#something about doing it with sincerity and not for theatrics y'know?

[soft-serve-soymilk]

With me trying to apply, yet again, to get my work exhibited, i'm reminded of the censorship that has gone into Inigo this whole year:

He thinks he's responsible for someone's suicide a bearer of misfortune~ I hope it makes him G-rated enough for public display xD

[goldendivinewrath]

@thathollowsound

"I can pay for a bit, if you need me to." There's a brilliantly false smile on Vash's face, but he's sincere about the offer. "Heard you saying something about not getting paid enough, so it's only fair. We're having such a nice time, y'know?"

Okay, maybe not the nicest time, but he'll take sitting and talking over fighting. Bloodshed. Even considering the topic of the conversation. "Guess I wasn't meant for an easy life, huh?" He keeps his tone airy enough, but he can't hold on to that artificial expression, smile falling into something more melancholy. "I understand not having a choice, though. Not now." Implying that he will, eventually.

It is interesting, how much Midvalley understands. How he understands the situation. Not exactly in terms that Vash would use, maybe, and not the most reassuring conclusions, but he can't argue with them. It's still insight that he's grateful for, and he's absolutely sure there's a question on his tongue, something deep and important before he's beaten to the punch--

Vash sputters, and nothing particularly theatrical about it. He almost manages to backhand his glass clear off the bar, but manages to catch it with a mild fumble and no alcohol wasted just before it's a lost cause. "Wha-- He's--" Hm.

Answering doesn't seem wise. Not answering seems worse. The blush heating up his face can't be blamed on the alcohol, but he'll damned well try if it comes up. "Maybe we don't do labels." He suggests over the rim of his glass before taking a very necessary swig. It's too much and not enough, and he can't exactly make extended eye contact after that.

Still, curiosity grabs hold and tugs. He knows it's a mistake to pay attention to that, but... "Were you two--" Okay, wait, no, that's akin to walking up to a straight-down drop and then taking a step right over it, into a canyon-- "Close?" And that certainly does nothing to save him, but another burning swallow might just blunt the realization of impact.

@goldendivinewrath

"Well Goddamn," Midvalley chuckles, swiping his gun back and holstering it, "Shoulda figured you'd rob me blind. I could've bought an entire round of drinks for the amount those bullets cost me, but alright. Keep them as a souvenir." He winks, then realizes the barrel's empty, so he quickly keeps it off to the side and reloads it before putting it away.

His fingers rap on the bar top once again before he rests his elbow on it, and his head on his hand. He's thinking, contemplating as he stares at the blond with fool's gold in his eyes.

"Well that's a valiant motivation, Mr. Wanted Man. Unfortunately, my decisions are out of my control if I want to survive," he muses pensively, "As much as I wish I could say you have the whole of humanity on your side, I'm not so sure that's true, considerin' they want you dead and all."

He hums, closing his eyes for a moment. "So it seems you're waging a two-front war with only a handful of people at your side, and you say it's for the sake of humanity—which it is," Midvalley sips his drink til he hits ice, then continues, "Sure would be nice if you had the stones to win. Bet your life would be easier if people actually believed in you."

"Which brings me to my next topic," he snickers, raising his head from the bar, "What is that undertaker to you, anyway? No angle this time, just want to know the latest tabloids about Vash the Stampede and the mysterious priest he's holdin' hands with."

The musician raises his glass, taking an ice cube into his mouth.

"You two are cute together, I'll give you that much."

[mysterioh]

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 8

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

Synopsis: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge in art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

The Language of the Arts

This is awkward. 

“So,” you spoke up, eyes strictly focused on the painting in front of you, hating the silence standing in between. “Nice weather we’re having." 

"Yeah,” Steve said, his voice was stiff with a hint of nervousness. “Really cold." 

"You like winter?" 

"No, not really.”

“I do,” you said, folding your hands behind your back and tiptoeing up and down. “It’s a great time to do cozy things, y'know? Like watching movies and drinking hot cocoa." 

