirk of his lips as he regarded his Captain. “You embrace him as he is.”

“I don’t know about that.” He returned to his meal, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed before continuing. “He’s a pain in my ass, even when we’re on the same side of an issue.”

“That is his way,” Thrawn agreed. “It’s been twenty years since I’ve spent any real time with him and he’s hardly any different than when I left.”

“That right?”

Thrawn considered it a moment. “He is a bit more over the top now. I suspect it’s due to political tensions that have put strain on his position.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Vanto said.

“I do wonder if it is similarly related to me, though.”

A pensive look crossed Vanto’s features. “We’d be on the brink of war even if you stayed with the Empire. Seems to me like the fissures between the ruling families have gone on ignored for a while. They run deep. I’d prefer to keep them fighting it out in assemblies and council meetings rather than open warfare. The Grysk will be waiting for us, if or when that happens.”

“I think you believe it is a matter of when, not if,” Thrawn pressed.

“Perhaps,” He looked out the window as lightning struck and thunder followed, crisp and loud.

“Can you elaborate?”

This time, Eli fixed him a look. It was regretful, but resolute. “Not yet,” He said. “I’m sorry.”

Thrawn nodded. “I understand. It is… difficult.”

“Weird, you mean.” Eli smiled, small and sad. “It’s weird to be your CO. It must be even weirder to you for me to be comfortable in your family home.”

“It is strange, yes,” Thrawn supposed. “But I do not resent you for it. You are-” He stopped. Considered. “I owe you a great debt,” He said, but Eli could see the way the cogs in his mind were turning. It wasn’t what Thrawn wanted to say, or at least that’s what Eli seemed to think.

Vanto rose from his stool, taking his empty plate and Thrawn’s, rinsing them both in the sink while Thrawn sized him up, analyzing him in the following silence. He let it happen, let the Commander work through his assessment of the situation on his own. The steaming device that sterilized any used cookware and dishes was cycled on with the touch of a button before he returned to his seat, a half-drank mug of tea sitting in front of his stool.

“I need to make something clear with you,” Eli said. “Any debt you could possibly owe me has been paid in full.”

Thrawn protested, “I do not-” But Eli held his ground.

“I wouldn’t be who I am today if you didn’t yank me out of the supply track all those years ago and insist I be your translator. I’ve learned a hell of a lot from you and I’m happy to be where I am.” Conviction laced through his words. “This is where I need to be.”

They stared at each other, irises darting back and forth, almost like some unspoken battle of wills. “I am glad you chose to come to the Ascendancy,” Thrawn said finally. A rare note of overt sincerity flavored his tone. “I do not think I have ever told you as much.”

“Yeah,” Vanto said. “Me too.”

-/

Thrass rolled his eyes spectacularly as he passed by the outdoor courtyard that had become a sparring zone. Off to one side, Un'hee and Ar'alani sat reading under a wide brimmed umbrella that blocked the glare from the sun. In the center of the courtyard, Thrawn was running a clinic, putting his stray Jedi through the paces. Show off, Thrass thought.

"Syndic," Ar'alani acknowledged, not looking up from her work. Un'hee finished the page of her book and turned in her chair to give the elder Mitth brother a smile and wave.

"Good day," He greeted them both. "Have either of you seen our dear friend Captain Ivant?"

Ar'alani inclined her head. "Perhaps he is catching up on sleep. Humans do need more of that, and he did recently work himself silly on a project."

"You military types really are no fun," Thrass pointed out. "I simply wished to thank him for giving my kitchen staff half the night off."

"This does not concern me," Ar'alani said dismissively, returning to her datapad and reviewing whatever information was displayed upon it.

Thrass sighed. "Of course. Well, if you see him, do let me know. I love waking up to my staff gossiping about my brother and his clandestine affairs."

"I see," Ar'alani murmured to herself. "That explains why he's in a good mood."

"Which one?" Thrass groused.

"Thrawn, obviously." Across the way, Ezra grunted, trying to redirect one of Thrawn's advances with minimal success. Thrawn turned it into a teaching moment, and they began again.

"He seems… lighter, today," Un'hee agreed softly. The young navigator flinched, and Ar'alani braced herself. Sure enough, a moment later, Ezra and his practice weapon went flying with a strangled grunt.

"Well," Thrass said, tone brightening as if he remembered his audience, "I suppose that is at least something beneficial in all of this. If you see Ivant, please remind him that my staff is not to be won over or dismissed without my express permission, even at all hours of the night when he feels prone to revisit his love of cooking."

"Is - But Thrawn is a member of your house," Un'hee thought aloud, face furrowing in concentration as she considered the point she wanted to make. "He could dismiss staff if he wanted to, right?"

They studied each other a moment, then Thrass laughed, eyes gleaming. "You are too smart for your own good, Navigator." Thrawn's elder brother checked to make sure he had not drawn his younger sibling's attention with the sharpness of his laugh. "Let’s keep that our little secret, shall we?" He added, conspiratorially.

Un'hee grinned and Thrass patted her once, twice on the crown of her head. Meanwhile, his gaze found the subtle upturn of Ar'alani's lips.

Softly, almost as though under her breath, she released the truth."I believe Ivant and Vah'nya had something to handle this morning," She informed him. "They will be joining us later."

"So he is not sleeping the day away after staying up all night chatting with my brother?" Thrass sounded put out. "It would have been far more enjoyable to tease him had that been the case."

Ar'alani made a show of pulling up a new report and ignoring him, to the delight of Un'hee and her bright, youthful giggles.

