#i draw for a living for god's sake i have no other skills!

[writerslittlelibrary]

So, I'm not a prisoner?

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 extra

summary: you did not expect that your mission to take down the traitor, could end in such a difficult situation for you…

pairing: Natasha x Red Room teen reader

warnings: fighting, weapons, stabbing, blood, implied sexual abuse

genre: fluff, angst

words: 3073

a/n: I wanted to do a fic like this for so long!!!! anyway, I just kept scouting tumblr trying to find fics like this, so I figured I’d finally write one myself :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

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A quick in and out. That was your mission. How on earth did you manage to screw it up so bad. In and out. Assassinate the traitor and come right back. 

Dreykov would’ve been so proud. 

But that didn’t happen. No. Every single aspect about that night failed to go according to plan. You snuck into the event Stark had hosted, was able to blend in with the other party goers, and you were able to hide when most of the people started to leave. 

Once it was just the Avengers left, you stayed in your hiding spot, observing them. You were here to kill Natasha Romanoff, and Natasha Romanoff only. 

You could not afford any casualties, so you had it all planned out. 

You’d wait until the Avengers would leave, and you’d take Natasha out before she could make it to her living quarters. You knew that once she made it to the living space of the Avengers tower, getting to her would be a lot harder. 

However, against all odds, Natasha excused herself from the group quite early, saying she wanted to get a good nights sleep. 

You internally cursed yourself, hating that this wasn’t something that you had planned for. 

Around the couches were still some Avengers sat. You recognised all of them. Clint Barton shouldn’t be too much trouble. He was only a guy who’s good with a bow. For Maria Hill could be said the same thing, except she’s very skilled with a gun.

No, you were worried about the other Avengers still seated. Tony Stark could call upon his armour in mere seconds. Thor had the power of thunder for god’s sake. Wanda Maximoff has exceptional powers, and therefor, if you were to attack with her still in the room, you’d be immobilised in an instant. 

You were fairly certain you didn’t need to worry much about Bruce Banner. Sure, he could turn into the Hulk, but he didn’t turn often, and lately, the Hulk hasn’t been spotted in the battlefield, meaning he probably had many trouble turning into him. 

Pietro Maximoff shouldn’t bring you a lot of trouble either. 

Your main concern were Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. One Super Soldier you could handle, but two? While fighting the rest of the Avengers? That wasn’t going to work. 

Lucky for you, Wanda Maximoff had excused herself from the gathering a while ago. If you didn’t make to much noise, she wouldn’t be much of a problem. You could be outside before she’d even make it to the party deck. 

Your original plan was to just wait. Natasha Romanoff would have usually sat through a party until far into the evening. You’d know, you’ve been watching her for weeks. 

However, now that Romanoff has announced she was returning to her bedroom, a slight panic ran through your body. 

Dreykov gave your 5 weeks to finish this assignment. That’s longer than any assignment you’d ever been on. You could not disappoint him with this. You had to kill the traitor. 

You figured now was your only chance, and so, as Natasha Romanoff made her way towards the elevator, you followed her. 

However, not even to your surprise, she stopped in the middle of the hallway. 

“You know I’m an assassin, too? You’re good, but you’re not un noticeable,” she states, calmly turning around, being met with a gun to your face. The moment she stopped, you were wise enough to draw your gun, holding her at gunpoint for any sudden movements. 

You could see a slight surprise appear on her face, before her face returned to her poker face once again. 

“You’re just a child…” Natasha spoke slowly, seeming almost disappointed. 

“You’re a traitor,” you spoke, loading the gun, taking a step closer. Natasha simply shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she spoke, before leaping towards you. You shot your gun, but Natasha was too fast, avoiding your gunfire as she ran past you, back to the other Avengers. 

How on earth could you have missed that shot? She was right there.

Pathetic. 

You don’t hesitate to run after her, determined to finish this tonight. 

Very much not to your surprise, the moment you run back into the party hall, the Avengers are already standing up and ready. Ready to fight you.

You don’t hesitate to move forwards, and after fighting Clint Barton for mere seconds, you quickly realise they have no intention of hurting you. You could use that to your advantage, and you do.

You kick Barton hard, leaving him on the floor, heaving for air as you move forward, taking on Maria. 

However, the moment you get close to Maria, two strong arms wrap around your body, pulling you back. They’re holding you tightly, and it doesn’t feel like they’re planning to let go. 

You struggle in the hold, fighting against who ever is holding you as you try to break free. A small panic runs through your body. The fear of being captured by the Avengers taking place in your mind. You do not fear the Avengers, but the thought of being seen as a traitor by Dreykov hurts your heart more than words could describe. 

“Stop struggling. We can help you,” you hear a voice behind you speak, and you soon come to realise the person you’re fighting is Captain America himself. 

No wonder you couldn’t get loose. 

Knowing it’s a Super Soldier, you’re quick to outsmart him, making him think you’re getting tired, relaxing your body is his hold. Because of this, the Captain lightens his grip a bit, giving you enough room to wiggle your arm free, moving it backwards to hit him in the face with your elbow. 

Because of the surprise, he lets you go, allowing you to stand again. 

The moment your feet hit the ground, you dash forward, holding up your knife as you use everyone’s shock to your advantage. 

Everyone is surprised by your capability of escaping Steve’s grasp, not realising your already moving towards Natasha again. You reach her quickly, stabbing your knife into her stomach as far as it can go. 

Natasha gasps, and you pull the knife out, watching as all the blood starts to seep from her stomach. 

Slowly, Natasha sinks to the ground, Maria catching her, helping her down. 

You move towards Natasha again, determined to get the job finished, but are quickly stopped by another pair of arms wrapping around your waist. You immediately recognise the metal arm, knowing that the Winter Soldier holds you in his grasp. You can’t escape him. You never have. 

He pulls you backwards, pushing you to the ground as he tries to punch you. However, you regain yourself quickly, rolling away from under him and kicking him in the face. 

Suddenly, you’re moved across the room. You forgot the damn speedster…

You raise your knife quickly, stabbing him before he has a chance to make another move. 

“PIETRO!” you hear a voice yell, and you turn your head to the right. Shit. Wanda Maximoff must have heard the commotion and went down to take a look. You have to get out of there. You will never win a fight with her.

You move quickly, running towards the stairs. However, before you could reach them, you felt a stabbing pain in your left shoulder, the sound of a gun shot following soon after. You had been shot. Bucky Barnes had shot you in an attempt to slow you down. 

But you didn’t let it. 

Instead, you went towards the stairs a little quicker, dashing down the hundreds of flights of stairs to get to the main floor. 

Of course, all SHIELD agents on the main floor were already expecting you, and you were followed by Steve Rogers, but you were quicker than him. You knew that. 

You dashed past all the SHIELD agents, avoiding their gun fire as you made it towards an emergency exit. 

The moment you stepped outside, you started your escape route. You already planned it, knowing exactly which way to go, no matter which way you would exit. 

Steve followed you outside, but the moment he set foot outside the door, you were gone. You had disappeared into the night, leaving no trace. 

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

Back in the Avengers tower, the team was recovering from your attack. Natasha was in bad shape. Your strike had been an attempt to murder her, and you didn’t miss any organs as you pierced your blade through her abdomen. 

Pietro was much better. He was back on his feet quickly, seeing as though you stabbing him hadn’t been a murder attempt. You merely wanted to distract him. 

It didn’t take long for Natasha to get back on her feet either, even though she was advised to stay on bed rest after the surgery. 

Natasha was determined to find you, and she quickly got to work. 

Even though you had made it out of the Avengers tower quickly, you were still hurt, and some of you blood had fallen on the floor as you made your escape towards the stairs. Clint and Maria had collected that blood, running multiple tests, only to find out you were not registered anywhere. 

There was no record of your existence. Were you just another ghost story?

What they did find were traces of the Super Soldier serum. However, they were modified, almost as if they were genetically a part of your system. 

Did that mean you were just another Hydra experiment? Natasha did hear you calling her a traitor. That had to mean you knew Dreykov, right? Who else viewed her as a traitor. I would make sense. Sending a modified teenage assassin after her, knowing Natasha was above killing children. 

Even in the Red Room, she always hesitated when sparring against the younger students. 

Dreykov must have had a lot of faith in you to send you after her. Natasha can only hope you’re not a graduate yet…

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

After the incident in the Avengers tower, you had fled to Germany. You figured it was best to leave the United States completely. And why would they ever search for you in Germany? 

You had rented an apartment, loving the small town you had chosen. Dreykov had given you 5 weeks to finish the assignment, and now, you had only 1 week left. There is now way that you’re going to succeed in killing Natasha within the week. 

They know you are after her now, and they will be prepared for you to make a return. You screwed it up.

Sloppy. 

Right now, you were just heading back to your apartment. You had taken a walk, deciding to make the most out of the freedom you had in the moment. The week would be over soon, and the moment Dreykov would send for your return you are certain you will not be seeing daylight any time soon. 

After you arrived in the apartment building, you instantly felt watched. 

Had the Avengers found you?

You made your way up to your apartment, pushing the key into the lock and walking through the small hallway. Someone was in here, you could feel it. 

You walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water, keeping your back towards the living room. 

“There are not a lot of places to hide in this apartment,” you spoke aloud into the emptiness of the apartment. Soon you heard a set of footsteps, and you felt another presence enter the room. 

“You’re very skilled for your age,” you heard a voice behind you say, and you immediately recognised it as Natasha’s. 

“And you are stronger than you look. I mean, even for you, I didn’t expect you to be on your feet so quickly,” you stated, turning around slowly. Natasha wasn’t holding a weapon in your face, something you were definitely expecting. 

You scanned her quickly, seeing the weapons she held on her belt. 

She didn’t come unarmed. Good. She’d be stupid to. 

“I don’t mean you any harm,” Natasha said, taking a small step forward as she held her hands in the air, showing you her every movement. 

You didn’t look impressed, instead just staring at her as she moved. 

“Then you are a fool,” you told her, and you spotted a small smirk flashing over Natasha’s face. “And you are very full of yourself,” she said, moving towards the kitchen island, leaning on it. 

