#if i could finish awakening today ???? id be so happy!!!!!

[famewolf]

idk what I did but I managed to get Awakening to work enough that I was able to finish Blackmarsh

at this point it's been about an hour without any crashing and I'm just going to try and play through the rest of the game without stopping in case I don't get a chance like this again

[gmariam19]

It's apparently a SW weekend here. I've been rereading my stories (and reviews, yes) and working on an unfinished fic. Poking around the Finnpoe tags, surfing Wookiepedia. Today my husband put on A Force Awakens at lunch because he saw it on some random channel. My daughter sat down to watch it and then asked to watch A New Hope at dinner, and then she put on The Empire Strikes Back. And I saw an actual landspeeder on sale nearby for $300!

The unfinished fic is coming along as the longest scene of trying to get there between Finn and Poe I may have written yet, lol. I swear I think I could write an entire novel of them in denial/talking around it/misunderstanding each other! So here is a snippet below - not my most original, I think it started out as a prompt and just went off the rails. Anyone remember sending me kiss prompts because this one is labeled #42, lol.

Hopefully they will stop rambling and figure it out soon and I will finish editing this week. Enjoy! :)

Poe takes a breath.

“Rey said you don’t have to choose between being a Jedi and…well, being with someone. Being in love. Maybe the old Jedi didn’t believe in that, but you and Rey can be something new. You can be a Jedi and still have someone to come home to.” He pauses, tries to lighten the moment with a crooked grin. “Got anyone in mind?”

Finn’s lips quirk up, but he doesn’t look at Poe. “Maybe. I guess it’s part of the reason I’ve been training so hard.”

The simple statement hits Poe like a ton of bricks. Finn wants a partner. He’s been training hard for them, and avoiding Poe.

“You mean Rey,” he says, trying to keep his voice neutral and failing. He clears his throat and tries again. “I think…I think that’s amazing.” He wants to stand, wants to run, but he forces himself to smile past the sinking feeling in his chest, through the heartbreak. He touches Finn on the arm. “I’m happy for you, I really am. You should talk to her. Because I know she’d understand.”

They sit there for a long moment, Poe mourning something he never had. He feels numb and disappointed, yet also angry with himself for not being more happy for Finn. He will be. He meant what he said: he wants to help. He wants to be friends. He’ll get over wanting more.

“It’s not about Rey,” Finn says into the stretching silence. “It never was and it never will be. I’m not training because I want to be with Rey.”

Poe swallows, nods, but doesn’t speak. Finn doesn’t look at him as he continues. 

“I think I’ve been training hard to avoid how I feel. What I want. Because it’s confusing and I still don’t know if it’s right.” Finn holds up a hand. “I know I don’t have to choose one thing over another. I get that now. And I appreciate you helping me see that.” He takes a deep breath. “The problem is that I don’t know if the person I want, the person I feel so much for…I don’t know if they want to be chosen.”

Poe inhales sharply and turns to Finn, leans in close and touches his hands. “Finn! They’d be a complete idiot if they didn’t want to be chose by you, and the luckiest person in the galaxy if they were.” Finn looks down at their hands, back up at Poe. He tilts his head, seems to gaze inward, then smiles. 

“Maybe I’m the idiot for not saying something sooner,” he replies. “Because I’d be the luckiest person in the galaxy, not them.”

“Then say something!” Poe exclaims. And yes, of course he is hoping that Finn confesses it’s him, like some overdramatic holo-drama. But how could Finn possibly doubt that Poe, of all people, wouldn’t want to be chosen? Wouldn’t return such feelings? How can Finn not know? 

Finn looks at him, his gaze wide-eyed and intense as his mouth opens and closes a few times until he shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says, following it with a nervous laugh. “I really have no idea how.”

“I can help,” Poe says without thinking. “I can help you write something, or plan something, like a…a…”

“Like a date?” Finn asks wryly. “In the jungle?”

“Yes, a date. In the jungle.” Poe nods, clinging to the idea like a drowning man. As if helping Finn realize his dreams will help Poe get over his. It doesn’t make sense and he is definitely trapped in one of Jess’s more ridiculous holo-vids, but he can’t help it. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it a dozen times before, how he might plan a date of his own with Finn. His mouth is moving before his brain can catch up.

[godrevy]

trying to be and am grateful as i go back to work and face recurrent work demons. i am so happy when im not working, like a different person. a beam of sunshine my sister said. find purpose in joining demonstrations and being with people, not working makes me more helpful and kind to my partner. i have more patience and time for my cats. i could stop the phd now and be done with it. i think i would be happier without it and im not sure if i finished how i would keep working well if i was lucky enough to find a job. id like to teach. but my work turns to ashes in front of me when i turn to it, and i barely can turn to it directly. i love art and humanity and history and life and i feel my senses undeadenjng the more i can find my way back to these. but my work, that is such an expression of these things, feels too hard to do. someone wrote recently that wanting to find out how time regained ended was the reason they decided not to kill themselves. it was comforting to hear that this person i admire a lot had been in such a low moment. im coming back to life and reawakening or awakening for the first time sensually but i can’t square work with this. i sit down and i can’t look at it. today was a wipe out despite spending 7 hours ‘at work’. but i was happy outside of work. but we might have bedbugs which i can’t think about.

it feels odd to come back to tumblr but its the only space that feels anonymous enough to do a semi-journal. but happy for now.

[hanazou]

𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗯𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗯𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆

word count : 1.2K (headcanon) , 1K (drabble)

genre : fluff, comfort (+ angst for drabble)

note : ik its late but here's something or whtever @whorefordazai also the headcanon not as intensely proofread as id usually do because things are hectic these days but i gave the drabble my all

Your birthday to Dazai is almost sacred, something he can't defile, so he won't flaunt the celebration. He wants closure, he wants to reach you, but he doesn't have the bravery to embrace your essence. He keeps his appreciation for your birthday special and private.

That doesn't mean he becomes quiet though.

𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝗺 :

He bangs on your door as if to knock it down, calling your name.

"ROOM SERVICE! BARGING INSIDE IN THREE... TWO...!"

Upon abruptly opening the door, you see that he brought you cheap and useless food (canned tuna, squished bread, salt, and a bag of milk). Not even an onigiri.

You let him in to shut him up fearing he'd awaken the neighbours if you keep him at the door.

While your hands are around his collar, pulling him in, someone else knocks.

There's a food delivery man. Saying it's for "Dazai Osamu", he hands a heavy bag full of food. By the scent, you know it's your favourite meals (there's sweet and sour chicken in it).

"I did say I'm here for room service, right?" Dazai unpacks the food for (early) breakfast. "For today, I'm totally at your command, so use me as you'd like! I'd even help clean your food."

He feeds you using chopsticks but not before messing with you by pretending to bring the food to your mouth just to turn it into his own mouth to eat.

And that's how you earned a "personal assistant" for your birthday.

You expect him to suddenly shout "happy birthday" from behind you, tickling your weak spots or biting your ear, but he never does. You like how he celebrates in his own way, it's all the more sincere.

𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝗺 :

He brags about you to Atsushi, saying you look less like an abandoned wet puppy today. Atsushi just laughs and plays along, stopping only after you pinch Dazai to stop.

Yosano rolls her eyes smiling, telling you two to get a room.

Dazai does NOT stop poking your cheeks. Even if you hit his hand away, even if you change seats, even if you ask Kunikida to cuff his wrist down (Dazai picked the lock), the pokes don't stop.

It's ANNOYING. You scold him to cut it out but then he gives you his puppy eyes.

"You're mad? :("

You just sigh and shake your head, but that only enables him.

"Then give me a kiss!" He puckers up, hands extended open.

Atsushi freaks out, Yosano stares with repulse, Ranpo doesn't care, Naomi covers her mouth then stares at Tanizaki who gets nervous, Kenji is dense, and Kunikida is fuming.

Fukuzawa has been standing in the corridor behind the door the whole time. He pretends he didn't hear anything and enters the room clearing his throat. You shove Dazai’s face away.

𝗟𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗵 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝗺 :

Dazai insists on dragging you out of the office for lunch outside. Heck, he even finished his paperwork (sort of) to get some leniency from Kunikida.

"Do you even have money? You never even pay at Cafe Uzumaki." You joke.

Kunikida is suspicious more than anything, so Dazai whispers something in his ear, then his face softens. "Just be back before 2 p.m."

You ask Dazai where you're going and he says "To get food of course. What else?"

Hence your shock when he takes you by a local river, in a spot far from the street no less. There's even a basket on the grass.

"Are you telling me to fish for lunch?!"

With a dramatic wounded expression, he puts his hand on his chest. "How could you accuse me of such immoral action before properly paying attention?"

Opening the basket, you realize he prepared a picnic. The lunch consists of food from your favourite diner and there's a pair of gameboys with a connector cable.

"You prepared this?"

"What's with that look? I can be less lazy sometimes, you know. When I want to."

Dazai and you eat lunch together, making a mess of the mat you sit on from play fighting and stealing each other's food. His excuse when stealing yours was "I paid for it!" Your excuse for stealing his was “Payback!”

It's barely 1.15 pm after you finish eating, so Dazai takes out the gameboys and the cable. "I expected we'd have spare time and came prepared."

The gameboys are apparently secondhand, but that's what makes them cute.

"Let's play tamagotchi on these since you suck at gaming to play anything else." He says.

The cable connects your gameboy with him, and the two of you play Tamagotchi until yours die from starvation. He mocks, earning a twist on his ear from you.

𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝗺 :

When the sun starts to set, his "euphoria" goes down. The cheekiness in his voice is half as less, but his expression is more focused now that he's not mischievous. 

Both of you have showered (he wasted water). He fiddles with your fingernails, pressing the cuticles and rubbing the nails. His head is on your lap, his hair tickling your thighs a bit whenever he shifts.

Your favourite music is playing in the background from the local radio. Dazai hums, painting your nails in tacky colours.

He rubs in lotion on your forearms while you're playing on your phone. When you're not paying attention, your pinky hurts.

He bit you.

After you smack his head, he whines. But then proceeds to snuggle his head in an awkward position on you.

He lies on his stomach on the sofa like a dead man except his face is on your thighs. The blanket rolled around him like sushi doesn't help.

𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝗺 :

The final hours of your birthday are mild and calm compared to the rest of the day.

You and Dazai watch TV together at your place. The crumbs and wrapping are all over the floor and the sofa. Sometimes you tell him to get up so you can sit comfortably without itching

During commercial breaks, he makes you help him fill crossword puzzles from an old magazine while occasionally opening his mouth for you to feed him popcorn.

He notices you get sleepy and goes to fetch the blanket.

He sits down, wraps it around himself, then opens his arms.

"Care to fill the empty space?"

He guides your drowsy face against his chest and covers both of your bodies under the blanket, making sure to cover your cold toes too.

His head leans down on your scalp, arms around your torso, and his legs wrapped around yours, until you completely fall asleep.

Only after he's sure you're out for the night, he properly lies you down on the sofa as you would on a bed. He lays the blanket on you, propping up your head with a pillow.

"I'm glad you're around." He whispers, kissing your forehead, and leaves quietly.

The next morning, you wake up to find a single purple hydrangea on the table, an empty crystal glass, and a new bottle of whiskey.

A card stands in the middle, and you reach out to read it.

"A toast to you."

𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞

Standing backing the lamppost, a soft radiance borders Dazai's figure, stroking the outline of his body in pale yellow on his muted palette to outline him against the background, gleaming, imitating the effect in common religious Renaissance paintings that accentuate purity, difference. On Dazai, such an honouring trait will shy him away if knew that's how he looks.

His footsteps halt a distance from the intersection and you join him. The night is old and the asphalt is stable. It was a silent agreement to part ways at this intersection because separating right after working dismissal would be premature. The three pavements branching out from one spot dramatize a task as simple as making choices—you stand there hoping the choice he picks is one you can watch him walk through.

"You know I enjoyed your tailing footsteps following me the whole day, don't you?" Dazai says. An unnamed urge within him flicked the switch of intimacy. Now that the partition screen that lasted the whole day is now no longer, his pensive expression silences the surrounding buzz. 'Enjoy', it's a luxurious emotion.

Unravelling used to be your job—still is—although that role is forgotten today at the expense of a scenic cheap yet consequential fun in memory of your birthday. Poetic translations lie under the usual casual chat of loafing around at work, and sly selfless motives at each eraser thrown to distract concentration. To truly live today, you set aside the mental surgery you want to do on him. You want to feel fulfilled. The absence of self-governance warms your bones to freedom, pushes away your meddlesome inquiries about his mysteries that usually mingle with your routines, like a traveller forgetting their domestic problems once they're on foreign land.

"You did prepare all the meals today."

"I appreciate your appreciation." He grins.

When you met him, you didn't see in him any trace of appreciation for anything. Unwanted apathy, a virgin to yearnings. He'd wear his distance like a shawl, fiddling with its sensation to stimulate a sense of restraint. Sometimes he traces the coarse bandage on his wrist, and you'd figure he longs for the day he can wear his own skin confidently. No farce, no game.

"How was today, if it’s any different than a normal day?" He asks.

It was a trivial experience that elicited memories you’d dabble in. “If it were a habit, it would be the only ritual I'd never get sick of.”

He sets his eyes on your right hand. That limb of yours reprimanded him a lot today for his tomfoolery—he was immersed in the fake taste of freedom when he proposed that you ignore the regulation to fish in the river, so you pinched his forearm, then fingered his hair to arrange him—then he gathers your fingers. He takes your hand, and homes a chaste kiss on it. His attention isn't darted on your phalanges, but rather inward within himself, and it hazes eye contact. You allow the moment to swirl inconsistently around you, none of you speaking, keeping you and him in position, until he returns your hand.

"I’ll create more fatamorgana for you to indulge in."

Whenever Dazai stares at nothing, it’s almost always under a tree. If not, anywhere that gives a shade that draws a clean line between shadows and sunshine. His textured hands are usually in his trench coat’s pockets, maybe to keep his fingers there instead of roaming up and down his sleeves. Maybe he was praying to fate to cuff his hands there, keep them to himself, cowardly away from connecting him to people and objects. His eyes pray, 'If a sliver of hope exists, keep me away from it', and his throat swallows it down.

"Is that the trick in your sleeve behind today?" You ask as he straightens up. "Creating a mirage—using distortion. Real but an illusion, but not fake." You hope he caught the intonation rise in the "fake" at the end that marks it as a question instead of an interrogative allegation. And you hope he outright says no.

"As tempting as saying 'yes' is, we'd be ignorant fools if we think illusions accomplish anything much."

Feints are as pathetic as denials, but the farce doesn't stop. The distant act leads you to nowhere, brings him to nowhere. Dazai is an addict of secrets because they lie to him, they romanticise the unknown and glorify the tension. He's growing far and farther away from connection. If you indulge it, you thought, not even death would entice him.

Today's closure is an accumulation of the scraps and crumbs of the alluring mortality Dazai acknowledges in the act of commemoration. It was his memoir of regret and it's unintentionally (or intentionally?) louder than his shredded speech of hope.

"Acceptance didn't taste bad, did it?" You ask, and you meet Dazai's joyous regret and the insects orbiting the lamppost behind him. The question is, will both of you, any of you, be okay after tonight, or is this the last sight you get of Dazai before he strays from his companions of strangers? A pessimistic affirmation will sound better as an answer than an optimistic declination. That is all you edge to hear.

"Your question requires commitment, and I'm afraid time is on nobody's side." He answers. "It's a shame how we can only stop time for today, but if it's an everlasting ability, it would mock the romance of struggles."

At his answer, you shift your tote bag between you and him to become a defining line and turn your head away. The response, if not jarring, was an awakening call. You hear his silent sigh. With a woeful smile of an arrogant pariah befitting of him, Dazai retreats, but not without tracing your neckline meanwhile.

