#pov im tired

[snowangeldotmp3]

btw i feel like this shouldn't have to be said but the reason that agatha hates rio is because agatha didn't get to say goodbye to nicky. rio couldn't offer her any more time. and, in rio's mind, nicky going peacefully in his sleep (and even telling him to turn around and kiss agatha goodbye!!) is the one grace rio feels she can give agatha. nicky doesn't suffer. he doesn't fight. he just...goes. he goes on a walk with his mother and kisses his mama goodbye. but agatha doesn't get to say goodbye!!! she doesn't get those final moments with him!! she wakes up and he's already gone.

[reineydraws]

Hi hi! For the spotify wrapped art game, can I suggest akataka with 56?

oh, i think i was doomed before i began

56 is special girl by dodie. a particular fave, so im glad u chose mishanks for it since they've been on my mind. :')

wrapped 2023 game

[9soup]

purely indulgent because im a LOSER

also. im not creative enough to make a scenario where they actually Talk.. . so imagine whatever.

[liauditore]

[asmr boyfriend voice] woof woof bark bark

[little-paperhat]

idiot to idiot communication

[isbergillustration]

Entity grown in a jar discovers the eternal pain of growing out your hair from a buzzcut. Suffers. Develop telepathy that does severe psychic damage as result.

[ruerock]

second person pov can be the greatest thing on the planet if done right you guys are just mean

[infiniteorangethethird]

less "this story has no romance in it" and "this story has aspec characters in it", more "this story is about aromantic people and aromanticism" please and thank you

[explodingstarlight]

EEPY EEPY EEPY EEPY >:(((

andddd the cropped version 🤙

[tripleglitchwriting]

Kinesthesis (Part 2)

Jazz/Prowl/HumanReader first contact AU

Part 1

Warnings: Kind of robogore

An idiot would go toward the burning pieces of metal that just fell out of the sky. Of course, you were already halfway there, being the most outstanding idiot ever born. Curse the empathy that boiled in your heart for the people trapped in an imaginary crashed plane. You hoped it was imaginary at least. Really you just hoped this was all some very realistic nightmare.

As you got closer, the smoke in the sky died down. Whatever was up there had probably crashed somewhere else by now. Probably somewhere halfway around the globe if you had to guess.

It was both strange and reliving to see there was no fire burning around the crash site. Though, it was hard to tell what crashed even without a blazing inferno blocking your view. Whatever it was it was metal, white, and… leaking something? It was a strange bright blue liquid, like radioactive cool-aid or something. Oh god, was this thing radioactive?

Well, if it was you were screwed anyway. Might as well figure out what happened before you had heart palpitations or whatever radiation poisoning does to the human body. However, as you got closer, three things became evident.

1. It was definitely not a plane crash.

2. There were actually two giant metal things, not one.

3. Holy shit that’s a giant hand.

It would’ve been smart to run then. You didn’t. The whole ‘most outstanding idiot ever born’ thing became apparent when it finally clicked that the giant metal hand was attached to a giant metal body. Two giant metal bodies. They were pretty far apart, and as a result that blue liquid pooled somewhere in the middle of them.

It was almost hypnotizing how bright it was. You almost forgot how terrified you were. It was so enrapturing you nearly jumped out of your skin when one of the robots (?) made a sputtering noise. It seemed to just be some kind of mechanism that failed in one of them, since more liquid came spraying out. They were both “bleeding” pretty bad, actually. They weren’t alive though. Right? You didn’t see how they could be.

Still, if it wasn’t a plane crash, where the hell did these things come from anyway? Other than the sky.

Hah. Giant robots from the sky. Definitely more entertaining than camping. They didn’t pose any immediate danger, you supposed, maybe if you fixed them up you could prove once and for all your skill in mechanics was all you need. Technically you were sent out here to build something with little resources, why not take advantage of this unexpected opportunity? Your mother would have her mind blown when she saw what you’d done.

On the exhausting jog back to the campsite in order to get your tools, the events you witnessed kept playing back in your mind. Things appearing out of nowhere, black smoke covering the sky, random explosions happening. You were probably in shock, all things considered. There had to be some long lasting mental impacts of all that. But as you arrived at your destination and grabbed everything you could carry, it looked like you’d just have to have trauma and fix up the sky robots.

—————————

The world skidded to a halt. Darkness draped over Prowl like a veil over a mourning widow. Though he wasn’t exactly conscious, so the concept of darkness was lost on him. When the bot was fading out, he didn’t expect to wake up again. Which is why he was so surprised when he did.

Prowl’s energon levels were still incredibly low. Most of his senses were offline. But, despite being close to death, his condition wasn’t getting worse. Had the rest of the Autobots found him? Had the Deceptions found him?

Luckily, it wasn’t long before his optics came back online. His vision was considerably worse than before, with him only being able to make out blurry shapes, light, and colors, but it was better than the black abyss. The ringing in his audials was replaced with a sharp high pitched screaming sound followed by silence. Silence was nice. He liked silence. Why did he feel like it shouldn’t be silent?

Trying his best to run back through his memory to deduce what had happened, Prowl quickly came to the realization he had no idea where Jazz was. Usually he’d be thrilled that Jazz had finally shut his mouth for a bit, but in this situation it only made his spark sink.