“I can’t say I blame you. You took on a lot of the Avengers on your own. Even two Super Soldiers. That’s impressive,” she stated, giving you a small smile. You didn’t return it. 

“What? Jealous someone better took your place when you betrayed us,” you asked Natasha, determined to get on her nerves.

Natasha’s smile dropped quickly. 

“Quite the opposite, actually. I hoped no one would ever have to go through it again,” she told you, a hint of regret almost identifiable in her expression. Now it was your time to give her a small smile. 

“You think you’re so important that everything should’ve ended with you?” you asked her, moving towards the kitchen island as well, setting your glass down, still holding onto it. 

Natasha shook her head.

“What I am curious about, however, is the genetic Super Soldier serum that runs through your DNA,” Natasha paused, adjusting her stance before speaking again. “Tell me, was your dad a Super Soldier?” 

You let out a huff of amusement, surprising Natasha. 

“You think I believe you’re just here for a conversation? There are SHIELD agents placed on every corner of every street. Don’t think I didn’t notice it. The lovely young couple, drinking coffee at the restaurant downstairs? Amazing disguise, if you were trying to trick nine year olds,” you stated, finishing your glass of water. 

Natasha smiles, clearly impressed with your observations. 

“You’re right. I’m not here for just a conversation, although I do hope we can prevent violence,” Natasha started, but before she could continue you interrupted her. 

“You’re here to bring me in.” 

Natasha nodded, and the look on her face was almost apologetic. 

“No one needs to get hurt. If you just come with me, there’s a big chance you could avoid confinement,” Natasha explained, yet you just scoffed and shook your head. 

“Avoid confinement? Yeah right. There is no way, that after what I have done, your people won’t lock me away.” 

“I can be very persuasive,” Natasha simply replied. 

There was a small silence. Natasha knew you were debating your options. You didn’t seem like a brainwashed sheep. She knew that you knew better than trusting Dreykov’s lies. Sure, you still believed she was a traitor, but there is no way that you didn’t see that what Dreykov is doing is wrong. 

“You know going back after a failed mission will result in punishment,” Natasha started, trying to get through to you. Trying to give you that little push you needed to go with her. “If you go with me, you’ll never be punished like that ever again,” she finished. 

You looked up, deep in thought.

“How could you be so sure?” you asked her, and Natasha didn’t hesitate to respond. 

“We can keep you safe-”

“I found you. I nearly killed you. Who’s to say some other Widow won’t come after me as well?” you replied, and Natasha gave you another small smile. 

“I escaped the Red Room when I was 20,” Natasha started. “It took him 12 years to send someone after me. We will make sure we’ll take him down before he even has the chance to come after you.” 

“How many times, did you try to kill him, exactly? Because I believe you attempted his murder twice already, both of which you failed. You blew him up in Budapest, and then another time when you took the air facility down. Do you honestly think you’ll succeed now?”

Natasha shook her head, seemingly recollecting her thoughts. 

“I failed twice, and that was sloppy, but both times I didn’t have the Avengers on my side. You ran the moment you saw Wanda. You know what she is capable of. Taking down the Red Room for good shouldn’t be too difficult with the Avengers on our side,” Natasha explained, yet you just shook your head. 

“I’m not like you,” you told her, yet Natasha just looked at you in confusion. 

“I’m not some disposable widow like you were. I’m more important,” you explained, and Natasha gave you a sad smile.

“Everyone is just a disposable widow to him,” she started, but you interrupted her. 

“I’m not. You tested my blood. You know I carry the Super Soldier serum. I’m not just some girl he picked up from the streets,” you explained, and Natasha gave you a small nod, encouraging to keep going. 

“I can’t explain it, but he won’t just let me walk. He put too much time in my creation. He would never just let it go to waste,” you finished, looking down, avoiding Natasha’s gaze as you turned around, putting your glass by the sink. 

“We’ll help you. I know that we can,” Natasha tried. 

“Is it worth the risk? My life is not great, but it’s not terrible either. Dreykov values me, and I am not treated like a piece of meat, unlike you might suspect.” 

“So the punishment is worth it, then? Knowing that in three days time, Dreykov will have you be recollected, and once you return to the Red Room, you’ll be punished severely for a failed mission,” Natasha paused, allowing you to let her words sink in. 

“Or, in three days time, you could know you can go to bed without worrying about someone joining. You could know you can be safe, and sleep through the night without anyone disrupting you. Knowing that, is the choice really that hard?” Natasha finished, and you were almost at your breaking point. 

Was it worth it? Was going back the best decision? Dreykov would hurt you, you knew that, but you deserved it. Didn’t you? 

“Please, just come with me. We can help,” Natasha spoke, nearly begged. 

You sighed deeply. 

“Fine, but if you put me in a cell, I will go on a murder streak,” you told her, and Natasha let out a chuckle, before seeing your facial expression, and realising you were dead serious. 

“Duly noted,” Natasha said, before motioning you towards the door. 

What had you done…

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @simp-erformarvelwomen @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @mxximoffswifey

[spoonsock]

Intruder

Gwen Stacy x Reader

Synopsis: You live a boring life, someone breaks into your house and you successfully convince yourself you are schizophrenic lmao

I don’t think I’ve specified reader’s gender anywhere so I guess this is gender neutral but I haven’t proofread it so I’m not sure srry

Warnings: Absolute shitty writing and mentions of an injury I guess. NOT PROOFREAD I WROTE THIS AT 3AM I SWEAR TO GOD THIS IS AWFUL!!!!!

“Best years of your life”, they would say. And you would listen. Daydreaming about adolescence and what it would be like. But no amount of daydreaming or storytelling could prepare you for what you were about to experience. Nobody told you you were going to have to face the inevitable, deadly boredom.

It’s summer, for God’s sake. You were supposed to be going out, having fun, getting drunk or high, partying or something of the sorts. And yet, here you are, laying on your bed and staring at the ceiling. It’s not late, the sun is just setting and still, you are in your pajamas. Just laying there, blankly staring at the big, white ceiling. You blink every so often. It’s pathetic. Frustrating. There’s so many things you wanna do, so many things you could do. You wonder, “what’s stopping me?”…. Oh yeah. You have no social life nor the social skills to be going out almost every night. Your best friend is your cat, the only people who text you are your parents, in school you barely talk to your roommate, even less to the people from your classes. You go to this prestigious school and study your ass off day and night to pass your classes, just like everyone else there. You doubt anyone from your school, even those with average grades, have a social life.

But all of that doesn’t matter now tho. It’s summer. No school, no pressure, no work. Just chilling all day. Having fun during the night. Not you though. You are once again starting at your goddamn ceiling, not moving an inch. Your parents aren’t at home, and won’t be back anytime soon. “I could throw a party”… you laugh at the thought. Tonight is just like any other night. You’ll listen to your music or draw or do whatever and then go to bed at 9 PM. How pathetic.

You close your eyes. Your chest is moving up and down while you breathe steadily. You slowly drift to sleep, thinking about how peaceful life is currently.

Fate is a funny thing. You say something along the lines “life is peaceful”, and the next moment, the window in the room next to yours, your sibling’s room, shatters into thousands of tiny pieces of glass everywhere across your room. Someone broke into your house. Your eyes are now wide open and breathing is fast and unsteady. You’re literally frozen and grasping at the sheets on your bed, scared to make sudden move or to let out a single noise. You can hear someone trashing around in the room, stumbling, stomping, kicking. You can even hear the person very silently curse a few times. The fuck are they doing? Some time passes by, the noises the person was making stopped. “Maybe they left? I need to check”.

You decide to muster up some courage to sit up, and grab a pair of scissors from your work table with shaky hands. You have no idea what you can do with those scissors, honestly, they are not even that sharp, but you do feel a little safer while holding them. Afraid to make a sound, you move on the very tips of your toes, one step at a time, carefully listening in case you hear something from the other room. You press your ear onto the door of it, trying to figure out if there’s someone there. Your hands are still shaking and sweaty from the nervousness. Nothing. Not a single sound. “They must have left”

You grip your scissors in one hand and put your palm over the door handle, before slowly pressing down and opening the door quietly. You peer inside the dark room, the only light is coming from your own through the crack between the door and the wall. The more you open the door, the more of the light comes in. Suddenly, you see something move in the dark.

“Who’s there?” You tried to sound confident, but it didn’t really work as your voice broke when you tried to speak.

No answer. Holding the scissors closer and tighter, you open the door fully to lighten the whole room. Someone is laying on the floor. Someone dressed up in a white costume or something like that. You come closer and squint your eyes trying to see who is that.

“Is that….? No, it can’t be”

Yeah, yes it can be. The spider-woman, or Ghost spider as some called her, in the flesh. In your house. Bleeding onto your floor.

“What the heelllll”

You sit on the floor next to her limp body. She’s obviously unconscious, not dead. There’s a small puddle of blood around her leg. She’s laying on her back directly under the window, surrounded by the glass. There’s a huge hole in her costume on her left leg, the one closer to you, from which she’s bleeding. All over your floor. You stare at her wondering what the actual fuck is going on. You’re stuck there for a few moments before pulling yourself back to reality. The Spider-woman is bleeding on your floor. You gotta do something bruh.

You quickly run out of the room and return with a first aid kit. Everything is moving in a blur, you can’t tell whether this is all some kind of a fucked up dream or reality, but whatever it is, the only thing you are sure of is that you gotta help her. You clean the cut on her leg with something from the kit, put something jelly on it, and then wrap her leg with a towel. You have no idea what you just did or will it help but it did stop the bleeding so you just move on and start wiping the blood off of the flor with a wet rag. After a while of cleaning the floor next to the unconscious body of Spider-woman while your mind is completely blank, you hear a few groans. The pit in your stomach grows and you wonder what the actual frick should you do when she wakes up, which will apparently be, any time now. You guess she opened up her eyes (you can’t tell bc, you know, the mask and all) as she slowly rose in a sitting position, holding her head in one of her hands, rubbing her temple. She looks around herself and, I shit you not, flinches so hard that she hits her head on the window frame behind her when she sees you. You let out a loud gasp when she does so, even more scared of her than she is of you.