[changarroo]

1,000 sleepless nights// Han Jisung Au

A/N: Wowowowow it’s been a loooooong time, I apologize for that. This admin had to change schools in the middle of their senior year which was a pain in the butt. I’m finally glad I’m able to write again because writing has always been an outlet for me. I hope you enjoy this I’m not sure yet how many parts yet. I’m thinking maybe four but I hope you enjoyyyyy. Honestly if you can’t tell already I’m a sucker for Han Jisung- Admin Nicki

Word count: 1.8k

Genre : Angst/Fluff/Heartache

Paring: Han x Reader

“Han I think we need space apart” You say quietly looking at him

He takes two steps back and you can’t help but laugh

“We don’t know what time apart means and it’s tearing everyone else around us. We drag them into our shithole of a relationship” You run your fingers through your hair as he grabs your wrist

“How long do you need?” He asks and you look up taken aback by his answer. You did not think it would be that easy. You raise an eyebrow “I’m not sure Han.., just space”

He nods and leans in kissing you “I’ll give you what you asked for”

It’s been three days since that talk and there is a knock on the door. You roll out of bed not getting much sleep lately from your late night swifts at work. You rub your eyes as you head to the door and open it

“You know you should ask who it is before opening it” Han scolds you

“What are you doing here Han? It’s only been three days” You whine from being tired

“I know but I can’t sleep without you here and you know I have..” you nod before he could finish

“Okay I know. Just sleep on the couch” you walk away grabbing pillows and blankets, walking back and handing them to him

“You look good in my shirt” he smirks and you look down and frown

“Shut up Han and go to sleep” You groan knowing you want him to pull you close but you have to stand your ground. You are constantly giving into him and you have no willpower to say no. You force yourself to sleep missing the feel of him on your body.

“No No!” Han screams from the couch and you pop up hearing him get louder.

You rush to his side “Hey baby wake up” you touch his clammy skin as he opens his eyes and you smile softly “come lay with me” you suggest and he shakes his head no “Distance remember” he says sadly

“You already broke that shit by coming here” you half laugh

“We both won’t get sleep if you keep having your nightmares” you run your fingers through his hair

“Come on baby” You pull him up and walk towards your room. Your skin was on fire from his touch. Your breathing becomes heavier as you got lost in the thought of him touching you

“Y/N?” You hear Han call and your snap out of it realizing you haven’t opened the door

“S-Sorry” you were glad it was dark so he couldn’t see your face

“What were you thinking about?” He smirks knowing you like the back of his hand. He knew every movement, every breath you take, every change of expression… you hated that he knew you so well

“You were thinking of me between your legs weren’t you” He smirks and you smack his arm “I’ll make you sleep on the deck” you move away from him going to your side of the bed.

“You’d never do that Y/N” he gets in bed and automatically pulls you into him

“I’ve missed your touch too” he draws on your bare thigh.

“The way you look at me when you suck me off with those innocent eyes” he says into your ear and you groan and sit on his lap

“Stop toying with me Han. I can’t take it” you were so frustrated… mainly sexually frustrated because he was here and you could feel him on your body

He pulls you down and kisses you

“Don’t be that way kitten you know you enjoy this” He groans as you start to move your hips

“Oh gosh Han we can’t. We can’t have sex to fix our problems” you moan as you rub yourself against him

“Why not, it’s worked before” he says kissing your neck

“No it just goes away after we have sex and it always seems to come u-up later” you state as he smacks your ass

“Then stop” He says

You wake up and rub your head. You keep having these terrible dreams about your next door neighbor. He is way older than you and not suitable for you image. His friends as not the best influence either but you are drawn to the way he walks and the tattoos covering his attractive body. You get up from your bed and peel back your curtains to his bedroom light on. You smile as you see his silhouette but frown when a female figure comes to play. You quickly step away from the window and climb into your bed and let a few tears slip

“It’s never going to happen”

You finally go to sleep without any thoughts of him in your mind. You had to teach an art class this morning so you got out of bed and took a shower. You look at yourself wondering what you could change to maybe catch his attention. You look at your colorful closet and pick a crooked knitted sweater with light jeans that hug your curves and doc marten boots. You put the outfit on before doing light makeup and applying gloss. You place your hair in a low ponytail before heading downstairs

“Hi Mom” you kiss her before heading over to your dad “hi daddy” you smile at him and he smiles back. You dad was a judge and was well respected and his family was expected to uphold an image as well

“You put makeup on today sweetheart” You father comments as you pour yourself a glass of apple juice

“Yes I did daddy. I wanted to do something a little different. I made sure to not go overboard with it knowing you don’t like it” you always wanted to please your father. Your mother was a handful and you two weren’t always on great terms. You often wondered how your parents got together

“Well be safe on your way to art class today” he gets up kissing his wife and then you before walking out

“What were you doing up last night?” She asks and you look at her

“Oh I couldn’t sleep. Sorry if I made too much noise” you respond back simply

“No just wondering. It’s good you put on makeup you look tired” she comments and walks away. You hated the way she treated you at times. She was never satisfied with the way you look and always commented on your appearance. You finish your glass and grab a small fruit bar before looking for your keys to your BMW. Once you find them you give your dog a kiss and head out. You lock the door and turn your head to see your neighbor already looking at you. You give a soft smile before unlocking your car

“Y/N right?” He says as he approaches you. Your heart is beating fast

“Y-Yes that is correct” you could barely usher out

He bites his lip looking at you “It’s good to see a change of style” his eyes rank up your body

His words wrap around your mind ‘that means he actually notices me’ you smile “thanks” you walk towards your car

“Where are you headed” he brushes his hair back

It’s strange that he is asking all these questions. He usually only utters maybe two words at most

“Work” you answer shortly as you see yourself turning red

He nods “Bye” as he walks away you want to call out to him but stop yourself. He only noticed you because you have skin showing. You got in the car slamming the door before reversing and driving off.

