#this was done so fast man

[duhimright]

i wanna eat her hair so bad

[shepscapades]

Hermit a Day May: Day 8 — xBCrafted!

[cluescorner]

The Council of Optimuses: Pleasant, generally positive, they exiled Bayverse a while ago but they still check in once in a while to make sure he's ok/out of curiosity, Earthspark enables One's 'I can fix him' delusion to the point that Prime is falling into it too, IDW does NOT want to add to the delusion pile so he shuts up, Cyberverse kinda doesn't want to be at this meeting it feels too much like a party, IDW keeps making calls to somebody but he won't tell anyone who, they used to have 'bring your Bumblebee to work day' but Skybound had a breakdown over it so they can't do that anymore, everybody is suspicious of Skybound's new arm but the only person who actually brought it up was Bayverse whose solution was 'kill him' so now everybody thinks they are getting paranoid and should maybe start seeing a therapist (they should start seeing therapists, but they ARE right about the arm).

The Council of Megatrons: They are having a great time even if it looks horrible from the outside looking in, Prime constantly wants to fight IDW for his spot as the strongest Megatron but IDW is not about that, they tried to kick out Earthspark but he somehow keeps getting in (IDW leaves the door open), One has like 5 devils on his shoulder telling him to escalate and two fallen angels who are desperately trying to get across that maybe total destruction isn't the move, IDW is trying to hide his redemption arc in order to keep the situation under control (only Earthspark is aware of it, though Skybound has his suspicions), Cyberverse always tries to kill the others to take over their universes and it's the highlight of everybody's month, Bayverse is mocked for being killed by Optimus but secretly everybody is kinda jealous about it (Prime especially), one time an unidentified Starscream (it was Animated) broke in and it was on sight (he got away because every Megatron wanted to be the one who killed him and they fought each other over it), IDW keeps taking calls from somebody but he won't tell anyone who, Skybound can listen in on his Optimus's meetings due to being his arm and reports back, there is an ongoing debate about whether Galvatrons should be included.

Inspired by @jyang030107 's art of ES and IDW Megs advising their One counterpart.

[yogubog]

ouuughh im turning this into a lock screen wallpaper :3

[ironsoftie]

Once Odysseus is back home. When everything's settled down and he's able to find some semblance of normalcy… Have you thought about how he fares back on Ithaca? Because I have. How some days are so light and easy yet others feel like trying to tread water in a storm-tossed sea.

Maybe you’ve thought of a moment where Odysseus and Telemachus are outside sparring, and Telemachus lands a really good hit? Odysseus laughs off Telemachus’s concerns, clutching his now bruised shoulder, and turns his head to joke that his son would be a better fighter than Eurylochus soon. Instead though, his words taper off and his eyes go slightly unfocused when he realizes the tall, broad-shouldered friend he half expected to see isn't standing there laughing along with him. Where for a split second, Odysseus could swear he smells acrid ozone despite the sky above them being clear and bright?

Or maybe it was a time when Odysseus had been walking with Penelope in one of the markets across Ithaca, only to catch a passing glimpse of a mop of chestnut-colored curls precariously held up by a red band ahead of him? When, for an unending second, his muscles lock in place and the air in his lungs freezes. That is, until the man in front of him turns his head and sorrow comes crashing back down into his bones like a rouge wave. It wasn't the warm and familiar smile of his dear friend Polites greeting him, but that of a stranger.

Maybe it was one of the times where Odysseus finds himself walking the halls of his palace aimlessly, and his eyes find one specific spot on the floor. The same spot where his mother, Anticlea, had once taken a very young Odysseus into her arms to comfort him after he’d taken an unfortunate tumble and broken the skin on the palms of his hands and knees. Stones that had been scrubbed clean of his blood then, only to have been stained afresh with the blood spilled from one of Penelope’s suitors upon his tumultuous return to Ithaca.

Perhaps there was even a time or two where Athena had begged Hypnos to help her friend rest easy after yet another night of Odysseus jolting awake with the same prayers for her aid stumbling their way off of his trembling lips. As if he was still trapped on that island. The island where his desperate prayers for her aid had been able to go no further from its pristine shores than he himself could.