“Ouch, damn it! Where am I? Who are you? What is going on? I-“ she starts frantically.

“Stop stop stop calm down please!” you wave your hands around her, not knowing what to do while she looks around in panic shaking her head. Her eyes land on her leg and widen even more.

“What happened to my leg??” She looks at you. Well, you don’t really know if she’s looking at you, you can’t see her eyes, but you suppose she is and attempt to answer to all of her questions.

“You had a cut on your leg so I did…something with it and now it’s not bleeding anymore” you *try to* explain.

“Oh”

It’s quiet for a moment before you narrow your eyes at her and decide it’s time for you to start asking questions about this weird situation.

“You broke into my house and then blacked out. What the hell was all that??”

“I-I don’t know, I don’t remember anything!” She raises her hands up in defense.

It’s quiet again. She’s intensely staring at you while you look at everything around the room but her. You don’t know what to do. The Spider-woman is in your house. Well, she broke into it but still. She’s there.

You always held some sort of admiration towards her, even though your parents disliked her. Said she was a vigilante, how she doesn’t really help the cops, how she wouldn’t wear a mask unless she had something to hide. You didn’t care why she wore a mask. You liked what she did and thought it was admirable. You thought about how cool it must be, to be a superhero, to save lives and have amazing powers and do amazing shit all day. How cool it must be to be special. To be somebody. To be somebody to someone.

She’s still looking at you. The fuck is her problem? “Okay” you sigh and get up. “Is your leg any better?”

She attempts to get up and slowly succeeds. She steps on her left leg and you can tell she made a sour face after doing so, but quickly hides the expression she thought you couldn’t even see. “Yeah I guess”

You made her tea. She sat on your couch and drank it. It was silent for a while. For a long while. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. More like a “we’re both too tired to talk, so it isn’t awkward, it’s just silent” silence, you know?

You would glance at her every now and then. Even in her costume, even under her mask, you thought she was pretty. You could just feel it. Something about her was so…inviting and…pretty.

More time passed and she had to go. Said something along the lines of having to run an errand. You nodded. She promised she’ll come back and fix your window ASAP. You let her know it was okay (even though the thought of attempting to explain how “you” broke the window in your sibling’s room to your parents AND to your sibling sent shivers down your spine) and escorted her out of the door this time. The absence of her presence kinda disturbed you.

“Whatever”, you thought and went back to your room, back to staring at the ceiling, waiting to fall asleep and hoping that when you wake up, the window will be magically fixed and your meeting with Spider-woman will turn out to be just a dream.

And magically enough, the window was fixed the next morning when you woke up. You asked your parents did they see anything unusual at home when they returned from wherever they were and the answer was a no. “Huh…weird. Maybe it was all a dream after all”

And that’s what you continued telling yourself. I mean, you didn’t have any proof that it wasn’t just a really really random dream. So you *tried to* believe it. And it kinda worked. But you couldn’t help but to hope you will dream of your intruder some time again.

Few weeks later, you met someone who goes to your school for the very first time. At your local grocery store, of all places. Her name was Gwen Stacy. She was really pretty and seemed nice, her dad was a cop and she lived actually really close to you. Surprisingly, you found yourself wanting to be friends with her. You, also, found yourself not being able to shake off a weird feeling that you recognized her voice from somewhere.

Once again I repeat, this was written at 3:11 AM and it has not been proofread, please do not come @ me☺️

[billyboyblue]

Hi, hello.

You've made the mistake to use tags and I read tags and now I'm here

I'm asking questions. What are we thinking? How unwell do we feel when we see this shooting (personally pretty unwell but it hurts so good)? Prayer circle? Manifesting ritual? What will it be?

You know that Pete Holmes skit that's like, I don't wanna fuck him. That's not enough. That's only a little piece of me inside him. I want to get all up in there and wear him like a puppet. That's how I feel about this man but in a scale that covers everything.

It's about his commitment to be really good at his job and his way of constantly improving and learning and implementing his skills in new and interesting ways. It's his openness to criticism and self awareness that he lives a ridiculous life and uses that absurdity to push past the limits in creativity the comfort of practice and success can make. Stagnation is an antithesis of art and what I've never been, with Jake's work, is bored. He's wonderfully exploratory with roles without seeming like its stunt pieces meant to draw attention for attention's sake.

He's doing Othello with Denzel Washington, who is in my opinion the single greatest actor we've ever seen, bar none go talk to your mama about it, and that's like i think going to be his lifetime performance for himself. To do Shakespeare, contrary to popular belief, is insanity when it comes to performing it well. There's entire universities dedicated to nothing but Shakespeare so to have that under his belt is going to be incredible. He's not afraid of playing a spectrum of characters, and he doesn't mind commiting body and soul to his work.

This quote from the interview today made me all gushy because it's such a small insignificant thing but it's so insightful and about my husband Billy. Fuck me up, this can't keep hitting me over and over again. Billlllly!! Baby it's okay!! Oh God.

-"He has used his blindness sometimes to help him as an actor — when he was shooting a difficult scene in the 2015 boxing movie Southpaw, one in which police tell his character that his wife has died, Gyllenhaal removed his contacts to force himself to listen more closely."

I'll suggest some of my favorite essays on his movies!

Analyzing Evil: Lou Bloom || The Vile Eye

Nightcrawler || Spikima Movies

What makes nightcrawler's Lou Bloom so terrifying? || Nerdstalgic

Why Jake Gyllenhaal is the Bravest Actor of Our Generation || Du Cinema

Jake Gyllenhaal and the Elusive Oscar || The Awards Contender

Now the last two are a little dramatic on the titles but overall they give a great peak into his career and do his justice. This kind of reputation isn't just handed out, the only other Oscar nominees of this caliber without a win were like Leonardo DiCaprio and Amy Adams. It's huge. But I'll definitely keep singing his works' praise. His fandom is so committed and that's what makes it fun. I'm so new here I still find bits and pieces in every movie that others have found and talked about and gushed over but I'm gonna say it again! Lolol.

And if you're looking for a wonderful lil video on our king Denzel, Our Greatest Living Movie Star || Scene it is the one. Thanks so much for enabling me 😘🫴💕.

[nodawnesperia]

Current Status Report (faction status part 2)

The second part, this should be the final of the worldbuilding posts at least for now. After this, I'd like to start getting into specific characters/events. Not sure who I'll start with so if you have a preference, do let me know (same for specific events). Reminder that the Graveborn faction is mostly the same but I will point out the few things that changed. The Hypogeans will be more about their general structure as a faction since the canon provides little to no info on it put concisely. The Celestials though? That's where things will get a little more curious.

This one is short, much shorter than the previous posts. Have fun!

Graveborn

The School of the Dead: The Metamorphs

Previously: The School of the Dead is split between two factions: The Spiritualists and the Metamorphs. While the Spiritualists practice necromancy through magic only, the Metamorphs utilize alchemy and experiment with various other substances in order to further the limits of necromancy. Currently: With the Hypogean backing and support, the Metamorphs of the School of the Dead came up with a new way of reanimating bodies – using Hypogean magic. The resulting creations are tireless, hardworking, intelligent, and brutal warriors.

The Boneyard: The Whispering Doom

Previously: A massive tower looming over the Boneyard, it is filled with sinister spirits known as the Harvesters who collect the lost souls of Esperia, purifying them and stuffing them in new bodies, creating legions of submissive Graveborn soldiers. Currently: With Annih back in the picture, lost souls are no longer present in Esperia. However, for the sake of the alliance, fragile as it may be, Annih allows Niru as the head of the Whispering Doom to choose a limited number of souls for the Graveborn armies.

Hypogeans

Creatures of chaos and destruction exist all over the universe, spawned by the leaking powers of the elder god Lutos. Most of them are disorganized and chaotic, barely capable of any rational thought. In Esperia, however, many influences affected their creation to the point where many are born sentient and even intelligent. There is a wide variety of them now, the only thing tying them all together being their natural draw to destruction.

However, united under the leadership of Annih and Uemiss, the Hypogeans are a formidable force. Annih appointed two high commanders of the Hypogean armies, Kane and Conrad, to lead the lesser Hypogeans and make up for their lack of intelligence. Kane is a strategic attacker while Conrad takes care of the Hypogeans' steadfast defense. By promising domains, power, and their pickings of prisoners and captives, Annih managed to sway the will of most other powerful Hypogeans as well, using their vast array of powers and skills to form a strike force the likes of which have never been seen in Esperia.

Celestials

When Dura created the Barred Gate, she made the remaining gods swear a divine oath to protect it and guard it from ever breaking again. However, when Uemiss began trying to reclaim his power over Altor, many Celestials abandoned their posts to go and combat the galactic threat. When the Gate shattered, so too did the gods' divinity. And as more and more of Esperia fell to the Hypogeans and the mortal faith weakened, even the remaining demigod powers quickly weakened.

At present, the Celestials are either scattered around Esperia or hiding within the deepest parts of the Celestial Sanctum, unable to shed their physical bodies or put up much of a fight. Some died, others got captured. Most of them remain free but it is only freedom in the name. The worse the situation gets, the more desperate the Celestials grow, employing means they once deemed beneath them to secure even the smallest of victories. Mortal faith no longer sustains them so they, in turn, no longer care about the mortal lives. If a hundred mortals die to kill ten Hypogeans, the Celestials only see the dead Hypogeans. Those who are unwilling to submit to such cruel methods are abandoned, left without a faction, allies, or place to belong.

[nimarts]

trying to figure out how to make art for myself again is genuinely, like, one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

going to art school and then freelancing full-time for two years made me beat as many "inefficiencies" out of my art as possible. for a while, making illustrations became purely a matter of streamlining my process to take as little time as possible in achieving a result. even now, I feel a little demon in the back of my head screaming at me when I try out a new coloring technique, or take a little too long settling on a sketch.

the demon is also always screaming at me about marketability. you know, like:

"how will this fit in with the rest of your portfolio?"

