#i sketched more of soap today too just trying to figure his face out

[reds-skull]

Concept art for the new AU I've been working on... I'm really liking the vibes it's giving me

top one is a metaphor taken literally (and just me being edgy in general cause why not)

second and third are the Ghost version of this painting I made of Soap a while back

Forth is something I made like a month ago and didn't want to post by itself. It's from the same AU, but uhh not exactly...

[blood-grove]

The Hunt

previous hunt <- part 2 -> (hunting)

x tws; violence , blood , injuries , gore , slight suggestiveness , sickness. <- more will be added possible depending on the part.

x pairings; soap x male!reader (😲)

x characters; soap , ghost , price , gaz + (others will maybe be added? idk ive never written a whole lot of characters cuz i get confused in my own head)

Soap ran his hands through your hair gently scratching your scalp as you purred lowly.

"God ah loue hearing ye purr git a real overgrown moggie as mah boyfriend dinnae ah?" Soap mumbled as he moved his hands to your face tilting your head up enough to look up at him from his lap.

"Such a nice view mm?" Soap grinned as he gently reached hand down brushing over the slight stubble around your chin and cheeks you preferred a clean shave and had quickly learned how to do it yourself.

Especially after all the cuts Johnny gave you trying to do one side of your face.

"Mm.." You hummed as you shifted in the water a near by lake you both have found yourselves at to clean up clothes set aside Soap always carried another pair for the both of you.

Your medallion hung heavy on your chest when clothed you always hid it so you didn't feel like it getting stolen and shifting into a giant dragon while out shopping would be ideal for you and Soap's little business venture.

"How much do we have now..?" You mumbled as you focused on washing instead of Soap's touch.

"Mm..We lost a guid bit we hud tae rush tae th' lea back then..we got 300 silver from you..We'll have to eat today so that'll be around 40 ish- We have about uhh mm.." Soap went quiet in thought as you huffed silently washing some more mud off yourself.

Money.

It had been a problem for you both you could never kept it.

You both had gotten greedy one village ago too many dragon attacks the dragon causing no damage and not even stealing livestock.

They figured you out.

You panicked.

And all remains is a burnt ashy waste.

You tried to repress the memory they were going to hang Soap what else were you supposed to do? You can't take on a whole town, You didn't have Soap's wit and agility especially not back when your human form was still so fresh.

For being such a strong creature you felt helpless in that moment, Soap still wore some scars from it all.

You shook your head as Soap's concerned look brought you back to the present.

"You okay love?"

"..Mm..Yeah.." You nodded as you gently nuzzled him slightly before going to get and dry off with the cloth you both brought.

"...Alright..I think we've got around 1,200"

"..Still not enough.."

"Yeah.."

For the rest of the evening you both ate and soon found an inn to stay in, You both planned to leave before dawn you didn't feel like getting up so early, especially with the cool chill of the twilight air.

You weren't cold-blooded per se but heat has always been a luxury to bask in getting in enough rays just to wake you up enough has always been a pleasure.

But being a literal fire-breathing creature meant your core ran warm perfect for Soap to cling onto too And an excuse to bury his face in your chest.

You didn't mind of course you always woke up to him running his fingers through your hair or sometimes he'd be sketching while one hand rested somewhere on you.

You feel you hit the jackpot with him he's always been physically affectionate yet he never overstepped a line you both hadn't crossed yet.

It was way past dawn when you both woke up again.

You were the clingy one this morning as you tried to keep Soap in place despite his groggy voice mumbling that you both had to get up.

You refused.

He stared at you as you admitting childishly locked your body around his limbs looking up at him.

"Oh noo whitevur shall ah dae a dragon haes me trapped in tis sleepy embrace..maybe a few kisses wull convince it tae let this poor warrior go?." Soap grinned as he looked at you cupping your face as he freed his arms.

"Possibly..I don't know the dragon has a very high kiss toll..I might have ta' turn you into a pile of ash if you don't abide by it.." You teased as he gently pecked your forehead.

"Ohh I'm sooo scared" He chuckled as he finally leaned down and embraced you into a kiss which you quickly melted into letting the rest of his body free as his hands slid down to your hips gently squeezing them as he deepened the kiss.

Soap chummed as he pulled away placing a quick on your forehead before he slipped away.

You both finally got dressed properly as you both packed up and got ready to leave.

Today is another day and another village was ripe for the pickings.

In your head it sounded sort of like thievery.

Maybe you both were scam artist thieves and not relieving people of there excess wealth.

Maybe you were both bad people scamming and scaring the richer folk.

Nah.

It took a week or so to reach the next town and you were both back to your routine.

Soap headed to the nearby guild or tavern if there wasnt a guild, He had a knack for charming the drunk passerby with his exaggerating his dragon slaying tales.

You just hoped he wouldn't get too drunk on the first day here.

You on the other hand were scouting out the town maybe getting a few treats for you and Soap.

You were so preoccupied in your thoughts and potential sweets you would buy you bumped into what could only be mistaken as a brick wall sending stumbling back.

"Ah fuck- What the-"

"Sorry."

You flinched at the voice as you looked up meeting not a magic talking wall which you would have preferred but a man tall and draped in dark clothes and a hooded cloak a skull mask fitted on his face and cloth covering the rest of it.

You got up quickly as he picked up your satchel and book holding them back to you as you stood there for a moment before finally composed yourself.

"Ah um- No its alright I wasnt paying attention."

He just hummed which you couldnt decivier if its good or bad.

"Wheres the guild house here?"

"Uh um I think back near the far markets and again I'm so-"

He just left following your honestly vague directions.

"Oh.. uh okay."

Weirdo.

a/n; sorry if it isnt that good just got back from vacation

[baohanhanesel]

Just thinking about John Soap Mactavish meeting a girl, taking her out on a few dates, becoming her boyfriend and he is such a sweetheart too!

He is the man for her, always treating her, giving her sappy poems he wrote while on deployment, his sketches, flowers and all. He buys herb tea for her when she feels bad because he knows she likes a good bitter tea to burn her throat. He knows she prefers tea over coffee. He knows her favorite things on earth and truly it is a shame he goes to deployment so soon. He loves his job, sure. But he loves her too!

He proposes to her within six months, the proposal comes early for her expectations and she fears he is lovebombing. But she accepts the proposal, puts on the ring anyways because she knows John Mactavish is the best deal out there. Always with his confidence, bravery, gentleness and happiness. He is smiling a lot for someone who has seen a lot. And she appreciates him for it. For never letting that violence get through him. For having the most beautiful smile.

So when she ties the knot with him, it is early, she knows. They get married, and everything is much better! He is extra careful, extra gentle. He smiles more, talks more. She fears this will all end one day. That this is the honeymoon phase to the marriage. Because coming to think of it, they only met 6 months ago. This is all a bit strange, but she won't let herself overthink this. She'll enjoy her marriage. She'll enjoy Johnny and his smile.

"John you will break it."

"Don't worry, luv. I'll handle it!" Said John. Who was putting their toaster apart and trying to inspect the problem before putting it together.

She sighed, she knew the outcome. Her husband loved to put things apart and then put it together. But every single time. The thing would be broken. And this time would be no different. Another expensive indulgence he is in. She should probably stop him from breaking the thing before it is too late and bring it to someone who actually understands. But it feels like it would be like taking away a child's toy.

And as expected, not even fifteen minutes later Johnny rises his head and smiles clumsily.

"The thing was burnt from the inside, couldn't save it."

"Mhm." She knows it wasn't.

"... I'll buy a new one."

Next time she wouldn't let him break it.

"What will we be eatin' tonight?"

"I have no idea. What should we do?"

This earned a grumble from him, there was no food when he got home? Was she sick? He wasn't used to coming to a home with no warm meal. In their house, it didn't work like that.

"You didn't think of anythin'?!" He is just taken aback, he thought things would be different.

"Nope." She is just as taken aback. What is she supposed to do? He didn't say he would come home today or specificed what he wanted for dinner so she forgot.

After seeing his upset shoulders, and also the inability to speak up about it she got in the kitchen. Seeing what he just pushed her to do, John was quickly behind her.

"So what are we uhm, cooking?" He says this with a sly smirk, she turns to look at his face.

"We? Go sit down John, I'll figure something out."

"Whaaat no! I'd die sitting still when you're cooking for me!"

Just like that, they tried to work in the kitchen together. But whatever John did, she was all over him.

"John, That's too much oil, love! Meat already has some oil in it y'know?"

"I always do it like this!" He insists.

He moves to work with the mashed potatoes, she stops him.

"John. When did margarine enter our house?!"

"Margarine? It says butter on it."

"John..." She sighs. It is the name of the brand. But it takes a moment longer for him to realize it. It is fine though, it is silly.

Next time she'll remind him not to put too much oil or to read the items better next time. Next time, she hopes, for once he won't do things his way.

It is honestly so shocking to see them being so awkward and different within a few weeks of living together. John is always stubborn, and so is she. John does things his way, and she never corrects him even though she says she will. John keeps breaking stuff in order to fix them, and she keeps forgetting about the dinner because he didn't specifically tell her he'll be home.

Guess the honeymoon phase had ended quickly.

"John! For the nth time!" She huffed, exhausted with this. "Why are you so stubborn to let someone else take care of things?"

"I am just tryna fix it!" He is smiling nervously, and a little disappointed in himself. It was in his nature. He was a curious man, let him live!

"Bonnie, really? Again.." He shakes his head and rubs his temples, though he has an exhausted bitter smile tugging on his lips. "'m going to bed."

"I am sorry, I... I still haven't gotten used to your schedule." She pouts, watching him leave to his room. It wasn't her fault... She was forgetful of the days he was home or not.

"Why must you never listen?!" She was the first one to bite. And John had bit back.

"Why must you not care? Why do you forget me?"

"I do not forget you. I am getting used to it!"

Just like that, they argued for hours to no end. John was nervous as to think if he did something wrong. Because things weren't like this before. She was sad too, thinking about their old days. Maybe they did act rash about this.

Maybe they were fools for acting too fast.

She said nothing, so didn't John.

"Love..." She looked at the washing machine. That is no longer in any way functioning. It was separated into its parts. She sighed, rubbing her temples. It hadn't been a month since their last argument.

"I was..." He trailed off. "Sorry,"

This time he didn't smile after his mistake, and the absence of his smile stabbed her in the heart. She widened her eyes, and looked at the expensive mistake.

"Oh, so it had those things in it?"

John's head snapped back at her, blinking with confusion.

"Huh. Yeah. Yeah!" He smiles. And suddenly her whole world is at peace again, and the knife retreats from her heart.

She did not correct him before, she wouldn't correct him again. Damn those expensive mistakes, nothing was worth more than Johnny's smile. His smile was worth more than anything. She'd write down a new memo each week to follow his always changing schedule. Anything for that smile to stay put on his face. John had given her everything. He'd been so patient with her forgetfulness. So patient with her reluctance to sudden changes even though it was the most simple thing like a schedule.

The least she could do was to protect his smile and savour it.

I apologize for this. I just rambled. Might be bad, it is probably bad. No beta read or anything just a slap of late night thoughts. I just think Johnny's smile is one of the most attractive things about him. And I feel his partner would know it too. Because look at him, truly. I'd wake up every morning just for the sole reason of seeing his smile. 🙏

[adarlingwrites]

Muse

Summary:

You're a frustrated and starving artist, disillusioned with the world you move in. Transported to a new one, you unexpectedly find a muse.

Notes:

Last Boss/Artist!Reader. Protagonist is AFAB. Oneshot, explicit smut.

I just wanted to write something short, sweet, and self-indulgent because damn, I need a break. And um, our favorite tiger boy needs more love.

Your mind was in a dark place when everything changed.

No galleries had contacted you to put up your works there. Your art blog’s viewership is abysmal, all your commissions are still unfinished, and your bank account has dried up. Such is the life of the struggling young artist; no money, no connections, and no talent, as some may think.

Every piece brought from you is something you’re grateful for. Every like, share and comment you receive is something you treasure. And yet, when you see another artist garner more attention just because what they do is trendy, or because they have connections, you can’t stop the resentment from filling up your heart.

These days, your works can’t just speak for themselves. Art is becoming a game, a competition for who gets the most paintings bought from a show, or the most number of likes within a platform.

You hate the galleries. Most of the time, they’re boys’ clubs reserved for old, mediocre men whose swelling egos are easier to rile up than their dicks. They sell their paintings at ludicrous prices, market value inflated by the connections they have to the gallery and the pretentious bullshit they write in the descriptions.

You hate social media. You hate the algorithm, you hate how these online venues to share your work is geared in another’s favor. You’ve tried to play the game for so long, posting at peak hours and sharing your work shamelessly to your friends, but nothing seems to be working. 

You’re envious.

Envy is such an ugly thing.

Galleries rouse it within the small, unseen artist, whose talents are hidden due to their lack of privilege, their lack of name. Social media capitalizes on it, thriving on competition, the number game warping a person’s psyche and perception of their worth.

Curling up in a ball in your bed, you’ve contemplated countless times if playing the game is still worth it. You just can’t keep up anymore. Each stroke of your brush and glide of your pen had your soul weaved in them, and no one seems to appreciate that because it’s not something anyone can put a price tag on.

Sighing, you drag your feet to the convenience store to buy yourself dinner with what little money you have left.

Then you saw it, the fireworks.

Life turned upside down for you within the span of hours.

Weeks later, you’re in a place called the Beach and sitting as far away as possible from the pool, sketching away on your notebook, odd ends of paper sticking out from it. You’ve survived another harrowing game, and you’re trying to wind down with a nice sketch session.

In this world, there’s no galleries, no social media. There’s no people to impress or market yourself to; just survival. There’s no money to be earned to keep living in this world, just visa days. Days of worrying if anything you’d create is worthy of anyone’s attention is replaced by the need to keep forging forward. But still, to keep yourself sane, you carried around pencils and paper, drawing and sketching whatever your heart desired.

In this world, your art is just for your own consumption, entertainment, and respite. Instead of being the thing that kept you up at night, it became something that saved you from the madness of this world.

The blaring music stopped, sound abruptly cut off as the speakers crashed.

Aguni’s militants have arrived, it seems. Per the advice of another Beach resident, you’ve done your best to steer clear of them. Yet, you still couldn’t stop yourself from getting involved with one of them, the one with the tattoos on his face and all over his body.

The first time you saw him, you found his appearance striking. The facial tattoos he had made him look tiger-like, and the katana he carries around with him just adds to the dangerous air he had about him. The fact that he almost always wears his hood up and the fact that he barely speaks add to the mystery surrounding him.

You’ve learned that nobody, not even their chief, knows his true name. They just call him Last Boss, because he looks like the last boss of a videogame.

It started innocently enough. You sketched him on your notebook, tall and wiry stature contrasting with the flow of the loose clothing he wears. Then the sketches multiplied the more you saw him in the games, and in the Beach. You’ve drawn him wielding his sword and finishing an assailant off. You’ve drawn him squatting on the balcony railing, surveying the Beach during his patrols.

Last Boss had filled your sketchbook pages. He became your muse.

Maybe it’s because he stood out to you, or it’s the sheer, unapologetic boldness his tattoos have. Either way, you were intrigued by him. Sometimes, you swore he’d stare at you back, but as soon as you look at him again, he’s looking someplace else. The little game you played thrilled you, thighs rubbing together when you see him. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t have impure thoughts about him; you’ve wondered just how much of his skin is covered by tattoos.

And yet, neither of you had spoken a word to each other.

It was your little secret.

But not for long.

In the lobby, you were heading back to your room after dinner to rest when you ran into one of the militants. He barked at you to watch where you’re going, and stomped away. The collision sent your notebook flying, paper scattering across the floor. Scrambling to collect them all, you crawled to find every single piece, only to bump into someone’s shins.

It’s your muse, Last Boss, and he’s found a page of your sketchbook.

“I- um, that’s mine. Thank you picking it up, I’d like to have it-”

The words left you when you realize that he’s looking at your sketch of him.

His eyes flick to you.

“Back.”

You gulped, unsure of how he would react to it. Wordlessly, he gives you back the piece of paper, and you nod at him, proceeding to pick up the rest of the pages. Embarrassed, you hurry back to the room you’ve occupied, and shut the door. Not like it would make a difference; all the locks are superglued, but it still provided you some relief.

A warm bath would be nice. It’ll definitely help melt the stress of today away.

Stripping, you entered the bathroom, soaping and rinsing the grime away as the tub filled with water. The splashing echoed in the room, and the bass pounded outside as the party raged on, making you deaf to other sounds that might register in your ears under quieter conditions.

You get in the tub, warm water soothing your sore muscles from the Spade game you participated in earlier, and your eyelids flutter shut. Engulfed by warmth, you drift off to sleep.

After an unknown amount of time, you awaken abruptly to the sound of footsteps in your room.

Quiet as a ghost, you listened carefully. The footsteps stopped, and springs creaking as a weight sat down on your bed followed after. After that, you hear the gentle rustle of paper.

As quietly as possible, you get out of the tub, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around your torso. Pushing the door open as slow as possible, you peer out of the bathroom to see who’s the intruder, and what you saw made your heart jump to your throat.

Last Boss is sitting at the edge of your bed, peering at your sketchbook. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he thumbs through the pages of the hardbound notebook, enthralled by the strokes you made on the paper. There were self-portraits, landscapes, portraits of people, figure drawing, and of course, some of them had him as the subject. Engrossed by the art, he doesn’t notice you.

Taking off the bathroom slippers, you walk barefoot, stepping out of the bathroom as quietly as possible. You were making good progress, inching away from the door, but your foot landed on a piece of paper, and you slipped.

With a thud, you land on your ass on the floor. The tattooed militant stands up abruptly, drawing his sword.

“Oh God, please don’t hurt me,” you yelp, one hand holding the towel around your chest into place, the other shielding yourself from him.

He sees you, then he lowers the sword, and tucks it away. Last Boss walks over, and you screw your eyes shut, but there was no pain that followed. His wiry fingers grasped your forearm and helped you get up.

“Thank you,” you whispered, averting his gaze. He towered over you, almost a full foot taller. You move to retrieve your sketchbook on the bed, but he doesn’t let you go. Gaze finally meeting his, you found yourself disarmed by the intensity of his eyes.

“W-what do you need?” you ask him, the tremble in your voice apparent. You’re still gauging his reactions. So far, he hasn’t done anything to hurt you, but he’s a militant. They don’t exactly have a track record for being gentle.

“You’re good. But you drew my tattoos wrong,” he finally speaks.

Eyes wide, you didn’t know how to respond, blurting out something incoherent. Then, you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. I never had the chance to look at you up close.”

“Would you like to?”