Dazai makes no haste departing and his soles seem to match the cobblestones with each distance he consumes. Halfway watching, you expected him to halt, to add another quote that would probably lower your spirits back to reality, but he takes a turn behind the wall, and he doesn't come back. You watch the space where his coat drifted one second ago, the spot barren from any spotlights, with only your hands inside your pockets.

© all rights reserved to hanazou. do not repost, modify, or claim any of my works as your own.

taglist (send an ask or comment here to be added!): @uwu-monster101 @bsdwhore @dreamyeyesandfoggyminds @whorefordazai @jawololo @asthepetalsdance @pompompurin1028 @atsushisgf @jadegreenimmortality @fyoyacanruinmylifethanks @cross-crye @Explosion-queen @duhsies @diary-of-a-poltergeist @internetkilledtheroxstar @shinys-bsd-world-1 @n1kolaiz @jessbeinme15 @missrown @requiem626k @the-wholesome-ranpo

[mrpenguinpants]

Andrius, Venti, and Dvalin: General HCs [+ unhinged Venti]

Oh no, not strange at all! I love seeing the art people have done on human Dvalin and Andrius. I’m not entirely sure if you wanted a Venti x Dvalin x Andrius pairing but I’m going to assume so. But just in case, I added a few points of all 4 of your hanging out. How my desk is positioned with my window, the sun is shining directly into my eyes so I have to type in this weird position unless I want my eyeballs to melt.

Also, if any of this is wrong just look away. This took forever because holy crap there is so much lore on these 3. Not sure what exactly you had in mind so I made some general/friendship HCs

Alright, today’s appreciations post is for maagdalen​​. Super lovely person with some lovely emotes. Oh and your english is really good btw^^ and ty for chatting with me 💕💕💕

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[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first. 

@hanniejji​​  @mikeysbike​​ @unionwitch​ @musekala​ @twistedsunnshiii​ @stanzastic​ @akaasea​ @xoneaboveallx​ @adoring-ghost​ @asheseiler​ @childelover​ @dilucsz​

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Andrius, Venti, and Dvalin: General HCs

Andrius

Andrius, also known as Lupus Boreas, was tasked with protecting the nation of Mondstadt under the request of Barbatos. He had a noble soul and mainly stays in the area of Wolvendom. He was strict, to the point, and never really partakes in whatever “foolish” activities Venti or Dvain get themselves into. But it’s all just a front because as soon as one of them get’s hurt or is in danger, his fangs and teeth are out. Even if it’s a cute hydro slime. Then he’ll take them by the scruff of their neck back to Wolvendom to get their wounds checked. On Venti it works, but with Dvalin’s dragon form. It’s amusing to see a pouting dragon getting dragged off by a wolf that wasn’t even double his size.

Not many Mondstadt citizen’s know but Andrius isn’t actually a wolf. He chooses to take the form of a wolf and should any of the wolves in Wolvendom be threaten, that’s the form he will appear in. But in truth, it was because Venti suggested it. If he was going to stay in Wolvendom and protect wolves then it made sense that his form would be the big bad wolf. Really Andrius just believes that Venti has a secret vendetta against cats and Andrius wouldn’t talk to Venti if he suggested that he take the form a dog.

There is a bit of discourse between Andrius and Venti due to Venti’s human-like appearance since Andrius views human society as a disappointment. Only accepting abandoned infants that have no where to go. But he does respect Barbatos and helped in his efforts to rebuild Mondstadt and protect it as one of the Four Winds.

While he doesn’t completely enjoy Venti’s extravagant personality he’s glad that Barbatos adopted the name and is living his life in freedom. Despite being the anemo archon, he chooses to live as Venti. Having fun in taverns and doing what he loves.

Venti

Venti always brings stories and sings for the two whenever he decides that it’s been too long since he’s seen his friends. He usually brings a bottle of wine even if he’s the only one that ever drinks - which is probably why he brings wine - which leads to Andrius scolding Venti to try and act civilized when he gets drunk and saying “No Dvalin, you cannot have some. The last time we let you drink you cried so much that Springvale still has a waterfall.”

It’s amusing to hear that after the war, the biggest problem Venti has right now is getting constantly ID checked. Dvalin takes this quite literally, since he still isn’t fully aware of taverns rules and regulations, that it takes both Venti and Andrius to hold him down before another Stormterror incident happens.

Venti has always been bold, never afraid to say anything, which was a trait that Dvalin and Andrius liked about the anemo archon. It was what made him the archon of freedom but sometimes Venti is a bit too bold and pretends to play fetch with Andrius wolf form. He is not amused. When he tries it with Dvalin, Dvalin will participate but he get’s confused and ends up just sitting beside Venti when the archon throws the stick. Which causes Venti to make a walk of shame to get the stick back.

When Venti acts as the Wind Archon it’s always a bit of whiplash when he talks in his philosophical state that it reminds Dvalin and Andrius that despite his childlike appearance and attitude, he was still the anemo archon. But it get quickly covered up when he says it’s time to switch back to Venti time.

It’s hard for them all to meet up in the present day. Dvalin stays in his domain while Andrius stays in Wolvendorm, all alone in their own domain. Venti prefers lively places than those quiet and solitude areas so he’s either in the City of Freedom or under the Windrise tree. But on occasions where he feels lonely he’ll swing by Dvalin’s lair and use the winds to carry their conversation to Andrius. Just so he isn’t left out.

If anyone asks where the ballads that Venti sings that are about a strict wolf and a nervous dragon, he’ll just say it was a passing tune he made up.

Dvalin

Dvalin, same as Andrius, lost his faith in humanity and the city of Mondstadt. He was released as his role as one of the four winds but continued to remain in Mondstadt. Similarly to Andrius he is distrustful around humans after being betrayed by them, chose to avoids human contact but he tries to adopt a more friendly side when Venti visits him.

Dvalin cares about Venti more and isn’t as standoffish in showing that he appreciates Venti compared to Andrius. Venti explained to him and showed him what freedom truly was he felt connected with someone for the first time. He did want to be understood and loved by the humans for who he was and what he wanted to protect. But that’s still a long road ahead.

He’s a curious but clumsy dragon. He’s pure of heart and steadfast in his goals which Venti is full-heartily cheering him on while Andrius disagrees but allows Dvalin to continue on this own path. Even if Andrius is on the other side of Mondstadt, he still tries to keep an eye out for Dvalin should the Abyss Order ever try and take his friend under their control.

However, due to how almost naïve the dragon is, he get’s into rather...interesting situations. While Andrius groans and Venti loses his absolute shit when Dvalin, still in his dragon form, lands and tries to observe the wolves. He only hides behind a thin tree that barely covers even 2% of his entire body and ends up scaring the wolves who run back to Andrius for safety. It takes a lot of consoling from Venti that the wolves didn’t like him, they were just scared and perhaps he should adopt a smaller form?

He’s still a bit sick from the aftermath of the Abyss Order and the poison of Durin so he can’t travel as far as he would like so Venti keeps him company. Telling him what the citizens of Mondstadt have been up to and playing music with his lyre.

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I love writing Venti, he’s so much fun. :) I say this but I live for Venti who hides behind this happy persona but is actually unhinged or deluded. I have many thoughts on this but I didn’t want to break the pace of the fic (plus this is getting pretty long anyways). So feel free to skip the rest of this if that makes you uncomfortable. I’m just spit balling right now.

But nervous and shy dragon Dvalin plus mother hen Andrius is canon. You cannot convince me otherwise.

This week has just turned into “what will we awaken today?” In other news, Lisa and Diluc. But it might be a bit late since this took some time to finish. In extra news, solo leveling just updated. Oh and jjk is (hopefully) getting a new episode tmr^^

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Barbatos

Andrius and Dvalin trust Venti to fulfill his archon duties should anything ever happen to Mondstadt. The same way Venti trusts the Four Winds will protect Mondstadt should anything dangerous arise. With the carefree nature of Venti making a sudden appearance after Barbatos’s year long nap, they both got a bit too comfortable with this happy-go-lucky version of their archon.

That is until Venti brings a fourth person into their trio. Someone who knew how to play the lyre and wished to fly and see the birds. Andrius and Dvalin share a quick look of anxious tension and it’s confirmed when Venti makes a small slip of the tongue and calls you by a certain boy’s name. They aren’t sure what to do or if Venti was starting to regress back into Barbatos and what that could mean for this innocent traveler.

“Barbatos defeated the previous ruler and left the city to rest because he didn’t want to become the same tyrant. But an archon is still an archon with responsibilities. Those responsibilities can be warped to the point that they believe they are helping and guiding their followers, but are actually trapping them in their cage. He is an archon that believes in freedom so his cage is just a bit bigger. Big enough that you can’t see the walls. Be careful traveler.”

Venti goes to greet you the next day you see him but his words seem to fade away when he approach's you. He asks if you’ve been talking to Andrius lately. You nod and ask how he knows. He says that you just spell like wolfhooks and that you shouldn’t worry about anything. 

The next day Andrius apologizes to you about his words and that he was mistaken. There was nothing to worry about and to trust Venti. You can see Dvalin a bit off to the side looking away nervously and a bit guilty.

Venti always makes sure that Andrius and Dvalin keep an eye on you, especially Dvalin when you’re in stormterror land. It was a pretty dangerous landscape to trek through. As for Andrius, he doesn’t want you to get hurt during your weekly practice fights. It wouldn’t do you any good if you got hurt and couldn’t explore this vast world with him.

[starlitwhispers]

saccharine. soulsilvershipping - 2400 words A flavorless au by yours truly. happy quarter century birthday to my boo @silverbuttercups

Heat. Pounding heat. Warmth beating into his cheeks like the summer sun, except it was her instead. He can’t get it to work, he just can’t. The paints keep meshing and clumping; it’s like his sweat is mixing with the acrylics. And it’s all her fault, because she won’t get off his mind. The idea of her sits atop his head, weighing him down — it’s like he can’t breathe. The air, it’s thinning, he’s panting, the taste of her skin is flashing back into his mind — he’s panting, remembering the feeling of her panting back onto him. His mind races, his heart races, time seems like it’s elapsing faster than the speed of light —

He breaks out of his trance. The drops of sweat trickle down his scrawny biceps and a wet stain darkens the front of his dirty, yellow and faded wife-beater. He’s alone. It’s just him as he glances around his disgusting, cluttered studio. Musty, dusty, he peers at the ivory, canvas curtains by the window, and watches the specks of dirt and grime waft through the air in the beams of light peeking through the cracks. He sits in silence, redirecting his eyes to his easel once more. Trash, he thinks at first, looking at the mess of paints and lines, how there’s no depth and no character. The brown he chose doesn’t match… it’s not the right shade. Absolute trash.

Blinking, he thinks again. He does not know what day it is, or month even. Now that he no longer works in that dingy office, contact with the rest of the world has vanished. He makes his way out of the studio, trudges down the hallway and walks right past the master bedroom. The master bedroom that has been tightly shut for more than a year. All the blinds, everywhere, in every window, they are closed. Ready to-microwave meal boxes pile in the trash bin and even fleck across his kitchen floor and countertops. Not a dish in sight, except for used scotch glasses with empty bottles not too far behind. His bed, the couch, has multiple blankets sprawled across it and a coffee table in front full of trash. His eyes focus on the trash, or more specifically, the crumpled up balls of his sketch pad paper. The balls of paper could be found as far as the corners of the kitchen floor, behind the counter and by the fridge.

He has quite the arm, although he appears thin. His strength multiplies with his frustration and anger. He sits himself in a rather indented spot on the couch, less cushioned than the rest of the sofa from months of his weight pressed in this one area. His hand reaches for the remote and turns on the television, afterwards he fixes himself a glass of scotch in a used glass nearby and his fingers shimmy their way into his back pocket. From within, his index and middle fingers pull out a cigarette box. He shoves a smoke between his dry lips and lights it. Between the alcohol and the nicotine, it’s just enough.

Just enough to get the taste of her out of his mouth. For now.

He sits back as he watches the afternoon news. He stares at the journalist’s lips, sees how they curve into coy smiles as she laughs at the corny jokes the daily anchorman voices over into her ear. Just another normal girl, reporting normal things, in her normal life, he observes. Disgusting, he reflects, a normal life is disgusting.

He huffs the cigarette smoke towards the living room ceiling, shutting his eyes. Reminiscing the day he first moved into the home, how bright, clean, and airy it felt then. It’s almost as if everything else in the house is a shell of its former self… including him. A couple envelopes shoot through the golden lips of his front door — today’s mail has arrived — he thinks about the stacks of mail piling by his front door. He makes a faint guess she has not changed her mailing address on some things yet, which gives him false hope on good days or this burning misery that perhaps she has moved on in more ways than one. Changed her name? Married? Then again, she never came back for any of her other belongings. Maybe she already had a back up plan set in motion.

But the truth is, he never saw it coming. Perhaps that is what makes the stinging pain after all this time feel so fresh. What was that, she said a long time ago? That she loved him? He sniggers at himself, at his stupidity, at his unfulfilling life that he tirelessly plays out everyday. At the end of his frumpy sofa, his cellphone rings. Or, at least, he feels the vibrations.

In foolish—hopeless—optimism, he shoves his fist into the edge of the couch digging around for the device. Frantically, he drudges it up from the crevice, along with stray hairs and crumbs, and his eyes yearningly glance over the caller ID. His heart falls beneath the pits of his stomach. It’s just his PR agent. Disappointed, he declines the call and tosses his phone onto the coffee table. He stares at it, somewhat in disbelief and somewhat dismayed with himself for even hoping for it. For her.

By the moment the sun sets, he fiddles with his phone, his finger hovering over the dial button on her number… Of course, he does not call her. He shoves the device into his back pocket. Of course, by the moment the sun sets, he has finished another bottle and another pack. And he has passed out on the living room sofa, again. In a drunken stupor, he awakens, angry, and storms the hallway to his studio. Throwing a blank canvas to the easel, he begins his work once again until dawn. And in this instance, he allows the idea of her to drown him, flood his lungs like the oils and acrylics starting to spatter his body, until all he breathes is the image of her. An exposé of his love, his hatred, his loneliness. They have banned nudity everywhere except the museums.

Wasn’t that their first date? A museum? He stops mid-stroke and clutches his brush a little tighter. He tries to remember, when was the last time he was in a museum?

…Just like the day before, the sun begins to peak through his blinds, but this time, the work before him satisfies. His paint covered fingers nestle their way into his pocket, he presses the dial key and lifts the phone to his ear. The recipient of his call picks up.

The voice on the other end starts, “Hey, dude, I’ve been trying to reach you—”

“I’ve got something good,” the artists interrupts.

“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?! I’ll be over later to check it out.”

----

“And, that’s all the time we have for today, love,” her producer tells her from the side as the cameraman lowers the device from his shoulder.

She sighs, scratches the back of her ear, and smiles in unison with a nod. A small drop of sweat trickles from her temple, why does she have to be the on-scene reporter today? She saunters to the news channel’s van and with its open side door, she scoops a cold water bottle from the mini cooler. The sun continues to beat down on her rose-tinted cheeks. The buzzing of cicadas whiz through her ears and into her thoughts… some guy from work had asked her out for drinks later tonight, but suddenly she’s feeling a raincheck about to be typed on her phone.

She’s not ready yet. How can she be? Her right hand absentmindedly finds its way to her other hand, brushing over her now naked ring finger. A shame, really, that it didn’t work out. She really wishes it would have.

“You can head home now, of course,” her producer begins. “Do you need a ride home?”

“No, thank you,” she respectfully declines. “I think I’ll walk home.”