Work was a handful but you enjoy teaching kids to draw and paint. You clean your items up and replay earlier events in your head

“why the hell would he talk to me” although you already had the answer figured out earlier. You had a nice figure when you wore the right things but you were modest and wanted to cover up. You didn’t want every guy to see what you had. You wanted a certain 20 to see what your eighteen year old body had and was capable of. You sigh heading back to your car deciding on getting coffee and grabbing a few books from your back to read. You were a hopeless romantic, you believed you could change anyone with love. I mean clearly it worked for your parents

“Can I have a matcha iced latte please” you smile at the cashier. He was a cute black haired boy who had been looking at you from the moment you walked in

“Yes of course” he punches buttons on the machine and you pull your wallet out

“This one is on me if you let me take you out” he smiles. His nose ring glistens under the light and you were taken back, blushing like a made women

“M-Me?” You have never had a man ask you out ever. Well maybe expect for kindergarten when this kid named Nathan wanted to hold your hand so he asked you to be his girlfriend

“Yes you… it’s only you and the male behind you and I’m definitely not asking him” He smiles and you turn around to see Han looking at the two of you not showing any expression.

You turn around quickly and nod “O-Okay I’ll go out with you” You bite your cheek and he writes his number on the cup and smiles before passing it on for your drink to be made. As you turn to walk away you feel fingertips brushing your bare abdomen and you look at Han who looks down at you and gives a small smirk. You quickly push away from him and take a seat in the corner pulling out your book.

‘The nerve of that stupid bastard and the look on his face’ you think as you read the book but you couldn’t deny the warmth your body got when he touched you. You are snapped out of your trance when your cup was brought over by Han

“Thanks” you mumble out looking at the number on the cup smiling as he takes a seat

“Someone has a secret admirer” he snickers

“So what if I do what is the problem?” You become defensive

“Easy there kitty cat” he sips his black coffee “don’t take offense to it I just would’ve done it better”

You lean back crossing your legs not believing the words that came out of his mouth

“Excuse me?” You gasped “who asked for your damn two cents”

He laughs “I decided to add to the change”

If steam could come out of your head… it would most definitely be fuming

“Oh yeah and how would you do it better?” You raise an eyebrow as he places his cup down

“I’d just bend you over” you raise your hand to stop him. You grab your cup and your book getting ready to leave

“You’re a disgusting pig” you spat at him and he licks his lips

“But I’ll be having you call me daddy very soon”

[eye-raq]

Below.

This is an entry for the With Love, From Wakanda Valentines writing prompts.

Prompt: That’s it. No more wine, ever.

Warnings: Fluff.

Summary: Directly below her, an intriguing man she’d grown to befriend gives her company on Valentines Day.

“Breathe Lola, it’s just roses.”

It was a warm day in San Fran, just one day before Valentine’s. Lola Duvall climbed the stairs to her apartment on the seventh floor, the nursing shoes on her feet feeling like bricks. She had a long day in the ER for twelve hours straight, registering outpatients of different statures. Her belly growled, making her motions a lot faster as she finally made it to her door. She placed the roses from her mail slot in the crook of her arm, unlocking her tattered apartment door.

The first thing that hit her was the AC, and the smell of old burning inscense. Lola places her key on its designated hook along with her work bag full of nothing but old papers, ink pens, and crumbled up granola bars. Next were the bricks on her feet. She kicked them off quickly, wiggling her toes. The tips were chipped from a quick boring paint job the other day, the white not so flattering anymore.

“Bills, bills, bank statement, magazine I’ll never read.”

Lola places the roses on her living room table, mentally reminding herself to put them in a vase. She assumed they could be from an old flame? Maybe one of her good girl friends showing her love. Whoever it was the roses were beautiful. Lola walked towards her window seat, pulling her phone from her back pocket, spotting nothing new. She lets out an exasperated breath, eyes studying the skyline of San Fran. Scratching at her curly bun, Lola brought her attention back to her mail, only a few trash worthy envelopes in her hand.

“Baby shower invite, oh, how nice.” She smiles at the pretty gold script. Her long time best friend since childhood, Jacqueline, was having twins. Lola hadn’t the opportunity to go shopping for her, but she had a few items in mind. Flipping through a couple more times, Lola pauses over a single red envelope no bigger than the rest. It was embroidered from what it felt like against her fingertips, a simple gold sticker holding the flap down. The front was blank, the anonymous piece of paper making her mind wander.

Lola glanced over at the roses on the table, her eyes dancing from her hand and back at the smooth dark oak. So it was most definitely an ex, or maybe... a secret admirer? Whoever it was, she couldn’t help but to smile. Lola was a chill girl, strikingly beautiful yes, but not an IT girl. She liked the little security she had, it added to the mystery that men had about her. She was a sucker for secret notes and letters, this entire thing reminding her briefly about high school and the Secret Valentine’s they would do with a small mesh bag filled with smarties that read out cute little messages.

Your so cute!

Just wanted to say I adore you

Xoxoxo

Be mine?

Hugs!

Flirty!

“Catching eyes, Lola?” She spoke, finally taking her squared pedicured French tip to rip a clean slit in the back. Inside was a perfectly folded piece of paper, one that looked to be ripped out of a journal. Dropping the envelope down, hearing it slip between her heater, she unfolded the thin piece of paper, adjusting her cat eye red frames before reading it.

I made love to her on paper. And spilled ink like passion across the sheets. I caressed her curves in every love letter. I kissed up and down her thighs in short sentences and prose. I tasted all of her innocence, without a spoken word. I bit her lip and pulled her hair in between the lines. I made her arch her back and scream, it only took a pen.

Her feeble fingers.

Lola’s brown eyes read over the cursive with a new interest each time. She yearned for the culprit. Who would send her such a lulling yet steamy, sexy, well though out poem? The tips of her nails brushed against the back of her neck, causing the short curls to fall from her bun. Just a day before Valentine’s? Lola was imprisoned in her thoughts, her mind trying to piece together the clues like a thousand piece puzzle. Lola studied the paper and noticed a smudged stained finger print in the corner. Bringing it closer to her face, she studied it, before sniffing it with caution.