He tried to turn his helm to look to the side. After an agonizing second, he succeeded! He couldn’t make out much of anything, but at least he could accomplish slight movement. Though, when he did finally process the blur of shapes ahead of him, he couldn’t quite tell if the moving figure he saw was real or not.

Either way it looked like they were still in the same place they crashed on, so being found by a fellow cybertronian was most likely out of the question.

Any sensors he had to detect foreign creatures were completely offline, so he just had to hope hallucinations were normal when faced with life threatening injuries. He did find the weird warbling noise it made concerning though. Did hallucinations make noise?

Apparently now was not the time to find out, because another definitely not hallucinated noise reached him. The creaking of metal, the groaning of someone in pain, the voice of a friend. Jazz.

“P- p- pr- — -at hap—ned? St- — -sis en—ed e- ea—-ly. E- e- ner- g—n sta— b— le.” Prowl tried to respond, but whatever came out didn’t even begin to resemble a voice. Another high pitched screech assaulted his sensors. A glitch probably. Hopefully.

However, if he did understand what Jazz was saying, they were both experiencing the same thing. They were alive and not leaking energon anymore. There were no mechanical life signs on this planet when they first reached it before the battle, maybe the Arc had faulty scanners…? How could they be even slightly repaired while on a planet with no sentient life?

…unless?

———

Prowl always overthought things. That’s was Jazz made fun of him for anyway. The guy had backup plans for his backup plans, complete with an additional plan C, D, and E just for good measure. But now, missing an arm, most of his energon, and any sort of communication with the outside world, he wished he had those plans.

When Jazz came back online he immediately mustered up the strength to try and contact Prowl, but all he got was a garbled choking sound in response. Strange they were both awake in the first place, Jazz thought, why exit stasis in a state like this? He wasn’t losing anymore energon, had somebody patched him up?

Even with his newfound conciseness, his optics were still out of order. And he was pretty much immobile. Oh, but look, his pain receptors were coming back online. Very helpful. Luckily it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. Usually getting a limb removed would hurt a lot more. He would know, this isn’t even the third time he’s lost that arm!

Even with his prior experience with pain and such, he’d be the first to admit the next thing he felt was strange. There was a small but warm touch on his still-attached arm. From what he had no idea, but at least it didn’t feel threatening. It was soft. Probably because they were on an organic planet. That would mean whatever was touching him had to be alive. And it was making noise! Really it was unlike anything he’d ever heard. It was smooth and rounded, no bite to it at all. He wished Prowl would talk like that once and awhile.

Scrap, Prowl. He never actually responded.

“D- do y- — -u rea- m- -e? G- gi— me a s- s- s- ign ‘ere P- r- — -ler!”

“S— -ill f- f- unc— ti- ning.” Jazz instinctually tried to ex-vent in relief, but it mostly came out as hacking coughs.

“H-haha! B- b- arl—y.”

“Y- ‘re o- ne to -alk.” During their brief ‘conversation’, both bots heard something strange from somewhere around them. It was a mix of the screeching Prowl heard and the soft noise Jazz heard. Now it was clear enough for both of them to hear. Actually, it was even clearer to Jazz. Almost like… a language.

“D- do y—u h- — -ar t- th- -t?”

“T- h’s is n- n- n- no ti- m -e to wo- -r- y a- bou- c- cre- t- ure c- ca- — -ls.”

“I- it’s m- mo’e t- th- han a c- ca- — -l. It… I- I t- thi- nk it’s t- tal—in’.”

“I- Imposs- ible.”

“Hello? Is ————— there? Anyone there at all? Please, there’s s————g wrong here, these- these ——t metal robots appeared out of the sky and, and I know it s—-nds crazy, I —ow, but if you c— hear me, please get he— — fast as you can. Please.” Jazz definitely heard a voice from those distant noises.

“I- it IS a l—angu—ge!”

“W- wh — t in t- he P- Pi - t are y- yo - u t—king ab- — -t?”

“Wait, who said that? Who’s there?”

“D- do—‘t y- yo-u h- h- ear i- it P- Pro- — -ler?!” Despite his damaged systems, something managed to come through unscathed. Something Prowl never bothered to implement.

“I- it- ‘s a- an a- ani- mal, Ja- — -z. Y- you- r p- pro- ces- sor…. dam- m- m- aged.”

“It can’t be… you? You, are you talking?” The voice asked.

“My p—cess—or -s f- in- e.” He said to Prowl, quickly turning his attention to this strange new person. “D- di- — -ou s- sav- -us, l- lit- le g- guy?”

“It is you… a- are you talking to me?”

“I- ‘s ‘ere an- n- yon- -e el- -s- -e a- a roun- d?”

“W- wh- o a- re y- yo u tal-“

“It’s just me… and the other robot.” The voice paused. “I can’t do this. I- I’ve gotten in over my head. This is insane! This is insane. I need to go.”

“W- — -ait!” Jazz shouted louder than he thought he could. “W- we n- n- ne — d h- hel —p. Y- yo- u stop- pe — th- the e’erg- gon, r- rig- ht?”

“J- Jaz-z, you’ —e hu- rt. P- pl- eas-“ Prowl attempted to cut in.

“Well, I did try and patch up the holes, I got the liquid to stop, but you- you’re alive, and- and talking to me! Mostly.”

“T- th- at’s w- wh- y we n- nee- d h- he — p. Ple- — -se h- he-lp u- us.”