Breath hitching in your throat, you nod. “Let me just get dressed,” you say to him, but he still doesn’t let you go, eyes boring into yours. Behind his tattoos are delicate, handsome features that knocked the air out of your lungs. What stood out the most are his lips, small and well-formed, looking too soft for a man as dangerous as him.

Then you understood what he wanted.

Because you want it too.

You let go of the towel, leaving yourself exposed. But he stands there, frozen, as if he didn’t expect things to go his way.

Leaning in, you kiss him, wet body pushing against him, soaking his clothes. It started slow, and sweet, but then you experimentally dart your tongue out, and he lets out a low growl, opening his mouth to receive you.

It was sloppy and inexperienced, but the kiss hit the spot. You feel the fire pooling in your belly, pleasure shooting up your spine.

Throwing caution to the wind, you put your arms around him and his movements become more desperate, kneading and squeezing at your naked flesh, pawing greedily at every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

You toss your sketchbook to the bedside table and you hop on, pulling Last Boss with you.

Straddling him, you grind your hips against his, and he’s already hard under his trousers, making you smile against his lips as you kiss him more. Your hands guided his to your ass, and you pushed your chest against his face. Last Boss eagerly buries his face between the soft mounds of your breasts, and proceeds to latch on a nipple, hard from the cool night air.

You let out a soft moan, hands cradling his neck as he assaulted you with his lips and mouth. He unlatches from the nipple, then proceeds to leave kisses all over your neck.

Then, he lies back, and he pulls you over him, his head between your thighs.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, a little bashful because of his view of your body.

He nods, and he proceeds to lick your folds, making you gasp in pleasure.“Aim for the nub,” you instruct him with a soft voice, and he does as he says, licking at your clit with abandon. You rode his face as he licked you, movements sloppy.

Soon, you were reaching your peak and you braced yourself against the headboard. Thighs quivering, you came with a cry, riding his face as you climaxed, tits bouncing as your body shook.

As you come down from your high, abruptly, Last Boss flips you over, and now you’re underneath him.

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?” you ask him, smirking.

“Next time. I want you now,” he half-whispers, half-growls. The hard member pressing against you tells you that he’s serious.

You nod at him, and he proceeds to unfasten his belt, hands shaking from nervousness, or excitement, you didn’t know. It’s probably both.

He went in with a single thrust and you can’t hold back the cry that bubbled in your throat. Fortunately for you, you were wet enough for it not to hurt, but it still caught you off guard. He was slender, but that length… it made your toes curl.

Erratic and inexperienced, you had to guide him with his thrusts, and soon, Last Boss finds a steady rhythm, those penetrating eyes looking deep into you as you brushed the tattoo on his cheek with your thumb. You hook one ankle over his shoulder, and moan as the new angle allowed him to penetrate you deeper. Last Boss bottoms out, and he groans, rutting deep inside you.

You raise another ankle and pull him closer, and he’s pressed flush against you, hips desperately pounding away. The tattooed militant pins your arms above you and kisses you, tongues sliding against each other as filthy noises of your fucking filled the room. You suck on his earlobe, and whispers filthy, filthy things in his ear.

“You know, I’d been thinking about this for a while now,” you whisper, and he tilts his head.

“I always imagined you breaking into my room and just fucking me raw until I’m a mess,” you continue, and it seemed to spur him on, thrusts becoming more frantic as the seconds passed. “I’d never thought I’d get lucky tonight. Fuck, Last Boss, use me as you wish, I’m all yours!”

Last Boss didn’t need to be told twice. He fucked you at a brutal pace, sharp hips colliding with the soft skin of your thighs, and with a broken cry, you cum once again, your walls milking his cock.

“Please, please, fill me with your cum!” you cry as he continued.

It drove him over the edge. Soon after, he follows, coming with a loud groan. His body collapses on you, and he gives you another kiss, still sloppy, but it almost felt tender, something you didn’t expect from the sword-wielding militant.

The tattooed man lies next to you, and you curl into him, tracing his tattoos with your fingers.

“Can I look at more of your sketchbook tomorrow morning?” he asks, voice low and drowsy.

You smile, looking up to him. “Sure.”

Just when you’re about to drift to sleep, he speaks again. “Takatora. My name is Takatora.”

Smiling, you kiss his cheek, and say your name in return. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Last Boss is your muse. His attention, both to your body and your creations, is all you need.

[itachi-uchiha-deserved-better]

Apperently my brain is in a ShiIta mood today. I've got an idea for a vampire Au stuck in my head where the clan head family of the Uchiha are vampires that are served by the mortal branch families (in a way more similar to the Hyuga.)

Since Shisui has no living family, when he comes of age he is offered by the branch families as a gift to Vampire Lord Fugaku's heir Itachi.

Shisui is nervous. He's heard plenty of stories about Lord Fugaku's cruelty. While Itachi is more reclusive, he has no reason to believe that the younger vampire or his fledgling brother are any different that Fugaku himself.

As he enters Itachi's chamber for the first time, his hands curl into fists and he has to fight to stop himself from shaking.

He waits.

After an hour, he finds himself calming down. Anger at his predicament replaces fear. Another hour passes and his anger fades and curiosity starts to take his place. He starts to observe the chamber around him, eyeing the book shelf taking up an entire wall, an ornate bed that has never been slept in, an ornate sword hung on the wall above a small desk that is neatly organized with several locked drawers. The longer he waits, the more Shisui's curiosity overcomes his better judgement and he finds himself rifling through Itachi's belongings.

The books he finds cover all topics. Many are history books, but there are books on math, physics, poetry, mythology and all of them are well cared for. Shisui occasionally finds books with pages that have been marked and he spends more time with those books, trying to learn anything he can about the man he has been given to.

He pulls the sword down from the wall, expecting the blade to be dull and brittle, nothing more than a decoration and he is surprised to find the blade is excellently balanced, sharp, a beautiful and deadly weapon.

There is nothing on the desk for Shisui to find, but he uses a hairpin he spots by the dresser to jimmy open the lock on the drawer and finds a leather bound book which is filled with beautiful sketches, mostly of landscapes, some pages filled with tiny, neat handwriting in a language Shisui doesnt know.

That's when he feels the presence behind him. He never heard the door open, no footsteps, but he turns and finds the pale figure, with the appearance of a youth no more than 20 with long, raven black hair. Watching him with piercing red eyes. He drops the book and scrambles back, waiting for some kind of retaliation for his snooping.

Itachi just sighs, moves to pick up the book and places it back in the desk drawer.

"I'd have unlocked it for you if you asked."

Shisui just stares. The young vampire has this stunning tragic beauty about him. But as Shisui calms down from the shock of Itachi's sudden appearance he also notes that there is something....almost sickly looking to him. He looks too thin to the point where Shisui would call him fragile. His skin, pale as snow, has none of the luster he is used to seeing in Lord Fugaku and Lady Mikoto. His eyes, while unsettling, dont have any shine to them.

"If your worried about me harming you, I can assure you that I have no intention of feeding on you. My father insisted I accept your presence here, so you will be my guest. Nothing more. Anything you desire, I will provide for you. But I swear, I will never feed on you."

And with that, Itachi vanishes. He leaves instructions for the servants to make Shisui comfortable in his chambers, to give him anything he asks for.

At first Shisui is relieved. His fears of of a slow, painful death have been abated. Night comes and Itachi does not return and Shisui eventually settles into the unused bed and sleeps. In the morning, he wakes up to find Itachi at the desk, reading. Shisui watches him for a while.

"You're probably hungry." Itachi rings a bell to summon a servant to bring Shisui breakfast and Shisui takes the moment to peer over Itachi's shoulder to see a sketch of himself from the night before, fear in his eyes.

They settle into a sort of routine. Itachi is at his desk when Shisui wakes up. Itachi escorts Shisui around the manor and makes sure Shisui is happy and comfortable. They talk. Itachi asks lots of questions about how Shisui grew up, about his home, about his family, his friends. He looks sad when Shisui tells him he had no one. He asks about the things Shisui enjoys. Asks what kind of books he likes and then presents Shisui with a brown paper wrapped bundle of books Shisui mentioned and a few new books Itachi thought he might like. Then, as evening comes, Itachi would escort Shisui back to his chambers and disappear.

As time goes on, Shisui feels more and more certain that something is wrong with Itachi. The sickly look to him gets worse and worse. Itachi starts to seem weak. He has to sit down frequently as they walk.

It takes a while for Shisui to realize the answer. That Itachi hasnt been feeding at all, that he is slowly starving to death because he refuses to feed on Shisui. And to Shisui's surprise, he finds himself incredibly upset at the idea. He tries to ask Itachi why he wont feed and for the first time, he sees Itachi get upset. Itachi harshly rebukes Shisui, telling him not to ever ask about that again. Itachi has a servant take Shisui back to his room and he doesnt show up the next morning. Or the morning after that. For a week, Shisui is left alone. When Itachi finally reappears, he appears to have deteriorated significantly.

That's when Shisui makes his decision. That night He asks the servants for a silk robe, for some nice soaps and to prepare a bath. He spends a few hours getting ready and then waits.

He is still awake when Itachi comes in the middle of the night. Hes dressed in the silk robe, loosely tied so that the skin of his shoulders is exposed.

"Itachi, you have been nothing but kind to me. You're suffering and it hurts to watch. To see you like this. I want you to feed on me."

Itachi's face twists into a pained expression. Shisui watches as his eyes drift to Shisui's exposed skin. Before Itachi can flee, Shisui closes the distance between them.

"I swore that I wouldnt." Itachi chokes out. Shisui wraps an arm around Itachi's waist.

"You promised I would have anything that I desire. This is my choice. My desire. Please, Itachi."

There is a moment of silence and then Itachi leans in. He kisses Shisui's shoulder and before he pierces the skin he whispers, "as you wish."

Shisui expects it to hurt. He winces as he feels Itachi's fangs sink into him but quickly the pain is replaced with pleasure.

When they're finished, Shisui aches, but in an incredibly satisfying way. Itachi is holding him nuzzling against him and he looks over and he is awestruck at the transformation. Itachi looks vibrant, almost like he's glowing.

In that moment, Shisui risks asking Itachi again why he wouldn't feed before. Itachi goes silent for a long time and Shisui starts to worry he's upset Itachi again until in a quiet voice Itachi answers him.

"I didnt ask to be what I am, to be turned into a monster. But just because I am like this, does not mean I need to be like /him/." Shisui can hear the venom in his voice as he refers to his creator, Lord Fugaku.

"When I came to my senses after being created, when I saw the bloodbath that had fed me I hated myself. Hated what I was. The sight of all that blood was revolting. Knowing that I had...." itachi trails off a moment.

"I swore after that I would never feed on another living creature. But I also never expected you. For you to offer yourself to me freely." Itachi kisses the place where his bite mark was on the curve of Shisui's neck, sending a shiver of pleasure through Shisui.

"I will never take from you, Shisui. But your wish is my command."

[un-piorthos-et-tous-pour-un]

The thrilling adventures of a PA - Chapter Four : A funny thing happened on the way to Ray’s stand up (Adam Sackler x Reader)

A week as passed since that night at the bar and astonishingly, you’ve managed to stick to your resolution and everything’s back to normal on set. Even Shirley’s cutting you some slack with her quest but that’s because she thinks you’re going out soon with one of the guys you’ve talked with at the bar. A little white lie that you gave her but at least, it worked. Today will be a long day when it comes to waiting ‘cause there’ll be many scenes to shoot, meaning the cast & the crew will move around a lot & wait for everything to be set before actually doing anything. But you got it covered. You managed to install an improvised fitness corner near the trailers park to distract Adam and a couple of other actors between takes. Being idle was a problem around here so you tried to come up with something that would be time consumming but yet easy to make happen and there it was. A few mats on the ground and half a dozen machines moved from a warehouse where they were stored and voilà ! “Anything that makes everyone’s life easier” you remember Delilah’s words on your first day & thought to be just a phrase. Turned out to be all you had to say to the studio’s crew to make it happen.

You’re halfway throught the day when the actor finds you in the parking lot, where you’re talking on the phone with your best friend. He waits awkwardky for you to end the call before he finally says something. - “Are you doing anything tonight ?”, he asks running a hand in his hair as he watches you put your phone away. “I’ve got a friend who’s doing stand up, it’s his first time & I promised him I’ll come by for support. I thought it could be more bearable for me to have someone to suffer with so, if you’re free you could come with. It could be fun...”, he adds rushingly, not letting you say a word, almost as if he tries to avoid you saying no to his invitation. - “I’d love to go, I like stand up, where’s the place ?”, you answer simply, making him frown as he was not expecting you to say that, you could tell. - Uh, it’s in Echo Park I think, I don’t remember the exact address but you can come with me ? You’re off when I am so we can get there together, it’ll be easier for us both, don’t you think ?”, he remarks as you nod in agreement. - “Ok, we’ll meet at your trailer before leaving then, that way we can share a cab”, you reply smiling faintly. Adam nods too now, also smiling & you guess he’s relieved to have somebody coming along for the occasion, not because he was going with you. “Anything else ? Oh, the package will be delivered to your place tomorrow, I’ve checked”, you add, remembering he asked you to take care of that for him a couple of days ago. - “Hm, no, thanks. Great, now I just have to figure out a way to convince my sister to accept the gift”, he replies, setting his hands on his hips, thoughtful. - “I’m sure you’ll come up with something”, you let out as you smile back at him, standing up from your seat. “Let’s get you to the make up trailer now, you’re expected on stage 6 in 30 minutes”, you point out as you’re leading the way already, without making sure he’s following. Because you know he is, you can hear his footsteps for one, but it’s the little grunt he makes as you set off that lets you know his position quite easily. The rest of the day goes by without any other hitch and when Adam’s shot his last scene, he tells you he’ll meet you in a few minutes outisde after he took a quick shower. As usual, he was worked up all the time while filming and indeed, the shower’s not superfluous if you’re about to head out to a closed space for a couple of hours side by side. While he’s showering, you make a stop to your locker, changing to something a bit less casual but nothing too fancy either. A watery green blouse over a pair of jeans, you’ve let your hair down again. You’re on your phone texting whe he comes out of his trailer, also changed and it’s hard for you not to look so you keep your eyes on the screen for a few seconds more. - “The cab should be here in 5 minutes, just when we’ll get to the entrance”, you let him know before you put your phone back in your purse. - “You’ve cleaned up nicely too I see”, he replies as you both start to walk side by side to exit the studios. - “Thank you for that sweet compliment”, you retort half sassing him out for it as you reach the gates, waving Al goodnight and catching the cab in the corner of your eyes. You hail it & both get in together, silence falling immediately between you two. You’re sticking to your plan, not engaging with him if it can be avoided. Not an easy task for you since you’re usually someone warm and talkative but it’s what needs to be done if you want to distance yourself from him. Even if right now he’s sitting next to you, only a few inches away, close enough for you to smell the perfectly recognizable scent of his soap. Pine wood. You loved that smell and it was fitting for a man built like an oak tree. You exchange small talk during the ride & it feels weird. Like you both just met or something and you hate it but you gotta stick to your plan. When you get out of the cab, you walk for a few meters and see there’s a line to get in so you join the queue, still in silence. The air is a bit friskier than you thought but you expect to get in quickly so you don’t say anything. It was your choice not to take a jacket with you so you suck it up like a big girl. - “So it’s his first time doing this ? I thought he was managing a coffee shop”, you finally say as you move up the line a little. - “He still owns the spot yeah, but he wanted to try it out. He thought of it a long time ago & I’ve told him to start with improv but he didn’t like it so he tried stand up instead and here we are”, he replies as he puts back some of his hair, still partially wet from his shower. - “I see”, you nod a bit amused by the tale. “You’re a good friend, showing up for his big night. Even if you dragged me into it too”, you kid but you’re sincere. It’s a nice gesture coming from him, especially since you know Adam’s not that great when it comes to nurture that kind of friendships & how it links him to his ex in a strange way. - “I like spending time with you, that’s nothing new”, he retorts with that damned smile you hate so much because it makes you weak in the knees in less than a second. “I can behave when I want to”, he adds still smiling like an idiot and you shake your head, rolling your eyes in the process. - “See, that’s where I know you’re a great actor, I almost believed you for a second when you said that”, you fight back with a grin. There it was again. The easy banter, the little game you missed so much lately but you have to be careful as you’re getting dangerously close to him again. - “Touché”, he says putting his right hand over his heart, trying to get a perfect french accent & you can’t help but chuckle at the scene. Why is that tall idiot so adorable ? You start to shiver a bit, the waiting line hasn’t moved for some time now and Adam notices. - “Are you cold ? Do you want my jacket ?”, he asks but he’s already taking it off before you say anything. He lands the jacket (a good size too big for you) on your shoulders and the corner of his lips raises a bit. “There kid, don’t you freeze out on me, I need you in there,” he says scanning your face as you look at him. He’s only a few inches away from you, not moving away, his hands still on your shoulders. - “So you’re being chivalrous just for your own interest, huh ? How knightly of you”, you tease him as you look over at the entrance for a second, to see if the line’s about to move. You look up again, seeing he still focused on you. “What ?”, you ask as you’re getting nervous from all that attention on yourself. You’re about to say something else to break the heavy silence but he doesn’t let you do it. Instead, his lips land on yours within a second and you’re stunned. From the surprise mostly. Was this really happening, for real ? But it was. The pressure of those plump lips letting you know it wasn’t just some vivid fantasy. And it that moment, you throw all your resolve to the gutter and kiss him back. It’s the bouncer’s cough that makes you part ways as he announces you two can finally get in. You’re almost out of breath, licking your lips in a reflex motion and floatting in a haze but you manage to blink a few times, seeing the actor smiling at you as his hand lands on the small of your back, guiding you inside. His large stature makes it easy to navigate among the crowd and you both settle at a table near the back, close to the platform serving as the stage tonight. He asks you what drink you want and leaves you when you’ve answered him. A most welcomed pause for you to take in what just happened two minutes ago. Adam just kissed you. Out of the blue. Without any warning. Not that you mind anyway but did it really happened and what was it suppose to mean. That’s what is really a mystery to you right now (& you don’t know it yet but it’ll be something you’ll be asking yourself for the upcoming days). You’re lost in your thoughts, the noise surrounding you helping to let your mind race in every direction, trying to comprehend that whole ordeal. Why did he do that ? Why now ? Why didn’t he say anything after ? Why did you let him kiss you ? Well for that last question, the answer is pretty obvious but doesn’t help you in any way. Still completely lost in your contemplations when he comes back with your drinks, you just nod to thank him & when you’re about to ask him a question, the lights go off announcing the beginning of the set so you bottle up that storm raging in your head for now. You try to enjoy the different sketches, to be a good cheer for those people trying to make you laugh but you’re not really paying attention. It’s selfish but you can’t help it. All you can think of is that kiss. You’ve dreamt about it so many times, almost since you’d met Adam. Many scenarios went through your mind over the time, some rougher than some others but you never pictured it like it actually went down. Simply because those were ideal situations and that reality rarely is. You should have known he wouldn’t say anything, most of men aren’t talkers, especially in these instances. But you’re dying to know, to have your doubts appeased. You don’t want to start imagining things if this is just some game he’s playing with you because he can. Stew warned you about that aspect of the job, but you really hope you’ve read Adam correctly to know he wouldn’t abuse his position over you like that. Talking about him, the last aspiring comic is out of the stage and he’s standing up as Ray’s coming to your table. He introduces you and you all begin to chat a little, rating Ray’s performance (which was quite good from what you’ve heard when you paid enough attention to it). Ray seems to be someone interesting from what you’ve gathered from what Adam told you about him & what you can tell yourself now. He proposes to buy you two a drink but weirdly, it’s Adam who goes to the bar in the end & now you’re sure he’s avoiding the moment when you’ll be alone with him. It hurts, you’re not gonna lie but in a way, you get it. The place is very loud, he’s here for Ray initially but still, at one point or another, you expect some explanation from him. So for now, you play along, get to know Ray a little more and pretend not to think about what happened. When you’re finally taking your leave, you’re pleased you’ve met Ray and leanred more on the actor (his fault entirely, he left you with his friend and you simply asked how the two of them met so off course you got gossip out of said unsuspecting friend quite easily). But you’re still frustrated as hell about that whole situation. Adam insists on walking you home so you think it’s a good sign, that at some point he’ll mention the kiss but no. You chat about tonight, what or who made you laugh during the show case but nothing about what he did in the waiting line. You still don’t push it, not wanting to appear too clingy or desperate even if it has been eating at you for hours. And foolishly, you hope that now that you’re at your place it will give a better setting for him to say something but nothing. He takes back his jacket, wishes you goodnight and sets off in the night, leaving you speechless and even more lost. No need to say that you can’t find sleep once you’re in your bed, the evening’s events roaming in your head constantly. The alarm the next morning is painful for you, since you hardly had any sleep but you get up somehow, motivated to show up earlier at his trailer so you can ask him what’s been burning your brain for the last 12 hours or so. You knock at his door, coffee & bagels still warm, hear him calling you in and feel a little spike in your heartbeat but quickly it comes down whe you realize he’s still acting like nothing happened. It meant nothing. Nothing at all. Just like Stew said it would be. But at least now you know where you’re standing. it doesn’t make it easier, how could it but it’ll teach you a lesson. Never trust someone who’s job is to fake being someone else.