“Chocolate?” Whoever wrote this must have been munching on Hershey kisses. Thank God it wasn’t some horrid unhygienic stain. After letting out a content smile with her mind still focused on her poem, she went to pick up her roses, ready to give them a new home. Just a single slender vase that her mother gave her sat on her kitchen counter directly in front of the tiny window. The poem sat open directly next to it, her eyes scanning the lines that had her knees weak. She could lean over that counter and stare at that piece of paper for hours, but it was going on seven o’clock and she needed some food and rest. Kissing her fingers lightly, Lola places them against the poem, a soft smile gracing her heart shaped lips before walking away.

Freshly showered and enjoying her usual spot outside on her personal balcony that was attached to the fire escape, Lola took small sips of the aged wine that was gifted to her for her 30th birthday. It was Armand de Brignac Rosé. Rich bouquet of red fruits gave the pink champagne a fresh full bodied feeling on the palate, lingering and complex. She placed the glass between her legs, adjusting her head wrap before hearing the familiar sound of balcony doors opening and the sound of boots hitting the metal surface.

It was him

Her Below.

He was quiet, definitely a loner, and stylish. Lola could talk his ear off again. She enjoyed his voice and admired his handsome features. Lola lifts softly from the ground, leaning over the railing to find him smoking with his back against the doors to his balcony and his knees drawn toward his chest with his forearms draping over them. He looked just as perfect as always. His dreads braided back, a pair of gold rimmed glasses on his face, black sweats with a white tee, and Doc Marten’s on his feet.

“Mind if I tell you about my day?” Lola seemed to have startled him, but as soon as his eyes looked towards hers, a simple yet genuine smile graced his lips.

“You know I love it when you talk to me, Lola.”

Erik puts out his weed against one of the rails of his balcony, placing it inside of his pocket before ascending the stairs to her level. With each step he took, his eyes never left hers and his lips remained in a permanent smirk.

“You look like you had a long ass day girl.” He leans against the railing directly next to her, his arms folded over his broad chest.

“Stressful AND long...you know how my work days normally are, I talk your ear off about it all the time.”

Erik shrugs, eyes lingering to the floor of the balcony, noticing her glass of wine.

“All I do is sit around my apartment, and write all damn day.” Erik yawns, before reaching for her glass.

Lola knew about Erik being a writer, but she didn’t know what kind of writer. He was pretty mysterious when it came to his personal life and day to day activities.

“So, uh...what do you write, exactly?” Erik brings his nose to her wine glass, taking a tentative sip before smacking his lips.

“This is some tart ass wine.” That didn’t stop him from taking another sip. Lola admired the way his full bottom lip would hang over the edge of her glass, the hot air from his nose fogging it. When he removed the glass from his lips, he would lick at the corners of his mouth, dimples deep. He was really something.

“You’re gonna tell me what you write about?”

Erik gave her a look, his eye brows shooting up with a crease of his forehead.

“I guess it’s fare that I share it, right?” Lola nodded her head in agreement, accepting her half empty glass of wine and taking a sip herself.

“I write erotica.”

The burn of the wine hitting the back of her throat caused her to cough faintly, a hand to her mouth and an uncomfortable crease in her brow. Erik couldn’t help the smile that fought to surface, shaking his head at her.

“Erotica you say?” She liked Erotica, literature or art intended to arouse sexual desire.

“I got your attention huh?” He teased her, licking his lips.

“Yeah, I’m not going to lie you did.” She reaches down to pick up her wine bottle, adding more to her glass, not so much to drink but more so to have something to do. Erik could be intimidating, and she didn’t want to come off as desperate while standing next to that beautiful man.

“Why write about sex?” His eyes glinted, the corners of his mouth quirking up.

“You sure you wanna turn up the heat Lola?”

Oh boy. What was she getting herself into tonight. She bit her lip in thought, her finger swirling around the rim of her glass.

“I’m curious, feed my curiosity Stevens.” He gave her a coy smile before clearing his throat to speak.

“I write to fuck with your brain, your heart, your morals, and your sense of self. Lust, love, desire, denial, boundaries, pain, pleasure...”

“So, it’s not about the sex, it’s about what reaction you get from it?” Lola could feel the wine doing its job, her movements becoming more loose with a blithe expression.

“I like to see how my words imprint on a women when they read my shit.” Erik fixed her with a gaze.

In that moment, Lola wanted to descend those stairs to his place, and pick through his writing. She imagined he had mountains of papers littering his desk with a lone type writer sitting in the corner. Maybe he even had piles of books for reference and some of his own work. His articulate nature was very sexy.

“I bet your words have an enormous effect.” Lola could feel his eyes on her, attempting to focus on drinking her wine rather than take in his sanguine eyes.

“They do. You wanna find out?” Erik pulls his phone from his back pocket, scrolling and typing. Her wary gaze traveled to his fingers, admiring how thick they were. She wondered how they looked holding a pen, or maybe even her hips? Taking a look at her wine glass, she suspected all of these thoughts were because of the tart alcohol. Her skin felt ignited and her lips extra moist from the assault of her tongue.

“Okay, Princess. Here is something I’ve been working on for a bit. Tell me what you think, aight?”

“Alright, I’ll be your critic.” She took his phone gently.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me if my shit is bad.” He gave her a leering gaze, one that already answered the questions in her head about how freaky this writing could be. Lola’s eyes finally fixed on his phone, shutting him out momentarily.

Turn around, and give me the perfect angle, the perfect silhouette. Let my eyes admire the pretty brown flesh with your delicate pedals peaking at me from behind, my staggering hands reaching under the bridge of your body to cup your breasts. Fuck abandonment, I wanna devour that flower from the back and shock your round flesh with my overworked hands while you stroke that slit on my aching tongue. Let me feel you shower me with that honey and shake under my assault. Grind me, feed me, suffocate me, while you moan and whisper a yess. Look back at me princess with those beautiful eyes and a nibble of your lips. Look back at me and instruct me, tell me what to do and how to do it. I want you immobile. Take my gift like the good girl you are. My soft lips, my wet tongue, my thick fingers. I need to explore you. Tell me where you like my tongue and how you want me to dip it. Is the texture just right? Am I being greedy with every satisfying stroke and flick? You’re breathtaking and I’m dangerous. Your delicate and I’m primal. It’s safe to say I delve into your deepest and tightest spot, claiming what’s mine with each invasion. Coax me further and yearn for the feeling, we got all night.