“I can see that you’re hurt, but I don’t even know what you are, even if I tried I don’t know if I could… fix anything.” Again, the voice contemplated. “But I can make an attempt… if it means saving lives.”

“T- th- ank y- you.” After Jazz stopped talking and the noises Prowl heard subsided, his mind was left spinning after what he’d just witnessed. Well, ‘witness’ was a bit of an overstatement considering he could hardly see, but that didn’t staunch his flow of worry for Jazz. Talking to himself- or that noise- there had to be something wrong with his head. He couldn’t lose Jazz now. Not like this.

Not too long after it had gone silent, he felt a strange sensation on his torso. It was soft and warm, two things he disliked, but this touch was different. It was small and tender, almost afraid.

“I’m going to start with you, okay?”

More of those noises.

“T- th- at’s P- Pro - l. P- P- ro- — -l. Pro- wl.”

“Prowl?”

“Y- ye- s.”

“Alright then Prowl, you’re first.” He didn’t have the energy to keep asking Jazz who he was talking to. They both needed to conserve energy. For Prowl that was getting harder with the pitter patter he was feeling. “So… can you talk, Prowl?”

“H- he -an… jus’ w- wo-‘t.”

“W- wh- t? Y- ou- ta — lkin- g a- bo- ut me?”

“—ou r- re- eall- y c- ca- — -t un- d- der—and t- th-em?”

“A- are you talking to, um, him? I- you know I’ll stop… um, interrupting.”

“Y- yo- ‘re da- da- dama - g- ed!” While Jazz fully believed he was completely fine mentally, it was weird Prowl couldn’t hear what the little voice was saying. It could be something with languages, even if they didn’t detect any sentient life on the planet doesn’t mean there was none, so maybe- wait. Wait… oh. Oh Prowl, that stubborn idiot.

“D- d- id y- yo- u t- tak- e Jack- ie’s u- uni- v- — -sal t- tran-ator t- hing— y?”

“W- wh- at? N- no. N- not i- if h- e m- mad- e i-it. Ja—z yo-u n- nee- t-o r-res… t.” Of course Prowl didn’t take it. Even Ratchet took it! But that stubborn ass didn’t.

“I- d- id. I- it a- acti- va- ted o- on i- it’s o- own. I- I c- can un- erstan- d t- the c- calls. Y- yo- u c- can’t.”

“T- th- at isn’t-“

“C- ca- n i- it, t- t- tin c- an. Li- list—n. The- y s- sai-d they— hel- lp u- us. L- let t- the- m.”

“I’m… going to get to work.” Prowl, in fatigued frustration, didn’t reply. He was mostly focused on the small weight on his chassis. It was crawling up to his helm.

He was unable to move- to stop it, scrap, he could be killed right here and now and-

It stopped. Right in front of a terrible gash just near his neck cabling. Whatever was on him slowly put its weight down, slowly getting closer. His already overworked spark began to beat faster.

And yet, he could feel the wound being… sealed. It had been kind of sealed prior, but this time it was being properly healed, not haphazardly patched. If this kept up, he might even get full use of his voice box back sooner rather than later. While Prowl’s trust was thin, and he would prefer if no strange creatures jumped on his body, he didn’t have any other choice.

Hopefully Jazz knew what he was talking about. This was Prowl’s rock bottom… and he could hardly see the way up.

[ghost-bard]

Genuinely hope q slime gets pissy and angry at the others LMAO

Like the hypocrisy is insane. Hes been mocked for MONTHS even when he wanted to help the others with stuff, but the second he asks “how do you know theyll come back” HE DOESNT GET TO ASK BC JUANAFLIPPA IS BACK? AS IF IT ISNT APPARENT SHE IS FUNDAMENTALLY DIFFERENT AND Q SLIME HAS STARTED TO PHYSICALLY DETEORATE????

What did he do to deserve this like genuinely?

I hope this man snaps and calls the others out bc wtf is this 😭

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by @diazsdimples @dangerpronebuddie @loveyouanyway 💖

forgot it was tuesday and it's still tuesday somewhere right lol (tagging y'all for tuesday or wednesday or whenever <3)

so, all my other wips are still on hold bc I posted my 7x06 tommy pov fic last night, and now I'm writing a (much shorter and without repeating all the dialogue) buck's pov version just bc I'm kinda insane about them rn and i need to get into Buck's head at the 'so are you' moment lol 🙈🙈

___

He’s so happy that Tommy makes time to come to the bachelor party, all the nerves about wanting it to go perfect flying out the window for just a second when he sees that smile and hears that soft “hey”, and gets enveloped in those strong, big arms. Damn, he’s big and strong, and Buck can’t stop his thoughts going in very inappropriate directions whenever he looks at him. He has to reel it in for now, because he doesn’t want to rush himself or their relationship, but damn, he wants to devour this man.