"I guess it’s nice if you think of it that way,” he shrugged with a small smile. “I usually just think of how cold and dark it is." 

"I like that too, to be honest,” you replied. “I don’t know why, but I just do." 

"All the more reason to do cozy things I suppose?” he chuckled in your direction. 

You turn to him and smile. “Yeah, I guess so." 

His gaze lingers for a while before he snaps his head back towards the painting like he forgot he wasn’t supposed to be staring. Your smile falters a bit and it’s kind of annoying how different he’s acting. You liked the obnoxious version of him more.  

"So, uh,” he clears his throat, “how ya been?" 

"Good,” you nodded. “You?" 

He shrugged. Miserable "I’m fine,” he replied. “How’s your boyfriend?” He asked, straining to sound nice. 

“Oh, he’s fine,” you said. 

It’s awkward again and neither of you knows what to do. He just had to be there when you had to be there. In a city of over two million, the odds of meeting the same stranger more than once were less than likely and yet you’ve met this oaf far more times than you needed to. The universe was scheming something.

“Another art project?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “I wouldn’t be here if  it wasn’t." 

"Your hatred for art is something I’ll never understand,” he shook his head. 

“People like different things. I don’t like art, deal with it,” you jabbed. 

Steve puts his hands up in defense. “I’m just saying. It’s just, I don’t know – when I see something like this there’s this bubbly feeling I get on the inside. And it just doesn’t make sense to me that someone can’t see it the way I do." 

"I know how you feel,” you said. “But with science." 

Steve’s shoulders drop. "But science is boring." 

"It is not!” You retorted then sighed. “I guess someone as simple-minded as you wouldn’t get it,” you shake your head. 

“Or maybe someone as close-minded as you wouldn’t understand where I’m coming from,” he snapped back playfully. 

“I am not close-minded!" 

"Yes, you are,” Steve said. “You don’t actually try to connect with the art. You’re just trying to get an A. Maybe if you open your mind a bit and really let the art speak to you, you’ll appreciate it more and even get a better grade." 

"Are you trying to tell me I’m stupid?" 

"Not in the least,” he said with a chuckle coloring his words. “You’re probably really smart, smarter than me. All I’m trying to say is that maybe you should try stepping out of your comfort zone? Try something you don’t like or want to do. You never know you might actually like it." 

He gives you a charmingly crooked smile as he urges you to try it. You pry away from his gaze with a huff. He hit the mark when he said you needed to get out of your comfort zone, but he didn’t need to call you out on it. 

"Fine,” you replied with a groan, returning to the painting. He smiled gently before speaking.  

“Pygmalion and Galatea by Jean Leon Gerome,” he said. “I personally find this painting filled with passion for obvious reasons. The way he kisses her as she transforms into a human. His dreams come true at that moment. He’s never felt more alive in his life." 

"Personally, I think he’s a jerk. I know the story of Pygmalion and Galatea. I used to be really into mythology a while back,” you told him. “Pygmalion was a self-imposed lonely sculptor. He didn’t like mortal women because he thought they were flawed so he made a statue of what a perfect woman should be like. Aphrodite noticed how much he loved the statue so she brought her to life." 

Steve chuckled. "Then what do you think the painting’s about?" 

"Male superiority.” You stated, looking into the picture. “Look at how pure and delicate Galatea looks, isn’t that every man’s dream girl?" 

"I see where you’re coming from,” Steve chimed in. “Notice the sculptures in the back. One is of a woman with her child which could represent the role of a mother that’s pressed upon them. The other is of a woman looking into a mirror and I think that symbolizes vanity. How women only really need to worry about their appearance and how it should please men. It’s how society wants us to be or at least in a man’s eye.”

“Then there’s Pygmalion, muscular and thriving in his own creativity and imagination. The ideal for any man at the time,” you put your hands on your hips. You know the more we keep talking about this, the more I’m starting to hate it.“ 

"Nothing wrong with that,” Steve shrugged. “I thought that was rather impressive - coming from you that is." 