"what skills of yours will this piece highlight in the eyes of recruiters?"

"will the dimensions of this canvas be eye-catching on twitter? what about instagram?"

they get a little quieter every day. but not by much. not as quiet as I want them to be. not quiet enough to keep me from still being too intimidated to draw on a lot of days, because god forbid I draw anything that looks a little rough, or imperfect, or abstract. when you have clients paying you for art, there's a standard of quality to be adhered to. there's a way they expect it to look. anything else wouldn't make for very strong branding as an artist, now would it?

I don't think that my art is bad. I think I'm pretty good at it, actually. it's why I tried taking a professional route with it in the first place. I thought that with my passion driving me, I'd always be able to strike a healthy balance between making art for a living and making it for myself.

but I... I don't think that I can. I don't think that I ever can. not even in a self-depreciating way; it's just, how can I pour my heart and soul into creating just for the sake of creating the way I used to... while also making sure that I stand out amongst my peers? making sure that I can work consistently and efficiently? making sure that my art is appealing to others?

I don't think that I can get the two to coexist, personally. and that sucks to figure out. I wish I had figured it out before I'd pushed my relationship with my truest passion to the brink of destruction. it sucks to figure out now, after I've gone to art school because art was the only thing my teen self had ever loved for so long, so wholeheartedly. because it was the only thing I ever felt I was kind of good at. like it was the only thing that could possibly get me anywhere in life or make people proud of me.

I think I pushed myself so hard to make art for a living because I couldn't let go of those ideas for a really long time. of course, as an adult, I've learned plenty of different ways at this point to be proud of myself, and that other people will also be proud of me outside of my career and the material things I'm capable of producing. crazy!

even so, trying to draw now after everything feels like trying to coax a hurt, traumatized animal out of its hiding place, knowing that it used to be so sweet and full of love and life. like, I'm trying to make it understand that if it comes to me, I'm not going to yell at it or try beating it with a stick.

and... I'm making progress! I definitely am. it'll sniff my hand now before scurrying away again. and if I'm patient, maybe soon I can give it a pat on the head, too. it's an agonizingly slow process that I know I can't rush, no matter how much I want to.

trying to figure out how to make art for myself again is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. but there's a certain comfort in knowing it is something i have to do- for myself and myself only.

[sunflowergem]

I got a new one to introduced to y'all

Meet Valora my durge. I know it says storm sorcery but she's actually wild magic sorcerer. Above is obviously from the game and the below ones are what I would imagine. Temple of Bhaal outfit would be pregame(and she gets wings cuz they're cool and I say so). Massive love for Hero Forge because that is such a cool website and service. One day I would love to buy some stuff from there 🤩 Carries the dagger that has the netherstone in her tail when killing.

I will draw her eventually but I do not have the skills or patience right now to try.

So my original concept was to have her be a dragonborn and I themed her off of Ansur thinking it would be kind of cool if they had a descendant. This was before I realized that the bhaal spawn is supposed to be just straight up made from the god flesh. So I started rotating the idea in my mind for a while because I did still want to have the the dragon connection but I don't like deviating that hard from the actual story material. Yesterday I finally thought of a solution.

The durge is like a symbiote but made of Bhaal's flesh. Valora is the name of the dragonborn. The Bhaalblob has hopped enough bodies they forgot their original name, if Bhaal even gave them one. So like in base form they are just a little bloody slug like lump but she can invade freshly killed corpses and take on that person's identity perfectly. This is also how she can kill so easily before the game begins. She will kill someone, hop in the fresh corpse, and walk off. Leaving a complely out of place corpes throwing off investigations. She can then just walk off as the victim and vibe somewhere else as the heat dies down. The dragon born she is in the game was her latest victim, a descendent of Anser and well liked and respected woman that worked managing the bank, Gortash suggested going after her to gain more of a financial foothold in the city. Then Orin did her thing and Valora forgot everything, including that she's a nearly immortal sentient blob of flesh, so she goes through the game much more carefully with this body thinking that she could properly die.

Here are rough sketches I have done of the blob while at work. I'll do a more finalized version once I have a tablet again. I want to make them like semi-transparent but I don't know how to do that properly with pen and paper. Also, this is begging for me to make a gif.

She gains the memories and even takes on some of the personality of the victims that she body snatches. So here's a little bit more on Valora, before she was taken over, as well as some important personality points before being tadpoled.

Valora as just a dragonborn was a bit of an ice queen to be honest. Not like evil but very cold towards their others and very much business-minded. Really loves her job at the bank and math overall since it doesn't involve a lot of feelings™. Despite that, they are actually in a relationship before being taken over by the bhaalblob. She's mated to Klarrvox although it's a rather loveless relationship despite his best efforts. Once being taken over, this relationship starts to change though. Bhaalblob (who I will now refer to as BB just for for simplicity's sake) actually quite enjoys being in different relationships. They have hopped into many a family due to their murder shenanigans to try and experience some of the connection that is missing from how they were spawned. They've taken on the roles of children, fathers, mothers, grandparents, all manner of different lovers, even a pet one time. Each of these different lives that they've experienced before being attacked by Orin lived within their memories and made them pretty sporadic as a result, but also someone very much in love with the idea of life. It was a bit of a warped love though. They loved experiencing it and then seeing what would happen after tragedy strikes. Especially when they could hop into someone else and be an outside observer after the deed is done.

So overall they were pretty content with life before being tadpoled and Klarrvox was quite enjoying his newly affectionate wife. But speaking of lovers, I'm sure you might be wondering what's up with their relationship with Gortash considering how involved he is with durge shenanigans. In short, they really don't care deeply for him. He doesn't have any relationships that would be interesting for them to explore. They work together just fine but they want to keep it strictly. Business related. Gortash however does not! He is highly interested in the body hopping Bhaal spawn. Although I think it's more interesting if he doesn't know exactly how they do it. So he's not fully aware that he's interested in a sentient blood slug. So yeah I think that's about all I've got for them right now. Feel free to ask questions if you like and I will update their tag with more information as it develops.

Also, here's a quick meme for y'all that is also terrible quality.

This is going to be a redeemed durge run when I can finally play again. I don't know if I can handle doing a fully evil playthrough yet.

[h-doodles]

hi, can I ask for your top ten favorite fics ? :)

Hi anon hiiiiiiii welcome!!! u caught me at a good time, ur soooo lucky bc i just glanced at my notifs and saw this ask get sent <3 KDBDKDKK its been literal years since i checked my ask box 👉🏻👈🏻

BUT ANYWAY! top 10 of all time???? be warned that while i am currently enchanted with ONE (1) 6 ft 3 in actress, I still do consider myself a girlie with varied tastes so. my old & other fandoms are mixed in my current list!

without further ado:

#10: knowledge for knowledge's sake by tigriswolf (ao3) || quite an old piece detailing how a change in the personality of one Hermione Granger could have had a massive impact to the story— and while I don't fuck with JKTerfling, the fics I've read from the old fans in the HP fandom are still honestly, some of the BEST I have EVER read. This one in particular irrevocably changed me as a teen, and is one story that I continue to draw inspiration upon when I create dark!AUs for my SI/OCs.

#9: Zutopia by itslivybear (ao3) || the fluff, the worldbuilding, an AU where Izuku is mentored by our beloved Rat God & together, they fix the world problems? GIRLIES catch me forever LOVING this concept like you could NEVER believe <3

#8: (not so) Bad Idea by @sarahpaulsonsoftie (tumblr post) || HEE HEE ITS LIVING IN MY MIND RENT FREE LIKE HELP THESE BITCHES GAY!!!!!! GOOD FOR THEM!!!!!!! ft a meddling plantita who really mothered; Marilyn Thornhill <3

#7: Hold my Soul by connyhascontrol (ao3) || I got into Trixie/Katya completely by one @montaguehphm introducing me to UNHhhh (HIIIIIII bestie I hope everything is going good and that ur gay keeps slay <3) and I haven't recovered ever since— reading the fics by writers on AO3 was a happy little accident, but one i will FOREVER love, nonetheless. Anyway, this particular fic was SO brilliantly original and YET so entrenched in the personalities between T&K that it ABSOLUTELY just wrecks me everytime I reread it. anyways hi @connyhascontrol pls know ur brilliant <3

#6: I think I'm gonna call him out by hellelf (ao3, users only) || again, another AU for Hermione fic, that's chockfull of world building and interesting relationships! It's been unupdated from its 5 chapters since 2021, but I still LOVE to look back at it from time to time 💖

#5: The Confectionary Chronicles series by cheshire_caroll (ao3); Into the Black series by angelholme (ao3); Hermione Granger & the Serpent's Renaissance series by epsi1on (ao3) AND New Blood by artemisgirl (ff.net) || if it's not evident, i am an absolute slut for fics ft. Hermione being badass & put into a v cool plot w/ insane amounts of world building, so yeah, def a top 5 most contender <3

#4: The Infinitely Curious Woman by chararii (ao3) || literally ALL of their fics are absolute bangers, and while I forever mourn their decision to stop all Naruto fics thanks to the great harddrive incident of 2022, I have nonetheless the GREATEST respect to their skill & talent to bring SUCH LIFE to their stories. In particular, I chose this particular fic of theirs because the premise of Sakura making her own way by shedding off her morality the more she learned & got influenced by her 2 greatest teachers was absolutely nothing short of DIVINE. It was and IS such an inspiration to read, reread & explore, and I will forever love @chararii for this brilliant piece of a fic

#3: The Endgame that never was series by @heleneplays aka me (tumblr masterlist) || ok I know this seems self-absorbed but DEAR MOTHER OF CHRISTIE i literally WENT OFF for a whole ass day and a half going feral for the Relics of the Lost Age series book 3 finale (hi @jamesshawgames pls know im still here and STILL simping even tho i am currently having a brainrot for a different thing on main sjdhdkdk i hope ur doing well dearest mr. chief author sir!!!!) and created this series from my dreams + nonstop ben&ben playlist— and honestly, I think it's VERY sexy of me <3 bc I rarely like things that I do after a while, but THIS— alongside Universal Constant (ao3) are truly my BEST work <3

#2: Across the Stars by nomisunrider (ao3) || I CAN NEVER STRESS THIS ENOUGH, HOW MUCH THIS FIC ALTERED MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY LIKE. its been 4 YEARS since it was completed but HOLY. MOTHERFUCKING. GOD. The story between Michael & Philippa persisting beyond the odds, in a twist of the canon happenings in Star Trek: Discovery is FOREVER ingrained in my heart and soul and honestly once again THANK YOU @nomi--sunrider for SUCH a beautiful story 🥺🥺🥺

and drum roll please!!!