Panting, sighing, struggling to keep it together, Lola finally ends where he stopped. She hadn’t realized that her glass was empty again, and hadn’t noticed the grip she placed on his arm to keep her steady. Erik’s fingers sooth her back, the service alone feeding her wonder. She couldn’t even form words, her eyes blinking and her tipsy movements fighting with her.

“That was..”

“Forbidden territory?” He chuckles deep within his chest, his frame much closer than before.

“I don’t care, I’ll trespass.” She giggles nervously.

“Oh for real?” He said that deeply. “Tell me when and I’ll let you in. I’m just below you, Lola.”

“Are...are you flirting with me?” She trailed her hazy eyes down his frame. His stance definitely changed, he was practically looming over her like he was her personal shade to cool her off, and his face was gratifyingly close to hers.

“Is that a fucking problem?” He rumbled.

“Nah. I-I’m just...” Lola was on the brink of wrapping her legs around this man’s waist.

“Good, cuz we don’t need one unless it’s a problem you want me to fix?” Lola’s creamy brown skin grazed his bare arm, electrifying her. So apparently Erik has a thing for her. Lola thought back to the rose and letter from her secret admirer, wondering if it wasn’t a secret any longer...

“E...” she closes her eyes, flicking her lips with her tongue. This wine...

“What’s your plans for Valentine’s?” He cut her off suddenly.

“Nothing... it’s not like I have anything to look forward to.”

“Why don’t I keep you company? I would hate for you to be lonely.” The shock she felt had her insistent. Erik’s bold, brash behavior surfaced.

“So does that mean you can give me something to look forward to?” Her soft voice trailed off.

He licked at those lips, his fiery gaze strong and withholding. It was definitely clear from the signs that Erik was responsible for sending her the valentines surprise. Your mind traveled back to those words and the way he described the capabilities of that tongue of his. How was his erotic writing on the same level of his actions? She truly wanted to know. Why the hell not? What was the harm in being his naked demonstration? The chemistry was clearly there.

“That’s it Lola. No more wine, ever.” She let out a graceful laugh before batting her lashes at him.

“I like this Lola though, she’s bold. I’d love to tame that ass.” Erik brushes her cheek with his knuckle.

“Was that what you had in mind when you wrote that sexy little poem Erik?” He didn’t hide or deny anything, he just trapped her between him and that railing, his breath tickling her cheek.

“I got a lot of shit in mind. We got all fucking night into tomorrow, and yes I can go for that long ain’t no problem for me.”

Sex with Erik. It could be right where they stood, or on the floor in his apartment. Either way...Lola wanted to sample this man to see what she’d been missing. She wanted the opportunity to settle below him this time, but with her legs over his shoulders and his dick buried deep inside of her.

“Words Lola. You have a mouth, use that shit.” The scent of his breath was definitely that of chocolate. His hands delicately gripped at her neck, trailing down her chest and to her hips. Erik could definitely feel her heart beating through her clothes.

“I want you to show me, let it take all night if it has to.”

The friction of his hands on her hips increased as he lifted her up with ease, her legs wrapping around him swiftly. Her secret admirer walked down those stairs with her entangled within his embrace, her arms around his neck and his lips attacking her neck. This definitely had to be his plan. He smoothed his way into getting a chance with Lola, and now he had to ease her delicate body into the rough, frantic, scorching sex they were about to have.

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[lady-charinette]

A Clawful Plan & A Pawssibly Good Day (Chapter 10) - Dinner for Two Marichat Fic

A Clawful Plan & A Pawssibly Good Day

Plagg quietly sipped at his coffee the next morning, idly watching Pierre set down the chairs for the morning hours when the restaurant would open for business.

His voice seemed loud in the emptiness of the large space and the lack of the usual talk of the crowd and bustling kitchen, “Did Adrien say when he would be back today?”

The chair scraped slightly against the floor and Pierre pushed it under the table neatly, a sigh escaping him, “He said to expect him just before-“

The doors opened as if on cue and the blond himself walked in, hoodie pulled down deeper to cover his face, hair messy, “Hello Pierre, Plagg.” Adrien moved the protective cover of the hoodie away from his face, smiling tiredly at his friends, “I’m sorry for being late, had late night shoots yesterday and an exam earlier this morning.” He didn’t have any eyebags, he couldn’t allow himself to, being a model, but Plagg could definitely see the exhaustion in that green stare.

“Why don’t ya take the day off? It’s a Wednesday.” Wednesdays were reserved for Adrien to freely study for university if his schedules called for it, like upcoming exams or catching up with lost lectures or attend events his father forced him to go to.

Adrien rubbed his chin, resting his hand on his hip and Plagg snickered at the model pose, “Wednesdays are always so full of customers, are you guys going to be alright?” he scratched the back of his head, a sign he was uncomfortable with ditching work.

Pierre offered a kind smile, “Of course, you don’t have to worry at all Adrien. Just make sure to keep up with your studies and don’t forget to rest too.”

Adrien smiled at the elder man, bowing slightly in gratitude, “Thank you Pierre.” He looked at Plagg, who was watching him curiously, “Plagg, don’t trash the VA room again, please.”

The dark-haired man rolled his eyes playfully, “Yeah, yeah, mom don’t worry. Now shoo and go before I change my mind and sit your ass down here.” Plagg was about to take a sip of his coffee before an arm planted itself around his shoulders abruptly and a hand roughly ruffled his already messy raven hair.

“Thanks Plagg, Pierre! You guys are the best!” with a smile to Pierre, the blond raced out of the restaurant, leather bag filled with today’s lecture papers.