[gayferatu]

I hope it's okay if I request a Hobbit imagine real quick! My birthday's coming up relatively soon, on February 14th (Valentine's Day), so I'd really love to know how Fili, Kili, Thorin, Bilbo, Bofur, Ori and Dwalin (if that's not too much) would celebrate their s/o's birthday. I love your imagines, so this'd be a wonderful early birthday present! Thanks so much!

HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY LOVELY!!!! I hope you like it <3

Fíli :

 Fíli would subtly be trying to figure it out weeks beforehand. Asking around in your friend group or even family members and making them swear to secrecy. He wouldn't settle on 1 gift, he would want to make the day special for you, filled with smiles and small gifts hidden for you throughout your chambers. Small trinkets throughout your day.

 Waking up to him kissing you awake, whispering all the sweetest words to you, a happy birthday between pecks to your lips. You'd find small wrapped gifts by your washbasin, new soaps and hair oils in your favourite scents. Breakfast in bed after you come back from washing up, all your favourite foods arranged on small platters and as you slither back under the sheets, he'll feed them to you, kissing your hair and cheeks and shoulders as you chat about the day ahead. He won't be working today, knowing the best gift would be his presence and time with how busy a Durin heir is but that doesn't stop him from spoiling you with all your favourites today! You will spend a long time in bed before setting off around lunch time, a small picknick outside of the mountain by a herb garden.

 Later, you will have celebrations with your friends and family, and of course the company. Even Thorin takes time from his schedule to make an appearance. Fíli takes your to your chambers beforehand, a new beautiful black velvet gown set with silver lace waits for you there. This gift is more for him, he realises as you wear it, looking resplendent but he hopes you like it anyway. He'll braid new silver beads into your hair, made them for you himself, exactly to your liking and style. You wonder where he found the time, not knowing he's been planning this day for weeks.

 Your celebration takes deep into the night, ale and wine flowing, and you dance with Fíli for hours until everyone is tired and slinks off, the music tapering down and when you find yourself back in your bedroom, he'll help you from your gown, rubbing your tired body gently as your two relax back into the bed for your last present.

Kíli :

 Kíli would be less subtle. He'd have been asking months in advance, accumulating your likes and dislikes from the source. He'd do anything to get the gift you wanted, work tirelessly for it or pay a fortune. But of course, he'd also want to spend the day with you, probably take you out of the mountain early in the morning, perhaps to the woods and soak up the fresh air and sunlight on goatback. He wouldn't be returning you to the mountain until evening, having planned a nice long ride to a hotspring at the other side of the mountain.

 Once there he'll lay out blankets, take out the food he's brought and you'll eat together, joking and laughing, and he'll give you your gift while trading stories and catching up on eachother's lives and jobs, finally having the time for it. He'll have brought cards and games and you play until noon when the sun is high and warm in the sky and you both make way to the hotsprings. Of course it doesn't take long until there's splashing and messing around and competitions of who can hold their breath the longest. You let him win. And then you let him do other things.

 When you return to the mountain you'll celebrate with your loved ones and enjoy the rest of the day, retiring to your rooms with Kíli later, snuggling up and sleeping in late the next morning.

Thorin :

 Thorin would probably make you something with his own hands, a black leather belt with ornate throwing knives encrusted with aquamarine cabochons set in silver.

 He'd have a feast planned for you, half the mountain in attendance. A king throws a party in style, of course. Your favourite flowers decorating the tables, Durin colors replaced with your own likings for the day. There'll be music and he'll commandeer a harp to play you  sweet love songs after getting egged on by Fíli and Kíli but he doesn't mind, really. The smile on your face worth the slight embarrassment of having to perform in front of everyone.

 He'll take you back to your chambers earlier when he notices you tire of the festivities and you two make your leave quietly and he'll give you his gifts there, in private. He'll probably serenade your quietly, his own harp sounding better, his low rumbling tones relaxing you as he sings you to sleep.

Bilbo :

 Oh, he'd be so sweet about it. Planning a more than one party for the day, one for just the two of you, the other later, the whole of Hobbiton will likely be in attendance.

 He'll decorate Bag End after first breakfast and you go out for a walk with some encouragement from Bilbo. Garlands and colorful and nicely scented candles placed everywhere in the dining room, a surprise second breakfast upon it, cooked up in a storm as he doesn't have much time. But he secretly prepared a lot of it already, the night before. Small pastries with jam fillings, sugar cookies and biscuits, decorated with your name and small "Happy birthdays!" in the icing.  Lovely tea with rosepetals and lavender and honey. And a pretty bracelet that he slips on your wrist after you've indulged yourselves with the food, sweet tooth satisfied. Gold and silver chain with a cute carved onyx charm on it shaped like a flower.

 Later, a grand party in the field. Gandalf is there, plenty of fireworks in tow. There's music and dancing and drinking and it's so much fun you actually go to bed exhausted that night, wrapped up in your favourite Hobbit's arms.

Bofur :

 Bofur's a romantic. Not everyone knows it, but he is. He loves to hold your hands and kiss every finger in private moments. Likes to nuzzle your cheek and press kisses to the corner of your mouth, mustache and beard tickling you. He also loves to take you on dates to Dale, walk with you hand in hand from stall to stall, pointing out deals to eachother and shopping. That's how you'd spend this day too, I think. Together, doing mundane things but he's so sweet it will feel like a special occasion. You eat small savory snacks wrapped in tiny parcels in the streets of Dale, drink sweet cherry wine in a small inn, sitting at a table in the back, fingers interlocked on top of the table, just spending quiet, loving time together until later. 

 He'll give you his gift upon returning to the mountain, in your chambers. He mined it himself, he proudly proclaims. A beautiful, football sized geode in the shape of a heart, with sparkling amethysts. He explains that when he found it he knew he had to give it to you, that it was the mountain's gift as well. It's beautiful and you place it on your bedside table, the firelight catching it and making it refract the light on the stone around it.

 There's a party that night, your closest friends and family, the company all there. Dancing, singing, joking and reminiscing. Many tall tales told this night from the mouths of Kíli and Fíli. You all may drink a bit too much. Way too much. It may end with a King snoring on the table, a Dwalin draped over him, nearly crushing him, just as unconscious. You'll remember this night forever.

Ori :

 Oh, Ori. So sweet. Library dates? Library dates. But not today, he'll drag himself from the darkness for you, take you out walking with him, shyly holding your hand. He'll have knit you things. Fingerless gloves with delicate stitches in black yarn. A matching hat and scarf. He'll blush at the sight of you wearing it, happy to have given you things to keep warm with. 

 A small leather bound book finds its way into your hands as well, put there hastily by him, declaring you should read it later, when you're alone. They'll contain little poems about you, haikus and notes, sweet thoughts that he has about you accumulated here in his neat penmanship. Dried and pressed flowers and herbs between some of the pages, sketches of other plants. It's sweet and must've taken a long time to make.

 He probably won't plan a party, but his brothers will pick up the slack. A rented small pub packed with all your favorite people. Ori will stay by your side all night, even shedding some of his shyness after a couple ales, fingers locked with yours as you dance on a merry tune late that night. Giving you small kisses when he thinks no one is looking. Bigger kisses when he's sure about it. And more later, when you drag him back to your room.

Dwalin : 

 Dwalin is practical. He doesn't really ask about your birthday preferences beforehand. Instead when you wake in his arms in the morning, he's already awake and gruffly congratulates you on turning a year older. He'll congratulate you a lot. If you get my drift. 

 His gifts are practical as well, things you needed, and have mentioned to him in the past. Nice to know he cares and listens, right? He wordlessly slips a silver ring with a small white gem onto one of your fingers after, this one a little less practical and more like a promise but he knows the significance of rings to humans and his cheeks feel warm under his beard as though he'd just slipped a marriage bead onto a braid in your hair. It's cute.

 I don't think he'd want to part with you a single moment or share you with anyone today. Celebrations will wait until tomorrow, he had decided and spends all day catering to your whims. No request denied even if you get cheeky with them. He'll just huff a small laugh and do it anyway. Rub your feet, kiss you once, twice, thrice, twenty times. Fetch that quill, and regretting it when you set upon him with it, tickling him. His only weakness that only you know. But he won't mind, loving your laughter and grins and he'll get his revenge later anyway.

I HOPE YOU LIKED IT! It got a bit long lol

Requests still open!

[pretty-rad-arson-dad]

Controlling Shock

Okay, so a few warnings for this one: It’s kinda fucked up, so if your sensitive to the topic of torture, even if it’s not intense torture, I recommend you not read this, or take caution while reading this. If you are also disgusted by yanderes or obsessive behavior, I also suggest caution.

Another thing, this was written some time before the release of The Fourth Closet, so this is not only old (Hence the somewhat cringy writing) but also some things won’t exactly add up. (Wording it like this as to avoid spoilers for anyone who hasn’t read it and desires to do so, cause it’s a pretty big fucking spoiler). This was also my first time writing something like... This, so it might not be the best.

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

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"William? Are you home?"

Henry stood outside his business partner's two-story house, sighing impatiently. William had told Henry to meet him here at 10:50 AM and he had been waiting out here for thirty minutes now.

Perhaps I could open the door?

Henry shrugged and figured he'd give it a try. The brunette placed his hand on the knob and turned it. Much to his surprise, the door actually opened.

Well, surely William wouldn't mind?

Taking a deep breath, Henry stepped inside the house and gently shut the door behind him.

"William? Are you home?"

Still no response.

Henry sighed and walked down the hall and peaked his head into the living room. Surprisingly empty. Usually Michael would be sitting there watching his weird vampire soap operas but now there was no sign of him.

Henry made his way into the kitchen, thinking that perhaps William had gotten so caught up in today's newspaper that he had completely drowned out the rest of the world.

But he wasn't in there either.

Henry checked everywhere. Everywhere except one room that he hadn't ever gone in.

William's study.

Henry opened the door to the study, only to be greeted with a large room that lacked of people. He nearly turned around and left, but there was an itching curiosity that took hold of him and it was telling him to look around. Henry tried reasoning with himself that it was just a study and that there wouldn't be anything interesting in there, but that small and curious part of him urged him to go on in.

So he did.

Henry entered the study and cautiously walked around. It was pretty decently sized and loaded with books of all kinds. Henry looked curiously at these. There were some on anatomy, robotics and others on history, even recognized some Shakespeare. Henry couldn't help but chuckle as he recognized some of the books he himself had gifted William back when they were younger. Amongst these was One Thousand and One Nights and The Phantom of the Opera.

Henry chuckled some more as he thought back to their high school years. While Henry had been more of the bookish and creative type, William had a thing for dramatics and entertaining people, hence why he was part of the theater group. William had played the role of the Phantom for his first school performance. He played the role quite well and later admitted to Henry that he had never read the book. So, as a graduation gift, Henry had bought it for him.

Henry smiled and shook his head at the thought. He remembered how ecstatic William had been about the gift.

Henry removed his hand from the book's spine and turned towards a desk that was located in the back center of room. He walked towards it and looked down at the contents that lay out upon it. Sketches and designs for possible animatronics. Henry picked them up to examine them a little closer.

They were oddly designed in both appearance and in features. Voice replication? Storage compartment? Scent lure?

Henry thought about it for a few moments, confused as to why William would find these to be useful features for robots, but ultimately decided that they actually were practical. They could use the scent and audio to help sooth an upset child who was feeling scared or had been separated from their parents. And the storage compartment could be useful for storing the spare parts for that particular animatronic.

What a brilliant mind Afton has, Henry thought to himself. He set down the sketches and looked at a few of the other things on William's desk. He also had a few pieces of merchandise from their first location, a bobble head of Albert Einstein and a journal.

Henry's eyes settled on the journal.

He cocked his head to the side as he looked at it. There was an lock on it, suggesting that this was a private journal at that it was for William's eyes only, but the lock was undone and hanging openly off its clasp. Henry thought for a moment about perhaps looking at the journal, but part of him was saying that this was a bad idea and could ruin the friendship that he and his business partner had. The other part of him was giddy with excitement at finding something in this seemingly boring room that was perhaps interesting after all. As the man thought, he didn't realize that he had already picked up the journal and opened it. Or maybe he did and his itching of curiosity had increased enough that he no longer cared.  

Henry started to read the pages.

At first, they were actually rather boring and slightly silly, full of mundane things and dumb discussions the two of them have had. Henry wasn't sure why but it surprised him to see his own name in there. They were best friends, after all. But there was also something else in there that shocked him and made him smile a little. The amount of innocent admiration for him that William had poured into those pages. William would go on for pages about how great he believed Henry was and how happy he was that the two of them were friends.

'For the first time I believe I've finally found someone who I can be myself around. Someone who understands me and someone I can look up to!'

Henry continued reading, realizing some things he had never known about them or their lives. He couldn't help but smile.

Until he reached a certain date. The date of the car crash that had nearly taken his best friend's life.

August 1, 1982.

It was from this point on in the journal that Henry noticed a change in William's entries. They seemed less cheerful and seemed to focus more on his failed marriage, Michael's rebellious behavior and just bad things in general. Up until January 1st of 1983.

The entries shifted from William's own family to Henry's. This would've been fine if it was expressing concern or showing innocent adorance. But this was different.

William was speaking about his family in disturbing detail. Cursing the name of Henry's now ex-wife, a strange envy of his late daughter Charlotte and a weirdly loving admiration towards his also dead son, Sammy. There was some stuff about Henry himself as well. But, just when Henry didn't think he could be more confused, he found Afton's disgusting confession.

He had been the one who had abducted Sammy.

Henry nearly gagged as he read about how he had tortured his poor son to death. It was in great detail.

Now any normal person would've thrown the book down and got the hell out of there, but Henry wanted answers.

So he kept reading, completely unaware that it would get horrifyingly worse.

Henry felt himself get more and more nauseated as he read on about how he murdered Charlotte in the alleyway and left her there. And then eventually... The five children that had gone missing in 1985. But what terrified Henry the most was the things that would come after these morbid and in-depth accounts of murder.

Obsessive writings about Henry.

The man would ramble on about how much he cared about Henry and talk about how he had followed him and stolen a few personal things from him so he could keep them as reminders of "all their time spent together." There was also talk of the dead children being "their family."

But what finally made Henry decide he needed to leave was his own name scribbled all over a lot good portion of the sheets along with a few other unsettling things .

But most importantly, how William loved him.

Henry slammed the book closed and made a wreching sound. His heart was racing and his head was spinning. He felt like he was gonna puke.

I need to get the fuck out of here and call the fucking cops!

But one thing Henry wasn't expecting was someone showing up. And he certainly wasn't expecting the heavy object hitting him in the head.

The next thing Henry remembered was waking up. His head was pulsing with a dull ache and he couldn't move. With some coaxing, he managed to open his eyes and look around. He was in a dark room and his arms and legs were bound to a chair.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Henry shouted. His voice came out horse and raspy.

"Shhhhhhhh. You'll hurt your throat." a familiar voice said. Henry looked around in a panic and the person chuckled. "Oh Henry~. You seem scared~."  

"W-William, let me go!"

Chuckling, the English man came forward from the shadows. "You know, part of me prefers you unconscious." he said. "You look so peaceful like that. Not trying to fight or scream." William gripped Henry's chin harshly and leaned down to his eye level. "However, if you were unconscious, I wouldn't be able to look into those beautiful eyes of yours." he mumbled. His face was uncomfortably close. Henry could feel William's breath against his face.

William cracked a toothy smile and moved his lips up to Henry's ear.

"I can hear your heart beat, darling~" he breathed in the man's ear. Henry squirmed and tried to lean away, but William's firm and almost painful grip on his chin held him in place. "It's a shame that you decided to snoop about." William sighed. "But I'm not mad, Hen—"

"JUST LET ME GO!"

William pulled away, chuckling as he let go of Henry's chin. "Oh Henry~. You know I can't do that~." he purred. "You know too much~."

"William please! I promise I won't tell anyone!"

William shook his head as he walked away from Henry. "I know you're lying, darling. I know you better than anyone."

William grabbed some clamps off a nearby table.