Tommy is on standby so he can get called into work at any minute, and knowing how the universe likes to screw with Buck, of course it has to happen. But still, he showed up, and Buck’s heart is beating out of his chest – he made time to be there when he could be resting in case he has to go to work, and it’s- it means so much to Buck, really, having someone be there just because he wants them there. And after the initial outrage, he doesn’t even care about the stupid Henley (okay, he cares a little bit, he specifically said 80s theme, it was for Chimney, who Buck knows would absolutely love it if he actually made it, but it’s fine, Tommy had to be ready for work, he understood – still would’ve loved to see him in a cool 80s getup). One smile from Tommy has him melting, and he forgives him for not following the dress-code instantly. Oh, he already has such a hold on Buck.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @bidisasterevankinard @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @tizniz @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @your-catfish-friend

[greektragedybitch]

everyone in my life is in their no fucks given era and all i want is for them to give two fucks about me

[normal-person-i-promise]

slurred teases and sweet kisses

arataka reigen/female reader

tw for drinking, bars, intoxication

You roll your eyes as he takes another sip of his drink, his mouth set in smug grin as he swirls the liquid in his glass and watches as the ice clinks against the walls of his cup. With each sip he takes, his face gets more flushed, his words get more slurred.

Arataka has an embarrassingly low tolerance to alcohol, and you're witnessing it firsthand. He's feeling it too; that urge to kiss you is a lot stronger than usual...

★ ★ ★

...Should he invite you? You're just his employee after all, and the both of you would be alone in the bar...

Arataka glances at you for a moment, looking up from the newspaper he was reading at his desk. He's not actually reading it, of course — he can barely concentrate on breathing when you're in the room with him. You're just so... Distracting, he can't help it.

The slow rise and fall of your chest, the motion of your hand as you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, the way your eyes would flit between him and the window — Arataka could watch you for hours and not grow bored.

If Arataka invites you to just... Go to that bar he used to be a usual at, then the two of you would be alone. Like a date, which it— it isn't, of course— that would be crazy! There's no way you'd want to date Arataka, of all people, it just doesn't make sense for you to like him!

You think of him as an employer, a friend, maybe a close one, but just that! Nothing more, nothing less!

Arataka exhales sharply through his nose, flipping the page to look like he's reading the paper. He can feel the grain of the grey newspaper between his fingertips as he rubs his finger absentmindedly on the edge, pick up that faint scent of printed paper in the air.

You risk a glance at him, and your eyes shimmer with the evening sun's light as you study his features: his disinterested gaze, his relaxed posture, his incurious expression. He's... Mesmering to look at in this state, this boredom, especially since he's so expressive usually.

He also looks rather attractive, but that doesn't really matter.

You can see him stiffen, trying to ignore how hot he feels with your eyes roaming all over his body, but... Not that he doesn't enjoy it, of course — Arataka adores when you study him, just like how he studies you. You've noticed a lot of things about him by now; the way he'd adjust his grip on the newspaper, the way his eyes skim over the text, the way he leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed; bored.

You quickly avert your gaze, and Arataka feels a pang of sadness at the loss of your attention.

You, yourself, are not doing much. You're just... Sitting quietly at the little couch in the corner of the room, waiting patiently for the customers to come in. You're staring out the window, watching as the pedestrians on the streets walk along back to their homes or to the restaurants and bars, watching the way the trees sway in the light breeze, some of their vibrant green leaves falling off the sharp brown branches.

It's your job, after all — the job Arataka is paying you for — to be whatever customer service is needed when he's too busy exorcising the client's spirits or helping talk through their worries.

You take a slow, deep breath, inhaling that familiar scent of salt and incense, of sweat and cologne.

Arataka doesn't need you, not really. He just wants an excuse to see your face day after day after day, hear your darling little voice call his name when you need help.

He likes it most during that little frame of time when Mob has left to go back home, but you're still in the office — alone — with him, simply coexisting in eachother's presence. This is the time that he'd talk to you, joke with you, spend time with you — but just because he enjoys talking to you for every second of the day you're with him doesn't mean that he isn't content in settling into a comfortable silence with you. He likes... Coexisting with you, whether you're on your phone or looking out the window, whether he's reading the newspaper or watching the little TV in the corner of the room.

It's... Nice, in a way, to have someone care about you just as much as you care about him.

"The sky's pretty nice, isn't it?" You say to Arataka, tapping on the glass with your finger and bringing his attention to it.

It is rather pretty; golds and oranges are strewn across the sky like an artist's first experimental brush strokes on their canvas, the colours shifting with every minute that passes as the sun goes lower and lower on the horizon. The clouds are rimmed gold — a delicate, thin outline to show its form, shimmering and soft as the light bounces off it.

It's not sunset yet, no, but — oh, how that golden light spills into the room, how it makes Arataka's eyes sparkle—

"Yeah, it is pretty."

His words are simple, but it's evident that he's fighting himself to keep his tone disinterested. He doesn't want to show interest in you: he'd look like a fool. He doesn't want to look like a fool in front of the girl he likes.

You clear your throat (you always do that when you need to distract yourself from your thoughts, Arataka's noted), and you settle back in your seat. He grins, an opportunity to tease you coming to his mind, the words already beginning to brew.

"You what looks nicer, though?" He asks, his tone playful as he looks you up and down, feeling pleasant shivers run down your spine. It feels so... Good, to be the object of his attention, to be the subject of his praise.

"What?" You ask, crossing your legs as you lean back in your chair. You're grinning pridefully, knowing that he'll most definitely say you're prettier.

Arataka's thin smile widens noticeably, his eyes narrowing in delight.

"Me, of course."

You roll your eyes, though it's clear you mean nothing malicious by it. "Oh, please, Arataka," you say, your tone teasing, "you're full of yourself. You're a lot uglier than the sky."

A lie. To set off any suspicions that you like him.