The staff executive eyes her in confusion, as she clearly does not enjoy the summer heat. He shrugs his shoulders in defeat, “Whatever floats your boat, honey.”

The young brunette collects her bag from the van and stuffs her hand into it, rummaging for make-up remover wipes. She takes out her compact and begins cleansing her face. If she plans to walk home, she would rather not be recognized. However unfortunate people may see it, her occupation does come with some less than desired fans. To top off her “disguise,” she removes the hair clip, lets her hair down and places a pair of sunglasses over her eyes.

On her way home, she stops by a local café for refreshment and a boost of energy. Sitting for a moment in the air conditioned shop, she takes frequent sips of her hazelnut iced coffee.

“Have you seen the new exhibition at the museum yet?” She overhears two young students chat with each other. “It’s honestly incredible.”

“Really? I guess I’ll have to check it out later today. Who’s it by?” The other voice asks.

She finally takes the last sip through the straw, and the liquid slurps from the leftover ice.

“Oh, uh… I forget his name… He was really popular a few years ago, though,” the first voice falters.

The young reporter stands up, slugs her bag strap over her shoulder, and heads for the door.

“Uh, Silver, something?” The first voice remembers. “He’s actually supposed to be at the exhibition today, doing an expository with some press over his inspiration and meaning.”

As the bell rings with her opening the door, she throws her empty cup into the trash followed by an exuberant “thank you for coming!” from the barista behind the counter.

She did not hear the last part from the student in the café.

In her trek home, she stops in front of the museum. In the pit of her stomach, she feels bubbling. Her intestines become upset from anxiety and emotions she wished to never feel again flash back into her senses. That feeling, of dread somehow turned into addictive ecstasy, floods into her veins, and her feet compel her to enter against her better judgment.

As she passes through all the marble walls, the scent of the canvases and oil paintings make her heart race and palms sweat. She anticipates something bad will happen, as something bad always happened when they were together.

All his rough yelling, all their petty disagreements over the things she wanted and the things he did not want, all the noise of hatred bred from what she promised to be forever with him. Stopping to admire a piece, she realizes that has become far from reality. Forever with him… part of her wishes she could go back and part of her desires ever so strongly to never see him again.

In the depth of these paint strokes, she observes and ruminates. What if she were to return and to feel his cracked, warm lips against hers? The sweat of his red hairs behind his neck as they pressed their bodies together, hearing his grunts.

She swallows. She’s warm at the thought of someone she hasn’t touched in almost three years. Being his wife isn’t the worst thing she has done when she thinks about the things they have done together in bed… Her tongue wets the bottom lip and she bites down. This is wrong, she thinks to herself, she left him for a reason. A good reason.

All the miserable nights, the crying, the loneliness. She cannot see him again. If she sees him again, it might sway her. She may want him back. She cannot see him again.

She wants him back.

—--

Here he stands, a month after the original piece he produced in a drunk, inspired stupor, with a brand new exhibition. His agent clinks a glass of champagne to the drink in his own hand, a smile plastered all over his consultant’s face. Of course there is a smile all over his face, the work he has promoted to the city has doubled the money in his pockets. Although the actual artist himself could care less for the revenue. He glances around the section of the gallery that has been sectioned off for exclusively his exhibition and the expository conference.

In his mind, the worst part of this event has ended. The few cameras and interviewers have left and now only art dealers, consultants, and critics remain. The moment he realizes he can slip away to breathe on his own, without being bombarded by awful, intrusive questions he can’t be bothered to answer, he does so. The other areas of the museum are far quieter and the company of the crowd makes his scotch taste bad. As he takes small, frequent sips with each step, he would much rather be drunk at home away from all these people.

He has finally done something he promised himself he wouldn’t ever do again: create art inspired by her. That alone makes him want to become blackout wasted. Or so he thought. He stops in his tracks as he downs the last drop of his drink. I should have just grabbed the damn bottle.

Standing a couple feet from him, peering into a painting, the nightmare from hell that dragged him down under and left him there. Dropping the glass in his hand, he doesn’t think much before his body moves towards her—all the anger manifested inside of him—she quickly becomes aware of his on-coming presence, surprised by the sound of broken glass and his person, and he grabs her by the shoulders.

Forcing her against the wall, she still stares wide-eyed in shock and he does not to hesitate to press his mouth against hers with ferocity. Her eyes still agape, he slips his tongue in quickly and gruffly releases her from his grip. He stares down into her eyes with disdain and she stares back with confusion.

“Silver, I—“ she begins, her voice somewhat hoarse from surprise.

But his expression silences her. He brutishly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns away from her. He starts walking away.

In that swift instance, he realizes.

He does not want her back.

[sckyie]

song: where were you in the morning? by shawn mendes

word count: 1.2k

genre + warnings: friends to lovers kinda; swearing, established friendship, morning after, suggestive [ no smut ], also DONT HAVE DRUNK SEX.

pronouns used: female insert (she/her)

a/n: first part of the haikyuu song series :)

Your cheek were warm as you entered Sakusa's apartment. If it weren't for the alcohol in both of your systems, he wouldn't let you near him. You held his hand as you followed him into his bedroom. Sakusa closed the door behind you, pinning you against the wall. "I wanna get to know you better," He says. You feel his warm breathe against you before he crashes his lips into yours. "Are you okay with that?"

"Yes," You smiled as he trailed his hand to your back. Both your lips, moving in sync as you made your way to his bed. His hand began to roam your body as you landed on the sheets. "Omi are you sure?"

"Definitely," He says as his mouth connected with your neck.

After the two of you finish, you two laid beside each other on the bed. The room was warm from your heat and all you could do was admire Sakusa beside you. He reached over and combed your hair. "I was drunk when we started but," He sighed. "I'm not anymore."

"You're so pretty," As you were still a little tipsy, you smiled at his touch. "I thought you didn't like germs."

"I hate germs but...something about you, I'm okay with," He smiled. "I trust you."

"Hehe, you like me," You giggled. Sakusa rolled his eyes as he pulls you closer to him. You lay on his chest, drawing shapes on his naked body. "Does this mean we can have breakfast together?"

"Do you want to?" He chuckled at your drowsy proposal.

"Yeah," You yawned. "We can make pancakes, eggs, bacon.."

"Don't get my hopes up," Kiyoomi chuckled. "Do you work tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I work every morning," You groaned. "I wish I could stay here forever."

Kiyoomi laughed at your tipsy antics and began to comb your hair with his fingers. The night continued with your pillow talk, mostly making bold statements. Sakusa found your post-sex talk rewarding. He could tell he made you happy and you made him feel over the moon.

"You know I've never felt this- this- amazing with person in so long," You smiled. "Thank you Omi."

"Glad to be the one who made you feel this way," He chuckled.

"Thank you," You say. Your voice began to drift as you slowly fell asleep in his arms.

It was an odd feeling for Kiyoomi. He never let anyone touch him, not even his teammates. Having someone so close and so intimate with him was strange to him. He looks down at your naked body, pulling the blanket to cover you up. "Goodnight," He smiled. He kisses your forehead before falling asleep.

The sun began to rise hours later, the light shining through the blinds. You awaken to see the glistening lights hit your eyes. As your eyes fluttered open, you noticed yourself naked in a different bed. You looked over to see Sakusa's back facing you.

Your cheeks flushed red and you pulled the blanket up to cover your torso. You looked around to find your dress and undergarments on the floor. You quietly slipped out of bed and into the bathroom, grabbing your clothes on the way.

You examine your body, noticing the red marks littered along your chest and sides. You hide your face at the sight before quickly getting dressed. Quietly, you exit the bathroom to see Sakusa still deep asleep. "Sorry Omi," You say. You carefully leave the bedroom to head home.

"Shit, we took an uber home," You realized at the doorstep. "Fuck."

You ended up calling Hinata to pick you up and drop you off. You explained to him your mistake and how you hooked up with Sakusa. Hinata was shocked that he even let you touch him.

While you were on your way home, Sakusa was just waking up to an empty bed. He pinches his nose as he realized that you had left him alone. "She really left?" He grumbled. Sakusa dreaded getting up from bed but proceeded regardless.

As he entered the bathroom, he noticed something on the floor. It must've fell out your jacket because why would you leave your work ID card? He picked it up before turning on the shower.

Sakusa after his shower, he felt a pain on his back. He turned in the mirror to see scratches all over. He grazed the marks with his finger tips, wincing at the sore feeling. "Damn," He muttered. His phone began to ring from his bedside table.

"Hello? Omi-kun?" Atsumu answered.

"What do you want?"

"Oh just wanted to see how you were doing. You and Y/n were very drunk."

"I'm fine, I don't know about her. Thanks for checking in."

"You sound disappointed, everythin' okay?"

"Yeah, she just left me in the morning alone."

"Wait what?!" Atsumu exclaimed. "Did you two-"

"Yes, 'Sumu. We did," Kiyoomi rolled his eyes as he spoke.

"Oh my god- wait she ditched you? Was it bad?"

"No..." He began to think about last night. "It was more than just good actually."

"Oh, damn. Well, what are yer going to do now?"

"I'm going to her work to talk to her, and give back her ID card. I'll see you at practice later."

"Okay Omi! See you soon," Atsumu ends the call, leaving Sakusa to get ready to leave.

You had gotten ready for work after a long shower. You dragged your feet out the house and into your car to drive to work. It was a quiet ride on the way to the office and all you could think of was last night.

It wasn't that you regretted it, last night was amazing. The connection between you and Sakusa grew stronger yet you were too afraid to face him. Once you arrived at your work, you noticed a familar masked figure waiting for you out front. Your cheeks flushed red as you approached the entrance.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, avoiding eye contact.

"This," He flashes your work ID card.

"Oh, thanks," You reach out for the card but he holds it above his head.

"Where were you in the morning?" He asks. "You left me without a warning. Did I do something?"

"I-" You stopped and felt him bring your chin up with his fingers. "I was scared. Even now I am.."

"Why?" He pulled his hand away.

"You never touch anyone and I don't know if you meant what you said last night," You explained. "I was scared that you'd be freaked with me next to you. So if I left first.."

"You didn't have to face me," He finished your sentence. Sakusa hands you your ID card as he pulls off his mask. He brings his face close to yours before speaking. "I meant what I said."

"Oh, I-" You were cut off by Sakusa pressing his lips against yours. "I'm sorry Omi...for leaving."

"Make it up to me later today then," He stands up straight and adjusted his mask. "After practice, come to my apartment again. You owe me a meal."

taglist: @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme @d0llpie @elianetsantana

[yikeswtfmate]

Part 1: Ungodly Hours

Of Tinder Dates & Caramel Macchiatos - Series Masterlist // main masterlist // next part

Summary: Y/N had no idea her new work routine would bring a certain handsome bartender to her table where she drinks her coffee every morning. Steve is sweet, although a bit sleep deprived, and Natasha thinks Y/N and him would make the perfect pair. But dating him is out of the question. What happens when, tired of Nat’s bizarre behaviour, Y/N installs Tinder and meets this really cute guy who can read her like an open book?

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader; Thor Odinson x Reader

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, sexual references and themes

A/N: guess who’s back! back again with a very long Steve series that might be the end of me but that i already love with my whole heart and oh god i am so nervous i really hope you’re gonna like this

Coffee shops in the morning could easily be considered anyone’s personal hell. The sheer amount of people trudging along to get their daily fix of caffeine would normally make Y/N stop in her tracks and take a turn towards the nearest coffee vending machine, even if it tastes worse than crap. At least she doesn’t have to wait for half an hour in line stuck between a very loud lawyer and that one mum who insists on buying the nastiest green smoothie she’s ever seen in her life.

However, coffee shops at 6 in the morning, right about when Peter changes the sign from closed to open, are heaven sent. Sure, the prospect of having to be out and about for work at 6 am is less than ideal, but at least she’s always been more or less a morning person. And her paycheck has been considerably fatter last month. 

Y/N takes her usual seat outside, caramel macchiato right next to her laptop. Today should be an easy day - fill out some paperwork before she heads to the office at 8.45, pick up Pepper’s coffee, and sort out whatever has been left of this week. Easy, simple and to the point, although Nat would love to argue that Saturdays are for sleeping in, and not for personally picking up documents from various stakeholders. 

“Or better yet, download Tinder and work out your stress with random guys.” Nat had suggested last night on the phone, when Y/N made the mistake of mentioning she hadn’t had any in too many months to count. “There’s this great guy I know…”

“No.” Y/N interrupted, knowing exactly where that would’ve gone. “Every time you tried to set me up with someone, it ended up in disaster. We’re not doing this again, Nat.”

“I just want you to be happy.” She muttered, most definitely being silently admonished by Bucky for trying to interfere in her friend’s life yet again.

“I am happy, sweetheart. Just because I’m not getting any at the moment, that doesn’t mean I’m not happy. Plus, you know what I think -”

“If it’s meant to be, there’s no point in me chasing it, yes.” Nat echoed with a roll of her eyes. “Sometimes your whole attitude of ‘go with the flow’ pisses me off. I say you should go after what you want.”

“Well, there’s nothing, or no one to want at the moment so there’s no point in me getting into a frenzy about it. When the moment’s right, it will happen.”

“Hey!” 

The voice cuts right through the middle of her thought, interrupting Nat’s sneered answer of ‘I just hope he won’t be an asshole like your ex’, making Y/N look up from her laptop. There’s a guy standing next to her, one steaming cup of coffee in a hand, uncertain smile on a face ragged by what can only be lack of sleep. He’s tall and broad shouldered, and she can’t place him for a second, before her eyes land on the sleeve tattoo on his right arm. 

“Steve?” She asks, just as hesitant.

“Yeah!” He grins, running his free hand through his hair, until there’s a blond mess of it. “Y/N, right? You’re Nat’s friend.”

“Yeah, that’s right. I uh- how are you?”

The whole scene most probably looks ridiculous to the outside eye - her sitting down, craning her neck to look at this monolith of a man, both of them oozing with awkwardness and hesitation. She’s always hated that touch of absurdity in interactions between people who know each other, but are not even acquaintances. Even though her job as an executive assistant requires her to navigate situations just like these, that does not mean it makes it easier for her to know how to do that in her personal life. It’s called balance - be a badass at your job, but you’re left an embarrassing mess when it comes to talking to cute guys that you don’t actually know.

“Just got off my shift. Thought I should grab a coffee and spare myself of falling asleep on the subway again.”

“Oh. You’re still working as a bartender then?” She replies, digging her claws into the faint memory of him running from one end of the bar to the other, barely managing to shake her hand after a brief introduction that one time she agreed to go out with Nat and Bucky. 

“Yep. I’m actually part-owner now.” Steve says proudly and she can’t help but grin with him. 

“Congratulations!” Y/N claps her hands - what is that, come on, get yourself together. “Hey, do you wanna take a seat and have your coffee? I feel weird sitting while you’re standing.”

“Ah, I shouldn’t. I’ve been up for almost 24 hours now.” He scratches the back of his head, checks his watch and glances at her again in thought. “But I can spare 5 more minutes to finish this. Wouldn’t want to spill it all over me again.”

Y/N smiles and does her best at clearing at least one corner of the table. He takes a seat, and she notices the way his knee brushes softly against hers, and fair enough, the table is small, but this guy is massive and he’s dwarfing everything around him - it’s no wonder they can barely fit together. 

“So what are you up to at this ungodly hour of the morning on a Saturday?” He asks after swiftly scanning all the papers and electronics between them.

“Ah, my life is definitely less exciting than yours.” She laughs. “I’m just getting to work.”

“On a Saturday?” His confusion is clear. So is his amusement as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“I see Nat hasn’t been complaining to everyone around her about me. That’s reassuring.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Steve shrugs. “Whenever they come to the bar, I’m usually working. I can barely exchange two words with them.”