#1 (current): I literally cannot pick between Better than Gold + Little Cat by @lady-dimimi / @azu-zu (tumblr post for BtG | LC ao3); How to woo a Hot Principal by @softshrimpy (ao3); and Lipstick Stains by @weemssapphic (ao3) || LIKE HOLY SHIT THE FUCKING AMOUNT OF TALENT, PLOT, FLUFF, DRAMA AND UTTER GAYNESS THESE FICS BRING ME— its SOOOOO insanity inducing in the best of ways <3 also, i really count myself lucky to get into a very active (x reader) sphere LIKE ITS SOOOOO INSANE i get to consume CONTENT daily for such wonderful characters and these special morsels be like. authors, I am sending you all a MWAH from me

[priafey]

ok u mentioned this in a tag game from a bit ago that u could see gwilin with almost anybody in the game, but im wondering if theres a perfect npc for him in ur eyes!! or u could tell me about him/ur oc lol. im curious what like personality traits u think would complement his

Oh you bet your bottom dollar there is. Or, I guess, 'are'? I preface my response here stating that this is all specifically regarding Farmboy Gwilin (of the FGCU).

Aicantar – He is well-read in history and archeology, like his uncle, which Gwilin loves, since his reading tastes are similarly inclined. Aicantar scratches a scholarly itch for Gwilin–he never the had the opportunity to participate in an academic setting himself, and isn’t even sure the experience would’ve been all that gratifying for him, but you just know he’d relish the chance to be able to live out that unrealized dream vicariously through Aicantar. Plus, think of all the steamy nights spent in that museum in Markarth, where you’re not sure which you like best: the heat coming off of your lover’s skin, or the heat being released from the steam of the Dwarven machinery turning all around you.

Urzoga gra-Shugurz – God I love her so much. And Gwilin would, too! He’d get into a tumultuous relationship with her after they bump into each other on the road while she’s transporting prisoners. “Outta my way, beanpole,” she’d say, and it would be love at first sight for him. Gwilin would learn that Urzoga isn’t as scathing as she seems, once you get to know her (she has a soft spot for theatre, and, like Gwilin, is a skilled woodworker). She’d propose after like three months of them seeing each other. Gwilin would say yes, but later realize they rushed into things, and they’d part ways. Later on, they’d bump into each other on the road again, and start in on that familiar, ill-advised script: “Why did we ever split up?” “How come it didn’t work out between us?” etc etc.

Lurbuk – They’d meet while Gwilin was staying at Moorside. Lurbuk would confess to him, after a few drinks, the deep insecurities he feels regarding his abilities as a bard, and Gwilin would assure him he’s heard worse, which would disarm him immediately. They’d totally hit it off because, despite having little musical talent, he’d discover Lurbuk is incredibly well-versed in musical theory, and really does possess the heart and soul of a poet. A few kisses later, and Gwilin and him would find themselves in a long-distance relationship carried out by courier. Lurbuk is a pillow princess and Gwilin is a sub vers, so the sex they’d have whenever they’d get to see each other isn’t explosive or whatever, but neither of them consider sex to be a focal point of their relationship and there’s a lot of love and trust, so it’s always fun for them, regardless.

More generally, Gwilin would have a FIELD DAY with the ladies in Riften. I’ve mentioned this before, but he often travels there with Temba to make deliveries and chummies up to the barkeeps of all the places he visits so they give him pointers for good spots to go to draw or people they think would be willing to act as models for him. I could totally see him chatting with Keerava at The Bee and Barb one night, and when he asks her who might be willing to be his muse, she's like “Well, it's just for art's sake, right? You ever draw an Argonian?"

Gwilin would go into it very professionally, but Keerava would come on to him halfway through the sitting and he'd fold like a lawn chair. He’d have similar trysts with Constance Michel, Marise Aravel, and Nivenor (who he’d later feel very gross for having slept with, because she’s an asshole). This happens for two main reasons: 1.) Gwilin’s got paramour energy out the wazoo and 2.) Riften is a city of corruption, greed, and paranoia where most folks spend their days either fretting over who might plunge a dagger into their back, or plotting who they’ll be plunging that very dagger into next. Gwilin is a sensitive artist who cares little for money or status and trusts easily. You can put two and two together here.

The two people from Riften he’d have more of an intimate relationship with are Threki and Valindor. He’d throw himself into Threki’s arms completely, falling head over heels for her and her commitment to speaking out against Ulfric even from within prison. He’d plan her escape with the help of Valindor, and end up falling in love with him as well, in the process–for many reasons, not the least of which is Valindor got to grow up in Valenwood, as Gwilin never did, and so being with him helps him feel connected to his culture. They would make a lovely throuple <3

Now in regards to Temba, Gwilin has a HUGE crush on her, which he would never ever try to materialize because he’s afraid of what would happen if they got together and then broke up. He doesn’t think Temba would be the kind to want to stay friends, so he’d probably lose his job and have to leave Ivarstead. He’d hate for that to happen. After all, Wilhelm and Lynly are his very best friends on Nirn :D

Final point insofar as NPCs: the College of Winterhold has an intricate polycule Gwilin has been trying to integrate himself into for years, but he never makes it past the initial screening process. Too intense for him. Doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying, though. hehe

In short, the personality traits which most meld with Gwilin are those that are reflections of, but at the same time extensions of himself. Humor is central to any relationship he maintains, romantic or otherwise, and he infuses it into the loudest, most exciting moments as easily as he does into the quietest, most intimate ones. He loathes affluence. He fits in best with people of an equally strong or stronger personality than his own. Any benign impulse he has, he absolutely must follow through on, though it's easy to talk him out of something that could get him hurt if you know him well enough. Finally, sexually speaking, he loves having his efforts to take the lead be frustrated (he enjoys being indulged in this regard).

Below you'll find some graphics I made to illustrate some of the personality traits/interests involved in the first three relationships I described, just to give an idea of how they'd bounce off of/complement each other.

can you tell i'm autistic

A heem heem anywayyyyyyy. This post is already kilometric so I won’t even get into my OCs. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK, THOUGH!! It pushed me to organize all this info I had floating around :D

[sneezemonster15]

I realised it doesn't seem Esaka has written anything else but Naruto novels and one One Piece novel. Did someone at SJ just hire their niece to write these novels?? Because she certainly isn't a professional writer.

Lol. She certainly doesn't have a long list of credits. As far as I know, she has written three novels for Naruto. One of them is going to be adapted into manga. Of course not by Kishi, and apparently no one can make him, lol. It's not canon, of course.

From what I have read of her, she reads like a fanfic. Because that's where I see such ooc renditions of Sasuke and Naruto, and a clear willing intention to interpret Sakura as worthy when in reality, at no point was Kishi portraying her as such. The lengths he would go to, to show Sakura and Hinata down. Like wow. Kishi is committed, as evidenced by Boruto and for heaven's sake, GAIDEN.

And it cannot be helped that her work, even if original, will be compared with Kishi's. He established the characters in the first place. She is only using them.

Because on the one hand, you see Sasuke conjuring a fucking 'ring' out of the elements to give to Sakura, (because Sasuke really is a person who would learn such a skill and not think of it as a waste of resources, lol) and on the other, you see Kishimoto draw Sasuke and Naruto holding bloody trails of hands etched like a heart right on top of the broken statues of their world's historical keepers, symbolically defying them, as they lie almost dead on the ground and yet smiling because Naruto told Sasuke that he hurts when Sasuke does, and that anything is better than feeling like that even if it means surefire death. And at that precise moment, Sasuke realizes one thing. The one that to me, is one of the greatest and most memorable moments in the manga. That he is not Alone. That Naruto is right there with him, if it means living together, or dying together. Because Naruto would still be utterly alone in a world where Sasuke isn't there. Because he hurts when he does. It's that simple and yet, that complex. So utterly beautiful, that it breaks your heart and mends it at the same time. That makes the whole story count. And it means so much to those who get it. Honest to fucking God, you can't imagine the impact it would have on you if you really truly get it. I am not even a romantic but even I get it. And I am humbled. Me. How fucking dare you to malign something like that?

You think Esaka can write something like that? She can dream. Lol.

Kishi's caliber is way too high for ordinary writers to replicate or even understand in depth. So she will stick with SS stans' favoured painfully unoriginal, tropey ring giving and kissing schticks because that's what the novel was written for. SS fandom. That's what they expect, that's what they understand, and like, that's the product they will buy and so that's what will be sold to them.

I won't be surprised if she really was specifically brought in by the publication to tap into SS's mind and make them money lol.

[cashthecomposer]

I think one of the biggest failings of the anti-socialism argument is the existence of artists.

People often say that under socialist ideals such as a universal base income, people would just stop working, because without a paycheck as compensation, there's no incentive to work. But then you have artists, who spend years studying and honing their craft, creating and working, for no guarantee of compensation. You have singers and actors and dancers, who train their bodies and minds for a particular skill, again, with minimal hope for a reward. Not to mention musicians, writers, etc...

If you think for a few seconds, you realize we have a surplus of people working for no reason other than to create something. To produce a result, not for monetary gain. They are working for the sake of the work itself, and that is the primary motivation. This extends beyond the arts- look at home gardeners and cooks, parents, folks who sew, etc. We're doing necessary things for the sake of the work, because the work must be done, because we like the work, because we want a challenge... for whatever reason, but a reason directly related to the work.