Do you think Odysseus has moments where he cannot quite quell the discomfort in the disconnect of actually being safe and home within himself? After all, he'd argue, how could he when the loss of his men- his friends- still weigh on his mind and body like the Earth weighs on Atlas's shoulders. How could he while the parts of himself he lost, gave up, and had taken from him were scattered across caves, across the underworld, and across so many islands he could almost loose count if not for what had transpired on them? When, sometimes, he doesn’t quite feel fully himself, and wonders if perhaps he was starting to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Moments where everything weighs so heavily upon him that he feels as if all he can do is sit on his balcony and look out across the waves on the horizon. A sight that once brought him such comfort, now only acting as a reminder of what he had done and gone through while sailing its waters.

Or maybe you've thought of something else entirely. Of how Telemachus would fill the quiet that falls between them when his father’s gaze goes distant. Where he begins to share stories from his own childhood until Odysseus’s eyes are clear and focused raptly on him as he speaks so as to not miss a single moment of the tale?

Where all it takes Penelope's hand brushing his hair back from his face as she hums and holds him securely in her arms for the voices of those who aren't there anymore to gently fade to murmurs in the back of his mind? Where she weaves, and he sits nearby and works. Sometimes pausing just watching her hands dance skillfully across the loom, letting the rhythmic sounds relax him.

Where he finds himself tucking the hair behind her ear gently after catching Penelope staring at him as if she also couldn’t fully comprehend that he is back. Or maybe you’ve thought of times during meetings with visitors to their kingdom where he gets lost in thought so Penelope silently snakes her arm around his and clasps his hand in her own to bring him back to himself subtly enough so as to not alert their guests.

How Athena might sometimes fly past the couple's balcony after Odysseus has had a particularly rough day. Where, landing, she’d rest her wings and perch on the balcony’s hand rail just outside of their bedroom, clearly in his line of sight. And there she’d wait to hear Odysseus's sigh as he finally relaxes into the bed below him. How Athena, goddess of wisdom and war, would keep watch and ensure his family’s safety. He didn’t have to be on guard when he was attempting to try and rest. He could trust her to rouse him if he was needed. Of course, she would simply ensure he was never needed on those nights.

Or perhaps you've thought of the times where Odysseus can simply relax and laugh freely with his family. Where he looks at them and finds peace in their smiles and in the familiar halls and rooms of his palace. Where the sea breeze refreshes his mind as he walks around his island. Where he finds himself fondly remembering those that were lost on the journey home, and doesn’t find guilt smothering him for simply thinking of them. Where he stops questioning if this was yet another dream that he’d wake up from once he opened his eyes next.

Where he reaches out and cradles Penelope's face in his calloused and scarred hands, and the soft warmth of her skin and weight of her hands landing on his forearms to simply hold him back settles something fragile in him like balm on a burn he hadn’t known he’d received in the first place.

Maybe it was the first time Telemachus calls him father and Odysseus knows he means it and wasn’t just using the word as a formality. When Odysseus stops being the unreachable legend he was built up to be, and becomes a man and then a father in his son’s eyes.

Where he feels the familiar rush of Athena's approval in his mind after using a particularly good turn of phrase to secure more resources in a trade deal, and can finally accept that he actually has her blessing and favor again.

He doesn't forget all the bad that has happened, but he finds ways to live more in the present than the past that sometimes haunts him.

He struggles. Of course he does. There’s so much that he still deals with; but having Penelope, Telemachus, and Athena around is enough to get through even the worst of days. Healing is slow, yes. But he heals all the same. They all do.

[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 !!

[recurring-polynya]

I'm getting ratio'd by my family for my opinions, so let's see what Tumblr thinks about this:

He has to do it from standing, flat-footed. He cannot do it off of a high object or from standing in mid-air or into a Valley of Screams. He has to stick the landing. He is not allowed time to train or otherwise prepare. He's standing in the dojo and someone comes in and yells "DO A BACKFLIP!!": can he? Assume he is on-board with doing the backflip, i.e., don't pick 'no' on the assumption that he would refuse to do it.