“That’s right. I remember her saying something about you needing to get a break.” 

“More like a life. I haven’t had a day off in months, I don’t even know what daylight looks like anymore.”

There’s no denying the fact that he looks exhausted - if the dark circles under his eyes wouldn’t be indication enough, it’s easy to read it in the tense set of his shoulders, the way he’s more slumping than sitting in his chair. Y/N is filled with a weird sense of wanting to make this man a cup of tea and order him to go to bed already. His gaze keeps shifting, as if it can’t focus on anything for more than a few seconds, and there’s a slight hint of misery written all over his features that is cleverly hidden by his happy-go-lucky attitude, which seems superficial if analysed closely. Perks of being the best at her job, curse for people who don’t want their business pried into, but then again...they don’t know each other that well, so she keeps her mouth shut. Whatever is bothering him is none of her damn business.

“If it makes you feel any better, I have no idea what nightlife looks like anymore.” She offers.

“We’d make an invincible human being if we were to join forces.” Steve laughs. “I’ll tell you all about teenagers trying to get in with fake IDs, how to get rid of vomit in the toilets and what’s the best way to mix a Long Island and you can tell me all about traffic in the morning, rush hour at lunchtime and what kids are up to when they get off school.”

“Mostly TikTok dances.” Y/N shrugs, which earns her the cutest sleep-deprived laugh she’s ever heard in her life. 

“Is that what those are? Oh God, I feel old now.” 

She chuckles - it’s cute, he’s cute. In a lost puppy kind of way, but her final verdict is interrupted by her phone vibrating next to her hand. Now, she wouldn’t normally be so rude as to answer a phone in the middle of a conversation, especially when she is focused on the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he’s grinning at his not-exactly-joke, but PEPPER CALLING is a rude awakening that she is supposed to actually be at work in less than 15 minutes. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I have to get this, it’s my boss.”

“No worries. I should get going anyway. I think I’ve already slipped into sleepwalking anyway.” He stands up and fumbles around for a few seconds - yet another situation that neither of them seems to know how to handle. Are they supposed to shake hands? Hug? Take an imaginary hat off? 

So Y/N settles on a smile, which must put him at ease a teensy bit, because he grins back at her - that boyish grin that made her think cute way too many times by this time of the day. 

“It was great seeing you, Y/N. Don’t overwork yourself today. It is Saturday after all.”

“Says the one who’s 90% asleep.” Y/N giggles. “Bye, Steve!”

“See you around, sweetheart!”

*

Nat takes out a bottle of wine, moving around the well-lit kitchen as if she’s lived there her whole entire life, and not only for the past three weeks. Y/N is still mesmerised by the fake brick wall in front of her to pay attention to the glass thrust between her fingers - this apartment is gorgeous. She had no idea Bucky was so good at interior design, which must have been a huge selling point when they’ve decided where to live together. Christ, Y/N would have wanted to move in with him after only 5 months, for this apartment alone. But Nat is frowning - that deep line between her eyebrows leaves nothing to speculation, and Y/N knows her best friend too well not to realise that she is not happy with what she’s hearing.

“Are you going to say anything or should I just assume you’re pissed off?”

“I’m not pissed off.” Nat says, an immediate response that sounds too close to defensiveness to sound like truth. “I’m just- I’m surprised, is all. I mean, it is Steve we’re talking about here after all.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t understand why you’re reacting like this.”

Nat brings her foot up on her stool, and braces her knee while her other hand is playing with the rim of her glass. She’s avoiding eye contact, which is never a good sign when it comes to her, yet Y/N simply can’t put her finger on the reason behind her sudden change in demeanour when she’s told her that she met Steve this morning. 

“I just don’t think that Steve would be the right person for you right now.” She finally mutters and there’s a tinge of embarrassment in her tone that Y/N can’t decipher.

“Ok, you’re going to have to explain what the hell is going on because I have no idea what’s with all this hostility. All I did was tell you that I chatted with Steve for half an hour this morning. How did you connect that to me getting into a relationship with him?”

“Because!” Nat groans. “You and Steve would be perfect for each other. Not to mention you’re my best friend and he’s Bucky’s best friend and just that idea alone gives me cavities. I want you to be together!”

“I’ve seriously never been more confused in my entire life.”

“Ok, look, I’m going to be completely honest with you right now.” Nat sighs and she at long last makes eye contact. “It’s not my story to tell, but the gist of it is that Steve’s recently gotten out of a relationship with one of my friends from work. He was completely swept off his feet, even Bucky’s never seen him this infatuated with someone. The problem is that, as much as I love Peggy, she really did a number on him. He’s been a complete wreck ever since and he doesn’t even know that she’s gotten back together with her ex. I’m just saying that he’s not in the right emotional state to get into another relationship right now. And you’re in a complete state at the moment as well.”

“Me?” Y/N squeals, surprised by this sudden change of direction. “What is wrong with me?”

“Honey, you also recently got out of a serious relationship where you were practically married to the guy. I really think you should spend some time alone and focus on yourself, and not guys. Flings, fuck buddies, Tinder, sure, whatever. Do whatever you couldn’t during these past few years, but you’re not ready to jump into another serious relationship again. I love you and I love Steve, but you’d probably destroy each other if you were to get together.”

Y/N waits for a few more seconds in order to make sure Nat’s said her piece. She’s surprised by her friend’s outburst - it was only yesterday that Y/N’s explained to her that she’s not willing to get herself out there just yet and she was rebuffed by promises of friends and possibilities. This mix of encouragement and relentlessness is nothing short of confusing. Especially since Y/N hasn’t even hinted at a potential romance with Steve.

“Ok, first of all, I want you to know that I agree with you. I’m not ready to get into another relationship right now, but I also want you to understand that I’m not going back to jumping into bed with guys I barely know. Look where that got me last time! Second, I didn’t tell you I saw Steve today because I want to be in a relationship with him. We just talked. As friends. Nothing more.”

They look at each other in silence for a few moments, a sense of uneasiness that Y/N’s never felt in the whole time she’s known Nat. There’s something odd about her reaction, but she can’t say what it is exactly. She guesses she can understand her friend’s protectiveness over Steve - after all, she knows all too well how much of a mama bear Nat can be with people she cares about, but isn’t she supposed to care more about what her best friend might want? Even if Y/N doesn’t want Steve, but it’s the principle of it!

“Right.” Nat mutters. “Well, I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Nat, I’m not doing anything. I barely talked once with the guy by accident.” 

This is getting ridiculous.

“Just remember that I don’t want to be involved in this.”

“There’s no this to be involved in!”

[dcnatural]

Is There Somewhere

Word Count: 2392

Pairing: Harley Quinn x Poison Ivy

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn meet to finish unfinished business, and Ivy recalls a magical night the duo had shared.

Unless you knew what you were looking for, the Gotham Garden Motel was hard to spot. Squeezed between two warehouses on the road leading to Arkham Island, the building seemed abandoned: the glass of the windows was covered in dust, making it impossible to see anything in the other side; the sign which announced the name of the establishment was missing some letters and the neon lights had long stopped working; the roof was missing a couple of tiles and the white paint was peeling off the outside walls, which were covered by cracks. It was a miracle the place was still standing.

Despite the decrepit state of the motel, its driveway was often filled with cars and people were seen going in and out at a regular basis. If one dared to open the rotten wooden door, they would find themselves inside a shockingly well illuminated reception. It even had a waiting area, which included a tube television and a coffee machine. An employee in a cheap cotton uniform sat behind the large desk, alternating between watching a soap opera and scribbling something on the notebook open in front of them. A door reading “Employees Only” leads into the office, a separated area with two large window panes that could be used to spy on the reception. 

They didn’t ask for IDs and only accepted upfront payments made in cash, the registration was as simple as writing whichever name you wanted in the book and leaving the money. You would then be given a key to your room. This discretion was the main reason behind the motel's popularity. Whether you were a cheating husband, a drug dealer or a high tier super criminal, if you wanted to have a clandestine meeting, this was the place to come. Everyone who visited the motel was involved in some shady business. The whole premise of the place was that you could come, do your shit and leave, no questions asked.

That's why the clerk didn’t bat an eye when Poison Ivy came striding in through the front entrance, placed a wad of cash in the front desk, signed the visitor’s log, took the key for room 93 and headed to the staircase without saying a word. Nor did the clerk find it unusual when, fifteen minutes later, Harley Quinn burst in and raced upstairs, not even bothering to close the door after her.

Room 93 was located on the fourth floor. Unlike most hotels, which the room’s number indicated their respective floor, the Gotham Garden didn’t use this rationale. Instead, the numbers had been randomly assigned; a brilliant idea that occured to the first owner after getting wasted in a bar downtown. Therefore, there was no intuitive way of finding your room, and the guests were required to carefully read the maps plastered to the walls of the staircase.

While the reception gave the impression of belonging to a decent place, the rest of the hotel matched the state of the outside. The red carpet covering the floor had a thick cover of dust and mold, the lamps in the ceiling were either burned out or flickered inconsistently. Cockroaches crawled around, and one could hear the screeches made by the rats inhabiting the wall. Each door had been painted with a different color, but now the ink was faded and everything looked like a lifeless gray.

Harley verified if the hallway was clear before tapping on the dark-blue door. Dressed in a black hat with a wide brim, overly large star-shaped pink sunglasses and an old trench coat, she looked like the most comical spy in the world.

The knock caused Ivy to jump from her chair, and she stumbled to reach the door. She gave a quick glance at the bathroom mirror to ensure that her vivid red hair was well combed and her shirt was in place. Her heartbeat was frantic and she took a deep breath to calm herself, inhaling the lavender scent of her perfume.

Ivy sighed as she contemplated the girl before her. “Didn’t I tell you to be discreet?”, she complained as Harley skipped inside.

“This is discreet, Pams. No one can recognize me with these glasses. Betcha you wouldn’t have known it was me if I hadn’t told you I was coming disguised”, she replied as she removed the sunglasses and tossed them aside. They skittered through the floor before stopping underneath the wardrobe. 

She then took off her hat, letting her blonde locks cascade down her back. The colorful streaks had been washed off, with only ghostly remnants of pink and blue to evidence the product of Harley’s latest post-break-up-hair-makeover. It only made sense that now that she was back with the Joker she would try to erase any change she had made during their time apart.

The darkened windows didn’t allow much light to pass through and, despite being early afternoon, Ivy had turned on the twin lamp shades that decorated the nightstands, their floral pattern casting shadows in the threadbare arabic rug that covered the floor underneath the bed.

Harley sat in the far end of the bed, back propped against the wall and legs stretched over the mattress. “So, what’d you wanted to talk about, uh?”

Ivy paced around the room, she couldn’t bring herself to look at Harley. “How could you go back to him?”, the words left her mouth in an urgent whisper. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision and she felt the urge to brush them away. Tears were a sign of weakness and weaknesses weren't a luxury she could afford. In fact, the last time she had cried was back when she still was Pamela Isley, on that fateful day that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Her last tears had been shred when she laid on the floor, dying only to be reborn as Poison Ivy.

Harley idly played with her hair, curling it around her well manicured fingers. She didn’t know how to reply to that. Why did she return to the Joker every time? Why did she still love him when all he did was hurt her? She knew it was an abusive relationship, she hadn't spent years training as a shrink for nothing, but she couldn't find the strength in herself to cut him out of her life. For better or for worse, he had shaped her into who she was now. She feared that without his influence in her life, she would go back into being Dr. Harleen Quinzel, and honestly, the prospect of normalcy terrified her.

But she couldn't tell Ivy all of that, so she did what she knew best and created a diversion. "You know, your hair’s fantastic today. Are you using a new shampoo?"

As if moving by their own accord, Ivy's lips curled into a smile. She cursed herself. She should be angry, sad, outraged. But there was something about Harley that always made her let her guard down. Harley had the gift of bringing happiness into Ivy's loneliness. And perhaps that was the reason why that betrayal had hurt so much.

Ivy collapsed into the bed, careful not to get too close to Harley. She wasn't sure if she could deal with so much proximity right now. Not in this bed, at least. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wonder. To travel back to a week ago, before the Joker sweeped in again and took Harley with him. Back to when it had been just the two of them, hiding in this same room while they counted their loot and laughed about the stupidity of the guards of the jewelry story they had just robbed.

That day had awakened something in Ivy, and she had thought that her friend felt the same. But clearly she had been wrong. 

In her mind she relieved it all, every single detail of that fateful day, from the smell of the strawberry bubblegum Harley had been chewing to the sound of gold clittering against gold.

* * *

The first thing Harley had done once they were secured inside the room was to remove her jester suit, the sweaty outfit was sticking to her skin and making her itchy. Stripped to her underwear and tube socks, she had then proceeded to catalogue every single item they had stolen, listing the retail price in a chart. 

Ivy had offered to help, but Harley had her own system and every time the redhead tried to do something she only mixed it all up. So she had given up and was texting her usual fence to ask when they could meet.

"I love this song", Harley shouted when the radio began to play a slow pop ballad. She seemed like a completely different person from the concentrated woman she was seconds ago. Climbing off the bed, she began to dance, with a grace that only the ones who had trained for years were able to do. She moved like air, arms swaying to the rhythm of the music and hips rocking back and forth in matching pace. The whiteness of her skin was a stark contrast to the black and red socks she wore, and Ivy’s gaze lingered on those long and slender legs. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to have those legs tangled around her own body, to have those hands caressing her skin. 

“Come dance with me”, Harley asked, tugging Ivy’s arm and trying to pull her to her feet.

Ivy shook her head. “I don’t dance.”

Harley rolled her eyes and pouted. “Pretty please, for me! It’s boring to dance alone.”

Faced with the other girl’s plea, Ivy couldn’t find in her the strength to say ‘no’ and so she relented, allowing Harley to pull her up. Ivy’s movements were awkward, her body rigid whereas Harley’s was fluid. She misteped and tripped, but Harley was always there to catch her before she fell.

The song ended and another began, and they kept swirling around the room. The soft melody brought them closer, Harley’s arms embracing Ivy’s waist, chests pressed together and faces inches apart. Harley suppressed a yawn, eyelids fluttering shut as exhaustion began to take over. She nestled her head on Ivy’s shoulder, taking advantage of her friend’s taller stature. 

The rest of the world faded away, all that Ivy could think of was the intoxicating feeling of Harley’s lips brushing against her bare skin. Outside, a car passed by, the headlamp shining even through the dirt glass, creating a brief spotlight for the two girls.

A false move caused Harley to trip, and they stumbled, Ivy’s back landing on the saggy mattress with Harley on top of her. For a moment, time stood still. They laid over the white sheets, not moving and barely breathing. A tension hung in the air between them, an unvoiced desire that previously neither had felt. 

Then, before Ivy knew what was happening, Harley leaned down and brought her mouth to Ivy’s, hovering like that for an instant before closing the remaining distance. At first, the touch was light as a feather, barely there. Then, with renewed passion, Harley pressed harder, Ivy’s lips welcoming her. Ivy didn’t protest as Harley slid the strapless leotard out of her body, the garment falling to the floor near where Harley’s own jumpsuit laid.

When Harley pulled away, it was only so she could lay a trail of wet kisses. She sucked, licked and bit every inch of exposed skin, venturing further down with each second. She stopped at Ivy’s navel, looking up in search for permission, and Ivy remembered how to move for just long enough to nod, before collapsing back onto the bed. 