A lot of people work jobs that make them miserable because they need the money, and they'd rather do something else. I would love to work at the local bookstore, but I can't live off minimum wage, so instead I teach, while the guy I spoke to working there said he'd love to teach, but he doesn't have the degrees needed to qualify. My mother loves serving coffee and chatting and tbh would love to be a barista, but if she goes to work she'll not be able to get her retirement account money, while the barista at my favorite coffee shop wants to spend a few months at home raising her pre-preschool toddler, but can't afford it. My insurance adjuster would love to do work in chemistry research but can't afford the expense of grad school yet, while a friend of mine in a local lab is burned out and would rather go do some mindless work but can't leave because of student loans.

The truth of the matter is that people enjoy being productive. But the 'right' ways of being productive are the ways that cause debt and unhappiness, that force you into one path, and to stay there forever. And god forbid you do something creative- you're going to have to do something else instead if you want to pay rent. Fostering discontent keeps the masses suppressed, and that's all there is to it.

Next time someone says that 'people don't want to work', point out all of the poor people out there having kids despite their economic situation. Being a parent is a full time job and then some. Point out the millions of authors who will never be published, but who keep writing anyways, and their agents, whose job most of the time is to believe in unproven individuals. Point out their hobbies, their loves, their joys, and that they bring no gain except the profit of work's results.

Fuck capitalism. Go draw a picture.

[lilyellowsongbird]

Song Of The Day - Feb 13th '23

Bloodless - Andrew Bird

Andrew Bird is one of those strange artists you find that has a wicked amount of talent. Sometimes I wonder if there's nothing this man can't do. He draws from a wide pool of inspiration and skill. His writing is poetic and almost academic in its language. He captures the world and all its experiences with precision and generosity. He's also insanely talented musically. The man whistles quite often on his tracks for fuck's sake. He produced an entire album of covers and it is quite possibly my favorite of his albums. Bloodless is off of his 2019 album My Finest Work Yet, which, honestly, is his best work.

Bloodless is a political commentary, and a ruthless one at that. Coming off of the tension of 2016 American Presidential Election, Bird observes the political climate at the time. Bloodless refers to the fact that while the world seems to be collapsing, somehow this cultural war is bloodless, for now. We are on the precipice of ripping each other apart, and Bird feels it heavily. With lines such as "I know it's hard to be an optimist/when you trust least the ones who claim to have the answers" and comparisons to Revolutionary Catalonia, Bird perfectly describes the hectic climate we are all faced with. There is no reprieve on the left or the right. My favorite verse, the last paints a grim but realistic picture. "Well, the best lack all conviction/And the worst keep sharpening their claws/They're peddling in their dark fictions/While what's left of us/Well, we just hem and we haw". Musically, the casual piano and drums make the song feel like someone walking through this world, observing the pain and avoidance all around them. However, the chorus swells with hope, matching its lyrics "Turn around and quote a well known psalm/Don't you worry 'bout the wicked/Don't you envy those who do wrong/And your innocence will be like the dawn/While the justice of your cause will shine like the noonday sun". We have hope in our causes, if we keep ourselves on the path we were given.

This entire album is a look into this chaotic world we live in from one single man's perspective. The life he lives, the minute details. One of my favorite Bird lyrics is from Sisyphus, the opening track of My Finest Work Yet. "I'd rather fail like a mortal than flail like a god on a lightning rod/History forgets the moderates". It fits well with the message of Bloodless. Be ruthless in your mission, but remain blameless. Don't stoop to their level. Focus on the real issues at hand.

Listen to the song here:

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Saturday, October 15, 2022

october 15_october 2

BLESSED ANDREW, FOOL-FOR-CHRIST AT CONSTANTINOPLE (911)

Blessed Andrew, Fool-for-Christ, was a Slav and lived in the tenth century at Constantinople. From his early years, he loved God’s Church and the Holy Scriptures. Once during a dream, the saint beheld a vision of two armies. In the one were men in radiant garb, in the other, black and fiercesome devils. An angel of God, who held wondrous crowns, said to Andrew, that these crowns were not adornments from the earthly world, but rather a celestial treasure, with which the Lord rewards His warriors, victorious over the dark hordes. “Proceed with this good deed,” the angel said to Andrew. “Be a fool for My sake and you will receive much in the day of My Kingdom.”

The saint perceived that it was the Lord Himself summoning him to this deed. From that time Andrew began to go about the streets in rags, as though his mind had become muddled. For many years the saint endured mockery and insults. With indifference he underwent beatings, hunger and thirst, cold and heat, begging alms and giving them away to the poor. For his great forebearance and humility the saint received from the Lord the gift of prophecy and wisdom, saving many from spiritual perils, and he unmasked the impiety of many.

While praying at the Blachernae church, Saint Andrew beheld the Most Holy Mother of God, holding her veil over those praying under her Protection (October 1). Blessed Andrew died in the year 936.

THE HOLY MARTYRS DAVID AND CONSTANTINE, PRINCES OF ARAGVET (740)

The 8th century was extremely difficult for the Georgian people. Marwan bin Muhammad (called “the Deaf” by the Georgians and “the Blind” by the Armenians), the Persian ruler and military leader for the Arab caliph, invaded eastern parts of the Byzantine Empire, then Armenia and Georgia.

With fire and the sword he fought his way across Georgia from the east to the city of Tskhumi (now Sokhumi) in the region of Abkhazeti. The princes David and Constantine Mkheidze of Argveti were faithful Christians and skilled military leaders. When they heard about the enemy’s invasion, the brothers prayed to God for protection, assembled their armies, and urged their people to pray fervently for God’s help.

The Persian warriors approached Argveti from Samtskhe and attacked the Georgians on Persati Mountain. The Georgian army won the battle, with David and Constantine leading the resistance against the fearsome conquerors.

But before long the enraged Marwan the Deaf gathered an enormous army and marched toward Argveti to take revenge. This time the enemy routed the Georgian army. Many were killed and those who survived were forced to flee to the forests. The commanders David and Constantine were taken captive.

The Persian soldiers bound David and Constantine and brought them before Marwan the Deaf, who began to mock them. But they reacted with complete composure, saying, “Your laughter and boasting are in vain, since earthly glory is fleeting and soon fades away. It is not your valor that has captured us, but our own sins. For the atonement of these sins have we fallen into the hands of the godless enemy!”

The furious Marwan ordered that the brothers be beaten without mercy, but they steadfastly endured the suffering. Stunned by the brothers’ resolve, Marwan decided to win them over with flattery instead. Promising him great honors and command of the armies, he turned to the older brother, David, saying, “I have heard of your valor, and I advise you to abandon your erroneous faith and submit yourself to the faith of Muhammad!”

St. David crossed himself and answered, “Let not this disgrace come upon us, that we would depart from the light and draw nearer to the darkness!” Then he condemned the error of the Islamic faith: “Muhammad converted you from the worship of fire, but he could not instill in you the knowledge of the True God. Therefore it appears as though you suffered a shipwreck and saved yourselves from the depths of the sea, but drowned in the shallow waters of the coast.”

Enraged at this reply, Marwan turned to the younger brother, Constantine, hoping to win him over to his side. But Constantine was also unbending, and he fearlessly glorified the Most Holy Trinity: “My brother David and I believe and follow the one Faith and one doctrine in which we have been instructed. Our faith is in the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, and we will die for the sake of the One True God!”

Marwan ordered that the brothers be starved to death. After they had suffered for ten days, Marwan sent sorcerers and charmers to arouse in them a desire to convert to Islam, but their efforts were in vain. Finally the holy brothers David and Constantine were led to the riverbank near the Church of Saints Cosmas and Damian. There they were brutally beaten and bound. Heavy rocks were hung from their necks, and they were drowned in the river.

That night three beams of light descended from the heavens and lit up the place where the brothers had been drowned. According to God’s holy will, the ropes binding the holy martyrs were loosed, and their bodies floated to the surface. A group of faithful Christians carried them out of the river and buried them on the bank of the Tsqaltsitela River, in a church that Marwan the Deaf had devastated.

The place of their burial remained concealed until the beginning of the 12th century, during the reign of King Bagrat the Great (1072-1117). Then, in fulfillment of King Bagrat’s decree, the Monastery of the Martyrs (Motsameta) was built over that place, and the incorrupt relics of the Great Martyrs are still preserved there.

Source: Orthodox Church in America_OCA

LUKE 5:17-26

17 Now it happened on a certain day, as He was teaching, that there were Pharisees and teachers of the law sitting by, who had come out of every town of Galilee, Judea, and Jerusalem. And the power of the Lord was present to heal them. 18 Then behold, men brought on a bed a man who was paralyzed, whom they sought to bring in and lay before Him. 19 And when they could not find how they might bring him in, because of the crowd, they went up on the housetop and let him down with his bed through the tiling into the midst before Jesus. 20 When He saw their faith, He said to him, "Man, your sins are forgiven you." 21 And the scribes and the Pharisees began to reason, saying, "Who is this who speaks blasphemies? Who can forgive sins but God alone?" 22 But when Jesus perceived their thoughts, He answered and said to them, "Why are you reasoning in your hearts? 23 Which is easier, to say, 'Your sins are forgiven you,' or to say, 'Rise up and walk'? 24 But that you may know that the Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins-He said to the man who was paralyzed, "I say to you, arise, take up your bed, and go to your house." 25 Immediately he rose up before them, took up what he had been lying on, and departed to his own house, glorifying God. 26 And they were all amazed, and they glorified God and were filled with fear, saying, "We have seen strange things today!"

1 TIMOTHY 1:12-17

12 And I thank Christ Jesus our Lord who has enabled me, because He counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry, 13 although I was formerly a blasphemer, a persecutor, and an insolent man; but I obtained mercy because I did it ignorantly in unbelief. 14 And the grace of our Lord was exceedingly abundant, with faith and love which are in Christ Jesus. 15 This is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief. 16However, for this reason I obtained mercy, that in me first Jesus Christ might show all longsuffering, as a pattern to those who are going to believe on Him for everlasting life. 17 Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, to God who alone is wise, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[cookinguptales]

watwudbuffydo said: I get that- I just hope that Guillermo gets even more confident about /less like he needs to hide when being gay and doing crime. I just think it’s hilarious that he has no problem having his record as a serial killer by proxy documented but he draws the line at the camera crew knowing about the embezzling. But hey, he’s our king of cognitive dissonance I suppose lol.