"W-William, what are you—"

William grinned and sparked the clamps. Henry's eyes widened in terror.

"I'm going to have fun~."William slowly sauntered towards Henry, savoring the horrified expression in the brunette's eyes. He could feel his heart racing with excitement. A sadistic smile spread across William's face as he spoke in a low and playful tone.

"It's time for your controlled shock~."

Before Henry could let out a protest, William had attached the clamps to him. Henry threw back his head and screamed in agony as the electricity pulsed throughout his entire body. William pulled them away and looked at Henry, still smiling.

"Are those tears I see~?" William asked in a low purr. "Let me just—"

The scrawny man began to lick Henry's face. "Mmm so salty~." Henry let out a sob as William pulled away.

"W-WILLIAM PLEASE! YOU NEED HELP YOU NEED—" William cut him off.

"NO!" he shouted, clutching the clamps tightly in his hands. "I'm sick of having to hide these feelings, Henry! I love you! I love you more than anything and anyone!"

"THIS ISN'T LOVE!" Henry screamed. "THIS IS JUST SICK! YOU'RE SI—"

William gritted his teeth and shocked Henry again, causing him to let out another pained scream. This surge was even worse than the last.

"No... You're the one who's sick, Henry. But don't worry. I'm going to cure you~!" William said, tears running down his face, his twisted smile returning. "And once you're cured, we can be happy together~!"

The clamps were withdrawn a second time, allowing Henry some time to gasp and sob. He looked up at William, his expression pleading for mercy despite it being hopeless.

"You're eyes truly speak of life~." William purred. "They're the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen~."

Henry squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, causing William to let out a low growl. "Look at me, Henry." When Henry didn't comply, William shocked him again, causing Henry's eyes to fly open and roll back. He began to convulse and drool.  

This pain... This pain was the worst.

William removed the clamps and set them down before grabbing a fist full of Henry's hair and pulling his head up.

"Look at you... Even more defenseless and weak than usual~." he purred, licking the drool off of Henry's face. "I've been wanting to get you like this for quite some time now~."

William's licks quickly became soft kisses. Henry's head hung limply and his eyes were glazed and empty. He could barely process any of William's words. His body felt weak and he could hear his heart pulsing in his head.  

But he was wide awake.

"Hmm... It seems I may have turned the voltage up too high..." William hummed, studying Henry's expression. "However, that means I get to spend some more quality time with you without the struggling and screaming~."

William gently ran his hands across Henry's chest, feeling him. "Your so well defined~." he purred, worshipfully caressing the man's belly. He looked down at Henry's crotch before looking back up at his drained face. "But I wonder what it must be like down there~."

Henry let out a groan of disapproval at the idea William was possibly presenting. He'd be screaming if he could.

"No. I must restrain myself." William mumbled to himself, casting down his eyes. "Now isn't the time. That will be later." He looked back up at Henry before giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Michael should be home any minute, love. I'll prepare something and bring it down for you." he whispered, pecking Henry's cheek before getting up and leaving.

William quickly made his way up the stairs and locked the basement door behind him.

"Dad, I'm home!" Michael called, walking up to him. William said a quick hello before making his way to the kitchen.

"How was the trip?" William asked, turning on the stove.

"It was okay." Michael replied.

William made a noise of acknowledge as he grabbed a pot and filled it with water before putting it on the stove.

"Don't you think it's a little too early for eating dinner?" Michael asked.

"I'm hungry and didn't eat lunch." William said, grabbing a box of spaghetti and opening it.

"You really need to eat." Michael mumbled.

William hummed as he watched the pot

"Seriously, dad, what will you do when I move out?" Michael asked.

"You make it sound as if I don't eat unless you remind me to." William said, pouring in the noodles once the water began to boil.

"Well sometimes that really is the case." Michael replied. "Anyways, I'm gonna go catch up on The Immortal and the Restless, so I'll be in the living room if you need me."

William smiled and nodded as Michael walked out. But he wasn't smiling for his son. He could care less about him.

All that mattered was the roboticist in his basement.

[scribblestatic]

“93’s a kid.”

Aizawa watches as All Might in his deflated form waits for the punchline, only for there not to be one. So he blinks rapidly, sitting near him on one of the chairs as the two heroes and Tsukauchi wait for the girl’s presentation.

She’d gone into a bit of shock once Aizawa caught her, but before she could be taken to the police station, she’d snapped out of it and begged him to listen to something she’d figured out. She wanted him, Tsukauchi, and surprisingly, someone, anyone related to All Might. “It doesn’t matter who it is just as long as they can relay this to him!!” she’d pleaded. She also pleaded to Tsukauchi directly that he find a few important things in her room. Not only that, but she’d walked Aizawa through unlocking her phone and using a program to activate the virus she’d installed on her own computer to erase and infect literally everything on the thing so no one would know what had been there. 

Considering how, apparently, Kurogiri had taken her laptop when they escaped, it turned out to be a necessity.

Anyway, the morning just keeps getting stranger. And now, he, All Might, and Tsukauchi await in chairs outside of one of the police meeting rooms as Tamakawa watches over the single most pestering hacker on that side of the planet.

“You’re not serious,” All Might says. Then he pauses and looks up at the ceiling. “Actually, this coming from you, it almost has to be.”

Tsukauchi sighs in his seat between the two, his fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“He’s not joking, unfortunately. I’m not exactly sure how old she is, but I’m almost certain she’s no older than 18.”

“Gives me high schooler vibes,” Aizawa mumbles. “I’m around them all morning and afternoon, and now more are popping up.”

After a moment, the meeting room opens, and Kyuu-san, her hair messy and marker smudges on her hands, smiles timidly at them from the creaked-open doorway. None of the three get up just yet, remembering what happened the last time they’d almost entered the room prematurely.

Tamakawa had, without much thought, pulled the door open to let the three inside just five minutes before, only to stumble when a fearsome force tugged sharply on the other side. She’d clung to the door handle and tried to force the door closed again, going as far as putting her foot against the wall to try and use her body weight. She screeched manically at the top of her lungs, the eye visible through her bangs darkened and deranged. 

“It’s not ready yet!! Wait—jus-just—shoot—gimme another minute! Please! I’m begging you!! If I lose my train of thought now, I’ll lose it forever and I’ll never, ever be able to conjure it again so please please please give me like five more minutes! Five more minutes, okay?! That’s all I’m asking for! Five! Five more minutes then you can listen to me and throw me in jail for the rest of my life!! And then I can worry about dropping the soap while you worry about taking down supervillains!! But please, God, give me five more minutes and then I’ll open the door and let you in but don’t come in yet!!”

Tamakawa, his ears to his head, quickly let go of the door handle. They heard a grunt and tumble on the other side, but a second later, scrambling. Mumbling then began to filter from behind the door, ominous alongside the loud squeaks of the markers she’d been given. 

They’d decided to wait patiently ever since. But now, with the five minutes up, to the exact second, the girl is peering through the door again, her smile soft and tinted with a heavy worry.

“Uhm...hi. Yeah. Uh, sorry about...earlier. I’m ready now though!”

Tamakawa holds the door open for them, eyeing the girl a bit warily as they enter.

The room is...

A mess.

There’s papers with chicken-scratch scribbles tacked to the walls and strings attaching sheet to sheet to sheet. But most importantly, the actual large, portable whiteboard she’d been given to work with is very dimly smudged with barely visible words, but has otherwise been significantly cleaned up and organized into two points. Different words are noted below the two numbers, presumably her proof statements.

“Hiiii...” The girl starts, standing and twiddling her fingers in front of Tsukauchi. She bows quickly. “Sorry for all the trouble I’ve put you through. It’s nice to finally meet you though, Tsukauchi-san!”

“Ah, likewise. Though, I’ll admit, I was expecting someone...”

“Older? Sweatier? A NEET?” she asks, standing up straight and tilting her head.

The policeman’s eye twitches. “...That’s one way to put it, yes.”

“Most people do, honestly. It’s why I could stay hidden for as long as I did, but that didn’t work out in the end.” She sighs and shrugs, though there’s an obvious tremble to her voice. Before Tsukauchi can ask if she’s okay, she moves on to the next person.

“And you! Mr. Eraserhead! I’m actually really, really stoked to meet you!” She bows politely. “Thank you for saving me today! And I’m sorry for intruding on the lives of your students! It was very rude of me, but I can’t say I feel any actual regret for it!”

Before he can even reply, she quickly moves on to All Might.

“And you’re Yagi Toshinori, right? I’ve heard a lot about you! Well, read a lot about you. You’re All Might’s Secretary of Public Affairs, right? Gosh, meeting you is like meeting the man himself! It’s an honor! I’m so glad you could come on such short notice!” She bows to him as well.

“Ah...well, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well. You said this was urgent knowledge for All Might, so, considering who you were, I decided it would be best if I attended as soon as possible.”

“I appreciate that!” She then claps her hands together. “Alright, so, please have a seat! I’ll get started right away with the first point.”

After a moment, the three arrange themselves on the couch in the same way they had been sitting in the chairs outside. On the coffee table in front of them are stacks of paper, but they’re much more neatly arranged than the ones tacked to the walls. She moves to stand on the other side of the coffee table, her hands on her hips and the whiteboard behind her.

“So, first and foremost, we need to understand that Shigaraki Tomura is not the leader of the League of Villains.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrow, and Tsukauchi frowns, but it’s All Might who speaks.

“You sound...sure of this.”

“Oh, absolutely! I mean, it’s one thing to hear about him from secondary sources. It’s another to actually be face-to-face with him! And he is...” Her face curls into a scowl, one eye becoming visible through a break in her bangs, narrowed with irritation. “An absolute man-baby. A sad excuse of a human being who’s just using his Quirk as a way to threaten others into doing his bidding. Barely a soul would follow him except for his intellect, fearsome nature, and being able to provide the bare minimum of emotional support to people alienated for various circumstances. Because even pure, raw destructive tendencies have people who can relate to it. He lacks charisma because of his childish nature and he cannot hide how much he likes to hurt people.”

Absently, her hand rubs against her neck, but she continues despite that.

“And so, I have a very hard time believing that someone like Kurogiri would follow him wholeheartedly without some sort of assurance.”

“Kurogiri’s your key. How?” Aizawa asks.

“Because! I mean, look at him!” She turns around and starts making a quickly sketched doodle of the warp Quirk user. It actually looks pretty good. “He speaks so formally, and he dresses nicely! Even from testimonials at the USJ, he still behaved just as professionally while attacking children! And, it’s his words that partially govern Shigaraki’s actions. While Shigaraki may make quite a few orders that he follows, Kurogiri steps in to usher Shigaraki at important times, such as when the man-baby’s childishness becomes too much for anyone to truly handle. While Kurogiri follows him, he also keeps him in some proverbial line. The question then is who defines that line. That brings me to point number two.”

She shifts over and pats her hand against the whiteboard, smiling back at the three men. “The true leader didn’t plan tonight’s kidnapping!”

Tsukauchi hums. “I heard some of the conversation you had with Shigaraki and Kurogiri. With what you’ve said, you’re keying in on Kurogiri’s hurry, right?”

Chouko absolutely beams at him and points in his direction. “Exactly!”

“Because you believe Kurogiri is following the true leader while acting like he’s following Shigaraki,” Aizawa says.

“What made you think this wasn’t part of the master plan?” All Might asks, his hand rubbing against his chin.

“Okay, so, I’m pretty sure you and Eraserhead didn’t actually hear the recording, but there was a point where Kurogiri was trying to pull Shigaraki out of talking with me at my apartment. He was trying to hurry up and get me to the second location, their hideout. But the thing is, he was actively trying to make subtle orders in the midst of his supposed leader taking his time to gloat at me. At that point, more than even at the USJ, he was in more parental or guidance role. Part of the reason for that, I think, is because Shigaraki didn’t actually have the green-light to kidnap me! Maybe he was tired of waiting? Or maybe he was thinking he could handle it himself? After all, even if he’s not the true leader of the League, he’s the showpiece, the face of the movement. He has to be able to make decisions by himself...think of it kind of like a mafia boss giving some jurisdiction to his son.”

“He’s a boss-in-training, but he still needs a babysitter. That’s Kurogiri,” Aizawa says. “That makes more sense than other alternatives we’ve come up with.”

“But that means if he does have a proper mentor...” All Might mutters, thinking back to what Nedzu said after the USJ attack.

“Right! Uhm, and also, there wasn’t a Noumu there.”

“Why would a Noumu be...” Tsuakuchi blinks. “...You think that’s a mark from the true leader.”

All Might throws him a glance at the same time Chouko claps her hands together.

“Exactly! As I said, Shigaraki’s wild and destructive nature would attract pawns for him to use, like the 72 villains he managed to get on his side for the USJ attack, but I highly doubt he would have the funds or brains on his side to create the absolute demonic marvels of modern science that are Noumus!” She finally sticks her hand into the piles of organized papers on the coffee table, pulling out what should’ve been secret police files that she’d somehow gotten contact with. 

On the papers, there are faces with different biological and Quirk facts about them on it. Some pictures circled with red matched a blurry photo of a Noumu, its picture also circled with red. There was another with yellow circles and a circled photo of a Noumu. Several circled profiles and many connected to one Noumu.

“Several people, combined into one super monster that feels nearly no pain...or perhaps they’re always in pain. Either way, someone has gone out of their way to find out how to forcefully place several different kinds of Quirks into one body that doesn’t involve familial abuse and genetic experimentation without test tubes!” 

She then lowers her filled hands, the smile slipping off her face. Her tone even drops, falling below what the men had thought capable of her range. 

“Speaking of which, the Japanese government should really just shut out Endeavor as a hero already. No matter how desperate the world is for saviors, having Endeavor continue to have a positive media presence is damning for the industry as a whole because it means you all will allow anyone with a strong, controllable Quirk and a good head on their shoulders to become heroes, even if they abuse people and use them as tools for their own personal gain. It’s no wonder that such a world bred villains like Stain—which, I mean, good motive, still murder. Standards should be important for such an industry, and for the last few years, I mean...well, I have my gripes about the whole hero industry from it’s adoption from the American model in the first place when the South African model, made months before the American one, is more inclusive and involves much more mental and physical healthcare advances since it was procured. We could’ve even adopted the Swedish model, but no... But that’s not what we’re talking about. Yet.”

She clears her throat, and her voice rekindles its light, airy tone. “But ah...where was I?”

“Test tubes. Or lack thereof,” Aizawa replies, actively grinning, though the action is mostly hidden by his capture gear.

“Right! Uh, gosh...lost my momentum...” She shakes her head. “Anyway! Experimentation! Yeah. That takes a lot of brain power and money! Do you really think that Shigaraki has either of those things?”

Tsukauchi coughs into his fist. “Well. No.”

“So then, he has to be getting the Noumu from someone else! It could be some sicko monster seller who just wants to make money, but again, Shigaraki doesn’t have that. So they have to be donated for a reason. And even if they weren’t the secret leader of the League, they would be a very wealthy, very direct sponsor of his actions. I would rather just call them the true leader at that point. And usually, where we see Shigaraki, we see Noumu! Like at the USJ and at Hosu. And yet, when he came to my house, he didn’t bring one, not even as insurance that any Quirk I had could be overpowered. Which, I’ll admit, is a little weak for evidence, but I still think the idea has its merit! So, he doesn’t bring any ‘toys’ with him, and Kurogiri’s trying to tell him to hurry up and skedaddle off with me because they don’t actually have the leader’s approval to do what he’s doing. Meaning the true leader is more powerful than Shigaraki, which, I mean, obviously. But that’s not all... I think, with the Noumu and the way things have been orchestrated so far, point by point...letting Shigaraki try to make his own plans and potentially grooming him to be wiser... Obviously, this person, whoever this is, with all the money in the world to fund the creation of terrible, tortured chimera humans. This person has to be in the deep underbelly of Japan’s crime world.”

Tsukauchi and All Might shoot each other a glance, one that Aizawa pretends to miss.

“And the person who is leading the League of Villains...”

Suddenly, Chouko drops the papers in her hands and smacks the whiteboard, making the bottom spin upwards towards the top, flipping it to its back, where the other side of the board is.

On it, a big number 3 is written, and more words, more arrows, more connections and speculations, all pinpointing right onto the number.

“—is the same person who injured All Might!”

[chalantness]

fic: Right Where We Are

Rating: PG-13 Word Count: ~3200 Characters: Steve/Natasha, ft. Tony/Pepper Summary: 

“It can’t be that important to save if we haven’t needed it yet,” she points out.

He tilts his head. “There’s nothing wrong with being a little sentimental. I know the only thing you used to collect in your old apartment was dust, but—”

“Alright, you ass,” she cuts him off, unable to keep from grinning as she shoves his shoulder, and he laughs as he heads back inside the house.

For: @sassaspazz - your comment ended up being the inspiration I needed to write marshmallow fluff. Thanks, babe!

Read On: [ ao3 ]

Neither of them had very many things to pack up when they moved, but what little they’d decided to bring with them had been put into a few boxes and stacked in a corner of the garage to be dealt with later. Since they’d lived the better half of almost five years at the Avengers Facility, none of the furniture had come with them, and Tony insisted on having them pick things out of a catalogue to be delivered. Most of the morning had been spent instructing the movers on where everything would go, peeling off the plastic on their shiny new appliances and unboxing all of their new plates, and by the time evening had come around, all they’d wanted was to finish hanging their clothes in the closet so they could take a bath and have dinner in bed. Everything of importance had been unpacked, and they would get to those boxes in the garage eventually, Steve had promised.

Evidently, eventually had finally come.

“You want to do that today?” Natasha asks from the kitchen table, watching as he rinses their dishes off from breakfast and loads them into the washer.

“They’ve been sitting there for months,” he points out with a laugh as he glances over at her, one eyebrow arched, and that teasing, boyish grin pulling at his lips. The morning light makes his hair seem lighter and his eyes bluer—which is hardly fair, all things considered.

She shrugs her shoulder, gulps the last of her coffee before standing and walking over to him. His hand is still wet when he reaches for her hip and tugs her to his chest, but she hardly cares. His eyes drop to her lips as she lets her tongue dart out to lick the taste of their coffee creamer off of her bottom lip, but when he leans in to do the same, she tilts away to set her mug in the sink. “Fucking tease,” he murmurs, his lips landing on her neck instead, just underneath the line of her jaw, and the hand at her hip squeezes gently.

She hums, smirking up at the ceiling. “I just figured you’d want to go outside now that it’s finally stopped raining.”

He chuckles against her skin, making her tingle from the soft vibrations and the tickle of his beard as he slides his lips upward, over the apple of her cheek.