Pierre chuckled at the dark, murderous frown on Plagg’s face, “Shut it old man.”

Pierre’s expression changed drastically, a brief flicker of something more sinister shining in those old, brown eyes, “Excuse me, Plagg?”

The raven haired man stiffened, “A-Apologies sir!”

The old butler nodded approvingly, his usual friendly disposition in place and Plagg sighed in relief, sagging further into his seat, muttering about secret demon butlers and pesky blonds.

His phone vibrated with a new message and he lazily took it out, quickly typing in the password and opening the messages.

They were from Tikki.

‘Good morning stinky sock! I hope the cheese cake I made you yesterday was alright. Have a nice day at work, catch you for lunch tomcat!’

A heartwarming smile softened his normally sharp features, Pierre discreetly watching the man’s lips transform into a gentle smile as he typed a reply.

‘Morning, sugar cube. Of course it was, it was purrfect. Don’t overwork yourself either today, I’ll wait for you with lunch outside the shop.’

Adding a silly emoji at the end, Plagg sent his message taking another sip of his coffee.

For some reason, it tasted sweeter.

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

Marinette stubbed her toe against the desk, cursing under her breath and Nathaniel paused in his sketch to look over his shoulder curiously, a sympathetic smile on his lips, “You okay?”

The dark haired woman sighed, slumping back onto her chair, “Fine…”

Nathaniel set his pencil down and turned towards his friend completely, “Sure? You don’t look that fine to me. When did you go to sleep?” he had always had an eye for detail, ever since his childhood days where he first began to draw every day. It also meant he nearly always picked up on miniscule details other people failed to notice.

As often as Marinette wore very little to no make-up, today she had applied a thicker layer under her eyes, which blended into her skin tone to hide the dark eyebags.

Marinette should’ve known Nathaniel knew better, she gingerly touched the smooth skin beneath her eye, “That obvious?” she offered a tired smile and Nathaniel shook his head.

“To me, yes, but not to others.” His small smile stretched into a concerned frown, “Seriously, what’s up? You’ve been on edge lately. We made the deal with that model and the fashion event is only a few days away, I would be relaxed in your stead.” The red-head crossed his arms, carefully observing the woman before him who wrung her hands in her lap nervously before her.

A drawn out sigh and a groan followed her next words, “I know but-! Argh!” she threw her hands in the air, standing up and pacing back and forth in a line, hands gesticulating wildly, “Have you ever met a person you thought was really funny and kind and interesting but like, you don’t know them all too well and you suddenly see a different side to them that you didn’t expect and you don’t like that side of them and you feel really helpless and frustrated?!” Marinette still continued to pace before hands clasped onto her shoulders and Nathaniel gently grabbed her attention by turning her towards him.

“Hey, easy, stop trying to walk holes into our floor.” Nathaniel soothingly squeezed her shoulders again, “I…I guess I can relate to what you’re saying Marinette.” The surprised look she gave him made the professor chuckle, “Remember Chloe? I used to have a bit of a crush on her in primary school, until she started with that bullying anyway. That went away pretty fast. I mean, I don’t really think it’s the same as your situation, but I can relate with the liking someone and not liking certain aspects of them thing. It’s natural.” He shrugged, noticing her calming down slowly, “…Want some coffee?”

Slumping her shoulders, Marinette nodded and Nathaniel led her toward the kitchen, setting up fresh coffee while Marinette slowly started talking about the restaurant she frequented in her breaks.

Once both steaming coffee mugs were in front of them, along with a cookie plate inbetween, did Nathaniel stare at the woman in bewilderment, “W-Wait…you…you’re saying there’s…a toy?” Nathaniel still tried to wrap his head around the quick explanation Marinette had given him, about her recent behavior, her extended breaks, everything. “And…there’s a guy voicing that toy and you…started liking him?” Nathaniel rubbed at his chest, feeling a stinging sensation there, but he tried to curb it.

Marinette, pink faced, slowly nodded, “I mean, maybe ‘liking’ is a bit strong, I mean, he’s really nice and funny! I like his puns! And he keeps me company while I eat, he’s easy to talk to and get along with and well, I don’t know! I l-like his voice okay!?” Marinette slapped her hands to her face, the tips of her ears a beet red and Nathaniel burst into laughter at her shy reaction, “S-Stop laughing! I’ll demote you!” the threat was empty, but it sounded adorable coming from her red face.

Nathaniel coughed a few times, trying to hold in the chuckles trying to come out, before he took a sip of his coffee and it finally died down, “So…you like his voice, huh?” Nathaniel adjusted the collar of his shirt, feeling slight embarrassment bubbling within his own chest at how cute Marinette reacted.

“Ugh, Nath!” Marinette looked ready to spontaneously combust or throw something at him, “It’s-I-I mean- it’s not like I-“ she backtracked, eyes blown wide, elbows planted on the table and hiding her eyes, “Uhm…I…actually did see him.”

The professor’s eyes flew open, leaning forward over the table, “Wait, what? You did? When? How comes you didn’t tell me?” he tried pinpointing when it could’ve possibly been, maybe the time she visited him? But that meant she saw him on campus and that was highly impo-

“I-I met him after your lectures…I kinda bumped into him in the hallway…”

Nathaniel choked.

“What does he look like? What’s his name?” alright, maybe Nathaniel was getting too excited to know this guy, but he definitely wanted the best for her, even if it meant throwing his own infatuation out of the window.

He tried ignoring the prickly, painful sensations in his heart.

“H-His name’s Erik, he’s a bit taller than me, messy dark hair, he likes to joke around and um, he teaches art psychology or uh, art therapy in your university.”

Nathaniel’s body froze and his blood ran cold.

Images conjured up in his mind.

Memories of the past two years of him working as a professor to be exact.

And him.

‘Yo, Kurtzberg, playing with colors again? You’ve got something there on your cheek.’