He just grins wider, settling into his seat like a proud king.

Even though it's nothing more than light, playful banter, every second Arataka spends with you feels like a moment in heaven — your voice the angel's songs, your hair their shining halos. You never refuse any of his silly little jokes, always laugh at those half-wit puns he makes, and it... It sends waves of butterflies to his stomach, knowing that you enjoy being around him, knowing that you like being his friend.

And vice versa — every second you spend with Arataka is such fun, such enjoyment, that you lose track of time and go back home hours later than intended. He's just so... Fun to talk to, what with his witty replies and clever jokes, his carefully placed puns and playfully sharp remarks. He's such a joker, always able to make you laugh, and he likes it. He likes hearing your laugh. He likes it a lot.

The newspaper crinkles loudly as Arataka folds it, placing it on the desk. Struggling to keep his expression neutral and his voice level, he asks you a simple question.

"Wanna go out for drinks later?" Grinning, now, "I'll pay."

Please say yes. Please, please say yes.

You hum in thought as if you don't know your answer already. Your voice is light; playful, and Arataka can hear the grin plastered on your face when you reply.

"I don't know... I don't drink."

You don't, that bit is true: you've tried, and failed, to enjoy alcohol and intoxication. It's just so... Sour, and overwhelming, and it feels so horrible the next day.

Arataka lets out an exasperated groan, but the both of you know it's fake.

"Come on— please?"

He leans on the desk, his whole upper body resting on the wood, trying to get as close to you as he can to you without getting up. His eyes almost seem to sparkle as he smiles wide, trying as hard as he can to convince you, knowing you can't say no to that god forsaken smile. "Pretty please? It's my birthday!"

He's almost pleading as he tilts his head innocently, his cheeks resting comfortably in his hands, his elbows planted on the desk. "You don't wanna upset the birthday boy, do you?"

You sigh, though you aren't annoyed. You can't say no, the both of you know that — especially since it's his birthday. And, unbeknownst to you, it's the first birthday Arataka will be spending with a friend in a long, long time. He's ecstatic, Especially since it's you.

Even if it's just one friend, and even if that friend is a girl he really likes is his employee, it's still counted, right?

You... Are a friend, right?

Because the way your pretty little lips would curl into a grin whenever you'd tease him, the way your words would cause him to erupt into fits of laughter, the way you always enjoyed the little games of banter the two of you often shared certainly made it seem so.

You roll your eyes at his display.

"Fine, fine, okay. I'll go celebrate your birthday with you or whatever."

Arataka has to hide his excitement, struggling to keep himself from smiling ear to ear, struggling to ignore how his heart flutters, struggling to ignore that familiar feeling of butterflies in his stomach.

He always feels this way when he's with you though, so he's gotten pretty good at ignoring it.

"When do you say we should go?"

Arataka tilts his head more heavily to the side as he asks you that question, his eyes roaming around the room as he thinks. You watch as he shifts in his chair, trying in vain to get comfortable in the god awful position he's sitting in.

His grin widens. "Now?"

Flitting your eyes to the clock and reading the time quickly, you answer him, your voice level; though there's a slight undertone — barely even there — of a playful, almost accusational chide. You're just buying time to annoy him, giving him pointless excuses.

"It's still ten minutes to closing."

Arataka sighs in dramatised exasperation, putting such an emphasis on the rolling of his eyes that it makes you scoff in playful annoyance. It makes his heart flutter, knowing that you're entertained by him. God, how he loves that voice of yours... How he loves you...

Spinning his hand so fast that it's a blur, he stops abruptly, pointing to himself as he grins proudly. "I'm the boss, here. I can close this place any time I want."

He gets his elbows off the desk, kicking his feet onto the wood as you hum in response to his words. Nodding as you speak, you agree with him. "Good point, good point."

Arataka and you clean up the office a little, sweeping the corners here and dusting the chair over there. The two of you are in a comfortable silence, content enough with the fact that you're in each other's presence.

As you clean, Arataka can't help but notice — he always notices — all those little things you do: the way you place one foot in front of the other to the beat of the song stuck in your head; the way you hum softly to yourself, quiet enough to think he can't hear; the way your eyes would catch glimpses of his every so often.

More often than not, he'd get lost in all your little habits. It's just... The minor ways you'd entertain yourself as you clean, the manner in which you would tuck your hair behind your ear, the way you'd roll your sleeves up before doing anything, is so... Cute, you're so cute...

It's not long before the place is as good as new, and Arataka is switching the lights off and taking the keys to the door.

"After you, m'lady," he says in an unnecessarily posh voice, bowing slightly as he opens the door for you. You nod, thanking him as you step out, bathed the hot summer night air — it's humid, the air thick with moisture as you breathe in the scent of moist pavement and soaked leaves from the rain that had happened a few hours earlier.

The more you walk, the more you can hear the bustling of the shopkeepers in their kitchens and behind their counters, pick up the buzz of the neon signs just beginning to flicker on, listen to the indistinct chatter of the night life starting to settle into the bars and night clubs. Though it's faint, it's most definitely there, and it's getting louder and louder with each minute that passes.

The walk to the bar isn't quiet; it's never quiet when the two of you walk together. The air is always filled with friendly conversation, laughter and giggles peppered in here and there, occasional glimpses at his soft, pink lips...