“It won’t take us all day,” he points out, cupping her face with his hands, still wet with water and soap, and he grins when she makes a face at him. “We can bring them outside,” he adds, nodding his head toward the sliding door that leads into their backyard, out onto the white patio that she and Steve had spent an entire day repainting. Then he pulls back to glance over at the clock hanging on the wall. “Besides, we can’t really go anywhere until Pepper and Tony get here,” he points out, “so we’ve got a couple hours to kill.”

She’s smiling as she rolls her eyes, poking at his chest through his thin, white shirt. “Fine. But since they’re almost all your boxes, I think you should wait on me.”

“You act as if I don’t do that every day,” he retorts, laughing when she shoves him off of her and turns to walk away. “Nat?” She glances over her shoulder to find him grinning widely. “I love you.”

Her lips twitch. God, he’s such a sap. “I love you, too.”

She knows she’s smiling to herself like an idiot as she heads up to their bedroom, but she couldn’t care less.

And because she knows the man she married, she knows that Steve will probably want to head out into the city with Pepper and Tony once they get here, because he always likes to take a walk when it’s warm enough. She changes out of her pajamas and into the white sundress that Steve had bought for her last month, “just because I thought you’d like it.” They never have a plan when they have the day to themselves like this, but it’s safe to assume Pepper will want to have lunch wherever they end up, and they’ll probably make their way to a park after a bit of shopping. She never thought she’d find herself with a day off, let alone spending it in such a simple, predictable way, but this is her life.

And she kind of loves it.

She doesn’t feel like fussing with make-up today, so she runs a brush through her hair and leaves it down, then heads back downstairs just as Steve is walking in from the garage with three boxes in hand. He pauses at the bottom step when he sees her, his eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly as his eyes trace down her dress.

“Definitely a good purchase,” he says, his gaze fixing on the hem of her skirt, and she feels herself smirk as she reaches up to brush her fingers through his hair, drawing his attention back to her face after a long moment.

“We have boxes to go through, Rogers,” she reminds, patting his bicep and fighting off a smirk as she walks around him.

His chuckle follows her out onto the patio, where he already has a glass of iced tea waiting for her on the table and a small bowl of grapes, and it’s ridiculous how this small gesture—something so undoubtedly Steve, that he’s done dozens of times before—makes her heart flutter in her chest. He sets the boxes down by her chair and leans over to kiss her, like he can’t quite help himself. “I’ll go grab the rest if you want to get started,” he says, lips curving into a smirk as he adds, “try not to just throw everything away.”

“It can’t be that important to save if we haven’t needed it yet,” she points out with a smirk of her own.

He tilts his head. “There’s nothing wrong with being a little sentimental. I know the only thing you used to collect in your old apartment was dust, but—”

“Alright, you ass,” she cuts him off, unable to keep from grinning as she shoves his shoulder, and he laughs as he heads back inside the house.

When she opens the first box, she finds herself shaking her head when she realizes it’s one of hers. She peels away the newspaper from the framed pictures of the Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel that she’d stuck inside, stacking them onto the table, before turning to the set of Latin textbooks Tony had given to her as a joke for her birthday a few years ago. She hadn’t even cracked one open, and honestly, she doesn’t think she’ll read them even now that she has more time to. Tony wouldn’t care if she donated them, so she leaves them in the box—all but a small paperback thesaurus, where she knows Tony had scrawled into one of the margins: ‘Fallaces sunt rerum species.’ Very clever, Ms. Rushman.

She really has no use for this damn book, but she finds herself setting it on the table along with the framed pictures of the kids rather than putting it aside to be recycled.

Fuck. Maybe she is a little sentimental.

She sets the first box aside and cuts open the next one, which is obviously one of Steve’s boxes—there are two small canvases tucked inside, a stack of sketchbooks and a tin of acrylic paint tubes, among other things—but what makes her pause is that there’s a folder on top of the pile with the SHIELD logo printed on; an old mission file, weathered at the edges and practically falling apart at the spine. The date stamped at the top corner is from years ago, a few months after Steve had finally taken up Nick’s offer to join, but she can’t remember any significance around it. Especially when she flips it open to skim the debrief inside, detailing a reconnaissance assignment that had come up uneventful.

But, as she flips onto the last page of the mission debrief, she catches sight of ink bleeding through the page from the back. She doesn’t know what she expects when she turns the page over, but she pauses, lips parting as she finds herself staring down at a sketch.

Of a ballerina.

It’s rough, done in pen, and she can tell at certain points where Steve had gone over his own lines again, having not yet decided what to draw. But the figure is unmistakable. The woman is posed in fifth position—legs crossed, toes pointed, arms held over her head—but drawn at an angle, as if being watched from someone off to the side.

Natasha lifts the file up to get a closer look, but something slips out from between the pages behind the drawing, falling onto the table: a white napkin with a faded restaurant logo printed on, and a folded receipt from a diner.

She sets the file down on the table and picks up the diner receipt, unfolding it to find another drawing sketched onto the back in pen. It’s smaller, of course, but almost no less detailed than the sketch he’d done on the file. This one is also of a woman, angled from above, with her long eyelashes closed and her hair sort of falling in her face. Her lips are parted slightly, and she looks—peaceful, as asleep. In fact, she can tell by the angle – and by the strange warmth tugging at her chest – she knows that this woman is sleeping.

She is this woman, sitting on the same side of the booth as Steve, sharing fries and a milkshake only hours after they’d stood together at the edge of a falling city.

Hours after she thought it had been the end, and she was comforted with the thought that, at least she still had Steve by her side. She had Steve with her until the very end.

“Do you remember that?”

She jumps slightly in surprise, too transfixed on the sketches in front of her to notice that Steve had come back with the last of the boxes. He comes to stand beside her, one of his large, warm hands sliding over her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as he stares down at the diner receipt in her hands.

“Sokovia?” she asks, her voice soft, though she already knows what the answer is.

He nods, licks his lips as he pulls her close and brushes a kiss to her temple, just because he wants to. “I was surprised that you fell asleep on me that day,” he admits with a touch of amusement in his voice. “You never fall asleep in such an open place. You never even let yourself nap on the couch when we were at Tony’s.”

“Letting your guard down like that takes a lot of trust,” she says as she tips her head to look up at him, lips curving at the corners. “But I was with you.”

His eyelashes flutter slightly, emotion flitting across his eyes, too quick for her to catch, until something akin to awe settles in his gaze as he stares down at her openly, adoringly. “Yeah,” he breathes, his thumb absently toying with the thins strap of her sundress. “You looked so peaceful. I’d never seen you so—young.”

She knows there’s a quip on the tip of her tongue, a retort about her actually being young in comparison to him, but she can’t quite get it out. Maybe she doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to make light of this moment, and the strange warmth unfurling inside her chest, making her feel tingly and airy and light. “So, you wanted to draw me?”

He exhales a laugh, hand sliding across her shoulder to cup the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. “I always want to draw you,” he admits, his voice low and gravelly and husky against her ear as he leans down, reaching across her to pick up the napkin and flip it open. Now that she realizes what she’s looking at—now that she’s made the connection—she recognizes the logo of the dive diner that Tony had made them go to after the dust had barely started to settle in New York. Years ago, at the beginning of everything. The beginning of them, and their quiet taunts and idle touches and lingering glances. She stares down at yet another sketch he’d drawn in pen, on a napkin he must’ve kept when they left the restaurant, because she’s certain she hadn’t seen him drawing when the six of them had been sitting together around that table.

This time, there’s no denying her likeness in the sketch—on this small napkin, in a generic ballpoint pen, he’d captured her. Her lips are curled into a slight smirk, her eyes glinting in something mischievous and playful, all at once, and her curls are sort of wild as they fall around her face.

“If you had opened these before,” he tells her, tapping the stack of sketchbooks inside the box with his knuckles, “you would’ve gone running in the other direction.”

She bites the inside of her lip, trying, and failing, to hide her smile. “Oh, I don’t know, Rogers,” she says, setting the receipt aside to wind her arms around his waist, leaning into his. “I’ve never scared that easily.”

“Yeah?” He cradles the back of her head with the hand still in her hair, gently massaging his fingers against her scalp in that slow, teasing way that she loves. “You mean if you had opened one of those books and saw yourself sketched on those pages, barely a month after we’d met, you wouldn’t have found it strange?”

“I didn’t say all that,” she murmurs, letting her voice trail off as he chuckles softly. She splays her fingers across his back, palms pressed flat as she slides them up the strong dips of his muscles, quirking an eyebrow at him. “But I was there when we thawed you out of the ice, so—that wouldn’t exactly have been our strangest interaction.”

“Good to know,” he laughs gently, dipping down to kiss the middle of her forehead. “I really did try drawing other things. Other people. But I always came back to you.”

She hums, letting her eyes flutter closed as she draws her index finger in nonsensical swirls against his back, through his thin shirt. “That was our thing, after all.”

He draws back just enough to meet her gaze, his grin dimpled, his eyes glinting. “Was?”

“If you plan on going anywhere, soldier,” she starts, arching one eyebrow up at him, “you know I’m coming with you.”

His chest rumbles with a laugh as he cups her face, tipping her head up to slant his mouth over hers. She twists the material of his shirt between her fingers, stretches up to meet his kiss as he licks at the seam of her lips. It hardly ever starts off slow with them. They’re too impulsive, too impatient, and they’ve spent too much time waiting.

He groans softly, kissing her harder, deeper, and she lets him guide her back until she’s pressing against the side of the house, his body curving over hers as his hand drops to her thigh. She makes a little sound from her throat, feeling his calloused fingers slide down her leg, grasping her knee and hitching it higher, hooking it around his waist—

Until they hear the front door being unlocked.

“Fuck,” Steve murmurs, breathing out a coarse laugh as he pulls away, tilting to peer back into the house as the door is being opened, voices spilling inside.

Natasha exhales a breath as loosens her grip on his shirt, not entirely letting go. “You had to give him a key, didn’t you?”

“Considering he put in our security system, he’d be able to get in no matter what,” he points out, moving the straps of her dress back into place on her shoulders, then he smooths one of his hands down her dress to gently tug at the hem of it. He grins. “And as tempting as it is to hide out here, they’ll find us eventually.”

As if they’d heard him, the voices burst into the kitchen, louder and talking over each other, and a peel of laughter makes Natasha smile widely and wiggle herself out from where Steve had her pressed against the house. Steve’s chuckle follows her into the house as a little girl bounds right for them, exclaiming, “Auntie Nat! Uncle Steve!” as she throws herself at them, confident that Steve will catch her. Which he does, hoisting her up into the air and tossing like a doll her with ease before tucking her against his side.

“Hi, Nikki,” Natasha greets, leaning in to smack a loud kiss against her cheek, in that way that always maker her giggle like crazy. Then she turns, arms already outstretched toward the squirming little bundle in Pepper’s arms. “Hi, baby.”

James bursts into laughter as she hugs him close, his tiny face pressing against her cheek as he tries to squeeze onto her neck with all his might.

She runs her fingers through his soft hair, swipes away a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth as she turns to Pepper with a grin, one eyebrow arched. “How was he?”

“A complete menace,” Tony quips just as Pepper nudges her elbow against his chest and answers, “An angel, as always.” Her eyes, sharp as always, take in the flush still coloring Natasha’s cheek, then slide over to Steve as her eyes sparkle. “We didn’t interrupt, did we?”

“I thought we gave you the night off so there wouldn’t be interruptions,” Tony adds, grinning at them widely as he looks over their shoulders at the opened patio door. His eyebrows shoot up and he clicks his tongue with a shake of his head. “Outside, Rogers? Really? You get the place to yourselves and you want to do it outside?”

“Do what?” Nikki asks sweetly, innocently, and Pepper turns a sharp look onto her husband.

“We were cleaning out boxes,” Steve answers easily as he sets her down on top of the kitchen island. “But speaking of outside—how about we head into the city today?”

The girl squeals in excitement, and, because she’s laughing, so is James. Steve turns to catch her knowing smile, winking, and she chuckles as she shakes her head at him. “That sounds perfect,” Pepper chimes in as steps toward Natasha and leans down to kiss James’s cheek. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to this little fella just yet.”

“Still coming up with all the best ideas, aren’t you, Cap?” Tony says as he walks over to Steve, clapping a hand against Steve’s shoulder. Natasha watches as a look passes between them – something familiar, something knowing – and that warmth tugs at her chest again when Tony murmurs, “The simple life, huh?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out with a laugh, glancing over to meet Natasha’s gaze as James squirms in her arms, stretching his arms out toward his dad. “I finally got it.”

[writingstyle101]

What’s You Goin Off To The Slammer Gonna Help Anything? - Sodapop x Reader Imagine

“Look what we got here. A greasy little Doll.” You turned to see a Soc named Bill step closer to you. You scanned around to see if you could make a clean getaway, your stomach twisting in fear when you realized Bill wasn’t the only Soc that had a bad intention, but four others who just so happened to be blocking your way out. 

You raised your head higher, hoping if they noticed you weren’t bothered by their intrusion that they’d just leave you alone. Socs didn’t usually take the time to go after girls since it was a cheap shot and didn’t prove much, but today these guys didn’t seem to care. “Aint no greasy Doll around here, but I do see a few kids with money in their pockets and nothin better to do.” You blinked up at Bill. 

“Looks like this one here has got quite a mouth on her.” He smirked down at you, something gleaming in his eyes that scared you more than a beating ever would. “I think you need to learn some manners.” He whispered, moving his face to only about an inch from yours and putting his hand next to your head to block you in. 

Your jaw ticked, not sure what to say that could in any way get you out of this. So, you figured, if you weren’t gonna get out if it might as well be put through it for a good reason. So, you smirked up at the Soc who was too close for comfort and moved your head back just enough to spit into his face.

Bill immediately backed up, reaching for his eyes and blinding himself momentarily. You took this opportunity to slip under his arm and make a run for it. “You stupid bitch!” He screamed after you. 

You could hear their footsteps, and since the other Socs were watching the entire encounter, they didn’t hesitate to go running after you. You ran as fast as your body allowed, and though your legs felt wobbly from the tired muscle and your chest burned fiercely, you pushed to go faster. Your speed was the only reason the Socs couldn’t tackle you until you got about twenty feet from The Curtis’ house. 

When the Soc that tackled you, Rob you were pretty sure was his name, got you down, the others took that opportunity to send about a dozen hard kicks to your side, taking you back down every time you tried to get up. You let out a cough, a small amount of blood spattering on the ground in front of you. You were pushed down again this time by Bill, who finally caught up, and he took your weakness as an opportunity to keep you down.

“You need a good lesson in bein a lady.” Bill hovered over you. You had both arms pinned down by one Soc, your legs by another and Bill was using all of his weight to sit on your chest, and if you thought your chest burning earlier when you were running was bad, you were wrong. Now, there was no trying to catch your breath because the way Bill was positioned, you weren’t able to inhale at all. 

Bill spat on you just as you did to him only a minute or two ago, but you were too dizzy from the lack of oxygen to even react. You screamed in your brain to yell for Soda, or Darry, or any one of the boys for that matter, but the pressure rising to your head was just too much to handle. “Don’t let her move!” you heard one of the Socs yell, to his mistake. 

Not even about ten seconds after the words slipped through his mouth, you felt the pressure immediately dissipate. You swallowed as much air as you could, sending your lungs into shock causing you to cough badly, sending more burning sensations to your chest. “Jesus y/n are you okay?” You were lifted up into a sitting position, but your muscles gave out causing you to fall into someone’s chest. 

You felt their hands hook under your legs and behind your neck before you were hoisted into the air. The pressure in your head finally lowering, you looked up to see your boyfriend Sodapop was the one carrying you. “Soda.” You breathed out, causing you to cough some more. 

“Don’t talk baby.” He shushed you silently. You watched Soda as he walked up the porch and through the doorway of his house, setting you down on the couch. 

You turned your head looking at Soda’s flushed face. “Water.” You croaked out, tears slipping out of your eye from the pain. He nodded quickly and jumped up walking to the kitchen. You still felt extremely dizzy, so you were taken aback when you noticed all of the boys had already walked into the house.

“What happened?” Darry walked over to you and sat on the floor so he was eye-level with you.

“Here.” Soda walked in holding a cup of water. You attempted to push yourself up, grabbing onto Darry for support. Just from that small action, you were out of breath again. You gulped down the water quickly, immediately feeling relief in your chest and throat, and wiped your mouth, noticing the blood that came off too on the back of your hand. 

All of the boys surrounded you, some red in the face with anger, some out of breath, some busted and bleeding, all waiting to hear what had gone down. You finally were able to speak normally and told them everything. From being cornered at the market all the way to Soda carrying you in the house. 

“I swear to God I’m gonna kill em.” You watched Soda’s face get even more red from his rising blood pressure. You looked over at him, giving him a weak smile.

“Now what is you goin off to the slammer gonna help anything?” You put your hand on his cheek, brushing his skin with your thumb lightly. His energy shifted at this one simple action, putting him in a much more calming space. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Two-Bit leaned down closer to you, concern sketched on his features. 

“I'm okay.” You whispered smiling up at him. You knew your appearance said otherwise, your body was covered in dirt, bruises, and blood. “I’m gonna take a shower.” You moved to sit up, gasping from the pain. 

Dally mumbled a strain of cuss words before moving to the door. “Where ya goin Dal?” Johnny made everyone look up at Dallas.

“Goin to have a word with that fucker.” He spit. 

“We’ll come with.” Steve nodded, everyone except Sodapop mimicking.

Everyone stood up, except you and Sodapop, when Darry looked over at Ponyboy. “Pony maybe you should stay here and help y/n clean up.” 

“No way!” everyone looked to him. “I’m goin.” His features were set, it was clear he wasn’t budging. Darry nodded his head reluctantly and everyone set out the door, leaving you and Soda.

“Can you help me to the bathroom.” You whispered giving him a sad smile. He nodded and stood up, helping you up along the way. You gasped out from the pain that shot through your sides, feeling the blood drain from your face. 

“I’m so sorry.” He shook his head, his face set as if he was the one hurting. You didn’t say anything as you slowly made your way to his bathroom. 

He walked in and started up the shower giving it time to heat up before he made his way back over to you, “Lift your arms.” He whispered as he shut the door. You did what you were told, and he slowly rose your shirt over your head revealing your stomach and bra. “Jesus Christ.” He looked at your ribs, the anger set in again. 

You turned to the mirror to see a very large bruise already forming all the way from your breast down to just above your hips. You already knew from the pain there was gonna be a bruise, you even expected a few cracked ribs, but the sight of it took you off guard anyway. You turned back to Soda staring at the bruise, his face flushed with anger. 