You growl under your breath and push him off balance. He chuckles, only making you cross your arms annoyed. 

"I actually see it differently,” Steve said. 

You raise a brow and turn to him. “How so?" 

"It’s like the roles have been switched. Pygmalion’s reaching up to Galatea since she’s up on a pedestal. While she has to crouch down for his affection. Although we can’t ignore the fact that she is his creation, we know she possesses all of his love because he’s invested every part of him into her. His heart, soul, and mind, it all belongs to her. She possesses his idolization and can make him do whatever she wants,” he said. 

You bring a hand to your cheek. “That makes sense. I like that interpretation more." 

"It makes you feel pity for Pygmalion almost. He’s blind and naive in his devotion to her. If that was the painter’s intent, I think he did a good job by adding the theatrical masks in the corner.” You pointed. “Cause it isn’t reality. The emotions when you’re on stage are only skin deep.  Even if Galatea may show love and affection towards Pygmalion, it’s not real and it never will be. Whatever emotions she holds will always be artificial. But the way he kisses and holds her shows that he believes Galatea’s love is sincere, and it makes you pity the guy. Everyone has a weakness and his is the desire to love." 

"I feel exposed,” Steve mumbled. 

“What?" 

"Nothing,” he said. “I’m honestly amazed by your analysis." 

You snorted. "I’m smarter than you, remember?” You teased and he rolled his eyes. “And thanks to you I don’t have to bang my head against the wall for the next three hours. Thanks, I guess you were right. I ended up liking it,” you said with a sheepish smile. 

“I’m glad I could help." 

Your eyes lock with his and you really look at them. Like it’s the first time you’ve seen him. You noticed the way his eyebrows raised a centimeter or two, lined between confusion and wonderment, his eyes twinkled in amusement as if he knew something you didn’t. They were like the ocean, so full of life yet so uncertain. The blue-green hue residing within pulling you deeper into the currents. 

Staring isn’t exactly the word Steve would use. Your eyes rest, not unblinking but slowed; the effect is soft and inviting instead of harsh. Perhaps it’s your lips that give away the intention, not quite smiling but tilting as if they do. 

As if you’re telling him to stay a little longer. It’s unspoken, but sometimes words aren’t needed. And he’d stay if you wanted him to, let you pull him deeper into the vast expanse of your eyes, glazed like honey and warmer than a summer breeze. 

He snapped out of his thoughts. There he goes again. Your lips part to say something, but Steve says something first. 

"I should go,” he said. 

“Oh,” you said in disappointment. “Thanks for helping,” you give him a smile. “See ya around then?" 

"Yeah, just be careful next time?" 

"I’ll make sure to,” you chuckled. “Have a nice day.”

He turned on his heel and waved goodbye. You smiled at him and waved back. The minute he turns away from you completely, the smiles on both of your faces fall instantly and it’s like you’ve lost something you never had.  

“Sweetheart, I ain’t a bad guy. I’ll be nothing but good to you." 

His smooth voice whistled in your ears. Another groan escaped your lips and you slammed your head against the cool metal surface of the kitchen table. 

Usually, the kitchen at Urban Remedy was a chaotic mess. Complete with shouting chefs and frolicking waitresses, sizzling pans and the clatter of dishes. But as the day began to wind down, so did business allowing its workers to catch a break. 

"I know this isn’t the best place to work, but-” your head shot up at the sound of your boss’ sassy voice. 

“Oh no,” you replied sheepishly. “I was just-" 

"I’m just joking,” May chuckled. She leaned over the table. “What’s wrong sister? Someone didn’t tip you well enough?" 

"No, it’s not that,” you chuckled while sitting straight up. “Just life I guess." 

"Lemme guess it’s a guy,” she laid it on the table. Your cheeks heated. 