Arataka is taking in every little thing about you, from the way your smile would form to the tapping of your shoes on the pavement. You're... Perfect, you.

He tries his best to match your pace, making sure that his footfalls are in tandem with yours, making sure that you both are walking as one.

If someone was looking on at the two of you, they'd think you were a couple.

A few minutes later, Arataka is pushing open the door of the Happy Trails bar, gesturing for you to enter. The floor is sticky, the air thick with the sharp smell of alcohol and sweaty office workers. The lights are dim; warm, inviting, as you take a seat after Arataka pulls one out for you.

"So what'll you have?" He asks, flashing you the most charming grin he can muster. He settles into his seat, getting more comfortable: unbuttoning his suit jacket, loosening that pink tie on his neck, undoing the top buttons of his immaculate white dress shirt. God, he's so hot—

It's hard to keep from staring, but you manage.

You shrug. "Just soda."

Arataka nods, not questioning it as he calls the bartender over and ordering for both you and him: an iced cola for you, and a lemon sour — extra sour — for him. He always orders that, and, based on the few times you've gone out drinking with him, you don't think he drinks anything else.

He settles into his seat, and you struggle to get your voice to pierce through the indistinct conversations of the other patrons.

"So, Arataka," you nearly shout, your tone playful, "how do you feel now that you're 28?"

He hums in thought, bringing a fist to his chin as he thinks about his answer.

He shrugs.

"So-so, but—" he pauses for dramatic effect, the shadow of a grin ghosting on his lips —"I'm feeling a whole lot better since you're here to help me into my old age."

You laugh slightly at his little joke. Arataka's dopey little grin widens with pride, having made you giggle yet again.

Your drinks arrive a little after this, and you can't help but notice the bartender giving you an accusational side eye as he slides the both of you your glasses, seeming to doubt the fact that you and Arataka aren't dating.

"Oh, come now, Arataka—" his heart flutters at the sound of your voice saying his name —"you're not that old." Your grin widens, your tone teasing. "You look a lot older, though."

He lets out an offended half laugh, shoving your shoulder playfully in mock offence. "How mean!" He cries, trying in vain to make his voice sound offended.

It's quiet as you sip your cola slowly, and you're not blind to the way Arataka's eyes follow your tongue as it darts out to get whatever droplets of your drink missed your mouth.

...God, how he wants to taste that sharp, teasing mouth of yours, feel every crevice and crease of your lips as they press into his... How he wants to run his hands through your soft hair as he combs it out of the way of your perfect face, how he wants whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you fall asleep in his arms...

"You should... Really watch that tongue of yours," he warns playfully, his words beginning to slur, fighting to ignore his thoughts. He's barely even had a sip of his drink, and he already looks like he's about to pass out.

He wags a wobbly finger in your face like a mother reprimanding her child. "I might get tired of you and fire you."

You roll your eyes, scoffing.

"Oh, Arataka," you tease, leaning in close — close enough to smell the scent of his expensive cologne, close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, close enough to feel just how hot he is. He grits his teeth, struggling not to close the distance between the two of you as you speak lowly, quietly: for his ears only.

"We both know you like me too much."

And he— he blushes, oh, and he pushes you away with the tip of his unsteady finger to your forehead. You swallow the slight hurt you feel as Arataka replies, his response clumsy as always — more so now that he's drunk. "And we... Both know you like me too much to let yourself... Get fired."

You roll your eyes as he takes another sip of his drink, his mouth set in smug grin as he swirls the liquid in his glass and watches as the ice clinks against the walls of his cup. With each sip he takes, his face gets more flushed, his words get more slurred.

Arataka has an embarrassingly low tolerance to alcohol, and you're witnessing it firsthand. He's feeling it too; that urge to kiss you is a lot stronger than usual...

And though the motion is wobbly, unbalanced, now it's his turn to lean in close. He almost falls on you.

His grin is wide, and though it's lopsided from the alcohol, it still manages to be annoyingly smug, and... Wonderfully endearing, too, like he's trying to make you happy regardless of how his vision blurs and his head pounds. "I'm... Doing you a favour for not... Firing you, you know."

You scoff mockingly at his words, drinking your soda as you grin. "Please, Arataka"— another rush of butterflies to his stomach —"I know I'm far too important to you to just... Get rid of."

You're grinning smugly now, leaning in closer to his face. Your noses are almost touching, and you can almost taste his lips now — the sweetness of alcohol mixing with the sharp mint of his mouthwash, his saliva thick as Arataka swallows. You're not blind to how his unfocused eyes fall down to your mouth for a moment, licking his lips like he's looking at a freshly cooked meal, ready for devouring.

"Ah, but you need to... To remember," he says, leaning away from you, gripping the table in tight hands to stop himself from falling off his barstool. He squints as he talks, trying hard to form the words. "I could totally just do it right now. Nothing's... Stopping me."

You sigh, smiling, rolling your eyes but staying quiet.

Arataka downs the remainder of his drink in one swift gulp, slamming the cup down onto the wooden bar table with a loud thud.

He doesn't order another one, thankfully, because at the rate he's getting drunk, he's bound to pass out or vomit anytime soon. His cheeks are an almost bright red, his eyes half-lidded and glossed over, unfocused as he stares at you; when he breathes, you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Hey, Arataka."