‘Hey tomato-head, cooped up alone in that room, doesn’t that drive you up the wall? Go out and have some fun, maybe you’ll get some friends along the way!’

“Nathaniel?” Marinette rose an eyebrow at the vacant stare he seemed to have set on a fixed point on the table and she waved her hand.

‘Heh, this looks like a bird shit on it, if I have to guess what’s on your mind, I think the answer stays the same dontcha think?’

‘Most artists only dream of being able to tell what art truly means like us therapists, it’s a shame you chose the weaker craft of the two.’

“Nathaniel? Hey! Earth to Nathaniel!” the man jumped, as if ripped from his own thoughts, wide eyes looking at her.

“Uh, s-sorry, I-uh, got lost in thoughts.” He scratched his head, ruffling his already messy hair.

Marinette noticed the familiar almost haunted look in his eyes, it reminded her of her younger days when she used to be bullied in school. Her hand reached across the table and settled lightly over his fist, “Does he treat you badly at work?”

She had a hunch, but she couldn’t picture it. It didn’t fit together, the picture she had of Chat Noir when she was in the restaurant and when she met him at campus.

Maybe she was wrong, after all.

Nathaniel smiled weakly, “Don’t worry, I tell him off politely whenever he tries to act all alpha male on me. I’ve learned a thing or two following high school.” He winked reassuringly, and patted Marinette’s hand closed over his fist, “It’s just, I always had bad vibes about him, before he started being a jerk to me. He just spells trouble.” He noticed the conflicted look on her face, “But don’t let my personal judgement influence your own, if you say he acts differently in the restaurant, maybe the jerk behavior is just an act? Maybe it’s just me.”

At that, Marinette immediately shook her head, “No! Don’t think that for a second! I don’t know what it is but I’ll find out, he can’t treat any of my friends that way if…if I really do end up liking him that much.” She looked unsure of herself and Nathaniel hated seeing her like that.

He squeezed her hand reassuringly, “I wouldn’t worry too much Marinette, if he likes you, he will realize what a mistake it is in letting you go.”

Marinette flushed, smiling warmly at him, “Thanks Nath, I can always count on you to cheer me up when I need it.” She grinned awkwardly, “Well, except Alya as your female counterpart.”

Nathaniel smiled.

-----------

Adrien almost groaned in bliss at the explosion in his mouth, the delicious pastry from the bakery he grabbed on the way felt like the first taste of heaven after enduring weeks of hell.

He was on his way to catch up on his studies at Nino’s place, before getting ready for the fashion event later this afternoon, he had enough time to pour over the new materials his professor gave him before he had to drive towards the address for the fashion event, of course hosted by Agreste Fashion, with a model wearing a dress made a growing designer. He hadn’t caught the designer’s name, but according to conversations he overheard, the designer must be good at their craft with decent production time.

He hoped to get breaks in-between, he hadn’t eaten much except for the pastry and a small breakfast in the morning before the exam. He bet Nino had some leftovers from yesterday, maybe even something edible in the fridge.

Nino was a surprisingly good cook, courtesy of Nora who loved and treated him like he was her very own little brother since his and Alya’s high school days. Nino mentioned Nora being a bit of a tough nut, instead of showering him with affection, she usually showered him with ‘tough love’ when she visited, whatever that meant.

Adrien smiled when he spotted the building Nino’s apartment was in, he also remembered the very stunned look the DJ gave him when he humbly asked to temporarily share living quarters.

‘Sure dude, you know you’re always welcome, but what happened? Did you lose your apartment? Did your dad piss you off?’

As probable as the last possibility was, Adrien had explained what the true reason was, his apartment was empty.

Not furniture-wise.

It lacked warmth.

It lacked everything a room with people living in it should have, warmth, personal belongings, trinkets that were useless or not that pretty but were still held dear.

Trivial things that made his father scrunch his nose.

Trivial things that made Adrien smile because they reminded him of his mother, when she would take little trinkets and souvenirs from places she would visit for her roles and bring back with her.

Adrien himself didn’t have much, not many personal things, the things he recently got that were closer to his heart were pictures of him and Nino. Those were already in his apartment, one in a frame, the other clipped to a piece of string he remembered seeing in Nino’s house all those years ago, when they were still teens. It inspired him to do something similar, it felt so personal, so real.

For now, only Nino’s picture hung there, they also made a few pictures with Alya at the club as a memory, those would come there too.

Adrien hoped many more would come. Maybe even some with a certain dark haired woman with bluebell eyes.

He took out the spare keys Nino gave him, quickly unlocking the front door and jogging up the stairs before finding the door to Nino’s apartment already unlocked.

Was Nino home?

Adrien pushed the door open, stepping in and setting the keys in a bowl near the doorway, taking his shoes off, “Nino?” he called out, already smelling something delicious wafting in from the kitchen.

“M’ here dude!” the boisterous voice of his friend called back and a small smile lit Adrien’s entire face as he made his way towards the kitchen.

The rooms were small, but enough for one, or two to comfortably live in.

Nino was sitting at the kitchen table, steaming plate in front of him, fork rolling around in the sea of noodles, vegetables and sauce, “Hey man, grab a plate and join me, you haven’t eaten anything much, right?”

The blond snorted softly, shaking his head as he fixed himself a plate and glass of water, “It’s scary how well you know me after all those years.”

The DJ grinned boyishly, gently punching his friend in the shoulder, “Once a model, always a model, huh?”

Adrien chuckled, “Once a friend, always a friend.” Nino’s teasing expression softened, and he nodded immediately, both men chuckling.

“I thought you were in the studio practicing for that gig you were hired for?” Adrien had to admit, even if Nino was nowhere near Marlena’s caliber of cooking, the food was still good.

He wolfed down the veggies and noodles when Nino started talking, “I was, in the morning though. It’s already two in the afternoon, don’t tell me you forgot how to read the clock?”