[cont.]

In other words, I say forget London girlboss adventures- Nadja and Guillermo mob bosses is where it’s at!

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

I mean, realistically speaking I think he’s just more afraid of Nadja finding out his crimes than the cops. Which is the sanest thing he’s thought in years. I think it’s actually more interesting that he trusted them to hide that he was a slayer but then thought he had to bribe them now. (Aside here, I do think there’s been a shift in the way he’s come to trust anyone at this point, but that’s a whole other post.)

Like I think that being a familiar has shielded him from legal repercussions for so long that normal crime doesn’t really faze him. This is the man that we saw dismembering bodies in their yard once, for god’s sake. In broad daylight! But doing something against his vampires is different. That would endanger his place in his home and in his family, and doing something against Nadja specifically could be a death sentence. A very painful death sentence. lmao. I can see how that information getting out would scare him a lot more than any of his other crimes.

(I think there’s also an examination to be done here of what Guillermo has grown to find an acceptable target for his crimes and machinations, and how that’s changed along with his confidence levels and disillusionment with vampiric power in general. He’s really gone from “I will rob dead humans only” to “okay I’ll commit crimes against live humans too but only in service to my masters” to “nah actually petty crime is always fun against humans” to “maybe I should kill vampires too but only in self-defense” to “okay but what if I also kill them in service to my masters” to “I am now committing petty crimes against vampires for my own benefit” to “hell, I’ll kill that vampire right there for fun”.)

I also want him to lean into being a (not so) smooth criminal right along with Nadja. I want game to recognize game. I want them to enter into a long con together. I want them to kick ass together. Just like Nandor has come to recognize Guillermo’s skills as a warrior and Laszlo has come to recognize his skills as a protector/carer, I want Nadja to recognize his skills as a completely balls-to-the-wall insane criminal. I love that Guillermo designed a long con for them in The Casino. I love that Nadja pretended to be Over It but then she got more into it than anyone.

I want them to do so much crime together. I want Laszlo and Nandor to be so scared and so proud and so horny. I want Colin Robinson to grow up in the lap of psychopathic luxury. I want Nadja and Guillermo to become the criminal breadwinners for the family now that Colin can’t pay the bills. I want their guywives to be kept men. God, I want Nadja and Guillermo to be “organized crime” but organized like a scribbled-out chore wheel for children. I want them to get through their increasingly insane schemes through sheer stubborn gumption and sexy murder.

ohhhhhh criminal nadja and guillermo. love it. I need them to recognize each other and stop fighting.

[dear-yandere]

delirium.

yandere! zhongli, childe, xiao, scaramouche x gn! reader.

not sfw (18+) scenarios, liyue + fatui edition.

tw: dubcon + alcohol (xiao), noncon (childe, scaramouche), blood (childe), implied physical abuse + exhibitionism (scaramouche).

disclaimer: this is not a healthy relationship (apart from zhongli’s...maybe).

art belongs to ぐみ, kaskia, and kureiiro.

zhongli

he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

your lips are someplace they shouldn’t be and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. his fingers—fingers that have conquered humans and gods alike—sit awkwardly on your hips, twitching with embarrassment and pleasure for each kiss you lay upon his neck. he’s warm there, just how you like it, and you waste no time laying hotter, wetter kisses along the apex of his jawline.

“t...” he catches himself before he can stutter like a fool. “this is inappropriate, my beloved.” he clears his throat, and you’re quick to silence him with another kiss.

“this is what you wanted.” you playfully remind, not once missing the pink blush on his cheeks. 6,000 years old, and he has never done this with someone he loves; you suppose you should take that as a compliment, but really, you’re just excited by the thrill of dominating a god in bed. 

“i suppose you’re correct, but this still doesn’t feel...” he starts, but his eyes get caught on the way your legs are straddling his hips;  he draws a sharp breath, an embarrassment washing over him.

you laugh, and it’s like music to his ears. “this is what lovers do, zhongli. that’s what we are, isn’t it?” you tilt your head, your smile coy. “it says so right in the contract.”

ah. he can’t argue with that, so he shuts up.

you giggle in triumph and continue your ministrations, paying his awkward touches and clumsy kisses no mind. it’s cute, the way he’s trying so desperately to restrain himself; you sort of want to see him... snap.

the lower your kisses get, the more he questions why he’d ever want you to stop. and he reminds himself that you’re right, that your lips belong there. they belong on him... just like lovers do. then... as it stands, letting you straddle him to the futon is fulfilling no such obligation. as your loving husband, it’s his duty to see to it that you’re well taken care of.

it’s in the contract, after all.

you’re on your back before your lips can reconnect with his skin. 

“allow me.“

tartaglia + fatui! darling

"does my little mouse want to cum?”

childe pushes his hair back to get a better look at your pitiful state. you’re standing on your knees, battered and blooded from the fight he’d forced you into, and your cheeks are stained with tears and dirt. his gaze locks onto your face, analyzing your reaction to the cock stuffed down your throat—and the dagger pressed against your jugular. 

your whimpers died down a while ago. must’ve realized you lost this battle in its entirety.

“you were so full of yourself earlier.” childe jeers, enjoying the way you squirm with humiliation at the thought. you’ve always been aware that the difference in skill between you and him was far too great to warrant anything close to a win in battle, but the situation you’re in now does nothing but add insult to injury.

just how he likes it.

“now that i have a fistful of your hair and i’ve brought you to your knees, you have nothing to say.” his laughter bounces from the walls without a care for who hears. “for all that strength you tout, you can’t even handle this?” he tugs your head back, admiring the way your bloodied face contorts with pain when a few strands of hair come with it. “how pathetic.”

you’re tempted to bring your teeth down onto his—

“bite and i’ll cut your tongue off.” he smiles. you’re not safe even in your own thoughts. “if you’re good, i’ll even help patch those wounds up for you. doubt you can reach most of them by yourself.” he chuckles, and you recall that he deliberately aimed at places you can’t reach. your back is covered with a litany of fresh wounds and blood, and your arm have so many small wounds it’d be impossible to reach your back on your own.

bastard.

your lips instinctively squeeze around his dick; to your displeasure, he moans, and a laugh soon follows. “careful, sugar. don't squeeze so hard my cock slips out.” he hums and bucks into your mouth. you nearly gag when he hits the back of your throat.

“we’ve hardly started.”

xiao

“oi, take responsibility.”

your eyes are shameful when they avert to the side, your skin dusted with hot embarrassment and arousal. the sight before you was one you could’ve imagined only in your wildest dreams —the esteemed adepti xiao’s legs spread around either of your ears, his eyes blurry with excitement and sake. his pale skin is red with the effects of liquor and arousal, and his lips are twisted into a lopsided smile; it looks like it’s taking all of his facial muscles to keep the expression intact.

he’s not in his right mind, but you know better than to disobey his orders. xiao is a patient man lest you cross him; and, despite his keen affections for you, you’re no more exempt from those rules than the archons themselves.

so you purse your lips and nod; he seems pleased at that. 

you hear him draw a sharp, excited breath when your fingers venture to the belt keeping his pants up; on his exhale, he can hardly contain his delight when the fabric around his waist loosens and slides down his thighs. atop his warm skin, your fingers twitch with fear and elation.

even in his drunken state, he senses your hesitation. you nearly yelp when his hand shoots out and grabs hold of yours, but his grip is nothing short of gentle. they hold yours as if you are something to be treasured; despite all he’s threatened to do to you when he’s in a fit of rage, you can’t help but feel more at ease.

you let him take your hand.

his hands are flushed and shaky as they guide yours to the tip of his cock. you draw a shaky breath, the feel of his skin foreign. this will be your first time with him; you remind yourself that you shouldn’t be doing this. he’s drunk, he’s not in his right mind. but if you don’t, he’ll...

he cuts your train of thought with a sharp tug of your chin, pulling your head closer to his throbbing member. he doesn’t have to speak for you to understand what he wants.

“suck.”

if you don’t, there’s far worse in store.

scaramouche

“aw, are you going to cry? beg me to stop?”

you hurriedly shake your head.

“go on then. tell me what’s the matter, pet.” he nudges your bruised cheek with his knee; the skin there still stings from his earlier assault. you’ve learned since then—to be a good pet, to listen to him when he speaks, to do as he says without question nor hesitation. “have you gone mute already?” he sighs and rests his head against his knuckles. “that’d be no fun...”

you just want him to let you go.

you shake your head once more, uttering a small ‘no’ to sate his admonishments. you’ve learned not to speak unless spoken to. you’re better off that way.

“you were running your mouth earlier. where did all that bravado go, i wonder?” scaramouche’s lips twitch into a cruel smile. looking at you now, no one would ever think you were talking back to him only minutes ago. poor little thing, you had to be put in your place. you’re curled onto your knees now, shaking like a newborn pup, and he likes you better that way.

you deserve a reward.

he offers a pitying caress against your raw cheek; his skin is frigid to the touch, and you lean into it more so to relieve the hot ache of your bruise than because you’ve been instructed to do so. he accepts your subservience all the same, so long as you’re subservient to him.

“strip.” 

he barks another order and your body immediately goes stiff. normally, you would have shot up and done exactly as he wished, but you didn’t. not this time, not with the prying eyes of his envoy watching your humiliation in full display. you didn’t want it to come to this, to be disrobed and ridiculed before anyone other than him. if you were alone... it was just him, you could’ve lived with the shame, because no one would know but him. 

and he knows that.

when you don’t move fast enough to his liking, he kicks into your stomach—light enough that there won’t be bruises. you’ve been so wonderful lately; it’d be a shame if you ended your good streak now.

 “my precious, stupid little pet. you’ll do well to remember that when i say something, you do it. quickly.” his tone is final. 

“else i’ll have my men strip you themselves.”

dear-yandere, all rights reserved.