You sip your soda, licking the glass a little to see how he reacts get the drops that missed your mouth. Arataka watches your tongue, almost hungrily so, his gaze unblinking and his breathing shallow.

You want to try and get as many secrets as you can get out of a drunk Arataka, just to have something to either a) tease him about, or b) blackmail him with.

"What do you think about me?" You ask, grinning.

Arataka shifts in his seat, thinking hard about his answer, and doing it for a suspiciously long time. A plan to avoid your question brews, half-finished in his mind.

He gives you a lopsided grin, leaning in with a shaky, unsteady motion, before abruptly jerking away and pressing his hands to his mouth as if he's trying to prevent himself from vomiting. As he hunches over on himself, your face immediately shifts to one of concern, your brows furrowing and your grin disappearing.

"...Arataka? You okay...?" You ask gently, rubbing his back. You've seen him vomit aggressively after taking so much as a sip of alcohol, and you're definitely preparing to wipe bile from the corners of his mouth.

It's quiet for a moment, save for the clinking of glass and the chatter of overlapping conversation.

"I... Eugh." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing as he feels his head pound — and that plan, that drunk one that sober Arataka would definitely not approve of, starts forming more clearly in his mind.

You grow more worried the more you watch, his movements shaky, his words all blending together. He thinks he's doing a pretty good job at looking like he's going to vomit — and since you're acting so worried about him, then he'd wager that his plan is working.

"Arataka, are you okay?" You ask again, your voice firmer, though still retaining that soft, quiet worry. You rub what you hope are soothing circles on his back, and you can see him visibly relax, letting out a long sigh.

"'M fine," he mumbles, swatting your hand away, his eyes struggling to open.

It's working, it's working! Keep going, Arataka!

Just as you're about to speak again, Arataka opens his mouth, faking a retch, and you panic. He falls — definitely not accidentally — straight into your lap, and it takes a moment to register that no vomit has come from his mouth before you hit him playfully on his forehead. His heart skips a beat when you don't push him off, merely just hitting him.

"Ow!" He exclaims, his grin crooked as he struggles to fake a grimace of pain, rubbing the spot you hit him.

"Even when you're drunk, you still manage to annoy me," you grumble, though the amused smile on your face gives away what you're feeling.

You ruffle his hair a little, tangling your fingers in between the delicate golden strands — and he lets out a sigh at your touch, closing his eyes in contentment. Your heart beats faster as you look at him: his flushed cheeks and content, closed eyes, his relaxed body resting in your lap — god, you have to fight yourself not to plant a kiss on his low, pointed nose.

Arataka pries open his eyes when you stop combing through his hair with your fingers.

"What... Can I say," he says slowly, looking at you with a gaze that can only be described as one of a lover's: sweet, tender, and affectionate. "I love... Seeing your smile."

Your heart flutters.

The two of you stay in this position for a while, a position a lot like a couples'. Neither of you complain — if anything, the both of you enjoy it — and it's not long before Arataka's eyes slowly shut, his breathing slowing as he starts to fall asleep in your lap.

You feel butterflies in your stomach when you gaze upon his calm expression: his eyes closed firmly shut, his kissable lips curved in a slight smile, his face relaxed.

The bar is almost empty now, save for three or four people having a conversation at one of the tables in the corner. You can pick up their mumbling: they're talking about the two of you, how Arataka didn't vomit yet, how he used to be a usual at this bar, how he never brought any girls with him until today, and what a surprise that he managed to pull such a pretty one.

"Happy birthday, Arataka," you say — and, smiling, you push those golden bangs out of the way with a hand and plant a firm, chaste kiss on his forehead. It's a kiss you've wanted to give him for a long time, but also one you're forced to keep short, just in case you're overstepping boundaries.

Arataka's eyes snap open and widen considerably, his face flushing even more than you thought was possible. He's speechless for a moment as he brings a shaky hand up to feel where your lips touched him, his heart beating a million times a minute, his breathing quick and shallow.

He just... Stares at you, starry eyed, for a minute, his mouth slightly agape.

He snaps back to reality.

"Again," he says impatiently, his tone demanding as he brings his hand down to rest, clasped with the other, in his lap. "As... The birthday boy, this is... Is my birthday gift from you. Kiss... Me, again."

You smile, letting out a slight chuckle at his slurred demand.

"You're sure you won't regret it tomorrow...?" You ask slowly, playfully, as you rake your fingers through his soft, blonde hair. You know he most definitely will.

Arataka shakes his head vigorously in your lap, though stops immediately when he starts to feel his head pound, wincing.

You just watch him for a moment, combing gentle fingers through his hair, smiling in amusement at his impatience. He whines when you don't do what he asked for yet, just staring at him, and he repeats his demand.

"Kiss me. Right... Here," he mumbles, tapping a shaky finger to his forehead.

You oblige, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin, pushing his bangs aside. He sighs, closing his eyes. And when you pull away, "Again," he says almost immediately.

You happily oblige, kissing him there once more.

He stops for a moment, breathing shakily, before getting up from your lap abruptly and wrapping his arms around you tightly. In the process of doing this, his unsteady movements cause the both of you to fall onto the bar stools beside you, so that Arataka is lying down comfortably on top of you; your noses almost touching, your lips just inches away from each other. He's so... Drunk, and so, so cute...

The bartender gives you a stern look, and you flash him an apologetic smile.

