katsuki blames the alcohol for making him stupid.
really stupid.
not that he's had a lot, but his tolerance is low for a guy of his size, and he can feel the edges of his inhibitions dulling with every drink of whatever denki has shoved in his hand. it doesn't taste like absolute shit, which is rare enough to have him indulging, just a bit, for the agency halloween party.
another sip has his head feeling a little swimmy, and before he knows it, his eyes are trailing across the room until they find you. again.
whatever the hell you're supposed to be tonight—a witch, or something else in a pointy hat—is really fucking with him, and has since you walked in. the costume isn't revealing in a sense that it's inappropriate for a work event, but it's...hugging you in all the right places. in every single one of them.
without tights, it would be on the too-short side, but—and no, katsuki can't fucking explain this—something about them is making everything worse. and your calf-high boots ain't helping, either.
it's just—your fucking—hips.
katsuki couldn't tell you what song is playing, but you're swaying back and forth to the tune and one of his canines digs into the plastic of his cup, so deeply that it makes a terrible creaking sound and dents beneath the pressure—and that's when a sharp elbow is delivered to the center of his chest.
mina is at his side when he looks, and her wide, freaky eyes scan his face before narrowing in her little shit-eating way.
"you're a pig."
katsuki chokes, and the little freak takes that as an admission of some kind.
"oh my god," she gasps, mouth falling in all her disgust and awe. "you can't even deny it!" and then she laughs, high and chirpy, and there's no way you can't hear her. "oh, you're down bad."
"cram it," he snaps, sinking his scowl into his cup. "i dunno what the hell you're talkin' about."
"you know i really thought better of you," mina sniffs effectively, turning her face up and away. "not the type to be blantly checking out somebody's ass."
katsuki bristles, and his aggrivation growns until the plastic in his hands starts to melt. "i wasn't—"
"i'm kidding!" mina snorts before flicking him in the nose, narrowly dodging the hand he swipes out at her. "quit being a baby and go shoot your shot already."
"piss. off."
but the hero is unaffected by him, simply scrunching up her face in response before turning on her heel to disappear further into the party.
she's wrong, katsuki thinks, because he's not a pig like sero or fucking dunce face or even kirishima, from time to time, who gets red in the face over a low cut shirt and a pair of tits.
fucking ridiculous, katsuki thinks, because he's way better than that.
it's just—the alcohol. that's making his lids heavy and his thoughts dark and his face hot. has him peeking at you over the lip of his cup, has him picturing you in his head when he's forced to look away.
and, well, maybe, the short cut of your dress has a little something to do with it, too—but he's keeping that shit to himself.
taking it to the grave, even.
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fic where you are the heir to the throne and argenti is your personal knight who can be a little... melodramatic at times, but you know he means well when he takes meticulous care in your appearance when you are to speak before your people or about to attend a ball ("everyone must be dazzled by your beauty, your highness!" ...is what he always responds with whenever you ask why he insists on doing it himself when there are maids for that very purpose), as well as his habit of presenting you a bouquet of roses he lovingly named after himself, always managing to replenish your batch just before they wither away ("there is nothing which match my beauty as these argenti roses do, and you deserve only the most loveliest and most beautiful of experiences, your highness!" ...is what he parades with an almost comical sparkle), or even during the times in which he is to escort you, only to dramatize your entrance with an embarrassing flair as he makes your presence known to those present and possibly the neighbouring kingdoms, too ("but everyone must behold your beauty and grace, your highness!" ...is what he preaches when you sputter and fluster at his theatrics, his genuine expression rendering you unable to refute him each and every time).
despite all this, he is a knight nonetheless. you're reminded of this each time an assassin clambers through your window in the dead of night, only to be rendered immobile when argenti takes care of them without a second thought and makes no haste in checking up on you (whenever such incidents occur, it is always you who has to calm him down, holding his hands and reassuring him you are safe all thanks to him), or in the moments where you watch him train, in awe of his battle prowess and find yourself lost in his broad strokes and effortless stance perfected over the years (he likes to flex and show off when catching your stare, though you find it amusing how quickly he flusters when you don't avert your gaze. he's rather cute in this sense).
while some of his antics may be a bit over the top, he is your chivalrous knight nonetheless — and you wouldn't have it any other way.
(though you would never tell him that, for you would never hear the end of it...)
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Someone makes a choked, shocked sound. Someone else yelps. It occurs to Ace, somewhere between the howling in his ears and the ache in his lungs and the taste of salt and iron flooding his mouth, that this is probably pretty surprising for his brothers to witness. Maybe even downright upsetting.