[jackrrabbit]

cooking at 3am /// Osamu x f!Reader

Request: Imagine cooking together with Osamu at 3am because neither of you could sleep (or because ‘Samu got the midnight munchies lol). You don’t have anything specific in mind; you’re just playing around and feeding each other little bits of what you make.

A/N: bruh you said munchies and my mind said [[ h i g h o s a m u ]] sorry this went in a kinda different direction? but still fun 3am cooking project vibes :P

Tag/warnings: fluff, light drug use (weed), you and Atsumu are lowkey Bros™️, Osamu's kinda baby 🤧

Osamu’s not good at smoking.

He doesn’t really know how to inhale—you know, hold it in his lungs so it can soak in or whatever—and when he does, he coughs. Except he tries to repress the coughs. Even if he wants to hide it, he’s always close enough to you that you can feel his chest moving from trying not to cough when he takes a hit.

And also, like every baby smoker, he can’t really tell when it’s kicking in until he’s off the deep end.

“Can you feel it yet?”

“No.”

You shoot Osamu a glance where he’s sitting on the ground in front of the couch, watching a nature documentary on Atsumu’s TV with a glazed-over look on his face. “You sure? Your eyes are super red.”

“I can’t feel it. Give it—“ He holds out his hand and honestly you’re pretty sure he’s had plenty, but it’s Atsumu’s vape so who cares. You hand it over and Osamu holds it up to his mouth and sucks, eyes fluttering closed as the light on the side of the Pax glows yellow.

God, he looks hot when he does that. Something about a hot guy smoking, yeah? Actually, no. Something about your hot boyfriend smoking.

Except 'Samu holds his breath a second too long and you can see the urge to cough hit him… Wait for it, you think to yourself, and a second later he hacks and wheezes the vapor out in a wispy cloud that reflects silver against the semi-dark. You coo in sympathy and pat his back. “Want some water?”

Osamu shakes his head, hand over his mouth to stop the coughing. On the tv, David Attenborough talks about penguin courtship rituals and Atsumu (who’s been draped on the couch next to you for the past few hours) gives a light little sigh in his sleep. You check the time. 3am. Bedtime. Too bad you and 'Samu are both too high to drive home…whoops. Guess you’re spending the night at Atsumu’s place.

Osamu rubs his bloodshot eyes like they’re itchy, which they probably are. “Hey, can we— uhh… Do we have pancakes.”

“Pancakes, babe? You mean the ones you made for breakfast?”

“Yeah, there’s leftovers…I made you extra and you didn’t want them.” He twists around and gives you an incredibly dirty look, like this is something you did on purpose to hurt his feelings. “If you don’t want them I’m going to eat them.”

“Wait, 'Samu—“ But Osamu's already getting up off the floor to wander over to the next room. You debate pausing the show—it’s a really good scene—but you leave it going for Atsumu's sake because you’re pretty sure the narration is the only thing keeping him asleep. He’s kinda drooling on your shoulder and you have to push him off to go follow your boyfriend to the kitchen.

“What is all this stuff? Ugh…” Osamu's pawing through the fridge. There’s a lot of crinkling, plastic sounds—you catch a glimpse inside and all of the shelves are stacked up with plastic bags and styrofoam containers.

You yawn and hop up to sit on the kitchen island. “Takeout? I don’t think he cooks.” Atsumu's going to get a lecture tomorrow for keeping 2-week-old Indian food in his fridge. God knows you heard it way too many times before you and Osamu moved in together. You don’t envy 'Tsumu.

Osamu sits down in front of the fridge, fumbles with a drawer, and pulls out a bag of moldy grapes. “Gross…who lives like this…”

You snicker into your hand.

“I can’t find the pancakes.” 'Samu's pulling the plastic drawers all the way out now, setting them down on the floor as he inspects the contents of the fridge.

“They’re not here.”

“You ate them?”

“No, I— Hey, put those back in,” you tell him helplessly as he shuts the door of the fridge, ignoring all the leftover food he took out. Yeah, half of it was probably off anyway, but Atsumu's gonna be pissed if he wakes up and there’s takeout going bad all over his kitchen floor.

“You threw away my pancakes?” Now the look on Osamu's face is utter betrayal. He stands up off the floor and glares sulkily at you. “I made those for you…”

“I didn’t throw them away, they’re—“ You hold back a laugh and wish you had your phone on you (where did it go?) so you could take a picture. He’s so cute when he smokes. “—they’re at home.”

“At home?”

“Yep, at home. The place where you and me live, remember?”

“Oh.” Osamu pauses, reaches out absently to grab the edge of your sleeve. You’re wearing one of his hoodies. “We’re not at home?”

“Nope. We’re at Atsumu's place,” you tell him through a giggle.

He plays with your sleeve, contemplating. “Why?”

“Because we’re out of weed and he said he’d smoke us out. And we like hanging out with him.”

“Oh. We do?”

“Yes.”

“…’Kay.” It takes Osamu a second to accept this, but then he nods seriously. “(Y/N), I'm hungry.”

“I know. What do you want to eat? You could probably have any of that stuff, I don’t think he’ll miss it.”

'Samu thinks about it for a moment, scanning the array of takeout containers spread out across the kitchen floor. “I want pancakes.”

“The pancakes are at home, remember?”

“Yeah…” Osamu flips over his grip on your sleeve and traces his thumb down the lines in your palm. “I could make some?”

More pancakes? “I don’t think 'Tsumu has eggs, babe. Or flour. Or…baking soda?” You’re not really sure what ingredients go into pancakes. Whatever cooking skills you possessed pre-Osamu have deteriorated significantly since you moved in together and he took over any and all food preparation for your household.

He pouts at this, and his hair is a little messed up, and he’s so pretty that you can’t stand how much you like him in that second. Mine mine mine, something in the back of your brain says. He’s mine.

You reach up and Osamu obediently ducks his head down so you can smooth his hair back into place and fix the bits that are flipping over his part. “Is there anything else you want to eat?”

“Onigiri.”

“Oh…” Well, at least Atsumu probably has rice. “Sure. Ok. That’s your specialty.”

“I want ya to make it for me.”

“What?” You frown and pull your hand out of his. “You know my cooking sucks.”

“No it doesn’t. (Y/N)’s food’s the best.”

“You own an onigiri shop, come on—“

“Please?”

One of his bangs falls back in his eyes and without thinking you reach up to put it in place. “Okay, fine. But you can’t complain about it if it’s not good.”

He smiles and you want to blush. “Yes! I promise.”

So you do it for him. Even though you’re high too. You measure some rice and water into the rice cooker (Osamu has to give you pointers on how much of each to put in) and you scrounge around Atsumu's depressingly bare kitchen for a few sheets of seaweed and some easy fillings. Osamu pulls a stool up to the island counter and rests his chin on his hands so he can watch you with a bleary look of adoration on his face.

It takes you…maybe half an hour to be done? It’s hard to gauge time when you’re high. You and 'Samu both jump when the rice cooker finishes and plays the little rice cooker song, which will remain stuck in your head for the foreseeable future. 'Samu hums it in a loop while you shape the rice into lopsided triangles and wrap the nori around it.

“Here,” you tell him when you set the plate down in front of him. He looks entirely too happy to be eating your mediocre food for someone who literally does this for a living, but who cares.

He picks one, takes a bite, swallows. And blinks.

“What do you think?” you ask in spite of yourself.

“Umm…salty,” Osamu says.

You grab one to try yourself and it’s salty. Like, ocean salty. Yuck. “I told you it would be bad,” you complain, trying to tug the plate away but Osamu grabs it and pulls it back.

“Noooo…it’s good,” he lies, although his face is giving him away. Still, he takes another bite and chews enthusiastically.

“Shut up.” You tug a little harder but Osamu doesn’t let go.

He swallows, pulls a face, and takes another one. “So good. I love it.”

“Shut up. You sound so fake. You’re going to get sick if you eat that.” You keep pulling, but he insists on pretending it’s edible so you admit defeat and help him finish the onigiri off. God, they’re awful. But he keeps eating and so you do too.

When you’re done, your mouth feels dry as fuck and you want to sleep almost as much as you want to drink about a gallon of water. “Is it bedtime yet?” 'Samu asks, wiping his mouth and then rubbing his eyes again.

The clock over the oven says it’s past 4. “Yes. It’s bedtime.”

“Wait—we’re…we’re not at home, right? We’re at 'Tsumu's?”

“Mhm.”

“I prolly drove here…I dunno if I can drive now,” Osamu tells you slowly, like he’s apologizing. “I think I'm kinda high.”

“Oh yeah?” You hold your laugh back and put your hands up on his cheeks. “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy. Blurry? Like…you’re in slow-motion.” His hands come up to layer over yours. “You’re pretty in slow-mo.”

“Prettier than usual?”

Osamu closes his eyes, scrunching them up to think and then looking over your face intently. “Same amount, just slower. So it’s easier to see.”

“That so?” You slip your hands around to drape over his shoulders and get up on your tiptoes to give him a little kiss on the cheek, because he’s earned it. “You know what, I think I'm kinda high too. I think we’re going to have to have a sleepover.”

“On the couch? S’not big enough for us both.”

“You can sleep with 'Tsumu in his bed…or I guess you could sleep on the ground?”

'Samu's mouth twists and his brows draw together. You can practically hear the gears in his mind turning while he considers alternatives. “Can we share the bed?”

“I think Atsumu's gonna want it. It’s his house.”

“But he’s already sleeping.”

True, you can hear Atsumu snoring lightly from the living room underneath David Attenborough’s description of endangered falcons in the Philippine rainforest. You should really wake him up—matter of fact, you should really clean up the kitchen because it’s a huge mess—but 'Samu's already pulling you away. And you’re so sleepy.

“He’s going to be pissed tomorrow,” you tell Osamu through a yawn, but you let him steer you in the direction of Atsumu's bedroom, holding your hand.

“Don’t care…I hate sleeping without you.”

“Yeah,” you say, and you squeeze his hand and he looks back at you like you’re the literal best thing in the entire universe—and you decide you should get him high more often. “Same.”