[moongothic]

Kinda started rereading Dressrosa and... Although I always chalked up the similarities between Crocodile's plan to take over Alabasta and how Doflamingo took over Dressrosa as nothing but Oda reusing similar plot elements but in a slightly different way (just to show us what could've become of Alabasta had Croc gotten away with his schemes, what Luffy helped prevent from happening to begin with)...

Robin's reaction to hearing the story of Dressrosa and HOW Doflamingo took over the country, that simple little "...!!", actually does kind of speak volumes

Like if you wanted canonical evidence to Crocodile having been "inspired" by Doflamingo, then yeah, Robin would be The Person who would pick up on that, she'd be the person who'd be like "hey, that story sounds awfully familiar to what Crocodile did", since he was her boss

Do want to note that, timeline-wise, Doflamingo only took over Dressrosa 10 years ago, where as Crocodile had been Scheming and establishing his position as the Hero of Alabasta for 16 years. Like Croc's intent to obtain Pluton and create his military nation utopia absolutely pre-dates Doffy's takeover, so that wasn't and can't have been inspired by Doflamingo at all. It's more just the plan and method Crocodile ended up going with (framing the king (through a bloodbath) and putting the country in a position without a ruler where he could just yoink it for himself with ease) where the similarity becomes more obvious. But it is also kind of where it ends. Doflamingo wanted Dressrosa because he felt like he was entitled to the island (as his family had been its original rulers and he was a Tenryuubito), and was using the island for his own gains (Smile manufacturing etc, for his dealings with Kaidou), all while having a great distain and hatred of the world and how he had been "wronged" (=Tenryuubito rights revoked). Meanwhile... yeah, Crocodile wanted to create a "utopia", only targetting Alabasta because he believed Pluton was there and because Pluton would be needed for his ideal military nation. That minor difference and Crocodile's clear and great distain and hatred of Doflamingo combined...

Yeah, I dunno, this is just interesting to me. God I need Robin and Crocodile to have a lil reunion chat

[idontmindifuforgetme]

HOT DOCTOR HOT DOCTOR HOT DOCTOR HOT DOCTOR

[galakianexplosion]

Flash. Because he won't leave my mind.

This got a bit more detailed then what i was planning but im not complaining. I was planning for this to be more like a well made doodle... well 5 hours and some later and here we are! Also he seems a bit more melancholic then planned, blame my music for that :3

[yallwildinrn]

ID in alt text. Click for better quality.

Please like and/or reblog if you save! Thank you!

These idiot spies have enraptured me in heart and soul, so I just had to make some edits/collages/phone backgrounds for them! Hope y’all enjoy em <3

[lbhslefttiddie]

fruitcake as an enduring tradition makes more sense when you understand that its usually supposed to be lovingly doused in alcohol

[stealingyourbones]

Bones. Bones.

How have you NEVER HEARD of The X-Files before? Very popular 90s TV show. Very. Very. Very Popular. Next you'll tell me you haven't heard of Xena: Warrior Princess.

Yes Mulder/Sculley was a ship. it was Such a huge ship that the ship *coined the phrase shipping*.

that is all thank you for coming to my mini-talk, this has been a brief foray into Fandom History. o7

Simply said, I was born in the 2000s, I don’t think I’ve ever heard X files ever mentioned besides in passing.

When I replied saying I was offline as a kiddo I truly meant it, ya girl only had books, the outdoors, and art as things to do. I think X Files is some supernatural/alien type thing right? That’s why it’s “X Files” because it’s what would be in conspiracy theory type censored government documents???

With the “check back for bites” thing, like are the aliens like zombies?

And what it COINED THE PHRASE SHIPPING? That’s so rad I absolutely have to read the history of that, that’s so incredibly neat my dude holy hell

[izzyshandz]

OFMD SPOILERS !!

Going from being needed to do everything to create a survival space to being able to be a part of a safe space is a lot; and he deserves every ounce of safety this crew provides. izzy is the definition of the person who did everything to survive and now he's finally able to live.

[ya-what--ya-erster]

apparently people like my stupid little APD Darry hc that I originally planned to keep to myself forever?

so like. what if I write about him. cause now I kinda want y’all to all know about this.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

finished hazbin hotel and what the fuck it's actually kind of??? good???