The thing is, Ace was wading into the jungles on his own as early as four years old. Dadan taught him how to do basic shit like talk and wipe his ass, but he honestly didn't have a ton of human interaction before meeting Sabo. And the thing about Sabo was that he had more than enough human interaction for the both of them. Ace learned some manners from Makino, but while Sabo was still around, there wasn't really any reason to get... good, at people.
But then Sabo died, and Ace needed to teach himself not only to talk his way out of trouble but also how to be the nice brother, how to treat Luffy with the softness he needed and deserved, how to gentle his hands and his voice and his words. So Ace did that, because he needed to, and it turned out to actually be pretty useful for dealing with people when he wasn't actively looking for a fight. So he stuck with it.
Which is all to say that by the time he'd joined up with Whitebeard, Ace was as close to tame as he had ever been. Almost downright domesticated.
Ace snaps his head to the side, putting some real momentum into it, heaving with all his weight until something tears. When he drops to his feet he springs right back up again, lunging. He spits out his mouthful as he goes, lets his jaw drop open.
The thing is, Ace is a child of the wilderness. He raised himself among that wilderness, and then he raised Luffy among that wilderness. He's a son of the jungle at heart, no matter how good he's gotten at pretending to be a person.
The sea-stone cuffs are chaffing his wrists. He feels tired and heavy, but he doesn't need his fire to be dangerous. Doesn't even need his hands.
Teeth find an artery. Body-hot blood sprays his face as Ace bites down, lock-jawed and snarling. Rears back and rips.
Another marine goes down. Ace spits out a chunk of the man's throat and is already rounding on a third. Notices, with a vague annoyance, that he's gonna need to find a toothpick -- there's a scrap of tendon or something caught in his teeth.
Mmm. Boar. They had pork for dinner, ah, the other night? Three days ago? Something like that, but it doesn't taste the same as wild boar does. And anyway, meat on the Moby is always overcooked. Ace is allowed to eat blue steak, but everybody always yells at him when he tries to steal bites of poultry or Sea King or whatever else while it's still tender and bleeding. This fight is giving Ace a real craving!
Duck. Lunge. Bite down, hard, thunder of a rabbit-quick pulse against his tongue, bulge of tender flesh against his soft palate. Iron and salt in his mouth.
Fear has a flavor. It is bitter and acrid, reminiscent of char, and Ace hadn't liked it much when he was young and still learning how to hunt. It stiffens up the meat, too, makes it kinda chewy. Somewhere along the line, he'd acquired a taste for it, though. He still marks it as a point of pride, his ability to hunt and kill prey without it ever knowing he was there, roasting something that is tender-sweet and gives easily under his teeth -- but the taste of fear isn't so bad either. Sometimes he even prefers it, gets a craving for it. Like wild boar, he hasn't had it in a while. Maybe he'll chase down his own dinner tonight.
Ace rears back. Muscle fibers split, skin stretches until it snaps. A heave, and a body crumples to the ground, gurgling. He gnaws kind of idly on his mouthful while he catches his breath, snorting blood out of his nose and straining his ears. Sounds like the fight's over, then.
Another lump of trachea gets spat into the dirt. Ace turns to face his brothers, counting heads -- good, it looks like nobody got hurt too bad, everybody is still standing! He grins. Ah, they're all pretty pale though, that's a little bit concerning, he hopes nobody's in shock. He learned from Marco that that can happen to anybody, even if they've been in a whole lot of fights.
"Hey!" Ace chirps. "Is everybody okay?" His wrists are killing him. Also, he really needs a shower. He's got blood in his ears, how the hell did that happen? But first he jogs over to where the others are all standing, clumped together, still just. Kinda staring at him.
Okay. Concerning. "You guys alright?" He asks again, lower. "Is anybody hurt? What happened?"
"Ace, man," Deuce says. His voice sounds kind of shaky. He drags a hand through his hair, fucking it up even worse than it already is. "What the fuck was that?"
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i know mikoto says he can't draw but graphic design is still an amazing creative work! as someone who loves the arts and has lost many of their favorite artists to overworking/karoshi its very personal to me seeing how overworked he is. companies should not be pressuring their artists to clock in over 80+ hours of overtime work, sleeping inside their offices, and ruining their artists health.
i just wanted to note this because, while i tend to vote based on general empathy or attachment, mikoto is the only prisoner who made me extremely emotional on a personal level. it's just... god, treat your fucking workers better, asshole.
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hello everyone !! i’m back with another hidden achievement post for, [The Remains of the Day] ^^
if u head down here south-east of the new map expansion, there will be a little painting and seat set up. approach the logs and sit on them.
once sat, set the in-game time to 17:15.
after a couple of seconds the hidden achievement will be completed for 5 primogems as well as getting a luxurious chest
hope this helps u all with ur funds and savings 🫶
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