Notes

Stranger: (Tattoo Artist!Skinny!Steve) Ever since he could remember, Steve Rogers had a passion for drawing. From being a toddler coloring on the walls, to scribbling on every piece of paper he got his hands on, in sketchbooks, and most especially on his skin. That got his mom angry enough to yell in both English and Gaelic to him and force him to scrub the ink from his skin, but sickly little Steve loved it. Drawing was one thing that he could do even when bed ridden for being sick. The older he got, the better Steve got. Even going through orphanages after his mother died when he was fourteen, he kept up the hobby. Going through the process to be certified once he graduated highschool, Steve’s love of making his body his canvas became his job. He became a tattoo artist, making beautiful art on the skin of his customers every day. Sure, the twenty-six year old got some odd looks. Though it wasn’t as bad as it used to be, he still suffered from constant colds, mild anemia, and mild asthma that he could control with the aid of medications. He dressed like a hipster, was barely 5’4”, and was skinny as hell, but his work was good. His own skin was covered, from “Brooklyn” across his knuckles, to the varying work on his arms, chest, and back. Steve just had a majority of the skin from his skinny hips upwards covered in ink. And he loved it. He almost always had the best reviews of the shop he worked in and owned, Sairose Ink. Rolling up the sleeves to his blue plaid button up to his elbows, Steve smoothed out his gray v-neck beneath it before he heard the bell above the shop door open. Blue eyes lighting up behind his black framed glasses, the blond pulled his hands from his black skinny jeans pockets, old and worn out red converse thumping as he jumped up from his seat to greet the man that walked into the shop, just on time for Steve’s next consolation and appointment, looking the handsome man up and down and ignoring the judgment filled gaze he got in return. “Hey, welcome to Sairose Ink. You here for an appointment?”
Stranger: Merlin had been so excited for this day for so long but now that it was finally here, he was so worried that he was close to crying. His wedding day. He had never thought that it would be like this. Planning the wedding had been so fun and decorating the venue for the actual wedding and for the night had had him giggling while wrapping Arthur up in ribbons. Now that he was standing in the room just to the side of the actual room they were getting married in, there were tears in his eyes and he was slumped over the table trying not to let them fall. He couldn't help but worry that something was going to go wrong when Merlin wanted it to be the best day of his life. Arthur was waiting out there for him and Merlin should be so happy right now. He was, really, but the worry was overtaking it. He was supposed to be out there in five minutes and Merlin was thinking of jumping out of the window and running away, but he'd never do that to Arthur. He wanted everything to be perfect and he didn't know if that would actually happen. Merlin had managed to get Uther to agree to come, but he was sure that the man was going to cause trouble and that would probably ruin everything. Everything had been organised so thoroughly; the seating arrangements in the venue for the night, the food, the music, the bridesmaid dresses and bridesmaids and everything. Morgana had helped with the clothes and everything, and had said that it was her job as maid of honour, which was her shared title with Gwen of course. Merlin had just looked up to rub at his eyes when he heard the door open and turned around to see one of the maids of honour there.
Stranger: (vampire!Bucky modern au)
Bucky had been doing so well in the past year. With the help of Steve he had been able to resist drinking human blood. He thought he had been doing well at least, until tonight. He didn't know what had happened, he blacked out and when he came to there was a body at his feet and blood on his shirt. He panicked and disposed of the body, fleeing home. He couldn't go through the front door and had to crawl through the window. He made sure to be extra quiet, not wanting Steve to see him like this.


You walk in from a long day at uni, exhausted physically, emotionally, and mentally. Your brand new jeans that Bucky had bought you last week torn at the knee and line of dried blood going down your knee, a small red blotch in the torn denim- a dull ache still in both your knees from where they'd collided with the side walk after some ass hat tripped you, sending your term papers flying out of your book as it tumbled out of your hands. It had taken you nearly fifteen minutes to pick all the papers up as they kept getting swept up in the wind, not to mention the fact you twisted your ankle doing so, making you late for your next class and your professor doesn't let people in late so you decided fuck it and just went home. You're fairly certain you jammed your wrist too, thankfully it wasn't the one you write with, which had a cut across the lower palm where it had collided with a broken piece of glass. Given the circumstances you decided to skip your last class and just go home.

You toss your book bag down with a loud thump and close the door with a flick of your wrist, not bothering to announce your presence as you limp over to the couch and flop down face first with a groan, fairly certain you might have twisted your ankle on the way up the stairs. Buck emerging from the bed room with a concerned look on his face- not that you could see it. "Hey, whats up?" he asked tentatively, walking over and sitting on the edge of the couch, pushing his fingers through your hair.