“Hey.” You whispered reaching up to cup his cheek. He looked up at you, his features softening. “I’m okay.” You whispered. He nodded slowly, clearly not believing you but helped you undress anyway. He quickly stripped off his clothes before helping you step in the shower. 

The water rained down on you, the heat stinging your cuts but it felt so good on your muscles that you didn’t care. You reached up, ignoring the pain in your side from the movement, and wrapped your arms around Soda’s neck, playing with the little hairs.

He never broke eye contact with you as he reached to the shelf and grabbed some soap, slowly and gently running it over your body to wash away what happened. You fought every urge to gasp as he ran the soap over your bruise, not wanting him to know how bad it hurt. 

The dirt and blood washed away easily, swirling around the drain but Soda continued to wash your clean skin anyways. He eventually moved onto your hair, massaging your scalp as he cleaned away the dirt that gathered there when you were thrown on the ground. 

You smiled up at him after he rinsed all of the soap out of your hair, tugging on his neck to pull him into a kiss. It was light and gentle as if you were gonna break if he touched you too aggressively. You smiled slightly as you broke away from the kiss and reached over to shut the water off. 

He quickly stepped out so he could help you. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around your body before doing the same to his. “Hey.” You whispered making him look up at you. “I love you.”.

You watched the emotion cross his face, hearing the words you haven’t said to each other yet slip out of your mouth. He smiled lightly before stepping closer to you, lightly holding your waist. “Finally.” He shook his head slightly smiling down at you. “I love you too.” He whispered before leaning down to kiss you.

[pikkish-moved]

For Koppai

In which Alph is nervous about the mission on which he is about to embark

It was only 20:34, and Alph could already tell it was going to be a long night.

He sat at his desk, mindlessly doodling sketches of various types of rockets and starships. Though a few rays of twilight filtered in through his bedroom window, the main source of light in the room was his desk lamp. In the corner of his desk sat an empty plate, sticky with the remaining juice of a fruit dinner.

An expensive commodity, in today’s fruit crisis. But Alph was privileged to be the grandson and protege of the greatest starship builder of Koppai- and possibly of the whole known galaxy. He was lucky enough to eat better- not necessarily well, but better- than most of Koppai’s general population.

Besides, as one of the four Koppaiates chosen to go on the Save-Koppai-From-Starvation mission, Alph had been repeatedly told in the last few months that he needed to be eating better to stay in top condition for the mission.

Alph thought it was a little unfair that he was potentially starving other Koppaiates when he was supposed to be saving them, but he figured that it would (hopefully) balance out when he returned home with plenty of fruit.

If he returned home, that is. In fact, that whole idea was the one that he knew was going to be keeping him up all night. Because tomorrow was the day he would be leaving, and he didn’t know if he would be making it back.

So even though he still had a while before he should be in bed, he knew he wasn’t going to be sleeping anytime soon.

The last light had faded from the sky outside when there was a knock at Alph’s bedroom door. At a confirmation from Alph, Grampa Drake proceeded into the room, an excited grin on his face.

Grampa Drake was, without a doubt, of the same blood as Alph. The two shared the same face shape, the same nose, the same wide, excited eyes, and the same shock of bluish hair, albeit Drake’s was graying, and Alph had gotten his hair cut recently. They differed in that Drake had a generally larger frame than Alph, taller and broad-shouldered, and that his skin was darker and wrinkled with age.

“Well, sport?” The older Koppaiate asked his descendant. “Ready for your big day tomorrow?”

At the mention of the topic, Alph just let out a groan, letting his head fall on the desk.

Grampa Drake just let out a small chuckle, setting a hand on Alph’s shoulder. “Nervous?”

“...Uh-huh.”

“Can’t say I blame you! After all, the whole of Koppai is depending on you!”

“Grampa Drake!”

The old man just let out a hearty laugh. After a moment, though, his joking failing to lift his grandson’s spirits, Drake let out a sigh. “You’re going to do just fine, Alph.”

Alph just groaned again. “...You should be going, not me. You’d be better at this!”

That prompted another laugh from Grampa Drake. “Maybe forty or fifty years ago I’d go, but I hardly think I’d be cut out for adventure now!”

“Yeah, but-“ Alph gestured, trying to express in vague hand motions what he could not in words.

“But nothing. You are more than prepared for this, Alph. And my ship needs a good mechanic to keep an eye on her! I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more to do the job.”

That earned a small laugh from Alph, however on edge he might be. For as much as Grampa Drake had been against the exploratory vessel being named after him, he still had put an immense amount of work into the ship, and took a great deal of pride in it. Alph had no doubt that the S. S. Drake was the finest starship his grandfather had built to date.

The small Koppaiate’s mood sobered quickly again, though, and he let out another nervous sigh, looking down at his hands. “But… what if I do something wrong? What if I mess up? And what if…”

Grampa Drake reached down to take up one of Alph’s hands in his own. While Drake’s hands were certainly bigger, they shared with Alph’s the same loose pattern of callouses from years of using the same tools, and the same darkened fingers, stained with grease that would come out only with time, regardless of the amount of soap used, and the same rough, uneven nails, filed down not intentionally, but by hard work.

“That won’t happen, Alph. You’re smart, you’re quick, and you work better than you think you do under pressure. And, on top of that, out of all the thousands of Koppaiates applying for the position, you were chosen for the mission.” Here, a wry smile lit the old Koppaiate’s face. “Which means all my praise isn’t just my grandparental love for you speaking, it’s been officially confirmed by the people overseeing this mission.”

“... Heh. Yeah, I guess so.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence between the grandfather and grandson.

Then Grampa Drake released Alph’s hand and gave Alph a light slap on the back. “Anyhow, sport, you’ve got to get up early tomorrow! You should at least try to get some sleep!”

To this Alph agreed- though he doubted it could be achieved.

✿✿✿

Alph stood at one of the S. S. Drake’s viewports, watching as the greyish marble that was Koppai slowly grew smaller in the distance. The Drake had left the planet only a few hours ago, and already, Alph was missing home intensely.

The send off for the heroes of Koppai had been a surprisingly small affair. Sure, there had been tv cameras and a few news reporters, but the entire thing had been considerably quieter than Alph had expected. Grampa Drake had come to see him off, of course, but none of Alph’s siblings had shown up. Brittany had only her aunt to say goodbye to. And Captain Charlie had come alone.

Unfortunately, the fourth member of the crew had become quite sick in the night, and wouldn’t be joining the expedition to PNF-404. There hadn’t been time, either, to find a replacement.

And before Alph knew it, Grampa Drake had given him one last hug and whispered quietly that he would be with his grandson always in spirit (that’s why he had allowed the ship to be named the Drake, after all), and then Alph was aboard the ship, and the ground was already fading below.

Closing his eyes, Alph heaved a sigh.

“Something on your mind?”

“Ah-!!” Alph started. “Captain Charlie! I- I didn’t know you were there!”

“Hm.” Captain Charlie crossed his arms over his chest.

Alph looked back to the window, back to the ever-shrinking planet. “I-... was just thinking, how little time we were given to say goodbye, and…”

“And how long it might be before we see them again,” Captain Charlie finished.

Alph blinked. Captain Charlie had seemed so confident, so sure of himself and of the mission when they took off. Alph was astonished to hear the Captain voicing the same doubts as he, in such an even voice.

But of course, it made sense. Captain Charlie had been a space ranger. He had probably made similar departures time and time again, not knowing if some danger might take him away from his home for longer than he had expected. Not knowing when he would return home, if he would return at all.

“... Yeah,” Alph replied quietly. “That.”

For a long moment, Captain Charlie simply stared out the viewport, eyes presumably locked on the planet. Then, looking at Alph, he said, “Koppai is depending on us. We will return. We must return.”

Alph just looked away and nodded.

He had never had much trouble sleeping away from home, and he had spent many nights already aboard the Drake when it was being built. But that night, Alph spent far too long awake in his cabin, quietly sobbing into his pillow.

✿✿✿

“Alph? Are… Are you okay?”

At the sound of his name, Alph blinked awake. He was in the pilot’s seat of the Drake, a multitude of lights and screens idly flashing various bits of information at him.

“Huh?” He responded drowsily, turning the chair to face whoever had addressed him. “Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

“Really?” Brittany responded skeptically, leaning against the doorframe. “Because you weren’t answering your comms, and when I came in here to find you, it seemed an awful lot like you were asleep.”

Alph laughed a little sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “I- I guess I may have dozed off there for a few seconds.” What would Brittany, or Captain Charlie, think of him now, knowing that he couldn’t be trusted to stay awake at the helm?

“Yeah, you may have. Anyway, I was trying to comm you because it’s dinner time.” Brittany held out a glass full of thick, blue fruit juice. “You’re lucky you’re not Charlie. I probably would’ve just drank his rations for him if he were late.” Then she frowned a little. “Don’t tell the captain I said that.”

Laughing just a little, Alph accepted the juice. “Only if you don’t tell him I was asleep.”

Brittany just waved off Alph’s concern. “Just between you and me, I think Charlie’s the only one of us who has been getting enough sleep. And that’s only because Mr. I’m-A-Space-Ranger can pretty much fall asleep on command.”

“Yeah. He’s pretty well self-disciplined.”

Brittany frowned. “That’s… one way to put it, certainly.”

Alph didn’t really know how to respond to that, so he just kept drinking his juice ration.

“Anyway,” Brittany stood up straight, “I should be getting back to my cabin. Some of us don’t have the luxury of afternoon naps in nice, quiet cockpits, and actually have to try to sleep at night in our cabins.”

Alph laughed a little. “I guess I’ve got to stay up and finish going over these diagnostics reports.”

Brittany nodded. “That’s probably a good plan.” She turned to leave. “Goodnight, Alph.”

Turning back to the dashboard, Alph realized he was smiling just a bit, the first time he had really smiled since embarking on this mission. “‘Goodnight, Brittany.”

✿✿✿

One week on the Drake, and everything was going as well as planned. The Koppaiates still had a good three weeks left before they made it to PNF-404, but this far, they had had no issues in their mission.

Alph had managed to settle in, and no longer had any trouble sleeping. Though he still missed home, he had more or less come to terms with the distance, and managed to suppress and dull the nagging worry of a lack of a return.

That didn’t mean his anxieties were over, though. Far from it, in fact.

Alph was well aware that, of the three of them there, he was the least accomplished. Captain Charlie had a long history as a space ranger, and Brittany was famous for her botanical research. And Alph… he was just Alph. World-recognized engineer Drake’s grandson, sure, but that meant nothing as far as his own achievements. He was unproven, had no acclaim to fame, or even hard work in the eyes of his crewmates. Alph was also the youngest of the three, which he was sure only added to their doubts of his capability. And even though there was some sort of tension between Brittany and Captain Charlie that Alph didn’t really understand, he still knew they often shared a worried glance behind his back when he wasn’t looking.

And Alph knew why. They didn’t know if he could be trusted to perform when their lives depended on it. And Alph didn’t blame them for that. He was nervous of it, too.

He only hoped that, when the time came, he would be able to do what he needed to.

✿✿✿

A week and a half, the Koppaiates has been steadily making their way towards Koppai’s salvation.

It was the middle of the night- or, rather, what Alph’s circadian rhythm and the Drake’s lighting systems determined was the middle of the night, as there really wasn’t any planetary rotation in the middle of space to determine night and day.

Nonetheless, it was effectively the middle of the night aboard the Drake, and Alph was sleeping soundly. He slept through the subtle shudder that ran through his grandfather’s beloved ship. He slept through the red emergency lighting suddenly flicking on. He even slept through the pneumatic hiss of his cabin’s door opening.

He did not, however, sleep through Captain Charlie suddenly shaking him awake, shouting his name. “Alph! There’s something wrong with the ship!”

Alph snapped awake, sitting up so fast he almost smashed his head into Captain Charlie’s. With only a glance at the captain, Alph sprang off his bunk and raced for the door. In the corridor, He was met by Brittany, who had an expression to match the captain’s.

Alph merely ran by her, sprinting for the ladder down to the Drake’s lower decks. Once on the floor with the Drake’s main engine and warp drive, among other various vital mechanisms, Alph paused only to snatch up his toolbelt, then he was running along again, heading for the warp drive, which was evidently the problem, going by the flashing red lights on its control panel. On arriving there, he quickly unlatched the maintenance panel, only to be greeted by a cloud of smoke and a shower of sparks.

Coughing and grimacing, Alph pulled away. Needless to say, that wasn’t good. Without the main warp drive the ship couldn’t travel in deep space, meaning that the Drake was currently just drifting in the void.

Which meant Alph had to fix it. Quickly.

Hearing but not really processing what Captain Charlie said behind him, Alph quickly hit the emergency shutdown on the control panel, grabbed a screwdriver from his toolbelt, and leaned forward, reaching into the machine. The smoke seemed to be coming from one of the hyperspace booster transformers, so that was what Alph decided to check first, and he began to unscrew the top paneling of the ventilated box.

With the warp drive shut down, Alph could work without immediate fear of being electrocuted or flash fried. But that didn’t mean the system wasn’t delicate and he could proceed without concentration, not to mention the fact that making an error in the repairs could end up making things worse. So he put all his concentration on sorting through the smoldering wiring and damaged circuitry.

Behind him, Brittany and Captain Charlie watched in apprehension, but Alph paid them little mind, only answering any queries with a distracted grunt. His full attention was on the machinery before him.

Eventually, after completing what he thought were sufficient repairs, he pulled away, and turned the warp drive back on via the control panel. Then he turned to Brittany. “Will you go up to the cockpit and start the warp drive?”

Brittany just nodded.

“Great! Comm me when you get there.”

Brittany gave Alph a slight frown. “Alph… you don’t have your comm unit. Or even you koppad.”

Alph blinked a little, and then realized what Brittany was talking about. When Captain Charlie had woken him up, he hadn’t paused to grab anything out of his cabin, so he didn’t have anything but his toolbelt, really…

And, Alph realized with a bit of an embarrassed blush, he hadn’t changed, either. He was still wearing his pajamas, a striped flannel shirt and matching pair of sweatpants (he wasn’t even wearing socks), both now thoroughly covered in grime and even a few singe marks from the sparks.

“Oh,” he said softly, kind of at a loss for words. “Right.”

Brittany just shook her head, presumably exasperated. “I can use the Drake’s intercom.”

“You could just comm me,” Captain Charlie suggested, “and I can relay anything to Alph.”

Brittany gave Captain Charlie a sidelong look. “That’ll be slower. I’ll just use the intercom.” And before Captain Charlie could argue, she was already heading for the ladder.

“Ri-ight,” Alph said slowly. “Now we just wait for her to start the warp drive.”

Captain Charlie gave a single affirmative nod. “You think you fixed it, then?”

Alph nodded. “It was a little tricky, because some of those lines run directly to and from the cosmic drive key, and I had to reroute some of the power, so there’s a small chance it might knock out the key. But if it does, I shouldn’t have too much trouble getting that working again, too!”

Captain Charlie smiled, just a little. “Good.”

Then the intercom crackled to life, and Brittany’s voice rang out through the ship. “Alright, Alph, I’m in the cockpit. I’ll set the warp drive to the first setting.”

In a moment, the big machine started humming, and Alph kept a wary eye on the control panel, waiting for any sort of warning message, so he could hit the emergency shutdown again. When no warning presented itself, he gave a small nod and relatched the maintenance panel. “Looks like it’s working!”

Captain Charlie smiled again, and Alph thought he saw just a glimmer of pride in the captain’s eyes. “Good job, Alph. Now go get yourself cleaned up, and get some sleep. It is still the middle of the night!”

“Yessir, Captain Charlie!”

✿✿✿

Alph’s repair work held up just fine, and the Drake was quickly back on course. And Alph noticed a sort of shift in Captain Charlie and Brittany’s attitudes towards him, too, however subtle and unconscious it might’ve been. There were no more of those silent glances behind his back, no more of those quiet whispers of concern. Alph appreciated immensely this change.

Only a day or so away from PNF-404, the biggest problem aboard the Drake was the crew’s antsiness, the cabin fever and boredom that burned to be released from the confines of the ship.

Alph was sitting in the bridge, his back to the wall, messing with his koppad. The powerful computers were incredibly versatile devices, and a skilled programmer could get them to do some extraordinary things. Currently, Alph had explained to Brittany when she asked, he was trying to connect the Drake’s fruit analysis system to the koppads, so that the results of the analysis could be viewed at any moment on the koppads. On hearing this, Brittany, presumably out of boredom, had volunteered to sit in the Drake’s analysis chamber so Alph could see if it was working.

After finishing the program he had written and remotely loading it into the Drake’s computer, Alph opened a comm channel to Brittany. “Alright, Brittany! I’m going to start the program.”

“Okay!” Came the response. “Let me know if it works!”

Alph nodded, even though Brittany couldn’t see him, and ran the program. In a few moments, an image of Brittany popped up on his koppad. “Oh! Looks like it’s working.”

“What does it say?”

“It says you’re a Koppaiate!”

“Oh, good,” Brittany giggled over the comm, “I was wondering about that!”

Alph just laughed.

“We should get the captain in here,” Brittany continued, “and see if the Drake has anything to say about him!”

Alph only gave a small chuckle at Brittany’s remark, but made no addition. He respected Captain Charlie to think of insulting him, but Brittany missed no opportunity to do so. Of course, this only worked to benefit Alph’s respect for Captain Charlie, as the captain never reprimanded any of Brittany’s remarks. Alph knew he sure would have been annoyed if one of his crew started rampantly insulting him!

As if summoned by Brittany’s remark, Captain Charlie suddenly strode into the bridge. After a quick glance around, he turned to Alph. “Where’s Brittany?”

“In the fruit analysis chamber!” Alph replied, holding his Koppad out to Captain Charlie. “See?”

Captain Charlie looked sorely confused. “...Why is Brittany in the fruit analysis chamber?”

“She’s helping me test a new program for the Drake’s analysis system!”

Captain Charlie blinked a little. Then he just shook his head and opened a new comm line to Brittany. “Brittany, would you please report to the bridge?” And Alph heard a muffled affirmative through Captain Charlie’s comm. In a few minutes, she joined Alph and the captain on the bridge.

After greeting Brittany with a small nod, Captain Charlie addressed both his crew. “Alright, in less than forty eight hours, we’ll be beginning our descent onto PNF-404. As captain, I’ve determined it to be wise to once again go over our plans, and make any preparations we can for landing.”

Alph nodded. He managed to keep a calm appearance, but he was just about bursting with excitement. Only two days until they were on an alien planet!

As the trio went over the plans for landing, Alph’s excitement only grew. In less than two days, he would be walking on a planet no one before he and his crewmates had ever been on. He would be one of the first to see plants and animals and all variety of things no one else had ever seen before. And he, Alph, would be there to save Koppai.