Adrien rolled his eyes playfully, “I forgot the time, it flew by so fast after that exam, I was just rushing from one point to the next.” Nino spotted the leather bag set on the couch in the connected living room, frowning in concern.

“Aw man, you still gotta study, huh?”

The blond shrugged, swallowing down the noodles, “Yeah, but I should be done in no time. It’s not that much, besides I still need to get ready for that event today, so I’ll go over to my apartment to prepare. I think I’ll sleep there too, so don’t stay up late okay?”

Nino huffed, taking a big gulp of water, “Whatever you say, mom. Just drive safe and don’t drink too much, young man.” Nino imitated the voice of an old woman and both men, despite themselves, burst out laughing at their silly antics.

Adrien enjoyed these things.

Whenever he entered Nino’s apartment, it always reminded him of home, or the closest thing he could associate to it. It reminded him of their school days and strong friendship and what a good man Nino was.

The two men continued eating and chatting and laughing, even after half an hour went by, Adrien felt at ease, the papers in his bag temporarily forgotten, the fashion event forgotten.

All that mattered was the food, his friend, the atmosphere.

It smelled – it felt – like home.

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

Erik strolled across campus leisurely, scanning his schedule for his next class, when he spotted the familiar sight of a certain dark haired woman in the distance.

A grin automatically stretched his lips and he waved to catch her attention, “Marinette! Hey!”

The woman jumped, surprised by the call before she relaxed upon noticing him and waving back.

Erik walked up to her and smiled down at her, “Hey, visiting tom-uh Nathaniel again?”

Marinette smiled, “Hey Erik. Yeah, I just wanted to go over a few things concerning work, I won’t be a bother for too long.” Erik looked around, that explained why she waited near his office too.

Erik planted his hands in his pockets, “I see. So, you don’t have some time today, huh?”

She flashed him an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry, I don’t. I have to help organize a fashion event and help dress the models.”

His interest peaked at the word ‘models’, “Models, huh? Mind if I watch?” the grin on his face was positively feral, but the look in Marinette’s eyes hardened to steel.

“Watch?” she rose an eyebrow and Erik backtracked quickly.

“You know, your work, how you work.” He cleared his throat, “Anyway, I may not make it actually, I have classes starting soon until late. See ya tomorrow, purrhaps?”

A smile made its way on the frown previously marring her pretty features and Marinette nodded, “Sure. Good luck on your lectures!”

“Yeah, you too!” he waved and moved towards the long stairs ahead.

Marinette sighed, rubbing her arm.

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

A few hours later…

Flashing lights, clicking heels and painted faces greeted Marinette as soon as she entered.

Paparazzi, bodyguards and models as far as the eye can see.

There were so many people.

She took a breath, before carrying her designs and bag with designing tools towards the changing areas. It didn’t take her long at all to spot a model, or several of them.

Most were doing their make-up, chatting or doing pep talks. Marinette couldn’t fault them for it, she would be a jittery, nervous mess if she would’ve even have to imagine stepping foot onto a catwalk, or anywhere where hundreds of eyes would be on her.

She wasn’t good in the spotlight.

After greeting and going over the minor details and major parts of the show, Marinette helped them put on the dresses she designed, feeling at the same time odd but comfortable, handling something that was hers, her very own work in her hands, and helping models put them on, adjusting things and offering advice.

It felt liberating but also frightening, like an otherworldly experience.

Marinette wasn’t new to fashion nor to handling fabrics or designs, but she was new to this; the spotlights, the flashing cameras, the crowded fashion galas with hundreds of models running up and down looking for their agents, bodyguards or organizers.

She smiled kindly when another model thanked her for her help in braiding her hair, it wasn’t part of the job, but she would help wherever she could if it meant easing the anxious looks on the young women’s faces.

She wasn’t much older than them and yet, she felt obligated to keep them as comfortable and relaxed as possible under these circumstances.

Some models were seasoned experts, doing breathing exercises or small, personal rituals. Some were tracing patterns on their hands to calm themselves, others were looking in the mirror and silently encouraging themselves, some were chatting with others while again others were drinking juices or water to distract them from the big event which would open any minute.

It was almost time to shine.

Marinette excused herself from the changing rooms, making sure the models were taken care of before she stepped out.

The large, luxurious ballroom was filled to the brim with people. Some were already sitting, looking like they belonged to the VIPs or high end people who would asses the event. Others in suits were chatting amongst themselves near the buffet, people with cameras were keeping a low profile and trying to discreetly take pictures without disturbing the guests too much.

Marinette was glad she had the pass around her neck, people would mistake her for some lost woman who accidentally stumbled into this fine establishment and not a semi-respected designer whose work was about to be put up on stage.

She took a deep, staggering breath, accepting a glass of orange juice from a waiter who was parading around with a plate full of champagne and orange juice glasses.

She gulped the liquid down in nearly one go, frayed nerves still breaking at the seams, but at least she was sure she was hydrated.

Marinette decided to mingle about the crowd, greeting a few other designers she’d met a handful of times, but otherwise keeping to herself.

Due to so many people, there wasn’t much room for individual people to really distance themselves from the crowd. It was inevitable to hear some private conversations.

Marinette pretended to enjoy the ambience while subtly listening in on any remotely interesting conversation topics.

She spotted a group of male models a few steps away, talking, some chuckling. Almost all of them had bathrobes on, they would obviously come up on stage later, after the female models were done with their performances.

As Marinette tried to slip past the group of males, back towards the changing rooms to check on her models, she nearly tripped over her own feet when a particular voice caught her attention.

She was sure she wasn’t imagining it, but when she turned around, there were several models talking, it was impossible to say which voice belonged to whom. There was a blond with green eyes, a brunet with blue eyes, several black haired guys with brown eyes.

But there was only one name that hit her like a lightning bolt when she heard a familiar voice sound from among the group.

Chat Noir?

Thanks for reading everyone! I hope you enjoyed it :3 By the way, is the plot advancing too fast?