“Dost mine ears deceive me?” Wanda popped her head in through the door. “Our residential man-hater has a guy problem?" 

"Where did you come from?" 

"I have super hearing,” the girl said, taking a seat next to you. She shakes your arm in excitement. “Now spill." 

"First off, it’s not a guy,” you lied. “I’m just in a bind is all." 

"Sweetheart,” May said, “you’re not fooling anyone." 

"It’s not!” You insisted. 

They replied with doubtful looks and a roll of the eyes. 

“It’s that cute guy that comes to visit sometimes, right?” Wanda asked. “The one with the old man name?" 

You snorted. "No, Quentin is Quentin. He’s not a guy." 

"So there is a guy, but he’s not your friend,” May conjectured. 

You exhaled deeply, feeling annoyed by them and yourself. 

“Okay, there’s a guy,” you grumbled. 

Wanda bounced in her chair while clapping her hands. “I knew it! Is he cute?" 

"I don’t know!” you retorted. Your eyes flit towards May and she’s smiling, pulling all the juicy details out of you. “Okay, maybe a little,” you mumbled and they giggled like children “But I don’t like him or anything!" 

"He wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t,” May smirked, resting her chin in her hand. 

“It’s not like that,” you look away with a sigh. “You ever just want to stay away from something but end up getting closer? Like you want nothing to do with them but they pull you in regardless?" 

"Me with cats,” Wanda said. You turn to her puzzled. “What? I’m allergic to cats, but they’re so cute." 

"Seems like you’re in quite the predicament,” May chuckled. 

“You know a way out?" 

"Nope,” she deadpanned, “but you better get yourself out there cause I just heard the door open.” She pointed behind her with a chuckle. 

You stand with a groan and make your way to the front. 

“Hey,” Wanda called you back, “I think you should just follow your heart.” You rolled your eyes. If that isn’t the stupidest thing -“I know what you’re thinking but try it out? I mean it might be uncomfy at first but it could be worth it?" 

You shoot her a smile and a nod. "I’ll try,” you said pushing past the door and into the hall, to find a boy standing by the counter with his back to you. 

“Welcome in, how can I help you?” you asked as you approached him. 

The boy turned and you could’ve sworn you’ve seen him before. And by the way he looks at you, mouth agape and eyes wide, you probably did. 

It’s like Peter’s memory has been swiped clean and he doesn’t even know what language is anymore as he stands in front of you.

“Uhm?” You asked, totally not judging him.  

“Oh Peter,” May said from behind you. “You’re here!" 

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[souloben]

meaning [scott mccall]

Y/N was walking down the dimly lit streets, the strong scent of petrol lingering in the air. She usually went for a walk when she felt stressed or upset, and today was one of those days.

Where she walked and when didn't really matter, all that she aimed to do was clear her mind. And this time, she was trying to get her head around her feelings for Scott Mccall. The kind hearted, puppy eyed boy had completely changed her outlook on relationships, and he was the only person who had ever made her feel like she could spend the rest of her life with him.

You could say that commitment was a great fear for Y/N. In fact, she was known by her friends as 'the least likely to get married, or be in a relationship for longer than a week', and this fact was fairly set in stone until Scott came into her life.

She didn't have any inkling of doubt about her feelings for him, not at all, but she was scared. Deep down, underneath the walls she put up around her, she feared rejection and she feared letting someone in, because she just couldn't open her heart and have it broken. It wasn't that she wanted to not love Scott, she just didn't know how to love him.

Y/N's thoughts were quickly interrupted as a familiarly blue jeep pulled up on the side of the road, causing her to jump. She let out a mostly relieved sigh as Stiles rolled down the window and poked his head out, grinning cheesily.

"Hey, Y/N-" He started. "If you're asking me to come watch Scott get his tattoo again, no's my answer. You both know I hate blood." She told her friend, folding her arms.

Stiles closed his eyes, groaning dramatically. "Aw come on, Scott really wants the support, y'know? He needs you there." He told her, gesturing theatrically.