[pinayelf-archive]

sappy lines prompt: 11 "i thought you didn't want me" for immy and cullen cause angst

I decided I’d try something different for this - I know I’ve mentioned that Cullen intially feels insecure in their relationship due to his past and his view of his self-worth. But I want to explore Imryll’s insecurities now too.

This may be a bit ~heavy. People say there’s no colorism or anything in Thedas and that racism only exists between humans and non-humans, but lore says otherwise. Duncan and Vivienne, and even Fiona have suffered from this, so I want to tackle it with Imryll. As a woc, I want to put this into my story as a way of catharsis - it’s something I still deal with and it’s important to me.

That being said, this little snippet contains mentions of colorism, exotification, and things akin to orientalism. 

This also takes place in canon-verse, where the Inquisitor is Imryll’s cousin Tala and she’s just the alchemist. 

It was a small brochure she’d seen before the Winter Palace: “Madame Margaux’s True Noble Lady”. It was somehow amongst the papers, and Imryll picked it up, puzzled, shuffling through the pages.

“A real, elegant lady is tall, shapely, and has porcelain skin. Light-eyed and tow-headed women exude gracefulness.”

Imryll narrowed her eyes at the painting by those words - a simple human woman, with long locks of golden hair and creamy skin. Under it was sketched, “The Ideal Woman”. A tingle fluttered through her chest as she flipped the page once more.

“Mail 2 sovereigns for Madame Margaux’s Pearl Soap, be the ideal woman and brighten your complexion today.”

“Darling, don’t look at that garbage.”

Imryll had nearly dropped the brochure.

She hadn’t noticed that Vivienne had come up to the tower, arms full of the freshly dried herbs they’d set out last night. 

“That is utter garbage,” Vivienne mumbled, setting down the herbs and flasks, “Some people are narrow-minded enough to have restrictions on what beauty is.”

She held out her hand for Imryll to hand her the brochure. It only took a second for her to rip it in half.

“I rather think some nobles here feel frustrated at your presence. Mine and Lady Montilyet’s as well. We’ve received the same ridiculous brochures too,” Vivienne mused, turning her head away for a minute. A quake of hurt spilled out of her voice for a second as she looked at the window in silence. 

“Vivienne?”

Vivienne snapped her head back and took a deep breath.

“Pay them no mind, darling,” she continued, urging her voice to level, “So shall we? These poultices won’t make themselves.”

“Did the sun burn hotter in Seheron?” Adwen quipped. 

It’d been the third day since they’ve merged with Clan Lavellan, but Imryll could already figure out when Adwen’s face threatened to say something snarky. 

“Why?” she asked, keeping composure.

“Because your skin is brown and your eyes are small,” Adwen cackled, “Must’ve burned you and your whole family then.”

Imryll pushed down the sob that nearly burst out of her throat. Before she could attempt a response, Deshanna swooped in from the side, swatting at Adwen. 

Halamshiral took a toll in Imryll’s bones. It was different toll from trekking across the Western Approach. The orange lights from the chandelier and the jangling of jewelry made the place feel insidious. 

Well, you are here to stop a murder, Imryll muttered to herself. She straightened the skirt of her dress, feeling exposed and saturated compared to all the other bodies there. 

The whispers that followed her as she passed by wrung her nerves almost as terrible as the thought of failing to stop the assassination. 

“Do all elves from Seheron look like that?”

“Why are her eyes so small?”

“She’s pretty in a unique way...almost exotic.”

“Elves here are prettier. If I had to pick an elf I wouldn’t go to Seheron.”

She watched as Tala mingled with Josephine and her sister, wondering how she felt so carefree around whispers of the “Strange Seheron elves.”

She passed them, attempting to find a quiet corner.

“The Lady Montilyets are here,” she heard from a nobleman, “I suppose they’re pretty for Antivans. Too swarthy for my taste.”

Imryll felt a dull throb in her chest. She wanted to leave - but they cannot go until they finish this mission. 

Perhaps Cullen would be standing in a quiet corner, he always managed to find -

Oh.

A crowd surrounded him by an open window. A total number for four ladies and three men, clamoring at something, their voices talking to fast for Imryll to make anything out. She watched as Cullen painfully and politely attempted to ease them off. 

Cullen caught her eye and Imryll felt her chest flutter.

“There you are,” he said in relief, as the people around him murmured. 

“You’ve gathered quite a following,” she joked. 

“They’ve all either asked for a dance or my hand in marriage,” he grumbled, scratching the back of his neck. 

Imryll laughed. 

“Well, if you don’t mind...would you save a dance for me?” 

“Sorry, no,” Cullen said curtly. 

Imryll felt dull blow to her stomach.

“What?”

Suddenly, Cullen’s face turned 80 shades of red. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been turning down everyone,” he replied, “But I um...I don’t know how to dance I’m afraid.”

Before Imryll could reply, a nobleman burst through the small gathering, a young woman behind him.

“Ahhh, Commander Cullen,” the man greeted, “I am Lord Etienne Maillard, and this is my lovely daughter Victoire.”

He presented the woman, clad in fine Orlesian silks. Her long, wispy, almost silver hair fell down to her waist. Her skin was the color of pearls in contrast to the rich velvet blue of her dress.

“How do you do, Lady Victoire,” Cullen said, struggling through the greeting.

She held out her hand and Cullen kissed it, as Imryll’s stomach sank to her feet. 

Victoire was a head taller than her, and her dress didn’t lump up in places her’s did. She felt small. 

“Commander, if I could say,” Lord Etienne said, “My daughter has just debuted in society and my family is has strong connections to the military.”

Imryll could hear the wink in his voice.

Cullen nodded, standing stiff. 

“That sounds wonderful, my lord,” he replied. 

“Would you save her a dance? A Fereldan general would look great dancing with an Orlesian noblewoman don’t you say?”

“I...uh...”

Lord Etienne gave Imryll a quick, dirty glance. 

“Consider it,” he said, “Victoire is a fine and ideal woman. Fair and lovely.”

Cullen took a deep breath. 

“I’ll consider.”

Imryll had never turned her heel so quick. The pounding of her chest and the dry feeling of her throat muffled out Cullen calling for her - if he really was.

Hearing Tala call out Florianne was satisfying in more ways than one. Imryll watched from behind a column, her heart racing as she clung onto every word Tala said. She wondered how her cousin had pulled it off, but she did. She caught Tala’s hand trembling as Florianne was taken away, but that was a nervous tic only she’d noticed. She smiled as Tala gave a victorious smile to the advisers.

Halamshiral had calmed down once again. It was amazing and ridiculous to watch Orlesians quickly switch back to festivities. Imryll wondered how one can do that, as she was worn out. She watched as Tala took Josephine by the hand and led her out a balcony. 

She chuckled to herself. Leliana was going to kill Tala.

She decided perhaps she needed air as well. She quickly found an empty balcony and walked out, letting the fresh air from the gardens cool her down. She wanted to sleep. 

“Are you all right?”

She turned to find Cullen, standing awkwardly at threshold, scratching at his neck.

She’d almost forgotten, amidst all the commotion. 

“Yes,” she lied, straightening out her dress. She might’ve felt pretty earlier that night, but now she felt like a lumpy mess. She wished he couldn’t see her. 

“Y-you looked a bit shaky,” he said, “I was worried. Do you want me to stay with you?”

Imryll hesitated for a minute, but the softness in her eyes caused her to give. 

“Yes please,” she almost heaved. She hadn’t realized how hard she was clutching on the banister. 

She felt a comforting hand on her back.

“Imryll, breathe. You’re all right now,” Cullen said softly. 

Cullen let her squeeze his hand. Imryll felt heat rush to her cheeks. 

“Thank you,” she replied. He smiled.

“Imryll?”

“Yes?”

Cullen took a deep breath.

“There’s some things I want to tell you, but at the moment I...,” he stuttered, “We can still hear the music from here and before I lose my chance I just want to ask...”

Imryll looked at him, puzzled, as he stood before her and bent his knee.

“May I have this dance, my lady,” he said, holding his hand out. 

A swarm of moths fluttered in Imryll’s stomach, her eyes growing wide. 

“I t-thought you didn’t want me,” she blurted from shock.

Cullen’s eyes glazed with bewilderment. 

“Why would you think that? Out of all the women here tonight, you were the only one I wanted.”

The air felt quiet and still, despite Imryll’s thudding heart. 

“Cullen,” she whispered as she took his hand. He pulled her close as they attempted to sway to the music. 

“I look like a mess,” Imryll said. 

“No, you look perfect,” Cullen replied, his cheeks reddening.

It was later, when Imryll headed to her room that she met Vivienne in the hallway. 

“I told the Inquisitor to have a good night’s rest,” she said, smiling, “You two aren’t as incompetent as I’d thought.”

Imryll returned it.

“An Imryll, darling?”

“Yes?”

“You’re beautiful. Tala is beautiful. So am I and Lady Montilyet,” Vivienne said, in almost a whisper, “Narrow perceptions and beliefs aren’t the truth.”

[tuwam]

( @cetteau​ for ahyeon! )

it’s around ten when ahyeon comes back.

he’s busy with a sketch and doesn’t really hear her come in at first. which is why he doesn’t guess it’s her. just thinks it’s a customer and whoever they are, the��ll wait. because he’s almost done with this sketch and the appointment is in half an hour. twin dragons wrapped around the arm, gonna be a bitch to sit through.

when ahyeon usually comes in, she makes it known. by a smell, by chaos that comes out in her voice, or her feet stomping. she announces herself, bold and unapologetic, not always verbally but always noticeable. it’s not disrupting because he’s used to it, even after the days of her not being here. so he doesn’t expect it but knows that it’ll sometimes be there.

all he hears is the chime of the door so he doesn’t look up.

if it’s an important customer they’ll speak up, if not they’ll sit in the living room. joon’s pretty proud of how he’s turned the apartment, not too proud of the money he’s used to get it. but it works. people come in for a bit and leave with a tattoo. he sets up, shacks up and makes a living.

she announces herself by slamming a popsicle wrapper on the table he’s working on. the weed hits but it’s faint. there’s also a trace of soap, generic and a little honey.

‘I want a lion.’ joon doesn’t move from his position. doesn’t lift his hand only to move to another part of the canvas. he doesn’t even speak, and he could chalk it up to concentration. even if he knows he could still get a lot done with her doing more than this.

“you’re back.” he says that after a few beats, after she’s showing that she won’t move from her spot. “my phone?” is said after a few more minutes, the last few of the tracing getting done. he’s trying to get his ideas together, not for the drawing, the drawing’s done. but for the situation. last time he saw her she was grabbing a bag and leaving. took him thirty minutes to realize she took the last stash of weed from under the pillows and another hour to realize she had his phone too.

he remembers calling, several times. can’t really remember much prior to her grabbing her bag. the way joon sees, if it’s meant to bite him in the ass it will. and if ahyeon wants to ring him for whatever it is, she will.

‘I want a lion.’ she says again, but she’s fishing out a paper from the bag and laying it flat. a lion. a nice design really. might take a little over two hours to do.

“I have an appointment.” which he does. an appointment who walks in the moment he can tell she’s about to continue with whatever might brew between them again. nothing really stops ahyeon, nothing can come close to trying. she barrels through what she wants, when she wants. so for him to hear the hitch in her throat, he’s looking at the customer first and then at her.

“you made it.” joon busies himself with formalities as usual, leaving ahyeon to do what she wants. as usual. unless the design is interesting she doesn’t bother sticking around. she’ll sink into the couch and into a haze until something peaks her interest. laze in the bedroom, steal his covers, take a shower, leave. so he’s greeting the customer, a girl who’d requested the twin dragons. she’s a regular at the club he’s been hanging around and a friend of his dealer, the only reason he’s penciling her in for a project this detailed.

“I’ll go check on everything in the back and call you in in a second.” he’s polite, mannerisms and face a little too gentle for the crowd she frequents. a little foreign to him but he remembers them from the days with his mother. she’s a decent girl, as decent as the crowd she’s with. cute, if someone’s looking. but she’s sending him that wink, the same one that gets people in trouble and joon remembers what he’s dealing with. he makes his way to the back room, where all the equipment is set up and gets himself ready. he doesn’t hear ahyeon step in, so when he sees her standing by the corridor entrance he’s confused.

visibly confused at this attempt she’s making at muting herself.

‘you’re still going to do her piece?’ he’s busy washing and checking the sterilizers, so her voice almost doesn’t register. doesn’t break like he’s used to it doing. and that makes him uneasy.

“why wouldn’t I?” he doesn’t look up though, doesn’t feel the need to. there’s too much going on here. too much that’s been going on since the night she left and since the words between them weren’t as empty as usual. since the anger wasn’t automatic and just there to be there. ahyeon and joon are both always fighting through something, sometimes it’s the world, very rarely is it each other. so when it starts being each other, they separate. they don’t talk. maybe she yells a bit, curses a bit but they don’t talk.

‘well, I don’t like her.’ “you - don’t like a lot of people ahyeon. you barely like me.” joon half expects this to brush over. thinks that she’ll hash out whatever she’s thinking right now. maybe even leave again and he’d probably let her.  ‘i like you less when you’ve got someone all up on you in your studio.’ he doesn’t expect that to be the root of the issue. part of him doesn’t even want to acknowledge it, not because said customer is still in the vicinity but because there’s no truth to it. and because they’ve never gotten down to the truth of what they are, this shouldn’t be an issue. “she was showing me where she wanted her tattoo.” which is the truth, she’d been in the chair, leaning over to show him where and how she wanted the dragon to wrap. had she been really close to him, yeah. had joon thought anything of it? just how fucking long the job would be. ‘more like where she wanted you to start stripping her.’ the fire in ahyeon’s eyes is nothing new. the anger, the annoyance, not new at all. but the situation is. and a little something else, something he can’t quite place, but joon’s too tired to think about it. he’s got to get started soon and he knows ahyeon has no problem expressing this issue in front of the customer. “it’s a tattoo on her side ahyeon.” ‘it wraps around her ass joon.’

that was also true. well, partially, it goes down her side and because it wraps around her leg she wants it on the inside of her thigh.

‘you wanna do her tattoo, be my guest. you wanna start an argument, not in the mood.’ ‘you can take that needle and stick it up your -.’ he has to move quick because she’s taking the needle he’s sterilizing, demanding attention even though she’s quiet as she does it. everything is quick, ahyeon reaching for the needle and joon reaching for the hand now holding it. “chill out, what you left for days and came back even more pissed off?” ‘i left because you were being a dick.’ “i was being a dick because you wouldn’t let me do my job.” ‘yeah, it’s your job to make me feel like shit.’ “jesus christ, are we doing this now?” ‘want me to come back late when you guys are all done? i can come back not at all how about it?’ she’s red in the face now, ready to yank her arm free, do whatever it takes to be free. joon backs up. backs all the way back into the table. he expects her to leave now, because when there’s silence like this, there isn’t really much to say. but ahyeon keeps staring, breathing controlled but eyes wild. staring like it says all that she wants.

“fuck.” joon’s out the back in two seconds. “hey, yeonhee? yeah, now’s not a good time, if you really need it today I can get a friend to do it for a discount, since it’s short notice?” yeonhee is giving him a different look this time. she’s trouble. joon should’ve realize the first time but she inches his way, probably to talk and he steps back. “seriously, bad time, come back tomorrow?” there’s a pinch to his shoulder. “I’ll text you my friend’s details.” is what he decides on. he really is tired. too tired to handle all of this and a two - three hour job.

yeonhee’s leaving with a wave. ahyeon’s smiling smug when he turns back around.

“happy now?” satisfied would be the better word. she doesn’t speak though, just hoists herself on the tattoo bed. little by little, joon’s energy leaves him, leads her to the edge of the bed, rendering him still when she pulls him closer. “you took my phone.” a hum. “you took my weed.” she pulls him down, hands around his neck. “your hair’s blue?” more of a statement than a question. an observation, whispered now that he’s close enough to tell.

someone kisses first, could be ahyeon, could be joon. he was tired before, but his hands are automatic, on her thigh, on her hip. everything’s a little automatic when they reach point. they’re suddenly not fighting for anything but the smug grin when someone draws a noise first. and joon lazes against her in every other way, when their lips slot, when his head lolls into her hold. he hasn’t had a good joint in a few days but this comes pretty close. drags on much how a hit would and he’s not complaining, not thinking about the situation either. he wants to hold it all in him, exhale when he’s had his fill. but ahyeon is the first to pull away, her teeth digging into his lower lip before they detach and dig into her own. joon’s head is still against hers, body now hovered uncomfortably over the bed.

‘i want a lion.’ he’s laughing, because if ahyeon moves to anything, it’s always at her own speed. “where do you want it?” ‘let’s find out.’

needless to say, joon’s not tired after that.

and whatever needed to be said, or fixed, or handled gets lost between the walls and sounds of each other’s names on it. he’s fine with that.

they don’t really figure out where she wants the lion though.

[acercrea]

The Art Assignment

A/N: This is for @marvelous-fvcks 3k followers writing challenge. I selected the Artist AU, and I decided to go with Steve. I know the deadline is the 27th, but it is still the 27th in my time zone for another couple of minutes, so as far as I am concerned I made it. And as a warning there is no smut, but there are mentions of nudity.

 Disclaimer: I don’t own anything you recognize and this is just for fun. I am not making any money off of it.

 “My art teacher officially hates me,” I grumbled, slamming down my tray in the dining hall so hard I knocked over my bottle of juice.

“Wow, mashed potatoes and gravy, mac and cheese, and grilled cheese with a cup of tomato soup. I don’t think you have enough comfort food on your tray, dollface,” Bucky noted as I started tearing my sandwich into strips so that I could dip them in the soup easier, before taking the lid off of my soup.

“Bite me, Barnes,” I replied, shooting him a glare over my food.

“Now, now, no need to be nasty. I’ve seen your portfolio, you are a great artist, why would you think that your teacher hates you?” Steve asked, swatting Bucky’s hand away as the brunette tried to snag one of his fries.

“According to her I am too immature and I don’t have enough experience to know when to take a risk so my work is thoroughly predictable and too boring to be worth her time. She has mandated that I have to do a study in the human form to broaden my horizons. The only bright side is that she is at least letting me pick my own subject, but I still have to find someone who is willing to get naked and agree to be drawn that way for the sake of art,” I sighed, dunking the first chunk of sandwich into my soup before taking a bite.

“Do you have anyone yet?” Steve asked, setting aside his History textbook.