Every nerve in Ivy’s body was on fire. Her mind was numb. She felt nothing but Harley. Harley’s mouth. Harley’s fingers. Harley’s skin. Harley. Harley. Harley. The name echoed in Ivy’s mind with every beat of her heart. Ivy clutched tightly at Harley’s arms, the firmness of the muscles underneath her fingers ensuring her that this wasn’t just part of her imagination. Ivy felt herself coming undone under her friend’s touch. She couldn’t think she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t breath. All her worries and fears that clouded her brain faded away until only Harley was left.

* * *

“Pammy?”

Harley’s voice pulled Ivy back to the present and she snapped her eyes open. “I thought we had something.”

“We did. We do. You are my best friend. I love you. I really do”, there was a note of sadness in Harley's voice as she spoke.

Tears spilled out of the corners of Ivy’s eyes. “But you love him more.”

Harley nodded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”

“No”, Ivy interrupted, sliding out of the bed. “It’s fine. I was foolish to believe you would actually leave him for real. I just wish I could let this go, forget it ever happened.”

She realized now how stupid this had been. Nothing she did could ever change Harley’s mind. She needed to get out of that room, she needed fresh air.

“Ives, come on”, Harley pleaded, rushing to grab Ivy’s arm before she could leave.

Ivy twisted out of her friend’s hold and opened the door. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”

The door closed shut behind Ivy and Harley allowed her body to fall to the floor, back against the scrapped dark blue paint. A sob escaped her lips and she buried her face in her knees, shielding herself from the world. She felt alone. Her best friend had abandoned her. And perhaps I deserve that, Harley thought. She didn’t know which was her worst mistake: falling in love with the Joker or with Ivy.

Outside, Ivy inhaled the fresh afternoon air and began the long walk back to the Botanical Garden. She hadn’t meant to fall in love that night, but now it was done and there’s no way of fixing it. She wished Harley could leave the Joker, not just out of jealousy but because she knew her friend deserved better. I could offer her better.

The dusk had settled over Gotham when a figure wearing a trench coat and hat left the Gotham Garden Motel. She opened the door to a green car and, with the motor rumbling, she took off into the darkness.

[emy-loves-you]

Sanders Sides AU-gust Day 16: Treasure Hunters

Patton and Logan are husbands and partners, traveling across the globe in search of hidden treasures. The one expedition that Patton can’t attend, Logan bites off more than he can chew. Patton/Logan POV, Logicality and Prinxiety

Day 15 | Masterlist | Day 17

Patton sighed as his husband ran around the kitchen. “Lo, I can clean up on my own.”

Logan huffed as he finished cleaning up breakfast. “Your metatarsal is fractured, Patton. I do not want you performing any strenuous activities and potentially hurting yourself.” He gestured to Patton’s foot, which was wrapped up in a light blue cast. “Besides, what kind of husband would I be if I couldn’t help my love when he’s injured?”

Patton smiled. “You’d still be my perfect hubby.” He slowly got out of his chair in the dining room, using his crutches to maneuver himself. “If you won’t let me clean up, then I’ll be crocheting in the living room.” He made his way to the living room, his eyes briefly moving towards the different photos and artifacts that lined the walls. Every inch of this room painted a picture of their lives. Patton and Logan Sanders. Archaeologists/Treasure Hunters of 12 years, husbands of 10. Patton sighed dreamily, remembering when they’d met on the outskirts of Turkey. It had been love at first sight (in Patton’s opinion at least). Patton continued to reminisce as he sat on the couch, pulling out a scarf he was making. It was currently early November, and Patton wanted to make scarves and hats for the two of them to wear when it started to snow here in New York.

Eventually, Logan finished cleaning the kitchen and joined Patton in the living room. Patton made his scarf while Logan leaned on his side, reading a book. Patton glanced at the book a bit back a snort. Judging by the images, it seemed to be an instructional book for reading hieroglyphics (in Egyptian of course. Logan was so extra when it came to learning). They spent the next few hours in relative silence, the occasional clink of crochet hooks or the turn of a page lulling them deeper into the peaceful scenario they’ve created.

Eventually, Logan sat his book down and spoke. “I can still cancel my trip.”

Patton shook his head. “You’ve always wanted to go to Egypt, Lo. And who knows when you’ll get another opportunity like this. You’re gonna be the first person to see inside that tomb!”

Logan sighed. “But it won’t be the same without you there beside me.”

Patton chuckled, running his fingers through Logan’s hair. “I’m sure you’ll have fun. And as soon as you get back, we’ll have the rest of the years to ourselves. I’ll even bake you a pie for when you get back!”

Logan winced. “Please don’t. I’ll just be worrying about you getting burnt the entire expedition.”

Patton smiled softly. “Then I’ll make you something that doesn’t require an oven.” He leaned down to kiss Logan’s forehead. “I’ll be fine on my own, I promise.”

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

Patton sighed as he took in the now empty house. The expedition was set to last for three weeks. Three weeks of crocheting and cleaning and not having a worrywart husband breathing down his neck (Patton loved Logan’s protectiveness, but sometimes it was just too much). Patton hummed to himself as he sat down to finish his scarf. He wanted to get all of the scarves and hats done before Logan got back.

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

Logan sighed as he listened to the local’s ramblings. Usually Patton was the one to gather public information while Logan gathered written information, but sadly his love wasn’t here with him. Logan ignored the thoughts and focused on what the man was saying.

Apparently, one of the men had stumbled upon the undiscovered tomb of King Roman, one of the less commonly known Pharaohs. That was because he never took a lover. Well, he never took a female lover. While his twin brother Remus provided heirs and directed the kingdom financially, King Roman was the general of his armies. He was present in nearly every battle alongside Virgilius, his second-in-command. They were suspected to be in a romantic relationship, and it was rumored that after Roman and Virgilius died on the battlefield, Remus preserved both of their bodies in the pyramid. While the textbooks say it’s because Virgilius was Roman’s loyal protector, most people believed it was because of their relationship. It was said that after King Roman was killed on the battlefield, Virgilius slaughtered the opposing army single-handedly before dying. Whether he died from battle wounds or if he took his own life was up to interpretation.

None of the locals wished to enter the pyramid, lest they be cursed. Logan knew the real reason, however. Homosexuality was still illegal in Egypt. They most likely either didn’t wish to sully themselves by entering the resting place of a homosexual ruler, or they were afraid that they would get ‘cursed with homosexuality’ if they trespassed. The amount of aggression towards homosexuality upset Logan greatly, and for the first time on this expedition, he was thankful that Patton was not present. It was upsetting enough to still be using his original surname (he had taken Patton’s last name when they married, but he used ‘Croft’ in all work-related scenarios in case the country they were in was homophobic), but it was always soul-crushing to treat Patton as nothing more than a coworker on these expeditions.

Logan fiddled with the thin chain of his necklace, where his wedding ring sat under his clothes. He was only a few days in, and he was already wishing to see Patton again.

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

Patton took off his wedding ring and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. Today was cleaning day!

Patton hummed several tunes under his breath as he cleaned the house from top to bottom. Even with a broken foot, he completed each task efficiently and enthusiastically. He cleaned the bathrooms, the kitchen, the bedroom, the guest bedroom, and now he was cleaning the living room. He whistled as he dusted off different artifacts and photo frames. He smiled fondly as he dusted a photo from their wedding day. He let his mind be pulled back to memory land as he cleaned. Everything from that day brought happy tears to his eyes. From the preparations, to Logan’s face as he saw Patton walking down the aisle, even the brief scare when they couldn’t find the rings. Patton felt his eyes water as he blew some dust off of the frame, their wedding vows playing in his head.

‘I will love you, forever and always’

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

Logan felt his eyes water as he blew the dust off of the sarcophagus. There were multiple hieroglyphics and what appeared to be old Latin written on the casing. Logan struggled to read it.

‘...find...afterlife...live again...forever and always’

Logan snapped a few pictures with his camera. Latin was Patton’s area of expertise. Maybe he could decipher it when he got home. Logan examined the sarcophagus. It appeared to be the tomb of Virgilius. Logan opened up the sarcophagus and was unsurprised to find a mummified corpse. What did surprise him was the necklace around the mummy’s neck. Logan readjusted his gloves before carefully removing the necklace. It was a beautiful onyx color with what appeared to be amethyst gemstones. Logan carefully sealed it in a plastic bag before setting it inside of his satchel. Once he discovered nothing else of value in the room, he closed the sarcophagus before making his way to the next room. He left the mummy alone for now; it would most likely be donated to a museum, and he had multiple days to analyze the body before then.

After a few more hours of searching, Logan finally found what he assumed to the sarcophagus of King Roman. The inscription on this tomb was less corroded, and Logan was able to read another part of it.

‘...find...afterlife...blood...awaken...live again...forever and always’

Logan took another photo before opening the sarcophagus. Like Virgilius. Roman’s mummified corpse had a piece of jewelry on it. It was a gold bracelet with ruby gemstones. Logan went to remove the bracelet when it suddenly moved. Logan watched as the bracelet shot up and latched itself onto the sliver of bare skin between Logan’s glove and arm. He went to remove the bracelet and quickly found that he couldn’t. It looked as if it had melded to his skin. Logan turned back to the mummy and screamed.

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

Patton screamed as he smacked the wall with his broom. Spider spider HATE SPIDERS! Patton continued to scream and smack until he was sure that the spider was dead. Even then, Patton couldn’t stop his racing heart. Not for the first time since Logan left, Patton had wished he didn’t tell Logan to go. Patton depended on Logan, just as Logan depended on Patton. They needed each other for physical, mental, and emotional support. And for killing creepy-crawly death dealers.

Patton jumped as he heard his phone ring. He smiled as he read the caller ID: Lolo <3. Patton quickly answered the phone. “Hey Lo, you will not believe what just happened-”

“I’m coming home.”

Patton was shocked at being cut off, then frowned at what Logan said. “Why?” Logan was only 3 days into his expedition. This was probably the first day he’d entered the pyramid. So why was he already leaving?

Logan’s voice was shaky as he answered. “I-I’ll show you when I get home, Pat. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you over the phone.”

Patton snorted. “Lo, I took you to a fairy circle on our anniversary. Try me.”

Logan sighed. “King Roman, the dead Pharoh? He’s not dead anymore.”

[whatissleepeven]

Eyyyy sweet anon here! Just want to say thank you so much! I feel honoured to get the sweet anon title. I never expect myself to get such title and I love it so much😍 and you make my day too, I'm so happy today (I think I'm blushing) And I LOVE anime too! Maybe not a hardcore one but yeah, ANIMES😍 So you can definitely talk about anime to me! I would love to watch new animes. I too, was like Satan when I'm younger(I'm still I guess😋) but now I love to read web comics

I need some new web comics to read because I left my manga at home, so if you have any recommendations can you send them my way anon?

And also....

...

..

.

I LOVE ANIME SO MUCH AND YEAH I KNOW SOME OF IT SUCKS BECAUSE THE PLOT HAS TOO MANY PLOTHOLES IN IT BUT THEN YOU GET SOME GEMS THAT JUST?? HAVE AN AMAZING STORY OR TEACH YOU SOMETHING YOU DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT YOURSELF?!!!

Akame Ga Kill taught me to cherish moments with my loved ones like it's my last,because you never know what could happen.

Fate/Stay Night UBW pointed out to me that my greatest enemy is myself, and the only one who can defeat that enemy is myself.

Bungou Stray Dogs is just SO COOL and WOOOOAAAAAAHHHHHHH IT'S LIKE TRYING TO PLAY CHESS WITH THE FINAL BOSS OF A VIDEOGAME ON INSANE MODE AS YOU GUESS WHAT HAPPENS NEXT

ID: INVADED awakens your inner detective and you get to solve murders

Nanbaka teaches you that you don't have to take on the world by yourself, as long as those you care about are by your side and you get to have fun with them then life's just a bit more bearable

The Heroic Legend of Arslan is iconic and I think it's still on Hulu it's just aixbejxjabdjckl SO GOOD -

Haikyuu!! teaches you to never give up, and that there's always something new to learn

Stars Align teaches you that yeah, everyone isn't perfect and everyone has their own problems, but as long as we support each other then one day, it'll be okay

Balance: Unlimited is just. Hilarious. I've laughed at least thrice each episode, and I'm sure I'll learn something in the future once it's finished. (probably how truly broke I am lmaooo)

Yona of the Dawn made me cry. FIVE TIMES. OVER THE SAME SCENE BECAUSE I REWATCHED THE SERIES. (Someone please help the Blue Dragon he deserves all the love in the world)

AND THERE'S JUST SO MANY MORE I HAVEN'T EVEN TOUCHED ON

What are some of your favorite animes? I'd love to hear them!

[waddles03writing]

Bullies and A Note

Warnings: Cursing, depression, suicide attempt, self harm, bullying

Synopsis: Y/N Winchester is being bullied at school and can’t take it anymore.

Note: I in NO way am for suicide of self harm if you feel this way reach out and get help.

¨Hey Y/N!” The lead bully yelled

I turned around and faced her sighing knowing what was coming.

¨I saw you talking to my boyfriend again I told you what would happen if you did.¨ She said menacingly ̈Look Alice I have to talk to him he's my partner for the english project.¨ ̈Aw look at little Y/N trying to stand up to me, not gonna work sweetheart. Grab her.¨

Alice and her team of girls grabbed me we were in the bathroom so no one could see us. They held my head to look at Alice. She snickered and punched me right in the gut before I could do anything I was being stomped on it only stopped when it was time to go home.

I jumped into the impala with Dean and threw my stuff in the back. Alice and her goons were smart they never hit my face just places no one would see. I laid my head on the window and just tried to forget what happened.

¨Hey Y/N/N you okay?¨ ̈ ̈Yeah I am.¨ I said back trying to fake happiness

Dean didn't want to push he could tell I was a little upset but he probably thought it my time of the month. We arrived back to the bunker I got out grabbed my stuff and went straight to my room. Id been doing this lately so Sam and Dean didn't think anything of it. But Cas saw me he usually wasn't around at this time of the day. He saw me run to my room he stopped Dean and asked him what was wrong with me. Dean just told him it was probably my time of the month.

I threw my bookbag on the bed and ran to my bathroom and locked the door. Only then did I let the tears come. I opened the medicine cabinet and opened the secret compartment I had put in there and grabbed my blades. I made a few cuts just enough to subside the pain. Then I heard my door open. ̈Y/N are you okay ̈ Castiel asked ̈ ̈Yeah I am.¨

¨okay.̈ Cas said uncertain

With that he closed my door and left I spent the rest of the day in my room. My phone kept buzzing it was getting to the point I wasn't even looking anymore. All the texts were from Alice and some other bullies all saying the same thing. KILL YOURSELF, FREAK, SLUT. Then one more text from Alice saying ̈Hey Y/N I'll see you tomorrow, can't wait to continue our game.¨ In that moment I decided I was done with this all of it. So I wrote a note to my brothers and Cas. It said

Dear; Sam, Dean, and Cas

I'm so sorry but I can't do this anymore. I love you all and I know you can overcome whatever comes your way without me. I just can't keep living like this.

Love Y/N Winchester your sister forever

I read over my note a few times and shook my head and stood up and jumped out of my window and began to run for the woods. I didn't want them to have to find my body so I ran.