Arataka's eyes, half-lidded, fall down to your mouth, and he brings an unsteady hand to cradle your chin as he runs a shaky thumb over your bottom lip.

"...Can I...?" Arataka asks in a low, mumbly slur, his eyes unblinking as he stares at your lips.

You heart races as you nod, and it's barely a moment before he's pressing his lips tightly to yours, shifting and moving them until they're slotted comfortably against each other. His eyes flutter shut as he gets comfortable lying on top of you, getting more accustomed to the soft cloth of your clothes as he runs a hand down your side, getting more used to the soft strands of your hair that he's been itching to run his fingers through.

Arataka tastes... Sour, mostly from the drink he had a few moments ago. There's the faint, sharp tang of the alcohol, too; a sweet, distinct flavour, a rich undertone to the myriad of tastes you manage to sample as his lips shift against yours.

His lips are cracked, chapped, and dry, but you couldn't care less as he tangles a hand in your hair, the other holding your head in place as he tilts his own head to press his lips even more into yours. He grunts, seemingly not satisfied, and pushes his lips onto yours until the kiss is almost bruising.

Your face is flushed when you break the kiss. Though it's short, sweet, and chaste, it's clear that Arataka wants more. You both do.

Just as he's leaning in to kiss you again, the bartender taps your shoulder, glaring at you sharply and jabbing a thumb in the direction of the door. You blurt out a mumbled apology, scrambling to get up, Arataka nearly falling. As promised, he slips the bartender about one and a half times more money than owed.

You both wordlessly exit the bar, and as you walk, Arataka stumbles behind you. He's unsteady; his path is a winding zigzag in comparison to yours, struggling to keep to a straight line and nearly falling onto the road multiple times — and as a way to counter this, you wrap your arm securely around his waist. Arataka responds by leaning his weight onto you, and you both continue on without much issue or argument.

It's much later in the night now; the cars on the road are whizzing past the two of you, the shops all closed with their shutters pulled down over the windows.

The air is heavy with humidity, and you can feel Arataka's sweat from where he presses himself against you. Arataka himself smells of that familiar sharp, sour smell of sweat; the faint scent of salt; and that sweet, sweet cologne he wears. The fabric of the suit is soft as you grip him tightly, every step he takes making him sway more and more until it's clear he's going to either vomit or pass out.

A few moments later, he calls your name in a mumbly, shaky voice, before hurriedly pushing you off him as he staggers to the drain. Before you know what's going on, you're at his side as he vomits a sickly green bile.

You pat his back reassuringly, now only registering that he's vomiting.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Arataka grins at you, though his eyes are struggling to open and his smile is lopsided.

"We're staying... At your house, right?" He mumbles, though he stumbles slightly, and alarm flashes across his face as he swings his hands about to get balanced before he manages to stand straight again. He widens the skewed grin in his face, trying his absolute best to look charming, and failing. It's still adorable, though.

You snicker, nodding in response.

"Let's go, Arataka."

You slide your arm around his waist, and he leans nearly all his bodyweight on you as the two of you walk to your flat.

The walk is quiet as Arataka struggles not to vomit again, barely being able to stay awake to avoid falling unconscious in your arms — it would be a shame if you held him tenderly and he wasn't there to experience it. Nobody's on the streets, so it's just the two of you, save for a car that comes every so often.

The only sound you can hear is the steady tap, tap, tapping of your shoes on the pavement, followed by the much more unsteady beat of Arataka's shiny black dress shoes as he walks beside you.

Neither of you say anything when you walk, neither of you speak when you unlock your front door, neither of you argue when you lead him to your bedroom.

You set him down on the bed slowly, slipping off his grey coat and undoing his necktie. The whole time you're doing this, Arataka's just... Watching you. His eyes, fixed on you, are glassed over, unfocused — but full of so, so much love.

He doesn't say a word as he gets comfortable in your bed, and when he holds you in his arms, falling asleep, it's silent.

★ ★ ★

thanks for reading!!

second chapter !!

[scruncheduppaper]

not to fandom meta tweet twice in one night but i hope hakita releases treachery soon because SOME of you guys have lost sight on gabriel’s character almost completely like this is unreal. like i think you guys just completely forgot what made him appealing in the first place and just started making shit up on your own

i guess this is more of a symptom of fandom drought more than anything LMFAO… technically we havent gotten any new information or lore about gabriel since act 2 was released and that was years ago so i guess i shouldnt be surprised

anyways dont forget that gabriel killed the entire council with his own bare hands and cut the head off one of them as proof for the Entire Angel Population to see. and conversely the fact that he was regarded as one of the most popular and well beloved angels due to his radiant personality beforehand, his kindness towards the ferrymen, his genuine blind belief in justice and devotion to god

gabriel is the story protagonist of ultrakill

[ricksanchezbignaturals]

interesting choice of words~

yeah, thematically a cyberpunk/rnm crossover would be better with morty as v and rick as johnny, but im too brainrotted about silverv and rickcest so they both have to be ricks soz

my dad asked what i was drawing when i was working on the little thing of c137 playing with x216's hair so i was like "ricks, what else?", and he clowned on me for a bit, joking about me having a crush on him hahahaha you have no idea bro

anyway he was all "you should draw a johnny silverhand rick", because that's the other guy im obsessed with. and man, the stupid grin that popped up on my face because i already had this wip to pull out and show him lmaooo