“No, I was thinking of asking that kid from my Econ class who seems to think my eyes are in my boobs. He would definitely say yes, but then I would have to see a lot more of him than I want to and I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. The idea of explaining to him after the session that sex is entirely off of the table is about as appealing as shoving a fork all the way through my hand, so there is that. I suppose I could find someone on the internet to draw, but if my teacher ever found out I would fail the course. I don’t know what to do, but I have to figure it out quick, because I have one of the studios reserved for tomorrow at 3,” I answered.

“I would volunteer, if only to keep you from having to ask a creep, but I have a mid-term for English then, and it is a significant portion of my grade,” Peggy apologized, picking thoughtfully at her lasagna.

“Thanks for the offer, but Professor Hill made it pretty clear that it has to be a study of the male form specifically. She kind of went out of her way to make me uncomfortable with this assignment,” I replied.

“That does make it a bit harder to find a suitable candidate. I know, what about Steve?” Peggy suggested.

The only response Steve could manage was to cough and choke on the water he had been drinking.

“Well, I think that answers that question. Arms up, buddy, clear those airways,” Bucky chuckled, reaching over to the next table to grab some napkins from the dispenser and handing them to Steve so he could try to dry the front of his shirt. “Tell you what, in order to save you from Creepy Econ Guy, I will do it,” Bucky offered with a shrug.

“Really?” I asked, a little surprised.

“Yeah, I was supposed to do some chemistry review thing with my lab partner, but she just canceled on me half an hour ago, so I am all yours, doll. Do I need to bring anything with me? On second thought, I guess that is a silly question, isn’t it?” Bucky laughed.

“Actually, you will need a robe, if you have one, to, um cover up while we are waiting for the, uh, clothing lines to disappear,” I answered, stumbling a little bit on my words, a blush beginning to creep up my face.

“Ok, no problem. I have to run to Calculus, but text me the details and I will see you at 3 tomorrow,” Bucky promised with a smirk, throwing his books in his bag, grabbing his tray and rushing off.

**

I was on my way to the studio I had booked, when my phone chimed in my pocket. Shifting my art bag to the other arm, I pulled out my phone to read the text.

My lab partner claims to not have been talking to me when she canceled our study session and is insisting that I stay. Don’t worry, Steve is going to fill in for me, he might even be there already. Sorry I couldn’t be there, I will buy you a drink the next time the group goes out to make up for it. :(

I quickly typed out a response(No prob, thanks for getting it covered), and pocketed the phone as I arrived at the studio.

I opened the door and saw Steve sitting awkwardly on the stool in a huge, fluffy, dark blue robe. “Hi Steve, how are you doing?” I asked, setting my bag down, pulling out a large sketch pad and my set of artists pencils.

“Oh, you know. Just sitting here awkwardly, in a robe and nothing else, hoping that no one else walks in, kind of wondering if I am being punk’d,” he joked, a bright red flush creeping up his cheeks.

“No, I left Ashton Kutcher back at the dorms. I had to tie him to a chair because he kept trying to escape. And I will lock the door, so no one can walk in. Is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable?” I questioned as I flipped the pad open to a blank page and set it on an easel.

“Take your shirt off?” he requested softly, as if he was hoping I wouldn’t hear him, the faint tint to his cheeks blossoming instantly to tomato red.

“And here I thought Bucky wasn’t able to make it today,” I commented with a chuckle, my eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, it’s just that I have never done anything like this before and I am so far outside my comfort zone. It was the first thing that came to my mind and I really wish I hadn’t said it. I hope I didn’t offend you,” Steve apologized, somehow making his large frame sink into the bathrobe a little.

“No, it is fine, you are nervous. No offense taken. In fact, if I thought it would actually make you relax, I would do it. But I do have an idea,” I told him, pulling a smaller sketch pad out of my bag.

“Woah, what are you doing?” Steve asked, shying away as I dragged my chair closer, momentarily abandoning the easel.

“Relax, I am just getting closer. I am going to sketch your face, just your face, so that you can keep the robe on, while we chat and you remember that we have been friends since freshmen year, when I met you and Bucky at that party thrown by Nat and Clint. It wasn’t going well, but Bucky didn’t want Nat to feel bad, so he insisted we play Truth or Dare,” I started the conversation, quickly sketching his face; the sharp line of his jaw, full lips, eyelashes any woman would kill for, smudge the eye a bit to create warmth.

“You gave him so much crap for that. I thought that the feud was never going to end,” he laughed, causing his eyes to crinkle, which I hurriedly captured in the sketch.

“Well, I thought someone needed to remind him that we were freshmen in college, not high school. I mean, what kind of self-respecting adult wants to play Truth or Dare? I thought he was kidding,” I pointed out, flipping the page and starting another drawing.

“I don’t think that was the part he was mad about. I think we both know that he was hoping his dare would get him a kiss,” Steve countered.

“I stand by my choice that night. Not just because Bucky is cocky and sometimes needs to be reminded that he isn’t god’s gift to women. How do you feel about baring your top half?” I asked as I finished the second drawing of his face, this one a slight profile focusing on the curve of his nose.

“What, like I just take my arms out like this, but leave the bottom half covered? Yeah, I’m ok with that,” he agreed, pulling his arms out of the robe and letting it dangle around his waist.

I flipped the page and started sketching again, his arms, pecs, and abs taking shape. “We never would have become friends at all if it weren’t for you,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but you know me, I hate conflict. And when I realized that you were someone who could actually keep Bucky in line, I knew I had to help you two mend things. So I did the only thing I could think of. I locked you in a closet together,” Steve confessed to me.

“That was you? I have blamed Peggy for that this entire time. I put dish soap in the wrong persons shampoo,” I laughed.

“That is so tame, I would have thought you would have done something bigger than that,” Steve commented.

“And it would have been if I had only done it once. I did it every time she bought a new bottle of shampoo until we switched to a new room Sophomore year. She changed her brand of shampoo, she had maintenance check our water pressure, no matter what she did it was almost impossible to rinse her hair clean every time she washed it,” I reminisced, finishing my third drawing and pulling the pad to my chest.

“I had forgotten how diabolical you are. And you have stopped drawing. Does that mean it is time?” Steve asked.

“Only if you are ready. How do you feel?” I inquired.

“Like I can’t do this with you staring at me,” he replied honestly.

“Ok, well then in that case, I am going to turn my back while I drag my stool back to the easel, and you can get undressed at your own pace without me looking at you. Just let me know when it is safe for me to turn around,” I proposed, as I tucked my smaller sketch book back in my bag and sat on the stool facing the door.

I heard the sound of cloth dropping to the ground and I waited for Steve to give me the word. I was about to ask if he was ok, when he finally spoke, “I need you to promise me one thing.”

“Anything Steve,” I agreed.

“Don’t laugh,” he requested.

“Done,” I promised.

“Ok, then you can turn around,” Steve told me.

I turned slowly, trying to view him with the eyes of an artist only. “Oh, Steve,” I breathed. “I don’t see anything funny. You are beautiful.”

“You are just saying that to make me feel better,” Steve grumbled, trying to cover himself.

“No, I’m not. You are so stunning that it is almost unfair that you are so beautiful on the inside too, because no one person should be allowed to monopolize so much beauty,” I responded honestly.

This seemed to relax him a little bit, and he moved his hands. “Ok, um, I want to get this over with, so how do you want me to sit, what should I do with my hands?” Steve asked, trying different things with his arms, moving them from resting on his lap, to dangling by his sides, to crossed over his chest.

“I think you should put your right hand on your right knee, and cross the left hand over your chest so that it is grabbing your shoulder. How does that feel?” I asked, selecting a pencil from the case.

“Yeah, that feels ok. Can I ask you a question, since we are being honest with each other?” Steve asked as I started to draw him.

“I owe you so many favors for this that you can ask anything you want and I will answer honestly,” I replied, focusing switching between Steve and the page.

“That first night we met, and Bucky dared you to kiss the most attractive guy in the room? Why did you kiss me?” he asked, the vulnerability from before coming back into his eyes.

“Because I found every other man in the room lacking,” I shrugged.

“Really? I thought you were just trying to prove a point to Bucky,” Steve replied.

“This may come as a shock to you, but I didn’t just see you as this scrawny thing back then. Yes, Bucky was more physically fit than you, and Clint had those arms from all that archery, and you were just this skinny thing in comparison. But I saw something in you that night. The only thing that they had that you didn’t was confidence. And I thought that maybe I could give that to you with a kiss. I chose you because I wanted you to get a chance to be the guy I saw hiding inside you. And honestly, between the two of you, I have always found that Bucky doesn’t hold a candle to you. Now hold still,” I ordered, finishing the first drawing and moving on to a second.

We sat in silence for a while after that, me drawing, him sitting quietly.

“Ok,” I broke the silence about 20 minutes later. “I am done. I am going to put things away if you want to go behind the screen and get dressed again.”

“Really? We are done?” Steve asked, starting a bit at the sound of my voice like he had forgotten I was in the room.

“Oh no, I haven’t turned you into a nudist, have I? Because I was going to take you out to dinner to thank you for doing this, but I don’t think they will let us in if you aren’t wearing clothes,” I teased, walking over to hand him his discarded robe before pushing him to the corner of the room.

“Fine, I will get dressed if it makes you happy,” Steve joked, ducking quickly behind the screen. “But you aren’t buying me dinner.”

“What? Of course I am, it is the least I can do,” I countered, making sure the elastic that held my big sketch book closed was on properly, I didn’t want the book to fall open somehow and display all of Steve to someone walking by.

“No, you aren’t, because a woman never pays on the first date,” Steve responded.

“Date?” I asked as he walked back over to me, fully dressed, with the robe draped over his arm.

“I have been in love with you since that first night, but all this time I thought that you only kissed me because you were trying to prove a point to Bucky. I just found out that was not the case, and we have a lot of lost time to make up for, as far as I am concerned,” Steve told me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I could be ok with that,” I spoke softly, the air suddenly charged between us, his crystal blue eyes the last thing I saw before my eyes fluttered shut as he drew closer. It was a much different kiss that the one from 3 years ago. I had caught Steve by surprise that night, he never even had time to properly respond to the kiss before I pulled away.

This time Steve was in charge, his lips moving against mine firm yet gentle, one hand tangling in the hair at the base of my neck, the electricity that had been around us now coursing through us, a tingling sensation radiating from every point that we touched.

“I can’t believe we wasted so much time not doing that,” I gasped when we finally broke apart, resting our foreheads against each other as we caught our breaths.

“Then why are we stopping?” Steve countered, leaning back in, making me forget everything around me when he gently brushed his tongue against my lips, losing myself in him completely as I opened my mouth and let him inside.

  A/N: I hoped you liked it, I hope no one was disappointed that there was no smut, I just don’t see Steve as a guy who would just jump into bed with someone because they have seen him naked. Like, reblog, comment, do all of the things, let me know what you thought, this is my first MCU fic period and I hope I got Steve right.

[airanddust]

A day in isolation

Day I don’t even know. It’s March 27. I should be packed and ready for a trip to Japan, but that was cancelled a month ago. We should have been there to see the cherry blossoms and stay in a cramped Osaka hotel room. Now, as the meme says, we will be going to “Los Kitchenos.”

My mornings start with a sense of reluctance. Sailor nudges my leg two minutes before my 7 am alarm. I used to wake up at 6, which, since the time change, is now 7, but I haven’t been to the office since then so I’ve been waking up at this time for…three weeks. Since March 5.

I feed the dogs, stumble in the wan light to pull open the blinds, flip on my Happy Light, and unfurl my thick purple yoga mat. I don’t bother with the toning yoga videos anymore. It’s all stretches and relaxation practices. I choose fifteen or twenty minutes, or thirty if I didn’t hit snooze and feel luxurious. I tilt my spine side to side in tabletop position, hands and feet against the ribbed mat. A catch releases somewhere in my back.

The first downward dog is always a balm for my calves. My right leg is a block of concrete, stiff and unmoving after an uncomfortable night. I often wake to find myself jammed against one shoulder, or with a hand tingling, or my hip screaming so loudly it pulls me from a dream.

I work through the flow and inevitably need a tissue when my body spurts up some gunk that went dormant overnight. Clarity returns to my sinuses. I feel a little less hatred for the day ahead. It almost feels like a normal day.

Since stocking up for the vacation-apocalypse, I now have a myriad of breakfast choices as compared to my typical instant oatmeal packet or protein shake. I could have protein waffles, banana bread, strawberries, string cheese, or cinnamon raisin bread that Robert made, wide and puffy. 

I read the Bible while I eat. I used to read it on my YouVersion app, but that was creating a too-addictive don’t-break-the-chain habit (I got to 100 days this year), and the reading didn’t go deep. I switched to the mid-Psalms in my fifteen-year-old NASB college Bible and starting journaling my SOAP —  another unfortunate acronym, but a helpful one I gleaned from our church’s online messages. Scripture, Observation, Application, Prayer. It helps me identify what most speaks to me in a passage and consider it more closely. Today it’s Psalm 41.

I have fifteen minutes to write, perched on the edge of my dilapidated former office chair, which has lost two silver wheels and now sits disabled next to my desk. I realized I need a separate space, even if it’s just a seat two feet from my office chair, in which to write and thus separate myself from work.

I check newsletters in my email. The Denison Forum, the New York Times briefing, the Hustle, Briefingday, and, on Fridays, Girls’ Night In. I take a quick scroll through Instagram. Sometimes I watch a few stories from my favorite fashion bloggers. Then I lift the lid of my work MacBook Pro.

It’s time to work, but the thought of eight hours ahead of me is nearly paralyzing. I usually open Trello, where I’ve divided my tasks into To Do, Doing, and Done, but today I try Marie Forleo’s handwritten method of finishing the sentence “The one thing I will accomplish today is…” Today, it is sketching and mocking up a grid view for car sensors.

Then the Slack messages come in. I removed Slack from my phone at the advice of a coworker — “only I can give myself anxiety; Slack doesn’t have that privilege” — but the desktop app still manages to contribute to the low-grade anxiety that I will miss a critical conversation. I disabled the red badge of death. I turned on Do Not Disturb. Yet I still compulsively open Slack every ten minutes. Working remotely seems to make me eager to prove I’m around, available, not goofing off, and I don’t get into that deep zone of focus I need. But I try. I turn on an instrumental playlist from Spotify — it only recommends classical and movie scores for me now — and clump my old, cheap Amazon headphones over my ears.

My cat Nala weaves in between my keyboard and monitor. She flips onto her back and splays her legs out, falls asleep, and spreads ever so subtly until her back leg shoves my keyboard to the far edge of the desk, where I am now forced to sit diagonal to my computer. If I shut her out of the office, she scratches the door and makes pleading guttural noises, but in the office, she seems to know when I have a Zoom meeting and pretends to run an agility course. More than twice I’ve had to introduce her to coworkers when she hops between me and the webcam, leaving a dark tail in her wake.

We had catered lunch daily at the office. Now we fend for ourselves. This week I wrote down a semi-meal plan, and today I pull two red-topped plastic containers from the fridge to mix Thai ground beef with leftover Kraft Mac and cheese. I microwave it until it’s a strangely humid combination of cuisines.

I read the latest edition of Real Simple while I eat. The magazine came bagged in a plastic sheath, which I peeled off and threw away before washing my hands. I know the content was created months ago before this virus existed, and yet it’s still odd to read something so remarkably free of Covid-19. There is, however, a spring cleaning feature that explains the difference between sanitizing and disinfecting. That reminds me we only have a handful of Clorox wipes left. When we run out I’ve thought of dipping paper towels into the leftover solution at the bottom of the canister. I haven’t been super diligent about wiping down surfaces, but then again, we don’t go out much. I haven’t been outside in two days.

I return to my desk and mindlessly nibble on a Seattle Chocolate Double Distilled Mint bar. I eventually return to the kitchen to make DIY milk tea — cold Lipton with a splash of milk, mixed in my reusable boba tea tumbler. I didn’t think I could tolerate caffeine, but the iced tea has just enough to propel me through the rest of the workday. I don’t have tapioca to add but that’s okay. There are apparently sixty-eight carbs per serving of boba. I’m already eating too much. We stocked up on rice cakes, bananas, peanut butter, oatmeal, canned soup, dried pineapple, Pop-Tarts, and granola. Five-year-old me is constantly aware of this and always planning my next trip to the kitchen.

At three I join a few coworkers for what we call Zoom-ba, our virtual dance session, where I share a pre-made YouTube playlist and we dance in tiny thumbnail windows with each other. Our favorite instructor is a guy named Mao who wears bright colors and dances on a pier somewhere over tropical waters. It helps us feel less like we’re trapped in our small, dark homes.

After an hour more of work, I join another Zoom call to work out with friends who exercise with me almost daily now. Today we do legs. Last time we did abs, which, for some reason, left Laura with sore arms and me with achy glutes. We’re still figuring out how to do this. We place our laptops on chairs and the floor and follow an impossibly fit woman on YouTube.

Sweaty and tired, I tell my friends goodbye and pull up Instagram to watch the nightly fireside chat from my favorite finance author. It’s comforting to have this small slice of a predictable schedule: to know that every night, he’ll appear on my screen at 5:30. After this I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe eat, or walk the dogs.

Robert makes mashed potatoes in the Instant Pot, and a thick, starchy scent wafts through the house. The Instagram Live ends and I join him for small plates of mashed potatoes with canned green beans. It feels sort of like a survival meal. We forgot to defrost any meat. I know I’ll be hungry later.

It’s raining so we don’t walk the dogs. Instead, we finish watching the first season of Altered Carbon, which I wasn’t sure I’d even want to finish watching. I don’t like how the story is ending. I also realize that with each show I watch, I’m wondering why the actors stand so close to each other. It hasn’t even been six months since all of this started. Will I think this way about every show from now on?

After the show ends Robert goes to his home office and I go to mine, where I open Skillshare for the next new routine I’ve established: learning Spanish. A coworker mentioned it could be a good way to pass the time, and since we have several Spanish-speaking friends and I love Zumba music, I’d like to learn it. I sit in front of my laptop and repeat words to the screen.

Some nights I make a tiny zine out of a sheet of printer paper. I think I’m putting too much on my plate. My creativity feels dried up, restless, and I end up on Twitter or some other internet rabbit hole. I don’t want to look back and see that every decision I made during this time was reactionary, but some days I don’t feel like I can muster much more than that.

Before brushing my teeth and washing my face, I go through my planner, make sure I did everything I wanted to do today. I realize how crude that sounds when, as some articles tell me, I shouldn’t be focused on output during a time of global crisis. But I feel listless without these goals. I need something to put me in motion, even if only for distraction.

Now I’m in bed. I have a stack of library books procured hours before the library shut down, but I don’t always read them. I keep one on my nightstand just in case. I’ll probably watch Robert play Animal Crossing on the Switch until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. The music and repetitive actions are calming. Boring. Kind of like life used to be.

I fall asleep.