Dean's and Sam's Perspective

̈Y/N seems very upset today.¨ Cas stated ̈Yeah she hasn't come out of her room at all.¨ Sam said looking worried

I'll go check on her.̈ Dean said getting up

Dean walked to his sisters room and knocked on the door when there was not a reply he assumed you were sleeping. He was in for a rude awakening he yelled for Sam and Cas once he saw you weren't in your room. Sam and Cas came running you had left you window open and your phone was on the floor. Sam picked it up and saw all of the messages becoming angry. Cas found the suicide note. ̈ ̈Dean! Y/N is going to kill herself ̈ Cas stated throwing the note at Dean and jumped out of the window to find you. Sam and Dean read it quickly realizing then they too jumped out of the window. Cas was the one who found you on the forest floor barely alive with slit wrists. He called for Sam and Dean as he picked you up. He healed you as they came running. Your body was limp in Cas´s arms. Cas started running for the bunker ignoring Sam and Dean coming behind him. He sat you down on the couch and he ran to get first aid supplies his grace couldn't heal you fully but he would not let you die. He pushed past Sam and Dean and began stitching you up. At this point your brothers couldn't hold it together any longer and collapsed to the ground in tears even Dean. When Cas finished he turned to you brothers. ̈ ̈ She'll be alright.¨

¨HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT CAS LOOK AT HER LOOK AT HER!̈ Dean screamed I should have done something I could have stopped this I saw she was upset but I did nothing. ̈ ̈Dean don't beat yourself up we all saw it we all ignored it ignored her let her pull away from us were all to blame. Sam choked out through tears

Cas sat on the ground with your brothers and held them as they cried. Cas felt he was the one to blame the most he knew you were not okay he could feel your pain yet he let you sit in the bathroom and cry. He knew you had felt like this for months but did nothing he was the one to blame.

Y/N Perspective

Hours later

I woke up in my bed with a splitting headache and I realized I had failed I was still alive or in Heaven. But id been in Heaven before this wasn't it my door opened and Dean walked through. He looked so happy seeing me alive and yelled for Sam and Cas and hugged me. ̈Y/N/N you're alive its okay im here they'll never hurt you again I promise ̈ he said not letting go of me I hadn't noticed Sam and Cas coming in.

Y/N Sam choked out and hugged me too. Why didn't you tell us what was happening at school I saw the text messages you could've came to us we could've helped you.

I didn't think it was bad enough to come to you I mean we fight monsters what are a few bullies.

Cas sighed Y/N i'm sorry we didn't notice earlier. Just please never do this again.

Okay. I sighed

Then all three of them grabbed me in a bear hug and we stayed like that on my bed until I could stop crying.

[nothowonenightstandswork]

One Shot - Shape of You

Bucky x OC

Warnings: Language, Implied Intimacy

Notes: First time posting anything. I’m sure a million things are wrong about it. Cliche title is the song currently stuck in my head.  

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“You’re back early!” Sam replied from his seat in Bucky and Sam’s common area. He was on monitor duty tonight.

“Sam, it’s almost 4 in the morning. It’s not exactly early,” Bucky replied. Bucky’s suite of rooms are on the other side of the common space from where Sam is watching the monitors, lounging on the couch, and eating ice cream. He hadn’t really intended on staying out so late, but this time he didn’t let Sam’s needling get to him.

“You’re still the first one back... Well?” Sam pushed, “How’d it go? You check out that place I told you about?” The place Sam is referring to is, for lack of a better name, a bar for people with powers. The owner is apparently from Asgard. As a result, it’s one of the only places in town where the alcohol is strong enough to be effective.

“Yeah, we did. You were right, it’s…” Bucky smiles, thinking about his evening. “It’s more my speed.”

“Nah, man, I see that look! Give me the details! Desk duty is boring, let me live vicariously through you!”

“A gentleman never tells,” Bucky evades with a smile. “Night, Sam.” He continues on through the common room to his suite in the tower.

“Come on, I told you about the place, you owe me! Are you humming? What song is that! Share, man!”

“Good night, Sam.” With a backward wave, he shuts the door behind him.

                                                        ---

The soft click of the front doors being pulled gently closed, is loud as a shot, slicing through Val’s light doze. Instead of opening her eyes, she instead opens up the shields she uses to keep other people’s thoughts out and feels the space around her. The nearest awake mind is in the hall and moving away. He seems to be happy and is humming.

Oh! She thinks as she sits up in her now empty bed. The other side is still faintly warm from its recent occupant. The rest of the studio apartment is easily visible from her bed and the only clothes scattered around the floor are her own. Guess he had places to be, she chuckles to herself, as she stretches to turn on the bedside lamp. The clock says 3:15 am. She pulls the blankets back up onto the mattress and snuggles down underneath, waiting for sleep to arrive once more. Sleep returns reluctantly, indignant at being startled, and Val has just enough time to decide to be pleased with the evening’s outcome

Morning still arrived way too early. The sunlight glaring in through the top down shades. I purposely chose this apartment so that the sun would help me wake up, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. She thinks as she kicks the covers off petulantly. The motion awakens a few sore areas that make her smile quietly in remembrance. The phone ringing cuts quickly through her reverie. She darts from the bed to the bar separating the kitchenette from her bedroom/living area.

“Hello?” she answers. There can only be a few options as to caller, so she’s a little shocked to hear an unfamiliar voice.

“Hello, Ms Bracca, this is Darlene calling from the Westside Veteran’s Center. I’m calling to inquire if you received our correspondence and to remind you that your appointment is at 9 this morning. Please bring your letter of introduction and a form of current ID. Thank you very much and we hope to see you soon.” The line abruptly goes dead.

“Uh, yes, Darlene. I did, Darlene. I will, Darlene. Good bye.” Val mutters to the phone. She checks the clock, it’s only 630am. Fuck you, Darlene. She adds mentally. No reason to call so early. Bullshit. If I didn’t need this contract, I’d…  she grumbles to herself and she walks to the only separate room in the apartment; the bathroom.

                                                         ---

“Rise and shine, Sam! The sun is up! We got work to do!” Bucky shakes Sam awake from where he has fallen asleep on the couch.

  “I will kill you, if you don’t let me sleep,” Sam mumbles from underneath his arm. He peeks blearly at his phone. “7am! The B Widow herself didn’t get back in to relieve me until 5, man. Two hours is not enough.”

“Suit yourself. I’m going to go workout. You stay here and sleep off your boring, non-vicarious night.” Bucky knew the one thing Sam liked more than sleep was gossip and was pretty confidant the goad would work.

“You know,” Sam says sitting up and tossing a cushion in Bucky’s direction. “You are pretty Up this morning. Do I detect a hint of… happiness?”

“Bucky hooked up last night,” Natasha interjects as she saunters into the room. “Why are you still sleeping, Sam? The sun is up.”

“Na-ta-sha.” Sam enunciates each syllable snarkily. “How the hell are you so cheery? You rolled in even later than he did.” Natasha doesn’t answer, just starts rummaging in the common kitchen’s cabinets. “Hey, lady, get your own coffee. That stuffs ours.”

“These aren’t,” Nat says, holding up a bag she’d pulled out from under the sink. “Later, fellas.”

“If you’re coming with me, get changed, Sam,” Bucky adds.

“Are we not going to talk about her hiding stuff in OUR rooms.”

“If you don’t hurry, we aren’t gonna talk about anything.” Instead of waiting, Bucky heads for the rec area.

Stark might not have been overly pleased that he was living here, but he wasn’t stingy with space. This floor housed a rec area and 3 sets of suites. Sam and Bucky shared one. Nat and Wanda shared the second. Steve and Clint shared the third. Clint had his own apartment in Bed-Stuy so Steve usually had his to himself. And Natasha tended to treat all common spaces as her own; squirreling away supplies in whatever area made the most sense at the time.

Today, the rec area was quiet. Steve liked to be up early and was finished with his morning workout before Bucky was dressed most mornings. Nat was on monitor duty, Clint was probably at his own place and Wanda has been out on assignment with Vision since last week. “Assignment.” Bucky thinks to himself.

He has barely started his warm-ups before Sam rushes in, hastily pulling a t-shirt on.

“So, you gonna tell me their name?” he picks up, as if no time has passed.

“No.” Bucky grunts while stretching.

“Are you going to see them again?” Sam pushes.

“No.”

“ A one night stand, huh? You surprise me, Barnes. You gonna tell me how you met?” Sam pries.

“No.” Bucky replies. The look on Sam’s face makes all the monosyllable answers worthwhile.

“OH COME ON!” Sam explodes. “Why the hell are you teasing me if you aren’t gonna tell me anything!”

“It got you to come work out, didn’t it?” Bucky grins at Sam’s visible irritation.

“I hate you,” Sam say flatly, “you know that right?”

Bucky had a great comeback ready, but was interrupted by Steve’s arrival.

“Sam! Suit up! Wanda called and she needs some back-up.”

“I’ll get my stuff,” Sam responds, suddenly all business. Steve turns to face Bucky.

“Buck--”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll hold the fort. Be careful out there.”

“We want you out there with us, we do, but-” Steve reaches out to put a comforting had on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Steve. I know. Go help Wanda.” Steve gives his shoulder a squeeze before nodding and heading for the elevator.

The Winter Soldier’s visibility in the intelligence agencies has been an open issue for awhile now. Stark, or more accurately, Maria Hill courtesy of Stark Industries has been working on it, but traction has been slow.

“Hey, man,” Sam says as he looks around the door; suit on, gear on his shoulder. “If you aren’t busy, I was supposed to interview a new therapist at the VA today. Why don’t you take that?”

“Sam, what do I know about therapists? Or interviews?”

“Look, man, trust your gut. And if you can’t, stall and I can take care of it when I get back.” Sam taps the door jamb once with his hand before walking off toward the elevator.

“Sam, what… time… is… the interview….” Bucky trails off as he hears the elevator doors close. He sighs.

                                                         ---

Where the FUCK is that letter of introduction? Val knows it was on the counter. Did it get knocked onto the ground in the moment last night? She’s checked the couch, under the couch, on top of the stools at thebar. Where could it… she eyes the note her guest had left last night before leaving.

Thank you, I had a wonderful evening. I thought it best not to wake you. -J

“Did he…,” Val flips over the paper and there it is, her letter of introduction from Sanctuary. She flips the letter back over to look at the note. It’s written in pen. “Of course it is!” she shouts. Letter in hand, she looks at the clock 8:30. She can make it if she runs. She grabs her coat, phone and keys, pulls the door shut behind her, goes back to lift up on the handle so it actually latches, and runs to the elevator and her appointment.

Sam’s office is even more boring than Bucky expected. Since moving here from DC, Sam had been put in charge of managing the outreach programs for the Westside Veteran’s Center. Part-time. Gratis, of course. “I’m hardly here,” he had said previously, “didn’t seem right to ask for money too.” The office, shared office, Bucky corrected himself, looked just as part-time as the position. Bare walls, no photos, two chairs and a desk. Even the small window looked out at a brick wall. Charming.

Sam’s secretary, Darlene had given him a thrice over and a gimlet stare when he’d arrived claiming to be performing Sam’s interview today. After a full two minutes of scrutiny, she’d finally shrugged and let him into the office. She wordlessly handed him a folder before going back to her desk. Inside was his information about his interviewee. He’d gotten through the first paragraph when he heard a woman’s voice outside.

                                                          ---

She made excellent time on her way here. It would have been faster if she was willing to just vault cars in public, but as it was she had ten full minutes to spare before the appointed time. The door to Sam Wilson’s office was closed when she’d arrived and a battleship of a woman was waiting impatiently, so Val spent a few minutes in the ladies’ room to neaten up. She didn’t have to LOOK like she’d ran here, after all.

I don’t know why I’m nervous, she thought. Just business as usual.

The door to the office was open when she exited the ladies’ room. The woman, Darlene, according to her nameplate, expressionlessly watched her approach.

“You must be Ms. Bracca,” she said before Val had even stopped. “Your assistant recommended that I call early this morning, in case you overslept. May I see your ID?” Val wordlessly fishes out her driver’s license and hands it over. A quick check and Darlene hands it back, before waving her toward the office just down the hall. “He’s in his office. Go ahead.”

“Uh. Thanks.” Val says before slipping her ID back into her jacket pocket. She pulls the letter of introduction out on the inside pocket of her coat. Folded in thirds, the note from last night’s anonymous paramour “J” is easily visible, so she unfolds the paper, and prays Sam Wilson doesn’t see it.

                                                            ---

Eight steps are all the warning he gets before a voice says from the doorway.

“Sam Wilson, I’m Valeria Bracca, from Sanctuary,” she says to his back.

Bucky turns as she extends her arm to hand him a piece of paper and freezes. Heat rushes to his face as he recognizes the woman from last night.

“You’re Sam Wilson?,” the woman asks, doubtfully. She either hasn’t recognized him or has a better poker face than he does. She’s prettier in the daylight, he thinks before snapping back to reality.

“Uh, no,” he stammers out. She takes two steps backward and glances at the nameplate beside the door.

“I’m going to assume you’re also not Jenna Cary, co-director of Veteran Outreach.” She continues.

“I’m also not her. Here, please, have a seat.” Manners that had been drilled into him kicking in. He walks around behind the desk, a much less potentially embarrassing place to be. “I’m James Barnes, Mr. Wilson had a… an unexpected event crop up and asked me to do this interview in his place.”

Ms. Bracca, Val according to the file Darlene handed him, hesitates for a few seconds before walking to the only other chair in the room. They both sit down at the same time.

“Mr. Barnes.” She says.

                                                             ---

The moment he turned around, Val knew this was not the man Netta, her assistant, had described. As soon as his face turned red, she recognized him as the man she’d taken home from Alastaar’s. Sheer force of will has kept her from blushing and leaving. Now, sitting, she realizes she’s still holding the paper.

“This is my letter of introduction,” he reaches over the desk to accept the paper. He looks curious and briefly flips it over before impossibly flushing an even brighter shade of red. Val raises an eyebrow and waits for him to speak. It quickly becomes evident he isn’t ready to start this interview, so Val begins.

“Mr… Barnes. I’m here as a representative of Sanctuary. We’ve been offered-”

“I’m sorry. Sanctuary?” he interrupts. The flush slowly draining from his face as they switch gears to business. She schools her face to hide her irritation.

“Right. You’re standing in for Mr. Wilson. Sanctuary is a non-profit organization focused on serving the housing and mental health needs of veteran and veteran adjacent individuals.” He leans forward and waits a beat before speaking.

“You help homeless people.” At her nod, he continues. “Why are you here then?”

“We recently secured a contract from the federal government to aid in the VA’s efforts in the same areas. I’m here as an introduction and to help smooth the way for cooperation between our two organizations.” He nods as he thinks that through.

“So, this is a done deal, and this interview is…”

“A formality, yes.” His shoulders visibly relax. Val smiles slightly at his obvious relief. “I assume Mr. Wilson didn’t brief you on any of this.”

“No, he did not.” The crack her little tiny smile left in her professional veneer elicits a grin of his own. “He was in a hurry, but I suspect he also didn’t tell me as revenge. Ah, Sam is my roommate,” he volunteers. She grins back.

“Revenge for what?” He turns red again and shifts uncomfortable in his seat. “You know, I think that is a topic for a different place. Uh,” he levers himself up out of the chair. Val stands as well. “You’re hired. Your people will talk to my people.” They shake hands professionally, although the grip softens slightly and lingers. He takes a quick breath before continuing. “Would you like to get lunch sometime? Well, today. I mean. Now?” Val can feel the warmth she’d been throttling back rush up to her cheeks.

“It’s still morning-”

“Breakfast then?” He gives her that same smile he’d had last night. That charming one that hits her right in the knees. “On me.”

“It’s a deal.”

                                                          ---

Darlene had, unexpectedly, recommended this diner without prompting as they had exited Sam’s office. Apparently the acoustics in the hall are perfect for eavesdropping.

“Is there… any way… I can convince you to not tell Sam about this?” he had asked the smug woman.

“Oh, honey, no chance in hell,” she had replied wickedly. “You two have a nice time.”

“I think I’m gonna pay for this,” he had said before glancing back at Val. “Shall we?”