The boy in question poked his head out of the window next to Stiles, showing off his bandaged arm. "Hey Y/N! I got the tattoo." He exclaimed happily, blissfully unaware of his best friend's eye roll. "Thank you, so much for that."

Y/N let out a light laugh, grinning at Scott's unabashed excitement. Stiles gestured for her to get in, smirking. "You guys are too cute."

Y/N climbed into the vehicle, piling into the backseat. Scott turned to face her from the passenger's seat, a wide smile still on his face. After a few seconds of glances and silence, she rolled her eyes. "Well come on then!" She exclaimed.

Scott furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "Oh, uh.." She raised an eyebrow and began to drag him onto the backseat, Titanic style. They both laughed as he awkwardly sat down next to her. "I think you were better off not coming, Y/N." He told her, smiling. "Yeah, I fainted." Stiles added, starting up the jeep.

She touched the bandage wrapped around his arm, feeling the strong muscle underneath. "Does it hurt?" Scott shrugged. "Only a little bit." They shared a look between them, her eyes locked onto his warm brown ones. The corners of his mouth turned up, his chocolaty-brown orbs for eyes lighting up.

They were literally inches away from their lips meeting, and in that moment Y/N had never wanted anything more. Stiles turned his head to look at them for a second, smiling and retracting his gaze back to the road as he felt it was a private moment between Scott and Y/N.

Scott screwed his face up in pain, wincing. "What's wrong?" She asked him, concerned. He frowned at the bandage. "I don't think it's supposed to feel like this." He yelped in pain, shaking his head. "Nope, definitely isn't supposed to hurt this much." Y/N groaned in disgust as he began to tear off the bandage, muffling a yell of pain.

"Oh, Scott.. Scott!" She muttered, close to gagging. Scott returned his gaze to his now bare arm, his mouth a perfect 'o' as the tattoo faded quickly. Within a matter of seconds, the ink had completely disappeared and his expression was pained. "Aw, no!" The pair of them stared at his arm, eyes wide.

"Oh thank god, I hated it." Came Stiles's voice from the driver's seat. Scott looked at him as if he'd been betrayed. "Sorry."

Y/N squeezed his hand comfortingly, reveling in his familiar warmth. "Wanna tell me what the tattoo was?" She asked the now non-existent-tattoo-mourning Scott. He sighed. "It was two bands.." She looked at him questioningly. "What- what did it mean?" She asked, smiling when Scott held her hand tightly.

"It was just supposed to be there, you know? Leave a mark, symbolize a part of my life." He told her, looking into her eyes and not breaking his gaze. "So like, something durable, something everlasting?" She asked him slowly, her heart pounding out of her chest.

"Yeah, that. Exactly that, actually." He grinned, his smile melting her heart. Y/N took a deep breath, slowly opening her eyes again. "I think.." She stopped to rethink her words. "That's how I feel about you."

Silence. No words, nothing. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. "R-really?" Scott exclaimed, breathing out slowly. Y/N nodded, her expression sincere. She awaited what was about to come with baited breath, so nervous she almost wanted to stop the jeep and get out.

"I love you, too." He replied, not waiting a moment longer to kiss her. Y/N felt herself melt into the kiss, the feeling of it more incredible than she could have ever imagined. He tasted like sugar and everything sweet, his lips velvety and soft.

She pulled him closer, running her hands through his soft hair. "Holy freaking god you two, get a room." Stiles exclaimed, his words meant with affection. Y/N gave him the middle finger, encouraging a laugh from Scott in between kisses. "You stole that from a movie," Stiles pointed out, rolling his eyes for the twentieth time that night.

When the two of them broke apart to catch their breath, Scott cupped her cheek with his hand, smiling. "I am so glad Stiles pulled the jeep over." He told her, grinning even wider. Y/N had never felt happier.

"You're welcome, Scotty Boy."

★