                                                          ---

“This isn’t my area of expertise,” Val says over coffee from across the table, “but this isn’t typically how one night stands are supposed to go.” Bucky finishes chewing and swallowing a bit of toast before replying.

“Well, I don’t think fate typically makes people bump into each other again hours later.”

“Is that what this is?’ she asks. “Fate?” He shrugs.

“Maybe on my part. Plans change last minute…” a thought occurs to him and he pulls her letter of introduction out of his pocket and hands it back. “I, ah, didn’t think you’d want my note in an official file.” She grins and accepts the paper.

“That’s probably for the best. I’ll have another copy sent over.” She tucked the paper back into her jacket pocket. “You know, my assistant usually does these interviews. She’s doing the interview in Albany this morning and sent me here in her stead.”

“See. Fate.” He gestured with his last piece of toast to emphasize his point. Val shakes her head.

“Alright, I concede,” she sets her empty mug aside. She grins mischievously and leans toward him. “So, what does Fate have in store for you the rest of the morning?” Bucky stretches his arms over his head and smiles widely.

“Well, I’ve seen your place. Want to come see mine?”

[fantasyuta]

falling for you

[ mark x reader: cafe!au, fluffy ]

[ wc: 2766 ]

a/n: i love mark lee, that’s all. also sorry if the ending got a bit awkwardly phrased i’m awful at ending this kind of stuff :(

it’s been only a couple months since you’ve moved to korea, but you’re already homesick.

you decided studying abroad would be a good idea to get a new perspective on your studies, so you’d applied to a few universities in the bustling city of seoul, south korea. plus, your best friend, yuna, who was a korean transfer student you had met in high school, had her own apartment that she excitedly let you share. the first few days had been bliss: you went out with yuna to explore your new home for the next semester or two. you visited the line store, went to everland, korea’s biggest amusement park, and shopped til you dropped.

but after the semester begins, you’re ready to go back home. your first week of school is awful; your korean isn’t great, so it’s hard to find your classes and navigate the city without yuna, who went to a different university for her music major. it doesn’t help that you had to pile up on morning classes for your requirements, despite your bad habits of sleeping in.

you find that one effective method of destressing is visiting at the cafe only a few minutes away from your shared apartment. your sweet tooth always gets the better of you, and you can’t resist ordering a sugary drink, whether it be a caramel macchiato or strawberry smoothie. you find yourself going to the cafe on a daily basis, usually right after your classes are over. just for fun, you decide to try to order everything on the menu at least once.

you quickly become a regular customer, and you instantly notice when something in the cafe changes. and halfway through the semester, the barista who usually takes your order -- a quiet girl named jiwoo who always seems to be in a bad mood -- switches to a big-eyed boy whose name tag reads ‘mark’ with a crooked smiley face.

the first day he starts working at the cafe, he stutters your order back to you and almost drops a cup as he scribbles down your name. but as he becomes used to working as a barista, he becomes a much more cheerful boy; he doesn’t say anything about your accented korean, whereas jiwoo would frown at your mispronunciations and ask you to repeat your order. he can instantly tell what kind of drink you want just by your expression; when you show up in a dripping raincoat and a gloomy face, he immediately rings up a hot chocolate, with extra whipped cream for good measure. and when you walk up to the register in a smile and bright outfit, he knows you’re in the mood for a smoothie. and he leaves little notes as he hands you your beverage with a grin: ‘have a nice day!’ ‘happy friday!’ ‘you can do it!’, all ending in a crooked smiley face matching the one on his name tag.

and without your knowledge, mark lee has a big, fat crush on you. he’s falling for you hard.

when the cafe starts to empty and you sit in a cozy corner with your textbooks and notebooks sprawled across the table, he admires you from afar as he wipes a dirty table. he admires you from the register when you scowl at notes from a lecture while studying for an upcoming test. he admires you while sweeping the floor when you start dozing off in the warm cafe with soft jazz music playing out its speakers, as the cafe approaches its closing hours. but the moment he loves most is when you grin at him as you choose your next adventurous drink, and the split second of your hand touching his as you hand him a few thousand won to pay for your beverage.

as finals week approaches and mark hands you warm lattes topped with cute misshapen hearts of milk and foam, you spend more and more time holed up at the cafe. you’re stressed out to the max, and you desperately want to pass your classes with good grades to make sure you moving out all the way to korea wasn’t a futile investment and waste of time. luckily, the cafe is where you can focus best, since the apartment is always blaring with yuna’s newest composition for her music classes that she apologetically explains she needs for her final project. the muted conversations of other patrons of the cafe, the clinking of glass, the soft music, and one special barista all help create a comfortable environment for you to study.

the monday before finals week, you arrange a study session at the university library with a few of the other international students in your classes. you’re well acquainted with vernon and joshua, two boys who always joke around even during lectures and never fail to make to smile. rose is a tall, pretty girl with a lilting australian accent who diligently takes notes and offers to help you study immediately when you tentatively approach her. the four of you decide on friday evening as the most convenient time to get together to cram for finals together.

of course, friday has to be the day it starts snowing.

you camp out at the cafe, your new haven, as you try to organize your scattered notes. you lose track of time as you highlight and underline your words, and the snow continues to fall outside. and from afar, mark watches you, mesmerized by the sight of you working, with your nose scrunching up every so often.

suddenly, you hear your phone buzz. you shuffle papers around, trying to find your phone underneath a stack of papers, and you blink at the notifications.

[ 5 unread messages from: rose ]

[ 2 missed calls from: vernon ]

[ 7 messages from: joshua ]

you groan and internally punch yourself in the face as you realize that you forgot about your study session, and you’re 15 minutes late.

you shove all of your pens, highlighters, notes, and books into your backpack and rush towards the cafe door as you call vernon back. ‘ohmygosh i’msosorryvernon i’ll be there in 5 minutes!’ you exclaim into the phone, hurriedly pulling on your parka as you walk as fast as you can without slipping on the snowy sidewalk.

mark, jolted out of his daze by the sudden jingle of the bell on the cafe door and the slam of the door shutting, sullenly heads to your abandoned table with a rag to clean up. as always, an empty cup is sitting on the table; however, in your haste to leave, you left your wallet on the table.

curiosity gets the better of mark, and he opens your wallet to find a few thousand won (you are a broke student, after all), a student id card, a polaroid of you and yuna that you took on your first day in korea, a tiny picture of your family, and a folded up post it note. the boy opens the post it note, which reads, ‘if found, please contact this number!’ with your phone number, the message written in both korean and english. he studies your student id card (he blushes, thinking, is this creepy?) and reads the label that declares you as an international student. he ponders on what to do; the cafe is scheduled to close over the weekend due to the heavy snow, and he knows it’ll be hard for you to make time especially during finals week.

taking a deep breath, he slowly pulls his phone out of his apron pocket.

it’s 10:49 pm, and your study session is coming to a close. the university library closes at 11, so you and your three classmates contentedly clean up the table littered with notebooks, laptops, and textbooks. the four of you studied for almost 5 hours straight, and for the first time in a while, you feel hopeful about your chances at doing well in college.

you’d turned your phone off to reduce its distracting notifications. as it awakens, your phone buzzes, and you frown at the unfamiliar number that has texted you.

[ 6:18 pm ] 010-127-0802: hello is this y/n?

[ 6:18 pm ] 010-127-0802: you left your wallet at the cafe, and the snow’s bound to get worse

[ 6:19 pm ] 010-127-0802: so i thought today would be the best time for you to get your wallet back

you groan; you must’ve forgotten your wallet as you were trying to get out of the cafe as fast as possible. you’re a little surprised (and relieved) that someone who seems to speak english fluently found your wallet; at least there won’t be an awkward conversation with your broken korean making an unwanted appearance.

[ 10:52 pm ] you: thank you so much! i didn’t even notice my wallet was gone haha

[ 10:52 pm ] you: when would be an okay time to come get it? isn’t it too late right now?

the unknown number texts back quickly.

[ 10:53 pm ] 010-127-0802: actually, i’m still near the cafe right now and it doesn’t close until 11:15

[ 10:54 pm ] 010-127-0802: if you have time, maybe we could meet up before it closes?

[ 10:54 pm ] you: alright, that sounds good. thank you again!

you wave goodbye to rose, vernon, and joshua as you trudge through the snow back to the cafe. you can’t help but wonder who found your wallet. you can’t help but shiver as you imagine a creepy old man who purposely led you to the cafe to kidnap you. or maybe it’s some middle school kid who stole all of your money to go to pc rooms and set you up to look like an idiot. kids these days have no manners.

at 11 pm, you arrive at the cafe, empty except for mark, who’s busy sweeping the floor. he glances up at you and quickly averts your gaze, furiously attacking the floor with his broom instead as he blushes. on the other hand, you’re surprised at the cafe’s emptiness; the person who’d found your wallet said they were near the cafe, and there’s only 15 minutes until it closes. you retreat back into your familiar corner and wait for your wallet’s return.

you languidly watch mark clean up the cafe alone as the minutes pass by. he finishes sweeping the floor and washes the last of the cups and dishes. as he hums along to the soothing music from the cafe’s speakers, he waters the tiny succulents on the windowsill and puts up all the chairs on the tables, passing by your table with a tiny smile that you return. but you grow more and more disheartened as it approaches closer and closer to 11:15.

at 11:15, you sigh and put your head down in your crossed arms. you’re worn out from studying, and you haven’t even gotten your wallet back yet. maybe it really was a middle school jerk who wasted your money on snacks and games. you hear the skidding of a chair’s legs across the floor, and you realize it’s mark sitting in front of you. slowly, you look up, and your eyes widen as he pulls your wallet out of the front pocket of his apron. ‘sorry i took so long, y/n,’ he says with a sheepish smile.

you’re shocked: out of all the times you ordered a drink from mark, you could’ve been ordering in english instead of in your clumsy korean.

‘mark, why didn’t you tell me you could speak perfect english?!’ you exclaim. ‘that would’ve made my life, like, 500 times easier, you know.’

the boy shrugs with another sheepish smile. ‘i don’t know… there’s a lot of international students around here that can’t speak english. like there’s a french international school right down the street. i just wasn’t sure,’ he confesses.

you laugh. ‘okay, good point. but how are you so good at english, then?’

‘i lived in canada for a while before i moved here. i think it’s only been a few years since i’ve moved to korea, actually,’ he explains.

‘oh, i see! then why’d you move to korea?’

‘for college, i guess, because i’m a music major. actually, your friend yuna is in my composition class! you guys are close right?’

your eyes widen. ‘how’d you know that?’

‘w-well, you had a photo with her, in y-your wallet, you know,’ he sputters. ‘i wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything, i promise! i just noticed she was a familiar face.’

‘okay, whatever you say, mark,’ you giggle. ‘speaking of which, i should start to head home, yuna’s probably getting worried by now.’

mark quickly stands up from his seat. ‘wait! i’ll walk you home,’ he exclaims. ‘it’s not safe to walk home alone at this time of night, you know. like what if you get abducted by some creepy stranger? or what if--’ he gasps ‘--you slip on a piece of ice, and you crack your head open, and no one finds you until tomorrow morning?’

you cringe at the mental image that pops into your head. ‘fine, come with me,’ you pout. mark just grins and grabs his jacket and backpack from behind the cafe counter. after double checking that the speakers are silent, the lights are shut off, and the cafe entrance is locked, he announces, ‘alright, let’s get out of here!’

it’s a brief walk to your apartment complex, but you quickly learn that mark is aspiring to produce his own songs and that he can play the guitar. although apprehensive at first, he quickly warms up to you and shows his witty side, making bad jokes to make you laugh. finally, you reach the door to your apartment, and you and mark awkwardly mill about, not wanting to leave the other.

‘anyway,’ you finally say with a bright smile, ‘thanks for walking me home. and thank you more for finding my wallet! i seriously don’t know how to repay you.’

mark smiles that shy, sheepish smile again. ‘you don’t have to repay me, it’s the least i could do,’ he says gently.

you’re not sure what overcomes you, but suddenly you have an idea. ‘well,’ you say cheerfully, ‘this is the least i could do.’

you stand on the tips of your toes, and right then and there, you give the boy a peck on his cheek flushed from the cold winter air. you smile as his round eyes grow even rounder and meet yours.

you turn around and punch in the code to unlock your apartment door, trying to hide your blushing cheeks and growing smile. you hear mark tentatively say, ‘hey, y/n?’

shyly, you turn again to face the boy, who slowly approaches you until you’re backed up against the door. his eyes beg for permission, and you give a tiny yielding smile that he returns as his face comes closer and closer to yours. and then he kisses you, pressing his warm lips onto yours, his mouth tasting of caramel and his body smelling of fresh coffee. you can’t help but close your eyes, running your hands through his fluffy hair as you press back into him. mark smiles into your lips and finally pulls away after what feels like an eternity in heaven.

slightly out of breath, you only manage to whisper, ‘good night, mark,’ before disappearing into your apartment and slamming the door shut. slumping against the door, you feel your cheeks and ears burning from the kiss, and your heart feels like it’s racing at 100 miles per second.

mark, leaning on the other side of your door, is astonished by his own actions. where’d he manage to muster the courage to kiss you? he hasn’t even asked you out to a date yet. groaning, mark pulls out his phone and reopens your text conversation.

[ 12:26 am ] 010-127-0802: uhhhhh are you free anytime after finals week?

[ 12:26 am ] 010-127-0802: i kind of forgot to ask you out on a real date

your phone buzzes, and you read mark’s messages with a thumping heart.

[ 12:26 am ] you: sure, sounds good

[ 12:27 am ] you: except during finals week

[ 12:27 am ] you: whatever just get home safe for now you dork

[ 12:27 am ] 010-127-0802: your wish is my command ;)

you can’t help but grin at the thought of mark taking you out on a date. you realize his number still doesn’t have a contact name, so you save it is ‘mark :)’. maybe studying abroad in korea won’t be as awful anymore.

god, you’re falling for mark lee hard.

[besidemethewholedamntime]

days for fathers

A/N: I think I’ve maybe been writing too much kidfic lately, and I’m sorry, but it’s fathers’ day and it was in my head and i just had to write it! It is a fathers’ day fic, although it does try to celebrate both wonderful mothers and fathers. However, I cimpletely understand that some people might not want to do that so if you’d like to skip this then go right ahead! The last thing I want to do is make anybody uncomfortable <3

Summary: 

Happy Fathers’ Day, mum,” he almost-whispers.

“Aw, Leo. Thank you,” she says softly, too-softly, in that tone she always uses when she’s being gentle with him. “Though I really should be saying that to you.”

Fitz phones his mum on Fathers' Day.

{Read on Ao3}

 He watches quietly out the window as the phone rings loudly in his ear. It’s only half past eight, but there are orange streaks in the sky signalling that the day is almost as its end.

“Hello?”

Fitz shakes his head at his mum’s over-polite tones. He really must teach her how to use the caller ID.

“Mum?”

“Leo,” she breathes, sounding giddy. “What can I do for you?”

He wonders, briefly, if she’s forgotten what today is. She sounds as though she wasn’t expecting to hear from him. Does she think he doesn’t know? Does she think he doesn’t care?

“Happy Fathers’ Day, mum,” he almost-whispers.

“Aw, Leo. Thank you,” she says softly, too-softly, in that tone she always uses when she’s being gentle with him. “Though I really should be saying that to you.”

Even though there’s nobody around to see it, he grins into the dying light. Thinks of Sarah upstairs being given a later bath. They’ve been out all day, the three of them. The park, the beach, then out for dinner. There will be sand in his hair for weeks.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “I uh, I would have phoned earlier but-”

“Och, shush,” his mum says, no-nonsense. “This is your day, son. It’s no mine.”

He thinks of the day his dad left, how she had sat and let him cry for a man he had stopped trying to get to love him long ago. He thinks of the parents’ evenings, the university open days, the graduation ceremonies all attended. He always had someone there. He always had her.

“Maybe it’s for both of us, this time,” he says, quietly, hoping she’ll accept it.

He thinks of the first Fathers’ Day after his dad left, how he had lain in his bed under the covers, the card he had bought with his pocket money months ago (because if he found the best one then maybe his dad would smile at him, right?), written and left on his bedside table with some foolish childhood hope that his dad would come back and get it (to this day he wonders why he wanted him back so). His mum had come in, and told him in no uncertain terms to get up and get dressed; they were going out and he better be ready by the time she got out of the shower.

She did this every year until he left for America.

The second year Fitz bought another card, but instead addressed it to ‘mum’.

She doesn’t like it, never has. “Mothers’ Day is for me, Leo. I’m just doing what I would do anyway. I’m your mother.” But she kissed his forehead and smiled with tears in her eyes and he knows that she appreciates it. Because she’s done it all on her own and she’s never complained, not once.

“Aye,” she says quietly, softly, accepting. “This time it’s for both of us.”

“I did get you a card,” he says. “And Sarah made you one, too.”

“Did she now?” He can hear his mum’s raised eyebrow, the smile on her face. Anything from Sarah she loves with all of her heart, the Glasgow exterior not masking it at all. She takes it all, and what she doesn’t stick to the fridge, or frame in her living room, she puts in a special box marked with Sarah’s name, that sits next to a box marked ‘Leo’.

“Yeah, she did.” He smiles at the thought of the homemade card, adorned with two red footprints in the shape of a heart, a liberal amount of glitter sprinkled all over. “I think you’ll like it. It’s her best work yet.”

“Everything is her best work,” his mum says, haughtily. “The child is a genius.”

“Well, so was I, mum, and not one thing of mine was ever put on the fridge with such pride,” he jokes.

“Leopold Fitz, don’t you dare,” she warns, but he knows it’s only a mock-outrage. The joke has been overplayed all these years, yet it’s still theirs. “You wouldn’t let me put anything on the fridge, because, and I quote, ‘schematics aren’t something to be proud of, only the finished product is.’”

He chuckles “I stand by it.” Then: “I promise we’ll come down and visit soon.”

“That’ll be good,” his mum affirms. “I’ve missed you all so much.” It might just be his imagination or does her voice get a little thick? He never gets a chance to think it through, because she coughs and says, “Right, I’ll be letting you get back to celebrating your day. Don’t want to keep you away.”

“Mum-”

“Get back to your baby girl, son. Let me know when you’re wanting to come down, alright?”

Fitz sighs, resignedly. “Alright, I will do.”

“Good.” But then he hears her sigh and soften. “It was nice to hear from you, Leo. Thank you for phoning.”

When did tears appear in his eyes? Has fatherhood made him so soft? He tries to blink them away. “Always, mum.”

She tells him she loves him, and he responds in kind before hanging up. There’s laughter from upstairs that signals bath time is over, and bed-time must be imminent. He needs a few moments, and so he stays sanding at the window. The orange streaks have almost faded. Night-time is here.

This morning he was woken up by kisses from his toddler, and a hand-drawn card thrown in his face, giving him the best paper-cut he’s ever received on his nose. Sarah managed to get him on the see-saw at the park, and he taught her how to skim stones at the beach. She made Jemma laugh so hard at dinner that her drink came out of her nose. He’s come a long way from those days hiding underneath the covers on this day, to enjoying it more and more each year.

He turns away from the window, and begins to ascend the stairs.

-x-

“She’s asleep already?”

Jemma looks up from where she’s rocking an asleep Sarah in the rocking chair.

“Yes,” she whispers, looking down briefly to their daughter. “It has been rather a long and busy day for her.”

Fitz smiles, runs a hand along his daughter’s forehead and moves to pick her up from Jemma to carry her to her own bed.

She almost awakens in his arms. “Daddy,” she mumbles, before promptly falling back to sleep, mouth hanging open.

Once she’s been tucked in to her own bed, Jemma and Fitz just stand there for a moment, watching this snoring little human who stole their hearts.

“Did you get your mum?” Jemma whispers, holding out a hand which he claps onto gratefully.

“Yeah,” he whispers back. “Said we’d go visit soon.”

“My parents said they’re coming to visit in a few weeks. Perhaps we could wait until then. You know how much they’d love to catch up.”

Fitz thinks of it, and how much he’d love it. “Perfect.”

In the quiet moment after, Fitz risks a glance at Jemma. She’s looking at their daughter, every emotion written clear on her face. He thinks of the girl he met at the Academy who, on every Fathers’ Day, would show up at his room with a movie and a board game, and an amount of sweets she would never usually condone. Not once did she ever say why she was doing it, but he knew. He always knew.

They begin to walk back to their own room, getting ready for bed. It’s not even that late, but they have a two year old and they’re tired and nine pm might as well be two am.

It’s when they’re getting underneath the duvet, and Jemma is resting her head on his chest the way she always has done, she leans up to kiss him and whispers, “Happy Fathers’ Day, Fitz.”

He blinks at her, willing the tears in his eyes and the back of his throat to disappear. She continues.

“I know that this day isn’t easy for you. But you’re a wonderful father, and I never want you to be worried of ever being like him,” she spits the word venomously. “Sarah is lucky to have you.”

He’s the lucky one. He knows and is reminded every day, every time he looks at his family. He cocks an eyebrow and pulls Jemma closer. Thickly, he says self-deprecatingly, “You think?”

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma says, with a look of disgust on her face as if he really should think better than to question her. “I know.”

[kgxiangyu-blog]

ILL-FITTING

• • • MISSION OBJECTIVE_  ▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭ 0% COMPLETED

OCTOBER 10TH

you are a vulture. the existance of corpses puts you into action. there’s no way to soften up this reality; it is what it is. you are a mere scavenger and today it rings truer than ever. 

MUMBAI INSTITUTIE

the name on your assignment file stare back at you. it’s 3 hours until the soonest flight out. you fill up your wait time by creating constellation between what seems like isolated stars.

mumbai institute → servers are down → within the same city as second site of explosion → one out of for attacked sites → kingsman related celebrations  ↓ three incidents establish a pattern. a fourth solidifies it. ↓ who would know the kingsman had an anniversary coming up? ↓ what are the servers hiding? ↓ who has a grudge with the kingsman?

you’re going unaccompanied this time. you specifically request one handler with tech background to be on standby with you. this situation isn’t something that an entire team is ready to be exposed to. the less that people know, the better.

• • • MISSION OBJECTIVE_ ▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭ 0% COMPLETED

OCTOBER 11TH

the premise that stores the servers is blocked off to the public. scanners for student and staff IDs stand at every door. there is a security guard at the mouth of a road leading into campus grounds.  

you present your badge with colored ink and embossed features mapping out lie after lie. the emblem of the four lions perched catches the reader’s eyes. they scan it with scrutiny and criticism.

“IB is assigned to a tech issue?” they ask.

“any matter dealing with homeland security is our business. i can’t disclose anything further than that. they sent me from new delhi as soon as possible.” you deliver your lines with confidence, and just the right amount of ease to make the performance believable. the language and accent flows off your tongue after practicing on the plane. 

you hold out a yellow envelope with no intent on handing it over. “the authorizations issued are contained in here. do you have the clearance to check these?” 

“yes? i mean, no.”

“is there someone around who does?” hold your ground.

“the security chief out on a lunch break.” ( convenient. )

“alright then i’ll wait for your chief. i don’t want to make this hard on you after all.” earn their trust. 

“thank you. i’m just a patroller.” ( convenient. ) “i don’t have the authority to let anybody in or out without clearing it with my chief.” 

“of course, i completely understand that. you’re just doing your job” you put on a smile to warm the mood. “it’s tragic what happened in the city. i heard about it when i got assigned. i hope all of the families are coping well. i wish i could do more for them.”

“it is a tragedy when some people think they can do whatever to other people’s lives like that.”

“i agree. i think it’s commendable that even in the face of a tragedy, people like you are still doing their jobs to the fullest. like keeping an institute safe from outsiders. even people like me.”

you share a short laugh together.

the patroller scratches their head. “not really, no. you flatter me. there’s not much to keep safe nowadays.”

you feel the metaphorical tip of your shovel striking the outer shell of the treasure. “oh?” you feign surprise. “i think you’re being humble. you protect people. that’s very dutiful.”

“no.” they wave their hand. “other than every day cleaning and security staff members, the tech heads haven’t been showing up. they’re taking the servers thing harder than i imagined.”

“really? not a single one shows up?”

“not according to my entry logs.” 

“that’s a shame,” you remark. you check your watch and leave the kind patroller with promises that you’ll come back after lunch time. 

• • • MISSION OBJECTIVE_ ▬▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭ 10% COMPLETED

OCTOBER 11TH – 13TH

your one sided conversations through your ear piece fill the spaces of your hotel. 

“i need you to run recent location checks and bank checks for some names.”

“ramani bhatt. alia desai. arun gupta. pooja patel. [...]”

...

“no strange bank withdraws?”

...

“yes, i understand it’s a lot for you. i realize you’re doing the job for a team of five.”

“can you work through the night?”

...

“you spotted one on a highway traffic cam? which highway was it? okay. got it. i’m looking now. seems like it leads out of northern mumbai.”

“another one going out? well this road specifically leads to the airport. you already looked into it, of course. my bad. so they didn’t fly out.”

“wait, that road. what’s it’s name again? yeah that one. it leads to dharavi. all of the spots we’ve marked circle around this city.”

• • • MISSION OBJECTIVE_ ▬▬▭▭▭▭▭▭▭▭ 20% COMPLETED

OCTOBER 14TH

with the help of your handler, you two find one person who actually made a stop within dharavi. this was a few days ago but you’ll follow any lead that comes. of course, you never ask for others to do something you won’t do. you dawn a simple shirt and shorts in order to blend in with your environment. within a two block radius, you stay up to check out one location after another. 

in the afternoon you notice teens playing soccer for the second day in a row. you wait for the ball to go out of bounds and seize the chance to fetch it for them. “i’m looking for my friends,” you tell the locals. they point down the road when you tell them your ‘friends’ aren’t locals but they pass through a lot. 

“is there something fun down there to visit or something?” an incredulous laugh covers your piqued interest. 

they look at you like you were a naive child for saying something like that. when you check out the area, you understand why. dust blankets over the abandoned apartment complex from top to bottom. five floors worth of rooms with no cameras. or other forms of tech, to tap into means that you have to be creative.

you pull the knob turner on your watch until it comes off completely. the watch face is thick and is made to look cheap. from within, a small droid flies out.

“you got this?” you say to your handler back home. 

the droid whips down the hallway and you place your spectacles over your eyes. everything that the droid sees goes straight into a feed in your glasses and that is relayed back to HQ. floor after floor you see nothing but dirty rooms. it isn’t until the fifth floor that you spot a boarded up room. 

• • • MISSION OBJECTIVE_ ▬▬▬▭▭▭▭▭▭▭ 30% COMPLETED

OCTOBER 15TH

it’s midnight when you grab your equipment and come back. you plug in a usb into whatever computer that can turn on. your handler can remotely access the computer on a shallow basis. they can view what’s on the computer but not necessarily do much else.

that’s where you come in ( regrettably ). 

“so there are huge files that are protected? ––encrypted. there, are you happy now?”

“saying that this is a windows and not a super computer doesn’t mean much to me, but i get what you’re saying. i guess testing every algorithm won’t work.”

“you want me to do what?”

“you know that in the time it takes for you to walk me through things, you can come here and do it yourself, right?”

“you believe in me.” you huff out a soft laugh. “alright. teach me.”

they tell you you need to find a key–– then proceeds to chuckle when you ask if it’s a physical one. they continue on saying that they’re going to send a malware to your email. you plug your phone to the computer and run the malware program.

the program apparently runs through a computer’s memory to see what encryption process was used. by knowing that, then a key to solving the encryption can be obtained. 

...

you doze off for two hours while the program is running. you awaken to check the program, not knowing how to make heads or tails of it. the status bar is still running so you leave it alone. your handler has been quiet and you assume either they’re sleeping or working. 

...

four hours later you wake up. not because you feel well rested enough, but because your stomach needs quelling. 

there’s a protein bar in your bag that you scarf down before going back to sleep.

...

7:00 AM.

this time you wake up to your handler tsk tsk-ing at you.

“don’t give me that. how is the program doing?"

“you’ve found the key. great. so now what?”

“yes, i believe i did tell you this would be less efficient. even before you realized how much info is in here.” 

“alright. well whenever you find someone to get the algorithm written send it to me.”

• • • MISSION OBJECTIVE_ ▬▬▬▬▭▭▭▭▭▭ 40% COMPLETED

OCTOBER 15TH

9:00 AM.

“anybody yet?”

“okay. keep looking and keep me posted.”

...

2:45 PM

“you got somebody. fantastic.” ( about time. )

“do me a favor and change this priority to yellow status. i just need to to be done. thanks.”

...

6:50 PM

“in HQ? get up and leave now.”

“forget the mission. you need to go.”

“don’t send me anything. evacuate.”

“i am your superior. listen to me.”

you are pacing back and forth in the abandoned room. this mission isn’t worth losing a life over. 

“okay, okay, okay. i got it. i got it. do as you’re told now.”

...

7:00 PM

you lose all contact with HQ. your glasses cannot read or send any information to the servers. you had two choices.

one: catch the next flight back. two: continue on

you choose the latter. not for lack of consideration for your coworkers but you are more beneficial to everybody here. your handler risked everything to get you this program so you need to see it to the end. you owe it to them to uncover the truth.

• • • MISSION LOG_ ▬▬▬▬▬▭▭▭▭▭ 50% COMPLETED

OCTOBER 17TH

you’ve bought enough food from the city to last you a week. you hole yourself up in this room, waiting for the program to finish. your handler told you this version isn’t streamline enough and it requires monitoring once it starts. you don’t know any better so you follow the instructions given to you to the tee.

• • • MISSION OBJECTIVE_ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▭▭▭ 70% COMPLETED

OCTOBER 19TH

you are tempted to bring in someone, anyone, to help you hurry this process along. but considering the level of security on these files and the sheer volume of the files, you don’t have that luxury. patience calls your name and you have no choice but to respond. 

• • • MISSION OBJECTIVE_ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▭▭ 80% COMPLETED

OCTOBER 21TH

you chow down another cup of ramen for yet another meal. your eyes tire from staring at the screens for so long. you manually enter one prompt after the next, wishing that you can scream at whoever assigned you this mission. 

• • • MISSION OBJECTIVE_ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 100% COMPLETED

OCTOBER 24TH

the process is finished and the window disappears. it’s the most anticlimactic ending but the stress melts right off your shoulders. 

you go through the folders individually. each of them are labeled with a name and it goes on for several scrolls. altogether there are about one hundred of them. you click one open and within are columns full of pdf files. from just the very first file, it looks like several experiment trials–– visuals included. 

the first one, AMELIA, turns out to be a two year old pig.

then BAKER, DYLAN, a thirty year old male. 

LEE, JOOHYUN, a ten year old girl.

the data goes on like this without fail. 

the reality of the situation makes your stomach lurch, but you read as many as you can bear. the after images hit you harder than any punch you’ve ever endured. you gathered enough information to know the experiment dealt with specialized steroid effects.

without hesitation you exit out and check some unmarked folders. you run them in a text format and they detail bank activities from an account under the name kumar adani.

each piece resembles the same completed photo but you’re not quite sure how they fit together just yet. at this point you know that there’s no choice but to load as much of the data onto the hard drive built in your ring.

it’s time to go home.